Request Fics - January

[randomling]

Okay, so. I did another request-a-fic post, and I'm posting the resulting ficlets over here. There are seven of them this month, including two "Lance In Space" teasers. Enjoy!

Summary: JC really likes the Doctor's equipment. A "Lance in Space" snippet for adelate.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

Sonic Boom

“It's a sonic screwdriver?” said JC. He was twisting it around and around in his hand like a baton: a little metal tube, about the size of a real screwdriver, with a couple of buttons on the handle and a blue light on the business end. “Like, it works on sound?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, holding the TARDIS door open with one hand.

The Doctor sounded pretty exasperated, but JC officially didn't care. He thumbed one of the buttons experimentally and it made a brief whining sound. The console gave an answering bleep. “This is so cool,” he said, grinning.

The Doctor grinned back, let go of the door and leaned back against the railing. “It's not bad,” he said.

JC thumbed the other button; nothing happened. He rested against the console and frowned down at it. “How's it work?” he asked.

“It's very complex,” the Doctor said. He joined JC at the console and took JC's wrist loosely in one hand. He was a couple of inches taller than JC, just the perfect height to lean up and kiss. “You use this button,” he said, pointing with the long fingers of his other hand, “to change the setting, and this one to activate.” He moved his head a little to look at the screwdriver's handle. “That's setting four one eight.”

“What does it do?”

“Try it,” said the Doctor, brown eyes lighting up; JC grinned and thumbed the activation button. The blue light brightened and the screwdriver emitted a low hum.

JC looked around in wonder as the walls of the TARDIS gently lit up. “Low vibration setting,” the Doctor said, smiling. He stroked the underside of JC's wrist, just gently, with his thumb, his other hand gently caressing the console. “She likes it.”

Impusively, JC put his free hand on the back of the Doctor's neck. When he put on a little pressure, the Doctor didn't resist, bending his head until JC could kiss him, soft and careful. The Doctor moved his hand from the console to JC's waist, and he didn't stop moving his thumb absently on the sensitive skin of JC's wrist. Finally, feeling warm all through, JC pulled back. “You're gonna have to show me what this baby can do,” JC said.

The Doctor, though, had turned his head to look beyond the console, to the couch. Lance's jacket was folded over his laptop on the seat. Urgently, the Doctor said, “Later. We have to go.”

JC passed him the sonic screwdriver, and he pocketed it hurriedly as he swept past JC and back to the door. JC followed him. “Do you really think he's alive?” JC asked. “Because...”

The Doctor opened the TARDIS door, then turned and grinned at JC. Suddenly JC wondered how Lance lived with them: that quicksilver mind, the unpredictable back-and-forth, the quiet moments, the loneliness. He was a beautiful man, and the British accent made him want to melt sometimes, but then sometimes he would look at you, and it was like staring into the Grand Canyon. This was one of those moments. “You've got a funny way of surviving, you lot,” he said, and disappeared through the door.

Lance had always been the tough one. JC steeled himself with a deep breath and followed the Doctor into the unknown.


Summary: Chris is bored. Nick is easily distracted. For ravenbat.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

Things To Do While Not At The Library

“You have to study, huh?” said Chris.

Nick was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up so he could rest his book on them. When he turned to look, Chris was leaning against the doorframe. Nick shook his head, smiling, and turned away.

“So does J,” said Chris. “He and Lance went look for a library. With books in actual English. Good luck to 'em, I say.”

Nick shook his head at that, too; they'd been in Europe so long he could barely remember what English street signs looked like. Lance and Justin were, sadly, hampered by the fact that they still had to travel with Justin's mom; Nick guessed the library thing was an excuse for... something. He didn't even look up at Chris this time.

“So Lance and Justin are getting laid, Joey and JC are out doing something dull, and I'm bored,” said Chris, “and I came here because I know that you, Nick, are easily distracted.” He sauntered into the room and sat on Brian's bed, crossing his legs, then uncrossing them, then crossing them the other way.

Nick watched Chris out of the corner of his eye. “What makes you say that,” he said dryly.

Chris smiled and moved to sit at the foot of Nick's bed. “Nicky,” he said in a low voice. “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.” He put his hand on Nick's foot. Nick glanced up at Chris and shifted his foot; Chris moved his hand with it. This time, Nick just left his foot where it was.

