Title: My Panties Will Go On
Author: Sarah :)
Pairing/Characters: Lars/Ms. Hauser. Please don't ask.
Spoilers: Through 2x13, Ain't No Magic Mountain High Enough.
Word Count: 1965
Summary: He was a karaoke god. Why couldn't the girls he met comprehend this?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh.
Thanks: To the AWESOME onastick and reve silencieux for betaing, and talking me down when I was in the midst of my crack high. Seriously, it wasn't pretty, and you guys rock. And! Thanks to herowlness for running this awesome challenge. Although, I think she LOSES at being a good friend. A good friend? Would have told me NO when I told them that this idea was the first thing that popped into my mind upon receiving the prompt. No...Lizzy encouraged me to write it. That's messed up! ;) I loooove you anyway, my dear!
Final notes: Written for the first challenge at vmlyricfic. My prompts were the item old lady underwear and the lyric We're all looking for something / Something to be. Be warned: THIS IS CRACKED OUT CRACK!FIC. As if you couldn't already tell from the pairing. Heh. But, hey, it wrote itself in like, twenty minutes, so obviously the crack flows freely around here :).
He offered a small wave to the crowd, reveling in the smattering of applause his latest performance had garnered. Stepping off the stage, he made a beeline for an attractive brunette sitting in the back of the room.
"Hey, Lindsay. Baby. How was that one? Did you hear me dedicate it to you?"
She groaned in frustration. "Yeah, I heard it."
He looked at her eagerly, waiting for it, anticipating her praise, and she finally snapped. "When are you going to stop this?" He blinked, confused, spurring her anger even further. "You just graduated from high school, you're not going to college, and you don't even have a job. It's time to get these stupid fantasies out of your head and start trying to make something of yourself. I can't keep on dating a loser, Lars."
Not particularly interested in his response, she turned away from him, her eyes lighting on an attractive man performing on stage.
Trying to regain her attention, Lars responded to her outburst. "I'm just looking for something. Something to be. Who says it isn't karaoke singer extraordinaire? This is my calling, babe. Take it or leave it."
Lars had to assume that the latte in his lap and the sight of Lindsay flirting with the guy who had just been singing meant that she was 'leaving it.'
Whatever. It was her loss. When he was famous, she'd be crawling back to him.
It was a familiar routine for Lars, anyway. Boy meets girl. Boy serenades girl with three dozen or so heartfelt and loving karaoke performances. Girl starts questioning boy's motivation and career plan. Girl dumps boy for hotter, more talented, goal-oriented, successful singer.
Sometimes life was royally unfair. Seriously. He was a karaoke god. Why couldn't any of the girls he met comprehend this?
It was because they were high school girls, plain and simple, Lars rationalized. Too young to comprehend his natural talent, and too immature to realize that he was going places. It didn't matter. Lars had a reputation to uphold, and an adoring public to think of. He wouldn't let his fans down. He wouldn't cave to the so-called 'norms' society kept trying to push on him, like continuing school, or getting a job, or being a contributing member - whatever the hell that meant. Lars was an artist - a master. The world needed him and his craft.
Heading back towards the stage, he gave his latest song choice to Rio, the bartender who doubled as the karaoke coordinator on Tuesday nights. Rio merely rolled his eyes and told Lars he was up next. Lars liked to think they had gotten to be friends over time. After all, four years of weekly performances and they were bound to be tight, right?
The strains of a familiar ballad signaled to him that it was his turn. Hopping onto the stage and winking at a table of cute girls, he turned to the screen, ready to pour his heart into his performance.
Every night in my dreams
I see you, I feel you.
That is how I know you go on.
Trying to keep his emotions in check, Lars continued. The show, just like his heart, must go on, no matter how much this song got to him. The Titanic song was the ultimate karaoke song. Heart-wrenching, gorgeous, and something that really showed off his range. He only brought this baby out on special occasions, naturally.
Celine wasn't someone to be taken lightly.
Hell, Jack died for his love, and Lars wasn't going to do him the disservice of botching the song because he was crying. Not that he had ever cried during it, of course.
Being a karaoke singer had taught him how to be strong.
You're here, there's nothing I fear
And I know that my heart will go on.
Someday, Lars would find that kind of love. A love that was all-consuming and passionate. A love with a woman who understood him and accepted him for who he was. Someone who supported his dreams, and believed in him. Until that day, though, this was closest he could come to connecting with that special someone.
As the last notes sounded and he wiped a tear from his eye, Lars noticed something being thrown on the stage. It didn't appear to be rotting fruit, which was his customary fare (although, there was that one time someone threw a saucer at him).
He picked up the item and stared at it in awe.
A pair of underwear.
Granny panties, to be specific. Green ones with a lacy trim, and a comfortable-looking elastic waistband.
Lars was in shock.
He had often heard stories of groupies throwing lingerie at their favorite acts - he had even witnessed the phenomenon once, at a Backstreet Boys concert his older sister had dragged him to when she was in junior high school. This was the first time anyone had ever taken this initiative with him, though, and he was floored.
What was the proper protocol in this situation? Should he return the lost undergarment? Pocket it as a souvenir? Seek out its owner?
