collide like a head-on
Last night I started saying this to starstillwonder, ninjajab, and ficbyzee --
design
by Charli J. Patrick/Frank/Butcher. PG.
100% untrue work of fiction, no harm intended, etc.
"I used to have this friend," Butcher says, and he bites his lip each time he pauses during his sentences, drawing another careful line. "She threw these parties where they didn't, uh. It wasn't really a theme, but she had paints and stuff so people could make pictures on each other. It was kind of cool."
"Oh, yeah?" Frank asks. He shifts his gaze down to Patrick, who's pushed up the ankle of Frank's pant leg. He holds a marker, strangely focused on what he's doing, his glasses gradually slipping down his nose, and when Frank says, "Hey," he's already half-smiling as he lifts his head.
Butcher chuckles, leaning closer to Frank's body. His left hand curves over the side, fingers warm and stretching onto Frank's belly, and Frank can see him squint as he says, "Yeah, and she wanted me to paint this scene on her stomach. When I first started, I only ever painted trees, because that's all I was good at, but hey. That's what she wanted."
"Your trees were just that amazing?" Patrick asks, cutting his eyes sideways, and Butcher pauses, marker steady on Frank's ribs as Patrick's own brushes quietly against the ridge of bone.
Faking mild offense, Butcher says, "Fuck yeah. Forests worth weeping over, that was my specialty. It looked great too until we started making out, and I got it smeared all over our shirts."
Frank laughs. "How'd it -- "
"It wasn't dry," Butcher says. He goes back to drawing carefully on Frank's skin and shakes his head, somewhat modest in the ways he confesses that, "Sometimes -- sometimes you have to sacrifice art in the name of hitting second base A-S-A-P."
"Tell me about it," Patrick says, muttering as he concentrates on Frank's ankle, and Frank wonders if maybe Patrick's the kind of guy who's written songs named for a girl after all. He intends to find out, opens his mouth to speak, but he somehow ends up instead asking, "Man, what are you doing down there?"
Patrick puts a finger to his lips. "Shh. Masterpiece in progress."
Butcher laughs. It's really more like two short hums, and his shoulders move with the sounds. He's a cool guy. Frank hadn't had much chance to get to know him during the couple weeks his band played Warped, but Frank can easily tell why Patrick likes him now. He has an enthusiasm about him that even manages to seep into these calm moments, funny and laid-back. Frank likes that about him, and he knows Patrick enjoys that in Butcher, closing his eyes and imagining the details of whatever tour "thing" Patrick once said they had had, and Frank is definitely alright with the way it looks in his mind.
Some tapping against his ankle gets his attention again, and Patrick watches him when he opens his eyes gain, expression pleasant. "Falling asleep?"
Frank shakes his head. "More like making wishes. You finished already?"
"Greatness," Patrick explains, flicking the marker against Frank's shin now, "doesn't always take a lifetime."
"What is it?" Frank asks, laughing softly.
Patrick looks down, and Frank tries to lift his head and see anything at all without messing up Butcher's own steady work. Patrick says, "A unicorn? Kind of. If you stand back. And squint. And lie to yourself."
"Oh, is that all it takes?"
"It's kind of an abstract interpretation," Patrick says.
"Okay, almost done," Butcher announces. He holds the tip of his tongue between his teeth and scribbles extra color, which Frank assumes is where the shading might be. He bends close to blow on Frank's skin gently, and then sits back, pleased. "Voila!"
Patrick crawls around to settle next to Butcher on the bed, and Frank asks, "So?" as Patrick tilts his head to the side and surveys the finished product.
"I like it."
Frank sits up and gets on his knees. He raises his arm and turns do that he can see it in the mirror across from the bed, pressing carefully around the edges to make sure the ink isn't somehow still too fresh. He doesn't want to smear it.
"I can fix it too, if there's anything you want to change," Butcher says. When Frank looks to him, he's got an arm resting on Patrick's shoulder.
