Studio 60/JackJordan/Behind Locked Doors
Title: Behind Locked Doors
Fandom: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Characters: Jack Rudolph/Jordan McDeere
Word Count: ~700
Rating: PG/K+
A/N: This my third try at this meme, and I really should stop:
Put your iTunes on shuffle, and write a drabble based on each of the first five songs that play. Don't linger when the song is over, this is an exercise.
Behind Locked Doors
--
Lonely Children - Foreigner
Lonely children on the run/Lonely children, lonely, need someone
Someone to talk to/Someone who cares
Someone who listens/Is anyone there?
It’s amazing how long she’s been alone. She doesn’t connect anymore; everyone is expendable. Attachment is only for the weak.
She busies herself with climbing up the corporate ladder, meeting all the right people and saying all the right things, putting up a façade with a simple white smile. She goes home alone night after night after night until the lack of human contact is threatening to kill her from the inside out. And she turns to the first person she can find who’s as equally detached as her.
Turns out, it wasn’t as good an idea as it sounded.
Dignity - BodyRockers
Just keep hold of your dignity/That's not something to lose on me
You'd best keep hold of your dignity/'Cause that's not something to lose on me
What they have can’t be rolled up into some simple word. It’s not love, it’s not a relationship, it’s not even sex. It’s just them.
Neither of them expect anything. They know that with a simple misstep they can destroy their entire lives; their relationships, careers, reputations, and futures. They don’t make plans. They don’t write love notes or go away for short weekend vacations.
Instead, they casually share a car to her apartment after work when going home to a wife and kids is overwhelming. They taxi to a hotel when their workload is on the brink of drowning them. They sneak into a bathroom stall after hours when her low-cut dress is just too damn much for him to be staring at all day.
But they don’t talk about it. They’re too professional for that.
Tree Hugger - Antsy Pants
And the flower would be its offering/Of love to the desert
And the desert, so dry and lonely/That the creatures all appreciate the effort
He’s not quite himself around her. It’s not a largely noticeable thing, really. But it’s there. That hint of something, something resembling actual care, that isn’t Jack at all.
She sees it, but she never says a word. Not when he settles his hand on her lower back, not when he opens the car door for her, and not even, that one time, when she found the single white rose on her desk.
(Red would be far too cliché. And they’re definitely not a cliché.)
Emily - Bowling for Soup
She was always such a pretty girl/Nobody like her in the world
A little piece of heavenly/That no one else could stand
I see you in my dreams at night/I see you when I close my eyes
I just can't seem to shake Emily
Jordan was always just a little too much for anyone else to handle. She was too independent, too take-charge, for any Prince Charming.
Jack, though, was no prince. He was looking for a little stubbornness. He didn’t want a doormat, didn’t want the classic, yes, dear trophy wife he’d ended up with.
They weren’t gentle. They weren’t loving caresses and tender kisses. They were lips teeth and tongue, scratches bites and bruises. They fought for dominance as much and as harshly as they fought with their words.
And kept coming back for more.
The City - Joe Purdy
She was dancing on the midway/Just kissing my face
Dancing on the midway/Kissing my face
Dancing on the midway/Just waving goodbye
They dream, sometimes, about running off together. They don’t discuss it (it’s far too high school for their liking), but they both think about it. How easy it would be, starting over somewhere new, with a fresh slate.
She dreams of a flat in Europe, him of a spacious apartment in New York. She pictures kids, him a dog. She imagines yellow walls, him brown.
But they both picture lazy Sunday mornings and rushing down the empty streets late at night in the pouring rain. They both see less demanding jobs and evenings spent somewhere other than the office. They both see the life they imagined for themselves all those naïve years ago.
Then, though, they slip out of bed and their feet touch the ground and reality sets back in. They slide on dresses and suit jackets and lock the door behind them as they leave.
--
End
Fandom: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Characters: Jack Rudolph/Jordan McDeere
Word Count: ~700
Rating: PG/K+
A/N: This my third try at this meme, and I really should stop:
Put your iTunes on shuffle, and write a drabble based on each of the first five songs that play. Don't linger when the song is over, this is an exercise.
Behind Locked Doors
--
Lonely Children - Foreigner
Lonely children on the run/Lonely children, lonely, need someone
Someone to talk to/Someone who cares
Someone who listens/Is anyone there?
It’s amazing how long she’s been alone. She doesn’t connect anymore; everyone is expendable. Attachment is only for the weak.
She busies herself with climbing up the corporate ladder, meeting all the right people and saying all the right things, putting up a façade with a simple white smile. She goes home alone night after night after night until the lack of human contact is threatening to kill her from the inside out. And she turns to the first person she can find who’s as equally detached as her.
Turns out, it wasn’t as good an idea as it sounded.
Dignity - BodyRockers
Just keep hold of your dignity/That's not something to lose on me
You'd best keep hold of your dignity/'Cause that's not something to lose on me
What they have can’t be rolled up into some simple word. It’s not love, it’s not a relationship, it’s not even sex. It’s just them.
Neither of them expect anything. They know that with a simple misstep they can destroy their entire lives; their relationships, careers, reputations, and futures. They don’t make plans. They don’t write love notes or go away for short weekend vacations.
Instead, they casually share a car to her apartment after work when going home to a wife and kids is overwhelming. They taxi to a hotel when their workload is on the brink of drowning them. They sneak into a bathroom stall after hours when her low-cut dress is just too damn much for him to be staring at all day.
But they don’t talk about it. They’re too professional for that.
Tree Hugger - Antsy Pants
And the flower would be its offering/Of love to the desert
And the desert, so dry and lonely/That the creatures all appreciate the effort
He’s not quite himself around her. It’s not a largely noticeable thing, really. But it’s there. That hint of something, something resembling actual care, that isn’t Jack at all.
She sees it, but she never says a word. Not when he settles his hand on her lower back, not when he opens the car door for her, and not even, that one time, when she found the single white rose on her desk.
(Red would be far too cliché. And they’re definitely not a cliché.)
Emily - Bowling for Soup
She was always such a pretty girl/Nobody like her in the world
A little piece of heavenly/That no one else could stand
I see you in my dreams at night/I see you when I close my eyes
I just can't seem to shake Emily
Jordan was always just a little too much for anyone else to handle. She was too independent, too take-charge, for any Prince Charming.
Jack, though, was no prince. He was looking for a little stubbornness. He didn’t want a doormat, didn’t want the classic, yes, dear trophy wife he’d ended up with.
They weren’t gentle. They weren’t loving caresses and tender kisses. They were lips teeth and tongue, scratches bites and bruises. They fought for dominance as much and as harshly as they fought with their words.
And kept coming back for more.
The City - Joe Purdy
She was dancing on the midway/Just kissing my face
Dancing on the midway/Kissing my face
Dancing on the midway/Just waving goodbye
They dream, sometimes, about running off together. They don’t discuss it (it’s far too high school for their liking), but they both think about it. How easy it would be, starting over somewhere new, with a fresh slate.
She dreams of a flat in Europe, him of a spacious apartment in New York. She pictures kids, him a dog. She imagines yellow walls, him brown.
But they both picture lazy Sunday mornings and rushing down the empty streets late at night in the pouring rain. They both see less demanding jobs and evenings spent somewhere other than the office. They both see the life they imagined for themselves all those naïve years ago.
Then, though, they slip out of bed and their feet touch the ground and reality sets back in. They slide on dresses and suit jackets and lock the door behind them as they leave.
--
End