miss maggie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bossymarmalade) wrote2004-04-15 07:10 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote2004-04-15 07:10 pm
those inscrutable americans. what are they up to now?
On my winamp, there is apparently an option to watch internet television. I am now blissfully luxuriating in a steady stream of commercials from the 50's, for Cracker Jack and Maypo and Butter-Nut coffee. But the best one so far has been the Jell-o commercial about a "little Chinese baby" who was served Jell-o, but then couldn't eat it because he couldn't pick it up with his chopsticks -- until his mother gave him "great Western invention", a spoon. All narrated in a "Chinese" accent, which meant a lot of talking about raspbelly and chelly and glape and olange. Oh yes indeed.
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Good thing no-one thinks ludicrous things like that anymore, hey?
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*giggle*
It's like Buckwheat in a headlock
Oh dear. That's just not right. Not right!
Re: It's like Buckwheat in a headlock
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Would that be flesh-coloured for slighty orangey-pink-coloured people, by any chance? I'm white and those things are never my skin tone, so there's not a hope in hell for anyone with any other colour skin...
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The brief was Justin/Justin, and this is totally riffing on your scarily fabulous SpiderJustin story.
This is my lung, here on the floor.
---
Chris has been feeling a little odd for a few days, wandering around his house feeling like something is missing. He checks his pockets for his keys constantly, opens up his office and stares at the gold records there -- Congratulations *NSYN!, and Joey, Justin, Lance and Chris -- Triple Platinum! ,making him feel a little edgy.
He leaves messages on Lance's cell and turns up at Justin's door with a pizza and bottle of vodka. Justin smiles when he opens the door and Chris forgets to ask him if he's feeling okay.
They sit in the living room and pick at the pizza and play cards.
Justin holds the vodka in his left hand, shuffling his cards with his right. Chris leans back a little, trying to see Justin's cards and Justin swings at him. Vodka puddles on the floor as Chris raises his fingers to his forehead and feels blood.
Justin's eyes are wide for a moment before he grins and gets to his feet lightly.
"Here," he says, pressing an old t-shirt to Chris's head. "Try not to bleed on my carpet."
Chris's head throbs and he tests his tongue against his teeth, sure he bit it off. Justin squats down in front of him and pulls back the t-shirt a little to look at the cut. The vodka is spilling out onto the carpet.
Justin is so close Chris can feel his breath on the edges of the cut. It stings a little and he flinches back. Justin reaches out and taps Chris's nose with one long finger. Chris goes cross-eyed.
Justin is almost folded in half, watching Chris. His knees are too long, his finger -- waving in front of Chris's eyes -- is too long. The angles of his face are all wrong.
"That's what happens to cheaters," Justin leans in to whisper in Chris's ear. "You should be careful."
Chris shudders as he feels Justin's tongue in his ear. It flickers and is gone, like it might be burrowing down into Chris, buzzing into him like a lost mosquito. He twitches, paws at his ear, wanting to rip it off and run and wash himself.
Instead he lets Justin push him down to the floor. His eyes slide shut, he feels Justin's eyelashes fluttering against his breast bone, hovering above his madly beating heart like a nest of infant spiders. He opens his mouth to Justin's thumb, bites until he can taste something liquid and oily.
It tastes like raw sewerage pouring down his throat and he suckles greedily. He opens his eyes and sees himself in the reflection from the TV screen. He blinks but the image remains the same; Justin spread-eagled on the floor, and another Justin, crouching over him and feeding delicately from his throat.
Chris closes his eyes again. Justin catches him around the waist and rolls them over and over and Chris finds himself clasped close, swathed in something sticky.
Chris feels his skin start to stretch and yield as Justin wriggles inside him. Justin pushes at him, blunt nudges of nose against neck, elbow against chest. Justin's thigh slips inside his thigh with a little effort and Chris hears Justin grunt, shockingly loud, inside his lungs. He wrestles for a moment, trying to keep his own breath, fighting the rise and fall Justin is setting. His mouth snaps open and he tries to scream, to bite, to claw in air. But Justin's tongue snakes inside his mouth instead and he forgets that he was ever trying to breathe.
****
Justin glares at himself.
"Will you let me talk!" he snaps.
Justin rolls his eyes. "Sorry," he mutters.
****
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Justin is almost folded in half, watching Chris. His knees are too long, his finger -- waving in front of Chris's eyes -- is too long. The angles of his face are all wrong.
"That's what happens to cheaters," Justin leans in to whisper in Chris's ear. "You should be careful."
mmmm. You manage, somehow, to convey the intimacy, the sexiness of this as well as the extreme *wrongness* all at once. I love the next bit about the mosquito, about Chris wanting to run off and wash himself, but he doesn't move, he just stays right there. That says so much about how *caught* he is.
It tastes like raw sewerage pouring down his throat and he suckles greedily
ugh. and *yes*, because Chris can't resist; he's aware of the badness but he needs it anyway. And again, you write it in such an erotic, appealing way that I don't question why Chris would want this; it makes perfect sense to me.
Justin pushes at him, blunt nudges of nose against neck, elbow against chest
This last part is so strange and visceral and brutal, Justin grunting and gasping *inside* Chris, and urk. Gives me the shivers.
The whole thing is full of dread and desire and that's a damn hard balance to keep, but you seem to do it effortlessly and the result is entrancing. Thank you so much for this, honey! It's utterly delicious. In a horrible, terrifying way. *g*
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Hah, I'm so pleased you liked the little story, which, let's be honest here, doesn't even approach your level of sinister sexy creepiness in the spider story.
I pay homage, I can never be.
not at all related but...