Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-06-09 08:40 am
ptahrrific) wrote2009-06-09 08:40 am
Entry tags:
Strangers With Candy/Fake News - Why Should I Care? part 11
Title: Why Should I Care? (11/14)
Series: Strangers With Candy, TCR
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: R
Contents: Copious swearing, men in dresses, steaminess
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: Seamus finally tries on that dress, and starts working up the courage to introduce George to Chuck.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Eleven
Standing in his bedroom, Seamus studies himself in the new full-length mirror.
The last few months have passed in a blur as the pieces of his future drop into place. They've set a date. The chapel is reserved and everything. (George, it turns out, is a sort of Zen Catholic: believing in a general sense of love, without the barbed-wire rules that Dad always seemed to run into when flipping through the family Bible for a verse at dinner. Seamus can't ever remember buying any of it; he just thinks the building is pretty.)
They're both going to finish college. Somehow, while following Jerri around like a stray puppy with a thing for the smell of cheap hairspray, Seamus has picked up half of an education major, so he's going to buckle down and actually finish it. Then they'll pick up and move to wherever George needs to be for grad school, and after that....
After that, they'll get a place of their own.
No more living from rent date to rent date. No more stashing his childhood in boxes at Mom's house and hoping she won't accidentally give one of them to charity again. Seamus will have his very own house, and neither of his parents will be getting a key.
He should feel terrified—well, he does feel terrified—but he doesn't feel trapped.
Although that might also have something to do with the fact that he's freeballing it under the skirt.
It's a test run, he keeps telling himself, so it doesn't have to be perfect. That's why he didn't hold out for proper underwear (not like he'll get up the nerve to buy lingerie any time soon, anyway), though he can't bear to wear boxers with this dress, cheap though it is. It's also why he hasn't shaved, except for a brief pass under the arms, though he's beginning to think that was a mistake.
But even when he tries to suspend the nagging consciousness of every last internal discontinuity, there's still something off. He does yet another turn, trying to figure out what's missing.
Jewelry. Why didn't he buy jewelry? Could have told the clerk his girlfriend's birthday was coming up. His ears aren't pierced, but the bare shoulders and sweetheart neckline demand some kind of decoration at the throat, at the very least.
Well, he can't exactly run out and pick up something now.
The spool of yellow ribbon Seamus used for trim is lying on a chair, half of it still unused. He snatches it up and unrolls four feet, holding it against his throat for a moment to study the effect before snipping the end neatly on a diagonal; then he pulls it tight into a simple bow at the back of his neck.
There. That's as good as it's going to get.
"Are you ready?" he asks, voice raised.
From the living room comes George's reply: "Whenever you are."
With the skirt swishing around his legs and the tails of his makeshift choker fluttering against his shoulder blades, Seamus walks out.
§
When he lays eyes on Seamus, George actually jumps to his feet, face a mask of surprise.
"The fit still isn't quite right," admits Seamus, hunching his shoulders defensively. "And I didn't have time to really accessorize...."
"Seamus," interrupts George, "you're gorgeous."
Seamus ducks his head as his face heats up.
He's never felt so exposed before, which is stupid, because he's been literally naked with George plenty of times before; but something is driving him to keep tearing, to make sure George understands exactly what he's seeing. "I think I can feel every single hair on my legs," he mutters. "Don't know why I couldn't have at least picked up some pantyhose."
George steps forward, rests his hands delicately on Seamus' waist. "You're the only one who can tell," he says gently.
"Doesn't matter," insists Seamus. "Madame Precious dolls don't skimp on the details, even though you're not supposed to take them down from the shelf and check whether they have historically accurate bloomers."
He can hear the quiet amusement in George's voice. "You checked them all, didn't you?"
Seamus' lips twitch into a rueful smile. "Every one Dad had."
George gathers two handfuls of the ruffled skirt and draws Seamus toward him. He's not strong enough to force anything, but a thrill runs down Seamus' spine as he allows himself to be led. Handled. "You know you shouldn't need special underwear to earn his approval, right?"
"Psychoanalyst," teases Seamus, voice light to keep it from shaking too hard. "I know I'm never going to measure up to those dolls in his eyes, okay? I get that. I hate it, but I get it."
George holds him close, but says nothing. Seamus is left with plenty of space to talk.
"You want to know something crazy?" he says absently. "All the time I was growing up, my parents were obsessed with making things look good, no matter how rotten they were underneath. Even when I was really little, way before I knew about...me, I knew things were messed up. They were always yelling...Mom started drinking...I remember this one time, Dad came home and an hour later I found him down in the basement, sobbing next to the furnace. Hadn't even taken his coat off."
