(no subject)
Title: Faith
Author: Eerie
Rating: G
Pairing: Mike/Billie
Disclaimer: I own nothing; not the boys and not the bass.
Notes: Jebus Creebus, I've been out of the loop for a long ass time; anyone still remember this old dinosaur? Well, I just wrote this short little diddly based off of my own bass-searching and finding, and my own lack of confidence in my musicianship.
“This is it, Billie, I swear to God.”
“You’ve said that about - what? - five times now?”
“Yeah, but this time I mean it. I mean, dude, it’s perfect; nice warm sound, versatile tones - “
“It’s fretless.”
“So?”
Billie measured up Mike as if for a fight. “Can you handle a fretless?”
“Can you?” Mike shot back, rather offended at Billie lack of faith.
“I don’t play bass.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Not professionally.”
Mike scowled and turned back to admiring the shiny black Fender Precision. Taking advantage of the lapse in the play-fight, Billie smiled warmly at the back of Mike’s head and, deciding enough was enough, wrapped his arms around the bassist’s waist. Mike jumped a bit at the surprising touch.
“You don’t think I can play it well enough,” Mike said softly, like a small child pouting over a lack of appreciation from a parent.
“I do.” Billie kissed the side of Mike’s neck, scratchy and unshaven. “Do you?”
Mike paused for a minute, then said softly, “Only if you do.”
Author: Eerie
Rating: G
Pairing: Mike/Billie
Disclaimer: I own nothing; not the boys and not the bass.
Notes: Jebus Creebus, I've been out of the loop for a long ass time; anyone still remember this old dinosaur? Well, I just wrote this short little diddly based off of my own bass-searching and finding, and my own lack of confidence in my musicianship.
“This is it, Billie, I swear to God.”
“You’ve said that about - what? - five times now?”
“Yeah, but this time I mean it. I mean, dude, it’s perfect; nice warm sound, versatile tones - “
“It’s fretless.”
“So?”
Billie measured up Mike as if for a fight. “Can you handle a fretless?”
“Can you?” Mike shot back, rather offended at Billie lack of faith.
“I don’t play bass.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Not professionally.”
Mike scowled and turned back to admiring the shiny black Fender Precision. Taking advantage of the lapse in the play-fight, Billie smiled warmly at the back of Mike’s head and, deciding enough was enough, wrapped his arms around the bassist’s waist. Mike jumped a bit at the surprising touch.
“You don’t think I can play it well enough,” Mike said softly, like a small child pouting over a lack of appreciation from a parent.
“I do.” Billie kissed the side of Mike’s neck, scratchy and unshaven. “Do you?”
Mike paused for a minute, then said softly, “Only if you do.”