'Minger' [Jez Tyler/Jonas Singer]
Title: 'Minger'
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: Britannia High
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Profanity
Pairing: Jez Tyler/Jonas Singer
Word Count: ~1,400
Summary: As BB storms off and Jez moves to follow, some randomer comes up and chucks a bottle of water all over his nice blue shirt for no reason whatsoever, demanding “Who’s a minger now, pretty boy?” in what Jez would probably find to be a rather sexy Scottish accent, under different circumstances.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BH, obvs. All the dialogue before Jez ~stomps off~ is taken from BB's episode (episode... 5?). After that, it's all me. Also posted here at ff.net.
Author's Notes: MYFIRSTJEZFICILOVEHIMSOMUCHIHOPETHISISOKAY. For amory_vain, because it is all her fault that I wrote it... and that I like "Britannia High" in the first place. I adore her for that <3
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It was bad enough that BB went off on him for no reason, just for saying “bro” or whatever. It’s what Jez calls BB, because BB’s, you know, his mate, and it was never a problem before but suddenly he's all, “You ain’t from the streets, so why pretend you are?” Really, Jez apologized a thousand trillion times for keeping them all in the dark about the whole “by the way, my dad’s a millionaire” thing, and it’s not like BB’s perfect, and they’re best friends so Jez would really quite appreciate it if BB would stop being so off with him, especially as he’d agreed to put him up for a few days, honestly.
And the worst thing is, that isn’t even the most perplexing part of his day. As BB storms off and Jez moves to follow, some randomer comes up and chucks a bottle of water all over his nice blue shirt for no reason whatsoever, demanding “Who’s a minger now, pretty boy?” in what Jez would probably find to be a rather sexy Scottish accent, under different circumstances.
As it stands, all Jez can manage is a shocked, slightly shivery, “Sorry, what is your problem?” because it really, really hasn’t been a good day and he's feeling a smidge more confrontational than usual, but he's still amazed when the Scottish boy retorts, “Six-foot-nothing and goes by the name of you.”
Jez sort of gawps for a second, then sputters out, “Wh-what did I ever do to you?” because surely this boy, this really quite attractive boy has to have him mixed up with someone else, and is amazed at the reply of “Called me a minger? Or… oh, I know, what about that time you… called me a minger? See, my last name’s Singer, so guess what everyone’s calling me now.”
Jez still has no idea what he’s on about, but he can see where the conversation’s going and oh, oh, that is very unfortunate, and he really hopes that Lola doesn’t -
“Singer the minger!” Lola pipes up from the table next to him, and Ronnie covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“I-I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Jez says honestly, apologetic even though he has nothing to be sorry for other than the fact that he just hates confrontation, period.
“He’s the one who was hot for you,” Lola says authoritatively, and wait, what? He really isn’t, unless he’s lost a good thirty kilos overnight, not to mention got that sweat gland issue sorted, but, “…Last night?” she continues, and all he can do is point and stutter as she insists, “You did call him that, you know you did, Jez.”
“No, no, no, I didn’t - it was - some - someone else, someone who was actually a minger,” and this guy’s really, really not he wants to finish, but his brain isn’t exactly running on full power right now because he so hates making people angry but somehow he’s done it twice in under five minutes.
“You’re vile, d’you know that?” the boy spits, obviously not believing a single word as he turns to leave in a huff, and then Lola’s sticking her nose in again, all sanctimonious, something about lessons and being nice to people, which Jez totally is already - he works hard to be - so all he can really say is “Great,” before he stomps off all dejected-like because what was supposed to be a nice, restful lunch has somehow got all dramatic and he doesn’t have a single sodding clue as to what happened or why but now somehow he has to fix this.
He breaks into a run as soon as he’s out of the cafeteria. The boy’s burgundy T-shirt is easy to spot, and as Jez’s six-foot-nothing frame is quite significantly comprised of a pair of long, slim legs, toned from years of dancing, he catches up easily.
“Er, S-Singer,” he begins for lack of a first name, and wants to touch the boy on the shoulder but senses that’d be a less than brilliant idea at this point.
The boy turns around with a “What the fuck do you want?” and eyes that are blazing hatred so yeah, that appears to have been an accurate deduction on Jez's part, but now Jez is stuck because he totally hasn’t thought this far ahead.
“I. Honestly, I didn’t… I don’t know where you were last night, but it wasn’t in front of me. The bloke I was looking at? Much heavier than you - much - sweating like a pig and to be honest, a bit old for me, wearing this hideous canary yellow shirt -”
“My favorite shirt is canary yellow,” the boy growls, and Jez backpedals like his life depends on it.
“Which I’m sure would look good on you, judging by your complexion, I’m sure, but this guy? Trust me, completely and utterly wrong for him.” The boy looks unconvinced. “I would never say you were a minger,” Jez continues fervently. “Really. I.” He shakes his head. “Never.”
“And why would that be, pretty boy?” and it’s not exactly friendly but Jez thinks it might be something …or maybe he’s clutching at straws.
“Because you’re…” and Jez is either being immensely brave or immensely stupid, but he cocks his head and clicks his tongue and says, “you know, a bit of alright.”
