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randomlingThree quick fics, written to three different requests. They're so short, I'm posting them all here, just so that they're in public.
Disclaimer: None of this is real. No, really, I promise.
Summary: Chris, JC and kissing. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musiclover03
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Kissing You
“Hey, you,” JC said, and Chris opened his eyes, because JC, propped up on one elbow, was tracing some weird pattern on his chest with one finger. Possibly tribal. Or, knowing JC, extra-terrestrial.
“Hey,” said Chris.
It was morning already: sunlight was streaming through the gap in Chris’s curtains, falling across JC’s back, picking out the crease of his spine. Lazily, Chris put one hand on JC’s side and slid it into the sunbeam, feeling the light warm his fingers. JC smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “You are so cute when you’re half-asleep.”
“I’d forgotten how you get all sentimental in the mornings,” Chris said.
“You love it.”
Chris loved it. But he hated JC’s schedule. It had been weeks – almost two months – since they’d been in the same bed together. He’d missed so many little things, like twisting his fingers in JC’s hair, the smell of whatever cologne he was using this week. JC, workaholic JC with his mix-and-match-of-death wardrobe and disposable underwear, was not exactly a creature of habit.
“I wish,” said Chris, and then stopped. I wish never got him very far.
Chris had also forgotten that JC was an alien mind-reader. “I know,” he said, and dipped his head to kiss Chris. They kissed long and slow, Chris sliding his hand up and down JC’s smooth back, up and down, until they finally drew apart. “Soon,” said JC. “No more Jive, remember? I’ll be all independent. I’ll buy the next-door house.”
Chris grinned. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I do have a career of my own, you know. I could be jet-setting at any time.”
“Then we’ll trade places,” JC said, back to the extra-terrestrial pattern, “and I’ll wait around for you.”
Chris put his other arm around JC and linked his fingers together. “You better,” he said, and leaned up to peck JC on the mouth. Smiling, JC rolled onto his stomach and kissed Chris again, putting his hands in Chris’s hair.
“I love you,” JC said.
Chris rested his forehead on JC’s. “You’re a crazy man,” he said. “I love you, too.”
Summary: Joey's not sure the fireworks were such a good idea. Forravenbat. Also submitted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Fireworks
They have a free morning, so Joey wakes up slowly, noticing small details come into focus as the world comes trickling back. He has a headache: that makes sense, there was definitely drinking. The other side of the bed is rucked up. The sheets are sort of gross. The shower’s running.
Joey sits up suddenly, the sound of the water really loud in his head. He has no idea who he picked up last night, and that’s never good, even though he usually clears things with security before he takes anyone back to a hotel room. New Year’s: always a crazy night.
Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he takes a survey of the room. It’s a mess, but that’s not a total shock. On the table there’s a bottle of champagne, all gone, and two glasses; neither of them has a lipstick stain. Clothes are strewn around the place, and Joey recognizes the jeans he was wearing last night, his shirt, and... designer sneakers? They’re definitely guys’ sneakers, Joey knows this, because Justin...
There’s a bandana draped over the back of one of the chairs, and crumpled on the floor is another pair of guys’ jeans, way too small for Joey. Joey covers his face with one hand. “Oh, no,” he murmurs. “Tell me, tell me, tell me I didn’t.”
He can’t have picked up Justin. Really. He can’t.
He flops onto his back again, sighing, casting his mind back to last night. After the show, they went to a party – Hawaiian chicks, lots of shimmying, lots of beer. Justin dancing with some random girl, grinning all over his pretty face. Chris, his arm draped over Lance’s shoulder, giving him brotherly advice. JC talking earnestly with someone, beer in hand. More beer. Fireworks.
Oh, shit. Fireworks. The countdown. Yeah, that happened all right. Joey, drunk, slung his arm around Justin’s shoulders as they counted back: five, four, three, two, one. And then they’d all shouted, “Happy new year!” and there was cheering, and fireworks went off, and Justin kissed him. Joey hadn’t gotten any more sober in those five seconds. He kissed back.