He lets George guide him wordlessly to the couch, laying him down across the cushions. He's afraid for a moment that the dress will get messed up, but George immediately turns to the skirt and starts smoothing every fold into place, taking care to do the job slowly and thoroughly.
"In public, everything was fine," Seamus continues, at once exhilarated and soothed by the attention. "When there were people to impress, Mom would plaster on this fake smile, and Dad would ruffle my hair and offer to buy me ice cream. Everything in my life was like that—false pretty surface, falling apart underneath—except...?"
"Your dad's dolls," realizes George, straightening the ribbon at Seamus' neck.
"Exactly." Seamus' breath catches as George tucks stray locks of hair out of his face. "That's how I learned that some people think it's worth doing things well, even when they don't think anybody's going to see. That it was possible to care that much, and that sincerely. That I wasn't crazy to feel like I was missing out."
He closes his eyes. "God, this sounds so pathetic. What kind of kid hangs their emotional well-being on Madame Precious outfits?"
"A creative one," says George firmly. "Smart. Resourceful."
Seamus feels another rush of warmth, this one unfamiliar. It takes him a moment to realize that it's pride.
Keeping his eyes closed, he blurts, "I have to tell Dad."
His hair has got to be practically flat by this point, but George keeps smoothing it anyway. "How much?"
"I have no idea." Seamus doesn't quite curl up into a little ball, but he finds himself pulling his limbs inward just a bit. "Haven't even managed to tell him I'm gay yet. He's going to go postal when he finds out I'm engaged. Should probably skip the bit about how he gave me a thing for crossdressing until he recovers. If I'm lucky, maybe it'll even happen this century."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
The thought has never even occurred to Seamus, and it shakes him to realize how much he wants it. "What, you think I need a knight in shining armor?" he protests.
"You do kind of look like a damsel in distress," George points out. When Seamus doesn't answer, he adds, "Listen, I'll stay out of it if you prefer. Just wanted you to know that I'm there if you need me."
Seamus opens his eyes and winds his fists into George's shirt front, pulling him downwards. "I need you," he murmurs, arching his body against the younger man. "I do."
George lets out a groan and pushes him back against the cushions, both hands now groping in earnest. "You look so good in this," he pants as the dress rustles between them, "seems a waste to take it off this soon...."
"So leave it on."
"Can I?" exclaims George eagerly. "I mean," he adds, sounding suddenly embarrassed, "I don't want to mess with your fantasy of being a perfect untouchable doll or anything...."
At that, Seamus actually laughs. "Are you kidding? I hated that they were untouchable. I used to think they must hate it too, being shut up on a shelf all the time. Get me out of there, George! Take me down from the pretty glass cage, and fuck me like you mean it."
§
"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," says Seamus for the hundredth time as he pulls up in front of the apartment.
"He's got to find out eventually," replies George matter-of-factly. "What, do you want to wait until after the wedding?"
Seamus laughs in spite of himself. I love you, he thinks. So much.
He pauses at the foot of the stairs. "Any time you get uncomfortable, just say the word and we'll get out of here."
"Got it."
Seamus takes a couple of steps before pausing again. "But if you're not comfortable, you might not feel able to say so," he realizes. "We should have some kind of signal. Cough three times if you want to—"
"Seamus," interrupts George. "I'll be fine. I promise."
This time, they make it all the way up to the landing before Seamus stops. "I warned you he looks exactly like your dad, right? I mean, they could be twins. Freakiest thing I've ever seen."
"You saw Charlene, right? Did you notice the resemblance? And the guy who taught me to dance, Esteban, he looks like someone Xeroxed my dad and pasted on a mustache. I'm kind of used to him having doppelgangers."
When they reach Dad's door, Seamus stops one last time. "Look, what if we just eloped? That would save everyone a lot of trouble."
"The longer you wait, the harder it'll get," counters George. "C'mon, tough guy, bite the bullet. It probably won't be nearly as bad as you're expecting."
Taking a deep breath, Seamus knocks on the door.
There's a loud crash from within, followed by a high-pitched scream.
Seamus jams his key into the lock and flings the door open without waiting for an invitation. Dad may have somebody over, but that sounded like a bad fall and he isn't getting any younger and Seamus is not going to leave the care of his father to some airheaded floozy who—
He dashes down the hall, reaches the front room—
—then skids to a stop and stumbles backward, flinging an arm over his eyes.
