(c) Couch Confessions (PG-13)
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Couch Confessions (PG-13)
by rock and/or roll Thu 28 May 2009, 10:20 am
Title: Couch Confessions.
Author: Me (Smashed Pumpkin)
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Mindless Self Indulgence (mentioned Gerard/Lyn-Z)
Type: One-shot
Rating: PG-13 for sexual references, swearing and drug references.
Summary: Frank and Lindsey talk about Gerard.
Based on/inspired by this deleted scene from Knocked Up.
Couch Confessions.
Lindsey knew Frank as the stoner friend. He and pot went together like Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo walked around barefoot in nothing but jeans stained with the years, and if Juliet was his chill-out fix.
She was one tough bitch to shake.
But there were those rare occasions when his mind cleared, and Lindsey could see the connection between his brain and mouth, not to mention have a conversation that didn’t consist of uncomfortably comfortable silences and glazed and red-rimmed eyes. The room would smell almost normal and she wouldn’t have to soak the aging couch in Dettol before sitting down to whatever Frank was watching.
It looked like a sex scene, an explicit, possibly illicit sex scene. She bent her neck at a few unnatural angles, a hand flattened carefully over her bulging stomach, before asking. The morning breath and alcohol tongue-riddled reply of “Gay porn,” prompted her to raise a curious eyebrow.
Yes, yes, the smaller one just had a delicate bone structure now she looked. But still –
“Can I ask why?”
“Sure you can ask,” he sniffed, masking a tipsy chuckle that tasted like mould, and his eyes never left the screen. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer, but you never know.”
“Why then?” and her eyes rolled like the girlish hips rotating in front of them. Sometimes she had to wonder whether she preferred baked Frank to cryptic Frank.
His intoxicated hand flailed out beside him, forcing a barely cold Jack Daniels to his lips before replying with, “Straight porn’s too fake.”
“And gay porn isn’t?” Lindsey quirked an eyebrow. Only Frank could delve into a philosophical discussion about pornography, and her better judgement was telling her that he’d have a ready-made answer, no matter how half-awake and half-alive he seemed sometimes – most of the time. Casual working hours and mooching accommodation off well-meaning friends gave endless hours to ponder the stupidest trivialities of life.
“No, but I’ve never had sex with a guy, so I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like...meaning that I’m able to suspend my disbelief just like when I watch a movie.”
It sounded like a quote regurgitated from high-school drama, but she went with a simple, “You’re weird,” instead of getting onto acting techniques and Naturalism.
“I am, but I’ve come to terms with it.”
Because he was and he had. Even if he ditched his Juliet, and covered every inked patch of skin with band logos and the faces of musicians long dead, he’d still be one odd little fucker, dreadlocks and all. He tucked a piece of it behind his ear with buzzing fingers, and Lindsey wondered how a known arachnophobic could do that to their hair – but she guessed the pot helped.
“Are you going to marry Gerard?”
Her lips split apart in surprise.
He actually looked at her, strangely focused eyes inquiring.
“Don’t know.” Fingertips found a mouse-like hole in the couch cover, picking as she shrugged aimlessly – or tried to at least. “We haven’t talked about it all that much – a little bit, but not seriously... he always says stupid shit like...we’ll elope to Vegas and get married in matching Cowboy hats or something tacky like that.”
Candy strawberry turned bitter as she sucked lips against teeth, waiting for Frank to barge into her life and her future with his opinion – because he had an opinion on everything. But his mouth was preoccupied with the alcohol filling it and sloshing like dirty rainwater down his throat, and she had to ask; tentative nerves, unsure eyes and all.
“Do you think I should?”
“No.” And that was it. His eyes were back on whatever poorly-scripted male fantasy was defiling Gerard’s television, but Lindsey was lost inside her own head.
“Why not?”
