I would give up anything if you would just...the_sidewinderMay 8 2008, 19:52:11 UTC
(You don't want feminine!jailbait!Jon/Ryan and then you give me that as a prompt? Fine. Here goes.)
Jon wants to kiss Ryan again, his thin face cupped between Jon's large, tanned hands, their bodies pressed together, toe to toe and heart to heart. He wants to pass his hand over Ryan's light skin and let his fingers dance in his hair. But not this Ryan. The Ryan who drinks and laughs and writes such light-hearted tunes, the Ryan who wraps himself in his girlfriend and his piano lessons, the Ryan who wears loud shirts and cord trousers and doesn't brush his hair. The Ryan who stays in his own bunk at nights, and peppers his girlfriend with kisses from the lips Jon remembers so well. That's not what he wants.
Jon Walker joined the band for Ryan, the old Ryan, his Ryan. For the flouncy shirts and ruffles, the intricate make up, the masks and the metaphors, the lyrics that took so much deciphering. Jon's Ryan was vulnerable and young and their relationship depended on Ryan needing him. Although the kisses were short and few, and the
( ... )
I hate how obsessed I am...the_sidewinderMay 8 2008, 20:34:44 UTC
Michael is used to getting what he wants. When you're pretty and cheeky, with a ready wit and an outgoing nature, good luck and opportunity seems to fall into your lap. That Michael is here at all is proof of that. But the one opportunity he craves never seems to come up- and the one time it did, he passed it by.
(They were sitting together backstage when it happened, and Michael remembers it perfectly: his head thrown back across the long seat, nudging against the other man's thigh. The other man, the other Michael. Looking at him was bizarrely like a mirror, for tired eyes anyway. The glasses, the short dark hair, the weary brown eyes. He had been drumming absent mindedly on his knees, fumbled, dropped a stick. He leaned over to pick it up and a mad scheme whirled through Michael's head which thrummed to this sort of rhythm: lean up. kiss him. lean up. just a little. kiss him. kiss him. He hadn't, of course. Life continued as normal. If it hadn't aroused suspicion, Michael would have kicked himself daily
( ... )
I always wonder if I really like you or if I just like the way you fuck me...the_sidewinderMay 8 2008, 22:02:58 UTC
(I had a TINY INKLING that was coming. OKAY.)
Friendship is all very well. Friendship and comraderie and all the other bullshit words used to describe two guys who like to hang out and have fun. But there's always that fine line where having fun tips over into too much fun and friendship becomes something else. Some people have called Michael a slut in the past but as his best friend and bandmate slams his hips forward again, muffling his groans by biting into the soft curve of his neck, he thinks probably he just gets that fine line a bit confused sometimes.
Alright, so a quick hug after a show isn't quite like hot hands touching him all over, stroking and snatching at his most sensitive parts (the back of his neck, the tops of his thighs and obviously his cock- as Michael's hand moves on it again, smooth and firm, he would be prepared to sign a declaration stating that whatever the myths are about drummers being apes with no physical dexterity, it's just not true). Sharing a bed after a late night out can't really be equated with
( ... )
036. http://i25.tinypic.com/1zbfmgp.png
Jon/Ryan. But Pretty. Odd Jon/Ryan, not feminine!jailbait!Jon/Ryan. :M
038. http://i25.tinypic.com/w8nuv4.jpg
Michaeldrum/Michael M
please *___*
I'd ask for Thom Stone/Kevin Tuffy because I found THE PERFECT ONE for it but ;__;
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Jon wants to kiss Ryan again, his thin face cupped between Jon's large, tanned hands, their bodies pressed together, toe to toe and heart to heart. He wants to pass his hand over Ryan's light skin and let his fingers dance in his hair. But not this Ryan. The Ryan who drinks and laughs and writes such light-hearted tunes, the Ryan who wraps himself in his girlfriend and his piano lessons, the Ryan who wears loud shirts and cord trousers and doesn't brush his hair. The Ryan who stays in his own bunk at nights, and peppers his girlfriend with kisses from the lips Jon remembers so well. That's not what he wants.
Jon Walker joined the band for Ryan, the old Ryan, his Ryan. For the flouncy shirts and ruffles, the intricate make up, the masks and the metaphors, the lyrics that took so much deciphering. Jon's Ryan was vulnerable and young and their relationship depended on Ryan needing him. Although the kisses were short and few, and the ( ... )
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Aw.
But Ryan loves the vag.
Alas. ;_____;
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(They were sitting together backstage when it happened, and Michael remembers it perfectly: his head thrown back across the long seat, nudging against the other man's thigh. The other man, the other Michael. Looking at him was bizarrely like a mirror, for tired eyes anyway. The glasses, the short dark hair, the weary brown eyes. He had been drumming absent mindedly on his knees, fumbled, dropped a stick. He leaned over to pick it up and a mad scheme whirled through Michael's head which thrummed to this sort of rhythm: lean up. kiss him. lean up. just a little. kiss him. kiss him. He hadn't, of course. Life continued as normal. If it hadn't aroused suspicion, Michael would have kicked himself daily ( ... )
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here you go. *hands*
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YOU CAN HAVE MY CHILDREN AS WELL. ALL OF THEM. ANY OF THEM. AND ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT.
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Not really. Bourbons are way better.
Feel free to demand one for your own. I might even be able to write a bit of porn.
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MOAR MICHAELM/MICHAELDRUM.
THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT CONSTANTLY ALL DAY, BUT I COULDN'T WRITE IT MYSELF...
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Friendship is all very well. Friendship and comraderie and all the other bullshit words used to describe two guys who like to hang out and have fun. But there's always that fine line where having fun tips over into too much fun and friendship becomes something else. Some people have called Michael a slut in the past but as his best friend and bandmate slams his hips forward again, muffling his groans by biting into the soft curve of his neck, he thinks probably he just gets that fine line a bit confused sometimes.
Alright, so a quick hug after a show isn't quite like hot hands touching him all over, stroking and snatching at his most sensitive parts (the back of his neck, the tops of his thighs and obviously his cock- as Michael's hand moves on it again, smooth and firm, he would be prepared to sign a declaration stating that whatever the myths are about drummers being apes with no physical dexterity, it's just not true). Sharing a bed after a late night out can't really be equated with ( ... )
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DAMP SEATS
ZIGH98UZIHG8TFR68RFGH9OIPJK'PŠZT9UZUJI'PUIZTBVE4VZTZOI6ZUZ7097689R87670987T789O9O87OITZUIT
Z6FR687TZU9IOZUUHU8BUIGFZKGHIOHIOHJ
DEAD
SHAKING
ON THE FLOOR
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