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I...have no idea what this is. It started out wanting to become another Tom/Chantelle ficlet, but turned into mostly just Bill being fabulous and a puppetmaster. A fabulous puppetmaster :) Warning for cracktasticness.
Title: Twister
Pairings: Tom/Chantelle, implied Bill/well-endowed men (unrequited)
Rating: PG13
Summary: In which Bill is an evil mastermind and Tom isn't the player for once.
There had been worrisome noises from Bill’s room for half an hour now, and Tom was beginning to think that it might be time to investigate. He cautiously peered around the doorframe and almost got hit in the face by a cowboy boot that came sailing through the air.
Bill was standing before his enormous wardrobe and randomly throwing things over his shoulder. He had accumulated a sizeable pile in the middle of the floor.
“I’ve told you before, the closet would be less crammed if you’d just come out of there,” Tom remarked, smirking. “No need to throw out perfectly, er,” he wrinkled his nose at a sequined pair of short shorts that had just joined a matching tank top on the floor, “good stuff.”
Bill snorted indelicately. “I’m going to visit Andi,“ he explained. “His boyfriend broke up with him, he’s really depressed.”
“Okay,” Tom shrugged. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I didn’t say you could come,” Bill informed him. He smirked. “You’re not good with heartbroken people. I’ll console Andi on my own.”
Bill was such an opportunist.
“You don’t know the meaning of ‘tact’,” Tom said reproachfully.
Bill turned his head to look back at his twin over his shoulder and fluttered his eyelashes. “You’re just jealous because I’m going to get laid and you aren’t.”
Tom huffed. “Friends don’t take advantage of friends.”
“Oh please, don’t get all touchy on me, I was joking!” Bill slammed the wardrobe door shut and began to haphazardly throw things into the suitcase that lay on his bed. “We’ll probably just drink lots and write poetry in our own blood or something.”
Tom shuddered. “Sounds, uh, fun.”
“It will be,” Bill said brightly. A car honked outside. “That’ll be my taxi.” He zipped up his suitcase and struggled into a tiny, bright orange leather jacket before hugging Tom close. “You have fun too!”
“All alone?” Tom asked, puzzled.
“Yeah! You can watch your icky girl-on-girl porn on the big TV!” Bill patted his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few days, don’t worry.” He pulled back, fluttering his hands before his face. “Aw, I hate saying goodbye. Let’s make it quick. Bye!”
And with that, he flounced out, leaving Tom to stare after him, nonplussed. “Hey, Bill! What--”
The front door banged.
“Bye,” Tom told the empty room. That had been a hasty exit, not to mention weird. Bill hadn’t insisted on any of his usual, elaborate farewell rituals, which involved lots of hugging and leaving only to come back half a minute later for more tearful declarations of feeling, and a reminder that Tom should get enough sleep and eat his vegetables, ironic because Bill never did those things.
Something strange was going on, and Tom couldn’t shake the feeling all afternoon, not while he played computer games, not while he watched TV, not while he practised guitar, not even when he methodically went from room to room to pick up after his messy twin, which usually calmed him. More than once, he picked up his phone and dialed Bill’s number, but Bill didn’t answer, and Tom felt lost and abandoned and more than a little grumpy.
It was late by the time he put a frozen lasagna in the microwave and decided to call Andi. He didn’t particularly relish the idea of their friend relaying the whole sob story of his most recent breakup, and he didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that Bill and Andi might be getting up to, but Bill still wasn’t answering his phone and the least Tom deserved, so he could sleep at night, was to know that Bill had arrived at Andi’s safely.
The phone rang for what felt like an eternity until Andi picked up. Loud music blared in the background, and Tom held the phone away from his ear when Nena began to sing at maximum volume. “Hey, Andi!” he shouted at the receiver.
In the background, Tom could hear his brother squeal. That was reassuring. Andi’s cheerful voice, on the other hand, wasn’t. “Hey, Tom! Why didn’t you come, we’re playing drunk Twister!”
Tom closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose against the mental image. At least his friend wasn’t suffering overmuch, which was good. “Who else is there?”
“Oh, Bill, Patrick, a couple of friends of ours--”
“Patrick?” Tom asked, surprised. “I thought you guys broke up.”
“What? No, why’d you think that?” Andi asked indignantly. “We’re having a blast actually, setting Bill up with a really hot friend of ours.”
It was then that Tom’s phone beeped, and suddenly, all became clear. Just landed @ Hamburg airport, Chantelle’s message read. U available?
He snorted out a laugh. Bill…just, this was typically Bill. “Have fun trying,” he told Andi. Much as Bill loved playing Cupid, he didn’t care for being set up himself. He was too discerning, as he called it, or, as Tom liked to say, too fucking picky. “When we were in LA, I delivered one of those beach boy underwear model types right to his door, and five minutes later the guy left in tears.”
