the stage is set. [2/?]
TITLE: The Stage Is Set. [2/?]
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: R/possible NC-17 overall.
POV: Third-ish.
PAIRING: I can’t tell you yet; it’s complicated!
SUMMARY: AU. He met her on a Tuesday. Just an ordinary Tuesday, like any other day of the week, really, except that it wasn’t at all.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own or know them, and I am 200% certain this never happened.
WARNINGS: Het, and it’s central to the plot, but it’s not permanent. I promise!
A/N: Under the cut, ladies and gents!
Thanks to everyone who is giving this story a chance. I appreciate everyone's willingness to read and everyone's open-mindedness. Once again, even if you think you know what's going on (and it seems most of you have a theory), please don't blurt it out. Similarly, if you think you know, feel free to hook up with your fellow LJ users and discuss (somewhere other than the comments page of the story!) - see how many of you are thinking along the same lines or take a vote or something! =D
Secondly, I'm very aware of the short length of the parts, and it's intentional. My usual M.O. is to write standalones, to give you everything in one shot. However, this is one story where I feel like spacing is critical so that I'm not giving away tons of details at once. I'll be updating every one to two days, because I always write at least two parts ahead of myself, so don't worry - what you don't understand will eventually become clear, despite the fact that the story is moving slowly. I promise!
Now, on with it!
///
The rest of the week goes by too fast, and it’s normal, uneventful, except that it isn’t.
They hang out at the coffee shop, and they talk about everything. There’s an ebb and flow of words between them that he’s never experienced with anyone before, and he finds himself simultaneously moved and captured by the way her mind works in patterns and colours and syllables, and more often than not they end up laughing hysterically over their coffee at something no one else would find funny.
Thursday morning, he asks her if she’ll come out with him and his friends on Friday night, even if it’s only for a little, and then he’ll take her home. He thinks she’ll like Jon, his warmth and his humour, and he clings to that even when she looks like she wants to say no. He’s a little bit terrified, so he says ‘please?’, and she finally nods her head and says she will.
Saying goodbye at the coffee shop door that morning, they kiss for the first time. And it’s neither of their first times, but it’s their first time, and they both go left and then they both go right, and when they finally make contact their teeth click and she curls her hand in his shirt and laughs right into his mouth, but he knows she isn’t laughing at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, rubbing her finger on her lower lip, and turns around and walks down the sidewalk, looking back when she gets to the corner and waving goodbye. He waves back, and turns to leave; glancing back until he’s sure she’s gone, until he can’t even imagine her being there anymore.
All day, everyone keeps asking him if he got laid or what, because he can’t wipe the smile off his face.
----------
He gets dressed four different times Friday night, and Jon sits on his bed and rolls his eyes and huffs.
“Jesus, Brendon, when we’re going out to pick up chicks, you don’t care this much.”
And Brendon just goes, “Yeah, yeah. So, the red one, then?” Jon rolls his eyes and nods, falling backwards on the bed.
“If you don’t hurry the fuck up, it won’t matter, because we’ll be late picking up your little girlfriend and then…”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brendon says, looking at himself in the mirror, turning back and forth to catch the angles.
“Not your girlfriend,” Jon says, and he sounds more than a little patronizing.
“Not,” Brendon mutters, “my girlfriend,” punctuating it by throwing a pillow at Jon’s head.
“Righ - heyy,” Jon groans, chucking the pillow onto the floor. “Alright, fine. Not your girlfriend.” Brendon grins and grabs his sweater off the chair.
“Thank you,” he slips his feet into his shoes and grabs his keys, “Now, let’s go,” like Jon’s the one that’s been holding him up, and Jon just sighs.
“Yeah, yeah.”
---------
The whole way there, Jon drives, because he thinks he’s too nervous to even breathe right, and the whole way there, he keeps tapping his feet and rubbing his hands on his jeans.
