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Fic: Close Your Eyes While I Touch Your Body Real Slow

Mon, 23 Mar 2009 06:01:37 GMT

Title: Close Your Eyes While I Touch Your Body Real Slow
Authors: celticfish and machka
Rating: R
Pairing: Skibmann!! :D
Summary: Andy and Neal aren't so good with the words. They're much better at...other stuff.
Word Count: 4470
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as we know, none of this ever happened, except in our minds. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: Our first attempt at a co-write, whee!!! It's not as easy as you'd think to write a fic via IMs, but hey -- expanding horizons, trying new things, all that jazz. XD Title is a composite of lyrics from Mike Kelly's "Fall Asleep With Me," the song that inspired this fic. The authors thank courts576 for the ~~drunken~~ quick beta, but please note that any and all mistakes herein remain our own.

Andy emerged from the bathroom, dressed in one of his favorite t-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He scrubbed a hand through his still-wet hair, and sighed. Fighting with someone you really cared about sucked, but it always sucked just that much harder when it was the first fight of a new relationship. Signals got crossed, there were misunderstandings, and honestly, he couldn't even remember what had really started the whole thing that led to him getting upset and curling up in bed, sobbing. He did remember that Neal had been really great about being there for him, but there was still a lot of lingering tension and awkwardness between the two of them.

He shuffled down the aisle between the bunks, glancing at Neal's closed privacy curtain before pushing open his own. He'd claimed the bunk above Neal's at the very start of the tour, since they figured there was no point in having a ton of separate stuff that would take up room on the bus. Years of being roommates caused them to steal socks from whomever had some clean, and things of that nature, so it only made sense that they would continue that arrangement on tour. Since their new involvement had begun, though, Andy hadn't spent a night in his own bunk, instead sleeping smooshed between the bus wall and Neal, craving that nearness of another human.

He stretched and slid back the curtain on his own sadly-neglected bunk, which had been reduced to little more than a laptop storage area these days. Andy pulled off his shirt, tossed it up on the bed, and made to climb in, when he noticed a carefully placed candy bar laid on his pillow. He smiled, recognizing the peace offering for what it was. Sliding his own curtain back into place, he slipped back a corner of Neal's, to find Neal laying under a blanket, staring at the ceiling.

"Y'want company?" Andy asked softly.

Neal turned his head toward Andy, studying him a long moment. "...Sure."

"'Kay. Even with my wet mop?"

"...Yeah."

"Just checkin'."

Neal scooted back against the wall and Andy climbed in, carefully stretching out next to him.

Neal cocked his head slightly, studying Andy again. "Did you think you weren't welcome, or somethin'?"

"No, just...Things got kinda weird last night."

Neal sighed, and whispered, "'M's'ry 'bout last night."

"It's not your fault. I just...we just didn't see eye to eye."

"I, uh...should've thought about...what I was sayin', before I just puked it out everywhere, man."

"Neal. I over-reacted. It wasn't just you. It was both of us. Sure, you could've handled it a little better, but then again, so could I. We're still figurin' this shit out, man. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"You'd think we'd have figured it out sooner, as long as we've known each other..." Neal whispered again.

"But like it or not, things are a little different now," Andy replied.

" ...Guess so."

"Thing is, before? We'd get pissed at each other, and things would be fine a day or two later. Now, sometimes...it sorta feels like somethin's at stake when we fuck it up."

Neal gave a half-shrug and stared at his hands folded in his lap. "...Isn't it?"

"Like I said, we're still figuring this shit out, man," Andy continued. "I used to know when I was pissing you off, or pushing you too far...never really had to worry about smothering you, or being...clingy...with you...before. Or a whole host of other emotional stuff I'm not used to having to think about in terms of you."

"Yeah. I know."

"So, yeah. It was a big, ugly miscommunication, we both fucked up, it's over. Moving on."

"...Okay...um. So...was that our first, uh, official fight, then?"

Andy glanced at him sideways, seeing the corners of Neal's mouth twitch up in a faint smile.

"I dunno," he answered slowly. "If I say it was, do we get to have make-up sex?"

"Mmmmmmmaybe..." Neal's smile deepened as he shifted his gaze to meet Andy's. "...Was thinkin' that it'd be good to get that first fight out of the way, but...sure."

"Wait. Does that mean you're not done fighting yet?" Andy challenged playfully. "Fine. I'm still pissed that your dog ate my Chucks in '06, and I never liked those stupid red pants you and Joey made me buy. Anything else before we move on to the make-up sex?"

Neal made a perplexed face, and blinked slowly. He paused, trying to gauge just how serious Andy was being, and caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"A. Not my fault you left 'em where he could get to 'em, and B. That is more than made up for by the fact that we talked Joey into purple pants, and you guys talked me into maroon ones."

"Yeah, well...if we're gonna clear the air, may as well get it all out there... So...anything else on your mind? Besides the make-up sex?"

Neal shifted slightly against the wall. "Nothing that needs to be, um, aired out."

Andy smiled softly and put an arm around him. "We're gonna figure this thing out, Neal. You're too important to me to fuck this up over the talking thing."

Neal relaxed into him, and shivered lightly at Andy's words. He nestled his head into Andy's shoulder, and Andy tightened his arms around him, pulling him in closer. Andy sighed softly in contentment, and Neal turned his face to nuzzle at Andy's neck.

Andy murmured, "Okay, so...this is good. We had the fight, we had the apology, we made the compromise...yep, it's official, except for the last part, which I suspect we're starting to work on."

"Mmmmmmmmmaybe..." Neal whispered into his neck.

Andy shivered. "We don't have to if you don't wanna..."

Neal began to brush his lips along Andy's throat, earning him another shiver at the feel of metal trailing over his skin. "...Never said that..." He worked his way up to Andy's ear, and nipped lightly at his earlobe. Pressing a kiss behind his ear, he whispered, "So...who's makin' up with whom...?"

Andy shuddered as Neal lightly caressed his cheek and began to nibble at his jawline. "Does it matter?"

"No...don't 'spose it does..."

"Pretty sure we'll both win this time."

"One way or another, sure."

Neal turned Andy's face toward him, and pressed his forehead to Andy's. Andy smiled, and threaded a hand into his hair. Neal's eyes drifted to Andy's mouth, and Andy's eyes widened slightly. Neal pulled Andy forward, and they shared a gentle kiss.

Breaking away, Andy began slowly trailing more soft, gentle kisses down Neal's chin and across his jawline, eliciting a soft whine from the other man. He nipped lightly at Neal's neck, listening carefully to the noises he was making.

"Y'know...I could mark you..."

Neal shivered, stammering out a "yeah."

"If you wanted me to..." Andy whispered.

Neal closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. "Fuck. Yes."

Neal felt rather than saw the smirk against the skin of his neck. Andy started nipping and grazing, trying to find just the right spot that got him the reaction he was looking for. "Here?? No, too high... Here? No, that's not right..."

Suddenly, Neal shuddered, and Andy paused. "Oh...there." He gently bit the skin. "Yes?"

Neal hissed softly in response, and Andy began to gently suck at his neck, gradually increasing the pressure as Neal tightened his fingers in Andy's hair. Andy carefully broke the suction, and very lightly, traced his handiwork with one fingertip. "Perfect," he breathed.

Neal groaned, low and guttural, and whispered, "Fuck."

Andy looked up, and tilted his head at him. "Was that a good 'fuck' or a bad 'fuck'"?

Neal exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "The best," he sighed.

Andy smiled. "Good. 'Cause I'm not done with you yet."

Neal whimpered as Andy began to nip across his collarbone, lightly ghosting fingers across the planes of his chest. He began to twitch and squirm a bit at the contrast of the light bites at his shoulders and the delicate, fluttery touch across his chest.

Andy's fingers drifted slowly, agonizingly down to lightly grip one of Neal's hips. "Let's take care of this clothing issue sooner rather than later, okay?"

Neal growled. "Okay! ...Okay." He grinned at Andy. "Sweatpants. Easy access."

Andy chuckled lightly. "Smart boy."

Neal answered with a shit-eating grin, and braced his back against the wall, tilting his hips upward, shimmying the sweatpants down past his hips.

Continuing his touching, Andy lightly ran his fingertips from his hip, down his thigh, and stopped at the top of the waistband that was near Neal's knees.

Neal threw his head back a little, moaning, his hips twitching ever so slightly. "Damn..." he breathed.

"What?"

"...You will never know how impossibly hot that felt."

"What, this?" Andy lightly ran just one fingertip back up the outside of his thigh, tracing the curve of his hipbone. "Or like...this?" he asked, whispering that same finger ever-so-softly down the inside of Neal's thigh back to his knees.

Neal gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain his composure, as Andy pushed the sweatpants a little lower so he could kick them off. As Neal was moving, Andy seized the opportunity and ran his finger very softly across the back of Neal's knee, causing Neal to bite down hard on his lower lip as he attempted to stifle a groan.

"Never knew you were such a sucker for a light touch," Andy said with a soft smile, tracing back up his inner thigh and around the curve of his hip again.

Neal's breath caught in the back of his throat, and he stuttered out, "N-neither did I."

Andy continued to lightly trail his fingers up Neal's side, working from hip to ribs, tracing the curves of the base of his ribcage, before continuing to lightly caress his way up Neal's chest. Neal inhaled sharply, and hissed out an exhaled breath. Andy paused, not pulling his fingers back, as he questioned, "Good or bad?"

"God, Andy...fuck..." Neal whispered. He stared at him with darkened eyes, the hunger in them unmistakable.

"Okay...then I won't stop," Andy whispered in reply, barely brushing a fingertip over a nipple. Neal let out a soft growl, and Andy traced his fingertip over each and every rib. He leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, "Tell me if this gets to be too much," before moving on to trace patterns across Neal's stomach. Neal was reduced to little more than a shivering, shuddering mass of sensation under the soft, delicate touches, and he bit down harder on his bottom lip to remain silent.

Andy slowly began sliding down the side of his body, whispering fingertips over a hipbone as he placed delicate, fluttery kisses down Neal's side, Neal's breathless gasps following his descent. Andy continued to caress as he began to gently mouth the other hip, moving his soft, light touches in closer and closer from hipbone down to the crease of his thigh before brushing ever-so-lightly along Neal's length. Just as slowly, just as lightly, he kissed his way along Neal's hipbone, and gently wrapped his mouth around Neal, taking his time to slide down him as slowly and softly as he possibly could, before working his way back up at the same excruciatingly exquisite pace.

"...Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck..." Neal raggedly gasped.

Andy brushed his hair back and looked up at him. Neal softly whimpered as Andy began another ridiculously slow descent. When he felt Neal hit the back of his throat, he paused for just a second, as Neal panted and gasped for air, before gradually sliding back up yet again.

It took all of Neal's self-control not to snap his hips up into Andy's face, so desperate was he for friction, suction...anything... But Andy only lightly brushed his fingertips over Neal's hipbones as he began yet another slow descent.

Slowly, with every movement up and down, Andy picked up the pace until he found the rhythm and the pressure that Neal craved. Andy kept one hand lightly on Neal's hip as the other began that light fluttering touch back up the inside of Neal's thigh. Neal's self-control was nearing a breaking point, and his hips twitched upward against his will. Andy looked up, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, which were still wrapped around Neal's length.

"....You little fucker..." Neal cursed, his voice strained. "Goddamned sonuvabitch..."

At that, Andy slid his mouth all the way down him hard and fast, and began working his lips and tongue more aggressively, as he continued that slow feather-light touch all over Neal's hips and thighs.

"Oh, fuck, Andy... Oh, God... Please, Andy..."

Neal's hips twitched a bit, and he tightened his fingers in Andy's hair. Andy looked up at him one last time, and that was enough. Neal snapped his hips up into Andy, and, reading the action for what it was, Andy deliberately switched his rhythm to the one he knew would send Neal over the edge, using his tongue to apply just the right pressure to the underside. Neal closed his eyes and bit down again hard at his lower lip, trying to keep his voice quiet so it would not travel through the whole tour bus.

"Yeah, l-like that...m-more... God..."

Andy moved his feather-light caresses down the crease of Neal's thigh to brush his fingertips every place his mouth couldn't reach. Neal struggled to remain still, but his hands betrayed him as he pulled Andy's hair hard. Andy growled lowly, and redoubled his efforts to make Neal come undone.

"...God... Andy...nnnngh...'m...'m gonna come..."

Andy gently squeezed his thigh in acknowledgment, encouraging him to let go. Neal's hips surged forward, and he threw his head back, hitting the wall hard. He let out a low, animalistic groan, and Andy growled softly back in response. That was just enough to throw Neal over the edge, pulsing into Andy's mouth.

Andy swallowed hard around him, gently releasing him when he was spent, and slid up his body to nuzzle into Neal's neck.

Neal lay still, gasping for air, his whole body gone completely limp.

Andy gently caressed his face, brushing the sweaty strands of blond hair back as he softly murmured, "Isn't make-up sex a beautiful thing?"

The only response Neal was capable of was a slight whimper as his eyelids fluttered, and Andy chuckled lowly, muttering, "So much for those showers earlier."

Neal laughed breathlessly, and murmured, "Yeah." He started to lightly massage Andy's scalp, sure it was tender after all the hair-pulling he had done. He rasped out, "...Dave needs to start carryin' oxygen on the fuckin' bus, man..."

Andy chuckled lowly. "That bad, huh?"

"...I think I'm dying, seriously. Holy shit."

"In an 'oh, man, we're gonna need to find an ER' way, or in a 'please, God, do that again sometime' way?"

"...That last one there."

"Just checkin'," Andy murmured. "And I'm sorry."

Neal ran his fingers through Andy's hair. "What d'you have to be sorry 'bout?"

"I know I was drivin' you crazy...but I kinda couldn't stop, even though I know I was makin' you insane."

"Yeah. That's..." A faint smile pulled at the corners of Neal's mouth. "Um, I was pretty okay with that, actually."

"Honestly, I think I was really driving myself crazy, rather than you."

Neal cracked his eyes open to meet Andy's gaze. "Oh, really?" He sidled closer, brushing his lips over Andy's lightly before pulling away. "In what way?"

"Just...God, touching you, like that... And the sounds you made..."

Neal carefully rolled over on top of Andy, pressing against his body with gradually increasing pressure. He rolled his hips gently into Andy's, and Andy stuttered out a breath.

"I have this coming to me, don't I?" Andy asked, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Yep," said Neal, smirking slightly as he placed gentle kisses on Andy's eyelids. Andy sighed, and Neal lightly kissed his forehead, brushing the hair back from Andy's face to better see Andy's expressions. He lifted Andy's chin up slightly, and pressed his lips to Andy's mouth. Andy started to respond, but Neal moved just out of reach with a low chuckle.

"Dammit..." Andy breathed.

"Don't worry..." Neal whispered. "...You'll feel my mouth soon enough..."

At his words, a hard shudder ran through Andy's body.

Neal chuckled again, cupping the back of Andy's neck to tilt his head slightly back, leaving Andy's neck vulnerable and exposed. He brushed his lips lightly along Andy's throat, allowing his lip rings to roll slightly against Andy's neck. Andy threw his head back further, arching his neck up and seeking more contact.

Neal smirked against his skin. "Uh-uh-uh... Don't." He placed a kiss on one side of Andy's neck. "Move," as he kissed the other side.

Andy inhaled shakily. "Okay..."

Neal grinned toothily against Andy's neck, then nipped at his jawline back to Andy's ear, closing his lips on Andy's earlobe. Andy started to arch up into him, but quickly caught himself and froze in place. Neal laughed low in his throat, then began to tongue and nip at Andy's ear, sucking gently to soothe the bites. Andy fought hard to hold still, and Neal gently stroked his hair in acknowledgment, scraping his teeth across Andy's earlobe as he pulled back. Andy's hands flexed up to thread through Neal's hair, but he stopped himself just in time. Neal tugged lightly at Andy's hair, and ran his hand down the side of Andy's neck.

Andy whined lowly. "So...not...fair..."

"What's not fair, Andy?" Neal murmured.

"You...only had to go through this...once."

"It's not any easier for me right now..." Neal pressed the full length of his body against Andy's. "...Feel that?"

"God... That's impressive, really."

Neal laughed low in his throat. "See what you do to me?"

"No," Andy smirked, "But I can feel it."

"...I'll make sure you get a chance to stare later..." Neal murmured, burying his face in the side of Andy's neck.

He nipped lightly at Andy's pulse point, and Andy wrapped his arms around him, tipping his head back when Neal began sucking gently over the same spot. Andy's whole body arched up into him, and Neal bit down slightly in response before pulling away, soothing the area lightly with his fingertips. He tongued lightly at the hollow of Andy's neck, and Andy responded with a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan. Neal smiled against his skin, and then wriggled slightly down Andy's body to mouth gently at Andy's collarbone.

Neal continued to place light, feathery kisses down Andy's chest before mouthing at a nipple. Andy arched up into him, and Neal brushed his nipple lightly with his lip rings. Andy gasped and whined, and Neal flicked at the nub with the tip of his tongue. Andy whimpered, and Neal circled the nub with the tip of his tongue before closing his mouth over it and sucking gently. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the other nipple, and at that, Andy's hips snapped up into him.

"Mmmmmm...y'like that?" Neal murmured, his voice low.

"I...you..." Andy's words were lost in an incoherent mumble. Neal paused, and Andy whined again.

"...Ah. ...Okay." Neal pinched his nipple lightly with his fingers before rolling it gently between his fingertips, and went back to sucking hard on the other. Andy's whole body snapped up underneath him. Neal pressed him back down into the mattress, softly murmuring, "Don't move, Andy."

"Unghh...tryin'...t'not...move...s'hard."

"I know, Andy...I know," Neal murmured against his chest.

Neal began working his way down Andy's torso, kissing, licking, and biting his way down Andy's body very, very slowly. Andy whimpered and jerked beneath him, and Neal wrapped his arms around Andy, dragging his fingernails down Andy's back. He dipped his tongue into Andy's navel and nibbled down his lower abdomen to the waistline of his pajama pants.

He could feel Andy shuddering under his mouth and his hands, could feel the straining of Andy's muscles as he tried to fight it, that urge to move... Sitting back on his heels, Neal studied the battle of will playing out across Andy's face.

Andy frowned slightly, whimpering at the loss of contact, his hands twitching uselessly at his sides.

"Neal, please..."

Neal slowly leaned toward him, sliding his hands beneath Andy's lower back. Still watching his face, Neal bent forward, mouthing gently at the bulge in Andy's pants. Andy snapped his hips up hard, whining aloud. "Please... God, just..."

Refusing to give him what he wanted just yet, Neal instead moved his hands down to cup over Andy's ass, squeezing lightly, tilting his hips up to meet Neal's mouth as it grazed over Andy's clothed cock.

Andy whimpered again. "Just... Neal... I...please..."

There was no mistaking nor ignoring the need in Andy's voice. Relenting, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Andy's pajamas and began to draw them down.

"Finally..." Andy whispered.

Neal glanced up at Andy, throwing him a tight smile. Moving to the side, he pulled the pajama bottoms free of Andy's legs. Tossing them aside, he settled back into the vee of Andy's legs, kneeling between his thighs, just staring at the body laid out before him.

Andy's eyes widened slightly in anticipation. "God, yes..." he rasped out, his fingers gripping at the bedsheet.

Neal's smile faded slowly as he looked at Andy, the gravity of the situation asserting itself. Reaching out, he touched the head of Andy's cock lightly, just the barest of brushes, before trailing a fingertip down its length.

Andy hissed as his hips jerked upward again, and Neal groaned softly in response. "God, I love watching you come undone..." he muttered hoarsely. Andy whimpered at his words; a desperate, needy sound that shot right through Neal to his groin.

"Oh, fuck..." Neal breathed. Closing his hand around the base of Andy's cock, he leaned forward and took him into his mouth.

A tiny squeak escaped Andy's lips as Neal's mouth dropped down over him. Inhaling sharply, he exhaled on a long, low moan as the wet warmth enveloped him. Taking Andy's sounds as encouragement, Neal began to work Andy's length, moving his hand and head in tandem. Andy grabbed for Neal's hair, pulling hard as his fingers threaded through it, his grip tightening as Neal groaned around him. Gritting his teeth, Andy fought to keep his hips still.

Neal dropped his hand to cup Andy's balls, and took him all the way down his throat. Andy gripped his hair harder and tried for all he was worth not to lose control. Neal grabbed his own cock with his other hand as he groaned again, the combined sensations overwhelming both of them. Neal worked up and down Andy's length in earnest, pulling back up to the head and swallowing him down on every stroke. Andy gripped Neal's hair so hard he was sure he was pulling some out, but it was really little more than a passing thought. He was so lost in the intensity of Neal's actions that he forgot to hold still, and his hips snapped up. His whole body started shaking with the intensity of it all.

Neal slid his fingers into the spot behind Andy's balls, and pressed in lightly. That contact was all it took for Andy to come completely undone, and he made a raw, snarling sound before coming straight down Neal's throat. Neal swallowed hard and fast, bracing himself on his forearm beside Andy's thigh, being sure to get every last bit of him, and tightened his grip on his own suddenly painfully-hard cock.

Andy shook and shivered all over, trying desperately to catch his breath."'M s'ry...didn't...realize..." he gasped out.

Neal released Andy's softening member and looked up at him with dark eyes. "...I did."

Andy exhaled, relieved that Neal wasn't upset. "...Oh...okay..."

"Jesus, fuck..." Neal rasped, as he moved his hand over himself from base to tip.

Andy opened his eyes, and looked softly at Neal. "Y'need help?"

Neal bit his lower lip, and muttered, "...Shit. ...Gotta..." He groaned softly and stroked himself again. "So...fuckin'...hard..."

"Yeah..." Andy breathed, a smile playing across his features as his eyes drifted down, watching Neal's actions intently.

Neal's eyes widened slightly. "...W-watch me..." he stuttered out.

"I am..." Andy whispered.

"F-fuck..." Neal started jerking himself hard and fast.

Andy lightly touched his arm, and murmured, "So fuckin' hot..."

"G-god..." Neal dropped his head forward, breathing heavily.

"Your turn again..." Andy growled.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnngh...God..." Neal's hips started jerking slightly. "A-andy...'m...'m g'na come...watch me come..."

Andy's eyes darkened. "Yeah...I'm watchin'...wouldn't miss it..."

"...Andy..."

Andy's eyes, watching him... Andy saying he was watching him... That familiar heat burned through him once more, and Neal gasped harshly for air, his head swimming. He cried out sharply, staring at Andy, and came hard into his hand.

"God, you're amazing," Andy breathed out, as Neal started shaking, his body exhausted and thoroughly spent.

Andy wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling him in close. Neal collapsed against Andy, tucking his head in under Andy's chin. With a low chuckle, Andy whispered, "Five bucks says we're in trouble for makin' the bus smell like sex."

Neal rasped out something that passed for a laugh in response.

"You know those assholes're gonna say somethin', Neal."

"Yeah... We...were...a li'l...loud, huh?"

Andy grinned. "I would not be shocked to learn that we were."

"'M too fuckin' tired to worry about that right now...."

"Yeah, me, too..."

The bus always tended toward the chilly side, and despite the warmth of Andy under him, Neal shivered as the cool air pressed down on his sweat-soaked skin. Andy pulled him closer as Neal began moving his foot in a half-hearted effort to locate his long-discarded blanket. Andy yawned, and untangled himself from Neal to sit up, murmuring, "I'll get it."

"Hurry up...'m cold, Andy."

Andy's whole face lit up with a warm, affectionate smile as he grabbed the blanket and pulled it up high over the two of them. Neal snuggled back into the familiar contours of Andy's body as Andy tucked them both in. "It's always too damn cold on this bus...glad I've got you to keep me warm, Neal," Andy mumbled in a voice thick with sleep. Neal mumbled something back as Andy tightened his arms around Neal, holding him close like he had no plans to ever let him go. Neal melted into the embrace, and they both drifted off into peaceful, contented sleep.

Fic: "Sparks"

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 18:50:36 GMT

Title: Sparks
Rating: R
Pairing: Skibmann (ORLY?)
Summary: He needs it, and so do you.
Word Count: 974
Archived: On IJ only. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes:Written from Andy's POV. And hey -- David doesn't even really figure into this in the slightest. HOW DID I MANAGE THAT??
:-O
Takes place after an unspecified "Declaration" show -- you can place it wherever you wish, but DAMN the Biloxi show would surely qualify as kick-assed enough. :)

You can't help but smile at Dave's wide grin, face lit up from within with some kind of beatific joy as he wraps his arms around Joey and Kyle's shoulders, dragging them in tightly for hugs.

Dave beams, literally beams at you -- all of you -- and lets out a whoop of relief.

"Thank God that's over," he crows, and your smile broadens, knowing exactly what he means -- not that he's happy the show's over, but that it's out of the way, it's under all of your belts, and you all made it -- you survived.

His laughter is infectious as he swings the members of his rhythm section around, conducting them on wobbly legs toward the wings.

"C'mon, guys, let's go get cleaned up and hit some bars!" he says, catching your eye. "You up for it, Skib? Tiemann?"

You're turning to follow, automatically, but your gaze slips sideways to the latter man, lagging behind them, and you stop dead in your tracks.

Neal's eyes meet yours, an unspoken message flashing within them, and your heart stutters in your chest.

"In a minute, Dave," you reply, watching Neal's eyes go dark in response. "We'll be there in a minute..."

Dave shoots you a knowing look as he steers Joey and Kyle past; just a hint of a wink and the slightest jerk of his head as he goes by.

He knows, but it's all right.

And then it's just the two of you, alone; and Neal is staring intently at your back as you watch the others depart. You wait a few seconds until they are out of sight and gone before you follow.

You know he's moving after you, damn near stalking you...but that's okay too.

He needs this.

In a way, so do you.

His steps quicken to match the beat of your heart, and you turn back to meet him half-way.

And it's comforting how it's always the same... The same dishevelment of his hair as he rakes a hand through it, the feral look in his eyes, the energy rolling off him in waves...

He touches you and it's like sparks, every single time. A bolt of something arcs across the distance between you, and an answering jolt rips through you like feedback, the polarity drawing you closer.

It would certainly look like violence to an outsider, the way he crushes you against him; the way his kiss is mostly teeth, that hand snarled in your hair, the way your head is yanked back to meet his mouth...

But you are the one pulling him closer, grinding your groins together, biting his lip in return.

He pushes you (and you drag him) until your shoulders slam into the wall behind you, so hard (and so hard) that it takes your breath away.

But he's just as breathless as you are, with your fingers already quick at work on his belt. There's activity and movement, fingers fumbling on zippers, and his cock heavy and warm in your hand, its weight reassuring and familiar.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder and groans softly, the only outward sign of neediness he will allow.

And you're about to slide down the wall, just about to drop to your knees, but his hand on the waistband of your jeans prevents you. Your cock is pulled free from its confines, and your hand removed from his dick, replaced by his own.

"Can't wait, Andy," he growls, beginning to stroke himself. "Can't."

You've heard that growl countless times before, but tonight, it's different. Everything's different. Different songs, different venue, different bandmates, a vastly different situation...

But one thing will never change - that shiver which runs down your spine when that sound hits your ears.

And you're quickly mirroring each other, with foreheads pressed to collarbones, and free arms slung around opposite necks, panting in tandem; two gazes directed downward, focused and locked on two hands moving over twin erections with only one goal in mind.

"Holy shit, Andy... Holy fucking shit..."

His voice is as harsh as his breathing in your ear.

He's close, so close...

"C'mon, Neal, show me," you whisper hoarsely. "Let it go..."

His hips snap forward, and he buries his face against your neck with another groan, long and low, his teeth sinking into your skin.

"Yes," you hiss, your cock twitching in your hand. "That's it, Neal... C'mon, do it. Come for me..."

He shudders once, violently, and you watch him spill onto the ground at your feet.

The sight alone might've been enough to set you off, but it's really the way he says your name as he comes, the way he twists it, breathes it, offers it up like a prayer... That's what sends you over the edge along with him.

And for a minute or two, his weight against you, pressing you into the wall, is the only thing holding you both up.

You're the first to manage to find your voice.

"You good?"

He sighs softly, murmuring contentment. Unfortunately, this is not the time or the place to get comfortable.

"C'mon, man, we need to go."

He mumbles a protest and leans into you a bit more, his breath hot and wet against your neck.

