Distract me. Please

[dancinbutterfly]

I didn't sleep well at all. I had one, long, inescapable dream about being kidnapped, beaten, and sexually assaulted that has followed me out of sleeping into a sickened feeling, out here in the real word. Mmm, fun times. On top of the homework I have due? *shudders

Comments

[mizubyte]

mmm this is hard for me because I get to hear so much of your process with all your recent fics (i love it bb, never stop)

but so--

Gerard turns away from her, about to comment on how maybe they should text Mikey about this, and finds himself staring down at Frank. He’s grinning up at Gerard, mouth loose, eyes bright, thick black hair hanging in his face. Gerard wants to reach out and brush it back because fucking hell, as the Brits say, he is beautiful.

He’s known that in an academic sort of way since forever. He has eyes. But in that moment, it hits him viscerally, pushing the air from his lungs. “Next station, Piccadilly Circus,” the electronic voice announces as his heart stops beating and the train comes to an abrupt halt.

Gerard doesn’t see Frank’s hand slip. He’s not looking at Frank’s hands in their ridiculous gloves (even though it’s the middle of fucking July and hot as hell), but that doesn’t stop them from losing purchase at the sudden stop, nor Frank from stumbling forward. Gerard doesn’t think about wrapping his arm around Frank to stop him falling. They’re chest to chest, and the mix of surprise and relief and utter fucking trust on Frank’s face is world destroying.

“Please stand clear of the closing doors,” the driver calls, robotic over the bad PA system. There’s a lurch that sends them both tripping a little more. Gerard’s the one to fall forward this time, further into Frank, and then the train’s moving again and his world is reduced to Frank’s body in his hold, Frank’s arm that has somehow wound its way around Gerard’s back, the blood racing in his ears, and the rocking noise of the train tearing over the track.

He feels like if they kept traveling down the line, they’d eventually end up in Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. Only he wants to end up in another version, where instead of the Marquis De Carabas and the Huntress showing him magic, a different kind of “anything” would be possible, and he could just lean forward and kiss Frank. Right here. In public. On the fucking train underneath London.

(also, go do this meme for me, come on :-P)

EDIT: LOL! that's awesome.

[dancinbutterfly]

I conducted my love affair with Paul on the trains and train stations when I was 21. I also did a massive photography project on the London Underground and I know the system pretty well for someone who isnt a Londoner and there's just...something magic about the Tube. So, this whole thing is my minilove letter to the subway trains of the Underground and the way, if you let it, it can be a whole other world. Marvelous shit can happen, hence the mention of Neverwhere and London Below. You put Gerard and Frank in this other world and it opens doors. There's sometihng about the light down there too that just makes everything look beautiful in a completely different, yellow sort of way that daylight and above-ground lighting lacks.

Also, there's the idea of the whole *waves a hand* private-lives-in-public that the train has. One minute Gerard's talking to a fan on a train and the next he's seeing his friend in a whole new light. There's a magic on trains in tunnels and thats really what that whole sequence is about. Basically, this is what happens when I get homesick for London. The whole "please stand clear the closing doors" and location announcements? Total metaphors for "Get ready boys, you're about to go somewhere new - brace yourselves." IDK if that came across but that was my thought.