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This weekend is Yaoi-con! I'm really getting excited. I haven't been to a con since last year's BAScon, and now I get to attend two within a few weeks' time. I just hope I can refrain from spending too much money on fun stuff.
:O)
I haven't really had time to follow lj, or write for most of this week. When I have written it has mostly consisted of quick babbles. My creative efforts also become strange and scrambled when I'm overly busy. Such is RL, and things will undoubtedly settle down a little after the busy con season.
I haven't had too much time for reading, either, but the few things I've read on friends' ljs in between bursts of busy have really given me a lot of motivation. It is so much easier to tackle a big job while thinking over the smutty short you've just read. Thanks, folks!
A Little Burst of Gratuitous (G-rated) TrickC
It wasn’t really living together if you could leave at any time.
So Chris kept suitcases filled with clean clothes and little bottles of shampoo in the hall closet, and he parked his RV on the curb. It was true that he had shampoo in JC’s shower and clothes in JC’s closet as well. But he could leave those behind with no problems.
Chris had decided, or maybe they had decided together, that he and JC didn’t need a “relationship”. Airquotes included. They were guys, they were popstars, and after all, they were mostly straight, anyway.
The sex was good. The sex was, actually, mind-bendingly good. It was okay to think so, since he knew that it was mostly from the lack of sex with women they were both having. It must have made them extra horny.
For a little while things got edgy, when he had a one-time-only impulse to wake ‘C up with breakfast in bed, for six days in a row. The response he got was to blame, Chris was sure. JC gave amazing blowjobs when he was well fed and rested.
Nonetheless, things were getting a little fuzzy around what they were doing together. Neither of them seemed to be actively trying to find a woman, and JC made noises about mentioning their non-relationship to Justin next time he came over and asked if Chris was living there, “or what, yo? And don’t get all Martian on me and say ya’ll’re just hanging out, fool.”
It was time to exercise the power of the suitcase. So he did. And to prove the lack of a relationship, he didn’t call JC when he left.
He spent a week travelling with his buddies, and there was a girl in his place when he got back. She was small, and dark, and there ended all that Chris had in common with her. Except that she was fucking JC.
Chris hadn’t realized it was his place until she took it.
Carlos, JC’s assistant, thought Chris was a funny guy. Until Chris drank twelve shots of tequila and puked on his shoes, and then sat on him and breathed vomit-breath until Carlos had given up every particle of information on the young, soft, pretty enemy. Carlos was no longer amused.
JC wouldn’t talk to him for a week. A little encouraged by the fact that the girl seemed to have vanished, Chris grabbed his handy (and prepared) suitcase and went to stay with Justin. Justin wasn’t home very often, which turned out to be a good thing.
Justin made him recite empowering affirmations until Chris freaked and bought a gun. It was unfortunate that Justin found his bandmate’s newly-armed status to be alluring. They tried to have sex twice, but the first time they couldn’t stop laughing at each other’s “lust” faces, and the second time they got drunk and Chris started to miss JC. He ended up crying and snotting all over Justin’s favorite blue "street-looking but sexy" shirt.
Justin loved him, but he was on his own for awhile. Some bodily fluids were grosser than others, and Chris had crossed the line. It was okay, because Chris had discovered that isolation, darkness, and moping appealed to something that had been lurking inside him since they’d all discovered Lou Pearlman’s perfidy.
Joey stopped taking his calls after the mean baby remarks, in any case.
He really wanted Lance, who would be matter-of-fact and insensitive but not bitch if he smoked. But Lance was playing with dancing bears and something called “Freddy” and wouldn’t answer his cell. Chris stayed in a cheap San Fernando hotel room and moped with all his might.
Just when Chris was discovering the wonders of late night horror films all over again, and considering reading a book, JC called. Chris figured they’d had a fight, and after all they were buddies. So it was okay to talk all night long in soft voices.
Just this once.
