Lying Awake Because of Crickets...
So. I can't write and I can't sleep. What have I done to overcome this? I've drabbled (or tried to) of course!
The first two are from this meme way back when and I apologise for their lateness but, Christ. The prompts and pairings were hard... or, hell at least Mel's was! Ew, Pete. So they're both more than two paragraphs and not the smuttiest, but I figure it's almost 12am and this is really the best I can do right now. I'll also apologise for any spelling/grammar errors now and mention that they may not make sense, depending. Meg's I wrote because I think I promised her Adam/Vinnie ages ago and I have another to post tomorrow because, oh my God, I'm so tired right now.
For electricchicken, John/Vinnie. Hysteria. R. 548 words:
It was hot and cramped, and the air was so thick John thought it would push back at him if he tried to move. Though, it probably wasn't so much the air as it was Vinnie, who had managed to plaster himself to John's front and latched onto his neck like he was oxygen itself. John stuffed a fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles in an effort to stifle the loud groan that was pushing to be let out.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God... " John gasped hoarsely as he struggled to find something more convincing to say, but not managing any more than the desperate chant. "Fuck, Vin, we can't do this!" He tried again, clearly wanting to stop this right now, though it was a rather useless attempt as his fingers twined themselves into the soft, sweaty strands at the nape of Vinnie's neck.
"And why not, huh?" The reply was muffled by the soft linen of John's shirt and Vinnie grinned manically at the hitch in John's voice, crowing in glee as he felt John stiffen and then relax.
John shuddered at the warm palm against his already too hot skin, deft fingers pulled at the buttons of his shirt and John was aware of the fact he was opposing something about two seconds ago. The dull thrum of a bass being tuned reminded him as he clutched at the front of Vinnie's shirt with the hand not grasping at his hair.
"Because we're in a recording studio and you're band, plus my best friend are a fibreglass wall away," John hissed, vaguely aware that most of the noise was made due to Vinnie's fingers rubbing slowly against the front of his pants.
"Yeah? Weren't you the one that said I needed a break?" Vinnie's voice was so obviously laced with malicious intent, but what he wanted didn't involved a lot of pain on John's part anyway and so, as he fingered John's fly, thumb sliding beneath the band of jeans, Vinnie laves another long line up the side of long, white throat.
"Fuck, God, fuck." John can feel his heart pounding behind his ribs, beating so hard he's sure they would be able to hear it from the next room over and oh God, Jesse was going to kill him!
John thought back briefly to the long lecture Jesse gave him about playing around with people Jesse cared about and fucking young, lithe guitarists. Ones with wide, limpid mocha coloured eyes, all molten chocolate with smooth skin and John's such a coffee addict, God how he knew was. He thought about the year he spent only ever half sober and nursing a tattered ego, his ties with the rest of civilisation an absolute mess and the ache he felt when Jesse stared straight past him.
But then John opened his eyes and glanced down to see Vinnie on his knees, lips bruised with his fingers poised and stuffed in the small space between his boxers and hip. The panic in his chest continued to beat wildly, pounding like a caged bird and yet the only thing he does is offer a small smile.
Vinnie's eyes filled with complete joy made everything worth it, even if they weren't blue.
- - -
(That was a terrible prompt for smut, Andrea, for serious. And two paragraphs wasn't enough, I hope you don't think I over did it, which is what I tend to do. But, no, really. Two paragraphs isn't enough!)
For notthegnomes, Mark Stoermer/Pete Wentz. Smug. R. 476 words.
The room wasn't simply dark, it was pitch black and Mark found he had a hard time even seeing the hand in front of his face if it weren't for the tiny sliver of orange light from an outside lamp post. It was sometime past midnight, maybe a little before because hell if he knew and frankly, he couldn't care. He scrubbed a hand over his face and winced at the crack his jaw made when he yawned. The bed stirred, a shuffling beside his feet as a warm thigh pressed against his and he ran his fingers across his rough jaw in thought.
Suppose I should get up before she wakes, he thought, shrugging carelessly as he slipped out of the too warm, too thin sheets and onto the floor. He crawled on the floor, searching out his clothes and managed to pull on a pair of pants halfway up his right leg before he realised they were girl jeans. It must have taken him a good ten minutes of scouring the carpet before he found most of his clothes though minus a jacket and socks, but by the point he really could have cared less. He was Mark fucking Stoermer and he played bass for The God damned Killers, clothes were such trivial things anyway, or so he told himself.
Slipping on his shoes, he stumbled across the room towards the "L" of light that managed to seep through the edges of the door from outside. He rubbed gently at his neck and felt a slight swell on the joint of his neck and shoulder, scoffing slightly at the fact the girl bit him where someone could see. His fingers curled around the handle, back already turned to walk out he blinks madly at the sudden onslaught of light.