Holy shit.
Series: Strangers With Candy, TCR
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: R
Contents: Copious swearing, men in dresses, steaminess
Beta:
stellar_dustDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: Seamus finally tries on that dress, and starts working up the courage to introduce George to Chuck.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Eleven
Standing in his bedroom, Seamus studies himself in the new full-length mirror.
The last few months have passed in a blur as the pieces of his future drop into place. They've set a date. The chapel is reserved and everything. (George, it turns out, is a sort of Zen Catholic: believing in a general sense of love, without the barbed-wire rules that Dad always seemed to run into when flipping through the family Bible for a verse at dinner. Seamus can't ever remember buying any of it; he just thinks the building is pretty.)
They're both going to finish college. Somehow, while following Jerri around like a stray puppy with a thing for the smell of cheap hairspray, Seamus has picked up half of an education major, so he's going to buckle down and actually finish it. Then they'll pick up and move to wherever George needs to be for grad school, and after that....
After that, they'll get a place of their own.
No more living from rent date to rent date. No more stashing his childhood in boxes at Mom's house and hoping she won't accidentally give one of them to charity again. Seamus will have his very own house, and neither of his parents will be getting a key.
He should feel terrified—well, he does feel terrified—but he doesn't feel trapped.
Although that might also have something to do with the fact that he's freeballing it under the skirt.
It's a test run, he keeps telling himself, so it doesn't have to be perfect. That's why he didn't hold out for proper underwear (not like he'll get up the nerve to buy lingerie any time soon, anyway), though he can't bear to wear boxers with this dress, cheap though it is. It's also why he hasn't shaved, except for a brief pass under the arms, though he's beginning to think that was a mistake.
But even when he tries to suspend the nagging consciousness of every last internal discontinuity, there's still something off. He does yet another turn, trying to figure out what's missing.
Jewelry. Why didn't he buy jewelry? Could have told the clerk his girlfriend's birthday was coming up. His ears aren't pierced, but the bare shoulders and sweetheart neckline demand some kind of decoration at the throat, at the very least.
Well, he can't exactly run out and pick up something now.
The spool of yellow ribbon Seamus used for trim is lying on a chair, half of it still unused. He snatches it up and unrolls four feet, holding it against his throat for a moment to study the effect before snipping the end neatly on a diagonal; then he pulls it tight into a simple bow at the back of his neck.
There. That's as good as it's going to get.
"Are you ready?" he asks, voice raised.
From the living room comes George's reply: "Whenever you are."
With the skirt swishing around his legs and the tails of his makeshift choker fluttering against his shoulder blades, Seamus walks out.
When he lays eyes on Seamus, George actually jumps to his feet, face a mask of surprise.
"The fit still isn't quite right," admits Seamus, hunching his shoulders defensively. "And I didn't have time to really accessorize...."
"Seamus," interrupts George, "you're gorgeous."
Seamus ducks his head as his face heats up.
He's never felt so exposed before, which is stupid, because he's been literally naked with George plenty of times before; but something is driving him to keep tearing, to make sure George understands exactly what he's seeing. "I think I can feel every single hair on my legs," he mutters. "Don't know why I couldn't have at least picked up some pantyhose."
George steps forward, rests his hands delicately on Seamus' waist. "You're the only one who can tell," he says gently.
"Doesn't matter," insists Seamus. "Madame Precious dolls don't skimp on the details, even though you're not supposed to take them down from the shelf and check whether they have historically accurate bloomers."
He can hear the quiet amusement in George's voice. "You checked them all, didn't you?"
Seamus' lips twitch into a rueful smile. "Every one Dad had."
George gathers two handfuls of the ruffled skirt and draws Seamus toward him. He's not strong enough to force anything, but a thrill runs down Seamus' spine as he allows himself to be led. Handled. "You know you shouldn't need special underwear to earn his approval, right?"
"Psychoanalyst," teases Seamus, voice light to keep it from shaking too hard. "I know I'm never going to measure up to those dolls in his eyes, okay? I get that. I hate it, but I get it."
George holds him close, but says nothing. Seamus is left with plenty of space to talk.
"You want to know something crazy?" he says absently. "All the time I was growing up, my parents were obsessed with making things look good, no matter how rotten they were underneath. Even when I was really little, way before I knew about...me, I knew things were messed up. They were always yelling...Mom started drinking...I remember this one time, Dad came home and an hour later I found him down in the basement, sobbing next to the furnace. Hadn't even taken his coat off."
