Fandom: Avengers: the Initiative
Characters: Cloud 9/Trauma, Pat the Scarlet Spider
Prompt: Table 1/29. Elope
Word Count: 521
Summary: It’s Christmas in Las Vegas, and things are happening. Written for candyflosskillr
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Abby’s mouth tasted like death, or possibly just month dead road kill. Her head was pounding, and she was so glad those Vegas hotel rooms had blackout curtains, blocking out the evil rays of sunlight that no doubt would have burned her eyes from her head. She whimpered, face down on the mattress as she groped for a pillow to block out the world. Her hand ran in to something warm and solid, but pliant, that she was sure wasn’t supposed to be there. “Ghrn?”
The warm, pliant thing continued to be there, despite Abby’s disbelief in it’s existence. Finally, she raised her head just enough to see what her hand had landed on, and to see if she could use it to get rid of the taste of death.
She blinked blearily at the bare, pale chest she had her hand on. The head attached to said chest disappeared beneath the sheets… at around the knees Abby felt heat rising to her face as she quickly pulled her hand away. “Ohmigod.” Abby sad up, looking around frantically for either a clue or an exit. The guy had a ring on his finger. “Ohmigodohmigodohmigod.”
Where were her clothes?
She scrambled out of the bed, looking for her clothes and cursing herself for going along with this insane idea of Komodo’s. And clearly it was insane, because sane ideas didn’t end up with Abby hung over, naked, and in the same bed as a married guy.
“Christmas in Vegas, she says,” Abby muttered. “It’ll be fun, she says.” She was reaching for her bra when she noticed that there was a ring on her finger. “Ohmigod.”
Yeah, things had just gone from bad to worse.
The man in the bed groaned, and Abby hurriedly wiggled in to her underwear. She was pulling her shirt over her head as the man slowly sat up, clutching his head. A mass of black hair stuck out in every direction, and he groaned into his hands. “What did I drink last night?”
Terry looked up from his hands to Abby, then down quickly, letting out a startled squeak, pulling the covers up around his waist. “Abby!” He looked around, mirroring Abby’s own panic from earlier as he hunted for his own clothes. “What did we do last night?”
“And here,” Patrick said, pressing the button on his digital camera to change the image, “is where Terry threw up on the Elvis impersonator after she married you.”
“Is this a joke?” Terry asked. “Because if it is, I’m gonna have to hurt you. A lot. For a very long time.”
“I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to,” Patrick assured him. “Oh, I LOVE this one. This is when Speedball and Justice showed up, just in time for the jello shots.”