Fic: Wyoming does not exist. (BMB/L-Word)
Title: Wyoming does not exist.
Fandom: Boy Meets Boy, with an apparition from the L-Word.
Rating: PG at most
Summary: a beach on Pukapuka. Sea, sand, and hot lesbians. What could ever be wrong with this picture?
Author's notes: this was written for lounalune, who wanted a BMB drabble (turned out a tiiiny little bit longer than a drabble) with Cyan and Skids, crossed with the L-Word, set in Southern Polynesia, that included the quote "Wyoming does not exist."
Wyoming does not exist
They're on a beach on Pukapuka. The sun is shining, Harls is busy with Mik in their hotel room, Cyan's alone with Skids. Skids in his swim trunks, which is totally not something he thinks of in a positive light. Or at all. Anyway, they have a gig tonight for a lesbian convention - how come those things exist and Cyanide is not on their newsletter? It's a paradise of hot women making out. It's a paradise full stop, really. Dream weekend.
"Can you put sunscreen on my back?" Skids asks with his small, innocent smile.
Cyan gulps. "You sure you need some?" Of course he is, Skids sunburns like insanity. Gringos are like that a lot. "I mean, sure," he adds before Skids can shoot him a weird look.
He's putting sunscreen on Skids' back. Typical move you'd use to get hands-y with a chick, but it's totally different here, right? Right. Trying to convince himself of that is like trying to convince himself that Wyoming does not exist. Good luck, cabron.
"If you want I'll do you afterwards," Skids suggests, and Cyan's heart skips a beat.
"W-what?"
"I'll do your back."
"...sure. Yeah. Oh, look, lesbians!" he points out in a near shriek, definitely loud enough to be heard by the two lesbians walking by.
"Oh, look," one of them shoots back, a blonde in a skimpy bikini who seems very good at sounding quirky and perplexed at the same time, "gay boys."
Cyan is speechless, and Skids is laughing. Cyanide can feel the shaking of his ribcage under his hands. Especially since his hands have stopped moving to curve along Skids' back. Skids is not as skinny as Cyan, nice muscles there.
Right, sunscreen.
"Don't forget the small of my back," Skids reminds him, and there's too much innocence in his voice, Cyan knows something is coming. "Gay boy."
"Shut up," he says, and religiously spreads sunscreen down to Skids' waistband. (The dip of his spine is calling out to Cyan.)
You're not thinking those thoughts, Cyanide.
"Lesbians about to make out at two o'clock," Skids warns him in a stage whisper.
Cyanide's head turns that way so sharply his neck protests the treatment, but anything to take his mind off of Skids, really, and his skin, and his muscles, and - okay, lesbians making out. One of them was with the quirky blonde from earlier - she looks nothing like her friend: dark-haired, lanky and androgynous, kind of like a female Cyan now he thinks about it.
She's putting on the charm on a shorter girl with freckles and messy blonde hair. Who's wearing a cap. This is a nightmare.
The female Cyanide is hella good at the whole sexing someone up with just a look and a headtilt thing, and she's now kissing the female Skids, and the original, very male Cyan can't help but stare. It's like that conversation he and Skids had about their female counterparts, except it's happening right there in front of their eyes, and it's even hotter than he imagined.
"The Cook Islands are a self-governing parliamentary democracy in free association with New Zealand," Skids says.
"Are they," Cyan croaks out, before his brain catches up with what Skids has just said. "I mean, what?"
"Of the inhabited islands in the Cook group, Pukapuka is one of the most isolated," Skids carries on, and moves out from under Cyan's hands (he pulls them back, fists them on his knees). "It is also still known as 'Danger Island' and appears on some maps as such."
"What are you talking about?" Cyan asks, finally able to focus on something else than the two really hot lesbians who kinda look like them, even though the fact that Skids has switched to his back to 'do him' is still very much a distraction and not helping the raising tent in his swim trunks.
"I'm distracting you," Skids answers, and his tone makes Cyan expect him to add a 'duh'. "So you don't get hard over the lesbians."
"Oh," is all Cyanide can say for a moment, because Skids' hands are sliding over his back, gentle and smooth. "Thanks."
