Showing posts with label slash. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slash. Show all posts
Sunday, 16 September 2012
WIP - Will/Ian and some chocolate
Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:19 AM
Ian: "Omnomnom…"
Everyone looks over at Ian.
Les points, "You can't sing that over the music."
"I'm eating chocolate!" Ian declares through a mouthful.
Will looks at Les, who looks at Pete, and they all look back at Ian again.
Will: "We can see that, you've got chocolate all over your mouth."
Ian, smiling: "No, I don't, you cunt."
Will looks at Les. Les just shrugs, and plays his strings a bit.
Will: "You do."
Pete, raising up his drumsticks in defeat: "This is rubbish; I want chocolate."
Ian snorts, looking at Pete defiantly. "Get your own!"
Will chuckles to himself.
Pete: "Where did you get it?" perhaps small-talking would convince Ian to share.
Ian, sullenly: "A girl."
Will sits down, since not much playing is getting done now.
Pete looks at Ian, and arches his eyebrow. "Is it someone new?"
Will rolls his eyes at Pete disapprovingly. He figures Ian might have been teasing Pete with his last comment, like he did with the chocolate. Will doesn't think Ian got the chocolate off some girl, and even if he had, saying there was a girl who gave him chocolate isn't to say he's seeing someone else now... The last time Will had brought it up with Ian, Ian had a girlfriend. Ian wouldn't refer to her as just 'A girl', Will knows it. And if there's more than one girl – Will doesn't want to consider it, but even if there were – they shouldn't be speaking about it publicly.
Pete is unconcerned with Will's disapproval, as he goes on. "Do we know her?"
Ian licks his lips nervously, looking back at Pete. "Well, what's in it for you? Where are you going with that? You wanted me chocolate, and now you're after me girls?" He stands closer to Pete, squashing the chocolate and putting it in Pete's hand. "There you go." He begins to walk off, passing Will on his way out. Will notices Ian's hand is covered in chocolate, as Will would expect.
"Mac, you've got chocolate all over your fingers…" - A split second before he finishes talking, Ian marches back to him."Oh really? You want to suck on it, Will?" Ian pulls Will off the chair, taking a moment to think if he wants to hit him, or put his fingers in Will's mouth not so subtly, and have him lick off all his hand clean. He's grabbing Will by the collar, moving to eye-level with him.
The two begin to scrap and Will pushes Ian down on the floor, straddling him. Ian's chocolate covered hand-print ends up on the floor as Will pins Ian's hands down.
Will didn't plan for it to go into a full-on fight, he doesn't want to hurt Ian accidentally. However, Ian's doe-in-the-headlight look indicates to Will he may have put more force into it than he'd intended to do. Will moves off Ian, and tugs on Ian's shirt for him to move up as well; lightly, so he'd understand they're no longer fighting. He tiptoes and puts a gentle kiss to Ian's cheek. Ian moves his lips and brushes them against Will's. It's OK– Will thinks to himself - it's only a kiss. He doesn't flinch when Ian prolongs the kiss; in fact he kisses back sedately, the adrenaline from their fight still in affect. At last, Ian ends the kiss and takes a step back. Will feels the warmth from Ian's lips and body moving away slowly from his own.
"You alright, then? Do you want to finish the song now?" Will asks Ian sincerely.
Ian shrugs, putting his hand in his pocket. Damn, all out of fags. "Whatever. I'm off to buy more fags."
And just like that, he walks off.
Will looks over at Les and Pete. It only now registered to him he'd been ignoring them for a while - from the moment he and Ian and he had locked gazes and the two got entangled in each other's limbs, until the moment they rolled off each other. And then the kiss, He reminds himself.
Les, who'd taken to reading the paper in the minutes past, looks at Will – as if Les knows he witnessed a moment he shouldn't have. Will grumbles, moving over to Pete's side.
Will looks over at Pete's towel, which is hanging over a chair next to Pete at the moment – the one Pete uses to wipe himself with when they're taking a break from playing. It appears as though part of the somewhat-melted chocolate must've stuck to Pete's hand when Ian had passed it to him, and then in turn got pasted on to Pete's towel. Will wipes his hands with the clean side of the towel, just in case he got some on himself as well.