“Whatever,” Andi said determinedly. “The, uh, hundredth time’s the charm. I shall persevere!”
“Good luck,” Tom said. “Hey, can you put Bill on, please? He’s not answering his phone.”
“Sure. Bye, Tommi boy.”
There was some commotion, a lot more squealing, and then Bill came to the phone, breathless and giggling. “Yes?”
“How’d you know?” Tom asked his brother sternly, without preamble.
“Martin from Cherrytree emailed me,” Bill explained. He sounded far too pleased with himself. “I think he likes me.”
Tom had an urge to tell Martin from Cherrytree where he could stick his sad attempts at matchmaking. He and Chantelle didn’t need any help, thank you very much, and the publicity stunt thing had gotten old real quick.
“Didn’t you want to meet her?” Tom asked. Bill’s curiosity was pathological; it was puzzling that he’d miss an opportunity to terrify Tom’s potential girlfriend.
“Yes,” Bill replied indulgently, “but after your last date in that parking lot, you wanted to bring her home so badly, and I figured it’d be nice for you two lovebirds to be alone.”
Tom blinked. Bill, it seemed, really really wanted this thing between Tom and Chantelle to work out, almost as much as Tom himself did. Tom clutched the phone more tightly, struggling to keep his sudden, giddy excitement contained. His twin didn’t need encouragement, even if Tom was ecstatically grateful. One thing needed to be said, though. “You didn’t have to leave. You never have to leave.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bill said. “And next time, I won’t.”
“There’s not a single thing, a single moment, I wouldn’t share with you. You know that, right?” Tom told him, the words rushing out on a deep breath.
“I know,” Bill assured him, and Tom could tell he was smiling. “But there are some things I don’t need to witness, thank you very much.” In the background, there was a slapping sound as of a hand meeting flesh, and someone squeaked shrilly.
“Yeah,” Tom grimaced.
His twin laughed. “Have a sexy weekend, Tom.”
He chuckled. “You too.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” Bill said absently. “Sorry, have to go! We’re playing naked drunken Twister now, apparently.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Andi’s friend is hung.”
“Bill!”
“Love you!” Cackling, Bill hung up.
Tom stared at the phone display for a few long moments, smiling. Then, he pressed ‘reply’ and wrote Picking you up. 30 mins.
He couldn’t wait.
Title: Twister
Pairings: Tom/Chantelle, implied Bill/well-endowed men (unrequited)
Rating: PG13
Summary: In which Bill is an evil mastermind and Tom isn't the player for once.
There had been worrisome noises from Bill’s room for half an hour now, and Tom was beginning to think that it might be time to investigate. He cautiously peered around the doorframe and almost got hit in the face by a cowboy boot that came sailing through the air.
Bill was standing before his enormous wardrobe and randomly throwing things over his shoulder. He had accumulated a sizeable pile in the middle of the floor.
“I’ve told you before, the closet would be less crammed if you’d just come out of there,” Tom remarked, smirking. “No need to throw out perfectly, er,” he wrinkled his nose at a sequined pair of short shorts that had just joined a matching tank top on the floor, “good stuff.”
Bill snorted indelicately. “I’m going to visit Andi,“ he explained. “His boyfriend broke up with him, he’s really depressed.”
“Okay,” Tom shrugged. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I didn’t say you could come,” Bill informed him. He smirked. “You’re not good with heartbroken people. I’ll console Andi on my own.”
Bill was such an opportunist.
“You don’t know the meaning of ‘tact’,” Tom said reproachfully.
Bill turned his head to look back at his twin over his shoulder and fluttered his eyelashes. “You’re just jealous because I’m going to get laid and you aren’t.”
Tom huffed. “Friends don’t take advantage of friends.”
“Oh please, don’t get all touchy on me, I was joking!” Bill slammed the wardrobe door shut and began to haphazardly throw things into the suitcase that lay on his bed. “We’ll probably just drink lots and write poetry in our own blood or something.”
Tom shuddered. “Sounds, uh, fun.”
“It will be,” Bill said brightly. A car honked outside. “That’ll be my taxi.” He zipped up his suitcase and struggled into a tiny, bright orange leather jacket before hugging Tom close. “You have fun too!”
“All alone?” Tom asked, puzzled.
“Yeah! You can watch your icky girl-on-girl porn on the big TV!” Bill patted his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few days, don’t worry.” He pulled back, fluttering his hands before his face. “Aw, I hate saying goodbye. Let’s make it quick. Bye!”
And with that, he flounced out, leaving Tom to stare after him, nonplussed. “Hey, Bill! What--”
The front door banged.