He lets George guide him wordlessly to the couch, laying him down across the cushions. He's afraid for a moment that the dress will get messed up, but George immediately turns to the skirt and starts smoothing every fold into place, taking care to do the job slowly and thoroughly.
"In public, everything was fine," Seamus continues, at once exhilarated and soothed by the attention. "When there were people to impress, Mom would plaster on this fake smile, and Dad would ruffle my hair and offer to buy me ice cream. Everything in my life was like that—false pretty surface, falling apart underneath—except...?"
"Your dad's dolls," realizes George, straightening the ribbon at Seamus' neck.
"Exactly." Seamus' breath catches as George tucks stray locks of hair out of his face. "That's how I learned that some people think it's worth doing things well, even when they don't think anybody's going to see. That it was possible to care that much, and that sincerely. That I wasn't crazy to feel like I was missing out."
He closes his eyes. "God, this sounds so pathetic. What kind of kid hangs their emotional well-being on Madame Precious outfits?"
"A creative one," says George firmly. "Smart. Resourceful."
Seamus feels another rush of warmth, this one unfamiliar. It takes him a moment to realize that it's pride.
Keeping his eyes closed, he blurts, "I have to tell Dad."
His hair has got to be practically flat by this point, but George keeps smoothing it anyway. "How much?"
"I have no idea." Seamus doesn't quite curl up into a little ball, but he finds himself pulling his limbs inward just a bit. "Haven't even managed to tell him I'm gay yet. He's going to go postal when he finds out I'm engaged. Should probably skip the bit about how he gave me a thing for crossdressing until he recovers. If I'm lucky, maybe it'll even happen this century."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
The thought has never even occurred to Seamus, and it shakes him to realize how much he wants it. "What, you think I need a knight in shining armor?" he protests.
"You do kind of look like a damsel in distress," George points out. When Seamus doesn't answer, he adds, "Listen, I'll stay out of it if you prefer. Just wanted you to know that I'm there if you need me."
Seamus opens his eyes and winds his fists into George's shirt front, pulling him downwards. "I need you," he murmurs, arching his body against the younger man. "I do."
George lets out a groan and pushes him back against the cushions, both hands now groping in earnest. "You look so good in this," he pants as the dress rustles between them, "seems a waste to take it off this soon...."
"So leave it on."
"Can I?" exclaims George eagerly. "I mean," he adds, sounding suddenly embarrassed, "I don't want to mess with your fantasy of being a perfect untouchable doll or anything...."
At that, Seamus actually laughs. "Are you kidding? I hated that they were untouchable. I used to think they must hate it too, being shut up on a shelf all the time. Get me out of there, George! Take me down from the pretty glass cage, and fuck me like you mean it."
"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," says Seamus for the hundredth time as he pulls up in front of the apartment.
"He's got to find out eventually," replies George matter-of-factly. "What, do you want to wait until after the wedding?"
Seamus laughs in spite of himself. I love you, he thinks. So much.
He pauses at the foot of the stairs. "Any time you get uncomfortable, just say the word and we'll get out of here."
"Got it."
Seamus takes a couple of steps before pausing again. "But if you're not comfortable, you might not feel able to say so," he realizes. "We should have some kind of signal. Cough three times if you want to—"
"Seamus," interrupts George. "I'll be fine. I promise."
This time, they make it all the way up to the landing before Seamus stops. "I warned you he looks exactly like your dad, right? I mean, they could be twins. Freakiest thing I've ever seen."
"You saw Charlene, right? Did you notice the resemblance? And the guy who taught me to dance, Esteban, he looks like someone Xeroxed my dad and pasted on a mustache. I'm kind of used to him having doppelgangers."
When they reach Dad's door, Seamus stops one last time. "Look, what if we just eloped? That would save everyone a lot of trouble."
"The longer you wait, the harder it'll get," counters George. "C'mon, tough guy, bite the bullet. It probably won't be nearly as bad as you're expecting."
Taking a deep breath, Seamus knocks on the door.
There's a loud crash from within, followed by a high-pitched scream.
Seamus jams his key into the lock and flings the door open without waiting for an invitation. Dad may have somebody over, but that sounded like a bad fall and he isn't getting any younger and Seamus is not going to leave the care of his father to some airheaded floozy who—
He dashes down the hall, reaches the front room—
—then skids to a stop and stumbles backward, flinging an arm over his eyes.
Holy shit.