(no subject)
GIP! Again!
Because I love Garfield. And this one *always* cracks me up.
beg; censure; graffiti; orchestrate; emerald
“JC, no. Shut up.”
“Howie, come on. Don’t make me beg.” JC pouted, blinking his eyes up sweetly at Howie. “Please?”
“He’s in fucking *love* with that guy.”
“Well, we’re supposed to be happy for him.”
Howie laughed, harsh and sharp and cutting. “Come off it. He’s giving *us* up, C. All for good ol’ pretty eyes, and you want me to be HAPPY for him?”
“I just think-”
“No.” There was a censure hidden in the dangerously quiet tone of Howie’s voice, so JC pressed his lips together, letting out a soft sigh inside.
His hands were jammed in his jean pockets, the oversized jacket he’d put on hanging awkwardly off his lanky frame. JC strolled through the neighborhood, following swirls of neon graffiti that decorated the charred walls with his eyes, trying to think of something he could say to persuade AJ into, at the very least, not slamming the door shut in his face when he answered it.
JC stood at the door of the broken-down house - if it could be called that - for fifteen minutes, maybe more, before he worked up the nerve to actually knock. There was a shuffling of feet, before the hinges creaked, and a head of blonde hair peeked around the corner. And JC couldn’t help but think that Lance really had gorgeous emerald eyes, but he pushed the thoughts away, and asked, with a soft, small smile, “Hi. Is AJ in?”
The phone rang, and JC jumped a mile high, grabbing the receiver off the hook. “Nick? Hey!” Blue eyes crinkled into a smile, and Howie shook his head as JC continued rambling on. The guy was so gone.
“Sure, I’ll meet you ‘round the corner in ten. Bye.”
“Your boy?” Howie asked dryly, as JC hung up. The younger man gave Howie a look, and then shrugged, unable to hide his smile.
“I gotta go.” He leant over to peck Howie on the cheek, “Be good.” Howie flipped him off, and turned back to face the window, mindlessly watching the traffic. Not two minutes after he’d heard the door slam shut, the bell began to ring.
“Good God, JC.” Howie muttered, under his breath, even as he stood to answer it. He glanced out the peep-hole, though, just in case, because the fundamental lesson about life was never to open the door without checking first. “Oh fuck. AJ.”
JC orchestrated the whole thing, Howie mused, as he contemplated opening the door. The sneaky bastard had actually set him up!
He swung the door open, in the end, figuring that now was as good a time to talk as any. AJ pushed past him before either of them could get two words out, and Howie rolled his eyes as he moved to shut the door, saying, “Come in, make yourself at home.” Then he turned to look at AJ, who stared at the floor, and said, “What?”
“Is JC in?”
The little fuck! Howie yelled, mentally. He set us *both* up!
“Actually, no. So you can come back in, say, I don’t know, a day? And try again, then.” Howie tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Unsuccessfully.
AJ sighed, “Howie, look…”
“No, you look, goddammit!” Howie was pacing now, voice raised, and fuck everyone else in the block who was yelling at him to shut up. “We had a pact, AJ. Or do you not fucking remember? We had a pact. And now you up and break it, and expect me to be fucking fine and dandy? You practically throw away your friendship with your fucking brother, and you want me to say, oh, that’s fine, take Lance and run away with him, ‘cause you don’t fucking need *us* anymore, oh no, Mr. Hotshot-In-Love.
“Well, I can’t do that. Because it’s not fucking okay! It’s not, d’you understand?” AJ just looked at him, quietly, sadly, and Howie’s heart broke despite himself. “I fucking hate what this has done to us. I hate what YOU’VE done to us! You fucking *selfish* bastard.”
AJ remained silent. He fixed his gaze on Howie, solemnly, regretfully, and let the half-Latin ramble on till his steam had run out. Howie kept up the anger, fuelled it, let it burn, but when AJ didn’t say anything, Howie stopped. He pressed his eyes shut, and lifted his fists helplessly to his face. “Why, AJ?”
