Alphabet meme ficlets 1/2

[turps]

The first of the alphabet meme ficlets, pulled together in one place, though too long for one LJ post it seems.

There's popslash, bandom, crossovers of the two. Ficlets from the Tints of Rainbow Hue, When Day is Night Alone, the popslash crackfic story and Sound Tracking 'verses. Many pairings, many ficlets, some much better than others.

Thanks to everyone that left prompts, I had fun.



A is for Awkward: JC/Mikey Fuckin' Way musicboxgirl

JC doesn't spend much time in toy stores, but he does like to buy his own gifts. It's why he's standing looking at a display of Star Wars merchandise, trying to decide between a light up lightsaber or a gross looking Jabba the Hutt.

It still feels weird standing on his own, he's used to body guards and being surrounded at all times, but there's little call for that now. Mostly he can go and do what he wants, and he loves the freedom, even if it leads to standing poking his finger in the jiggling belly of a lurid green plastic toy.

"He's cool but I'd go for the saber."

Guiltily, JC pulls back his hand and looks at the guy who's standing beside him. He's wearing a peacoat, the shoulders dusted with melting snow, a hat pulled low and he takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses on his sleeve. He also looks maddeningly familiar, as if he's someone JC should know.

"You can have sweet battles with these." The guy reaches out and unhooks one of the lightsabers, switching it on so it lights up with a whine of sound. "You'd need to get two, though. One isn't as much fun."

"Well, it wasn't really for me," JC says, and wishes he hasn't when the guy looks away, obviously feeling awkward about his former enthusiasm. "Not that I wouldn't, just, they're not really me."

"Everyone should get to play with a lightsaber." Unhooking another from the rail, the guy hands it over. "Here, close your eyes and feel the force."

JC takes the toy, and he suspects he should feel stupid, but he's spent years playing with props and toys and it seems second nature to swish the saber through the air, enjoying the resulting whoosh of sound.

"Awesome, yeah?" The guy holds up his own saber, looking intent. "I battle with Gee all the time, he sucks."

Which is enough to dislodge a name. "You're, from that band, with the, erm, Not Okay. Way!"

"Mikey, yeah," Mikey says. "And you're JC Chasez, and I'm about to kick your ass."

He swoops his saber through the air, and JC parries the blow. "I didn't think you'd be into our music."

"Didn't say I was." Mikey takes a step back, barely missing a display of Malibu Barbies. "Your solo stuff is pretty sweet."

"Thanks." Sensing an opening, JC attacks hard, using years of experience gained living with Justin and Chris. Finally he lands a blow to Mikey's chest. "I think you're dead right now."

Mikey grins. "Impressive." He looks at his watch then, says, "I've a few hours, want to grab a coffee and arrange a rematch?"

JC takes the light sabers and tucks them under his arm, says, "Sure."




B is for bondage Justin/JC rikes


"Seriously, you're a moron. A grade A, idiotic, brain-dead moron."

"Well, excuse me Mr I'm just going to glue some sparkles on my pants. It wasn't me that got superglue all over." Justin pulls back his hand, apparently needing gestures to emphasize his indignation. Except he jerks JC forward too, and they both stagger slightly in place.

"I told you, stop doing that." JC takes a step to the side, and tightens his fingers around Justin's when something crunches. "Tell me I didn't stand on the sequin tub."

Justin looks down, at the silver sequins that are spread over the floor, surrounding the remains of a plastic tub. "There may have been some spillage."

"I hate you," JC says, and lifts his foot, sequins falling from it like silver rain. "I hate you more than I hate... I hate..."

"Boiled cabbage?" Justin suggests. "Math homework? Liver?"

"More than that. I hate you more than I hate those stupid shirts with the poppers at the crotch."

"Whoa, that's harsh," Justin says. He steps back too, so they're standing at arms length. "Especially for something that wasn't my fault."

"Oh no." JC shakes his head. "Don't even try with the pout. I'm immune. It doesn't work with me." He looks away, before he caves to the powerful force of Justin's perfectly pouted bottom lip. "We need to find something to get us free. I'm not spending my life stuck to you."

"There's worse people to be stuck with," Justin says. He heads for the door, sequins crunching under his feet. "Imagine if you were stuck to Chris."

