Slash Challenge Series - 3: Lens Cap {Jack Barakat/Tom Sykes}
Jack shook his head, slipping the lens cap into the pocket of his tight jeans. Tom bit his lip, trying not to watch. Boys like Jack - the good looking, musician, talented type, were always assholes…and they were always into Oli.
Disclaimer: Fiction can be SUCH nasty fun. :P
Author's Note: Never written this pairing before! Thanks to Rhee for the beta work!
“Tom, put away your fucking camera. No one wants you taking rubbish pictures of them while they’re pissed,” Oli slurred before reaching out and grabbing Alex’s ass, pulling the American singer onto his lap and kissing him aggressively.
“Fuck you,” Tom whispered, turning away from his brother and lowering his camera. He reached into the bag and pulled the lens cap out, prepared to screw it back on, when someone sat down next to him, grabbing the cap away from him.
“Don’t do that, your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Tom turned around to find himself face to face with Jack Barakat.
“Give it back.” Tom sighed, holding his hand out for the lens cap. He wasn’t in the mood to be fucked around with by his brother’s boyfriend’s stupid band mates.
“No.” Jack shook his head, slipping the lens cap into the pocket of his tight jeans. Tom bit his lip, trying not to watch. Boys like Jack - the good looking, musician, talented type, were always assholes…and they were always into Oli.
“Look, don’t be a wanker, ok?” Tom sighed. “It’s rough enough being pushed around by Oli and his friends all of the time, I’ve barely been introduced to you and I don’t need you antagonizing me as well.”
“I’m Jack Barakat,” Jack stated.
“I know who you are,” Tom snapped. “Just give me back my lens cap, alright? Oli told me to stop taking rubbish pictures, so I’m going to stop taking rubbish pictures and go up to my room. Just give it back and I’ll be out of your way.”
“Well now I really can’t give it back.” Jack smiled as he reached into his pocket and shoved the small piece of plastic further down into the denim.
“Why not?” Tom put his hands on his hips, letting his camera hang around his neck.
“Because I don’t want you to go up to your room.” Jack shrugged. “And I don’t want you to stop taking pictures. Your brother’s an asshole, Tom.”
“You’re his friend,” Tom countered. “You shouldn’t be saying that.”
“I’m not his friend.” Jack shook his head. “Alex is his friend, or fuck buddy, or whatever.” He shrugged. “I’m Alex’s friend, so by default, I hang around Oli more than I would like to and I have come to realize that he is actually an asshole.”
“Do you think that you could just give me my lens cap, please, and stop trashing my brother?” Tom held out his hand.
“Wait, ok, so one moment you’re talking about how your brother’s always pushing you around and now you’re upset with me for calling him a tool?”
“You didn’t call him a tool, you called him an asshole. Besides…” Tom sighed. “I just want to go to bed, ok? This party’s shit anyways.”
“Yeah, it is.” Jack agreed. “So make it interesting.” He pointed at the camera. “Do what you’re best at, Tom. Take pictures.”
“I’m a rubbish photographer.” Tom shook his head.
“No you’re not.” Jack argued.
“Yeah, I am.” Tom sighed. “Look, whether I’m a good photographer or not doesn’t really matter, because now that Oli’s said I’m shit, everyone’s going to listen to him, believe him.”
“I’m not.” Jack shrugged. “Why don’t you prove him wrong, yeah? Show me a couple of your pictures?”
“I don’t want to.” Tom rolled his eyes, beginning to grow annoyed. He was starting to wonder who it was that put Jack up to this - most of Oli’s friends left him alone unless they were paying him to either take a photograph of them or destroy one that had been taken while the subject was drunk and stupid.
“Fine then.” Jack began to look around the living room at all of the framed pictures. “Let me see if I can guess which ones you took.” He smiled as he sauntered over to the mantel. “Alright, you took this one, this one, this one and…this one.” He bit his lip, looking at Tom.
“Well yeah.” Tom frowned. “But how did you know?”
“Because those ones are photographs, the other ones are just pictures.” Jack shrugged as though it were nothing, but deep down, he knew that he had Tom’s attention now.
“What do you mean?” Tom looked at the photographs, squinting, trying to catch whatever it was Jack had seen.
“I mean that the ones you took are photographs.” He shrugged. “You took into account lighting, camera angles, placement of objects and people, and then you took the shot. The others are just pictures - someone saw something that they wanted to remember and they took a quick shot of it. There is no hint of artistry or close attention to detail, not the way that there is with yours.”
