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Title: Futures
Author: chibibble
Rating: not quite PG-13...forgive me -sweatdrop-
Warnings: my writing, sex references, Liam (you have been warned)
Summary: I try the same losing lucky numbers.
NPCs: Ian, Liam, Sasha, Natasha, Moira
Word Count: 1850
Other: Although the title and summary are lyrics from a Jimmy Eat World song, I mostly listened to Blinded (When I See You) by Third Eye Blind when I wrote this.
I didn't really like some parts, and intend to revise it when I'm not being lazy. Feedback is always appreciated~
I really love it when people pick out sentences and phrases they liked...
-hints-

---

Liam leans back against the headboard and wonders why Ian – who does word searches because crosswords are too hard and waters his houseplants every two days with MiracleGro – is sleeping in his bed. In his lap, to be precise: one arm flung across his stomach, hand slid beneath the pillow, dark hair tickling his torso, eyelashes long and eyes lidded. Jesus Christ.

It was about Sasha, in the beginning.

“Why doesn’t she like me?” He hisses, with a broken expression, and Liam suddenly pities him. Ian punctuates each of his sentences with a cocktail of poisonous-looking alcohol and Liam wants to apologise to him, even though he’s got nothing to be sorry about. His hand is trembling as he drinks, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Ian puts the empty glass on the counter with a troubled clink and turns his fractured eyes towards him. “Why doesn’t she like me?” He persists, as if Liam knows the answer, and he mouths the words faster and faster until Liam kisses him.

Liam blames the beer first and his rejections (Moira, Ruby, Cindy, Becky, Agatha, Sam) second and the need to shut him up third. It’s not bad, as kisses go, even though his lips are chapped and Ian has now fallen off the barstool. His eyes are like cracked mirrors as he stares up, touching a finger to his lips and Liam can’t look at his face anymore so he runs.

And it’s ended here, with drawn blue curtains.

--

It was a sweet dream, Ian thinks. He and Sasha, on the beach, watching the sun dip into the sea, sharing a smile under the red sky. It’s a shame he no longer has it.

He wakes with sweat streaking from his flushed face, sheets tangled around his legs and an uncomfortable realisation in his boxer shorts. In his nightmare, Liam cups his face and whispers into his mouth and presses kisses down his neck. No. He sheds the T-shirt like a skin and hopes the shower will clean more than his body.

Rufus doesn’t say anything until he finishes the fish. At this point, Ian is tying his shoelaces with the frail hope that no one cared about yesterday morning’s hangover; in which he vomited his breakfast into the toilet and stumbled around the shop with a headache pulsating in his world.
“Are you still upset?” The cat murmurs gently, and it takes Ian a few seconds to realise what he should be upset about: Gino and Sasha and getting shot.
“…a little.” He affirms, sliding his hands into brown gloves, crouching down and scratching him behind the ears to avoid any more awkward questions.

They leave ten minutes later and walk to Barton Boutique, in a companionable silence. Ian fumbles in his pocket for the keys, and uses the little silver one to unlock the door. He doesn’t have time to think about anyone, not when there was opening time in less than half an hour and he still needed to light all of the candles and coerce Rufus into doing a stock check.

“Dancey dancey?” Rufus inquires optimistically.

There were certain things you couldn’t expect from cats.

--

Something happened, Liam knows. Something happened and he can’t explain, but it’s happened and no amount of bicep curls can fix it. He gives up on the dumbbells with a sigh and picks up the phone: speed dial number nine. Natasha. He doesn’t know why he thinks she’ll understand because he doesn’t even know himself, but begins his ‘hypothetical’ conversation with her anyway.

“So, a friend of a friend of a friend wanted me to ask you what you’re supposed to do when you drunkenly kiss your sort-of friend and things are weird because you’re both the same gender.”
“Hang on a second; I’m piercing someone’s nose…ah, crap…”
“…I think he’ll be okay not knowing. Bye then.”
“If you’re sure…”

--

He kisses Sasha later that night and feels like something inside him has stopped. Her mouth is an ‘o’ of surprise as he pulls away, and the flower falls from her hair. She looks at him with a fond kind of sadness and tries to clarify in so many words about Gino and that she’s not ready. Ian feels curiously detached about everything – like he’s not really a part of this at all, and wishes he was more upset about her rebuff. All he can feel is an immense relief as he scoops the flower into his palm and returns it to her with a sad smile. Rufus dances him home.

They curl on the couch together, he and Rufus, watching The Lion King and languidly eating pizza in between choruses of ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight?’ (Ian) and Simba impressions (Rufus). He falls asleep before the end and has a strange dream where Moira and Timon do the hula together, which abruptly ends when he rolls off of the sofa. Disgruntled and with a bizarre craving for pineapples, he staggers up the stairs and collapses onto his bed, removing his rumpled work clothing with one hand and buries his face into the pillow.

He has the nightmare again, but worse. Liam is in between his legs, wearing a grass skirt and a flower garland and there’s music playing in the background (not that he cares or anything) and their fingers are intertwined and his mouth—
Crap, the sheets, Ian reflects, and he might have said it aloud.

--

With his own weird logic, he works out that Ian probably has a better idea of what’s going on than him. And so, after a (short) day at The Jock Strap, he lurks around Barton Boutique and waits for Ian to close. When he finally meanders out of the door, Rufus around his ankles, Liam calls his name and he turns…and blushes. He drops the keyring in surprise and scrabbles around for it on his knees, hair a curtain around his face. He straightens up and makes several attempts to break the lock, twisting the key ferociously into the door until it clicks.

Ian stares unblinkingly into Liam’s trainers after he finishes, and Liam realises forlornly that Ian expects him to do something.

