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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 06:25 pm (UTC)p.s. JC/Ricky, also good!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 09:29 pm (UTC)how about now??</small
no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 11:32 pm (UTC)It was after eleven when Ricky quietly stepped into the living room of his family’s garden apartment, closing the door on the crisp night air and the quiet and everything that darkness freed. His mother was braiding Vanni’s hair for school in the morning, Pucho and Eric were pretend sword fighting with left-over cardboard wrapping paper tubes, little Daniel was sitting quietly on the sofa watching Kimba the White Lion, his red Keds swinging back and forth, knocking into the frayed couch skirt with every return. Daniel smiled and waved, the gap where his front tooth had been just last week gave him a comic book air, like a character from of his cartoons come to life.
"Where have you been, Mijo?" his mother asked. "Dios...a thousand chores, your sister’s recital tomorrow and guess who decides to take the long way home, staring up at the stars again and shuffling his feet." She shook her head and clucked. She still hadn't looked up.
"Lo siento, Mami." He gave the top of Danny’s hair a tousle, then weaved around Eric and Pucho to give her kiss. "Had to work a little late. It's payday though." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. A leaf fell out as he did. With a blush he leaned down and picked it up, but she hadn't noticed. "Vannita," he said,"estas muy hermosa!"
"Gracias. You are a good boy. Pero your head always in the stars. Dishes first," his mother instructed. "And don't forget the trash."
When he was finally to escape to the relative quiet of his room, he slid lengthwise into his low bed just like last July, sliding bare-chested and exhilarated onto the slick surface of Paulie's Slip-n-Slide.
Did it really happen?
He'd told himself just do it. Like in the movies. Except not exactly. No way was JC some kind of Jane Fonda. Thinking about it made him grin against his pillow, go a little hard. "Estoy loco," he whispered to himself, feeling the scratch of his mother's clean sheets against his lips as he spoke. He felt alive in every corner and bend of his body. Electrically so. He could feel every hair on his head and the thrum of the blood in his veins. He could hear the crackle of the soda lights that spilled yellow onto the street outside even through the heavy drapes and the closed window.
"Eric?" No answer. He checked to see if Danny was asleep--yes, a thumb deep in his mouth and the blankets rucked like the spill of a cape around his knees in a windstorm. Alone then, Ricky reaching into his pocket for the mottled leaf that had fallen out earlier. He brought it to his lips, but it didn’t smell of JC or taste like JC; sweet and deep and miraculously possible.
JC. JC.
"Who says there's no American dream," Ricky whispered, but no one answered, his little brothers were caught up in their own dreams, carried along on magic carpets only they could know.
Ricky pushed his hips against the mattress, closed his eyes, and dreamed of freedom.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 12:49 am (UTC)A leaf fell out as he did. With a blush he leaned down and picked it up, but she hadn't noticed.
Aw, man. Just so *sweet*, and I know JC's thinking much the same...and yes. I'll write more tomorrow, because yes. Needs to be :)
*snuggles you* Thank you so MUCH! This made me grin so big. Te amo, querida. Te amo mucho.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 12:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 02:26 pm (UTC)She left a note propped up against the flour canister:
Josh, don't forget to take the trash cans down to the curb before pick-up in the morning. There's apple pie in the oven, if you want some. I hope you got all your homework finished.
Love you, honey.
JC touched the note, then opened the oven door. The pie was wrapped up in foil, but he could still smell the apples and cinnamon and his mouth watered.
Thinking about cinnamon made him think about Ricky, how he tasted sweet with a flash of heat, layered over bitter coffee.
Oh, my god, he kissed me.
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the way Ricky's body fit so well against his. Could feel the heat that spread between them, swirling through him as the kiss deepened. Each kiss felt like a drug, made him feel warm and heavy the way pot made him feel.
It wasn't just one kiss, either. They'd laid there on the grass, cold air sliding in between them (and doing nothing to cool either of them), and kissed. Over and over, slick and wet and sloppy, lips growing tender and hot. JC felt Ricky's erection, hard against his when they pressed together, but all they did was kiss.
He licked his lips; they were still swollen, tender, and JC wished he could still taste Ricky's kisses. He rubbed himself through his jeans, still half-hard and wanting more--hoping there would be more.
Tomorrow evening couldn't come fast enough.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 02:32 pm (UTC)(And now we need Chris. WhataboutChris? A letter? Does he tell him? Hint? CHRIS!)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 02:45 pm (UTC)Yes. I think JC is going to write Chris about his...friend. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 02:49 pm (UTC)Or, you know. I'm high.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-18 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-19 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-22 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 11:26 pm (UTC)