Better find someone to blame.
May. 22nd, 2003 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveI am wearing a skirt. I never wear skirts; this is weirder than Snoop announcing he’s clean. Look for pigs with wings in a city near you.
I was trying to write porn. This quasi-porn thing happened instead. Boys…
Movieverse: X2
Chemistry and The Things We Shouldn’t Do
If Bobby had known he was going to wind up having sex on the grass he would have dressed more appropriately. But he didn’t know, so that’s kind of a pointless thought.
Thinking is overrated anyway.
Everything but sex with Johnny is overrated.
Not that Bobby’s having a lot of points right now or doing a lot of thinking, probably because he’s still trying to remember that breathing is a natural thing. Even more natural than having sex with Johnny. Although something seems slightly wrong with that point of view: breathing more natural that sex? No way.
The view of the sky is really good when Bobby’s on his back.
Not that he’s never been on his back before, or even been on his back outside, but this is particularly relevant because he hadn’t even planned to come outside today, as his once-was-white-tee shirt will attest.
Whatever.
He so doesn’t make sense. Like he really cares when there’s a rumpled and grass-stained pyromaniac lying in the grass next to him.
Johnny’s breathing really loudly, and out the corner of his eye Bobby can see him smirking too. Snide bastard. Yes, they just had sex. Again.
Damn teenage hormones.
Bobby probably has grass stains on his shirt.
He’s got to learn some self-control.
Seventy-two minutes ago
Johnny brought this on himself, Bobby is sure of it.
Bobby never would have thought up something this insane if he weren’t desperate.
He wouldn’t be this horny if he hadn’t woken up alone.
If St. John had at least had the decency to take care of Bobby’s morning ‘issue’ then Bobby wouldn’t have had to drag him into the broom closet. But Johnny didn’t help Bobby out, and Rosie Palm just didn’t cut it, so now they’re in the broom closet; and god, what a great fucking broom closet it is.
It doesn’t matter that Bobby never even noticed it until about fifteen minutes ago when Johnny came out of his Chemistry class, lighter in hand, smirk firmly in place. What matters now is that they’re in said closet, and Bobby has St. John up against something – it’s dark, he’s not sure what – and he’s grinding his body against Johnny like he might die otherwise.
Taking his age – seventeen - and current start of arousal, and the flamable nature of his partner into consideration this is not entirely without possibility.
Bobby’s hands are everywhere he can reach: under shirts, on the nape of a warm neck, lightly pinching hard nipples and scraping at the small of St. John’s back. Bobby just wants. Fuck school. Fuck classes. Fuck lunch, and responsibilities and anything that is not going to get him laid right the fuck now. Lots of cursing is indicative of Bobby’s one-track mind, and he can feel St. John’s lighter being pressed into his crotch.
He’s fucking himself against a lighter? Now that’s new. Not entirely unwelcome but definitely new. Someone is going to require an intervention soon, just as soon as Bobby gets off.
Christ, Johnny’s mouth is warm next to his ear. The shuddering is starting, just a few more seconds and the orgasm should --
“Drake. Drake, slow down.”
Warm words. Warm breath – wait. Is he fucking joking? “Later.” Bobby’s so close. To think he used to substitute his hand for a body, this body. “Anything, later.”
“Bobby —“
“Please?”
Bobby used to pride himself on his restraint: he thought before he spoke; looked where he was going before crossing the street; made sure to cross his ‘t’s and dot his ‘i’s before handing his homework in. In short, he was boring. And he was a dork.
Then puberty hit, and things got more interesting.
And then Bobby became interested in his roommate, started turning the bathroom into a hockey rink on a regular basis, and things got really interesting. Almost as interesting as Johnny’s hand tugging on his jeans and those lips nuzzling his neck.
Bobby has a kink entitled St. John Allerdyce. Occasionally, if Bobby’s really good, this kink will nip at his earlobes and suck on that soft spot behind his right ear.
Bobby has been bad.
That’s why his kink is pulling away.
Click fwoosh.
Bobby is going to drop Johnny’s lighter in the nearest body of water.
“Don’t do that in here, dumbass, dust bunnies are flammable.”
“Okay, because you look a little disoriented I’m going to act like you didn’t just say that, but Drake, you need to get a grip.”
Bobby’s mouth opens, and all sorts of things are about to come out: expletives, rude lines about grips, hard-ons and boyfriends who aren’t there in the morning, but the words die out when the door opens and the room is flooded with light.
