I am writing graffiti on your body

Fic: FOB/GCH || elevator love letter

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 11:43:59 GMT

Title: elevator love letter
Fandom: Fall Out Boy/Gym Class Heroes
Characters: Patrick/Travis
Word Count: 2485
Rating: R
Author's Notes: Written for the Fic Imitates Music challenge. The song lyrics are Sonata Arctica by the Misery and this was a fic that was ~~supposed~~ to explore the songwriting/producing relationship between Patrick and someone he has worked with. HUGE thanks go to the wonderful adellyna who did a wonderful beta job for me, and encouraged me to just keep writing. ♥ The title of the fic is the title of a song by Stars.

Sometimes Patrick feels like he should come with a warning. On his hand, maybe, his forehead, or just in Sharpie on a t-shirt. The warning, it wouldn’t be anything drastic, maybe just, “Danger. Prolonged exposure may result in complications and even death (by Pete).” A little wordy perhaps, but it’d certainly be better than the time Pete wrote “Property of Pete” all over Patrick with black Sharpie while Patrick was sleeping and then took photos of it. Patrick knows Pete’s reputation. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of his internet debut being so, well. So Pete’s. Because here’s the important thing. He’s not Pete’s. Patrick just can’t make this clear enough.

Pete and Patrick are best friends, yes, and on his better days Patrick will occasionally concede that it’s entirely possible they’re platonic soul mates, but. But nothing more than that.

It doesn’t stop Pete from making threats, though. To everyone and anyone, even Jay-Z that one time he’d clapped Patrick on the back and told him that he was sounding good. What’s worse is that Jay-Z had apologised.

Patrick likes Travis because Pete’s menacing doesn’t scare him off.

“I like the danger,” He says when Patrick tries to warn him, once, twice, three times, and his eyes sparkle. Patrick believes him. He’s also pretty sure he feels the bottom of his stomach drop away, the way Travis leans into him, speaking the words for Patrick’s ears only.

Patrick thinks that maybe Pete could learn a thing or two from Travis. They’re at a club, Angels and Kings most likely, but a lot of the time these places just blend into each other. It’s always the same music and the same kids in tight jeans with drinks in primary colours. Travis slides into the booth next to Patrick while Pete’s dj-ing; he drinks at Patrick’s pace and asks Patrick about his ideas for the new Gym Class Heroes record. They’re due to start recording in the morning and Travis seems genuinely excited about Patrick’s ideas. He’s a little drunk, but Travis is drunk too, leaning into Patrick as he speaks.

Patrick’s skin tingles and he tries to chalk it up to the warm buzz of alcohol, but then more than once he actually shudders, and he suspects from the way Travis grins that the reaction was provoked. It’s Gin and Tonic Night; Travis decided that when Patrick haltingly, blushingly admitted to him that it was his drink of choice.

Gin and tonic night apparently means ‘British accent night’ and by the time Patrick is on his third drink Patrick is in hysterics. Somewhere along the line he’s found a bendy-necked straw, and he holds it up to his eye like a monocle while he does impersonations. He also has a napkin tucked into his shirt like a cravat, and Patrick is sure that if Travis had the means to get a top hat, he’d be wearing one.

“Tally ho!” Travis cries; he springs out of the booth, and his fingers curl around Patrick’s wrist easily. “Fancy a spot of dancing, old chap?”

Patrick is laughing too much to say anything, sliding out of the booth behind Travis. But he’s had enough to drink that he needs support to stay upright and Travis is warm and solid and stops Patrick from falling over, even if he can’t stop the world from spinning. It’s nice.

The music is way too fast for them to dance to without making a concerted effort, but it doesn’t stop them. Patrick is mostly clinging to Travis while he moves for the pair of them until he tells Patrick he wants to show him some moves he learned from Gabe. It’s mostly just gyration, though. Travis throws in a hand gesture or two that Patrick suspects he picked up from Zorro and gets more and more outrageous until they’ve both tripped over, landing on the floor hard enough to leave bruises. And if that doesn’t do it, the way the other patrons keep stumbling over them will.

They laugh anyway, keep laughing until a pair of black and white clad legs appear in front of them, and Pete is staring down with his hands on his hips. Even though Pete’s lips are pursed, Patrick can tell he is tonguing his teeth. It’s strangely reminiscent of the way cartoon wolves lick their mouths, just before they attack.

“Time to go home, Patrick.” That’s all he says. Like Patrick is four fucking years old and he’s just embarrassed himself by destroying someone’s birthday cake, or writing on the walls in crayon or something. Then Pete crouches down so he’s face to face with Patrick and Travis, and well. “You’re making a scene.”

Patrick laughs. He laughs so fucking hard that Travis starts laughing too and the crowd around them stops to watch. That’s fucking rich. Patrick wants to say. Look whose talking, you ass, but he’s too busy gasping for air, too dizzy from the alcohol and the scent of Travis to even get the words out.

“Patrick.” Pete’s tone is low and warning, the first few seconds of a thunderstorm before the lightning strikes and rain starts with a fury. Patrick wonders if Pete might lose his cool right here in the middle of the club. It shouldn’t make him laugh more, but it does, forehead pressed right into Travis’s shirt as they sit in the middle of the club.

It’s just… no, it’s really fucking surreal, all of this. Patrick doesn’t do this, especially not the way Travis’s arms go around him and suddenly they’re on their feet again. The world is still spinning.

“I’ll take him home,” Travis offers, his voice rough and raw. He’s still holding on to Patrick, and god. Patrick has never met anyone as warm as Travis is, radiating warmth and comfort, and Patrick’s not sure if it’s this or the alcohol, but his hand slides under Travis’s shirt. Just to see. Just to make sure that Travis has the same warmth underneath his clothes.

He does, and he startles under Patrick’s touch a little, but. Patrick’s not an idiot. Travis likes the danger. He knows the whole evening has been leading up to this, so Patrick smiles.

“Bye Pete.”

-

Patrick’s hotel room is closer than Travis’s, but they don’t really discuss where they’re going anyway. They stumble when they walk, laughing sporadically, quietly to themselves; their thoughts go unshared, but their destination doesn’t. It’s late, the streets are empty, surprisingly so for New York. The hotel lobby is empty except for the nighttime receptionist, but she doesn’t look up from the People she’s reading when Patrick and Travis stumble past her desk on their way to the elevator. It’s hard trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stay upright, walking the straight line from the front doors to the elevators.

The elevator is empty, thank god, though they’re still not saying anything when they get in. It’s large, too, large enough that Travis could lay down in it and not touch any of the sides. Patrick isn’t sure why he notices this, though. He jabs the 14 button and the doors slide closed with a ding. Jaunty, unremarkable music plays through the speakers and Patrick hums along anyway. His mind is a million miles away, but he snaps back to reality immediately when he feels Travis is laughing in his ear, short, hot puffs of air on his neck.

