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Popslash: Fear Based Responses. Joey
This is my reworked Joey story. Hope it reads better now.
I want to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bachelor_girl and patchworkdragon for beta reading this. This story had problems when they saw it, and they fixed them. Then I went and changed things again, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
You both did a great job and I award you the sparkly dancing boy of your choice for one night. Just don't damage him ;)
This is pretty angsty and Joey centered. Also I don't know if I have to warn for OMC but there's mention of Chris/OMC.
With that, onto the story.
~*~*~*~
Hands pushed deep into his pockets, Joey lounged against the wall, baseball cap pulled down low, casting his face in shadows. He was cold, tired, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, shower and climb into his narrow bed with its starched sheets and lumpy pillow. But he didn't.
Despite the late hour, despite his numb feet, trembling hands and freezing body he'd stay. It was his ordeal, his self-inflicted punishment for being unable to break through the conditioning of his own mind. Joey was torn, wanting something so much that it hurt. But on the other hand he was so confused about that he spent hours second guessing his own desires.
When Chris had announced his date at breakfast a week before Joey had automatically joined in the good-natured catcalls after discreetly spitting his toast into a napkin when it turned into sawdust in his mouth. Justin demanded details, and why they hadn't heard of the guy before, and all Joey wanted to do was tell him to shut up, he didn't want to know. But Justin didn't shut up and Joey couldn't help seeing how Chris's eyes lit up as he talked, despite the off-hand nature of his remarks. He looked happy and Joey had been glad for him. He still was. Somewhere. Deep inside. In the part of him that wasn't screaming that Chris was his and life wasn't fair. Joey wanted Chris; it should have been simple, but wasn’t. He’d been unable to take that last step, to approach another man, someone he loved like a brother. Now someone else had taken that chance, someone who made Chris happy.
Over the next week Joey spent hours lying awake on his bed; heavy-eyed as sleep eluded him, chased away by the whirling of his mind. Night after night he ended knotted in a mess of blankets, feeling suffocated and isolated despite the sleeping figure on the next bed. And it was worse on the nights he was alone, when Chris was on a date and the empty bed seemed to mock him until he wanted to kick and scream, anything to release the pressure that was building up inside.
JC had approached Joey after he'd refused a second night of clubbing. Had asked if everything was okay, did he need something, a drink, a chat, a hug? Joey refused every offer, promised JC he was fine, that he was homesick and tired, that's all. Joey doubted JC was fooled, but the lies had been tolerated and JC had left to investigate the ominous crash from Justin's room, leaving Joey alone.
It was that night that he'd followed Chris the first time. Joey had been pacing the room; unsettled by JC's questions, practically vibrating as pure want and need slowly consumed him. The playstation was abandoned on the floor, a garish game paused in mid-move, CD cases littered the bed, and a magazine lay open to a picture of a big-breasted blonde woman. None of it interested him, how could it when Joey's skin burned? A line of fire from shoulder to shoulder where Chris had hugged him as he walked out the door. Joey had smiled, so fake and brittle that it hurt. And he’d even laughed on cue as Chris sang about getting laid as he ran down the corridor towards his waiting date.
Joey knew he should have been happy for his friend, but could only grit his teeth as Chris was gathered into a quick hug then maneuvered into the empty elevator. It was only when the doors fully closed that Joey felt the sting in his palms, and looked down to see four crescent-shaped cuts that welled with blood as he unclenched his fists. Absently he licked at the droplets, hissing at the pain as he kicked his room door shut, suddenly furious when he saw Chris's bed and nearby floor littered with abandoned clothes and toiletries.
Everything Chris did lately had Joey on edge and walking that edge was driving him crazy. Love and hate were so entwined that he couldn't tell one from another, not when every touch burned and the sound of Chris's voice felt like nails screeching against his soul. Just being around Chris hurt, yet Joey couldn't keep away. Volunteering to room with him, actively seeking his company despite having a headache within minutes.
Joey would laugh when Chris jumped on his back and they'd race round the room chasing whichever unfortunate victim was within reach. The feel of Chris's legs clamped round his side and his hands tight against his chest soothed Joey, but as soon as Chris jumped off, laughing manically Joey would stagger to the bathroom, hiding in a stall until his nerves stopped twitching and he could walk without embarrassing himself.