“I could smell you two down the hall,” the silhouette barks, and Bobby’s persistent erection dies a thousand deaths from shock. He might join it shortly. He stares for several seconds, blinking his eyes at the change in light and the cigar smoke clouding Wolverine’s head.
Bobby’s hand covers Johnny’s mouth just as it’s opening. “We were….” he begins before realizing lying is kind of pointless right now.
“Go outside.” Wolverine’s tone implies the lack of options available. “Get some air. Kill something; I don’t care, just do it. Now.”
Thirty-six minutes ago
It’s a simple concept:
Bobby tosses the match into the air, Johnny lights it, Bobby freezes it, and voila, frozen matches.
It’s supposed to be fun exercise. A game. Only allowed outside of course, hence their current position on the east lawn by the trees, but the Professor said it was supposed to help them relax and work together: powers in harmony or some shit like that. Sometimes they build enormous frozen houses of matchsticks.
But not today.
Today, Bobby’s about as relaxed as a corpse in rigor mortis, and the idea is about as effective as wet firewood. He’s iced four trees by mistake, and Johnny’s nearly set the lawn on fire twice.
The exercise would probably work a lot better if Bobby weren’t lying against Johnny’s knees.
The exercise would definitely work a lot better if Bobby’s dick weren’t trying to make a comeback after pulling a Houdini in the closet. “My legs are falling asleep, Drake.” Bobby can feel St. John attempting to shift on the grass underneath him.
Bobby wouldn’t mind being underneath Johnny. Or he wouldn’t if Johnny weren’t being such a prude.
“Do you not like me anymore or something?” he blurts out at the exact same time that Johnny tosses a match into the air. Apparently Bobby’s caught St. John off guard, because he completely forgets to light the match, and it lands on top of its brothers and sisters, its cardboard brown a stark contrast.
Suddenly there’s a lot of shifting of legs under Bobby, and he’s unceremoniously dumped onto his back. The grass tickles under his neck, and from this point Johnny looms large over him. “What the hell makes you say that?”
“Because,” Bobby begins, squinting in the face of the sun behind St. John. “You know, in the closet.”
There’s a long moment of silence. Johnny’s face is just one big shadow.
“We were in the closet, Bobby.”
“I know. I was there.”
There’s another long pause.
“I’m not trying to hide in the closet,” St. John says finally.
“Oh.”
Eighteen minutes ago
Sometimes Bobby does stupid things, sometimes he says the wrong thing, but his heart is in the right place.
He thinks that’s what counts.
The earth feels strangely lumpy underneath him, and the sky seems very far away. “I’m not ashamed of you, if that’s what you mean,” he says at last, turning his head to observe St. John assaulting random blades of grass.
Johnny head snaps up, and he considers Bobby for several seconds. Taking a blade of grass, he positions it between his thumbs and blows, making a reedy whistle. Bobby’s never seen anybody actually able to make that work. Only Johnny.
“I never thought you were.”
“So why…why with the weirdness?”
“Because.” St. John drops the blade of grass and wipes his hands on his jeans. Out comes the lighter. “I’m not sure what it is you want.”
Click fwoosh.
“You. Us. This. Look, I sound like a fucking soap opera, but I’m serious.” Bobby struggles to get his elbows under him so he can prop himself up. “I know I’m not experienced or whatever, but I’m not confused about you.”
Bobby lifts his hand to shield his eyes because the sun is blinding today, and he can’t see St. John’s face with all the shadow it’s creating. He arranges himself just in time to get knocked flat on his back by 165 pounds of Johnny.
It hurts.
He’ll live.
Nine minutes ago
Johnny has some of the sharpest teeth Bobby’s ever had the fortune to get marked by.
Not that Bobby’s been marked a lot, or even by anybody, but he’s pretty sure that St. John’s an anomaly in more than the mutant way. Bobby never even gave his sexuality much thought until he started jerking off to thoughts of his roommate, but he can think about his indecision later, too.
No decisions have to be made right now, except perhaps that Johnny will never be allowed to wear button-fly jeans again, because they are fucking awful. Bobby’s breaking a sweat trying to get them open. His hands just can’t get to grips, and he grins stupidly when Johnny finally bats his hands away and undoes the buttons himself. It’s like watching a strip show, he thinks, but whatever to thinking because there’s a really hot half dressed boy in top of Bobby demanding his attention.