“What are you reading?” Chris asked.

Nick lifted the book briefly.

Chris scowled. “Hemingway. Eugh.”

When Nick looked up, Chris was totally still, his hand still resting on Nick's foot. The stillness was so weird that it totally distracted Nick from his frankly boring book. Chris smiled, and without turning away, Nick put his book face-down on the nightstand so he wouldn't lose his place. Chris's eyes were dark and intense and hungry.

“Wanna get naked?” Chris asked, sliding his hand up Nick's ankle and under the cuff of his pants.

Nick shivered and smiled as Chris's talented fingers crept up his leg. When they reached his knee, he moved his own hand so he could feel Chris's through the fabric of his pants. Then he glanced away. “I guess I better close the door.”


Summary: AJ and JC get busy in the studio. For trumpeterofdoom.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

A Little Vibration

“Dude,” said JC. “Dude. You gotta listen to this.”

AJ cocked his head to listen: JC had kept the vocals as they were, but shifted all the instrumentals just a bit, so it sounded weird and distorted, AJ's voice sounding out clean and clear over the top. “Wow,” said AJ, smiling. “That sounds like aliens wrote my song.”

JC grinned at him through the glass window. “Don't you think it sounds cool?” he said. “Maybe not for the whole track, just for the end or something. You know, let everything start to go a little crazy.”

AJ smiled as JC bent over to try something else. He loved watching JC like this, focused and intense, knowing how, boy, JC knew how to apply that in other parts of his life. Pretty soon, he was going to drag JC away from the studio and take him home for food and bed. There was something to be said for work-life balance, AJ thought.

“How about this?” JC said.

This time, the backing was normal, but JC had done something really trippy with AJ's voice. AJ laughed. “You really want to make me sound like someone's fucking me with a vibrator?”

“All sound's vibration,” said JC absently, focusing on something else. “This is just... more.”

AJ closed his eyes and listened to it for a moment. It was pure JC; how he could make something sound so weird, and yet so musical at the same time, AJ didn't know. He had a magic touch, or something. In fact, AJ knew about the magic touch for sure. He got up suddenly and walked out of the recording booth, seeing JC look up sharply as he pulled open the door.

Seconds later, he was pulling JC away from the sound desk, and JC was laughing and hanging on until AJ literally prised his fingers off the thing. It was always like that. AJ shoved him up against the back wall and kissed him, hard. JC gave as good as he got, just like always, and was grinning when their lips parted.

“I guess it's time to go?” JC said.

“Sure is,” said AJ. He put one hand on the side of JC's face and kissed him again, quick and soft. “I feel like a little vibration.”


Summary: Chris is sick; thanks to JC, there are compensations. For turps33.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

Sweet Like Chocolate

Chris collapsed onto the crappy hotel room bed and kicked his legs in the air, trying to work off some of the sugar and caffeine he'd mainlined to get through the interview. Annoyingly, JC was sitting on the other bed, looking perfectly calm as he picked up the phone. Chris kicked his legs some more and ran his tongue over his braces as JC spoke into the phone in halting German, then hung up.

“I fucking hate Switzerland,” Chris said to the ceiling.

JC stretched out on his own bed, folding his hands behind his head. “You're just tired, man,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

Chris sighed; that was JC's answer to everything. He rolled onto his side to look at JC. “I'm not sleepy.”

“You're sick,” JC pointed out. “You're getting that thing Lance had.”

“I am not,” Chris said defiantly, though it was true. Lance had been snivelling and miserable for three whole days, and they had another long plane ride tomorrow, and Chris did not plan on being sick while ten thousand feet in the air. Flying was bad enough on its own.

JC just smiled and shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, looking all relaxed and untroubled. That was plain annoying. Chris got up, walked to the window and opened the curtains. Outside there was just Zurich, which Chris had seen enough of today out of moving vehicles, thank you very much. He turned back towards JC. JC was watching him, smiling.

“What?” said Chris in a challenging voice.

“Nothing,” said JC, but the smile wasn't going anywhere. “You're just...”

“Annoying?”

“Beautiful,” JC said.

Chris would never admit it, but that made his breath catch in his chest; it was an effort to let it out evenly. He ran his tongue over the damn braces again, thoughtfully this time, wondering if JC would run screaming if he kissed him. Then again, beautiful was. Well. Pretty unmistakable.

