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Heroes Drabbles: Sundays; Boogying Down to Disco Town
From the Drabble Meme last weekend.
***
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storydivagirl: Sundays (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, Prompt: sleepy sunday)
Saturdays are busy. Saturdays are shopping and laundry and planning for the week: working out who's picking up Molly which days, who's cooking each night (or, fine, getting the take-out). Saturdays are vacuuming and scrubbing the shower while Molly packs away her toys and finds a clear floor underneath it. (A floor that will only stay clear for about two hours after Matt vacuums.)
Sundays are for lying in bed until 11am while Molly helps herself to cereal and watches cartoons. It's for getting up in sweats and a t-shirt, frying eggs and bacon for lunch. It's for opening up the curtains, letting sunlight creep across the living room, a warm breeze blowing through the screen.
It's for lounging across the sofa, flicking through the paper as Mohinder sits on the other end, feet curled under him, book open on his lap. For Molly waving her legs in the sunshine, lying across the floor, with Mohinder's laptop open and headphones on as she taps away chatting to Micah or playing Sims.
Sunday's are quiet, the sounds of the city far away, drifting softly through open windows. They're slow and sleepy, a relaxed day when they're safe from the world, content to waste hours.
***
Forcelli: Boogying Down to Disco Town (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, prompt: teaching Molly to dance.)
"You can go, Molly," Matts says, pausing outside their front door. He pats down his pockets for the keys. "I'm going to be one of the parents chaperoning, so you can go."
"It's a school dance," Molly says, frowning and giving a half-shrug.
"And?"
"What if I can't dance? What if Jeremy asks me to dance and I get on the dance floor and everybody laughed?"
"Okay, first of all," Matt says, finding the keys -- aha, back pocket! -- and slotting them into the door, "isn't Jeremy the one that tried to kiss you two weeks ago?"
"Yeah."
"Then I don't want you dancing with him. I don't want you dancing with any boys that are going to try to kiss you."
Molly rolls her eyes, an expression Mohinder claims she picked up from Matt. "It was just an example."
"Secondly, everyone can dance. It's a natural talent. It's just a case of relaxing and moving to the music. Everyone can do it." Matt opens the door. On the couch, Mohinder's still sitting there, papers spread all around him, pen in his hand and another pen tucked behind his ear. He'd been like that for two hours before Matt left to pick up Molly. "Well, everyone other than Mohinder and he's the exception that proves the rule."
"Excuse me?" comes from the couch.
"I was just telling Molly how dancing is an easy, natural thing to do and that if she goes to the school dance, she'll dance fine."
"And where did I come into this conversation?"
"As the exception that proves the rule."
Then Molly pipes up with, "Matt said you couldn't dance."
"For your information, Matt," Mohinder says, plucking up his pages neatly and unfolding himself off the couch. He walks over to Molly and gives her a courteous little bow. "I can dance very well, if you'd like to waltz, Molly?"
As Molly curtsies back -- and Matt has no idea where she'd learned that -- Matt replies, "It's a school dance. How many ten year old boys do you think are going to know how to waltz, Mohinder?"
"If they're going to dance with our Molly, I think they should learn."
It makes Molly laugh. She thinks they're silly when they bicker like this, pretending to fight, but two-teaming her is the quickest way to make her smile. "So Mohinder can dance," she says, raising an eyebrow at Matt in a way that clearly comes from Mohinder.
"Oh, sure, he can do stuffy ballroom dancing." Matt shrugs. "It's not exactly boogying down to Disco Town."
Mohinder chokes on an unexpected laugh. "Boogying down to Disco Town? I think you're going to have to show me how one does that."
"Watch and learn."
Stepping over the stereo, Matt flips through channels. He gets something Country and Western, and classical music, followed by classical, and then more classical, because Mohinder's set the presets on this machine. Finally, he finds something that will work: a modern dance track with tinny, synthetic pop beats. It's the type of song targetted at someone Molly's age, and sung by some girl only a few years older.
"Your taste in music is appalling," Mohinder says behind him.
Matt looks over his shoulder, and sees Molly shaking her head, long hair fluttering as she does so. "This is a great song," she says.
"Then you have appalling taste in music as well," Mohinder says to her and Molly sticks out her tongue.
Matt crooks his hand, gesturing for them to come closer. They stand in a loose circle on the living room floor.
"See, dancing is easy. You just step from side to side, step down on the beat." He taps the beat out on his leg, shuffling from side to side, picking one foot up and then the other. "You try it, Molly."
She mirrors the motion, still looking unsure, hands plastered flat by her sides.