Frank turns to the mirror again, and he says, "Nah, this is good. I think it's awesome."
"Are you getting it done?" Patrick asks moving closer to Frank now. He strokes his fingers over the temporary picture there.
"Yeah, I think -- the spot's good, right?"
"I think," Patrick says and he bumps his fingers lower, skidding over the top of Frank's jeans. "You might even consider getting that ankle done, too."
Frank laughs, and he turns so that their knees touch. Frank pushes off his heels and darts forward to kiss Patrick, tasting the curve of his smile. Patrick's fingers fit loosely around Frank's elbow, keeping him close as his mouth parts, and Frank's thrilled that Patrick never lets him down when it counts, humming appreciatively. He likes that there are already details like this that he knows about Patrick, could name them confidently even as he's steadily learning what else gets under Patrick's skin. Nearby, Butcher clears his throat, and it doesn't seem particularly pointed, but Frank pulls back, licking his lips.
"Sorry," he says to Butcher, Patrick smothering his sudden amusement in Frank's bare shoulder. The warm press to Frank's skin feels soft and damp. "Thanks, man. You convinced me, I want this tattoo now."
"Yeah, sure, dude," Butcher says, and Frank doesn't miss the way his attention wavers momentarily. Patrick lifts his head, wipes his mouth, and Frank catches Butcher looking.
"You're good," Frank says, and then to Patrick. "You were right."
Patrick says, "Told you," and looks to Butcher himself now. "Thanks."
"Any time," Butcher says, voice lower, closer to a whisper, and as Patrick reaches out to touch Butcher's shoulder, emphasizing his gratitude, Frank hopes Butcher's just as good at picking up cues as he is with colors.
He edges closer though, Patrick guiding him, and he doesn't take the opportunity when Patrick says, "Hey, you can tell me no," and leans in slowly. Against Frank's side, Patrick's hand flexes, and the combined punch of that and watching Butcher give in to Patrick's mouth sparks something hot inside Frank's chest, along his spine.
This could work.
design
by Charli J. Patrick/Frank/Butcher. PG.
100% untrue work of fiction, no harm intended, etc.
"I used to have this friend," Butcher says, and he bites his lip each time he pauses during his sentences, drawing another careful line. "She threw these parties where they didn't, uh. It wasn't really a theme, but she had paints and stuff so people could make pictures on each other. It was kind of cool."
"Oh, yeah?" Frank asks. He shifts his gaze down to Patrick, who's pushed up the ankle of Frank's pant leg. He holds a marker, strangely focused on what he's doing, his glasses gradually slipping down his nose, and when Frank says, "Hey," he's already half-smiling as he lifts his head.
Butcher chuckles, leaning closer to Frank's body. His left hand curves over the side, fingers warm and stretching onto Frank's belly, and Frank can see him squint as he says, "Yeah, and she wanted me to paint this scene on her stomach. When I first started, I only ever painted trees, because that's all I was good at, but hey. That's what she wanted."
"Your trees were just that amazing?" Patrick asks, cutting his eyes sideways, and Butcher pauses, marker steady on Frank's ribs as Patrick's own brushes quietly against the ridge of bone.
Faking mild offense, Butcher says, "Fuck yeah. Forests worth weeping over, that was my specialty. It looked great too until we started making out, and I got it smeared all over our shirts."
Frank laughs. "How'd it -- "
"It wasn't dry," Butcher says. He goes back to drawing carefully on Frank's skin and shakes his head, somewhat modest in the ways he confesses that, "Sometimes -- sometimes you have to sacrifice art in the name of hitting second base A-S-A-P."
"Tell me about it," Patrick says, muttering as he concentrates on Frank's ankle, and Frank wonders if maybe Patrick's the kind of guy who's written songs named for a girl after all. He intends to find out, opens his mouth to speak, but he somehow ends up instead asking, "Man, what are you doing down there?"