“Look...Gerard’s a good guy...a bit of a slacker sometimes and his clothes usually smell like he washes them in tequila, but he’s a good guy regardless.” Frank’s sigh came out like a smoker’s cough, and he reluctantly jabbed at the ‘mute’ button. All attention was on her as the television’s occupants made eerily silent noises at each other. “I don’t think I’d be exaggerating here if I said that he’d stay with you for the rest of his life because he thinks that’s the right thing to do...and...he wouldn’t be considering his own feelings.”
“Would you do that if you were in Gerard’s position?”
“Are you kidding me?” His laugh was as bitter as the unripe strawberries lingering in her mouth. “My last girlfriend’s brother’s still sending me death threats, and I never even fucking slept with their cousin...we just fell asleep next to each other. I mean, Jesus, the dude was an ace cuddler, but he’s so not my type.”
Lindsey found herself smiling along with him. Maybe there was a human under all the ink and overpowering scent of pot that seemed to hang around wherever he ventured. They’d had their personal issues, from Frank spouting a raucous “Oh, you must be Lindsey’s grandma!” when her mother paid an unscheduled visit, to Lindsey washing Frank’s bong without asking.
And this comforting thought made stepping inside Gerard’s world a little less alien.
But in true Frank fashion he just had to ruin it with reality.
Scratch that last.
“Point being that marriage is a fucking huge commitment. And besides, divorce rates are way up, you know. And that’s for the general population, not drunken idiots –”
“Thanks. I can sense the sympathy.”
He wasn’t looking at her and her eyes rolled in their sockets like the dirt-covered marbles some of the local kids screwed around with – because they didn’t actually know how to play, not really. The lips of the glass bottle kissed him again, and he sucked gratefully, liquid overlapping his subtle inebriation with clumsier hands and drunker smiles.
“Welcome. Anyway, yeah, we’re talking about everyone, not just ditzs who forget protection, end up with a baby they never intended on having – let alone with each other – and decide to get hitched because ‘Like, we can totally make this work, like.’” Crazy hands accompanied his words, and he seemed lost in his own little brain space with exaggerated egos and cartoon people. His lip curled slightly, but it was lost to the morning alcohol fix.
And Lindsey wasn’t in the same space, let alone on the same page.
“What the hell was that?”
“My impression of a ditz....or Gerard when he’s been drinking.” And he was smiling again, but it was curiously blended with a knowing smirk directed absently at the television. Lindsey wondered what embarrassing Gerard-centric escapade he was reliving behind his drooping eyelids, some recollection from their wild bachelor days. “I would’ve thought you’d be familiar with it given the circumstances, which was really stupid on your part, I have to say. Gerard could have a gazillion diseases for all you know.”
“Does he?”
A mental chorus of startled shrieks bullied her ears, and she mindlessly rubbed at her bump. Eyes were wide, like the clock face bearing down from above the television. Hands were threatening to shake against stretch-marked skin.
“No, but he could have.”
She decided she preferred baked Frank – at least he didn’t talk in nonsensical riddles and scare her into near heart spasms.
Dick.
“Well, it’s not just a one way street. I could have a gazillion diseases.” She paused as her body fell just as slack as Frank’s, relaxing into the couch cushions. “Fatal ones.”
“But you don’t.” He sniffed in disdain, rubbing at his nose, but it didn’t stick; the intoxicating smell creeping out of the bottle seduced and sedated anxieties that weren’t really there at all and he smiled like heaven was calling from beneath the amber liquid. Maybe alcoholism would be a new casual job for the barely-employed pot-smoking twenty-whatever year old. He had the perfect credentials.
“But I could have.”
Silence fell, but pleasant comfortable silence. His attention was grabbed again, the television nothing but a glowing reflection and static in the insignificant backdrop. He pretend-pondered, curling a beard he didn’t have and raising an eyebrow that was surprisingly immaculately kept. And eventually a smile, something genuine and unblemished, slipped its way onto his face.
“You may just be a worthy adversary after all.”
