Prompt #115: Studio
Title: Studio Work
Pairing/Characters: Tommy, Adam, Terrance, Ashley
Rating (Word Count): PG-13 (9X100)
Warning(s): Awkwardness
He knows this one is make or break for Adam. He fucking knows that, okay? That’s the only reason he’s here, making a fool of himself, listening to the instructor sigh as she says, “That’s supposed to be your right foot, Tommy.”
He hears the rest of it, too: the mumbled or your other left foot, since you seem to have two of them.
He wouldn’t be here for anyone else. He’s not a dancer. He’s fucking well aware of that, thank you very much. But Adam’d asked so nicely, and Tommy’s never been able to say no to that.
~*~
Just a little choreography, Adam had said, and the please? that Tommy had seen in his eyes was just as loud as the words. He’s always been a sucker for puppydog eyes and pouting lips, and Adam’s never been above using them to his advantage.
Thoughts of eyes and lips and questions that are asked without words are interrupted when he makes another wrong step and bumps into Ashley so hard she falls flat on her cute little ass.
He offers her a hand up. He’s a gentleman, after all. Clumsy as fuck, but his mama did teach him right.
~*~
He’s just as clumsy with his apology, but Ash just laughs it off. She knows as well as he does that the last place he should ever be is a dance studio.
He’s cool with jumping around on stage, but it’s gotta be his own thing, his own rhythm. He’s never been good at following instructions, and it doesn’t look like he’s gonna be starting now, judging by the way he looks out of place in the big mirror in front of them. He’s always a beat behind, something that should never happen with music, and everyone’s looking at him.
~*~
He’d like to storm out right now, while he still has a little bit of dignity left, but he reminds himself that he’s not doing this for his benefit.
He’s here for Adam, and Adam’s convinced that he needs this for the next tour, so Tommy sucks it up and gets ready for another heaping helping of humiliation.
Except Adam calls a halt right then, and Tommy knows why.
Adam covers by saying that their time’s up, and the studio’s booked for the next few hours, but Tommy knows they have enough time left for at least one more run-through.
~*~
Tommy doesn’t want anyone's pity, especially not Adam’s. He knows he could do this. He really can learn it, just not in front of everyone. Once he has a chance to sort it all out in his head, he’s sure he can put it together in the right order.
But right now, he can feel everyone looking at him, judging his inability to keep up with the group. He’s the odd man out, set apart from his friends by his own inability to learn this.
He’s not feeling the togetherness and bonding that usually come whenever they all get together.
~*~
He knows he’s the one putting up fucking barriers between himself and the others, though. At first he could laugh it off, and so could they. They laughed about it together, because they were together; they were still a fucking family. But time and repetition didn’t help him improve. Instead, nerves made his feet more uncooperative, his movements as graceful as a drunken goat, until he felt like a goddamn stumbling fool.
Now he wants to run and hide, not just from the newcomers of their group and the fucking condescending as hell instructor, but from his own friends, too.
~*~
He makes a break for the nearest bathroom, locking himself in a stall, leaning his head against the cool, hard metal of the door. He thinks he’s maybe been in here long enough for everyone to forget about him and clear out when he hears a knock on the door. And a voice. Of fucking course.
“Not gonna leave you in there by yourself,” he hears Adam say. It should sound hard and cold, he thinks, bouncing off the tiles and metal, but it doesn’t. It sounds like Adam always sounds - perfect, and Tommy feels something letting go inside.
~*~
“Come on out. I reserved a practice room for the rest of the day. It’ll just be you and me and Terr. The three of us have been in on this ride since the beginning, and we’ll work this out together.”
Tommy thinks he can work with that arrangement. Those two know him. They know what he needs, and one of the things he needs is having his shield in front of him. When he’s got his guitar between himself and the damn mirrors that don’t miss a single mistake, he feels more secure. He can keep up with the steps.
~*~
Most of the steps, anyway. Terrance is a damn sight better at choreographing on a personal level than whoever the fuck Adam’d hired to do it, at least in Tommy’s opinion. He makes adjustments on the fly, and when he says Try this as he changes one of Tommy or Adam’s moves, they both know that not only will they be able to try it, they’ll be able to do it, because Terrance knows them.
And not to get all deep or philosophical or shit, but Tommy thinks that’s what this is all about - friends always know what you need.
