Fic: Various Ficlets (Popslash)
I finally finished all the ficlets I promised a while ago done and decided to post them all in one handy-dandy post (or two, sorted by fandom) for my easier archiving and your reading pleasure. Which I hope you'll have. This'll be the Popslash post.
For turloughishere, Lance/Nick and the prompt "hot tub".
This is a companion piece to this one that I wrote for her last year.
"This is payback, right?" Lance growled.
"Huh?" Nick leaned back and gave up on trying to keep sitting straight on the bench, his legs floating up to the surface in the stream of bubbles coming from below, toes poking out of the water.
"For that one time in the summer?" Lance said. "I had you do slave work all day. I made you clean out my pool."
"Oh, that." Nick paused. "Nah. Not really. I just like you at my service." He turned his head, arms hanging over the rim of the tub for balance. "Are you done yet?"
"Just a second." Lance tugged one of the fluffy towels in shape. They were hanging over a portable radiator, just waiting for Nick to be wrapped in when they climbed out later. Lance picked up two cocktail glasses, all finished with red sugar-crystals along the rim and a fancy umbrella stuck into an orange slice, and handed them to Nick. Then he climbed in himself, sliding over to Nick's side of the tub.
"Whoa." Nick shuddered as Lance pressed against his side. "You're freezing."
"Warm me up, then," Lance muttered.
"You know, I could just let the water -" Nick stopped talking as Lance slipped one leg over both of his - as well as he could in the water - and straddled him. He took the glasses out of Nick's hands again and set them on the narrow rim.
"Or we could make out until we're both hot."
Nick wrapped his fingers in the damp hair at the back of Lance's neck and leaned in. "Sounds like a plan."
For nopseud, Joey/Brian and the prompts "pizza" and "icecream".
"You're home at 10," Joey said sternly. "And don't forget to prote-"
"Dad!" Briahna cried. "We're just going for ice cream!"
"Your mom and I just went to see a movie, and look where that got us," Joey said, raising his voice over Briahna's "Dad!"
Baylee grinned behind his hand, but he sounded serious when he said, "I'll have her home in time, Mr. Fatone."
"Good," Joey said. Only very few people called him Mr. Fatone anymore, but he liked it that Baylee did. The kid had manners. Unlike his father, sometimes. "Wanna come in? Have some pizza?" he asked once Briahna and Baylee had taken off.
Brian stepped up onto the porch with him. "Seems like my son has just hijacked my car, so I might as well."
They didn't make it as far as the pizza, though Joey did make it to the fridge, about to pull it open when Brian pressed him against it from behind.
"You have anything?" Brian breathed into his ear.
Joey nodded. "I'm a good role model," he said and Brian snorted.
It was a good thing that Joey had insisted on the big sturdy kitchen table when they'd furnished the house, because it took the combined weight of two men without moving or even making a sound. Afterwards, they both just slipped to the floor, breathless.
"You know," Brian mused after a while, "I think we'll need to call ourselves The Backstreet Grandpas soon."
Joey perked up. "Why, you think that our -"
"God, no! Not quite that literally. But I feel every bone in my body."
Joey settled back against a table-leg. "Hey, does your kid know? About this?"
Brian raised his head from the seat of a chair. "No, don't think so. Does yours?"
"I think she suspects something. She's cool, though."
"Mmm," Brian hummed. "Hey, wanna take this out into the living room and scar them for life when they come back?"
For turps33, Chris/Lance and the prompt "travel".
This is kind of an epilogue to an unfinished story of mine that Terri read at Camp Sparkle, but it can just as well stand on its own.
Lance always chooses the contents of the small brown duffle bag carefully, depending on where they’re going and for how long. There are a few things that he packs every time, though, like the paddle. A few months ago a small piece cracked off when Lance accidentally dropped it after a smack. They both laughed so hard they had to stop, and later Lance filed and smoothed the edges himself so Chris wouldn’t get splinters in his ass.
He always takes the cat, of course, in a case Chris gave him for his birthday, dark cherry wood like the handle. Lance can’t remember the name of the guy who sold it to him anymore, but he was right: it’s a perfect piece of work. The leather’s still as smooth as on the day he bought it, the weight just as evenly balanced. Chris moans when Lance hits him with it, and usually hums happily later, when Lance rubs cool lotion into the sore cheeks.
