Where Has the Time Gone??
Wow, I've been gone for a long time. A really long time...
So much as happened in my life, and continuing to happen that I think will definitely affect my writing style in some way. Because of this, I haven't really written anything lately, but I just opened my writing book again and felt the overwhelming urge to start again. [Reading old JJxDrake fics helped too, as well as a couple of new ones... XD]
I came back to this journal and was shocked that I hadn't posted the last oneshot I wrote before I disappeared! So here it is in all it's glory, haha! I am also currently working on finishing this set of 10-oneshots, so I hope to do so within the next couple of months and not leave anyone hanging [and to continue the JJxDrake love!]
Title: Lean on Me
Fandom: FAKE
Pairing: JJxDrake
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They were their own support system in their highest and lowest moments, and slowly, love came through. A collection of 10 oneshots of JJ and Drake.
Prompt: #8 Kiss
Wordcount: 1,631
. . . Lean on Me // III. Kiss
Fuck.
You feel a headache slowly spread from the crown of your head, downward to a constant pulse at your temple. Your eyes are all but crossed from the sheer amount of paperwork you've been looking through, trying to find evidence supporting the connection between another loony-bin and another unfortunate corpse (when really, your instinct yells, screams, because it's absolutely positive that it's right, and no, you don't need all this crap).
Fucking paperwork.
With a groan, you sit up in your chair as you stretch out your back, sore from the past few hours hunched over the desk. The office is heavy from the heat held in by the closed door, the stench of old files, and just tiredness.
You'd blame it all on your slave-driver of a partner, you really would, but then again, you could've left to "get lunch" or to "take a smoke." It's 'cause he's too fucking gorgeous for his own good. It's 'cause you'd rather spend the day slaving away at your desk and be with him than leave without him. It's 'cause he's got you wrapped around his finger just as tightly as he's wrapped around yours, and there's no way in hell that either of you can deny it.
And you know it's true when you look up and meet your partner's face, an apologetic smile set on his sexy lips, saying Thank you for not leaving me. And even if you are dead tired, you can't help but plaster that sleazy smile onto your own face and give a quick wink, hinting ever so obviously, Oh, you can thank me tonight… His only answer is a raise of his eyebrows as he readies himself for another round of finding-a-needle-in-a-haystack.
But you're already out of focus, still have that headache, and really do need to take a smoke outside, so you stand up and make your way to the door. Your partner apparently understands as he makes no move to stop you…
And that's how you end up at the rooftop door, already slightly ajar where a soft breeze is blowing in. The sound of voices and rustling cloth stops you from fully pushing the door open, instead using the big-enough gap to look outside at who had beaten you to your retreat.
No, you don't usually spy on your coworkers, no matter how outer appearances seem. But the hushed voices and physical closeness of the pair - not to mention the cryptic messages of ink on paper waiting back at your desk - encourage you to stick around for a while longer.
Had this been any other pair, any other time, the scene could probably pass off as a simple conversation between partners, a moment's reprieve from all the assignments the old badger had been passing out. But the two filling your line of sight are guys you know too well, whose gestures and habits you've observed through the years. And this scene? This had unnatural written all over it.
Now separately, the two figures wouldn't quite be so abnormal. The blonde, farthest away from you, is striking a typical pose, relaxed and leaning against the cement wall coming up to about the lower part of his chest. You recognize the position well, the curved back, hunched over as tales of girlfriends past or life in general rolled easily from this close friend. He's wearing his typical work suit, sleeves still rolled down - a sign that there was still work to be done - and forest green neck tie still tight and trapped between his broad chest and the wall. The breeze blows through his naturally disheveled hair as you notice his lips move; he's speaking, but you can't make out the words, quiet enough for the man beside him to listen, but not for the wind to carry clearly to your prying ears.
The man he is speaking to is standing closer to you, strange blue-lilac locks also tousled by the breeze. His stance is relaxed, or as relaxed as someone so prim and proper can get, with his straightened back and arms resting at his side. His brightly colored tie catches your eye, lifted by the wind and only more noticeable by the crisp white shirt acting as its background. It matches his personality, you think, the overly cheerful smiles, the exaggerated gestures, everything that has categorized him as the pain-in-the-ass of your life - though, you've noticed that he's long since stopped his puppy-dog-like following for reasons unknown.
