jaebility: (Default)
"Hey kid!"

I grimaced as I turned around. I had been expecting the son-of-a-bitch to hackle me again, needlesstosay I was not prepared for the punch.

I saw his fist and had a vague idea to duck but for some reason nothing happened after that first thought and then came the pain.

He punched me fucking hard and I stumbed back and crashed against the wall. Pure, manly fury surged through me; I ran my tongue over my teeth quickly to make he hadn't knocked out anything important and then I lunged at him.

I lost the last fight I had been in. Richie Stempack beat the shit out of me until a lunch lady had interupted and saved me. No fucking way would I lose again.

My fist connected nicely with his jaw and the feel of blood and bone against my skin was like fucking sex. The hit had been perfect, Ryan's head snapped back and he lost balance. He tripped back and landed with a satisfying crack on the ground.

The look he gave me was deadly. Blood dripped down from his nose and smudges of red were smeared over his lips. He spit and stood up again, fists out. "Mother fucker," he spit again, "Hit me again."

"With pleasure." I rolled my hands into fists and punched him again, a strong upper cut. The bastard fell again and sent me another diry look. I smiled.

I was so fucking hot: light blue jeans stained with blood and dirt, my Trojan condom shirt under a dark brown jean jacket, blood dribbling from my lip, and a fucking nasty shinner forming around my left eye. I felt gracious because of my superiority, "Done."

Ryan jumped back unto his feet. "Like fuck you are, Johnny boy."
jaebility: (Default)
John Mayer had Very Strange Habits. He dabbled in Combing Strange Ingredients to Make a Sandwich, enjoyed a good round of Saying the Word 'Penis' Instead of Singing the Correct Lyrics to a Song, and was most proud of his work in Talking About Himself in Third Person. Indeed, John Mayer was an odd duck.

And that's why I went to Virgin Megastore to buy my own CDs. For some reason I hadn't expected anyone to recognize me. And had I thought of that, I surely wouldn't have expected them to think that it was weird to purchase my own music. I mean, what the hell, am I NOT supposed to like my music? In fact, I HAVE to like it or else I never would have spent so much time on it. Yeah, what do you think about THAT, huh?

And so when some twentty-something college co-ed raised her eyebrow and asked me in a tone that suggested that she most certainly did not approve of my actions, if I was John Mayer and was I buying my own albums?, I was caught completely unaware. Damn college students and their educated, nosy, unpolite questions. Didn't she have any respect for her elders? Go back to the kitchen where you belong, bitch. Bake me a pie, goddammit. And knit me some socks.

Needless to say, I scrambled out of there pretty fucking quickly, pausing merely for seconds when I passed the nudie magazine section and not even looking if they had the new Jenna Jameson DVD. By the time I made it back to my appartment I was practically on the verge of having a heart-attack. Running has never been my forte and sprinting with a bag full of CDs and constantly looking behind you in case someone is following looks mighty suspicious. It was only my smashing good looks that saved me from being arrested by an over zealous NYC cop, matter of fact. I shouldn't diss the police department though, I'm going to need them someday when that sniper finally takes a shot.
jaebility: (john's body // by am78)
The kiss, which was all accidental and all awkwardness, was wet and hot and smooth and gave birth to a whole world of nasty images inside John's head.

"Mmph, goddamn, wha-?" The hard, lean body under John's wiggled until it bucked, throwing the young rocker, dazed, to the side.

"Fucking queer! What the hell was that? Who the hell are you? Fuck, man!" Blazing eyes complete with an angry mouth, Marshall Matthers was in a proper tizzy and a force to be reckened with.

"Ah, well, hi." John felt one rush blood rise into his cheeks and a second fill his loins. "I'm really sorry, I guess I tripped and look - I'm sorry."

Some of Marshall's ire melted. The kid looked like he'd been hit by a truck: hair tousled, breathing heavily, arms and legs in weird places at weird angles... "Fuck it. Whatever. Don't come near me again." He turned, debated giving the kid the finger and decided against it, and stalked off.

"My name's John!"

Marshall's foot stopped in mid step. He turned, his eyebrows furrowed and lips turned up in a sneer. "What?"

Desperate to get him back (get him? Him? Back?!), John pushed aside his pride and personnel respect in an effort to keep Marshall from leaving. "I'm John." He was still on the floor, still all rumpled and delicious, still making a fool of himself. "Nice to meet you."
jaebility: (Default)
New York City never let anyone down. She was all lights and sparkles, all red hot kisses and slinky black dresses. If she was a hooker she was a damn fine one, one whose appeal went beyond that of first appearences and first moments. John pressed his face against the cool glass window of the taxi and made a face at a pedestrian. To his surprise she noticed him and stuck her tongue out in rsponse. He waved as the light changed and sat back in his seat, just the tinest bit happier.