JC shudders, because really, fate worse than death. "I'd swap you for Joey."

"No man, you'd like, have to join in with his jerking off sessions, that's kinda gross."

"As opposed to joining in with yours, you mean?" JC says.

Justin grins wide. "You know you like to touch the Timberlake dick."

"I know I'm scarred right now," JC says. "The Timberlake dick. Really?"

"Perfection needs a name, and Justin was taken." Justin grins even wider, his laughter barely hidden. "I got a quarter stuck on my nose once, mom got it off with nail polish remover."

"Why did you..." JC stops speaking. "Never mind, I don't want to know.

Sure? It's a good story." Thankfully Justin doesn't press the issue, just keeps pulling JC forward. "Mom's got some in her bag."

"Wait." JC stops moving, wincing when Justin doesn't. "You want me to go outside? Into the corridor, where people could see."

"Well I'd go myself, but." Justin holds up their joined hands and waves them, despite JC's frown. "It's only next door."

"Right, fine," JC says, resigned. Waiting as Justin opens the door and looks outside.

"The coast's clear," Justin says, and then darts out, dragging JC behind him.

Surprisingly they get to Justin and Lynn's room undetected, Justin even has his key and Lynn's nowhere to be seen. Which is good, because JC feels stupid enough as it is.

"She keeps it in her washbag," Justin says, pointing at Lynn's case. "The small pink one, it should be at the bottom."

"Right," JC says, and they approach the case, Justin flipping it open, revealing the neatly packed clothes, and at the very bottom, the pink bag. Eager to be free, JC starts pushing clothes aside.

"Hi boys." The sound of the door closing, footsteps, and then. "What are you doing?!"

Abruptly, JC jerks back, flushing red, trying to think of an explanation about why he was pawing through Lynn's clothes. He looks at Justin, hisses. "I hate you."

Justin grins. "I know."




C is for Collar(ed) Spencer/Brendon castalie

Brendon wakes to the feel of a hand over his mouth. Despite the surge of panic he remains still, it's better that way. If he doesn't fight back sometimes they get bored and leave him alone.

"Brendon. Brendon, wake up, please."

Brendon doesn't want to wake up, he wants to stay where it's dark. He's safe there, the pain nothing but a distant throb.

"Brendon. We saved you food. It's, it's not much. Just some protein cube but you need to eat it now. Brendon, please."

It's the last that gets Brendon to open his eyes, because Spencer sounds frantic and Brendon hates being the cause.

"Good, good." Spencer moves his hand and even in the dim light it's obvious how much he's shaking. "I thought. I thought you were dead."

"Not yet," Brendon manages, and he whimpers when he pushes himself upright. Immediately the collar digs in, sharp edges rubbing against raw skin and he can feel the embedded wires tug deep inside his neck. It makes talking difficult and eating almost impossible, but he keeps on trying anyway, nibbling at the crumbs of protein cube Spencer breaks off and hands over.

"I would have brought more but Ryan's on half measures," Spencer says, and he looks over his shoulder toward the main corridor of the craft. "I need to go."

"Wait." Brendon reaches out and rests his hand against Spencer's knee, swallowing hard when the abrupt movement causes blood to trickle down his throat. "Is Ryan okay?"

"He will be," Spencer says, and his hands are tight fists. "I need to go."

Brendon watches, smiles slightly when Spencer glances back one last time then slinks out of sight.





D is for Do' Minos Mikey/Frank. sperrywink

"Do' Minos. Seriously?" Frank says, and looks over the top of his laptop screen. "That shit works for you?"

"Every time." Mikey gestures with his slushee cup, pointing the straw toward Frank. "One mention of my exotic taste buds and they're falling at my feet."

"Right, your exotic taste buds," Frank says, raising an eyebrow. "It's nothing to do with you being in a successful band."

"Are you suggesting I'm only wanted for my money?" Mikey says, his cheeks hollowing as he slurps up the last of his drink.

Frank pushes his laptop aside and sprawls out, head resting against the back of the sofa as he watches Mikey throw the empty cup toward the trash can, and miss completely. "Well it's not for your sporting prowess."

