angelgazing | everyone can find a song for every time they've lost, and every time they've won

You might enjoy this discussion of stealthy ninja naked hugs (http://musesfool.livejournal.com/1951360.html).

I still want that Sam/Dean story! I swear Laura was supposed to write it for us. Only without the naked or stalking just the stealthy hugging all the time.

Well, maybe her mysterious 35K word opus is 35K words of HUGGING.

OH NO! Darling, that is so dreadful. I found out today that I need a filling (bleugh) BUT THAT CANNOT EVEN COMPARE TO YOUR WOES.

I do not have a story for you. Except Mob!AU I wrote the other day, but it is not particularly happy so I'm not sure that it will help the pain! I hope you feel better, mate! ♥

http://delires.livejournal.com/5382.html

... Okay I am totally made of fail, because I could've sworn I commented on that a couple of days ago? But... apparently I failed to do so? I'M SORRY. I GREATLY ENJOYED IT. ♥♥♥

Thank you for the well wishes, too.

HA! Do not feel sorry. BUT NOW I FEEL THE NEED TO PROVIDE SOMETHING NEW. Okay, I am writing Christmas!fic. This is pulled right out of my rough first draft I have open:

The damage was mostly to the back of the vehicle, but one of the wheels was practically hanging off. So, while nothing was about to blow up any time soon, there also was not going to be a whole lot of driving occurring.

“Well. That’s that scuppered,” Eames grumbled, climbing back into the car and jerking the door shut behind him.

“No go?”

“No.”

“Want me to have a look?”

“Unless you can use that condescending stare of yours to weld metal, we are not going anywhere, Arthur. I can tell a write-off when I see one.”

Arthur held up placating hands.

“Hey. I’m not the one with a relationship hanging in the balance,” he said, and Eames could sense the implication of superiority in his voice.

In hindsight, it was not something which Eames should ever have agreed to. But he liked Sarah more than most of the people he had been with. She was quiet and calm and felt like someone worth hanging onto. So, when he had been leaving for Russia and Sarah had told him to be back by Christmas Day or she would be unceremoniously throwing him over for that guy from her office, Eames had agreed. At the time, being back in London by Christmas had seemed both reasonable and manageable. At the time, Eames had severely overestimated himself.

Arthur would, his tone implied, never be so foolish as to tie himself into such ridiculous romantic ultimatums.

There was no phone signal and nowhere to go in the middle of a blizzard, so they spent an hour huddled in their parkas, drinking their way through the bottle of vodka which Eames had been taking back to London as a present.

“This is so tragic,” Arthur said. “I am going to die here. On Christmas Eve.” He turned and narrowed his eyes at Eames. “With you.”

Eames shifted a little in his seat, trying to pull his arms closer in to his body.

“Well. You do know what they say is the best way to conserve body heat, don’t you?” he said, and let his smile go a little dirty.

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “We are not doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Because conserving heat doesn’t work like that, which you know. But mostly, it is because I won’t have every Christmas of my life be all about drunk sex,” Arthur said, raising the half-empty vodka bottle to his lips, “Because that is not classy.”

Eames watched Arthur drink and held out a gloved hand for the bottle to be passed back to him.

“Bloody hell. Every Christmas of your life? What kind of childhood did you have?”

“Not my childhood Christmases, obviously,” Arthur said, thrusting the bottle back at Eames heavily. “Goddamnit. Eames, why do you always trap me into saying such ridiculous shit?”

Eames grinned.

“I don’t trap you. You say it on your own,” he said.

“No, I-”

“Because you are ridiculous.”

“Look,” Arthur said, leaning across the gearstick to point a finger right between Eames’s eyes.

“What?”

“Look, you had better hope that I didn’t actually have some completely fucked up abusive childhood now, because if I did, actually-”

“Actually?”

“Then you would actually just have been incredibly insensitive in making light of it all.”

“I’m sorry, love. Did you have an abusive childhood?”

“No.”

“Alright. So these bizarre sexual hang ups of yours come from somewhere else entirely, do they?”

“They can only come from you.”

“My mission is complete, then.”

Arthur dragged both hands over his face.

