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May. 18th, 2004 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI've been skirting the edge of being bored this afternoon, and yes I've been mailing and comment answering before that's brought up as something to do ;) Anyway, I wanted to write but wasn't in the mood for anything I've got ongoing. So as no ficlet requests grabbed me I decided to try for something I haven't written much of, Timbertrick. Of course I still haven't really written it, so there you go *g*
If anyone is as bored as I was feel free to
Too restless to sit, Chris stands and looks out of the window. There’s not much to see, darkness hides everything but the brightest lights, but it’s better to look at the rows of lights than the empty room behind him. He’s memorised every inch of that room, from the pile of magazines dating from the eighties to the rows of chairs. Three orange, two brown. Chair three in row two has a rip in the seat, a result of boredom and restless fingers finding a small hole. The soda machine is out of diet Pepsi and has no change and he even knows the how many steps it takes to pace from wall to wall. Thirty steps one way, forty-two the other.
Chris stares at his own reflection, white and sickly in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting. He wants to pace again, but settles with tapping his foot, two taps for every tick of the huge clock that dominates one wall. He hates that clock and thinks that he’ll be hearing its tick for the rest of his life, each counted second as long as a lifetime.
The waiting is torture and Chris is going insane.
The silence is almost suffocating, every noise muted except for that damn clock. They thought keeping him away from the public was the right thing to do, and at first he thanked them for that. Now he needs human contact to blunt the frustration of waiting. Deciding to take his chance alone, he moves from the window, taking one last look into the darkness. Then jumps when the door slams open before he’s halfway across the room.
“Chris!”
Chris rubs at his chest, feeling his wildly beating heart and thinks about pretending to be cool and collected; a thought that’s abandoned as soon as Justin smiles, drops his bag and opens his arms. Within seconds Chris is engulfed in a tight embrace, hugging back just as hard.
“You been waiting long?”
The question is muffled and Chris smiles as he feels Justin’s mouth move against his neck, words mixing with warm breath. “Not long, five minutes maybe.” It’s an easy lie, and a long established one. They both know he’s been there for hours, the same way they know they’ll wait for one another anywhere they can. Be that a hotel room, tour bus or even an airport in the middle of the night. It’s what they do, and what they’ll always do.
If anyone is as bored as I was feel free to
Too restless to sit, Chris stands and looks out of the window. There’s not much to see, darkness hides everything but the brightest lights, but it’s better to look at the rows of lights than the empty room behind him. He’s memorised every inch of that room, from the pile of magazines dating from the eighties to the rows of chairs. Three orange, two brown. Chair three in row two has a rip in the seat, a result of boredom and restless fingers finding a small hole. The soda machine is out of diet Pepsi and has no change and he even knows the how many steps it takes to pace from wall to wall. Thirty steps one way, forty-two the other.
Chris stares at his own reflection, white and sickly in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting. He wants to pace again, but settles with tapping his foot, two taps for every tick of the huge clock that dominates one wall. He hates that clock and thinks that he’ll be hearing its tick for the rest of his life, each counted second as long as a lifetime.
The waiting is torture and Chris is going insane.
The silence is almost suffocating, every noise muted except for that damn clock. They thought keeping him away from the public was the right thing to do, and at first he thanked them for that. Now he needs human contact to blunt the frustration of waiting. Deciding to take his chance alone, he moves from the window, taking one last look into the darkness. Then jumps when the door slams open before he’s halfway across the room.
“Chris!”
Chris rubs at his chest, feeling his wildly beating heart and thinks about pretending to be cool and collected; a thought that’s abandoned as soon as Justin smiles, drops his bag and opens his arms. Within seconds Chris is engulfed in a tight embrace, hugging back just as hard.
“You been waiting long?”
The question is muffled and Chris smiles as he feels Justin’s mouth move against his neck, words mixing with warm breath. “Not long, five minutes maybe.” It’s an easy lie, and a long established one. They both know he’s been there for hours, the same way they know they’ll wait for one another anywhere they can. Be that a hotel room, tour bus or even an airport in the middle of the night. It’s what they do, and what they’ll always do.