Clothes snatched angrily from the floor, Joey threw them onto the chair Chris used as a makeshift closet. A lurid yellow t-shirt caught his attention tucked half under a pillow and Joey grabbed it, starting to throw it onto the pile to join the others. Arm raised he hesitated as the fabric brushed across his wrist, standing stock still as the residual smell of Chris was released. The urge to bring the t-shirt to his face was over powering, and Joey fought for only a few seconds before stumbling back onto his bed, face pressed against the yellow material. It was no use lying to himself; he wanted Chris so badly it hurt.
Anger replaced by defeat Joey sank back on the bed. He prayed that the door would open and Chris would walk in the room saying it was all a big mistake and that it was Joey he wanted all along. But why should he? Joey had never admitted that he wanted more. Had never even hinted at it. He bought magazines with pictures of blondes, all big breasted and pouty mouthed. Not men with pale skin and dark eyes that looked right through you. He pointed out women, not men, as they crammed in a booth in smoky nightclubs and danced with women in slinky silk dresses, not men with tight leather pants and mesh shirts. Joey had never once hinted he'd wanted more than friendship with a man, so how was Chris supposed to know? It was Joey's secret, and one that was destroying him as he fought to deny its existence.
The sting of his hands brought Joey back to the present and he groaned in despair. The image of Chris wrapped in the arms of his date filled his mind, every detail vivid. It was too much, and with a curse Joey jumped to his feet, emptying his bag onto the floor until he found his cap and coat. His actions were madness, he knew that, but was helpless to stop himself as he ran from the room and down the stairs. Skidding to a halt in the lobby doorway, he zipped his coat tight against the pouring rain before heading in the direction of the club Chris was going to.
Within seconds he’d been drenched, but nothing mattered except getting to the club and watching for Chris. The need to see him had been painful in its intensity and Joey stood in an alley opposite for hours. His reward? Skinned knuckles when he lashed out at the wall as Chris was kissed passionately by his date when they eventually emerged, hands tightly entwined.
That had been the first time he'd followed him, but not the last, and now, days later Joey could navigate the journey from the hotel to the club blindfolded. He knew he was little more than a stalker, and should have been horrified at his actions. But he wasn't. An uncontrollable fire burned inside him, and as long as he could be angry with Chris he didn't have to analyze his own emotions. Why he couldn’t publicly admit his feeling and why a casual touch could leave him confused and afraid. Chris belonged to another man -- so Joey couldn’t even have him if he wanted to -- and as long as Joey could see that he was okay. Wasn't he?
It was a question Joey couldn't answer, so he huddled further into his coat as yet again it started raining and slick streets turned red then green with the reflection of the harsh neon lights. The glare tinged his skin sickly colors and he closed his eyes for a second against the assault, forcing them open again as the sound of laughter echoed in the air. Chris's laughter. Joey could recognize it anywhere and he pressed back into the shadows as Chris and his date -- Peter -- burst from the club, all noise and tangled groping limbs. They stood outside, uncaring of the rain that sheeted down, as Chris tipped back his head, hair falling back in rats tails as Peter bent down, kissing hard and long as he pushed his hands under Chris' wet shirt. Joey bit back a moan at the sliver of skin that was exposed, feeling his knees go weak as the two men suddenly broke apart, laughing again as they sprinted for Peter's car.
His lip sore where he'd bitten into it, Joey licked at the broken skin as he watched the car drive from sight. When the street was empty once more he heaved himself upright. It was a long walk to the hotel and water ran down his face as Joey slowly walked back. His feet were wet, shoes and socks soaked, squelching with each step. His shirt clung to him, fabric clammy and cold, and Joey shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in a parody of a hug. Approaching the hotel, he longed for the privacy of his room, a hot shower and to try and delete the memory of Chris with his date. As wishes went it was a small one, but one he had no chance of obtaining.
Joey had struggled for too long now. Chris was everything to him. He was love, he was hate. He was desire, he was pain. He was everything that Joey had ever wanted and everything that he'd ever feared. He wanted to pull him close and never let go but also push him away. He was his band-mate, his friend, the center of Joey's universe and he was causing it to spin out of control.
Joey loved him, needed him, desired him, but couldn't take that last step, despite how desperately he wanted to. Joey had to be straight and Chris was off limits. He would take what he could get, and if that was watching from afar that was fine. He'd watch and yearn and maybe one day he'd wake without Chris's name on his lips. Until then all he could be was Chris’ friend, nothing more, nothing less.
