more kisses! (finally!)
Jul. 17th, 2007 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymI know y'all thought I'd forgotten these, or abandoned them, or something. HAH. :)
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkseaglass,
He's been hanging out at the diner every night for close to three weeks, downing endless cups of coffee while doing his homework and waiting for Ricky's shift to end. In between bussing tables, Ricky will wander past and fill his cup, giving JC bright smiles that warm him even more than the coffee does.
It's not the same as hanging out with Chris -- and it's not like he and Ricky are hanging out, exactly, nor does JC think of him as a replacement for his best friend -- but it fills a little bit of the empty spot that opened up when Chris shipped out.
And maybe JC thinks of Ricky as something else, other than a friend, anyway.
He thinks Ricky might be thinking the same, if he's reading the signs right.
JC's dad isn't happy about the amount of time he's been spending at the diner, and with Ricky -- JC got a huge lecture about being seen with 'those kind of people' after he and Ricky spent last weekend hanging at the bowling alley. 'Those kind of people', according to his dad, are troublemakers and rabble-rousers (whatever that means) and not Americans. And JC, in his head, hears Ricky telling him, "I wanted to enlist, go fight for my country--but they told me I couldn't. And dude, I'm as 'Merican as you are. They just don't want to look past mi nombre, my skin color, and see me."
"Chico." Ricky's voice is low and warm, intimate even, and JC turns toward him with a smile.
"You off?"
"Yeah." He glances at JC's books. "You finished?"
"As much as I'm gonna be tonight, yeah." He still has a book report to write for 1984, but first he'll need to read the damn book. "Wanna go for a walk? Go to the park?"
"I could swing you," Ricky laughs, his teeth flashing white against his tan.
JC snorts and pushes at Ricky's shoulder as they head out of the diner; ignoring the way Mr. Hayes scowls at them -- at him, in particular. He's sure he'll hear about this from his dad, later, but right now? Doesn't care.
They both end up on the swings, laughing as they pump higher and higher. The whole swingset shakes each time they fly up, but JC doesn't care. This is the happiest he's been, the most fun he's had, since Chris left.
"We should jump off," Ricky laughs, tipping his head back as he pushes higher. JC snickers.
"We'll break our necks!"
"I'll go first, catch you when you fall." Ricky pumps his swing twice more, then flings himself out of the swing before JC can even think of anything to say. Ricky shouts as he flies through the air, and grunts -- loudly -- when he hits ground.
"You okay?" JC's ready to drag his feet against the ground and slam himself forward if necessary, but Ricky rolls over and laughs.
"Si, bueno. Your turn, Guapo," he says, and JC laughs again and throws himself from the swing, shrieking when gravity catches him.
He crashes into Ricky and they roll once or twice before coming to a rest on the grass, dry from winter freezes and crunching beneath JC. Ricky's heavy, but warm, and JC realizes then that no number of blowjobs or handjobs in restrooms or backrooms quite equal the feeling of someone's weight covering him. Holding him down.
Ricky's eyes are dark, dilated, and JC likes what he sees there. Likes it even more when Ricky shifts against him, settling between JC's legs. His breath catches in his throat when Ricky leans in, and time slows down so JC sees each incremental shift forward until he has to close his eyes and just feel.
Hot, hot mouth touching his, tongue brushing against his lips; Ricky urging JC to open. He does, and Ricky's tongue is slick and warm against his, faintly bitter with coffee and sweet like sugar. JC's heart stutters in his chest, beating too fast and too hard. He can't breathe, doesn't want to breathe, just wants to drown in the taste and scent and feel of Ricky all around him.
When he has to breathe, JC pulls back just enough to gulp air in, then pants raggedly. Ricky smiles and leans in to rest his forehead against JC's. When he speaks, his mouth brushes over JC's, tiny fluttering kisses that make JC's pulse flutter along with them.
"You taste as good as I thought you would," Ricky says quietly.
JC swallows. "You thought about--how I'd taste?"
Ricky's grin is enough to make JC feel hot all over. "Si. You didn't think about it, for me?"
The words flow like liquid heat over JC's skin and he shivers, then pulls Ricky closer for another kiss, muttering against his lips, "All the time."
