Fic: Ready to Wear | Mannequin AU | popslash, cw rps
This is for madame_d, who wanted to know whatever happened to the Mannequin fic. And because she's awesome!
Ready to Wear
Part 5: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays
Fandoms: popslash, cw rps
Pairings: JC/peppermint mocha, Justin/sneakers
Comments: This is part 5 of the Mannequin AU. The rest of this fic can be found right here. I recommend you read the rest first.
In the Franklin Park Mall, Christmas lasts from the day after Halloween until mid-January, and it's pretty much JC's favorite time of year. And not because everyone is in a good mood and people are buying loved ones gifts or whatever. It has nothing to do with good cheer or Jesus or the holiday spirit infecting one and all with its pervasive capitalistic compulsions or even the new Christmas-themed decorations lining the atrium, although JC is very fond of the sparkly white lights and they can keep him entertained for hours in the window when staring at Jared gets boring. It's not even the new, holiday-themed coffee flavors available at the coffee shack, but the peppermint mocha is a really big incentive for loving Christmas.
No, JC doesn't love Christmas because of Christmas. JC loves Christmas because it exponentially increases his amount of Lance gropage.
Because at Christmas, Lance becomes an even bigger anal-retentive freak that usual and decides on a daily (and sometimes hourly) basis that the windows need to be changed. Sometimes it's just an added winter accessory-hat, scarf, mittens, whatever-but sometimes it's a full-on wardrobe change. Either way, it's Lance's hands all over him, and no matter what the other mannequins say, JC thinks his plastic self is just as sensitive as anything else. At least, JC's dick really seems to think so, and he spends half the month in a constant state of arousal.
Besides, Jared wouldn't understand. He doesn't even have a dick.
"First of all," Jared tells him, sipping thoughtfully on his pumpkin spiced latte, "that's a major over-simplification of the situation. I am completely anatomically correct as long as-"
"Gross, dude," Justin interrupts, making a face and adjusting his Santa hat on top of his curls. "No one wants to hear about your dick or lack thereof, okay?"
Jared just glares at him. "At least I'm not in love with an item of apparel!"
"Shut up. I'm not in love. They're just, it's a really cool pair of sneakers and they're in the window right across from me, okay? I don't want to freak them or something. But I could if I wanted, because I have the goods. Unlike you, Dickless."
"I have a dick, oh my god! I will fucking prove it to you right now, you little-"
"Guys!" JC glares at them. "Can we get back to the problem? MY problem? Because if I don't get rid of this erection soon, Lance is gonna start noticing."
Jared snorts. "Lance is never gonna notice, dude. You wish Lance would notice. And someday you'll be a real boy and he'll take you home and you can-"
"I have to go now," JC says loudly, snatching up his peppermint mocha and pushing away from the table. "I have a. A thing and I have to go. I'll see you later."
"Dude, that was harsh," he hears Justin say as he walks away, tossing his cup in the trash.
"Whatever," Jared says. "He can't keep deluding himself about this whole Lance situation." JC doesn't stick around the hear more.
*
But the next night it's the same situation. Permanent erection and if Lance decides to change his pants tomorrow, he's definitely going to notice that JC's painted-on underwear are looking a little… fuller than normal. Especially if Lance gets down on his knees in front of JC to do the adjustments the way he sometimes does, all full of concentration, biting his lip and cocking his head from side to side, all Lance-like and gorgeous and-
"Hey, JC. Psst. Over here!"
JC turns to look down one of the side corridors that lead to the back administrative offices of the mall and Jared is standing there, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his artfully ripped jeans, bare-chested with a green-and-white scarf hanging loosely around his neck. JC frowns, looking him up and down. Jared's not even wearing shoes, which is pretty weird for him. Usually he covers up for their nightly outings. JC guesses that's sort of a compulsion after spending most of the day getting stared at by mall patrons in all his half-naked glory.
Of course, his non-plastic half-naked glory is much nicer. JC clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts his eyes away.