Be My Baby?...
| [Feb. 14th, 2011|10:57 pm] |
"Happy Valentine's Day," Nicky read out his card, which was nothing but a piece of cut-out cardboard, lovingly decorated by its sender. He even drew a glittery heart, the cheeky imp! "Love, James." written in his handwriting. That round, girlish handwriting Nicky would normally tease him about.
"Thank you." Nicky said, thinking how he can't possibly accept this valentine, and actually feeling worse about this day than he already had, a dark cloud hanging over his head.
"I thought, you know, that you might appreciate the gesture." James shrugs, grinning self-consciously. As if playing it off as a gesture between friends who deeply care about each other - and love each other, yes, but not in a more than friendly way - would make Nicky's rejection - or worse, lack or acknowledgement - easier to deal with.
"Look, I know this day isn't easy for you, for any of us, but I thought it might cheer you up."
Nicky thanks James again, tucking the note in his handbag and smiling at James. He's got smiles from now until next year, but he'll be the first to admit 'it takes a lot these days', as Richey would say. It takes something extraordinary to make an adult smile...Nicky has his own way to make himself smile. He thinks about the last time he had a genuine Valentine's Day celebration. Not last year, of course, that's when Richey's car was recovered, two weeks after Richey had gone missing. That is also on Nicky's mind, and he doesn't want to ignore it, he wants to remember it. But there's also one of his happiest memories, from the year before. Valentine's Day 1994.
Nicky had skip-stepped into Richey's Cardiff flat, whistling one of his own favourite tunes, which he woke up to every day during his finals. 'The only one I know, has gone, to take me away...' And he'd come to take Richey away, for the day. He got him out of his clothes first, fixing him a nice, long, bubblebath. And then he got Richey his jeans and a red tee, helping him with his hair and makeup - Richey even let him put some colourless glitter, for once. And Nicky made Richey's hair nice and fluffy, the way he likes it, not flat or drawn back like Richey'd do. Then he grabbed Richey and took him to the park, to ride one of these peddling-boats that's shaped like a swan. Richey made faces the entire time and giggled about how 'Valentine's Day is shit', but Nicky thinks Richey had a good day that day. Nicky did it because he wanted to give Richey a chance to enjoy Valentine's Day.
Maybe next year, Nicky'll get his chance to enjoy it. Then, maybe in a couple of years, or more. Maybe never.
"Thank you." Nicky said, thinking how he can't possibly accept this valentine, and actually feeling worse about this day than he already had, a dark cloud hanging over his head.
"I thought, you know, that you might appreciate the gesture." James shrugs, grinning self-consciously. As if playing it off as a gesture between friends who deeply care about each other - and love each other, yes, but not in a more than friendly way - would make Nicky's rejection - or worse, lack or acknowledgement - easier to deal with.
"Look, I know this day isn't easy for you, for any of us, but I thought it might cheer you up."
Nicky thanks James again, tucking the note in his handbag and smiling at James. He's got smiles from now until next year, but he'll be the first to admit 'it takes a lot these days', as Richey would say. It takes something extraordinary to make an adult smile...Nicky has his own way to make himself smile. He thinks about the last time he had a genuine Valentine's Day celebration. Not last year, of course, that's when Richey's car was recovered, two weeks after Richey had gone missing. That is also on Nicky's mind, and he doesn't want to ignore it, he wants to remember it. But there's also one of his happiest memories, from the year before. Valentine's Day 1994.
Nicky had skip-stepped into Richey's Cardiff flat, whistling one of his own favourite tunes, which he woke up to every day during his finals. 'The only one I know, has gone, to take me away...' And he'd come to take Richey away, for the day. He got him out of his clothes first, fixing him a nice, long, bubblebath. And then he got Richey his jeans and a red tee, helping him with his hair and makeup - Richey even let him put some colourless glitter, for once. And Nicky made Richey's hair nice and fluffy, the way he likes it, not flat or drawn back like Richey'd do. Then he grabbed Richey and took him to the park, to ride one of these peddling-boats that's shaped like a swan. Richey made faces the entire time and giggled about how 'Valentine's Day is shit', but Nicky thinks Richey had a good day that day. Nicky did it because he wanted to give Richey a chance to enjoy Valentine's Day.
