Happy Choey Day!
Apr. 10th, 2007 07:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsYesterday I asked for Choey prompts, I've done the first five.
Thanks go to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ephemera_pop who did a speedy beta on the first four.
Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Behind the cut are ficlets for the prompts, Joey and Chris' first meeting in Boxes, Pool, Beach, Angry!Joey and pixy stix.
Boxes. Joey and Chris first meeting.
~~~~~
It’s been raining for hours, the fine kind of rain that needles your skin and soaks you in seconds. Shoulders hunched and hands pushed deep into damp pockets, Chris hurries for shelter. He hasn’t made much money today. It’s too wet, too cold, and supper will be half an abandoned candy bar and a cup of strong coffee from the café on the corner of fifth and twelfth. That is if they let him in. Sometimes they don’t.
Chris first sees the man a block from the cafe. The guy’s sitting, head down and knees up, a blur of darkness against the wet wall. There’s a beer can crumpled at his feet, another lying on its side and watery splashes of blood splatter the ground. Chris hurries past. He’s survived all this time by not getting involved, bitter experience teaching him that some things are best left alone.
“It wasn’t my fault. You hear that!?”
Wary, Chris hesitates and then turns and watches as the man hauls himself upright, exposing a matted beard and soaked hair hanging into his eyes. A bruise rings one eye and there’s a cut across his cheekbone, oozing blood that’s being washed away by the rain. He braces one hand against the wet brick and uses the other to point, a wild wavering gesture at Chris.
“Not my fault. I told them. Told them it wasn’t and they didn’t believe me. Do you believe me? Do you!?”
He staggers forward, and the air is full of the stench of beer and unwashed body. Grimacing, Chris begins to turn away, shoulders tense as he listens to wild accusations and curses.
When he hears a thump he looks back.
The man is on his hands and knees, and, as Chris watches, collapses onto his side. He doesn’t move. Just lies perfectly still. The sensible thing to do is to keep walking and never look back. Which Chris takes, speedy steps toward hot coffee and someplace dry.
Then he turns, and walks back.
The sidewalk is cold against Chris’ knees when he kneels. Leaning forward, he looks at the man, past the bruises and the dirt, and Chris realises that the man’s younger than he looked at first glance. Face slick with a mixture of tears, snot, blood and rain. Expensive clothes stained and worn, eyes closed and body shaking.
“Hey, you need to sit up. Come on.”
Chris grabs hold of the man’s shoulder, pulling until he starts to move, listing forward, his hands flat against the ground. The man starts to cough then, a harsh hacking sound and Chris barely escapes a shower of sour vomit, bile and beer. When the man looks up, eyes red, he’s so pathetic, so needy, that Chris wishes he’d just walked away.
“Come on, you need to sit down, over there.”
It takes a long time to wrestle the guy back to the wall. He’s taller and heavier than Chris, and the alcohol has made him a dead weight, useless to do anything but mumble meaningless words. Finally though, he’s sitting, mouth open and head back. Chris takes out the candy bar, shoving it into the man’s hand.
“Eat that. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
A last look and Chris is running to the café. Pushing his way inside he ignores the stares, saying hi to Maureen who smiles a greeting as he orders a small coffee with the few coins he’s earned today. Taking the coffee, he wraps his hands around the cup, revelling in the heat and inhaling the steam as he steps back outside, hurrying back to where he left the man.
Chris hands over the coffee, watching as the man takes it, and takes a tentative sip. He drinks it all, and Chris imagines each mouthful as the rain continues to fall.
Finally the cup is empty, and the man looks up at Chris.
“I’m Joey.” He says, the words raspy and low.
“Yeah.” Chris shrugs, thinking where he can take Joey, somewhere safe where he’ll have shelter. Only then will Chris go back to JC.
~*~*~*~*~
Angry Joey
~~~~~~
If Joey didn’t know better he would have said the day had tripled in length. Minutes had become hours and how the hell could it be only four in the afternoon when he'd woken up at least two days before?
Blinking, Joey scrubs his hands across his eyes. They feel dry, gritty, and he yawns as he digs in his jeans pocket for his cell. Flipping it open he looks at the display, Briahna’s gap-toothed smile. Joey misses her desperately.
