One Shots

Garter and Stockings

Pariah sighed as she stopped buttoning her blouse. "Fuck," she mumbled, walking out of her bathroom and into her bedroom. She glanced at her lover's lounging form as he laid sprawled out on their bed, one arm bent behind his head and the other holding his phone above his head. She let out another aggravated sigh as she started rifling through her dresser.

"What's wrong, baby?" Andy asked, his voice clashing with the sounds of the television. He sat up onto his elbow, his curiosity and concern piqued.

As she pulled her garter belt and stockings out of the drawer, she glanced behind her. "I hate having to wear stockings underneath skirts," she complained. It was, however, mandatory at her place of work, a restaurant that was always frequented by the Los Angeles citizens and tourists. She had worked there from four to midnight, six nights a week, for the last year.

When she began her career she enjoyed having a ritual for her days and that she made money to contribute to her life with Andy, but now she only resented the work. Her boss was, to put it as eloquently as she could, a total fucking creep, and hit on her even when Andy was around. The customers were almost entirely all rude, demanding service to be quicker than could be expected so they could go out and party or hang out. The tourists were the worst. She absolutely detested when families came from towns far unlike that of LA and tried to grasp what the city was like by choosing her restaurant to dine at. While its food was admittedly really great, there were literally thousands of other places to eat that she prayed people would visit instead. She hated having to dress in her standard uniform-- a black blouse and pencil skirt with nude stockings and heels-- to impress the customers when all she typically wanted to do was dump their orders on them.

Even with all of these negative attributes, she continued to work there. She liked being able to help Andy with rent and that she could buy herself the things she wanted. Although he of course was prone to spoiling her, it was nice to feel like they worked as a unit and not a dependency.

As she began returning to the bathroom, Andy called back, "Then don't."

Pariah laughed to herself at his constant need for rebellion. While she almost always found it amusing, she was the more rational one of the pair. "You know I can't, babe. It's part of the uniform."

Andy pulled himself to the edge of the bed and scratched behind his back, setting his phone on the nightstand. "If you hate the uniform so much, why do you work there?"

Immediately, she knew where the conversation was about to lead. He had tried countless times to talk her into quitting, knowing how unhappy it made her. The argument was causing something of a rift between them, as they were both hard-headed and stood their ground. She looked at herself in the mirror as she unbuttoned her shirt again so she could slide the garter belt on. "I don't want to talk about this again, Andy. You know why."

Andy groaned quietly. While she was the best thing that ever happened to him, he absolutely despised that she insisted on keeping this job. She complained about it every day, and if she didn't he did because of the lack of time he got to spend with her. It was already shortened by his constant touring, so when he was home he wanted every moment he could with her. This job was a pain in not only her ass, but his own as well. He stood and began walking to the bathroom. "Pear," he said, using her nickname.

"Don't," she interjected. She wasn't having this conversation again. She moved the little rose on the front of the belt to her front, just under her navel, and turned to the bathtub. She scrunched up one stocking and, as she put her right foot through it, became aware that Andy had entered the bathroom behind her. She began pulling it up and rested her foot on the edge of the bathtub.

"Take the night off," Andy said firmly. "I feel like we haven't had a night to ourselves in forever."

"I can't do that," she argued, clipping the tight in the back. "Not less an hour before I'm supposed to be there, anyway."