Maybe next year, Nicky'll get his chance to enjoy it. Then, maybe in a couple of years, or more. Maybe never.
Idle Hands - Part 1
Jan. 18th, 2011 at 12:14 AM
"You remind me of someone." The teen said, grabbing Morrissey by his white T-shirt with a dangerous sexual glare.
If Morrissey's mind could form words in those seconds that boy took possession of him - literally, they would probably be-
'You remind me of someone'? What an odd way to get close to another person. Usually he's being grabbed by people who want to get close to him - not to mention get intimate with him - because it's him.That's why he wants to give that boy a shot. He'll do, for now.
If lips could bruise from kissing - Morrissey wasn't sure, at that moment - their lips would turn blue from the heated exchange the two stole in an alley, with Morrissey leaning over the wall, letting the younger man lead - not as if he had much choice.
The young boy sniffles ; Maybe he's sick - Morrissey remembers it's cold outside, now that they broke contact. The boy uses the space between them to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, revealing plaid boxers underneath. Morrissey takes his hand, enough to attract his attention again. He shakes his head, waiting for him to rearrange himself and leading him to the band's caravan.
Morrissey takes off his shirt on the way, tossing it down. "I'm a virgin, you know that." He scolds the other as they get near the bunks. "Yeah, sure you are." the boy says, utterly bored and playing with Morrissey's nipple in his hand. It's not that the boy doesn't know who the other man is - in fact, Morrissey's quite sure he's a fan - he just doesn't seem to care much. Morrissey respects that kind of individuality ( -he reminds himself, for the second time) he wouldn't have gotten just anyone into his bunk - but he figures the boy isn't impressed by that, either.
"So, have you got any condoms?" Morrissey asks as they sit on the bed, now quite far apart from one another. "Listen," the boy says, turning to him. "I haven't done it yet, with anyone... ever." He says, only a slight stutter giving in at the end of the sentence. Morrissey only now noticed how huge the boy's eyes are. His skin is a bit spotty - he notices it better now, although it registered before; Still, a pretty face, though. And he's nervous and sort of blunt. It's the way he's said it, most of all, which makes Morrissey trust him. He wanted to remind him what he'd said before about virginity, but he bites his lip and stays quiet, for the moment.
If Morrissey's mind could form words in those seconds that boy took possession of him - literally, they would probably be-
'You remind me of someone'? What an odd way to get close to another person. Usually he's being grabbed by people who want to get close to him - not to mention get intimate with him - because it's him.That's why he wants to give that boy a shot. He'll do, for now.
If lips could bruise from kissing - Morrissey wasn't sure, at that moment - their lips would turn blue from the heated exchange the two stole in an alley, with Morrissey leaning over the wall, letting the younger man lead - not as if he had much choice.
The young boy sniffles ; Maybe he's sick - Morrissey remembers it's cold outside, now that they broke contact. The boy uses the space between them to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, revealing plaid boxers underneath. Morrissey takes his hand, enough to attract his attention again. He shakes his head, waiting for him to rearrange himself and leading him to the band's caravan.
Morrissey takes off his shirt on the way, tossing it down. "I'm a virgin, you know that." He scolds the other as they get near the bunks. "Yeah, sure you are." the boy says, utterly bored and playing with Morrissey's nipple in his hand. It's not that the boy doesn't know who the other man is - in fact, Morrissey's quite sure he's a fan - he just doesn't seem to care much. Morrissey respects that kind of individuality ( -he reminds himself, for the second time) he wouldn't have gotten just anyone into his bunk - but he figures the boy isn't impressed by that, either.