“Yeah, well attention to detail or not, they’re rubbish.” Tom looked down at the ground.
“You’re wrong.” Jack sighed, shaking his head as he looked at Tom. “Oli’s wrong, Tom, your photographs are lovely.”
Tom bit his lip. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t think that Jack was lying to him, not anymore, and he was unsure of what to do in that situation - he had just assumed that Jack wouldn’t tell the truth. Tom hesitated for a second before raising his camera, pointing it towards Jack and taking a careful picture of the boy.
“Well at least that one is.” Tom smiled softly as he lowered the camera again.
“Here.” Jack smiled back at Tom as he reached into his pocket, handing over the pilfered lens cap.
“Thanks.” Tom nodded appreciatively as Jack allowed him to screw the cap back over the camera’s lens. Once he had secured the protective cover over the lens of his precious camera, he turned, heading for his bedroom - after all, even with cute guitarists pretending to be nice, Oli’s parties still sucked.
“Hey, wait.” Jack reached out, grabbing Tom’s elbow.
“What is it?” Tom turned around, his eyes making contact with Jack’s.
“If I wrote my number on your hand, would you call it?” Jack asked, taking a pen from the pocket of his jacket.
“Depends.” Tom shrugged. “Do you want me to?”
“If I give you my number, I expect it to be called.” Jack smiled, pulling the cap off of the pen with his teeth. He took Tom’s right hand and turned it over, gently caressing the boy’s soft skin before beginning to write. Tom felt his ears growing warm as he allowed Jack to write on his hand in permanent marker; it wasn’t as though it would be there forever anyways. “There.” Jack smiled, putting the pen back into his pocket.
“Thanks.” Tom nodded graciously, not sure what else to say. “Well, goodbye.”
“Not goodbye.” Jack shook his head. “Talk to you later.” With that, Jack turned and quickly became lost in the drunken crowd.
Tom walked up to his room in a daze. Had Jack Barakat really just spent time talking to him? Being kind to him? Telling him that his pictures - no, his photographs, were lovely? He waited until he reached his room and lay down on his bed to look at his hand, biting his lip to hide a huge grin as he did so.
Jack Barakat
(334)555-0177
Photo shoot, just us?
Disclaimer: Fiction can be SUCH nasty fun. :P
Author's Note: Never written this pairing before! Thanks to Rhee for the beta work!
“Tom, put away your fucking camera. No one wants you taking rubbish pictures of them while they’re pissed,” Oli slurred before reaching out and grabbing Alex’s ass, pulling the American singer onto his lap and kissing him aggressively.
“Fuck you,” Tom whispered, turning away from his brother and lowering his camera. He reached into the bag and pulled the lens cap out, prepared to screw it back on, when someone sat down next to him, grabbing the cap away from him.
“Don’t do that, your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Tom turned around to find himself face to face with Jack Barakat.
“Give it back.” Tom sighed, holding his hand out for the lens cap. He wasn’t in the mood to be fucked around with by his brother’s boyfriend’s stupid band mates.
“No.” Jack shook his head, slipping the lens cap into the pocket of his tight jeans. Tom bit his lip, trying not to watch. Boys like Jack - the good looking, musician, talented type, were always assholes…and they were always into Oli.
“Look, don’t be a wanker, ok?” Tom sighed. “It’s rough enough being pushed around by Oli and his friends all of the time, I’ve barely been introduced to you and I don’t need you antagonizing me as well.”
“I’m Jack Barakat,” Jack stated.
“I know who you are,” Tom snapped. “Just give me back my lens cap, alright? Oli told me to stop taking rubbish pictures, so I’m going to stop taking rubbish pictures and go up to my room. Just give it back and I’ll be out of your way.”
“Well now I really can’t give it back.” Jack smiled as he reached into his pocket and shoved the small piece of plastic further down into the denim.
“Why not?” Tom put his hands on his hips, letting his camera hang around his neck.
“Because I don’t want you to go up to your room.” Jack shrugged. “And I don’t want you to stop taking pictures. Your brother’s an asshole, Tom.”
“You’re his friend,” Tom countered. “You shouldn’t be saying that.”
