3 B/C frat!verse comment ficlets
A few drabble-y comment ficlets from the B/C 'verse I wrote last night--or, rather, really early this morning. Some B/C, some world building about the other guys.
Ian & His Blender
(A/N: Riffed off of a line in "The One Where Haley Is Bored".)
I'm sort of seeing Ian foisting new drinks upon anyone who even poked their head into the upstairs lounge.
Like, he'd have it plugged into the wall, balanced on an upside down crate, and a whole bunch of bottles of alcohol and mixers off to the side, a bucket of crushed ice on the couch, and he'd have one of those 'Make 1001 Mixed Drinks!' books which he'd study and highlight. Then, very carefully, he'd make his measurements and turn the blender on, and then he'd sit back on his heels and watch until it was the right consistency.
Any of the brothers who weren't busy (or random girls who were over at the house) would come hang out in the lounge to taste test when each batch of drinks was done. Ian would take notes as to their reactions--too much rum! not enough pina colada mix!--and then in a few nights (or weeks) he'd try making it again. It's his goal to develop a book of perfect recipes, because he feels that this is something EVERY college student should have.
Before he gets his group of taste testers together, though--and discovers that people don't mind if he co-opts the upstairs lounge as his own personal bar--he makes them in his room and goes door to door in the house, offering drinks in dixie cups. At first the guys laugh at him, call him a culinary wannabe, but then when it gets round that the drinks are actually GOOD, people start flagging him down, saying, "Dude. What's in the blender tonight?"
Sometimes Ian takes requests; sometimes, though, he just says, "It's a surprise. You brave enough?" His brothers usually are.
End.
Of Bigs & Littles
(A/N: I've probably watched Monster's Inc. a few times too many...)
Sometimes, Brendon's heard, some people don't actually get along with their Bigs or Littles. Like, sometimes, something just doesn't click. Not that Brendon knows anything about this from personal experience, because Jon is pretty much the best Big Brother a guy could ask for, and, well, it's not something that he's actually ever witnessed at the FBR house, because pretty much everyone is awesome, but still, he's heard it can happen.
Which is why he worries some, when it comes time for him to get his little. What happens if he and his little *think* they're going to get along, and then they don't? What if his little actually wanted someone else for their big and ended up stuck with Brendon?
Or, *or*, what if Brendon doesn't actually even *get* a little?
Spencer, of course, rolls his eyes when Brendon tries to bring the subject up with him, and Ryan never seems to be around when Brendon wants to panic, and Jon says such comforting things as, "You'd better get me a fucking *good* grand-little, little. I'm counting on you."
So: Brendon? He's worrying.
He's worrying and when he spends time hanging out with the freshman class he thinks things like Pick Me! Pick Me!
Finally, though, the big (ha) day comes, and the Freshman get to rank their preferences for Bigs, and Bigs get to rank their preferences for littles, and Brendon's having a very hard time not ranking *all* of the freshman as number one--eight number ones, he'd be happy with any of them, really! because he will be an awesome big brother!--but he ends up putting Singer first, because he was one of the first freshmen that Brendon met, and they'd spent hours talking over Rush, more since then. Because Singer will come hang out in Brendon's room before Monday Night Dinner, and he's already joined in the Bachelor tradition that Travis started Brendon on, and yeah. Singer's pretty much awesome.
But: he tries not to get his hopes up.
When Ryland, the Pledge Educator, calls Brendon into his room, though, he's frowning. And Brendon thinks, uh oh. Here's the speech about how no one picked him, and there's always next year, there will always be informal rushees, you know how it goes.
What Ryland says, though, is: "You're going to have your hands full, Urie." Then he hands Brendon a slip of paper with Singer's name written on it, and Brendon. He maybe bounces a little bit.
It's pretty much the hardest thing ever not saying anything when he sees Singer that night, or the next, but it's all worth it on reveal night, when Singer opens up the door to the study Cave and finds Brendon sitting there, all alone.
"Hi, little!" Brendon says, and Singer says, "Big!"
End.
Cash Can't Sleep
So. Cash can't sleep. He's in Brendon's room, the two of them curled up on the futon Brendon had bought for his room, once it became HIS, and it's comfortable enough, and Brendon's got his hand on Cash's stomach, the press of his fingers warm though Cash's t-shirt, and Brendon's breath is warm against his neck, as even and deep as Brendon's breathing *ever* gets. But still, Cash can't sleep.
Finally, after lying awake for what feels like three hours but is probably only one, he moves as slowly, carefully as he can, disentangling himself from Brendon's grip. Then, tiptoeing, he makes his way to the door of Brendon's room, and opens it, wincing at the slice of light that suddenly cuts across the bed.
He steps outside as quickly as he can, though, and shuts the door again. Then, he starts down the hallway. He hears a few people up and about still: quiet music from Tom Conrad's room, the sound of Butcher and Siska laughing about something.
