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Fic: Guitar Hero (Wizards Of Waverly Place, Justin/Alex)
Title: Guitar Hero
Fandom: Wizards Of Waverly Place
Pairing(s): Justin/Alex
Word Count: 1982
Rating: NC-17
Summary: They're totally rock stars.
Notes: Spoilers up to episode 2:11 - Make It Happen. Future fic. Written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
omgjustinalex.
"And the crowd goes wild," Alex says, and Justin smiles, in that tired kind of way she's getting used to. At first it bothered her, like he wasn't as into this as she was, like she roped him into it and he just went along with her, like he always, inevitably, does. But after a few endless bus trips and a few more sleepless nights, she realised that's all it is; he's tired, and he looks tired, and she can't really blame him for either.
(And Justin has never exactly been hard for her to read, so she doesn't know why she thought he'd start now.)
"The crowd?" he asks, and, okay, fair point. Their shows aren't exactly selling out, but they've only been doing this for a few months, and it's not like she expected them to be a success right from the start. (Well, maybe a little.)
But they'll get better. They'll get more popular. They're going to make this work.
Because it's this or the sub station, and she thinks maybe she even convinced their dad that this isn't an entirely terrible idea. So there's no way she's giving up now.
"Please," she says. "We were a hit."
"Really?" he asks, but he takes a step forward, a smile - a real one - playing at the corners of his mouth, and he's teasing her, now.
"Really," she says. "Last night, I didn't even have to pay for my drinks. We're totally rock stars."
"You're a rock star who totally isn't old enough to drink," he points out, and she rolls her eyes. Underage drinking is very rock and roll, thank you very much.
Besides, she's close enough to legal, so who cares?
Justin looks like he could probably sleep where he's standing, but Alex is wired, feels like she could go another week without sleep, on water and vending machine snacks alone. Which is pretty much all they can afford right now, so that's probably a good thing. It will wear off eventually, she knows, leave her dead to the world if she pushes it too far, but for now she revels in it; the music still humming through her veins, her nerves standing on edge. It's the closest thing to magic she's felt since the competition, and when she's on stage (when she's with Justin), she thinks she misses it less. She still misses it a little, obviously, being able to wave her hand and just make things happen, the way just having magic used to feel, vivid and electric, intangible until she lost it.
But this is pretty damn good, too.
She knows how to wake him up, though; it's one of those tricks she picked up after a few weeks on the road, like how to style her hair when she hasn't been able to wash it or how many times she can wear her clothes before it becomes a very bad idea (ugh, still only once), when she got tired of sitting awake on the bus alone. It turns out, it's easy; he's always responded to her, one way or another, and this is no different.
(And it started out, as these things always do, innocently enough; tickling the back of his hand to make him slap himself, elbowing him when he started to snore, brushing the hair back from his forehead because it was getting a little long and he didn't have the time or the money for a haircut.)
She takes a step forward, invading his personal space, takes his hand and rubs her thumb along his. His grin gets a little wider, and he's so easy, this is all it takes, but that doesn't mean she's going to stop here.
(She's never, ever stopped while she's ahead. Sometimes, it works out all right for her.)
Instead of moving forward again, she pulls him back towards her, until he has to lean one hand on the wall beside her head to keep himself upright. She likes it when he does this, leans over her, like it's just him and her and he's shutting out the rest of the world, but she never tells him; she shows him, instead, and there are a lot of things they've never said but they both know, anyway.
"Someone could come back here," he says, and she snorts - not at all delicate and ladylike, but hey, this is Justin, and whatever else he is, he's still her brother. She can be ridiculous around him.
"It's 2am," she says, "and the place is closed. That's kind of what closing it down means."
"The people who work here -"
"Are out there," she finishes for him. "They're not going to bother us."
A year ago, this would have been easy. Wave a wand, mutter a few words, and privacy guaranteed.
A year ago, this wasn't an issue.
"How do you know?" he asks, and she kind of loves this, they way Justin is still Justin even without school and magic, even when he's halfway (or, okay, maybe a quarter of the way, but she's being optimistic) to being a rock star. Even when it still drives her crazy.
She hooks a finger into one of his belt loops, pulls him forward, and he silences himself by kissing her. (It turns out, he's really, really easy.) After a minute, he kind of rests the weight of his body against hers, pinning her to the wall, and her hands move up, under his shirt, trying to pull him closer still. Which isn't really possible, but she's done plenty of impossible things in her life, and not all of them involved magic.
