Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Chocolate Covered Fun ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: MarshAngel 
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.30.2001 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 1.6K | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.30.2001 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 1.6K | Status: Completed
Author: MarshAngel
Title: Chocolate Covered Love
Rating: R-NC-17
WebPages: http://www.crosswinds.net/~marshangel/angelmoon.htm
http://www.xanga.com/MarshAngel
Chapter 1
She hadn't wanted to come. She had whined, bitched, and complained about being
dragged here. To make matter's worse, not more than fifteen minutes after their arrival Lita
had ditched her to go make out with some guy. When she got that girl alone she'd give her a
piece of her mind and a taste of her fist.
She leaned against the edge of a wall, nonchalantly watching the party scene before
her and just barely stopped herself from losing her balance and falling over into a beer-fed
potted plant. After stabilizing herself and hoping no one had seen her minor klutz-out, she
stared down into the pot and wondered if all those cigarette butts and crushed beer cans
could possibly aid in the plant's growth.
Did beer have any fertilizing components? Could cigarette ash be used as mulch? If
only she had paid attention in biology class…. or was that a chemistry issue? She frowned.
Alcohol did apparently make one's brain rather fuzzy. She glanced at the glass of watery red
punch in her hand that contained more vodka than punch and vowed to put it down.
"Dear god! That poor plant!" a voice exclaimed with a touch of sarcasm. She looked
up and her frown deepened. "Whatever did that poor palm do to deserve that look? Cruelty
to plants…that's a new one Meatball Head."
"Cheesiness knows no bounds when its comes to you, does it Darien?"
She should have known he'd be here. If at any moment she began to feel the slightest
bit miserable or depressed, which lately was more often than was healthy, he showed up. It
was as though she had her own personal doom and gloom stalker. He only put in an
appearance when he felt his extraordinary talents could be put to use making an already bad
situation worse.
"You shouldn't be here you know," he stated rather plainly. "This is a party for
grown-ups."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Then how is it that they let you in?"
"Touché Meatball Head. It seems your wits have improved, though not by much. If
they had, you wouldn't be drinking that crap. You do realize there's alcohol in that punch
don't you?"
Serena glared up at him beneath her long lashes. She could almost mistake his
condescending words for true concern. She was very much used to his belittling speeches
however. One day, she hoped, he was going to have to realize she wasn't a little girl.
"Its alright Darien, really. I know you can't handle your liquor but I assure you the
rest of us can. And while your concern warms me to the bottom of my heart," she continued
in an icily sarcastic tone, "I think maybe you should redirect your oh-so-touching concern to
other, far more needy persons. We adults can take care of ourselves." She downed the rest of
her punch in one swallow, proving she was perfectly in control.
'Damn!' Serena thought as she walked away from Darien. She hadn't intended to do
that. The punch tasted like crap and she had no intention of being drunk. Fortunately, if she
avoided another glass of that crap she wouldn't have to worry about anything beyond being
slightly buzzed.
She headed outside the open French doors out to the deck. If Lita hadn't been so
desperate for company on her party-crashing-let-me-stalk-my-latest-squeeze trip, she
wouldn't be stuck at this dull party where no one paid any attention to her, the place reeked
of smoke and beer, a scent that would take at least two shampoos and baths to be rid of, and
the music was loud and bad, a sorry combination that was very nearly deadly to the ear.
She leaned out over the deck railing looking over towards the large in-ground
swimming pool. She didn't even know whose house this was. Lita had simply dragged her
along with no seeming regard to exactly where it was they were going. She had expected
more people from her school to be here, which while the thought was not a particularly an
appealing one, seeing people she knew and being annoyed seemed vastly better than being
surrounded by people she didn't and being even more annoyed. It wasn't logical but it made
sense to her.