"So, have you got any condoms?" Morrissey asks as they sit on the bed, now quite far apart from one another. "Listen," the boy says, turning to him. "I haven't done it yet, with anyone... ever." He says, only a slight stutter giving in at the end of the sentence. Morrissey only now noticed how huge the boy's eyes are. His skin is a bit spotty - he notices it better now, although it registered before; Still, a pretty face, though. And he's nervous and sort of blunt. It's the way he's said it, most of all, which makes Morrissey trust him. He wanted to remind him what he'd said before about virginity, but he bites his lip and stays quiet, for the moment.
Saturday, 15 September 2012
Cut Here
| [Dec. 22nd, 2010|09:50 am] |
" C – U – N – T" James reads the lines on Richey's arms.
"It's not meant to spell anything." Richey snaps back. "Besides, they're just shallow cuts."
"Just because they're shallow cuts, doesn't mean we can't talk about it…"
"I rather not talk at all now; About anything."
"You're in a mood today…"
"When am I not?"
"You were having a good time, on Sean's birthday party."
"For crying out loud, it was almost a year ago."
"Yeah, but… Wait. You were sniggering in rehearsal when Nicky hurt his foot. I saw you."
Richey laughed.
"Yeah, well, it WAS funny…"
"You're a cunt." James repeated, punching his shoulder, then tackled Richey, rolling around with him.
Better Than Boredom (part 1/?)
| [Dec. 3rd, 2010|11:05 am] |
Richey was slinking down on his chair at the lobby, nodding off to his new mix-tape. His legs were hanging off that chair, spread to the sides, the yellow headphones looking especially foreign on him with the way his new bowl cut framed his delicate features.
As if awoken from a dream, Nicky had pulled off his earphones, sliding them down so that the ear buds met Richey's jawbones. He looked up to meet Nicky's gaze, frowning and looking at him intently.
Nicky was having an undoubtedly 'Nicky moment' , looking very stretched out and wriggly today, in an undersized shirt and khaki pants, hand on his hip which seemed to bend his entire posture to form a curve. His expression was slightly pouty, though nowhere near Richey's glorious pout. His eyes looked slightly entranced, from having to move his sleeping schedule around all the time lately, a fact that he hasn't fully gotten used to yet. 'Meet me in an hour, OK?' He sought for comprehension in Richey's dark stare. 'That's two o'clock sharp.'
Richey nodded, gulping. The voice, as well as the speaker, put butterflies in his stomach. Nicky moved his hand to Richey's cheek, stroking it approvingly. Richey knew what that invitation had meant. James and Sean knew it too, but they moved quickly back to the conversation they were having before, digging their spoons in their shared layered cake.
He looked at Nicky rubbing his hands over each other in accomplishment, before turning and walking away.
As if awoken from a dream, Nicky had pulled off his earphones, sliding them down so that the ear buds met Richey's jawbones. He looked up to meet Nicky's gaze, frowning and looking at him intently.
Nicky was having an undoubtedly 'Nicky moment' , looking very stretched out and wriggly today, in an undersized shirt and khaki pants, hand on his hip which seemed to bend his entire posture to form a curve. His expression was slightly pouty, though nowhere near Richey's glorious pout. His eyes looked slightly entranced, from having to move his sleeping schedule around all the time lately, a fact that he hasn't fully gotten used to yet. 'Meet me in an hour, OK?' He sought for comprehension in Richey's dark stare. 'That's two o'clock sharp.'
Richey nodded, gulping. The voice, as well as the speaker, put butterflies in his stomach. Nicky moved his hand to Richey's cheek, stroking it approvingly. Richey knew what that invitation had meant. James and Sean knew it too, but they moved quickly back to the conversation they were having before, digging their spoons in their shared layered cake.
He looked at Nicky rubbing his hands over each other in accomplishment, before turning and walking away.
"June"
[Jun. 2nd, 2010|11:17 pm]
"June?..." Richey looked questioningly at the bundle of joy Nicky was holding.
"I know you're more of a winter type, but we couldn't have possibly named her January, or February...." Nicky shrugged, trying to figure out which one of them the baby looked most alike.
