His Brother's Girl

Date/Timing: 21 September 2002
Setting: around Medowie, Australia
.
The phone rings.
Herc asks the ceiling for patience, mutes the TV, braces himself, picks up the handset.
""Your ratbag of a brother checked in /yet?""
"No ... sorry." Herc rubs the back of his head.
""How that asswipe got made an officer, I'll never understand.""
Herc sighs.
""Well, you can tell his rude fucking ass I'm walking—""
It's out before Herc finishes thinking: "I'll come get you."
A beat.
""You'll what?""
Herc wishes for a jet intake. Or a mortar. He'd settle for an IED. Or a really determined guy with a spoon.
""Earth to Hansen? Come in, Hansen.""
"Pick you up," croaks Herc. "I've got a car for ...."
""Great. I'm downtown, in front of Red Sun.""
"I know the place. See you in twenty, then."
""Don't be late."" 
Dial tone.
Herc's heart thumps and he lets his head fall to the back of his comfy chair. He takes a deep breath, heaves himself to his feet, snags the keys and his jacket, heads out the door and into the car.
Red Sun's pretty much a straight shot from base housing and Herc's pulling up out front fifteen minutes after he sets out. He yanks the handbrake, unlocks and pushes open the passenger door.
Angela—eyes flashing—storms over, flings herself into the seat with a spectacular huff.
"Sorry—" Clears his throat. "Sorry about Scott."
Angela pushes her hair back from her forehead. "It's not your fault your brother's an asshat." She smiles, expression warming as the corners of her eyes fold into adorable crinkles.
Herc ducks his head, swallows.
Angela belts herself in.
"You eaten?"
"No, and I'm /famished." She grins. "If you're offering, I could go for something greasy with a side of something with a decent alcohol content."
Herc snorts. "I know a good place for that."
"Fan/tas/tic."
"Cool, cool." He releases the brake, puts the car into gear. He pulls into traffic, aims them in the right direction.
They putter across town in silence.
Angela breaks it: "So ... Scott and 'Hercules'?"
Herc sighs, keeps his eyes on the road. "Granddad and a field medic."
"A long story you've told too many times, ay?"
"Yea."
"I can empathize a little. If I had a dollar for every time I've had to answer 'what's up with the 'j' in 'Martijn'?', I could've retired to a beach house already."
Herc chuckles. "What's up with the 'j' in—?"
Angela punches his arm.
"Hey! Driving!"
"You didn't even wiggle."
Herc concedes.
She huffs. "It's Dutch. They stick 'j's in everything."
"Ah." Chuckles. "Did Basic with a guy who had a Finnish granddad. No one could say his name, so everyone called him 'Nerks'."
Angela laughs and it sounds like music.
Herc shakes his head clear-ish. "Keep your eyes open for parking. Gets a little crowded down here on weekends."
"There's a spot a couple cars up, but it looks kinda small." She squints. "You'll have to parallel park."
"Lady, I can park a /jet with a half-meter's clearance; I think I can manage a /car."
"Of course, you can," she drawls, "but you don't have anyone out there with lights to guide you just now."
Herc sniffs, pulls off the maneuver flawlessly. "Well?"
"Nicely done." 
Herc puffs—
"But I've seen better."
—deflates.
"Relax, tiger." She lets herself out, steps up onto the kerb.
Herc checks traffic, climbs out, locks up, and strolls over. "We're headed right over there."
Angela peers along the shopfronts. "Over where?"
"There's, uh, no sign. Lemme show—" Takes—freezes.
Angela offers her arm.
Herc exhales, takes her arm, leads her half a block, opens—
She squawks.
—lets go of her arm—"Sorry!"—opens the door, bows her inside. "Sit wherever."
"Cool, cool." Angela heads for the table nearest the back.
Herc follows—urks against a hold on his arm.
"'ey, Hansen," says Garrison.
"'ey."
"It's great to see you out and about, ye shut-in, but—" Leans in close. "—isn't that your brother's girl?"
Herc rubs his neck, mumbles, "He stood her up."
"Sounds like him." Garrison chuckles. "So, you're, heh, filling in?"
"Just giving her a ride home."
"Uh huh." His eyebrows waggle.
Herc blushes something violent and he slinks off for Angela's table at a brisk clip.
She smiles—
His heart flutters as he slides in.
—over her menu, asks, "What's good?"
"Uh ... anything but the kangaroo."
She arches an eyebrow. "Crocodile?"
"They say 's'okay as far as it goes." Shrugs. "Not a fan myself."
"Yea, I tend to avoid eating things that could kill and eat me." Scrunches her nose—
Herc lowers his eyes to his menu.
—says, "'sides, I've heard it tastes like sour frog."
"You've had frog?"
"A friend tried it when she visited America; she didn't recommend it."
Herc snorts.
A server saunters over, stops at Herc's elbow, asks, "You two know what you want?"
"I'll try the shrimp with the darkest thing you have on draft," replies Angela.
The server jots on her notepad. "Sir?"
"Same."
"You're easy," snickers the server and she skips off to the kitchen.