"Seriously, Neal; they're gonna come looking for us. You know the drill..."

His lips are moving against your skin again, and it takes all of the willpower you possess not to wrap your arms around him and draw him nearer. Instead, you are squirming sideways and nudging him away; tucking you both back into your jeans and avoiding the hungry look in his eyes.

"Later, man," you finally whisper, squeezing his arm lightly as you take a step back. "There'll be time enough for everything later."

His eyes rekindle with that promise as his low chuckle fills the air, and you smile.

Fic: "Flyboy"

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 08:00:53 GMT

Title: Flyboy
Rating: G
Pairing: Dandy
Summary: Andy is not happy.
Word Count: a true drabble -- 100 words. :)
Notes: heartsfortress made me do it. It's all her fault. Blame her.
Disclaimer: The people are real. The scene (AFAIK) is not. Fictional, made-up, not real, please don't sue.

"You cannot be serious."

"What's wrong?"

"You're telling me we're flying into a war zone in a fucking tin can?"

"No, not a tin can, man -- these things are flying tanks! They have armor, and everything...What??"

"If they're tanks, David, how the fuck do they fly?"

"Andy. Listen. This is the fastest, and safest--"

"--and cheapest--"

"Yes, and cheapest way to get from point A to point B. But I'd rather be in an armored chopper high above the ground, than in an armored Humvee on any of the roads around here..."

A pause.

"...Anthony?"

"...Yeah."

"...Okay."

"...Thank you."

----------

[n.b. - Former Axium bassist Pvt. Anthony Mazzarella pershed in a Humvee accident in Iraq, July 2005.]

Fic: "Dissolution"

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 04:23:59 GMT

Title: Dissolution
Series: Anodyne
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Summary: It started small, as things often do.
Word Count: 427 [-_-]
Archived: On IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: This is as good a summary of the Anodyne series as you'll find. I could never figure out a way to work this up into an actual full length fic, though, so I've been sitting on this since last September.

But misskatieleigh was bored doing her taxes, and... well, it's not a good substitute for porn, but it is angst, and yay?

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here: Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

It started small, as things often do.

You start drinking for all the usual, clichéd reasons.

You can see that oh-so-clearly now... But then?

Then, you were all of fifteen years old; gawky, awkward, alone...and completely out of your element.

...You're spending the summer at your father's house, so far away from your friends, and finding it strangely difficult to make new ones. They already know you as the theater geek with an incongruous letter in baseball, a singer planning your own rock band who also competes in duo interpretation - a foot in so many worlds, and so precariously off-balance...

Quite frankly, you're an oddity, a shifted paradigm that doesn't fit their world view...and your small-town ways are no match for their comparative urbanity. The culture shock is intense.

You spend your first few weeks there feeling left out, invisible...and then you meet this guy -- Adam -- who's the older half-brother you'd never before met. He's already in college, but he takes you under his wing, and he's got so much relative sophistication and ease with himself that you find yourself idolizing him immediately, even as you're adjusting to this new reality, to the concept that you're no longer the oldest, that you finally have someone you can look up to...

And eventually your step-siblings and your cousins and their friends begin to warm up to you, and you start to feel like you might actually be all right.

Until the day when Adam drops by the house, and the bottom drops out of your secure little world.

Cancer.

It's not a word you're used to. It's not one that rolls easily off your tongue.

It is, in fact, the filthiest word you've ever heard in your life.

He's got a brain tumor, and he may very well die.

The thought completely terrifies you.

Your local best friend is the first person you tell, and when he offers you a beer, to help you relax... Well, you just don't know how to say 'no'.

And so you huddle with him in his bedroom, late into the night, sitting side-by-side on the floor in the dark, leaning against his bed, listening to Nine Inch Nails and White Zombie, drinking his dad's most expensive rum and cheapest beer.

As often - as always - as has happened throughout history, alcohol serves as the universal solvent, dissolving your pain and heartache, shifting your mood, abandoning your inhibitions...

It's suddenly easier to forget, it's easier to smile, to laugh, to just be yourself...

Those are really all the reasons you need.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Prequel: Thought You Knew

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fic: "Thought You Knew"

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 05:10:09 GMT

Title: Thought You Knew
Series: Anodyne
Rating: R
Pairing: David Cook/Jeff Shrout
Summary: You seem to be the only one to like what you see.
Word Count: 4390
Warnings: Angst liek woah
Archived: On IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: This is a prequel to Anodyne, for those of you familiar with it -- Jeff thought I should tell his side of the story. So I did. From his POV. :)

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here: Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

You've been watching him for a while now, for years; long enough to imagine you've got him all figured out... But you've only actually been friends for about six months, and you're not sure that's long enough for you to be feeling like you do.

Your first memories of him were wrapped up in this band, though your first impressions of the man himself were less than flattering.

A forensics nerd, and musical theater geek? A baseball jock and a rock star? It seemed like a punch-line to the world's worst joke. You could tell that even he himself didn't know where he belonged; that he wasn't sure whether he was liked for himself, or for who people thought he was.

You've heard the girls talking, in whispers and giggles hushed behind their hands. You know what they're saying, even when you can't hear their words, because it's the same loop that's been running non-stop in your brain.

You're the one with charisma to burn, Bobby's got sun-splashed good looks that kill, and Dave, well... Dave has the sensitive tortured soul -- a single glance at his lyrics would tell anyone that -- hidden behind a shield.

You found it one night, when you weren't really looking...and lost yourself.

You're at a post-prom party -- it's your senior prom, all of you; Axium's been booked to play; and you're there as a sort of audition-slash-try-out.

All too quickly (and, as you'll discover, as things around him often do), things erupt in total chaos.

Bobby is off in a dark corner of the ballroom with his date, apparently attempting to devour her face. Matt and Anthony are dancing with their girls to the schlocky shit the local DJ is spinning before your set. You're stag by choice, though you're still subconsciously grappling with the real reason why...and Dave's girlfriend has just unceremoniously dumped him, right there on the dance floor.

You watch him watch her as she stalks away with her friends, alternately laughing and scowling at him over their shoulders, and the stunned, empty look in his eyes is almost too much for you to bear.

He turns away slowly, heading toward the exit, and you follow.

You're positive he know you're there, and you're even more certain that he's trying to shake you, and you know for a fact that he's pissed at your persistence when you refuse to be lost.

But he never says a word until he stops in a dimly-lit corridor and slouches against the wall, glaring at you sullenly.

"What d'you want, Jeff?"

You shrug slightly as he fishes for something in the inside pocket of his suit coat.

"Just makin' sure y'don't do anything asinine," you reply, even as he does the most monumentally stupid thing ever, and pulls a silver flask out into the open.

He shoots you a withering look at your sharp gasp. "Relax, newbie; there's no one out here to tattle," he growls, tossing a swig back.

You watch the face he makes and the shiver that shoots through him as whatever-it-is in the flask burns its way down his throat, and then eye the flask suspiciously as he holds it out to you.

"Vodka," he croaks, his voice harsh from its aftereffects. "Odorless, colorless, tasteless... The perfect refreshment."

"Where did you get that?" you ask as you accept the open flask. You wave it briefly under your nose, wrinkling it at the fumes.

"Mom's boyfriend. Soon-to-be-step-dad, if you believe him," he replies with a one-shouldered shrug. "Gin, white rum, vodka... It's easy enough to nip a little bit of just about anything, but those three? You take what you want, fill the bottle back up with an equal amount of water, and nobody's the wiser." He shrugs again and looks away, scanning the hall quickly before looking back to you. "You drinkin' or not?"

You take a quick sip and shudder at its strength. "Neat trick," you rasp, thrusting the flask back at him. "Where'd y'learn that?"

"Indiana, a couple years back," he answers, taking another sip. You watch his lips purse as he suppresses another shiver, and this time you don't hesitate to take the bottle when he hands it over.

"Spent the summer with my dad -- my real dad," he clarifies, and you know how that feels -- "Found out my older brother was really sick... And I just had the worst time making friends until this weird kid down the block, I dunno, took pity on me, or something. Anyway, he showed me that trick, and it's worked ever since." He glances around the hallway again and spits on the carpet. "Grenvell only ever drinks his booze mixed with water or on the rocks anyway -- it's not like he's gonna notice, and he goes through the bottles quicker, which means I get to start over sooner."

Something about the way he snarls the man's name makes your skin crawl, and you don't think you've ever heard him talk about anyone in his family but his mom and his brothers, and you think about the rumors you've heard, and you picture Dave's mother attending his every musical and forensic performance, and the pointing and whispering that made her hold her head just that much higher...

But you know better than to question that.

Instead, you ask a safer one.

"Do you do this often?"

A negligible shrug is your answer this time as you pass the flask back. "Often enough," he replies quietly. "The less I have to think about certain things, the better, sometimes, y'know?"

And watching his pouty bottom lip as it molds to the mouth of the container, you're convinced you know exactly what he means.

After passing it back and forth several more times, you'd swear that someone's turned up the heat in the building, or that your jacket's too heavy, or something, because your face is hotly flushed, and you can feel a prickling of sweat on your forehead.

Dave's cheeks are as red as yours feel, and his eyes are starting to glaze over, to soften, and he's smiling broadly and laughing a little too freely at things that aren't really that funny, and you can see why he likes to drink -- he slips into another role, becomes a completely different person, more open and confident and so much more appealing...

And it suddenly bothers you that he's so adept at taking on those roles, at pretending to be someone else...

"Guys?"

Bobby's voice carries softly down the hall, and you both look up sharply -- you, straightening up from where you're doubled over with laughter, and he, from where his hands are braced on his thighs to keep him upright.

Bobby's expression is unreadable, but his tone remains quiet and gentle as he speaks. "C'mon, guys, they're waiting for us to play," he says, studying the pair of you as you walk his way, stumbling and weaving and bouncing off each other. "And please, Dave, for God's sake, don't get caught with that flask tonight, hmmm?"

This is, for some reason, the most hilarious thing either of you has heard all night, and Bobby turns and walks back to the ballroom, trailing you both in his wake.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dave takes a detour to the refreshment table as you head onstage, and you arrive at stage right just in time to see his jaw tighten as the crowd shrinks ever-so-subtly away, clearing a path for him to pass.

He places two glasses of punch on the lip of the stage and heaves himself up, carefully guarding his side where the flask is tucked away. He flashes you a tight grin as he pops to his feet, and carries the cups to the amplifier hidden in half-shadow behind you.

"Jeff, c'mere," he calls in a low voice.

You wander over obediently, catching a brief flash of silver as he pulls out the flask.

You shift closer to shield his actions from prying eyes, and he gives you an elaborate wink as he pours.

Stashing the flask in his pocket, he hands you your glass and tucks you under his arm. "To a good show," he murmurs, raising his cup for a toast, and you smile as you respond in kind.

"Let's go get 'em," he murmurs, giving your shoulder a squeeze as he shoves you lightly away.

Your hands are trembling slightly as you bring the guitar strap over your head, and you feel his eyes on your back as you plug yourself in. You turn to face the audience and spare him a sideways glance -- he's standing with his head bowed, hand wrapped tightly around the neck of his guitar, strumming a few chords to himself.

He must feel your gaze too, for he looks up, just once; and you see that one final flash of him before the Rock Star slides into place, and he takes a step forward to the mike.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You feel like your face is splitting in two, but the grin you've had plastered in place since the first chords rang out refuses to go away. Your first time onstage with a band -- a real band! -- and your head is still thick with the wonder of it all; the applause still ringing in your ears...

The DJ's music is too loud and you can barely hear yourself think, but that doesn't stop Dave from chattering on.

"So, anyway," he's saying, "I mean, Tony, man, maybe joining the service... His life's got purpose, man, he's gonna do things with his life. And Matt, now; he's got the right idea, too -- he's getting th'fuck outta this place, even if he is goin' t'Iowa, the poor fucker -- it might as well be light years away from here... But me? Shit, Jeff, I'm playing it safe, I'm following, not leading -- following you and Bobby and your sorry asses to CMSU, like a God-damned puppy, because it's close by, it's the right thing to do... It's safe, man... That's all it is..."

And you can see his eyes growing moist, and the very thought that you might have a weepy as well as chatty drunk on your hands is vaguely horrifying at best. So you distract him -- the only thing you can think of to do.

"Hey, Dave!" you say, just a little too brightly, "Let's go for a walk."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"You've been watchin' me, haven't you," he says suddenly, and the flush creeps up your neck as your wrench your eyes away from his dick at the urinal next to yours.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you lie, struggling to keep your gaze averted as you finish up and tuck yourself away. You move quickly to the sink, scrubbing furiously at your hands as though it might wash away the truth.

"Yes, you do," he insists, joining you at the washbasin. "You've been watching me for six months now, Jeff, and don't think I didn't notice..." He ducks his head and glances at you sideways, his eyebrow lifting curiously. "What do you see, Jeff? Anything interesting?"

"I see you, man," you reply after a beat, trying to figure out where this is going. "The real you."

"The real me," he repeats, frowning slightly as he turns your words over in his mind.

"Yeah. The one you're trying to hide..."

He meets your gaze in the mirror. "You think so?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He drops his gaze and falls silent, remaining quiet as you both dry your hands and stumble out of the bathroom, down the darkened hall.

"...Do you think anyone would like him?"

You halt in your tracks, tilting your head at him. "What?"

"The real me, whoever that is," he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging his shoulders. "Would anyone like him?"

Your eyes narrow. "Do you?" you deflect, and he actually laughs.

"I dunno, man, I don't know who he is," he replies, raising his eyes to yours. "You're the only one who sees him..." His voice trails off, and you watch his eyes go liquid and dark.

"Do you like him?" he asks softly, and he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

You're pretty sure that he's asking a different question from the one you're answering, but that's not stopping you from grabbing his lapels and dragging him in for a kiss.

It's a hard kiss, with the full strength of three years of frustration behind it, at the distance that had stood between you, at the time it took for him to notice; and six months of longing laced through it, for the hours of sitting side by side with him, learning his music, giving him your own, and never once had Dave seen -- truly seen, truly understood -- the way that you were looking at him.

His mouth drops open beneath yours from shock, and you slip your tongue inside. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and suddenly you're pulling him along, dragging him by his jacket as you back down the hall, trying each and every doorknob until you find one that's unlocked.

It's a utility closet, and it's dark, and it's perfect for now, so you yank him inside without breaking your kiss, and pin his body to the door with your own.

He wrenches his mouth away from yours, gulping in a giant breath as you move on to his neck. "Jeff, what--" he gasps, then "--Oh!" as your body arches against him, and a loud groan as your hands drop to his hips, grinding your pelvis against his.

He bucks against you, hands gripping your upper arms tightly, as you latch onto his throat. Biting down hard, you suck furiously at the skin beneath your teeth, and his breath stutters past your ear. You use your shoulders to shove his torso against the door and begin pawing frantically at his belt.

Your frustration turns to triumph as the buckle parts and falls open. Your fingers immediately set to work on his fly, strained across the growing bulge beneath it.

He's panting heavily, his fingers tightening and relaxing reflexively as you work, but he says nothing, making no attempt to escape.

The only reaction he shows at all is his ragged breathing, and the jolt of his hips forward when your knuckles drag across him as you draw his zipper down.

You kneel slowly, mouthing your way down his chest over his shirt, brushing his clothed erection with your fingertips as you complete your descent.

He shudders at your touch, and you glance up at him despite the darkness, wishing you could see his face or look into his eyes.

"Are you all right, Dave?" you ask hoarsely, and shake your head (though he can't see it) when he only grunts in response. "Answer me properly, please -- I have to know if this is all right."

He curses aloud, his hands clutching at your shoulders. "Fuck! I'm fine, I swear..."

"You want this?" And you're sliding your hands below his waistband, and the heat of his skin is burning your fingers.

"'Do I want this,' he asks..." Dave barks with laughter, tightening his grip painfully. "There better be at least a hand job on the other side of that question, Shrout, 'cause swear to God, if you stop now, I'm gonna kill you..."

And the roughness of his voice matches the heat beneath your hands, and you lean forward to mouth his hardness through the layer of cotton separating you.

His hips surge forward to meet you, and he chokes on another groan. "Jesus fuck, Jeff, please!"

You respond by pressing your forehead to his belly and gripping the fabric and elastic at his waist. Slowly, torturously so by the sound of his growl above you, you ease his pants and underwear down his thighs.

And your face is right there as his cock springs free and bobs upward to meet you, and your fingers dig into his thighs as the musky scent of his sex surrounds you.

Impulsively, you touch the tip of your tongue to his flesh, licking a short, wet stripe up his shaft.

The noise he makes is a combination of a whimper and a moan, and you decide right then and there that you just have to make him make that noise again.

You pull back, and his hold on your shoulders tightens further, digging into your flesh to the bone. "Don't you fucking dare," he snarls, pushing his hips forward desperately.

Your hands close over his hips, shoving them back and pinning them back against the door. "Gimme a minute!" you snap, fighting for breath as your heart hammers in your chest. "Lemme figure this out, okay? I've never..."

You snap your mouth shut, but the words unspoken may as well be flashing neon hanging in the air between you.

"You've never done this before," he breathes, slackening his grip. "Oh my God, Jeff..."

"Shut up, Dave..."

"Oh, my God," he repeats, and now his voice is quivering. "...Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why...me?"

And you're stumped. Why indeed? "Why not?"

His fingers flex on your shoulder, and you sigh softly, your breath ghosting across his skin.

"Because I want to, Dave. That's all."

"You want...me?"

"Do I--You talk too damn much, y'know that?" you reply, without a hint of rancor. "Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

His reply is lost in his groan as your hand closes around the base of his cock, and you measure his length with a tentative stroke.

"Isn't it enough that I want to do this?" You run your thumb over his weeping slit, coating the velvety softness of his head with his wetness, and slide your hand back down his shaft, carefully taking the head into your mouth.

You hold it there briefly, accustoming yourself to its shape and feel. Emboldened by the noise he makes, you bob forward, taking as much as you can into your mouth before hollowing your cheeks and pulling back.

"Isn't it enough that I care?" you murmur, and you swear you hear him stifle a sob as his whole body shudders.

"...I don't know why you would," he whispers, and he sounds so fucking broken that it makes you want to cry.

"Somebody has to, Dave," you whisper back.

There's a long pause as he considers your words, and then you feel his fingers brushing your cheek, trailing along your jawline, combing through your hair... Cupping the back of your head, he gently pulls you forward.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

For something you've never done before, you're apparently quite good at it.

The thought makes you snort with smug satisfaction.

You back off his dick with a soft wet 'pop', mapping the ridges and veins of his flesh with your tongue as you work his shaft with your fist.

His fingers tighten in your hair again as his hips jerk forward involuntarily. With your forearm, you shove him back and pin him against the door.

"Fuck!"

His curses are drenched in equal parts frustration and need, and he's panting so hard you're not completely convinced he isn't crying.

You sit back on your heels and work him lazily with your fist, occasionally giving random licks to his balls or his shaft or his glans, always light, always quick...

His grip relaxes in your hair and tightens once more, his knuckles pressing against your scalp to direct your mouth closer to the head of his cock.

"Jeff, please -- I need your mouth on me... Please put me back in your mouth..."

And God, that begging is so fucking hot, but it only makes you want to prolong this, for as long as you can. You don't want this to be over too soon...

It's strange to be wielding so much power from such a subservient position.

And it's even more terrifying to realize just how much you're enjoying this.

You cup your other hand around his scrotum, hefting his balls in your palm, enjoying their warm heavy weight as you massage them lightly between your fingers and thumb.

"Jeff, come on," he whines, and you slide a finger over the nearly-hairless patch of skin behind his sack, pressing in firmly, just once, and releasing.

There's a sudden hitch in his breath as his hips jolt towards you and his cock jumps in your hand, and you've never been more grateful for those health and anatomy classes you never thought you'd find useful.

"Oh God, do it again! You've gotta do it again!" he's pleading, voice raw and breathing ragged. "God, Jeff--fuck!"

This outcry is followed by a stream of obscenities which explode from his mouth as yours closes around him once more.

He's leaking so much it almost dribbles into your mouth as you suck him, and it's the weirdest thing you've ever tasted, but this is the strangest thing you've ever had in your mouth, so you try to get over the bitterness and concentrate instead on the sweet sounds you're drawing from his throat.

You can feel him trembling, and your arm is sore from holding him back, so you take pity on you both and let go.

And he's trying to hold his hips still, to let you do the work, but he can't help his involuntary thrusts forward. He hits the back of your throat by accident and gasps an apology, and though your mouth floods with a mixture of saliva and his juices, you fight down your gag reflex and drive on.

What you're lacking in finesse, you're more than making up in enthusiasm, and his breathing suddenly goes erratic and you swear he's growing bigger in your mouth.

And then you press your finger up into that spot behind his scrotum and hold it, massage it, and his head hits the door with a crack as his spine arches and his balls tighten against his body. He's suddenly whimpering and panting and tugging at your hair and trying to push you away but you're latched onto him tightly and you're sucking as hard as you can and you're determined to see this through to the end, because you're not going to be one of those cock-teasers...

He makes a noise that sounds like he's screaming with his fist jammed in his mouth, and you feel the first contraction beneath your fingers and the first pulse of his orgasm fills your mouth and all you can do is pull back, slacken your jaw, and swallow as fast as you can.

When he's done and you've milked him dry, you pull back and release him, tucking him away, and he slumps against the door, leaning his hands heavily on your shoulders for balance.

"...Did you just swallow?" he asks softly, and it comes out suspiciously like a sob, his voice faltering and shaky.

"Yes," you answer quietly.

"Holy shit," he breathes as his knees give way, and he slides down to the floor.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

With him taken care of, you're becoming more aware of your own, um, rather pressing problem...

Your clothes rustle as you shift position, grunting softly, and it startles him out of his sated daze.

"Are you... Should I... Let me..." he whispers haltingly, and you feel him fumbling for you in the dark.

"No!"

You know you'd answered more sharply than you'd intended, and there's frozen silence as he pauses, and you can almost feel the confusion and hurt rolling off of him in waves, but you weren't gonna be one of those guys who expected or demanded reciprocation.

"No, Dave," you repeat, gentler this time, "I'm okay, I'm good... Look, why don't you head back to the hall and find Bobby, okay? He's probably wondering where we are..." You rise from your knees and find his hands in the dark, pulling him to his feet. "I'll be there in a minute..."

He makes a soft noise of protest, but you don't allow him to press the issue. You find the doorknob and open the door, nudging him out into the corridor. Squinting against the sudden light, he glances back at you uncertainly.

"...Just give me a minute, okay?" you ask softly.

"...Okay..." he replies, and you close the door, leaning back against it with a shuddering sigh.

And then your dick is in your hand and you're stroking it for all you're worth, your teeth tearing at your lower lip to keep silent; and you're picturing him down on his knees with his mouth wrapped around you, and you're coming, hard, and you hope to God that it dries on the floor before the janitorial staff finds it in the morning.

You give yourself a moment to catch your breath before tucking your dick back into your pants and slipping out the door.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He's slumped against the wall again, half-way down the hall; forehead braced to forearms and arms braced against knees, and for all you know he's either ill or crying or both, you can't tell...

He doesn't look up as you approach, and keeps his head bowed as you crouch beside him. You're not even sure he realizes you're touching his shoulder until he raises his head, and his expression is dazed and uncertain and a little scared.

"...What did we just do?" he murmurs.

"Nothing," you answer softly, brushing the hair back out of his eyes. "It wasn't a big deal, Dave, it's okay..."

He blinks at you a moment and nods almost imperceptibly. "Thank you," he whispers, and the last word almost rises like a question.

You smile reassuringly. "Any time," you whisper back, and lean forward to kiss him.

You know he can taste himself from the way he hesitates, just the slightest bit; but then his fingers knot in your hair and he drags you closer, deepening the kiss.

You just brace your forearms on the wall, on either side of his head, and you let him.

You break apart only because you both need to breathe, and he's panting when he says "Holy shit," and his voice cracks just enough to twist your heart.

He's leaning into you slightly now, and you're feeling this weird sort of protectiveness toward him...but that's something to ponder later.

When you're sober.

If you remember.

You climb to your feet and extend your hand. "C'mon, Dave -- let's go."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Part 1: At First Glance

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fic: "Turning the Page"

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 06:46:13 GMT

Title: Turning the Page
Series: Hard Lessons
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dandy
Summary: "All I can see is him...I want him gone."
Word Count: 2641
Warnings: Rated for language and adult situations.
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: I'm actually breaking this up into two parts, cuz it makes more sense to me that way. Plus, more fic for you, and I get a little break to get ready, just like David. :)

Previous chapters are here: Broken Trust | Safe | Scenes | Clean Break

The room was dimming when Andy returned, but there was light enough left from the setting sun for him to just make out the figure slouched on the sofa.

He paused in the doorway, surprised and a little uncertain. "Dave?" he called quietly.

The man on the couch did not stir.

Andy took a tentative step into the room, closing the apartment door carefully behind him.

Still no response, and Andy's initial shock shifted toward the first stages of alarm.

"Dave," he repeated, slowly moving closer, taking care not to spook the other man, but David never reacted. It was like Andy wasn't even there.

Andy fought the impulse to cross his arms across his abdomen and hug himself, trying to dispel the inkling of fear seeping into his heart. Instead, he forced his arms down to his side, in a loose, non-threatening posture, and crossed into his friend's line of sight.

"Dave!" he called, a little more urgently, studying the other man's pose with a slight sinking feeling in his chest. "Dave, please; you're scaring me here..." he continued, and was a bit startled to realize how much of that statement was truth. "C'mon, man -- are you okay?"

Something in his voice worked to drag the other man out his near-trance, and David finally lifted his gaze from the opposite wall to Andy's face.

"Hi..." David murmured softly, a residue of distress shadowing his face as he struggled to focus.

There was no way Andy could miss his efforts.

"Hey," Andy replied with a cautious smile, trying to keep his voice light. "Where were you just now? Did you not hear me come in?"

David just stared back without replying, his eyes cloudy with some undefined emotion that Andy could neither read nor understand.

"Are you okay?" he asked, studying David's face closely. "Did it not go well?"

The silence deepened around them, and Andy watched his eyes go dark.

"Wait -- what did he--"

David cut him off with an angry gesture and averted his gaze, avoiding Andy's scrutiny.

"God damn him," Andy breathed, his mind racing to categorize the many and varied ways in which Michael could go fuck himself.

Fucking selfish piece of shit.

He doesn't deserve you.

Andy dropped his head to his chest and inhaled deeply, fighting to keep his emotions in check. It would not help matters if he were to lose control, and he knew David was counting on him to be strong enough for them both.

Still, it was so damn difficult to remain calm when he could see the minute tremors shivering through David's frame, when he knew who was responsible for putting them there...

"I'm gonna kill him," he muttered under his breath.

"Andy, c'mon..."

"It would be a mercy killing, I swear," he continued, his voice rising.

"Andy, no. Stop it, please."

"God damn it, David, look what he's done to you! Am I not allowed to be a little pissed off at that?"

The other man bowed his head and clenched his fists in his lap, refusing to answer.

Sighing, Andy reached out and cupped David's chin, tipping his face up to meet Andy's gaze.

"Dave," he murmured, "What do you want me to do, then?"

David closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

"What is it you need from me, Davey?" Andy continued in the same low tone, caressing the line of David's jaw with his thumb, and watched the war of emotions sweep across David's face. "How can I help make this better?"

Without opening his eyes, David smiled faintly. "Remember when you said you knew the right kind of Dom for me?"

"Yes, I do," Andy replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

David's smile faded. "...How the fuck do you think you know?"

Andy blinked in surprise, and settled to the couch beside him, taking one of David's hands in his. "That's a fair question," he said softly, "And it's a good one." He paused, ordering his thoughts as he kneaded David's hand gently, easing the clenched fist open.

"I guess the best answer I can give you is this: No, I haven't had any formal training as a Dom, but you've still taught me so much," he finally answered, shrugging self-consciously when David frowned. "I learned by example, mostly. I learned from watching you."

David's eyes flew open in alarm, seeking Andy's, and Andy threaded his fingers between David's, intertwining them, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

"Now, let me explain that, okay?" Andy continued, stroking the back of David's hand soothingly. "I watched everything you did -- the play parties, the dungeons, the talks you had with the newbies... I saw you -- how you handled Jeremy, how Neal handled you, how you handled yourself..."