Mikey flops down next to Frank, slumping down and waving his hand in a lazy gesture. "The inhabitants of Planet Awesome shy away from sports involving baskets."

"The inhabitants of Planet Awesome are delusional," Frank says, grinning.

"No, we just know our strengths." Mikey says, and he smiles then, the slightest curl of his mouth. "I was thinking, do you want to order in? I know this great Italian restaurant."

Frank bites back his smile, says, "It sounds authentic."

"It is." Mikey slumps further to the side until he's resting almost completely against Frank. "It's a surprise every time."

"How could I resist?"

"You can't," Mikey says. "I told you, it's a sure thing."

Moving so he can rest his arm around Mikey's shoulders, Frank smiles, says, "You're a smooth operator, Mikey Way."

Mikey gives a thumbs up in reply.




E is for Ecstasy, Bert/Gerard turloughishere

Gerard lies on the floor of the bus and turns his head to the side, he can see a white sock and tangle of cables, a half eaten slice of pizza, curled up and covered in mold. He runs his hand through Bert's hair, fingers sliding through grease and sweat and come.

"Your mama still coming to visit?" Bert says. He's breathing slowly and his t-shirt is hitched up to his chest, exposing his stomach and matted trail of hair. His pants and boxers are kicked into the corner and he's wearing black socks, the heels threadbare, both with holes in the toes.

"Yeah," Gerard says. He scratches at his arm, nails digging into his skin. "Sometime tomorrow, who the fuck knows."

"Right." Bert rubs at his dick, at the sweat that's gathered in the crease between his legs and groin. He dries his fingers on his t-shirt then puts his hands behind his head. "I'll keep out of the way."

"What? Fuck no." Gerard rolls over and props himself up on his elbow, tugging at his pajama pants where they're tugged sharply to the side. "She wants to see you. It's like a fucking decree."

Bert bends his legs, twisting slightly so he can tuck one foot under Gerard's shin. "She know I'm fucking you?"

"She knows everything," Gerard says, and he rests his hand on Bert's knee, moving his thumb over the crease of thigh and calf. "She's hard core Jersey, you'll like her."

"Not the issue really," Bert says.

Gerard pushes a hank of hair from his face, the remains of white and red face-paint smearing over his palm. "She'll fucking love you."

Bert grins. "Of course she will, I fuck her kid into ecstasy, that's always a draw."

"It is for me." Gerard lies back down, looks at the ceiling with the mystery stains, Bert pressed against him, yet more heat in this over-hot space.

Gerard doesn't move.




F is for: Fresh (minty ) Lance/Brendon crazybutsound

Brendon's head is spinning, from the heat and noise and the sheer amount he's drank since he arrived. He's clutching an empty glass in his hand and he sets it on a ledge, pushing it back until it's flush against the others, bottles and empty glasses, a few with lipstick kisses preserved around the rim. Staggering slightly he heads off for a place to sit down, glad this is an invitation only event and no fans are here to see him stumble over nothing.

He finds a group of sofas close to the bar, most of them already taken. Girls in tight dresses and men in tailored black pants and white shirts. Brendon feels insignificant beside them and he reminds himself they were invited here, they're classed as VIPs of Vegas, too. Not that he feels it. All he feels is worn, his eyes at half mast as he flops down into the first empty seat he sees.

Head back, he fully closes his eyes, darkness better than the spinning of the room. Then opens them again when he feels someone move close, the sofa cushions dipping to the side.

"Are you okay?"

Brendon wants to curl up and pretend this isn't happening, or else somehow fling himself back into time, because when he looks it's Lance Bass who's talking, looking caught between amusement and concern.

"I'm fine," Brendon says, and pushes himself up, only wobbling a little. "I'm a Vegas VIP."

"So I see," Lance says gravely. "You're here alone?"

"No, with my friends, they're somewhere," Brendon says, indicating the room behind him by swiping his hand through the air.

Lance sits back sharply, grinning as he looks behind Brendon. "Do they know you're here?"

Brendon tries to think. He's sure he told Jon where he was going, at least, he thinks he did. Brendon nods, says, "They do."

