This was stashed in my iPod months ago, dying to be published.


Tug...yoink! Tug...yoink!

Annie would snicker behind the palm of her hand and try not to ruin the moment that is so obviously not bringing out the appropriate behaviour in her vampire flatmate.

She would ponder on the reasons and considers many options for why he is doing what he is doing; perhaps he's bored, maybe curious, or just plainly out of his deceased mind (oh, maybe she shouldn't think that to be so! Mitchell's a hell of a lot more lively than most alive people!).

Had he never gotten a swing at something so... domestic? She would laugh inwardly. But the more she would think about it, the less she is paying attention to him, so she has to stop... Then Annie would think, maybe THAT'S why he's doing what he is doing.

Tug...yoink! Tug...yoink!

Mitchell didn't have to be told he was a tease to know that he was one, but it was a hell of a lot more fun when he was. Especially if it meant that Annie would make the room feel a whole less empty and a lot more warmer with her soft giggles and incessant fussing.

"You're such puppy! Whining and whining for my attention!" she would chuckle. At first it had annoyed her, but now she realizes he's only doing it to make her, and himself, feel better, to shrink the gaping holes in their hearts.

"Aw, I'm only doing it because you you know like it so much!" he replies in his usual gruff voice. Annie scoffs.

"Come now, that's quite the thing a daddy would do, and you are certainly not, nor ever WILL be my father."

Mitchell rolls his eyes and lets out an Irish chuckle, feeling himself roll in ever more tighter on the sofa beside her. He reaches for his booze on the coffee table (Annie having just put the bottle on a coaster after he tried to make a water ring on the surface). She is busy reading a newspaper, no doubt bored with the open section on sports and finding nothing no interest on the telly.

"You're right," he agrees quickly before taking a full swig. When he pulls the bottle away, his attention is straight back to her. "If I was your dad, you would've never moved out out of my house and gone to live with a bugger like Owen... I'd smell his wanker ass a mile away!"

Annie laughs genuinely and turns on her cross-legged position to eyeball the man.

"Right then, because meeting him for the first time didn't send you running in the other direction. Oh! Or better, send your fangs into him!"

"Nah! If he smells bad, he'll taster even worse!" And Annie yelps with excited surprise and slaps his arm away from her.

"Bet he's got some goods on him, though..." she would ponder mildly.

"No, he's an arse." And his answer would be so blunt, so brash, Annie can't help but laugh.

"Oh you cheeky, cheeky man!" And Mitchell laughs too because with Annie its always even a little funny. Then the laughs die down and she's back to staring mindlessly at the paper while Mitchell says nothing as he reaches for his beer with one hand, and continues to pull on her curls with the other.

Under his padded fingertips, even through all the decades of painful blisters and scars atop them, he can tell how soft her tight brown springs of hair. He might suspect George's conditioner but then again... he had a good bottle himself up in the showers. Annie, otherwise, was just naturally lucky.

Tug...yoink! Tug...yoink!


A/N: Okay I know 'Irish chuckle' isn't a word or proper use the words but lol, I couldn't help it. It sounds cute. :)