you are a brick tied to me, that's holding me down...
So, I was going through my writing folder and I realized that there's quite a few fics that I'm never going to finish, so I thought I'd put them here.
Punk/Colt, Wrestling, part of a 5 and 1:
5.
Punk had been the one who had started calling him 'Colt'; up until then he had gone by Scott -it didn't have the right fit for wrestling, but he had been at a loss to come up with anything else.
Then one day while they were practicing Cross Bodies, Punk had called him by it. It had come out as an insult, the tone mocking, but it had felt right to him. And he had known Punk long enough to realize when Punk was teasing him.
And, if he was honest with himself, Colt knew he wanted to believe that Punk at least wanted to be friends with him -because Colt already knew he wanted more from Punk.
4.
Colt dragged himself downstairs; the worst part of his parents forcing him to go to college was the fact that he had to get up at the ass crack of dawn on Monday so he could get to Michigan for his night classes the same day.
Gerard Way/Mikey Way, Bandom, part of a 5 and 1:
5.
The first word Mikey ever said was Gerard's name.
Actually, it was “GEEEEE!” in a delighted yell right next to Gerard's ear, but since his name was the only one in the house that even started with a 'g', it was fairly easy to figure out who the baby meant.
Up until then, Gerard had been indifferent about his little brother; he didn't hate him but Mikey wasn't really old enough to do anything besides annoy his big brother.
But after that point, Gerard started letting him sit on his lap when they were watching cartoons or lean against him when he was drawing.
He was surprised to discover that he didn't mind spending time with his little brother.
4.
Mikey was six the first time he crawled into bed with Gerard; their parents' fighting was even louder than usual and if Gerard was honest with himself, it was starting to freak him out, too.
He hadn't even realized Mikey was awake until he left him poking his shoulder.
“Gee,” Mikey whispered, his voice barely understandable. “'m scared. Can I sleep with you?”
“Do you want me to get Mom?” Gerard asked even as he moved against the wall so there'd be room on the bed.
Mikey shook his head and crawled under the blankets.
“Like you better,” he murmured and buried his face in Gerard's neck. “You're comfy,” he added right before he fell back asleep.
3.
“Mikey, come on,” Gerard said, trying to keep his voice even; he didn't need Mikey to realize how appealing he found the idea of having his little brother half naked in his bed.
“Aren't you getting a little to old for this?” He added, trying to make his voice disdainful.
But Mikey just rolled his eyes and moved closer to the wall, leaving the outside part of the bed for Gerard.
Punk/Colt, Wrestling, part of 30 word drabbles:
School
Punk glanced up when someone stopped by his table in study hall. An automatic sneer crossed his face when he realized it was one of the jocks.
“Hey, I'm Scott,” the jock told him, grinning. Punk rolled his eyes but before he could say anything, the other teenager turned to answer one of the cheerleaders that called out to him.
Colton, Punk thought to himself with familiar disdain when he saw the back of his jersey. That just sounds like a rich asshole's name.
“What do you want, Colton?” Punk asked, not bothering to look back at him.
“We're supposed to be working on that project together for dickhead,” Scott reminded him, referring to their history teacher. “I just wanted to know if I should meet you at your house or if you wanted to come to mine, or whatever.”
“Look, Colt, I know you're new, so let me fill you in on a couple things: one, I hate everyone, so stay the fuck away from me. Two, I'm too stupid to know anything to help you with that jack off's project. Just tell him you did all the work by yourself, and he won't make you share the grade.”
Punk looked up at Scott - Not Scott, he thought with amusement, he doesn't look like a Scott; he looks like a Colt- to see if his words had the desired effect; namely making him leave him the hell alone.
But the grin hadn't faded and he was looking at Punk thoughtfully.
“I don't believe that,” Scott told him, his head tilted to the side. “I think you just act like it so people will leave you alone.”
Punk stared at him, completely speechless for the first time in years. He scoffed but it seemed weak to him, and his mind was blank for a come back.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Scott went on, a note of regret in his voice as the bell rang. “If you feel like waiting around, I get done with practice at four; we can talk about the project then.”
With that, he turned around and left, leaving Punk gaping after him.
Marriage
Punk didn't believe in marriage; it wasn't the commitment that scared him -or, at least, not only the commitment- but the idea of being trapped for the rest of his life scared the shit out of him. He couldn't ever imagine willingly shackling himself to one person for an eternity.