“Hey.” He says, finally, clearing his throat, because he might as well act contrite if he’s got nothing better to do.
“H-hi.” Ian replies, still examining Liam’s shoelaces intently.
“About that night…” The blond trails off pathetically, and realises that, in fact, his shoes are terribly interesting after all.
Ian nudges Rufus lightly with his foot. “Go home, I’ll be back soon.” He murmurs, and gives his head an encouraging stroke. The cat seems placated by this, and wanders down the street.
“About that night,” He begins again. “I’m sorry for…” He stops again, this time because Ian is closer than he’d realised, and their clothes are brushing against each other and Liam remembers that his skin is really soft.
“Sorry for…?” Ian prompts tentatively, and his breath hitches in his throat.

And then their lips are crushed together, bruisingly so, and Ian’s hands are embedded in his hair and Liam realises that he’s not sorry and never was, and that for a narcissistic womaniser he’s definitely enjoying Ian’s a** more than he should. Ian’s eyes are wide and purple-grey like an epiphany and Liam can’t think of any better conjunction than ‘and’.

“…nothing.” He breathes into Ian’s ear, and starts sucking on his neck.

--

Something coils, hot and heavy, in the pit of his stomach as Liam leads him towards his car. It feels like sickness, for his skin sears with the burn of Liam’s touch and nervous sweat is building on his body. His car is what Ian had expected: big, black and glistening with the shiny light of a free paint job, but it seems more impressive in the metal than it could have ever done in his imagination. The blond opens the door for him – which was good, because he didn’t really want to touch it…just in case he managed to break something – and he slides onto the leather with slight awe, sniffing appreciatively at the new book smell it has. After buckling himself in the seatbelt, he wipes his palms on his trousers, which makes him feel marginally better about everything: the touching, the kissing, the fact that he thinks that he’s going to have sexual relations with Liam…the fact that he wants to have sexual relations with Liam.

He wishes that Liam looked a bit more bothered about this. He doesn’t seem to mind at all; hands steadfast at ten and two on the steering wheel, eyes trained onto the road, looking like he drove men who played chess with their cats to his house everyday, in comparison to Ian, who is not-so-subtly gawping at him with his peripheral vision, whose face is several new shades of tomato.

The radio is playing songs he doesn’t really like, but he can’t summon up the courage to say anything about it, because it’ll probably disrupt whatever it is that they’re currently silently sharing and insult Liam’s taste in music and make him think that Ian was weird…or at least, even weirder than he already was. And what if that was too weird, moving from quaintly quirky weird to I-like-to-eat-ice-cream-with-tuna weird?

He tries not to think about it.

The ride passes in his uneasy aerobic respiration and his vows to be a better person if he can just please, please never experience anything this awkward ever again. And he promises to buy Rufus that salmon he likes, in case those kinds of things make a difference to God, or whichever divine entity vows go to.

When the engine stops, Liam slips out of the car door in one fluid movement, keys in hand, whilst Ian is still gracelessly fiddling with the seatbelt. Before he realises, his mouth is covered with another, and the seatbelt is retreating slowly across his chest and his dress shirt is simultaneously being unbuttoned with efficient fingers.

“Y’know, it’s rude to stare.”

Ian obediently closes his eyes.

--

He makes noises. Strangled breathy moans which he tries to fight from happening (why?) that make Liam’s heart drop to his pants. Ian’s wanton eyes are glazed with dark, purple fire, shirt baring one pale shoulder and <********>, if that’s not the thing he’s wants to have sex with right now. He leaves Ian’s collarbone alone and buries his nose into his neck, because he smells like desire and that’s preferable to chemical flowers.

Ian bites him out of his reverie. Hard, just beneath his ear.
As if to say: what the hell, why have you stopped pleasuring me?
And he thinks: that’s sexy.

He drags the black-haired man out of the car and into his house by the wrist, not locking the door, and that’s okay as long as he gets that a** in his bed tonight. It’s worth the potential burglary.

--

Which is why when Ian wakes up the next day and asks, in a sleepy muffled voice, “Where am I?”, Liam feels no guilt in his response.
“Where you belong.”

blaugh blaugh blaugh
<.< I may be 14, but I'm a pervert through and through~
'Delicious'? My writing is the staple diet of my subconscious. That's probably why it's so malnourished...

That's great~
I'm debating on whether or not to write more LxI. neutral

And that answer is...? sweatdrop
-stupid-

heart
I have a couple of ideas...

I'm sure it's not that bad, XD. When I was eleven, my writing was crap, I shudder to remember my first fanfiction (Inuyasha) and my second fanfiction (Naruto, with an absolutely hideous Mary Sue of my own creation...I think she was called Shi (death) or something). Thank the lords that they are now both permanently erased from the internet and my laptop (but not my memory -shudder-). I started out awful and got better with a lot of practice. Role-playing definitely helped me give characters depth and made me appreciate them more, but I'm too lazy now to ever RP properly again.
sweatdrop
This is my first piece of writing for nearly a year e_e. That picture you drew of Liam and Ian dragged me out of my 'bleh' mode, and I'm eternally grateful to you for that.
I wasn't sure about the ending, but I didn't want to write any pr0nz because I didn't want to overstep the PG-13 rating too badly.

I look forward to reading it ^^
<.< reading is easier than writing, no? I applaud you~

^^
Thank you! I'm currently writing a fanfiction for a trade I'm doing with Mizzy Jagger (the art I'm getting back is beautiful o3o, sneaked a peek at the lineart) and I'm trying my best to work very hard on it~
Next up is an LxI idea I've been bouncing around for a couple of days: Rufuscentric, and it has the potential to be longer than what you've seen so far - 3000+ words (probably won't be, though). After that, I want to write a MelloMatt oneshot...and maybe more LxI (I'm having fun with Ian's third person POV).