Cash doesn't particularly want to disrupt anyone else, though. He just. Needs to not be lying down.
So, he heads downstairs, to the completely quiet first floor. He gets a glass of water in the kitchen, then hears the sound of the TV in the basement, and that. That would be okay, so he goes down one more floor.
He's actually surprised to see Jon Walker curled up on one of the couches, a blanket pulled up to his elbows. Jon raises a tired hand in Cash's direction as he actually comes all the way into the room, then waves it in the direction of the lounger chair.
"Come, join me," he says, so Cash does.
"Couldn't sleep?" Jon asks as Cash settles down, and Cash says, "Yeah. No idea why. Just."
"Yeah," Jon says. "I'm right there with you." But maybe not, Cash thinks, because the next moment Jon yawns. He's stopped on some Lifetime movie--there's a woman on screen crying, screaming at some football player, kicking at the tires of his car. He doesn't ask Jon to change the channel, but Jon does: through three infomercials, then the halfway scrambled HBO, before coming back down to Lifetime. There's a cheerleader on screen now. A commercial, then another ten minutes of movie, and then Jon stands and says, "Yeah, I think I'm going to try bed again." He tosses the remote at Cash. "Have a good night, dude."
Cash nods, says "Good night," then starts flipping through channels again. A documentary on fish. The guy who paints the happy trees. Buy two slicer-dicers and get a third free! He goes through all of the channels twice and is halfway through time number three when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He's sort of zoned at this point, which is why he doesn't immediately look up when Brendon comes into the room, wrapped in his own blanket.
"I woke up," Brendon says, "and I was alone. And you didn't come back. So I had to go searching."
Cash grins a little sheepishly. "Yeah, I wasn't sleeping, so I thought I'd get up before I woke you."
Brendon's walking towards him still, and before Cash can scooch over, he's climbing halfway on top of Cash, fitting himself into what open space there is. His head goes to Cash's shoulder and his arm goes around Cash's chest.
"You want me to turn off the TV?" Cash asks, but Brendon shakes his head, settling down a little more firmly.
"Just. Wake me up when you're ready to go back upstairs," he says, the words muffled by Cash's t-shirt, and so Cash turns the volume down. A lot. Then he runs his fingers over Brendon's hair.
He's not even sure what he's watching, but he doesn't change the channel. He just. Focuses on Brendon's breathing, on his warm weight. He closes his eyes for a minute, then a minute more, then a minute more. Then a minute more.
End.
Ian & His Blender
(A/N: Riffed off of a line in "The One Where Haley Is Bored".)
I'm sort of seeing Ian foisting new drinks upon anyone who even poked their head into the upstairs lounge.
Like, he'd have it plugged into the wall, balanced on an upside down crate, and a whole bunch of bottles of alcohol and mixers off to the side, a bucket of crushed ice on the couch, and he'd have one of those 'Make 1001 Mixed Drinks!' books which he'd study and highlight. Then, very carefully, he'd make his measurements and turn the blender on, and then he'd sit back on his heels and watch until it was the right consistency.
Any of the brothers who weren't busy (or random girls who were over at the house) would come hang out in the lounge to taste test when each batch of drinks was done. Ian would take notes as to their reactions--too much rum! not enough pina colada mix!--and then in a few nights (or weeks) he'd try making it again. It's his goal to develop a book of perfect recipes, because he feels that this is something EVERY college student should have.
Before he gets his group of taste testers together, though--and discovers that people don't mind if he co-opts the upstairs lounge as his own personal bar--he makes them in his room and goes door to door in the house, offering drinks in dixie cups. At first the guys laugh at him, call him a culinary wannabe, but then when it gets round that the drinks are actually GOOD, people start flagging him down, saying, "Dude. What's in the blender tonight?"
Sometimes Ian takes requests; sometimes, though, he just says, "It's a surprise. You brave enough?" His brothers usually are.
End.
Of Bigs & Littles
(A/N: I've probably watched Monster's Inc. a few times too many...)
Sometimes, Brendon's heard, some people don't actually get along with their Bigs or Littles. Like, sometimes, something just doesn't click. Not that Brendon knows anything about this from personal experience, because Jon is pretty much the best Big Brother a guy could ask for, and, well, it's not something that he's actually ever witnessed at the FBR house, because pretty much everyone is awesome, but still, he's heard it can happen.
Which is why he worries some, when it comes time for him to get his little. What happens if he and his little *think* they're going to get along, and then they don't? What if his little actually wanted someone else for their big and ended up stuck with Brendon?
Or, *or*, what if Brendon doesn't actually even *get* a little?
Spencer, of course, rolls his eyes when Brendon tries to bring the subject up with him, and Ryan never seems to be around when Brendon wants to panic, and Jon says such comforting things as, "You'd better get me a fucking *good* grand-little, little. I'm counting on you."