As if a piece of paper could ever make someone love you the way they said they did; like those stupid, archaic words would ever stop someone from lying to you every time they opened their mouth. People might put up a good front, but eventually, they always ended up showing their true colors.
And his parents had shown him, over and over again, that those words never stopped you from being miserable -and from destroying yourself and everyone around you because of it. If that was what love and marriage did to you, then Punk wanted no fucken part of it.
Meeting Colt had made Punk realign his thinking, on more then one subject. While he still thought most marriages ended up in misery for everyone concerned -he was convinced that Colt's parents were freaks and the exception to the rule- it did make him rethink his opinion on love. Colt made him realize that sometimes, when someone said 'I love you' that they meant it.
Joy
For Punk, there was nothing that could match how he felt in the ring; the feel of the ropes on his back, the touch of the canvas under him, the fierce joy that he was doing what he had set out to.
For most of his life, Punk had only loved one thing: wrestling. From the time he was old enough to walk, that was the only thing he wanted. And, whether he liked to admit it or not, one of the only good memories he had of his father was watching Raw with him.
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Star Trek: AOS RPS:
Chris leaned against the window, his eyes focused on the line of people that were slowly making their way off the plane. He could just make out Zach at the back of the line, his shoulders hunched forward as his foot tapped against the floor impatiently.
He hadn't seen Zach, face to face, in weeks; he'd flown out to New York for a quick weekend last month but it had been nothing but it had been nothing but phone calls, texting and Skype since.
Chris missed it; missed being in each other's space everyday, missed having the excuse of filming for why they were seen every where together. Sure, everyone knew they were best friends, and it was an accepted fact that both Chris and Zach were more tactile than most people, but it didn't change the fact that unless they were in their own apartments or at a friend's house, they always had to be careful to straddle that line between bromance and relationship.
Chris was tired of having to remember to check the urge to tangle his fingers with Zach's when they were out together, of not being able to lean into Zach's hand when it was pressed against his lower back.
Chris Sabin/Alex Shelley, Wrestling:
Chris remembered that first part very clearly.
They had flown to Orlando for filming only to be told by a smirking Bischoff that they weren't going to need them after all. After restraining Alex from punching him in the mouth, and reminding both of them that they couldn't go around beating their boss up for being a dick, they went back to the hotel to relax.
Three bowls, two pizzas and some cheese fries later, Alex got a text from Hero, telling him ROH was in town and wanting to know if they wanted to hang. The exact text had gone something like this:
what up, bitch? those of us still working are in town. wanna hang?? the kings & the guns wrecking shit.. it'll be epic.
Which made Chris think Hero had started drinking before lunch again, but it sounded like a good time, so Alex texted him back and told him sure.
Later on, they had ended up at the bar, packed with wrestlers. It was the same bar they always went to when they were in town; in fact, Chris was pretty sure it was the hang out for every wrestler in the area.
Even though the waitresses and bartenders always winced when they walked in, they never actually said anything. Chris could only assume that the money they spent far outweighed the damage they did to the bar when they were there.
It had started off as harmless -bribing the waitress to hit on AJ and spike his soda with vodka while they took pics to blackmail him- and quickly graduated to drunken hilariousness -Joe getting into a fist fight with Homicide over who would be the better kisser if they were both gay.
After breaking a table and two chairs, they had decided that they would both be good kissers.
“I love you, Dee,” Joe had said, grinning happily. “But not in a 'I want your dick in my ass' faggotty kind of way. No offense,” he had added waving a hand to where him and Alex were sitting with the Kings and Colt and then he passed out.
“Thank God, I'm not in charge of him tonight,” Colt said, draining the rest of his soda. He pulled out his phone and promptly started taking pics of AJ trying to pick Joe up and falling over.
When AJ demanded why the fucken room was spinning so much and why the floor was slanted, they burst into hysterics and gave the waitress an extra $50 for doing such a good job on him.
“Ya know, for as long as I've known you, you've never drank,” Hero observed as he ordered another round of drinks. “But you're always at the bar, Cabana. That's fucken weird.”
“What can I say? I'm a social animal,” Colt shrugged and took a sip of the soda the waitress put in front of him. “And I don't always go out to the bar with you guys.”
“No, the rest of the time, you stay back at the hotel with Punk,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose. “Which the neighbors can all attest to.”
“They are very loud,” Claudio put in, smiling a little. “They used to wake me up all the time.”