And besides, as JC agreed when Chris put his suitcase back into the hall closet, it didn’t count as living together if you could leave at anytime. Even if you didn’t.
~
:O)
I haven't really had time to follow lj, or write for most of this week. When I have written it has mostly consisted of quick babbles. My creative efforts also become strange and scrambled when I'm overly busy. Such is RL, and things will undoubtedly settle down a little after the busy con season.
I haven't had too much time for reading, either, but the few things I've read on friends' ljs in between bursts of busy have really given me a lot of motivation. It is so much easier to tackle a big job while thinking over the smutty short you've just read. Thanks, folks!
A Little Burst of Gratuitous (G-rated) TrickC
It wasn’t really living together if you could leave at any time.
So Chris kept suitcases filled with clean clothes and little bottles of shampoo in the hall closet, and he parked his RV on the curb. It was true that he had shampoo in JC’s shower and clothes in JC’s closet as well. But he could leave those behind with no problems.
Chris had decided, or maybe they had decided together, that he and JC didn’t need a “relationship”. Airquotes included. They were guys, they were popstars, and after all, they were mostly straight, anyway.
The sex was good. The sex was, actually, mind-bendingly good. It was okay to think so, since he knew that it was mostly from the lack of sex with women they were both having. It must have made them extra horny.
For a little while things got edgy, when he had a one-time-only impulse to wake ‘C up with breakfast in bed, for six days in a row. The response he got was to blame, Chris was sure. JC gave amazing blowjobs when he was well fed and rested.
Nonetheless, things were getting a little fuzzy around what they were doing together. Neither of them seemed to be actively trying to find a woman, and JC made noises about mentioning their non-relationship to Justin next time he came over and asked if Chris was living there, “or what, yo? And don’t get all Martian on me and say ya’ll’re just hanging out, fool.”
It was time to exercise the power of the suitcase. So he did. And to prove the lack of a relationship, he didn’t call JC when he left.
He spent a week travelling with his buddies, and there was a girl in his place when he got back. She was small, and dark, and there ended all that Chris had in common with her. Except that she was fucking JC.
Chris hadn’t realized it was his place until she took it.
Carlos, JC’s assistant, thought Chris was a funny guy. Until Chris drank twelve shots of tequila and puked on his shoes, and then sat on him and breathed vomit-breath until Carlos had given up every particle of information on the young, soft, pretty enemy. Carlos was no longer amused.
JC wouldn’t talk to him for a week. A little encouraged by the fact that the girl seemed to have vanished, Chris grabbed his handy (and prepared) suitcase and went to stay with Justin. Justin wasn’t home very often, which turned out to be a good thing.
Justin made him recite empowering affirmations until Chris freaked and bought a gun. It was unfortunate that Justin found his bandmate’s newly-armed status to be alluring. They tried to have sex twice, but the first time they couldn’t stop laughing at each other’s “lust” faces, and the second time they got drunk and Chris started to miss JC. He ended up crying and snotting all over Justin’s favorite blue "street-looking but sexy" shirt.
Justin loved him, but he was on his own for awhile. Some bodily fluids were grosser than others, and Chris had crossed the line. It was okay, because Chris had discovered that isolation, darkness, and moping appealed to something that had been lurking inside him since they’d all discovered Lou Pearlman’s perfidy.
Joey stopped taking his calls after the mean baby remarks, in any case.
He really wanted Lance, who would be matter-of-fact and insensitive but not bitch if he smoked. But Lance was playing with dancing bears and something called “Freddy” and wouldn’t answer his cell. Chris stayed in a cheap San Fernando hotel room and moped with all his might.
Just when Chris was discovering the wonders of late night horror films all over again, and considering reading a book, JC called. Chris figured they’d had a fight, and after all they were buddies. So it was okay to talk all night long in soft voices.
Just this once.
And besides, as JC agreed when Chris put his suitcase back into the hall closet, it didn’t count as living together if you could leave at anytime. Even if you didn’t.
~