Chris took half a breath before he realized JC was scrambling into a sitting position and saying, “Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man, I didn't think, I just...” Chris started to say something, but JC kept talking. “Just forget I said anything, okay? I'll just be over here wishing the ground would swallow me.”

Chris looked at JC, who was looking pointedly at the floor, one hand on his forehead. Chris said, “Hey. Hey, no. Um.” He paused, and was totally not sure how to do this, and all he could come up with was, “Thank you.”

JC met his eyes, carefully, and said, “I...”

Just then there was a rap on the door, making them both look around sharply. Chris cursed under his breath. “Who the hell is it?”

“Room service,” said JC. He answered the door and dealt with it in his crappy German, then turned around carrying a tray with two steaming mugs, which he put on the nightstand between the two beds. Chris looked at him questioningly. “Hot chocolate,” said JC. “They make it really good here. And it'll help you sleep.” JC waved him over. “Come try it.”

"You're such a girl," Chris said, but he sat on his bed and tasted it and, wow, it was good. JC took his own mug and, after hesitating for just a second, sat down next to Chris, close enough that their legs were almost touching. They watched each other while they drank: all of a sudden Chris couldn't take his eyes off JC, his blue eyes and high cheekbones and long neck and muscular arms. He couldn't stop wondering how a creature like that could think he was beautiful.

He smiled at JC uncertainly. Then, carefully, he set down his cup. “I really want to kiss you,” he said, all in a rush. “But, um.” He gestured at his mouth.

“I kinda like it,” JC said. He set down his cup next to Chris's, and then they just sat looking at each other. Chris didn't think he'd ever be able to stop looking into JC's eyes. They were sort of intense.

“Really?” said Chris, in a voice a lot more strangled-sounding than he had really intended.

JC smiled. “Will you let me prove it?”

Chris let him.


Summary: Turlough's been alone a long time; Lance provides some comfort. "Lance In Space" snippet for turloughishere.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

The Waiting Game

The cats were still milling in the alleyway when Lance dared to look out the window again. Turlough was standing in the doorway of his closet, one hand in his hair, the other holding the door open, staring into it as if it might suddenly show him the meaning of life. Or, at least, the solution to the current problem. Lance turned from the window and sat on the bed.

“I always knew he'd come back,” said Turlough, almost to himself. He didn't turn to look at Lance. Lance had to be content with watching Turlough from the back. He was skinny underneath the pale, dishevelled uniform, his close-cut hair a faded red, hands bony and long-fingered. Lance wondered, not for the first time, what kind of life Turlough had had after leaving the Doctor. And what kind of life before.

“Turlough,” Lance said.

“I didn't want to spend my life waiting.” Turlough turned to look at Lance now, and he looked so human, the way the Doctor sometimes looked human: angry, tired, frustrated. It was easy to forget that Turlough was, technically, an alien. An extra-terrestrial life form, with hard blue eyes and red hair.

Lance got up automatically. “He came back.”

“By accident,” Turlough said with a sneer. “It's always by accident with him.”

This was true; Lance smiled and crossed the room. Gently, he prised Turlough's fingers from the door. “You're mad at him,” he said. He kept his hand on Turlough's, fingertips touching fingertips, not caring now if Turlough was an alien. He hadn't cared when it was the Doctor. Turlough didn't move.

“Wouldn't you be?”

“I don't know.”

Turlough finally shook his hand free of Lance's and moved away, walking over to the bed. He was looking away from Lance again, staring at the wall between the two windows, right above the bed. “He didn't leave me, you know,” Turlough said. “I left him.”

Lance didn't know what to say to that, so he just went to Turlough again. This time, tentatively, he put his arms around Turlough's waist. Turlough rested his back against Lance's chest, and his hands over Lance's hands. Lance bent his head to kiss the exposed skin on the side of Turlough's neck. It was comfort, he thought, of a sort.

“We don't have time,” Turlough murmured.

Lance laughed, just a brief jolt of his chest, and kissed Turlough's neck again. “The cats aren't going anywhere.”

Turlough's response was to link his fingers with Lance's and let Lance go to town on his neck. Lance kissed and licked and sucked; Turlough made no sound, but his breathing got harsh and ragged. Lance smiled into the kisses and squeezed Turlough's fingers lightly.

“He needs looking after,” Turlough said after a while.

Lance straightened up and pulled Turlough around until he could kiss Turlough's mouth. Turlough kissed back hard, suddenly grasping Lance's waist firmly. Finally, Lance pulled back and ran one hand through Turlough's hair, smiling. “You think I don't know that?”


Summary: It takes a while to come down after a show. For musiclover03.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.

Afterglow

It was the same as every night: Justin hit the shower first, JC collapsed on the couch, and Chris went for the soda. He always felt the need for a sugar kick right after a show, something to take the adrenaline buzz and keep it from going sour, keep him running on his post-show high until time and exhaustion got him started winding down.

He found a half-empty bottle of lemonade in the fridge and took a big gulp from it, then wiped the bottle's mouth, screwed the cap back on and stuck it back where it came from. Then he just leaned on the counter and looked at JC, who was stretched out on the couch, one arm over his head, still wearing his Bye Bye Bye costume. His hair was like a mane – a sweat-soaked mane right now, Chris reminded himself – falling in loose curls down his neck. He loved JC's hair.


Lazily, JC turned his head and said, “What?”

Chris was still too high and too raw from the show to talk. The others always joked that he was so out-of-it for the first few minutes after a show that, for once, he shut the fuck up. The truth was, these were the moments he saw everything clearer than ever. JC's long, lean body was beautiful, his chest rising and falling in little shallow breaths. Chris loved to watch JC coming down from a show, so he just grinned, and JC grinned back, blinking slowly.

“C'mere,” JC said, and Chris went.

Chris settled himself on JC's thighs. JC stayed where he was and put his hand on Chris's waist, then started to stroke up and down slowly, down over Chris's hip and back up to his waist. Chris did the same on JC's chest, just rubbing one hand up and down slowly. Then he sighed and lay down, resting his head on JC's chest while JC's hand strayed to his ass.

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Chris listened to JC's heart, still racing, and felt JC's post-concert hard-on pressed into his stomach. Eventually, JC murmured, “Justin's gonna be out soon. I should...”

“Don't,” Chris said, and he hooked one arm around JC's neck, because he also got really clingy after a show. JC wrapped both arms around Chris's waist and hugged him tight, and Chris buried his face in JC's chest. “Stay here.”

Chris shifted himself so that his head was on JC's shoulder, nose pressed into his neck, threaded his fingers through JC's hair, and closed his eyes. JC rubbed Chris's back, and then just held on.

When, five minutes later, Justin came out of the shower to whap JC over the head with his wet towel, that was how he found them.

Just the same as every night.


Summary: Lynn is informed about popslash. For bououou.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF, Lynncest.
Also: Unbeta'd.

Wrong

Lynn always checked her email first thing in the morning to get it out of the way; right now it was a little before 6.30am, sunlight just starting to flood through the windows, coffee cooling on the desk as her computer booted up. Paul was still asleep upstairs.

There was plenty to trawl through, so it wasn't until almost seven, when she'd answered several emails from Johnny Wright, stored something long from Justin to read later on, and dealt with a bunch of personal stuff, that she got to the junk. The junk was always the most fun part: in among the boob jobs and herbal Viagra were some real gems, mostly from fans of Justin's. How her email address got around, she had no idea.

Today, one of them just said:

Lynn,

Look what they're writing about your son! This is just WRONG.

It wasn't even signed; there was just a link at the bottom of the page. Lynn smiled and clicked on it, because, boy, were there still people in the world who thought she could be shocked at anything anyone had to say about Justin? She'd read it all, been there and back a hundred times. It wasn't like she didn't know which parts were true.

It wasn't a link to a newspaper site she recognized, though, and when the page loaded she discovered it wasn't a news story. It was fiction – and Lynn laughed quietly, because she hadn't read one of these for quite a while. Every now and then, though, someone felt the need to inform her that there were people in the universe who wrote sex stories about her son. Like she didn't know. Like this was the craziest thing a fan had ever done.

In the story, Justin was dating JC Chasez, and they were having quite a lot of sex. Lynn read it all, right through from hand-jobs to blow-jobs to fucking and back again, and all she could think was, her correspondent was right. This was just wrong.

Because Justin hated giving head, and he loved being fucked, and he sounded nothing like that when he came.