“Please,” Colt scoffed, elbowing Hero who was to the side of him. “I've lost count of how many times I've walked in on you and Claudio fooling around in the elevator.
“As for you two,” he went on, gesturing to Chris and Alex. “You fucken scarred me for life when I found you on top of Alex on that weight bench. I still can't do reps without twitching.”
After that, there was even more beer and shots -lots of shots. Chris vaguely remembered Alex getting into a shot for soda competition with Cabana, and when Roddy came stumbling over, they all had another shot -or soda- to celebrate.
Roddy left with a waitress a little later, despite Alex and Hero trying their best to convince her that he was a felon who specialized in date rape.
“Some people have no sense of self preservation, C,” Hero told Claudio mournfully. Claudio patted him on the back consolingly and ordered another round of drinks.
Colt's phone went off and when they found out it was Punk, Alex and Chris both jumped on top of Colt to get the phone. They knocked the chair back, sending all three of them to the floor and Colt was quickly out maneuvered and shoved to the side.
Alex got the phone briefly but before he could say more then “Hey, bitch,”, Chris wrestled him down to the floor and sat on his back.
“Holy fuck, what the hell have you been eating, fat ass?” Alex demanded, trying to get Chris off of him and failing miserably.
“Punk, you asshole,” Chris said, ignoring Alex except to bounce up and down on his back a couple times. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Working; which is more then you're doing,” Punk answered, sounding smug. “What the fuck is going on there, Sabin?”
“Nothing much,” Chris said vaguely, watching Colt drag a new chair over from the other table, kicking the pieces of the old one out of his way. “Just the usual, really.”
“Who's that?” Hero demanded, grabbing the phone off of Chris and walking away with it.
“Motherfucker,” Colt muttered before chasing after him.
Once Colt had gotten his phone back, he had left for the hotel; although the flush on his face suggested that once he got back on the phone with Punk, his neighbors still wouldn't be getting any sleep.
It got pretty fuzzy at that point; Chris distinctly remembered Alex telling the bartender to suck his dick when he refused to give them any more drinks. He also remembered Alex trying to pull his pants down when the bartender just smiled and shook his head. They got kicked out right after that.
They were in the alley, leaning against the wall, snickering at Alex's inability to zip his pants back up when it was decided that they were going to go back to the hotel to drink.
Punk/Colt, Wrestling, part of a 5 and 1:
5.
Punk had been the one who had started calling him 'Colt'; up until then he had gone by Scott -it didn't have the right fit for wrestling, but he had been at a loss to come up with anything else.
Then one day while they were practicing Cross Bodies, Punk had called him by it. It had come out as an insult, the tone mocking, but it had felt right to him. And he had known Punk long enough to realize when Punk was teasing him.
And, if he was honest with himself, Colt knew he wanted to believe that Punk at least wanted to be friends with him -because Colt already knew he wanted more from Punk.
4.
Colt dragged himself downstairs; the worst part of his parents forcing him to go to college was the fact that he had to get up at the ass crack of dawn on Monday so he could get to Michigan for his night classes the same day.
Gerard Way/Mikey Way, Bandom, part of a 5 and 1:
5.
The first word Mikey ever said was Gerard's name.
Actually, it was “GEEEEE!” in a delighted yell right next to Gerard's ear, but since his name was the only one in the house that even started with a 'g', it was fairly easy to figure out who the baby meant.
Up until then, Gerard had been indifferent about his little brother; he didn't hate him but Mikey wasn't really old enough to do anything besides annoy his big brother.
But after that point, Gerard started letting him sit on his lap when they were watching cartoons or lean against him when he was drawing.
He was surprised to discover that he didn't mind spending time with his little brother.
4.
Mikey was six the first time he crawled into bed with Gerard; their parents' fighting was even louder than usual and if Gerard was honest with himself, it was starting to freak him out, too.
He hadn't even realized Mikey was awake until he left him poking his shoulder.
“Gee,” Mikey whispered, his voice barely understandable. “'m scared. Can I sleep with you?”
“Do you want me to get Mom?” Gerard asked even as he moved against the wall so there'd be room on the bed.
Mikey shook his head and crawled under the blankets.
“Like you better,” he murmured and buried his face in Gerard's neck. “You're comfy,” he added right before he fell back asleep.
3.
“Mikey, come on,” Gerard said, trying to keep his voice even; he didn't need Mikey to realize how appealing he found the idea of having his little brother half naked in his bed.
