Testing, one two three...
Hey there everyone, short time lurker, first time poster. I first saw BoG sometime last week (it was in the haze of the giant Thanksgiving Day weekend, so I can't pinpoint the exact day) and fell in love with it, blah blah blah, standard fangirl rant here. I found this community and was so moved by awesome that I created an LJ account just to join. Wicked cool, huh?
(Oh gosh, I hope I'm doing this right and don't mess everything up. I last used LJ seriously maybe a year ago, and the preview for this post keeps showing my old account even though I'm logged into this one... so please forgive me if I botch up the formatting, I'm still trying to relearn LJ's wily ways. ^^;)
I kept putting off a newbie post because I didn't have anything written, but now I come with three pretty drabbles you can either read individually or as a larger story. They're unbeta'd and the first time I've ever played with these boys, but it's also the first non-roleplaying-related fanfiction I've written in a long time. I'm really excited about this fandom because you guys seem like an awesome bunch and I've already written *so much* with Chazz and Jimmy, it's not even funny. Seriously, these guys are gnawing on my brain, like cute little zombie-skaters. Aww. Eedy biddy boo boo zombie.
*ahem* Without further ado... the drabbles. Enjoy reading while I stumble off to bed and try to get rested for teh schoolings tomorrow.
Title: Ice
Rating: PG because Chazz likes to curse.
Wordcount: 338
Pairing: Nothing directly, but all roads lead to Chazz/Jimmy
Summary: Chazz gets grumpy because Jimmy's so good at skating; Jimmy flashback on what sort of skating he did after everyone abandoned him. Aww, come on you guys. That deserves at least one tear.
It’s like he’s been frozen in time. His looks, grace, and skill haven’t faded or faltered or all; nothing as debasing as fat or laziness could ever touch this boy. He’s the kind of skater that could just stand on the ice with enough surgical precision to make all the competition give up and go home crying. What the hell gives? The kid doesn’t move like he’s breaking hiatus, he moves like he’s been out on the ice every day for the past three-and-a-half goddamned years!
----
Maybe that’s because he never really stopped. He couldn’t, though at first he tried under the impression that maybe he was supposed to be learning his lesson. Time came soon enough that he didn’t care about paying his dues and went out anyway, called to the ice like a bird south. Fearing the public’s ridicule and cruel stares- although, something deep inside told him, no one probably gave a mouse’s butt about him anymore- he avoided public rinks until they closed. He felt bad about it, but bribing a janitor was the only way he could sneak in without setting off an alarm. Once he handed over part of his rent money, the nagging voice of reason shut up once presented with a clear, pristine, blessedly empty rink.
He’d never heard silence on the rink before. He’d never skated alone, either, but there’s a first time for everything. Shyly, he pulled himself out onto the ice, eyes darting around nervously for someone screaming at him to get out of here, he didn’t belong anymore. When the admonition didn’t come he relaxed, muscles losing their tension, and he let himself fly.
Chazz Douchebag Michaels thought he was figure skating? Fine; Jimmy didn’t give a flip about that anymore. Let him be the ice, let him be the cold and the spandex and the very blades beneath his feet. He’d swallow his pride and skate in near dark after closing time if it meant he could still be glory on ice one more time.
Title: Fire
Rating: PG - PG-13 cause Chazz curses again and alludes to lust.
Wordcount: 346
Pairing: Stronger C/J than the last drabble, but nothing really directly. Ha ha ha y'all know what I mean.
Summary: Introspection by Chazz on rage and other strong emotions in his life as Jimmy watches him out on the ice.
If you’re familiar with something then you know how to deal with it, and rage is something he’s very familiar with. Rage at the opposition, rage for idiotic judges who knock off points for “attitude,” rage at how those stupid women don’t get that he’s a one nighter, and he doesn’t care what any of them think of it! Then, later on, rage against the establishment, rage at one competitor in particular- oh there’s a lot of anger stored up for him- rage at the disgusting, incoherent fuckfest his life has become. Sometimes he feels like wrath and not lust controls his life; then, other times, lust is all he knows. He calls himself insatiable and it’s not far from the truth. Maybe, just maybe, he gives into it a bit more eagerly than he should, but that’s all right. Rage and lust are simple enough to deal with, because you always yield to temptation. Always.
It’s not because he’d prefer being totally incinerated by something familiar than even slightly singed by something not. It’s not because he’s scared of what’s out there. It’s not he tells himself, remembering how the applause used to erupt like a forest fire, then dousing that memory in a burning shot of vodka that should not tip so easily past his lips.