“I’m not his friend.” Jack shook his head. “Alex is his friend, or fuck buddy, or whatever.” He shrugged. “I’m Alex’s friend, so by default, I hang around Oli more than I would like to and I have come to realize that he is actually an asshole.”
“Do you think that you could just give me my lens cap, please, and stop trashing my brother?” Tom held out his hand.
“Wait, ok, so one moment you’re talking about how your brother’s always pushing you around and now you’re upset with me for calling him a tool?”
“You didn’t call him a tool, you called him an asshole. Besides…” Tom sighed. “I just want to go to bed, ok? This party’s shit anyways.”
“Yeah, it is.” Jack agreed. “So make it interesting.” He pointed at the camera. “Do what you’re best at, Tom. Take pictures.”
“I’m a rubbish photographer.” Tom shook his head.
“No you’re not.” Jack argued.
“Yeah, I am.” Tom sighed. “Look, whether I’m a good photographer or not doesn’t really matter, because now that Oli’s said I’m shit, everyone’s going to listen to him, believe him.”
“I’m not.” Jack shrugged. “Why don’t you prove him wrong, yeah? Show me a couple of your pictures?”
“I don’t want to.” Tom rolled his eyes, beginning to grow annoyed. He was starting to wonder who it was that put Jack up to this - most of Oli’s friends left him alone unless they were paying him to either take a photograph of them or destroy one that had been taken while the subject was drunk and stupid.
“Fine then.” Jack began to look around the living room at all of the framed pictures. “Let me see if I can guess which ones you took.” He smiled as he sauntered over to the mantel. “Alright, you took this one, this one, this one and…this one.” He bit his lip, looking at Tom.
“Well yeah.” Tom frowned. “But how did you know?”
“Because those ones are photographs, the other ones are just pictures.” Jack shrugged as though it were nothing, but deep down, he knew that he had Tom’s attention now.
“What do you mean?” Tom looked at the photographs, squinting, trying to catch whatever it was Jack had seen.
“I mean that the ones you took are photographs.” He shrugged. “You took into account lighting, camera angles, placement of objects and people, and then you took the shot. The others are just pictures - someone saw something that they wanted to remember and they took a quick shot of it. There is no hint of artistry or close attention to detail, not the way that there is with yours.”
“Yeah, well attention to detail or not, they’re rubbish.” Tom looked down at the ground.
“You’re wrong.” Jack sighed, shaking his head as he looked at Tom. “Oli’s wrong, Tom, your photographs are lovely.”
Tom bit his lip. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t think that Jack was lying to him, not anymore, and he was unsure of what to do in that situation - he had just assumed that Jack wouldn’t tell the truth. Tom hesitated for a second before raising his camera, pointing it towards Jack and taking a careful picture of the boy.
“Well at least that one is.” Tom smiled softly as he lowered the camera again.
“Here.” Jack smiled back at Tom as he reached into his pocket, handing over the pilfered lens cap.
“Thanks.” Tom nodded appreciatively as Jack allowed him to screw the cap back over the camera’s lens. Once he had secured the protective cover over the lens of his precious camera, he turned, heading for his bedroom - after all, even with cute guitarists pretending to be nice, Oli’s parties still sucked.
“Hey, wait.” Jack reached out, grabbing Tom’s elbow.
“What is it?” Tom turned around, his eyes making contact with Jack’s.
“If I wrote my number on your hand, would you call it?” Jack asked, taking a pen from the pocket of his jacket.
“Depends.” Tom shrugged. “Do you want me to?”
“If I give you my number, I expect it to be called.” Jack smiled, pulling the cap off of the pen with his teeth. He took Tom’s right hand and turned it over, gently caressing the boy’s soft skin before beginning to write. Tom felt his ears growing warm as he allowed Jack to write on his hand in permanent marker; it wasn’t as though it would be there forever anyways. “There.” Jack smiled, putting the pen back into his pocket.
“Thanks.” Tom nodded graciously, not sure what else to say. “Well, goodbye.”
“Not goodbye.” Jack shook his head. “Talk to you later.” With that, Jack turned and quickly became lost in the drunken crowd.
Tom walked up to his room in a daze. Had Jack Barakat really just spent time talking to him? Being kind to him? Telling him that his pictures - no, his photographs, were lovely? He waited until he reached his room and lay down on his bed to look at his hand, biting his lip to hide a huge grin as he did so.
Jack Barakat
(334)555-0177
Photo shoot, just us?