“But she’s not your girlfriend, right?” Jon says, when Brendon gets out of the car to walk to her apartment and get her, and grins at him through the windshield. Brendon just flips him off and jogs over the curb to the door, yanks it open and buzzes her name, waiting impatiently until her voice crackles over the speaker.
“I’ll be right down,” she says, voice laced through wires. “Come in to the lobby,” and the door buzzes and clicks and he lets himself in, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. When she finally comes out of the elevator, he swears his heart actually stops, because she looks. God, so gorgeous. She’s just wearing skinny jeans and this hip-length black t-shirt, and her hair is combed down over her eye, and she’s like a beautiful, glittering, androgynous mannequin, with her kohl-lined eyes and barely-there curves.
She reminds him of someone, his mind reaches and tries to grasp it, but it slips away when she leans in and kisses him softly, tasting of mint and gloss.
“Ready to go, then?” she says, pressing her fingers against his arm, and he nods. They walk out with their arms linked together, her head already thrown back in laughter, and Jon smirks at him through the windshield, but he’s all gentleman when she slides into the back seat, stretching his arm back to shake her hand.
“Jon. Jon Walker,” he says, face serious, and then grins, letting go of her hand. “You must be Rachel.”
“Indeed,” she says, settling back into the seat and clicking the belt across her waist. “Now let’s go, I haven’t been out in too long!” Jon laughs and turns around in his seat, smirking at Brendon again, mouthing ‘Wow’ and raising his eyebrows, and puts the key back in the ignition, grinning at her in the rearview mirror.
“My kinda girl."
///
Oh, and this has nothing to do with anything, guys - but come on, out of all the FBR-related fic out there, THERE HAS TO BE SOME PARAMORE. I'm serious about this. I don't care if it's boyslash, girlslash, or het (Hayley/Josh = OT-frickin-P much?). Please don't tell me I'm the only one who's thinking about the hot that is Paramore? Please? Don't make me have to start the community myself and be the only member, because writing fic for yourself just isn't the same as reading it. Also, I've read what there is on fandomination, and...no. Just, no.
PLEASE TELL ME I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS THIS.
THE END. =D
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: R/possible NC-17 overall.
POV: Third-ish.
PAIRING: I can’t tell you yet; it’s complicated!
SUMMARY: AU. He met her on a Tuesday. Just an ordinary Tuesday, like any other day of the week, really, except that it wasn’t at all.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own or know them, and I am 200% certain this never happened.
WARNINGS: Het, and it’s central to the plot, but it’s not permanent. I promise!
A/N: Under the cut, ladies and gents!
Thanks to everyone who is giving this story a chance. I appreciate everyone's willingness to read and everyone's open-mindedness. Once again, even if you think you know what's going on (and it seems most of you have a theory), please don't blurt it out. Similarly, if you think you know, feel free to hook up with your fellow LJ users and discuss (somewhere other than the comments page of the story!) - see how many of you are thinking along the same lines or take a vote or something! =D
Secondly, I'm very aware of the short length of the parts, and it's intentional. My usual M.O. is to write standalones, to give you everything in one shot. However, this is one story where I feel like spacing is critical so that I'm not giving away tons of details at once. I'll be updating every one to two days, because I always write at least two parts ahead of myself, so don't worry - what you don't understand will eventually become clear, despite the fact that the story is moving slowly. I promise!
Now, on with it!
///
The rest of the week goes by too fast, and it’s normal, uneventful, except that it isn’t.
They hang out at the coffee shop, and they talk about everything. There’s an ebb and flow of words between them that he’s never experienced with anyone before, and he finds himself simultaneously moved and captured by the way her mind works in patterns and colours and syllables, and more often than not they end up laughing hysterically over their coffee at something no one else would find funny.
Thursday morning, he asks her if she’ll come out with him and his friends on Friday night, even if it’s only for a little, and then he’ll take her home. He thinks she’ll like Jon, his warmth and his humour, and he clings to that even when she looks like she wants to say no. He’s a little bit terrified, so he says ‘please?’, and she finally nods her head and says she will.
