Male bonding fics!
Aka the two challenge fanfics I've finally gotten around to posting after, like, ten years. D'oh!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own either of these shows.
Title: "Jordan and the Brain"
Fandom: My So-Called Life
Characters: Jordan Catalano (full name required) and Brian
Rating: G
Prompt: "Television" at msclfanfic
Word Count: 534
Summary: Brian returns home from a long day at school and finds the unlikeliest of people watching cartoons in his living room.
Jordan and the Brain
Jordan Catalano sitting in Brian's living room was a law against nature. Jordan Catalano and his house were oil and water. Yet somehow the rules of time and space had bent and now Jordan Catalano was watching Brian's television.
Brian carefully hung up his coat and noticed the ratty brown jacket thrown in the corner. For now, he ignored it, and crossed the threshold to the living room. "Um, hi--I mean, hey." He did a little wave then immediately withdrew his hand, flustered.
Jordan Catalano looked up, opened his mouth a little, then decided on a nod. "Your--back door was open, so. I just needed some more help, with that big test tomorrow. You busy?"
Brian stopped registering what he was saying after the first sentence. It was a trick he used to get into Angela's house quite frequently, since her back door was always open. But Angela's parents were not his parents. Every lock was always ulitilized in his house. "Um, pardon?"
Jordan Catalano glanced at the television, then back at him. "I said, you busy?"
Was he busy? He had a girlfriend, a job at Big Guy Mart's portrait studio, and a quadruple minor (they'd bended the rules for him... again). Mrs Chase wanted him to change a few lightbulbs when he got the chance. His father wanted to explore his college options one night. Angela wanted to go see that movie about the geographer who suffered third-degree burns.
"No, I'm not busy. What are you watching?"
They were friends. Sort of, to use a sentence fragment. In junior year, Brian joined his band for approximately three days. After that, the other Frozen Residues voted unaminously that saxaphones weren't grunge.
Brian sat down beside Jordan Catalano, his muscles stiff from a long day that started at five am. He couldn't turn the guy away, not when he needed help, not when all he had to offer was his brain. Then he tuned in to the cartoon and saw a mouse with a much bigger brain than his. At least, visibly. A taller mouse sat beside him, talking loudly.
"Man, I love Pinky," Jordan Catalano said with a laugh.
For a few more minutes, Brian remained transfixed with this program; mostly because it was a cartoon Jordan Catalano enjoyed. Such a phenomenon was a bit disconcerting. But finally, he spoke. "That short mouse sounds exactly like Orson Welles."
"The snowglobe guy? Ah, that's Brain. Hey, Brain! Like you."
Brian raised his brows and watched some more. Currently, 'Brain' was scolding 'Pinky' for some oddity that had ruined 'Brain's' master plan. The smaller rodent had the world on his shoulders. Just as he was writing this off as a guilty pleasure if anything, Brian laughed unconsciously at a Bill Clinton joke. Next to him, Jordan Catalano laughed at a non-sequitur from Pinky. Five minutes later, Brian was grinning. His stress was forgotten with the dumb yet intelligent humour of this show.
Jordan Catalano looked at him and yawned as the credits rolled. "Man, I forgot what I came over for. What are we gonna do today?"
"The same thing we do every day." He blinked and Jordan Catalano grinned. "Study."
Title: "Spit Brothers"
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Characters: Landry and Matt
Rating: PG
Prompt: This picture at panther_mania
Word Count: 992
Summary: Landry tries to forget everything that's happened to him, but memories flood in as he spends an afternoon with his best friend. Set between episodes 2.09 and 2.10.
Spit Brothers
Christmas in Dillon was never infused with much spirit. It rarely snowed and hail just didn't put you in the holiday mood. This combined with the fact that Landry didn't have much to celebrate, other than not going to jail. It was all over. His life would never be the same, and it felt oddly like the end of summer.
Landry trudged up the walkway to his best friend's house and prepared his "everything's okay" face. He remembered one of the last times he'd had an actual conversation with Matt, in a sunnier time far away from the torture put upon his soul. He was a murderer. But in those last days of August, he'd been no more than a teenager.
---
"You know, I hear the Swedish people give good massages or something. Maybe-maybe that's why Julie likes him."
