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Apr. 15th, 2008 11:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt seems I'll do anything when I have to paint. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
themoononastick who managed to beat me at the guess the fic meme. As everyone did, because I suck.
Her prompt was Jon/Ryan bad clothes. Ficlet is
“You want me to wear this?”
Jon pokes at the tunic that Ryan’s dropped in his lap. Aware of Ryan’s ever watchful gaze he tries not to grimace at the tiny jingling bells attached to the hem, because the rainbow lacing at the front is bad enough, but bells.
“I like it,” Ryan says simply. “We’ll match.”
Which is true, if by matching he means they’ll all look like insane Morris dancers with outfits made from old curtains. In fact, Jon’s sure the last time he’d seen this particular fabric it was hanging at Ryan’s bedroom window.
Jon looks at Ryan, at the tunic. The bells jingle again.
“Spencer’s wearing his,” Ryan says pointedly, his hip cocked as he stares at Jon.
“Spencer’s hardly been the upholder of fashion lately,” Jon points out, and looks away from Ryan, and more specifically the loose lacing of Ryan’s shirt which exposes an expanse of chest and one shadowy nipple. Which isn’t fair at all.
“Brendon thinks the bells are fantastic.”
Jon gives Ryan a look, because even if Ryan can mimic Brendon’s exuberant speech, it just sounds wrong. “I’m not Brendon.”
“I know you’re not,” Ryan says, and before Jon can even blink he’s got a lapful of Ryan. “Does Brendon do this?”
Seconds and Ryan’s hands are in Jon’s hair, his fingers wrapped tight as he tugs, his knees pressing against Jon’s legs and Ryan’s grinding against Jon’s lap, making the bells jingle with each controlled thrust.
“You’ll look good,” Ryan says, the words against Jon’s mouth, and he’s working his hips, his hands, his mouth, tongue pushing against Jon’s, warm heat followed by careful nips against Jon’s bottom lip
All Jon can do is hold on, his heart thundering, his hands against Ryan’s side, fingers curled against his ribs, feeling Ryan breathe. He’s helpless against this full frontal attack, mouth and hair and lap, and Ryan is kissing along Jon’s jaw, down his neck, his timing perfect with each kiss-lick-thrust.
When Ryan pulls with one hand Jon tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“You’ll wear it?” Ryan bites, hard.
Jon stiffens, whimpers, and manages a strangled, yes.
themoononastick who managed to beat me at the guess the fic meme. As everyone did, because I suck.Her prompt was Jon/Ryan bad clothes. Ficlet is
“You want me to wear this?”
Jon pokes at the tunic that Ryan’s dropped in his lap. Aware of Ryan’s ever watchful gaze he tries not to grimace at the tiny jingling bells attached to the hem, because the rainbow lacing at the front is bad enough, but bells.
“I like it,” Ryan says simply. “We’ll match.”
Which is true, if by matching he means they’ll all look like insane Morris dancers with outfits made from old curtains. In fact, Jon’s sure the last time he’d seen this particular fabric it was hanging at Ryan’s bedroom window.
Jon looks at Ryan, at the tunic. The bells jingle again.
“Spencer’s wearing his,” Ryan says pointedly, his hip cocked as he stares at Jon.
“Spencer’s hardly been the upholder of fashion lately,” Jon points out, and looks away from Ryan, and more specifically the loose lacing of Ryan’s shirt which exposes an expanse of chest and one shadowy nipple. Which isn’t fair at all.
“Brendon thinks the bells are fantastic.”
Jon gives Ryan a look, because even if Ryan can mimic Brendon’s exuberant speech, it just sounds wrong. “I’m not Brendon.”
“I know you’re not,” Ryan says, and before Jon can even blink he’s got a lapful of Ryan. “Does Brendon do this?”
Seconds and Ryan’s hands are in Jon’s hair, his fingers wrapped tight as he tugs, his knees pressing against Jon’s legs and Ryan’s grinding against Jon’s lap, making the bells jingle with each controlled thrust.
“You’ll look good,” Ryan says, the words against Jon’s mouth, and he’s working his hips, his hands, his mouth, tongue pushing against Jon’s, warm heat followed by careful nips against Jon’s bottom lip
All Jon can do is hold on, his heart thundering, his hands against Ryan’s side, fingers curled against his ribs, feeling Ryan breathe. He’s helpless against this full frontal attack, mouth and hair and lap, and Ryan is kissing along Jon’s jaw, down his neck, his timing perfect with each kiss-lick-thrust.
When Ryan pulls with one hand Jon tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“You’ll wear it?” Ryan bites, hard.
Jon stiffens, whimpers, and manages a strangled, yes.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-15 02:39 pm (UTC)This bit is awesome [and had me shuddering at the image]:
“I like it,” Ryan says simply. “We’ll match.”
Which is true, if by matching he means they’ll all look like insane Morris dancers with outfits made from old curtains.
Hahahahaha! Poor Jon. The Chicago scene is going to be leaving mocking texts on his phone for *months* after that photoshoot.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-15 03:42 pm (UTC)Hee! Yes, he would be.
I keep imagining Jon in that outfit, and have to stop and laugh for a while. Poor guy, he was so normal before he joined Panic *g*