Lee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
randomling) wrote2008-10-22 01:50 am
randomling) wrote2008-10-22 01:50 am
Ink
We tested the MtYG system again this year with a little fic exchange of our own. The below story was my contribution.
Summary: JC gets drawn on in an unexpected way.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
turps33
Ink
10:50pm
"What else should I write?" Chris asks.
JC's chest is a colourful mess now, and Chris hasn't been careful with putting the caps back on the pens, so he's pretty sure the hotel's bedsheets are ruined. Yellow and red and blue and green but mostly black, because the black shows up best against JC's pale skin.
"I don't know, man," JC says, "whatever you want." He's laughing faintly, making the Sharpie jolt slightly against his skin. Chris bites his lip and concentrates on holding the pen steady as he forms careful small letters slightly above JC's belly button, upside-down so that when he's done JC will be able to read them.
JC's still laughing, and Chris keeps having to hold back waves of laughter too, so it takes a long time, considering that all he's writing is five words.
After a couple of minutes, though, Chris sits back, satisfied, and JC's laughter dies a slow and drawn-out death.
"What did you write?"
"Look," Chris says.
JC strains up so that he can see the words Chris just wrote on his belly. It's obviously not a comfortable position, all bent over like that, but JC is a born contortionist so Chris doesn't really care. JC's eyes squint up and his lips move slightly, forming one word after the next. Then he collapses back onto the bed and begins to laugh harder than before, covering his face with one scrawled-upon forearm.
Chris starts to laugh too, admiring his handiwork, not just words but stupid little drawings too, all over the exposed top half of JC's body. It's only just occurred to him that he could flip JC over and get started on his back, a whole new blank canvas to work with. Who said tattoos were the only kind of body art?
Twice, JC tries to speak, but is laughing too hard to get out more than half an unintelligible syllable. "You - " he says the third time, and then he rolls over onto his side, towards Chris, shaking and shaking with laughter.
The latest words say, Justin Timberlake is a brat.
6.45am
Justin makes a pouty face over the breakfast table at JC. Chris would have thought that, at nineteen, he's too old to resort to Bambi eyes; but no, there they are, those great big baby blues. Chris tries not to smile; Joey and Lance glance at each other quickly, then away.
"What do you mean, you don't want to?"
"I mean I don't want to," JC says. He digs his fork down on his plate, comes up with a forkful of toast and eggs, and munches them nonchalantly, only glancing at Justin's face for a second.
"But it's supposed to be, like, a group bonding thing. To celebrate the album." Justin glances across at Chris for support. Chris, who doesn't mind getting ink one bit, was all for the idea. But he knows, just like Justin surely knows, that there's no way JC's going to go for it. He shrugs at Justin, and Justin's eyes say, Help me.
"I know what it's for, man," JC says calmly.
"You have to do it," Justin says, and Chris does smile then, at the incredulous look on JC's face. Justin pouts more. "You have to."
That incredulous look melts quickly, back to an expression that any outsider would probably mistake for placid calm. Chris doesn't mistake it, though. He can see from the momentary nervousness flickering across Justin's face that Justin doesn't mistake it, either. "No, Justin, I don't have to." An outsider would mistake JC's voice for calm, too, wouldn't hear the steel that Chris can recognize a mile off. JC looks back down at his breakfast again, subject closed.
"Yes, you do," Justin whines. JC's head snaps up to look at Justin, surprised again.
In a warning tone, Joey says, "Justin, let it go."
Justin gives Joey an imploring look. Chris knows that Justin expected Joey's support too - and Lance's - though he must know, surely, that JC won't be moved on this. Justin doesn't look like he's going to to stop pushing, though.
Immovable object, unstoppable force.
Joey makes a sympathetic face at Justin but doesn't say anything to JC. Justin's gaze moves on to Lance. Lance actually looks amused, and says, "Dude, you know there's no way he's getting a tattoo."
"But he has to," Justin says. The whining tone is still there, and when Chris glances at JC he can see that JC's expression of enforced calm is back, and that the enforced calm is concealing what's starting to be serious annoyance.
"Justin," Chris says, chipping in at last. "Do yourself a favour. Let it go."
Justin turns the Bambi eyes back on Chris, but after all these years Chris is immune. "But it has to be all of us," Justin says. "Or it doesn't mean anything."
"Of course it means something," Joey says. "We'll still bond. It doesn't change that. And you knew he was never gonna go for it when you started this, so I have no idea why you're even making a fuss."
