audrarose

Remember that kissing meme from like, weeks ago? Here are the first three. (And oh, wow -- this turned into quite an exercise for me -- I tried almost all the pairings in all the different scenarios -- discarded a bunch of ideas, filed a bunch away for later... this was fun!)

Prompt:Give me a pairing that I write and I'll tell you about a time that they kissed.


3 Kisses


Jim and Blair

for Mab, Maaaaa and GillyP -- hee!

2:30, Saturday afternoon

"Man, I suck at this," Blair says.

"You really do."

"At, actually, a new level of sucking."

Jim shakes his head. "You're not paying attention. There's... look, there's a beat to it. Just listen to the music."

"Yeah, Jim, I know there's a beat to it. I know all about beat. I played the udu drum for 18 hours in the Egungun harvest festival. I was inducted into the tribe."

"You're making that up."

"Well, okay, yeah. The last part. But I can dance --."

"Sort of --."

"-- so why can't I do this?? Dammit!" Blair watches the television with about the same amount of disgust as the computerized band members walking off-stage on the screen, and then jabs the power button off.

"I hate that game." He looks at Jim sitting on couch, ankles crossed on the coffee table and looking way too amused, in Blair's opinion.

"I think it's mutual."

"Yeah, well, I don't think the world's gonna end because I can't play Jukebox Hero. We're giving this back to Simon right now."

Jim's smirk grows. "Jukebox Hero?"

Blair waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, Guitar Hero, whatever. You knew what I meant.”

“You just can’t remember the name because I rock and you suck. You’re bitter.” Jim puts his arms behind his head as Blair pleasantly flips him off. “Jukebox Hero. God, I hated that song.”

“Hated it?” Blair stops packing away the game. “Uh-uh. No way anyone hates that song. You’re not thinking of the right one. It goes --.”

“No, do not sing it. And believe me, I’m thinking of the right song.”

Blair turns around to face him. “You’re totally not. It was good. It was by that band -- you know. That band.”

Jim raises his eyebrows. “That band?”

“Who was it? Fuck. Don’t tell me.”

Jim crosses his arms and settles back against the couch. “Fine, I won’t tell you.”

“I know this one. It’s right here. In my brain.” Blair drops the controllers and flops down on the couch to sit next to Jim.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up.” He finally looks up, smiles. “I got it. The Who.”

Jim doesn’t move. “The Who. Sang Jukebox Hero.”

“Definitely." Blair thinks for a minute. "Maybe. No?"

“Just… wow.”

Blair settles down next to Jim with his hands behind his head. “Yeah, that was Pinball Hero. Right.”

“Wizard. Pinball Wizard. God.”

Blair scowls. “Okay, okay, jeez. So I guess it was probably someone dorkier than The Who, huh?”

“Everyone’s dorkier than The Who.” Jim shrugs, decides to be generous. “Except The Stones.”

Blair looks up at him. “I know The Stones didn’t sing Jukebox Hero.” He watches Jim’s expression just to make sure.

Jim stares back at him, head tilted back against the cushion. “You are so, so bad at this.”

“Shut up, I’m close, I’m close. It was one of those seventies bands, right? Or eighties. Like Zeppelin.”

“Zepp--!”

“I said like Zeppelin, don’t stroke out. It was… Aerosmith? Or maybe Rush.”

“Rush? Do you even know what they sound like?”

“Cheap Trick? I don’t think it was the Scorpions… or White Snake…”

"You can't be serious."

“Don’t tell me!”

“I’m not telling you! But wow. Who knew you were this pathetic? I gotta say -- this changes everything."

"Yeah, I obviously should have disclosed my lack of knowledge of rock arcana before we slept together. What was I thinking?"

"I'm just saying."

“Styx? AC/DC? Kansas?”

“Well, now you're just desperate.”

“Fine. Since you’re some retro-crap rock god, who sang it then? Enlighten me.” Blair waits, watching Jim’s lips twist as he stares at their feet on the coffee table, at his ankle hooked over Blair’s. Blair crosses his arms. “You have no fucking clue, do you?”

Blair watches Jim try not to smile some more. “At least I know who doesn’t sing it.”

