Happy Trickc day!
Oct. 31st, 2007 11:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt's trickc day today, and that makes me very happy! Already on my quick glance of my flist earlier I saw pic spams, a story and art, and that thrills me so much.
I was aiming for my own story, but events conspired so I only have ficlets, which are behind
Travelling isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Sure, they’ve the best busses available, but that’s little comfort when you’re stuck in a confined space for hours on end. It doesn’t help that JC can’t move without bumping into assorted passengers who saunter on board with bags over their shoulder and glib assurances they’ll be gone soon.
It’s what Eric said five stops ago. Or that friend of Justin’s who stayed for a week. Brad or Bud or cheap-bastard-who-ate-all-the-poptarts, as JC likes to call him.
Of course, JC can’t complain, especially as Tyler has his own bunk. It’s just; the bus is small and JC can’t move without dodging feet or brushing past yet another hanger on.
It’s annoying, and sometimes he’s tempted to channel his inner diva. Yell for everyone to get out already and give him room. He doesn’t of course; just keeps stepping past bodies and easing into any space, all the while dreaming about a bus of his own.
Until the night when months of something end with Chris touching JC’s arm, communicating with touch as he inclines his toward the back of the bus. They slip away and Chris’ hand slides lower, friction and heat and his fingers are a solid band around JC’s wrist, linking them as Chris stops between the bunks. He hesitates then and looks directly at JC, as if unsure if he should go on.
He should, and JC shows that by leaning forward, brushing a kiss across Chris’ mouth, whisper soft, a promise made between them, that makes Chris smile slightly in reply.
Which is when JC realises he doesn’t need his own bus at all.
~*~*~*~
Rolling over, Chris presses his face against his pillow and tries to block out the sound of JC talking on his cell. To be fair, JC’s moved to the far side of the bedroom and he’s trying to keep his voice low, but every so often he breaks out into laughter, which is annoying; especially when Chris can’t hear the other side of the conversation.
Finally, after a round of ‘she said whats?! And ‘he didn’t!’, Chris sighs and flops dramatically on his back, trying to bring JC’s attention back where it belongs, namely, on Chris.
“Oh hey,” JC says. Turning from where he’s looking outside, he waves a hand in Chris’ direction. “Justin called to ask about salad. He’s telling me what Trace got up to last night.”
Which is fine, Chris is always up to hearing what idiotic thing Trace has done this time. Except the bed is big, and empty, and JC is way over there, and it isn’t like they won’t see Justin later anyway. He can tell all the Trace stories he wants, then.
Chris looks at JC, and blinks against the sun, because JC’s outlined in light, like some kind of fiery angel sent down to sear Chris’ retinas for life “Tell him Trace is a tool, and there’ll be plenty of salad.” Sighing again, Chris slaps his palm against his face – which fucking stings – and looks at JC through his fingers. “Come back to bed.”
“I need to go, Chris is being melodramatic.”
The again is strongly implied, and also very true. Which is why Chris brushes off the laughter as JC ends the call. Instead he lies back in bed, arms stretched above his head, knowing he looks fine. Except JC doesn’t even glance his way, instead he’s opening drawers and kicking off his sleep pants before pulling on a pair of hideous capris and a t-shirt that looks like it was designed for Malibu Ken.
“You do realise you’re supposed to be taking clothes off,” Chris points out, feeling disgruntled, because it doesn’t look like sex is on the agenda this morning, and it wasn’t like they did anything last night either.
“I have like, a thousand things to do.”
JC’s voice is muffled from inside the hideous t-shirt, and when he finally squeezes his head through the neck, his face is all scrunched up in what Chris likes to calls, the mouseketeer expression of earnestness.
“The caterers are arriving at ten, and the pool boy is already here. I need to make sure the cleaners scrubbed that stain from the patio and the stylist is due this afternoon. Then there’s the wine, and deserts.” He smiles then, wiggling a little as he eases the t-shirt over his ribs. “I love these intimate get togethers. Just you, me, Joey, Lance and Justin.”
