Fic: Gorgeous | popslash | US5 | richie/jay
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away, the wonderful and lovely wistful_fever brought to my attention a little boyband called US5. And because it is her birthday today, I decided to try my hand at some US5 fic in her honor. For those of you who have no idea who I'm talking about, a) you're lucky and b) here's a handy primer for your edification.
Gorgeous
Fandom: popslash
Pairing: Richie/Jay
Rating: Adultish
Summary: Home is where Jay is.
Comments: US5 is brilliant and if you live in the UK/Europe, I will probably be bugging you to buy their upcoming album and rip it for me, because YES, because I love them, and wistful_fever promised me fic a year ago but since it's her birthday, instead she can have some fic, and maybe this will remind her of US5's awesomeness. Also, I have to say, it's really fun writing in a fandom that I've never even seen fic in before. I got to make up my own characterizations completely. WIN.
Warnings: recreational drug use.
As wistful_fever would say,
Life is so messed up sometimes, Richie thinks, and has to remind himself not to swear, even in his head.
"You're not going back," his dad says, "and that's all there is to it." Richie stares at the kitchen table, the fake wood grain patterns and his own fingers tracing them, long and slim and elegant, or at least that's what Jay says-elegant. Jay never says "gay" like it's an insult, or at all really. Instead, he just looks at Richie, touches the soft fall of hair over Richie's forehead or the sheer fabric of Richie's shirt sleeve over his wrist and says, "Aren't you looking elegant?" Jay always smiles warmly and his hand fits perfectly in the small of Richie's back when-
"Are you even listening to me, boy? I said, you're not going back! That group is turning you into. Into. You're not even our son anymore!"
Richie looks up, tosses his hair out of his eyes and stares hard at his dad. "I have a contract, dad. You signed it. So yeah, I am going back, I'm gonna finish the tour and record a new album and start it all over again. I'm eighteen now. You can't stop me."
"You're killing your mother," he says. Richie's eyes skitter over to his mom, scraping the dinner plates clean in the sink, her back tight and straight and her head shakes once, back and forth, a secret message.
"Mom's fine," Richie says.
"We've heard-did you think we wouldn't find out, Richie? This isn't what we wanted for you. This isn't how we raised you!"
Richie stands up. "You didn't raise me at all," he says, and goes to his room. He's going home the next day, back to Germany where things make sense and he doesn't have to deal with dads who can't stand that their kids might be fags but are too afraid to ask because then they'd have to hear the truth. Richie crawls into bed and turns on the stereo and pretends he can't hear his parents arguing in the kitchen. Tomorrow he's going home, and Jay is meeting him at the airport.
*
It's not that Richie's stupid or obtuse or doesn't get that when his dad says "the group" he really means Jay. He means the whole bathroom blowjob thing that everyone thinks they know all about and the thing is, okay. The thing is, Richie is gay. He's fine with it, and it's not like they have group meetings about it or whatever because Mikel would probably leave the group and Chris would have some sort of nervous breakdown and Izzy would want to throw him a party, but he's pretty sure they know, and Richie is fine with it. He's been gay his whole life, he's had a lot of time to get used to the idea.
Sometimes he thinks about the bathroom blowjob thing and tries to picture how they say it went down. In his fantasy, he's not so fucked up on vodka and whatever the skeevy guy in the leather vest and chaps slipped in his drink; in his fantasy, he's mostly sober and Jay is looking at him and touching him with soft, hot hands, saying, "God, Richie, you're gorgeous, you know that?" In his fantasy, he remembers how he got from the bar to the dance floor to the bathroom to the hotel; in his fantasy none of that involves bodyguards and some perv in the next stall over taking pictures with his cell phone.
The truth is, Richie doesn't even know if the blowjob happened, and it's not like he can be all, "Hey, Jay, so when I was fucked up on date rape drugs, did you suck my dick in the bathroom, or what?" Sometimes, Richie can't decide which answer he wants to hear. If Jay's going to blow him, though, he thinks he'd like to be conscious for it.