"Or December..." Richey sighed, thinking what a horrible name that is. If anyone had named their baby that. It's not much worse than 'Mercedes....'
"Hey, weren't you almost named Christmas?... Ow!" -Richey slapped his shoulder, playfully.
"Honestly, Nick, you sometimes need to learn when to shut up."
"I know you're more of a winter type, but we couldn't have possibly named her January, or February...." Nicky shrugged, trying to figure out which one of them the baby looked most alike.
"Or December..." Richey sighed, thinking what a horrible name that is. If anyone had named their baby that. It's not much worse than 'Mercedes....'
"Hey, weren't you almost named Christmas?... Ow!" -Richey slapped his shoulder, playfully.
"Honestly, Nick, you sometimes need to learn when to shut up."
5 unedited short-songfics
| [Feb. 4th, 2010|07:20 am] |
1. Émigré
James looked at the crumpled note in his hand; the one Richey gave him only a little while before leaving.
If there was just something, anything, I could have done – I would have – he thinks. But I did everything I could, so there's no point in dwelling on it.
He passes through the same views on the way to the studio every day, with a semblance of a melody in his mind. He doesn't know the words yet, but he knows who and what it'll be about.
2. Strip It Down (live)
That fucking reverb noise, and then it dwindles down. As if enchanted, Nicky and Richey stare at each other dangerously, Richey only slightly nodding his head before turning and moving down to stare at his effect pedals. James is caught in this exchange, right between the two of them, seemingly oblivious, but perhaps he'd had a flash of recognition for a few seconds. One glance, one head movement, enough to sip into his mind and give him some kind of telling on what goes on behind their gazes and through their unreadable expressions. Later that night he'd find himself caught between the two again, and they'd be looking each other differently – more flushed, more sated, and one of them will be naked from the waist down. And just as before, they'd be too preoccupied with each other to imagine what James is thinking.
3. Sorrow 16
It's a warm – but not too warm to be outside – spring day, and Nicholas Jones and Richard Edwards had just gone out on and holiday from school. Richey's glad he's brought sunglasses with him in foresight, and with his trendy haircut and jet black hair, not to mention admirable slimness, he is looking not unlike young Johnny Marr at the moment. So effing cool – especially in one bloke from the year beneath him's eyes. Nick's hair is getting long, and Rich is reaching a hand to brush back some blond locks from weary eyes, attempting to tuft it up a bit.
4. Yes
So many questions; He used to have all the answers, didn't he? Enough, James thinks to himself, don't think about it too much, do you want to go insane also? Like him?
The shift from lyric to melody always transcends James into a different state where those thoughts don't exist and he can look at things with cold objectivity. There lies composure, control – a clean state, if you want to call it that, but the aggression is brewing from under the surface, giving his work its density and texture.
He wants to help his friend, but he knows help should come from within, and the pills are making it hard to talk to him, and hospitals are for the sick and dying, and for a moment James thinks – perhaps selfishly - that he needs him, he needs him to alive, as do Sean and Nicky. The new songs are brilliant, but it doesn't seem right that he'll quit now.
5. Born A Girl
He wraps the silken deep blue sheet around himself a like a long velvety dress, completely naked underneath. He's not sure if he should let go at first because he feels safe inside it. He doesn't know how to explain the feeling exactly, and he asks himself rhetorically at the same time why should he have to explain it at all, he's always regarded his own body and self-image as a sacred private territory.
James looked at the crumpled note in his hand; the one Richey gave him only a little while before leaving.
If there was just something, anything, I could have done – I would have – he thinks. But I did everything I could, so there's no point in dwelling on it.
He passes through the same views on the way to the studio every day, with a semblance of a melody in his mind. He doesn't know the words yet, but he knows who and what it'll be about.
