Looking Into The Sun, by Salieri (NC17)
Pairing: Billy/Joe
Length: ~2,300 words
Author on LJ: troyswann
Author Website: Outside The Box
Why this must be read: because Salieri is another author who is amazingly talented. She has this sublime way with words, something that moves beyond the mundane telling of a story into art, and beyond.
Joe's leaning against the stage, hands in the pockets of the black coat, a cigarette angled down from his lips, smoke rising in a slow twist in the still air. The club's overheads are on and shine down kind of mercilessly on his shoulders-exposure, exposé-a static glare that kills the shadows and the mystery and leaves the skin looking like bone. The tinsel-flicker is gone too, of wide eyes and teeth bared in the stage lights and the strobe that slices time into paper-thin leaves, captures Joe snarling and then heavy-lidded and sober with no transition between, like stuttering junkie memory, blinks and blanknesses. The light guttered in the eye when Joe's voice dropped to a growl and flared when he raised his head to scream, and all around them on the dance floor the crowd rode the waves of colour, and the striding base, and the rolling chord progressions like one body rising toward climax until the encore slammed them over the edge and they sluiced out the doors and into the parking lot after last call, leaving Joe propped on the mic-stand with his head hanging and his body a steam-engine sucking air and exhaling diminishing gasps of momentum.
Looking Into The Sun
Length: ~2,300 words
Author on LJ: troyswann
Author Website: Outside The Box
Why this must be read: because Salieri is another author who is amazingly talented. She has this sublime way with words, something that moves beyond the mundane telling of a story into art, and beyond.
Joe's leaning against the stage, hands in the pockets of the black coat, a cigarette angled down from his lips, smoke rising in a slow twist in the still air. The club's overheads are on and shine down kind of mercilessly on his shoulders-exposure, exposé-a static glare that kills the shadows and the mystery and leaves the skin looking like bone. The tinsel-flicker is gone too, of wide eyes and teeth bared in the stage lights and the strobe that slices time into paper-thin leaves, captures Joe snarling and then heavy-lidded and sober with no transition between, like stuttering junkie memory, blinks and blanknesses. The light guttered in the eye when Joe's voice dropped to a growl and flared when he raised his head to scream, and all around them on the dance floor the crowd rode the waves of colour, and the striding base, and the rolling chord progressions like one body rising toward climax until the encore slammed them over the edge and they sluiced out the doors and into the parking lot after last call, leaving Joe propped on the mic-stand with his head hanging and his body a steam-engine sucking air and exhaling diminishing gasps of momentum.
Looking Into The Sun