[fanfiction] with your own eyes
365 Gay Sharks
Day 202, Word Count: 540
Theme: July; Celebrate
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
Fandom/Pairings: The Runaways; Joan/Cherie
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: For the "3x5" by John Mayer square on my ficcinintherain card and the pictures card on my
kink_bingo card.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own it and I didn't make Dakota Fanning take sleazy photos.
Summary: Joan gets the poloroid camera somewhere from some store run by an angry old guy. She's been in a hundred stores like it in a hundred different cities, and she's probably passed the same camera that many times too.
with your own eyes
Joan gets the poloroid camera somewhere from some store run by an angry old guy. She's been in a hundred stores like it in a hundred different cities, and she's probably passed the same camera that many times too. Something makes her stop this time, though, and she buys it and twelve cartridges of film because she can. Joan fucks around with it once she's back with the band and takes pictures of them doing whatever.
Actually, that's a lie. Joan takes pictures of Cherie doing whatever and Cherie turns to the camera, setting the gaze that makes photographers fall in love with her on Joan. She tracks the camera, smiling, and Joan starts to realize why no one wants pictures of anyone else in the band. Half of the ten pictures are of Cherie, and then Cherie lifts the camera from Joan's hands and takes the other half of her.
The pictures of Joan are never as mesmerizing as the pictures of Cherie, but they show up in equal amounts of square photos. Sometimes, Joan scrawls a message on the bottom of a picture and slips it into Cherie's luggage. Cherie smiles at them sometimes, soft and loving.
Once, when they're in a hotel somewhere that Joan can't identify, Cherie is spread out on the shitty hotel bed in a bra and precious little else. Without thinking, Joan's got the camera in her hands and she's snapping photos of Cherie. Cherie doesn't seem to care (or perhaps can't, given what she'd taken earlier), and eventually she's taking the camera from Joan, setting it aside and framing Joan's face with her fingers. Cherie settles in Joan's lap and kisses her, tasting like vodka and drugs. It's not anything new, and Joan lets herself be coaxed into the space between Cherie's legs, fingers gripping at Cherie's thighs and leaving marks that fade on her delicate skin.
Cherie's fingers tangle into Joan's hair and Joan can't bring herself to care, just drinks in the image of Cherie spread out like this and tries to burn it into her mind.
After, when Cherie's stopped shaking and they've smoked, trading it between them until it's stale, Cherie fumbles until she's between Joan's legs and then Joan can't think anymore. It's all feel, like the best show she's ever fucking played, and when Joan can think straight again, Cherie is looking up at her, licking her lips and smirking. Joan takes a picture.
All the pictures she takes that night are filthy, obscene, and Joan keeps every last one of them. She hides them in her luggage, in a little pocket she's pretty sure no one else knows about, and when they're not on tour anymore she just looks at them. Involuntarily, a hand will snake between her thighs and her eyes will flutter shut, the poloroids falling from her fingers.
Even after, when Joan doesn't speak to Cherie anymore and those years are kind of like a faded photograph anyway, she keeps the pictures of Cherie spread out on the bed. Cherie's glistening face and her smug, lazy smile. Cherie's breasts, peaking out from behind her disheveled bra. Cherie Cherie Cherie.
Joan thinks she understands why the photographers only wanted to shoot Cherie now.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D
Day 202, Word Count: 540
Theme: July; Celebrate
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
Fandom/Pairings: The Runaways; Joan/Cherie
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: For the "3x5" by John Mayer square on my ficcinintherain card and the pictures card on my
kink_bingo card.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own it and I didn't make Dakota Fanning take sleazy photos.
Summary: Joan gets the poloroid camera somewhere from some store run by an angry old guy. She's been in a hundred stores like it in a hundred different cities, and she's probably passed the same camera that many times too.
with your own eyes
Joan gets the poloroid camera somewhere from some store run by an angry old guy. She's been in a hundred stores like it in a hundred different cities, and she's probably passed the same camera that many times too. Something makes her stop this time, though, and she buys it and twelve cartridges of film because she can. Joan fucks around with it once she's back with the band and takes pictures of them doing whatever.
Actually, that's a lie. Joan takes pictures of Cherie doing whatever and Cherie turns to the camera, setting the gaze that makes photographers fall in love with her on Joan. She tracks the camera, smiling, and Joan starts to realize why no one wants pictures of anyone else in the band. Half of the ten pictures are of Cherie, and then Cherie lifts the camera from Joan's hands and takes the other half of her.
The pictures of Joan are never as mesmerizing as the pictures of Cherie, but they show up in equal amounts of square photos. Sometimes, Joan scrawls a message on the bottom of a picture and slips it into Cherie's luggage. Cherie smiles at them sometimes, soft and loving.
Once, when they're in a hotel somewhere that Joan can't identify, Cherie is spread out on the shitty hotel bed in a bra and precious little else. Without thinking, Joan's got the camera in her hands and she's snapping photos of Cherie. Cherie doesn't seem to care (or perhaps can't, given what she'd taken earlier), and eventually she's taking the camera from Joan, setting it aside and framing Joan's face with her fingers. Cherie settles in Joan's lap and kisses her, tasting like vodka and drugs. It's not anything new, and Joan lets herself be coaxed into the space between Cherie's legs, fingers gripping at Cherie's thighs and leaving marks that fade on her delicate skin.
Cherie's fingers tangle into Joan's hair and Joan can't bring herself to care, just drinks in the image of Cherie spread out like this and tries to burn it into her mind.
After, when Cherie's stopped shaking and they've smoked, trading it between them until it's stale, Cherie fumbles until she's between Joan's legs and then Joan can't think anymore. It's all feel, like the best show she's ever fucking played, and when Joan can think straight again, Cherie is looking up at her, licking her lips and smirking. Joan takes a picture.
All the pictures she takes that night are filthy, obscene, and Joan keeps every last one of them. She hides them in her luggage, in a little pocket she's pretty sure no one else knows about, and when they're not on tour anymore she just looks at them. Involuntarily, a hand will snake between her thighs and her eyes will flutter shut, the poloroids falling from her fingers.
Even after, when Joan doesn't speak to Cherie anymore and those years are kind of like a faded photograph anyway, she keeps the pictures of Cherie spread out on the bed. Cherie's glistening face and her smug, lazy smile. Cherie's breasts, peaking out from behind her disheveled bra. Cherie Cherie Cherie.
Joan thinks she understands why the photographers only wanted to shoot Cherie now.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D