![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Popslash/WB rps (NC-17)
Fandom: POPSLASH/WB RPS CROSSOVER
Title: Hotel Rooms & Headlights by Genee Li
Pairing: Nick Carter/Chris Kane
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geneli4
Author Website: sparkle and shine
Why this must be read: Because while the only thing I know about Chris Kane is that he's kind-of goodlooking in a pouty way and played Lindsey in Angel the Series it doesn't matter at all for my enjoyment of this story. I don't know if the reverse is true but I think so, and it's such a well-written, rich and multi-layered story that it deserves a very wide audience. It's almost-but-not-really a PWP with a bit of mutual backstory and a potential for a happy future, and at the center of it is Nick Carter, shaping everything around him into something golden and slow and so, so hot. I love the way Genee writes, the way her words flow over the page, warm and immediate and sensual.
Excerpt: Chris lets his own bet ride, wins the next three hands without paying much attention to anything but the guy at the bar, the way his hip juts out just right, the way he smiles when he finally turns his head and catches Chris looking, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners, like Chris is the best thing he's seen all night.
And wouldn't that be a hot son of a bitch, because oh, fuck yeah, Chris knows this boy, knows his eyes are blue and his skin is sweet like warm peaches, like honey, knows there's a spot down low on his back that's sweet and salty and Chris can almost hear him now, gasping, breath caught in his throat, soft and high and all twisted up like those crappy hotel sheets, so sweet Chris couldn't have said no to him even if he'd wanted to, which he fuckin' well hadn't.
Thirteen, the dealer counts, and Chris taps his fingers on the felt without looking at the cards. Twenty-three.
Twenty-three.
Fuck.
Nick had been breathtaking at twenty-three. Backwater bar, fucked-up sparkles on his shirt and just smiling away at the house crowd, after-work regulars with no damn idea who he was. Nick's voice all road sore and raspy, tore up from a gig the county fair the night before, and here he was now, pickin' out an old Nanci Griffith song on a rattyass guitar he couldn't play for shit, not really, not that Chris was anyone to talk, but fuck, the boy could sing.
Fuck.
Nick.
Hotel Rooms & Headlights or here
Title: Hotel Rooms & Headlights by Genee Li
Pairing: Nick Carter/Chris Kane
Author on LJ:
geneli4Author Website: sparkle and shine
Why this must be read: Because while the only thing I know about Chris Kane is that he's kind-of goodlooking in a pouty way and played Lindsey in Angel the Series it doesn't matter at all for my enjoyment of this story. I don't know if the reverse is true but I think so, and it's such a well-written, rich and multi-layered story that it deserves a very wide audience. It's almost-but-not-really a PWP with a bit of mutual backstory and a potential for a happy future, and at the center of it is Nick Carter, shaping everything around him into something golden and slow and so, so hot. I love the way Genee writes, the way her words flow over the page, warm and immediate and sensual.
Excerpt: Chris lets his own bet ride, wins the next three hands without paying much attention to anything but the guy at the bar, the way his hip juts out just right, the way he smiles when he finally turns his head and catches Chris looking, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners, like Chris is the best thing he's seen all night.
And wouldn't that be a hot son of a bitch, because oh, fuck yeah, Chris knows this boy, knows his eyes are blue and his skin is sweet like warm peaches, like honey, knows there's a spot down low on his back that's sweet and salty and Chris can almost hear him now, gasping, breath caught in his throat, soft and high and all twisted up like those crappy hotel sheets, so sweet Chris couldn't have said no to him even if he'd wanted to, which he fuckin' well hadn't.
Thirteen, the dealer counts, and Chris taps his fingers on the felt without looking at the cards. Twenty-three.
Twenty-three.
Fuck.
Nick had been breathtaking at twenty-three. Backwater bar, fucked-up sparkles on his shirt and just smiling away at the house crowd, after-work regulars with no damn idea who he was. Nick's voice all road sore and raspy, tore up from a gig the county fair the night before, and here he was now, pickin' out an old Nanci Griffith song on a rattyass guitar he couldn't play for shit, not really, not that Chris was anyone to talk, but fuck, the boy could sing.
Fuck.
Nick.
Hotel Rooms & Headlights or here
no subject
no subject