~~~~~
And forbrighton_girl,
"It's not fair," Justin grumped, tossing himself into the chair beside JC. JC raised an eyebrow at him and waited. It wasn't likely he'd have to press for information; Justin was at the age when angst and drama ruled his life more often than not. But just in case, he shifted to a more comfortable position and tried to decide how he would approach this latest crisis.
After a few minutes it became clear Justin wasn't going to just spill, so JC licked his lips and smiled. "So? What's not fair, man?"
"I hate having to do homework. Momma said I can't go out with y'all if I don't have it done, and it just sucks, C. Y'all don't have to do that; you get to rest on our breaks, and party, and I'm tired of it." Justin ran a hand through his curls and JC tried not to watch the big hands, or the curve of his arm, or any of the other hundred things about Justin that fascinated him.
"We've all had to do our share of homework, J," JC began carefully. Crush aside, JC remembered being seventeen--replete with mood swings, hormone surges, constant bone and joint aches from growing, and a never-ending appetite.
"But you don't have to do it now," Justin muttered. "And it sucks to be the only one who has to."
"Yeah, I know it does." JC reached out and tugged on Justin's curls. "But dude, you don't have much longer, right? You're almost done." He tugged again. "Then you can live the weird and wild life of a pop superstar -- sleep all day and party all night."
Justin snorted. "Yeah, right." But he fell silent, like he was considering that.
JC turned his attention back to some changes he wanted to suggest for the choreography, and closed his eyes. The whole sleep-all-day thing sounded pretty good, actually.
He was almost asleep, drifting in that warm, fuzzy place that came just before sleep, when he felt a gentle pressure against his mouth. JC sat up fast, even before his eyes were fully open, and banged into Justin.
"Ow! Dude--you got a hard head." Justin stepped back a pace and rubbed at the center of his forehead, scowling.
JC scowled back and rubbed at his own forehead. "Pot, kettle." He blinked up at Justin. "Seriously, J, what the hell?" Justin mumbled something too quietly for JC to catch, and shifted his weight. JC caught his wrist just before he moved away, and said, "what?"
"I said I just--I wanted to kiss you. And it seemed like, like a good. Like it was right."
"Yeah?" JC smiled at Justin's nod. "Then, um. You wanna try it again? Without the head injuries?"
Justin's answering smile was as bright as the sun.
For
darkseaglass, He's been hanging out at the diner every night for close to three weeks, downing endless cups of coffee while doing his homework and waiting for Ricky's shift to end. In between bussing tables, Ricky will wander past and fill his cup, giving JC bright smiles that warm him even more than the coffee does.
It's not the same as hanging out with Chris -- and it's not like he and Ricky are hanging out, exactly, nor does JC think of him as a replacement for his best friend -- but it fills a little bit of the empty spot that opened up when Chris shipped out.
And maybe JC thinks of Ricky as something else, other than a friend, anyway.
He thinks Ricky might be thinking the same, if he's reading the signs right.
JC's dad isn't happy about the amount of time he's been spending at the diner, and with Ricky -- JC got a huge lecture about being seen with 'those kind of people' after he and Ricky spent last weekend hanging at the bowling alley. 'Those kind of people', according to his dad, are troublemakers and rabble-rousers (whatever that means) and not Americans. And JC, in his head, hears Ricky telling him, "I wanted to enlist, go fight for my country--but they told me I couldn't. And dude, I'm as 'Merican as you are. They just don't want to look past mi nombre, my skin color, and see me."
"Chico." Ricky's voice is low and warm, intimate even, and JC turns toward him with a smile.
"You off?"
"Yeah." He glances at JC's books. "You finished?"
"As much as I'm gonna be tonight, yeah." He still has a book report to write for 1984, but first he'll need to read the damn book. "Wanna go for a walk? Go to the park?"
"I could swing you," Ricky laughs, his teeth flashing white against his tan.
JC snorts and pushes at Ricky's shoulder as they head out of the diner; ignoring the way Mr. Hayes scowls at them -- at him, in particular. He's sure he'll hear about this from his dad, later, but right now? Doesn't care.
They both end up on the swings, laughing as they pump higher and higher. The whole swingset shakes each time they fly up, but JC doesn't care. This is the happiest he's been, the most fun he's had, since Chris left.
"We should jump off," Ricky laughs, tipping his head back as he pushes higher. JC snickers.
"We'll break our necks!"