They’re going to Pittsburgh this time, just for a few days to relax and maybe see JC’s show, so there aren’t many opportunities for Chris to make an ass out of himself. And if he does - well, they can always make use of the full equipment when they come back home.
“You want anything else?” he asks, and Chris rummages in the box for a bit, comes up with the plain brown leather cuffs. Years of wearing have made them soft, and they fit snugly around Chris’ wrists - or Lance’s if they’re in the mood. He puts them into the duffel and, after a moment of hesitation, the whip, too. It’s mostly for effect, they rarely use it anymore, but Lance can see it’s working when Chris widens his eyes.
“Have you packed yet?” Lance asks, and Chris shakes his head. “Do I need to make you?”
“Nah, I got it.”
Lance zips up the bag, then sets it besides the other one containing his clothes. “Good. ‘cause we’re leaving at seven, whether you packed or not. And I don’t think JC would appreciate you in the audience wearing just your underwear and a collar.”
Chris grins. “It‘s JC, he might. Kinky bastard.”
“Watch who you’re calling kinky here,” Lance says, but unable to hold back his smile, and steps up to Chris, putting one hand on the back of his neck.
Chris just smiles back and kisses him.
For iconis, Joey/JC and the prompt "flowers".
As interviews went, it was quite the usual. What's your favorite color? Do you have a nickname? Where's the name NSYNC come from? If you were a flower, what would you be?
Huh? Joey raised his head. Now that was a new one. They'd cast themselves as animals before - Chris the pig, and somehow Joey always ended up as a hairy monkey - but flowers?
He grinned and said something about never being something as girly as a flower, and Chris made everybody laugh by insisting he'd be a potted begonia, and eventually, everybody had their eyes on JC.
"I'd be a daisy," JC said.
***
"Why would you be a daisy?" Joey asked that night when they were both lying in their beds, exhausted. That interview had neither been the first nor the last that day.
"I dunno." JC shrugged, just barely visible in the dim light illuminating him from behind, city lights filtered by the curtains. "Because they grow everywhere, I guess. Remember the photo shoot at the abandoned train track the other day? There was, like, a field of them right there. I mean, they just don't - they don't care where they're growing, they don't think about this being the best place to grow or whatever, they just do."
Joey blinked. "JC, they're flowers. They don't think at all."
JC sighed heavily. "I know. Forget that I said anything."
Joey rolled onto his side. "You're not a daisy, though." JC raised his head a little. "Like, a daisy never gets noticed on its own, right? There are always so many of them but there's never one that stands out. But you will."
"Joey..."
"No, I mean it." Joey was blushing a little himself now, glad for the dark, but he knew it was true. Of all of them, JC - and maybe Justin - was the one who had the most potential to become something big. "You will stand out."
"Thank you," JC said quietly.
They were quiet for a while and Joey wasn't sure if JC hadn't already fallen asleep. He didn't snore like Chris, so you could never tell. "I guess if you were a daisy, however, and if I were a daisy, too, we could make a little daisy chain."
There was a pause, then JC snorted and lifted the edge of his sheets. "You're a perv. Get over here."
For rikes, JC/Justin and the prompt "All Day Long I Dream About Sex"
JC didn't think it was anything unusual, the first time he dreamed about having sex with Justin - or even the second or the third. Touring meant that they were stuck together 24/7, it was only natural that the guys should play the main parts in JC's dreams as well.
Looking back he should've been tipped off by the sheer vividness of the dreams - how he could feel the tension of Justin's muscles, taste the salt on Justin's forehead. Or by the bunch of herbs he found under the pillow in his bunk.
The biggest clue, however, that something strange was going on was that the dreams stopped as soon as he threw the herbs away.
He would've talked about it with Justin, except that when JC began, "Listen, J, it's totally cool if you think that we - ah, you know, but, uh, I keep having these dreams and you -" Justin only said, "Yeah, me, too," his voice rough, and kissed JC.
While that hadn't exactly been planned, JC learned soon enough that no matter how good or detailed the drams had been, they didn't even come close to reality. For one, the dreams hadn't come with Justin's sound effects - the way he moaned when JC took him in his mouth or how he whimpered and clawed at JC's chest like a kitten when JC thrust inside.
JC came much too soon, hand around Justin's cock, jerking him off, but from the way Justin smiled when he rolled them onto their sides and said, "So what are you doing tomorrow?" he guessed there would be plenty of chances to do it again.