“Oh God,” he moaned, “I am so drunk.”

Eames stared out of the window, past the little shelf of snow which had built up around the edge. Outside, the snow was falling more lightly now. The flakes were smaller.

“You aren’t supposed to drink when you’re in danger of developing hypothermia, are you?” he said. Arthur separated his fingers enough to peer between them.

“No. We shouldn’t have done that.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to drive us to the airport.”

“No. You definitely shouldn’t have done that either.”

LKDJFLKAJFDKJFDAJKFHDKAFA OH MY GODDDD CUDDLING-FOR-WARMTH-TO-SURVIVE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES EVER.

<33333333333333333333

*CLINGS*

~~

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t the first one to realize something’s very wrong.

“Arthur, are you sure you’re all right?” Yusuf asks with concern.

He makes a sleepy, vague wave of his hand. The drug must still be mildly in effect, because it takes him a moment to blink the haze from his eyes. Arthur sits up a bit in his chair, rubs a hand over his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, and then two things occur to Arthur almost simultaneously.

One, that is not his voice at all, and two, Yusuf is not actually speaking to him.

Instead, Yusuf is standing across from Arthur near a chair that holds Arthur’s body. A body that is snuffling sleepily and mumbling words in Arthur’s voice.

“What that actual fuck,” Arthur says, and suddenly both Yusuf and the alien Arthur body look at him with wide, surprised eyes.

And then a slow, amused smile spreads across the alien Arthur’s face. In his own voice, Arthur hears, “Oh well, this is a fascinating turn of events, Yusuf, well done.”

Yusuf opens and closes his mouth without saying a word.

Arthur swears a blue streak, all in a British accent that is decidedly not his.

~

Yusuf can’t explain what happened at all. He says something about the strength of the new compound, how he obviously has a few equations that need tweaking.

“Tweaking?!” Arthur regrets ever agreeing to let Yusuf treat him like a guinea pig. He regrets it a lot. Not to mention his indignation just doesn’t sound the same when it’s all refined-sounding and...well, English.

“I know, I know.” Yusuf holds up his hands. “I sincerely apologize, Arthur, but I do not think these side effects will last long?” He ends it in a question, which doesn’t help the situation whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Arthur’s real body has been hijacked by a cretin who seems to be utterly gleeful over being in Arthur’s skin. Eames keeps grinning at himself in the vanity mirror, making faces that Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever made in his life.

“You have a very lovely complexion, Arthur, have I ever told you that?” He pokes at Arthur’s cheeks, scrinches his nose up at his reflection.

It is possibly the most bizarre and infuriating thing Arthur has ever seen in his life.

“Please don’t,” Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hands feel too broad, and when he crosses his arms over his chest, his blazer pulls in uncomfortable ways.

Christ, he can’t stop to think about the polyester that’s touching his skin right now or he really will lose his shit completely.

“Look, give me a few days to get the formula correct, and I’m sure we can fix this.” Yusuf clasps his hands in front of him, giving Arthur a hopeful (anxious?) smile. “I am sure Cobb will understand--”

“God, do the others have to know?” He can already see the smirk Cobb will undoubtedly try to hide, and Ariadne will have a field day, knowing Eames is running around in Arthur’s favorite grey Burberry suit.

“I’m fairly certain they’ll figure it out on their own whether we let on about it or not, love,” Eames says. He has yet to stop pulling faces. Arthur kind of really wants to kill him, yet he doesn’t want to ruin his own body.

He sighs, and the sound is more pouty-sounding than he’d like. Eames always does sound slightly petulant when he sighs. “Fine. I’m going home.”

“That’s all fine and good, but you know your clothes won’t fit me.” There’s almost a sing-song, giddy quality to his voice--Arthur’s voice. He looks over his shoulder at Arthur and smirks.

Arthur can’t help thinking he looks like a dick when he smirks like that. “Are you--are you suggesting we--that I go stay at your place?”

Eames shrugs. “Not necessarily, although I know you cannot fathom the thought of wearing the same clothes two days in a row.” He gives him a wicked grin. “We could perhaps compromise and have a sleepover?”