Which, okay, is something Chris agrees with, even if he’s not going to have sex; again. Time with the five of them is always great.
Hours later, and Chris is out talking to his friends.
“Joey, a burger my good man.” Chris holds out his hand, grinning happily when Joey takes a burger from the catering table and hands it back to Chris. It looks fantastic, and Chris takes a bite as he waits for Joey to load up his plate, enough food for Steve and Kelly and maybe his publicist and make up artist too. At least Chris thinks that’s who they are; he didn’t really catch the names in the rush of Fatone’s and friends that invaded the house.
They’re all lounging near the pool now, talking to Justin’s trainer and some woman who’d arrived with Lance. Chris hadn’t even asked her name, it would take a better man than him to keep up with Lance’s posse of hangers on.
“Chris!”
Arms wrap around him from behind, and Chris leans back, tilting back his head so he can see JC. “Hey.”
“I’ve been dancing with a smoking babe, smooth and soft with thighs that grip on and never let go,” JC says, his breath warm against Chris’ ear. “You should come and dance.”
“Later, maybe.” Chris rests his hand on JC’s joined fingers, taking a moment to enjoy the lights strung next to the pool, the sight of people talking and holding plates piled with food. The perfect intimate gathering of five friends. Stretching up a little, he brushes a kiss against the underside of JC’s jaw, disguising it in a turn as he heads into the crowd, intent on finding Trace and discovering what really went on last night.
******
“If you don’t stop that I’ll snap your hand off.”
Deliberately, Chris keeps stroking, ignoring the set of JC’s shoulders, and the way he’s turning the pages of his magazine with a paper crumpling intensity.
“I mean it,” JC warns, stilling, his hand curled over the glossy picture of a model in high heels and a rubber dress. “Stop petting my hair; I’m not a fucking cat.”
“But you are, you’re a kitty. A pretty kitty.” Enjoying the way JC’s whole body seems to stiffen, the way his jawline becomes razor sharp, Chris wraps a curl around his finger, and tugs. “You sleep in the sun and purr when I touch you.”
“I do not purr.” Suddenly, lightening fast, JC springs up and around, using body weight to pin Chris to the sofa. “I’m not a kitty.”
Trapped, hands digging into his shoulders, Chris stares up at JC, never flinching from the ferocious glare he receives in return. “You’re a pretty kitty, all silky soft and cuddly.”
“You need to shut up; now.”
Which Chris isn’t about to do, especially when baiting JC’s so much fun. Except JC is moving closer, his eyes narrowing and Chris is feeling deliciously trapped, his heart thumping as JC kisses him. A kiss based on annoyance, deep and consuming and Chris shifts under the heavy push of JC’s body, taking that anger until it turns into something sweeter, slower paced, and JC’s nipping at Chris’ bottom lip, before licking away the sting.
“I’m a man, not a cat,” JC says, his words pitched low, warm against Chris’ skin.
“I don’t know.” Freeing his hand, Chris strokes down JC’s back, running his fingers over the knobbles of his spine. “In bed you’re a tiger.”
Which is corny and lame, but as JC pointedly picks up his magazine and begins to read, the pages do nothing to hide his smile
~*~*~*~
“Come on, Josh,” Chris yells. They’re already running late, and internationally famous or not, he knows planes will still take off without them. About to yell again, Chris jumps when something hits him on his head before bouncing off his shoulder to land on the floor. Looking down he kicks at a yellow sock, a dirty one if the crispy look is any indication.
“The fuck?” Chris looks up in time to see another sock fluttering down, and JC hanging over the banister, scowling as he brandishes a pair of heart covered boxers.
“Are you my mother?” JC asks. He points at Chris, the boxers fluttering like a flag between his clenched fingers.