"Fuck." And it takes him a few seconds before he realises he hadn't said anything, even though it was definitely a man's voice that had just spoken.
Turning, Mark hides his utter shock behind a slight twist of his lips and a raised eyebrow and just shakes his head. Staring back at him with sheets pulled up to his neck, Pete's eyes are wide and accentuated by the eyeliner smudged in a dark ring around his lashes.
Mark thinks about every magazine article he's told people he hasn't read, every comment he's said hasn't bothered him and the fact he remembers Pete sneering at him from across the room last night. The look of complete horror is reflected at him right now and yet the only thing Mark thinks about right then is the memory of nails biting into his back and soft whines of please, please, please in his ear.
"Done that, Wentz. Though, you should know, you were on the receiving end."
And lets the door click shut oh so softly behind him.
- - -
(That almost killed me to write. I'm not joking in the slightest.)
For __killingtime, Vinnie/Adam. Delirious. PG. 626 words:
Sniffling pitifully, Adam murmurs something incoherent before he hacks a loud cough and flings his arm into the air. He waves it back and forth a few times before he realises that outside the blanket, tucked around his neck, it's really cold and retracts it as fast as he can, which considering the time he takes to do anything else, is like lightning. Adam mumbles out loud about eulogies and satin lining, the back of his palm held to his head in a gesture of self-suffering. And that's the scene Vinnie is greeted to as he walks back into the lounge carrying a tray with soup and hot honey water (because "tea is bitter") with a box of tissues tucked beneath his arm.
Shaking his head slightly, Vinnie smiles indulgently as he listens to Adam continue his raving, now louder as he senses someone else in the room to hear what he has to say.
"I love you, Vinnie, love! I want you to know that, in case I never get to tell you and before it's too late," Adam croons out dramatically before he's again hit with a bout of unstoppable and deadly coughs, chest heaving as he covers his mouth.
"Yes, Adam," Vinnie replies, laughing as he retucks the blanket carefully and runs his fingers through a slight tangle in Adam's hair.
"You can have my collection of belts, Vinnie, all of them. Even the white Nirvana one. Yes, to you I'll leave my beloved Kurt belt, oh Vinnie!" But again has to stop as he shakes with the force of his sneeze and Vinnie watches, grin still right there, as Adam carefully sniffs and then wipes his nose on the edge of the blanket.
"Thank you, Adam."
"Oh, Vinnie, I'm not going to make it through the night. I'm not!" Adam wails, face scrunching and he feels the last of his breath ghost past his lips, he's dying, he's sure of it and yet all Vinnie does is bring a tissue to his nose and fluff his pillow, he just doesn't understand! Doesn't Vinnie love him?
Vinnie, in the meantime, chuckles at how dramatic Adam is and wonders if they still have any of the purple cough and flu syrup left, seeing how it's the only thing Adam will take without chucking a hissy fit and moaning about "how gross it is". Fingers tugging the blanket tight, Vinnie listens as Adam continues dictating his Will and wonders why we would leave the box of postcards under their bed to Matt, but doesn't question it. He'll check the box out before Adam gets better, which the doctor said should be within the week. It was only a common cold after all.
"And my mother, oh my mom Vinnie! You can't let her see me like this, you won't let her visit me while I'm like this, promise me you won't!"
"No, Adam, I won't," he answers placatingly, sighing as Adam relaxes back into the pillows and watches as his eyes finally begin to flutter shut.
"But tell her I love her, 'kay? And tell her that I never meant to break her teapot when I was six, I just didn't think it suit the rest of the dining set. Buy her a new one, you'll buy her a new teapot..." Adam trails off, yawning. "Won't you Vinnie? You'll buy my mom a new teapot?"
Vinnie nods, "I will, Adam."
But the answer is lost to the soft snores and quiet breathing and Vinnie watches as Adam continues to mumble to himself. He sighs, smiling stupidly still and watches as Adam's eyelashes flutter against his cheek and before he can help it, drops a quick kiss to Adam's forehead.
"I love you too, Adam."
- - -
(Okay, so I made the prompt myself, but I made it a hard one! Of course, then I didn't know how to write it and this came out. Technically it fits the bill, right? And, hey Megasus, I wrote Vinnie/Adam for you! Hope it isn't too bad. Heh.)
While I'm at it, does anyone want to request a drabble? I want to write at least one a day to try and get back into things. Yes, its all for a very selfish purpose, blah, blah.
Night.
I love all of you. Yes, you and you and especially YOU!