He looks impish. Arthur doesn’t do impish. Ever. “No. Just give me your keys.”

“They’re in your right trouser pocket.”

Arthur flushes. “Right. Whatever.” He jerks his head. “Mine are--”

“In your breast pocket, yes, I’m aware. Believe me, you are nothing if not predictable.”

The last thing Arthur hears as he storms out of the warehouse is Yusuf calling, “I shall keep you posted on my progress!”

~

OH MY GOD BODYSWAP! WHY WOULD YOU TEASE ME LIKE THAT? WHY WHY WHY?.

IT'S NOT TEASING IF I DON'T ACTUALLY FINISH?? /o\

THAT IS EXACTLY WHY IT'S TEASING, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

ASFK;SDKF;SD

AND THEN ARTHUR BEATS OFF IN EAMES' BODY AND REALIZES HE'S IN LOVE WITH HIM AND YUSUF SWITCHES THEM BACK AND THERE IS LOTS OF FILTHY SEX.

THE END

\o/?

LAKJFDLAKJFDDEFJADLFKCZD

YOU KNOW WHAT? ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

Arthur makes him feel positively Victorian.

"You make me feel positively Victorian," Eames says, breathing out harshly through his nose.

Arthur looks doubtful, looks fucking perfect, still all done up to the nines from a night spent doing research the old fashioned way. His bowtie hasn't even been loosened, though his stance has. He relaxes back into a rickety office chair in a shade of green closer to sick than olive, legs spread wide, feet firmly planted, hands resting on his own thighs, his eyebrows cocked up challengingly. He's too well tailored to even give Eames a flash of ankle.

The things Eames wants to do to him are just too vast to be documented.

His fingers are long, and elegant, and not just a little bit deadly, and they tap against his inseam like he has no idea—none at all, and isn't that just a kick—even though Eames has told him and told him again.

"Arthur," he says, and gets the immediate and bored response of, "Eames."

"What would you do if I just dropped to my knees right now?" Eames asks, because the wine had been flowing, free and indescribably rich, the way Eames is almost certain it would feel if he could just follow through. The way he's almost certain he would feel, if Arthur would be so kind as to roll up his sleeves, wrap a fist tight in Eames' collar, and hold on and try to enjoy the ride.

Arthur laughs, low and nearly humorless and entirely too sober. "And why would you do that?"

"I would've thought that to be fairly obvious," Eames answers, honest because it's the truth as he knows it. They're in a fully-furnished rent-by-the-week vacation home that is serving as the current base of operations while the Cobbs are slowly losing their minds back in Los Angeles. They haven't slept—with or without the PASIV—in more days than Eames cares to properly consider. He says, "Because you look so very inviting," because it's the furthest thing from the truth that he knows.

"Eames," Arthur says, and lets Eames hear every single one of the hours he hasn't slept. All the rest he hasn't gotten and the meals he's skipped. It doesn't make Eames want him any less, but he's beginning to think that at this point there's nothing that could. And there are a lot of things Eames expects to hear, a hundred recycled brush-offs, a thousand insults, a roll of Arthur's eyes so pointed it might as well be audible.

What he does not expect, what he could never have predicted, would be Arthur palm turning up, his fingers beckoning.

Eames falls to his knees gracelessly, quickly. Right between the spread of Arthur's thighs. He wants a cigarette, already. He wants to suck on something hot with the potential to kill him. He doesn't lean forward, doesn't dare, just presses his thumb into the inside of Arthur's knee, and drops his mouth open all obligingly when Arthur touches his index finger to Eames' wet bottom lip.

ASDK;SF;DSKFDGKD;

WHAT IS THIS AND WHERE CAN I GET MORE OF IT

AHAHAHA THIS IS ~~PART~~ MOST OF THE FIRST PART OF 5 THINGS STORY ABOUT ALL THE PLACES ON ARTHUR THAT EAMES MOST LIKES TO KISS. UM.

IT WILL GET FINISHED EVENTUALLY? LOLOL

YOU BETTER FINISH.

AHAHA SPEAKING OF...

It’s not strictly necessary, but Eames goes to work with Arthur the next morning. Well, after he stops at the nearby Starbucks. Mount Olympus never has any decent latte shops, it’s quite tragic.