"Come on, Shane!" the quirky blonde lesbian from earlier calls from a bit further off, and the female Cyanide looks up from kissing the hell out of the female Skids. Her lips are bruised, but the female Skids looks more affected than her, breasts heaving. (This is bad, Cyan thinks again, but in such a good way.)
"I'll catch up later, Al!" the female Cyanide shouts, and goes back to the female Skids. (Nothing stands in their way.)
"How do you know all this anyway?" Cyan hears himself ask in a strangled voice.
"I learned the Wikipedia entry by heart," Skids answers, like it's a totally normal thing to do, and his bright grin is audible in his voice as his hands sweep over Cyan's shoulders. "You should stop staring."
"Right." Cyan looks resolutely ahead, although he can still see the two girls at the edge of his vision. (Could it be this easy? Could they be as lucky? Could he just turn around and kiss Skids?)
"Pukapuka has the distinction of being the first of the Cook Islands to be sighted by Europeans," Skids carries on on the same informative tone. "It is also known for being the landing place of 3 downed U.S. Navy fliers, in February 1942. ...I think."
Cyanide never thought he'd think of Wikipedia entries as foreplay talk. That's it. He's turning around and he's going to kiss Skids and -
"Guys!" Harley shouts happily as he runs up to them, and near throws himself at them. (Not the opportune moment.) Mik is coming, walking towards them at his own pace and looking as broody as ever. Oh joy.
Cyanide is not going to kiss Skids. "Harls," he welcomes him, with a relieved smile. (There is disappointment, too.)
"Cy's getting hot over the lesbians," Skids rats him out.
"They're hot!" he protests. (He's too busy missing Skids' hands to care.)
Harley's nose wrinkles in distaste. Ever the gay dude. "Whatevs. Let's go swim. Race you to the seafront!"
"You're on!" Skids shouts happily, and they both take off running towards the sea, a dust of sand settling around Cyan from their abrupt departure.
"Torres," Mik greets him curtly as he lays out a towel and sits down beside him.
"Rasputin." Cyanide can't even think of a proper insult, he feels too shaken up inside by what he almost did.
"Tough," is all Mik says on the subject. (He's the only one to get it.)
Fandom: Boy Meets Boy, with an apparition from the L-Word.
Rating: PG at most
Summary: a beach on Pukapuka. Sea, sand, and hot lesbians. What could ever be wrong with this picture?
Author's notes: this was written for lounalune, who wanted a BMB drabble (turned out a tiiiny little bit longer than a drabble) with Cyan and Skids, crossed with the L-Word, set in Southern Polynesia, that included the quote "Wyoming does not exist."
Wyoming does not exist
They're on a beach on Pukapuka. The sun is shining, Harls is busy with Mik in their hotel room, Cyan's alone with Skids. Skids in his swim trunks, which is totally not something he thinks of in a positive light. Or at all. Anyway, they have a gig tonight for a lesbian convention - how come those things exist and Cyanide is not on their newsletter? It's a paradise of hot women making out. It's a paradise full stop, really. Dream weekend.
"Can you put sunscreen on my back?" Skids asks with his small, innocent smile.
Cyan gulps. "You sure you need some?" Of course he is, Skids sunburns like insanity. Gringos are like that a lot. "I mean, sure," he adds before Skids can shoot him a weird look.
He's putting sunscreen on Skids' back. Typical move you'd use to get hands-y with a chick, but it's totally different here, right? Right. Trying to convince himself of that is like trying to convince himself that Wyoming does not exist. Good luck, cabron.
"If you want I'll do you afterwards," Skids suggests, and Cyan's heart skips a beat.
"W-what?"
"I'll do your back."
"...sure. Yeah. Oh, look, lesbians!" he points out in a near shriek, definitely loud enough to be heard by the two lesbians walking by.
"Oh, look," one of them shoots back, a blonde in a skimpy bikini who seems very good at sounding quirky and perplexed at the same time, "gay boys."
Cyan is speechless, and Skids is laughing. Cyanide can feel the shaking of his ribcage under his hands. Especially since his hands have stopped moving to curve along Skids' back. Skids is not as skinny as Cyan, nice muscles there.
Right, sunscreen.