The boy just stares at him for a second and Jez may or may not begin to see his life flashing before his eyes, but then for some wonderful, inexplicable reason, Singer starts to laugh.
“Why the bloody hell didn’t you say that the first time, then?”
“I swear, the guy I saw wasn’t you.”
“…So you don’t think I’m a minger?”
Jez’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vehemently. “Oh, I definitely don’t think you’re a minger.”
“And would you care to tell that to all my friends so they stop calling me by that fuckin’ nickname?”
“As many times as you like,” Jez says sincerely, tapping his heels together smartly and saluting purely because he feels like it might add to the effect.
The boy sighs. “You realize that nickname’s one of them that's probably never gonna die?”
Jez opens his mouth, pauses, shuts it again. He’s been sort of turned off lying ever since the whole… millionaire father who ultimately ended up taking away his inheritance thing, so he pours on the dashing Tyler charm and says instead, “It might if you actually told me your first name so I don’t go 'round referring to you in my head as ‘Singer’ for the rest of my life.”
“Jonas,” the boy says promptly, holding out his hand, and Jez kind of wants to burst into “SOS” or “Love Bug” but this guy doesn’t exactly seem like the type who’d appreciate pop songs, so he holds his tongue and focuses on delivering a firm, confident handshake.
“Jez. Tyler.”
“Tyler,” the boy - Jonas - repeats, screwing up his face in what appears to be deep thought for a few seconds. Jez just waits. “I can’t think of anything that rhymes with ‘Tyler,’” he confesses eventually, but there’s a laugh in his voice that only seems to accentuate the lilt of his Scottish accent, and if Jez is going to be completely honest with himself, he’s already smitten.
“Dialer?” he offers hopefully. “Like, y’know, a drunk dialer? Or… Silar, like in, er. ‘Heroes,’ is it? Ooh - mylar, that… sort of… polyester stuff, you know? What about -”
“I think ‘Jez’ and ‘Jonas’ will do fine,” the other boy interrupts, “and maybe some digits.” Jez just sort of looks at him confusedly until he pulls out his mobile and asks, “Did you want my number, or am I too minging?” and Jez holds his hands up, an automatic gesture of pacification.
“You’re definitely, definitely not too minging,” he assures, punching his number into the phone and saving it (rather triumphantly) as “Jez <3”
Jonas looks him up and down and perhaps - perhaps - smiles slightly. “Did you wanna prove that, say, down the pub tonight at… 8?”
“Love to,” Jez breathes and actually, actually today isn’t turning out to be quite so bad after all.
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Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: Britannia High
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Profanity
Pairing: Jez Tyler/Jonas Singer
Word Count: ~1,400
Summary: As BB storms off and Jez moves to follow, some randomer comes up and chucks a bottle of water all over his nice blue shirt for no reason whatsoever, demanding “Who’s a minger now, pretty boy?” in what Jez would probably find to be a rather sexy Scottish accent, under different circumstances.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BH, obvs. All the dialogue before Jez ~stomps off~ is taken from BB's episode (episode... 5?). After that, it's all me. Also posted here at ff.net.
Author's Notes: MYFIRSTJEZFICILOVEHIMSOMUCHIHOPETHISISOKAY. For amory_vain, because it is all her fault that I wrote it... and that I like "Britannia High" in the first place. I adore her for that <3
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It was bad enough that BB went off on him for no reason, just for saying “bro” or whatever. It’s what Jez calls BB, because BB’s, you know, his mate, and it was never a problem before but suddenly he's all, “You ain’t from the streets, so why pretend you are?” Really, Jez apologized a thousand trillion times for keeping them all in the dark about the whole “by the way, my dad’s a millionaire” thing, and it’s not like BB’s perfect, and they’re best friends so Jez would really quite appreciate it if BB would stop being so off with him, especially as he’d agreed to put him up for a few days, honestly.
And the worst thing is, that isn’t even the most perplexing part of his day. As BB storms off and Jez moves to follow, some randomer comes up and chucks a bottle of water all over his nice blue shirt for no reason whatsoever, demanding “Who’s a minger now, pretty boy?” in what Jez would probably find to be a rather sexy Scottish accent, under different circumstances.
As it stands, all Jez can manage is a shocked, slightly shivery, “Sorry, what is your problem?” because it really, really hasn’t been a good day and he's feeling a smidge more confrontational than usual, but he's still amazed when the Scottish boy retorts, “Six-foot-nothing and goes by the name of you.”
Jez sort of gawps for a second, then sputters out, “Wh-what did I ever do to you?” because surely this boy, this really quite attractive boy has to have him mixed up with someone else, and is amazed at the reply of “Called me a minger? Or… oh, I know, what about that time you… called me a minger? See, my last name’s Singer, so guess what everyone’s calling me now.”
Jez still has no idea what he’s on about, but he can see where the conversation’s going and oh, oh, that is very unfortunate, and he really hopes that Lola doesn’t -
“Singer the minger!” Lola pipes up from the table next to him, and Ronnie covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“I-I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Jez says honestly, apologetic even though he has nothing to be sorry for other than the fact that he just hates confrontation, period.