Also, Check out my new JNo icon! Courtesy of the ever brilliant x_kchan_x, who else?
The first two are from this meme way back when and I apologise for their lateness but, Christ. The prompts and pairings were hard... or, hell at least Mel's was! Ew, Pete. So they're both more than two paragraphs and not the smuttiest, but I figure it's almost 12am and this is really the best I can do right now. I'll also apologise for any spelling/grammar errors now and mention that they may not make sense, depending. Meg's I wrote because I think I promised her Adam/Vinnie ages ago and I have another to post tomorrow because, oh my God, I'm so tired right now.
For electricchicken, John/Vinnie. Hysteria. R. 548 words:
It was hot and cramped, and the air was so thick John thought it would push back at him if he tried to move. Though, it probably wasn't so much the air as it was Vinnie, who had managed to plaster himself to John's front and latched onto his neck like he was oxygen itself. John stuffed a fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles in an effort to stifle the loud groan that was pushing to be let out.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God... " John gasped hoarsely as he struggled to find something more convincing to say, but not managing any more than the desperate chant. "Fuck, Vin, we can't do this!" He tried again, clearly wanting to stop this right now, though it was a rather useless attempt as his fingers twined themselves into the soft, sweaty strands at the nape of Vinnie's neck.
"And why not, huh?" The reply was muffled by the soft linen of John's shirt and Vinnie grinned manically at the hitch in John's voice, crowing in glee as he felt John stiffen and then relax.
John shuddered at the warm palm against his already too hot skin, deft fingers pulled at the buttons of his shirt and John was aware of the fact he was opposing something about two seconds ago. The dull thrum of a bass being tuned reminded him as he clutched at the front of Vinnie's shirt with the hand not grasping at his hair.
"Because we're in a recording studio and you're band, plus my best friend are a fibreglass wall away," John hissed, vaguely aware that most of the noise was made due to Vinnie's fingers rubbing slowly against the front of his pants.
"Yeah? Weren't you the one that said I needed a break?" Vinnie's voice was so obviously laced with malicious intent, but what he wanted didn't involved a lot of pain on John's part anyway and so, as he fingered John's fly, thumb sliding beneath the band of jeans, Vinnie laves another long line up the side of long, white throat.
"Fuck, God, fuck." John can feel his heart pounding behind his ribs, beating so hard he's sure they would be able to hear it from the next room over and oh God, Jesse was going to kill him!
John thought back briefly to the long lecture Jesse gave him about playing around with people Jesse cared about and fucking young, lithe guitarists. Ones with wide, limpid mocha coloured eyes, all molten chocolate with smooth skin and John's such a coffee addict, God how he knew was. He thought about the year he spent only ever half sober and nursing a tattered ego, his ties with the rest of civilisation an absolute mess and the ache he felt when Jesse stared straight past him.
But then John opened his eyes and glanced down to see Vinnie on his knees, lips bruised with his fingers poised and stuffed in the small space between his boxers and hip. The panic in his chest continued to beat wildly, pounding like a caged bird and yet the only thing he does is offer a small smile.
Vinnie's eyes filled with complete joy made everything worth it, even if they weren't blue.
- - -
(That was a terrible prompt for smut, Andrea, for serious. And two paragraphs wasn't enough, I hope you don't think I over did it, which is what I tend to do. But, no, really. Two paragraphs isn't enough!)
For notthegnomes, Mark Stoermer/Pete Wentz. Smug. R. 476 words.
The room wasn't simply dark, it was pitch black and Mark found he had a hard time even seeing the hand in front of his face if it weren't for the tiny sliver of orange light from an outside lamp post. It was sometime past midnight, maybe a little before because hell if he knew and frankly, he couldn't care. He scrubbed a hand over his face and winced at the crack his jaw made when he yawned. The bed stirred, a shuffling beside his feet as a warm thigh pressed against his and he ran his fingers across his rough jaw in thought.
Suppose I should get up before she wakes, he thought, shrugging carelessly as he slipped out of the too warm, too thin sheets and onto the floor. He crawled on the floor, searching out his clothes and managed to pull on a pair of pants halfway up his right leg before he realised they were girl jeans. It must have taken him a good ten minutes of scouring the carpet before he found most of his clothes though minus a jacket and socks, but by the point he really could have cared less. He was Mark fucking Stoermer and he played bass for The God damned Killers, clothes were such trivial things anyway, or so he told himself.
Slipping on his shoes, he stumbled across the room towards the "L" of light that managed to seep through the edges of the door from outside. He rubbed gently at his neck and felt a slight swell on the joint of his neck and shoulder, scoffing slightly at the fact the girl bit him where someone could see. His fingers curled around the handle, back already turned to walk out he blinks madly at the sudden onslaught of light.