“Unless your family has some weird sexual incest thing going, that’s a no,” Chris shrugs, and kicks the second sock next to the first.
“That’s just. No. I’m not Justin, man.” JC screws up his face, and Chris takes a quick step back, sure the boxers are about to come fluttering down, which would be bad, he knows what they mopped up last night.
Chris moves toward the foot of the stairs when it seems JC’s not throwing anything, but still, he keeps a sharp eye on JC’s arm, he can be wily when provoked.
“Is there a reason you’re questioning my gender and status in your life?” Chris asks. “Because if you’re hinting I’m developing man boobs, you could have picked a better example than your mom. You’ve given me issues; I may never go down on you again.”
“I think you’re the one with issues, Christopher, and never mention my mom and going down on me in the same sentence again.”
Chris sighs as he looks up the stairs. “It wasn’t the same sentence, but if it stops this traumatising conversation right now, I’m sorry for calling you, Josh, JC.”
“Good.” Finally, JC lets the boxers drop, thankfully on his side of the railing, and moves to the top of the stairs. “Because it’s not my name. Well, it is if you’re my mom, or dad, or sister…”
Chris interrupts, knowing this speech by heart. “Or your grandma’s dog that lives in deepest Timbuktu.”
“They never lived in Timbuktu, and even if they did, dogs can’t talk, so.” JC waves his hand, in what has to be kind of none dog talking way. “Whatever. You’re making us late. We should have left ten minutes ago.”
“We should have,” Chris agrees, and he looks at JC before picking up his bags, giving the socks one last kick before he walks out the door.
~*~*~*~
Keeping to a schedule is one long nightmare. They all have assistants that herd them from A to B and in theory they get time off each day. In practice that time off is spent in transit, or over five minutes where they grab food and snatch conversations that are nothing to do with promotion or concerts or taking things to the next level.
It makes having a relation problematic, and while JC could tell you a thousand facts about Chris -- he likes pugs, his favourite colour is silver, he eats at Taco Bell and rides motorbikes for fun – it’s beginning to feel like he’s dating someone captured on a page.
It’s like having everything and nothing at all. They spend time together, but are surrounded by people who watch their every move. It’s frustrating when Chris is right there, but all JC can do is be his friend.
Sometimes he thinks about running. Taking Chris away from meetings and blocks of time, so he’s able to reacquaint himself with the man he met so long before.
He doesn’t. Instead he takes when he can get, the stolen glances and hasty touches, along with the unsettling feeling that the man he loves is based on a media created character, someone who isn’t the real Chris at all.
~*~*~*~
Chris is sure JC’s going crazy. Rampaging toward a full on mental break complete with straight jacket and restraints. Though he probably has those anyway, not that Chris is about to check, he hasn’t looked in JC’s toy chest since the pulsating pussy incident of 2003.
While it’s amusing to see JC tear at his own hair, Chris is a little worried too. Just a touch, like, a minute amount, because he’s sure JC’s imminent journey to the nut house is his fault somehow. At least the crazy behaviour seemed to increase when Chris is around.
Especially worrying are the silences, and the way JC stares at Chris, as if JC expects him to read his mind. Which is scary; because Chris knows JC’s mind is a mix between utter brilliance and the kind of thoughts that would make normal men blanch.
It’s one of the things Chris likes best about him. Not that he tells JC that. Instead they talk about the important things. Like TV and music and beer. It’s just what they do.
“Chris.”
Relieved that JC’s actually speaking this time, Chris schools his expression into one of understanding and patience. Not that JC seems to get the significance. In fact, he’s staring at Chris again, which is creepy and annoying.
“What?” Chris snaps, edging not so discretely away when JC growls in response.
“You’re annoying and stupid and I hate you.” Scowling, JC pulls Chris into a hug, arms tight for only a moment before he’s stalking away.
Which is unexpected, but Chris is wise in the ways of deciphering JC speak, and before JC can leave the room, Chris says, “I love you too.”
