26 Fics in 26 Minutes

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A story for a song by a band starting with every letter of the alphabet. Ranging from angst to fluff to humour to porn to general whimsy. Encompassing Boosh, RPS, Nathan Barley, Robots in Disguise, and Asylum, and probably a few other things too.

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Length: words

David Bowie – Rebel Rebel

Contents

David Bowie – Rebel Rebel

When you come out from behind the cupboard door acting as dressing room space, she just gives you a look, part disappointment, part disgust. Instantly you find yourself getting smaller, collapsing inwards somehow, arms folded over your breasts to disguise the level of cleavage you thought she might like.

“What is that?” she asks, and wrinkles her nose like it makes you smell bad, too.

“Jesus Kat, it’s just a dress! God!” You sneak a peek at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t think you look too bad. But that won’t last long. It’s like that CD you listened to all last week, loved to death, and then you lent it to her and she hated it. You can’t hear it any more without wanting to dig your nails into your arm in frustration at your own stupidity.

“You look so straight.“ She turns back to the magazine on the bed, filled with pouting boys and wild-eyed girls. “But, you know. If that’s the look you’re going for…”

“Straight? What do you mean?”

Still not looking at you, she waves a hand vaguely. “You know. Straight. Ordinary. Boring. You could be anyone’s church-going daughter.”

You can see my thighs, you know, you think, but you don’t say it because she’d laugh. Even though, for you, it’s a big step. “Look, this is the most… non-straight…”

“Bent,” she supplies, and you jump a little bit but she doesn’t notice.

“This the is the most ‘bent’ thing I own. So exactly what do you suggest?”

She sighs heavily, her breath making her long fringe fly up and away from her forehead. “I dunno. I mean…” She gets up, stands in front of you, hands on her hips, and in the mirror you see the two of you reflected. You used to be so similar.

“I suppose it’s not bad as a starting point. It just needs… more.”

You open your mouth to say ‘more what?’ when she reaches up to your shoulder with her clever little pointy hand, and takes hold of a handful of slippery fabric. There’s a horrific tearing sound, and suddenly you’re left with a dress with only one sleeve.

Your dead sleeve falls down your arm to pool on one wrist, and you stare at it in shock. “Do you have any idea how expensive this was?”

She shrugs, eyes flickering down your body. “Still shit.” She gets on her knees, face level with your crotch, and hoo boy. Both hands reach to the hem, the backs of her fingers brushing against your thighs, and you feel dizzy.

Another tearing sound. “Kat, stop. You can’t just… I can’t go out like this!”

She gets up, one hand on your wrist for support, and wanders over to your dressing table, coming back with a bag filled with bright colours. “Put your head back.”

Maybe you like her so much because you wish you were more like her. As in, if anyone told Kat to put her head back, she’d smack ‘em. But you just go along with it, staring at the ceiling as you feel her breath on your neck and chest, the cold hard slick of something being smeared across your collarbone. Lipstick.

“I’ve been thinking,” she murmurs, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, dark hair falling into her eyes. “Kat is a really dumb name. What would you say to… Neon?”

You’d say, Neon, don’t stop.

“Neon? I dunno. It’s a bit extreme.”

“Perfect.” She grins, grabbing hold of your face and pulling it back down to her own. She leans in, but just paints something on your cheek, bright colours hinting at the bottom of your eye.

“We’ll have to think of a name for you too.”

You frown, and her eyes light up as she paints in the frown lines with eyeliner. “I like my name.”

“I don’t. It’s too straight.” She doesn’t meet your eyes, but there’s a twist to her mouth and a hand on your waist that maybe means straight isn’t what you thought it was.