Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. 'Dance, Dance' is property of Fall Out Boy, but I'm positive most people know that. 'Nuff said.
A/N: Yeeess, I'm aware that there's another story called 'Dance, Dance'. It's awesome, by the way (go read it), and this story is nothing like it except for some R/S at the end.
This isn't the first story I've ever posted on FanFiction but it's the first one in a looooong time. I lost everything way back when they took down the music groups. What a sad, sad time that was. (sigh) Anyhoo. Now that I've bored you to death...
...this is just a one-shot (I think, anyway) that I wrote in calculus and physics today. It should be interesting, as I haven't written in forever. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it more than my calculus and physics teachers did. ;;
Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anything that helps me improve, I need to. Heh. Anyway. Without further ado...
Edit 3/11: Decided not to make the ending dialogue clearer, I was told it adds to the effect and I agree. Soo, in conclusion, just ask me if you can't figure out what's goin' on. S'all good.
Dance, Dance
-the nilla wafer
She says she's no good with words but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out a joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue
A blue and purple striped sock hit the door in effortless, perfect timing with the music, the chunk of cotton gently sliding down the wall and getting stuck on a thumbtack holding up a poster of some band or other.
Shirts and undergarments flew every which way, boxers catching on door handles and shirts being nabbed out of the air by a modern-looking floor lamp in the northwest corner of the room. A metal computer desk sat ignored in the same corner, its drawers spilling out papers and threatening to explode upon the insertion of a single paper clip, which just so happened to sail by in disappointment as its owner chucked it ruthlessly through the air towards the trash can.
He missed.
Weighed down with words too over dramatic
Tonight it's it can't get much worse vs. no one should ever feel like
The owner of the paper clip dropped the red Adio shirt he was holding onto the floor beside him, huffing as he laid eyes upon his newly decorated lamp and bedroom door handle. Gritting his teeth, he snatched up the red shirt and shoved it into the green laundry basket beside him. Deciding to move onto something else, the boy stood up slowly, mismatched socks falling out of his lap, past the laundry basket and onto the creamy white, plush carpet below. He 'pssh'ed the offending socks, kicking them under the bed and ambling through the piles of clothes and seemingly useless junk to his bathroom.
I'm two quarters and a heart down and I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them so you need them just to get by
Upon entrance to the small, pastel yellow and paopu decorated room, something gurgled at him. He looked around for a second, his eyes focusing on the crisp, white chunk of porcelain sitting discontentedly less than two feet away. Moving his hair out of his eyes, he decided to have a look.
Dance, dance
We're falling apart to half time
The fucking toilet was clogged.
Dance, dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
What the fuck was he supposed to do? Did the otherwise content and happy toilet just suddenly decide to rebel against him and fucking clog itself (because he obviously looked like a fucking plumber)?
God dammit, he really didn't want to deal with this right now. He just wanted to clean his fucking room. He was making a pretty damn good job of it, too.
Well, if flying boxers and exploding desk drawers were any example of making a good job out of anything.
Dance, dance
This is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loved me
Fuck.
He really didn't want to tell his mom. Surely his creative, intellectual, superior mind would think of something.
Yeah, sure. In about five hours. He sighed as bubbles escaped the toilet's pipes and popped upon reaching the surface. He didn't have five hours.
He stared at the incredibly large amount of superfluous water in the toilet and began massaging the bridge of his nose with his right hand. As the toilet made another protesting gurgle of discontent, it hit him.
You always fold just before you found out
Drink up it's last call, last resort but only the first mistake
When all else fails, call Sora. He jumped at the thought.
Adrenaline levels strangely beginning to pick up, he did a 180˚ and promptly smacked his nose into the door frame.
I'm two quarters and a heart down and I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them so you need them just to get by
His face exploded with white hot heat, and he didn't need to see the blood to realize his nose was surely beginning to spout the stuff like a damn fountain.
Eyes stinging from developing tears, he flung open the closet door and seized a dark colored towel, making a small dent in the blue wall with the door handle in the process. He pressed the towel to his nose and tipped his head back, the sensation of looking up proving too much for his brain to handle, so he slowly began to lower his head.
And the moment he looked in the mirror, he spotted Sora. Laughing.
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you've been saving for his mattress? (with love)
The fuck was he doing standing there, laughing at him!