I was aiming for my own story, but events conspired so I only have ficlets, which are behind
Travelling isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Sure, they’ve the best busses available, but that’s little comfort when you’re stuck in a confined space for hours on end. It doesn’t help that JC can’t move without bumping into assorted passengers who saunter on board with bags over their shoulder and glib assurances they’ll be gone soon.
It’s what Eric said five stops ago. Or that friend of Justin’s who stayed for a week. Brad or Bud or cheap-bastard-who-ate-all-the-poptarts, as JC likes to call him.
Of course, JC can’t complain, especially as Tyler has his own bunk. It’s just; the bus is small and JC can’t move without dodging feet or brushing past yet another hanger on.
It’s annoying, and sometimes he’s tempted to channel his inner diva. Yell for everyone to get out already and give him room. He doesn’t of course; just keeps stepping past bodies and easing into any space, all the while dreaming about a bus of his own.
Until the night when months of something end with Chris touching JC’s arm, communicating with touch as he inclines his toward the back of the bus. They slip away and Chris’ hand slides lower, friction and heat and his fingers are a solid band around JC’s wrist, linking them as Chris stops between the bunks. He hesitates then and looks directly at JC, as if unsure if he should go on.
He should, and JC shows that by leaning forward, brushing a kiss across Chris’ mouth, whisper soft, a promise made between them, that makes Chris smile slightly in reply.
Which is when JC realises he doesn’t need his own bus at all.
~*~*~*~
Rolling over, Chris presses his face against his pillow and tries to block out the sound of JC talking on his cell. To be fair, JC’s moved to the far side of the bedroom and he’s trying to keep his voice low, but every so often he breaks out into laughter, which is annoying; especially when Chris can’t hear the other side of the conversation.
Finally, after a round of ‘she said whats?! And ‘he didn’t!’, Chris sighs and flops dramatically on his back, trying to bring JC’s attention back where it belongs, namely, on Chris.
“Oh hey,” JC says. Turning from where he’s looking outside, he waves a hand in Chris’ direction. “Justin called to ask about salad. He’s telling me what Trace got up to last night.”
Which is fine, Chris is always up to hearing what idiotic thing Trace has done this time. Except the bed is big, and empty, and JC is way over there, and it isn’t like they won’t see Justin later anyway. He can tell all the Trace stories he wants, then.
Chris looks at JC, and blinks against the sun, because JC’s outlined in light, like some kind of fiery angel sent down to sear Chris’ retinas for life “Tell him Trace is a tool, and there’ll be plenty of salad.” Sighing again, Chris slaps his palm against his face – which fucking stings – and looks at JC through his fingers. “Come back to bed.”
“I need to go, Chris is being melodramatic.”
The again is strongly implied, and also very true. Which is why Chris brushes off the laughter as JC ends the call. Instead he lies back in bed, arms stretched above his head, knowing he looks fine. Except JC doesn’t even glance his way, instead he’s opening drawers and kicking off his sleep pants before pulling on a pair of hideous capris and a t-shirt that looks like it was designed for Malibu Ken.
“You do realise you’re supposed to be taking clothes off,” Chris points out, feeling disgruntled, because it doesn’t look like sex is on the agenda this morning, and it wasn’t like they did anything last night either.
“I have like, a thousand things to do.”
JC’s voice is muffled from inside the hideous t-shirt, and when he finally squeezes his head through the neck, his face is all scrunched up in what Chris likes to calls, the mouseketeer expression of earnestness.
“The caterers are arriving at ten, and the pool boy is already here. I need to make sure the cleaners scrubbed that stain from the patio and the stylist is due this afternoon. Then there’s the wine, and deserts.” He smiles then, wiggling a little as he eases the t-shirt over his ribs. “I love these intimate get togethers. Just you, me, Joey, Lance and Justin.”
Which, okay, is something Chris agrees with, even if he’s not going to have sex; again. Time with the five of them is always great.