*
Jay isn't there at the airport even though he promised, even though he told Richie on the phone a week ago during Richie's ten minutes of allotted international calling time, "Hey, yeah, of course I'll be there, gorgeous." Jay likes to call people 'darling' and 'sweet,' but Richie is the only one he calls 'gorgeous.' It's getting harder and harder to tell himself that Jay doesn't mean anything by it. He's just British, he's not gay. He's not.
So Jay doesn't meet him. Instead it's Izzy, ski cap pulled down low over his dreads, wrapped in the same old army coat he brought with him two years ago when they first got to Europe that's probably not even close to warm enough but Izzy won't give up because Izzy actually likes the States and likes going back and likes being reminded of it. Izzy sticks his tongue out and grabs Richie's arm in greeting, says, "You look like shit, kid. What, they don't have hairspray in Illinois?"
"I missed you, too," Richie says, smiling. He missed Jay more, but Izzy is his second favorite and the only one of them Richie thinks he'd have been friends with if it weren't for the group. He laces his fingers in between Izzy's and smiles again, wider, happier, because maybe Jay didn't meet him, but Richie is still home. He's home.
"Aww, baby!" Izzy says. "Let's get your luggage. Jay promised to score if I got you back in one piece."
*
They have an apartment in Berlin, the five of them. Not that Mikel is around much, always off doing boring, angry Mikel things because he's so much better than them and can't wait to get out his contract, so usually it's just the four of them, and that's the way Richie likes it best when he can't have Jay to himself.
The apartment was decorated by some set designer during filming for the show, so it looks like Ikea exploded inside, but at least it's space-saving or whatever, which is good because the apartment is mostly long, narrow hallways and small rooms crammed with all their stuff. Izzy's books line the corridor to the bedroom Richie shares with Chris, piled up in small, uneven towers so that Richie has to lift his bags to keep from knocking shit over. Chris and Jay are in the kitchen, making dinner, Chris wielding his knife like he does everything-nervously, timidly, like he might break if he tries too hard.
"Gorgeous!" Jay says, flashing a smile and stirring something on the stove with a long wooden spoon. "Get over here and give us a kiss."
Izzy coughs and tries to take the knife from Chris, saying, "C'mon, you freak, it's gonna take you a year to cut one fucking green pepper," while Richie crosses the kitchen, looks down into the sauce pan and wraps his arm around Jay's waist, breathes in the smell of pasta sauce and Jay's cologne and home. "Hey," he says. "Smells good." He brushes his lips against the smooth, warm skin of Jay's cheek and it's nothing, it's like every other greeting in Europe, except that Jay runs his free hand over Richie's back and behind them, Izzy coughs again, pointedly.
But it doesn't mean anything, Richie thinks, and turns away to help with the vegetables.
*
Jay scored, Jay scored big, so this is how they spend their evening:
Squeezed into the small space between Jay and Izzy's beds, Jay across from him and their legs tangled together, Chris lying across his lap, pressing his face into Richie's thigh and giggling helplessly while Izzy repacks the pipe and passes it.
"You did good, kid," Izzy says, mumbling into Jay's shoulder, almost asleep. Chris laughs harder, eyes squeezed shut and tears leaving little wet trails down his cheeks. Richie grins at Jay, smiling, smiling, and he's feeling good, he's feeling perfect. He's home and this is family and he loves them, and not even just because of the weed, but it helps a lot. He loves Chris, who's boring and nervous and never wants to be first at anything or in front and doesn't like taking his shirt off even though he looks amazing, not like Richie who's too skinny and doesn't work out. He loves Izzy because he's Izzy and he's funny and happy and cool. He even loves Mikel, who's aloof and sometimes mean and always calls Richie out when he fucks up the dancing.
And he loves Jay.
He takes a hit, breathes deep, watches the bowl glow red. "It's nearly dead," Jay says, taking the pipe from Richie's lax fingers and tapping it with his lighter. He takes the last hit, reaches out, brushes his thumb over Richie's bottom lip. And then Jay's leaning forward, pressing his mouth against Richie's, sharing smoke and breath, his fingers warm and light on Richie's cheek.
Chris shrieks with laughter and bites Richie's thigh, saying, "Fucking finally!" Richie jerks away, tongue swiping at his bottom lip, tasting smoke and strawberries from the gloss Jay likes to wear. He wants to go again, but he pinches Chris instead and says, "Time for bed, I'm fucking jetlagged." It doesn't mean anything, Richie tells himself. It doesn't.