Blair has to jump him for that. It’s worth at least a noogie or something else vaguely painful, but lately it seems that being next to Jim means kissing Jim, and when he’s warm and laughing and already opening his mouth, it’s pretty much a done deal. Soft and wet and God, it’s so good, like it always is, like it’s the most right thing ever, and Blair might not know bands but he sure as shit knows this. He lifts his head with Jim’s mouth trying to follow his, Jim’s eyes trying to focus.

“What…?” Jim says. A little breathless. A little urgent.

“Jim. Foreigner.”

Jim drags him back down, shit-eating grin tight against Blair’s mouth. “Maybe. Whatever. But don’t worry about it, babe. I like ‘em pretty and dumb.”

Blair tugs on his hair. “You’re one lucky sonuvabitch. So do I.” Then Blair kisses him back.





Don and Charlie – 2 am

for cyn and andrea

Charlie still sleeps like a kid.

That’s the first thing Don thinks while he stares at Charlie from his bedroom doorway, the light from the hallway falling across the bed. After four years at Princeton and four more inches of height, with longer hair and broader shoulders, Charlie still sleeps flung haphazardly across the mattress with the blankets in a tangle, like he’s eight instead of eighteen. Don sighs, listens to his brother breathing for a second.

He’s about to move down the hall to his own room when Charlie lifts his head.

“Don? Is that you?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No, it’s okay.” Charlie sits up, presses his palms into his eyes. “When did you get in?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

Charlie’s face is in shadow. “I thought your season had two weeks left.” He sounds hesitant, and Don knows he’s trying to figure out if he lost a couple of weeks somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“It does. We’ve got a three-game series in San Diego. I drove up.” He doesn’t explain why he’s here now when he’s supposed to be coming home to stay in two weeks. He wants Charlie to figure it out, which probably isn’t fair when they haven’t spoken in months and Charlie never seems to catch onto anything that isn’t written on a chalk board, anyway.

Don can feel Charlie staring at him. “Go back to sleep, Charlie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to get in?”

Don thinks he must be kidding. Charlie acts like they’re still kids, like the middle of the night makes everything seem bigger than it is. Like nothing ever, ever changes in this house.

“Yeah,” Don says.

Charlie moves over and Don kicks off his shoes; lays down on his back and puts his head on the pillow Charlie isn’t using. He can feel Charlie looking at him, laying on his side.

He glances over. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna be home, too, Chuck. I thought you might stay at school for awhile.”

Charlie frowns at the nickname. “No. I’m home for good, now. I’m going to take that job. Did mom tell you? The one at CalSci.”

“CalSci? That’s like, 20 minutes from here.”

“It’s a good school.”

“Yeah, I know it is, buddy, but…” Don trails off, turns to face Charlie and pulls the pillow closer under his cheek. “I just thought, you know, once you graduated…”

Charlie looks puzzled. “What?”

“Forget it.” He listens to a car pull away outside. Looks at Charlie, unmoving, all eyes in the dark.

“I’m not going back,” Don says abruptly. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks it’s going to. “When the season’s done I mean. I’m finished with it, I think.”

“With baseball?” Charlie sounds concerned for the first time. “I thought… well, I thought you were going to…you know. The majors.”

Don shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t think that’s going to work out.”

“Oh.” He can almost hear Charlie’s brain processing this information. Wonders what conclusions he’s coming to. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I wouldn’t,” Charlie says, looking surprised. Don thinks he probably should have known that.

“I’m thinking about law enforcement.”

“You – you want to be a cop?” Charlie sounds shocked. Don can just imagine how his parents are going to take it.

“Actually, I’m going to sit for the FBI exam.” He tries not to sound defensive. He wishes he could see Charlie’s expression in the light. “My grades were good, they like my extra-currics -- the recruiter said I’ve got a good shot.” He taps Charlie on the forehead. “Partly in thanks to my math tutor, no doubt.”

Charlie doesn’t smile. “That’s in Washington.”

“Virginia, but yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Charlie swallows. “When would you go?”

“Well… I’d need to leave right after my last game. I thought I was gonna be here for the off-season, but -- there’s a new class starting.” Charlie nods with his eyes closed, a little kid trying to be stoic, just his little brother in his childhood bedroom like ten years never happened.

“You don’t have to stay here, either,” Don says, sounding harsher than he intends. “You could go anywhere, Charlie – mom told me about the CalSci job – but also about the grant in Zurich. And the offer from MIT. God, when I was eighteen...” He shakes his head. “Anywhere.”

“I know that.” Charlie’s opened his eyes but he isn’t really looking at Don, gaze unfocused and staring somewhere near Don’s chin, even though they’re only inches apart. He curls his hand in the front of Don’s shirt, like he always used to. Making sure Don’s there. “I’m just -- I’m not like you.”

Which pretty much sums everything up. But God, Don wishes it weren’t true. Maybe it would be easier to leave him behind.

Charlie’s talking again. “You know, you never really told me what Tampa was like. You were there for a whole year. Did you like it?”

Don takes a breath. “It was okay. Hot. Hotter than here. And the air’s mostly water. I’m not gonna miss that part. You’d actually look like Einstein there, Charlie – your hair would be even weirder than it is now.”

Charlie smiles with his eyes closed, and Don keeps talking until he’s pretty sure Charlie’s asleep, and even afterward because it feels good to tell Charlie about things he hasn’t seen yet. And when he’s sure Charlie’s sleeping, he leans forward and kisses his brother good night, like ten years never happened.

He’ll have to remember to tell Charlie about Washington, too.





for wendy and arabiana

Jared and Jensen, 4 pm

“I never know if I should bring socks.” Jared stares into his suitcase. God, he hates packing.

“Uh, I’m thinking yeah. Because, you know, socks?” Jensen doesn’t even look up from his blackberry, where Jared knows he’s sending Chris sarcastic messages about the new Killers track. Which honestly, does kind of suck.

“Yeah, but it’s 85 degrees there. And I know left a bunch there last time, so they’re probably still in my room. And if I really needed some I guess I could just buy them…”

Jensen finally looks up. “Then don’t pack any.”

“It just seems weird not to pack socks.”

“Are we really having this conversation? It’s three frickin’ days, Jay. Pack the socks. Jesus.”

“Two days,” Jared says, looking at Jensen, who is studiously not looking back. “You know -- you could come with me. I think I’ve said that about six times already.”

Jensen shakes his head, sets his blackberry on the bedside table. “I’ve got shit to do here.”

Jared doesn’t answer right away, just looks at Jensen some more instead. He gets a brief smile in return before Jen gets off the bed and walks out of the room. “You want some water?” Jen asks, calling back over his shoulder, casual as air.

Jared follows him, because this isn’t Jen, at least not his Jen, and it takes him a minute to figure out why. Jensen’s blandly pleasant expression makes it all click into place -- this is the public Jen, the one with the not-quite smile and the glance that keeps moving away, moving on unless there’s a camera in his face. The Jen who backs off, who doesn’t want to give away anything.

And that really doesn’t work for Jared.

He grabs Jensen’s arm so Jen has to turn to face him, and then just keeps going, stepping into Jensen’s personal space the way he knows Jensen just hates, making him look up. He watches Jen’s face change, crumple into a don’t touch me expression that Jared ignores to put their mouths close together, with breath and lips and soft pressure until finally Jensen kisses him back.

Eventually Jared rests his forehead against Jensen’s. “It’s two days. Not three. And if you want to come with me, just say the word.”

Jensen doesn’t open his eyes. “Because following you home for your high-school reunion wouldn’t look weird at all. Fuck, Jay, you know I can’t.”

Which is such a true goddamn thing that it leaves Jared breathless.

Jen is still for minute, like Jared is, but then Jared feels him just melt, relax into Jared’s arms and Jared’s body and fuck weird, Jared considers begging him to come along anyway.

“Just… call me sometime. When you’re there.” Jensen still sounds down but his face isn’t tense anymore, so Jared decides not to rag his ass about being a total girl.

“When I get there,” he says, instead. Then he kisses Jen again. “And before I go to bed. And when I wake up. And --.”

“Asshole,” Jen says, but by now he’s practically smiling, so Jared keeps going, saying all the stupid romantic shit that always makes Jensen look half-happy and half-irritated and that Jared really kinda means. And then Jensen’s kissing him again, probably just to shut him up, but Jared’s more than happy to go with it.

Two whole days.

He sighs against Jensen’s mouth. “I’ll definitely call you.”