----
He’ll burn himself out, he thinks, watching the other man out on the rink. There’s too much passion and no control, nothing to keep the blaze unchecked. The ice under his feet should just… sublimate. There’s a nice word he remembers from homeschooled science. The ice should get so hot that it bursts into water vapor without even futzing around with something as lame as meltation… meltation? Just plain melting? He’ll have to double check on that later, after he’s done making sure the ice won’t suddenly disappear beneath Chazz’s feet. Or that, you know, the air around him won’t ignite. Seems like it should. Nothing should be able to hold this firebrand, and yet… here he is.
“Hey,” Jimmy shouts, “doesn’t it ever get tiring, being you?”
Title: Water
Rating: PG because... guess what... CHAZZ CURSES. I swear to God that boy cannot control himself.
Wordcount: 357
Pairing: Eh... still not full out-and-out Chazz/Jimmy, but it's there.
Summary: When fire and ice meet out on the rink, some pretty amazing stuff happens.
The first time it clicks, it really, really clicks. One moment they’re going through yet another useless repetition of their routine, and the next- the next he’s looking over into a mirror. He knows every move his partner will make before he even makes it. He knows how he’ll shift his weight coming out of a turn and the best way to pull off this next spin. They flow into a curve perfectly with a degree of form and precision he’s always mocked but never experienced until now. Now a lift and a spin, synergy spilling over as spandexed skin strives to meet spandexed skin. It makes him want to write bad poetry about drowning in the sense of being not two skaters, but one functioning pair.
Coach told them to practice this move all day if they had to until they had it perfect. Well, he thinks as he slowly lowers his partner back to the ice, it feels like they got it right. Feels like they got it so damn right.
----
He almost doesn’t notice it at first, the way a second set of reflexes just springs up at his disposal. All he knows is that something lifted a film from his eyes to show him a rink alive with possibility. His body prepares as his partner throws him into the air, but his mind is racing ahead as if bored with the present. How many more leaps can they make together before the size of the rink forces them to change trajectory? How tight can they pull into this spin, how leisurely the next? For the first time his carefully crafted routine serves only as a rough guideline, something from which they can depart easily. He wants to experiment, he wants to test himself in ways that have nothing to do with medals, he wants to tear up the ice in gleeful abandon for no other reason than that he can. He laughs, ecstatic, and glances over to see Chazz smile wide.
“What are you laughing at, MacElroy? That last twirl was a pile of horseshit!”
“I know,” he giggles breathlessly, “wasn’t it great?”
(Oh gosh, I hope I'm doing this right and don't mess everything up. I last used LJ seriously maybe a year ago, and the preview for this post keeps showing my old account even though I'm logged into this one... so please forgive me if I botch up the formatting, I'm still trying to relearn LJ's wily ways. ^^;)
I kept putting off a newbie post because I didn't have anything written, but now I come with three pretty drabbles you can either read individually or as a larger story. They're unbeta'd and the first time I've ever played with these boys, but it's also the first non-roleplaying-related fanfiction I've written in a long time. I'm really excited about this fandom because you guys seem like an awesome bunch and I've already written *so much* with Chazz and Jimmy, it's not even funny. Seriously, these guys are gnawing on my brain, like cute little zombie-skaters. Aww. Eedy biddy boo boo zombie.
*ahem* Without further ado... the drabbles. Enjoy reading while I stumble off to bed and try to get rested for teh schoolings tomorrow.
Title: Ice
Rating: PG because Chazz likes to curse.
Wordcount: 338
Pairing: Nothing directly, but all roads lead to Chazz/Jimmy
Summary: Chazz gets grumpy because Jimmy's so good at skating; Jimmy flashback on what sort of skating he did after everyone abandoned him. Aww, come on you guys. That deserves at least one tear.
It’s like he’s been frozen in time. His looks, grace, and skill haven’t faded or faltered or all; nothing as debasing as fat or laziness could ever touch this boy. He’s the kind of skater that could just stand on the ice with enough surgical precision to make all the competition give up and go home crying. What the hell gives? The kid doesn’t move like he’s breaking hiatus, he moves like he’s been out on the ice every day for the past three-and-a-half goddamned years!
----
Maybe that’s because he never really stopped. He couldn’t, though at first he tried under the impression that maybe he was supposed to be learning his lesson. Time came soon enough that he didn’t care about paying his dues and went out anyway, called to the ice like a bird south. Fearing the public’s ridicule and cruel stares- although, something deep inside told him, no one probably gave a mouse’s butt about him anymore- he avoided public rinks until they closed. He felt bad about it, but bribing a janitor was the only way he could sneak in without setting off an alarm. Once he handed over part of his rent money, the nagging voice of reason shut up once presented with a clear, pristine, blessedly empty rink.