Most of the people here were in college or from different schools she guessed with
the occasional obnoxious jerk from her own school tossed in for variety. Lita's guy was a
freshman at some university around somewhere. She stared blankly out at the scenery. There
were at least three couples seriously making out around the pool. It was quite nauseating. She
might just renege on that promise she made herself and drink more, just out of pure
boredom.
"Not having a good time?" a strange voice questioned over her shoulder.
"You aren't the host are you?" she asked. She was pleased with herself for having the
good sense to ask before she blurted out her insulting opinion.
"No. Why?" the guy, who turned out to be rather tall and gangly and only vaguely
cute asked.
"That's good then," she replied, "because this sucks."
He seemed amused by her candor and chuckled lightly. "I'm one of his best friends. I
organized this little shindig for him."
"Oh."
It never failed. She would naturally say something asinine no matter how hard she
tried.
"Its alright. I admit it is kind of dull. The music really sucks. You can bet this is the
last time I let Jeff choose the music."
Serena nodded; relieved she hadn't completely offended him. He at least agreed with
her.
"Would you like a brownie?" he asked suddenly
"What?" where had that come from, she wondered. It was so completely random.
Wasn't there a rule somewhere that said one should at least offer a girl to dance before you
started pandering dessert?
"Would you like a brownie?" he repeated slowly as though he thought she were some
kind of deaf, mentally deficient bimbo. She stared at him blankly. He seemed sane, she
thought, as she looked him over carefully. She had been known to be wrong however. She
was hardly the one to be a judge of sanity.
His hair was a bit long, brown, and stringy. He was tall, thin, and almost cute, but
not quite there. He seemed like a decent human being, even if his pale green eyes were a bit
vacant. He was being nice enough to offer her dessert, which was by far the most interesting
thing to happen all night.
"Ok. I guess so. Chocolate right?"
"Aren't all brownies chocolate?" he asked, giving her that look again. It was that same
look Darien gave her, every time she opened her mouth and something else, besides what she
intended, came out. It was the look that questioned her mental capabilities.
"Actually they aren't!" she all but snapped. "Some are actually vanilla fudge." I
should know, she thought to herself. No one should question her superior knowledge of all
things edible.
"Calm down," he said as though she'd overreacted to his insulting tone. "It was just a
rhetorical question." She frowned when she recognized that other look he was giving her.
This was the one all women recognized. It was the "she must be PMSing look," the most
annoying one of all. She forced herself to think pretty thoughts, non-violent thoughts.
He pulled a zip-loc bag seemingly from nowhere and offered her a brownie.
"You just walk around with brownies all the time?" she questioned wondering if she
shouldn't be the slightest bit suspicious. One of these days…. She swore to herself. She was
going to meet a normal person. For now, that would have to wait. Brownie-boy was waiting.
"Yeah…. I like chocolate."
He sounded so air headed and dumb just then that she wondered how he could
possibly have thought she was nutty. She shrugged it off and took the proffered brownie from
the bag.
The brownie was good and she didn't hesitate to say so. While human beings rarely
fell into the range she considered worthy of verbal acknowledgement or compliment, food
very often did.
"This is really, really, good," she mumbled around a mouthful of soft, moist,
chocolate and nuts.
He grinned then.
"Did you make them yourself?" she asked
"Ugh…yeah," he replied unconvincingly.
It didn't matter she thought, if he wanted to take credit that was fine. She continued
chewing and moaning as if in ecstasy and in truth she was very nearly there.
It seemed almost cruel that the brownie should be finished. She'd even eaten the
small bits of crumbs. She sighed ad she savored the last remnants of flavor in her mouth. She
might have asked for the recipe but she knew well enough that her mother had feared for
home, hearth, and dear life and thus had never let her into the kitchen after the flaming
garbage can incident.
"Would you like to dance?" the guy asked. For a good moment she'd forgotten he
was there. She turned a rather lovely shade of pink as she realized she'd quite probably made
a complete ass of herself eating that brownie with such gusto. For a moment she considered
saying no but realized it was the least she could do. He did give her dessert after all. She just
hoped he wouldn't require further payment.
