seeing that wantstobelieve rec’d one of my fics is pretty much like getting a direct blessing from jesus hiddlesworth. at least now i know where the surge of followers came from most likely.
should have some stuff to post this week. thank you guys for following/reading/liking/reblogging/whatevering. it means a lot :D
Just a quickie lead in as to just why Chris didn’t have the manbun for this interview. Looks like it was up at some point so. Also as usual this is some crazy ambiguous shit that facts may not totally line up to what actually took place—I didn’t watch the full interview yet. There’s no porn, I’m sorry. Next time. Written for Lindsey because I’m the worst human. Also not beta’d, proofread over a pint of Guinness and my eternal apologies to Tom and Chris for shipping them so much. ( AO3 link )
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The trouble with sharing a dressing room is that someone is in the way. It’s never just Chris and Tom. Maybe all their handlers know that it’s not the greatest of ideas (rumors, rumors, must be careful about spreading rumors). Not that Tom (or Chris for that matter) would utter one complaint about having to share with Mark. He’s great—they all get along really well. And, truthfully, it’s been fun with the three of them. A new element, a new friend.
But sometimes, like right now, he’s sort of the fly in the ointment.
Except, because he’s such a good guy, it’s almost as if he can read the atmosphere. When Tom’s leg jangles a little too much from where he sits perched on the edge of the couch, when Chris’ tap, tap, tapping of his fingers on the wooden end table becomes a little too much, he politely excuses himself with the claim of making a phonecall.
Once the door had clicked in place—Tom could see the lock had been turned and that meant the world—silence descends over the room. That leg had stopped shaking, the blunt nails stopped scratching against the wood every few taps. Had a pin dropped in the building nextdoor, they could’ve heard it as if it’d been right in front of them.