He’d never heard silence on the rink before. He’d never skated alone, either, but there’s a first time for everything. Shyly, he pulled himself out onto the ice, eyes darting around nervously for someone screaming at him to get out of here, he didn’t belong anymore. When the admonition didn’t come he relaxed, muscles losing their tension, and he let himself fly.
Chazz Douchebag Michaels thought he was figure skating? Fine; Jimmy didn’t give a flip about that anymore. Let him be the ice, let him be the cold and the spandex and the very blades beneath his feet. He’d swallow his pride and skate in near dark after closing time if it meant he could still be glory on ice one more time.
Title: Fire
Rating: PG - PG-13 cause Chazz curses again and alludes to lust.
Wordcount: 346
Pairing: Stronger C/J than the last drabble, but nothing really directly. Ha ha ha y'all know what I mean.
Summary: Introspection by Chazz on rage and other strong emotions in his life as Jimmy watches him out on the ice.
If you’re familiar with something then you know how to deal with it, and rage is something he’s very familiar with. Rage at the opposition, rage for idiotic judges who knock off points for “attitude,” rage at how those stupid women don’t get that he’s a one nighter, and he doesn’t care what any of them think of it! Then, later on, rage against the establishment, rage at one competitor in particular- oh there’s a lot of anger stored up for him- rage at the disgusting, incoherent fuckfest his life has become. Sometimes he feels like wrath and not lust controls his life; then, other times, lust is all he knows. He calls himself insatiable and it’s not far from the truth. Maybe, just maybe, he gives into it a bit more eagerly than he should, but that’s all right. Rage and lust are simple enough to deal with, because you always yield to temptation. Always.
It’s not because he’d prefer being totally incinerated by something familiar than even slightly singed by something not. It’s not because he’s scared of what’s out there. It’s not he tells himself, remembering how the applause used to erupt like a forest fire, then dousing that memory in a burning shot of vodka that should not tip so easily past his lips.
----
He’ll burn himself out, he thinks, watching the other man out on the rink. There’s too much passion and no control, nothing to keep the blaze unchecked. The ice under his feet should just… sublimate. There’s a nice word he remembers from homeschooled science. The ice should get so hot that it bursts into water vapor without even futzing around with something as lame as meltation… meltation? Just plain melting? He’ll have to double check on that later, after he’s done making sure the ice won’t suddenly disappear beneath Chazz’s feet. Or that, you know, the air around him won’t ignite. Seems like it should. Nothing should be able to hold this firebrand, and yet… here he is.
“Hey,” Jimmy shouts, “doesn’t it ever get tiring, being you?”
Title: Water
Rating: PG because... guess what... CHAZZ CURSES. I swear to God that boy cannot control himself.
Wordcount: 357
Pairing: Eh... still not full out-and-out Chazz/Jimmy, but it's there.
Summary: When fire and ice meet out on the rink, some pretty amazing stuff happens.
The first time it clicks, it really, really clicks. One moment they’re going through yet another useless repetition of their routine, and the next- the next he’s looking over into a mirror. He knows every move his partner will make before he even makes it. He knows how he’ll shift his weight coming out of a turn and the best way to pull off this next spin. They flow into a curve perfectly with a degree of form and precision he’s always mocked but never experienced until now. Now a lift and a spin, synergy spilling over as spandexed skin strives to meet spandexed skin. It makes him want to write bad poetry about drowning in the sense of being not two skaters, but one functioning pair.
Coach told them to practice this move all day if they had to until they had it perfect. Well, he thinks as he slowly lowers his partner back to the ice, it feels like they got it right. Feels like they got it so damn right.
----
He almost doesn’t notice it at first, the way a second set of reflexes just springs up at his disposal. All he knows is that something lifted a film from his eyes to show him a rink alive with possibility. His body prepares as his partner throws him into the air, but his mind is racing ahead as if bored with the present. How many more leaps can they make together before the size of the rink forces them to change trajectory? How tight can they pull into this spin, how leisurely the next? For the first time his carefully crafted routine serves only as a rough guideline, something from which they can depart easily. He wants to experiment, he wants to test himself in ways that have nothing to do with medals, he wants to tear up the ice in gleeful abandon for no other reason than that he can. He laughs, ecstatic, and glances over to see Chazz smile wide.
“What are you laughing at, MacElroy? That last twirl was a pile of horseshit!”
“I know,” he giggles breathlessly, “wasn’t it great?”