The morning after JC stumbled onto the bus wearing one of Justin's shirts, and Chris grinned at him, clapping him on the back. JC never had the dreams again, but a few days later he put a bunch of herbs under Chris' pillow with a pink post-it, "Thank you."
For turloughishere, Lance/Nick and the prompt "hot tub".
This is a companion piece to this one that I wrote for her last year.
"This is payback, right?" Lance growled.
"Huh?" Nick leaned back and gave up on trying to keep sitting straight on the bench, his legs floating up to the surface in the stream of bubbles coming from below, toes poking out of the water.
"For that one time in the summer?" Lance said. "I had you do slave work all day. I made you clean out my pool."
"Oh, that." Nick paused. "Nah. Not really. I just like you at my service." He turned his head, arms hanging over the rim of the tub for balance. "Are you done yet?"
"Just a second." Lance tugged one of the fluffy towels in shape. They were hanging over a portable radiator, just waiting for Nick to be wrapped in when they climbed out later. Lance picked up two cocktail glasses, all finished with red sugar-crystals along the rim and a fancy umbrella stuck into an orange slice, and handed them to Nick. Then he climbed in himself, sliding over to Nick's side of the tub.
"Whoa." Nick shuddered as Lance pressed against his side. "You're freezing."
"Warm me up, then," Lance muttered.
"You know, I could just let the water -" Nick stopped talking as Lance slipped one leg over both of his - as well as he could in the water - and straddled him. He took the glasses out of Nick's hands again and set them on the narrow rim.
"Or we could make out until we're both hot."
Nick wrapped his fingers in the damp hair at the back of Lance's neck and leaned in. "Sounds like a plan."
For nopseud, Joey/Brian and the prompts "pizza" and "icecream".
"You're home at 10," Joey said sternly. "And don't forget to prote-"
"Dad!" Briahna cried. "We're just going for ice cream!"
"Your mom and I just went to see a movie, and look where that got us," Joey said, raising his voice over Briahna's "Dad!"
Baylee grinned behind his hand, but he sounded serious when he said, "I'll have her home in time, Mr. Fatone."
"Good," Joey said. Only very few people called him Mr. Fatone anymore, but he liked it that Baylee did. The kid had manners. Unlike his father, sometimes. "Wanna come in? Have some pizza?" he asked once Briahna and Baylee had taken off.
Brian stepped up onto the porch with him. "Seems like my son has just hijacked my car, so I might as well."
They didn't make it as far as the pizza, though Joey did make it to the fridge, about to pull it open when Brian pressed him against it from behind.
"You have anything?" Brian breathed into his ear.
Joey nodded. "I'm a good role model," he said and Brian snorted.
It was a good thing that Joey had insisted on the big sturdy kitchen table when they'd furnished the house, because it took the combined weight of two men without moving or even making a sound. Afterwards, they both just slipped to the floor, breathless.
"You know," Brian mused after a while, "I think we'll need to call ourselves The Backstreet Grandpas soon."
Joey perked up. "Why, you think that our -"
"God, no! Not quite that literally. But I feel every bone in my body."
Joey settled back against a table-leg. "Hey, does your kid know? About this?"
Brian raised his head from the seat of a chair. "No, don't think so. Does yours?"
"I think she suspects something. She's cool, though."
"Mmm," Brian hummed. "Hey, wanna take this out into the living room and scar them for life when they come back?"
For turps33, Chris/Lance and the prompt "travel".
This is kind of an epilogue to an unfinished story of mine that Terri read at Camp Sparkle, but it can just as well stand on its own.
Lance always chooses the contents of the small brown duffle bag carefully, depending on where they’re going and for how long. There are a few things that he packs every time, though, like the paddle. A few months ago a small piece cracked off when Lance accidentally dropped it after a smack. They both laughed so hard they had to stop, and later Lance filed and smoothed the edges himself so Chris wouldn’t get splinters in his ass.
He always takes the cat, of course, in a case Chris gave him for his birthday, dark cherry wood like the handle. Lance can’t remember the name of the guy who sold it to him anymore, but he was right: it’s a perfect piece of work. The leather’s still as smooth as on the day he bought it, the weight just as evenly balanced. Chris moans when Lance hits him with it, and usually hums happily later, when Lance rubs cool lotion into the sore cheeks.
They’re going to Pittsburgh this time, just for a few days to relax and maybe see JC’s show, so there aren’t many opportunities for Chris to make an ass out of himself. And if he does - well, they can always make use of the full equipment when they come back home.