Hours later, and Chris is out talking to his friends.
“Joey, a burger my good man.” Chris holds out his hand, grinning happily when Joey takes a burger from the catering table and hands it back to Chris. It looks fantastic, and Chris takes a bite as he waits for Joey to load up his plate, enough food for Steve and Kelly and maybe his publicist and make up artist too. At least Chris thinks that’s who they are; he didn’t really catch the names in the rush of Fatone’s and friends that invaded the house.
They’re all lounging near the pool now, talking to Justin’s trainer and some woman who’d arrived with Lance. Chris hadn’t even asked her name, it would take a better man than him to keep up with Lance’s posse of hangers on.
“Chris!”
Arms wrap around him from behind, and Chris leans back, tilting back his head so he can see JC. “Hey.”
“I’ve been dancing with a smoking babe, smooth and soft with thighs that grip on and never let go,” JC says, his breath warm against Chris’ ear. “You should come and dance.”
“Later, maybe.” Chris rests his hand on JC’s joined fingers, taking a moment to enjoy the lights strung next to the pool, the sight of people talking and holding plates piled with food. The perfect intimate gathering of five friends. Stretching up a little, he brushes a kiss against the underside of JC’s jaw, disguising it in a turn as he heads into the crowd, intent on finding Trace and discovering what really went on last night.
******
“If you don’t stop that I’ll snap your hand off.”
Deliberately, Chris keeps stroking, ignoring the set of JC’s shoulders, and the way he’s turning the pages of his magazine with a paper crumpling intensity.
“I mean it,” JC warns, stilling, his hand curled over the glossy picture of a model in high heels and a rubber dress. “Stop petting my hair; I’m not a fucking cat.”
“But you are, you’re a kitty. A pretty kitty.” Enjoying the way JC’s whole body seems to stiffen, the way his jawline becomes razor sharp, Chris wraps a curl around his finger, and tugs. “You sleep in the sun and purr when I touch you.”
“I do not purr.” Suddenly, lightening fast, JC springs up and around, using body weight to pin Chris to the sofa. “I’m not a kitty.”
Trapped, hands digging into his shoulders, Chris stares up at JC, never flinching from the ferocious glare he receives in return. “You’re a pretty kitty, all silky soft and cuddly.”
“You need to shut up; now.”
Which Chris isn’t about to do, especially when baiting JC’s so much fun. Except JC is moving closer, his eyes narrowing and Chris is feeling deliciously trapped, his heart thumping as JC kisses him. A kiss based on annoyance, deep and consuming and Chris shifts under the heavy push of JC’s body, taking that anger until it turns into something sweeter, slower paced, and JC’s nipping at Chris’ bottom lip, before licking away the sting.
“I’m a man, not a cat,” JC says, his words pitched low, warm against Chris’ skin.
“I don’t know.” Freeing his hand, Chris strokes down JC’s back, running his fingers over the knobbles of his spine. “In bed you’re a tiger.”
Which is corny and lame, but as JC pointedly picks up his magazine and begins to read, the pages do nothing to hide his smile
~*~*~*~
“Come on, Josh,” Chris yells. They’re already running late, and internationally famous or not, he knows planes will still take off without them. About to yell again, Chris jumps when something hits him on his head before bouncing off his shoulder to land on the floor. Looking down he kicks at a yellow sock, a dirty one if the crispy look is any indication.
“The fuck?” Chris looks up in time to see another sock fluttering down, and JC hanging over the banister, scowling as he brandishes a pair of heart covered boxers.
“Are you my mother?” JC asks. He points at Chris, the boxers fluttering like a flag between his clenched fingers.
“Unless your family has some weird sexual incest thing going, that’s a no,” Chris shrugs, and kicks the second sock next to the first.
“That’s just. No. I’m not Justin, man.” JC screws up his face, and Chris takes a quick step back, sure the boxers are about to come fluttering down, which would be bad, he knows what they mopped up last night.