Sora sauntered over to him from the middle of the bedroom, tossing something bulky from one hand to the other.
Dance, dance
We're falling apart to half time
"God damn it Sora, you are not touching me with that thing!" He recoiled when Sora attempted to grab his shoulder. Sora rolled his eyes.
"It's called ice, Riku. You tard."
Dance, dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
A small, insignificant 'oh' was all he could manage. Sora grinned and pulled Riku closer to him for better access to his nose. Riku thought he felt a movement against his backside as Sora reached around him to nab a washcloth from the counter, but he didn't say anything. Accident, he thought. Sure. Just like that fucking door.
...where the hell'd that ice come from, anyway? And, wait a minute... how long has he been here!
Sora picked up the bag of ice, wrapped it nicely in a black washcloth, and raised his left hand to the back of Riku's head, standing on his tip toes so he could reach.
Riku's face grew hotter because of the sudden, close contact, but he doubted Sora could even see through the towel he was holding and the blood his nose hadn't quite finished spouting yet.
Dance, this is the way they know
It took Riku a moment to notice that Sora was staring at him. Tilting his head to the side as best he could with Sora's hand there and the burning sensation taking over his face, he gave Sora his best questioning look.
It ended up feeling (and looking) like a cross between constipated and pissed off, but he guessed that Sora wasn't going to say anything. Instead, said boy settled for gently prying the dirtied towel out of Riku's hands.
If they knew how misery loved me
When Sora finally pulled away, Riku noted, with much pleasure, that a tiny fraction of the pain had already begun to leave and was replaced with a gentle cooling sensation.
"It's to keep it from swelling," Sora beamed, obviously proud of his job. He glanced at Riku for a moment, and then turned around and left the bathroom.
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you've been saving for his mattress?
Confused as to why Sora had suddenly left, Riku stepped into his bedroom.
I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me
Sure enough, there was Sora, standing in the middle of the bedroom with a thoughtful look on his face.
Wait a minute...
...thoughtful? Since when was Sora thoughtful?
Riku stood there for a moment, contemplating.
And it that moment in which Riku had stood contemplating whether or not to inquire about Sora's 'ghost' ass grab in the bathroom, Sora relocated to the space directly in front of Riku and took away his ice pack.
Dance, dance
We're falling apart to half time
And he kissed him.
So matter-of-fact, because that's what it was. Matter-of-fact.
Riku stood quiet dumbfounded for a moment, his eyes focusing on the boxer-covered lamp in the corner.
Dance, dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
It wasn't three seconds before he kissed him back.
Dance, this is the way they'd love (way they'd love)
Dance, this is the way they'd love (way they'd love)
Slowly gaining more courage, Sora pressed one hand to Riku's chest and the other on his hip under his shirt. Taking advantage of Riku's small gasp at Sora's hand placement, Sora slipped his tongue inside Riku's mouth. Riku nearly moaned at this new contact, his eyes slipping open a bit and catching a glimpse of Sora's flushed face.
Dance, this is the way they'd love
Riku placed his hands on Sora's hips and spun them around, pressing Sora into the wall and grinding their hips together.
...if they knew how misery loved me
Sora mewled at the sudden rush of pleasure raging through his body, and slipped his hands inside Riku's shirt, the skin-on-skin contact driving Riku wild. He started nibbling on Sora's ear, his hands working furiously with the buttons on Sora's shirt when suddenly he stopped.
"...Ri-Riku?"
No response.
"...are... are you alright?"
In less than a second, Riku unceremoniously shoved himself off of Sora, rushed to the forgotten ice pack sitting on the floor near the bathroom, picked it up and hurriedly pressed it against his nose.
A minute or so passed, the sounds of Sora's harsh breathing and Riku's small whimpers poking through the now quiet music every few moments.
Dance, dance
Dance, dance
Dance, dance
Dance, dance
Riku mumbled something.
"...huh? What happened?" Sora rushed over to Riku, trying to listen to what he was trying to say with the ice pack shoved up his nose.
He mumbled something, again.
"...by... by no..be.. hit... your... neck..."
Sora paused for a moment.
Then he laughed. He doubled over, clutching his sides in an attempt to quell the insane giggles.
"...abbhole!"
-el fin-
Thanks for reading. Reviews? Comments, questions? ...anything? ...I have sugar.