It’s then that Chris pounces. A warning yell and he’s plastered against Joey’s back, gripping hard and laughing, unable to see Joey’s cell fall to the floor. It lands with a crack, scraping across the concrete and Joey reacts instinctively, shrugging Chris off and spinning around.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Furious, Joey scoops up his phone, examining the crack across the screen.
“I didn’t mean...” Chris looks contrite, his smile fading as he looks from Joey to the phone. “I’ll buy you another.”
Exhaustion is fuel to Joey’s anger, twisting his emotions until they’re white hot and deadly, his words sharp as he takes a step forward, crowding Chris just so he can push him away. “I don’t need you to buy me another, what I need is for you to leave me alone.”
Chris looks back at Joey, his gaze steady, unmoving. “I think you’re over reacting.”
“You’d know.” Words threaten, bitter accusations and petty annoyances and Joey’s seconds from sharing them all. He clenches his hands, bites at his bottom lip as Chris waits, the fight between them is primed and waiting to flare with one wrong move.
“Forget it.” Pushing away, Joey flees toward the bathroom. He needs quiet. No crew, no friends, no anyone who needs more than he can give.
A faucet drips and the counter is wet under Joey’s hands as he looks at himself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under his eyes, the lines that newly crease his face. He looks tired -- he is tired.
He keeps watching when the door is pushed open, his own reflection and Chris, saying nothing and looking serious. Footsteps against the tile floor, and there’s an apology on Joey’s lips, when he’s gathered into a hug.
Chris’ hands are against Joey’s stomach, his face tucked against Joey’s shoulder. Still, so very still, and all Joey has to do is be held as he remembers how to breathe.
~*~*~*~*~
Beach
~~~~~~~
The retreating tide has exposed a barren landscape of fronds of seaweed and salt-crusted barnacles, green-slimed rocks and shallow pools.
Sitting on a towel, his bare feet pushed into cool sand, Joey watches his daughter pick her way across the rocks. She’s wearing a red sundress, and a gust of wind makes it wrap around her legs, her hair streaming behind her. She crouches down to peer into one of the pools. Chris is standing next to her, his hair pushed back with a bandanna, and his jeans rolled up but still wet through. He says something to Briahna, something Joey can’t catch, but he can see her smile, and the way she holding Chris’ hand as they step down into the pool.
They’re hidden from sight then, just occasional glimpses of Chris’ head and the sound of splashing and laughter. Joey can’t help smiling as he lies down, the sun warming him as he eases into sleep.
He wakes when something lands on his chest, a wet slimy something with beady black eyes and nipping claws. Heart racing, Joey jerks upwards and grabs the crab, setting it on the sand.
“Funny guys, really funny.” Joey pretends to be stern, but he can’t help his smile as Chris and Briahna dissolve into laughter, slapping their hands together in celebration.
A last giggle as she looks at her dad, and Briahna picks up the crab.
“I’ll take Mr Crabs back to the sea.”
It looks huge in her small hand, and she holds her arm out straight as she runs, her dress dripping water and her hair a wild tangle of curls.
“Your daughter is an evil genius,” Chris says fondly. Sitting, he bumps Joey with his elbow, so close Joey can feel the wet fabric of his jeans, can smell salt and seaweed when Chris brushes a kiss against Joey’s jaw.
“She learned from the best.” Joey rests his hand on Chris’ calf, fingers spread over sand encrusted skin, content as Briahna looks back at him and waves.
~*~*~*~
Pool
~~~~~~~
Technically Joey doesn’t live in the house, but he’s got clothes there all the same. He thinks nothing of digging through the piles of clean laundry, searching for his t-shirt or pants or anything he’s left behind. Today he’s looking for his swim shorts, burrowing through the sweet smelling clothes in the basket, blushing when he finds his shorts attached to a pair of pink lacy panties.
He tries not to look as he detaches the delicate material, and definitely doesn’t think of Lynn. Well maybe he does, once, a fleeting thought as he runs his fingers over the lace. And for one brief exhilarating guilty moment brings the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply before stuffing them back into the pile.
Cheeks crimson he goes into the bathroom and kicks off his jeans, leaving them on the floor with his boxers and shirt. Pulling on his swim shorts he thinks about math, dirty ashtrays, the sweaty costumes at work, anything but Justin’ mom.