“You want anything else?” he asks, and Chris rummages in the box for a bit, comes up with the plain brown leather cuffs. Years of wearing have made them soft, and they fit snugly around Chris’ wrists - or Lance’s if they’re in the mood. He puts them into the duffel and, after a moment of hesitation, the whip, too. It’s mostly for effect, they rarely use it anymore, but Lance can see it’s working when Chris widens his eyes.
“Have you packed yet?” Lance asks, and Chris shakes his head. “Do I need to make you?”
“Nah, I got it.”
Lance zips up the bag, then sets it besides the other one containing his clothes. “Good. ‘cause we’re leaving at seven, whether you packed or not. And I don’t think JC would appreciate you in the audience wearing just your underwear and a collar.”
Chris grins. “It‘s JC, he might. Kinky bastard.”
“Watch who you’re calling kinky here,” Lance says, but unable to hold back his smile, and steps up to Chris, putting one hand on the back of his neck.
Chris just smiles back and kisses him.
For iconis, Joey/JC and the prompt "flowers".
As interviews went, it was quite the usual. What's your favorite color? Do you have a nickname? Where's the name NSYNC come from? If you were a flower, what would you be?
Huh? Joey raised his head. Now that was a new one. They'd cast themselves as animals before - Chris the pig, and somehow Joey always ended up as a hairy monkey - but flowers?
He grinned and said something about never being something as girly as a flower, and Chris made everybody laugh by insisting he'd be a potted begonia, and eventually, everybody had their eyes on JC.
"I'd be a daisy," JC said.
***
"Why would you be a daisy?" Joey asked that night when they were both lying in their beds, exhausted. That interview had neither been the first nor the last that day.
"I dunno." JC shrugged, just barely visible in the dim light illuminating him from behind, city lights filtered by the curtains. "Because they grow everywhere, I guess. Remember the photo shoot at the abandoned train track the other day? There was, like, a field of them right there. I mean, they just don't - they don't care where they're growing, they don't think about this being the best place to grow or whatever, they just do."
Joey blinked. "JC, they're flowers. They don't think at all."
JC sighed heavily. "I know. Forget that I said anything."
Joey rolled onto his side. "You're not a daisy, though." JC raised his head a little. "Like, a daisy never gets noticed on its own, right? There are always so many of them but there's never one that stands out. But you will."
"Joey..."
"No, I mean it." Joey was blushing a little himself now, glad for the dark, but he knew it was true. Of all of them, JC - and maybe Justin - was the one who had the most potential to become something big. "You will stand out."
"Thank you," JC said quietly.
They were quiet for a while and Joey wasn't sure if JC hadn't already fallen asleep. He didn't snore like Chris, so you could never tell. "I guess if you were a daisy, however, and if I were a daisy, too, we could make a little daisy chain."
There was a pause, then JC snorted and lifted the edge of his sheets. "You're a perv. Get over here."
For rikes, JC/Justin and the prompt "All Day Long I Dream About Sex"
JC didn't think it was anything unusual, the first time he dreamed about having sex with Justin - or even the second or the third. Touring meant that they were stuck together 24/7, it was only natural that the guys should play the main parts in JC's dreams as well.
Looking back he should've been tipped off by the sheer vividness of the dreams - how he could feel the tension of Justin's muscles, taste the salt on Justin's forehead. Or by the bunch of herbs he found under the pillow in his bunk.
The biggest clue, however, that something strange was going on was that the dreams stopped as soon as he threw the herbs away.
He would've talked about it with Justin, except that when JC began, "Listen, J, it's totally cool if you think that we - ah, you know, but, uh, I keep having these dreams and you -" Justin only said, "Yeah, me, too," his voice rough, and kissed JC.
While that hadn't exactly been planned, JC learned soon enough that no matter how good or detailed the drams had been, they didn't even come close to reality. For one, the dreams hadn't come with Justin's sound effects - the way he moaned when JC took him in his mouth or how he whimpered and clawed at JC's chest like a kitten when JC thrust inside.
JC came much too soon, hand around Justin's cock, jerking him off, but from the way Justin smiled when he rolled them onto their sides and said, "So what are you doing tomorrow?" he guessed there would be plenty of chances to do it again.
The morning after JC stumbled onto the bus wearing one of Justin's shirts, and Chris grinned at him, clapping him on the back. JC never had the dreams again, but a few days later he put a bunch of herbs under Chris' pillow with a pink post-it, "Thank you."