“Would you stop?” Arthur hisses when he spots Eames behind him in line. “Don’t you think this is a little creepy?”

“Not at all, we gods love our espresso just like the rest of mankind.”

“I meant the constant stalking. Someone will notice.”

“Ah, but you see, love, I’m only visible to those I want to see me. Once this nice barista makes my nonfat soy caramel macchiato, I’ll be non-existent once more. To everyone but you, that is.”

Arthur purses his lips, then taps the man in front of him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but do you see the guy behind me in the purple shirt?” he asks.

The man narrows his eyes, looks around behind Arthur, and replies, “I don’t see any dude in a purple shirt. This some kind of joke?”

Eames smirks. Arthur shoots him a look and says, “Fine.”

~

“So who’s the person meant to be my destiny?” Arthur asks later.

Eames is sprawled in a rather uncomfortable chair in the corner of Arthur’s cramped office. “I really can’t tell you, it would ruin the entire process.”

“Why, because I’d resist?”

“Possibly. Also, you can’t be looking for the person you’re meant to love the rest of your life, it doesn’t work that way.”

Arthur crosses his legs primly, spinning a pencil in his right hand. It’s not even noon, and yet he’s shed his charcoal grey suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his navy blue shirt to his elbows, tie loosened slightly at his throat. Even so, he somehow looks immaculate. “Okay, then tell me how it does work.”

Eames stretches his arms behind his head and fakes a yawn. “Now where’s the fun in that? Divulging all my trade secrets and whatnot.”

“Don’t be an ass, just tell me.”

“I already told you why I can’t.”

Arthur sighs. “I have a goddamn love god following me around all day who won’t tell me shit about anything, and I’m just supposed to live with it. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“For your general well-being and for the sake of your love life, yes, that is what I’m saying. More or less.”

“Can I at least ask when it is I’m supposedly going to meet my destiny?”

Eames never tells the assignments the exact time and location they’ll fall in love, but he finds himself making an exception for Arthur. “At the end of the week,” he replies. “But that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Arthur rubs at his chin in thought for a moment. “Five days,” he mutters to himself. “Apparently my life’s supposed to change in five days...”

Eames gets up from his horrid chair and leans over Arthur’s shoulder, fiddling with the computer mouse. “Since you’re not busy with this, do you happen to have Bejewelled on here anywhere?”

When Arthur sighs again, Eames can feel it against his neck. “Isn’t this against your god rules or something, meddling with people’s lives like this?”

“Arthur, what do you call making people fall in love? I’m allowed to hijack your computer on occasion if I so feel like it.”

“Awesome,” Arthur groans, dropping his head back against his chair.

~

The process is actually quite simple, really: Eames observes for a few days, sets the timing just right, and then sets the pieces in motion. He sometimes likens himself to an experienced chess player setting up his board for the perfect moves.

Only, there’s nothing in it for him to win, so to speak, except a job well-done and his good reputation.

It’s always been enough for him. After all, at the end of the day, he’s still a god, and what more could he ask for than that?

~

What he doesn’t tell Arthur is the person he’s meant to fall for is actually his boss.

It’s not the usual destiny path; most love matches happen during serendipity, a chance encounter with a stranger that suddenly feels like it was meant to be. Nine times out of ten, Eames makes sure people fall in love with the person they’d never lay eyes on otherwise without his interference.

Although “interference” is such a nasty word. Eames prefers “light shove in the right direction.”

But in Arthur’s case, he’s known his boss for years. He met Dominic Cobb as a fresh-faced college graduate willing to work his way to the top, and Cobb had obliged him, making Arthur an intern until he proved himself. After six months, Arthur was on the payroll and a full-fledged architect at twenty-three.

For the last six years, there’s been nothing but admiration and respect between Cobb and Arthur, with the occasional late-night fantasy on Arthur’s part. Cobb’s wife left him a few years ago, but he recently started dating again. Every so often, he and Arthur will grab drinks during happy hour after work at the bar down the street.

