AN: This is just a little parody for Jbabs as she recovers from surgery. It's not beta'd and has been rushed so she will have it when she awakes.
As you know the author formally known as Sebastien Robichaud now Sylvain Reynard owns all things Gabriel's inferno/Rapture related. I just bastardise his characters as is my want. If it upsets him I'm sure he will bitch slap me later.
If you're looking for romance, this is not the fic you're looking for. Move along. Move along.
If you are a huge Gabriel fan some things may offend (that's what I'm going for). Want to meet Gabe, Jules and Paul the Rabbit? Then hang tight and read on.
*puts on the broke back mountain soundtrack*
Always in June... Gabriel O Emerson, Professor in the department of Italian Studies Toronto, thought to himself.
She just has to wear dresses like that in June...
Gabe adjusted himself once again through his trousers as his bride walked from the kitchen to the dining room with a beautiful lunch. It was becoming increasingly 'hard' for poor Gabe to function as he watched his bride, Jules. The swift pace of her controlled waddle caused the rather short dress to flicker and float up and across Jules' legs.
He took another large mouthful from his glass of Fosters beer in hopes to kill all his nerve endings. No luck.
Awful Aussie, British produced booze was not the cure all he had been promised. Bloody commonwealth lying criminals.
He was finding it increasingly difficult living with Jules. He didn't care that she squeezed the toothpaste in the middle or left hair on the bathroom floor. Well, alright that's a half truth. That bugged him. What made life difficult was the python that had taken up permanent residence in the upper portion of his navel.
Now you wouldn't think this would be a problem seeing as how the cause of his constant arousal was his newly wedded wife. You'd be wrong. Jules herself had started walking funny from the excessive amount of fornication had about the property. I mean the poor man even got wood in the freezer section at their local store. Grocery shopping is the granny underwear of the sexual revolution. Yet poor Gabe would scream Bingo from his pants as soon as the chill even slightly affected Jules nips.
Yes, he would deflate after copulation but due to his robust nature it wouldn't be long... till another hard shlong.
If he smelled her on his clothes or viewed a glimpse of her walking passed a partly open door his betrayer would instantly point due north. It was like a divining rod in his pants and the ache in his man luggage was killing him.
Purple was so not his colour.
Jules had encouraged him to organized a boys own adventure with a former student, Paul. He thought it was a good plan as what he needed was a little ball crushing to sort the problem. His bag was packed and as soon as lunch was over he would depart.
Gabe and Paul were going to herd cattle near Paul's farm. Something Gabe had never tried.
Lunch was consumed with gusto. As soon as the happy couple lowered their cutlery Gabe consumed Jules on the kitchen table. A usual habit. Dirty, pervy birds.
With part of her dress hanging over one of the kitchen chairs and her panties firmly stashed away in Gabe's pocket, Jules bid her man farewell. He quickly walked to his strange neighbour's house and left milk money (Gabe and Jules were always running out). He entrusted his wife into the old fellows care. They had known the weird old coote for years and Gabe could never be threatened by a guy in Superman PJs (Even if he had followed them from Canada to America). Creepy bugger, harmless none the less.
So Gabe set off to meet Paul for their week long adventure (queue broke back mountain soundtrack - Gabe would have you know he doesn't swing that way. He doesn't swing at all now a days and that's the problem).
Short and sweet. Nothing much to add other than I will update as needed. Even in my head Gabe on a horse is funny.
Get well soon Babs. Much hugs and love and stuff.