I want to thank
bachelor_girl and patchworkdragon for beta reading this. This story had problems when they saw it, and they fixed them. Then I went and changed things again, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.You both did a great job and I award you the sparkly dancing boy of your choice for one night. Just don't damage him ;)
This is pretty angsty and Joey centered. Also I don't know if I have to warn for OMC but there's mention of Chris/OMC.
With that, onto the story.
~*~*~*~
Hands pushed deep into his pockets, Joey lounged against the wall, baseball cap pulled down low, casting his face in shadows. He was cold, tired, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, shower and climb into his narrow bed with its starched sheets and lumpy pillow. But he didn't.
Despite the late hour, despite his numb feet, trembling hands and freezing body he'd stay. It was his ordeal, his self-inflicted punishment for being unable to break through the conditioning of his own mind. Joey was torn, wanting something so much that it hurt. But on the other hand he was so confused about that he spent hours second guessing his own desires.
When Chris had announced his date at breakfast a week before Joey had automatically joined in the good-natured catcalls after discreetly spitting his toast into a napkin when it turned into sawdust in his mouth. Justin demanded details, and why they hadn't heard of the guy before, and all Joey wanted to do was tell him to shut up, he didn't want to know. But Justin didn't shut up and Joey couldn't help seeing how Chris's eyes lit up as he talked, despite the off-hand nature of his remarks. He looked happy and Joey had been glad for him. He still was. Somewhere. Deep inside. In the part of him that wasn't screaming that Chris was his and life wasn't fair. Joey wanted Chris; it should have been simple, but wasn’t. He’d been unable to take that last step, to approach another man, someone he loved like a brother. Now someone else had taken that chance, someone who made Chris happy.
Over the next week Joey spent hours lying awake on his bed; heavy-eyed as sleep eluded him, chased away by the whirling of his mind. Night after night he ended knotted in a mess of blankets, feeling suffocated and isolated despite the sleeping figure on the next bed. And it was worse on the nights he was alone, when Chris was on a date and the empty bed seemed to mock him until he wanted to kick and scream, anything to release the pressure that was building up inside.
JC had approached Joey after he'd refused a second night of clubbing. Had asked if everything was okay, did he need something, a drink, a chat, a hug? Joey refused every offer, promised JC he was fine, that he was homesick and tired, that's all. Joey doubted JC was fooled, but the lies had been tolerated and JC had left to investigate the ominous crash from Justin's room, leaving Joey alone.
It was that night that he'd followed Chris the first time. Joey had been pacing the room; unsettled by JC's questions, practically vibrating as pure want and need slowly consumed him. The playstation was abandoned on the floor, a garish game paused in mid-move, CD cases littered the bed, and a magazine lay open to a picture of a big-breasted blonde woman. None of it interested him, how could it when Joey's skin burned? A line of fire from shoulder to shoulder where Chris had hugged him as he walked out the door. Joey had smiled, so fake and brittle that it hurt. And he’d even laughed on cue as Chris sang about getting laid as he ran down the corridor towards his waiting date.
Joey knew he should have been happy for his friend, but could only grit his teeth as Chris was gathered into a quick hug then maneuvered into the empty elevator. It was only when the doors fully closed that Joey felt the sting in his palms, and looked down to see four crescent-shaped cuts that welled with blood as he unclenched his fists. Absently he licked at the droplets, hissing at the pain as he kicked his room door shut, suddenly furious when he saw Chris's bed and nearby floor littered with abandoned clothes and toiletries.
Everything Chris did lately had Joey on edge and walking that edge was driving him crazy. Love and hate were so entwined that he couldn't tell one from another, not when every touch burned and the sound of Chris's voice felt like nails screeching against his soul. Just being around Chris hurt, yet Joey couldn't keep away. Volunteering to room with him, actively seeking his company despite having a headache within minutes.
Joey would laugh when Chris jumped on his back and they'd race round the room chasing whichever unfortunate victim was within reach. The feel of Chris's legs clamped round his side and his hands tight against his chest soothed Joey, but as soon as Chris jumped off, laughing manically Joey would stagger to the bathroom, hiding in a stall until his nerves stopped twitching and he could walk without embarrassing himself.