It helps, a little, and Joey is able to run to the pool, diving in with a blood curdling cry. He hits hard, a slap of skin against water and his whole body is stinging. Darts of pain and swirling bubbles as he pushes upwards, emerging to the sound of clapping hands.
Bowing is awkward in the deep water, but Joey tries, amusing Lance and Justin, who continue to applaud. Sitting at the pool side, their feet are in the water, their heads close together and Joey doesn’t want to know what they’ve been saying. Instead he dips under the water; the heat of summer extinguished until he emerges again, shaking his head, surrounded himself with sparkling droplets that create rainbows in the air.
“Thinking of joining Baywatch?” Chris has floated close, his arms wrapped around a pink inflatable turtle. He looks amused as Joey slicks back his hair.
“You know it. Hasslehoff has nothing on me.” Swimming forward, Joey grins at Chris and loops his arm over the turtle’s neck. Kicking his legs he lazily circles them around, enjoying the sun and the sound of Lance and Justin talking, the hiss of coals, watching as JC barbeques with Lynn. The way she laughs and wipes her hands on the flowery apron tied around her waist, her white shorts and tanned legs.
“Do you think she’s hot?”
Shocked, Joey looks at Chris.
“Who? Lynn? No! She’s Justin’s mom!” The protest is loud, and Joey’s face is on fire as he checks to see if Justin has heard. Thankfully Justin seems more interested in what Lance has to say, but still. “You can’t say things like that?”
“Why?” Chris asks, and he’s looking at Joey as if he really doesn’t understand. “And dude, it wasn’t me looking at her, unless it was JC you were staring at. Is that it? You’ve a thing for C?”
The conversation is getting out of control fast. Needing an out, Joey dives over the turtle, pushing down on Chris’ shoulders. They both sink in an explosion of bubbles. Joey holding onto Chris’ arms, his legs wrapped around Chris’, twisting together until they hit bottom and go back up.
The sun is blinding and Joey sucks in a lungful of air when they emerge. He’s still holding onto Chris, their bodies close and Chris is looking at him, his hair slicked back, beads of water shimmering on his skin.
Joey ducks his head for a kiss. Chris’ lips are cool, slick with water and slack with surprise, his eyes wide when Joey pulls back and says, “Not about C, no.”
Chris’ mouth is open, as if searching for the words, and Joey takes the opportunity to swim away. Making his escape before he’s asked something he’s unable to answer.
~*~*~*~
Pixy Stix
~~~~~~~~~
Joey memories are overlapping with the pictures on the screen. Long days and endless nights and five friends who thought they could take on the world.
Sometime Joey can’t reconcile who they were then and what they’ve become. Fame gained and innocence lost, and watching this is like a window to a long departed past.
“To think he went on to become an international superstar.” Chris sits, leaning into Joey with the ease of long practice, knees up, shoulder curled, instinctively moving until he’s pressed close and comfortable, watching as Justin mugs for the camera onscreen.
“He’s come a long way.” Joey’s arm is draped over Chris’ shoulder, and he’s tracing the memorised lines of the tattoo, his fingers mapping a trail as Chris smiles.
“We all have.” Chris shifts then, looking up, his hair brushing against Joey’s jaw. “We’re superstars, baby.”
“Some of us, anyway.” Joey grins when Chris protests, expected grumbles he doesn’t mean at all.
“We’re missing something,” Chris says suddenly, his sharp elbow digging into Joey’s side as he pushes himself up, reaching back for a handful of pixy stix. They’re slightly bent and body warm and Joey doesn’t want to think where Chris has been hiding them. But still, this is a tradition they can’t ignore, and he rips off the top of seven stix, ready for the appropriate scene.
They’re running around the airport onscreen, one of many back then and Joey remembers the relentless travelling, the boredom they defeated with stupid games. Memories he treasures as he looks at Chris, tapping their handful of pixy stix together as they wait.
“Ready?” Chris has tipped back his head, and he’s different than he was before, but in so many ways the same.
As one they knock back the pixy stixs, years separating the taste of sugar against Joey’s tongue. He swallows, riding the buzz, but unlike back then he doesn’t run, now he releases his energy in other ways.
Pulling Chris into a kiss, Joey slides his tongue over Chris’ lips, tasting sugar and the artificial tang of grape. His hands against Chris’ side, crumpled packets between them as he flips them over, his thigh between Chris’ legs, deepening the kiss as their younger selves race onscreen.
