Dead Boy Walking [c]

Nicola leaned on the island counter, iced coffee between her between her hands.

"On a scale of one to being besties with the devil, how dead are you?" She asked Mads, an amused smile on her face.

It had been a rare day off for her. Not just from work, but from life in general. A pyjama day. A pyjama day that consisted of comfortable shorts, her hair in a bun and, best of all, no bra under her shirt. An optimal outfit for laying on her couch to watch trash TV until what looked like an extra for The Walking Dead turned up at her door.

"The devil just painted my toenails and I'm about to give him advice on the guy he's crushing on," Mads replied in dry tones as he hip-checked a cabinet door closed, bottle of whiskey in hand. he didn't bother with a glass. Nicola had dealt with a little more than alcoholic backwash from him in the past few months.

He leaned on the counter, holding himself up with an elbow on the granite surface as he cracked the bottle open and took a hearty swig.

"Dang! I would have thought he would have made a move by now. But it is nice to catch up on the gosp after spending my day relaxing, with no care in the world. Also, that better be your designated bottle or God help me."

She craned her neck to look at the glass cabinet, trying to work out which bottle he had nabbed. Unfortunately, she had many, many bottles. It could be considered concerning.

"Just because we swap spit doesn't mean I want whatever you had for lunch floating around in my premium whiskey. If it isn't you better finish it. I don't want it."

"Ha ha ha," he grumbled slowly, pushing his hair back out of his face. The dark, silky strands flowed through his fingers, brushing against his tattooed neck and ruddy cheeks. "Fuck you."

After spending the day being tortured by Willow, the last thing he wanted was to deal with Nicola being a bitch.

"Guess I have a couple bottles of my name then huh?" he said carelessly, taking another swig from the bottle.

"Please."

Her face split into a grin and took a delicate sip of her coffee.

"Make it three. You took a swig out of Ciro's gin last time we had predrinks here. But I guess it means you're both the co-parents of that bottle. How sweet!"

Ciro was another gremlin that didn't play by the rules of don't swig out of the fucking bottle.

"Co-parent of a bottle of alcohol. Don't know whether I should be worried about what sort of light that paints me in."

He decided that he really wasn't that worried. He had the whole bad-boy tattooed gang-member deal going on. Parent a bottle of alcohol wasn't exactly going to surprise anyone.

"What brain-melting bullshit are you watching now? I need to wind down."

And if bad TV was on, he was going to try using that.

"One of the many American rich housewives programs. They are currently bitching about Chole, while at Chole's party, while Chole is bitching to Tia about the girls that are bitching about her."

She hopped off the stool, the iced drink still in her hand and her phone in the other, as she headed over to the L shaped couch.

"It is brain-melting good, and it is about to go off. I think you might enjoy it," she laughed, bumping him with her hip as she passed him.

Mads rubbed his forehead with stiff fingers.

"I would say the Americans are stupidly petty, but really, you Italians are, too." Pettiness was ingrained in all Western culture, it seemed.

He nudged her back affectionately when she passed him, and followed her to the couch. He wanted to lay there, drink, and just relax. Maybe get it on in a bit when he was feeling a little less drained.

He wanted the quiet day Nicola had been blessed with.

To show exactly how not petty she was, she stuck her tongue out at him as she slumped down on the couch, kicking her feet up, taking up as much of it that her five foot two frame would allow

"You better get used to this pettiness because this is just the tip of the iceberg, I have like five hours recorded. Plus there is a make-over show I have recorded, all as mind-numbing as the next. Perfect."

She glanced down at her phone as she spoke, her mouth turning in a thin line. She stared at it for a moment, before tossing it onto the coffee table uncaringly.

"Wonderful," he muttered to himself.

At least it was something to watch to get his head away from the musical and Willow's torturous training regime.

He settled down on the couch between her thighs, settling down with his upper back against her stomach. Nicola could be the big spoon.

"Being an asshole again?" That was the only reason Mads could think of to explain Nicola's phone abuse.

She ran her fingers through his hair absently as she switched the TV back on. Dramatic music played as it zoomed in on the woman's scowling face.

"Yep," she popped the P, "turns out he has an unlimited amount friends to text me through. At this point, I have given up blocking them all. To be honest, after not hearing from him for a month I thought he might have fucked off for good."

She rested her head back on the armrest with a groan.

"I swear he is going to be digging up my grave to ask to get back together again."

Mads' eyes slid shut as her fingers combed gently through his hair. His headache was abating slowly now.

"You need a screening process before you start dating anyone else," he pointed out in a low murmur. She needed to carry out a full investigation into whether people turned into crazy lunatics if their relationship was coming to an end.

Nicola didn't need to be dealing with that sort of bullshit.