And on Saturday, the two of them are going to--quite literally--collide with one another whilst Arthur is on one of his long weekend runs and Cobb is out biking. He’ll nearly run Arthur over, knocking him off his feet, and will be contrite enough to offer to buy Arthur lunch.

The rest is destiny. Well, and Eames’ help, of course.

Sure, it sounds like something out of a romantic comedy, but all of Eames’ matches have the same breathless haze of romance. He’s witnessed too many first blushes and coy smiles to really think twice about them. There’s nothing special about it, nothing really unique about the process of love. In the end, everyone falls the same.

~

“Where are you going?”

Eames pauses with his hand on the door knob of Arthur’s office door and raises an eyebrow. “Thought I’d call it a day. I do tend to keep my own hours, although this nine to five business has it’s charms.”

“So you just...vanish into thin air?” Arthur waves his hand around vaguely, looking slightly embarrassed to even be suggesting such a thing.

It’s rather adorable.

“No, my dear, I’m in human form right now. The whole ‘vanishing’ thing doesn’t come until after I’ve completed my work. ”

Arthur frowns at that, mouth twisting to one side as a physical display of his brain attempting to wrap around the concept of a god running about in as an average mortal. “But the invisibility--”

“I never said I was invisible, only that I allow people to see me when I want them to see me. There’s quite a bit of difference.”

“So you’re just gonna go...wherever it is you go and plan out how to continue to reek havoc on my love life?”

“If by that you mean toddle on home to the lovely rented flat just down the street and perhaps watch a few hours of ‘Dancing With the Stars’--amazing show, by the way, brilliant--then I suppose so, yes. Although I fail to see how that equals havoc reeking.”

Arthur points a finger at him, eyes narrowed. “You say that, but I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re not going to just go into stealth mode again and follow me home?”

Eames gives him his best lascivious smile. “Are you insinuating that you’d like for me to follow you home?”

“No, don’t do that, don’t--” Arthur huffs and stands up abruptly from his desk chair, grabbing his leather messenger bag. “I want to keep an eye on you. You’re going to the bar with me.”

“Why, Arthur, all you had to say was--”

“I’m meeting Cobb, my boss. There’s a new project idea I’d like to pitch to him. And you’re going to sit and be quiet and not meddle with people’s heads, got it?”

“Absolutely.” His grin turns innocent. Eames could not have planned this more perfectly if he tried.

OH MY GODDD OH MY GOD I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE REST OF THIS. &hearts____________♥

THIS IS THE START OF WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE ABOUT ARTHUR AND EAMES RIDING A FERRIS WHEEL:

"Steady on," Eames murmurs against his ear as danger looms large and impossible above them. Ignoring even the barest hints of propriety and their current predicament, Eames pats him on the ass like that is some kind of comfort.

Arthur, standing in the shadow of what was sure to be his demise, shivers just slightly, even though his sleeves are rolled up as a concession to the midmorning sun pounding heavily down upon them. "This is the worst idea ever," Arthur says with all the conviction of a television preacher, just as Eames snaps his forty-second photograph of the day with his camera phone. "This won't end well." And the worst part is that he doesn't even mean for Eames' BlackBerry.

"Come now, Arthur, I never took you for a coward." Eames laughs, tucks his chin into Arthur's shoulder and reaches out to take a photo of them both, his hand pressing against Arthur's temple to tilt their heads together.

Ariadne bumps into Eames, and knocks them even closer together with the single most insincere oops that Arthur has heard since he was in high school.

Arthur really wishes he was armed. She's off before he can even threaten her properly, nearly tackling Yusuf from behind. Yusuf laughs when she steals a piece of his cotton candy.

"We have got to stop indulging her," Arthur says, because someone has to be the responsible one and it's clearly not going to be anyone else. Yusuf offers her another bite, and Eames hooks his thumbs into Arthur's front pockets. "Look she's already getting used to it. We've spoiled her, Eames."

"I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this." Eames sighs. It's hot against the already sweat-damp skin of Arthur's neck. "If you play nice today, Arthur, we'll find the house of mirrors, and lock everyone else out for at least twenty minutes. I will give you the head of your dreams, I swear it."