2. Strip It Down (live)
That fucking reverb noise, and then it dwindles down. As if enchanted, Nicky and Richey stare at each other dangerously, Richey only slightly nodding his head before turning and moving down to stare at his effect pedals. James is caught in this exchange, right between the two of them, seemingly oblivious, but perhaps he'd had a flash of recognition for a few seconds. One glance, one head movement, enough to sip into his mind and give him some kind of telling on what goes on behind their gazes and through their unreadable expressions. Later that night he'd find himself caught between the two again, and they'd be looking each other differently – more flushed, more sated, and one of them will be naked from the waist down. And just as before, they'd be too preoccupied with each other to imagine what James is thinking.
3. Sorrow 16
It's a warm – but not too warm to be outside – spring day, and Nicholas Jones and Richard Edwards had just gone out on and holiday from school. Richey's glad he's brought sunglasses with him in foresight, and with his trendy haircut and jet black hair, not to mention admirable slimness, he is looking not unlike young Johnny Marr at the moment. So effing cool – especially in one bloke from the year beneath him's eyes. Nick's hair is getting long, and Rich is reaching a hand to brush back some blond locks from weary eyes, attempting to tuft it up a bit.
4. Yes
So many questions; He used to have all the answers, didn't he? Enough, James thinks to himself, don't think about it too much, do you want to go insane also? Like him?
The shift from lyric to melody always transcends James into a different state where those thoughts don't exist and he can look at things with cold objectivity. There lies composure, control – a clean state, if you want to call it that, but the aggression is brewing from under the surface, giving his work its density and texture.
He wants to help his friend, but he knows help should come from within, and the pills are making it hard to talk to him, and hospitals are for the sick and dying, and for a moment James thinks – perhaps selfishly - that he needs him, he needs him to alive, as do Sean and Nicky. The new songs are brilliant, but it doesn't seem right that he'll quit now.
5. Born A Girl
He wraps the silken deep blue sheet around himself a like a long velvety dress, completely naked underneath. He's not sure if he should let go at first because he feels safe inside it. He doesn't know how to explain the feeling exactly, and he asks himself rhetorically at the same time why should he have to explain it at all, he's always regarded his own body and self-image as a sacred private territory.
Birthday
| [Dec. 22nd, 2009|07:34 am] |
"Omnomnomnom..."
"Nicky..."
"Mmmmm?...."
"You've got cake... On the bridge of your nose."
"Right..." Nicky answered, blithely unconcerned. "Why don't you try some? They're delicious."
"Too much sugar... And I don't even mean it in the caloric sense. It's just too sickeningly sweet."
"Right. Then you won't like the gift I got you, either..." Nicky sighed.
"You got me a gift? You really didn't have to..."
"Don't open it, then." Nicky commented dryly.
It was too late, Richey had run to open his gift. "A giraffe plushie?!?"
"I thought you'd like it." Nicky explained. "I thought it would remind you of me"
"For fuck's sake, Jones. You did my interior design, what more could you possibly want?!"
"Nicky..."
"Mmmmm?...."
"You've got cake... On the bridge of your nose."
"Right..." Nicky answered, blithely unconcerned. "Why don't you try some? They're delicious."
"Too much sugar... And I don't even mean it in the caloric sense. It's just too sickeningly sweet."
"Right. Then you won't like the gift I got you, either..." Nicky sighed.
"You got me a gift? You really didn't have to..."
"Don't open it, then." Nicky commented dryly.
It was too late, Richey had run to open his gift. "A giraffe plushie?!?"
"I thought you'd like it." Nicky explained. "I thought it would remind you of me"
"For fuck's sake, Jones. You did my interior design, what more could you possibly want?!"
Ficlet: London 1990
[Jul. 8th, 2009|09:36 am] | |
First person POV (Nicky)
I need something. I need another chance, a different life. I needn't stand here awkwardly, like it's all I ever do.
Right now, James has got him. Snuggling up to him, giving him massages. If I were there instead, I might not be able to show as much restraint. I could imagine myself sneaking on him, letting his shirt ride up as I get a feel of his skin, then go on further, sinking myself onto his neck, inhaling him, kissing his exposed skin like only I could.
But right now I'm perfect restraint. Tired, hazy, numb, cold and away from him. Holding on to what the eye can see, instead of what my arms and lips and mouth could feel.
Dear God, I wish I was drunk now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)