The bathroom door opens, and Justin emerges, a towel wrapped around his waist. Joey looks at him once and then covers his face again. “Shit, man.”
“You’re not freaking out, are you?” Justin says, and it’s just wrong that Justin is the one being all adult about this. Joey groans. Justin comes to sit on the other side of the bed. “Hey. Don’t. It was a good time, I’m not, like, corrupted for life or anything.”
Joey uncovers his face to look at Justin, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not sixteen any more, yo,” says Justin.
He smiles and drops the towel, and, whoa. There’s Justin, looking pretty damn fine. Joey’s going to hell. “I’m going to hell,” he says.
Justin crawls onto the bed. “Can I come too?” he asks. And he kisses Joey, and then he crawls into bed and reminds Joey of last night, when there were fireworks.
Summary: Lance has been away. Forphaballa.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Space And Time
Before Lance knew it, JC had wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my God,” he was saying. “You’re OK. You’re OK. Jesus.”
“Um, hi,” Lance said. “How are you doing?”
JC pulled back from the hug. “How am I doing? Cat, you’ve been missing for three months, we’ve all been worried sick.” He was looking at Lance’s face really intently, as if looking for signs of insanity. “Even Justin’s been going crazy. What happened to you?”
“What happened to me?” Lance echoed. He smiled to himself, and at that JC looked really alarmed. “What happened to me.”
***
The Doctor is sweating and shaking, he’s on the ground, pawing at something that isn’t there, and Lance doesn’t know what to do. “We have to,” the Doctor says again. “We have to. We have to.” He’s been saying that for the last five minutes, unfocused.
Lance kneels down beside him, puts his hand on the Doctor’s chin and forcibly turns the Doctor’s head until their eyes meet. “Doctor,” he says firmly. “What do we have to do?”
“We have to,” the Doctor says again, and Lance sighs in exasperation. “TARDIS,” he says.
That’s enough. Lance braces himself and swings the Doctor onto his back, thanking God for hours of practise carrying around half-conscious, wriggling bandmates. The Doctor squirms, but Lance holds him firmly in place and starts the walk back towards the ship.
He starts the litany again, “We have to,” halfway there, but Lance just grits his teeth and keeps walking, telling himself over and over again it isn’t that far. Just like picking up a drunk Justin, really, and dumping his ass back on the other bus.
They make it, and only then does Lance allow himself to remember that if Justin didn’t make it onto his own bus, nobody’s world would have ended.
***
Lance finally persuaded JC to take him for a beer, on the basis that this wasn’t really something you could discuss sober.
Over the first two, he asked pointed questions about how JC had been: the new album, his family, his love life. JC talked, but reluctantly, keeping an eye on Lance’s face, as if he was sure Lance was about to go crazy and bite him. Eventually, Lance bought the third beers.
“Okay,” Lance said, “so here’s the deal. I’ve been travelling space and time.”
JC looked at him like he was crazy.
***
It’s beautiful. It really is.
At the start of this, Lance promised himself he wouldn’t get used to it: alien skies, alien ground beneath his feet. The truth is, though, he is getting a little used to it. It’s still beautiful and strange, but it doesn’t make him feel like his heart’s going to stop any more, and he’s learning to ask the right questions. It’s not what he thought: can I breathe the air, and will the gravity hold me. It’s who’s running the show, and will they try to kill us, and what can we do about it.
Right now, though, they’re just standing on a beach, staring out at a blue-green sea, twin suns reflecting off it as they both descend below the horizon. Beside him, the Doctor is grinning, hands in pockets, the wind blowing his hair back.
Lance reaches out and takes the Doctor’s hand.
***
By their fifth beer, JC was leaning forward, excited, drunk. “Are you going back?”
“Are you crazy?” Lance looked up, some sixth sense tingling in the back of his head. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, looking serious. Lance waved him over.
“JC, I want you to meet my friend the Doctor. Doctor, this is JC.”
“Nice to meet you,” said JC, and he beamed at Lance. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“That there was alien life?” the Doctor asked, trading glances with Lance.
“No, man,” said JC. “That alien life was really hot.”