“Bye,” Tom told the empty room. That had been a hasty exit, not to mention weird. Bill hadn’t insisted on any of his usual, elaborate farewell rituals, which involved lots of hugging and leaving only to come back half a minute later for more tearful declarations of feeling, and a reminder that Tom should get enough sleep and eat his vegetables, ironic because Bill never did those things.
Something strange was going on, and Tom couldn’t shake the feeling all afternoon, not while he played computer games, not while he watched TV, not while he practised guitar, not even when he methodically went from room to room to pick up after his messy twin, which usually calmed him. More than once, he picked up his phone and dialed Bill’s number, but Bill didn’t answer, and Tom felt lost and abandoned and more than a little grumpy.
It was late by the time he put a frozen lasagna in the microwave and decided to call Andi. He didn’t particularly relish the idea of their friend relaying the whole sob story of his most recent breakup, and he didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that Bill and Andi might be getting up to, but Bill still wasn’t answering his phone and the least Tom deserved, so he could sleep at night, was to know that Bill had arrived at Andi’s safely.
The phone rang for what felt like an eternity until Andi picked up. Loud music blared in the background, and Tom held the phone away from his ear when Nena began to sing at maximum volume. “Hey, Andi!” he shouted at the receiver.
In the background, Tom could hear his brother squeal. That was reassuring. Andi’s cheerful voice, on the other hand, wasn’t. “Hey, Tom! Why didn’t you come, we’re playing drunk Twister!”
Tom closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose against the mental image. At least his friend wasn’t suffering overmuch, which was good. “Who else is there?”
“Oh, Bill, Patrick, a couple of friends of ours--”
“Patrick?” Tom asked, surprised. “I thought you guys broke up.”
“What? No, why’d you think that?” Andi asked indignantly. “We’re having a blast actually, setting Bill up with a really hot friend of ours.”
It was then that Tom’s phone beeped, and suddenly, all became clear. Just landed @ Hamburg airport, Chantelle’s message read. U available?
He snorted out a laugh. Bill…just, this was typically Bill. “Have fun trying,” he told Andi. Much as Bill loved playing Cupid, he didn’t care for being set up himself. He was too discerning, as he called it, or, as Tom liked to say, too fucking picky. “When we were in LA, I delivered one of those beach boy underwear model types right to his door, and five minutes later the guy left in tears.”
“Whatever,” Andi said determinedly. “The, uh, hundredth time’s the charm. I shall persevere!”
“Good luck,” Tom said. “Hey, can you put Bill on, please? He’s not answering his phone.”
“Sure. Bye, Tommi boy.”
There was some commotion, a lot more squealing, and then Bill came to the phone, breathless and giggling. “Yes?”
“How’d you know?” Tom asked his brother sternly, without preamble.
“Martin from Cherrytree emailed me,” Bill explained. He sounded far too pleased with himself. “I think he likes me.”
Tom had an urge to tell Martin from Cherrytree where he could stick his sad attempts at matchmaking. He and Chantelle didn’t need any help, thank you very much, and the publicity stunt thing had gotten old real quick.
“Didn’t you want to meet her?” Tom asked. Bill’s curiosity was pathological; it was puzzling that he’d miss an opportunity to terrify Tom’s potential girlfriend.
“Yes,” Bill replied indulgently, “but after your last date in that parking lot, you wanted to bring her home so badly, and I figured it’d be nice for you two lovebirds to be alone.”
Tom blinked. Bill, it seemed, really really wanted this thing between Tom and Chantelle to work out, almost as much as Tom himself did. Tom clutched the phone more tightly, struggling to keep his sudden, giddy excitement contained. His twin didn’t need encouragement, even if Tom was ecstatically grateful. One thing needed to be said, though. “You didn’t have to leave. You never have to leave.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bill said. “And next time, I won’t.”
“There’s not a single thing, a single moment, I wouldn’t share with you. You know that, right?” Tom told him, the words rushing out on a deep breath.
“I know,” Bill assured him, and Tom could tell he was smiling. “But there are some things I don’t need to witness, thank you very much.” In the background, there was a slapping sound as of a hand meeting flesh, and someone squeaked shrilly.
“Yeah,” Tom grimaced.
His twin laughed. “Have a sexy weekend, Tom.”
He chuckled. “You too.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” Bill said absently. “Sorry, have to go! We’re playing naked drunken Twister now, apparently.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Andi’s friend is hung.”
“Bill!”
“Love you!” Cackling, Bill hung up.
Tom stared at the phone display for a few long moments, smiling. Then, he pressed ‘reply’ and wrote Picking you up. 30 mins.
He couldn’t wait.