They headed back into the room. The combination of humid air, lots of human
bodies, and smoke made the room a little bit warmer than was comfortable. The heat and
sweetness in her mouth made her incredibly thirsty.
"Can I just get something to drink first…?" she questioned. She had meant to add
his name but she suddenly realized she didn't know it.
"Paul," he filled in for her, grinning. She turned around and headed for the
refreshment table and wondered just what the hell he found so amusing. She walked over to
the table and looked around for some water. There was nothing besides a few empty bottles.
She had a choice between the beer cans in the icebox or the room temperature vodka-filled
punch. Neither choice seemed particularly appealing but her mouth was too dry. Suddenly
she truly understood the appeal and logic behind the "Got Milk?" ads.
She popped a can of beer and took a sip. It tasted like chilled piss. Still, it was liquid.
It did the job, albeit not nearly as well as she wished. She looked over to where Paul waited
on her. He was smiling like a pleased puss. Just what the hell was so damn amusing?
She put down the nearly empty can and muttered a bit to herself as she walked over
to him. She hadn't wanted to drink more tonight and already she was feeling a bit tipsy, a
little giddy actually. Paul's smile actually seemed quite welcoming.
She actually giggled when she tripped over the end of a bit of carpet and almost fell
flat on her face. Paul seemed equally amused. This party might not be so bad after all she
thought. Apparently all one needed was a little bit of alcohol and chocolate to have a good
time at one of these things.
A few minutes later she could hardly believe she was having a good time with Paul.
Everything he did was just so funny. She was embarrassed to find that all her giggling had
actually caused her to snort like a little pig at times. Somehow though, her dorky inclinations
didn't seem to matter too much, not to her nor to anyone else. Was it her imagination or
were there a lot more people dancing now that she had joined the party. The music seemed
to have improved, that could certainly explain it.
Her dancing and the large group of people in the room were making her hot and
sweaty. She wished she hadn't worn this shirt. She needed another drink.
Title: Chocolate Covered Love
Rating: R-NC-17
WebPages: http://www.crosswinds.net/~marshangel/angelmoon.htm
http://www.xanga.com/MarshAngel
Chapter 1
She hadn't wanted to come. She had whined, bitched, and complained about being
dragged here. To make matter's worse, not more than fifteen minutes after their arrival Lita
had ditched her to go make out with some guy. When she got that girl alone she'd give her a
piece of her mind and a taste of her fist.
She leaned against the edge of a wall, nonchalantly watching the party scene before
her and just barely stopped herself from losing her balance and falling over into a beer-fed
potted plant. After stabilizing herself and hoping no one had seen her minor klutz-out, she
stared down into the pot and wondered if all those cigarette butts and crushed beer cans
could possibly aid in the plant's growth.
Did beer have any fertilizing components? Could cigarette ash be used as mulch? If
only she had paid attention in biology class…. or was that a chemistry issue? She frowned.
Alcohol did apparently make one's brain rather fuzzy. She glanced at the glass of watery red
punch in her hand that contained more vodka than punch and vowed to put it down.
"Dear god! That poor plant!" a voice exclaimed with a touch of sarcasm. She looked
up and her frown deepened. "Whatever did that poor palm do to deserve that look? Cruelty
to plants…that's a new one Meatball Head."
"Cheesiness knows no bounds when its comes to you, does it Darien?"
She should have known he'd be here. If at any moment she began to feel the slightest
bit miserable or depressed, which lately was more often than was healthy, he showed up. It
was as though she had her own personal doom and gloom stalker. He only put in an
appearance when he felt his extraordinary talents could be put to use making an already bad
situation worse.
"You shouldn't be here you know," he stated rather plainly. "This is a party for
grown-ups."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Then how is it that they let you in?"