Disclaimer: None of this is real. No, really, I promise.
Summary: Chris, JC and kissing. For
musiclover03Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Kissing You
“Hey, you,” JC said, and Chris opened his eyes, because JC, propped up on one elbow, was tracing some weird pattern on his chest with one finger. Possibly tribal. Or, knowing JC, extra-terrestrial.
“Hey,” said Chris.
It was morning already: sunlight was streaming through the gap in Chris’s curtains, falling across JC’s back, picking out the crease of his spine. Lazily, Chris put one hand on JC’s side and slid it into the sunbeam, feeling the light warm his fingers. JC smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “You are so cute when you’re half-asleep.”
“I’d forgotten how you get all sentimental in the mornings,” Chris said.
“You love it.”
Chris loved it. But he hated JC’s schedule. It had been weeks – almost two months – since they’d been in the same bed together. He’d missed so many little things, like twisting his fingers in JC’s hair, the smell of whatever cologne he was using this week. JC, workaholic JC with his mix-and-match-of-death wardrobe and disposable underwear, was not exactly a creature of habit.
“I wish,” said Chris, and then stopped. I wish never got him very far.
Chris had also forgotten that JC was an alien mind-reader. “I know,” he said, and dipped his head to kiss Chris. They kissed long and slow, Chris sliding his hand up and down JC’s smooth back, up and down, until they finally drew apart. “Soon,” said JC. “No more Jive, remember? I’ll be all independent. I’ll buy the next-door house.”
Chris grinned. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I do have a career of my own, you know. I could be jet-setting at any time.”
“Then we’ll trade places,” JC said, back to the extra-terrestrial pattern, “and I’ll wait around for you.”
Chris put his other arm around JC and linked his fingers together. “You better,” he said, and leaned up to peck JC on the mouth. Smiling, JC rolled onto his stomach and kissed Chris again, putting his hands in Chris’s hair.
“I love you,” JC said.
Chris rested his forehead on JC’s. “You’re a crazy man,” he said. “I love you, too.”
Summary: Joey's not sure the fireworks were such a good idea. For
ravenbat. Also submitted to fanfic100.Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Fireworks
They have a free morning, so Joey wakes up slowly, noticing small details come into focus as the world comes trickling back. He has a headache: that makes sense, there was definitely drinking. The other side of the bed is rucked up. The sheets are sort of gross. The shower’s running.
Joey sits up suddenly, the sound of the water really loud in his head. He has no idea who he picked up last night, and that’s never good, even though he usually clears things with security before he takes anyone back to a hotel room. New Year’s: always a crazy night.
Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he takes a survey of the room. It’s a mess, but that’s not a total shock. On the table there’s a bottle of champagne, all gone, and two glasses; neither of them has a lipstick stain. Clothes are strewn around the place, and Joey recognizes the jeans he was wearing last night, his shirt, and... designer sneakers? They’re definitely guys’ sneakers, Joey knows this, because Justin...
There’s a bandana draped over the back of one of the chairs, and crumpled on the floor is another pair of guys’ jeans, way too small for Joey. Joey covers his face with one hand. “Oh, no,” he murmurs. “Tell me, tell me, tell me I didn’t.”
He can’t have picked up Justin. Really. He can’t.
He flops onto his back again, sighing, casting his mind back to last night. After the show, they went to a party – Hawaiian chicks, lots of shimmying, lots of beer. Justin dancing with some random girl, grinning all over his pretty face. Chris, his arm draped over Lance’s shoulder, giving him brotherly advice. JC talking earnestly with someone, beer in hand. More beer. Fireworks.
Oh, shit. Fireworks. The countdown. Yeah, that happened all right. Joey, drunk, slung his arm around Justin’s shoulders as they counted back: five, four, three, two, one. And then they’d all shouted, “Happy new year!” and there was cheering, and fireworks went off, and Justin kissed him. Joey hadn’t gotten any more sober in those five seconds. He kissed back.
The bathroom door opens, and Justin emerges, a towel wrapped around his waist. Joey looks at him once and then covers his face again. “Shit, man.”