Case in point: Justin seems to get the idea, and his free hand moves to her waist, her hip, digging into the flesh above her jeans. Sometimes she wishes she were one of those girls who wears dresses and skirts and not jeans and tights, just for moments like these, but she doesn't really mind making Justin work for it, either, and she definitely doesn't mind the frustrated noise he makes when he can't get past her clothes, like all he wants -
Is her. And that's fine with her.
He's good at improvisation, though; in this, if in nothing else, and she thinks she must be rubbing off on him just a little. He can't undo her jeans with one hand, but he does it easily with two, and his hand slips down, pressed tight against her skin as he finds exactly where he means to be and circles, the feather-light touch an infuriating contrast to the firmness of everything else.
She rocks against him, trying to urge him on, but it just makes him pull away - his eyes bright, now, like he's forgotten he's supposed to be tired, and the same kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk on his face that used to drive her crazy when they were kids.
(And, okay, it still does, but in a totally different way.)
"Somebody could still catch us," he says, but it's like foreplay for him, now, like the things that terrify him are the things that get him going, too. (And it's Alex who gets him going, mostly, so that really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.)
She bites her lip, and at first it's mostly for show, but then Justin moves forward again, slides a finger into her, and it helps muffle the moan that slips past her tongue. And then Justin kisses her again, because neither one of them really wants to get caught. And one finger turns into two, turns into three, and her hands clutch at his shirt, and she's not really even kissing him back any more. And she wants him, god, she wants him here, now, and she wonders which one of them her clothes are really teasing.
"Justin," she mumbles, against his mouth, and he twists his hand a little, and yes. She should really stop being surprised that he does that so well - it's not like they aren't well-practised at it, by now - but it's Justin, and it always catches her a little off guard, like the way he holds her as her body tenses up, goes still an instant past the perfect moment (and that, she's sure, he does on purpose), kisses her temple as her eyes slide shut and she gets that good, sleepy, post-sex feeling.
"You're a rock star," he whispers, and she wants to laugh, because, man, is that corny or what, it's pure Justin, but the most she can manage is another snort. And, well, it's close enough.
(And, okay, she'll admit it: it's not like it's a horrible thing to hear.)
"I'm a fucking hero," she says, because, okay, she hasn't slept, so she's a little loopy, and it's not like she minds, really, going along with Justin when he says something stupid (only, don't tell him that).
"A drum hero?" he asks, and she can hear the laughter in his voice, even if he's still smiling at her indulgently and a little awed.
"Sure," she says. "That's totally a thing."
And she thinks about video games Max used to play, magical controllers and breaking that stupid lamp over and over, but it doesn't make her sad, exactly. Because maybe the surprising thing is that it's not like she never sees them; their parents come to every show they can manage, and she and Justin still stay at the loft when they're in New York, and once, Alex even ordered a couple of sandwiches from the sub station that Max delivered before she'd even hung up.
(But, yeah, she misses them a little. It should be weird, going back home, but it's really just comfortable and familiar, even if she finds it harder to sleep now when she's alone.)
"You're not even thinking about me right now, are you?" Justin asks, and she smiles at him.
"I am," she says. "Kind of."
"Home?"
It's just one word, one syllable, but he doesn't need to say more. She knows he gets it.
"I am home," she says, and, okay, that came out a lot cornier than it sounded in her head, but - it's true, kind of? She's with Justin, and Justin is home, and that's pretty much all there is. It took her twenty years to realise that, but she gets it, now.
"Yeah," he says, and leans into her again, his mouth resting against her forehead like he's not quite kissing her. And it would be sweet and innocent or whatever, except her jeans are still unbuttoned and Justin's hard against her, so instead, it just is what it is.
(She's always been really, really bad at definitions, and she thinks there's a reason for that.)
"Want to get dinner?" he asks after a minute. It comes out kind of muffled, because his lips are still pressed to her forehead, but she's used to unintelligible Justin speak.
"Tired," she says, because this is the way it always happens; when they come off stage, she's wired and he's exhausted, and then it's the other way around.
"Come on," he says. He straightens, and Alex buttons her jeans back up, fixes her top, until she's maybe almost presentable. "We'll get pizza."
Damn him. No-one can resist pizza.
"With pineapple?" she asks, and she knows he's rolling his eyes, even if she can't see it.
"Didn't dad ever tell you not to do that?" he asks, and she shrugs. Dad used to tell her not to do a lot of things. This wasn't one of the ones that stuck.
Justin slings an arm across her shoulders, and she leans into him, and only stumbles a little.
"Pineapple," he agrees finally. "But only if we can eat it in bed."
Sounds like a deal to her.