Matt sunk further into the chlorine-filled water, his eyes permanently on his girlfriend sitting up in her lifeguard chair. "Drop it, Landry."
"Well I don't know, all I'm saying is..."
"Yeah well, it wouldn't make sense anyway. 'Cause I can give, like, nice massages too."
Landry cocked his brows at his friend, and Matt sighed as if conceding. They floated in the shallows of the pool to cool down; still, the sun burned holes in the backs of their heads like guns of light. Landry wasn't looking forward to getting out and hopping on one foot across the sizzling concrete to where his sandals lay.
For a while they propped their arms up on the edge of the pool and watched the flurry of splashing all around them. It was crowded this time of the year; everyone wanted one last taste of summer. So all day long they'd sat and oggled the girls, or stared in silent envy at Smash Williams. The living was easy, at least for a couple more days.
"Do you think," Matt began after a while, "do you think, I dunno, things'll always be like this?"
"Are-are you proposing, Saracen?"
A half-smile reached Matt's face as he considered this. "Nah man, I have standards you know."
"They're pretty lousy standards, then," Landry said, guffawing. They relapsed into silence, but after a while he replied: "Yeah, I, I think it will stay the same. I could imagine like, a million days like this. Except tomorrow I'm not hanging around you. Tomorrow I'm rubbing suntan lotion on Tyra Collete's back."
Matt faced him, shielding his eyes from the sun, and returned the quizzical look Landry had given him earlier.
"What? You don't believe in your spit brother?" Landry thumped a hand against his chest, feigning hurt. The oath they made in Matt's backyard when they were eleven wasn't lost on him.
The other boy smirked in the sun, his innocence uncompromised. "You think anything ever changes around here?"
---
If Landry could've seen what he saw now... He just didn't know any more. He committed his secret knock to the door and a few minutes later, Matt let him inside. Then they were lounging on the sofa, trying not to acknowledge all that change.
"So..." Matt banged his fists against the coffee table like the sound would make up for the lack of conversation. "How's Crucifictorious?"
Landry opened his mouth to spew some smalltalk, but instead, laughter came out. Matt cocked his head, but eventually he caught on. After everything, Landry wondered if he might have been a man, but here he was giggling and wanting to rock and roll with his Christian speed metal band. God's love. If only he could hold on to that.
"So where's this Carlotta you keep talking about?" he said, finally feeling more comfortable.
Matt paused. "Out shopping for Grandma."
"How much older is she, anyway? Ten years?"
"Eight." He folded his hands and his sneakers tapped out a medley Landry remembered from marching band.
"Eight? She's eight years older than you?! Matt, your--I mean just think of the consequences here. She-she could go to jail, she could--" Landry let his lips push the next two words out, but he didn't hear anything after--
"Look, can we please not talk about this right now? Or maybe like, in the distant future?"
Jail. He'd said it.
"So anyway, um, how was your date with Tyra?"
Just like that, he'd turned back into a man.
"Landry?"
He rubbed his eyes. Tyra, a blessed curse or a cursed bless--he wasn't sure which. It still felt so good to hold her, touch her, protect her, and he'd do it all again. That was the worst part. "It wasn't a date. We just watched Steel Magnolias because she has a thing for girly movies and just... had a c-celebration dinner."
"Celebration--wait, celebrated what?"
"What? Nothing. We celebrated nothing."
Matt shook his head and gave him a girly armpunch. "Hey, come on, I'm like your spit brother, right? What'd you celebrate man?"
"Me not going to jail because I, I killed a guy." The words were of their own accord. He wasn't thinking of the consequences, hell, he wasn't moving.
But there were no consequences, 'cause Matt just laughed. He chuckled full of mirth, but he seemed to feel guilty about this. "You shouldn't, uh, joke about that stuff y'know. I'm gonna get us some Cokes." Still grinning, he left for the kitchen but called behind him: "I think there's a Cowboys highlights show somewhere on TV..."
Football, of course. That was what this town breathed, and it wouldn't change. Neither would Matt. But Landry Clarke was changing every second. He was mutating.
That night in Matt's fort when they were eleven, they'd shaken saliva-filled hands and swore to always be there. He pictured Matt visiting him in jail, baking him a cake with a knife inside. He pictured Tyra sobbing over the phone. Yet supposedly he was off scot-free.