David shifted anxiously beside him, and Andy held up a hand to forestall him.

"Now, I know what you're gonna say -- 'experience is the best teacher,' right? Well, I haven't had that much direct experience, it's true; and I wouldn't dare claim that I know my way around a whip or a cane, but I'm good with my hands, and I've seen you work, and I know you, Dave -- I think sometimes better than you know yourself. Experience is always the best teacher, but having seen your experiences is the next best thing, in my mind. So when you ask me if I know, I'm going to answer truthfully. Yes, Davey -- I do."

Their eyes met, and Andy again watched the parade of emotions chasing each other in David's eyes: sorrow, longing, anxiety, despair, fear...

He hated the fear the most.

David looked down at their hands, their fingers still entwined, and blinked back sudden tears.

"Show me," he whispered.

Andy drew back slightly in surprise, cocking his head. "What?"

"Show me," David repeated, whirling to face Andy. Locking eyes with him, he clutched at Andy's arm. "I have to see it!"

"Wait. Now? Tonight?" Andy frowned, gathering himself to pull back; but the intensity of David's gaze, the desperate way he was clinging to his arm, made Andy reconsider breaking that contact. Instead, he inhaled slowly and squeezed his friend's hand, trying to draw him back under control.

"David, are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked gently, searching David's face for the truth.

"God!" David jerked away from Andy and jumped to his feet, pacing the room restlessly. "There's this scene that keeps playing in my head, Andy, and all I can see is him -- his face, his hands, his mouth and his body and his eyes..." A violent shudder ran through his body, and he shook out his arms to disguise it. "I--I want him gone, you understand? Gone from that scene, gone from my thoughts, from my mind..." His eyes snapped back to Andy's face. "I want him gone."

Andy's eyes hadn't missed a thing that had happened, and he absolutely couldn't ignore the sudden vehemence in David's tone. He could certainly agree with David's desire to banish Michael's memory.

He wanted Michael gone himself.

"All right," he murmured, and watched David's eyes widen with realization. "Come here, Davey," he said, patting the cushion beside him. "Sit."

David's gaze never left Andy's as he returned to his side, but instead of settling to the couch beside his friend, he did something completely unexpected that threw Andy off-guard.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees on the floor at Andy's feet, and ducked his head to his chest.

Oh shit, Andy thought. This is real.

The expectant air of David's posture, the suggestion he gave of listening with more than just his ears, the way his entire body seemed attuned to Andy, the offering he'd just made of himself...

This is really, really real.

Andy struggled to quiet his thoughts, to find his voice.

"David, sit here on the couch beside me," he managed at last. "We need to negotiate this."

David lifted his eyes, hiding a small smile of triumph.

Andy had the faintest suspicion of being manipulated, yet somehow he really didn't mind.

"You sassy-assed son of a bitch," he remarked without rancor, and David's grin deepened.

"You know it."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"God, this is so weird," Andy complained jokingly. "I've never negotiated a scene before..."

"You've seen me do it plenty of times, Andy," David reassured him. "You can do this, I promise."

"Okay! Okay. So I'm thinking that this shouldn't be a full-blown scene, by any means," Andy mused, and David murmured his approval. "Something short, something light..."

"Something comfortable for you..."

"Yeah, that too," Andy agreed with a bark of laughter. "If I'm uncomfortable, it's not going to go well, is it... So, something light... How much bondage are you comfortable with? Or rather, how much do you think you can stand?" he corrected himself, studying the darkening bruises encircling David's wrists. "I don't really want to make that any worse..."

"Um, ordinarily I'd say, 'don't worry about it'," David replied, "But honestly? I'm pretty sure you don't have a lot of stuff lying around to tie me up with, am I right?"

"Stop being a smart-ass."

"I'm not -- I'm right, right?"

"Yes. Shut up. Stop laughing, damn it! This is serious business, y'know?" Andy glared at David's quaking shoulders for a moment before punching him lightly in the arm. "Come on, Dave, don't make this difficult for me..."

"Sorry!"

"No, you're not. Anyway, I guess I'm just going to have to trust that you'll listen to me when I tell you what to do...and won't that be a novelty. All right, so that's taken care of -- sort of... Now, what about the physical stuff?"

"I can take whatever you dish out."

"...Your confidence is staggering, isn't it? No, hot shot, I was actually thinking about myself there, trying to decide what I'm comfortable with..."

"Again, Andy," David said gently, "I can take whatever you dish out."

Andy looked at him and nodded. "Understood." He fought down the sudden urge to jump to his feet and pace the room himself. "What about the, erm...'other' physical stuff?"

David blinked at him a few times before confusion gave way to comprehension.

"You know, Andy, all of that stuff is really just a cliché. There's nothing that says every scene needs to involve sex," he said quietly, surprised to find himself suppressing a twinge of disappointment, tucking it away for later analysis.

Andy's cheeks bloomed with scarlet. "Um."

David tilted his head curiously.

"Um...what if, uh, say...I maybe wanted something to happen?"

And David had never seen Andy blushing that furiously in his life.

"Well...I'd say we should discuss that..." David answered slowly. Andy shot him an exasperated look. "Hey, man," David protested, raising his hands in appeasement. "Sexual activity is part and parcel of the negotiation process..."

"You're enjoying this," Andy sulked.

"Honestly? I'm just not used to you thinking of me that way," David replied.

"Hell, I'm not used to thinking of you in that way, either!" Andy snapped back. "It's, um...it's not like the thought never occurred to me, or anything..." Again with the blush, and now Andy didn't seem to know where to look or what to do with his hands. "You've just always belonged to someone else, so I never had the chance."

"I'm available now..."

Andy threw him a sheepish smile. "I know."

"So..." David looked at him sideways. "...What did you have in mind?"

Andy's expression turned thoughtful.

"Well, let's start simple. Can I kiss you?"

"Why, Andy..." David batted his eyelashes coyly, and Andy rolled his eyes.

"In the context of the scene, David... Can I kiss you?"

"Certainly."

"Will you allow me to touch you?"

"Sexually?"

Andy glared. "I thought that was the point of this discussion?"

"It is," David agreed, laughing. "I just wanted to make sure that this is really happening."

"Pinch yourself if you need to, David; but can we please be serious here?"

"Sorry... Yes, and if you ask me to, I will touch you."

"Are you willing to suck me off?"

Holy shit, David thought as his eyebrows shot skyward. Apparently, Andy's self-confidence was no longer an issue.

"Yes, I am..."

"Will you let me fuck your face?"

"Um...that's fine..."

"And if I pull out, and come on your chest -- is that okay?"

"Uh, okay, sure..."

"What about your mouth? Can I come in your mouth?"

"...Yes?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, David. Either I can or I can't, your choice. Which is it?"

This was definitely a side of Andy that David had never seen before.

...It was actually kind of hot.

He blinked and forced his thoughts back to the present.

"Uh, yes, you may..."

"I may what?"

"You may come in my mouth..."

"Do you swallow?"

"For certain people-"

"For me, David?"

The very thought of it shot right to his dick.

"...God, yes."

Andy watched the shudder travel down David's spine, and smiled. "Good."

He turned his attention to the improvised checklist in front of him, making his notations, but glanced up when David cleared his throat tentatively, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm? What is it, David?"

"Is there, uh, anything else you'd want to do?" David ventured, and it was Andy's turn to arch an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

Andy saw that David's body language had grown uncertain, saw the distancing beginning in his eyes, and Andy's expression reflected his concern.

"What did you have in mind, David?" he asked quietly.

"...Would you be expecting to, um, y'know...t'fuck me?"

And there, David's voice sounded so very small, almost as if he were dreading the response.

Andy knew instinctively that such attentions in the past had been less than welcomed. His heart ached for his friend even as his temper flared.

If I ever see that son-of-a-bitch again, I swear to God...

But when he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle.

"David... Would that be something you'd willingly agree to?" Tilting his head, he rattled off a string of curses inside it as he watched the other man draw back into himself. "David," he repeated, and waited for the other man to glance up. "I would never do anything you didn't want me to do, all right? But you did bring it up, so by rights we need to negotiate this as well. Would you willingly agree to have sex with me?"

He watched David's jaw work nervously.

"Dave..." Andy murmured gently, "It's okay to say 'no'."

And now David actually looked relieved, and Andy had to choke down yet another murderous impulse.

"No, I'd really rather not," David whispered, and Andy nodded.

"On that note, we don't have to do anything sexual at all, if you don't want to," Andy continued gently. "You know this. Even that stuff we just negotiated. If you don't want any sexual contact at all tonight, that's okay. I won't be angry with you. I just need to know."

"That's not what I'm saying at all, Andy," David protested. "If I didn't want to do those things, I wouldn't have said 'yes'. It's just this one thing I had to be clear about, because I know how things intensify when you're wrapped up in a scene..." He paused and swallowed hard before continuing. "I trust you, all right? And I'm fine with the rest."

"I won't let it get out of control, David," Andy reassured him. "Only things we've negotiated, and nothing more. I promise."

"I know."

"That's settled, then."

David graced him with a ghost of a smile, and Andy responded with a small one of his own.

"Go get yourself ready," Andy murmured, patting David's hand. "You've got a half-hour."

Ducking his head to hide the flush on his cheeks, David obeyed, scurrying away.

He didn't feel Andy's eyes on his back, watching his retreat.

OH GOD DAMN IT.

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 10:55:27 GMT

And here I thought I was safe from comment rot...

#(*$&#(*$&#)@($&)@#

so, pretty much any comments left on entries from six months ago or later have been hit -- they're gone for good. *sighs*

At least IJ hasn't learned how to allow us to empty our fucking message boxes, so all the comments are still in there. LOL

They say that the comment rot issue will be addressed in the next code release.... but they've been promising that code for a loooooooong time now... C'mon, guys. :(

This is just so you guys know what happened, if you perchance go back and read any of my old fics... I would not delete those comments on my own, believe me -- too many warm fuzzy feelings. :) ♥

Fic: "Always Believe"

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 03:49:03 GMT

Title: Always Believe
Series: Anodyne
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dandy
Summary: Don't ever sell yourself short.
Word Count: 361
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: So! This has been sitting on my hard drive since September, when I decided that it wouldn't fit into the chapter of Anodyne that I was working on at the time ("Busted," for the record -- so linearly, it falls between parts 2 and 3). Since I tend to write in scenes, I figured I'd go ahead and throw it out there for all you peeps waiting on Anodyne updates...Kind of like throwing a bone to a starving dog, I know, but it's all I got at this time. *blush*

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here: Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

It doesn't matter how many times you re-play the message -- it never gets any less surreal.

And so you call the first person that comes to mind to help you wrap your head around it.

"Andy? Guess what, man..."

Not Bobby, never Jeff -- Andy.

"Check this shit out, man -- we just got this fucking voice mail from this guy with AMC -- y'know, the movie theater chain?? Well, he heard us at one of our concerts and get this -- he wants to put 'Hold' on Movie Tunes in his theaters, man..."

"Holy shit, David! That's...wow."

"Twenty thousand theaters, nation-fucking-wide, Andy! That's more than just 'wow' -- that's fucking incredible! Think of the exposure we'll be getting!"

Andy's laughter fills your ears. "Yeah, you're right -- it is fucking incredible, Davey. What did Jeff and Bobby have to say?"

"...Uh..."

"...You haven't told them yet?"

"...Um."

"God, David..." You can almost see him shaking his head as his sigh reaches you over the phone line.

"Andy...what? I had to tell somebody about it, and Bobby and Jeff are at work right now, and you were the first person I thought of, and for fuck's sake, it's as much your guys' song as it is ours at this point..." and you can't keep the hurt out of your voice no matter how hard you try.

"...I just thought you'd be happy about it, y'know?" you finish softly, and stare at the rain rolling down the window pane, your mood suddenly as dampened as the weather outside.

"...I am, Davey...I am," he answers just as softly. "But it has nothing to do with me -- it's you, David. It's all about you. Don't sell yourself short."

Several moments pass in silence, and you hear him sigh again.

"David, listen to me. Go out tonight with Bob and Jeff. Celebrate. Have fun. You've earned it..." He pauses, listening to you inhale a shaky breath. "I mean it, David," he murmurs almost tenderly. "...This could be huge, man, and you deserve it."

You press your forehead against the windowpane with the southernmost exposure and close your eyes, picturing his gentle smile.

"...Andy? ...Thanks."

"...You're welcome."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Part 3: Busted

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fic: "Clean Break"

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 09:59:32 GMT

Title: Clean Break
Series: Hard Lessons
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Past Cookmann; current Mavid-on-the-rocks; current Dandy friendship
Summary: Sometimes, you don't get them back.
Word Count: 3600
Warnings: Rated for language. Adult situations and the continued aftermath of broken scenes. Oh, and Papa's being a bit of a horse's ass here, sry.
Archived: Here on IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: This follows Safe in the Hard Lessons universe. There are two more fic bunnies in this arc; after that, I'm not sure if this series will continue.

Those of you interested can find the previous chapters here: Broken Trust | Safe | Scenes

Cheerleading, hand-holding, and all-around general awesomeness c/o celticfish -- as always, as ever. ♥ Thank you, bb, for your flailing enthusiasm when I mentioned finishing this storyline. :)

"Dave." A gentle nudge at his shoulder. "Dave - time to get up."

He rolled away from the pressure with a groan, throwing an arm over his face to block the light.

"Dave." The voice a bit more insistent, the nudge sharper. "C'mon, man..."

"Quit it, Michael..." he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. "Few more minutes..." His voice trailed off as he slipped back into slumber.

Cocking his head slightly, Andy paused, his arm frozen in mid-nudge. Nodding once to himself, he backed slowly off the bed and headed for the kitchen.

He was just putting the finishing touches on a second stack of pancakes when David stumbled in, lured by the aroma of coffee and bacon, rubbing his eyes sleepily and cursing "goddamned morning people" under his breath.

"Hey, if it weren't for morning people, night owls would never get breakfast," Andy teased, as David collapsed into the chair that had already been pulled out for him. "It's the most important meal of the day, Dave," he informed him gravely, barely keeping a straight face as he set the loaded plate in front of his friend. "Gives you the energy to face the day."

David blinked slowly at the mountain of pancakes on the plate. "Jesus, Andy," he muttered, "Even that loosely-coordinated walking they call 'choreography' doesn't take up this much energy..."

"...But that's not all you have to do today," Andy replied gently, busying himself at the coffee maker.

David swallowed hard as his stomach rolled. "...Don't remind me."

Seating himself opposite, Andy shoved a mug of coffee across the table to the older man. Bracing his elbows on the table, he took a sip from his mug, scrutinizing David over its rim.

David hated when Andy studied him like that.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say?"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"I have no idea what to say to him."

"But you are going to talk to him...?"

He stared down at the light bandages on his wrists, barely hidden beneath the cuffs of his sweatshirt. "I--" He dropped his face into his hands, grinding their heels against his eyes, hissing at the sharp jolt of pain coursing through his forearms. "I-I really don't know."

He hated sounding so helpless, so damned timid, so fucking broken...

"Dave."

"Don't."

"Dave." Andy's voice was as soft as the touch he was applying to David's shoulder, as though worried he might scare the older man off. "He cares about you, Dave. He knows he fucked up. Give him a chance to make it up to you..."

His grip tightened slightly at the shudder that ran through David's frame.

"I don't think he can," was the muffled reply.

Andy sighed softly. "Won't you at least hear him out?"

The shoulder beneath his hand rose and fell in a non-commital shrug.

"Dave, please," Andy murmured. "You've been friends for far too long to have it end like this..."

David shifted sharply away, and Andy let his hand fall, wondering just how far he could push before it became too much.

"Dave, listen to me. Yes, what happened was horrible, and it never should have happened, but it did. He knows he hurt you. He knows how badly he fucked up. He wants to apologize. He wants to make things right between the two of you -- at least he's willing to try..." He paused, searching for the right words to convince him. "Neal loves you, David. You can't just ignore what happened and hope for it to go away, because you know it won't."

The other man did not respond, but his shoulders sagged noticeably.

"I'm not asking you to trust him. I'm not asking you to forgive him. Only you can decide if he's worthy of that," Andy continued into the silence. "But you have to discuss this with him, David, if only for your own peace of mind. It's the only way to heal."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"...David?"

He stared back in silence, and Andy shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Look, man, I know there's a lot going on in your head right now. Unfortunately, you've been down this road before, and you know what you need to do, so I'm gonna shut up now and get ready to go -- my songs aren't gonna track themselves, y'know..."

A faint smile was David's only reply, but for Andy, that was enough.

He pulled a key from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Spare key," he murmured. "Use it if you need to, but just don't lose it, all right?"

David pocketed the key, nodding mutely.

"Now, finish those fucking pancakes, man -- you'll need that extra energy later, believe me..." He pushed back from the table and grabbed his jacket from the hook on the back of the door. "Just lock up when you go, all right?" he said with a smile, and Dave waved him off, his cheeks bulging with pancakes in a state of advanced demolition.

"Oh yeah, one more thing, Cook," Andy added, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "This time? Don't steal my fucking underwear after you shower."

Grinning widely, he dodged an airborne piece of toast and ducked out the door, peeking back around the edge for his parting shot. "And clean up yer mess, ya fucking pig. Later!"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Davey! Thank God you're here..."

David automatically flinched away from Neal's extended hand, and Neal immediately pulled it back, flushing scarlet.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and his voice sounded incredibly small to David's ears -- small and uncertain and horrified, in a way that was completely discordant with the image of the dominant that David carried in his mind.

An awkward silence descended over them, and Dave hunched his shoulders, staring at the ground.

"You wanted to talk," he finally ventured, peering up at Neal from under his eyelashes. "So, talk, asshole."

Neal heaved a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I deserved that. But you didn't. Look, man -- I fucked up. Bad. I never should have done what I did to you."

He slouched against the wall behind him, dropping both his gaze and his voice so much that David took an involuntary step forward just to be sure he could hear him.

"Nothing I did that night was safe or sane, David, and no matter how consensual it might have been when we started, it completely crossed the line into non-consensual when I opened that fucking whiskey bottle. I never should have put you into subspace like that, and I damn sure should never have left you there, bound and alone. I fucked up completely, David. I fucked the scene up, I fucked you up... Hell, I fucked everything up. David, I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

David grunted softly in acknowledgment.

"I don't want you to sub to me anymore, Davey," Neal continued quietly. "It's no good for either of us. In fact, I think I'm gonna break from the scene altogether... No, not permanently, Dave, not like that," he continued, holding up a hand to still David's protests. "And no, it's not your fault! God, Davey, believe me, it's not because of you -- I'm the one with the problem.

"I have issues I need to deal with, obviously; and once those are corrected, then maybe I'll come back in... But this is not your fault, I swear -- if anything, I should be thanking you for helping me to see where my problems lie. David...I have a lot of work to do before I can trust myself with another human being like that, and I'm sorry that it took you getting hurt for me to see that. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again, but all I can do right now is apologize and ask for your forgiveness. That's all."

David chewed on his lower lip, processing Neal's words. It was several moments before he trusted himself to speak.

"Um... I... Uh..." he stammered, then paused, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Look -- it's gonna be hard, man, I'm not gonna lie," he said, avoiding Neal's eyes. "But it honestly means a lot to me that you admitted that you fucked up; and that you're willing to make corrections, so that it doesn't happen again; and that you were man enough to apologize for it. So few Doms will ever actually admit to being wrong, even when they obviously are, and almost none of them will apologize for it... God, I hate that they don't, because they should, they absolutely should..."

He halted again, and Neal actually held his breath, waiting for his verdict.

"I'll--I'll try, Neal. I'll try," David finally whispered, and Neal exhaled heavily in relief.

"That's all I'm asking, Dave," he murmured in response. "That's all I'd ever want you to do."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"I want my own room."

Nigel and Simon Fuller glanced up sharply from their charts and figures, frowning as one at the man bearing down on them.

"What?" Nigel snapped. "David, you can't just strut in here after disappearing for eighteen hours with no word whatsoever and expect to make this type of demand!"

David stopped directly in front of Lythgoe and planted his fists firmly on the desk, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "I want my own room," he repeated with emphasis, "And I want it by tonight, Nigel, or else when curfew rolls around, you're gonna be short an Idol for the second night in a row. I'm not staying in that room a second longer."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"None of your God-damned business, Fuller..."

"You're my talent, David -- that makes it my business."

"I've got it under control, Simon -- just as soon as you boys get me my own. Fucking. Room."

The three men glared at each other across the desk for several tense moments.

"Come now, David -- what's brought this on, all of a sudden?" Nigel asked, keeping his voice level despite his obvious irritation. "I've never figured you for the prima-donna type, and you've been content up until now sharing a suite with Johns and Castro. Care to share whatever it is that's bothering you?"

"It's personal, Nigel," David growled. "Call it irreconcilable differences. Call it cabin fever, call it being sick-and-fucking-tired of being around each other, call it whatever-the-fuck you want, seriously -- just get me out of that room before something horrible happens."

Nigel studied his body language a moment. "You're serious about this."

"Never been more sure of anything in my life, Nigel."

Nigel leaned back in his chair, tenting his hands in front of his face thoughtfully while mulling his decision.

"All right, David, we shall see what we can do. I will not, however, make you any promises, is that understood? I will do my best to accommodate you, but you have to realize that we may not be able to make this happen."

"That's what I'm asking, Nigel -- But let it be known, Mr. Lythgoe, that if you do not find me a new spot? I will be breaking curfew and I will be spending my nights off-campus, in a place where I can feel safe. Nothing personal, you understand...it's all in the interest of keeping myself safe."

"Fine!" Nigel declared, clapping his hands together with finality. "That's settled, then! Now be a dear, would you David, and run along to the studio? Mr. Miner's been waiting to speak with you about the arrangements for your tour songs for approximately, oh, nineteen hours now..."

With a tight nod, David turned on his heel and headed back the way he came.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Simon asked Nigel in an undertone.

"Haven't the faintest," Nigel confessed, eyeing the departing man's back thoughtfully. "All I know is that I'm not going to be the one telling the media they cannot have access to the American Idol because, 'oh, sorry, we have no idea where he might be found,' right? Definitely not going that route..." With his voice trailing off into a rumble, Nigel grabbed the telephone to place a few calls.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The suite was suspiciously quiet when David let himself inside, eight hours later.

He glanced around curiously, a bit puzzled at the atmosphere. It felt far too foreign beneath its familiarity - as if something had minutely shifted, had changed, had fallen out of place...

Yeah, I guess that's pretty much the only way to describe it... he thought to himself. Things have definitely changed.

The room he shared -- had shared -- with Michael was empty, not a thing disturbed since his departure a day -- a lifetime -- ago. Michael's bed was still pulled away from the wall, the pink fuzzy abominations still laying on the floor where Michael had dropped them, the bedspread still bearing the imprint of his body...

It hadn't been slept in.

David darted a quick look toward his bed -- exactly as he'd left it yesterday morning.

There was only one other place for Michael to be, and that was how David found himself outside Jason's bedroom door, listening to the squeaks and squawks of bedsprings getting a vigorous workout. Wouldn't be long now, if those noises were any indication...

David stood silent a moment, eyes closed and lips tightly drawn, his hands curling into fists at his side, before he fought down the urge to kick the door in and beat the shit out of the bastard on the other side.

Shaking himself slightly, he checked his phone for missed calls or messages, and pocketed it after finding none.

He gave the closed door one final glance before steeling his shoulders and turning away.

For as many months as he'd occupied that suite, it didn't take him long to pack. Most of his wardrobe was Idol-issue anyway, at this point -- a gym bag stuffed full to bursting was sufficient for the leftovers of his pre-Idol life. Two guitar cases placed beside it, and he was very nearly set.

There was one final thing he needed to do -- but that door was still shut tight.

He flopped onto the couch and tipped his head back, closing his eyes once more, and waited.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He snapped back to full attention a short while later, jerked out of his light doze by the opening of the door, releasing Jason's musical voice and Michael's booming laughter.

Both of these were swiftly cut off when they spotted him seated on the sofa.

Their previous activity would have been clear to even the most casual observer, even if said observer hadn't been standing on the other side of the door.

Jason's face held a light flush, his dreads in deliciously-rumpled disarray around his face, and he was moving gingerly, in the way of the freshly-fucked. There were fresh marks on Jason's wrists that looked like the imprints of too-tight handcuffs, but Jason was a big boy, and capable of consent. At any rate, he was not where David's concerns lie.

No, that was Michael, who currently frozen in place, nearly in mid-step, staring at David openly. Anyone familiar with the man could easily see the gears turning behind Michael's narrowed eyes, and could certainly determine when he came to his decisions.

In an instant, Michael drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders to enhance the advantage of his size. It was all geared toward intimidation, toward dominance; and if he'd seen it in any other context but the present, David would've laughed out loud.

Instead, it only fueled his irritation.

Ignoring Michael's obvious posturing, David locked eyes with him and refused to look away.

He saw the minute shift of Michael's weight, the only outward sign of the man's discomfort, and a slow, terrible smile spread across his face -- a smile which set Michael's nerves immediately on edge.

"What?" he snapped, and David's smile turned into a snarl.

"Didn't take you long, did it?"

"Hey! You were the one that left, David! No one knew where you were--"

"--And you couldn't be bothered to look, right? Too busy fucking someone else?"

The open hostility between them was too much for Jason to handle, and he swayed nervously in place, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two men. "Uh, okay!" he declared, forcing a faked brightness into his voice, "You guys obviously need to have a talk. I'm gonna go..." He flapped his hands vaguely toward the door. "...Um, out for a while, while you two sort this shit out..."

Neither of them acknowledged his words, nor did they watch him leave. The tension in the air grew thick around them as they studied each other in silence, which Michael was the first to break.

"You want to talk? Talk."

"We need to discuss what happened last night."

"What about it?"

"What about it?" David repeated incredulously, feeling the heat beginning to creep up the back of his neck. "All of it -- everything that happened up until I left -- do you not think we need to discuss that?"

"I should have known you'd bring that up," Michael sneered, oozing cool disdain and dismissal. The effect was very nearly ruined by his surprise at David's acceptance of it.

"Yes, you should have known!" David jumped to his feet in agitation, pacing restlessly in the small space in front of Michael. "There's a reason we go over this!"

"Oh God, here we go..."

"Don't you ever fucking dare roll your eyes at me again!" David bit out, his hands clenching tightly into fists until his wrists screamed with the tension, grounding him. "We've been over this before, we'll go over it again -- as many times as necessary for you to get it right!"

He whirled around on the other man, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Safe! Sane! Consensual!"

Each individual word snapped like a whipcrack from David's lips, and Michael physically flinched each time.

"Remember that?" David demanded, his eyes burning into Michael's. "What, if anything, about yesterday was any of that? Can you tell me?" He resumed his stalking back and forth, gesturing sharply with his hands. "Safe! What exactly was 'safe' about it? And sane? Consensual! Are we even working with the same definitions here?"

"Aw, c'mon, Davey, it wasn't that bad, man," Michael protested heatedly. "Nothing fucking happened! You were cuffed to a bed, and they weren't even that tight..."

"You never leave a bound sub alone, Michael -- you just don't!" David's voice had risen to a near-shriek, but he made no effort to dampen it. "How many fucking times did I emphasize 'eyeshot and earshot'? Do you know why I repeated that, over and over and over again? Jesus fucking Christ, Michael!"

Abruptly, he reined himself in, dragging his hands through his hair as his eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you have any idea what happens when you abandon a sub, leave them alone and utterly vulnerable like that?" His voice faltered as the full weight of memory settled like his old collar into the groove around his neck. "They go to a very bad place, Michael... A place that's so dark, and so cold..." He barely even heard his voice crack as he contemplated the thought. "And sometimes, you don't get them back."

Michael remained silent, staring at him with his jaw stubbornly set.

"Sometimes, Michael," David continued, his voice low and broken with emotion, "Sometimes you get drunk; and you beat them bloody, and tie them to a wall by just their wrists and their collar, and their legs finally give out... Sometimes, the collar shifts and cuts off their air... And sometimes, they're so fucking miserable and despondent that they actively seek to finish the job..."

He swallowed hard over the lump rising in his throat, choking for a moment on his words.

"Do you understand why this is a big fucking deal, Michael?" he asked softly. "You never mean to, y'know... Most of the time, it's not intentional..."

