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Says the Dave Who Is Everywhere.
Just read something sweet and sad by Jess here:
http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=sinsense&itemid=76110#cutid1
I keep trying to watch something besides the doings of pretty pop stars, but technology, the SO, and fate seem to conspire against it. So today I am fate's sweet* little slave, and must post this:
~
Pre-Vocal
Another mutha of a snippet
by that darn billy
~
They don’t talk about it. They never have, and after the first time they rarely talk about anything at all. Except when they are arguing over the music. It’s not like things are with Britney. Relations with Britney mean that every subtle nuance of relationship is to be verbally weighed and discussed in full. His performance must be judged, and either punished or rewarded.
Justin will not call Britney tonight. After all the things he has discussed with her, it would be more impossible than ever for him to talk about… It.
This thing with JC where there is sweat and there are sometimes tears and no groupies or Britney or pop group, *NSync. Where blood rushes sudden and strange and he almost always ends up winded like he’s run a marathon and some of the bruises remain on his skin the next day.
It started during recording, when their visions conflicted and Justin yelled, while JC smiled and smouldered, and refused to even talk about compromise. Things had been tense for weeks between them, and on that particular day the air conditioning in the studio broke. It grew hot, and they were furious at each other and everyone else, and they’d been working fourteen hours straight when the other guys left them alone with a command to fix things.
Justin started shouting in JC’s face before the door had even closed all the way behind the last sound technician. And JC might as well have punched Justin in the gut when he threw aside stoicism and laid a hot mouth against Justin’s throat in the midst of the fight. Instant fire, and talking didn’t come into things except in the form of vague commands, pleas, moans.
He doesn’t even think about it, really. Not in words, at least. But the memory of heat, of slick skin lingers in his hands, on his throat, between his legs. Sounds devoid of meaning, obscenely wet noises and grunting that can make him hard in an instant remain. And the shine of tears on JC’s cheeks when Justin has him on his back and finally paying proper attention stays with him through the days.
And the nights keep coming, wordless.
~
They don’t talk, but they say everything that needs saying.
~
Love talking to you folks. Night.
*yet spicy
Just read something sweet and sad by Jess here:
http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=sinsense&itemid=76110#cutid1
I keep trying to watch something besides the doings of pretty pop stars, but technology, the SO, and fate seem to conspire against it. So today I am fate's sweet* little slave, and must post this:
~
Pre-Vocal
Another mutha of a snippet
by that darn billy
~
They don’t talk about it. They never have, and after the first time they rarely talk about anything at all. Except when they are arguing over the music. It’s not like things are with Britney. Relations with Britney mean that every subtle nuance of relationship is to be verbally weighed and discussed in full. His performance must be judged, and either punished or rewarded.
Justin will not call Britney tonight. After all the things he has discussed with her, it would be more impossible than ever for him to talk about… It.
This thing with JC where there is sweat and there are sometimes tears and no groupies or Britney or pop group, *NSync. Where blood rushes sudden and strange and he almost always ends up winded like he’s run a marathon and some of the bruises remain on his skin the next day.
It started during recording, when their visions conflicted and Justin yelled, while JC smiled and smouldered, and refused to even talk about compromise. Things had been tense for weeks between them, and on that particular day the air conditioning in the studio broke. It grew hot, and they were furious at each other and everyone else, and they’d been working fourteen hours straight when the other guys left them alone with a command to fix things.
Justin started shouting in JC’s face before the door had even closed all the way behind the last sound technician. And JC might as well have punched Justin in the gut when he threw aside stoicism and laid a hot mouth against Justin’s throat in the midst of the fight. Instant fire, and talking didn’t come into things except in the form of vague commands, pleas, moans.
He doesn’t even think about it, really. Not in words, at least. But the memory of heat, of slick skin lingers in his hands, on his throat, between his legs. Sounds devoid of meaning, obscenely wet noises and grunting that can make him hard in an instant remain. And the shine of tears on JC’s cheeks when Justin has him on his back and finally paying proper attention stays with him through the days.
And the nights keep coming, wordless.
~
They don’t talk, but they say everything that needs saying.
~
Love talking to you folks. Night.
*yet spicy