"Touché Meatball Head. It seems your wits have improved, though not by much. If
they had, you wouldn't be drinking that crap. You do realize there's alcohol in that punch
don't you?"
Serena glared up at him beneath her long lashes. She could almost mistake his
condescending words for true concern. She was very much used to his belittling speeches
however. One day, she hoped, he was going to have to realize she wasn't a little girl.
"Its alright Darien, really. I know you can't handle your liquor but I assure you the
rest of us can. And while your concern warms me to the bottom of my heart," she continued
in an icily sarcastic tone, "I think maybe you should redirect your oh-so-touching concern to
other, far more needy persons. We adults can take care of ourselves." She downed the rest of
her punch in one swallow, proving she was perfectly in control.
'Damn!' Serena thought as she walked away from Darien. She hadn't intended to do
that. The punch tasted like crap and she had no intention of being drunk. Fortunately, if she
avoided another glass of that crap she wouldn't have to worry about anything beyond being
slightly buzzed.
She headed outside the open French doors out to the deck. If Lita hadn't been so
desperate for company on her party-crashing-let-me-stalk-my-latest-squeeze trip, she
wouldn't be stuck at this dull party where no one paid any attention to her, the place reeked
of smoke and beer, a scent that would take at least two shampoos and baths to be rid of, and
the music was loud and bad, a sorry combination that was very nearly deadly to the ear.
She leaned out over the deck railing looking over towards the large in-ground
swimming pool. She didn't even know whose house this was. Lita had simply dragged her
along with no seeming regard to exactly where it was they were going. She had expected
more people from her school to be here, which while the thought was not a particularly an
appealing one, seeing people she knew and being annoyed seemed vastly better than being
surrounded by people she didn't and being even more annoyed. It wasn't logical but it made
sense to her.
Most of the people here were in college or from different schools she guessed with
the occasional obnoxious jerk from her own school tossed in for variety. Lita's guy was a
freshman at some university around somewhere. She stared blankly out at the scenery. There
were at least three couples seriously making out around the pool. It was quite nauseating. She
might just renege on that promise she made herself and drink more, just out of pure
boredom.
"Not having a good time?" a strange voice questioned over her shoulder.
"You aren't the host are you?" she asked. She was pleased with herself for having the
good sense to ask before she blurted out her insulting opinion.
"No. Why?" the guy, who turned out to be rather tall and gangly and only vaguely
cute asked.
"That's good then," she replied, "because this sucks."
He seemed amused by her candor and chuckled lightly. "I'm one of his best friends. I
organized this little shindig for him."
"Oh."
It never failed. She would naturally say something asinine no matter how hard she
tried.
"Its alright. I admit it is kind of dull. The music really sucks. You can bet this is the
last time I let Jeff choose the music."
Serena nodded; relieved she hadn't completely offended him. He at least agreed with
her.
"Would you like a brownie?" he asked suddenly
"What?" where had that come from, she wondered. It was so completely random.
Wasn't there a rule somewhere that said one should at least offer a girl to dance before you
started pandering dessert?
"Would you like a brownie?" he repeated slowly as though he thought she were some
kind of deaf, mentally deficient bimbo. She stared at him blankly. He seemed sane, she
thought, as she looked him over carefully. She had been known to be wrong however. She
was hardly the one to be a judge of sanity.
His hair was a bit long, brown, and stringy. He was tall, thin, and almost cute, but
not quite there. He seemed like a decent human being, even if his pale green eyes were a bit
vacant. He was being nice enough to offer her dessert, which was by far the most interesting
thing to happen all night.
"Ok. I guess so. Chocolate right?"
"Aren't all brownies chocolate?" he asked, giving her that look again. It was that same
look Darien gave her, every time she opened her mouth and something else, besides what she
intended, came out. It was the look that questioned her mental capabilities.
"Actually they aren't!" she all but snapped. "Some are actually vanilla fudge." I
should know, she thought to herself. No one should question her superior knowledge of all
things edible.