David's head dropped to his chest, and his shoulders sagged wearily with the sudden effort of speech.

"But sometimes things happen that you never planned for, and you lose someone...and you can never get them back."

He sighed heavily, raising his head to meet Michael's gaze.

"Do you understand that now, Michael? There has to be trust there, trust that you won't put me in peril each and every time I agree to submit to you. I have to be able to trust you -- I want to trust you, Michael; but right now I don't believe that I can..."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Michael replied, his tone so cold and distant that it sent a shiver down David's spine.

His phrasing was all wrong. There was something just plain disturbing about it... David shook his head slightly to clear the feeling crawling over his skin. "I'm not asking you to apologize, Michael--"

"--That's good, because I'm not going to."

David raised an eyebrow without comment, and plunged onward. "Okay, good, because all the apologies in the world mean nothing unless you can tell me what you're going to do to change."

"I don't see any need to," Michael replied grimly, crossing his arms and glaring darkly at David. "I don't think I did anything wrong."

Gaping, David stared at him, a tinge of horror coloring his disbelief.

Michael waited one beat, then two. "What?" he demanded angrily.

David snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard again. "I... I think we're done here," he murmured softly.

Turning away without another word, David gathered his things and slowly left the room, leaving Michael staring after him, standing like a statue in his wake.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Go on to next story: "Turning the Page"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fic: "Five Kisses at Midnight"

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 01:28:03 GMT

Title: Five Kisses at Midnight
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: David/Bobby, David/Liz, David/Andy, David/Kim
Summary: There's always someone to kiss at midnight.
Word Count: 4946
Warnings: Um... Kim Caldwell? :D
Archived: Here on IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: For courts576's New Year's Eve "Midnight Kiss" challenge:

Ooo, also, if you are home like me and bored, I challenge you to write a story about who DFCook is kissing at midnight :)

Courts, this is all your fault. :P

And kisses to celticfish for being her usual awesome self. :)

Five...

"Yo, Bobby!"

He flinched at the sound of Dave's voice, shouting his name across the crowded bar. He rounded his shoulders and hunched over his drink, rolling the beer bottle restlessly between his palms.

"Hey, Kerr!"

Dave's voice was louder, now; maybe held a touch of uncertainty, if you knew how to read it -- and Bobby had known Dave for much of their lives, so he knew how to listen.

A hand clapped to his back, and a chin propped itself on his right shoulder.

"C'mon, man," Dave muttered into his ear, "They're gettin' ready t'drop th'ball, man, les'go..."

Bobby forced a smile to his face, and cocked his head slightly to meet Dave's eyes. "Yeah, okay, man..." he began, and wasn't given a chance to finish before Dave's fingers interlaced with his own, and he was dragged off of his bar stool and back onto the ridiculously tiny stage where they'd spent most of the night.

"Aw'right!" Dave was yelling into the mike. "Les' hear some noise out there, KC!"

The crowd responded with hoots and yells as the countdown to midnight began. Dave glanced over at Jeff with one of his broad, easy grins, and Bobby felt his heart tug in his chest.

Dave turned to face Bobby, bellowing the count along with the club's patrons, his breath warm and heavy on Bobby's cheek, smelling of stale beer and fresh cigarettes. He slipped an arm around Bobby's back with a gentle smile, and dragged him snug against his side as he turned to the TV screen in the corner.

"Three...two... ONE! Happy New Year!"

Jeff began cranking out a power-chord version of "Auld Lang Syne" on his guitar, and the crowd around them joined in as Dave began the lyrics, his eyes wide and wet with emotion. His grip on Bobby tightened as he began to sway in place, and the mass of people clustered around the stage followed his lead.

"For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne...We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne..."

As the chorus drew to a close, Jeff's chords were drowned out by the cheers and applause from the crowd. Dave flagged down a passing waitress with several flutes of champagne still left on her tray, and handed them out to his bandmates as they clustered together in the middle of the stage.

"Fuck them 'Milk" people!" Dave declared loudly, raising his glass high. "Here's to the best God-damned independent band in the fucking country!" He glanced around at them with wide-eyed joy, and Bobby nearly lost his composure then and there.

"I love you guys," Dave continued, "And here's to many more years in the future. Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Bobby responded quietly, his voice overpowered by Jeff's and Travis's, but Dave didn't seem to notice.

They clinked their glasses lightly together and took their sips, and Dave slipped his arm around Bobby's waist, throwing his head back with wild, exuberant laughter.

It was all too much -- too much closeness, too much guilt, too much sorrow at knowing he would be the one to take that laughter away...

He twisted away from Dave's side. Startled, Dave grabbed at his arm, studying his face questioningly.

"Bobby, what's--"

"I can't!" Bobby blurted out. "I'm sorry, I just--"

He stopped himself before he said too much -- tonight was not the night for this discussion, it was coming soon enough.

"I'm so sorry, Davey," he repeated. Darting closer, he pressed his lips quickly to Dave's. "I can't."

He turned his back and fled, rushing out the door into the cold night air, watching the ebb and flow of people on the sidewalk a moment before stepping in, allowing them to sweep him away in their current.

Frowning in confusion, Dave could only watch him go. Standing like a statue at center stage, he touched his tingling lips with his fingers.

He wondered why they still felt like they were burning.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Four...

"David, sweetheart, it's almost time! You'd better grab a glass of champagne now, or you won't be ready when the ball drops!"

He grimaced mildly at her wheedling tone, but clenched his jaw and faked a smile as he swiveled on the barstool to face her.

"Okay, Lizzie baby, I will," he replied, forcing a happy lightness into his voice that he hadn't felt for her in far too long. "Don't worry, okay?" he continued, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. "I promise, sweetie, I'll be ready when it happens..."

"Okay," she answered, mollified for the moment. "I'll be with Trish and Jim at their table, 'kay?"

"Sure, hon, I'll be right there..." he began, but she had already turned her back and disappeared into the crowd.

He turned back to his Scotch and soda with a sigh, throwing back the dregs and setting the glass heavily on the bar.

"Another?" asked the bartender, and he shook his head wearily.

"Naw, man, it's almost time!" he simpered, and the barkeep shot him a knowing and sympathetic smile. "I'll take a glass of champagne, though, if you've got it..."

"Yeah, sorry, we only sell it by the bottle," the bartender replied with a shrug. "I'll give you an empty glass, though -- I'm suspecting your girl and her friends are pretty well set..."

Dave sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. "You're probably right, man," he exhaled, and slapped a few twenties on the bar beside his empty tumbler. "Keep it, man -- you've been very good to me tonight, and thank you for that."

The bartender brushed a few fingers over his brow in a salute and slid a champagne flute across the bar. "Y'better go find your girl, bub -- looks like the countdown's gonna begin here in a bit..."

He grasped the glass with a nod and threaded his way through the crowd as the buzz and hum in the club rose around him. He spotted her with her friends at their table in the corner, and sure enough, there was a bottle planted in an ice bucket waiting for his arrival.

"Hurry up, David!"

He could feel Tricia and Jim's eyes upon him as they studied and sized him up, judging him and his clothing and his appearance as usual, and always, always finding him lacking... He found himself gritting his teeth again, but forced the action into a tight smile as he approached.

"Hurry, David!" Liz repeated, and snatched the glass from his hand.

Jim rose fluidly to his feet and poured the champagne, filling the glass only half-full. "Mustn't mix our alcohol too much," he murmured sardonically, with a toothy smile that bordered on a snarl. "We wouldn't want any hangovers in the morning, am I right?"

"Jesus -- judgmental much?" Dave snapped, and longed for the opportunity to punch that smug look off of this rich bastard's face...

"David, stop it this instant -- you're embarrassing me!" Liz hissed into his ear, pulling him back and pressing the champagne flute into his hand. "Now shut up, would you? The countdown's starting!"

He turned his back to her friends rather coldly, and stared moodily at the projection TV on the wall as the familiar countdown rose up around him.

God, how had he ever let her talk him into this? He could've been in KC with Andrew and Jeff and Travis... Could've even been in Tulsa, with Andy and Bryan and Neal... But no, he was stuck here in St. Louis with the snottiest couple to ever consider themselves God's gift to the planet. He hated her friends.

The cheers rang out around him. "Three...two...ONE! Happy New Year!"

Forcing another plastic smile, he turned back to the table and raised his glass for the toast. He was ignored, of course, and that wasn't so much surprising as infuriating, so he pulled his arm back and drained the glass in one gulp, disregarding the knowing looks being traded among them.

Liz's hand was on his forearm, and he inclined his head to listen.

"Look, David, I know that this is not your idea of fun," she said softly. "Thank you for coming tonight, I really appreciate it..."

He smiled in spite of himself, a genuine one this time, and bent down as she rose up on her tiptoes. Their lips met in a warm kiss.

"Happy New Year, baby," he murmured, and she smiled back.

"Happy New Year, darling," she replied, sliding an arm around his waist as she lifted her glass. "Here's to your solo album -- may it bring you all the success you long for, and may I be there by your side, to share it with you..."

"Here's hoping he settles down for you, Liz," Tricia piped up from the corner, raising her glass in another toast. "You spend too much time on the road, David," she continued, and Dave could feel his smile freeze and start to fade. "Liz needs you here at home, man -- you need to settle down and make an honest woman out of her!"

"I'll drink to that!" Liz giggled, dropping her arm to face her friend. "Seriously, Trish -- his band's all but dead now, you know, since Bobby left; and I just don't see how he'll be able to keep up with his schoolwork and still travel to Tulsa and God-knows-where-else without me by his side... I'm pretty sure he'll see the light soon enough, and I can't tell you how much it means to know you understand that..."

And there they were, talking about him like he was fucking invisible again.

Dave figured there wasn't enough booze in this bar to kill the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, nor the anger in his soul, but damned if he wasn't going to try it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Three...

"Okay, guys -- does everyone have a shot glass?"

"Wait -- where's Heartthrob?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

"He's gotta be in the bathroom again... Hang on, I'll get him..."

"Y'better hurry, Skibby - it's almost time, y'know..."

"Relax, Tiemann, I'll have 'im out here in plenty of time."

Andy pressed his way through the crowd, heading for the restrooms in the rear of the packed club. Hands, arms, hips and asses jostled against him from all sides, but alcohol had made him just numb enough not to care, and it suited him just fine.

He saw a flash of orange and purple plastic against a grey shirt moving through the human sea ahead of him, and adjusted his trajectory for interception.

"Davey! Over here!"

His quarry paused, glancing about uncertainly, and Andy shoved the remaining patrons aside with a heave and an apology.

Dave staggered backwards in surprise, rebounding off several drunks to regain his footing, if not his composure. Blinking blearily at Andy, he raised the champagne bottle in his hand.

"Andy! Gotta refill, buddy - y'wanna share?"

"Naw, that's okay, Davey, maybe later," Andy declined with a smile, linking arms with Dave to steer him toward the stage.

"Wait -- where're we goin'?" Dave slurred, stumbling over his own feet slightly.

"Back on stage, sexy -- the countdown's about to start, and you still have to pick a name, remember?"

"Oh yeah..." Dave agreed, leaning into Andy heavily enough to nearly change their course. "...Wait -- what?"

"Your arm, you drunken bastard," Andy replied, shaking his head in mock despair. "Remember? You're taking names for the midnight kiss?"

"M'arm?" Dave mumbled, and glanced down at his right arm linked through Andy's. "Holy shit, m'arm!" he bawled, wrenching it away as he balked to a stop. "What th'fuck iz'zis?"

"Hey, man, it was your idea!" Andy explained, waving desperately at his bandmates on stage. "You said it was the only fair way to choose who you'd kiss at midnight..."

"But I don'wanna kiss anyone," Dave protested, raising his arm to just inches from his face, studying it closely as Neal rushed to Andy's aid. "I don'even know half these p'ple..."

The stubborn asshole set his jaw and dug in his heels, refusing to budge, and Neal glared up at Bryan for additional help.

"Oh! Hey, 'Brain'," Dave greeted him affably as Bryan joined the mission. "Did'ya see what happ'ned t'my arm, Brain? What th'fuck?"

"Yeah, man, it's really cool, isn't it?" Bryan replied, prying the champagne bottle from Dave's grasp and passing it off to Neal, indicating the stage with a jerk of his head. Rolling his eyes, Neal climbed the stairs with bottle in hand.

"Hey! M'booze!" Dave whined, forgetting his arm, and Bryan slid in against his other side, throwing a wink Andy's direction.

"Yeah man, c'mon, let's go get it!" Bryan said, and nudged his friend gently forward. "Okay, dude, one step at a time, here we go..."

"Al'right, ladies, it's the moment you've all been waiting for," Neal announced into the mike as the trio tripped up the steps to join him. "Mister Dave Cook is going to pick the lucky lady that gets his midnight kiss!"

The women in the room began to cheer as Andy and Bryan shoved Dave forward. Neal grabbed him and spun him around to face the audience, covering Dave's eyes with his hands.

"Okay, Dave," Neal continued as Andy grabbed Dave's right hand, twisting his arm back and forth to "shuffle" the names. "Are you ready to pick?"

"...No..."

"Do it anyway!" Neal hissed into his ear, and Dave flailed his left arm in Andy's direction.

His finger landed solidly on a name, and Bryan clapped a hand over it to hold it in place.

"The choice has been made," Neal intoned solemnly, and Josh began a drumroll behind them as Andy cracked up from the absurdity of it all. "Mister Bryan Jewett, would you read us the name?"

Bryan lifted his hand from Dave's carefully, and bent down to peer closely at the name beneath Dave's finger.

Andy should've known it was trouble when even the roar of the crowd beginning the countdown behind them couldn't drown out Bryan's maniacal laughter.

"Bryan?" Neal asked, puzzled, and Bryan gestured wildly for the microphone.

"The lucky lady is...Mister Andy Skib!" Bryan sputtered, barely managing to spit the words out before dissolving into laughter again.

Dave stiffened as he froze in place, his eyes widening with panic.

"What?!" Andy barked, and two loud female whoops from the side of the stage made him curse out loud. He leaned forward to read the name beneath Dave's suddenly-trembling finger, and raised both his head and his middle digit to the women just off-stage, falling over themselves in hysterics.

"Oh my God, Jennie! You and Lexie are so fucking dead!" he yelled, and shook Dave lightly to rouse him from his stupor. "Pick again!"

"No time, man," Neal snorted from behind him, barely suppressing his giggles. "The choice has been made, man, y'gotta stick to it... Besides," he continued, bowing his head to murmur in Andy's ear, "You know you really wanna..."

Andy jerked away, glaring daggers at the redhead smirking back at him. "You! You put them up to this, didn't you," he snarled, and Neal broke into a wide grin. "You're next in line for homicide, Tiemann..."

"Totally worth it, man," Neal fired back tauntingly. "It's gonna be totally fuckin' hot."

"Three...two...ONE! Happy New Year!"

"C'mon, loverboy -- kiss your dream date!" Neal chuckled, and pushed Andy forward.

Dave's eyes were still wide, but Andy could see they were mostly pupil from where he stood, and Dave was giving him this look that was shooting right to his dick. Andy watched Dave's tongue flick out nervously to wet his parted lips, and found himself rushing forward, crushing his mouth to Dave's, chasing the retreat of Dave's tongue with his own, ignoring the shrieks of laughter and camera flashes from his sister and girlfriend off-stage.

It took several seconds for the consequences of his actions to sink in, for the resultant wolf-whistles and shouts of approval from the crowd to drive Andy back.

"Sorry! Sorry," he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't--God--Sorry!"

He turned on his heel to flee the stage, never hearing what Dave whispered to his retreating back.

"...I'm not."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Two...

Donnie had never seen Dave looking more miserable than he did tonight.

He was still the consummate professional, though; never neglecting any of his customers in the slightest, Donnie had to give him that -- but the way he was leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed and shoulders slumped; the way he was staring at his bandmates with an almost distant look in his eyes; the way his entire demeanor radiated such defeat...

Donnie very much doubted Dave had considered any of this, when he'd signed up for that.

He stepped behind the bar and leaned against it, propping himself up on his elbows as he studied Dave's face.

"You doin' all right there, David?"

He saw the small shake Dave gave himself, watched him pull his thoughts together, saw the heavy exhaled breath that Dave used to steady himself, and Donnie had his answer before Dave even had a chance to lie.

He let him do it anyway.

"Yeah!" Dave answered with forced brightness, plastering on a smile. "I'm great -- why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause you want to be up there with them."

Suddenly restless, Dave pushed away from the counter and grabbed a dishrag from the sink, scouring the bar needlessly.

"Look, Dave... As far as I'm concerned, if y'wanna go up there and sit in on a couple songs, I wouldn't mind -- I can cover the bar for awhile..."

Dave shrugged and hunched his shoulders almost defensively, shaking his head.

"No, Donnie, you know I can't do that..."

Donnie poured himself a Coke and settled in next to his bartender, facing the band on stage, noting well where the lead singer's eyes were constantly being drawn.

...There was a longing there, too, that was difficult to miss.

Donnie sighed, and glanced back at Dave.

"Look, man, I'm just saying -- you're fucking miserable, David; and I know how much you hate watching them from back here. They're your friends, all right? Nobody's gonna say anything..."

"Just leave it, okay?" Dave slammed his fist against the bar, making Donnie's glass jump. "I signed a fucking contract, Donnie, so do me a favor -- shut the fuck up and stop pushing!"

His mouth snapped shut at the end of his diatribe and he fell silent, furiously scrubbing non-existent dirt off of an already-sparkling tumbler from the dish rack.

Donnie saw the way his jaw was working, and waited patiently while he regained his composure.

"Donnie, look... I appreciate the sentiment. I really do," Dave continued, clipping his syllables emphatically. "But this is a big deal to me, okay, and I don't want to fuck this up. A chance like this...it means everything, man; it might be my last chance, y'know, to do this, to do what I want to do for the rest of my life, to take these guys," -- he indicated the stage with a jerk of his head -- "Out of this place, and into something bigger, and it means the world to me, and... I know what you're trying do, man, but I just can't..."

Donnie clapped a hand on Dave's shoulder and squeezed. "I know, man. I'm sorry."

Dave shook himself again, turning his attention back to the stage as the singer cleared his throat at the mike.

"Okay folks, it's almost midnight here, and we'll be taking a little break while they drop the ball, an' then we'll be back to play a few more for you... I know, I know, settle down... But first we're gonna do one last song for 2007, all right?" He paused as the small-but-respectable audience cheered, and again his eyes found their way over to the bar, and to Dave, standing behind it like a sentinel.

"This last song is from our new EP, coming out this spring... It's called 'Anodyne', an' I hope you like it..."

Donnie heard the strange choking sound Dave made, saw Dave's hand twitch across an imaginary fretboard on the bar, watched as he silently mouthed the words... He knew what it meant, and he knew what it was doing to Dave to be reduced to a mere spectator.

He laid a gentle hand on Dave's back, leaving it there until the song was finished.

"I need a break," Dave whispered as the last notes faded and the crowd cheered.

Donnie nodded, and gave him a light shove. "Go."

He burst out the front door of the club into the crystalline cold night air. Slumping against the wall, he watched the clusters of people wandering up and down First Street onto Detroit Avenue, staggering slightly and clinging to each other, laughing aloud, so damn happy and carefree that he hated them instantly.

"Hey."

He glanced up sharply at the soft voice, and met a pair of all-too-familiar eyes.

"Hey," he replied quietly, and dropped his gaze to the ground as Andy slouched against the wall beside him.

"You okay, Davey?" Andy asked

"Yep! Never been better."

"...You're lying," Andy responded, and Dave heaved a sigh.

"...I know."

A faint snort of laughter from his companion, and Dave felt the corners of his mouth tug up slightly.

"So -- you hear from Jennie?"

"Way to change the subject, Heartthrob," Andy scoffed, but his voice was gentle as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Matter of fact, yeah -- she's been texting me almost non-stop. Apparently, she and Alexis were somewhere in the middle of Times Square..." He scrolled quickly through his inbox, and snorted again. "Looks like they're both plastered, as usual -- she shouldn't drink and text, seriously -- but they've apparently made it back to Lexie's apartment with her roommates, and they're still going strong."

"Y'miss her?"

Andy snapped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. "Well, duh."

"Wish you were there, instead of here?"

"Naw, man, not at all," Andy replied, shooting him a sideways smile. "I'm here in Tulsa, making music with my friends -- what more could I want?"

"Now who's lying?" Dave teased, and Andy cracked a smile.

"Shut up Davey, you know it's true..." He slumped back against the wall again and studied his own shoes a moment before continuing to speak.

"I miss having you up there, Dave. I don't know what I'm going to do when you go."

Dave shifted to face him, grinding his shoulder into the wall. "You'll do what you're doing now -- you'll go out there, and you'll kick ass, and you'll go on without me."

"...It won't be the same."

"I know."

Andy heaved a sigh this time, and he suddenly looked so unhappy that Dave's heart twisted in his chest.

"Andy." He waited for his friend to glance up. "Seriously, man -- I'm gonna go to Los Angeles--"

"--And you'll kick all kinds of ass--"

Dave snorted. "--And they'll either love me or hate me--"

"--They'll love you, man, seriously--"

"--and soon enough, it'll be over, and I'll come back home, and we'll be making music again, together, just like I'd never left." He shuffled closer to Andy, and nudged him slightly with his shoulder. "Hey, man, I promise, okay?" he murmured, "It's gonna be all right."

"I know..." Andy locked eyes with him, staring intently. "Who knows? Maybe I'll follow your ass out there, wait and see."

"Now that would be silly," Dave replied softly, but a part of him was hoping desperately for it to be true.

A sudden hush fell over the street as the clusters of people with them and hundreds of voices inside the bar behind them took up the ritual chant.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

"You wanna go back inside, Andy?"

"Seven! Six!"

"Naw...I'm good..." He stepped closer, his eyes unreadable.

"Five! Four..."

Dave shifted uncertainly. "More pretty girls in there to kiss..."

"Three...two..."

Andy shrugged, pressing Dave bodily against the wall. "...Who says I want to kiss a girl?"

"ONE!"

Dave blinked as Andy's fingers wound into his hair. "...Again?"

"Yup. Happy New Year," Andy breathed, and covered Dave's mouth with his own.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

One...

"Hey, man, I'm goin' t'get another beer in th'kitchen -- you guys want anythin'?"

"Naw, I'm good, Neal, thanks... Hey, Kim?"

She glanced back at them from where she was bent down in front of the television, switching out DVDs. "What's up?"

"Y'want anythin' fr'm th'kitchen?"

"No, thank you, Neal," she replied, smiling coquettishly over her shoulder, and wiggled her hips playfully. "I'm all set, thanks..."

Dave snorted as Neal rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, you guys... Sixx, c'mon!" Neal addressed his dog, and Sixx heaved to his feet at the sound of his name, tail waving slowly, cocking his head and his ears as Neal spoke. "Let's go get us some pretzels and beer, buddy, what d'ya say?"

Sixx let out a low bark and followed his master, his toenails clicking a brisk tattoo on the parquet floor.

"There's a good boy..." Neal's voice floated back down the hallway, and Dave smiled.

"Kim, sweetie, you know I love your ass, and all..." he called out, "But seriously, darlin', if you keep standing like that, I'm gonna have to come over there and spank it."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she replied, wriggling her hips again.

"Yeah -- and so would you."

"Yup!" She giggled softly. "Almost done here, you fucking horn-dog..."

"Not fast enough!" he declared, jumping to his feet and charging.

She squealed loudly and straightened up, swinging around to face him as his broad hands spanned her hips.

"Got'cha," he murmured, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, momentarily stilling her laughter.

Kim slipped her hands up to his shoulders and leaned back, studying his face. "This really isn't how you wanted to spend New Year's Eve this year, is it?"

Dave tilted his head curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, wouldn't you have rather gone out to a club, or, I dunno, stayed in Vegas with the others?"

"No..." Dave drawled, stretching the vowel as long as it would go through pursed lips. "No way, babe -- I had enough of that, the past few years. This year, I really did want to spend a quiet night at home--"

"But with your friends, right?"

"You guys are my friends--"

"But we're not who you really wanted here, are we?"

"You are--" Dave stopped himself, smiling patiently. "What are you getting at, Kim?"

"Just look at us, here -- you, your guitarist, his horse of a Great Dane, and your 'beard'. Not exactly a rockin' New Year's Eve, I'm just sayin'," she replied, giving his shoulders a little squeeze.

"Kim, you're not--" Dave sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "Sweetheart, you're not my 'beard'. You're my girlfriend," he said softly, kissing her again. "How many times do you need to hear that before you realize it's true?"

"I'm not saying it's not true, David -- I'm just saying that the person you really want to be here, isn't."

"If you're referring to Andy," he replied, knowing full well that she was, "He texted me earlier, saying that he and Jennie were hitting the strip tonight... Kim, no matter what's happened between us, I'm happy, I promise. He's happy. Just accept it. Please."

"That's all I really want," she murmured back, cradling his face in her hands.

"I know."

"Jesus Christ! Get a room, you two!" Neal bellowed from the doorway, with a booming Sixx bark for emphasis, and Dave hugged her tightly as they both dissolved into laughter.

"Ooh, David!" she gasped, catching sight of the clock. "It's almost time..."

Neal hit a button on the remote and switched back to broadcast TV, just in time for the cut to the tape-delayed ball-drop.

"Aw, shit, we missed your song," Kim pouted, but Dave only laughed as they flopped onto the couch.

"Oh, you know I hate watching myself on TV, darlin'..."

"Doesn't matter anyway, cuz I Tivo'ed it," Neal replied smugly, sprawling on his belly on the floor next to his dog.

"Shush, you," Dave retorted, bouncing a pretzel off Neal's head.

"Shush, both of you," Kim interrupted, giggling softly. "They're counting!"

Dave's phone began to vibrate in his pocket and he fished it out, not bothering to look at the caller ID before answering.

"Dave?"

"Andy?" He straightened up slightly in his seat, and Kim shot him a knowing smile, resting her hand on his knee. "Andy, what are you doing -- aren't you guys out on the strip?"

"Well, yeah, like you couldn't tell from all this noise," Andy replied, laughing gently.

"Why are you calling, man?"

"Well, shit, Dave -- this New Year's Eve stuff, it's kind of a thing now between us, and... Well, you know, I couldn't let that ball drop without calling you."

"Geez -- does Jennie know?"

"Does she know? Fuck, man, she's standing right here!"

A faint "Hi, Dave!" in Jennie's high voice carried over the connection, and Dave snorted.

"Okay, okay... Kim's here too. What now?"

"Well, we wait for the ball to drop..."

"...And pretend?" Dave asked softly.

"...And kiss our girlfriends, yes," Andy replied, the smile evident in his voice even over the hundreds of miles between them.

"Three! Two! One!"

"Happy New Year, y'stupid dog," Neal growled, planting a kiss on Sixx's quivering nose.

"Happy New Year!" Kim squealed, throwing her arms around Dave and pulling him close.

"Happy New Year, Dave," Andy said across the miles.

"Happy New Year," Dave answered them all, closing his eyes to kiss his girlfriend tenderly.

Meme: End-of-the-Year Fic Roundup, 2008

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:52:21 GMT

HAY, IT'S THAT TIME OF ~~MY LIFE~~ THE YEAR AGAIN...

2004 round-up: does not exist, alas...
2005 round-up
2006 round-up
2007 round-up

Stories I wrote this past year:**
Political fic RPF: Campaign Promises 4: No Quarter (Kerry/Edwards)

American Idol Season 7 RPS: Blind Trust (Cohnstro)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Broken Trust (Cohnstro, Dandy friendship)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Safe (Dandy friendship)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Scenes (Dandy friendship, Cookman)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Anodyne, Pt. 1: At First Glance (Dandyman friendship, implied Cook/Shrout)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Anodyne, Pt. 2: Hold Your Ground (Dandyman friendship, implied Cook/Shrout)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Two Boys, One Cup... (Many Eyes) (Skibett)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Anodyne, Pt. 3: Busted (Dandyman friendship, implied Cook/Shrout)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: The More, The Merrier (The ~~kitchen sink~~ Tulsa Gangstas)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: Absent (implied Javid)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: A Good Night (Javid)
American Idol Season 7 RPS: In the Shadows (Alexis/Jennie, Skibmann)

Total word count: 40,810**

[**Does not include 6 fics that are pretty much finished for my AI s7 Anodyne series, but can't be posted yet because there are three connecting stories that haven't been written yet, OMG]

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

My favorite story this year (of my own):
Hold Your Ground

My best story this year:
Um. Either At First Glance or Hold Your Ground. I love them hard-core. ♥

Story most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion:
Oh, I hate this fucking question... Maybe Two Boys, One Cup... just because of the inherent "WTF?" factor that may have skeeved a lot of people; plus it was posted very early on in the T_G comm, and there just weren't enough people at the time that knew who Bryan was... I dunno.