“Aren't you getting a little to old for this?” He added, trying to make his voice disdainful.
But Mikey just rolled his eyes and moved closer to the wall, leaving the outside part of the bed for Gerard.
Punk/Colt, Wrestling, part of 30 word drabbles:
School
Punk glanced up when someone stopped by his table in study hall. An automatic sneer crossed his face when he realized it was one of the jocks.
“Hey, I'm Scott,” the jock told him, grinning. Punk rolled his eyes but before he could say anything, the other teenager turned to answer one of the cheerleaders that called out to him.
Colton, Punk thought to himself with familiar disdain when he saw the back of his jersey. That just sounds like a rich asshole's name.
“What do you want, Colton?” Punk asked, not bothering to look back at him.
“We're supposed to be working on that project together for dickhead,” Scott reminded him, referring to their history teacher. “I just wanted to know if I should meet you at your house or if you wanted to come to mine, or whatever.”
“Look, Colt, I know you're new, so let me fill you in on a couple things: one, I hate everyone, so stay the fuck away from me. Two, I'm too stupid to know anything to help you with that jack off's project. Just tell him you did all the work by yourself, and he won't make you share the grade.”
Punk looked up at Scott - Not Scott, he thought with amusement, he doesn't look like a Scott; he looks like a Colt- to see if his words had the desired effect; namely making him leave him the hell alone.
But the grin hadn't faded and he was looking at Punk thoughtfully.
“I don't believe that,” Scott told him, his head tilted to the side. “I think you just act like it so people will leave you alone.”
Punk stared at him, completely speechless for the first time in years. He scoffed but it seemed weak to him, and his mind was blank for a come back.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Scott went on, a note of regret in his voice as the bell rang. “If you feel like waiting around, I get done with practice at four; we can talk about the project then.”
With that, he turned around and left, leaving Punk gaping after him.
Marriage
Punk didn't believe in marriage; it wasn't the commitment that scared him -or, at least, not only the commitment- but the idea of being trapped for the rest of his life scared the shit out of him. He couldn't ever imagine willingly shackling himself to one person for an eternity.
As if a piece of paper could ever make someone love you the way they said they did; like those stupid, archaic words would ever stop someone from lying to you every time they opened their mouth. People might put up a good front, but eventually, they always ended up showing their true colors.
And his parents had shown him, over and over again, that those words never stopped you from being miserable -and from destroying yourself and everyone around you because of it. If that was what love and marriage did to you, then Punk wanted no fucken part of it.
Meeting Colt had made Punk realign his thinking, on more then one subject. While he still thought most marriages ended up in misery for everyone concerned -he was convinced that Colt's parents were freaks and the exception to the rule- it did make him rethink his opinion on love. Colt made him realize that sometimes, when someone said 'I love you' that they meant it.
Joy
For Punk, there was nothing that could match how he felt in the ring; the feel of the ropes on his back, the touch of the canvas under him, the fierce joy that he was doing what he had set out to.
For most of his life, Punk had only loved one thing: wrestling. From the time he was old enough to walk, that was the only thing he wanted. And, whether he liked to admit it or not, one of the only good memories he had of his father was watching Raw with him.
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Star Trek: AOS RPS:
Chris leaned against the window, his eyes focused on the line of people that were slowly making their way off the plane. He could just make out Zach at the back of the line, his shoulders hunched forward as his foot tapped against the floor impatiently.
He hadn't seen Zach, face to face, in weeks; he'd flown out to New York for a quick weekend last month but it had been nothing but it had been nothing but phone calls, texting and Skype since.
Chris missed it; missed being in each other's space everyday, missed having the excuse of filming for why they were seen every where together. Sure, everyone knew they were best friends, and it was an accepted fact that both Chris and Zach were more tactile than most people, but it didn't change the fact that unless they were in their own apartments or at a friend's house, they always had to be careful to straddle that line between bromance and relationship.
Chris was tired of having to remember to check the urge to tangle his fingers with Zach's when they were out together, of not being able to lean into Zach's hand when it was pressed against his lower back.
Chris Sabin/Alex Shelley, Wrestling:
Chris remembered that first part very clearly.
They had flown to Orlando for filming only to be told by a smirking Bischoff that they weren't going to need them after all. After restraining Alex from punching him in the mouth, and reminding both of them that they couldn't go around beating their boss up for being a dick, they went back to the hotel to relax.