"Then you've got the arms. You can wave them like this--" Matt crosses them over, waving his hands in front of him as he steps to the left, uncrosses them as he steps to the right, "--you can move a hand up and down, you can click your fingers to the beat, or you can do The Swim." He does the movements, stretching his hands as if gliding through the water, holding his nose and wiggling down.
Mohinder laughs, but so does Molly, so it's okay.
"Come on, Laughing Boy, let's see you show us some moves."
Mohinder, who's been standing there, hands on slim hips, shrugs and looks to Molly. "Do you think I should?"
"Yes," she says. "If I have to learn, you have to learn."
***
This isn't precisely how he'd imagined parenthood -- standing in the living room, dancing to pop music, all three of them taking turns to make up moves for the others to copy, then laughing when it turned out a lot harder to move that way than it looked -- but it's not a bad way to spend the first half hour after school.
After Mohinder asks Molly about the details of the upcoming school dance and she runs off to get her permission slip for them to sign, Matt's afternoon gets slightly better.
Mohinder steps forward, swaying in time to the slower beat of the current song, and wraps his arms loosely around Matt's neck. They take a few steps together, swaying close together, Mohinder warm and solid in his arms.
Then Mohinder shimmies nearly all the way down to the floor, and slides his body back up Matt's in a way that is completely inappropriate when Molly won't be asleep for another five hours.
"For the record," Mohinder says, right in Matt's ear, "I can dance."
Matt grins, settling his hands low on Mohinder's back. "Maybe you should show me some of those moves tonight."
Then Molly comes back into the room, waving the permission slip triumphantly. They disengage, Mohinder taking his arms away from Matt's shoulders and Matt sliding his hands along Mohinder's hips as he pulls back. Molly shoots them a look that's both embarrassed -- Parents are dorks, Matt hears quite clearly -- and pleased.
"Seriously, Molly, I am chaperoning. I will be there. If any boys try to dance like that with you, I'm arresting them." Matt ignores Mohinder's amused snort.
"You can't arrest a boy for dancing with me," Molly points out, ever logical. "You can't arrest people for dancing up close, either."
"I will find a way."
***
For
storydivagirl: Sundays (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, Prompt: sleepy sunday) Saturdays are busy. Saturdays are shopping and laundry and planning for the week: working out who's picking up Molly which days, who's cooking each night (or, fine, getting the take-out). Saturdays are vacuuming and scrubbing the shower while Molly packs away her toys and finds a clear floor underneath it. (A floor that will only stay clear for about two hours after Matt vacuums.)
Sundays are for lying in bed until 11am while Molly helps herself to cereal and watches cartoons. It's for getting up in sweats and a t-shirt, frying eggs and bacon for lunch. It's for opening up the curtains, letting sunlight creep across the living room, a warm breeze blowing through the screen.
It's for lounging across the sofa, flicking through the paper as Mohinder sits on the other end, feet curled under him, book open on his lap. For Molly waving her legs in the sunshine, lying across the floor, with Mohinder's laptop open and headphones on as she taps away chatting to Micah or playing Sims.
Sunday's are quiet, the sounds of the city far away, drifting softly through open windows. They're slow and sleepy, a relaxed day when they're safe from the world, content to waste hours.
***
For
celli: Boogying Down to Disco Town (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, prompt: teaching Molly to dance.)"You can go, Molly," Matts says, pausing outside their front door. He pats down his pockets for the keys. "I'm going to be one of the parents chaperoning, so you can go."
"It's a school dance," Molly says, frowning and giving a half-shrug.
"And?"
"What if I can't dance? What if Jeremy asks me to dance and I get on the dance floor and everybody laughed?"
"Okay, first of all," Matt says, finding the keys -- aha, back pocket! -- and slotting them into the door, "isn't Jeremy the one that tried to kiss you two weeks ago?"
"Yeah."
"Then I don't want you dancing with him. I don't want you dancing with any boys that are going to try to kiss you."
Molly rolls her eyes, an expression Mohinder claims she picked up from Matt. "It was just an example."
"Secondly, everyone can dance. It's a natural talent. It's just a case of relaxing and moving to the music. Everyone can do it." Matt opens the door. On the couch, Mohinder's still sitting there, papers spread all around him, pen in his hand and another pen tucked behind his ear. He'd been like that for two hours before Matt left to pick up Molly. "Well, everyone other than Mohinder and he's the exception that proves the rule."
"Excuse me?" comes from the couch.
"I was just telling Molly how dancing is an easy, natural thing to do and that if she goes to the school dance, she'll dance fine."
