Fandom: To Live And Die In L.A.
Characters: Ruth Lanier/John Vukovich (mention of Richard Chance)
Wordcount: (including song lyrics by Wang Chung) 500
Notes: I'm on vacation and freaking out about getting this done. Thanks to Beta Goddess Carol for hand-holding as well as her usual awesome skills.
This is one of my favorite movies in the whole wide world. William Peterson is unbelievably sexy as a total badass. So yeah, this is another self-indulgence for me.
Ruth tries to get away from LA, from him. She doesn’t make it more than an hour past the county line before she turns the car around, telling herself it’s no use. She doesn’t have enough money and besides there’s probably a roadblock waiting if she goes any further. So she drives back to the beach house because she’s got no place else to go.
He’s still there, waiting in bed, but fully dressed. Wearing Chance’s windbreaker, looking at her with his brutal eyes. Daring her to lie to him again. He must be damn good to be alive when Chance is dead. They’re both survivors. Maybe they belong together.
She assumes Vukovich is going to fuck her, but he doesn’t. Can’t or won’t, she’s not sure which.
“Talk to me. Tell me about Chance.”
She tells him all right. How Chance came up to Chowchilla while she was doing a three-to-five stretch on a drug rap. It turned out the SOB she’d been living with was also moving counterfeit for some big-time operators. Chance was offering parole. But that wasn’t all he was offering. She saw it in his eyes. They were all alone in a visitor's room and he sat on a chair, legs slightly spread, just looking at her. Waiting.
Vukovich has his eyes closed now. One hand on top of the bulge in his jeans. Moving slowly. He’s biting down on his lower lip. Breathing heavily. Waiting for the rest of the story.
Any other day she would have told Chance or any other brand of cop to take a hike. She knew what happened to snitches, but she was strung out, horny as hell and he just kept looking at her. Didn’t say a word when she unbuttoned his fly, even though the door wasn’t locked.
Ruth runs a hand through her hair. She’ll never forget that day and it makes her hot just thinking about it now. Hot watching, too. Vukovich is stroking himself as he listens to how she straddled Chance, lowering herself onto his cock, riding him until she was screaming with pleasure and he left a purple bruise on her neck. She didn’t fucking care who she had to roll over on or who was going to walk in that door because it had been so long.
That pushes him over the edge. She watches as he spurts onto his hand, eyes shut tightly, body shaking. She’s almost there herself. Somewhere between the memory and this reality and wondering what her life is going to be like from now own. She rubs herself through her jeans, rocking, whimpering.
Somehow their hands find each other, and maybe, just maybe, there’s enough between them for her to believe he cares, even though she knows Chance never did.
She watches as Vukovich sleeps, listening to the lullaby of waves on the beach.
Is this the room I'll live my life forever
I wonder why in LA
To live and die in LA