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crack_van2010-08-07 09:15 pm
icanbreakthesky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-08-07 09:15 pm
Sweet Science by graceoftheworld (NC-17)
Apologies for the late start! I'm ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
icanbreakthesky and I'll be driving the van for bandom this month. I'm planning on a good mix of lengths and characters for my recs this month, but I tend to favor MCR. So hang on, it might be a bumpy ride!
Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Bob/Brian (Gerard/Lindsey, Frank/Jamia)
Length: 31k+
Author on LJ:graceoftheworld
Author Website: Fic tag
Why this must be read:
For one thing,graceoftheworld has a great ear for dialog. For another, she built this real world AU that feels like you could be reading about the lives of real people walking down the street. Brian is a cop and Bob is a boxer; she makes both worlds feel so real you're liable to get grit in your teeth. It's about their lives, both in the present and the things and people that made them who they are.
This is one of my all-time favorite stories. It's beautiful like real life is beautiful: it's hard and it hurts and sometimes it's ugly, but if you're lucky you've got good people around you to help weather the storm and remind you of all the love and wonder and joy waiting for you.
Every weekday morning, Brian’s alarm wakes him up in what still feels like the middle of the night, 4am, complete darkness except for the streetlight leak through the blinds, the red smoke alarm glow. Brian jerks awake, hits the button on the clock before it can wake Bob.
He lies there for a minute, heart hammering in his chest, listening to the occasional white noise of a car passing on the street below, the steady snuffle of Bob’s breathing. He’s lying on the other side of the bed, one arm slung over the entangled heap of dogs in the middle: Bob’s capitulation in the face of Dixie’s righteous indignation that Duke was now inexplicably allowed to sleep in the bed when she was not.
Brian swings his legs out of bed, rubs a hand across his face. He’s been on the force for eight years and he still feels the same thing every morning before he goes in, the same mixture of dread and elation, a weight on his heart the size of the impossibility of the task. He takes a breath, thinks one second one minute one hour one day at a time, and before you know it, there you go, you got a life. The voice of good sense in his head sounds like Travis. He pisses, walks into the kitchen with his toothbrush in his mouth, starts the coffeemaker. He slides into his jeans and sweatshirt in the dark. Bob turns over in his sleep. Coffee, keys, shoes. He leans over the bed, kisses Bob’s forehead, runs his hand over Duke’s warm skull, whispers love you in the dark. Bob answers, “You too,” possibly in his sleep.
When Brian pulls into the station parking lot, Ballato is getting out of her car, bakery bag in her teeth, talking on the phone. Their eyes meet and they both sprint for the building. Brian skids around the corner, makes it an armlength ahead of her – “PIGFUCKER!” shouts Ballato, and then, into the phone, “No, not you, baby.”
Brian saunters inside, remarks, “That’s two mornings in a row, Ballato, you’re losing your edge,” as Ballato snaps her phone shut.
“Don’t piss me off, I’m on the rag,” she says. “Danish?” opening the waxy paper of the bakery bag.
Everything feels more manageable once Brian’s in uniform and in the car, Ballato steering one-handed beside him. He takes a breath and lets it all out – the dullness in Duke’s eyes, what Bob’s orthopedist said, the memory of that first sip of beer in the back of his throat, relief like somebody taking a gun off his head. That’s all on hold for now. He listens to what’s coming in on the radio.
Sweet Science
icanbreakthesky and I'll be driving the van for bandom this month. I'm planning on a good mix of lengths and characters for my recs this month, but I tend to favor MCR. So hang on, it might be a bumpy ride!Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Bob/Brian (Gerard/Lindsey, Frank/Jamia)
Length: 31k+
Author on LJ:
graceoftheworldAuthor Website: Fic tag
Why this must be read:
For one thing,
graceoftheworld has a great ear for dialog. For another, she built this real world AU that feels like you could be reading about the lives of real people walking down the street. Brian is a cop and Bob is a boxer; she makes both worlds feel so real you're liable to get grit in your teeth. It's about their lives, both in the present and the things and people that made them who they are.This is one of my all-time favorite stories. It's beautiful like real life is beautiful: it's hard and it hurts and sometimes it's ugly, but if you're lucky you've got good people around you to help weather the storm and remind you of all the love and wonder and joy waiting for you.
Every weekday morning, Brian’s alarm wakes him up in what still feels like the middle of the night, 4am, complete darkness except for the streetlight leak through the blinds, the red smoke alarm glow. Brian jerks awake, hits the button on the clock before it can wake Bob.
He lies there for a minute, heart hammering in his chest, listening to the occasional white noise of a car passing on the street below, the steady snuffle of Bob’s breathing. He’s lying on the other side of the bed, one arm slung over the entangled heap of dogs in the middle: Bob’s capitulation in the face of Dixie’s righteous indignation that Duke was now inexplicably allowed to sleep in the bed when she was not.
Brian swings his legs out of bed, rubs a hand across his face. He’s been on the force for eight years and he still feels the same thing every morning before he goes in, the same mixture of dread and elation, a weight on his heart the size of the impossibility of the task. He takes a breath, thinks one second one minute one hour one day at a time, and before you know it, there you go, you got a life. The voice of good sense in his head sounds like Travis. He pisses, walks into the kitchen with his toothbrush in his mouth, starts the coffeemaker. He slides into his jeans and sweatshirt in the dark. Bob turns over in his sleep. Coffee, keys, shoes. He leans over the bed, kisses Bob’s forehead, runs his hand over Duke’s warm skull, whispers love you in the dark. Bob answers, “You too,” possibly in his sleep.
When Brian pulls into the station parking lot, Ballato is getting out of her car, bakery bag in her teeth, talking on the phone. Their eyes meet and they both sprint for the building. Brian skids around the corner, makes it an armlength ahead of her – “PIGFUCKER!” shouts Ballato, and then, into the phone, “No, not you, baby.”
Brian saunters inside, remarks, “That’s two mornings in a row, Ballato, you’re losing your edge,” as Ballato snaps her phone shut.
“Don’t piss me off, I’m on the rag,” she says. “Danish?” opening the waxy paper of the bakery bag.
Everything feels more manageable once Brian’s in uniform and in the car, Ballato steering one-handed beside him. He takes a breath and lets it all out – the dullness in Duke’s eyes, what Bob’s orthopedist said, the memory of that first sip of beer in the back of his throat, relief like somebody taking a gun off his head. That’s all on hold for now. He listens to what’s coming in on the radio.
Sweet Science