"And where did I come into this conversation?"
"As the exception that proves the rule."
Then Molly pipes up with, "Matt said you couldn't dance."
"For your information, Matt," Mohinder says, plucking up his pages neatly and unfolding himself off the couch. He walks over to Molly and gives her a courteous little bow. "I can dance very well, if you'd like to waltz, Molly?"
As Molly curtsies back -- and Matt has no idea where she'd learned that -- Matt replies, "It's a school dance. How many ten year old boys do you think are going to know how to waltz, Mohinder?"
"If they're going to dance with our Molly, I think they should learn."
It makes Molly laugh. She thinks they're silly when they bicker like this, pretending to fight, but two-teaming her is the quickest way to make her smile. "So Mohinder can dance," she says, raising an eyebrow at Matt in a way that clearly comes from Mohinder.
"Oh, sure, he can do stuffy ballroom dancing." Matt shrugs. "It's not exactly boogying down to Disco Town."
Mohinder chokes on an unexpected laugh. "Boogying down to Disco Town? I think you're going to have to show me how one does that."
"Watch and learn."
Stepping over the stereo, Matt flips through channels. He gets something Country and Western, and classical music, followed by classical, and then more classical, because Mohinder's set the presets on this machine. Finally, he finds something that will work: a modern dance track with tinny, synthetic pop beats. It's the type of song targetted at someone Molly's age, and sung by some girl only a few years older.
"Your taste in music is appalling," Mohinder says behind him.
Matt looks over his shoulder, and sees Molly shaking her head, long hair fluttering as she does so. "This is a great song," she says.
"Then you have appalling taste in music as well," Mohinder says to her and Molly sticks out her tongue.
Matt crooks his hand, gesturing for them to come closer. They stand in a loose circle on the living room floor.
"See, dancing is easy. You just step from side to side, step down on the beat." He taps the beat out on his leg, shuffling from side to side, picking one foot up and then the other. "You try it, Molly."
She mirrors the motion, still looking unsure, hands plastered flat by her sides.
"Then you've got the arms. You can wave them like this--" Matt crosses them over, waving his hands in front of him as he steps to the left, uncrosses them as he steps to the right, "--you can move a hand up and down, you can click your fingers to the beat, or you can do The Swim." He does the movements, stretching his hands as if gliding through the water, holding his nose and wiggling down.
Mohinder laughs, but so does Molly, so it's okay.
"Come on, Laughing Boy, let's see you show us some moves."
Mohinder, who's been standing there, hands on slim hips, shrugs and looks to Molly. "Do you think I should?"
"Yes," she says. "If I have to learn, you have to learn."
***
This isn't precisely how he'd imagined parenthood -- standing in the living room, dancing to pop music, all three of them taking turns to make up moves for the others to copy, then laughing when it turned out a lot harder to move that way than it looked -- but it's not a bad way to spend the first half hour after school.
After Mohinder asks Molly about the details of the upcoming school dance and she runs off to get her permission slip for them to sign, Matt's afternoon gets slightly better.
Mohinder steps forward, swaying in time to the slower beat of the current song, and wraps his arms loosely around Matt's neck. They take a few steps together, swaying close together, Mohinder warm and solid in his arms.
Then Mohinder shimmies nearly all the way down to the floor, and slides his body back up Matt's in a way that is completely inappropriate when Molly won't be asleep for another five hours.
"For the record," Mohinder says, right in Matt's ear, "I can dance."
Matt grins, settling his hands low on Mohinder's back. "Maybe you should show me some of those moves tonight."
Then Molly comes back into the room, waving the permission slip triumphantly. They disengage, Mohinder taking his arms away from Matt's shoulders and Matt sliding his hands along Mohinder's hips as he pulls back. Molly shoots them a look that's both embarrassed -- Parents are dorks, Matt hears quite clearly -- and pleased.
"Seriously, Molly, I am chaperoning. I will be there. If any boys try to dance like that with you, I'm arresting them." Matt ignores Mohinder's amused snort.
"You can't arrest a boy for dancing with me," Molly points out, ever logical. "You can't arrest people for dancing up close, either."
"I will find a way."
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These are so gorgeous, and I'm smiling like an idiot. I've never been one for m/m, but this pair is just the loveliest. And the everyday, domestic just does it for me.
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Me too! It's just... oh! Those two being *daddies*? Makes me insanely happy.
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I am in awe of your knack for character voices.
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"For the record," Mohinder says, right in Matt's ear, "I can dance."
Okay, that, right there, that broke my brain with the hotness! Oh my god! GUH!
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