Most fun story:
The More, The Merrier. :)

Sexiest story:
It's really hard for me to judge... Seems to me a lot of people liked Blind Trust and Busted pretty well... They were definitely my porniest fics this year... ;)

Story with single sexiest moment:
Gotta be Busted.

Hardest story to write:
Um. Well. CP: No Quarter did take me 3 years to complete, but that's kind of a special case, in that that series has been horrifically difficult for me, so...

Otherwise, Busted comes to mind immediately, but really, any of the chapters I'm working on for Anodyne qualify... especially since I've been pissing around Pt. 4 for about 3 months now. :(

Most unintentionally telling story:
Blind Trust. LOL

Most "OHMIGOD HEY *I* WROTE THAT" fanon-turned-canon moment:
Nothing comes to mind.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?
Honestly? A lot more. I basically gave up on writing the politislash when my horse dropped out of the race, and when I discovered AI fandom, there were just so many good writers of my then-OTP [*looks at ficangel and annie2791*] that I really didn't think there'd be anything I'd be able to add to that pairing by writing it. *shrug*

But then I got bit by the Cohnstro fic bunny... and then I discovered Andy, and the many pics of drunken!Dandy/Dandymann that existed on the Internet, and I had to try my hand at Andy as a character... and I was fucking lost.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January 2008?
Um, American Idol and MWK bandslash?? LMAO

First of all, AI slash never even occurred to me until David Fucking Cook came along, and he was just all kinds of fucking hot with Michael, and then there was Jason... And if not for DFC, I would never have been introduced to MWK and the inherent hawtness of those fucking pretty boys from Tulsa goddamned Oklahoma. *facepalm*

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?
Honestly, I don't think I did, really. I haven't explored all that much that's new, either to fandom or to my writing, so... *shrug*

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

I NEED TO FUCKING FINISH ANODYNE, GOD DAMN IT.
Also would like to finish up Hard Lessons, if the Muse ever starts cooperating again.
O HAI, tulsa_gangstas (im)purity list challenge!
Kinda feeling like I need to slash everybody with everybody right now, and that's just downright creepy. LMAO

Fic: "In the Shadows"

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 07:54:23 GMT

Title: In the Shadows
Rating: R
Pairing: Alexis/Jennie, Andy/Neal
Summary: It's best not to think about it.
Word Count: 3193
Archived: Here on IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: Written as a Secret Santa-Bitch fic for kaia_kyrial... LIKE YOU GUYS COULDN'T TELL IT WAS ME.

"Oh, God..."

This was such a bad idea...

She knew it the minute she tried to rise off the toilet seat, when her stomach started doing weird things in her abdomen. She shifted her feet, watching her panties drop to her ankles, and braced her hands on either side of the stall, forcing herself to breathe deeply, until the world stopped tilting crazily around her.

...A very bad idea, indeed.

...Maybe even their worst idea yet.

She knew Alexis was only trying to help; was trying to keep her mind off of the date, off of the distance, off of him, off of everything... And that self-same mind made the automatic leap, unbidden and undesired, to the last time she'd been this drunk; how he'd rubbed her back and held her hair as she'd heaved over the toilet...

She swallowed hard at the memory, fighting down a second wave of nausea as her head began pounding even harder.

So not good...

The muted club music unmuffled itself as the bathroom door swung open, and a familiar voice called her name.

"Jennie? Sweetheart? You okay in here?"

"Um; maybe, kind of..." she replied hesitantly, her voice more than a little uncertain. "Not really?"

"Where are you?" The music was muffled again as the door thumped shut, and the click of high heels against tile echoed in the open space.

"Here," Jennie replied, swiping at the lock with one hand, allowing the stall door to swing inward.

The footsteps sped up in their approach, and then Alexis was leaning against the pillar of the stall, peering in at her.

"You're wasted," she observed cheerfully, and Jennie shot her a withering look.

"No shit, Lex," she retorted tartly. She shifted to rest her forearm against the wall of the small cubicle, and her chin dropped to her chest. "Think it might've had somethin' to do with all them damn shooters you've been buyin' me?"

"Naw," Alexis replied. "I think it's all those shooters you've been drinking."

Jennie glanced up a little too quickly, and the corner of Alexis's mouth quirked upward at her friend's struggle to focus on her face.

"Seriously, Jen," she continued gently, "Nobody's twisting your arm tonight -- the only one pouring those shots down your throat is you, girl."

Damn it, she was right. That didn't stop Jennie's brow from creasing into a frown, and it didn't stop Alexis's gentle, knowing smile.

"Well, fuck it -- I'm done!" Jennie declared, pushing herself upright, and Alexis's laughter bounced off the walls as Jennie over-balanced and flailed backwards with a loud curse.

"Yeah, we're definitely cutting you off," Alexis choked, stepping forward to steady her. "Did'ya wipe yet?"

Jennie rolled her eyes -- another mistake, seriously, oh dear God -- and glared up at her best friend. "No, Alexis -- I've been sitting here so fucking long, I've drip-dried... Of course I wiped!" she snarled, watching Alexis dissolve into another bout of giggles. Swearing aloud, Jennie grabbed at her panties and yanked them up to her knees as she tried to rise. "Alexis, honest to God I hate you so fucking much..."

"Easy, sweetie, take it slow... Let's get you upright..."

Jennie would never admit how much she'd relied on Alexis's strength to hold her up as she pulled up her panties and smoothed the front of her skirt.

Nor would she admit how grateful she was to her Lexie-angel for pulling that skirt out of her panties, after she accidentally tucked it in. (It was an easy mistake to make, really, as drunk as she was; and the skirt was kind of short...)

And she certainly couldn't look her in the eye, not even through their reflections, as Alexis both patiently held Jennie upright and washed her hands for her like a child...

And she did her best not to notice how right Alexis's arms felt around her; nor how much strength and comfort she was drawing from the simple act of Alexis being so near; nor how the other woman was studying her in the mirror, and how her eyes were so similar to his, and how fucking much she looked like her brother in that moment, that it was breaking Jennie's heart...

And she would never let on how close she was to crying at the thought, even as her expression told her best friend all she needed to know.

"You okay?" Alexis whispered in her ear, tightening her arms around Jennie's waist.

Jennie shivered at the contact. Forcing her gaze to lift, she met Alexis's eyes in the mirror and nodded bravely.

"Let's go."

----------

Their booth was hidden in the darkest corner of the smokey club. Slipping in quietly with Alexis close behind, Jennie leaned against the wall to nurse her nearly-exhausted drink, ignoring the fact that their companions had barely acknowledged her return.

She couldn't really blame them, she supposed -- she hadn't exactly been Miss Congeniality. These were Alexis's friends from work, women she'd only just met, with problems and lives of their own, who didn't give a rat's ass about hers, and with whom she had, oh, approximately nothing in common. Sure, they'd been friendly enough, but they had exhausted their small talk about an hour before, and it was clear they were tired of making the effort.

To make matters worse, the trek from bathroom to table had only intensified her buzz as the alcohol infused her brain, and the bass of the club's music was pounding in her skull like a jackhammer, and then -- oh God -- of all the things they could've played, why did it have to be a house re-mix of that shitty-assed Coldplay song?

And all she could think about was Andy's wide eyes and goofy grin as he launched into a spastic, flailing version of that guy's-- that vlogger, what the fuck was his name...Ronnie? Rickey? Something like that... --that guy's stupid fucking pixel dance during the Idol tour webcasts...cellcasts? What the fuck ever! -- and before she knew it, she was on the verge of fucking tears over that goddamned stupid fucking song.

She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands, which formed fists against her temples of their own volition; and she swore she could almost feel Alexis shooting her a worried look.

"Jennie? Sweetie?" Alexis asked, gripping her shoulder lightly, and then "Hey, no..." as it began to shake, and "What's wrong?" as the dam finally burst, and then she was gathering Jennie into her arms, running her hands up and down Jennie's back as her friend wept.

"Oh, honey, don't. What is...what's...oh sweetheart, please don't," she murmured. "I know it's hard, sweetie. Please, please don't cry..."

"God, I miss him," Jennie sobbed, burying her face in the crook of Alexis's neck. She was melting into Alexis's touch, so much like her brother's that it made her physically ache... But God, how she craved it; wanted more...

"I miss him..." she repeated, her breath ghosting across the flesh she suddenly found beneath her lips, trailing downward as she bowed her head, pressing her mouth to the soft swells of flesh left bare by the neckline of Alexis's blouse. "So, so much..."

Alexis paused, surprised, her hands stilled on Jennie's hips. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, dropping her head to nuzzle Jennie's hair. "What--"

"No! N-no kissing," Jennie stammered softly, deliberately avoiding Alexis's face. "Just...please. Touch me, please..."

"Jesus," Alexis exhaled, tightening her grip on Jennie's hips. "That's...God."

She gave in almost immediately, slipping her hands beneath Jennie's blouse, stroking her back gently, before dipping in below the waistband of Jennie's skirt to give her ass a firm squeeze.

"Oh!" Jennie's breath hitched against Alexis's chest, and she ground her pelvis into the seat with a groan. "More! God, please..."

"Holy shit -- look, sit up, okay? I've got an idea," Alexis replied quietly.

Jennie shifted back, and Alexis adjusted her position, putting one leg up on the seat behind Jennie as she scooted in close behind her.

"Okay," Alexis said, wrapping her arms around Jennie's waist. "Just lean back...that's it...relax..."

Sighing, Jennie reclined into her friend's comforting warmth and tipped her head back on Alexis's shoulder, letting her eyes slip closed.

"Is this good?" Alexis murmured into her ear, and Jennie nodded.

"What about this?" Alexis asked, sliding her left hand beneath Jennie's blouse to caress her belly.

Jennie answered with a whimper, and Alexis nuzzled her neck gently. "How about now?"

And she ran her hand up Jennie's torso to cup her breast over her bra, teasing Jennie's nipple with her thumb, smiling into Jennie's hair as the point hardened under her touch.

"You like this?" Alexis asked, and Jennie breathed, "God, yes."

"Is this better, then?"

Plunging her hand inside Jennie's bra, Alexis hefted Jennie's breast out of the cup, skimming and circling her thumb over the taut peak of her nipple. Jennie moaned aloud, and Alexis ducked her head, resting her chin on Jennie's shoulder.

Her free hand dropped to the outside of Jennie's thigh, rubbing it gently, getting Jennie used to her touch while she nudged Jennie's skirt up to her hips and out of the way.

"Is this all right?" Alexis muttered, tweaking and rolling Jennie's nipple between her fingers as she stroked across the inside of Jennie's thigh.

"May I touch you here?" she continued, letting her fingertips graze along Jennie's crotch, and Jennie's hips surged forward as she let out a soft cry.

"Is it all right if I touch you there?" Alexis repeated, kneading Jennie's breast lightly. "I have to know it's okay, Jen -- I need to hear you say it. I won't do anything you don't want me to..."

"God! Yes, it's okay," Jennie gasped, arching in Alexis's arms. "Please, Lexie, you gotta, I need it!" She grabbed Alexis's hand at her waist and pulled it between her legs, sobbing aloud. "Please, touch me..."

...Touch me like he does, so I can pretend.

"Oh, thank God!" Alexis groaned, curving her hand over Jennie's mound, feeling the desire rolling off Jennie's body like a wave. "Okay, okay, easy, baby," she murmured. "I'm going to make you feel good, I promise..."

Alexis hooked two fingers into the crotch of Jennie's panties, shifting them aside. With her thumb and middle finger, she teased the lips of Jennie's labia apart, brushing lightly over her now-exposed clit with the remaining finger, and Jennie's hips stuttered up into her hand.

Alexis cursed aloud as Jennie's actions slid her finger into Jennie's heat, slicking it with her wetness.

"Jesus fuck, Jennie! Oh my God..."

Jennie cried out, and humped up furiously into Alexis's hand.

"No, don't!" Alexis ground out, clenching her teeth for control as Jennie sobbed low in her throat. "No, Jennie. I want you to fuck yourself. Do it, Jennie, c'mon..."

And she watched over Jennie's shoulder as Jennie acquiesced, watched her slide two fingers into her slit, heard her breath catch as she started a slow, rhythmic thrust...

And Alexis rewarded her with a nip on the neck and a growl of encouragement. "That's it, baby. Fuck yourself for me."

She set up a matching rhythm on Jennie's clit, sliding over it and circling it in time with Jennie's thrusts, purring into her ear.

"God, yeah, just like that... No, Jennie, don't you dare move your hips -- keep 'em still, damn it!" she demanded over Jennie's whimpers of protest. "Don't you worry, baby, I'm gonna make you come."

And Jennie had no choice but to comply -- the strobe lights, the near-total darkness, the smoke and the alcohol had set her adrift. Alexis's body pressed up against her, those arms around her, that hand caressing her breast, that finger stroking her clit, that voice in her ear -- those were her anchors in this complete unreality.

"God, baby, I wanna take you home and taste you. I'm gonna eat you out, and fuck you with my tongue, and I'll make you come, so hard, over and over and over again..."

Jennie was moaning now, fucking herself faster, deeper; and Alexis was following her lead, stroking and circling, vibrating and sliding.

"I wanna make you come so fucking hard, Jennie... I want you coming so hard that you scream my name, you hear me?"

Little mewling cries were the only response Jennie was capable of, with the tension beginning to knot in her gut...

"I want you to come so fucking hard, Jennie, that you forget my brother ever touched you like this, understand me? You're mine, Jennie -- mine!"

"L-Le-Lexie, please!" Jennie panted, tossing her head back and forth on Alexis's shoulder.

"You wanna come, baby?"

"Nngh--God! Please..."

"Remember this, Jennie -- you're mine."

Several more direct strokes over her clit, and Jennie was coming, hard, hard enough to see spots of light behind her scrunched-tight eyelids, hard enough that her body jerked in Alexis's arms, and so hard that a keening wail left her lips in the form of Alexis's name.

----------

The cab ride home was a blur of hands, tongues and teeth. She didn't remember stumbling into Alexis's apartment, she didn't remember exactly when their clothes went missing, but she sure as shit would never forget Alexis's lips against hers, or Alexis's mouth on her breasts, or her demanding hands on Jennie's sex.

And the image of Alexis sprawled between her legs, staring up into Jennie's eyes as she paused in mid-lick with her tongue flattened and vibrating against Jennie's clit, with her messy hair and swollen red lips and pupils blown wide with lust and desire...

Let's just say that Alexis kept her promises, and kept them well.

----------

...Hours later, she crept from Alexis's bed to the chair by the window, and fished in her purse for her cellphone.

It's too late to call him...

...It's too late for a lot of things.

Blinking back the tears, she entered a quick text message, sending it on its way before finally giving in.

"Jennie?"

Her head jerked up out of her hands as she turned back toward the bed.

Alexis was sitting up in the middle of it, the bed-sheets pooling around her waist, her nipples dark against the pale flesh of her bare breasts. She looked worried again, and Jennie shot her a brave, watery smile.

"Are you all right?" Alexis asked softly, and the concern in her voice nearly broke Jennie's heart.

"...Yeah," she replied haltingly. "I'll be fine."

Alexis's eyebrows rose at the implied future tense, but to Jennie's relief, she didn't press any further. She only extended her arms, opening them up to Jennie, inviting her in.

"Come back to bed, sweetheart," she murmured, and Jennie complied.

--------------------

"....Andy!"

He startled at the sound of Neal's voice so close to his ear, and nearly dropped his beer to the floor.

"Damn, Andy," Neal was saying, "What's up, man? You looked like you were a million miles away."

Andy sighed and slumped back into his seat. "Naw, only about twenty-eight hundred miles is all," he replied, and tipped the bottle back.

"Mmmm," Neal replied, nodding his understanding. "You miss her."

"That's an understatement," Andy muttered, rolling the bottle restlessly between his hands. "Tomorrow's our anniversary."

"Ah, I get it," Neal murmured back. "That definitely makes it wor--"

"How the fuck did you do it for so long, man?" Andy interrupted, raising his gaze to meet Neal's. "How could you stand being so far apart?"

Andy couldn't miss the hard look in his friend's eyes as Neal settled onto the couch beside him. "Well, to be honest, Andy, it sure as fuck wasn't easy," Neal replied, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I mean, there were e-mails and texts and phone calls and all that shit, but -- it wasn't the same as being there with her, and in the end, it wasn't enough." He sighed softly and shrugged his shoulders. "It fucking sucked."

"Did you ever wonder if..." Andy began, and abruptly reconsidered, snapping his mouth shut on the thought, but too late.

"...'Did I ever wonder if' what?" Neal asked softly. "Did I ever wonder if she'd found somebody there, if she was spending time with someone else? If she was replacing me with someone who was there, and accessible, and available, when I wasn't?"

Andy lowered his eyes to the mouth of his bottle, and wished to God he'd never brought it up.

"All the time, man," Neal continued in a low voice, answering both of their questions succinctly. "All the fucking time. That doesn't mean she was ever doing that, or that she didn't love me, man... It just would've meant she was lonely, and that she missed me; and I would've rather had her feeling that way than not missing me at all, y'know?"

Andy blinked against a sudden rush of tears. "Would you have wanted to know if she had?" he asked.

"Wouldn't have changed a damn thing," Neal responded with a sharp laugh, but a glance over at his friend sobered him instantly. He paused, studying Andy's face a moment before replying. "...I don't know, man," he answered. "Would you?"

Andy shrugged and shook his head. "I-I'm not sure I could take it," he said.

"It doesn't mean she is, Andy...but how would it be any different than us?" Neal murmured. Reaching out, he cupped Andy's chin lightly, turning his head to meet his gaze. "Do you think she'd want to know?"

"No," Andy breathed. "...I don't know..."

"Some things...it's not that they're necessarily better left unspoken; but they're better left in the dark, man; kept hidden in the shadows for as long as they're needed," Neal whispered, sliding his thumb along Andy's jaw, watching as Andy's lips parted slightly for a hitching breath. "That's what scares you."

He let his arm fall as he rose, and extended a hand.

"C'mon, man, let's go upstairs, all right? Things will be better in the morning, I promise."

Andy glanced from his beer, to Neal's face, and then back down again. With a sigh, he leaned forward, set the bottle on the table, and slipped his hand into the other man's.

----------

The soft chime of his cell phone jolted him from his sated stupor, before the sweat on his skin had even had a chance to dry.

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at his bedmate, but Neal remained undisturbed, snoring softly with his back turned.

Andy slid carefully from beneath the covers, stifling a groan, and padded gingerly to the dresser, pressing the wake button on his phone.

happy anni, peas. miss u sfm... <3 u.

Andy closed his eyes and drew a heavy breath before tapping out a reply.

happy anni 2u, jennye. i <3 u2.

"...More than you know," he whispered into the night.

He hit 'send' and powered off his phone. Cursing himself softly, he crept back to bed and slipped beneath the sheets. As if on cue, Neal rolled over in his sleep and curled his body around Andy's, folding him into an embrace.

With a stuttered sigh, Andy melted against him and closed his eyes, sinking into the darkness.

Ficlet: "A Good Night"

Tue, 23 Dec 2008 21:19:00 GMT

Title: A Good Night
Rating: PG
Pairing: David/Josh (Javid? LOL)
Summary: Josh will never tire of this.
Word Count: 254 (yes, really)
Warnings: Implied D/s in the context of a consensual relationship
Archived: Here on IJ and Tulsa_Advent ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: A little snippet of fic that I decided could stand on its own. :) Posted to the Tulsa Advent LiveJournal community for Day 23 of their calendar.

Josh will never tire of this; will never not be thrilled by this feeling of power, of control, of possession, that rushes into him as he buckles the collar around David's neck.

The stark contrast of black leather against the translucently-pale skin of David's throat will certainly never get old.

And watching David warm up to the collar, seeing him go as supple and as malleable as the leather strap itself, knowing that David has willingly surrendered control, has freely given himself over to be commanded...

Knowing that David is completely his, body and soul, in that moment... That will never stop making Josh painfully hard.

Josh watches a shudder descend David's spine, and smiles.

"Hands and knees, David... Good boy," he praises him, caressing David’s hair as he obeys. "Here are my rules for tonight. You will not speak. You may make whatever sounds or noises you wish, but do not speak. If any word dares leave your mouth, it had better be your safeword, or there will be consequences, do you understand? You may answer 'yes' or 'no'."

"Yes," David replies quietly.

"Do you agree to submit to me, to obey my commands quickly, and do so without question?"

Josh pauses...waits...and grins again at the expectant air surrounding his silent lover.

"Very good," he breathes, and strokes David's shoulders. "You may answer, 'yes' or 'no'."

He doesn't miss the hint of pride in David's carriage as he replies in the affirmative, and Josh knows tonight will be a good night.

So, this is me, not writing fic.

Sun, 14 Dec 2008 09:34:12 GMT

In light of all the recent, um, commentary on the "ring rumors" and such, and in ~~knee-jerk~~ response to several (supportive!! :) posts I've seen on my flist...

...Some iconage for all y'all ~~because far be it for me to prolong any obvious fandom wankage you understand; oh no, not me... :P~~

Update: Jan 25, 2009:

Because yeah, you really wanted my fucking opinion, right? WELL I'M GIVING IT TO YOU ANYWAY, SO THERE. :-P

Okay, so here's the thing -- I didn't start watching American Idol until Season 4. I know little to nothing at all about Kim or her image or her persona. I don't care how annoying she seems. I don't care about her past history, because seriously? Mine's probably similar. Hell, yours is probably similiar.

I don't want to hear that she's a bitch or a whore or a cunt or a what-the-fuck ever, m'kay? Cuz unless you're fucking PERFECT, you most likely have no fucking room to talk, and if you insult her for her past actions, you'd probably be insulting me as well, and I'm not a nice person when you piss me off.

To me? It looks like Dave's perfectly fucking happy with her...and surprise surprise, I actually trust him to know what's good for him, himself. If he's happy, how could anyone want to deny him that? Why tear that apart?

Generic Rabid Fangirls, take your fucking venom and shove it sideways up your asses, okay? Even if you do break them apart (thereby making the boy miserable, I'd imagine), he's not going to date you. You're never going to be the one that mends his broken heart (which, BTW, you'd have been breaking, you stupid bitch, WTF?).

Let them be in love, at least a little while longer. God knows it's fleeting enough in this world... We should be encouraging them, not crushing their emotions into the dirt.

</rant>

[pics by Matt Beard / JustJared.com]

Fic: "Absent"

Fri, 28 Nov 2008 21:07:20 GMT

Title: Absent
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Past David/Josh; David/Kyle pre-slash
Summary: You'd already resigned yourself to settling for something less.
Word Count: 1055
Warnings: none.
Archived: Here on IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: It's short. Like, really short. But kaia_kyrial thought I should post it, and I simply cannot refuse her anything. :) A little bit of waffling angst cast in second-person YET AGAIN. It's like a fucking addiction, I swear...

"So, Dave...any of 'em ya like so far?"

Neal's question is casual as he hunches over his guitar, but you can feel his gaze, and you know he's studying you intently from beneath his eyelashes.

And for a moment, you don't know how to answer.

It's late. Your head is pounding, a combination of exhaustion and the echoes lingering from an endless succession of drummers. And yet, here you sit, behind the drum set yourself, rolling a set of sticks between your palms, killing time before the final audition.

"Man, I dunno," you reply, staring down at your hands, and tap out a little staccato on the tom-tom. "I mean, they're all good and shit, but..."

Your voice trails off as you shift restlessly in your seat. Swiveling the stool minutely side-to-side, you begin a soft drumroll on the snare.

"But?" he prompts, and your rhythm falters.

You force yourself to look up from the kit, meeting his eyes. Reading your heart there, he gives you a sympathetic smile.

"...They're not him," he finishes for you, and you nod wearily.

----------

No, none of them are him; none of them even compare...and you've been feeling his absence more acutely today than ever before.

Still, you suppose you should be happy -- at least you've got Andy and Neal. You're lucky they're there at all.

Neal, well... You figure it's because he's different, unusual, edgy -- a throwback to the balls-out grunge-metal gods you'd loved as an impressionable teen; and he exudes such a dangerous air that it makes even the 19E A&R reps' panties soak through.

Oh, sure, his piercings and tats draw more than enough attention, but in more of a "fascinated horror" sort of way -- he gives your band the rebellious swagger that the public expects rock acts to have, he's hot enough to reel in the captivated bad girls, and dirty enough to make you "safe" for the good girls to worship, and that's what makes him acceptable.

Andy, now... he's the pretty one, the shy one, a minor star in his own right, but perfectly content to hover in the background while you take center stage... It endears him to your fans, but so long as he steals none of your thunder, and doesn't threaten 19E's carefully-crafted image of you as the sexy-yet-sensitive rock-god? They'll allow him to stay.

You'd expected more objections. You'd expected tons of excuses. You'd been ready to fight, tooth and nail, to bring all of your friends along... but you've since come to realize that in this industry, image is the only bottom line that matters.

----------

"Hey, guys?"

The intern's voice startles you out of your reflection and you fuck up the syncopated pattern you've been playing, nearly fumbling your sticks. Neal snickers from his corner, and you give him a dirty look.

"Last one for the night, guys..." the intern continues, glancing back and forth between the two of you. "You ready?"

Sighing heavily, you push off the stool and force the brightest, fakest smile you can muster.

"Yep, sure thing! Send 'em in."

----------

You hadn't been prepared for this.

When the suits had sent in their final victim, you'd been expecting something completely different -- a big burly guy, maybe; perhaps a career studio musician with the right connections, or a bored and jaded pretty boy with the right look and just enough bicep to make the girls swoon...

Instead, they'd sent you a kid by the name of Peek, all skinny arms and long hair and slight build and you can't help but roll your eyes and wonder what the fuck they were smoking, because, by God, you want some too.

You quickly dispense with the small talk, because it's late and you're tired and your head fucking hurts and you can't possibly see what this kid has to offer.

So you show him the chart to "Bar-ba-sol," and he studies it a moment, head cocked thoughtfully to the side, before he nods sharply and hands it back to you. He rocks on his stool once, twice; inhaling and exhaling, and then the pedal hits the bass drum with a solid thump that jars your brain, and his sticks smack across the tom like a shot, setting up this absolutely obscene swing-beat that immediately calls to mind the image of a stripper, bumping and grinding her way across a stage.

And he's into it, so deeply into it, that's he's drumming not just with his arms, but his entire body, totally in the moment and totally uninhibited, and if you thought you'd missed him before, well -- this kid reminds you so much of Josh right now that it's tearing at your heart.

And you still wish to God that Josh would've come, would've auditioned, would've played for you; but he's been in the business longer than you have, and you both know the truth.

Josh is good -- damn good. Fuck, he's the best you've ever worked with...but he's not young enough, not dangerous enough, and not pretty enough to satisfy the shallow needs of the 19 Entertainment corporate machine.

So you've endured the steady parade of pretty boys, thrash-metal rejects, and Tommy Lee wanna-bes with a grin so tight it was almost a grimace, and found each of them lacking when compared to him.

You'd already resigned yourself to settling for something less.

And now, watching this kid, you're beginning to think you might not have to.

You've been wondering whether his name is real, or merely a reflection of him doing just that -- continually peeking out from behind the curtain of hair that covers his face and flies around his head as he plays.

You decide it's completely irrelevant when this kid --- Kyle is his first name -- stares out at you with those eyes from behind that mane, shooting you a look that pierces right through you, and you can feel your heart stutter in your chest.

This kid may not be Josh, but he's damn close.

You don't dance, not at all; but somehow you find your shoulders swaying, your hips shifting to his beat, and Neal's grinning at you like a madman as his head bobs along, and he's cranking out these raunchy power chords that compliment the kid's -- Kyle's -- rhythm perfectly, and you know you've found your fourth man.

Oh lookie there.