“Howie.” AJ was saying, softly, and the older man gave up, gave in, and pulled AJ into a rough hug, fistfuls of AJ’s shirt in his hands, face pressed into the crook of AJ’s shoulder, jaw tensed, choked whimpers tearing from his throat.
AJ held on, sinking to the floor, one hand reverent in Howie’s hair, the other clutching him, tightly, afraid that he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
ambiguity; daylight; cradle; couscous; consecutive
Lance sat beside him, quietly. “AJ?”
AJ sat up a little straighter, looking at the blonde, eyes somehow almost soft.
“I was just. How. Do you ever.” Lance bit his lip in frustration, wondering when and if he would ever regain his ability to speak in full sentences.
“Chris is good. The sessions are going okay.” AJ ran a hand through his hair, as Lance looked on in shock. “And he said it’s okay if I owe him, for now. Just. Just till I get a regular job, y’know?”
“Oh.” Lance’s voice was soft now. “It’s just.” He’d been wondering, for a while now, how he was ever going to be able to pay off the accumulating overdue bills, with the pittance he made each month. The thought of owing Chris money didn’t comfort him, either, but it was better than nothing, he decided. “Okay.”
“I. I applied, today, for a, um. A job. As a pizza guy.”
“You. Um?” Lance had to hide his surprise.
“I’ve tried five different places already, but uh, they all turned me down, so I figured, might as well not get your hopes up till I know for sure.”
Then the first rays of daylight shone through the windows, breaking the musty atmosphere and lighting up the dingy space.
Or maybe, AJ thought, as he cradled Lance to his chest, that was just Lance’s smile.
“You like couscous?” Nick could hear the ambiguity in Justin’s voice.
“Co-what? Dude, I don’t even know what the fuck that is.”
This was the third time in ten minutes that Nick had broken the tension in the air. “J, look man, this isn’t a date. We’re just friends hanging, you know? You don’t have to impress anyone.”
Justin rubbed his hands together for the fourth consecutive time. “I know.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
Justin rolled his eyes, relaxing a little at the expression on Nick’s face. “Fuck off, Nick. For that, you’re gonna get pancakes.”
“Pancakes? For lunch? You’re deprived, infant.”
“You’re what, a year older than me? So don’t be infant-ing me around, Carter. ‘Sides, haven’t heard you offer to cook.”
“This is your house, man. Don’t you think you should be, like, more. Host-like?”
Justin flipped Nick off, and then went into the kitchen, yelling, “I really am gonna make pancakes.”
Nick rolled his eyes, and laughed, settling back on the sofa, propping his legs up on the table. He closed his eyes for a second, and then pulled out his cell, dialing JC’s number after only a moment of hesitation.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey!”
“You working?”
There was a soft chuckle on JC’s end. “Nah. I haven’t. Not for. I.”
“Why not? You feeling okay?”
“No, yeah. I mean. I’m feeling fine. It’s just. I don’t know.”
Nick smiled a little. “Well, nice to see you’re so coherent today.”
“Fuck off,” Nick could hear the smile in JC’s voice.
“So are you busy tonight?” Nick tried not to sound hopeful. “I was thinking maybe we could-”
“I’m free.” JC replied just a little *too* quickly. “At the usual place?”
“No, JC, I.” There was a pause, and then Nick said softly, “I wanted to see if you were free so we could maybe go for a. A movie?”
“A. Oh.” Nick could hear the uncertainty. “I don’t. Nick, we’re not. You know that, right? I mean, we’re not supposed to. And I can’t. I-”
“No, no.” Nick cut him off, licking his lips. “No, you’re right. It’s. Never mind. I’ll. I’ll call you another time, okay? I just. Never mind. You’re right.” And then he hung up.
He’d been sitting there a while, just thinking, confused and slightly disappointed, when Justin walked out of the kitchen, giving Nick a smile. “So. Ready to try some of these killer pancakes?”
“Sure.” Nick forced a smile, and then followed Justin into the kitchen, trying not to let his frustration show.