"I'll be there with you in spirit," JC says in a conciliatory tone.
Justin pouts some more and sits back in his chair.
10.55pm
What Chris doesn't expect is for JC to snatch the Sharpie out of his hand, still laughing. The laughter slides easily back into a grin as he sits up, twirls the pen once between his fingers, and says, "No, no, this is the wrong colour for you."
"Huh?" Chris says dumbly. It takes him a second to get back into a sitting position, but he does eventually. By the time he's sitting up, JC is hunting through the pack of Sharpies for the right colour. JC's an artist - no, an artiste - so Chris figures he might be here for some time. It surprises him when it's only a second before JC lunges forward to grab one, dropping the black onto the bedclothes.
"Ha!" he says triumphantly.
Chris doesn't see until JC is crawling back towards him that the Sharpie is purple. "No no no," he says, backing towards the head of the bed, "I got tattooed today, I don't need to be drawn on."
"Sure you do," JC says.
"I really really don't," Chris says.
JC pounces on Chris and holds him down easily with one hand. Chris struggles slightly, trying to keep his exposed skin away from the menacing tip of the Sharpie, but JC only smiles and Chris gasps when the pen makes contact with the skin right below his throat.
"What does it say?" Chris says.
JC hops off the bed and digs into his luggage, leaving Chris frowning on the bed until JC is bounding back with a little hand mirror. The writing on his neck shows up backwards in the mirror, so it takes some time for Chris to read it.
Chris Kirkpatrick, it says.
"That's my name," Chris says. He guesses that's fair - the first thing he wrote on JC, once he was done with the puppet symbol on JC's ankle, was My name is JC.
JC moves the mirror slightly, and Chris frowns a little, then lets out a long breath when he's understood the words, not sure whether to laugh or cheer or run away.
Property of JC Chasez.
3.20pm
Somehow, they manage to avoid an out-and-out fight between Justin and JC, though when Justin brings up the subject again in rehearsals later that day, it's a close-run thing. JC actually spins around to look at Justin and says, "Look, dude, would you shut the fuck up?"
Justin flinches and takes a step back.
"If it's the needles..." he says unwisely.
"Hey," Joey cuts in. Chris is glad, because he was about to. "Justin, cut it the fuck out."
"I'm just saying, someone can hold your hand or something, it's no big deal."
"Justin," Chris says in a warning tone.
"Do you get that I don't want to?" JC says. His voice is very low and quiet, dangerously so, his eyes narrowed. Justin's eyes narrow too, and it's a face-off, one diva up against another. They'd both fight tooth and nail against that label, but that doesn't make it any less true.
"It's a group thing," Justin says stubbornly. "It's about the group. It's not just about you."
"No," JC says, "it's about you. Not everybody just does what you want, Justin."
"Hey, I'm not - "
"Okay," Joey says, raising his hands like a referee. "Why doesn't everybody just calm down."
"Shut up, Joey, this doesn't involve you," Justin says.
"Really?" JC's voice could cut ice. "I thought this was about the group."
Chris sees Joey and Lance look at each other. He steps forward, though it's dangerous, and puts himself between JC and Justin. "Justin," he says, trying for a calming tone. "JC's not gonna do it. You knew that. Why are you making such a big deal about it?"
"Because it's about the group," Justin insists, and Chris sighs.
Eventually, Joey does the honourable thing and marches Justin out of the room.
11.00pm
Chris snatches the purple Sharpie out of JC's hand as soon as JC has let him up, but he doesn't have a clue what to write. JC rolls onto his back again, smiling, and Chris kneels to one side with the pen poised above the unmarked skin on JC's shoulder. He's completely unable to figure out what to write.
In the end he leans forward and starts to make a drawing in the hollow of JC's shoulder. It's a little mean, because it's a place that JC won't really be able to see; but never mind. He takes his time, sticking the tip of his tongue out of one corner of his mouth and frowning.
He's not much of an artist, so it's not very good.
"No way I can see that," JC says after they experiment briefly with the mirror. "You're gonna have to tell me."
"It's a monkey!" Chris says happily, and JC grins, then starts to laugh and, in the middle of laughing, grabs the pen back from Chris.
"Of course, it is," JC says.
10.15pm
Chris knocks on the door of JC's room when they're all back from the tattoo place. JC opens the door and Chris waves a six-pack of beer in front of JC's face before he says anything. A peace offering.