Author: Me (Smashed Pumpkin)
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Mindless Self Indulgence (mentioned Gerard/Lyn-Z)
Type: One-shot
Rating: PG-13 for sexual references, swearing and drug references.
Summary: Frank and Lindsey talk about Gerard.
Based on/inspired by this deleted scene from Knocked Up.
Couch Confessions.
Lindsey knew Frank as the stoner friend. He and pot went together like Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo walked around barefoot in nothing but jeans stained with the years, and if Juliet was his chill-out fix.
She was one tough bitch to shake.
But there were those rare occasions when his mind cleared, and Lindsey could see the connection between his brain and mouth, not to mention have a conversation that didn’t consist of uncomfortably comfortable silences and glazed and red-rimmed eyes. The room would smell almost normal and she wouldn’t have to soak the aging couch in Dettol before sitting down to whatever Frank was watching.
It looked like a sex scene, an explicit, possibly illicit sex scene. She bent her neck at a few unnatural angles, a hand flattened carefully over her bulging stomach, before asking. The morning breath and alcohol tongue-riddled reply of “Gay porn,” prompted her to raise a curious eyebrow.
Yes, yes, the smaller one just had a delicate bone structure now she looked. But still –
“Can I ask why?”
“Sure you can ask,” he sniffed, masking a tipsy chuckle that tasted like mould, and his eyes never left the screen. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer, but you never know.”
“Why then?” and her eyes rolled like the girlish hips rotating in front of them. Sometimes she had to wonder whether she preferred baked Frank to cryptic Frank.
His intoxicated hand flailed out beside him, forcing a barely cold Jack Daniels to his lips before replying with, “Straight porn’s too fake.”
“And gay porn isn’t?” Lindsey quirked an eyebrow. Only Frank could delve into a philosophical discussion about pornography, and her better judgement was telling her that he’d have a ready-made answer, no matter how half-awake and half-alive he seemed sometimes – most of the time. Casual working hours and mooching accommodation off well-meaning friends gave endless hours to ponder the stupidest trivialities of life.
“No, but I’ve never had sex with a guy, so I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like...meaning that I’m able to suspend my disbelief just like when I watch a movie.”
It sounded like a quote regurgitated from high-school drama, but she went with a simple, “You’re weird,” instead of getting onto acting techniques and Naturalism.
“I am, but I’ve come to terms with it.”
Because he was and he had. Even if he ditched his Juliet, and covered every inked patch of skin with band logos and the faces of musicians long dead, he’d still be one odd little fucker, dreadlocks and all. He tucked a piece of it behind his ear with buzzing fingers, and Lindsey wondered how a known arachnophobic could do that to their hair – but she guessed the pot helped.
“Are you going to marry Gerard?”
Her lips split apart in surprise.
He actually looked at her, strangely focused eyes inquiring.
“Don’t know.” Fingertips found a mouse-like hole in the couch cover, picking as she shrugged aimlessly – or tried to at least. “We haven’t talked about it all that much – a little bit, but not seriously... he always says stupid shit like...we’ll elope to Vegas and get married in matching Cowboy hats or something tacky like that.”
Candy strawberry turned bitter as she sucked lips against teeth, waiting for Frank to barge into her life and her future with his opinion – because he had an opinion on everything. But his mouth was preoccupied with the alcohol filling it and sloshing like dirty rainwater down his throat, and she had to ask; tentative nerves, unsure eyes and all.
“Do you think I should?”
“No.” And that was it. His eyes were back on whatever poorly-scripted male fantasy was defiling Gerard’s television, but Lindsey was lost inside her own head.
“Why not?”
“Look...Gerard’s a good guy...a bit of a slacker sometimes and his clothes usually smell like he washes them in tequila, but he’s a good guy regardless.” Frank’s sigh came out like a smoker’s cough, and he reluctantly jabbed at the ‘mute’ button. All attention was on her as the television’s occupants made eerily silent noises at each other. “I don’t think I’d be exaggerating here if I said that he’d stay with you for the rest of his life because he thinks that’s the right thing to do...and...he wouldn’t be considering his own feelings.”