Angela chin-hands. "Is that true?"
"Is what true?"
"You're easy?"
Herc's face catches fire.
"Kidding, kidding," assures Angela. "I guess I shouldn't tease you like that. Might give you the wrong idea about me." 
She smiles and Herc's heart nearly stops dead.
"You okay, there?"
"Fi—" Clears his throat. "I'm fine. Low blood sugar or something," he mumbles.
"Uh huh."
Beer appears.
Herc hides behind his as best he can.
Small talk, jokes, shrimp, more beer, teasing, flirting, laughter, and the bill (split down the middle) blur past and they're back at the car and Herc's having a hard time remembering how the key works because she's. right. there.
He manages the lock, dives inside, opens Angela's door. They belt up and he gets the car started and aims it into traffic.
"Where'm I dropping you off?"
"You know the Bernborough?"
"Yea. No problem."
And they're trundling along nearly empty streets—most of the folks out strolling are couples hanging on each other's arms.
Herc shakes his head clear-ish.
"You okay?"
"Yea. Just a little tired."
"You want me to take over?"
"Nah. I got it."
"Don't get us killed, ay?"
"I won't. Promise."
Soon enough, he's got them parked out front of Angela's building. He hops out, meets her as she climbs from her seat.
"Walking me to the door?"
"Yea?" Clears his throat. "I mean—if that's—"
"It's great. C'mon." Angela offers her arm.
Herc links his, strolls beside her to the landing, stops. He shifts his feet.
"This's the part where you kiss me goodnight."
"Oh. Uh. Right." He pecks her cheek, retreats, blushing fiercely.
"You can do better than /that," she laughs.
Herc steels himself, wraps an arm around her waist, kisses her for real.
Angela purrs, stretches herself against him, breasts pressing tight against his chest.
Herc concentrates on maintaining blood flow to his brain.
She breaks off, growls, "You taste /right."
"Wha?"
Angela brushes his earlobe—
Herc shivers.
—with her lips, murmurs, "Pheromones. Mine like yours." Nips. "A /lot."
"But—"
"I'm not his." 
"But—"
Angela steps away, quirks an eyebrow. "You're /seriously going to argue? In that state?"
Herc checks—and some of his blood reroutes itself to his face.
Angela laughs, digs into her purse for keys. 
She's working the lock when Herc gets his feet moving and she's got the door open just in time for him to stumble through.
He brackets her against the mailboxes, but she ducks his kiss.
"Inside. Two doors down."
Steps back, drops his arms. "Right."
The flat's lock gives way in a hurry and as soon as Angela's got the door bolted behind them, Herc crowds her against it, kisses her neck, while she works her hands up under his shirt.
A bit of that (not enough) and Angela ducks under his arm, spins him, starts tugging him farther into the flat.
Deeper, hungrier kisses as they work on each other's buttons; Angela walking backward, Herc chasing, both leaving a trail of clothes.
She's out of her slacks and panties without breaking stride; Herc nearly breaks his neck when it's time for the trousers to go.
Angela times it /perfectly and she's gloriously naked and he's down to his shorties and socks when she tips back onto the bed, tugging him down after her with the hand she has cupping his nape. She lies back, her dark hair fanning out across the white pillow.
Herc braces himself over her, a hand on either side of her head.
Her look is pure lust and Herc can't get his boxers off fast enough.
Angela watches him, lips curling into a leer, hand sliding over her hip and between her legs.
"Jesus," he breathes.
She smirks, uses her free hand to tug him down into a needy, passionate kiss.
Something niggles at him, but—
Angela lines him up, cants her hips.
He breaks off. "Wait, I—"
"I'm on the pill—" Nips at his jaw. "—and I have ECP. Don't worry."
Herc eases—groans deep in his throat.
"/God, that feels so /good."
"Should I—"
"No questions. Just fuck me."
That's nearly enough to end him before it gets properly started.
She digs her nails into his back and he thrusts and it's all over with a whimper embarrassingly fast.
Angela shifts her hips, hisses, "Don't you leave me like this."
Herc pulls out, shuffles lower on the bed.
Angela drags her fingers across his scalp as she squirms against his tongue and teeth, nudges him where she wants him with her legs until her muscles tense and her back arches and she /howls.
He relents, heaves himself up beside her, tucks her under his chin.
"Thanks," she pants.
Herc grunts, stifles a yawn.
Angela nestles into his chest, chuckles, "Take a nap, Tiger. You earned it."
He snorts, but lets his eyes drift shut.
Herc is awake, blinking muzzily at ... that's not his lamp.
Something jabs his ribs, grumbles, ""God, you lot sleep like the dead.""
He knows that voice.
Another jab.
Herc pushes to sitting, rubs his eyes.
"You need a shower," says Angela.
Croaks, "You should—"
"I've already done." She leans closer. "I let you get some extra beauty sleep." Pecks his cheek.
"Oh, uh, thanks." Digs himself from under the sheets, looks around. "Where's the ...?"
"Out the door, next door on the right."
"Thanks." Herc shuffles out.
