the fanfiction of flyingtapes

There’s a restaurant called Juliana on Peterson, out in the northwest end of the city where people commuting to and fro pass it everyday. It’s not much to look at during the day, but at night cars crowd the entrance and lines form outside, even on a Wednesday in the middle of Chicago heat. They talk about Juliana in Zagat’s and the restaurant magazines, as a tucked-away little place with just the right atmosphere to bring even the most stringent socialite out to the near-burbs. More… »

Christmas, for Lance, was not a time of snow. Mississippi, as a rule, did not have snow. There was rain, but no snow. Which was why Christmas in Miami wasn’t a huge stretch for him–still a little rain, but warm enough to run around in a polo and khakis. Not exactly the picture of a Christmas miracle, Miami. More… »

God, this house smelled like ass. More… »

“Did you get the cake?” Lance yelled down from their bedroom.

“Yes, I got it yesterday, how many times are you going to ask me?” Just shouted back at him, busy slicing tomato for their sandwiches. More… »

JC has his eyes closed, but Lance knows he’s not asleep. More… »

This is not an AU.

“Look, Slayer, I’ve had about enough of your shit. I’m going out of town, as it’s obvious you won’t accept help even when it’s shoved in your face. So if you’d kindly leave, I’ll pack my things and go,” Chris said angrily. More… »

Wednesdays were Joey days. No beautiful baby girl, no fiancée, no guys, no work, no nothing except him and a locked door. More… »

It happens like this:

You’re waiting outside of a club, something new that you absolutely *had* to go to, according to your publicist. You don’t want to be in LA, or California. You want to be hiding out in Georgia, the little house on the coast you bought under your manager’s name and didn’t bother to tell anyone about. But you’re in LA, because that’s what people like you do, and you can’t change who you are. Not now. More… »

Warning for consensual D/s themes.

“Do you have it on?” Joey whispered against Justin’s ear. Justin nodded, knowing better than to speak. “Show me.” More… »

Chris is plastered to Joey’s back, and it’s going to suck when they go outside because it’s twenty degrees to the club’s ninety. He’s been hard longer than he can remember, arms winding around Joey’s middle and his dick fitting so perfectly in the cleft of Joey’s ass; his tongue swipes along the hairline of Joey’s neck, collecting the salt there, and he can tell Joey likes that by the fingernails he rakes up Chris’s arms. More… »