“Would you do that if you were in Gerard’s position?”
“Are you kidding me?” His laugh was as bitter as the unripe strawberries lingering in her mouth. “My last girlfriend’s brother’s still sending me death threats, and I never even fucking slept with their cousin...we just fell asleep next to each other. I mean, Jesus, the dude was an ace cuddler, but he’s so not my type.”
Lindsey found herself smiling along with him. Maybe there was a human under all the ink and overpowering scent of pot that seemed to hang around wherever he ventured. They’d had their personal issues, from Frank spouting a raucous “Oh, you must be Lindsey’s grandma!” when her mother paid an unscheduled visit, to Lindsey washing Frank’s bong without asking.
And this comforting thought made stepping inside Gerard’s world a little less alien.
But in true Frank fashion he just had to ruin it with reality.
Scratch that last.
“Point being that marriage is a fucking huge commitment. And besides, divorce rates are way up, you know. And that’s for the general population, not drunken idiots –”
“Thanks. I can sense the sympathy.”
He wasn’t looking at her and her eyes rolled in their sockets like the dirt-covered marbles some of the local kids screwed around with – because they didn’t actually know how to play, not really. The lips of the glass bottle kissed him again, and he sucked gratefully, liquid overlapping his subtle inebriation with clumsier hands and drunker smiles.
“Welcome. Anyway, yeah, we’re talking about everyone, not just ditzs who forget protection, end up with a baby they never intended on having – let alone with each other – and decide to get hitched because ‘Like, we can totally make this work, like.’” Crazy hands accompanied his words, and he seemed lost in his own little brain space with exaggerated egos and cartoon people. His lip curled slightly, but it was lost to the morning alcohol fix.
And Lindsey wasn’t in the same space, let alone on the same page.
“What the hell was that?”
“My impression of a ditz....or Gerard when he’s been drinking.” And he was smiling again, but it was curiously blended with a knowing smirk directed absently at the television. Lindsey wondered what embarrassing Gerard-centric escapade he was reliving behind his drooping eyelids, some recollection from their wild bachelor days. “I would’ve thought you’d be familiar with it given the circumstances, which was really stupid on your part, I have to say. Gerard could have a gazillion diseases for all you know.”
“Does he?”
A mental chorus of startled shrieks bullied her ears, and she mindlessly rubbed at her bump. Eyes were wide, like the clock face bearing down from above the television. Hands were threatening to shake against stretch-marked skin.
“No, but he could have.”
She decided she preferred baked Frank – at least he didn’t talk in nonsensical riddles and scare her into near heart spasms.
Dick.
“Well, it’s not just a one way street. I could have a gazillion diseases.” She paused as her body fell just as slack as Frank’s, relaxing into the couch cushions. “Fatal ones.”
“But you don’t.” He sniffed in disdain, rubbing at his nose, but it didn’t stick; the intoxicating smell creeping out of the bottle seduced and sedated anxieties that weren’t really there at all and he smiled like heaven was calling from beneath the amber liquid. Maybe alcoholism would be a new casual job for the barely-employed pot-smoking twenty-whatever year old. He had the perfect credentials.
“But I could have.”
Silence fell, but pleasant comfortable silence. His attention was grabbed again, the television nothing but a glowing reflection and static in the insignificant backdrop. He pretend-pondered, curling a beard he didn’t have and raising an eyebrow that was surprisingly immaculately kept. And eventually a smile, something genuine and unblemished, slipped its way onto his face.
“You may just be a worthy adversary after all.”
Last edited by Sheepy on Thu 28 May 2009, 4:58 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked:sheep)
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I am Revolution :: Words :: Stories :: Fanfiction
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