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 07:34:45 GMT

LiveJournal's unavailable again. What a fucking shock. :P

Okay, wankers.

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 09:12:57 GMT

I heard a rumor that you guys may poke your noses in over here when El-Jay went dark...

That's all well and good. That's what this post is for here.

Make it an open comment thread, or whatever -- just be aware that Squeaky has had to turn on comment verification for anonymous commenters because of the large amount of spammorz that members had been getting.

I, for one, welcome my anonymous-commenting freaky friends, so feel free.

I will let you know that I have actually written two short ficlets in the past two days. :) I will not let you see them, because that would spoil you for the end of my "Anodyne" series... but just know that I've actually been writing, which is a feat in and of itself.

And you know? I'm not averse to a little comment porn over here, ngl.

have at it.

Fic: "The More, The Merrier"

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 22:53:14 GMT

Title: The More, The Merrier
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: David/Liz, Andy/Jennie, Neal/Alexis, implied David/Jeff, implied David/Andy
Summary: These guys have way too much time on their hands - and think about sex every second of it.
Word Count: 2121
Warnings: none.
Archived: Here on IJ ONLY. Links to IJ are fine. :)
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: This is the purity test they're playing with in the beginning. It's good times. You should check it out.

...See if you can find the ones that squick Neal. XD

Written for and posted to the Tulsa_Gangstas LiveJournal community's "(Im)purity Test Challenge," as background and an introduction to the challenge itself. Interested? Join tulsa_gangstas, for the lulz. ♥

"Oh guys... Look what I've got..." Dave sing-songs from the doorway. He approaches the dimly-lit corner of the lounge, grinning widely, brandishing several well-worn sheets of paper in his hand.

Those gathered around the low table glance up from an argument over their Mexican house rules, but Neal alone recognizes the significance of the gift Dave is bearing.

"Jesus Christ, not that fucking thing again..." he groans, slamming the dice cup on the table in disgust.

Pouting, Dave flops onto the couch beside Liz and grabs Neal's beer off the table. "Aw c'mon, Tiemann -- this is college," he wheedles, taking a large swig from the bottle before Neal snatches it away. "It's a time-honored tradition amongst my people! You're at a lounge party in a frat house, getting wasted -- how can you not?"

"It's easy, believe me," Neal retorts, grabbing a fresh beer from the cooler and sliding it across the table.

"Whadizzit?" Andy pipes up, blinking in confusion.

"It's nothing," Neal replies, sounding irritated.

"No way man! It's awesome!" Dave insists, brushing off Neal's casual dismissal.

"It's stupid."

"Shut up, Liz, seriously," Dave says gently, mussing her hair. "Besides, you really don't have any room here to talk, remember?" he murmurs, kissing her cheek.

"Oh really? Which one did you guys cross off?"

Neal glares at the woman beside him. "God, Lexi, don't encourage them..."

"...Number two thirty-seven," Dave retorts smugly.

Instantly, Neal's gaze sharpens. "Which one's that?"

"'God, Neal, don't encourage them...'" Alexis snarks, and Neal shoots her a dark look.

"Fuck off, Lex... C'mon, Dave, gimme," he says, gesturing for the papers.

Obliging, Dave passes over the sheets, smiling wickedly as Andy cranes his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what's written as they cross in front of him.

Neal smirks back, scanning the pages quickly.

"Aw, c'mon now, Dave...You've done that before, haven't you? What about that groupie that one night in Edgerton?"

Dave curses as Alexis and Jennie both scramble to read over Neal's shoulder.

"She must have had a lot of stamina," Jennie muses aloud.

Neal's grin widens, growing positively devilish. "Who said it was a 'she'?"

"Oh, God!" Dave groans as all heads turn his way, and he shrinks into the sofa cushions, wishing himself invisible.

"Yeah, good ol' Dave over there got to cross off more than just number two thirty-seven after that night, let me tell ya..." Neal continues, roaring with laughter as Dave covers his face with his hands. "Shit, boy almost would'a gotten to two thirty-eight, 'cept that the guy passed out first..."

"Wait," Andy interrupts, sitting bolt upright in his seat. "Where was I when all this was happening?"

"I was drunk, dammit..." Dave moans from behind his hands, and Neal snorts.

"Isn't that always your excuse?"

Liz clears her throat delicately. "Well, I hadn't done it yet, so..."

"C'mon guys, what the fuck is that thing?" Andy whines, grabbing for the pages impatiently. Chuckling, Neal easily fends him off, holding them just out of reach.

"It's a purity test," Jennie replies, and Andy blinks.

"A what?"

"Oh, baby, no... It's not your fault," Jennie coos, slithering into his lap to drape an arm around his shoulders. "You've led such a sheltered life..."

"Hey!"

"No offense, Lexi, but it's true..." Laughing off her friend's affected outrage, Jennie presses her forehead to Andy's temple, and whispers in his ear. "I'll give you your own private test later on tonight, baby..." She giggles as Andy's face flushes scarlet, and trails her fingers lightly along his jaw.

"Oh, hey there guys! Hail, hail the gang's all here, eh?"

"Why, it's Jeff and Bobby!" Dave crows, perking up considerably. "What'chu guys doin' tonight?"

"Run, guys, run!! Dave's got the damn list out again!" Neal yelps loudly, and Dave swears at him again, which only eggs him on. "Save yourselves, man! Run!!"

Bobby pauses in mid-stride, tipping an imaginary hat to the group. "Welp, nice seein' yall -- I'm outta here..." he chirps lightly, and does a neat one-eighty on his heel, heading back the way he came.

"Aw, c'mon, Bob," Dave hollers at his retreating back. "Lighten up YA FUCKIN' PRUDE!!"

Bobby flicks his fingers over his shoulder without looking back and is gone.

Jeff, on the other hand, grabs a chair and drags it to their circle instead, shrugging at Neal's tilted head. "This is always good for a few laughs," he explains obliquely, and settles in to watch.

Sliding the test across the table, Neal slumps back into his chair and studies Dave with curiosity. "Man, you bring that fuckin' thing out every time we come up here, David -- aren't we done with it?"

"...Are you at zero yet?" Dave snaps.

They stare stonily at each other across the table, and Neal shakes his head.

"...Then, no," Dave replies.

"Oh my God, dude, seriously? There's some things on that list that even I won't do, man..."

"No fucking way -- really?" And Andy grabs for the sheets on the table.

Neal leans forward, piercing him with narrowed eyes. "Yes, Andy -- really."

Andy runs down the list, shaking his head. "I don't really see..." he begins, and suddenly his face blanches. "...Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' Anyway," Neal continues, turning back to Dave, "It's purposely set up that way, David, so nobody ever gets to the end."

They sit a few moments in stony silence, punctuated by Andy's soft exclamations as he studies the list. They stare at their hands, at the floor, the wall, the table, their beers... Anywhere but at each other, while their female companions shift uncomfortably, glancing back and forth between the pair.

"Y'know what?" Dave ventures finally. "We need to fix that problem."

"...You sick bastard."

"Fuck, no!! Not that way, Tiemann -- GOD!"

Neal raises an eyebrow. "How?"

Dave grins. "We make up our own."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay," Neal growls, leaning back in his chair. "So how do we do this?"

Dave tosses a notebook on the table in front of him, and slouches back into his previous spot on the couch. "Well, it shouldn't be too much like that test, I guess... That's pretty much defeating the purpose..."

"Well, c'mon man -- this is your thing here. Gimme some ideas!"

"I'm thinking, God damn it, I'm thinking... just gimme a minute, shit!"

"It's all about sex, isn't it."

Jennie arches a suggestive eyebrow at Dave and Liz over the older pages in her hands, and smiles in triumph when Liz begins to blush furiously.

"I mean, seeing as most of the items crossed out -- and circled? Oh my God, you two have big plans, don't you?"

Dave chokes on his beer, and Jennie continues brightly.

"Anyway! They're all related to sex, so I'm guessing it's safe to assume that's what it's about?"

"Oh God..."

"Shut it, Andy," Neal mutters, and Andy does.

"Um..." Dave coughs again, and Neal studies the flush creeping up his friend's neck as Dave finally gives up and nods helplessly.

"Well, there you go!" Jennie replies with a flourish of her hand. "Just think about sex -- like you don't do that twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five already, but humor me -- what do you think is hot, guys?"

As her voice slips into a sexy purr, Neal is thinking that Andy might just be the luckiest fucking guy on the planet; Dave is watching Liz watching him from the corner of his eye as his breath catches in his throat and he swallows hard; and Andy is thinking that there's a few things on that fucking list he wouldn't mind doing right now, the way she's sounding...

"Where have you always thought about doing it? What would turn you on, more than anything...?" Jennie continues, her voice husky with seduction.

"What would you dare your buddies to do, that you would never do in a million years?"

"Aw, dammit!" Jennie curses delicately, and Alexis laughs out loud. "Way to ruin the mood, Lexi!" But even she has to laugh, and shakes her head at her best friend with a wink and a nod. "No, but really, that's a good one, Lex -- put a little challenge in it; I like it..."

And just like that, the laughter's over, and she glances up at the boys from beneath feathery eyelashes.

"So, boys, what do you say?" And again with the purr, and now a slow, sexy smile. "...Tell us what you want to do."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Aw, c'mon guys -- what the fuck is wrong with a quickie?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, David -- that's so not original..." Neal groans, tipping his head back in exasperation.

"...But you'd never turn one down, would'ya?" Dave snarks, and Andy snorts with laughter as he scribbles his suggestion in the notebook making its way around the low table.

"Settle down, boys," Alexis warns them affectionately. "As long as it's hot, who says it has to be original?"

"Maybe it's not the act itself, but where the act takes place," Jennie suggests, tapping a pen thoughtfully against her teeth. "Well? What can we come up with?"

"How about backstage, before a gig?"

They've almost forgotten that Jeff is even there, he's been so quiet, and as their heads all snap around to stare at him, he flashes a sheepish smile and shrugs.

"Just...puttin' it out there, is all..." he murmurs, darting a quick look at David.

The others turn in unison to do so as well, and find that David's turned pale as a ghost.

"What?" he croaks, and Neal cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Naw, man... Jeff, that so doesn't count -- I was just rubbing one out! HEY!" He raises his voice, striving to be heard over their raucous laughter. "...It was for stress relief, I swear to God! Fuck!!"

"...Did Jeff see you?" Liz glances up shyly from the notebook, pen poised on a dot.

Both Dave and Jeff's eyes bug out at her question, and they trade nervous looks again.

"...Did Jeff watch you?" She's easing forward now, laying the pen aside to finger the edge of the notebook lightly as she studies their reactions from under her lashes.

Dave just stares at her, lips parted and eyes wide, while Jeff shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks away, effectively answering her question.

"...Did you know he was watching?" she persists, touching her boyfriend's arm lightly. Her mouth twists in a sly sideways grin as Jennie and Alexis exhale appreciatively. Behind Dave, she sees Jeff lean forward, looking very interested in Dave's answer.

Dave meets her eyes for a split-second but cannot hold her gaze. So he nods, just once, and ducks his head, biting his lower lip.

"...Fuck, that's hot..." Jennie breathes, tightening her fingers in Andy's hair, ignoring his squeak of protest.

"Gimme that fuckin' list, Liz..." Alexis says in a quiet, strangled voice. Liz mechanically shoves it her way, and Jennie and Alexis both pounce on it, fighting over the pen and scribbling furiously.

Neal is studying Jeff and Dave alternately, his eyes dark and his jaw set, trying to parse the situation out.

Andy is staring at Jeff, something like jealousy burning behind his eyes (although he'd never admit it), and suddenly he's snatching the notebook from his sister's hands and blurting out, "Okay, then, we've taken care of backstage -- what about on-stage?"

And all of their heads are snapping his direction, but Andy's not looking at them -- he's putting pen to paper and peering sidelong at a violently-blushing Dave, who suddenly can't meet his gaze, either.

"Aw, c'mon -- like you all weren't thinking about it too!" Andy protests, and his voice falters as he finishes writing and finally glances around, only to find the rest of them viewing him with varying degrees of horror. "...No?" he says hesitantly. "...Just me?" Jennie tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, and Andy's face falls. "...Oh."

"Andy..." Neal says slowly, his brow wrinkling, "Is there something you want to share with us?"

"...Besides the obvious?" Dave mutters under his breath, and Liz elbows him hard in the gut.

"Oh, Andy, dude, that's six different kinds of wrong right there..." Jeff says, shaking his head. "...And probably a couple sorts of illegal..."

"God, fine! Just making out on stage, then -- is that better?"