Clothes snatched angrily from the floor, Joey threw them onto the chair Chris used as a makeshift closet. A lurid yellow t-shirt caught his attention tucked half under a pillow and Joey grabbed it, starting to throw it onto the pile to join the others. Arm raised he hesitated as the fabric brushed across his wrist, standing stock still as the residual smell of Chris was released. The urge to bring the t-shirt to his face was over powering, and Joey fought for only a few seconds before stumbling back onto his bed, face pressed against the yellow material. It was no use lying to himself; he wanted Chris so badly it hurt.
Anger replaced by defeat Joey sank back on the bed. He prayed that the door would open and Chris would walk in the room saying it was all a big mistake and that it was Joey he wanted all along. But why should he? Joey had never admitted that he wanted more. Had never even hinted at it. He bought magazines with pictures of blondes, all big breasted and pouty mouthed. Not men with pale skin and dark eyes that looked right through you. He pointed out women, not men, as they crammed in a booth in smoky nightclubs and danced with women in slinky silk dresses, not men with tight leather pants and mesh shirts. Joey had never once hinted he'd wanted more than friendship with a man, so how was Chris supposed to know? It was Joey's secret, and one that was destroying him as he fought to deny its existence.
The sting of his hands brought Joey back to the present and he groaned in despair. The image of Chris wrapped in the arms of his date filled his mind, every detail vivid. It was too much, and with a curse Joey jumped to his feet, emptying his bag onto the floor until he found his cap and coat. His actions were madness, he knew that, but was helpless to stop himself as he ran from the room and down the stairs. Skidding to a halt in the lobby doorway, he zipped his coat tight against the pouring rain before heading in the direction of the club Chris was going to.
Within seconds he’d been drenched, but nothing mattered except getting to the club and watching for Chris. The need to see him had been painful in its intensity and Joey stood in an alley opposite for hours. His reward? Skinned knuckles when he lashed out at the wall as Chris was kissed passionately by his date when they eventually emerged, hands tightly entwined.
That had been the first time he'd followed him, but not the last, and now, days later Joey could navigate the journey from the hotel to the club blindfolded. He knew he was little more than a stalker, and should have been horrified at his actions. But he wasn't. An uncontrollable fire burned inside him, and as long as he could be angry with Chris he didn't have to analyze his own emotions. Why he couldn’t publicly admit his feeling and why a casual touch could leave him confused and afraid. Chris belonged to another man -- so Joey couldn’t even have him if he wanted to -- and as long as Joey could see that he was okay. Wasn't he?
It was a question Joey couldn't answer, so he huddled further into his coat as yet again it started raining and slick streets turned red then green with the reflection of the harsh neon lights. The glare tinged his skin sickly colors and he closed his eyes for a second against the assault, forcing them open again as the sound of laughter echoed in the air. Chris's laughter. Joey could recognize it anywhere and he pressed back into the shadows as Chris and his date -- Peter -- burst from the club, all noise and tangled groping limbs. They stood outside, uncaring of the rain that sheeted down, as Chris tipped back his head, hair falling back in rats tails as Peter bent down, kissing hard and long as he pushed his hands under Chris' wet shirt. Joey bit back a moan at the sliver of skin that was exposed, feeling his knees go weak as the two men suddenly broke apart, laughing again as they sprinted for Peter's car.
His lip sore where he'd bitten into it, Joey licked at the broken skin as he watched the car drive from sight. When the street was empty once more he heaved himself upright. It was a long walk to the hotel and water ran down his face as Joey slowly walked back. His feet were wet, shoes and socks soaked, squelching with each step. His shirt clung to him, fabric clammy and cold, and Joey shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in a parody of a hug. Approaching the hotel, he longed for the privacy of his room, a hot shower and to try and delete the memory of Chris with his date. As wishes went it was a small one, but one he had no chance of obtaining.
Joey had struggled for too long now. Chris was everything to him. He was love, he was hate. He was desire, he was pain. He was everything that Joey had ever wanted and everything that he'd ever feared. He wanted to pull him close and never let go but also push him away. He was his band-mate, his friend, the center of Joey's universe and he was causing it to spin out of control.
Joey loved him, needed him, desired him, but couldn't take that last step, despite how desperately he wanted to. Joey had to be straight and Chris was off limits. He would take what he could get, and if that was watching from afar that was fine. He'd watch and yearn and maybe one day he'd wake without Chris's name on his lips. Until then all he could be was Chris’ friend, nothing more, nothing less.