Dead Like Me Drabble: Last Chance

[out_there]

Title: Last Chance
Fandom: Dead Like Me
Pairing: George/Mason
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: gone
Notes: Written for oxoniensis's Porn Battle, although it contains very little porn.



After eight months of being dead -- but still having to go to a crappy job, deal with an over-enthusiastic boss and pay rent for a lousy apartment -- George realises she died a virgin. Well, she knew that. But after sharing half a bottle of pear flavoured vodka with Mason, she realises that she's going to live as a virgin for as long as this reaper gig lasts. Which could be forever.

"You're not alive," Mason points out, pulling the bottle out of her hand.

She lets him because he stole it in the first place and then turned up at her door, offering to share. "Then I'll be an undead virgin forever."

"You're not undead." Mason takes a swig, passes the bottle back to her, and then holds his hands up in claws. "You're not Dracula preying on innocent necks. You're just dead."

"I'm a dead virgin." George takes a deep breath, glaring at the bottle in her hands, even though it's not the bottle's fault that she's going to be virginal and unloved forever. "I died a virgin, and I'm always going to be a virgin."

"There's an easy way to fix that," Mason says, adding, "Either drink or pass it back."

George blinks at the bottle. Then she raises it high, swallows three times, and gives it to him.

"Ta," he says, then adds, "Have sex."

"With who?" George points around the empty-apart-from-them room. "It's not like I have any choices left. My choices are gone. My chances of not being a virgin are gone. I'm doomed to virginity forever."

"You're doomed." Mason nods, agreeing glumly. Then he says, "Wait, I'm here."

"So?"

"We could shag, then you wouldn't be a virgin."

George blinks. If she were more sober, this would probably be a bad idea. "Would it be good?"

Mason takes another swallow, then hands her the vodka. "Probably not. But nobody's first time is any good. It solves the virgin thing."

She shrugs. "Okay."

Mason, ever the romantic, undoes his belt and says, "At least you're wearing a skirt. You just need to take off your knickers."

"This hasn't even happened yet, and I already know this is going to be anti-climatic."

"Best to keep your expectations as low as possible," Mason says, pushing his pants down his hips. George figures it'd be rude to leave him as the only one partly undressed, so she reaches up under her skirt -- a loose floral thing Betty gave her; she hates it -- and pulls down her cotton panties. Mason makes a 'come here' gesture so she crawls over but he reaches past her for the bottle and takes a long drink. "That's better."

George figures sex will be like the rest of her life: quiet, uneventful and hugely disappointing. "So what now?"

Too fast for their current state, Mason hooks an arm around George's waist and pulls her into his lap; she stumbles, digging a knee into his thigh, then there's a yelp of pain. "You're not supposed to leave bruises!"

"You could have warned me," George bites back, settling a leg to either side of Mason's. "It's not like I've done this before."

For a moment Mason's face freezes as he thinks. "Good point. Now, so we're on the same page, this is the time when you scoot up closer and then Tab A goes into Slot B."

George scowls. "Don't make this sound like Ikea furniture. It's supposed to be special."

"First time you shag someone?" Mason asks, tugging her hips towards him, until she's straddling his, until she can feel his length -- his dick, she says to herself because she's not a damsel in some romance novel -- can feel his dick pressing up against her. "It's not special. It's not fantastic. There are no fireworks. Sex is… it's like McDonalds. It tastes good and it's fun. Sometimes you really enjoy it, sometimes you wonder why you bothered."

Mason's hands are on her hips, rocking her back and forth, sliding her pussy against his dick. It's kind of odd, but it's not bad. There's a certain spot, a certain angle, that makes her breath catch so her, "I don't think salesmanship is your strong point," doesn't sound as sarcastic as it should.

"Depends what I'm selling," Mason says with a grin. Then, a little more serious, "It doesn't make you any different than who you were before, George."

He shifts underneath her, pushing up and in; George presses her open mouth against his shoulder to silence her gasp.

For once, it's better than expected.