"Good, I'd hate to think they'd lose you." Lance sits back, looking perfectly relaxed, which is unfair because all Brendon feels is awkward and horribly drunk. "So, how's it feel to be a Vegas VIP?"

"It's awesome." Brendon grins, his hand braced against the arm of the sofa to keep himself upright. "We've traveled everywhere and performing's the best, like, seriously insane. You wouldn't believe what it's like up there, all those people watching you, it's like...." He trails off then, feeling stupid when he realises what he's said. "But you'll know that."

"I did once." Lance stands then, says, "I'll be back in a moment."

He heads toward the bar and Brendon wants to beat his head against the nearest hard surface. Instead he rests his chin on his hands and tries not to fall asleep.

"Drink this."

Brendon blinks, bringing the room back into focus and moves his hands away from his face so he can see Lance, who's holding out a glass containing something clear. Stomach rolling at the thought of more alcohol, Brendon starts to refuse.

"It's water," Lance says, and Brendon takes the glass, not-so-discretely sniffing it before draining nearly half the water in one gulp.

Lance sits, his own glass held in his hand. "You've been trained well."

"Yeah, well, some people are freaks."

Lance drinks too, something that's obviously not water. "Tell me about it."

Brendon grimaces. "They put hairs, in our cookies, who does that?"

"The same kind that travel with rats I'd imagine," Lance says, which makes no sense at all, but it seems he's not going to explain, instead he drains his drink and looks at his watch. "I need to go."

"I should too," Brendon says, but actually standing up seems beyond him right now, all he wants is to curl up and sleep.

"Good plan." Lance smiles, smelling clean, his breath minty fresh as he leans in close, which should be impossible because he's just been drinking and Brendon's heart is thundering because Lance Bass is going to kiss him, except all Lance does is take the glass out of Brendon's lax grip, setting it on a table before he stands.

"I'll see you around," Lance says, then leaves, attention already on a group of people across the room.

Brendon waves and watches him go.




G is for Gazelle, Bob/Frank/Gerard! turloughishere

They end up at a motel in Shitville Motherfuckwherever.

Two rooms for five people and the PA has to jiggle the lock before it opens, then steps back, letting them all walk inside.

She follows them in and looks around, taking in the sagging bed and the cracked mirror, the carpet with the mysterious brown stains. She swallows hard and her knuckles are white where she's gripping her cell. "I'll find a better hotel, there has to be one at the next town, and a taxi. There has to be a firm somewhere." She pushes her damp bangs off her forehead and rubs at her face. "I'm sorry, I should have known."

"That the bus would break down?" Gerard asks, pushing up his sunglasses so they're perched at the top of his head. "Unless you've got some serious premonition skills going on, you're off that hook."

Frank throws himself down on the bed, collapsing back with a sigh. "Personally I'd prefer to read minds, think of the secrets you'd find."

"Except reading minds without permission is like mental rape, it's bad shit," Gerard says, and he sits next to Frank, poking him hard in the stomach. "Premonitions let you change the future."

Lazily, Frank bats at Gerard's hand. "Right, if we'd known we'd be stuck here I'd have rode on the crew bus." He props himself up on one elbow, looking intently at the PA. "Did you know?"

"What? No. I didn't, I mean, I'm going to go look up that hotel."

She drops the keys on the dressing table and leaves with a last concerned look. Frank flops back down, grinning when Gerard pokes at him again.

"You shouldn't tease like that."

Frank shrugs, unconcerned. "She'll learn, and you brought up super powers."

Gerard considers, and eventually concedes with a wave of his hand, says, "I guess." He taps his fingers against his thigh, considering the implications of mind reading as Bob scowls at the cot with a visibly buckled leg and Ray attempts to open the connecting door to the next room. "I'd let you all read my mind."

"You'd assume we'd want to," Bob says, and gives up frowning at the cot, turning his attention to Gerard instead. "I like my mind unscarred."

"Hey," Gerard protests, because really, the way Bob's talking it's like Gerard's some kind of freak.

"It's true though." Ray keeps twisting the key, trying to force it to turn. "Reading your mind would be like peering into a freaky room, one filled with dark corners and creepy shit that looms in the dark."