Patrick puts a finger to his lips. "Shh. Masterpiece in progress."
Butcher laughs. It's really more like two short hums, and his shoulders move with the sounds. He's a cool guy. Frank hadn't had much chance to get to know him during the couple weeks his band played Warped, but Frank can easily tell why Patrick likes him now. He has an enthusiasm about him that even manages to seep into these calm moments, funny and laid-back. Frank likes that about him, and he knows Patrick enjoys that in Butcher, closing his eyes and imagining the details of whatever tour "thing" Patrick once said they had had, and Frank is definitely alright with the way it looks in his mind.
Some tapping against his ankle gets his attention again, and Patrick watches him when he opens his eyes gain, expression pleasant. "Falling asleep?"
Frank shakes his head. "More like making wishes. You finished already?"
"Greatness," Patrick explains, flicking the marker against Frank's shin now, "doesn't always take a lifetime."
"What is it?" Frank asks, laughing softly.
Patrick looks down, and Frank tries to lift his head and see anything at all without messing up Butcher's own steady work. Patrick says, "A unicorn? Kind of. If you stand back. And squint. And lie to yourself."
"Oh, is that all it takes?"
"It's kind of an abstract interpretation," Patrick says.
"Okay, almost done," Butcher announces. He holds the tip of his tongue between his teeth and scribbles extra color, which Frank assumes is where the shading might be. He bends close to blow on Frank's skin gently, and then sits back, pleased. "Voila!"
Patrick crawls around to settle next to Butcher on the bed, and Frank asks, "So?" as Patrick tilts his head to the side and surveys the finished product.
"I like it."
Frank sits up and gets on his knees. He raises his arm and turns do that he can see it in the mirror across from the bed, pressing carefully around the edges to make sure the ink isn't somehow still too fresh. He doesn't want to smear it.
"I can fix it too, if there's anything you want to change," Butcher says. When Frank looks to him, he's got an arm resting on Patrick's shoulder.
Frank turns to the mirror again, and he says, "Nah, this is good. I think it's awesome."
"Are you getting it done?" Patrick asks moving closer to Frank now. He strokes his fingers over the temporary picture there.
"Yeah, I think -- the spot's good, right?"
"I think," Patrick says and he bumps his fingers lower, skidding over the top of Frank's jeans. "You might even consider getting that ankle done, too."
Frank laughs, and he turns so that their knees touch. Frank pushes off his heels and darts forward to kiss Patrick, tasting the curve of his smile. Patrick's fingers fit loosely around Frank's elbow, keeping him close as his mouth parts, and Frank's thrilled that Patrick never lets him down when it counts, humming appreciatively. He likes that there are already details like this that he knows about Patrick, could name them confidently even as he's steadily learning what else gets under Patrick's skin. Nearby, Butcher clears his throat, and it doesn't seem particularly pointed, but Frank pulls back, licking his lips.
"Sorry," he says to Butcher, Patrick smothering his sudden amusement in Frank's bare shoulder. The warm press to Frank's skin feels soft and damp. "Thanks, man. You convinced me, I want this tattoo now."
"Yeah, sure, dude," Butcher says, and Frank doesn't miss the way his attention wavers momentarily. Patrick lifts his head, wipes his mouth, and Frank catches Butcher looking.
"You're good," Frank says, and then to Patrick. "You were right."
Patrick says, "Told you," and looks to Butcher himself now. "Thanks."
"Any time," Butcher says, voice lower, closer to a whisper, and as Patrick reaches out to touch Butcher's shoulder, emphasizing his gratitude, Frank hopes Butcher's just as good at picking up cues as he is with colors.
He edges closer though, Patrick guiding him, and he doesn't take the opportunity when Patrick says, "Hey, you can tell me no," and leans in slowly. Against Frank's side, Patrick's hand flexes, and the combined punch of that and watching Butcher give in to Patrick's mouth sparks something hot inside Frank's chest, along his spine.
This could work.