Thanks go to
ephemera_pop who did a speedy beta on the first four. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Behind the cut are ficlets for the prompts, Joey and Chris' first meeting in Boxes, Pool, Beach, Angry!Joey and pixy stix.
Boxes. Joey and Chris first meeting.
~~~~~
It’s been raining for hours, the fine kind of rain that needles your skin and soaks you in seconds. Shoulders hunched and hands pushed deep into damp pockets, Chris hurries for shelter. He hasn’t made much money today. It’s too wet, too cold, and supper will be half an abandoned candy bar and a cup of strong coffee from the café on the corner of fifth and twelfth. That is if they let him in. Sometimes they don’t.
Chris first sees the man a block from the cafe. The guy’s sitting, head down and knees up, a blur of darkness against the wet wall. There’s a beer can crumpled at his feet, another lying on its side and watery splashes of blood splatter the ground. Chris hurries past. He’s survived all this time by not getting involved, bitter experience teaching him that some things are best left alone.
“It wasn’t my fault. You hear that!?”
Wary, Chris hesitates and then turns and watches as the man hauls himself upright, exposing a matted beard and soaked hair hanging into his eyes. A bruise rings one eye and there’s a cut across his cheekbone, oozing blood that’s being washed away by the rain. He braces one hand against the wet brick and uses the other to point, a wild wavering gesture at Chris.
“Not my fault. I told them. Told them it wasn’t and they didn’t believe me. Do you believe me? Do you!?”
He staggers forward, and the air is full of the stench of beer and unwashed body. Grimacing, Chris begins to turn away, shoulders tense as he listens to wild accusations and curses.
When he hears a thump he looks back.
The man is on his hands and knees, and, as Chris watches, collapses onto his side. He doesn’t move. Just lies perfectly still. The sensible thing to do is to keep walking and never look back. Which Chris takes, speedy steps toward hot coffee and someplace dry.
Then he turns, and walks back.
The sidewalk is cold against Chris’ knees when he kneels. Leaning forward, he looks at the man, past the bruises and the dirt, and Chris realises that the man’s younger than he looked at first glance. Face slick with a mixture of tears, snot, blood and rain. Expensive clothes stained and worn, eyes closed and body shaking.
“Hey, you need to sit up. Come on.”
Chris grabs hold of the man’s shoulder, pulling until he starts to move, listing forward, his hands flat against the ground. The man starts to cough then, a harsh hacking sound and Chris barely escapes a shower of sour vomit, bile and beer. When the man looks up, eyes red, he’s so pathetic, so needy, that Chris wishes he’d just walked away.
“Come on, you need to sit down, over there.”
It takes a long time to wrestle the guy back to the wall. He’s taller and heavier than Chris, and the alcohol has made him a dead weight, useless to do anything but mumble meaningless words. Finally though, he’s sitting, mouth open and head back. Chris takes out the candy bar, shoving it into the man’s hand.
“Eat that. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
A last look and Chris is running to the café. Pushing his way inside he ignores the stares, saying hi to Maureen who smiles a greeting as he orders a small coffee with the few coins he’s earned today. Taking the coffee, he wraps his hands around the cup, revelling in the heat and inhaling the steam as he steps back outside, hurrying back to where he left the man.
Chris hands over the coffee, watching as the man takes it, and takes a tentative sip. He drinks it all, and Chris imagines each mouthful as the rain continues to fall.
Finally the cup is empty, and the man looks up at Chris.
“I’m Joey.” He says, the words raspy and low.
“Yeah.” Chris shrugs, thinking where he can take Joey, somewhere safe where he’ll have shelter. Only then will Chris go back to JC.
~*~*~*~*~
Angry Joey
~~~~~~
If Joey didn’t know better he would have said the day had tripled in length. Minutes had become hours and how the hell could it be only four in the afternoon when he'd woken up at least two days before?
Blinking, Joey scrubs his hands across his eyes. They feel dry, gritty, and he yawns as he digs in his jeans pocket for his cell. Flipping it open he looks at the display, Briahna’s gap-toothed smile. Joey misses her desperately.