"With added zombies and blow up dolls, all of them covered in blood," Bob says. He sits on the end of the bed, making it creak alarmingly. "And that's just the surface junk, going deeper has to mean instant insanity."

"I don't know," Frank says, looking thoughtful as he links his hands behind his head. "He's got that freaky thing going on with Mikey, and he's not scarred."

"That's because Mikey's a freak, too," Bob says immediately.

Gerard reaches out his foot, kicking Bob in the ankle. "Don't call my brother a freak, and we don't have a freaky thing going on."

"You kind of do," Ray says, and looks at Mikey, who's standing next to the window, watching something outside. "Mikey, what's Gerard thinking?"

"That he's too hot and wants an iced coffee." Mikey turns and lets the curtain drop back into place, disturbing dust that clouds in the air. "I'm going to the pool."

"Have you seen the water? It's dark green, there's probably a sea monster in there," Gerard says. "Keep away from the edge, and if you see....see..."

"Bethany," Mikey adds. "I'll tell her what you want."

He pulls up the hood of his hoodie and goes outside.

"Seriously, did you see that water?" Gerard stands and looks out of the window, watching as Mikey ambles toward the pool, a splodge of darkness against the light.

"I saw him knowing what you were thinking," Ray says, finally giving up on turning the key.

Gerard indicates his shirt that clings to his body with sweat. "Anyone can see I'm too hot and the coffee thing's hardly a secret."

"I guess," Ray says then moves to stand next to Gerard, both of them watching as Mikey turns and slowly walks back toward the room. "He didn't last long."

"Gerard's calling him back," Frank says, and when Gerard turns to look at him Frank's grinning wide.

Which isn't true at all, and Gerard's about to say so when Mikey opens the door and looks inside.

"I forgot to say, I'm bunking with Ray tonight."

"Fine by me," Ray says, and when Mikey immediately leaves, Ray follows. "I'll come look for sea monsters with you."

"Told you," Frank says, sounding smug as he pushes himself up and scrambles back on the bed. Resting against the padded velvet headboard he reaches for the TV remote and switches on the TV.

"What?" Confused, Gerard looks from Frank to the TV, the channels changing rapidly until finally Frank settles on some nature programme, one where a lion is ripping apart a gazelle.

"We're surrounded by freaks," Bob says, and kicks off his sneakers before shifting so he can rub his sodden socks down Frank's leg.

"Seriously, what?" Gerard demands, because they're both laughing, and Gerard hates being outside of the joke.

Finally Frank takes pity, says, "Tell me you weren't thinking about being alone with us tonight."

Gerard looks at the way Bob's curled his hand around Frank's arm, the comfortable way they're sitting close while still leaving room for Gerard. Of course Gerard was thinking about being alone with them, but what that's got to do with Mikey.... "Oh."

"Nice job, Gee," Frank says, and he pats a space on the bed. "Come sit."

Gerard does, slipping easily between them, his head against Bob's shoulder, Frank's hand entwined in his own as they watch the gazelle be reduced to bones.




H is for Hot, Chris&Nick indicinderelly

"You know what would be hot?" Nick says. "If I pissed on your back."

Holding a plate under the water, Chris rinses it off then picks up the next, says, "You know what else would be hot? Your ass when I kicked it."

Nick grins, crouching as he takes the plates and stacks them in the dishwasher. "That's not how spanking goes. Now if you want me bare assed over your knee, then you're talking."

Chris turns off the water and picks up a dishcloth, swiping the crumbs on the counter onto his hand. "I suppose you want to call me daddy, too."

"I could," Nick says. He stands and shuts the dishwasher door, frowning a little as he peers at the dial. "What setting do we use? And master would be better."

"Setting six," Chris says, considering. "And master is good I guess, as long as I can order you around and use your naked body as a foot rest."

"Sounds kinda boring." Nick turns the dial. "Maybe something more active. I'd look good naked with a pony tail."

"On your head or in your ass?"

"My ass of course, I was thinking something light to match my hair." Nick looks over his shoulder as he sways his ass. "I could work a pony tail."

"You could," Chris agrees. "Does that mean I get to feed you oats?"

"If they're on top of a pizza, I guess." He steps behind Chris, palming his ass. "You'd look good with a tail."

Chris shakes his head. "Not in this lifetime."