"What, Jared? I want my mocha. You're not even dressed! We're going to be late and then Justin won't have anyone to talk to."
"Screw Justin, he can take care of himself. Come on, I wanna show you something."
JC shakes his head and starts to move toward the atrium, but Jared says, "Please?" and gives him a look, all wide-eyed and sad, so JC sighs and follows him, thinking that this better be good because he's been looking forward to his mocha all day. That, and to making fun of Justin wanting to get freaky with those sneakers, and maybe daring Justin to break into the Foot Locker and touch them. JC has a bet going with Nick over at the Old Navy that Justin will come in his pants just from touching them, and there's no way he's going to lose to a lowly Old Navy mannequin. That would be incredibly humiliating. It's not even real work, being an Old Navy mannequin. JC thinks he'd probably kill himself if he had to wear those sweaters or, god forbid, some sort of winter vest-like item.
JC shivers. Fate is cruel, sometimes, especially to mundane-looking mannequins like Nick and Justin. Thank god JC is so exceptional looking.
"JC, hello? Did you go plastic on me or something?"
JC blinks and shakes his head. "Where are we?" he asks blankly, staring around. There are machines everywhere, silent and dark. Game machines, maybe. It's very creepy, all the blank screens and the dark counter beyond, filled with useless, poorly-displayed trinkets.
"It's the arcade, man. Come on, there's something I need to show you."
Jared pulls him forward, toward a large, curtained booth. Inside there's a faint, yellowish glow-a photo booth, JC thinks, although he's never seen one before, but he's pretty sure that's what this is. There's a small, swiveling stool in the center and Jared shoves JC down onto it before sinking to his knees.
"Jared, what are you-you're going to get dirt and who knows what else on your jeans if you keep-hey! Hands off the goods, dude!" JC slaps at Jared's hands, currently busy trying to get JC's pants open. Jared just looks up at him and grins.
"Look, do you really want Lance to see this," Jared pauses to rub his fingers over JC's dick, which is good because hands on his dick is pretty much always good, but bad, too, because JC's been hard for what feels like, oh, two weeks, and he's, well. Sensitive. That's what happens when he has to go plastic in the middle of an erection. JC makes a little whimpering noise and tries to move away, but Jared's got him trapped in the booth pretty well. Also, he maybe doesn't want to get away that badly because-hands on his dick.
"I didn't think so," Jared says, smirking a little. He pulls JC's pants open as far as they'll go and reaches inside for JC's dick, makes a pleased humming noise when he finally gets it out. "The manufacturers were kind to you, man," Jared says, and JC can feel his breath against his dick, all hot and wet and, mmm, Jared's mouth is even better. Slick heat and his tongue is all, yes, rubbing exactly the right way, licking over the head of JC's dick. Jared fits his mouth over it in a tight circle and presses down, down, and that's, yeah. It's the best blowjob JC's had since his department store days when they couldn't leave at night and the only thing worth doing was fucking around in housewares. Literally.
Jared must've spent a lot of time as a department store mannequin, JC thinks, and comes with a high-pitched whine that is not sexy at all, but whatever, because he's coming and it's fabulous and tonight, for the first time in weeks, he won't go plastic with an erection.
Of course, now he totally owes Jared. Damn it.
Jared pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tucks JC back into his pants and grins up at him, says, "Now you totally owe me."
Damn it.
*
Neither of them notices the faint dinging noise the photo booth makes as it does its job, processing the pictures on a neat little strip of photo paper, carefully documenting the memories of all the people who come into its stall. Normally the photo booth requires payment of some sort-tokens or coins, although it really prefers the nice green paper that people feed it-but it's been fed plenty in the last few days and its feeling pretty generous. After all, it is the holidays. People deserve to have their memories preserved, even mannequins.
The photo booth whirs happily to itself, mixing ink and imprinting images; a quick burst of heat to properly dry them before it spits the paper out into its shiny metal tray with a cheerful chiming noise.