It’s then that Chris pounces. A warning yell and he’s plastered against Joey’s back, gripping hard and laughing, unable to see Joey’s cell fall to the floor. It lands with a crack, scraping across the concrete and Joey reacts instinctively, shrugging Chris off and spinning around.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Furious, Joey scoops up his phone, examining the crack across the screen.
“I didn’t mean...” Chris looks contrite, his smile fading as he looks from Joey to the phone. “I’ll buy you another.”
Exhaustion is fuel to Joey’s anger, twisting his emotions until they’re white hot and deadly, his words sharp as he takes a step forward, crowding Chris just so he can push him away. “I don’t need you to buy me another, what I need is for you to leave me alone.”
Chris looks back at Joey, his gaze steady, unmoving. “I think you’re over reacting.”
“You’d know.” Words threaten, bitter accusations and petty annoyances and Joey’s seconds from sharing them all. He clenches his hands, bites at his bottom lip as Chris waits, the fight between them is primed and waiting to flare with one wrong move.
“Forget it.” Pushing away, Joey flees toward the bathroom. He needs quiet. No crew, no friends, no anyone who needs more than he can give.
A faucet drips and the counter is wet under Joey’s hands as he looks at himself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under his eyes, the lines that newly crease his face. He looks tired -- he is tired.
He keeps watching when the door is pushed open, his own reflection and Chris, saying nothing and looking serious. Footsteps against the tile floor, and there’s an apology on Joey’s lips, when he’s gathered into a hug.
Chris’ hands are against Joey’s stomach, his face tucked against Joey’s shoulder. Still, so very still, and all Joey has to do is be held as he remembers how to breathe.
~*~*~*~*~
Beach
~~~~~~~
The retreating tide has exposed a barren landscape of fronds of seaweed and salt-crusted barnacles, green-slimed rocks and shallow pools.
Sitting on a towel, his bare feet pushed into cool sand, Joey watches his daughter pick her way across the rocks. She’s wearing a red sundress, and a gust of wind makes it wrap around her legs, her hair streaming behind her. She crouches down to peer into one of the pools. Chris is standing next to her, his hair pushed back with a bandanna, and his jeans rolled up but still wet through. He says something to Briahna, something Joey can’t catch, but he can see her smile, and the way she holding Chris’ hand as they step down into the pool.
They’re hidden from sight then, just occasional glimpses of Chris’ head and the sound of splashing and laughter. Joey can’t help smiling as he lies down, the sun warming him as he eases into sleep.
He wakes when something lands on his chest, a wet slimy something with beady black eyes and nipping claws. Heart racing, Joey jerks upwards and grabs the crab, setting it on the sand.
“Funny guys, really funny.” Joey pretends to be stern, but he can’t help his smile as Chris and Briahna dissolve into laughter, slapping their hands together in celebration.
A last giggle as she looks at her dad, and Briahna picks up the crab.
“I’ll take Mr Crabs back to the sea.”
It looks huge in her small hand, and she holds her arm out straight as she runs, her dress dripping water and her hair a wild tangle of curls.
“Your daughter is an evil genius,” Chris says fondly. Sitting, he bumps Joey with his elbow, so close Joey can feel the wet fabric of his jeans, can smell salt and seaweed when Chris brushes a kiss against Joey’s jaw.
“She learned from the best.” Joey rests his hand on Chris’ calf, fingers spread over sand encrusted skin, content as Briahna looks back at him and waves.
~*~*~*~
Pool
~~~~~~~
Technically Joey doesn’t live in the house, but he’s got clothes there all the same. He thinks nothing of digging through the piles of clean laundry, searching for his t-shirt or pants or anything he’s left behind. Today he’s looking for his swim shorts, burrowing through the sweet smelling clothes in the basket, blushing when he finds his shorts attached to a pair of pink lacy panties.
He tries not to look as he detaches the delicate material, and definitely doesn’t think of Lynn. Well maybe he does, once, a fleeting thought as he runs his fingers over the lace. And for one brief exhilarating guilty moment brings the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply before stuffing them back into the pile.
Cheeks crimson he goes into the bathroom and kicks off his jeans, leaving them on the floor with his boxers and shirt. Pulling on his swim shorts he thinks about math, dirty ashtrays, the sweaty costumes at work, anything but Justin’ mom.
It helps, a little, and Joey is able to run to the pool, diving in with a blood curdling cry. He hits hard, a slap of skin against water and his whole body is stinging. Darts of pain and swirling bubbles as he pushes upwards, emerging to the sound of clapping hands.