Jay just smiles. "Whatever you say, gorgeous."
Gorgeous
Fandom: popslash
Pairing: Richie/Jay
Rating: Adultish
Summary: Home is where Jay is.
Comments: US5 is brilliant and if you live in the UK/Europe, I will probably be bugging you to buy their upcoming album and rip it for me, because YES, because I love them, and wistful_fever promised me fic a year ago but since it's her birthday, instead she can have some fic, and maybe this will remind her of US5's awesomeness. Also, I have to say, it's really fun writing in a fandom that I've never even seen fic in before. I got to make up my own characterizations completely. WIN.
Warnings: recreational drug use.
As wistful_fever would say,
Life is so messed up sometimes, Richie thinks, and has to remind himself not to swear, even in his head.
"You're not going back," his dad says, "and that's all there is to it." Richie stares at the kitchen table, the fake wood grain patterns and his own fingers tracing them, long and slim and elegant, or at least that's what Jay says-elegant. Jay never says "gay" like it's an insult, or at all really. Instead, he just looks at Richie, touches the soft fall of hair over Richie's forehead or the sheer fabric of Richie's shirt sleeve over his wrist and says, "Aren't you looking elegant?" Jay always smiles warmly and his hand fits perfectly in the small of Richie's back when-
"Are you even listening to me, boy? I said, you're not going back! That group is turning you into. Into. You're not even our son anymore!"
Richie looks up, tosses his hair out of his eyes and stares hard at his dad. "I have a contract, dad. You signed it. So yeah, I am going back, I'm gonna finish the tour and record a new album and start it all over again. I'm eighteen now. You can't stop me."
"You're killing your mother," he says. Richie's eyes skitter over to his mom, scraping the dinner plates clean in the sink, her back tight and straight and her head shakes once, back and forth, a secret message.
"Mom's fine," Richie says.
"We've heard-did you think we wouldn't find out, Richie? This isn't what we wanted for you. This isn't how we raised you!"
Richie stands up. "You didn't raise me at all," he says, and goes to his room. He's going home the next day, back to Germany where things make sense and he doesn't have to deal with dads who can't stand that their kids might be fags but are too afraid to ask because then they'd have to hear the truth. Richie crawls into bed and turns on the stereo and pretends he can't hear his parents arguing in the kitchen. Tomorrow he's going home, and Jay is meeting him at the airport.
*
It's not that Richie's stupid or obtuse or doesn't get that when his dad says "the group" he really means Jay. He means the whole bathroom blowjob thing that everyone thinks they know all about and the thing is, okay. The thing is, Richie is gay. He's fine with it, and it's not like they have group meetings about it or whatever because Mikel would probably leave the group and Chris would have some sort of nervous breakdown and Izzy would want to throw him a party, but he's pretty sure they know, and Richie is fine with it. He's been gay his whole life, he's had a lot of time to get used to the idea.
Sometimes he thinks about the bathroom blowjob thing and tries to picture how they say it went down. In his fantasy, he's not so fucked up on vodka and whatever the skeevy guy in the leather vest and chaps slipped in his drink; in his fantasy, he's mostly sober and Jay is looking at him and touching him with soft, hot hands, saying, "God, Richie, you're gorgeous, you know that?" In his fantasy, he remembers how he got from the bar to the dance floor to the bathroom to the hotel; in his fantasy none of that involves bodyguards and some perv in the next stall over taking pictures with his cell phone.
The truth is, Richie doesn't even know if the blowjob happened, and it's not like he can be all, "Hey, Jay, so when I was fucked up on date rape drugs, did you suck my dick in the bathroom, or what?" Sometimes, Richie can't decide which answer he wants to hear. If Jay's going to blow him, though, he thinks he'd like to be conscious for it.
*
Jay isn't there at the airport even though he promised, even though he told Richie on the phone a week ago during Richie's ten minutes of allotted international calling time, "Hey, yeah, of course I'll be there, gorgeous." Jay likes to call people 'darling' and 'sweet,' but Richie is the only one he calls 'gorgeous.' It's getting harder and harder to tell himself that Jay doesn't mean anything by it. He's just British, he's not gay. He's not.
