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Yeah, I don't know what this is either. And a grand total of one person is probably going to read it and there aren't even communities (how the fuck is that possible?) But these two are EATING MY BRAIN! and I couldn't not write them. So instead of Big Bang, I'm writing ficlet pieces on Ted and Emmett.
Title: Love is a Four Letter Word
Characters: Ted/Emmett
Rating: PG-13 possibly.
Summary: He wonders if he tastes like ashes.
Warnings/Spoilers: Takes place about right after 3x09, but like right before what I like to refer to as The Paradise Hotel incident. So beware of the depressive Ted.
Author's Notes: Just be glad it isn't Brian/Justin (dear fucking god, Danielle if I EVER write that shit, just shoot me right there and then.) Also Ted POV because apparently I identify best with a depressive, crystal queen with low self-esteem and an adorable smile.
He wonders if he tastes like ashes.
It would make sense. He feels dead anyway. His body moves and he can speak, but his soul feels gone. It’s overdramatic, but that’s what he’s good at.
He could ask Em, but he thinks Em would freak out more than he is already. Em doesn’t say it, but it’s in his eyes. That helpless, I don’t know what to do, but it’s killing me that I don’t know how to help you.
He’s dead, but that doesn’t mean he wants Em to join him.
“Don’t.”
“Teddy.”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth today. My breath…”
But Em kisses him anyway, lips against lips and Em tastes sweet, like fruit and honey and things he used to have. Fine and warm and if he didn’t have so much pride, he’d cling. He’d burrow in and beg Em to stay, forever or for a day. It doesn’t matter.
He is, though, proud. Too proud sometimes.
At least it’s the classic hamartia.
“Tastes fine to me.”
But that’s a lie. Emmett’s good at lying to him, trying to make him feel better with a smile and words that might actually mean something if he could really believe them. Emmett does, though; he believes them. Believes they’ll get through this, that he’ll get through this and the can have that dream house with the white picket fence.
He knows better.
“It’s stale.”
“It’s you and I love you.”
He’s been saying that a lot more too. I love you. Like if he doesn’t hear it and if Emmett doesn’t say it, that makes it fake, not real.
Disappear.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
He wants to ask how. How could Emmett love him when he’s so spectacularly failed at everything. At life.
But then Emmett stares at him, nose crinkled in that cute way that he’d noticed the first time he’d realized it, realized that he loved Emmett more than he needed to breathe. All the right clichés happen. His eyes twinkling and his smile lights up the room and Emmett touches him and feels like he can breathe again, like he never stopped.
This is love, he thinks. This is what it’s like to be in love with someone so much you don’t know who you are without them, yet you know you must be someone, someone real special for them to even look at you twice.
It’s the one belief he clings to.
“Well, um… you better get to work.” He says, head bowed and Emmett smiles wider, perfect teeth and Emmett’s fingers cup his chin and make him lift his head up.
“What’s the rush? It’s not that late yet.”
Emmett kisses him again, slow and wet and like he can’t get enough of him. He likes this, this lazy morning where Emmett doesn’t care about being late to work because the catering slash party planning business is taking off and who cares about Torso when he can have a little morning sex.
It keeps him from remembering, keeps him solely focused on Emmett and the feel of Emmett’s skin under his fingers, fleeting as it is. He wants more. He wants it all. He just wants Em.
And, because the universe is wacky and loves to screw him over when he’s finally got everything, he has Em. He only has Em and really, it’s enough.
It’s enough.
“Don’t want to be late. How unprofessional would that be?”
“Hmm… it’s just Torso. Those little twinks can pick out loud polyester shirts without me there to offer up my fabulous advice.”
“And you’ve got your new business. It’s really taking off.”
He’s proud of Em. He really is. He wants Em to succeed and have everything, but sooner or later he’ll have everything.
And he won’t be needed.
“Yeah, I’m kind of proud of myself.”
“I’m proud of you too.” He says.
He means it. He really means it as all of his titles he has with Emmett. He wants it so badly for Emmett.
“Which is why cashier doesn’t hold much light in the face of glamorous party planner. Much rather spend the day with you.”
“So stay.”
He means forever. He means until the end of time. He means until they’re dead, long gone and buried.
Of course you can’t die twice.
Em smiles. He has such a beautiful smile and Ted could just stare all day.
“I could call in. We could spend the whole day in bed. Make out like a couple of young teenagers in love.”
He can’t tell Em, though. He can’t because it’s desperate and he’s desperate and pathetic and a whole bunch of other things.
But he’s also proud.
“Sounds like a plan.” He says, bright smile on his face and he doesn’t even have to force it.
“Hmm… a brilliant plan.”
Emmett kisses him again, more and more and this is making out, this is Emmett kissing him even though his breath is bad and tastes like too much alcohol and pain pills and he knows that, even if they don’t think he does. He knows it in the moments like right now where he’s sober and clear headed and knows he’s a fuck up, but Emmett still wants him anyway.