"I'll go first, catch you when you fall." Ricky pumps his swing twice more, then flings himself out of the swing before JC can even think of anything to say. Ricky shouts as he flies through the air, and grunts -- loudly -- when he hits ground.
"You okay?" JC's ready to drag his feet against the ground and slam himself forward if necessary, but Ricky rolls over and laughs.
"Si, bueno. Your turn, Guapo," he says, and JC laughs again and throws himself from the swing, shrieking when gravity catches him.
He crashes into Ricky and they roll once or twice before coming to a rest on the grass, dry from winter freezes and crunching beneath JC. Ricky's heavy, but warm, and JC realizes then that no number of blowjobs or handjobs in restrooms or backrooms quite equal the feeling of someone's weight covering him. Holding him down.
Ricky's eyes are dark, dilated, and JC likes what he sees there. Likes it even more when Ricky shifts against him, settling between JC's legs. His breath catches in his throat when Ricky leans in, and time slows down so JC sees each incremental shift forward until he has to close his eyes and just feel.
Hot, hot mouth touching his, tongue brushing against his lips; Ricky urging JC to open. He does, and Ricky's tongue is slick and warm against his, faintly bitter with coffee and sweet like sugar. JC's heart stutters in his chest, beating too fast and too hard. He can't breathe, doesn't want to breathe, just wants to drown in the taste and scent and feel of Ricky all around him.
When he has to breathe, JC pulls back just enough to gulp air in, then pants raggedly. Ricky smiles and leans in to rest his forehead against JC's. When he speaks, his mouth brushes over JC's, tiny fluttering kisses that make JC's pulse flutter along with them.
"You taste as good as I thought you would," Ricky says quietly.
JC swallows. "You thought about--how I'd taste?"
Ricky's grin is enough to make JC feel hot all over. "Si. You didn't think about it, for me?"
The words flow like liquid heat over JC's skin and he shivers, then pulls Ricky closer for another kiss, muttering against his lips, "All the time."
~~~~~
And for
brighton_girl, "It's not fair," Justin grumped, tossing himself into the chair beside JC. JC raised an eyebrow at him and waited. It wasn't likely he'd have to press for information; Justin was at the age when angst and drama ruled his life more often than not. But just in case, he shifted to a more comfortable position and tried to decide how he would approach this latest crisis.
After a few minutes it became clear Justin wasn't going to just spill, so JC licked his lips and smiled. "So? What's not fair, man?"
"I hate having to do homework. Momma said I can't go out with y'all if I don't have it done, and it just sucks, C. Y'all don't have to do that; you get to rest on our breaks, and party, and I'm tired of it." Justin ran a hand through his curls and JC tried not to watch the big hands, or the curve of his arm, or any of the other hundred things about Justin that fascinated him.
"We've all had to do our share of homework, J," JC began carefully. Crush aside, JC remembered being seventeen--replete with mood swings, hormone surges, constant bone and joint aches from growing, and a never-ending appetite.
"But you don't have to do it now," Justin muttered. "And it sucks to be the only one who has to."
"Yeah, I know it does." JC reached out and tugged on Justin's curls. "But dude, you don't have much longer, right? You're almost done." He tugged again. "Then you can live the weird and wild life of a pop superstar -- sleep all day and party all night."
Justin snorted. "Yeah, right." But he fell silent, like he was considering that.
JC turned his attention back to some changes he wanted to suggest for the choreography, and closed his eyes. The whole sleep-all-day thing sounded pretty good, actually.
He was almost asleep, drifting in that warm, fuzzy place that came just before sleep, when he felt a gentle pressure against his mouth. JC sat up fast, even before his eyes were fully open, and banged into Justin.
"Ow! Dude--you got a hard head." Justin stepped back a pace and rubbed at the center of his forehead, scowling.
JC scowled back and rubbed at his own forehead. "Pot, kettle." He blinked up at Justin. "Seriously, J, what the hell?" Justin mumbled something too quietly for JC to catch, and shifted his weight. JC caught his wrist just before he moved away, and said, "what?"
"I said I just--I wanted to kiss you. And it seemed like, like a good. Like it was right."
"Yeah?" JC smiled at Justin's nod. "Then, um. You wanna try it again? Without the head injuries?"
Justin's answering smile was as bright as the sun.
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 09:29 pm (UTC)