"Unfortunately, it seems I have shit taste when it comes to dating," she said dryly.

"Their either crazy obsessive, crazy needy, or crazy distant until I thought that split off from me and then go full crazy when they find me getting it on with some guy in the club."

She let out another groan. That night was messy.

And if I let people handle my own dates they still turn out kinda weird - like that guy Ciro hooked me up with from the gym. Pretty sure having a bunch of dolls lined up with their heads ripped off isn't normal."

Mads snorted.

"Maybe you should join a nunnery and go celibate. Find your love in God." His dry voice told her exactly what he thought of that prospect. Mads was not a religious person, despite the imagery he had tattooed on his arm. He had little conviction in faith.

The man shifted so he was laying on his stomach on the sofa, his face resting against her plump stomach. His bottle of whisky hung limply from his hand, resting sturdily enough on the ground that it wasn't threatening to fall over and spill yet.

She let out a short burst of laughter at that comment.

"Oh, I would make a good nun, wouldn't I? Do You think God would still consider me celibate if I got it on with all hot nuns? I bet they are all secretly kinky, you know it is always the quiet ones."

She grinned down at Mads, wiggling her brows as he turned. Both hands now cupped his face, gently scratching the side of his head.

"Although, I don't know how I will deal wearing all those layers in that heat. I hate having to were a ridiculous formal skirt and blouse for work."

His pale eyes slid shut and his face relaxed. An almost purring moan sounded deep in his chest when her nails scraped against the side of his head.

He considered rescinding his opinion on religion. God, that felt so fucking good.

"Naked nun," he suggested in a rasp.

She laughed.

"That sounds like a fun religious cult to start."

The phone buzzed on the table. Then buzzed again. She made a shushing sound, but it ignored her as what she guessed was a third text came through.

She groaned.

"Can you pass me my phone?"

She laughed.

"That sounds like a fun religious cult to start."

The phone buzzed on the table. Then buzzed again. She made a shushing sound, but it ignored her as what she guessed was a third text came through.

She groaned.

"Can you pass me my phone?"

She laughed.

"That sounds like a fun religious cult to start."

The phone buzzed on the table. Then buzzed again. She made a shushing sound, but it ignored her as what she guessed was a third text came through.

She groaned.

"Can you pass me my phone?"

He groaned quietly and shifted, setting the bottle firmly against the ground, then reached up blindly to the coffee table.

His tattoed and beringed hand skimmed over wooden surface, skipping over a coaster and settled on her phone. He dragged it across the surface, the case scraping against the lacquered wood as it did.

Instead of passing it to her, he settled it on the crown of his head, for her to pick up herself. Then his hand found purchase on the neck of the whiskey bottle again.

"Should get a straw," he mused to himself in a drawl so slurred with tiredness that the words were barely recognisable.

There was only one hand to his Mads head attention now as she picked up her phone.

"In the kitchen, with the knives and forks."

She flicked through her phone, scrunching her nose up before making a gagging sound.

"The first text I basically a love not, the next two he is calling me both a bitch [i]and [i]a whore. As if I didn't already know that."

With all the restraint in her, she didn't text back and blocked the number.

Mads snorted lightly. "M'not moving."

He planned to stay here until Nicola shoved him away. It wasn't going to be long, he guessed. Nicola wasn't one for letting him lay and sleep on her when she was keyed up.

And with her phone blowing up with these texts, she was starting to get very keyed up.

"You are a bitch," he muttered affectionately, nuzzling into her stomach. He dropped a kiss to the cloth closest to his mouth.

"I think that is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me," she cooed, scratching behind his ear.

Planning on not getting any more annoying texts, she relaxed further into the couch, still mindlessly playing with Mads hair while absently flicking between watching TV and playing on her phone.

Like the bitch she was, she will roll Mads off her if he fell asleep and she needed to piss.

"Don't get used to it."

His voice was muffled by her shirt. He wasn't moving his face for love nor money. He was so comfortable laying against her, his face buried in her stomach, her fingers buried in his hair.

"if you're a bitch, I'm an asshole."

He was really speeding up the process of when she needed to piss, burying his face into her stomach like that.

"And what a wonderful asshole you are."

She tapped her lips which were curved in a fond smile, then tapped his forehead.

It was easy to fall into a relaxed routine with him like this; just lazing around her house with a drink or two (or a bottle). He was enjoyable company, especially on those days when they were both exhausted from work.

As much as she loved Ciro, he had boundless energy that was hard to keep up with at times. He wasn't one to lounge about and watch TV. A film was all he could handle before he needed to do something.

She had considered installing a human hamster wheel.

She turned her head up to the hallway as she heard a knock at the door. She sighed and nudged Mads off her.

"Get off, that's probably maintenance."