Sometimes, it's awesome to be a rock star. (Or an almost rock star, whatever.)
Fandom: Wizards Of Waverly Place
Pairing(s): Justin/Alex
Word Count: 1982
Rating: NC-17
Summary: They're totally rock stars.
Notes: Spoilers up to episode 2:11 - Make It Happen. Future fic. Written for this prompt at
omgjustinalex."And the crowd goes wild," Alex says, and Justin smiles, in that tired kind of way she's getting used to. At first it bothered her, like he wasn't as into this as she was, like she roped him into it and he just went along with her, like he always, inevitably, does. But after a few endless bus trips and a few more sleepless nights, she realised that's all it is; he's tired, and he looks tired, and she can't really blame him for either.
(And Justin has never exactly been hard for her to read, so she doesn't know why she thought he'd start now.)
"The crowd?" he asks, and, okay, fair point. Their shows aren't exactly selling out, but they've only been doing this for a few months, and it's not like she expected them to be a success right from the start. (Well, maybe a little.)
But they'll get better. They'll get more popular. They're going to make this work.
Because it's this or the sub station, and she thinks maybe she even convinced their dad that this isn't an entirely terrible idea. So there's no way she's giving up now.
"Please," she says. "We were a hit."
"Really?" he asks, but he takes a step forward, a smile - a real one - playing at the corners of his mouth, and he's teasing her, now.
"Really," she says. "Last night, I didn't even have to pay for my drinks. We're totally rock stars."
"You're a rock star who totally isn't old enough to drink," he points out, and she rolls her eyes. Underage drinking is very rock and roll, thank you very much.
Besides, she's close enough to legal, so who cares?
Justin looks like he could probably sleep where he's standing, but Alex is wired, feels like she could go another week without sleep, on water and vending machine snacks alone. Which is pretty much all they can afford right now, so that's probably a good thing. It will wear off eventually, she knows, leave her dead to the world if she pushes it too far, but for now she revels in it; the music still humming through her veins, her nerves standing on edge. It's the closest thing to magic she's felt since the competition, and when she's on stage (when she's with Justin), she thinks she misses it less. She still misses it a little, obviously, being able to wave her hand and just make things happen, the way just having magic used to feel, vivid and electric, intangible until she lost it.
But this is pretty damn good, too.
She knows how to wake him up, though; it's one of those tricks she picked up after a few weeks on the road, like how to style her hair when she hasn't been able to wash it or how many times she can wear her clothes before it becomes a very bad idea (ugh, still only once), when she got tired of sitting awake on the bus alone. It turns out, it's easy; he's always responded to her, one way or another, and this is no different.
(And it started out, as these things always do, innocently enough; tickling the back of his hand to make him slap himself, elbowing him when he started to snore, brushing the hair back from his forehead because it was getting a little long and he didn't have the time or the money for a haircut.)
She takes a step forward, invading his personal space, takes his hand and rubs her thumb along his. His grin gets a little wider, and he's so easy, this is all it takes, but that doesn't mean she's going to stop here.
(She's never, ever stopped while she's ahead. Sometimes, it works out all right for her.)
Instead of moving forward again, she pulls him back towards her, until he has to lean one hand on the wall beside her head to keep himself upright. She likes it when he does this, leans over her, like it's just him and her and he's shutting out the rest of the world, but she never tells him; she shows him, instead, and there are a lot of things they've never said but they both know, anyway.
"Someone could come back here," he says, and she snorts - not at all delicate and ladylike, but hey, this is Justin, and whatever else he is, he's still her brother. She can be ridiculous around him.
"It's 2am," she says, "and the place is closed. That's kind of what closing it down means."
"The people who work here -"
"Are out there," she finishes for him. "They're not going to bother us."
A year ago, this would have been easy. Wave a wand, mutter a few words, and privacy guaranteed.
A year ago, this wasn't an issue.
"How do you know?" he asks, and she kind of loves this, they way Justin is still Justin even without school and magic, even when he's halfway (or, okay, maybe a quarter of the way, but she's being optimistic) to being a rock star. Even when it still drives her crazy.
She hooks a finger into one of his belt loops, pulls him forward, and he silences himself by kissing her. (It turns out, he's really, really easy.) After a minute, he kind of rests the weight of his body against hers, pinning her to the wall, and her hands move up, under his shirt, trying to pull him closer still. Which isn't really possible, but she's done plenty of impossible things in her life, and not all of them involved magic.