Three bowls, two pizzas and some cheese fries later, Alex got a text from Hero, telling him ROH was in town and wanting to know if they wanted to hang. The exact text had gone something like this:
what up, bitch? those of us still working are in town. wanna hang?? the kings & the guns wrecking shit.. it'll be epic.
Which made Chris think Hero had started drinking before lunch again, but it sounded like a good time, so Alex texted him back and told him sure.
Later on, they had ended up at the bar, packed with wrestlers. It was the same bar they always went to when they were in town; in fact, Chris was pretty sure it was the hang out for every wrestler in the area.
Even though the waitresses and bartenders always winced when they walked in, they never actually said anything. Chris could only assume that the money they spent far outweighed the damage they did to the bar when they were there.
It had started off as harmless -bribing the waitress to hit on AJ and spike his soda with vodka while they took pics to blackmail him- and quickly graduated to drunken hilariousness -Joe getting into a fist fight with Homicide over who would be the better kisser if they were both gay.
After breaking a table and two chairs, they had decided that they would both be good kissers.
“I love you, Dee,” Joe had said, grinning happily. “But not in a 'I want your dick in my ass' faggotty kind of way. No offense,” he had added waving a hand to where him and Alex were sitting with the Kings and Colt and then he passed out.
“Thank God, I'm not in charge of him tonight,” Colt said, draining the rest of his soda. He pulled out his phone and promptly started taking pics of AJ trying to pick Joe up and falling over.
When AJ demanded why the fucken room was spinning so much and why the floor was slanted, they burst into hysterics and gave the waitress an extra $50 for doing such a good job on him.
“Ya know, for as long as I've known you, you've never drank,” Hero observed as he ordered another round of drinks. “But you're always at the bar, Cabana. That's fucken weird.”
“What can I say? I'm a social animal,” Colt shrugged and took a sip of the soda the waitress put in front of him. “And I don't always go out to the bar with you guys.”
“No, the rest of the time, you stay back at the hotel with Punk,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose. “Which the neighbors can all attest to.”
“They are very loud,” Claudio put in, smiling a little. “They used to wake me up all the time.”
“Please,” Colt scoffed, elbowing Hero who was to the side of him. “I've lost count of how many times I've walked in on you and Claudio fooling around in the elevator.
“As for you two,” he went on, gesturing to Chris and Alex. “You fucken scarred me for life when I found you on top of Alex on that weight bench. I still can't do reps without twitching.”
After that, there was even more beer and shots -lots of shots. Chris vaguely remembered Alex getting into a shot for soda competition with Cabana, and when Roddy came stumbling over, they all had another shot -or soda- to celebrate.
Roddy left with a waitress a little later, despite Alex and Hero trying their best to convince her that he was a felon who specialized in date rape.
“Some people have no sense of self preservation, C,” Hero told Claudio mournfully. Claudio patted him on the back consolingly and ordered another round of drinks.
Colt's phone went off and when they found out it was Punk, Alex and Chris both jumped on top of Colt to get the phone. They knocked the chair back, sending all three of them to the floor and Colt was quickly out maneuvered and shoved to the side.
Alex got the phone briefly but before he could say more then “Hey, bitch,”, Chris wrestled him down to the floor and sat on his back.
“Holy fuck, what the hell have you been eating, fat ass?” Alex demanded, trying to get Chris off of him and failing miserably.
“Punk, you asshole,” Chris said, ignoring Alex except to bounce up and down on his back a couple times. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Working; which is more then you're doing,” Punk answered, sounding smug. “What the fuck is going on there, Sabin?”
“Nothing much,” Chris said vaguely, watching Colt drag a new chair over from the other table, kicking the pieces of the old one out of his way. “Just the usual, really.”
“Who's that?” Hero demanded, grabbing the phone off of Chris and walking away with it.
“Motherfucker,” Colt muttered before chasing after him.
Once Colt had gotten his phone back, he had left for the hotel; although the flush on his face suggested that once he got back on the phone with Punk, his neighbors still wouldn't be getting any sleep.
It got pretty fuzzy at that point; Chris distinctly remembered Alex telling the bartender to suck his dick when he refused to give them any more drinks. He also remembered Alex trying to pull his pants down when the bartender just smiled and shook his head. They got kicked out right after that.
They were in the alley, leaning against the wall, snickering at Alex's inability to zip his pants back up when it was decided that they were going to go back to the hotel to drink.