14 + cynco
“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
Cindy pitches the Monopoly box into the dumpster. "Any other garbage games?“ she asks seriously, dusting off her hands.
“You were winning,” Cisco points out, exasperated fondness clear in his tone.
Cindy grabs him by the back of his shirt and throws a portal up, hauling him through it and back into his apartment. "Games that don’t end aren’t games,“ she says for the fourth time that night. Other casualties of war included: Suduko, Rubik’s cubes, and Twister. Also known as: “games that are not games,” a fact which Cindy is not going to let go any time soon.
Rolling the proverbial dice again, Cisco asks, "Have you ever played tag?”
Cindy’s eyes narrow skeptically. "Tag?“ she repeats, in the world’s most unimpressed tone.
Cisco can’t help but smile; he *loves* the cultural discrepancies between parallel universes. Not that he could ever forget, given how much awesome Cindy exudes merely by existing, but he likes the reminder that the breathtaking woman in front of him is not only extraordinary in all the mundane ways but extraordinary in even more unexpected ways. "Yeah. It’s fun. See.” Tapping Cindy’s shoulder carefully, her gaze on his hand ready to burn a hole through it, he explains, “You’re it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you have to tag me back, or you lose.”
Cindy jabs a finger at his shoulder obediently, but he jumps out of reach. "Too slow,“ he explains with a grin. Without missing a beat, Cindy rushes him, and Cisco hastily tumbles back into a breach.
There’s no way to tell exactly how much time he spends fleeing across the multiverse, but judging by the darkness it’s quite a bit later by the time Cindy forcefully tackles him to the floor in his own apartment.
"Tag,” she says gruffly, knee on his back and hands on his wrists, arresting-officer style.
“I am never, ever, ever getting on your bad side,” Cisco vows. She lets him up and he can’t help it, the chaotic evil urge is too strong: he taps her shoulder and grins.
He totally deserves the impulse she fires at him, blasting him off his feet. Crashing into the opposite wall, he oomphs and hits the floor. "A powerful adversary,“ he wheezes, picking himself up. "Worthy of even the most nonsensical games.”
Huffing, she takes his hand and says, “Sorry.” When he lifts both eyebrows inquisitively, she explains, “I hurt you.”
“Oh, hon.” Kissing her once, quick and light, Cisco promises, “You are going to have to try a lot harder than that to hurt me. How about a rousing round of putt-putt to make it up to me?”
Cindy’s eyes narrowly suspiciously. "That’s not real,“ she says bluntly, evidently hoping to call him out on a lie, but Cisco merely smiles, and within sixty seconds they’re standing in front of a mini-golf place.
"I promise it has an end,” he assures her.
She follows him warily inside the grounds, holding a purple golf ball thoughtfully, club resting against her shoulder like a baseball bat. "Okay, all you have to do–“ Cisco begins, but Cindy merely steps forward, tosses the ball skyward, and swings the club hard, cracking the ball across the lawn like a homer. It arcs gracefully into the water trap near the center of the course, landing with a loud *pink* at the bottom. "Oh, this is gonna be real fun,” Cisco says, jogging over to retrieve a net and the ball.
And it is fun – Cindy scores 193, Cisco 87, and it’s the first time he’s ever won mini-golf. Eating ice cream with Cindy at a parlor after, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her how the scoring system works, but she says simply, “I liked that game” and he knows they’re both winners.