"What else did you bring?" JC asks.
Chris holds up the pack of Sharpies that he has in his other hand.
"Justin says he's sorry," Chris says.
JC's lips twitch. "How drunk is he?"
"Passed out on Lance's bathroom floor." JC smiles then, and Chris does, too. "He really is sorry, though. We kicked his ass until he was."
JC steps back to let Chris into his room. "So did it hurt?"
"Of course it did," Chris says. His ankle is still sore, probably will be for at least a few days. He kicks off his sneakers and tosses the pens onto the bed, then pulls up the cuff of his jeans to show JC.
"Ooh, don't," JC says, wincing.
Chris smiles. "Not so bad."
"What are the pens for?" JC says, reaching behind Chris to close the door. A firm change of subject, far away from anything that forces JC to think about needles.
"Well," Chris says when the door is closed. "I figured, maybe if you won't get it permanent, we could do something a little more temporary."
JC snatches the beer from Chris's hand.
11.20pm
They're both shirtless now, lying beside one another on the bed, and there are purple words that Chris can't read on his chest and stomach. In the morning, if they're not too smudged, he'll try to read them in the bathroom mirror. JC pointed out that he had a lot of catching-up to do, so Chris has let him keep the pen for a while.
Now, though, he sits up and takes the pen from JC's hand.
"I don't have any skin left, dude," JC says.
"Not true." Chris grabs JC's left hand. He pauses for a second, then writes three words in big writing on the back of JC's hand.
When he's done, he sits back on his heels and watches for JC's reaction. JC stares at the back of his hand for a long time, not smiling any more, and then turns to look at Chris with searching eyes.
He grabs the purple Sharpie from Chris's fingers and throws it across the room. By the time it hits the far wall with a little snap, Chris is beneath JC, and the words on their chests are blurring and mixing. When they wake tomorrow, neither of them will be able to tell what words or colours were on whose chest. Even the purple monkey will be just a patch of colour, smeared partly against Chris's back.
The only thing that will stay?
The words I love you, in large, childish letters on the back of JC's hand.
Summary: JC gets drawn on in an unexpected way.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Unbeta'd.
For
turps33Ink
10:50pm
"What else should I write?" Chris asks.
JC's chest is a colourful mess now, and Chris hasn't been careful with putting the caps back on the pens, so he's pretty sure the hotel's bedsheets are ruined. Yellow and red and blue and green but mostly black, because the black shows up best against JC's pale skin.
"I don't know, man," JC says, "whatever you want." He's laughing faintly, making the Sharpie jolt slightly against his skin. Chris bites his lip and concentrates on holding the pen steady as he forms careful small letters slightly above JC's belly button, upside-down so that when he's done JC will be able to read them.
JC's still laughing, and Chris keeps having to hold back waves of laughter too, so it takes a long time, considering that all he's writing is five words.
After a couple of minutes, though, Chris sits back, satisfied, and JC's laughter dies a slow and drawn-out death.
"What did you write?"
"Look," Chris says.
JC strains up so that he can see the words Chris just wrote on his belly. It's obviously not a comfortable position, all bent over like that, but JC is a born contortionist so Chris doesn't really care. JC's eyes squint up and his lips move slightly, forming one word after the next. Then he collapses back onto the bed and begins to laugh harder than before, covering his face with one scrawled-upon forearm.
Chris starts to laugh too, admiring his handiwork, not just words but stupid little drawings too, all over the exposed top half of JC's body. It's only just occurred to him that he could flip JC over and get started on his back, a whole new blank canvas to work with. Who said tattoos were the only kind of body art?
Twice, JC tries to speak, but is laughing too hard to get out more than half an unintelligible syllable. "You - " he says the third time, and then he rolls over onto his side, towards Chris, shaking and shaking with laughter.
The latest words say, Justin Timberlake is a brat.
6.45am
Justin makes a pouty face over the breakfast table at JC. Chris would have thought that, at nineteen, he's too old to resort to Bambi eyes; but no, there they are, those great big baby blues. Chris tries not to smile; Joey and Lance glance at each other quickly, then away.
"What do you mean, you don't want to?"
"I mean I don't want to," JC says. He digs his fork down on his plate, comes up with a forkful of toast and eggs, and munches them nonchalantly, only glancing at Justin's face for a second.