"Don't forget the small of my back," Skids reminds him, and there's too much innocence in his voice, Cyan knows something is coming. "Gay boy."
"Shut up," he says, and religiously spreads sunscreen down to Skids' waistband. (The dip of his spine is calling out to Cyan.)
You're not thinking those thoughts, Cyanide.
"Lesbians about to make out at two o'clock," Skids warns him in a stage whisper.
Cyanide's head turns that way so sharply his neck protests the treatment, but anything to take his mind off of Skids, really, and his skin, and his muscles, and - okay, lesbians making out. One of them was with the quirky blonde from earlier - she looks nothing like her friend: dark-haired, lanky and androgynous, kind of like a female Cyan now he thinks about it.
She's putting on the charm on a shorter girl with freckles and messy blonde hair. Who's wearing a cap. This is a nightmare.
The female Cyanide is hella good at the whole sexing someone up with just a look and a headtilt thing, and she's now kissing the female Skids, and the original, very male Cyan can't help but stare. It's like that conversation he and Skids had about their female counterparts, except it's happening right there in front of their eyes, and it's even hotter than he imagined.
"The Cook Islands are a self-governing parliamentary democracy in free association with New Zealand," Skids says.
"Are they," Cyan croaks out, before his brain catches up with what Skids has just said. "I mean, what?"
"Of the inhabited islands in the Cook group, Pukapuka is one of the most isolated," Skids carries on, and moves out from under Cyan's hands (he pulls them back, fists them on his knees). "It is also still known as 'Danger Island' and appears on some maps as such."
"What are you talking about?" Cyan asks, finally able to focus on something else than the two really hot lesbians who kinda look like them, even though the fact that Skids has switched to his back to 'do him' is still very much a distraction and not helping the raising tent in his swim trunks.
"I'm distracting you," Skids answers, and his tone makes Cyan expect him to add a 'duh'. "So you don't get hard over the lesbians."
"Oh," is all Cyanide can say for a moment, because Skids' hands are sliding over his back, gentle and smooth. "Thanks."
"Come on, Shane!" the quirky blonde lesbian from earlier calls from a bit further off, and the female Cyanide looks up from kissing the hell out of the female Skids. Her lips are bruised, but the female Skids looks more affected than her, breasts heaving. (This is bad, Cyan thinks again, but in such a good way.)
"I'll catch up later, Al!" the female Cyanide shouts, and goes back to the female Skids. (Nothing stands in their way.)
"How do you know all this anyway?" Cyan hears himself ask in a strangled voice.
"I learned the Wikipedia entry by heart," Skids answers, like it's a totally normal thing to do, and his bright grin is audible in his voice as his hands sweep over Cyan's shoulders. "You should stop staring."
"Right." Cyan looks resolutely ahead, although he can still see the two girls at the edge of his vision. (Could it be this easy? Could they be as lucky? Could he just turn around and kiss Skids?)
"Pukapuka has the distinction of being the first of the Cook Islands to be sighted by Europeans," Skids carries on on the same informative tone. "It is also known for being the landing place of 3 downed U.S. Navy fliers, in February 1942. ...I think."
Cyanide never thought he'd think of Wikipedia entries as foreplay talk. That's it. He's turning around and he's going to kiss Skids and -
"Guys!" Harley shouts happily as he runs up to them, and near throws himself at them. (Not the opportune moment.) Mik is coming, walking towards them at his own pace and looking as broody as ever. Oh joy.
Cyanide is not going to kiss Skids. "Harls," he welcomes him, with a relieved smile. (There is disappointment, too.)
"Cy's getting hot over the lesbians," Skids rats him out.
"They're hot!" he protests. (He's too busy missing Skids' hands to care.)
Harley's nose wrinkles in distaste. Ever the gay dude. "Whatevs. Let's go swim. Race you to the seafront!"
"You're on!" Skids shouts happily, and they both take off running towards the sea, a dust of sand settling around Cyan from their abrupt departure.
"Torres," Mik greets him curtly as he lays out a towel and sits down beside him.
"Rasputin." Cyanide can't even think of a proper insult, he feels too shaken up inside by what he almost did.
"Tough," is all Mik says on the subject. (He's the only one to get it.)