Nick shakes his head sadly. "You need to embrace your kink."

"My kink's been embraced, squeezed hard then pulped,"Chris says. He walks to the fridge, opens the door and grabs a carton of milk. "Hot chocolate?"

Nick moves so he's behind Chris, pulling him back into a hug, says, "Sure."




I is for Ink Bob/Gerard crowgirl13


The rails wobble slightly as Bob sits, his legs dangling over the side of the ferry. He's wearing tan boots and the black laces trail toward the water, one side longer than the other. The toes of his boots turn dark with the splash of the waves. "We're running out of water."

Gerard's arms are crossed on the rails, rust flaking against his skin. He's got his cheek resting against his forearm and his lips are gritty with salt, he licks across them, looks down at Bob's feet next to his own. "How long?"

"Enough for a day, maybe less."

It's what Gerard expected. The cases of water are long gone and the two tanks deep in the hull of the Jesse May are emptying fast, even with the rationing they all carefully observe. It was inevitable they'd need more and Gerard looks toward shore and thinks about finding water, more cases of the bottled kind or rigging up some kind of hose so they can refill the tanks.

"Captain says there's a river three hours east, it'll be easier to get supplies inland."

It's also more dangerous inland, but that's left unsaid. Gerard digs his thumbnail under a flake of rust and watches it float toward the ocean, a speck of red swallowed by angry dark blue.

"We should make a list," Gerard says. "There's other things we need."

Bob's nose is red and his hair is tangled, salt crusted strands pulled back with a scrap of material. "I'd hand over my bank balance for sunblock and some fucking clippers."

"Coffee for me, the good shit," Gerard says. He half closes his eyes and looks up at the sky, at the red-tinged clouds and bright sun, black smoke like swirling ribbons of ink. "We need to find a pharmacy."

"Yeah," Bob says, a long pause and then. "He still awake?"

"He was when I left."

"Fuck," Bob says, and he doesn't move when they hit a large wave, water soaking the bottom of his jeans.

Gerard's tired and he lets his eyes close, opens them and stares down at the ocean, listening to the splash of waves against the hull. "We should tell Captain to make for the river."

"Okay," Bob says.

~*~*~*~

It's weeks since they've been so close to land.

They sail past docks and buildings, their windows broken, dark spaces surrounded by jagged shards. Some of the docks are splintered, planks of wood sagging or fully collapsed into the brackish water, the wood covered in creeping black slime. There's a body trapped under the nearest dock, bloated, one puffed up hand jammed between the slats as if they died holding on .Gerard stands still, his thighs pressed against the metal bars of the railings, the cold bleeding through his sweat pants as he watches. He swallows hard and looks away.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Mikey says, he's huddled inside one of his hoodies, his shoulders pulled in and hands tucked into the pocket. He hasn't slept for days and the shadows under his eyes are easily visible despite the veil of hair that falls forward over his face.

"I'm not alone." Gerard tilts his chin up at Captain who's in the small navigational room at the top of the ferry. It's where he keeps watch, his hat pulled low as he keeps them away from shore.

"He couldn't help in time." Mikey notices the corpse and steps forward, against the railings and close to the edge, his toes hanging off into space, says, "Ever think it's better that way?"

"No," Gerard says, skin prickling with all too familiar fear. "We don't give up."

"Maybe that's not our choice?" Mikey says, turning his head, tracking the body they're leaving behind.

"Our choice is to keep fighting," Gerard says, and he clenches his hands against the need to grab Mikey and shake him.

"I'm trying," Mikey says, and he blinks and looks at Gerard. "Matt's made breakfast."

"Right, good," Gerard says. "You're coming in to eat?"

"In a minute." Mikey brings his hands out of his pockets and flips open his phone.

Gerard nods and turns away, heads inside as Mikey dials, says, Alicia, are you there? It's Mikey.

She won't answer.

She never does.




J is for Jumble, Mikey/Frank crowsgirl13

"Mikey's hanging out for a few hours," Frank announces brightly as he appears around the side of the house. He's holding Mikey's hand, their fingers entwined, a pair of pink gardening gloves tucked under his arm. His lady-bug gum-boots slap against the sidewalk as Frank walks, each painted bug a brilliant red, an exact match to the streak in his hair.