“He’s the one who was hot for you,” Lola says authoritatively, and wait, what? He really isn’t, unless he’s lost a good thirty kilos overnight, not to mention got that sweat gland issue sorted, but, “…Last night?” she continues, and all he can do is point and stutter as she insists, “You did call him that, you know you did, Jez.”
“No, no, no, I didn’t - it was - some - someone else, someone who was actually a minger,” and this guy’s really, really not he wants to finish, but his brain isn’t exactly running on full power right now because he so hates making people angry but somehow he’s done it twice in under five minutes.
“You’re vile, d’you know that?” the boy spits, obviously not believing a single word as he turns to leave in a huff, and then Lola’s sticking her nose in again, all sanctimonious, something about lessons and being nice to people, which Jez totally is already - he works hard to be - so all he can really say is “Great,” before he stomps off all dejected-like because what was supposed to be a nice, restful lunch has somehow got all dramatic and he doesn’t have a single sodding clue as to what happened or why but now somehow he has to fix this.
He breaks into a run as soon as he’s out of the cafeteria. The boy’s burgundy T-shirt is easy to spot, and as Jez’s six-foot-nothing frame is quite significantly comprised of a pair of long, slim legs, toned from years of dancing, he catches up easily.
“Er, S-Singer,” he begins for lack of a first name, and wants to touch the boy on the shoulder but senses that’d be a less than brilliant idea at this point.
The boy turns around with a “What the fuck do you want?” and eyes that are blazing hatred so yeah, that appears to have been an accurate deduction on Jez's part, but now Jez is stuck because he totally hasn’t thought this far ahead.
“I. Honestly, I didn’t… I don’t know where you were last night, but it wasn’t in front of me. The bloke I was looking at? Much heavier than you - much - sweating like a pig and to be honest, a bit old for me, wearing this hideous canary yellow shirt -”
“My favorite shirt is canary yellow,” the boy growls, and Jez backpedals like his life depends on it.
“Which I’m sure would look good on you, judging by your complexion, I’m sure, but this guy? Trust me, completely and utterly wrong for him.” The boy looks unconvinced. “I would never say you were a minger,” Jez continues fervently. “Really. I.” He shakes his head. “Never.”
“And why would that be, pretty boy?” and it’s not exactly friendly but Jez thinks it might be something …or maybe he’s clutching at straws.
“Because you’re…” and Jez is either being immensely brave or immensely stupid, but he cocks his head and clicks his tongue and says, “you know, a bit of alright.”
The boy just stares at him for a second and Jez may or may not begin to see his life flashing before his eyes, but then for some wonderful, inexplicable reason, Singer starts to laugh.
“Why the bloody hell didn’t you say that the first time, then?”
“I swear, the guy I saw wasn’t you.”
“…So you don’t think I’m a minger?”
Jez’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vehemently. “Oh, I definitely don’t think you’re a minger.”
“And would you care to tell that to all my friends so they stop calling me by that fuckin’ nickname?”
“As many times as you like,” Jez says sincerely, tapping his heels together smartly and saluting purely because he feels like it might add to the effect.
The boy sighs. “You realize that nickname’s one of them that's probably never gonna die?”
Jez opens his mouth, pauses, shuts it again. He’s been sort of turned off lying ever since the whole… millionaire father who ultimately ended up taking away his inheritance thing, so he pours on the dashing Tyler charm and says instead, “It might if you actually told me your first name so I don’t go 'round referring to you in my head as ‘Singer’ for the rest of my life.”
“Jonas,” the boy says promptly, holding out his hand, and Jez kind of wants to burst into “SOS” or “Love Bug” but this guy doesn’t exactly seem like the type who’d appreciate pop songs, so he holds his tongue and focuses on delivering a firm, confident handshake.
“Jez. Tyler.”
“Tyler,” the boy - Jonas - repeats, screwing up his face in what appears to be deep thought for a few seconds. Jez just waits. “I can’t think of anything that rhymes with ‘Tyler,’” he confesses eventually, but there’s a laugh in his voice that only seems to accentuate the lilt of his Scottish accent, and if Jez is going to be completely honest with himself, he’s already smitten.
“Dialer?” he offers hopefully. “Like, y’know, a drunk dialer? Or… Silar, like in, er. ‘Heroes,’ is it? Ooh - mylar, that… sort of… polyester stuff, you know? What about -”
“I think ‘Jez’ and ‘Jonas’ will do fine,” the other boy interrupts, “and maybe some digits.” Jez just sort of looks at him confusedly until he pulls out his mobile and asks, “Did you want my number, or am I too minging?” and Jez holds his hands up, an automatic gesture of pacification.
“You’re definitely, definitely not too minging,” he assures, punching his number into the phone and saving it (rather triumphantly) as “Jez <3”
Jonas looks him up and down and perhaps - perhaps - smiles slightly. “Did you wanna prove that, say, down the pub tonight at… 8?”
“Love to,” Jez breathes and actually, actually today isn’t turning out to be quite so bad after all.
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