Kane RPS: Touch
Touch
Kane RPS (Chris/Steve)
A/N: Okay, so I never read RPS, much less wrote it. Just … didn't. But then, during a loooong week spent home sick, while self-medicating myself with Kane vids on YouTube, I just couldn't help myself. Honestly, these two are just so cute and grabby on stage! So, yeah, I gave in. *scuffs toe in dirt, is so ashamed* This was written for comment_fic
They’ve tried to control it, control themselves, keep their distance, really. They know people are watching, know what they’re watching for, waiting for, and they’ve had this discussion more times than they can count. With themselves, each other, band members, friends, hell, even family.
They know. Really. And they try. Really.
But they just … can’t help themselves. It’s never intentional, it just … happens.
During shows, when the music just takes over, wraps around and sinks through them and strips everything else away, Chris will inevitably turn to Steve and flash that brilliant grin, dance his way over during Spirit Boy or Blaze, sidle up dangling that bottle of Jack … and somehow they’re touching again. While Jay is torching the house with a solo, Chris leans into Steve, whispering, and Steve can’t help but grin even as his fingers dance over strings. Music pounds from the speakers and the lights catch two heads bowed together, dark hair and light mingling in a moment as intimate as any caress.
It’s only a moment, though, and then Chris bounds away again, driven by the same energy that infuses everything he does.
The music rises, falls, grinds out or just seems to float - House Rules, Rattlesnake Smile, Let Me Go, Fade, Let’s Take a Drive - and each song unlocks something in each of them, drawing them back together, driving them apart, but always, and inevitably, wringing one more touch from them.
Steve’s as bad as Christian. While changing guitars, he bounces over and throws an arm around Chris, pulling him in for a quick hug. When Christian prowls over again, bending low to watch his hands, Steve instinctively steps into him, brushing hip and thigh against Christian and grinning into blue eyes that lift to meet his. He steals the bottle from Chris, and fingers clasp as a playful tug-o’-war ensues. It’s nothing, really, just the music and mischief …
And it’s everything, because it’s them.
They’ve tried, really, sworn oaths on everything they hold dear before shows - though maybe it would help if Christian would stop rolling his eyes - and apologized profoundly and profusely after them. Though maybe the apologies are a little ruined when Steve shoves Chris with a shoulder because, shit, stop the damn eye-rolling, Kane! And everyone just throws up their hands and walks away.
Because however much they try, they just can’t help it. They can’t not touch, can’t not seek comfort, belonging, affection, joy in the easiest place they’ve ever found it.
They can’t not touch, because they can’t not love.
The End
Kane RPS (Chris/Steve)
A/N: Okay, so I never read RPS, much less wrote it. Just … didn't. But then, during a loooong week spent home sick, while self-medicating myself with Kane vids on YouTube, I just couldn't help myself. Honestly, these two are just so cute and grabby on stage! So, yeah, I gave in. *scuffs toe in dirt, is so ashamed* This was written for comment_fic
They’ve tried to control it, control themselves, keep their distance, really. They know people are watching, know what they’re watching for, waiting for, and they’ve had this discussion more times than they can count. With themselves, each other, band members, friends, hell, even family.
They know. Really. And they try. Really.
But they just … can’t help themselves. It’s never intentional, it just … happens.
During shows, when the music just takes over, wraps around and sinks through them and strips everything else away, Chris will inevitably turn to Steve and flash that brilliant grin, dance his way over during Spirit Boy or Blaze, sidle up dangling that bottle of Jack … and somehow they’re touching again. While Jay is torching the house with a solo, Chris leans into Steve, whispering, and Steve can’t help but grin even as his fingers dance over strings. Music pounds from the speakers and the lights catch two heads bowed together, dark hair and light mingling in a moment as intimate as any caress.
It’s only a moment, though, and then Chris bounds away again, driven by the same energy that infuses everything he does.
The music rises, falls, grinds out or just seems to float - House Rules, Rattlesnake Smile, Let Me Go, Fade, Let’s Take a Drive - and each song unlocks something in each of them, drawing them back together, driving them apart, but always, and inevitably, wringing one more touch from them.
Steve’s as bad as Christian. While changing guitars, he bounces over and throws an arm around Chris, pulling him in for a quick hug. When Christian prowls over again, bending low to watch his hands, Steve instinctively steps into him, brushing hip and thigh against Christian and grinning into blue eyes that lift to meet his. He steals the bottle from Chris, and fingers clasp as a playful tug-o’-war ensues. It’s nothing, really, just the music and mischief …
And it’s everything, because it’s them.
They’ve tried, really, sworn oaths on everything they hold dear before shows - though maybe it would help if Christian would stop rolling his eyes - and apologized profoundly and profusely after them. Though maybe the apologies are a little ruined when Steve shoves Chris with a shoulder because, shit, stop the damn eye-rolling, Kane! And everyone just throws up their hands and walks away.
Because however much they try, they just can’t help it. They can’t not touch, can’t not seek comfort, belonging, affection, joy in the easiest place they’ve ever found it.
They can’t not touch, because they can’t not love.
The End