[Dissociatives]
[sigh, I get their album and listen to it all day, and you gt this. Because Daniel can’t seem to sing if it’s not high-pitched, and because they’re just fucking, okay? Daniel Johns/Paul Mac, r/nc-17 barely. and just coz it was really fun writing in "Paul's voice". I write 2nd person too much, and well, this was a nice change :) ]
Voice of an angel, that's what Daniel likes to quote about himself, and laugh. He'll do the fuckin' quotes with his fingers an' everything. I've got the 'voice of an angel', he'll tell me, and slip down in his chair and give me a long, hard stare, or walk away tucking his hands into his pants pockets so that his jacket rides up and anyone behind him (i.e. - me) can see his ass and the way his hips just do this thing, like he's walking to music, or he is music, you know?
He's never had a problem proving it to anyone either. He'll step straight up to a microphone, hell, if there's not one nearby he'll just burst into song right then and there, and hit all the high notes I can't even see Britney hitting. Sometimes I think he has more of a chick's voice than any actual chicks.
So we'd be messing around in a studio, no-one else around because we swore we'd keep this shit quiet, so no-one harasses us with questions and shit, Daniel informs me, but I know he's just saying that, and I know why he really wants us to be alone so damned much. I'll go and mess around with the sound levels and the technical side Daniel never bothered to learn about. Him and his so what's this chord called then? Okay, cool! Sometimes just looking pretty does get people through life. That and dumb luck. Not that Daniel's dumb, just not the kind of person to learn until you tell him, you know?
Anyway, so I'd have headphones on, and I'll glance up every now and then to check he's okay and everything. He'll be fiddling with his guitar strings, or adjusting his mic or something like that, and our eyes will meet, and we'll nod to each other, and he'll flash me his little smirk.
And then I give him the cue and he starts singing, and there it is. That voice.
But the thing is, I know better than everyone else. That may be an angel's voice up in his throat, but the way he puts his lips on the microphone, pushes his mouth to it to 'get the best effects', the way he looks down at the floor with his whole head, but looks up with just his eyes, the way he holds his guitar in just the right place and his hand moves right between his legs, and you can't help thinking, Jesus, if there wasn't a fucking guitar there, I'd be staring at-
And the tiny little smirks I'm so used to him pulling, he has these special ones for when we're in the studio, beers they've got this lust lacing them, and this tongue poking out and licking lips, and he's biting his bottom lip, and running a finger down the length of the microphone. And the twang of the guitar suddenly, this really strong hand movement and the way his whole body feels the shock-waves and he bites his lip one more time and that's it.
And all that's going through my mind as I pull off the headphones in irritation (lust) and storm through into the room to give him a piece of my mind (or a thorough fucking, whatever you want to call it), is his husky voice, and the high notes, and the light, smooth singing, and oh it's so pure, and oh let's repeat this bit over and over and fuckin' over until we drive you insane, Paul.
And by the time I'm there pushing him up against the wall, he's already put the guitar down safely, because nowadays he knows the value of a good guitar as opposed to all that adolescent smashing guitars up shit, and he grins the whole time I'm pinning his shoulders to the wall and giving him a harsh glare because fuck, if he doesn't just do this every damn time and no-one would ever believe me if I told them the things lurking under that angelic voice, the thoughts running through that genius mind while he's singing his soft lyrics, the things he's fucking doing with his mouth and his tongue, and how he just knows what he's doing. They wouldn't believe me at all.
"This is all your fault." I tell him, and he laughs and nods coz he knows it's true, and if I don't say that every time I'm at least thinking it. And I could just about push him through the wall the way I have to kiss him, all that irritation and aggression, coz I'm not demonstrative enough or some shit, and I let everything build up to this point until I let rip, and I can tell you I'm definitely letting some things rip right now, like the buttons off my shirt, and the zip on Daniel's pants, and he's just fuckin' squirming and loving it, he doesn't mind at all if I let everything just build up coz that means it's hard on him, it's rough for him, and fuck if he isn't a kinky fucker who just loves to see his own blood spill when he's having sex. But knives and blades and shit are just too damned clean for him, he really lets the musical oh's drop when you bite maybe his shoulder so hard you draw blood, or you dig your fingernails into his hips so hard he's left with a trail of crescent-shaped markings. And the happy whining noises when you bite his lip and lick the blood off as it swells. Or maybe when you put the pressure on him so much he's face down, and your pressing him into the fucking carpet, or the pillow or something, and some blood vessel in his nose bursts and there's blood all over the furniture.