Pairing/Characters: Tommy, Adam, Terrance, Ashley
Rating (Word Count): PG-13 (9X100)
Warning(s): Awkwardness
He knows this one is make or break for Adam. He fucking knows that, okay? That’s the only reason he’s here, making a fool of himself, listening to the instructor sigh as she says, “That’s supposed to be your right foot, Tommy.”
He hears the rest of it, too: the mumbled or your other left foot, since you seem to have two of them.
He wouldn’t be here for anyone else. He’s not a dancer. He’s fucking well aware of that, thank you very much. But Adam’d asked so nicely, and Tommy’s never been able to say no to that.
~*~
Just a little choreography, Adam had said, and the please? that Tommy had seen in his eyes was just as loud as the words. He’s always been a sucker for puppydog eyes and pouting lips, and Adam’s never been above using them to his advantage.
Thoughts of eyes and lips and questions that are asked without words are interrupted when he makes another wrong step and bumps into Ashley so hard she falls flat on her cute little ass.
He offers her a hand up. He’s a gentleman, after all. Clumsy as fuck, but his mama did teach him right.
~*~
He’s just as clumsy with his apology, but Ash just laughs it off. She knows as well as he does that the last place he should ever be is a dance studio.
He’s cool with jumping around on stage, but it’s gotta be his own thing, his own rhythm. He’s never been good at following instructions, and it doesn’t look like he’s gonna be starting now, judging by the way he looks out of place in the big mirror in front of them. He’s always a beat behind, something that should never happen with music, and everyone’s looking at him.
~*~
He’d like to storm out right now, while he still has a little bit of dignity left, but he reminds himself that he’s not doing this for his benefit.
He’s here for Adam, and Adam’s convinced that he needs this for the next tour, so Tommy sucks it up and gets ready for another heaping helping of humiliation.
Except Adam calls a halt right then, and Tommy knows why.
Adam covers by saying that their time’s up, and the studio’s booked for the next few hours, but Tommy knows they have enough time left for at least one more run-through.
~*~
Tommy doesn’t want anyone's pity, especially not Adam’s. He knows he could do this. He really can learn it, just not in front of everyone. Once he has a chance to sort it all out in his head, he’s sure he can put it together in the right order.
But right now, he can feel everyone looking at him, judging his inability to keep up with the group. He’s the odd man out, set apart from his friends by his own inability to learn this.
He’s not feeling the togetherness and bonding that usually come whenever they all get together.
~*~
He knows he’s the one putting up fucking barriers between himself and the others, though. At first he could laugh it off, and so could they. They laughed about it together, because they were together; they were still a fucking family. But time and repetition didn’t help him improve. Instead, nerves made his feet more uncooperative, his movements as graceful as a drunken goat, until he felt like a goddamn stumbling fool.
Now he wants to run and hide, not just from the newcomers of their group and the fucking condescending as hell instructor, but from his own friends, too.
~*~
He makes a break for the nearest bathroom, locking himself in a stall, leaning his head against the cool, hard metal of the door. He thinks he’s maybe been in here long enough for everyone to forget about him and clear out when he hears a knock on the door. And a voice. Of fucking course.
“Not gonna leave you in there by yourself,” he hears Adam say. It should sound hard and cold, he thinks, bouncing off the tiles and metal, but it doesn’t. It sounds like Adam always sounds - perfect, and Tommy feels something letting go inside.
~*~
“Come on out. I reserved a practice room for the rest of the day. It’ll just be you and me and Terr. The three of us have been in on this ride since the beginning, and we’ll work this out together.”
Tommy thinks he can work with that arrangement. Those two know him. They know what he needs, and one of the things he needs is having his shield in front of him. When he’s got his guitar between himself and the damn mirrors that don’t miss a single mistake, he feels more secure. He can keep up with the steps.
~*~
Most of the steps, anyway. Terrance is a damn sight better at choreographing on a personal level than whoever the fuck Adam’d hired to do it, at least in Tommy’s opinion. He makes adjustments on the fly, and when he says Try this as he changes one of Tommy or Adam’s moves, they both know that not only will they be able to try it, they’ll be able to do it, because Terrance knows them.
And not to get all deep or philosophical or shit, but Tommy thinks that’s what this is all about - friends always know what you need.