Chris moves toward the foot of the stairs when it seems JC’s not throwing anything, but still, he keeps a sharp eye on JC’s arm, he can be wily when provoked.
“Is there a reason you’re questioning my gender and status in your life?” Chris asks. “Because if you’re hinting I’m developing man boobs, you could have picked a better example than your mom. You’ve given me issues; I may never go down on you again.”
“I think you’re the one with issues, Christopher, and never mention my mom and going down on me in the same sentence again.”
Chris sighs as he looks up the stairs. “It wasn’t the same sentence, but if it stops this traumatising conversation right now, I’m sorry for calling you, Josh, JC.”
“Good.” Finally, JC lets the boxers drop, thankfully on his side of the railing, and moves to the top of the stairs. “Because it’s not my name. Well, it is if you’re my mom, or dad, or sister…”
Chris interrupts, knowing this speech by heart. “Or your grandma’s dog that lives in deepest Timbuktu.”
“They never lived in Timbuktu, and even if they did, dogs can’t talk, so.” JC waves his hand, in what has to be kind of none dog talking way. “Whatever. You’re making us late. We should have left ten minutes ago.”
“We should have,” Chris agrees, and he looks at JC before picking up his bags, giving the socks one last kick before he walks out the door.
~*~*~*~
Keeping to a schedule is one long nightmare. They all have assistants that herd them from A to B and in theory they get time off each day. In practice that time off is spent in transit, or over five minutes where they grab food and snatch conversations that are nothing to do with promotion or concerts or taking things to the next level.
It makes having a relation problematic, and while JC could tell you a thousand facts about Chris -- he likes pugs, his favourite colour is silver, he eats at Taco Bell and rides motorbikes for fun – it’s beginning to feel like he’s dating someone captured on a page.
It’s like having everything and nothing at all. They spend time together, but are surrounded by people who watch their every move. It’s frustrating when Chris is right there, but all JC can do is be his friend.
Sometimes he thinks about running. Taking Chris away from meetings and blocks of time, so he’s able to reacquaint himself with the man he met so long before.
He doesn’t. Instead he takes when he can get, the stolen glances and hasty touches, along with the unsettling feeling that the man he loves is based on a media created character, someone who isn’t the real Chris at all.
~*~*~*~
Chris is sure JC’s going crazy. Rampaging toward a full on mental break complete with straight jacket and restraints. Though he probably has those anyway, not that Chris is about to check, he hasn’t looked in JC’s toy chest since the pulsating pussy incident of 2003.
While it’s amusing to see JC tear at his own hair, Chris is a little worried too. Just a touch, like, a minute amount, because he’s sure JC’s imminent journey to the nut house is his fault somehow. At least the crazy behaviour seemed to increase when Chris is around.
Especially worrying are the silences, and the way JC stares at Chris, as if JC expects him to read his mind. Which is scary; because Chris knows JC’s mind is a mix between utter brilliance and the kind of thoughts that would make normal men blanch.
It’s one of the things Chris likes best about him. Not that he tells JC that. Instead they talk about the important things. Like TV and music and beer. It’s just what they do.
“Chris.”
Relieved that JC’s actually speaking this time, Chris schools his expression into one of understanding and patience. Not that JC seems to get the significance. In fact, he’s staring at Chris again, which is creepy and annoying.
“What?” Chris snaps, edging not so discretely away when JC growls in response.
“You’re annoying and stupid and I hate you.” Scowling, JC pulls Chris into a hug, arms tight for only a moment before he’s stalking away.
Which is unexpected, but Chris is wise in the ways of deciphering JC speak, and before JC can leave the room, Chris says, “I love you too.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-10-31 01:22 pm (UTC)That made me think that, you know, a few paragraphs or something and I'd be done... I was WRONG! Yay!