"But it's supposed to be, like, a group bonding thing. To celebrate the album." Justin glances across at Chris for support. Chris, who doesn't mind getting ink one bit, was all for the idea. But he knows, just like Justin surely knows, that there's no way JC's going to go for it. He shrugs at Justin, and Justin's eyes say, Help me.
"I know what it's for, man," JC says calmly.
"You have to do it," Justin says, and Chris does smile then, at the incredulous look on JC's face. Justin pouts more. "You have to."
That incredulous look melts quickly, back to an expression that any outsider would probably mistake for placid calm. Chris doesn't mistake it, though. He can see from the momentary nervousness flickering across Justin's face that Justin doesn't mistake it, either. "No, Justin, I don't have to." An outsider would mistake JC's voice for calm, too, wouldn't hear the steel that Chris can recognize a mile off. JC looks back down at his breakfast again, subject closed.
"Yes, you do," Justin whines. JC's head snaps up to look at Justin, surprised again.
In a warning tone, Joey says, "Justin, let it go."
Justin gives Joey an imploring look. Chris knows that Justin expected Joey's support too - and Lance's - though he must know, surely, that JC won't be moved on this. Justin doesn't look like he's going to to stop pushing, though.
Immovable object, unstoppable force.
Joey makes a sympathetic face at Justin but doesn't say anything to JC. Justin's gaze moves on to Lance. Lance actually looks amused, and says, "Dude, you know there's no way he's getting a tattoo."
"But he has to," Justin says. The whining tone is still there, and when Chris glances at JC he can see that JC's expression of enforced calm is back, and that the enforced calm is concealing what's starting to be serious annoyance.
"Justin," Chris says, chipping in at last. "Do yourself a favour. Let it go."
Justin turns the Bambi eyes back on Chris, but after all these years Chris is immune. "But it has to be all of us," Justin says. "Or it doesn't mean anything."
"Of course it means something," Joey says. "We'll still bond. It doesn't change that. And you knew he was never gonna go for it when you started this, so I have no idea why you're even making a fuss."
"I'll be there with you in spirit," JC says in a conciliatory tone.
Justin pouts some more and sits back in his chair.
10.55pm
What Chris doesn't expect is for JC to snatch the Sharpie out of his hand, still laughing. The laughter slides easily back into a grin as he sits up, twirls the pen once between his fingers, and says, "No, no, this is the wrong colour for you."
"Huh?" Chris says dumbly. It takes him a second to get back into a sitting position, but he does eventually. By the time he's sitting up, JC is hunting through the pack of Sharpies for the right colour. JC's an artist - no, an artiste - so Chris figures he might be here for some time. It surprises him when it's only a second before JC lunges forward to grab one, dropping the black onto the bedclothes.
"Ha!" he says triumphantly.
Chris doesn't see until JC is crawling back towards him that the Sharpie is purple. "No no no," he says, backing towards the head of the bed, "I got tattooed today, I don't need to be drawn on."
"Sure you do," JC says.
"I really really don't," Chris says.
JC pounces on Chris and holds him down easily with one hand. Chris struggles slightly, trying to keep his exposed skin away from the menacing tip of the Sharpie, but JC only smiles and Chris gasps when the pen makes contact with the skin right below his throat.
"What does it say?" Chris says.
JC hops off the bed and digs into his luggage, leaving Chris frowning on the bed until JC is bounding back with a little hand mirror. The writing on his neck shows up backwards in the mirror, so it takes some time for Chris to read it.
Chris Kirkpatrick, it says.
"That's my name," Chris says. He guesses that's fair - the first thing he wrote on JC, once he was done with the puppet symbol on JC's ankle, was My name is JC.
JC moves the mirror slightly, and Chris frowns a little, then lets out a long breath when he's understood the words, not sure whether to laugh or cheer or run away.
Property of JC Chasez.
3.20pm
Somehow, they manage to avoid an out-and-out fight between Justin and JC, though when Justin brings up the subject again in rehearsals later that day, it's a close-run thing. JC actually spins around to look at Justin and says, "Look, dude, would you shut the fuck up?"
Justin flinches and takes a step back.
"If it's the needles..." he says unwisely.
"Hey," Joey cuts in. Chris is glad, because he was about to. "Justin, cut it the fuck out."
"I'm just saying, someone can hold your hand or something, it's no big deal."
"Justin," Chris says in a warning tone.
"Do you get that I don't want to?" JC says. His voice is very low and quiet, dangerously so, his eyes narrowed. Justin's eyes narrow too, and it's a face-off, one diva up against another. They'd both fight tooth and nail against that label, but that doesn't make it any less true.