Sure, apart, they could be completely normal, nothing else to it than that. But it's the details that offset the scene, the things that trigger your unfailing instinct telling you that you know better than that.
Although the blunette stands a little behind the blonde, the cloth at their sleeves give away their close proximity, colors blending in your sight and untouched by the breeze. Now, 'ole Drake may not be homophobic - for if he was, your friendship would have ended long ago - but to put himself in such a position, such an intimate gesture of relaxing against the warmth and closeness of another man, of the glomp-machine no less, certainly tingled your own senses. And for JJ to maintain that gap, well, you had to give the kid props for that, especially with his usual sense of self-control, both physically and verbally. They're close enough to almost lean together, to support each other, to maintain space, to keep up tension, it could go any way and you're not really sure.
Even disregarding the proximity of their bodies, their faces tell a story all their own. Despite the tiredness still haunting the blonde's stormy eyes, you notice a gentle shine in them that hasn't been there before, a kind of warmth that you can only guess is flowing through the words he continues to speak. And the blunette, the blunette really catches your attention, usual Cheshire cat grin replaced by a calm, almost stoicism, that you've rarely ever seen on his face in all these years.
The blonde stops speaking. No lips move in response or continuation. Two chests rise and fall with even breathes. Two pairs of eyes stare out across the city.
The blunette turns away first, blue eyes a bit spaced-out as he seems to be stepping towards the door.
It takes you a split second to realize what this could mean for you, unwanted audience pressed against the wall and neck turned to watch through the gap. Your heart starts to beat faster. The footsteps are getting louder. You're still trying to decide whether to bolt back down the stairs, or to pretend you just walked up, or…
A second pair of footsteps fall faster than the first, catching up to the first, which had stopped in the sudden movement.
You take a second to breathe, to steady your impulses. You know you should take the chance to leave, but something, curiosity maybe, tells you to stay. So you cautiously turn your head once again to look back, and…
Oh.
They're facing each other, now, side profiles giving you all the details, all the facial expressions you need to figure it out. The blunette is all shock, blue eyes open wide as he looks up at the blonde looking back at him. The older man never loses his calm as he holds onto the younger man's shoulders, lips once again moving in quiet whispers that you still can't make out. The words must be soothing, as you watch the former relax in the hold, eyes become more normal, then half-lidded.
And it's impossible, you just have to be wrong, but you swear that the blonde is moving closer, body almost moving chest to chest, head bending down lower, face meeting the one below him as eyes slide shut and lips stop moving to gently touch…
Wha… (it comes out more like a release of breath than an actual word).
Your brain shudders to a halt in an attempt to absorb what your eyes are trying to tell you.
The kiss is gentle, unforced, mutual, all sugar and sweet and intimate and trusting. It's a bit awkward at first, but that quickly fades, and they relax into the other, bodies moving closer than you thought they could. The hold becomes an embrace, and the free arms return the favor as lips slowly move, no longer with words, exploring, but innocent all the same.
They kiss like it's natural, like it's second nature, like it's the only thing that has been missing in their relationship, like it was what they were meant to do all along. And maybe it is the only thing missing, was the only thing missing. You smirk at the thought.
And you can't help but think that this has happened to two better people, to two who are trusting partners, who probably know each other more than you could ever know. To one who has been ready to give all the love he could give with all of his heart. To one who has been waiting for far too long. (You still don't know which describes which.)
You turn your back to the couple, finally giving them the privacy they deserve. As you make your way down the stairs, a mischievous grin spreads across your face, thinking how your partner would react to this new piece of info…
x x x
[Omake]
"Kissing? Well, it's about time…" the blonde-haired detective looked back down at the paperwork he was still sifting through.
"What? You knew?" his dark-haired partner exclaimed in disbelief.
"Let's just say, I've noticed something between them more and more these past few weeks," he responded without looking up.
"For someone who had so little insight in himself, he sure can read people…" he murmured.