They all dissolve into laughter, and Andy slumps in his seat, arms folded across his chest. "Fine," he grates out, scowling at the floor. "Just never fucking mind."

~~~~~~~~~~

"'Kay -- anyone else?" Dave asks, glancing around at his friends. "...No?...M'kay, lessee... We got...." He counts down the list silently, lips moving as he concentrates on the wavering, blurry lines dancing across the page. "Um...thirty. Thirty things!" he slurs, and a muted cheer goes up around him.

"Thirty fuckin' things," he repeats softly, staring at the list. "So -- who wants first crack at it?"

Because I have a bunch of icons, and I feel like it, and maybe somebody's interested...

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 21:47:22 GMT

I have a bunch of icons of the T-Town Boiz and their buddies that I felt like posting. So deal with it, a'ight?

Teasers:

David Cook, Andy Skib, Neal Tiemann, Bryan Jewett, Josh Center, Michael Johns, Chikezie, and yes, even li'l David Archuleta behind the cut.

And yes, some of these I've been using since I made 'em, and some of them have been posted elsewhere. I DO WHAT I WANT.

1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30
31	32	33	34	35	36
37	38	39	40	41	42

Made with the Icon Table Generator

#19-23 were manipulated by courts576 ("courts" on El-Jay).
#28 was manipulated by "originalorange" on the AI boards.

Funnily enough, the rest of them are real.

The majority of these pictures were, um, "creatively acquired" from various AI board postings, Facebook, and MySpace.

And yes -- Michael, Archie and Chikezie are totes gangsta.

TOTES.

Fic: "Busted"

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 07:05:07 GMT

Title: Busted
Series: Anodyne
Rating: R
Pairing: Dandy; Dandymann friendship; implied David/Jeff
Summary: Keeping in contact with them was no hardship at all. Really.
Word Count: 7275
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: I have been struggling mightily with my Muse over Part 3 of this series -- I had a prompt that I was trying to write to, and all She wanted to do was sit in the corner and sulk until I wrote the scene that She wanted me to write.

Once I started writing it for Her, it kind of took on a life of its own. *facepalm* It's still very much related to this series, although it doesn't fit the prompt I was trying to write... And because I haven't updated this fic in, like, forever, you guys are getting a bonus chapter out of it. :D And it's long. Very long. Oops. :D

Special thanks to annie2791, for trying to kick the Muse's ass; and my beta-fish, celticfish, who only saw parts of this, for lying and telling me those parts didn't suck. LOL

Sooooooo...Part three of what has now grown to be ~~an expected eight-part~~ IDEK-anymore-how-many-parts serial fic.

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here: Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

...You still can't believe that Jeff had allowed Andy and Neal to stay.

And you absolutely cannot believe that he had ever permitted Andy to perform the backup vox on that song.

You'd told him everything, of course -- spilled your guts immediately when the look on his face demanded to know just how this kid from another state had even known the words to sing.

And the worst of it was, you knew how protective he was of the band's intellectual property, to the point of checking into copyrights and shit. You knew you'd pissed him off by showing a work-in-progress to members of what could only be considered a rival band, and still he'd found something in his heart that had allowed him to make that amazing concession to you.

"Just sing the fucking thing like you did at the fucking bar last night, assholes," he'd growled impatiently, as your mouth had dropped open in amazement. "I know you fuckers can do it..."

And Andy alone had had the presence of mind to grab your hand and lead you into the booth beyond.

Three takes later, you'd still been staring just as intently into each other's eyes, and Andy'd still been nailing every take flawlessly, and your voices had still blended just as well as they had since that first night in Tulsa, and you were still as easily broken as a porcelain doll by the wonder of it all, and Jeff had abruptly developed a flat, angry look on his face that he was trying to disguise but never quite succeeding...

It was then, and only then, that you realized that Andy had yet to let go of your hand.

And you just couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

----------

Your face absolutely lights up as you hear the the finished product blasting through your Jeep's blown-out speakers on your way home from a gig in Wisconsin -- the first gig where Axium had shared a bill with the Kings.

It -- that -- all of it -- was twenty different kinds of awesome, and you still can't find the words to describe any of it.

Maybe you never will.

Beaming with the same delight you'd felt when you'd told Jeff about the AMC Theaters' MovieTunes request -- you'd been so fucking proud of this damn song then, and you're even more so now -- you tuck your knees up under your chin (which isn't hard to do, considering your feet are planted on a cardboard box half-full of that very same product you're sampling, crammed into the narrow space behind the driver's seat and the one you're wobbling in now), and close your eyes as the song hits its bridge, and Jeff's solo...

...The same solo that Neal had played for you after the Kings' show in Tulsa that night you'd first played "Hold" for them; the one you'd brought back and played for Jeff, watching his expression change from grave consideration to an eerie combination of realization and satisfaction...

Oh, the look Neal had given you from the recording booth when Jeff had torn into it, and recognition had hit him square between the eyes... such a perfect blend of exasperation and affection that you couldn't help but shrug and grin back...

And you know what comes next, and in your mind you're hitting your knees yet again at the lip of the stage and beckoning Andy closer...

"David!"

Bobby's voice penetrates the fog inside your brain with crystal clarity, tearing you away from your favorite memory of all.

"What's up?"

"You haven't heard a damn thing I said, have you."

You give him that same goofy smile you'd given Neal, and shake your head slowly. "Nope. Not at all."

He trades eyerolls with Jeff in the driver's seat, and twists back around to stare at you in the waxes and wanes of the passing street lamps.

"We -- all three of us," he gestures to include Jerron in the collective, "--think that the Kings are a pretty decent fit with us, man," he replied. "Since you know them so well..."

"Yeah... A little too well," Jeff mutters petulantly, and you miss neither the jealousy in his voice, nor the withering glance Bobby shoots his way.

"...And they seem to like you well enough," Bobby continues, "We were thinking you should be our, I dunno...liaison with them? Y'know...stay in touch with--is it Andy and Neal?"

Oh, like that's gonna be a hardship...

"--And maybe see about arranging some more shows where we're on the same bill? I mean, tonight we really seemed to click with the crowd, and it seemed like the enthusiasm was pretty much the same for both them and us..."

And you're just gonna have to take his word for it, since the crowd's reaction was the last thing on your mind when Andy was on that stage singing...

"...It looks like our audiences might be similar enough that we could scratch each others' backs, y'know? It would totally be to both our benefits..."

You nod slowly as his voice fades away, drowned out by a clear tenor floating out from the speakers over your tortured baritone... You watch his lips continue to move and you continue to nod and you have no fucking clue what you're even agreeing to anymore -- your only thoughts are of wide hazel eyes and a shock of dark brown hair and a soul that's so much older than its years.

----------

You know what? Bobby and Jeff actually asking -- well, damn near begging -- you to keep in touch with him? God, that's absolutely no fucking trouble at all -- they're just giving you reasons to see each other.

And thus, when school starts back up again, there's always a plausible excuse for your absences from campus on increasingly recurrent weekends.

And the more time you spend in their company, the more you're coming to realize that there's so much more out there than you'd thought...and the potential is simultaneously frightening and exhilarating, all at once.

But the more time you spend away from Missouri, the worse Jeff's attitude becomes, and his snide remarks and suspicions and petty jealousy are getting pretty tedious... Familiarity has begun to breed contempt, and your song-writing begins to reflect that.

You hadn't realized just how possessive Jeff would become when faced with the prospect of losing you -- until the night when Jeff comes backstage during the Kings' set to hear you playing their song on your guitar.

That's the night the two of you very nearly come to blows, and Bobby and Jerron have to drag you apart -- Jerron pinning you in a corner of the room, shaking his head sadly, while Bobby drags Jeff into the hallway, where you can clearly hear the two of them arguing and berating each other.

It's the last time Jerron ever plays with Axium, and you can't say you blame him much for leaving.

Bobby approaches you not long afterward, almost apologetically, and suggests that, in the interest of unity, you may want to start spending less time with the Kings, and concentrate on Axium instead.

Your response? Fuck that shit.

Jeff's jealous.

He's angry.

He's scared.

And you? You're just fucking pissed, and his emotions have nothing to do with you.

Your emotions, you pour into your words...and they're not very pretty at all.

Bobby frowns as he scans your newest lyrics and looks at you with raised eyebrows and sad eyes. But if Jeff realizes that those songs are about him, he never says a word.

----------

You give Andy a copy of "Blindsided" for his eighteenth birthday, but don't tell him that he's the inspiration for its title.

And one of your most cherished possessions is the copy of the Kings' eponymous CD that he gifts you with on your twenty-first.

That, and the skull-head shot glass that Neal somehow came up with...

And between them, competitive as they are, there's much rampant speculation and debate as to which one you'll get the most use out of.

----------

Andy slows to a halt beside you, dragging his phone out of his pocket; and he rolls his eyes at the caller ID before he flips it open.

"Hey, Lexi, what's up?"

You hear Neal snicker and shoot him a glance as Andy throws him the bird.

"Shut up, Neal," he hisses, and then, "What's that? Yeah, Neal's here...No, actually, we're in Missouri...Nope, no shows this weekend -- we're visiting Dave... David Cook? ...The Axium guy?"

And now Neal's laughing outright, doubled over in the quad, even, drawing sidelong looks from the other students walking past; and your face is turning beet-red, because you know you've met Alexis at least a couple times at some of the Kings' shows, and you really thought you'd made a better impression than that...

"...Yeah, that guy," Andy's continuing, shrugging his shoulders apologetically at you and shaking his head. "Uh-huh...We're going to a party tonight at his fraternity--"

And here he has to pull the phone away from his ear, and she's yelling so loudly you can almost make out what she's saying, except her screaming distorts it so badly that now you really don't want to know...

"Goddamn, Lex, chill out a sec!" he hollers, holding the handset a few inches away from his head, and there's sudden silence from the other end. Cautiously, he brings the phone back up to his ear.

"Yes, I know I'm underaged, Lex. Yes, I know there's tons of drinking at these things... but, um, hello, seriously? We play in bars, Lexi -- it's not like I've never--" More yelling, and he winces before raising his voice to talk over her. "--And yes, Dad knows, Alexis -- fuck!"

That seems to shut her down momentarily, and he covers his face with a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neal collapses to the ground, breathless with laughter, and you're just standing there staring at the two of them, even more acutely aware of the looks being thrown your direction.

"C'mon, Alexis, shit!" Andy whines -- literally whines, and now you're laughing too, and he's giving you this death glare from Hell -- "Gimme a little credit, here. I'm not gonna do anything stupid, I promise...Nuh-uh. No fuckin' way, Alexis... I can't believe...You can't ask me to do that! ...No! ...You just can't! ...All right, all right; just two drinks, I swear..." -- which sets both you and Neal off again, because seriously? Seriously, this is some funny shit, right here... -- "Don't forget, Neal's here with me. Nothing-- Alexis, please!"

Comedic. Fucking. Gold.

Neal shifts to his knees and tugs on Andy's jacket. "Dude, gimme the phone," he whispers hoarsely, and Andy actually kicks him a little, just a glancing blow, and Neal grins wider, pawing at his arm. "C'mon man, seriously -- gimme."

"Lexi? Hang on a minute," Andy replies, and then shoves the phone into Neal's hand. "You want it so bad? Here!"

Neal just winks at you, and Andy rolls his eyes and flops onto the grass beside Neal, covering his face with his arm.

And immediately Neal's all business, dropping his voice into its lower register, all breathy and sexy-like, and your mouth is just hanging open now, because seriously, dude - what the fuck is going on?

"Hey, Alexis, it's Neal...No, baby, no yelling at me, don't treat me like that...Yeah, baby, I know he's your little brother...He's like a brother to me, too, babe..."

Andy's covered his face with both of his hands now, and it sounds like he's strangling on the groan he's stifled behind them. You're not sure what to make of this fuckery anymore, so you plop down beside him and start picking at your thumbnail, listening to Neal's one-sided conversation.

"Alexis. Darling. Listen to me," Neal's saying (and damned if his voice isn't suddenly dripping honey), "You know I'll take good care of him, baby -- I always have, haven't I? ...That's right, sugar, you know it... Yeah, I promise... Nope, no trouble tonight; I'll keep him on the straight and narrow, I swear..."

And Neal's making faces at you over Andy's body, and it actually sounds like Andy might be weeping behind his hands.

"Yeah, I know David pretty well; he's a good guy, Lexi... Yeah, we can trust him, babe... Alexis, he'll be fine. I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to your baby brother. All right? All right then... you take care, beautiful, and I'll have him call you first thing tomorrow, deal? ...Okay, later."

He closes the phone and drops it on Andy's heaving chest, fixing you with that bad-assed rocker stare.

"Yeah, I fucked her," he says smugly, and Andy finally screams out loud.

#####

"...You can't be serious."

Jack, the fraternity's Social Chair, is staring back and forth between the two IDs in front of him and the corresponding persons opposite.

"Sure am," you assure him, and reach over the table to grab two of the 21+ wristbands beside his arm.

"Him? Maybe," Jack allows, pointing at Neal, who's got him pinned beneath his characteristic "gonna-fuck-you-up" look, and you watch the shiver run down Jack's spine with a snort. "--But him?" he continues, shifting his attention to Andy, who's beginning to look a little nervous now, bless his heart, "--Dude -- you cannot be serious."

"What do their ID cards say?" you deflect, securing Neal's band around his wrist as you both exchange the faintest of smiles.

"David, please don't do this to me..." And Jack's pleading sounds almost desperate and more than a little frustrated, and you'd almost feel bad for him, except you totally don't.

"Jack," you murmur, tagging Andy's arm with the illicit band, "You know as well as I do that most of the people in that lounge are underaged..."

"But we know those people, David..."

"And I know these people, Jack, and I'm vouching for 'em, okay?" you retort, arching an eyebrow at him. "C'mon, man, just look the other way..."

"Dave, so help me God, if we get busted tonight..."

You catch the weary tone of defeat in his voice, and you grin triumphantly.

"If the RAs show up, Jack, my room is right down the hall, and we'll hole up in there. I swear, man, if we get busted tonight, it ain't gonna be because of my friends."

"Oh, for fuck's sake...." he groans, and hands back their ID cards. "Now hurry up and go, before I change my fucking mind..."

"Thanks, bud - I appreciate it." You flash him your most winning smile, and steer your guests through the door.

#####

"Shit! Andy, who gave you that punch?"

You've asked the question loudly enough for your brothers tending bar to have heard, and now they're laughing their damn asses off.

"Tommy, you fucking asshole!" you bellow, and he responds with a wide grin and a hearty wave of his hand, complete with extended middle digit.

"Fuck you, Davey," he replies cheerfully, indicating Neal standing in front of him. "Neal here says he's only allowed two drinks, so we figured we'd better make 'em count!"

Andy's staring at the large plastic cup in his hand with a puzzled look. "It's just punch, David," he reasons quietly. "How bad can it be?"

Uh, yeah -- until he takes his first sip and nearly chokes.

"Holy shit!" he gags, and Neal's now doubled over on the bar, joining his new best friend Tommy in laughing like a hyena.

"What the fuck did they put in this? Lighter fluid?" Andy sputters, and a fresh round of laughter begins behind you.

"That's Everclear, Andy," you warn him. "It's some serious shit, man -- 190 proof, and it will fuck your shit up, especially since you're used to beer..."

And now he's staring at the cup like he's been snake-bit, but can't stop himself from attempting another sip. The face he makes is priceless, but he swallows it gamely, looking all the while like he desperately wants to spit it out.

"It's...not so bad..." he croaks, and now there's cheers and applause from the bar rail and Neal comes over to slap him on the back.

"Atta boy, Andy," he crows. "C'mon, Dave -- show me how to play that fucking dice game."

#####

And that's how you end up sandwiched between them at a table in the lounge, with five other party-goers in varied stages of inebriation.

And God dammit if Andy isn't still kicking your ass -- and double-dammit if Neal hasn't joined him.

Fucking beginner's luck...

"Ha!!" Andy chortles, lifting the dice cup. "'Pick a dick'!" --and he points right at you, of course-- "David? You're th'biggest dick I know..." and Neal's punching your shoulder and laughing with delight.

Well, it's only appropriate, you suppose, since you're getting completely fucked, and you're thinking just now that you might actually hate him a little.

"'M soooo fuckin' sorry I ever taught ya this game, Skib," you mutter darkly, and finish off your beer.

"Oh, David..."

Oh, fuck.

Please, God, not now...

You cover your face with your hands as a set of manicured ones grips your shoulders, and just like that, your buzz is gone.

"Hey, Davey," coos the pretty girl that they belong to, and all of a sudden Andy and Neal are very interested in your college friends.

"Hey, Liz," you reply with a heavy sigh, and force a smile to your lips as you crane your neck to glance up into her face. "How've y'been?"

"Good! So! Are you gonna play for us tonight, baby?" she chirps, caressing your back, and her innate perkiness is setting your teeth on edge, oh my God....

"No, sorry, don't think so," you reply, your jaw clenching involuntarily. "Y'know, m'friends'r in town, 'n all..."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to them?" she pouts, leaning over your shoulder, and you can feel your eye begin to twitch.

"Elizabeth, this's Neal, 'n Andy -- guys, this's Liz."

"David," Neal responds, and his teasing tone makes the muscles in your jaw spasm violently, "Y'never told us y'had a girlfriend..."

"She's not m'girlfriend," you grind out between clenched teeth, and his eyebrow arches skyward in response.

"And that's just because you keep turning me down every time I ask you out, you fucking asshole," Liz bubbles cheerfully, "But that won't keep me from doing it, over and over..." She winks at Neal. "I'm persistent!"

And now you're pretty sure that your teeth are fused together, and Andy's eyes are locked on her cleavage where it's about to fall out of her dress, and Neal's giving you this frankly incredulous look, and you're kicking him under the table, probably a little harder than is strictly necessary.

"Oh well! I'll catch up with you later. Gonna go mix and mingle now," she sparkles -- yes, her voice actually sounds like it sparkles, for fuck's sake -- and with a toss of her hair and an airy laugh, she's gone, and Neal is staring after her, and Andy is staring at you.

"Oh, what the fuck, dude," Neal breathes, craning his head and nearly falling out of his chair to keep her (yes, pert and perfectly-shaped) ass in sight. "...Dude..." He turns back to you as she disappears into the crowd, and frowns in complete dismay. "Dude. Seriously. What. The. Fuck."

You shrug.

"You fuck her?"

"Coupla times." You shift uneasily in your chair. "We don't, uh, always get along..."

"So. Totally. Worth it," Neal replies, and he looks like he's going to say something else, but you cut him off immediately.

"Don't really wanna talk about it, 'kay thanks."

"Dude."

"Yeah. Dude."

And then comes the dreaded announcement: "Shit, guys -- stow it! The RA's here!"

#####

And that's how you all end up in your cramped dorm room, with its twin beds shoved together against one wall and the ridiculously tiny closet and your messy desk with artwork spread across it, and the dart board on the back of the door and the band posters on the walls and the girlie poster on the ceiling and your makeshift milk crate furniture, emblazoned with the ironic admonition "do not steal!"

"Swanky," Neal drawls, and you shoot him a warning look that is promptly ignored.

"Neal..."

"I c'n totally see why y'd never wanna bring chicks here, David..." he continues recklessly. "This whole place just screams 'geek chic'...."

You flop backwards onto the bed and throw an arm across your eyes. "Oh, will y'ever shut th'fuck up?" you ask, and the question itself is strictly rhetorical.

"Aw, c'mon, man," he replies, crawling up from the foot of the bed to stretch out beside you. "'M just teasing."

"...I know." You lift your arm and peer over at Andy, who's studying your desk with a vague sense of wonder on his face. "Oh, shit, he's found my nudes..." you mutter quietly, and Neal snorts aloud.

"Hey, Andy?" you call over, and he turns around very slowly.

"Neal, I've changed my mind about college," he breathes, sinking to the bed on the other side of you. "I wanna go into graphic arts, too."

Snickering, you grab the collar of his shirt to drag him down beside you, and fish for the remote under the pillow. "C'mon, guys, let's watch some TV."

...Oh.

...Whoops.

"Um. I... Um." You can feel your face turning a shade of red you're certain has never before been seen in nature. "Uh...hmmmm."

Andy's eyes are glazing over, and they look like they're about to bug out of his head, and Neal has the most insanely happy grin on his face right now, you don't even know anymore...

"...I, um, sorta forgot I had that DVD in there... Sorry, guys... Lemme get somethin' else..."

And then Neal is pressing you back into the bed with one hand, and grabbing the remote with the other, and shaking his head in the negative, still smiling like a deranged lunatic.

"Oh, hell no, Mr. Cook. This is fine, just fine, thank you very much." He lays back on the bed, stealing one of your pillows. "Yeah, this'll do very nicely indeed..."

...And that's how you and your friends wind up in your cramped dorm room together, watching a mother-fucking porno.

#####

You're a very visual person, and there's a reason in particular this DVD was in -- well, pretty much never left -- your DVD player.

And that reason is making your life pretty fucking hellish right now.

You shift your hips as subtly as you can, but there's no relief to be found, and God dammit if Andy isn't casting sideways glances at your bulge, and Neal, asshole that he is, is laughing at you silently.

You close your eyes and swallow hard, trying not to think about how your hand is forming a fist on your thigh and how badly you're aching to be touched...

Y'know what? you think.

...Fuck it.

Giving your shirt a sharp tug to dislodge it, you unfasten your jeans and shimmy them down past your hips, ignoring the hitch in Andy's breath beside you as your cock springs free.

"Dude! What the fuck?!" Neal chokes out, and you give him a hard shove, reaching for the bottle of lotion now hidden beneath his pillow.

"God dammit, Tiemann, just shut th'fuck up, a'ight, cuz this's all yer fuckin' fault!" you growl, flailing the lotion bottle impatiently. "I wanted t'put somethin' else in, 'member? But nooooooooo, you had t'watch this instead!"

You swallow a groan of relief as you finally -- finally! -- wrap your hand around your erection and begin to stroke lazily.

"...Oh my God." Andy's voice suddenly sounds very small to your ears, but right now you've only got one thought on your mind, and it isn't about anybody else's discomfort but your own.

"An' now, thanks t'you?" you continue hoarsely. "I'm drunk, I'm horny, I haven't gotten off in for-fuckin'-ever, an' this's my fuckin' dorm room, an' I need t' come, God dammit, an' if you don't like it? Don't fuckin' look."

And for a good three minutes there's not a sound in the room but the girl moaning on the TV and your hand moving slickly over your cock.

You can feel both of their eyes drifting over your body at different times, but you keep your own locked straight ahead, staring at the screen, breathing deeply in and out, trying to maintain some semblance of control, when what you really want to do is rub one out as quickly as possible.

"Oh, goddammit," Neal says quietly. "We're all guys here, right?" There's the sound of a zipper being lowered, and then he's wriggling his way out of his jeans, and nudging you with an elbow. "Dammit, pass t'fuckin' lotion."

"Here, asshole." You whip the bottle at him with your free hand, baring your teeth in a smile at the grunt he makes when it smacks against his exposed hipbone. "Now shut th'fuck up already -- 'M tryin' to concentrate."

"Oh, fuck..." Andy whispers in a strangled voice, and you notice he's gone completely rigid -- absolutely stiff as a board -- next to you. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, and you slide your eyes sideways just in time to catch him palming himself through his jeans.

Immediately you have to squeeze tightly at the base of your shaft to fight back the orgasm which threatens to overwhelm you at the sight.

You wrench your eyes away from the hand cupping his groin, and drag your gaze up to his face instead.

His pupils are blown wide open, darkening his eyes, which are glued to the bodies writhing on the screen rather than on the ones in the bed beside him; but the tips of his ears are so brightly reddened that they look like they might actually burst into flame.

"Shut up, boy..." Neal's muttering under his breath to your left. "Man's got needs, y'know..."

You watch Andy's throat work as he swallows, and you have to tear your eyes away or this will most definitely be over with far too soon.

"Shut up, both a' you," you snarl. "This's th'good part..." Your voice is thick with arousal, and Andy honest-to-God shivers at the sound, though if you were to think about that too much, well...yeah.

The action on the screen changes, and you start working yourself in earnest, moving faster and stroking with purpose. Your free hand slips between your legs to fondle your balls, and your hips come off the bed involuntarily.

"Jesus Christ!" Neal barks, and Andy's groaning softly, moving his own hips beside you, rubbing himself through his jeans to your rhythm.

"I tol' ya, I need t'get off!" you rasp, scrunching your eyes shut and throwing your head back against your pillow.

"Just don't fuckin' rip it off, okay?"

"Neal, y'see that poster up there?" you pant, jerking both your jaw and your dick toward the ceiling to indicate it.

"Yeah... she's hot."

"Here's th'thing, Neal...I keep tellin' m'self that one 'a these days, 'm gonna come all over her tits..." You swallow hard, arching your back as the warmth begins to spread. "'M not jus' gonna come, Tiemann... 'M goin' f'r distance."

"...Um...It's good--t'have...goals...?" he replies, in a tone that indicates he's not sure if you're being serious, but good God you really don't fucking care, because holy-fucking-goddamned-hell-mother-fucking shit--!!

And you finally let yourself go with a buck of your hips and a loud string of curses, and each spasm of your climax is coming from deep inside your aching balls, and you've never come so God-damned hard in your entire fucking life, holy shit...

"...Whoa...Impressive..." Neal says in wonderment, and Andy makes a strangled choking sound as your come hits your stomach.

"Beat...that...muthafuckas...," you pant, and collapse into the mattress with a smile.

#####

Even when thoroughly sated, you're still a visual person.

Now that they no longer have you to watch, Neal and Andy are in their own little masturbatory worlds, so they don't notice when your eyes finally crack open, or when you start sizing them up.

...Well, honestly, Andy's not giving you much of anything to look at, with his jeans zipped up tighter than a virgin's ass, so that just leaves the red-head to your left.

Neal's of fairly good size, you reckon, just about as long as you are...maybe a little thicker, but you're so not gonna wrap your hand around it, or anything, so it's hard to tell...

His Prince Albert both fascinates and repulses you -- and for God's sake, he's really not one to talk about ripping it off, from the way he's whaling on himself...

He grimaces something ugly, and comes without a fucking sound, swiping his palm over the head of his cock, using his own semen to lubricate his final strokes.

In two minutes flat, he's out like a light, snoring softly, still holding his dick in his hand.

But Andy's gone back to completely rigid beside you. He's still got some major happy in his pants, it's plain to see, but his eyes are squeezed shut and his hands have balled into fists at his sides, and he looks... well, incredibly uncomfortable.

And now you feel kind of bad about the whole thing, except not, because you totally got a righteous orgasm out of it, and you told them they didn't have to look... But still.

You push yourself up to a sitting position and yawn elaborately, glancing his way. "Y'need anythin', Andy?" you ask quietly.

You see him tense up just a bit more, and he keeps his eyes closed as he shakes his head.

"'M gonna turn off th' light, then, 'kay? I think Neal's got th'right idea..."

He shrugs tightly, and you respond in kind, though he can't see it, and slip off the bed to flick off the light.

#####

You're just about to drift into a sex-and-alcohol-induced sleep when your mind registers the slight shift of weight on the bed to your right.

You've slept with others before, naturally, so it's not enough to completely startle you; but you haven't slept with enough to be able to ignore it, and now you're wide awake again and squinting at the darkened ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

There's a pause, like a breath is being held, and for the second time that night, the soft sound of a zipper being lowered, tooth by slow tooth, reaches your ears. Another pause, as if listening for something; and then more cautious shifting, and finally the gentle puff of an exhale followed by an even softer hissing intake of breath, and curiosity gets the better of you.

You turn your head minutely, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains, you catch a glimpse of Andy's cock disappearing into his fist, and holy shit, you never ever thought you'd be grateful for that streetlight just outside your window.

And you can complete your "Dicks in My Dorm Room" survey at last.

Oh, it's nothing special, really; you've seen dozens of cocks just like his in your high school locker room, but this one...you can't seem to tear your eyes away.

He drops himself abruptly, and you quickly slit your eyes, just in case he looks your way, but instead, he brings his hand to his mouth, licking his palm wetly.

...And if you hadn't emptied your balls so thoroughly a scant half-hour ago, you'd probably be coming again.

He grips himself once more, and you're fascinated by it all; watching his face, his hips, his technique, his hand, his cock disappearing and reappearing with every stroke, wondering how it would feel to lay between his legs and place your hand over his, to touch that little bead of pre-come you see glistening at the tip--

--Holy fuck.

You've always been a horny drunk, sure -- but Jesus Christ, where the fuck did that just come from?!

His breathing changes, pulling you out of your thoughts, and his hips shift, and he's stroking himself a bit carefully now, and it dawns on you that he's never gonna think to ask for the lotion, since he apparently thinks you guys are asleep--but he'd probably really appreciate it...

So you find yourself groping at Neal's side for the bottle, stirring him only slightly at your touch.

"Round two already?" he mumbles under his breath, never opening his eyes, and you snort faintly with amusement.

Andy freezes in place, gripping himself tightly, and stupid-assed you realizes you've given yourself away.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," you reply softly. "Go back t'sleep, asshole."

"M'kay..." he exhales, and promptly does just that.

Well, you're committed now, you figure; no use pretending that you were carrying on a conversation in your sleep... Steeling yourself, you nudge Andy's hip lightly with the bottle.

He startles just the slightest bit, and turns his head your direction, cracking an eye open in inquiry.

You hold the bottle up in response, and he just barely nods, just once; but he refuses to take the bottle from your hand. Instead, he cants his hips toward you, keeping his hand locked in place, and you realize he wants you to put it on for him, holy fucking shit...

Well.

This is awkward, isn't it.

Yeah.

But yeah...

...Yeah, you do it.

You'd think it would be easier for him now, but it's not -- or at least it doesn't seem to be, because he's pretty fucking tense all of a sudden, his movements are shorter, more constricted, like he's trying to...disguise? or conceal? his--

His--

Oh, my fucking God.

You, sir, are a fucking idiot.

You haven't know each other all that long, but you've become such good friends that sometimes you forget how young he really is, and how shy he's always been.

There's a reason he waited until he thought you and Neal were asleep -- he's embarrassed, you dumbass.

Of what, you can't imagine, 'cause seriously? He's looking pretty damn good from where you are... In fact, he's damn near...

"...Perfect..." you breathe.

His hand stills as he inhales sharply, and there's an escalation of the tension in the air between you, and if it were ever possible to listen with an entire body, you think he's probably doing it now.

And you remember how it felt to be eighteen, and how you felt about your body at eighteen, and you can't fucking stop yourself.

And you're moving closer, rolling toward him; and you're reaching out, and you're caressing his flank, and he's fucking shuddering under your touch, and you're whispering again, so quietly you almost can't even hear yourself: "...So fuckin' beautiful..."

He won't look at you -- you suspect he can't; doesn't dare look, in fact; doesn't trust himself to do so... He keeps his eyes glued shut, and swallows thickly, and then his hand begins to move again, less tentatively, and you can't believe you're doing it, but you're actually murmuring encouragement...and he's responding to it, Jesus Christ...

And you know it's just the alcohol that's taken over your brain, but you're suddenly desperate to hear the noises he makes, see what he looks like, when he lets himself go...

"What d'ya sound like when y'come, Andy?"

Okay -- clearly you've gone insane now, seriously, 'cause you swear to God you have no fucking clue how those words just left your mouth.

And he whimpers, okay -- fucking whimpers, and holy goddamn fucking shit if you had any semen left, you'd be spilling all over your sheets a third time, like a horny fucking teenager.

"...That's it, Andy, c'mon..." you whisper, so softly it's almost a breath ghosting across his cheek. "I want t'hear you..."

And he's moaning quietly and shuddering again as his hand speeds up, and your hand is caressing his hip and running down his thigh.

"I want t'see you, Andy..."

You watch the perspiration bead up on his forehead; watch his free hand as it glides over his stomach and chest; watch his hips move and the muscles in his ass contract as he thrusts up into his fist; watch his lips tighten and thin...

"I want t'watch y'lose control..."

His teeth clamp together on his lower lip as he bites back a groan, and he's stroking himself so hard and so fast that his hand is nearly a blur, and you know it won't be long...

"C'mon, Andy...come for me..."

--And those words are what sends him over the edge, making his body arch; and as his face contorts with the agony of ecstasy, you're panting in tandem with him as he erupts, spilling over his hand.

"...Fuck..." he whimpers, in a broken voice, and throws an arm across his eyes to avoid your gaze.

He doesn't say anything more.

And you know enough to take the fucking hint.

You roll onto your back and stare at your paper girlfriend, winking down at you from above, and wonder why she suddenly looks so foreign.

----------

Neal is the first one awake in the morning (well, closer to afternoon, really, but shit -- this is college, it's the weekend, who really gives a fuck when you fall out of bed, right?), and he wakes both of you up by searching through your tiny closet for a towel, and being really fucking loud about it.

Andy whimpers (which apparently will never stop being hot, your twitching cock informs you, though you suppress that thought immediately) and rolls onto his stomach, burying his head in the mattress and covering it with his arms.

"Oh my God, Neal Tiemann, swear t' God 'm gonna fuckin' kill you 'f y'don't knock it th' fuck off..." you groan, turning your back to them both and covering your eyes with your forearm.

Neal laughs -- loudly, goddamn him -- and walks over to the window, yanking the curtains wide open, and you swear aloud that this really is the day he's gonna die, no lie, a bloody, gory death.

"Dude. First of all, y'gotta catch me in order to kill me," he informs you. "And secondly? To catch me, y'gotta getcher ass outta bed. And third? I'm pretty sure I can take you, stick-boy." He clambers onto the bed, bouncing and jostling you as much as possible, and sticks his face right next to yours. "NOW GET THE FUCK UP AND FIND ME A TOWEL!"

He jumps back, roaring with laughter as you lash out at him blindly. "Atta boy, Davey," he snickers, grabbing your arm and hauling you to a sitting position. "Now seriously, man, I'm gross -- where're yer towels?"

You grab your head with both hands as the room spins briefly before grinding to a halt, and then crack your eyes open to the most blinding sight you've ever seen besides your own body in the mirror.

"Jesus Christ, Neal -- put some fucking clothes on!!" you sputter, and apparently you should forego your career as a musician and become a comedian instead, because you're just cracking his shit up.

"David, I'm going to shower -- I can't wear clothes in the shower, dumbass," he replies reasonably, but his voice is filled with such affection that the urge to kill subsides just a tiny bit. "Now seriously -- towel?"

You wave your hand vaguely in the direction of the closet. "'S'over there..." you mumble, trying to concentrate over the pounding in your head.

Neal pads over to the closet again, staring inside of it. "David, I'm only seeing one towel here..."

"Uh-huh."

There's complete silence for once, and you risk squinting at him curiously.

"...It's used."

"Neal...it's just me. How many towels do you expect me to have?"

"Dude."

"Look man, 'm sorry -- that's all I got..."

"Dude."

"Oh my God, seriously? It's been used to dry off a clean body, Neal. It's not riddled with filth, or anything. I mean, I wash it every week..."

Grumbling, he snatches it from the rack and wraps it around his waist, grabs your washcloth as an afterthought, and then turns back to the closet. After a moment, he turns back to the bed where you're actively wishing for a death of your own.

"I almost hate to ask this."

"...Oh God. What now?"

"Soap."

Cursing under your breath to keep from crying, you finally crawl off the bed and stumble to his side, shoving him out of the way.

"Here. Shampoo. Soap. Go."

There's a long pause while he looks back and forth between your extended arm and your face.

"What the fuck is it now?" you grate out between clenched teeth.

"Dude -- shower gel?"

"Liz. Bought. It. For. Me," you snarl, and he takes an involuntary step back, but he can't resist tweaking you a final time.

"You?" He pokes you in the chest. "Are so whipped..."

And he giggles like a madman as he dances past you, and you follow him while graphically describing all the various ways you're going to desecrate his dead body.

Grinning maniacally, he grabs the doorknob and swings the door open, revealing Bobby and Jeff in the hall, with Jeff poised to knock.

Neal snaps into automatic "bad-ass" mode, and stares at them unwaveringly, scratching his crotch elaborately as he gives them both a curt nod.

Bobby's eyes widen, taking in your dishevelment, Neal's barely-covered nudity, and the rumpled form of Andy trying to be invisible on the bed behind you.

Jeff is slowly turning an unflattering shade of purple beside him, staring daggers at you.

"Gentlemen," Neal murmurs without a trace of irony, and nudges past them, strutting down the hall to the bathroom.

Jeff and Bobby turn as one to watch him go, and then turn again to stare at you.

You hear Andy stir behind you on the bed, and you start guiltily, and dammit, your eye is twitching again.