So Jay doesn't meet him. Instead it's Izzy, ski cap pulled down low over his dreads, wrapped in the same old army coat he brought with him two years ago when they first got to Europe that's probably not even close to warm enough but Izzy won't give up because Izzy actually likes the States and likes going back and likes being reminded of it. Izzy sticks his tongue out and grabs Richie's arm in greeting, says, "You look like shit, kid. What, they don't have hairspray in Illinois?"
"I missed you, too," Richie says, smiling. He missed Jay more, but Izzy is his second favorite and the only one of them Richie thinks he'd have been friends with if it weren't for the group. He laces his fingers in between Izzy's and smiles again, wider, happier, because maybe Jay didn't meet him, but Richie is still home. He's home.
"Aww, baby!" Izzy says. "Let's get your luggage. Jay promised to score if I got you back in one piece."
*
They have an apartment in Berlin, the five of them. Not that Mikel is around much, always off doing boring, angry Mikel things because he's so much better than them and can't wait to get out his contract, so usually it's just the four of them, and that's the way Richie likes it best when he can't have Jay to himself.
The apartment was decorated by some set designer during filming for the show, so it looks like Ikea exploded inside, but at least it's space-saving or whatever, which is good because the apartment is mostly long, narrow hallways and small rooms crammed with all their stuff. Izzy's books line the corridor to the bedroom Richie shares with Chris, piled up in small, uneven towers so that Richie has to lift his bags to keep from knocking shit over. Chris and Jay are in the kitchen, making dinner, Chris wielding his knife like he does everything-nervously, timidly, like he might break if he tries too hard.
"Gorgeous!" Jay says, flashing a smile and stirring something on the stove with a long wooden spoon. "Get over here and give us a kiss."
Izzy coughs and tries to take the knife from Chris, saying, "C'mon, you freak, it's gonna take you a year to cut one fucking green pepper," while Richie crosses the kitchen, looks down into the sauce pan and wraps his arm around Jay's waist, breathes in the smell of pasta sauce and Jay's cologne and home. "Hey," he says. "Smells good." He brushes his lips against the smooth, warm skin of Jay's cheek and it's nothing, it's like every other greeting in Europe, except that Jay runs his free hand over Richie's back and behind them, Izzy coughs again, pointedly.
But it doesn't mean anything, Richie thinks, and turns away to help with the vegetables.
*
Jay scored, Jay scored big, so this is how they spend their evening:
Squeezed into the small space between Jay and Izzy's beds, Jay across from him and their legs tangled together, Chris lying across his lap, pressing his face into Richie's thigh and giggling helplessly while Izzy repacks the pipe and passes it.
"You did good, kid," Izzy says, mumbling into Jay's shoulder, almost asleep. Chris laughs harder, eyes squeezed shut and tears leaving little wet trails down his cheeks. Richie grins at Jay, smiling, smiling, and he's feeling good, he's feeling perfect. He's home and this is family and he loves them, and not even just because of the weed, but it helps a lot. He loves Chris, who's boring and nervous and never wants to be first at anything or in front and doesn't like taking his shirt off even though he looks amazing, not like Richie who's too skinny and doesn't work out. He loves Izzy because he's Izzy and he's funny and happy and cool. He even loves Mikel, who's aloof and sometimes mean and always calls Richie out when he fucks up the dancing.
And he loves Jay.
He takes a hit, breathes deep, watches the bowl glow red. "It's nearly dead," Jay says, taking the pipe from Richie's lax fingers and tapping it with his lighter. He takes the last hit, reaches out, brushes his thumb over Richie's bottom lip. And then Jay's leaning forward, pressing his mouth against Richie's, sharing smoke and breath, his fingers warm and light on Richie's cheek.
Chris shrieks with laughter and bites Richie's thigh, saying, "Fucking finally!" Richie jerks away, tongue swiping at his bottom lip, tasting smoke and strawberries from the gloss Jay likes to wear. He wants to go again, but he pinches Chris instead and says, "Time for bed, I'm fucking jetlagged." It doesn't mean anything, Richie tells himself. It doesn't.
Jay just smiles. "Whatever you say, gorgeous."