“You’re not freaking out, are you?” Justin says, and it’s just wrong that Justin is the one being all adult about this. Joey groans. Justin comes to sit on the other side of the bed. “Hey. Don’t. It was a good time, I’m not, like, corrupted for life or anything.”
Joey uncovers his face to look at Justin, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not sixteen any more, yo,” says Justin.
He smiles and drops the towel, and, whoa. There’s Justin, looking pretty damn fine. Joey’s going to hell. “I’m going to hell,” he says.
Justin crawls onto the bed. “Can I come too?” he asks. And he kisses Joey, and then he crawls into bed and reminds Joey of last night, when there were fireworks.
Summary: Lance has been away. For
phaballa.Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
Space And Time
Before Lance knew it, JC had wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my God,” he was saying. “You’re OK. You’re OK. Jesus.”
“Um, hi,” Lance said. “How are you doing?”
JC pulled back from the hug. “How am I doing? Cat, you’ve been missing for three months, we’ve all been worried sick.” He was looking at Lance’s face really intently, as if looking for signs of insanity. “Even Justin’s been going crazy. What happened to you?”
“What happened to me?” Lance echoed. He smiled to himself, and at that JC looked really alarmed. “What happened to me.”
***
The Doctor is sweating and shaking, he’s on the ground, pawing at something that isn’t there, and Lance doesn’t know what to do. “We have to,” the Doctor says again. “We have to. We have to.” He’s been saying that for the last five minutes, unfocused.
Lance kneels down beside him, puts his hand on the Doctor’s chin and forcibly turns the Doctor’s head until their eyes meet. “Doctor,” he says firmly. “What do we have to do?”
“We have to,” the Doctor says again, and Lance sighs in exasperation. “TARDIS,” he says.
That’s enough. Lance braces himself and swings the Doctor onto his back, thanking God for hours of practise carrying around half-conscious, wriggling bandmates. The Doctor squirms, but Lance holds him firmly in place and starts the walk back towards the ship.
He starts the litany again, “We have to,” halfway there, but Lance just grits his teeth and keeps walking, telling himself over and over again it isn’t that far. Just like picking up a drunk Justin, really, and dumping his ass back on the other bus.
They make it, and only then does Lance allow himself to remember that if Justin didn’t make it onto his own bus, nobody’s world would have ended.
***
Lance finally persuaded JC to take him for a beer, on the basis that this wasn’t really something you could discuss sober.
Over the first two, he asked pointed questions about how JC had been: the new album, his family, his love life. JC talked, but reluctantly, keeping an eye on Lance’s face, as if he was sure Lance was about to go crazy and bite him. Eventually, Lance bought the third beers.
“Okay,” Lance said, “so here’s the deal. I’ve been travelling space and time.”
JC looked at him like he was crazy.
***
It’s beautiful. It really is.
At the start of this, Lance promised himself he wouldn’t get used to it: alien skies, alien ground beneath his feet. The truth is, though, he is getting a little used to it. It’s still beautiful and strange, but it doesn’t make him feel like his heart’s going to stop any more, and he’s learning to ask the right questions. It’s not what he thought: can I breathe the air, and will the gravity hold me. It’s who’s running the show, and will they try to kill us, and what can we do about it.
Right now, though, they’re just standing on a beach, staring out at a blue-green sea, twin suns reflecting off it as they both descend below the horizon. Beside him, the Doctor is grinning, hands in pockets, the wind blowing his hair back.
Lance reaches out and takes the Doctor’s hand.
***
By their fifth beer, JC was leaning forward, excited, drunk. “Are you going back?”
“Are you crazy?” Lance looked up, some sixth sense tingling in the back of his head. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, looking serious. Lance waved him over.
“JC, I want you to meet my friend the Doctor. Doctor, this is JC.”
“Nice to meet you,” said JC, and he beamed at Lance. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“That there was alien life?” the Doctor asked, trading glances with Lance.
“No, man,” said JC. “That alien life was really hot.”
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Date: 2007-12-30 10:05 pm (UTC)