Bob drops an armful of weeds into the wheelbarrow, says, "What happened to the blue hair?"

Frank grins and shrugs, making the strap of his overalls fall down over his arm. He tugs it up, says, "Change Bob, you should embrace it one day."

"I've changed plenty," Bob says. "I don't need to make like a parrot to prove it."

"But I make parrot look good." A quick smile and Frank lets go of Mikey's hand, waving as he circles the over-grown flower beds, making his way over to Bob and Ray. "Give me jobs, boss man."

Ray thinks about the plans for this garden, the sheer amount of work that needs doing before they can even think about new plants. "You can take over on the flowerbed, it looks like there's healthy growth under there. Just..." He hesitates then and itches at his neck, hating this part of the job. "I don't mind you bringing Mikey, it's just, I need you to work, this is a big job and..."

"I know," Frank says, interrupting, his lingering smile fading. He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, the pink plastic frames clashing with his hair. "Gee had a bad night, Mikey needed a break."

Bob looks up sharply. "They okay?"

"Gerard's at his therapist's. Mikey's..." Frank looks over at Mikey, who's settled on a low wall, looking pale and worn against the chaotic jumble of overgrown bright flowers and tangled green weeds. "Like I said. He needed a break."

"Mikey should have called, I'd have gone over." Bob picks up another handful of weeds, throwing them on top of the pile.

Frank bites at his thumbnail, worrying at the ragged edge. "Well yeah. He knows that but he's used to dealing on his own. They both are." He licks at the blood beading at the edge of his nail, then pulls on his gloves. "Flowerbed, right."

"Hold on." Ray grabs for the straps of Frank's overalls, stopping him from walking away. "They can wait a while, go sit with Mikey."

Confused, Frank looks behind him, then immediately runs when he sees Mikey has folded in on himself, his hands fisted in front of his face, his shoulders moving minutely.

It feels wrong to watch somehow, like Ray's seeing something that's meant to be hidden. The barriers Mikey tends to hide behind stripped away, revealing that he really is a kid. One who's seen too much too soon.

"I could let Frank go, we'd manage between us."

"No," Bob says in reply, and he picks up his spade, thrusting it deep in the ground. "They'd only go back to the house and Frank's got it in hand."

Which seems to be true. Frank's got his arm over Mikey's shoulders, their heads together as he talks, and maybe Ray can't hear what he's saying, but he can see Frank, and that's enough to know each word is accompanied by love.

Ray turns away, giving them time as he attacks the garden once again.





K is for Kink, Lance/Gerard musicboxgirl


Lance bumps into Gerard on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

It's the kind of day for lounging on the beach or hanging with friends, bottle of wine at hand as they sit on the patio and shelter under giant red umbrellas. Instead Lance is wandering an art gallery, pretending to be interested in sculptured glass nudes and pictures composed of penises and breasts. If it wasn't for the exposure, the constant need for precious column inches, Lance would have left hours before. As it is he's about to leave -- paps and publicity be damned -- when he sees Gerard.

Not that Lance knows him to talk to, but he knows of him, which is enough that Lance makes his excuses to the overly attentive guide and heads for the other side of the room.

"You thinking of buying?"

Gerard doesn't turn around, just keeps looking at the display, hundreds of Polaroids strung together with delicate chains, each picture showing somebody fucking -- gay and straight and in one, what seems like the back of a goat. "I don't know, it's a little pedestrian."

"Pedestrian, right," Lance says, and steps closer, so he's standing side-by-side with Gerard. "You've seen the goat?"

"Yeah." Gerard tilts his head. "It needs more, they should have gone for a overall theme."

"What, like zombies and fake blood?"

"A little obvious, but yeah." Gerard does turn then, seemingly surprised when he sees who's there. "You're...you're, that guy." He runs his hands through his hair and stares at Lance. "Give me a minute. Mikey mentioned you once, something Pete said, about Ryan and his first crush. Oh my god, I know this." He closes his eyes, then opens them again. "That's it! You're a backstreet boy."

Lance grins, says, "Close."

Gerard smiles in return and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. "So what do you think of the exhibition?"

