DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are
property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the "addictions" challenge at Thursday100plus.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
écrous de maïs
She felt the warm arm abandon her side, fingers sliding across her bare belly as they retreated. Footfalls softened by the bedroom carpet as the form shuffled away. The door creaked, but the bathroom light did not invade the hallway's gloom as expected, and for a moment there was complete silence. Alex's ears itched, searching the emptiness in an attempt to pinpoint her lover's location.
Cellophane crackled in the living room.
Alex rolled her eyes. It had been three days. Three days and three nights. She stared at the ceiling.
She put a pillow over her head and tried to block out the incessant chomping two rooms away.
She threw the pillow off in disgust. "Abbie," she said finally.
The other woman stopped mid-crunch. "Hmm?" came her deceptively innocent response.
"Abbie," she said again.
She heard Abbie prematurely choke down the mouthful she had concealed moments earlier. "What?" she asked, voice muddled with food, feet still firmly planted in the living room.
"Come here." The floorboards squeaked as Abbie dutifully returned to the foot of the bed. Alex sat up, squinting in the darkness. "What are you doing?"
"Just reviewing my closing statement. Can never be too prepared," she drawled.
Alex wasn't buying what Abbie was selling. "I thought we had a deal."
Abbie groaned in defeat. "They're just so good. I can't help myself."
"I said you could have one more bag."
"One more bag of original flavor. These are cool ranch!"
"And the ones yesterday?"
"Barbeque. They were good, but not as good as the chili ones I had last week. Those were tasty."
Alex rubbed her face. "It's deep fried corn, Abbie."
"They're so good. Have a taste." Abbie held out the bag.
The stench of corn and spice assaulted her drowsy olfactories. Alex scrunched her nose in the darkness and steered the bag of Corn Nuts away from her face. "It's three a.m. I'm not eating anything."
"You're so uptight. It's good." Abbie crunched another 'nut' to quell her companion's apprehension. "Really," she smacked her lips, "I wouldn't lie about food."
"I'm afraid our definitions of good food diverge somewhere around the phrase 'deep fried'."
"I ate that paste on stale bread for you. Good lord, that was awful."
"It was pâté de fois gras," Alex said indignantly, "and they were crostini."
"Whatever. You have a fancy name for everything," she crunched again. "You say it's refinement, but I think it's just an excuse to eat foul things with pretty names. I mean, you'll eat brains and liver but you won't eat a hot dog?"
"It's thymus gland and at least it's identifiable. Do you even know what is in a hot dog?"
"Oooh, glands," Abbie popped another handful into her mouth, "That makes it so much better."
"Why are we even talking about this? I have to be up in three hours." Alex flopped onto her back again.
"And don't even get me started on the portion size at those fancy restaurants you insist on. Who wants a pancake that fits in the palm of your hand?" Abbie continued, ignoring the blonde's objections. "Go big or go home."
"I think it's time you and your nuts slept on the couch."
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