It is heavy as a person in its own right, and Jepha pretend-huffs about wearing it the minute he's handed it.
"Well we could tie up Bert," Dan suggests, nodding at where the Jesus of Screamo ... wait, sorry, no, dirty pop ... is having a very earnest conversation with a photographer that involves me arm-touching than Quinn habitually tolerates Bert doling out.
"I'll wear it," Jepha says hastily, weighing the rusty links in his hands. If Bert gets hold of this he will injure himself, because Bert is Bert and if there's a chance he can tangle himself in something and break a bone, he will find it.
Dan dapes the enormous chain over Jepha's shoulders like a circus python. "Manly Jeph," Dan says approvingly. "Grrr." He does the campiest gunshow ever, entirely straight-faced, until Jepha's laughter threatens to shake the chain loose.
"Manly Christian Martyr Jeph," Jepha corrects when he can breathe again. The chains are heavy, what the hell. Prop-chains, why didn't the photographers just bring prop-chains? Or have them chewing on flowers the way everyone seemed to these days?
"If you die, I will definitely make a shrine to you on the bus." Dan says, readjusting the chain so it doesn't compress Jepha's lungs quite so much. Jepha tries to give him a grateful look but there's a fucking fleck of rust in his eyelashes. "And I won't fuck the new bassist at all. Probably."
"Are you ever going to let that go?"
For an answer Dan lets the end of the heavy chain swing into Jeph's bicep, and Jepha yelps ow and tries to rub the spot it hits without knocking the whole lot of links into his own throat.
"That's going to bruise," he says. It's a futile complaint; it won't show under his ink and he knows, and Dan knows, and they both know the other knows, that what Jepha doesn't like about permanent and temporary marks on his body - especially if Dan gives them to him - can be written on the back of a postage stamp.
Dan pats him on the head as condescendingly as possible and says sagely, "Own-lee if you want it to, St Jepharee."
"And I won't fuck the new bassist at all. Probably." This is kind of where i fell of my chair giggling. I'm well impressed that they could discuss real, honest to god, actual chains without making any dirty comment! Postage stamp indeed! =P
1. now I have N*SYNC stuck in my head, thanks. dirty pop
2. also, now I'm thinking about how bruises would blend in to Jeph's ink. that I actually DO thank you for.
3. Dan/Jepha is totally my happy place pairing. :)
(also, I feel like I should note I already had this open before I started talking to you on twitter. I am a week behind on LJ b/c I haven't checked my flist since the Bob Bryar announcement.)
3. Definitely. Idk that I've ever thought about it in those words (although I have said that sinsense's Held and Holding is one of my comfort fics), but now that you've said it, it *fits*.
"Well we could tie up Bert," Dan suggests, nodding at where the Jesus of Screamo ... wait, sorry, no, dirty pop ... is having a very earnest conversation with a photographer that involves me arm-touching than Quinn habitually tolerates Bert doling out.
"I'll wear it," Jepha says hastily, weighing the rusty links in his hands. If Bert gets hold of this he will injure himself, because Bert is Bert and if there's a chance he can tangle himself in something and break a bone, he will find it.
Dan dapes the enormous chain over Jepha's shoulders like a circus python. "Manly Jeph," Dan says approvingly. "Grrr." He does the campiest gunshow ever, entirely straight-faced, until Jepha's laughter threatens to shake the chain loose.
"Manly Christian Martyr Jeph," Jepha corrects when he can breathe again. The chains are heavy, what the hell. Prop-chains, why didn't the photographers just bring prop-chains? Or have them chewing on flowers the way everyone seemed to these days?
"If you die, I will definitely make a shrine to you on the bus." Dan says, readjusting the chain so it doesn't compress Jepha's lungs quite so much. Jepha tries to give him a grateful look but there's a fucking fleck of rust in his eyelashes. "And I won't fuck the new bassist at all. Probably."
"Are you ever going to let that go?"
For an answer Dan lets the end of the heavy chain swing into Jeph's bicep, and Jepha yelps ow and tries to rub the spot it hits without knocking the whole lot of links into his own throat.
"That's going to bruise," he says. It's a futile complaint; it won't show under his ink and he knows, and Dan knows, and they both know the other knows, that what Jepha doesn't like about permanent and temporary marks on his body - especially if Dan gives them to him - can be written on the back of a postage stamp.
Dan pats him on the head as condescendingly as possible and says sagely, "Own-lee if you want it to, St Jepharee."
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2. also, now I'm thinking about how bruises would blend in to Jeph's ink. that I actually DO thank you for.
3. Dan/Jepha is totally my happy place pairing. :)
(also, I feel like I should note I already had this open before I started talking to you on twitter. I am a week behind on LJ b/c I haven't checked my flist since the Bob Bryar announcement.)
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3. Hehe it's a very *comfortable* pairing, there's no real drama. Sometimes you need that.
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3. Definitely. Idk that I've ever thought about it in those words (although I have said that sinsense's Held and Holding is one of my comfort fics), but now that you've said it, it *fits*.
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Or have them chewing on flowers the way everyone seemed to these days?
Heeeeee! Because Bert already nommed a flower in that one video, St Jepharee! X-D
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HE WOULD.
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