"Dave?" Jeff says, "A word with you, please?" and his voice sounds really weird, and Bobby is murmuring to him in an undertone, urging him not to lose his head.

You move woodenly into the hallway and close the door, sullenly meeting his gaze.

"What the fuck?" he asks, his tone almost oddly pleasant, but his clenched fists tell you so much more than his words ever could.

You shrug self-consciously. "Party got busted last night."

"Got busted, or got relocated?" he retorts, and the pissy look on his face is rather more attitude than you need from him right now.

"'S none 'a yer fuckin' business," you flare, stepping forward with clenched fists of your own, and Bobby steps between you as usual, pushing you apart.

"Jeff, let it go," he urges quietly. "Just ask him what we came here to ask, and let's go."

Jeff makes an inarticulate noise of frustration, and Bobby shoves him aside.

"Never fuckin' mind. Okay, Dave, here's the deal," Bobby says. "Ryan just quit the band, okay?"

"Fuck." You slump against the door wearily, and then peer up at him. "Did he say why?"

"No, and I didn't ask -- but I think I can guess," he replies, glancing back and forth between you and Jeff rather pointedly. "Anyway...didn't you tell us once that Neal--" and here, he jerks a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, "--teaches bass?"

"...Yeah..." you reply slowly, cocking your head.

"Well...can you ask him if he knows anyone that needs the work? I mean, we've got the studio time already booked and paid for, and we've gotta start tracking those songs..." Bobby says, a worried tone creeping into his voice. "Just...see if he knows anyone, okay?"

Rubbing the back of your neck thoughtfully as a plan begins to form in your head, you nod and murmur, "Okay."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Interlude 2: Holding Court

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Pimp Yo'self Meme

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 06:55:20 GMT

It's the "Pimp Yo'self Meme"!

Sometimes it's ok to pimp yourself out. Post a list of your top five fic-favorites you've written, regardless of fandom or the reason you love them. This isn't about the BEST things you've written, but what you LOVE most. Then tag five other people to do the same.

Oh... Shit.

Um.

Fuck.

First -- my stories embarrass the hell out of me.

Second -- my guilty little secret? I used to slash John Kerry and John Edwards. The US politicians. Like, A LOT. (still slash 'em just a little bit in my head, but yanno -- it's just not the same. Haven't gotten up the courage to write any Joebama, and that may or may not be a blessing. I digress)

So. This is a scary-assed meme to be tagged with, for me at least... But, because she asked in good faith, I will oblige my friend playingwithcake, and anyone else who wasn't on-board in the early years.

...Enjoy?

NOTE - my political fic is currently FLOCKED. Don't know if that will change in the future or not... whatever.

1. Closer
Written in the political slash arena, Kerry/Edwards pairing (but seriously -- give it a chance?). This was not the first time I had ever written BDSM, nor was it the first time I'd written it in this fandom, or from the sub's POV... but my God, I just don't know what the fuck it is about this fic that makes me discard the other fic that fits those criteria to pick this one as my top favorite fic. It's rated a very hard NC-17, so be forewarned.

2. Master Bade Him
A sequel to "Closer," so more Kerry/Edwards political slash -- the sub makes an egregious error, and he must pay the price. I love the mind-fuckery I put into this, because I like abusing my characters. Oh yeah - and there's a touch of het sex as well. Sorry 'bout that. (LMAO) Rated R.

3. Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Sorry, sorry... more Kerry/Edwards political slash fic... And I offer this as proof that BDSM is, in fact, not the only thing I can write. :P Anyway... Back in 2005, when Hurricane Katrina and the Bush Administration wiped out the city of New Orleans, a bunch of us Kerry/Edwards fans put together a little fan-a-thon -- donations to the charity of our choice in exchange for fics, icons, tea-towels (yes really), you-name-it... This was written for my dear friend and beta/cheerleader/Muse-poker at the time, and I hope she doesn't mind that I'm using it here on this list, because I flove this story oh-so-fucking much. Something of a "first-time" fic, which morphs into an established relationship, and rated NC-17 because that's how I roll.

4. Blind Trust
And now we're into more familiar territory! American Idol Season 7 fandom, David Cook/Jason Castro/Michael Johns threesome. This was my first-ever American Idol fandom fic, and I never do anything half-way, so it's -- yep! -- more BDSM... and IT'S ALL CONSENSUAL, I feel obligated to point out, after that one person was all O_o; about it. Rated -- duh -- NC-17.

5. Scenes
And this was my first attempt at writing what amounts to Dandymann - David Cook/Andy Skib and David Cook/Neal Tiemann, and akdhfadkjhf@*&#@!&*#& IT'S MORE BDSMage (I swear to God I can write other things besides that, honest!!). Has the distinction of being cited in one of annie2791's epic opuses. I just love every bit of this fic, and I'm not gonna apologize for nothin'. Rated R because Neal in this fic is a very bad Dom.

Folks were tagged on my flocked El-Jay entry, so I'm not tagging anyone here. Alas. ;)

Fic: "Two Boys, One Cup... (Many Eyes)"

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 21:41:25 GMT

Title: Two Boys, One Cup... (Many Eyes)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bryan Jewett / Andy Skib, with cameos from the rest of the MWK.
Summary: It's Andy's 21st birthday, and Bryan buys him his first official mixed drink.
Word Count: 1155
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: ANNIE MADE ME DO IT. *points wildly in Annie's direction, OMG*

And because that's all I do lately, and I know it pisses people off, it's written in 2nd person from Bryan's POV. I CAN'T HELP IT, DAMMIT.

"Finally! There's the birthday boy!!!"

Your voice manages to cut cleanly through the chaos of bar patrons with a head-start on insobriety to reach everyone's ears. Heads swivel his direction, and several random cheers go up as you watch him duck his head shyly, waving a hand in acknowledgment as he makes his first official stop at the bar for his first legal drink.

Because they simply can't help themselves, Neal and David begin a swaying, off-key, deafening version of "Happy Birthday" -- punctuated by Josh's tabletop percussion and the occasional curse or shout of laughter from the crowded bar when one or the other forgets a word, which only serves to indicate exactly how much of a head-start those boys have actually had. It's only a matter of time before David leans a bit too far sideways in his chair and lands on the floor in a flailing heap, spewing invective while Neal faceplants on the table in hysterics.

Rolling your eyes as the assembled join Neal in merriment, you watch the grim-faced bartender take forever to study Andy's new ID before cracking a wide grin and passing it back with a beer and a shoulder-slap. With a shake of his head, Andy grabs both and turns to your table in the corner... and then turns back to the bar, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

Swearing under your breath, you leap to your feet and weave your way through the crowd to his side.

"Hey, Skib -- what's with the beer, birthday boy?"

He throws you a frankly puzzled look, and contemplates the bottle in front of him. "What? That's what I always drink..."

"That's what I mean, Andyman. You always drink beer."

Puzzlement on his face is replaced with outright confusion. "Well, yeah, man - it's what Dave always bought me before--" He stops abruptly, shooting a sidelong glance at the bartender, who's listening in on your conversation with a knowing smile and nod. "--Anyways, it's what I'm used to," he finishes weakly.

The bartender barks out a laugh and slaps Andy's shoulder again. "Easier to pass it off as someone else's, right?" he chortles as Andy's face reddens.

You glance up and catch his eye. "Cap and coke, tall glass?"

"What..." Andy protests, gesturing with his bottle, and you shut him up with a look, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"No, Skibby -- we're gonna do this right."

His eyes widen as he watches the bartender pour the drink, and you stifle a giggle behind your hand.

This should be interesting.

Your giggle turns to an outright guffaw at the stricken look on Andy's face when the bartender pushes the glass his way with a wink and a meant-to-be-encouraging "bottoms up!"

You take the drink's straw -- a straw, like he's a kid, you giggle to yourself -- and twirl it around the glass a few times to mix it for him.

"The first couple of sips are always the hardest," you tell him solemnly, "But I promise it gets a lot easier the more you drink. C'mon, give it a try."

He grabs the glass, and takes a deep, steeling breath before screwing his eyes shut with a grimace. "Fuck, it smells like cough syrup!" he blurts out, pulling his lips into a moue, and you can't help but laugh again.

"Are you sure about this, Bryan?" he asks, eyeing the concoction skeptically.

"Absolutely," you assure him.

He delays the inevitable a few more seconds by stirring the drink again, and...Well.

You must be drunker than you thought.

You're suddenly watching him moving in slow motion, leaning forward to capture the straw between his parted lips -- his pink, moist, perfect lips -- and they close around that lucky, lucky straw in the most erotic pucker you've ever seen, and you watch his cheeks hollow as he sucks and his eyes widen as the liquid scorches across his tastebuds and his eyes close and you watch his throat work as he swallows and my God, the boy has absolutely no idea what it's doing to you in your pants to see that...

And then his eyes drift open, and he's gazing up at you from beneath those impossibly long lashes, and his lips part again, and his tongue -- my God, his tongue -- darts out to lick his lips, and you suddenly find it difficult to breathe, much less stand, as every spare drop of blood in your body pools in your groin and dear God, why didn't you wear sweatpants tonight instead of these jeans?

You snap your mouth shut from where it's gaping open, and have to swallow once yourself before you'll trust your voice not to break.

"So... How...how is it?"

Andy dips his head and glances up almost shyly, holding the glass out to you. "You wanna taste?"

Holy shit -- if you didn't know any better, you'd swear the kid was flirting with you...

Giving your head a violent shake to clear it, you grab a straw of your own from the nearby bin and plunge it into the ice of his drink (and God you don't even want to think about how phallic that just was...), and you bend forward yourself to close your mouth around your straw, and he's watching you so intently that it sends a jolt straight to your cock...

And then -- and then -- he leans forward again, touching his forehead to yours, and uses his tongue to manipulate his straw back between those perfect fucking lips, which he then lifts to reveal his even-more-perfect teeth closed lightly over the straw's tip, holding it in place...

You groan in spite of yourself and tear your gaze away from his mouth to stare into his eyes, which are narrowed and crinkled at the sides by the same smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Gotcha!" he says softly.

Holy fuck. The little shit knew what he was doing all along.

And then you're fisting a hand through his hair, dragging him off of the straw and towards your mouth, and your lips are colliding with his in a rough and heated kiss, and your eyes go wide with realization as the barroom falls abruptly quiet...

FUCK.

He pulls back in the silence, studying your face with a little half-smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you'd never ask," he breathes, and then he's slamming the drink down on the bar and grabbing your shirt with both hands and dragging you against him.

Just about the time his tongue slips inside your mouth, the room erupts in catcalls, wolf whistles, and cheers.

The loudest whoops are from the Kings' table, and Neal and David are literally crying with laughter in each others' arms. Your face is burning with embarrassment, and you just know you'll never live this down... but then Andy's tongue is sliding along the roof of your mouth and you just plain don't give a fuck anymore.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

And this is the video that inspired the fic bunny that I adopted from annie2791 -- enjoy!

Fic: "Hold Your Ground"

Thu, 18 Sep 2008 05:52:43 GMT

Title: Hold Your Ground
Series: Anodyne
Rating: PG-13 (hello, adult language!)
Pairing: Dandy; Dandymann friendship; implied David/Jeff
Summary: All you can think is that Jeff needs to hear this kid sing...
Word Count: 3004
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not directly intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: Written for prompt #13 on my Prompt Table of Doom; [Hold].

Part two of an expected ~~six(hi, now it's) seven~~ ~~TRY TWELVE-~~ No-fucking-clue-how-many part serial fic. I'm only posting this part this soon because it's done, so don't go getting all spoiled or anything, because part 3 hasn't really even been started yet, sorries. :P

And as before, it's all courts576's fault. *points*

Big ol' hugs and smooches to celticfish for being my ß-fish and cheerleading on this.

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here:
Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

"Hey Andy, it's Dave... listen, man; I'm coming down this weekend again, but it'll just be me this time... Uh, do y'know of any cheap hotels in walking distance, 'cause my ass is flat broke? Heh heh... So, uh... anyway... um... I've, uh, got this song I want to show you...? Been, ah, working on it for a while, and I'd kinda like to hear what you think...? Um. That's about it, man. Call me, a'ight? Later!"

"Dave, man, it's Andy. Hey, aren't you supposed to be in college? Don't you have, like, studying to do, or something? Ha ha, I'm just kidding. Anyway, Neal says you can stay with him at Bryan's place if you don't mind the couch -- lemme know if that's okay, and I'll pass the word back to him... Oh, and just so you know? I can't wait to hear your song. I've been bustin' my ass for you on that stage for a month now -- 'bout time you did a little somethin'-somethin' for me, don't you think? ...I'm not kidding about that part. Anyway, I'll see you soon. Bye!"

----------

You find yourself perched precariously on the edge of the lumpiest, rattiest couch you've ever seen, balancing a bottle of liquid courage on your knee. You take another swig, and wait for your nerves to dissolve.

Neal is studying you from under his bangs, a bemused expression on his face. He obviously senses how important this is to you right here - how important it is, for whatever reason, that you get Andy's approval - and it's apparently the funniest thing he's ever seen.

Ignoring him isn't easy, but it's really your only option. That, or freak out completely, and that's...no.

More beer. Yeah. That's it.

You glance over at Andy, who is reclined next to you with feet propped on the coffee table, scrutinizing the sheet music and humming the melody under his breath. You watch his eyebrows draw together and down, and you inhale a little too sharply.

Andy doesn't appear to notice, but you hear a faint snort of laughter from Neal's corner of the room as your face flushes a vibrant and rather unflattering shade of scarlet.

Bending over, you fumble with the catches on your guitar case, withdrawing your acoustic and tucking it under your arm. You pluck the strings carefully, fiddling with the pegs to tune it, and shoot several sidelong glances at your companion, who is now tapping the beat on his thigh and mouthing the lyrics to himself: "Always believe that there's a way back home..."

He catches the last look you throw him, and lowers the sheet music with a smile.

"Well?" You hate the uncertainty in your voice, and clear your throat nervously. "What do you think...?"

"Interesting," he murmurs. "I think I'll form a firmer opinion when I hear it, though..." He cocks his head persuasively, and Neal grunts in agreement.

Bowing your head, you close your eyes and picture Jeff sitting next to you, counting off the beats, and you fill the small room with a progression of chords.

This is what you love, and it shows in the smile playing around your lips.

"The lyrics, Dave," Andy prompts you softly. "What about the lyrics?"

See, now -- that's a different story. Andy's voice is so pure, so light, so flawless...and yours just doesn't measure up. But he wants you to sing, wants to hear you sing, so...yeah.

You start the first verse muted and low, singing into the floor, slurring the phrasing and practically swallowing the lyric in your self-consciousness. Andy makes a soft sound of encouragement, and you raise your head and open your eyes, lifting your gaze to his face. He smiles that smile for you; and for him, you sing your damn heart out.

"Good, Dave," he murmurs. "The chorus, Dave - sing it again..."

You do, and he shoots a glance over at Neal, who is frowning thoughtfully at the floor, fingering lines of melody on his thigh.

"Neal?" he prompts, and immediately Neal is humming in harmony, enriching the sound swelling around you.

"Good..." Andy is whispering, leaning toward you, holding your gaze. "And again..."

And then he's opening his mouth to sing your words, and God damn it if he doesn't sing them better than you did, and it's fucking perfect and all you can think is that Jeff needs to hear this kid sing, and it's all you can do to keep playing, to keep going, to choke back the tears and keep from crying...

He's perfect. Just fucking perfect.

----------

The crowd is amped tonight, and you're feeding off their energy. It's Senior Week, it's the last day of finals, and the floor is teeming with impending graduates in their last-fling moments before growing up...or throwing up, as some of them are doing, but hey, last flings and all...

Another pretty, empty-headed girl weaves her way forward, batting her eyes ridiculously as she places yet another glass of yet-another mixed drink on the lip of the stage at your feet. You wink extravagantly in acknowledgment without dropping the lyric, and she smothers drunken giggles behind her hand as her friends jump up and down beside her, squealing with glee.

You duck your head and glance over at Jeff, raising an exaggerated eyebrow. He responds with an elaborate eyeroll and shakes his head as he bursts into laughter.

You lose it a split second later, and have to turn away, struggling to regain your composure. You end up facing Bobby, who's tilting his head and giving you this look. "Boy, you gonna get laid tonight," he mouths, accentuating his words with cymbal crashes, and you're off again, dissolving into a fit of helpless giggles as you flub your next half-dozen chords and fight for breath.

Jeff and Jerron are trading looks and shaking their heads at each other across the stage, but they're both smiling; and the crowd's as drunk as you are, so they don't seem to mind, and when you finally find your breath and the lyric again, and stagger back to the mike, they're right back behind you like nothing was wrong.

God, fuck the graphic arts -- you never want to do anything else but this for the rest of your life.

The song ends in a crash of cymbals and massive feedback from the amp, and you take the opportunity to snatch up the drink, shooting another wink and your sexiest smile at the girl, which sets her and her friends off again. Laughing, you toss back half of it and straighten up, turning away with a shrug as Jeff switches guitars for the next song on the setlist: "Hold."

Suddenly serious, you fish in your pocket for your cellphone, and squint at the screen in disappointment.

You've left Andy two voice-mails and at least four text messages about this weekend's shows and the studio time Jeff had booked and why you can't come down, and he hasn't responded. You get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you're sure you've been too pushy, too needy, too you for him, and you're probably creeping him the fuck out being all stalkery and shit, and even you don't blame him for not calling you back...

You have never felt more like crying.

Well, except for that one time, you know, when you played him this song...

Well, aren't you just in the perfect mood for it now...

Jeff begins picking out the intro, vamping with Jerron and Bobby until you get your shit together. Giving yourself a shake, you stuff the phone back in your pocket, slam back the rest of the drink, and turn back to the crowd, clutching the neck of your guitar like a lifeline.

The crowd bounces to life around you as you punch into the chorus, and you lose track of individuals in the shifting human sea... It's better that way, because then you won't be looking for him where he's not.

Except -- he is.

You blink and shake your head as you scream through the second verse and thrash into the second chorus, and the crowd fissures and shifts and recombines yet again. You think you see something, and then you don't, it's that simple...

You close your eyes and listen to Jeff's lead cutting through the air -- the melodic line that Neal had played for you after the Kings' show that night, the one that you'd brought home to Jeff and played for him...

One final heave and eruption of the crowd, and you wrench your eyes open for the song's close to find him singing back at you from the front row.

Hitting the final chorus, you shove your guitar behind you, grab the mike from its stand, and drop to your knees at the edge of the stage. Locking your eyes on his, you beckon him closer and hold out the mike.

Even the shrieks of the women surrounding you can't drown out the soaring perfection of his voice, meshing with yours. Even now, the words fail you, and you're reduced to bits and pieces of the lyric as his eyes bore into yours, your foreheads nearly touching, breathing each other's breaths...

The music slows, draws back into itself, and the spell is broken as the crowd loses its collective shit around you. He smiles, and Neal steps out from behind him, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen him wear, like he knows your innermost secrets and is holding them against you...

Quite possibly, he does and he is, but it's not like your heart wasn't out on your sleeve the entire time, for Christ's sake.

Andy grips your hand tightly and gives it a shake, drawing your attention back. "Later," he mouths, and jerks his head back toward the crowd.

You squeeze back and jump to your feet, pointing down at him dramatically. "M'buddy, Andy Skib, folks - show 'im some love!" you proclaim, your voice much rougher than you'd expected. "Sings for th' Midwest Kings outta Tulsa -- check 'em out if y'ever getta chance, seriously..."

The crowd obliges you, and Andy and Neal get swallowed up by it, waving their appreciation as they push back toward the bar. You watch them go for a moment on unsteady legs, and then turn back to your band, searching for the dregs of the last drink you'd had.

Jeff is staring at you with a "what the fuck?" look plastered across his face, and Bobby is studying his drumkit rather intently, and Jerron -- well, nothing much seems to faze Jerron, so his expression is impassive, which suits you just fine.

You shrug as eloquently as possible. "What?"

Jeff's eyes narrow.

Oh, it's gonna be a long night.

----------

"Damn it, Andy, what're y'doin' here?"

"Neal has this amazing invention called an 'au-to-mo-bile'...It's apparently used to transport persons and goods over long distances..."

"Oh my God, shut up. Y'know what I meant! How'd y'know where we were playing? I never told..."

"Lemme tell you about this thing called the 'Internet,' Dave. You should see it sometime -- there's these things called 'search engines' now, that do amazing shit like 'look up information' and 'find things for you'..."

"You little fucker..."

"Hey! Don't fucking throw things at me, man -- I'm just messing with ya! We went to Axium's website, duh -- everything's right there, y'know, and then we just looked up the directions on a map...OW!! Come on, man, stop it..."

"An' y'never called me back, y'asshole! Y'could've warned me..."

"Dave, we wanted to surprise you. Calling you would've defeated the purpose!" A pause. "...Aren't you happy to see us?"

"...Yeah. It's just...I didn't think...I mean, y'barely know me..."

"And you barely know us, but that doesn't stop your ugly ass from driving down to Tulsa every fuckin' weekend..."

"Neal? Shut the fuck up, seriously. It's not even funny, I swear... David. We're friends, right?"

"...Yeah...?"

"...Then what's the problem?"

You think back to Jeff's look, and wonder just how in the Hell you're ever going to explain this -- or any of it, really -- to him, but then Andy turns the full force of his hangdog puppy-eyed expression on you, and your heart is stuttering in your chest.

"...Nothin.' I, uh...I'm just a little worn out from the show, I guess..."

"Well, you sounded amazing up there, y'know?" He watches you shake your head in disbelief and blush for, like, the six-hundredth time in the month you've known each other, and smiles. "What's there to be embarrassed about?"

You bow your head and rub the back of your neck, smiling weakly. God, if only he knew...

"So," he prods gently, "Are you done for tonight?"

You tip your head inquisitively. "...Yes...?"

"Great! So, you can show us around!" He links an arm with yours, smiling up into your face as he pulls you toward the door. "Let's start with dinner -- I'm fucking starved."

Bringing up the rear behind you, Neal is laughing his fucking ass off.

You refuse to give any of it a second thought.

----------

You've already been at the recording studio for an hour before the rest of the band shows up, but you haven't been waiting alone.

Neal's in a booth with his guitar running through your amp, and he's whipping his hair around like James Hetfield on crank, ripping off some ridiculously complicated riffs he claims he wants to work into "Godspeed" live -- but you think he's just being a show-off.

You and Andy are in the control room with your feet propped up on the soundboard, playing a highly competitive and increasingly sloppy game of house-rules Mexican, which you're pretty sure you're losing -- badly.

Secretly, you're pretty sure you're losing on purpose...but not-so-secretly, you're blaming it on beginner's luck.

Andy's smile says he's on to you, but you grin happily back as the empties pile up around you, because you just don't give a fuck.

Andy has just delivered the punchline to the most obscene joke you've ever heard in your life (Neal, from the booth: "Not funny, Andy..."), and you throw your head back, howling with laughter until you're breathless and teary-eyed and your jaw and sides literally ache. And every time you think you're finished, you take just one look at Andy's dead-pan expression or his arched eyebrow or his primly-drawn lips or his widened eyes and you are laughing so fucking hard again that you've apparently lost the ability to make sound in the range of human hearing.

Neal stares at you for a long moment, and then just shakes his head and tears into another blazing guitar lick.

Subsiding to wheezing, keening giggles, you wipe the tears from your scrunched-up eyes with your knuckles and cover your face with your hand, and that's when Jeff clears his throat.

"Are we interrupting something?"

"Shit!" You startle hard enough to flail, and it's Andy's peals of laughter filling the room as you scrabble to catch the beer bottles before they hit the floor. Cursing your Irish ancestry with your cheeks ablaze, you kick him hard in the shin and jump to your feet.

"Sorry, guys -- we're just hangin' out, waitin' on you," you reply sheepishly. "Showin' the guys where we record..." Your voice trails off as Jeff looks pointedly from Andy to Neal and back to you.

It occurs to you, finally, that since you disappeared with Andy and Neal immediately after the show last night without a word to anyone, none of them have been properly introduced...and that your bandmates might just be a little pissed off at you right now. Although you don't think it will reduce the tension that seems to be polluting the room, you figure it's only polite, and your mother raised you with manners -- some of which you actually remember from time to time.

"Jeff Shrout, Bobby Kerr, Jerron Nichols...Andy Skib and Neal Tiemann..."

Bobby and Jerron each nod in turn, and Andy nods back, wearing that soft, friendly smile that comes to him so easily.

Neal's slipped off his guitar, standing it on its end, crossing his hands atop its head. He's the absolute embodiment of rocker attitude as he tilts his head, hair sliding off to the side as he studies your bandmates down his nose with a look of frank disdain.

And now you're a bit alarmed at the clenching of Jeff's jaw, the stiff set of his shoulders, and the way his lips have pulled into a thin and narrow line.

"You're that kid who sang with Dave last night," he states flatly, his voice twisting the diminutive nastily, staring through Andy with narrowed, glittering eyes. Andy shrugs slightly and settles back into his chair, and you're amazed he can be so relaxed when Jeff's body language is absolutely screaming at you...

"And you," Jeff continues, locking eyes with Neal through the glass, "You think you're pretty shit-hot with that guitar, huh."

You hear yourself groan, because you just knew this was a bad idea, but somehow you'd managed to talk yourself into it anyway... Stupid fucking conscience and its inability to withstand the onslaught of a simple six-pack of beers...

"I don't think," Neal replies tersely. "I know."

Jesus, fuck! You collapse back into your chair and slide down in the seat, burying your face in your hands.

Jeff and Neal stare each other down appraisingly for several long moments, and you can feel the beginnings of the world's most massive headache start to hammer at your temples, and you just know you're gonna throw up right then and there...

"Is the rest of your shit band as good as you two?" Jeff snaps, and you swear to God you think your heart just stopped.

"Oh, yeah," Andy drawls back confidently, and just like that, the tension in the room dissipates.

The residual tension in your spine, however, will require liberal application of malt beverages to dissolve.

Thank God Neal brought the big cooler.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Interlude: Always Believe

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fic: "At First Glance"

Wed, 17 Sep 2008 07:20:20 GMT

Title: At First Glance
Series: Anodyne
Rating: PG-13 (hello, adult language!)
Pairing: Dandy; implied David/Jeff Shrout
Summary: Somehow, that "worst-ever, sounds-like-a-pick-up-line" conversation starter nets you a friend, the kind you never knew you needed...until now.
Word Count: 1245
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is somewhat intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit. (Unless it did, and then it's strictly a coincidence.) TL;DR? Fiction, don't sue.
Notes: Written for prompt #30 on my Prompt Table of Doom; [Enchant].

Part one of an expected ~~six~~ ~~(now) seven~~ ~~TRY TWELVE part~~ no-fucking-clue-anymore serial fic. Written from a college-aged David Cook's perspective.

Furthermore, I blame courts576 for this, because she's the one with the 30-prompt table that she's working on, and that of course got me contemplating my own...but I had to be difficult, and create my own randomized table... and immediately several "story arcs" popped right out at me, and...well...shit.

...Yeah.

Big ol' hugs and smooches to celticfish for ß-correction and cheerleading on this.

Those of you interested can find the completed chapters of Anodyne here:
Prologue: Dissolution | Prequel: Thought You Knew | Part 1: At First Glance | Part 2: Hold Your Ground | Interlude: Always Believe | Part 3: Busted | Interlude: Holding Court

Your frat brothers know you're in a band, and one of them tells you about the indie rock scene in Tulsa (your reaction: "There's an indie rock scene in Tulsa? Really?") - so you and a few of your buddies decide to make a weekend of it. You figure a little break from the schoolwork can't hurt...and besides, wasn't Jeff always bitching about how bored he was, playing the same tiny venues all over the Midwest? Maybe it was time to expand your horizons south.

Your fake ID is good enough to get you in the door, but you're only seven months removed from being legal and you don't want to fuck with that shit; so you bribe your buddies to buy you shots, using them to slap your conscience into submission and shut it the fuck up.

Afterwards, you and a longneck settle at a table at the back of the bar with your buddies, soaking up the atmosphere.

There's a group of guys across the room from you; four guys drinking and joking and laughing their asses off... but man, which of them let their kid brother tag along?

You take a deep swig from your bottle and study the kid appraisingly.

He spends most of his time with his eyes downcast, occasionally glancing up and flashing a smile at his companions, so you surmise he isn't deaf. He answers the waitress when she stops at their table, so you deduce he's not mute... He looks nervous when one of the guys, the one with the most kick-assed piercings you've ever seen, pushes a bottle his way, so you know he's underaged... man, if only the fake ID you'd had at his age (you're estimating 16; maybe 17, tops) were even half as good as the one the kid must be carrying... you imagine all the trouble you would've gotten yourself into, and smile. You see all the trouble he's not getting into, and you wonder.

Time shades and blends the deeper you settle into your cups. The empties pile up in front of you, and then you blink and realize the fine gentlemen you'd been observing are mounting the stage... and damned if that kid isn't standing at the mike, front and center.

You turn your chair to face the stage and lean forward, intrigued.

The kid turns away from the crowd, almost shyly, and glances at the other members of the band arrayed around him. Then he's nodding to the drummer, and all hell breaks loose.

As quiet and reserved as he'd been before, onstage the kid just mother-fucking comes alive, whipping his head to the beat and flashing this absolutely devious grin at the crazy mother-fucker on lead guitar next to him, and the dance floor is a sea of thrashing limbs and fists punching the air, following the kid's lead.

And God damn if this band isn't the tightest you've heard in God-knows-how-long - you'd almost be jealous of that fucking kid if you didn't have Axium at home.

He whirls around on the audience, snatching the mike from the stand. He glares out at the mass of humanity from under his drawn-together brows, and snarls out the first lyric with that same manic grin, and holy fucking shit, where the fuck did that kid get that fucking voice?

It's a breathy tenor, but not in the way that irritates the fuck out you like so many other poseurs do -- it's airy and it's light; it's high and it's pure and it's soaring and it's so-many-different-flowery-adjectives-to-describe-it that you're sure that voicing them would get your ass beaten by a half-dozen rednecks in this fucking bar and it's sending God-damned chills down your fucking spine, and you wonder what it would sound like on tape and you could just sit here and listen to that voice all God-damned night, holy fuck...

As the song crashes to a halt, you turn to your friends with a glazed expression that for once has nothing to do with the alcohol in front of you, and croak out a single question: "What the fuck was that?"

The next song begins, and Jesus Christ, it wasn't a fluke... Your eyes are glued to that kid and your mouth's hanging open and your friends are trading Significant Looks™ behind your back, though you could absolutely not give a fuck. They're just listeners, not musical connoisseurs, and they have absolutely no fucking clue about the layers and nuances they're missing.

Genius. Pure, fucking genius.

All too soon the set's over, and the Midwest Kings (what a fucking fantastic name for a band, you think) exit the stage and head for the bar. Without thinking, you jump to your feet and follow, ignoring the laughter and taunts from your so-called buddies. You can't even be arsed to throw them the finger in reply, which really says something about your sudden obsession with that kid, but you really don't want to think about that now.

You shoulder your way up to the bar, accidentally jostling the guitar player, who is glaring down his nose at you with an attitude to match his licks. You throw him your most winning smile, and his eyebrows arch in opposing directions.

Behind you, the kid turns away from the bar as you turn to him, and you're confronted with the widest, most breathtaking pair of doe-eyes in a shade of hazel you've never ever seen, and you are absolutely and completely done for.

"Has anyone ever told you you're absolutely fucking beautiful?"

Really, brain? Really?

There's a loud guffaw from the guitarist behind you as the blush lights up your face.

The kid blinks at you, and then grips your arm lightly as he cracks an easy smile. "Thanks," he replies (and God-damned if his speaking voice isn't just as melodious as his singing voice, holy fuck...). He nods once and slips past you to head outside.

He pauses just inside the doorway, and glances back.

His eyes lock onto yours, and the shyest half-smile crosses his lips before he inclines his head in an invitation to follow.

You can feel the guitarist's eyes -- and those of your buddies -- on your back as your feet start to move, pursuing the kid out back to the relative quiet of the backyard patio, but you don't care - you're too busy trying to figure this kid out.

He's obviously got friends here at the bar, for the drinks don't stop coming, and they're loosening your tongue. He's a damn good listener, and suddenly it's hours later, and you've been friends forever. You've told this kid -- Andy -- things your own brother doesn't know about you, and he's shared a little too: he's 17 (damn, you're good), but not for too much longer himself; local boy, father's a doctor, supports his son's musical ambitions without question...

You watch his lips move as he tells you how his father paid for his band's studio time on their upcoming EP, and you wonder absently if they taste like the rum and Coke he's been nursing for the past hour and a half.

Last call comes and goes, and you're finally forced to leave under duress, towed by your buddies, clutching a cocktail napkin with his e-mail address and phone number in your hand and promising that you'll call him soon.

He raises his hand to wave good night, and your heart is absolutely aching for another glimpse of that delicate smile.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Part 2: Hold Your Ground

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Meme: First lines from twenty-five fanfics

Sat, 06 Sep 2008 02:31:57 GMT

Meme stolen from ficangel:

Post the first line from your 25 most recent fanfics and try to find a pattern.

"Hey, David -- great news! We made it, man -- we're here!"
Gentle fingertips were brushing through his hair, drawing him out of the darkness of his dreams.
"Hey, Mikey!" David called out, bounding into their shared room.
It's not fair.
Mornings had always been her favorite time of day--rising with the sun, before the household's stirrings shattered the peace of daybreak.
Local reporters, they dream big dreams--trapped in small media markets, saddled with dead-end jobs, they wait impatiently for a red-hot tip, the one big break that finally brings them fame...
...You sensed him more than saw him -- felt his presence in the throng surrounding you: the media, the locals, the curious, the staffers...the flotsam and jetsam of a political season freshly underway.
In a departure from their usual state of affairs, his Master awoke first, squinting against the light stabbing through the blinds, blinking blearily at the bedside clock, momentarily puzzled by the warmth of the body in the bed beside Him.
With a gasp stifled behind a bitten lip, he came into the tissues he'd bunched around his cock, sighing gratefully with relief.
Master nodded to him in greeting as He opened the door.
The consultation room was tastefully decorated, damn near richly opulent, intended to comfort and soothe its occupants, but they were not fooled - it was just as cold and clinically sterile as a hospital.
The strangest things remind you of the past.
Way to go, mountaineer...
He dressed before the mirror, watching each piece fall into place.
The sun was well-risen when his eyelids finally fluttered open.
"You played football, didn't you?" Jack asked, claiming the chair opposite.
He slunk into the room like a guilt-stricken dog, creeping cautiously near.
It was a champagne-soaked night - a night to make up for the one they'd been deprived of over a year ago.
"Whoa..." Jaw slackened, Johnny tipped his head back at an impossible angle, staring up into the high arches of the cathedral's ceiling.
He squinted at the caller ID as he flipped open his phone.
He shifted uneasily as they crossed the Potomac.
Once, many years ago, you had a cat - angora-soft fur, emerald green eyes, coat dark as night, soul black as sin..
The light is low as you enter his room.
"'Morning, Senator Kerry!!"
"You go where?"

Wow.

Um.

Lessee -- I have apparently developed a tendency towards run-on sentences... and I sure like descriptive phrases a little too much for my own good.

But patterns? I'm not horribly good at picking them out. :-\

Those of you that are relatively new to my writing -- what do you guys think? Besides the fact that I'm incredibly boring... any patterns jumping out at you??

1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30
31	32	33	34	35	36
37	38	39	40	41	42

1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30
31	32	33	34	35	36
37	38	39	40	41	42

1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30
31	32	33	34	35	36
37	38	39	40	41	42