Maybe Emmett loves the taste of ashes.
Or maybe he just loves Ted.
FIN
Title: Love is a Four Letter Word
Characters: Ted/Emmett
Rating: PG-13 possibly.
Summary: He wonders if he tastes like ashes.
Warnings/Spoilers: Takes place about right after 3x09, but like right before what I like to refer to as The Paradise Hotel incident. So beware of the depressive Ted.
Author's Notes: Just be glad it isn't Brian/Justin (dear fucking god, Danielle if I EVER write that shit, just shoot me right there and then.) Also Ted POV because apparently I identify best with a depressive, crystal queen with low self-esteem and an adorable smile.
He wonders if he tastes like ashes.
It would make sense. He feels dead anyway. His body moves and he can speak, but his soul feels gone. It’s overdramatic, but that’s what he’s good at.
He could ask Em, but he thinks Em would freak out more than he is already. Em doesn’t say it, but it’s in his eyes. That helpless, I don’t know what to do, but it’s killing me that I don’t know how to help you.
He’s dead, but that doesn’t mean he wants Em to join him.
“Don’t.”
“Teddy.”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth today. My breath…”
But Em kisses him anyway, lips against lips and Em tastes sweet, like fruit and honey and things he used to have. Fine and warm and if he didn’t have so much pride, he’d cling. He’d burrow in and beg Em to stay, forever or for a day. It doesn’t matter.
He is, though, proud. Too proud sometimes.
At least it’s the classic hamartia.
“Tastes fine to me.”
But that’s a lie. Emmett’s good at lying to him, trying to make him feel better with a smile and words that might actually mean something if he could really believe them. Emmett does, though; he believes them. Believes they’ll get through this, that he’ll get through this and the can have that dream house with the white picket fence.
He knows better.
“It’s stale.”
“It’s you and I love you.”
He’s been saying that a lot more too. I love you. Like if he doesn’t hear it and if Emmett doesn’t say it, that makes it fake, not real.
Disappear.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
He wants to ask how. How could Emmett love him when he’s so spectacularly failed at everything. At life.
But then Emmett stares at him, nose crinkled in that cute way that he’d noticed the first time he’d realized it, realized that he loved Emmett more than he needed to breathe. All the right clichés happen. His eyes twinkling and his smile lights up the room and Emmett touches him and feels like he can breathe again, like he never stopped.
This is love, he thinks. This is what it’s like to be in love with someone so much you don’t know who you are without them, yet you know you must be someone, someone real special for them to even look at you twice.
It’s the one belief he clings to.
“Well, um… you better get to work.” He says, head bowed and Emmett smiles wider, perfect teeth and Emmett’s fingers cup his chin and make him lift his head up.
“What’s the rush? It’s not that late yet.”
Emmett kisses him again, slow and wet and like he can’t get enough of him. He likes this, this lazy morning where Emmett doesn’t care about being late to work because the catering slash party planning business is taking off and who cares about Torso when he can have a little morning sex.
It keeps him from remembering, keeps him solely focused on Emmett and the feel of Emmett’s skin under his fingers, fleeting as it is. He wants more. He wants it all. He just wants Em.
And, because the universe is wacky and loves to screw him over when he’s finally got everything, he has Em. He only has Em and really, it’s enough.
It’s enough.
“Don’t want to be late. How unprofessional would that be?”
“Hmm… it’s just Torso. Those little twinks can pick out loud polyester shirts without me there to offer up my fabulous advice.”
“And you’ve got your new business. It’s really taking off.”
He’s proud of Em. He really is. He wants Em to succeed and have everything, but sooner or later he’ll have everything.
And he won’t be needed.
“Yeah, I’m kind of proud of myself.”
“I’m proud of you too.” He says.
He means it. He really means it as all of his titles he has with Emmett. He wants it so badly for Emmett.
“Which is why cashier doesn’t hold much light in the face of glamorous party planner. Much rather spend the day with you.”
“So stay.”
He means forever. He means until the end of time. He means until they’re dead, long gone and buried.
Of course you can’t die twice.
Em smiles. He has such a beautiful smile and Ted could just stare all day.
“I could call in. We could spend the whole day in bed. Make out like a couple of young teenagers in love.”
He can’t tell Em, though. He can’t because it’s desperate and he’s desperate and pathetic and a whole bunch of other things.
But he’s also proud.
“Sounds like a plan.” He says, bright smile on his face and he doesn’t even have to force it.
“Hmm… a brilliant plan.”
Emmett kisses him again, more and more and this is making out, this is Emmett kissing him even though his breath is bad and tastes like too much alcohol and pain pills and he knows that, even if they don’t think he does. He knows it in the moments like right now where he’s sober and clear headed and knows he’s a fuck up, but Emmett still wants him anyway.
Maybe Emmett loves the taste of ashes.
Or maybe he just loves Ted.
FIN