"We aren't dreaming, asshole," Arthur says. He elbows him, but it's lacking most of its usual fervor. He eyes the rest of the fair warily, and tries to be rational about the pros and cons. It's admittedly difficult to be rational about Eames' mouth though. The entire place is one gigantic crowd, and already they've lost the rest of their team. Arthur puts his chances of survival without committing homicide in the single digits. "Fine," he says, finally. "Fine, but I am only in this for the blowjob."

"Of course, of course," Eames soothes, and takes another picture with their cheeks smushed together. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the clowns."

"Oh, fuck you--" Arthur starts, just as a class of third graders in matching red t-shirts walk by them, with a teacher who could probably get a better paying gig as the definition of scandalized.

He can barely hear Eames laughing over the screaming children, and the carnival rides. There are half a dozen vans and booths just in his line of sight that are all advertising a different deep-fried snack food. The last kid in line, licking powdered sugar off the fingers of one hand, tries to lift Eames' wallet, while talking too loudly to his line-buddy about how he can totally beat the duck shooter game, douchebag, he practiced with Grand Theft Auto.

The teacher doesn't even look back when the kid shouts in protest when Eames grabs his arm before he can even get a hand near Eames' pocket. The line-buddy scrambles on with wide eyes.

Arthur despairs of the future of humanity.

Edited 2010-11-02 05:42 (UTC)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH FERRIS WHEEL! AT A FAIR!!!!!! *_____________*

THIS VIDEO ON FACEBOOK. IT MAKES MY MILLENIA.

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=474233261135

I'm sorry to hear about your teeth. :(

Awww it doesn't let me view it because I am the only person left in the free world without a facebook account. :(

Thanks for the sympathy! ♥

I just wrote a new fic (http://jibrailis.livejournal.com/55736.html), and it is utter crack. Hopefully it is distracting!

ahhh, shameless self-pimping.

That's awful about your teeth. :((((((

AND IT IS AMAZING, YOU MEAN, AMAZING. YOU HAVE A TYPO THERE.

Sooo perfectly distracting. ♥♥♥

Ugh, teeth. :((( I wish they were made like this (http://www.unionversity.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Picture-3.png) so that fixing them would be easy...

OKAY! SHINY THINGS!

aya_no_hako's new comic (http://aya-no-hako.livejournal.com/3030.html)! I turn into a blabbering mess everytime she posts something, like this ---> <333ASDFGHJKLKJHGF*____*omgomgomg\o/!!!1!

INCEPTION FONT (http://www.brucelovesyou.com/font/inception.html)!!! Did I tell you I love fonts? I DO!

I don't remember if I showed you the last Glee Fairytale pic, but it is here (http://pics.livejournal.com/aredblush/pic/00010h40)

Mini pic-spam of adorable animals!

Hedgehog!

Happy Giraffes \o/

Tiny skunk :)

Sleepy sloth (sloths are the best animals ever okay?)

Feel better soon!

OMG SLOTH

Sorry, I love sloths, they are so adorable and weird. ;______;

SLOTHS ARE THE BESTEST EVERRRRR I DON'T KNOW WHY PEOPLE SAY THEY ARE NOT ADORABLE :((( I MEAN, LOOK AT THIS FACE!

THEY LOOK LIKE MUPPETS. HOW CAN PEOPLE NOT LIKE MUPPETS?? ;___;

I DON'T KNOW D: PEOPLE ARE CRAZY DDD:

DID YOU KNOW THERE'S A TUMBLR ALL ABOUT SLOTHS (http://wealllovesloths.tumblr.com)?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE MADE MY DAY.

OMG THE MACRO ABOUT MAIL ORDER BRIDES

GLAD I COULD BE OF SERVICE :DDD

SLOTH MACROS ARE THE BESTEST. TRUFAX (http://community2.metalreview.com/cfs-filesystemfile.ashx/__key/CommunityServer.Components.ImageFileViewer/CommunityServer.Blogs.Components.WeblogFiles.editorials/FYSloth.bmp_2D00_550x0.jpg)!