They were in the village now, a far cry from the neon and spotlights of Times Square. For a moment John wished he had brought one of his guitars; he could find a nice little cafe and play the night away. His fingers strummed absently at an instrument that didn't exist and he considered telling the driver to turn around and bring him home.
jaebility: (john's body // by am78)
The guitar twanged and John winced, his ears ringing from the sound. It needed new strings, a new kaypo, maybe even a new neck, goddammit, but he couldn't give his baby a well-needed update for a good week or so, thanks to his schedule. He almost -almost!- threw the guitar to the floor in anger but came to his senses at the last moment and stopped his hand before it committed murder.

Scott was busy, the guys were busy, even his mom was too fucking busy for him to call home. John tilted back in his chair and exhaled an exasperated sigh. No friends, no guitar, no girl... If it wasn't for the XBox he'd be utterly screwed in his solitude.

He leaned forward and pressed the 'on' button knowing that a few hours of blowing up aliens in HALO would improve the situtation.

"Click." Said the Xbox. It whirred and chirred, indescisive, and then in a flash of brillance shut down without having turned on in the first place.

John inched closer. A long finger that inspite of the calases was considered beautiful and inspiring by all the women (and some of the men) in America pressed again on the button and a voice that coaxed moans and sighs from the most cold hearted whispered a prayer to the Microsoft God. "C'mon baby."

The Xbox clicked with aggitation. It flicked a light, beeped once, and turned off.

That same hand that wished only to destroy the guitar for it's insolence now made an attempt on the Xbox's life. "Goddammit! Must... not... kill..."

John stood up in a huff. His hands ran through his hair and both got stuck in some snarles. "Dammit!" Pissed about this lastest diaster he kicked the TV stand and stubbed not only his big toe, but the second, third, and fourth toe on his right foot. "Goddammit!"

He freed his hands and grabbed onto his throbbing foot. Hopping on his yet uninjured appendage he cursed and bounced until he tripped over his couch. "Goddammit!"

He needed to get out -now- before he killed himself. Still swearing John grabbed a nearby coat and stuffed both feet (which were now both aching) into sneakers. "So long you appartment of doom."
jaebility: (Default)
Thoughts muddled and body numb, it took a moment for John to completely understand the situation. He was conscious of a chest underneath him and an arm around his waist and was fairly certain that was neither his chest nor his arm that he felt. He was even more certain when he turned his head and found himself staring into two blue eyes that couldn't have been more attractive. Or angry.

"Get the fuck off me, man!" A famillar voice cursed and an unfamillar hand pushed hard against John's shoulder. "Jesus Christ, who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing?"

John rolled onto his side, mumbling an apology. "I didn't mean to-"
jaebility: (john's body // by am78)
a little bit more of the johnxeminem that i wrote a couple of posts back.

The Sprite went flying off some where, spilling a trail of soda bubbles before landing in a plant a few feet from Marshall's chair. The sprinkles of wetness encouraged the opening of one eye, followed swiftly by the other when it focused on a quickly approaching body.

"Timber!" John yelled as he fell, and immediately regretted his idiocy. He was *not* at home, he was *not* with friends, he was *not* allowed to be funny and/or inappropiate, especially as he made a fool of himself.

"Fuck!" Marshall's hands sprang up unconsciously to brace against the weight of the fucker, but John was too much for them and they couldn't stop him from landing, full force, onto the rapper.

In a few seconds of complete chaos that ensued, arms and legs tangled together and two confused bodies were smashed unromantically together in a very intimate embrace. The chair tipped over, the crowed ooh-ed and aww-ed, and John Mayer met Marshell Matthers for the first time.
jaebility: (john's body // by am78)
this is what happens when i watch eminem music videos. more johnxeminem porn.

Marshall lounged in his chair like a cat would, all muscles tight but body looking as loose and cool as always. His eyes were halfed closed, partially because of the pot he'd done earlier and partially because the party was that damn dull. The women who had first flocked over for a chance the rape the famous Eminem had dispersed, angry at his lack of response and lured away by more promising and eager stars.

His mistake was letting his eyelids drop all the way.

John Mayer, newly immersed in the MTV fame, wandered awkwardly through the masses. He held a Sprite in hand, no drinking for him. No weed, either, making him the only person in the room who would have passed a drug test. He smiled nervously at a girl who "accidently" rubbed against him as she slid past and tried to say something clever and sexy but she was gone before any words formed and his chance for conversation went with her.

Even in the swarm, John felt alone. People pushed by him like he didn't exist, like he didn't even deserve to exist.

That thought was proven when someone behind him shove, sending John falling foward, long arms and legs flailing as he tumbled.

Right onto, of all places, the lap of a dozing Marshal Matthers.


jaebility: (Default)
a jar of jae

November 2016


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