But the mannequins are gone, and the strip of pictures remains in its tray. Too bad, the photo booth thinks. Everyone likes to remember a good blowjob.
Ready to Wear
Part 5: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays
Fandoms: popslash, cw rps
Pairings: JC/peppermint mocha, Justin/sneakers
Comments: This is part 5 of the Mannequin AU. The rest of this fic can be found right here. I recommend you read the rest first.
In the Franklin Park Mall, Christmas lasts from the day after Halloween until mid-January, and it's pretty much JC's favorite time of year. And not because everyone is in a good mood and people are buying loved ones gifts or whatever. It has nothing to do with good cheer or Jesus or the holiday spirit infecting one and all with its pervasive capitalistic compulsions or even the new Christmas-themed decorations lining the atrium, although JC is very fond of the sparkly white lights and they can keep him entertained for hours in the window when staring at Jared gets boring. It's not even the new, holiday-themed coffee flavors available at the coffee shack, but the peppermint mocha is a really big incentive for loving Christmas.
No, JC doesn't love Christmas because of Christmas. JC loves Christmas because it exponentially increases his amount of Lance gropage.
Because at Christmas, Lance becomes an even bigger anal-retentive freak that usual and decides on a daily (and sometimes hourly) basis that the windows need to be changed. Sometimes it's just an added winter accessory-hat, scarf, mittens, whatever-but sometimes it's a full-on wardrobe change. Either way, it's Lance's hands all over him, and no matter what the other mannequins say, JC thinks his plastic self is just as sensitive as anything else. At least, JC's dick really seems to think so, and he spends half the month in a constant state of arousal.
Besides, Jared wouldn't understand. He doesn't even have a dick.
"First of all," Jared tells him, sipping thoughtfully on his pumpkin spiced latte, "that's a major over-simplification of the situation. I am completely anatomically correct as long as-"
"Gross, dude," Justin interrupts, making a face and adjusting his Santa hat on top of his curls. "No one wants to hear about your dick or lack thereof, okay?"
Jared just glares at him. "At least I'm not in love with an item of apparel!"
"Shut up. I'm not in love. They're just, it's a really cool pair of sneakers and they're in the window right across from me, okay? I don't want to freak them or something. But I could if I wanted, because I have the goods. Unlike you, Dickless."
"I have a dick, oh my god! I will fucking prove it to you right now, you little-"
"Guys!" JC glares at them. "Can we get back to the problem? MY problem? Because if I don't get rid of this erection soon, Lance is gonna start noticing."
Jared snorts. "Lance is never gonna notice, dude. You wish Lance would notice. And someday you'll be a real boy and he'll take you home and you can-"
"I have to go now," JC says loudly, snatching up his peppermint mocha and pushing away from the table. "I have a. A thing and I have to go. I'll see you later."
"Dude, that was harsh," he hears Justin say as he walks away, tossing his cup in the trash.
"Whatever," Jared says. "He can't keep deluding himself about this whole Lance situation." JC doesn't stick around the hear more.
*
But the next night it's the same situation. Permanent erection and if Lance decides to change his pants tomorrow, he's definitely going to notice that JC's painted-on underwear are looking a little… fuller than normal. Especially if Lance gets down on his knees in front of JC to do the adjustments the way he sometimes does, all full of concentration, biting his lip and cocking his head from side to side, all Lance-like and gorgeous and-
"Hey, JC. Psst. Over here!"
JC turns to look down one of the side corridors that lead to the back administrative offices of the mall and Jared is standing there, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his artfully ripped jeans, bare-chested with a green-and-white scarf hanging loosely around his neck. JC frowns, looking him up and down. Jared's not even wearing shoes, which is pretty weird for him. Usually he covers up for their nightly outings. JC guesses that's sort of a compulsion after spending most of the day getting stared at by mall patrons in all his half-naked glory.
Of course, his non-plastic half-naked glory is much nicer. JC clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts his eyes away.
"What, Jared? I want my mocha. You're not even dressed! We're going to be late and then Justin won't have anyone to talk to."