In the washroom, Herc splashes cold water on his face, wakes himself the rest of the way up. Blinks at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.
His reflection in Angela's mirror. 
Oh sh—
He throws himself in the shower, twists it on as cold as he can stand it, scrubs until he's clean and pretty blue. Wraps a towel around his waist, squares up, heads back to the bedroom.
Angela's waiting on the foot of the bed, wearing—
Herc swallows.
—nearly nothing. She glides to her feet, drapes her arms around his neck.
It's out before Herc finishes thinking: "You want to go again?"
A beat.
"I'm so—"
She kisses the breath out of him, yanks off his towel, then twists them around, pushes him down on the mattress, straddles his middle.
They take it slow this time, dragging it out until Angela collapses, spent, beside him.
"Thanks," wheezes Herc.
"You're welcome." Angela kisses the tip of his nose, slides from the bed.
Herc watches her go, sighs contently.
Water runs in the shower.
Herc sighs again, lets his eyes flutter shut—sneezes—
A startled noise beside him.
—bats at the long, silky hair tickling his nose.
""'ess 'u,"" mumbles the hair-and-pillow combo next to him.
"Sorry." He pushes himself to sitting. "Sor—" Smothers another sneeze in his elbow. "Sorry."
Angela rolls over, blinking sleepily. "You're 'llergic to me now?"
Herc flutters. "Just a tickle. Promise." Lies back down, nuzzles her cheek.
She pulls away.
"Sor—"
She taps his mouth closed. "Just need to watch the stubble." Smiles. "Sensitive skin."
"Oh, uh, right."
Angela's gazes sharpens.
Herc's heart stutters. "Wha? Wha—"
"Relax, Tiger. I want to remember this."
"Oh." Herc blushes. "Uh, why?"
Angela rolls her eyes. "Because that was a /very pleasant night, don't you think?"
"Uh, yea," croaks Herc, "definitely."
"You're sweet—" Pushes his hair off his forehead. "—and pretty dang cute when you're all flustered."
He huffs, then leans into her touch, inhales deeply. "You smell really good."
"Any specific part?"
"Your hair. 's'spicy."
"Boronia absolute." Wrinkles her nose. "Expensive as hell, but totally worth it."
"Definitely." He kisses her hairline, takes another deep breath. "/Definitely."
Angela hums, kisses along his jaw, then pulls away with a sigh.
"What?"
"I've gotta go. Stupid brunch meeting," she grumbles. "Which means you've gotta go, too. Much as I hate to interrupt this."
Herc gathers her in. "Could you call in sick?"
"Not if I want to have a job tomorrow."
"Guess we have to then."
"Yup." Angela wiggles out of his arms, pushes up to sitting, then slides out of bed.
Herc heaves a sigh and does the same, then retraces his steps to the front door, dressing in yesterday's clothes as he comes across them.
Angela, in a housecoat, assesses him from the hallway as he buttons his shirt, smugs, "You look like a man who had a good night."
"I /feel like a guy who had a good night."
She strolls over, presses a kiss to his lips, pulling away way too quick. "Call me sometime," she says.
"Sure," rasps Herc. "I'll do that."
"Be sure you do." Angela smiles and Herc melts and more or less floats back to the car.
He manages the whole car thing and drives to his and Scott's place, stomach sinking the whole way. 
Parks up. 
Stares at the building.
Takes a deep breath.
Climbs out, locks up, trudges up to the door. 
Unlocks it, eases it open, slips inside and out of his shoes. 
Everything's quiet.
He exhales, tiptoes into the hallway, heading for—
"Where were you last night?" says Scott, materializing directly in his path.
Herc stumbles to a stop, rubs the back of his neck. "Umm ...."
Scott leers a bit. "You get lucky? /Finally?"
Herc feels himself go crimson.
"Good for you!" Scott whacks him on the back. "Who is she?"
Herc sidles—
Scott blocks his escape. "C'mon, don't be shy."
"Just some chick I met downtown," mumbles Herc, pushing past.
Scott pursues. "This chick have a name?"
"I don't remember." Herc shuts—
Scott blocks the door with his foot, kicks it all the way open, spins Herc around by the shoulder. "Bullshit. What's her name?"
Herc shuts his mouth with a click.
Scott rolls his eyes. "Spit it out."
"An—" Swallows.
Scott blinks rapidly, lips thinning. 
Herc cringes.
"Angela? /My Angela?" 
Herc straightens his spine. "She's not yours."
Scott sets his jaw. "You slept with my /girlfriend?"
"You stood her up. Again!"
Scott looms closer. "That's not a free pass to fuck her!"
"It was her idea!" 
Scott's eyes nearly bug out of his head and he clenches his fists.
Herc glares back, braces for the inevitable punch.
"I thought I could trust you," spits Scott. Then he snaps a turn on his heel, stomps down the hall.
The front door slams.
Herc sags against the wall and drags a hand down his face.
His Brother's Girl | Bells | Cold Feet | Perfect
Category:Ficlet
Category:Medowie (setting)
Category:Herc
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Category:Angela
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Category:Angela (description)
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