DFLKJDFKDGKALKSDJLASKDJA OH MY GOD THANK YOU I LOVE YOU. ♥♥♥

Awww. I recently had all four wisdom teeth pulled because they were impacted. Plus I had a tooth that was in serious need of a root canal (I told them to go fuck themselves and pull the thing so I could get a bridge put in). *snuggles*

Okay, so I'm going to put up part of a fic I scrapped because I think I was high when I wrote it. Kurt wears tinted moisturizer at one point and I'm not one of those people who's all "Kurt wears makeup." Plus I wrote it way before season 2 started. Waaaaaay before. It's kind of useless now. Here's the ending. It's fluffy. Fluff is good for the soul (and the teeth). Er, they're on the phone.

----

“I kissed Matt,” Puck blurted out.

“What?”

Puck smacked himself on the forehead. “Yeah. We kind of had a threesome with April in the showers and—“

“I don’t need to know this.”

“Yeah. You do. Shut up and listen for, like, five seconds.”

“Really? I’m hanging up.”

Puck shot up. “No, no, no! Wait. Sorry. Can you just hear me out? There’s a point, I swear. Please?”

Kurt sighed again. “Fine. Continue.”

“Anyways, she was pressed up between us and we were both in—“

“I get the idea. Move along.”

Puck stood and started pacing his room. “He grabbed my ass for, like, leverage or some shit, and then we ended up making out until we finished a few minutes later. We swore never to talk about it, so don’t say anything to anyone, and…yeah. You were better than he was. I think it’s because you actually wanted to kiss me. I think I actually kissed him first and he just sort of went with it.”

There was silence on the other line and Puck checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Kurt?” he said. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Kurt said. “So…what? You want to make out with me or something?”

“Well, yeah, that’d be cool.”

“I already—“

“And you’re close enough to a Jewish girl that my mom would be cool with it.”

“Excuse me?”

Okay, he was really bad at this. No wonder the closest thing to a serious relationship he’d had was Santana after she’d told him she liked having sex with him the most. They’d still slept with other people.

“I mean because of the whole being gay and the suffering and—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yeah, I saw you spend more money on some stuff for your skin in five minutes than I ever have on anything but a video game console but you’re not a girl. I know you’re not. It’s just…you know why I dated Rachel?”

“Temporary insanity brought on by lead exposure?” Kurt guessed.

Puck frowned and wondered if that was something he should be worrying about because it sounded serious. “What? No. I had this dream about her coming into my room and she was wearing a Star of David necklace and my mom wants me to settle down with some nice Jewish girl and Rachel was a Jewish girl. I know she just puts up with me dating girls like Santana because I’m a teenager and shit but I think she might kind of be okay with you. Maybe. I told her about the shrimp thing and she thought that was cool of you.”

“So, you want to make out with me to make your mom happy?” Kurt asked incredulously.

Puck almost smacked himself on the forehead again, except it wasn’t because of his own stupidity. How did he know these people? “No. I want to date you and I know my mom might actually be cool with it, which is good, because then you can, like, come over and shit.”

“You…want to…”

Puck heard a strange sound that kind of sounded like hyperventilating. “Are you okay?”

“Can I…call you back?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess,” he said and the call disconnected. “What the fuck?”

His mom opened his door. “Dinner’s ready. You okay? You look a little confused.”

“Just…weird phone call,” he said. “So, that guy Kurt? I kind of kissed him when he dropped me off and I think I might be dating him but he started, like, hyperventilating and I don’t know what’s going on.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Run that by me again?”

“He’s into me and…I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “He’s cool and everything. Nice. Sort of spoiled and he spends a ton of money on clothes and stuff, but I kind of…I don’t know.”

“I’m going to get your sister,” she said after a moment of scrutinizing him. “We’ll talk about this after dinner. I swear, I have no idea what to do with you sometimes, Noah.”

His phone rang in his hand and he picked it up. “Hello?”

His mom closed his door and he sat down on his bed.

“Sorry,” Kurt said, clearing his throat softly. “I was, um, freaking out. A little. I may have screamed into a pillow out of joy. Or terror, I’m not sure which.”

“Why am I the only one who’s chill about this? My mom’s acting all weird now.”

“You told your mom?”

Puck frowned. “Duh.”