It wasn't snowing outside, but it sure as hell wasn't summer.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own either of these shows.
Title: "Jordan and the Brain"
Fandom: My So-Called Life
Characters: Jordan Catalano (full name required) and Brian
Rating: G
Prompt: "Television" at msclfanfic
Word Count: 534
Summary: Brian returns home from a long day at school and finds the unlikeliest of people watching cartoons in his living room.
Jordan and the Brain
Jordan Catalano sitting in Brian's living room was a law against nature. Jordan Catalano and his house were oil and water. Yet somehow the rules of time and space had bent and now Jordan Catalano was watching Brian's television.
Brian carefully hung up his coat and noticed the ratty brown jacket thrown in the corner. For now, he ignored it, and crossed the threshold to the living room. "Um, hi--I mean, hey." He did a little wave then immediately withdrew his hand, flustered.
Jordan Catalano looked up, opened his mouth a little, then decided on a nod. "Your--back door was open, so. I just needed some more help, with that big test tomorrow. You busy?"
Brian stopped registering what he was saying after the first sentence. It was a trick he used to get into Angela's house quite frequently, since her back door was always open. But Angela's parents were not his parents. Every lock was always ulitilized in his house. "Um, pardon?"
Jordan Catalano glanced at the television, then back at him. "I said, you busy?"
Was he busy? He had a girlfriend, a job at Big Guy Mart's portrait studio, and a quadruple minor (they'd bended the rules for him... again). Mrs Chase wanted him to change a few lightbulbs when he got the chance. His father wanted to explore his college options one night. Angela wanted to go see that movie about the geographer who suffered third-degree burns.
"No, I'm not busy. What are you watching?"
They were friends. Sort of, to use a sentence fragment. In junior year, Brian joined his band for approximately three days. After that, the other Frozen Residues voted unaminously that saxaphones weren't grunge.
Brian sat down beside Jordan Catalano, his muscles stiff from a long day that started at five am. He couldn't turn the guy away, not when he needed help, not when all he had to offer was his brain. Then he tuned in to the cartoon and saw a mouse with a much bigger brain than his. At least, visibly. A taller mouse sat beside him, talking loudly.
"Man, I love Pinky," Jordan Catalano said with a laugh.
For a few more minutes, Brian remained transfixed with this program; mostly because it was a cartoon Jordan Catalano enjoyed. Such a phenomenon was a bit disconcerting. But finally, he spoke. "That short mouse sounds exactly like Orson Welles."
"The snowglobe guy? Ah, that's Brain. Hey, Brain! Like you."
Brian raised his brows and watched some more. Currently, 'Brain' was scolding 'Pinky' for some oddity that had ruined 'Brain's' master plan. The smaller rodent had the world on his shoulders. Just as he was writing this off as a guilty pleasure if anything, Brian laughed unconsciously at a Bill Clinton joke. Next to him, Jordan Catalano laughed at a non-sequitur from Pinky. Five minutes later, Brian was grinning. His stress was forgotten with the dumb yet intelligent humour of this show.
Jordan Catalano looked at him and yawned as the credits rolled. "Man, I forgot what I came over for. What are we gonna do today?"
"The same thing we do every day." He blinked and Jordan Catalano grinned. "Study."
Title: "Spit Brothers"
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Characters: Landry and Matt
Rating: PG
Prompt: This picture at panther_mania
Word Count: 992
Summary: Landry tries to forget everything that's happened to him, but memories flood in as he spends an afternoon with his best friend. Set between episodes 2.09 and 2.10.
Spit Brothers
Christmas in Dillon was never infused with much spirit. It rarely snowed and hail just didn't put you in the holiday mood. This combined with the fact that Landry didn't have much to celebrate, other than not going to jail. It was all over. His life would never be the same, and it felt oddly like the end of summer.
Landry trudged up the walkway to his best friend's house and prepared his "everything's okay" face. He remembered one of the last times he'd had an actual conversation with Matt, in a sunnier time far away from the torture put upon his soul. He was a murderer. But in those last days of August, he'd been no more than a teenager.
---
"You know, I hear the Swedish people give good massages or something. Maybe-maybe that's why Julie likes him."
Matt sunk further into the chlorine-filled water, his eyes permanently on his girlfriend sitting up in her lifeguard chair. "Drop it, Landry."