“Your voice…” Travis exhales more than says and the way he nuzzles Patrick’s neck, the way his voice is soft and catches slightly in places, it makes Patrick slip from a hum to a moan, accidental. He doesn’t even think twice when he drops his head back so Travis can nuzzle at his neck more. It’s good, really fucking good when Travis’s stubble scrapes the smooth skin of his neck, not too rough, but enough that Patrick can actually feel it. It makes him shudder, when Travis drags his chin over Patrick’s neck; follows it with long, slow kisses to his jaw. The world could be ending outside the twin, gilt doors of the elevators, but Patrick wouldn’t notice, busy mindlessly stroking his fingers over Travis’s stomach, back and forth and in little circles, dipping lower and lower until,

“Mmm, fuck. Not here, Patrick. Not here.”

“I thought you liked the danger,” Patrick returns casually before his fingers skim beneath Travis’s jeans, underneath his boxers to brush his cock, teasing for just one moment.

“Fuck.” Travis swears again as his hips snap forward, his body asking for more even if his mouth won’t.

“You’re right.” Patrick smirks at Travis’s reflection in the mirrors. “We should wait.” His hand is still in Travis’s pants. If he’s completely honest with himself, he has no intention of stopping. And maybe Travis knows it too. He’s staring right back at Patrick’s reflection – something unreadable in his eyes –, licking his fucking lips, and then, oh fuck.

“I like the danger.”

It comes to Patrick suddenly, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. There’s the steady, thump-thump pounding as well, and it takes him a few minutes to realise that’s his hand on the emergency stop button. Faintly, the bland sound of elevator muzak is still piping through the speakers until everything bursts into climax of loud static, harsh and loud. When it drops off into silence, Patrick notices just how heavily he is breathing.

“Excuse me sirs, are you all right?”

The voice is tinny when it comes through the speaker grille, and unmistakably female. Maybe it’s the girl at the front desk, maybe someone from the elevator company, Patrick doesn’t really care. Travis is raising an eyebrow at him like he wants Patrick to take care of the situation, which makes it something of a challenge to Patrick. His fingers – rough and callused from years of playing the guitar – slide back, curl around until he’s holding Travis’s cock, warm, heavy and half hard, in his hand.

“We’re fine.” He says, surprised at how steady his voice is, even when the rest of him is spinning out of control. Experimentally, he slides his fist down the length of Travis’s cock, twisting his wrist at the end. Travis chokes.

“I think the elevator might have malfunctioned.” Patrick continues, moving his fist back up to him, and then down again. “My friend and I noticed that it started moving really quickly before we came to a stop.”

“Hmm,” The receptionist/elevator girl says, and Patrick echoes the sound, mouth close to Travis’s ear.

“Can I get you off before the doors open, do you think?” Travis nods, and it’s probably a good thing that he does, one wrong noise and suddenly they’re headlines, two musicians caught late at night in a hotel elevator. Patrick’s hand is still moving back and forth slowly, tormenting and teasing all in the one movement.

“The maintenance crews will be there to let you out soon,” The voice comes back, her timing couldn’t be more perfect. Travis bites back a moan.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, his voice is lower now, huskier. The girl happily hums an affirmative response, and then there’s muzak again, some happy, brainless tune that practically jumps through the speakers and dances around them.

“You’re lucky,” Patrick breathes; lower still in a way that means he doesn’t think Travis is lucky in the slightest, even though Patrick moves his hand faster, his thumb occasionally swiping the head, slick with pre-come. “There could have been trouble if she heard you.”

Travis’s hands are clenched around the waist-high gold bars that span the perimeter of the elevator, and he’s white-knuckled.

“There still could be trouble,” Patrick warns, relishing in taking his turn to make Travis melt. “There could be security cameras in here, they could be watching.”

“Fuck, Patrick!” Travis’s exhalation is louder than they both expected, perhaps because the music dies away at exactly the same moment. Patrick’s eyes meet Travis’s in the reflection, and they go silent, holding their breath as they wait for the first suspicious question.

But what they get instead is more like the second half of a conversation; the girl’s voice is further away, this time, softer and definitely not directed at them. She could have accidentally hit the button Patrick supposes, but the second voice, a male one is too familiar to be the maintenance crew, all rounded words and easy laughs.

“—Oh, Patrick?”

Travis’s body literally fucking deflates underneath him, sinking back against the bar, so Patrick can’t even pretend that Travis hasn’t made the connection; continue on like nothing has happened.

Patrick hopes he manages to get the scowl across when he says, “Hi Pete.” It’s the least of what Pete is in for, after this, if he’s ruined Patrick’s night. Spontaneous, elevator sex is never quite the same when you have to start again, fighting valiantly to get your best friend’s (your boss’s!) voice out of your head.

“Patrick—” Pete starts again, though he cuts off abruptly and they can hear agitated chatter in the background, but can’t make out anything they’re saying. Patrick strains to hear until he realises that he still has Travis’s cock in his hands, which is fucking weird, but he can’t bring himself to let go. Slowly, carefully, he jerks his hand up, down, rougher than before, but without pace or rhythm.

“Patrick,” A hesitant pause, and then Pete says, “Patrick, Jodie says that Travis is with you.”

The girl (Jodie) didn’t say that Travis is with him, Patrick knows, she probably doesn’t know Travis from a bar of soap, but she’s probably said enough to Pete that he’s worked out the rest. Patrick sighs, and with his free hand jabs the 14 button again. The numbers light up and thank god, the elevator starts moving again. Finishing this in his room will be just as good – no, probably better – than finishing this here, he decides.

“Bye Pete,” Patrick says and Travis grins.

-

There’s a sheaf of notes lying on the floor when Patrick wakes up, bent in the corners where they’ve been hastily shoved under the door. Travis knows better than to touch them by now, he steps over them on his way to the shower and steps back over them when he shrugs on his clothes.

“See you at the studio,” he says before he leaves and there’s one last look at the bundle of notes on the ground that Patrick can’t quite read. He still has some time before he has to go down, start “producing a hit record”, as Travis joked the night before.

With a sigh, Patrick gets out of bed and picks up the notes, Pete’s chicken-scratch blurry as well as unreadable without his glasses. He’s got maybe two, three hours and Pete knows it, but he still asks for all the time in the world.

Fic: FOB/P!atD || twinkle twinkle little star

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 11:07:47 GMT

Title: twinkle twinkle little star
Fandom: Fall Out Boy/Panic! at the Disco
Characters: Pete/Ryan, Ryan/Brendon, implied Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 843
Rating: Rish
Author's Notes: Written for sadness and fallen monarchs and pretty films. Thanks to my wonderful adellyna for the beta.