Bowing is awkward in the deep water, but Joey tries, amusing Lance and Justin, who continue to applaud. Sitting at the pool side, their feet are in the water, their heads close together and Joey doesn’t want to know what they’ve been saying. Instead he dips under the water; the heat of summer extinguished until he emerges again, shaking his head, surrounded himself with sparkling droplets that create rainbows in the air.
“Thinking of joining Baywatch?” Chris has floated close, his arms wrapped around a pink inflatable turtle. He looks amused as Joey slicks back his hair.
“You know it. Hasslehoff has nothing on me.” Swimming forward, Joey grins at Chris and loops his arm over the turtle’s neck. Kicking his legs he lazily circles them around, enjoying the sun and the sound of Lance and Justin talking, the hiss of coals, watching as JC barbeques with Lynn. The way she laughs and wipes her hands on the flowery apron tied around her waist, her white shorts and tanned legs.
“Do you think she’s hot?”
Shocked, Joey looks at Chris.
“Who? Lynn? No! She’s Justin’s mom!” The protest is loud, and Joey’s face is on fire as he checks to see if Justin has heard. Thankfully Justin seems more interested in what Lance has to say, but still. “You can’t say things like that?”
“Why?” Chris asks, and he’s looking at Joey as if he really doesn’t understand. “And dude, it wasn’t me looking at her, unless it was JC you were staring at. Is that it? You’ve a thing for C?”
The conversation is getting out of control fast. Needing an out, Joey dives over the turtle, pushing down on Chris’ shoulders. They both sink in an explosion of bubbles. Joey holding onto Chris’ arms, his legs wrapped around Chris’, twisting together until they hit bottom and go back up.
The sun is blinding and Joey sucks in a lungful of air when they emerge. He’s still holding onto Chris, their bodies close and Chris is looking at him, his hair slicked back, beads of water shimmering on his skin.
Joey ducks his head for a kiss. Chris’ lips are cool, slick with water and slack with surprise, his eyes wide when Joey pulls back and says, “Not about C, no.”
Chris’ mouth is open, as if searching for the words, and Joey takes the opportunity to swim away. Making his escape before he’s asked something he’s unable to answer.
~*~*~*~
Pixy Stix
~~~~~~~~~
Joey memories are overlapping with the pictures on the screen. Long days and endless nights and five friends who thought they could take on the world.
Sometime Joey can’t reconcile who they were then and what they’ve become. Fame gained and innocence lost, and watching this is like a window to a long departed past.
“To think he went on to become an international superstar.” Chris sits, leaning into Joey with the ease of long practice, knees up, shoulder curled, instinctively moving until he’s pressed close and comfortable, watching as Justin mugs for the camera onscreen.
“He’s come a long way.” Joey’s arm is draped over Chris’ shoulder, and he’s tracing the memorised lines of the tattoo, his fingers mapping a trail as Chris smiles.
“We all have.” Chris shifts then, looking up, his hair brushing against Joey’s jaw. “We’re superstars, baby.”
“Some of us, anyway.” Joey grins when Chris protests, expected grumbles he doesn’t mean at all.
“We’re missing something,” Chris says suddenly, his sharp elbow digging into Joey’s side as he pushes himself up, reaching back for a handful of pixy stix. They’re slightly bent and body warm and Joey doesn’t want to think where Chris has been hiding them. But still, this is a tradition they can’t ignore, and he rips off the top of seven stix, ready for the appropriate scene.
They’re running around the airport onscreen, one of many back then and Joey remembers the relentless travelling, the boredom they defeated with stupid games. Memories he treasures as he looks at Chris, tapping their handful of pixy stix together as they wait.
“Ready?” Chris has tipped back his head, and he’s different than he was before, but in so many ways the same.
As one they knock back the pixy stixs, years separating the taste of sugar against Joey’s tongue. He swallows, riding the buzz, but unlike back then he doesn’t run, now he releases his energy in other ways.
Pulling Chris into a kiss, Joey slides his tongue over Chris’ lips, tasting sugar and the artificial tang of grape. His hands against Chris’ side, crumpled packets between them as he flips them over, his thigh between Chris’ legs, deepening the kiss as their younger selves race onscreen.