Case in point: Justin seems to get the idea, and his free hand moves to her waist, her hip, digging into the flesh above her jeans. Sometimes she wishes she were one of those girls who wears dresses and skirts and not jeans and tights, just for moments like these, but she doesn't really mind making Justin work for it, either, and she definitely doesn't mind the frustrated noise he makes when he can't get past her clothes, like all he wants -
Is her. And that's fine with her.
He's good at improvisation, though; in this, if in nothing else, and she thinks she must be rubbing off on him just a little. He can't undo her jeans with one hand, but he does it easily with two, and his hand slips down, pressed tight against her skin as he finds exactly where he means to be and circles, the feather-light touch an infuriating contrast to the firmness of everything else.
She rocks against him, trying to urge him on, but it just makes him pull away - his eyes bright, now, like he's forgotten he's supposed to be tired, and the same kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk on his face that used to drive her crazy when they were kids.
(And, okay, it still does, but in a totally different way.)
"Somebody could still catch us," he says, but it's like foreplay for him, now, like the things that terrify him are the things that get him going, too. (And it's Alex who gets him going, mostly, so that really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.)
She bites her lip, and at first it's mostly for show, but then Justin moves forward again, slides a finger into her, and it helps muffle the moan that slips past her tongue. And then Justin kisses her again, because neither one of them really wants to get caught. And one finger turns into two, turns into three, and her hands clutch at his shirt, and she's not really even kissing him back any more. And she wants him, god, she wants him here, now, and she wonders which one of them her clothes are really teasing.
"Justin," she mumbles, against his mouth, and he twists his hand a little, and yes. She should really stop being surprised that he does that so well - it's not like they aren't well-practised at it, by now - but it's Justin, and it always catches her a little off guard, like the way he holds her as her body tenses up, goes still an instant past the perfect moment (and that, she's sure, he does on purpose), kisses her temple as her eyes slide shut and she gets that good, sleepy, post-sex feeling.
"You're a rock star," he whispers, and she wants to laugh, because, man, is that corny or what, it's pure Justin, but the most she can manage is another snort. And, well, it's close enough.
(And, okay, she'll admit it: it's not like it's a horrible thing to hear.)
"I'm a fucking hero," she says, because, okay, she hasn't slept, so she's a little loopy, and it's not like she minds, really, going along with Justin when he says something stupid (only, don't tell him that).
"A drum hero?" he asks, and she can hear the laughter in his voice, even if he's still smiling at her indulgently and a little awed.
"Sure," she says. "That's totally a thing."
And she thinks about video games Max used to play, magical controllers and breaking that stupid lamp over and over, but it doesn't make her sad, exactly. Because maybe the surprising thing is that it's not like she never sees them; their parents come to every show they can manage, and she and Justin still stay at the loft when they're in New York, and once, Alex even ordered a couple of sandwiches from the sub station that Max delivered before she'd even hung up.
(But, yeah, she misses them a little. It should be weird, going back home, but it's really just comfortable and familiar, even if she finds it harder to sleep now when she's alone.)
"You're not even thinking about me right now, are you?" Justin asks, and she smiles at him.
"I am," she says. "Kind of."
"Home?"
It's just one word, one syllable, but he doesn't need to say more. She knows he gets it.
"I am home," she says, and, okay, that came out a lot cornier than it sounded in her head, but - it's true, kind of? She's with Justin, and Justin is home, and that's pretty much all there is. It took her twenty years to realise that, but she gets it, now.
"Yeah," he says, and leans into her again, his mouth resting against her forehead like he's not quite kissing her. And it would be sweet and innocent or whatever, except her jeans are still unbuttoned and Justin's hard against her, so instead, it just is what it is.
(She's always been really, really bad at definitions, and she thinks there's a reason for that.)
"Want to get dinner?" he asks after a minute. It comes out kind of muffled, because his lips are still pressed to her forehead, but she's used to unintelligible Justin speak.
"Tired," she says, because this is the way it always happens; when they come off stage, she's wired and he's exhausted, and then it's the other way around.
"Come on," he says. He straightens, and Alex buttons her jeans back up, fixes her top, until she's maybe almost presentable. "We'll get pizza."
Damn him. No-one can resist pizza.
"With pineapple?" she asks, and she knows he's rolling his eyes, even if she can't see it.
"Didn't dad ever tell you not to do that?" he asks, and she shrugs. Dad used to tell her not to do a lot of things. This wasn't one of the ones that stuck.
Justin slings an arm across her shoulders, and she leans into him, and only stumbles a little.
"Pineapple," he agrees finally. "But only if we can eat it in bed."
Sounds like a deal to her.
Sometimes, it's awesome to be a rock star. (Or an almost rock star, whatever.)