"It's a group thing," Justin says stubbornly. "It's about the group. It's not just about you."
"No," JC says, "it's about you. Not everybody just does what you want, Justin."
"Hey, I'm not - "
"Okay," Joey says, raising his hands like a referee. "Why doesn't everybody just calm down."
"Shut up, Joey, this doesn't involve you," Justin says.
"Really?" JC's voice could cut ice. "I thought this was about the group."
Chris sees Joey and Lance look at each other. He steps forward, though it's dangerous, and puts himself between JC and Justin. "Justin," he says, trying for a calming tone. "JC's not gonna do it. You knew that. Why are you making such a big deal about it?"
"Because it's about the group," Justin insists, and Chris sighs.
Eventually, Joey does the honourable thing and marches Justin out of the room.
11.00pm
Chris snatches the purple Sharpie out of JC's hand as soon as JC has let him up, but he doesn't have a clue what to write. JC rolls onto his back again, smiling, and Chris kneels to one side with the pen poised above the unmarked skin on JC's shoulder. He's completely unable to figure out what to write.
In the end he leans forward and starts to make a drawing in the hollow of JC's shoulder. It's a little mean, because it's a place that JC won't really be able to see; but never mind. He takes his time, sticking the tip of his tongue out of one corner of his mouth and frowning.
He's not much of an artist, so it's not very good.
"No way I can see that," JC says after they experiment briefly with the mirror. "You're gonna have to tell me."
"It's a monkey!" Chris says happily, and JC grins, then starts to laugh and, in the middle of laughing, grabs the pen back from Chris.
"Of course, it is," JC says.
10.15pm
Chris knocks on the door of JC's room when they're all back from the tattoo place. JC opens the door and Chris waves a six-pack of beer in front of JC's face before he says anything. A peace offering.
"What else did you bring?" JC asks.
Chris holds up the pack of Sharpies that he has in his other hand.
"Justin says he's sorry," Chris says.
JC's lips twitch. "How drunk is he?"
"Passed out on Lance's bathroom floor." JC smiles then, and Chris does, too. "He really is sorry, though. We kicked his ass until he was."
JC steps back to let Chris into his room. "So did it hurt?"
"Of course it did," Chris says. His ankle is still sore, probably will be for at least a few days. He kicks off his sneakers and tosses the pens onto the bed, then pulls up the cuff of his jeans to show JC.
"Ooh, don't," JC says, wincing.
Chris smiles. "Not so bad."
"What are the pens for?" JC says, reaching behind Chris to close the door. A firm change of subject, far away from anything that forces JC to think about needles.
"Well," Chris says when the door is closed. "I figured, maybe if you won't get it permanent, we could do something a little more temporary."
JC snatches the beer from Chris's hand.
11.20pm
They're both shirtless now, lying beside one another on the bed, and there are purple words that Chris can't read on his chest and stomach. In the morning, if they're not too smudged, he'll try to read them in the bathroom mirror. JC pointed out that he had a lot of catching-up to do, so Chris has let him keep the pen for a while.
Now, though, he sits up and takes the pen from JC's hand.
"I don't have any skin left, dude," JC says.
"Not true." Chris grabs JC's left hand. He pauses for a second, then writes three words in big writing on the back of JC's hand.
When he's done, he sits back on his heels and watches for JC's reaction. JC stares at the back of his hand for a long time, not smiling any more, and then turns to look at Chris with searching eyes.
He grabs the purple Sharpie from Chris's fingers and throws it across the room. By the time it hits the far wall with a little snap, Chris is beneath JC, and the words on their chests are blurring and mixing. When they wake tomorrow, neither of them will be able to tell what words or colours were on whose chest. Even the purple monkey will be just a patch of colour, smeared partly against Chris's back.
The only thing that will stay?
The words I love you, in large, childish letters on the back of JC's hand.
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Oh how l adore my boys.. I can so see that :) Chris wants JC to join in the fun :) You portrayed Justin perfectly :) Nice nice fic--- I adore turps and you for this :) *sigh*
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I'm glad you enjoyed it - it was a lot of fun to write and come up with something that I thought Terri might like! And I liked writing this snotty version of Justin (and the equally snotty version of JC!), not my usual casting of either one, but a fun thing to try.
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Thank you!
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I love them to! Because they are awesome. :D