Because I love Garfield. And this one *always* cracks me up.
beg; censure; graffiti; orchestrate; emerald
“JC, no. Shut up.”
“Howie, come on. Don’t make me beg.” JC pouted, blinking his eyes up sweetly at Howie. “Please?”
“He’s in fucking *love* with that guy.”
“Well, we’re supposed to be happy for him.”
Howie laughed, harsh and sharp and cutting. “Come off it. He’s giving *us* up, C. All for good ol’ pretty eyes, and you want me to be HAPPY for him?”
“I just think-”
“No.” There was a censure hidden in the dangerously quiet tone of Howie’s voice, so JC pressed his lips together, letting out a soft sigh inside.
His hands were jammed in his jean pockets, the oversized jacket he’d put on hanging awkwardly off his lanky frame. JC strolled through the neighborhood, following swirls of neon graffiti that decorated the charred walls with his eyes, trying to think of something he could say to persuade AJ into, at the very least, not slamming the door shut in his face when he answered it.
JC stood at the door of the broken-down house - if it could be called that - for fifteen minutes, maybe more, before he worked up the nerve to actually knock. There was a shuffling of feet, before the hinges creaked, and a head of blonde hair peeked around the corner. And JC couldn’t help but think that Lance really had gorgeous emerald eyes, but he pushed the thoughts away, and asked, with a soft, small smile, “Hi. Is AJ in?”
The phone rang, and JC jumped a mile high, grabbing the receiver off the hook. “Nick? Hey!” Blue eyes crinkled into a smile, and Howie shook his head as JC continued rambling on. The guy was so gone.
“Sure, I’ll meet you ‘round the corner in ten. Bye.”
“Your boy?” Howie asked dryly, as JC hung up. The younger man gave Howie a look, and then shrugged, unable to hide his smile.
“I gotta go.” He leant over to peck Howie on the cheek, “Be good.” Howie flipped him off, and turned back to face the window, mindlessly watching the traffic. Not two minutes after he’d heard the door slam shut, the bell began to ring.
“Good God, JC.” Howie muttered, under his breath, even as he stood to answer it. He glanced out the peep-hole, though, just in case, because the fundamental lesson about life was never to open the door without checking first. “Oh fuck. AJ.”
JC orchestrated the whole thing, Howie mused, as he contemplated opening the door. The sneaky bastard had actually set him up!
He swung the door open, in the end, figuring that now was as good a time to talk as any. AJ pushed past him before either of them could get two words out, and Howie rolled his eyes as he moved to shut the door, saying, “Come in, make yourself at home.” Then he turned to look at AJ, who stared at the floor, and said, “What?”
“Is JC in?”
The little fuck! Howie yelled, mentally. He set us *both* up!
“Actually, no. So you can come back in, say, I don’t know, a day? And try again, then.” Howie tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Unsuccessfully.
AJ sighed, “Howie, look…”
“No, you look, goddammit!” Howie was pacing now, voice raised, and fuck everyone else in the block who was yelling at him to shut up. “We had a pact, AJ. Or do you not fucking remember? We had a pact. And now you up and break it, and expect me to be fucking fine and dandy? You practically throw away your friendship with your fucking brother, and you want me to say, oh, that’s fine, take Lance and run away with him, ‘cause you don’t fucking need *us* anymore, oh no, Mr. Hotshot-In-Love.
“Well, I can’t do that. Because it’s not fucking okay! It’s not, d’you understand?” AJ just looked at him, quietly, sadly, and Howie’s heart broke despite himself. “I fucking hate what this has done to us. I hate what YOU’VE done to us! You fucking *selfish* bastard.”
AJ remained silent. He fixed his gaze on Howie, solemnly, regretfully, and let the half-Latin ramble on till his steam had run out. Howie kept up the anger, fuelled it, let it burn, but when AJ didn’t say anything, Howie stopped. He pressed his eyes shut, and lifted his fists helplessly to his face. “Why, AJ?”
