Not quite a drible, not yet a drable.
My head is killing me, but I've been listening to Barcelona, trying to relax my muscles (in my head) and so yeah, I wrote. BUT HEY. NOT THE FICLETS I WAS SUPPOSED TO. Way to go brain, way to go. Posting them because really? Why not. Nick/Joeish. Both PG
Nick knows what it's like to be scared, to fear the next breath - that it won't come. But Joe, Joe makes him stronger. Not the kind of strong that relies on muscles or how much weight you bench. It's the kind of strong that comes on those early mornings after a long day and little sleep. It's the kind of strong where Nick can feel every bone in his body scream as he moves, where he doesn't know how he's going to be able to move another inch, but he does anyways. It's simple really. He'll lay in bed, soak in the pain like a lukewarm bath, close his eyes and feel. Then he pictures Joe, the feel of his fingers on the back of Nick's neck, the velvet echo of his laugh, the way his smile touches every rise and fall of Nick's being. It's Joe who gives him the strength to open his eyes, press his feet to the cold floor, and walk towards the day like life is something to be treasured.
The white shirt blends with skin, like an old porcelain doll. The veins travel far, blue mapping out the way to Nick's heart. His breathes are shallow, drowned by the painful collapse of tired lungs. There's no color on his face, no joy in his eyes. It's painful, watching Nick fade, like a piece of his heart goes with each new day that Nick suffers, that no one believes him when he says he's scared, for Nicky, for himself, for everything he's grown to love.
Blame aldehyde for nothing longer. I asked for to prompt me and she REFUSED. WHAT?! (I'm just kidding, you know I love you)
I KNOW. I LIKE DETAILS OKAY? I can't help it.
Oh and I finally got my rec comm eraofus organized. More about that in a real entry.
And if you haven't read Five Times Nick Crawls Into Joe's Bed you should. It's incredibly sweet and wonderful. (and yes, I just rec'd on my journal after talking about a rec comm I made so I wouldn't have to rec on my journal. Blame it on my head.)
OH. And this It's a Nick and Joe late night show AU thing. Freaking brilliant. Seriously.
Nick/Joe. PG-like.
They're on stage, hearts racing on a one way track that never seems to end. The lights are vibrant, like an acid dream playing across Nick's eyelashes. Everything is so on tonight, so right. When Nick moves his body, his guitar moves with, as if it's always been a part of his body, his soul.
Joe's moving across the stage, screams from the ocean of bodies pouring out into the air. It hits so hard, the way a wave of sound hits a wall when Joe opens his mouth and just sings. It's honest, the words so exposed and raw that Nick can hear their heartbeat in the back of Joe's throat.
By the end they're all floating, dizzy and light headed with the sensation of being something. They're not the little boys they used to be, just trying to make it from one day to the next. The world is laid out before, and Nick swears if he reaches into the sky he can feel a star quake in the palm of his hand.
It's just the two of them in the dressing room, Kevin bouncing off the walls elsewhere and the crew is giving them some peace to strip off the clothes that are practically painted to their bodies.
Thin fingers squeeze Nick's shoulder, rub out a knot he didn't even know was there. "You were good tonight," the voice is close, a ghost across the shell of his ear.
"You too," he says, his voice weaker than he ever remembers it being.
He turns, Joe's hands never leaving their spot next to the curve of Nick's neck. The look in Joe's eyes is overwhelming. It's more than a crowd of thousands, more than neon lights and big billboards. Joe looks proud, happy, and when Nick lifts his head to touch their lips together it's with a smile that mirrors Joe's own, wide and delicate like a child's.
Joe's lips taste of memories. Nick relives the summer with his tongue, the taste of yogurt and lemonade. It's smooth, Joe's open mouth, the heat radiating through Nick's entire body. The tips of his fingers are on fire, pressing white ovals into the skin above where Joe's low rise jeans fall on his narrow hips. It's all an accident, an innocent mistake that proves Nick is flawed, and he thinks maybe that's okay - maybe if this is imperfection, he doesn't want to be perfect.
Nick knows what it's like to be scared, to fear the next breath - that it won't come. But Joe, Joe makes him stronger. Not the kind of strong that relies on muscles or how much weight you bench. It's the kind of strong that comes on those early mornings after a long day and little sleep. It's the kind of strong where Nick can feel every bone in his body scream as he moves, where he doesn't know how he's going to be able to move another inch, but he does anyways. It's simple really. He'll lay in bed, soak in the pain like a lukewarm bath, close his eyes and feel. Then he pictures Joe, the feel of his fingers on the back of Nick's neck, the velvet echo of his laugh, the way his smile touches every rise and fall of Nick's being. It's Joe who gives him the strength to open his eyes, press his feet to the cold floor, and walk towards the day like life is something to be treasured.
The white shirt blends with skin, like an old porcelain doll. The veins travel far, blue mapping out the way to Nick's heart. His breathes are shallow, drowned by the painful collapse of tired lungs. There's no color on his face, no joy in his eyes. It's painful, watching Nick fade, like a piece of his heart goes with each new day that Nick suffers, that no one believes him when he says he's scared, for Nicky, for himself, for everything he's grown to love.
Blame aldehyde for nothing longer. I asked for to prompt me and she REFUSED. WHAT?! (I'm just kidding, you know I love you)
I KNOW. I LIKE DETAILS OKAY? I can't help it.
Oh and I finally got my rec comm eraofus organized. More about that in a real entry.
And if you haven't read Five Times Nick Crawls Into Joe's Bed you should. It's incredibly sweet and wonderful. (and yes, I just rec'd on my journal after talking about a rec comm I made so I wouldn't have to rec on my journal. Blame it on my head.)
OH. And this It's a Nick and Joe late night show AU thing. Freaking brilliant. Seriously.
Nick/Joe. PG-like.
They're on stage, hearts racing on a one way track that never seems to end. The lights are vibrant, like an acid dream playing across Nick's eyelashes. Everything is so on tonight, so right. When Nick moves his body, his guitar moves with, as if it's always been a part of his body, his soul.
Joe's moving across the stage, screams from the ocean of bodies pouring out into the air. It hits so hard, the way a wave of sound hits a wall when Joe opens his mouth and just sings. It's honest, the words so exposed and raw that Nick can hear their heartbeat in the back of Joe's throat.
By the end they're all floating, dizzy and light headed with the sensation of being something. They're not the little boys they used to be, just trying to make it from one day to the next. The world is laid out before, and Nick swears if he reaches into the sky he can feel a star quake in the palm of his hand.
It's just the two of them in the dressing room, Kevin bouncing off the walls elsewhere and the crew is giving them some peace to strip off the clothes that are practically painted to their bodies.
Thin fingers squeeze Nick's shoulder, rub out a knot he didn't even know was there. "You were good tonight," the voice is close, a ghost across the shell of his ear.
"You too," he says, his voice weaker than he ever remembers it being.
He turns, Joe's hands never leaving their spot next to the curve of Nick's neck. The look in Joe's eyes is overwhelming. It's more than a crowd of thousands, more than neon lights and big billboards. Joe looks proud, happy, and when Nick lifts his head to touch their lips together it's with a smile that mirrors Joe's own, wide and delicate like a child's.
Joe's lips taste of memories. Nick relives the summer with his tongue, the taste of yogurt and lemonade. It's smooth, Joe's open mouth, the heat radiating through Nick's entire body. The tips of his fingers are on fire, pressing white ovals into the skin above where Joe's low rise jeans fall on his narrow hips. It's all an accident, an innocent mistake that proves Nick is flawed, and he thinks maybe that's okay - maybe if this is imperfection, he doesn't want to be perfect.