As much as I'd like to disagree with everyone and their visions of who or what Daniel is, because underneath the surface there's no angel, I can't help agreeing that his voice deserves a spot in heaven.
Because there's nothing that sounds more angelic than him whispering your name when he comes.
Voice of an angel, that's what Daniel likes to quote about himself, and laugh. He'll do the fuckin' quotes with his fingers an' everything. I've got the 'voice of an angel', he'll tell me, and slip down in his chair and give me a long, hard stare, or walk away tucking his hands into his pants pockets so that his jacket rides up and anyone behind him (i.e. - me) can see his ass and the way his hips just do this thing, like he's walking to music, or he is music, you know?
He's never had a problem proving it to anyone either. He'll step straight up to a microphone, hell, if there's not one nearby he'll just burst into song right then and there, and hit all the high notes I can't even see Britney hitting. Sometimes I think he has more of a chick's voice than any actual chicks.
So we'd be messing around in a studio, no-one else around because we swore we'd keep this shit quiet, so no-one harasses us with questions and shit, Daniel informs me, but I know he's just saying that, and I know why he really wants us to be alone so damned much. I'll go and mess around with the sound levels and the technical side Daniel never bothered to learn about. Him and his so what's this chord called then? Okay, cool! Sometimes just looking pretty does get people through life. That and dumb luck. Not that Daniel's dumb, just not the kind of person to learn until you tell him, you know?
Anyway, so I'd have headphones on, and I'll glance up every now and then to check he's okay and everything. He'll be fiddling with his guitar strings, or adjusting his mic or something like that, and our eyes will meet, and we'll nod to each other, and he'll flash me his little smirk.
And then I give him the cue and he starts singing, and there it is. That voice.
But the thing is, I know better than everyone else. That may be an angel's voice up in his throat, but the way he puts his lips on the microphone, pushes his mouth to it to 'get the best effects', the way he looks down at the floor with his whole head, but looks up with just his eyes, the way he holds his guitar in just the right place and his hand moves right between his legs, and you can't help thinking, Jesus, if there wasn't a fucking guitar there, I'd be staring at-
And the tiny little smirks I'm so used to him pulling, he has these special ones for when we're in the studio, beers they've got this lust lacing them, and this tongue poking out and licking lips, and he's biting his bottom lip, and running a finger down the length of the microphone. And the twang of the guitar suddenly, this really strong hand movement and the way his whole body feels the shock-waves and he bites his lip one more time and that's it.
And all that's going through my mind as I pull off the headphones in irritation (lust) and storm through into the room to give him a piece of my mind (or a thorough fucking, whatever you want to call it), is his husky voice, and the high notes, and the light, smooth singing, and oh it's so pure, and oh let's repeat this bit over and over and fuckin' over until we drive you insane, Paul.
And by the time I'm there pushing him up against the wall, he's already put the guitar down safely, because nowadays he knows the value of a good guitar as opposed to all that adolescent smashing guitars up shit, and he grins the whole time I'm pinning his shoulders to the wall and giving him a harsh glare because fuck, if he doesn't just do this every damn time and no-one would ever believe me if I told them the things lurking under that angelic voice, the thoughts running through that genius mind while he's singing his soft lyrics, the things he's fucking doing with his mouth and his tongue, and how he just knows what he's doing. They wouldn't believe me at all.
"This is all your fault." I tell him, and he laughs and nods coz he knows it's true, and if I don't say that every time I'm at least thinking it. And I could just about push him through the wall the way I have to kiss him, all that irritation and aggression, coz I'm not demonstrative enough or some shit, and I let everything build up to this point until I let rip, and I can tell you I'm definitely letting some things rip right now, like the buttons off my shirt, and the zip on Daniel's pants, and he's just fuckin' squirming and loving it, he doesn't mind at all if I let everything just build up coz that means it's hard on him, it's rough for him, and fuck if he isn't a kinky fucker who just loves to see his own blood spill when he's having sex. But knives and blades and shit are just too damned clean for him, he really lets the musical oh's drop when you bite maybe his shoulder so hard you draw blood, or you dig your fingernails into his hips so hard he's left with a trail of crescent-shaped markings. And the happy whining noises when you bite his lip and lick the blood off as it swells. Or maybe when you put the pressure on him so much he's face down, and your pressing him into the fucking carpet, or the pillow or something, and some blood vessel in his nose bursts and there's blood all over the furniture.
As much as I'd like to disagree with everyone and their visions of who or what Daniel is, because underneath the surface there's no angel, I can't help agreeing that his voice deserves a spot in heaven.
Because there's nothing that sounds more angelic than him whispering your name when he comes.