"Screw Justin, he can take care of himself. Come on, I wanna show you something."
JC shakes his head and starts to move toward the atrium, but Jared says, "Please?" and gives him a look, all wide-eyed and sad, so JC sighs and follows him, thinking that this better be good because he's been looking forward to his mocha all day. That, and to making fun of Justin wanting to get freaky with those sneakers, and maybe daring Justin to break into the Foot Locker and touch them. JC has a bet going with Nick over at the Old Navy that Justin will come in his pants just from touching them, and there's no way he's going to lose to a lowly Old Navy mannequin. That would be incredibly humiliating. It's not even real work, being an Old Navy mannequin. JC thinks he'd probably kill himself if he had to wear those sweaters or, god forbid, some sort of winter vest-like item.
JC shivers. Fate is cruel, sometimes, especially to mundane-looking mannequins like Nick and Justin. Thank god JC is so exceptional looking.
"JC, hello? Did you go plastic on me or something?"
JC blinks and shakes his head. "Where are we?" he asks blankly, staring around. There are machines everywhere, silent and dark. Game machines, maybe. It's very creepy, all the blank screens and the dark counter beyond, filled with useless, poorly-displayed trinkets.
"It's the arcade, man. Come on, there's something I need to show you."
Jared pulls him forward, toward a large, curtained booth. Inside there's a faint, yellowish glow-a photo booth, JC thinks, although he's never seen one before, but he's pretty sure that's what this is. There's a small, swiveling stool in the center and Jared shoves JC down onto it before sinking to his knees.
"Jared, what are you-you're going to get dirt and who knows what else on your jeans if you keep-hey! Hands off the goods, dude!" JC slaps at Jared's hands, currently busy trying to get JC's pants open. Jared just looks up at him and grins.
"Look, do you really want Lance to see this," Jared pauses to rub his fingers over JC's dick, which is good because hands on his dick is pretty much always good, but bad, too, because JC's been hard for what feels like, oh, two weeks, and he's, well. Sensitive. That's what happens when he has to go plastic in the middle of an erection. JC makes a little whimpering noise and tries to move away, but Jared's got him trapped in the booth pretty well. Also, he maybe doesn't want to get away that badly because-hands on his dick.
"I didn't think so," Jared says, smirking a little. He pulls JC's pants open as far as they'll go and reaches inside for JC's dick, makes a pleased humming noise when he finally gets it out. "The manufacturers were kind to you, man," Jared says, and JC can feel his breath against his dick, all hot and wet and, mmm, Jared's mouth is even better. Slick heat and his tongue is all, yes, rubbing exactly the right way, licking over the head of JC's dick. Jared fits his mouth over it in a tight circle and presses down, down, and that's, yeah. It's the best blowjob JC's had since his department store days when they couldn't leave at night and the only thing worth doing was fucking around in housewares. Literally.
Jared must've spent a lot of time as a department store mannequin, JC thinks, and comes with a high-pitched whine that is not sexy at all, but whatever, because he's coming and it's fabulous and tonight, for the first time in weeks, he won't go plastic with an erection.
Of course, now he totally owes Jared. Damn it.
Jared pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tucks JC back into his pants and grins up at him, says, "Now you totally owe me."
Damn it.
*
Neither of them notices the faint dinging noise the photo booth makes as it does its job, processing the pictures on a neat little strip of photo paper, carefully documenting the memories of all the people who come into its stall. Normally the photo booth requires payment of some sort-tokens or coins, although it really prefers the nice green paper that people feed it-but it's been fed plenty in the last few days and its feeling pretty generous. After all, it is the holidays. People deserve to have their memories preserved, even mannequins.
The photo booth whirs happily to itself, mixing ink and imprinting images; a quick burst of heat to properly dry them before it spits the paper out into its shiny metal tray with a cheerful chiming noise.
But the mannequins are gone, and the strip of pictures remains in its tray. Too bad, the photo booth thinks. Everyone likes to remember a good blowjob.