"Calm down," he said as though she'd overreacted to his insulting tone. "It was just a
rhetorical question." She frowned when she recognized that other look he was giving her.
This was the one all women recognized. It was the "she must be PMSing look," the most
annoying one of all. She forced herself to think pretty thoughts, non-violent thoughts.
He pulled a zip-loc bag seemingly from nowhere and offered her a brownie.
"You just walk around with brownies all the time?" she questioned wondering if she
shouldn't be the slightest bit suspicious. One of these days…. She swore to herself. She was
going to meet a normal person. For now, that would have to wait. Brownie-boy was waiting.
"Yeah…. I like chocolate."
He sounded so air headed and dumb just then that she wondered how he could
possibly have thought she was nutty. She shrugged it off and took the proffered brownie from
the bag.
The brownie was good and she didn't hesitate to say so. While human beings rarely
fell into the range she considered worthy of verbal acknowledgement or compliment, food
very often did.
"This is really, really, good," she mumbled around a mouthful of soft, moist,
chocolate and nuts.
He grinned then.
"Did you make them yourself?" she asked
"Ugh…yeah," he replied unconvincingly.
It didn't matter she thought, if he wanted to take credit that was fine. She continued
chewing and moaning as if in ecstasy and in truth she was very nearly there.
It seemed almost cruel that the brownie should be finished. She'd even eaten the
small bits of crumbs. She sighed ad she savored the last remnants of flavor in her mouth. She
might have asked for the recipe but she knew well enough that her mother had feared for
home, hearth, and dear life and thus had never let her into the kitchen after the flaming
garbage can incident.
"Would you like to dance?" the guy asked. For a good moment she'd forgotten he
was there. She turned a rather lovely shade of pink as she realized she'd quite probably made
a complete ass of herself eating that brownie with such gusto. For a moment she considered
saying no but realized it was the least she could do. He did give her dessert after all. She just
hoped he wouldn't require further payment.
They headed back into the room. The combination of humid air, lots of human
bodies, and smoke made the room a little bit warmer than was comfortable. The heat and
sweetness in her mouth made her incredibly thirsty.
"Can I just get something to drink first…?" she questioned. She had meant to add
his name but she suddenly realized she didn't know it.
"Paul," he filled in for her, grinning. She turned around and headed for the
refreshment table and wondered just what the hell he found so amusing. She walked over to
the table and looked around for some water. There was nothing besides a few empty bottles.
She had a choice between the beer cans in the icebox or the room temperature vodka-filled
punch. Neither choice seemed particularly appealing but her mouth was too dry. Suddenly
she truly understood the appeal and logic behind the "Got Milk?" ads.
She popped a can of beer and took a sip. It tasted like chilled piss. Still, it was liquid.
It did the job, albeit not nearly as well as she wished. She looked over to where Paul waited
on her. He was smiling like a pleased puss. Just what the hell was so damn amusing?
She put down the nearly empty can and muttered a bit to herself as she walked over
to him. She hadn't wanted to drink more tonight and already she was feeling a bit tipsy, a
little giddy actually. Paul's smile actually seemed quite welcoming.
She actually giggled when she tripped over the end of a bit of carpet and almost fell
flat on her face. Paul seemed equally amused. This party might not be so bad after all she
thought. Apparently all one needed was a little bit of alcohol and chocolate to have a good
time at one of these things.
A few minutes later she could hardly believe she was having a good time with Paul.
Everything he did was just so funny. She was embarrassed to find that all her giggling had
actually caused her to snort like a little pig at times. Somehow though, her dorky inclinations
didn't seem to matter too much, not to her nor to anyone else. Was it her imagination or
were there a lot more people dancing now that she had joined the party. The music seemed
to have improved, that could certainly explain it.
Her dancing and the large group of people in the room were making her hot and
sweaty. She wished she hadn't worn this shirt. She needed another drink.