Kurt chuckled. “Okay, I see what Rachel, Quinn, and Mercedes meant. You’re sort of sweet in a really unintentional way. Just don’t serenade me to impress me, okay? Good hygiene impresses me more, as does punctuality and knowing how to dress yourself. I can handle two out of three, I suppose.”

Puck lay back on his bed and scratched his stomach. “Cool. No offense but I’m never going to wear the kind of shit you wear. Some of it’s really weird and it’s all really expensive. And I’d rather spend sixty bucks on a video game instead of a pair of jeans.”

“Sixty bucks?” Kurt scoffed. “Please, my Eugenia Kim captain’s hat cost more than twice that.”

“You spent more than a hundred and twenty dollars on a fucking hat? Why?” Puck asked incredulously.

“Because it goes with my Just Cavalli washed-out slate vest.”

“…sure. Slate means gray, right?” he asked, tapping out the beat to 'Come On Eileen' on his stomach.

Kurt chuckled. “Yes, Puck, slate means gray.”

“Alright, then.”

“I suppose the kissing can make up for the lack of fashion sense.”

“And the smile,” Puck reminded him with a grin. “Can’t forget the smile.”

“You can be ten minutes late everywhere you go with that smile,” Kurt said, and he sounded half-dreamy and half-teasing. He probably had that look like he was melting into the floor that he used to get whenever Puck would watch him stare at Finn. (Okay, so maybe he’d been predisposed to liking Kurt and hadn’t realized it. He was dealing with important shit at the time, okay?)

Puck bit his lip and smiled. “How about I’m on time everywhere I go and I smile anyways?”

He resisted the urge to look down to make sure he hadn’t grown boobs or started his period because what the fuck?

“I can deal with that,” Kurt said shyly. “Are you busy on Thursday night?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to go out? Dinner and a movie is still the standard, right?”

Puck sat up and poked at a small hole in the knee of his jeans. “I guess. I don’t date much. Just when Santana would tell me to.”

“That’s…sad and pathetic. Breadsticks, then A-Team? My treat.”

Huh. Dating a guy might not be so bad.

“You want to go see A-Team?” Puck asked.

“It’s got something for both of us. It’s an action movie, so you’ll like it, and it’s got hot men who will probably be removing their shirts at one point or another, so it’ll be good for me, too. Plus I used to watch that show with my Dad. It’s kind of awesomely bad. If the movie sucks, we can always sneak into Toy Story 3, and don’t even try pretending you’re too old for Disney movies because then I’ll have to reconsider this whole thing. How’s six sound?”

“Make it six-thirty and I’ll pick you up. I can borrow the car from my mom.”

“Okay. Um, I’ll see you then, I suppose. My dad’s going to talk to Dave when he goes bowling with him on Friday, by the way.”

“Cool. Thanks. See you Thursday.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Puck hung up and smiled at his phone. “Fuck, he’s going to put out in, like, a week. Awesome.”

“Noah! Dinner!” his mom called.

He stood and opened his door. “Coming!” he called back as he walked down the hallway.

Because, really, was the world supposed to have ended or something just because he was going out with a guy?

----

Yeah. IDK. Fluffy. Obvious written awhile ago if A-Team and Toy Story 3 were the movie options. lol

Also, I love Frank Turner. =D "Long Live The Queen" is one of my favorite songs, like, ever.

Also, here's a baby giraffe.

I hope you feel better, bb. ♥

Btw, bags of frozen peas will do wonders for you. Avoid heat because it'll make the blood vessels angry. =)

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OH MY GOD I LOVE THAT. THANK YOOOOU. Fluff is the best medicine. ♥♥♥

Oh, man, I can't even listen to "Long Live the Queen" without tearing up. *sniffles*

Thank you, bb. It really is, I swear. That and Vicodin. ♥♥♥♥♥

Once I actually paid attention to the lyrics, I was like "This song is so beautiful." I think I might've teared up a bit, actually.

everyone can find a song for every time they've lost, and every time they've won

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Part of a story I will never finish?...

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oh look, we've moved on to two-part comments...

...aaaaaand the rest

Re: ...aaaaaand the rest

Re: ...aaaaaand the rest

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