Every time they have sex - which okay, isn’t as much as Bobby would like – he’s amazed how they don’t create their own steam room because, wow, Johnny is hot and with all that friction. Well.
Only Johnny seems able to make Bobby sweat. Only St. John seems to make Bobby do a lot of things, and Bobby hopes that Johnny understands that: that he’s needed. Yes, Bobby needs to kiss that mouth, and yes, apparently he gets a bit crazed when he can’t grope Johnny freely, but it’s not just about the sex. Although that’s nothing to forget about.
But they have more. They’re friends. They understand each other. They don’t take each other for granted.
That’s why Bobby’s crazy about Johnny.
There are some things it doesn’t do to forget.
-finis-
Virtue and wine, cannot help, you swim
Pain and sorrow must come if you go
If you go...
It´s the chemistry and the things we shouldn't do
I am nothing without you
Notes: Title from ‘Virtue and Wine’ by Sondre Lerche, one of the most charming up-coming artist you’ve never heard of.
I was trying to write porn. This quasi-porn thing happened instead. Boys…
Movieverse: X2
Chemistry and The Things We Shouldn’t Do
If Bobby had known he was going to wind up having sex on the grass he would have dressed more appropriately. But he didn’t know, so that’s kind of a pointless thought.
Thinking is overrated anyway.
Everything but sex with Johnny is overrated.
Not that Bobby’s having a lot of points right now or doing a lot of thinking, probably because he’s still trying to remember that breathing is a natural thing. Even more natural than having sex with Johnny. Although something seems slightly wrong with that point of view: breathing more natural that sex? No way.
The view of the sky is really good when Bobby’s on his back.
Not that he’s never been on his back before, or even been on his back outside, but this is particularly relevant because he hadn’t even planned to come outside today, as his once-was-white-tee shirt will attest.
Whatever.
He so doesn’t make sense. Like he really cares when there’s a rumpled and grass-stained pyromaniac lying in the grass next to him.
Johnny’s breathing really loudly, and out the corner of his eye Bobby can see him smirking too. Snide bastard. Yes, they just had sex. Again.
Damn teenage hormones.
Bobby probably has grass stains on his shirt.
He’s got to learn some self-control.
Seventy-two minutes ago
Johnny brought this on himself, Bobby is sure of it.
Bobby never would have thought up something this insane if he weren’t desperate.
He wouldn’t be this horny if he hadn’t woken up alone.
If St. John had at least had the decency to take care of Bobby’s morning ‘issue’ then Bobby wouldn’t have had to drag him into the broom closet. But Johnny didn’t help Bobby out, and Rosie Palm just didn’t cut it, so now they’re in the broom closet; and god, what a great fucking broom closet it is.
It doesn’t matter that Bobby never even noticed it until about fifteen minutes ago when Johnny came out of his Chemistry class, lighter in hand, smirk firmly in place. What matters now is that they’re in said closet, and Bobby has St. John up against something – it’s dark, he’s not sure what – and he’s grinding his body against Johnny like he might die otherwise.
Taking his age – seventeen - and current start of arousal, and the flamable nature of his partner into consideration this is not entirely without possibility.
Bobby’s hands are everywhere he can reach: under shirts, on the nape of a warm neck, lightly pinching hard nipples and scraping at the small of St. John’s back. Bobby just wants. Fuck school. Fuck classes. Fuck lunch, and responsibilities and anything that is not going to get him laid right the fuck now. Lots of cursing is indicative of Bobby’s one-track mind, and he can feel St. John’s lighter being pressed into his crotch.
He’s fucking himself against a lighter? Now that’s new. Not entirely unwelcome but definitely new. Someone is going to require an intervention soon, just as soon as Bobby gets off.
Christ, Johnny’s mouth is warm next to his ear. The shuddering is starting, just a few more seconds and the orgasm should --
“Drake. Drake, slow down.”
Warm words. Warm breath – wait. Is he fucking joking? “Later.” Bobby’s so close. To think he used to substitute his hand for a body, this body. “Anything, later.”
“Bobby —“
“Please?”
Bobby used to pride himself on his restraint: he thought before he spoke; looked where he was going before crossing the street; made sure to cross his ‘t’s and dot his ‘i’s before handing his homework in. In short, he was boring. And he was a dork.
Then puberty hit, and things got more interesting.
And then Bobby became interested in his roommate, started turning the bathroom into a hockey rink on a regular basis, and things got really interesting. Almost as interesting as Johnny’s hand tugging on his jeans and those lips nuzzling his neck.
Bobby has a kink entitled St. John Allerdyce. Occasionally, if Bobby’s really good, this kink will nip at his earlobes and suck on that soft spot behind his right ear.
Bobby has been bad.
That’s why his kink is pulling away.
Click fwoosh.
Bobby is going to drop Johnny’s lighter in the nearest body of water.
“Don’t do that in here, dumbass, dust bunnies are flammable.”
“Okay, because you look a little disoriented I’m going to act like you didn’t just say that, but Drake, you need to get a grip.”
Bobby’s mouth opens, and all sorts of things are about to come out: expletives, rude lines about grips, hard-ons and boyfriends who aren’t there in the morning, but the words die out when the door opens and the room is flooded with light.
“I could smell you two down the hall,” the silhouette barks, and Bobby’s persistent erection dies a thousand deaths from shock. He might join it shortly. He stares for several seconds, blinking his eyes at the change in light and the cigar smoke clouding Wolverine’s head.
Bobby’s hand covers Johnny’s mouth just as it’s opening. “We were….” he begins before realizing lying is kind of pointless right now.
“Go outside.” Wolverine’s tone implies the lack of options available. “Get some air. Kill something; I don’t care, just do it. Now.”
Thirty-six minutes ago
It’s a simple concept:
Bobby tosses the match into the air, Johnny lights it, Bobby freezes it, and voila, frozen matches.
It’s supposed to be fun exercise. A game. Only allowed outside of course, hence their current position on the east lawn by the trees, but the Professor said it was supposed to help them relax and work together: powers in harmony or some shit like that. Sometimes they build enormous frozen houses of matchsticks.
But not today.
Today, Bobby’s about as relaxed as a corpse in rigor mortis, and the idea is about as effective as wet firewood. He’s iced four trees by mistake, and Johnny’s nearly set the lawn on fire twice.
The exercise would probably work a lot better if Bobby weren’t lying against Johnny’s knees.
The exercise would definitely work a lot better if Bobby’s dick weren’t trying to make a comeback after pulling a Houdini in the closet. “My legs are falling asleep, Drake.” Bobby can feel St. John attempting to shift on the grass underneath him.
Bobby wouldn’t mind being underneath Johnny. Or he wouldn’t if Johnny weren’t being such a prude.
“Do you not like me anymore or something?” he blurts out at the exact same time that Johnny tosses a match into the air. Apparently Bobby’s caught St. John off guard, because he completely forgets to light the match, and it lands on top of its brothers and sisters, its cardboard brown a stark contrast.
Suddenly there’s a lot of shifting of legs under Bobby, and he’s unceremoniously dumped onto his back. The grass tickles under his neck, and from this point Johnny looms large over him. “What the hell makes you say that?”
“Because,” Bobby begins, squinting in the face of the sun behind St. John. “You know, in the closet.”
There’s a long moment of silence. Johnny’s face is just one big shadow.
“We were in the closet, Bobby.”
“I know. I was there.”
There’s another long pause.
“I’m not trying to hide in the closet,” St. John says finally.
“Oh.”
Eighteen minutes ago
Sometimes Bobby does stupid things, sometimes he says the wrong thing, but his heart is in the right place.
He thinks that’s what counts.
The earth feels strangely lumpy underneath him, and the sky seems very far away. “I’m not ashamed of you, if that’s what you mean,” he says at last, turning his head to observe St. John assaulting random blades of grass.
Johnny head snaps up, and he considers Bobby for several seconds. Taking a blade of grass, he positions it between his thumbs and blows, making a reedy whistle. Bobby’s never seen anybody actually able to make that work. Only Johnny.
“I never thought you were.”
“So why…why with the weirdness?”
“Because.” St. John drops the blade of grass and wipes his hands on his jeans. Out comes the lighter. “I’m not sure what it is you want.”
Click fwoosh.
“You. Us. This. Look, I sound like a fucking soap opera, but I’m serious.” Bobby struggles to get his elbows under him so he can prop himself up. “I know I’m not experienced or whatever, but I’m not confused about you.”
Bobby lifts his hand to shield his eyes because the sun is blinding today, and he can’t see St. John’s face with all the shadow it’s creating. He arranges himself just in time to get knocked flat on his back by 165 pounds of Johnny.
It hurts.
He’ll live.
Nine minutes ago
Johnny has some of the sharpest teeth Bobby’s ever had the fortune to get marked by.
Not that Bobby’s been marked a lot, or even by anybody, but he’s pretty sure that St. John’s an anomaly in more than the mutant way. Bobby never even gave his sexuality much thought until he started jerking off to thoughts of his roommate, but he can think about his indecision later, too.
No decisions have to be made right now, except perhaps that Johnny will never be allowed to wear button-fly jeans again, because they are fucking awful. Bobby’s breaking a sweat trying to get them open. His hands just can’t get to grips, and he grins stupidly when Johnny finally bats his hands away and undoes the buttons himself. It’s like watching a strip show, he thinks, but whatever to thinking because there’s a really hot half dressed boy in top of Bobby demanding his attention.
Every time they have sex - which okay, isn’t as much as Bobby would like – he’s amazed how they don’t create their own steam room because, wow, Johnny is hot and with all that friction. Well.
Only Johnny seems able to make Bobby sweat. Only St. John seems to make Bobby do a lot of things, and Bobby hopes that Johnny understands that: that he’s needed. Yes, Bobby needs to kiss that mouth, and yes, apparently he gets a bit crazed when he can’t grope Johnny freely, but it’s not just about the sex. Although that’s nothing to forget about.
But they have more. They’re friends. They understand each other. They don’t take each other for granted.
That’s why Bobby’s crazy about Johnny.
There are some things it doesn’t do to forget.
-finis-
Virtue and wine, cannot help, you swim
Pain and sorrow must come if you go
If you go...
It´s the chemistry and the things we shouldn't do
I am nothing without you
Notes: Title from ‘Virtue and Wine’ by Sondre Lerche, one of the most charming up-coming artist you’ve never heard of.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 01:05 pm (UTC)Thanks for the X-men fix.
Mim (who would like to provide something better than this scrap of feedback but can't)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:36 pm (UTC)Thanks for the X-men fix.
Yes, I felt it could have been smuttier too, but that's not what the story wants, and really I'm just the vessel. I have zero say.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:37 pm (UTC)*laughs* I'm glad you thought so.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 01:10 pm (UTC)And I wanted to say more, but my brain is still screaming *hothothot*, so I won't.
But yeah!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:43 pm (UTC)I am slightly concerned about my ability to channel by inner seventeen year old boy so effectively, but I'm glad you enjoyed this. Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 01:22 pm (UTC)but... what movie is it..? shadowlands - an applicable quote to times like thses: "it's the next part that makes this last part so good."
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:44 pm (UTC)I know what you mean, but the inner sadist in me is like isn't that what makes these stories so great? That you know there's no happy ending. What? I said inner sadist.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 02:07 pm (UTC)Love Wolvie and his poor, abused sense of smell. All those teenage hormones must be hell on him.
It hurts.
He’ll live.
Good priorities, boyo.
All in all, loved this, and wish I could feedback it properly, but in lieu of that -- SQUEE!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:45 pm (UTC)Love Wolvie and his poor, abused sense of smell. All those teenage hormones must be hell on him.
It hurts.
He’ll live.
Good priorities, boyo.
All in all, loved this, and wish I could feedback it properly, but in lieu of that -- SQUEE!
Squees work just fine for me. I'm glad you liked this so much, thanks!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:48 pm (UTC)Thank you on all three accounts. The flash icon was made by
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 02:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:49 pm (UTC)I'm so glad that you enjoyed it, thank you.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:50 pm (UTC)I blame it totally on the icon. Really. Everytime I try to leave, they pull me back. Okay, I'll stop quoting The Godfather now.
"There are some things it doesn't do to forget"
Date: 2003-05-22 07:38 pm (UTC)Re: "There are some things it doesn't do to forget"
Date: 2003-05-23 12:51 pm (UTC)I think you might have mentioned the sexy once or twice *grins* I'm glad you liked it, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 08:29 pm (UTC)Love your Wolverine. Repressed sexual tension, perhaps? Maybe he needs himself some Cyclops. Hee. I keep snipping these non-Bobby/John lines in my reviews to you, but that only goes to show how well you can frame a story around them, with other characters to anchor our boys who are soinlove.
“I know I’m not experienced or whatever, but I’m not confused about you.”
It´s the chemistry and the things we shouldn't do
I am nothing without you
This pretty much sums up why this fic is so sweet. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and restores faith in that which is turbulent teenage lurve.
Thanks for sharing, Zahra! :)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:54 pm (UTC)Speaking of people who are so in love, where's the next part of your story? What? A little proding never hurt anyone I'm sure. *grin*
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 09:31 pm (UTC)That. Was. Priceless! I love it.
The fic was very well done. I like the reverse chronology of it. A nice touch. I really enjoyed this.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:56 pm (UTC)The fic was very well done. I like the reverse chronology of it. A nice touch. I really enjoyed this.
I wish I could take credit for the reverse chronology idea, but it's been done many times before. Most memorably (IMO) on screen in Memento, and most memorably in fan writing by
Re:
From:no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 09:50 pm (UTC)Someone is going to require an intervention soon, just as soon as Bobby gets off.
Love your X2 stuff. Started reading after
Also, unrelated, I think Contract is the only non-X2 story of yours that I've read, but it is one of my H/D favorites. I really liked it. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:58 pm (UTC)Also, unrelated, I think Contract is the only non-X2 story of yours that I've read, but it is one of my H/D favorites. I really liked it. Thank you.
I can always count on
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 12:59 pm (UTC)Well thank you, I'm glad you think so.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 09:45 am (UTC)I know nothing about X-Men beyond the movies, but whoever came up with these two characters was really asking for it. Fire and ice? How much more fated does it get?
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 01:01 pm (UTC)*laughs* Goopyfluff, is that like marshmallow fluff cos I've never been into that, I like my marshmallows whole, the better to nuke them with. Have you ever made smores in the microwave? Now that is good stuff.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 11:54 am (UTC)When my brain starts working again, I'll tell you how fucking great that fic was.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 01:02 pm (UTC)When my brain starts working again, I'll tell you how fucking great that fic was.
*laughs* Incoherancy works too.
Re:
From:no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 08:07 pm (UTC)“Go outside.” Wolverine’s tone implies the lack of options available. “Get some air. Kill something; I don’t care, just do it. Now.”
I died laughing at this, and then I just died at the hotness and the awkwardness and the sweetness of the rest of it.
“I know I’m not experienced or whatever, but I’m not confused about you.”
Bobby lifts his hand to shield his eyes because the sun is blinding today, and he can’t see St. John’s face with all the shadow it’s creating. He arranges himself just in time to get knocked flat on his back by 165 pounds of Johnny.
It hurts.
He’ll live.
Wah!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-26 02:37 pm (UTC)I had a great time writing this, I'm glad you enjoyed it!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-24 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-26 02:38 pm (UTC)*laughs, hiccups and falls over* no twirling while drunk, i see this now.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-24 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-26 02:39 pm (UTC)Help yourself! Just please send me a link when the stories are up.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-25 04:35 pm (UTC)am i allowed to have this one for the
no subject
Date: 2003-05-26 02:40 pm (UTC)am i allowed to have this one for the dry_ice archive as well?
*ponders... ponders more.* okay, how about this, because i like you, i'll work you a deal. *winks* you archive what you like, and when it's up you send me a link?
Re:
From:no subject
Date: 2003-05-25 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-26 02:42 pm (UTC)I seem to have a great prediliction for writing teenage boys and disaffected young billionaires. Is this wrong of me? Probably, huh? Yay!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-27 03:59 pm (UTC)Great, sweet, greatness this one is. The Wolverine interruption made me grin, and those two out on the lawn (?) was way cute. Cute, horny 17 year olds. Fell oddly pervy now, despite being a mere 20 myself.
And also, Sondre Lerche? *stares at you*
no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 09:52 am (UTC)Are you hating on Sondre? Because if you are, you and I will have to step outside. What? I can't like Sondre just because I like Nas? And Jeff Buckley. And Ryan Adams. And the Chems. Oh, and Portishead. And Coldplay. And The Verve...bastard Richard Ashcroft.
(no subject)
From:Re:
From:no subject
Date: 2003-05-27 05:26 pm (UTC)Yes, nice, nice, so nice. Johnny and Bobby *sighs happily* They are so perfect. You make me believe they can actually work.
Happy, happy, happy.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 09:53 am (UTC)Sure they can work... as long as you don't go see X2.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-29 07:56 pm (UTC)Bobby has a kink entitled St. John Allerdyce.
I simply adore your X2 work!
steam room. HA!
Date: 2008-08-22 04:44 pm (UTC)~yesyesyesyesyesyesYES!!!~
Xavior blinks a couple times and looks out the window.
"What the hell?"
"Professor?"
"There's too much sex at this school."