"What did you say?"
"Nothin', babe."
So much as happened in my life, and continuing to happen that I think will definitely affect my writing style in some way. Because of this, I haven't really written anything lately, but I just opened my writing book again and felt the overwhelming urge to start again. [Reading old JJxDrake fics helped too, as well as a couple of new ones... XD]
I came back to this journal and was shocked that I hadn't posted the last oneshot I wrote before I disappeared! So here it is in all it's glory, haha! I am also currently working on finishing this set of 10-oneshots, so I hope to do so within the next couple of months and not leave anyone hanging [and to continue the JJxDrake love!]
Title: Lean on Me
Fandom: FAKE
Pairing: JJxDrake
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They were their own support system in their highest and lowest moments, and slowly, love came through. A collection of 10 oneshots of JJ and Drake.
Prompt: #8 Kiss
Wordcount: 1,631
. . . Lean on Me // III. Kiss
Fuck.
You feel a headache slowly spread from the crown of your head, downward to a constant pulse at your temple. Your eyes are all but crossed from the sheer amount of paperwork you've been looking through, trying to find evidence supporting the connection between another loony-bin and another unfortunate corpse (when really, your instinct yells, screams, because it's absolutely positive that it's right, and no, you don't need all this crap).
Fucking paperwork.
With a groan, you sit up in your chair as you stretch out your back, sore from the past few hours hunched over the desk. The office is heavy from the heat held in by the closed door, the stench of old files, and just tiredness.
You'd blame it all on your slave-driver of a partner, you really would, but then again, you could've left to "get lunch" or to "take a smoke." It's 'cause he's too fucking gorgeous for his own good. It's 'cause you'd rather spend the day slaving away at your desk and be with him than leave without him. It's 'cause he's got you wrapped around his finger just as tightly as he's wrapped around yours, and there's no way in hell that either of you can deny it.
And you know it's true when you look up and meet your partner's face, an apologetic smile set on his sexy lips, saying Thank you for not leaving me. And even if you are dead tired, you can't help but plaster that sleazy smile onto your own face and give a quick wink, hinting ever so obviously, Oh, you can thank me tonight… His only answer is a raise of his eyebrows as he readies himself for another round of finding-a-needle-in-a-haystack.
But you're already out of focus, still have that headache, and really do need to take a smoke outside, so you stand up and make your way to the door. Your partner apparently understands as he makes no move to stop you…
And that's how you end up at the rooftop door, already slightly ajar where a soft breeze is blowing in. The sound of voices and rustling cloth stops you from fully pushing the door open, instead using the big-enough gap to look outside at who had beaten you to your retreat.
No, you don't usually spy on your coworkers, no matter how outer appearances seem. But the hushed voices and physical closeness of the pair - not to mention the cryptic messages of ink on paper waiting back at your desk - encourage you to stick around for a while longer.
Had this been any other pair, any other time, the scene could probably pass off as a simple conversation between partners, a moment's reprieve from all the assignments the old badger had been passing out. But the two filling your line of sight are guys you know too well, whose gestures and habits you've observed through the years. And this scene? This had unnatural written all over it.
Now separately, the two figures wouldn't quite be so abnormal. The blonde, farthest away from you, is striking a typical pose, relaxed and leaning against the cement wall coming up to about the lower part of his chest. You recognize the position well, the curved back, hunched over as tales of girlfriends past or life in general rolled easily from this close friend. He's wearing his typical work suit, sleeves still rolled down - a sign that there was still work to be done - and forest green neck tie still tight and trapped between his broad chest and the wall. The breeze blows through his naturally disheveled hair as you notice his lips move; he's speaking, but you can't make out the words, quiet enough for the man beside him to listen, but not for the wind to carry clearly to your prying ears.
The man he is speaking to is standing closer to you, strange blue-lilac locks also tousled by the breeze. His stance is relaxed, or as relaxed as someone so prim and proper can get, with his straightened back and arms resting at his side. His brightly colored tie catches your eye, lifted by the wind and only more noticeable by the crisp white shirt acting as its background. It matches his personality, you think, the overly cheerful smiles, the exaggerated gestures, everything that has categorized him as the pain-in-the-ass of your life - though, you've noticed that he's long since stopped his puppy-dog-like following for reasons unknown.
