rockabillyboy | (no subject)

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ig,
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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"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."

"I want to go to bed," says Jack, quietly. "You want to come to bed with me?"

Something in his chest aches. He gives Jack a light kiss, then eases out of the tub. "Sure thing, honey. Just gotta text Dee to let her know I'm staying."

"You want me to sort out pajamas for you?" he asks, hauling himself out of the tub and reaching for a towel.

Poison considers, then nods a bit. "Yeah, if you don't mind." Which is maybe weird to say, since Jack has never minded before.

"Why would I mind?" asks Jack, padding back into the bedroom. He knows that Poison doesn't like being naked more than he has to. "Do you mind that I usually end up sleeping naked?"

"Not remotely." He wraps a towel around his waist before following Jack out into the bedroom.

Jack sorts out a pair of pajamas that he knows Poison likes, heathery plaid, and a black t-shirt. He drops them on the bed, towelling himself off before he collapses on of the quilt.