I love these
boysmen. So silly and amusing and sensitive and egotistical and tense and relaxed and just. *sighs* I will return with a more detailed review, but this:“But you are, you’re a kitty. A pretty kitty.” Enjoying the way JC’s whole body seems to stiffen, the way his jawline becomes razor sharp, Chris wraps a curl around his finger, and tugs. “You sleep in the sun and purr when I touch you.”
This made me giggle and coo and say "d'aaaw!" aloud.
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Date: 2007-10-31 01:43 pm (UTC)Chris loves his JC, and vice versa. I'm very glad you love them too. *mwah*
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Date: 2007-10-31 01:29 pm (UTC)These are all so wonderful!! I love all of them. But the kitty one and the bed one stand out as particularly awesome. So much love for these :)
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Date: 2007-10-31 01:42 pm (UTC)I didn't have the concentration to tackle another full story so soon, so ficlets had to do. So I'm very glad you enjoyed.
I think the kitty one is my favourite one too, probably for different reasons that many others *g*
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Date: 2007-10-31 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:08 pm (UTC)Agressive!JC is awesome!
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Date: 2007-10-31 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:36 pm (UTC)That makes me happy!
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Date: 2007-10-31 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:36 pm (UTC)It's a day that makes me very happy :)
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Date: 2007-10-31 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:32 pm (UTC)Anyway, Happy TrickC Day.
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Date: 2007-10-31 02:47 pm (UTC)I have to admit, it was the discussion of Lance's book that prompted some of these. Thinking of how the way we see the group has changed. Which yeah, means canon will always continue, and I love that.
I'll be interested to see if the SeSa stories change any this year. I suspect mine will.
Happy Trickc day to you too, Donna.
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Date: 2007-10-31 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 04:07 pm (UTC)Happy Trickc day to you too!
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Date: 2007-10-31 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 03:03 pm (UTC)The keeping to a schedule one is my favourite. I may have to keep it in mind to flesh out one day.
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Date: 2007-10-31 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 10:34 pm (UTC)Also,
the mouseketeer expression of earnestness
!!! ♥
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Date: 2007-11-01 11:44 am (UTC)What I'm looking forward to is seeing if the trends change for SeSa.
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Date: 2007-10-31 11:42 pm (UTC)Though he probably has those anyway, not that Chris is about to check, he hasn’t looked in JC’s toy chest since the pulsating pussy incident of 2003.
*giggles and giggles and giggles*
Happy TrickC day!!!!
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Date: 2007-11-01 11:42 am (UTC)Happy day after trickc day to you too!
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Date: 2007-11-01 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 11:41 am (UTC)I had a lovely day :)
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Date: 2007-11-01 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 09:19 am (UTC)Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed :)
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Date: 2007-11-01 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 01:15 am (UTC)And I have another request I just read a short (Bassez)story about hockey, it was great! You should write more about this universe, maybe with a TickyC twist ;)
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Date: 2007-11-03 10:51 am (UTC)Was that my Hockey!AU ficlet over at fic_requests? If so, I'd love to write more in that universe. I love hockey so much, and trickc of course *g*
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Date: 2007-11-03 09:30 pm (UTC)Talking about great stories from you, I read yesterday one JuC in the SeSa page, from 2004 I think, for Beth. It was about a tribe Justin wanted to be part of and JC was the lider. I'm so intrigued with this universe, have you write something more about it?
Promise to read the ficlets even without Boxes.
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Date: 2007-11-04 10:46 am (UTC)Oh, Living the Life That You Dreamed. I really like that story. Sadly I haven't written anything else for that. Which is a shame, because it could easily be expanded.
Thanks for the interest. You're good for my ego *g*
Now the Ficlets
Date: 2007-11-03 11:41 pm (UTC)Re: Now the Ficlets
Date: 2007-11-04 10:44 am (UTC)I like doing ficlets, it gives you a chance to explore new ideas. I'm glad you enjoyed them.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-04 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-04 10:43 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed :)