rockabillyboy | (no subject)

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party poison

(no subject)

Nothing is coming together.

Jack's been working pretty frantically on his portfolio for the last week. He's got lots of pieces mostly done, but nothing done enough to submit. The deadline is looming. He's pinned all of his hopes on getting into art school, starting in the Fall. Mentally, he doesn't really feel prepared to submit anything, though, and that leads to a manic level of work. He's been peripherally aware of Poison all day, hovering in his space, asking him if he wants to do something else for an hour or so.

He's being an asshole, he knows. He can't help it.

"Shit, boo," he says, worrying his lip with his teeth. "I just want to get this piece done, okay?"

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Poison laughs and turns his head to try to catch Jack in a kiss. "Mm, bad Buddhist," he coos. "I'm seein' that ego pop out."

"I'm the first to admit to that," says Jack, turning his head properly to kiss Jack's mouth. "I'm allowed to enjoy you talking about my dic, though."

"You totally are," he says between kisses. He gets one more, then rests his head against Jack's shoulder. "I'll write an ode to it."

That makes Jack laugh, a snort of amusement. He rests one hand on Poison's chest.

"Well, if you like it that much..."

"You are so not suggesting more sex right now, Jack Vincent." Poison laughs and shakes his head.

"Christ, no," says Jack, shaking his head. "Just not arguing with the idea of an ode." He smirks.

"Just checking. Because... yeah. I cannot keep up with a teenage libido anymore."

"Maybe you need a boyfriend your own age." He has this momentary flash of panic - has he actually used that word before? Is that what he is?

Poison rolls his eyes and swats at Jack's other shoulder. "I'm sure one my own age wouldn't make a difference."

"Yeah, but then you could recoop together," he teases, dropping a kiss into Poison's hair. "Watch TV or something."

"Oh you mean like we do already?" He nudges back against Jack.

"Yeah, but for longer, obviously. While you recoop. Before you're old." He grins. "Cradle-robber."

"Grave-robber," Poison shoots back. And it hits him a little harder than he meant for it to, because... Jack found him in a body bag.

His shoulders stiffen - he feels it happen, and then he realises that they're pressed together and Poison has to have felt it happen.

"Sorry," he mumbles, very aware of Jack's sudden tension. "It was funnier in my head."

"I don't think it had really crossed my mind until you said that right then," he says, quietly, his arms tightening around Poison's waist.

"Sorry. It uhm. Crosses mine now and then." That he's dead back where he comes from. But not here.

"Yeah." He swallows, suddenly aware of raw edges in his throat. "I guess that would...yeah. It'd happen."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sorry I said it." He turns a little to try to see Jack's face.

"You were trying to be funny," says Jack. He shifts so that he can look Poison in the eye. "I just...Can't. Think about it too hard?" His arms tighten.

He nods. "So don't think about it." He leans to kiss Jack's forehead. Just because he gets up in his own head about morbid shit doesn't mean Jack needs to.

"It's stupid, right?" says Jack, and he's suddenly, absurdly close to tears. "When you're right here."

"Is it stupid for me to think about it?" Poison doesn't really have an answer for that one. He touches his forehead to Jack's. "I'm here," he murmurs. "'Cause you rescued me from a seagull."

"Pretty sure you'd have figured out how to rescue yourself if I hadn't been there," says Jack, staying that close, not trying to pull away.

"I don't know about that. I'm pretty sure the zipper was all the way up." He nudges his nose against Jack's. "Hey. Come back out of your head, baby."