“I don’t think I could handle being mediocre,” Ryan says to Pete one night when they’re on tour somewhere, anywhere, lying in the grass at midnight on a day of the week Ryan can’t quite remember. They can’t quite see the stars because they’re too close to the city lights, and Pete just laughs, laughs loud and clear and Ryan has this feeling in the pit of his stomach like he can’t work out whether Pete’s laughing at him or with him, and it’s all so dizzying, even the way Pete props himself up on one elbow so he’s leaning over Ryan.

“You remind me of someone I know,” he says with that grin, that famous grin and kisses Ryan; kisses Ryan while Ryan tries to work out whether it’s a compliment or not, because there are so many things Ryan can’t quite work out about Pete.

They have sex for the first time outdoors, under the inky black sky, where Ryan knows there must be stars shining, even if he can’t see them.

--

“I’d like to be the king of a castle,” Pete hangs out the window of a hotel in a country where they not quite, but only just speak English. He turns to Ryan, spread on the voluptuous bed, a contrast in his white t-shirt and boxers. Never able, maybe never willing, to match Pete’s smile. He flicks disinterestedly through the television channels on a desperate search for something, anything in English.

“I’d like my own kingdom,” Pete reiterates.

“I can’t give that to you.” Ryan says; a finality and he’s closed down even before he said it. Pete turns back to the window, propping his chin on his arm as he lets it dangle out the window while he watches the bustling metropolis below.

“You could be my concubine.” He offers half-heartedly and Ryan tries not to waste time wondering why he never gets to come first.

--

Brendon is simple. Brendon is uncomplicated and looks at him with big brown eyes and Ryan can actually see the emotions that flicker behind them. He knows exactly what to do when Brendon nuzzles his neck and says, “You look sad,” and maybe, gently, not so subtly lets his hand fall into Ryan’s lap.

Ryan knows exactly what Brendon is thinking when Ryan has his mouth around Brendon’s cock and he’s flushed and gasping and has his fingers tangled up in Ryan’s hair. Ryan knows what he means with every hitched breath, every “Ryan…”, every hesitant movement, and in the way he doesn’t know what to do after, the way he lets his fingers brush just above the waistband of Ryan’s jeans. Ryan knows what he’s offering; he knows that Brendon would give him so much more if Ryan would let him.

Ryan kisses his lips and slips out of the bunk. No matter how many times he tries though, he just can’t seem to make himself want it more than he wants other things.

--

“If you can do it, why can’t I?” Ryan snaps, angry, fuming, feeling frustrated with the whole world, frustrated with the one person who wasn’t supposed to let him down. He glares at Pete, stares at him, trying to figure him out, but it’s just like watching fucking French television. There’s meaning. Ryan knows there’s meaning but it’s hiding just below the surface, tangled up in words and gestures and looks that Ryan won’t ever know how to translate. “If you can fuck your lead singer, why can’t I?”

Pete’s not angry and Ryan hates that. Hates that he can never quite reach the heights of passion with Pete that he should be able to. He can’t chip away at that armour no matter how hard he tries, always separated by some invisible barrier, something that Pete’s put up to keep him out, even while he’s letting other people in. Letting one person in. Ryan knows. Ryan’s seen it even if Pete doesn’t want him to, in the shadows and the secret moments and reflected in Pete’s eyes when he talks of kingdoms and world domination and the future.

“Because you don’t love your lead singer.” Pete replies and it’s cold, harsh, final and Ryan feels slapped in the face, but he still wants to tell Pete that that’s not true. He wants to tell Pete that he does love Brendon, loves Brendon the same way Ryan’s always known that Pete loves Patrick, even when Ryan is around, trying to be everything Pete needs. But he can’t say that he loves Brendon because Pete might be right. Pete might be the only one who ever makes sense of Ryan, even though Ryan can’t make sense of Pete.

“Fuck you, Pete.” He growls instead, unmoved. It would be so easy to turn, to walk out of the room and not look back; go to Brendon. Find someone, anyone who isn’t Pete-fucking-Wentz. But he can’t. He can’t because Pete’s the only one who knows what Ryan means when he says he wants to go on forever.

Fic: Panic! at the Disco || And that's where babies come from!

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 04:18:25 GMT

Title:

And that's where babies come from!

Fandom:

Panic! at the Disco

Characters:

Ryan, Brendon, Jon/Spencer

Word Count:

1165

Rating:

Author's Notes:

This is really why fic should not be written at 2 am in the morning. But it was, and was inspired by this conversation:

bettina:

spencer and jon just FITS for me. maybe because spencer is always sort of the serious, responsible one with ryan and brendon around and maybe jon can take a little of that load off?

: they balance each other out

bettina:

and they're so different, personality-wise. i'm a big fan of the whole "opposites attract" concept

bettina:

they do!

bettina:

exactly

: and even though spencer is the baby, he is kind of the oldest one, too?

me:

except then jon walker came along, and now he is the oldest one.

me:

so he and spencer are like parents.

bettina:

yes!

bettina:

that's totally true

me:

yeah...and now there is fic in my head

: where jon and spencer become the band parents without anybody noticing

me:

until it is too late.

me:

and then ryan and brendon mock

Nobody notices it's even happening until one night Brendon and Ryan are heading out somewhere,

anywhere that is not this bus

and Jon and Spencer are on the couch, trying to work through the catalogue of movies they have with them, even though Brendon has spoiled most of the endings.

"Have fun!" Jon calls and sure, Jon always says that because it’s Jon and he has experience in this field, but then there's Spencer, who’s sort of curled into Jon (because Jon has his arm slung over the back of the couch, he’s a gentleman like that) who cranes his neck over his shoulder with his face all creased in concern.

"Don't be late coming back!"

That's when they notice. Right then and there, in that very moment before Ryan and Brendon step off the bus. All of a sudden Jon and Spencer have become Mom and Dad Panic without any of them realising it.

Of course, it takes until Brendon and Ryan are sneaking back at three in the morning with candy corn and matching lipstick marks on their cheeks for them to fully understand, and that's only because Spencer is standing by the door in his pyjamas with his arms crossed and that

where have you been

look on his face that they thought they left behind when they became rock stars and you know,

adults

.

"You're not my mom," Ryan scowls and Brendon nods eagerly beside him, because sure, maybe Spencer might be a little bit more responsible than them, but he's still the youngest, (

“And a boy!” “Shut up, Brendon.”

) and he still makes mistakes so he can’t be standing there getting his stern on—

"Don't speak to Spencer like that," Jon's voice, no more hard-edged than usual comes from somewhere behind Spencer and Brendon giggles, because it's so true. They are a family and Spencer is their mom and Jon is their dad.

"Whatever." Ryan says gruffly, swiping his fringe, all stuck down to his forehead, a mixture of the nighttime air and sweat from untold exertions, out of his eyes. "That makes you the

annoying

little sister."

Brendon doesn’t seem to detest the role as much as Ryan had hoped. He grins and tugs on Ryan's hair and sticks his tongue out. He wants to see if he can get a sulky "

Mo-oom, stop Brendon from pulling my hair!

" But Ryan just swats his hand away and goes back to his bunk, muttering a whole lot of things that neither Brendon nor Spencer can make any sense of.

"Ahh, The Sullen Teen Years." Brendon says wisely and at the same time managing to pull off seeming like a precocious ten year old. Spencer rolls his eyes and leaves.

And that was supposed to be the end of it, really, because they have all sorts of half-baked ideas and conversations on tour just to break up the tedium of things, and if they took any of them seriously, well… Spencer isn’t even sure he wants to let that thought grow to completion. He’s pretty sure the world might end.

But then Brendon – always,

always

(why does it have to be?) – Brendon prances in with a mug in his hand and presents it to Jon like he’s just found the most precious item Jon has ever lost. It has ‘World’s Best Dad’ scrawled on it in suspiciously childlike writing, and Brendon has magic marker stains on his fingers. Spencer would probably mock if Brendon didn’t look so fucking earnest, like he really is waiting for Jon’s approval, which is really dumb, because how much effort really goes in to writing something like that on the

side of a mug

in pen anyway?

(

“It’s the thought that counts, Spence.”

Jon tells him later, when Spencer catches him making coffee in it. He has this sort of … smile on his face like he

likes

it; like he thinks it’s

sweet

that Brendon is carrying on like this.

For the record, Jon doesn’t say anything like that the next morning when Ryan gives Spencer a pink, frilly apron with a smirk on his face. Brendon does of course,

“Ryan Ross, that is RUDE and gender stereotypical!”

and just for a moment Spencer really does wish he could ground the pair of them, just send them to their bunks or something, because they’re giving him a fucking headache.)

“You shouldn’t take it so seriously.” Jon says to him a little later, when Brendon and Ryan are arguing over which video game to play, so Spencer has retreated to his bunk for ‘quiet time’. Jon slides – squishes is maybe more appropriate – in with him, and Spencer tries not to notice the way he instinctively cuddles into Jon, just because he’s there, curling around him so they both fit perfectly. “They’re just blowing off steam. You know how it is. You know them. Give it a week and they’ll be back to arguing over Ryan’s ridiculous sunglasses.”

And yeah, maybe that makes Spencer snort, because Ryan really does have ridiculous taste in sunglasses, but it doesn’t make him feel better completely. He’s had to deal with this. He’s had to be the mom.

“At least you got to be the dad, with proper, good gifts and the kids liking you better and not being the authoritarian and having to cook and clean and being tired all the time because they’re fighting and not doing what they’re told and…” Maybe Spencer has been buying into this a little bit more than he’s let on. Jon has to unclench Spencer’s fist where he’s caught Jon’s shirt in it, because it’s one of his favourite shirts and he really likes it without a gaping hole ripped in the middle of it.

“Hey. Hey.

Hey

.” Maybe Jon’s bought into it a little bit too, rubbing soothing circles on Spencer’s chest, and making calming noises and trying to remember all the ways that his dad used to make his mom feel better without his mind going straight to

there

, even if he can’t help it. That’s not what this situation needs right now, so he really needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Jon?”

So there’s the way he comforts Spencer, leaning in closer until their lips press together gently, comfortably, like maybe they have been doing this for twenty years and have two kids and know everything there is to know about each other and—

“Ryan! We’re going to have a baby brother or sister!”

“Brendon? What the fuck are you talking abou…oh.”

By the time Spencer and Jon look up, Ryan is looking as embarrassed as they feel, trying to drag Brendon away from the door, saying something about food, or visiting The Academy’s bus or just being

somewhere that isn’t right here

, right now where clearly, their bus has become some sort of weird happy family twilight zone…

“But that’s where babies come from, Ryan! When a mommy and a daddy love each other,

very much…

”

Fic: Panic! at the Disco || animal crackers in my soup.

Sun, 17 Jun 2007 11:13:07 GMT

Title:

animal crackers in my soup

Fandom:

Panic! at the Disco

Characters:

Ryan, Brendon, Jon, Spencer with cameos from Pete and Patrick.

Word Count:

1339

Rating:

Author's Notes:

Seriously? 'Brendon Urie is a lioness'? You can just blame this icon by boygirl_icons And a conversation I had with _typingmonkey_, but we won't go into that. :D So really, this fic is for her.

Brendon Urie is a lioness. Not a lion, a lioness. All right, it may be a bit ridiculous, but that is how it works. He’s decided. He’s a lioness. Jon is a sloth because he makes Brendon feel like everything is in slow motion,

(“Compared to you, dumbass, everything is in slow motion…” Thank you, Spencer)

and Spencer is a

(“If you say ‘fuzzy-wuzzy baby animal’ again Urie, I swear to Christ I’m going to punch you in the head.”)

kitten, because he’s so cute and fun to play with…

(“That’s it Urie, you’re going down.”)

And Ryan, well, Ryan is… “Some sort of girly animal. I haven’t worked out which, yet.”

Jon snorts, “Says the lioness.” And Brendon’s face crumples because he’s spent all afternoon working on this analogy and no one is appreciating it like he thought they would.

But not even his best sad-face works on them, because Ryan just gets up and walks away, muttering, “If you spent half as much time learning how to paint nails as you did on these stupid ideas, maybe I wouldn’t have to use so much varnish remover…” and Jon is looking all frown-y from where the over-stuffed couch is almost eating him, all sucked back amongst the giant pillows, looking like he’s going to be swallowed at any minute.

“I think I’d rather be a cougar.”

Spencer’s still angry he’s a kitten.

Brendon wishes they’d all just accept his brilliance for once and geez, not pick holes in his theories, because sure, maybe Jon can move fast when he’s stolen Ryan’s favourite hat and Ryan is chasing him around the bus and Spencer isn’t so cute when it’s nine am in the morning and Brendon is already up and singing “Never Had A Friend Like Me” at the top of his lungs and … well, Ryan is mostly always a girl, but he can punch hard, so he’d have to be one of those tough girly animals.

“Maybe a hermaphrodite.” He wonders aloud. The others just look at him like he’s lost his mind.

-

The problem is though, as it always is with Brendon’s ‘best’ ideas, is that it doesn’t just go away after Jon decides Spencer is in fact a shark and then they argue over who has sharper teeth, a cougar or a shark, which leads to them comparing their own teeth, before Brendon bites Spencer and says he has the sharpest teeth of them all. (Spencer hits him over the head with a drumstick and Jon asks if Spencer needs a tetanus shot or something because dude, who knows what diseases Brendon has.

“Shit for brains!” Ryan calls from out the back, where he’s perched in the sink, trying to fix up Brendon’s horrendous varnish job.)

No, this idea is like Brendon. It can’t be shaken, mostly because he’s convinced by the genius of it all. It works perfectly, he keeps defending himself, because, “See, kitten.” When Ryan is showing off the texture of his new scarf by making Spencer rub his cheek against it, only it comes out more like “See kitten?” as if it were some form of endearment, and the techie is smirking at them so hard that Spencer has no choice but to punch Brendon in the arm.

Pete thinks it’s brilliant, and though Ryan is mortified that Brendon ever even contemplated sharing his theory with Pete, he says it figures, because Brendon says that Pete can be one of those monkeys, ‘you know like that cool one from fucking Pirates,’ and that Patrick is probably a Hobbit.

(They’d laughed for ages about that one, except then it sprung a conversation about whether fictional animals were counted (and Patrick pointed out that Hobbits weren’t animals anyway, so he couldn’t be one) which lasted all afternoon until Pete and Brendon decided that yes they were, and it clearly meant that Ryan was a unicorn. Ryan had glared at them and left before any of the obligatory horn jokes could be made, and still hadn’t forgiven them the next day when Brendon showed up at his bunk with a handful of ribbons and offered to plait them in to his pretty, pretty mane.)

So now there’s a book of rules, which has become the bane of the existence of anyone who isn’t Pete or Brendon, because some of the rules don’t even make sense and are made up just because they gross themselves out when playing “Who would you rather do, skanky-dog Paris Hilton, or gold-fish Jessica Simpson?” (The others are disgusted that it even got to that.) And of course, the rules only suit Brendon and Pete, because they get to change which animals they are – sometimes Pete wants to be a dog, so he can hang out with Hemingway, and other times he wants to be a meerkat, they’re so freaking sweet! But Brendon always wants to be a lioness – and the others can only have their animals changed for them, which is how Spencer ends up as Oscar the Grouch, who counters that that makes Brendon Elmo, because he’s little and fucking annoying, but Brendon still wants to be a lioness.

Except that Pete likes the idea that Brendon is Elmo, so he tries to force Brendon to change, but he won’t, and that leads to the Severing of the Book. Brendon takes the front half and Pete takes the back, and there’s no mention of it for almost a week until Pete calls to say that if Patrick was a specific Hobbit, he’d have to be Sam Gamgee, so they spend the next hour quoting the Lord of the Rings and cracking up with laughter, which means it’s all back on, and they even meet up so they can tape the book back together and add the rule that neither Pete nor Brendon can force the other to change, but they can force anyone else that they like. They also add that Patrick has to say “Don’t you leave him, Patrick Gamgee…” Whenever they like, but Patrick has joined Ryan and Spencer and Jon now, who all shoot withering glances every time anyone even mentions animals.

And it makes Brendon sad, because really all he’d been trying to do was make some sort of analogy about how they worked together, and how suited they all are, because lionesses like to protect their family, and they’re little and really affectionate, and sloths are really laid back and cool (and hairy, but don’t tell Jon), and kittens are cute, but then they grow into cats, who are intelligent and loyal and also fierce and really, really clean, and well, even if Ryan isn’t a unicorn, he can still be a horse, because horses always have been really important in the scheme of things, and they have really pretty eyes and they’re brave and curious, and really friendly.

Pete totally understands it, because he’s already told Patrick and Joe and Andy that that means he’s Frodo, and Joe and Andy are Merry and Pippin, and no, Joe, you can’t be Gandalf, because that doesn’t work, I don’t care if you want a pointy hat.

Brendon wishes his band mates were as cool as Pete’s.

So he tries one last time, sitting them all down in the lounge and making them listen, even when Spencer gets this glazed over look in his eyes, and Jon is tapping out the rhythm to a song on his thigh and Ryan wants to know why he can’t I don’t know, write us a letter or something. But Brendon has charts and diagrams and he stumbles and blushes his way through it, so somewhere along the line they figure it’s a compliment, so when he finishes Jon squeezes him on the shoulder and says he wishes he could hang upside down for as long as sloths could, and Ryan sort of smiles before he walks off.

Spencer’s still angry he’s a kitten. But he mutters, “Place is a fucking zoo…” So Brendon thinks that’s good.

Right?

Fic: NP || Addiction

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 07:41:39 GMT

Title: Addiction
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Last
Word Count: 230
Rating: None
Author's Notes: It's been a while, and it might be a while after this one... but yes. AU or maybe not. I don't know.

When he stands and watches her, it’s not for the first time and it won’t be the last. Covered by shadow, he looks as dark as he feels as he watches the cigarette twisted in her fingers. Raising it to her lips and then back down again, he seethes, he deems the world to be unfair; he wishes that everything could be different, that he could go back and do it all over with a different set of circumstances.

The smoke curls out from between her lips and in that instant he doesn’t know what he wants more, her cigarette or her. He had to give both of them up after all, both for the sake of his health, at the cost of his sanity and what he wouldn’t give for just one last taste, one last hit before he can give up on them.

He’s kissed her and gone before she knows what’s going on, arms snaking around her for the briefest of instants and she stiffens in his embrace because this is all supposed to be done with and it isn’t fair and please just go away and leave me alone and let me believe you never existed.

She crushes her cigarette out against the wall with a sigh and lets the butt fall, coming to rest on all the other last times, all the other last hits.

Fic: NP || Danger

Tue, 31 Oct 2006 06:59:48 GMT

Title: Danger
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: First
Word Count: 373
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None

The first time she meets Pete he tells her she’s dangerous and the words sit with her for a week.

It happens unexpectedly. She’s with Rupert and they’re on the sofa in his flat watching Doctor Who when Pete comes in. Rupert barely turns around, tossing a casual, “Hey,” over his shoulder before returning to the programme, though Moira doesn’t find it so easy. She smiles at Pete and moves subconsciously closer into Rupert, though Rupert just kisses the top of her head and remains engrossed in the telly.

Pete joins them not long after and it unnerves her because she’s not sure if he spends more time watching them or watching Doctor Who. They make conversation and it puts her at ease, so by the time she and Rupert retreat to bed there are glimpses of the person she corresponded with so frequently.

“You’re dangerous.” Pete says to her the next morning when she emerges, fresh and bright, Rupert slumbering because it’s far too early in the morning for him to be up. “You’re dangerous.” Pete repeats again and Moira is only prevented from replying because her boyfriend decides to get up early for what has to be the first time in his life.

She kisses her boyfriend before she goes to work and tells Pete that it was nice to meet him, though she’s not sure if it’s a lie or not. She tries not to give it too much thought, you’re dangerous, you’re dangerous, but she can’t help it because she feels like she’s been hearing it all her life from people just like him.

The second time she meets Pete she knows exactly what to say.

“I love him.” She looks him in the eye and says it just as firmly as Pete’s dangerous pronouncement. “I love him and I’m not going anywhere.”

When Pete looks her up and down she knows it’s not her looks he’s assessing. It’s something intrinsic. Something he has to see in her before he can give his blessing. She wonders if he’s jealous, if he hasn’t quite let go of Rupert. But then his face changes, it lightens and she can see the person she has written to on so many occasions.

“Good.”

Fic: NP || Bun in the Oven

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 23:55:54 GMT

Title: Bun in the Oven
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: It
Word Count: 198
Rating: None
Author's Notes: Because it's official that he's terrible with names.

It is when he suggests Clementine as a suitable name for their unborn child that her head nearly explodes. He doesn’t find anything wrong with it, though he didn’t think there was anything wrong with Quentin or Ignatius either.

When he proposes Camilla, she decides he has drawn the final straw.

“I am revoking your naming rights, darling.” She tells him and there’s only a dash of jest in that statement.

He looks up at her from his position further down on the bed, where he had been reading names to her stomach. “Let the baby decide.”He had said. The baby, Moira decides, has better taste than Camilla.

“But I helped to make it!” He protests, but he’s grinning widely because there is something he considers to be extremely sexy about her when she’s pregnant. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” He kisses a spot on her belly and lets the name book drop to the floor. Camilla and Quentin and Ignatius leave his head. There are more pressing concerns now. “Do I need to remind you?”

She grins as he climbs up level with her and she pulls him down to kiss her. “I think you might.”

Fic: NP || Too Far Gone

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 12:35:08 GMT

Title: Too Far Gone
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Too much
Word Count: 305
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

He doesn’t tell people things, and that’s what makes it really dangerous. If there’s something bothering him, if there’s a problem, he shuts his mouth and works on it until it goes away or until it gets worse.

Sometimes it gets worse.

Like the one time he’s scared, really scared of losing her forever. But he doesn’t think it’s something you can say to anyone, so instead he stays quiet and he broods and he holds her a little bit tighter and pretends that they both don’t notice. It’s almost the same as pushing her away.

When she doesn’t come home til the small hours of the morning one night, she finds him asleep in the bathroom, because it was the last place he got to before his body demanded sleep so he just stopped where he was.

“I should leave you,” He says to her before anything else and she can’t help the tears that prick her eyes like hot needles, “But I’m so badly in love with you that nothing can save me now.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just stands there and he brushes past her as he walks out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that they’ve shared for a year, with the bed that they sleep in together and their oddly arranged collection of knick-knacks, a little bit his, a little bit hers, all theirs.

“If you ever leave me,” He warns her and her knees are slowly becoming jelly, so she props herself up against the doorframe with its rusty hinges and cracking paint, “If you leave me I will never recover.”

It’s a little bit dangerous, the way he loves her and he knows it. But he doesn’t know how he could live without her and it’s what scares him the most.

Fic: NP || Into The Dark

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 07:39:08 GMT

Title: Into the Dark
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Lost
Word Count: 262
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

One time he runs away. Just for a couple of days, just to see if anyone would miss him. He feels so out of touch, so cut off from everyone else, that he thinks the best idea would be to go. Go and not tell anyone and let them figure it out for themselves, if they even cared.

It’s the stupidest idea he’s ever had, but at the time he thinks it’s his most brilliant.

He doesn’t even leave a note. He puts a few things in a bag and climbs down the drain pipe the way she taught him to and then he’s gone. Into the night. Alone and with a million thoughts preying on him.

He’s missing for three days before someone finds him. He’s sitting in a park with his bag by his side when he hears footsteps behind him and someone tries to haul him to his feet.

It’s her. And she punches him. She punches him right in the jaw, hard.

“You selfish bastard.” Her anger comes through tears and she tries to punch him again but he stops her and wraps his arms around her.

“I’m sorry.” He says and he means it but she doesn’t want to hear it.

“You selfish bastard.” She repeats, collapsing into him, sobbing. “You’re a bastard. A selfish bastard.” She tells him over and over again and tries to put all the other thoughts out of her head. “Bastard.” She repeats again, but the fight has gone out of he because he’s not dead or lost. He’s here with her.

Fic: NP || Waiting

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 11:58:55 GMT

Title: Waiting
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Friends
Word Count: 325
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

When she first makes the big time he asks her with big serious eyes if she wants to pretend that they’re just friends.

She laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Of course not, darling.”

He feels like he’s been robbed of an opportunity to be stealthy. Moira doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d be terrible at it anyway.

Pete does.

He laughs in an entirely different way to Moira, thoroughly enjoying the whole concept.

“You’d be a bit shit at it.” He says honestly and it’s the worst possible thing he could have ever said.

--

“Oh yeah, we’re just friends.” Rupert interjects casually when someone at whatever function they’re at enquires after their situation and she just smiles and nods because it’s the sort of crazy scheme that will fall through in about five minutes when he forgets and kisses her or slips his arm around her.

Only he doesn’t. He lets it go on all night, even when countless men hit her on and when the women realise who he is (and what he’s set to inherit). She crosses the floor to him when some audacious brunette grabs a hold of his tie and it all falls apart when someone asks her to dance.

He’s already holding her arm and he grins at the other guy. “Sorry, I got here first…” and she has to agree with a sort of breathless abandon because she’s got goose bumps at his touch and it takes them five seconds to make it to the door.

His shirt is off before they come across an empty function room, though they’re not fussed by the location.

“I guess this means I fail.” He grins amusedly as she kisses him up and down the collarbone and he tries to decide whether or not he wants to take her dress off completely.

“I think you’ll live.” She replies breathlessly, and things only get better from there.

Fic: NP || Play On

Mon, 16 Oct 2006 02:59:49 GMT

Title: Play On
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Food
Word Count: 228
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

She arrives home to the biggest mess she’s seen in her life. It starts in the kitchen and it slowly expands outwards and she knows just who to expect in the middle of it all. He doesn’t notice her at first, panicking over whatever he’s just pulled from the oven, (it smells of …burning) and she wonders what could have made him so ambitious as to want to graduate from the simple things (like toast and spaghetti) to something as complicated as this clearly is.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” She asks as she wipes a brown smudge off his cheek, though there’s plenty more where that came from. She starts to ask what the orange in his hair is, before deciding she’s better off not knowing. “Better yet, whatever are we going to do for tea?”

He forgets that he’s covered in mess as he smiles at her, puts his arms around her waist and mangles one of the most famous Shakespeare quotes he knows.

“We can live off the food of love.” Ever the romantic, ever the optimist.

“Darling, music is the food of love.” She replies because she knows her Shakespeare inside out, though that’s not to say she doesn’t appreciate the sentiment.

“Right.” It’s only a minor obstacle. He can fix this, he really can. “Shall we just order in, then?”

Fic: NP || The Pieces

Mon, 16 Oct 2006 01:59:40 GMT

Title: The Pieces
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Shattered
Word Count: 174
Rating: None
Author's Notes: This is what even just an advert for Grey's Anatomy does to me. Yeah, like all the best breaky things, it's AU

He’s walking out the door when she says it. Two footsteps away from leaving when she breaks down. And breaks him down.

“I’ll never be able to forgive you…” Her voice is shaky because she’s in tears but she’s trying so hard to be strong.

“For breaking your heart, I know.” He waves his hand behind his head, trying to bat the guilt away, trying to pretend like those last two steps aren’t the most difficult ones he’ll ever have to take in his life.

“No!” She cries and the sobs wrack her tiny frame. She puts her hand on the sofa to support her own weight because any second now she will crumple and she might not be able to get back up. “For making me love you!”

He’ll never be able to take those two steps now but everything is so broken, they don’t know how to fix it. Like a shattered priceless vase that can’t be mended because too many of the pieces are missing.

“I’m sorry.”

Then everything is still.

Fic: NP || Don't Ever

Sun, 15 Oct 2006 11:28:03 GMT

Title: Don't Ever
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Disease
Word Count: 218
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None

She asks only one question as his world ends. “What would you do if I was dying?”

He doesn’t know how to answer it, so he doesn’t. He leaves. He walks out of the room as fast as he can because he doesn’t want her to see that he’s crying. That he wouldn’t be able to cope.

“You’re not allowed to do this to me.” He says to the thin air of the hallway as the door closes behind him and she can hear every word he says.

“You’re not.” He repeats in his best barrister voice because he’s commanding the universe. This isn’t allowed to happen. He won’t let it happen.

“You’re not allowed to do this to me.” He says to her, but he takes her in his arms, holds her as close to him as she can because she’s not allowed to do this to him. It’s The Rules and The Rules are not allowed to be broken.

“I’m sorry,” She says, letting him hold her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It tumbles from her lips over and over before he cuts them off with a kiss, demanding and insistent and terrified all at the same time. His whole being is in that kiss and she takes it. Takes it and treasures it forever.

NP: Fic || Lost and Found in a Moment

Sun, 15 Oct 2006 03:47:30 GMT

Title: Lost and Found in a Moment
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Life
Word Count: 180
Rating: None
Author's Notes: I know, ew James Blunt. But bunnies just come to life.

Rupert is halfway through deciding that the tube is the most depressing place in the world when he sees her. She’s sitting quietly with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes flicker in time with the moving scenery.

Everything about her is mysterious and he watches her, he’s hypnotised by her, oblivious to the foreboding stares of the large man sitting next to her. He looks like he could break Rupert in half, but he’s not noticed.

He could just shuffle down a bit, he thinks. Move down til he was in front of her, and when she looked at him, he’d introduce himself. And like that, it would begin. She’d tell him her name and they’d start an awkward conversation. No, not awkward. One of strangers discovering each other for the first time. They’d argue about something inconsequential or perhaps something life changing, but they’d both laugh and make all the other passengers jealous, because they found their other half on the train, just like that.

She’s gone by the time he comes back down to earth.

Fic: NP || Touch and Go

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 11:27:37 GMT

Title: Touch and Go
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Hours
Word Count: 211
Rating: None
Author's Notes: Can I blame Grey's?

The car crash makes all the major newspapers. And all the major magazines, news bulletins and every single conversation for a week. It stops the United Kingdom in its tracks.

They get the bare minimum. They know that it happened in hours and that a drunk driver crashes into their car on her side. They know it takes the ambulance fifteen minutes to get to the scene and that the drunk driver dies before they get to the hospital.

Most people call him a coward. Not having enough guts to survive long enough to pay the price.

They know which hospital they were taken to, and that the baby was the biggest concern and that he appeared to have no major injuries.

They know that she was put on life support, and that things were touch and go and finally that it was switched off. And that she died.

And then he died.

They don’t know that he never left her side. That he held her hand til the end. That he begged and pleaded and cried. That it had to be her mother making the decision because he just shut down.

They don’t know that his time of death was only seconds after hers because he refused to go on.

Fic: NP || Possession

Sun, 08 Oct 2006 13:46:04 GMT

Title: Possession
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Touch
Word Count: 190
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

Sometimes, only sometimes; when the sun rises in a different direction or one of the stars in the sky burns out or a species becomes extinct in an instant, they’ll do something a little different. Maybe it’s ordering a different dish from their local curry house, or going a different route home and sometimes, when the moon is full and the wolves are out and the children of the night are the kings of the world…they get wild.

“Mine!” He says in a way that is be all and end all as he pushes her back against the wall and attacks her neck with his mouth, leaving those angry, red telltale marks. Rupert was here.

“Mine.” He repeats over and over again. “Mine.”

She loves every minute of it.

“Mine!” She takes her turn at marking her territory, running her fingers over every part of his body, slowly, sinfully, the best kind of torture. The ties come in awfully handy then, even if they do go through them at an alarming rate. “Mine.” She insists. “Mine.”

“Mine.” He says and means it.

“Mine.” She replies and the deal is done.

Fic: NP || Roll Over

Sun, 08 Oct 2006 07:51:41 GMT

Title: Roll Over
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Thunder
Word Count: 160
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None

When the thunder crashes overhead she curls into him, not because she’s scared of the storm but because she can. Because it’s nice and because he smiles and wraps his arms around her and puts his mouth to her ear.

“Do we need a distraction?”

Even in the dark she knows there’s a grin on his face and he presses his lips to her earlobe before taking it in his teeth. She giggles and they’re both thinking this is an excellent alternative to listening to the storm with thunder crashes again and the door creaks open.

“Mummy? Daddy?” It’s Imogen, but the quiet murmurs behind her mean that Thomas and Aurelia aren’t far behind and soon there are five in the bed.

“You wanted a distraction.” Moira smiles, kissing the littlest on the top of the head before tangling her fingers with his. It’s not the sort of distraction they planned for, but it’s a nice one all the same.

Fic: NP || On the First Day of Christmas

Sat, 07 Oct 2006 07:57:28 GMT

Title: On the First Day of Christmas
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Weeks
Word Count: 322
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None

They get back together in the end. It takes them six weeks and a lot of help from Pete and Lav, but they do it.

He begins as her secret admirer, sending her notes – quotes from movies. Casablanca, Casanova, anything and everything he can think of. She knows it’s him by the third one and after five Lav tells him to piss off.

He steps up the effort instead. First she receives his Doctor Who tie, which sits on her desk for a week before a stick arrives. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry so she does both and Lav worries. She’s not allowed to care about this ponce (Lav thinks) as much as she clearly does. When a tiny toy soldier arrives, distraught and with a note ‘Help me, I’m lost’ there’s no laughter, only tears and Lav swears that when she next sees him, she is going to punch him in the face.

She doesn’t, mainly because she’s too dumbfounded to do anything. He’s dressed (like a ponce) like the Doctor, but there’s also a stick hanging from his side. He trips on it before he reaches them and then stumbles over everything he says. Lav doesn’t buy it for a second, but Moira invites him for a drink later that night.

Rupert brings Pete with him for back up, though he forgets about him the moment he walks through the door and she presents him with his stray toy soldier.

They head to the bar and while they wait for their drinks, they watch Pete and Lav as they lament on the stupidity of their friends.

“He missed writing to you.” Rupert puts in helpfully and Moira laughs and it’s music to both of their ears.

“Can’t have that.” She says mock-seriously, finally dragging her gaze away from the other two to study him, scruffy, hopeful and a little bit lost.

“No.” He agrees. “No we can’t.”

Fic: NP || Criminal

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 12:50:21 GMT

Title: Criminal
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Passing
Word Count: 166
Rating: None
Author's Notes: Song lyrics belong to The Format.

“Let’s make this moment a crime.” She whispers as she pushes him against the wall and kisses him because she can and the police are watching and old habits die hard.

“Let’s make this moment a crime.” He murmurs as he squeezes her hand and kisses her because he’s terrified of what comes next and his parents are on the other side of the door.

“Let’s make this moment a crime.” She breathes as she pecks him on the lips before disappearing because she really shouldn’t be here, it’s such bad luck, but she really couldn’t resist.

“Let’s make this moment a crime.” He says with a grin on his face before he pulls her dramatically into his arms and snogs her because they both enjoy performing for an audience and it doesn’t hurt to tease the children.

“Let’s make this moment a crime.” She whispers and presses her lips to his as his eyelids flutter closed and breath leaves his body for the last time.

Fic: NP || Playing Grown Up

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 12:44:22 GMT

Title: Playing Grown Up
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Dinner
Word Count: 140
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

“I love you…” He says one Wednesday night out of the blue, for Wednesday nights are the best such nights to be making such declarations.

Her face crinkles into a warm smile as she continues with dinner.

“I know.”

He waits a second longer and is rewarded with nothing, so he puts his dishes in the machine and retreats to his study. It’s a sulk of massive proportions, but it’s awfully handy for getting work done so he just gets on with it and then goes to bed.

“I love you.” She tells him as she cuddles into him and he can feel her sock-ed feet against his legs. The stupid thing is that he knows. Of course he knows. He never doubted it fore a second. Han Solo always said it to Princess Leia in the end.

“I know.”

Fic: NP || The End of the World

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 12:37:01 GMT

Title: The End of the World
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Not Enough
Word Count: 105
Rating: None
Author's Notes: Because sometimes they think they're going to lose each other.

They have all the time in the world, but it’s not enough.

He kisses her with such desperation and she holds him so tight there’s a set of ten matching finger bruises down his back come morning.

They want more time, need more time.

They make love and try to stamp each other with ‘mine, forever’ but it’s never as permanent as they’d like. It’s not enough; they need more; it’s never enough.

Is it selfish, they wonder, to want this one person forever, til the end of time and existence is unmade?

They have all the time in the world, but it’s not enough.

Fic: NP || Correspondence

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 12:28:41 GMT

Title: Correspondence
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Writer's Choice
Word Count: 146
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None

When she breaks his heart, he writes her two letters.

I hate you. One says. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. One hundred times over until his messy scribble covers the page.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

He leaves it on a table but she never finds it.

When she breaks his heart, he writes her two letters.

I love you. Says the other. I love you, I love you, I love you. Like it was an obsession. Like he was pleading with her instead of inscribing it on the inky page.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He leaves it on a table, but she never finds it.

I hate that I love you. He writes on a scrap of paper and drops it on the floor.

She never tells him that she finds it.

Fic: NP || Addicted

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 05:06:02 GMT

Title: Addicted
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Air
Word Count: 107
Rating: R for pr0n
Author's Notes: Because they're rabbits.

He needs her more than he needs air to breathe.

They’re skin to skin and mouth to mouth and he’s inside her and she’s on him and they’re moving in such a sweet motion.

He’d choose her if he had to choose between her and breathing. Breathing is overrated anyway. He doesn’t need to breathe if he’s got her. She’s breathtaking.

He’s calling her name and she’s moaning his and he’s holding her and kissing her and waiting for that sweet bliss.

She’s in his head. She’s in his blood. She’s a drug and he’s addicted to her. She’s the one thing he’ll never give up.

Breath taking.

Fic: NP || In the Kingdom of Dumb

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 04:59:22 GMT

Title: In the Kingdom of Dumb
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: King
Word Count: 171
Rating: None
Author's Notes: None.

They all know how silly Dad is. They’ve heard about the dorky nicknames he makes up for Mum and how he and this other girl used to get together regularly just to kick chairs at each other. They’ve heard about the times he picked fights and got carried away and how sometimes he didn’t think things through when he really should have.

There’s one story however (for the girls because the boys only like the action bits) that gets them every time.

“Queen of Stupid.”

“I never would have taken him back.” Aurelia announces, crossing her arms and turning away from her father, who just grins and pecks her on the head. She does it every time. Imogen is quieter, but she agrees with her sister.

“That was rather harsh, Dad.”

“Why’d you go out with him?” Aurelia has bounced to her mother, hovering. She knows the answer but she loves to hear it anyway.

Moira smiles and takes her husbands hand and squeezes it. “Because every queen needs a king.”

Fic: NP || Sunrise

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 11:52:50 GMT

Title: Sunrise
Fandom: NP
Characters: Cruel Bitches
Prompt: Sunrise
Word Count: 307
Rating: None
Author's Note: None

“Lets stay up to watch the sun rise.” She says to him one night just after the sun sets. He looks down at her, but he doesn’t question it because he’s feeling whimsical. They’re this close to the end of their life at Hogwarts and classes the next day or not, he grins and says he thinks it’s the best idea ever, though they might want to turn around so they can actually see the sun when it rises.

By eleven the common room is practically empty and they’re debating the original Star Wars trilogy versus the new one. She maintains that she’s Han Solo though he’s mildly disturbed that this makes him Princess Leia, but he’s decided that it’s better than Luke Skywalker, so it’s okay.

At midnight they’ve lulled into a comfortable silence, she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he’s watching the stars out the window. When his eyelids start to droop, she kisses him to wake him up and things get a little bit carried away.

It’s one thirty when they sneak up to their dorms and return with pillow and blankets. They’re not sleeping, no the idea they’ve had is far more inspired than that. It takes them almost an hour, but by the end of it they have their very own fort. Just for the two of them. They name it Chez Squish, because at almost three in the morning everything seems funny and inspired.

The sun rises at five am, but they’re not awake to see it. They’re cuddled together and Chez Squish has fallen down around them and when they wake up there’s a crowd watching them.

“We missed the sun rise.” He mumbles as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

She pulls the rest of Chez Squish over the top of them. “It doesn’t really matter.”