fic: near the dancing silhouettes
near the dancing silhouettes
Cash/Singer
PG13 600
language, mention of sexual situations, singer's reaction to cash's departure from the band, title from the pink spider's 'hollywood fix'
“I hate you,” Singer mutters over and over again until it’s burned itself into Cash’s ears, until Cash knows he won’t be able to close his eyes tonight without hearing Singer’s voice, accusing and demeaning in his ear. “I hate you.”
Singer takes the news like the world is ending and then he takes the news like he’ll never see Cash again, like Cash is going to abandon him.
But Cash already has.
“I don’t care what you want,” Singer says. His voice is in hysterics, much like how he took Ian’s departure but worse because this is Cash and this is his best friend and always something more. When they were in high school Singer used to ramble on about destiny as much as Cash rambled on about girls. “This is about what I want. You can leave, but not really.”
“And what if I’m not happy?”
“I don’t care,” Singer repeats, pulls at his curls and shakes his head. “I don’t give a fuck about what you want.”
They’re crammed into Cash’s office in the very back of Johnny and Harry’s, out of sight from any customers or employees. It’s weird because all of the times they’ve been back here it hasn’t been about departures or arguing or hate, just about lips pressed together and fucking.
Cash just sits at his desk and lets Singer pace, lets Singer pull at his hair and his clothes and have his mental breakdown. It’ll be okay because this isn’t Singer’s first mental breakdown, isn’t the first time that Singer’s on the verge of breaking something or knocking something over.
It’s - Singer’s okay, most of the time but when he’s pushed he breaks and Cash is always there to fix him. He doesn’t know how the guys are going to survive without him.
“I hate you,” Singer mutters over and over again until it’s burned itself into Cash’s ears, until Cash knows he won’t be able to close his eyes tonight without hearing Singer’s voice, accusing and demeaning in his ear. “I hate you.”
Cash turns his head from him and instead pulls up sales and profits on his computer that he’s looked at before when he was trying not to think about this, trying not to think about how much Singer was going to hate him. Singer eventually stops pacing, eventually collapses at Cash’s feet and leans his head into Cash’s thigh. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Cash finally manages to reply. He doesn’t look down at Singer, doesn’t lift his eyes from his computer screen. “You hate this.”
Singer’s head is warm against Cash’s thigh and he moves his hand down to tug at Singer’s curls. They’re shorter now, don’t sit on his shoulders any longer. Cash has to admit he kind of misses Singer’s hair straight, makes a mental note to call Singer’s mom and ask her to straighten it for him. “You hate what’s going on now because you can’t control it.”
Singer doesn’t reply, just sucks in a deep breath and pushes his body closer to Cash. It takes a while but, “I don’t want to loose you.”
It’s one of those comments that makes Cash’s heart ache and his throat clench. They’ve never been - they’ve never been just friends. There’s always been something more, something deep under their skin that they never needed words to express, not until now. But Cash doesn’t have those words, doesn’t know where he’s going to get them from now.
Cash scoots his chair back and avoids running over Singer’s fingers. Singer sinks into the open space between Cash’s thighs, leans up while Cash leans down. They don’t kiss but Cash catches Singer’s face in his hands, runs his thumb over Singer’s cheek. “You’re not loosing me.”
“I’m not keeping you either.” Cash kisses Singer then, just to shut him up.
Cash/Singer
PG13 600
language, mention of sexual situations, singer's reaction to cash's departure from the band, title from the pink spider's 'hollywood fix'
“I hate you,” Singer mutters over and over again until it’s burned itself into Cash’s ears, until Cash knows he won’t be able to close his eyes tonight without hearing Singer’s voice, accusing and demeaning in his ear. “I hate you.”
Singer takes the news like the world is ending and then he takes the news like he’ll never see Cash again, like Cash is going to abandon him.
But Cash already has.
“I don’t care what you want,” Singer says. His voice is in hysterics, much like how he took Ian’s departure but worse because this is Cash and this is his best friend and always something more. When they were in high school Singer used to ramble on about destiny as much as Cash rambled on about girls. “This is about what I want. You can leave, but not really.”
“And what if I’m not happy?”
“I don’t care,” Singer repeats, pulls at his curls and shakes his head. “I don’t give a fuck about what you want.”
They’re crammed into Cash’s office in the very back of Johnny and Harry’s, out of sight from any customers or employees. It’s weird because all of the times they’ve been back here it hasn’t been about departures or arguing or hate, just about lips pressed together and fucking.
Cash just sits at his desk and lets Singer pace, lets Singer pull at his hair and his clothes and have his mental breakdown. It’ll be okay because this isn’t Singer’s first mental breakdown, isn’t the first time that Singer’s on the verge of breaking something or knocking something over.
It’s - Singer’s okay, most of the time but when he’s pushed he breaks and Cash is always there to fix him. He doesn’t know how the guys are going to survive without him.
“I hate you,” Singer mutters over and over again until it’s burned itself into Cash’s ears, until Cash knows he won’t be able to close his eyes tonight without hearing Singer’s voice, accusing and demeaning in his ear. “I hate you.”
Cash turns his head from him and instead pulls up sales and profits on his computer that he’s looked at before when he was trying not to think about this, trying not to think about how much Singer was going to hate him. Singer eventually stops pacing, eventually collapses at Cash’s feet and leans his head into Cash’s thigh. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Cash finally manages to reply. He doesn’t look down at Singer, doesn’t lift his eyes from his computer screen. “You hate this.”
Singer’s head is warm against Cash’s thigh and he moves his hand down to tug at Singer’s curls. They’re shorter now, don’t sit on his shoulders any longer. Cash has to admit he kind of misses Singer’s hair straight, makes a mental note to call Singer’s mom and ask her to straighten it for him. “You hate what’s going on now because you can’t control it.”
Singer doesn’t reply, just sucks in a deep breath and pushes his body closer to Cash. It takes a while but, “I don’t want to loose you.”
It’s one of those comments that makes Cash’s heart ache and his throat clench. They’ve never been - they’ve never been just friends. There’s always been something more, something deep under their skin that they never needed words to express, not until now. But Cash doesn’t have those words, doesn’t know where he’s going to get them from now.
Cash scoots his chair back and avoids running over Singer’s fingers. Singer sinks into the open space between Cash’s thighs, leans up while Cash leans down. They don’t kiss but Cash catches Singer’s face in his hands, runs his thumb over Singer’s cheek. “You’re not loosing me.”
“I’m not keeping you either.” Cash kisses Singer then, just to shut him up.