"Fuck." And it takes him a few seconds before he realises he hadn't said anything, even though it was definitely a man's voice that had just spoken.
Turning, Mark hides his utter shock behind a slight twist of his lips and a raised eyebrow and just shakes his head. Staring back at him with sheets pulled up to his neck, Pete's eyes are wide and accentuated by the eyeliner smudged in a dark ring around his lashes.
Mark thinks about every magazine article he's told people he hasn't read, every comment he's said hasn't bothered him and the fact he remembers Pete sneering at him from across the room last night. The look of complete horror is reflected at him right now and yet the only thing Mark thinks about right then is the memory of nails biting into his back and soft whines of please, please, please in his ear.
"Done that, Wentz. Though, you should know, you were on the receiving end."
And lets the door click shut oh so softly behind him.
- - -
(That almost killed me to write. I'm not joking in the slightest.)
For __killingtime, Vinnie/Adam. Delirious. PG. 626 words:
Sniffling pitifully, Adam murmurs something incoherent before he hacks a loud cough and flings his arm into the air. He waves it back and forth a few times before he realises that outside the blanket, tucked around his neck, it's really cold and retracts it as fast as he can, which considering the time he takes to do anything else, is like lightning. Adam mumbles out loud about eulogies and satin lining, the back of his palm held to his head in a gesture of self-suffering. And that's the scene Vinnie is greeted to as he walks back into the lounge carrying a tray with soup and hot honey water (because "tea is bitter") with a box of tissues tucked beneath his arm.
Shaking his head slightly, Vinnie smiles indulgently as he listens to Adam continue his raving, now louder as he senses someone else in the room to hear what he has to say.
"I love you, Vinnie, love! I want you to know that, in case I never get to tell you and before it's too late," Adam croons out dramatically before he's again hit with a bout of unstoppable and deadly coughs, chest heaving as he covers his mouth.
"Yes, Adam," Vinnie replies, laughing as he retucks the blanket carefully and runs his fingers through a slight tangle in Adam's hair.
"You can have my collection of belts, Vinnie, all of them. Even the white Nirvana one. Yes, to you I'll leave my beloved Kurt belt, oh Vinnie!" But again has to stop as he shakes with the force of his sneeze and Vinnie watches, grin still right there, as Adam carefully sniffs and then wipes his nose on the edge of the blanket.
"Thank you, Adam."
"Oh, Vinnie, I'm not going to make it through the night. I'm not!" Adam wails, face scrunching and he feels the last of his breath ghost past his lips, he's dying, he's sure of it and yet all Vinnie does is bring a tissue to his nose and fluff his pillow, he just doesn't understand! Doesn't Vinnie love him?
Vinnie, in the meantime, chuckles at how dramatic Adam is and wonders if they still have any of the purple cough and flu syrup left, seeing how it's the only thing Adam will take without chucking a hissy fit and moaning about "how gross it is". Fingers tugging the blanket tight, Vinnie listens as Adam continues dictating his Will and wonders why we would leave the box of postcards under their bed to Matt, but doesn't question it. He'll check the box out before Adam gets better, which the doctor said should be within the week. It was only a common cold after all.
"And my mother, oh my mom Vinnie! You can't let her see me like this, you won't let her visit me while I'm like this, promise me you won't!"
"No, Adam, I won't," he answers placatingly, sighing as Adam relaxes back into the pillows and watches as his eyes finally begin to flutter shut.
"But tell her I love her, 'kay? And tell her that I never meant to break her teapot when I was six, I just didn't think it suit the rest of the dining set. Buy her a new one, you'll buy her a new teapot..." Adam trails off, yawning. "Won't you Vinnie? You'll buy my mom a new teapot?"
Vinnie nods, "I will, Adam."
But the answer is lost to the soft snores and quiet breathing and Vinnie watches as Adam continues to mumble to himself. He sighs, smiling stupidly still and watches as Adam's eyelashes flutter against his cheek and before he can help it, drops a quick kiss to Adam's forehead.
"I love you too, Adam."
- - -
(Okay, so I made the prompt myself, but I made it a hard one! Of course, then I didn't know how to write it and this came out. Technically it fits the bill, right? And, hey Megasus, I wrote Vinnie/Adam for you! Hope it isn't too bad. Heh.)
While I'm at it, does anyone want to request a drabble? I want to write at least one a day to try and get back into things. Yes, its all for a very selfish purpose, blah, blah.
Night.
I love all of you. Yes, you and you and especially YOU!
Also, Check out my new JNo icon! Courtesy of the ever brilliant x_kchan_x, who else?