(no subject)
Title: If Love is a Mixtape
Idea summary: then life is the tracks you listen to. (each story was written while listening to one song on repeat, for however long it took. In the case of side A track 5, that means a 3 minute song on repeat for about 6 hours. *head bash*)
Side B: John
Track 5 title: Music
Pairing: unrequited John/Bobby, John/others.
Rating: R
Summary: John can't decipher Bobby's needs.
Warnings: before this turned into a fic, it was just me and a friend talking about why rock music is so much better then every other genre. thus, it may be full of genre-laden cliches and offend lovers of other genres.
Notes: track 5 came from like i love you by justin timberlake "if you let go the music should groove your bones".
John is convinced if he could figure out what music makes Bobby's bones react, everything would be perfect. It's worked with everyone else. Music makes the world go 'round, or so he's heard. To him though, it's not just a cliché. He believes. Music is passion, and passion is life, or at least the kind of life that's worth living. Bobby has to like something, John just can't figure out what.
People that like metal, in John's experience, are the most passionate in bed. They'll rut, fuck, move like everything in the world depends on friction and roughness. Metal is linked to hardcore piercings, and nothing is hotter then a guy with a tongue piercing or a girl with corset piercings.
John doesn't like having sex with anyone that likes rap. Sex in that genre carries an undercut of shame, men only fuck men with secrets and vows of silence. Women feel like they have to look like whores, and they hate themselves and everyone else for it. Honestly, he'd rather not have sex at all, then with someone into that scene.
Those who like country are next on the list of who not to have sex with. It takes a very careful line of questioning to find anyone who owns both a gun rack, and a bottle of lubricant. John likes the easy targets, finding a cowboy is too much work.
On the other hand, nothing is more boring then knowing you could have sex with everyone in the room. Sometimes at a techno bar it all it takes is walking inside. Dance music, especially techno seems to call to the faggots of the world. If he doesn't bag the first guy he asks home, he can certainly score in the first five.
Classic rock can be fun. To listen to seventies music in the tens for the most part means a hardcore stoner. John likes to get into a group of stoners, and just offer out loud after he passes the blunt. Whomever wants it and him can go curl up in a corner, and the rest just continue with the paper wrapped plant. Sometimes more then one person is interested, and there's no embarrassment. It might take longer for fine motor movements like zippers, but it's worth it to have someone slow and sweet.
Ballads tend to come with people that want commitment, and more often then not, females. John can get down with a female, but it's not his favourite choice. Commitment is not something he wants. Neither is the guilt of promising to commit, and fucking off. He doesn't want to break hearts, he just wants to have sex.
Every time John hooks up with someone, there's something in the background. He might meet them at the bar, the throbbing music an indicator of who they are and what they want. Even if it turns out their friend had dragged them out to the bar, the music from the radio permeates the car, and everyone picks their own station. Before he tumbles to the sheets, he picks a cd or a playlist. Even walking down the street or in a fast food place, people hum along to their ipods. All John has to do is listen.
But Bobby doesn't have any cds. He doesn't have an ipod. He doesn't even have a fucking radio. When asked on a road trip, he doesn't have a choice station. He never makes a playlist on someone else's computer, and doesn't have one himself. John can't get to Bobby, because Bobby's taken away his entire communication system. He wonders if Bobby's done that on purpose.
Idea summary: then life is the tracks you listen to. (each story was written while listening to one song on repeat, for however long it took. In the case of side A track 5, that means a 3 minute song on repeat for about 6 hours. *head bash*)
Side B: John
Track 5 title: Music
Pairing: unrequited John/Bobby, John/others.
Rating: R
Summary: John can't decipher Bobby's needs.
Warnings: before this turned into a fic, it was just me and a friend talking about why rock music is so much better then every other genre. thus, it may be full of genre-laden cliches and offend lovers of other genres.
Notes: track 5 came from like i love you by justin timberlake "if you let go the music should groove your bones".
John is convinced if he could figure out what music makes Bobby's bones react, everything would be perfect. It's worked with everyone else. Music makes the world go 'round, or so he's heard. To him though, it's not just a cliché. He believes. Music is passion, and passion is life, or at least the kind of life that's worth living. Bobby has to like something, John just can't figure out what.
People that like metal, in John's experience, are the most passionate in bed. They'll rut, fuck, move like everything in the world depends on friction and roughness. Metal is linked to hardcore piercings, and nothing is hotter then a guy with a tongue piercing or a girl with corset piercings.
John doesn't like having sex with anyone that likes rap. Sex in that genre carries an undercut of shame, men only fuck men with secrets and vows of silence. Women feel like they have to look like whores, and they hate themselves and everyone else for it. Honestly, he'd rather not have sex at all, then with someone into that scene.
Those who like country are next on the list of who not to have sex with. It takes a very careful line of questioning to find anyone who owns both a gun rack, and a bottle of lubricant. John likes the easy targets, finding a cowboy is too much work.
On the other hand, nothing is more boring then knowing you could have sex with everyone in the room. Sometimes at a techno bar it all it takes is walking inside. Dance music, especially techno seems to call to the faggots of the world. If he doesn't bag the first guy he asks home, he can certainly score in the first five.
Classic rock can be fun. To listen to seventies music in the tens for the most part means a hardcore stoner. John likes to get into a group of stoners, and just offer out loud after he passes the blunt. Whomever wants it and him can go curl up in a corner, and the rest just continue with the paper wrapped plant. Sometimes more then one person is interested, and there's no embarrassment. It might take longer for fine motor movements like zippers, but it's worth it to have someone slow and sweet.
Ballads tend to come with people that want commitment, and more often then not, females. John can get down with a female, but it's not his favourite choice. Commitment is not something he wants. Neither is the guilt of promising to commit, and fucking off. He doesn't want to break hearts, he just wants to have sex.
Every time John hooks up with someone, there's something in the background. He might meet them at the bar, the throbbing music an indicator of who they are and what they want. Even if it turns out their friend had dragged them out to the bar, the music from the radio permeates the car, and everyone picks their own station. Before he tumbles to the sheets, he picks a cd or a playlist. Even walking down the street or in a fast food place, people hum along to their ipods. All John has to do is listen.
But Bobby doesn't have any cds. He doesn't have an ipod. He doesn't even have a fucking radio. When asked on a road trip, he doesn't have a choice station. He never makes a playlist on someone else's computer, and doesn't have one himself. John can't get to Bobby, because Bobby's taken away his entire communication system. He wonders if Bobby's done that on purpose.