AHHHH and another Richmulian.

[lesmisloony]

First, the part where I freak out.
AHHHHH HAVILAND STILLWELL THE GREATEST FACTORY GIRL EVER SENT ME A FRIEND REQUEST ON FACEBOOK AND SHE'S ALSO FRIENDS WITH LEA SALONGA AND SETH RUDETSKY AND ANN HARADA AND MIKE EVARISTE AND AARON LAZAR AND ADAM JACOBS AND LEAH HOROWITZ AND MINARIK AND ANTHONY CRIVELLO AND ALI EWOLDT AND AND HARVEY FIERSTEIN AND DREW SARICH AND MAX VON ESSEN AND CELIA KEENAN-BOLGER AND AND AND OTHER LES MIS-ISH PEOPLE. I FREAKED OUT A LOT AND I'M SORRY needsmorereverb WITH WHOM I WAS ON THE PHONE AT THE TIME. I KNOW THAT BEING HAVILAND'S FRIEND ON FACEBOOK DOES NOT MEAN I AM NOW BFF WITH THE ENTIRE CAST OF THE REVIVAL BUT LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT. SHE HAS A PHOTO OF ANDREA MCARDLE HELPING HER PUT ON SUNSCREEN OKAY. AHHH. AHHHHHHH.


*breathes*


Second, I love David Tennant so darn much. Seriously. Everything he does further endears him to me. Try and find something he's done that's not adorable. TRY. I DARE YOU.

LOOK.

EVEN HIS BODY DOUBLE IS PRECIOUS.


Third, another Richmulian thing. It goes with the last one, but it's alt!Richmulian. Meaning Richmulian from the other reality. Meaning not *quite* the same... Same POV, actually, but that was THE POINT. Ooh.






You’d just stepped out of the shower, beads of water slipping between your shoulders and your wet hair sticking to your back, when his hands close around your hips. You can’t stop yourself from shivering, but you never struggle anymore. He doesn’t say anything as he shoves you against the counter and, one hand tangling in your damp hair, forces your head down until your forehead touches the cold tile. You don’t want this. You remind yourself that you don’t want this, but somehow it feels good, hearing him groan and feeling his long fingers tightening against your cooling skin. You hate him. You know you hate him. You wish you could lock the doors but that wouldn’t keep him out. You had tried it in the early days. It was pointless.


But you wish he wouldn’t dig his fingers into the same spots every time; your bruised hip and shoulder hurt worse every time as though they’ll never heal. You wonder if they could callous over and become numb to his touch. You wish the rest of you could do it too. You wish you couldn’t feel this much pain. You wish it didn’t feel good.


It doesn’t feel good. You hate him. You hate the feel of his hands on your skin, the dampness from the shower making his touch seem warm. You hate the brush of his knees against your thighs, more erratic now as he nears the end. You hate... you hate...


You can’t think of anything else; he’s finishing with a long grunt. Now if only he’d let you go without making you turn around so he won’t see.


There’s another one. You hate the way your stupid body always reacts to him.


He slides his fingers back into your drying, tangled hair and wrenches you backward, forcing you to press your back against his chest. You keep your own hands on the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening. The counter is just high enough. He needs to go.


He sneers at your reflections in the mirror as he releases your hip at last, and sliding one finger along your jaw, trailing it up behind your ear before he released you with a jerk, separating himself and stepping back. He leaves then, and you’re alone again.


You step gingerly back into the shower. You have to get cleaned up before you go to bed.

ETA AGAIN:

Comments

[capnspaulding32.livejournal.com]

YOU GOT FRIENDED BY THE FACTORY GIRL?!?
THAT'S AWESOME.
[/capslock]

[lesmisloony.livejournal.com]

I KNOW I FREAKED OUT A LOT.