So: Brendon? He's worrying.
He's worrying and when he spends time hanging out with the freshman class he thinks things like Pick Me! Pick Me!
Finally, though, the big (ha) day comes, and the Freshman get to rank their preferences for Bigs, and Bigs get to rank their preferences for littles, and Brendon's having a very hard time not ranking *all* of the freshman as number one--eight number ones, he'd be happy with any of them, really! because he will be an awesome big brother!--but he ends up putting Singer first, because he was one of the first freshmen that Brendon met, and they'd spent hours talking over Rush, more since then. Because Singer will come hang out in Brendon's room before Monday Night Dinner, and he's already joined in the Bachelor tradition that Travis started Brendon on, and yeah. Singer's pretty much awesome.
But: he tries not to get his hopes up.
When Ryland, the Pledge Educator, calls Brendon into his room, though, he's frowning. And Brendon thinks, uh oh. Here's the speech about how no one picked him, and there's always next year, there will always be informal rushees, you know how it goes.
What Ryland says, though, is: "You're going to have your hands full, Urie." Then he hands Brendon a slip of paper with Singer's name written on it, and Brendon. He maybe bounces a little bit.
It's pretty much the hardest thing ever not saying anything when he sees Singer that night, or the next, but it's all worth it on reveal night, when Singer opens up the door to the study Cave and finds Brendon sitting there, all alone.
"Hi, little!" Brendon says, and Singer says, "Big!"
End.
Cash Can't Sleep
So. Cash can't sleep. He's in Brendon's room, the two of them curled up on the futon Brendon had bought for his room, once it became HIS, and it's comfortable enough, and Brendon's got his hand on Cash's stomach, the press of his fingers warm though Cash's t-shirt, and Brendon's breath is warm against his neck, as even and deep as Brendon's breathing *ever* gets. But still, Cash can't sleep.
Finally, after lying awake for what feels like three hours but is probably only one, he moves as slowly, carefully as he can, disentangling himself from Brendon's grip. Then, tiptoeing, he makes his way to the door of Brendon's room, and opens it, wincing at the slice of light that suddenly cuts across the bed.
He steps outside as quickly as he can, though, and shuts the door again. Then, he starts down the hallway. He hears a few people up and about still: quiet music from Tom Conrad's room, the sound of Butcher and Siska laughing about something.
Cash doesn't particularly want to disrupt anyone else, though. He just. Needs to not be lying down.
So, he heads downstairs, to the completely quiet first floor. He gets a glass of water in the kitchen, then hears the sound of the TV in the basement, and that. That would be okay, so he goes down one more floor.
He's actually surprised to see Jon Walker curled up on one of the couches, a blanket pulled up to his elbows. Jon raises a tired hand in Cash's direction as he actually comes all the way into the room, then waves it in the direction of the lounger chair.
"Come, join me," he says, so Cash does.
"Couldn't sleep?" Jon asks as Cash settles down, and Cash says, "Yeah. No idea why. Just."
"Yeah," Jon says. "I'm right there with you." But maybe not, Cash thinks, because the next moment Jon yawns. He's stopped on some Lifetime movie--there's a woman on screen crying, screaming at some football player, kicking at the tires of his car. He doesn't ask Jon to change the channel, but Jon does: through three infomercials, then the halfway scrambled HBO, before coming back down to Lifetime. There's a cheerleader on screen now. A commercial, then another ten minutes of movie, and then Jon stands and says, "Yeah, I think I'm going to try bed again." He tosses the remote at Cash. "Have a good night, dude."
Cash nods, says "Good night," then starts flipping through channels again. A documentary on fish. The guy who paints the happy trees. Buy two slicer-dicers and get a third free! He goes through all of the channels twice and is halfway through time number three when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He's sort of zoned at this point, which is why he doesn't immediately look up when Brendon comes into the room, wrapped in his own blanket.
"I woke up," Brendon says, "and I was alone. And you didn't come back. So I had to go searching."
Cash grins a little sheepishly. "Yeah, I wasn't sleeping, so I thought I'd get up before I woke you."
Brendon's walking towards him still, and before Cash can scooch over, he's climbing halfway on top of Cash, fitting himself into what open space there is. His head goes to Cash's shoulder and his arm goes around Cash's chest.
"You want me to turn off the TV?" Cash asks, but Brendon shakes his head, settling down a little more firmly.
"Just. Wake me up when you're ready to go back upstairs," he says, the words muffled by Cash's t-shirt, and so Cash turns the volume down. A lot. Then he runs his fingers over Brendon's hair.
He's not even sure what he's watching, but he doesn't change the channel. He just. Focuses on Brendon's breathing, on his warm weight. He closes his eyes for a minute, then a minute more, then a minute more. Then a minute more.
End.