Saying goodbye at the coffee shop door that morning, they kiss for the first time. And it’s neither of their first times, but it’s their first time, and they both go left and then they both go right, and when they finally make contact their teeth click and she curls her hand in his shirt and laughs right into his mouth, but he knows she isn’t laughing at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, rubbing her finger on her lower lip, and turns around and walks down the sidewalk, looking back when she gets to the corner and waving goodbye. He waves back, and turns to leave; glancing back until he’s sure she’s gone, until he can’t even imagine her being there anymore.
All day, everyone keeps asking him if he got laid or what, because he can’t wipe the smile off his face.
----------
He gets dressed four different times Friday night, and Jon sits on his bed and rolls his eyes and huffs.
“Jesus, Brendon, when we’re going out to pick up chicks, you don’t care this much.”
And Brendon just goes, “Yeah, yeah. So, the red one, then?” Jon rolls his eyes and nods, falling backwards on the bed.
“If you don’t hurry the fuck up, it won’t matter, because we’ll be late picking up your little girlfriend and then…”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brendon says, looking at himself in the mirror, turning back and forth to catch the angles.
“Not your girlfriend,” Jon says, and he sounds more than a little patronizing.
“Not,” Brendon mutters, “my girlfriend,” punctuating it by throwing a pillow at Jon’s head.
“Righ - heyy,” Jon groans, chucking the pillow onto the floor. “Alright, fine. Not your girlfriend.” Brendon grins and grabs his sweater off the chair.
“Thank you,” he slips his feet into his shoes and grabs his keys, “Now, let’s go,” like Jon’s the one that’s been holding him up, and Jon just sighs.
“Yeah, yeah.”
---------
The whole way there, Jon drives, because he thinks he’s too nervous to even breathe right, and the whole way there, he keeps tapping his feet and rubbing his hands on his jeans.
“But she’s not your girlfriend, right?” Jon says, when Brendon gets out of the car to walk to her apartment and get her, and grins at him through the windshield. Brendon just flips him off and jogs over the curb to the door, yanks it open and buzzes her name, waiting impatiently until her voice crackles over the speaker.
“I’ll be right down,” she says, voice laced through wires. “Come in to the lobby,” and the door buzzes and clicks and he lets himself in, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. When she finally comes out of the elevator, he swears his heart actually stops, because she looks. God, so gorgeous. She’s just wearing skinny jeans and this hip-length black t-shirt, and her hair is combed down over her eye, and she’s like a beautiful, glittering, androgynous mannequin, with her kohl-lined eyes and barely-there curves.
She reminds him of someone, his mind reaches and tries to grasp it, but it slips away when she leans in and kisses him softly, tasting of mint and gloss.
“Ready to go, then?” she says, pressing her fingers against his arm, and he nods. They walk out with their arms linked together, her head already thrown back in laughter, and Jon smirks at him through the windshield, but he’s all gentleman when she slides into the back seat, stretching his arm back to shake her hand.
“Jon. Jon Walker,” he says, face serious, and then grins, letting go of her hand. “You must be Rachel.”
“Indeed,” she says, settling back into the seat and clicking the belt across her waist. “Now let’s go, I haven’t been out in too long!” Jon laughs and turns around in his seat, smirking at Brendon again, mouthing ‘Wow’ and raising his eyebrows, and puts the key back in the ignition, grinning at her in the rearview mirror.
“My kinda girl."
///
Oh, and this has nothing to do with anything, guys - but come on, out of all the FBR-related fic out there, THERE HAS TO BE SOME PARAMORE. I'm serious about this. I don't care if it's boyslash, girlslash, or het (Hayley/Josh = OT-frickin-P much?). Please don't tell me I'm the only one who's thinking about the hot that is Paramore? Please? Don't make me have to start the community myself and be the only member, because writing fic for yourself just isn't the same as reading it. Also, I've read what there is on fandomination, and...no. Just, no.
PLEASE TELL ME I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS THIS.
THE END. =D