"Well I don't know, all I'm saying is..."
"Yeah well, it wouldn't make sense anyway. 'Cause I can give, like, nice massages too."
Landry cocked his brows at his friend, and Matt sighed as if conceding. They floated in the shallows of the pool to cool down; still, the sun burned holes in the backs of their heads like guns of light. Landry wasn't looking forward to getting out and hopping on one foot across the sizzling concrete to where his sandals lay.
For a while they propped their arms up on the edge of the pool and watched the flurry of splashing all around them. It was crowded this time of the year; everyone wanted one last taste of summer. So all day long they'd sat and oggled the girls, or stared in silent envy at Smash Williams. The living was easy, at least for a couple more days.
"Do you think," Matt began after a while, "do you think, I dunno, things'll always be like this?"
"Are-are you proposing, Saracen?"
A half-smile reached Matt's face as he considered this. "Nah man, I have standards you know."
"They're pretty lousy standards, then," Landry said, guffawing. They relapsed into silence, but after a while he replied: "Yeah, I, I think it will stay the same. I could imagine like, a million days like this. Except tomorrow I'm not hanging around you. Tomorrow I'm rubbing suntan lotion on Tyra Collete's back."
Matt faced him, shielding his eyes from the sun, and returned the quizzical look Landry had given him earlier.
"What? You don't believe in your spit brother?" Landry thumped a hand against his chest, feigning hurt. The oath they made in Matt's backyard when they were eleven wasn't lost on him.
The other boy smirked in the sun, his innocence uncompromised. "You think anything ever changes around here?"
---
If Landry could've seen what he saw now... He just didn't know any more. He committed his secret knock to the door and a few minutes later, Matt let him inside. Then they were lounging on the sofa, trying not to acknowledge all that change.
"So..." Matt banged his fists against the coffee table like the sound would make up for the lack of conversation. "How's Crucifictorious?"
Landry opened his mouth to spew some smalltalk, but instead, laughter came out. Matt cocked his head, but eventually he caught on. After everything, Landry wondered if he might have been a man, but here he was giggling and wanting to rock and roll with his Christian speed metal band. God's love. If only he could hold on to that.
"So where's this Carlotta you keep talking about?" he said, finally feeling more comfortable.
Matt paused. "Out shopping for Grandma."
"How much older is she, anyway? Ten years?"
"Eight." He folded his hands and his sneakers tapped out a medley Landry remembered from marching band.
"Eight? She's eight years older than you?! Matt, your--I mean just think of the consequences here. She-she could go to jail, she could--" Landry let his lips push the next two words out, but he didn't hear anything after--
"Look, can we please not talk about this right now? Or maybe like, in the distant future?"
Jail. He'd said it.
"So anyway, um, how was your date with Tyra?"
Just like that, he'd turned back into a man.
"Landry?"
He rubbed his eyes. Tyra, a blessed curse or a cursed bless--he wasn't sure which. It still felt so good to hold her, touch her, protect her, and he'd do it all again. That was the worst part. "It wasn't a date. We just watched Steel Magnolias because she has a thing for girly movies and just... had a c-celebration dinner."
"Celebration--wait, celebrated what?"
"What? Nothing. We celebrated nothing."
Matt shook his head and gave him a girly armpunch. "Hey, come on, I'm like your spit brother, right? What'd you celebrate man?"
"Me not going to jail because I, I killed a guy." The words were of their own accord. He wasn't thinking of the consequences, hell, he wasn't moving.
But there were no consequences, 'cause Matt just laughed. He chuckled full of mirth, but he seemed to feel guilty about this. "You shouldn't, uh, joke about that stuff y'know. I'm gonna get us some Cokes." Still grinning, he left for the kitchen but called behind him: "I think there's a Cowboys highlights show somewhere on TV..."
Football, of course. That was what this town breathed, and it wouldn't change. Neither would Matt. But Landry Clarke was changing every second. He was mutating.
That night in Matt's fort when they were eleven, they'd shaken saliva-filled hands and swore to always be there. He pictured Matt visiting him in jail, baking him a cake with a knife inside. He pictured Tyra sobbing over the phone. Yet supposedly he was off scot-free.
It wasn't snowing outside, but it sure as hell wasn't summer.