“Howie.” AJ was saying, softly, and the older man gave up, gave in, and pulled AJ into a rough hug, fistfuls of AJ’s shirt in his hands, face pressed into the crook of AJ’s shoulder, jaw tensed, choked whimpers tearing from his throat.
AJ held on, sinking to the floor, one hand reverent in Howie’s hair, the other clutching him, tightly, afraid that he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
ambiguity; daylight; cradle; couscous; consecutive
Lance sat beside him, quietly. “AJ?”
AJ sat up a little straighter, looking at the blonde, eyes somehow almost soft.
“I was just. How. Do you ever.” Lance bit his lip in frustration, wondering when and if he would ever regain his ability to speak in full sentences.
“Chris is good. The sessions are going okay.” AJ ran a hand through his hair, as Lance looked on in shock. “And he said it’s okay if I owe him, for now. Just. Just till I get a regular job, y’know?”
“Oh.” Lance’s voice was soft now. “It’s just.” He’d been wondering, for a while now, how he was ever going to be able to pay off the accumulating overdue bills, with the pittance he made each month. The thought of owing Chris money didn’t comfort him, either, but it was better than nothing, he decided. “Okay.”
“I. I applied, today, for a, um. A job. As a pizza guy.”
“You. Um?” Lance had to hide his surprise.
“I’ve tried five different places already, but uh, they all turned me down, so I figured, might as well not get your hopes up till I know for sure.”
Then the first rays of daylight shone through the windows, breaking the musty atmosphere and lighting up the dingy space.
Or maybe, AJ thought, as he cradled Lance to his chest, that was just Lance’s smile.
“You like couscous?” Nick could hear the ambiguity in Justin’s voice.
“Co-what? Dude, I don’t even know what the fuck that is.”
This was the third time in ten minutes that Nick had broken the tension in the air. “J, look man, this isn’t a date. We’re just friends hanging, you know? You don’t have to impress anyone.”
Justin rubbed his hands together for the fourth consecutive time. “I know.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
Justin rolled his eyes, relaxing a little at the expression on Nick’s face. “Fuck off, Nick. For that, you’re gonna get pancakes.”
“Pancakes? For lunch? You’re deprived, infant.”
“You’re what, a year older than me? So don’t be infant-ing me around, Carter. ‘Sides, haven’t heard you offer to cook.”
“This is your house, man. Don’t you think you should be, like, more. Host-like?”
Justin flipped Nick off, and then went into the kitchen, yelling, “I really am gonna make pancakes.”
Nick rolled his eyes, and laughed, settling back on the sofa, propping his legs up on the table. He closed his eyes for a second, and then pulled out his cell, dialing JC’s number after only a moment of hesitation.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey!”
“You working?”
There was a soft chuckle on JC’s end. “Nah. I haven’t. Not for. I.”
“Why not? You feeling okay?”
“No, yeah. I mean. I’m feeling fine. It’s just. I don’t know.”
Nick smiled a little. “Well, nice to see you’re so coherent today.”
“Fuck off,” Nick could hear the smile in JC’s voice.
“So are you busy tonight?” Nick tried not to sound hopeful. “I was thinking maybe we could-”
“I’m free.” JC replied just a little *too* quickly. “At the usual place?”
“No, JC, I.” There was a pause, and then Nick said softly, “I wanted to see if you were free so we could maybe go for a. A movie?”
“A. Oh.” Nick could hear the uncertainty. “I don’t. Nick, we’re not. You know that, right? I mean, we’re not supposed to. And I can’t. I-”
“No, no.” Nick cut him off, licking his lips. “No, you’re right. It’s. Never mind. I’ll. I’ll call you another time, okay? I just. Never mind. You’re right.” And then he hung up.
He’d been sitting there a while, just thinking, confused and slightly disappointed, when Justin walked out of the kitchen, giving Nick a smile. “So. Ready to try some of these killer pancakes?”
“Sure.” Nick forced a smile, and then followed Justin into the kitchen, trying not to let his frustration show.