Lance thinks about faking enthusiasm, knowing Gerard's into art, but the fact is, there's no point in lying. "Not much, kinks only fun when you're actually involved."

"Now that's a great concept," Gerard says, grinning over at Lance. "Interactive kink displays. You could have S&M sessions and 'insert the dildo' hands on displays."

"Progressive," Lance says. "And probably highly illegal."

"Pity, it would have been good shit," Gerard says, then pulls his phone out of his pocket when it begins to insistently buzz. He flips up the screen, reading a message. "I need to run, we're recording and I only came for a coffee run."

"Pity." Lance walks with Gerard, heading toward the exit. "I was enjoying our talk."

"Yeah," Gerard says, and suddenly pulls out a pen from his pocket and takes a program off one of the display tables. Ripping off the front page he writes down a number, and then hands the page to Lance. "If you ever feel like discussing kink exhibitions again."

"I'll call," Lance says, and keeps tight hold of the page.

Lance waits until Gerard steps outside, then pulls out his phone.




L is for: Lingering Letterboys trumpeterofdoom

JC's splayed out in the middle of the bed, arms and legs outstretched, taking up most of the available room. It means AJ has about an inch of space, his ass hanging over the mattress, but he doesn't mind, it gives him an excuse to cling on, his arm across JC's chest. "Hey," AJ says, when JC stirs, yawning before he even opens his eyes. "I need to go."

"It's the middle of the night," JC says, his voice rough and his hand over his face. "Sleep."

"Can't," AJ says, and JC rolls over, his arm snaking over AJ's back, trapping him in place.

"Can't move now," JC says, still more asleep than awake.

AJ lies perfectly still, lying against JC's body. It's a good feeling, JC's warm and just there, his face relaxed and a line from the pillow pressed into his cheek. AJ runs his finger along the line, smiling when JC irritably bats at his hand.

"I've got to catch my flight."

JC opens his eyes the tiniest of amounts, peering through his lashes. "Stay, you've time."

"I really don't," AJ says. He turns his wrist, looking at his watch. "I have to be there in two hours."

"Plenty of time," JC says, and kisses AJ's mouth, a lingering press of his lips. He pulls back, so close they're sharing the same air. "Stay a while."

"For a little bit," AJ says, and closes his eyes.

Comments

[phaballa.livejournal.com]

Man! I thought the JuC bondage one was about to go to a Very Special Lynn Place, and then it ended. Sadness! There should be more fics where people get stuck to each other. I read soooo many in harry potter, but none since then. The idea of JC and Justin glued together and covered in sparkles is pretty hilarious and perfect :P

[turps33.livejournal.com]

That would be a special place. I'd like to think Lynn came in and caught JC fingering her lace panties, and immediately got that cougar look in her eye.

People stuck together is comedy gold! It's really not used enough.

Thank you :)

[ninjetti75.livejournal.com]

*pouts*

Jerk ;D

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Man, I know!

I have no idea how I ended with too many prompts, both you and someone else had no letters left. I'll have to do an alphabet extra.

[rikes]

Here, have some extra letters! Å Ä Ö Ü

Josh, good luck finding words for those. :D

[turps33.livejournal.com]

You know he'll try and find words for them now *g*

[harriet-vane.livejournal.com]

Arsenic has totally told me about that space story, and dude. I totally want MORE of it. *sigh*

[turps33.livejournal.com]

The space story is awesome! But it's Arsenic riffing off my universe for the Panic boys, we'll have to work on her.

[puszysty.livejournal.com]

Lol, way to skirt around bondage ;) Funny nonetheless

[turps33.livejournal.com]

I totally skirted around bondage *g*

It's an excellent prompt and I love to read it, but write it? I'll leave it to other people!

[brighton-girl.livejournal.com]

I really loved the JuC...it was fun.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Thank you :)

I figured it worked as a definition too *g*

[trumpeterofdoom.livejournal.com]

Oh my god. The Letterboys. When I first read it at work (shhh) I was left speechless. That was exactly what I needed and omg I LOVE YOU.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you liked.

♥

[littleladypunk.livejournal.com]

I love "G", and "I" really hooked me.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I really liked those two, too <3