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I made the hideous mistake of re-reading some of my earliest slash writing.
::cringes, hides face::
Ever have one of those days where you think; *what* gave me the notion I could/should write anything at all? You look at your work and you say to yourself "Quick, delete it all and nobody will ever have to know."
::sigh::
This is the reason I keep posting these snippets- because without them, I would just wallow in despair, reading Helen's and Synchronik's work and beating myself about the chest and head with a spiked pencil. With them posted, I feel obligated to at least explain myself, which gives me bunnies I have to post again. Surely the cycle will bear some fruit?
...
At least I didn't make the "anal sex without lube or stretching" mistake.
::blows kiss to the gorgeous vixens on Bindlestitch, who saved me::
Okey-doke, on with the torture. I mean, erm, posting.
Yes.
~
Yo! Snippet, biotch.
by stealthgooberbilly
The hotel gym was brightly lit, with fluorescent bulbs that turned his skin a sickly yellowish hue. One of the walls was mirrored, and he could see hiimself in all his early morning glory; rumpled hair, overly large sweat pants, red-veined eyes. He also spotted Justin on the rowing machine, naked back already shining with sweat. Averting his eyes, JC headed for the mat to do a few stretches.
Justin paused for a moment, panting, to gasp out a breathy “good morning”. They did this most mornings, and usually at the same time. JC had never really thought about it previously, but today it struck him as odd. He and Justin never planned things together, but they almost always ran into each other in the course of their separate routines. Almost always; in fact, during the breaks when they were in different cities it seemed weird excercising alone. None of the other members of the band worked out except for Lance, who liked to do it in the afternoon.
He wondered, a bit morosely, if he and Justin would ever again bump elbows in the kitchen, or argue silently over who got to use the Stair Master first. Maybe they would keep running into each other in some sort of cosmic joke, playing the same cities, staying at the same hotels. Once he and Justin had actually both gone into a hallway at some Hollywood party following the same sweet ass in a pair of tight jeans. Neither of them had known the other was even at the party.
They always wanted the same things, too, and sometimes only one of them could achieve a joint goal. Justin was going to be a superstar, and JC would soon be a memory to his fans. There was little bitterness in the thought, but a lot of hurt and disappointment. It wasn’t the fame he would miss, it was the opportunity to make music on a huge scale. He’d never expected much until he’d been told over and over by management how talented he was. Fucking Lou.
His biggest regret was that he’d believed it. JC had dared to hope that some day his music would move the hearts of millions across the world, and he would become one of the names that inspired future generations of song writers. Now those fantasies seemed like pipe dreams. He was told now that he was better off behind the scenes, that “that’s where your gifts lie, man!”
But he loved performing live, he always had.
The suits talked all the time about Destiny, until Justin was spouting the same shit too often for JC to be able to talk openly with him as he’d done years ago. One person was “destined by God” for this, another “destined by God” for that. It might have moved him, but JC had heard it all years ago from Lou, from the directors and casting crew at MMC. It didn’t have the same ring, now.
Ah hell, maybe he was a little bitter.
~
I have every intention of progressing with this idea, folks. Given world enough and time. And inspiration. Given world enough, time, inspiration... and plenty of coffee.That's right, world enough, time, inspiration, plenty of coffee... and the opportunity to use the computer. Okay, I have my list now.
World enough, time, inspiration, plenty of coffee, the opportunity to use the computer... and restful sleep.
Wait, where are you going? I've got it now!
::cringes, hides face::
Ever have one of those days where you think; *what* gave me the notion I could/should write anything at all? You look at your work and you say to yourself "Quick, delete it all and nobody will ever have to know."
::sigh::
This is the reason I keep posting these snippets- because without them, I would just wallow in despair, reading Helen's and Synchronik's work and beating myself about the chest and head with a spiked pencil. With them posted, I feel obligated to at least explain myself, which gives me bunnies I have to post again. Surely the cycle will bear some fruit?
...
At least I didn't make the "anal sex without lube or stretching" mistake.
::blows kiss to the gorgeous vixens on Bindlestitch, who saved me::
Okey-doke, on with the torture. I mean, erm, posting.
Yes.
~
Yo! Snippet, biotch.
by stealthgooberbilly
The hotel gym was brightly lit, with fluorescent bulbs that turned his skin a sickly yellowish hue. One of the walls was mirrored, and he could see hiimself in all his early morning glory; rumpled hair, overly large sweat pants, red-veined eyes. He also spotted Justin on the rowing machine, naked back already shining with sweat. Averting his eyes, JC headed for the mat to do a few stretches.
Justin paused for a moment, panting, to gasp out a breathy “good morning”. They did this most mornings, and usually at the same time. JC had never really thought about it previously, but today it struck him as odd. He and Justin never planned things together, but they almost always ran into each other in the course of their separate routines. Almost always; in fact, during the breaks when they were in different cities it seemed weird excercising alone. None of the other members of the band worked out except for Lance, who liked to do it in the afternoon.
He wondered, a bit morosely, if he and Justin would ever again bump elbows in the kitchen, or argue silently over who got to use the Stair Master first. Maybe they would keep running into each other in some sort of cosmic joke, playing the same cities, staying at the same hotels. Once he and Justin had actually both gone into a hallway at some Hollywood party following the same sweet ass in a pair of tight jeans. Neither of them had known the other was even at the party.
They always wanted the same things, too, and sometimes only one of them could achieve a joint goal. Justin was going to be a superstar, and JC would soon be a memory to his fans. There was little bitterness in the thought, but a lot of hurt and disappointment. It wasn’t the fame he would miss, it was the opportunity to make music on a huge scale. He’d never expected much until he’d been told over and over by management how talented he was. Fucking Lou.
His biggest regret was that he’d believed it. JC had dared to hope that some day his music would move the hearts of millions across the world, and he would become one of the names that inspired future generations of song writers. Now those fantasies seemed like pipe dreams. He was told now that he was better off behind the scenes, that “that’s where your gifts lie, man!”
But he loved performing live, he always had.
The suits talked all the time about Destiny, until Justin was spouting the same shit too often for JC to be able to talk openly with him as he’d done years ago. One person was “destined by God” for this, another “destined by God” for that. It might have moved him, but JC had heard it all years ago from Lou, from the directors and casting crew at MMC. It didn’t have the same ring, now.
Ah hell, maybe he was a little bitter.
~
I have every intention of progressing with this idea, folks. Given world enough and time. And inspiration. Given world enough, time, inspiration... and plenty of coffee.That's right, world enough, time, inspiration, plenty of coffee... and the opportunity to use the computer. Okay, I have my list now.
World enough, time, inspiration, plenty of coffee, the opportunity to use the computer... and restful sleep.
Wait, where are you going? I've got it now!
