Rag Doll

Betaed by the amazing and wonderful and fantastic VelvetSea. She doesn't laugh at me when I pose these fic ideas, instead she goes 'ZOMG WRITE IT NAOOOO' so... yeah. :D

Author's Notes: Well, as you can tell, I obviously have very weird fantasies! And I know, I know, run on sentences are bitches, but they're my best friends and I love them!

---

They weren’t lovers, they weren’t even best friends, and you could hardly even call them friends, but he still liked to pick her up and carry her around like a rag doll. It didn’t really matter where they were at the time, filming a scene or speaking to a huge crowd of fans, he would suddenly walk up to her, pick her up so she slung over his shoulder and her legs stuck out awkwardly around his waist, and he would take her away. The “kidnaps” as they were, varied in times, depending on how far away he wanted to be and how good her mood was at the time. The shortest time was hardly ten seconds: he had picked her up, walked around the table, and had put her back down, walking away as if he hadn’t even realized it. The longest was nearly eight hours, and it was on one of the last days of shooting when neither were really needed but still on call.

The fans speculated and discussed at length the two’s friendship, if it was even considered that, and gasped and giggled over what they thought exactly what kind of relationship it was. The two of them didn’t mind. Truth is, they didn’t even know, they only considered their random walks to be a sort of bonding exercise. And to them, it was simply fun.

They weren’t friends, they weren’t even lovers, but they were the best of friends, and he so liked to pick her up and carry her around as if she was a rag doll. He would appear at random times, whether when she was about to get into another drunken spat with an ex-boyfriend or when the price of what she had dreamed for came with a burden as heavy as fame became just too much for her. It didn’t really matter that he showed up, only that he did. He would take her away, put her in a place far away from other people, and would let her act as she saw fit. Sometimes all she needed was a shoulder to cry on or a hug that would warm her to the bone to make her feel protected and loved. Other times, all she needed was someone to talk about what kind of hell she was in, and he would always be there to listen.

The fans guessed and debated even more ferociously than before, though this time even people that the two of them knew joined into the fray, perplexed as why the two acted the way they did, so clingy and rude if you saw it one way, so beautiful and peaceful if you saw it another. If the two of them noticed, they certainly didn’t care and would rather be off somewhere in each others company, more than anywhere else.

They weren’t friends or even best friends, they were both of those, and they were lovers. But even then he still liked to pick her up and carry her around like she was his little rag doll. Whether one was desperately uncomfortable and were in need of a friendly face, or when they craved the light brush of a human touch, they would always find each other. It didn’t matter the level of stress in the situation or really what kind of situation they were in, they would find each other, and they would find comfort. More than a few times a week it would become carnal, and whether she was standing in his button up shirt, staring out at the sunrise from his apartment with a warm cup of coffee clutched in her hands or whether he was asleep on the couch after watching too much TV late into the night, they would find each other and would seek their comfort. Sometimes in that situation he would hold her up against the wall, his hands travelling up her bare body in his shirt while the coffee sat on a table near by, forgotten, or whether he would hold her as they lay on the couch together, his arms wrapped lazily about her and her hand clasped on his forearm, and they would watch old, crappy films on TV while the world passed them by and let them be, if only for a little while.

The fans crowed to each other, so wrapped up in their pride that their two favourite people had become “canon” that they had missed the small, tiny detail that lay protected in the two’s securely clasped hands whenever they went out: a thin silver band, with the image of Raggedy Ann and Andy smiling cheekily out at the world. If the two of them noticed their fans delight or disgust, to be honest they couldn’t really care one way or another. They were together, and they were happy.