Waving the underwear as a banner, Lars once again descended from the stage, this time to wild catcalls. Searching the crowd, his eyes landed on a woman sitting at the counter.
She motioned to him. When he pointed to the underwear, she smiled and nodded. Still unsure, he approached her tentatively.
"Mrs...Ms...Hauser?" Lars stuttered.
Deborah Philipina Hauser smiled brilliantly at him.
"The one and only, sweet-cheeks. Really, Lars. An entire year of having you in my class, and I never found out you were this..." Her tongue raked across her bottom lip suggestively. "...talented?"
Lars gulped. He was about to correct her - to tell her that it had, in fact, only been part of a year that she had been his teacher, after she was fired for stealing or something at the winter carnival - but he didn't think that would really work in his favor. Instead, he slid onto the stool next to her and shot her what he hoped was a devilish grin.
"Karaoke is my life. It's what I live for. What I eat, sleep, and breathe." He paused and shrugged nonchalantly, trying to back out of what his now-ex girlfriend called his 'psycho loser routine.' "I like to sing."
"Mmm," she drawled. "I can tell. Just seeing you up there on stage. I got shivers! And I do so love a man with goals. You have a plan, and you're going to make it happen. That's such a turn on."
"Well, a lot of people tell me there's no future in this, but I think they're wrong. I'm going to make it, no matter what."
"You certainly will. You were incredible." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper.
"Really, Ms. Hauser? Incredible?"
"Call me Deborah, honey. I'm not your teacher anymore, and you're not a high school student. You're a man now." Her eyes raked up and down his body hungrily.
Lars had heard stories of Ms. Hauser - no, Deborah and her divorce - that her husband had left her for another man, that she was almost arrested for sexually harassing a sheriff's deputy on a date she had purchased at the bachelor auction - but then, what did Dick Casablancas know, anyway? For all Lars was concerned, Deborah was just a mature woman, with mature, older woman underwear, who had needs. Needs he could probably meet.
Then it clicked.
Deborah was an older woman. She was miles above the high school girls who constantly mocked him and ditched him. The girls who couldn't truly appreciate his greatness. Had it really only been half an hour ago when he was still dating Lindsay, his vapid excuse for a girlfriend? How could he have ever thought he cared for such a child? Deborah was the real deal. The woman he had been searching for. The woman who could help him realize his dreams of karaoke greatness.
Damn, he knew that Titanic song was good, but this was unreal.
"That I am," he responded finally, casually draping an arm around her quaking figure. "What's wrong, Deborah? You're shivering. Are you cold?" In a move that would make even the great Chuck Norris jealous, Lars whisked his coat off and around his former health teacher.
"Oh, Lars. Such a gentleman," she purred. "I knew there was something different about you. Ever since we did the unit on birth control, and you wrote that report on a woman's right to choose, I just knew you were the one for me."
"Then? But that was months ago. Why didn't you ever say anything?"
She shrugged. "I was still your teacher, you were still in high school. Anything that could have been was still too taboo. I can remember, seeing you anchor the morning announcements, wearing that sweater vest, just looking so...so delectable that I had to go and...take care of matters in the bathroom before I could teach my classes."
Lars gulped. That was it. He was dead. He had died and gone to heaven. This utterly charming, vibrant woman, got off on just the sight of him. Finally, someone who had the sense to see what only he seemed to know about himself. He was a catch!
"Well, Debbie," his voice lowered. "Can I call you Debbie?" Off her nod he continued, trailing a seductive hand down her thigh. "I have to say that I was surprised to see the underwear on stage after my song. Did you wear them here? Or, I mean, did you just happen to have an extra pair, because you shower all the guys with gifts?"
She moaned slightly, rubbing her legs together in anticipation, shivering whenever his hand made contact with her body. "They're just for you, baby."
He paused and looked at her, eyes wide. "Which means, that right now -"
"I'm not wearing any underwear." She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath as Lars' hand inched up her skirt.
Wow. She was telling the truth.
"So, did you have any plans for tonight? Or should we -"
"My place. Now."
Deborah stood up quickly, throwing a wad of bills on the counter as she scrambled for her purse. Lars stood still for a moment, not quite believing his luck.
At that moment, the karaoke singer from earlier - the one Lindsay had run to like a stray animal in heat - took the stage and began to sing. Lars' face fell. It would figure, seconds before he could leave with a woman that, for the first time, he could see himself having a future with, and she was going to be pulled away from him, just like that.
Eyes downcast, he heard the smooth voice begin to croon, and waited for the inevitable.
"Lars, sweetie?" Deborah pinched him sharply on the ass. "You ready?"
It was at times like this Lars was really, really glad that he had always held out for something better. That he had never really committed himself to any of those high school sluts looking for a cheap thrill. He had a woman who wanted him for him, who admired him for his dreams, and who was mature and wise and pretty damn fine.
"Yeah. Let's get out of this place." Plucking her underwear from the counter, the small symbol that had reignited his passion, he twirled them around his finger and winked at her. "Will you be needing these back, Debbie?"
"Keep 'em. There are plenty more where those came from."
With promise in her eyes and a smile on her face, Deborah Hauser lead Lars out of Java the Hut and towards their future together.