The Stool Pigeons

Chapter 2

"I want to have your children."

Raylan shoves half a cheeseburger into her mouth to shut herself up.

"Just wing it, Ray," Rebecca had suggested. She was no help at all. She farted more than gave her opinion, which is oddly unlike her. Raylan demanded an explanation for this strange behaviour, to which Rebecca defended herself by saying she was still traumatised from the fire fighter incident. (Raylan tried to say that wasn't a good excuse to not help a friend in need. Rebecca doesn't take shit, though.)

"For God's sake, Ray, you can't open with wanting to get pregnant at 17. Teen pregnancy is, like, a turn off."

Right, back to the topic at hand. Raylan and Rebecca are eating takeout cheeseburgers in the comfort of The Mom's house.

"For who?" Raylan asks, helping Rebecca pick a pickle skin out of her front teeth.

"Lubulbuelbu," Rebecca responds around Raylan's finger in her mouth.

"How do you know he isn't turned on by it? Have you spoke to him?"

Raylan pulls the tiny piece of pickle skin free, dropping it on Rebecca's burger wrapper.

"I would tell you, you know I would. But guys don't get turned on by teen pregnancy."

"What if I say it, wait for his reaction, then play it off as a joke if he cringes?"

Rebecca takes another bite of her cheeseburger, looking contemplatively into the space beside Raylan's ear. Her head sways side to side with thought, lips pursed, and eyes roving back and forth in their socket homes. Raylan thinks it's one of the best ideas she's had yet, in terms of her dreaded opening line.

"You know what, Ray, just wing it. Fucking wing it and see what happens. If it all goes to shit then we'll think of a Plan B then," Rebecca replies finally, promptly cocking her hip and farting.

"Woo, that was wet one, Reba!"

Conversation closed.

**

Levi is positively God-like. A divine creation sent from the heavens above solely to torture Raylan. He's the living, breathing definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Tall: about 6 and a half feet, legs and torso proportionate, and fuck, is tall a weakness of Raylan's or what. Dark: deep brown eyes and hair to match - it's a nice brown hue as well, like chocolate in those commercials that's slowly being poured into a bowl of more chocolate, a visual orgasm. Handsome: soft skin, perfectly shaped face, big hands (and big feet - hopefully this means what Raylan assumes it does), a smile so warm and endearing it'd melt all the icebergs in all the seas.

Raylan wants to build a shrine of his face and body and probably his voice too. Hell, even his name is attractive. She imagines herself writhing under him, coated in ecstasy (and sweat), as she groans his name. It's a daydream she doesn't allow herself to think at school. But it's a wonderful daydream for sure, and she dreams it frequently outside of school.

Raylan's never felt like this for someone. In fact, she hasn't liked someone in a while. The last guy she liked was in her first year of high school, a little crush that followed her home and into the SPs' business, but didn't last long. Besides Ninth Grade Lover, her list of men consisted wholly of people she's seen here or there who could pass as acceptably attractive.

Levi's different.

Raylan wants to drink the chocolate of his eyes and hair. She wants climb a ladder as tall as he is, feeling like she could reach the stars if she did. She wants to curl up in the warmth she's sure he emits, a solid and happy body around hers. She wants little things as much as she wants big things. She wants to marry him in a big extravagant wedding with everyone in the whole world present, she wants to have his children (as much as she doesn't really like kids and has zero desire to give birth, she's sure they'd be so adorable that she wouldn't be able to resist anyways). She wants little things like waking up together every morning, brushing their teeth beside each other every morning and every night, sitting beside each other at a restaurant table when both their families gather for a special occasion's dining.