Sure, apart, they could be completely normal, nothing else to it than that. But it's the details that offset the scene, the things that trigger your unfailing instinct telling you that you know better than that.
Although the blunette stands a little behind the blonde, the cloth at their sleeves give away their close proximity, colors blending in your sight and untouched by the breeze. Now, 'ole Drake may not be homophobic - for if he was, your friendship would have ended long ago - but to put himself in such a position, such an intimate gesture of relaxing against the warmth and closeness of another man, of the glomp-machine no less, certainly tingled your own senses. And for JJ to maintain that gap, well, you had to give the kid props for that, especially with his usual sense of self-control, both physically and verbally. They're close enough to almost lean together, to support each other, to maintain space, to keep up tension, it could go any way and you're not really sure.
Even disregarding the proximity of their bodies, their faces tell a story all their own. Despite the tiredness still haunting the blonde's stormy eyes, you notice a gentle shine in them that hasn't been there before, a kind of warmth that you can only guess is flowing through the words he continues to speak. And the blunette, the blunette really catches your attention, usual Cheshire cat grin replaced by a calm, almost stoicism, that you've rarely ever seen on his face in all these years.
The blonde stops speaking. No lips move in response or continuation. Two chests rise and fall with even breathes. Two pairs of eyes stare out across the city.
The blunette turns away first, blue eyes a bit spaced-out as he seems to be stepping towards the door.
It takes you a split second to realize what this could mean for you, unwanted audience pressed against the wall and neck turned to watch through the gap. Your heart starts to beat faster. The footsteps are getting louder. You're still trying to decide whether to bolt back down the stairs, or to pretend you just walked up, or…
A second pair of footsteps fall faster than the first, catching up to the first, which had stopped in the sudden movement.
You take a second to breathe, to steady your impulses. You know you should take the chance to leave, but something, curiosity maybe, tells you to stay. So you cautiously turn your head once again to look back, and…
Oh.
They're facing each other, now, side profiles giving you all the details, all the facial expressions you need to figure it out. The blunette is all shock, blue eyes open wide as he looks up at the blonde looking back at him. The older man never loses his calm as he holds onto the younger man's shoulders, lips once again moving in quiet whispers that you still can't make out. The words must be soothing, as you watch the former relax in the hold, eyes become more normal, then half-lidded.
And it's impossible, you just have to be wrong, but you swear that the blonde is moving closer, body almost moving chest to chest, head bending down lower, face meeting the one below him as eyes slide shut and lips stop moving to gently touch…
Wha… (it comes out more like a release of breath than an actual word).
Your brain shudders to a halt in an attempt to absorb what your eyes are trying to tell you.
The kiss is gentle, unforced, mutual, all sugar and sweet and intimate and trusting. It's a bit awkward at first, but that quickly fades, and they relax into the other, bodies moving closer than you thought they could. The hold becomes an embrace, and the free arms return the favor as lips slowly move, no longer with words, exploring, but innocent all the same.
They kiss like it's natural, like it's second nature, like it's the only thing that has been missing in their relationship, like it was what they were meant to do all along. And maybe it is the only thing missing, was the only thing missing. You smirk at the thought.
And you can't help but think that this has happened to two better people, to two who are trusting partners, who probably know each other more than you could ever know. To one who has been ready to give all the love he could give with all of his heart. To one who has been waiting for far too long. (You still don't know which describes which.)
You turn your back to the couple, finally giving them the privacy they deserve. As you make your way down the stairs, a mischievous grin spreads across your face, thinking how your partner would react to this new piece of info…
x x x
[Omake]
"Kissing? Well, it's about time…" the blonde-haired detective looked back down at the paperwork he was still sifting through.
"What? You knew?" his dark-haired partner exclaimed in disbelief.
"Let's just say, I've noticed something between them more and more these past few weeks," he responded without looking up.
"For someone who had so little insight in himself, he sure can read people…" he murmured.
"What did you say?"
"Nothin', babe."