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April 29, 2015 7:20 pm  #1

In the Chair (original fic, m/m)

Here's a story I'm writing basically just to get some of my biggest fantasies off my chest. I don't know if anyone else will enjoy it, but I figured I'd post it! Since I tend to write long things (once I start I just can't stop), I'm breaking this up into three parts. The first two I'll post right now and then the last part I'll probably post tonight.

Quick warning: Snot is mentioned a lot in this because it's one of my main cry kinks. If that's too gross to you, skip this one. There is also a good deal of profanity (because I have a bad mouth, lol). Here goes!


Alex Edevane paced back and forth in front of his condominium, IPhone pressed to one ear. "No," he said firmly, with the cadence of a young man who was very used to getting his way. "Absolutely not, Mitch, I won't do it."

"Come on, Alex," begged Mitch, his agent, through the phone. "Just one shoot. Twelve hours. Wrapped."

The young actor sighed. He was twenty-four, about 5'10", with a body that was leaner than average if not skinny. With his pale skin and blond hair, rather pretty ski-jump nose, and boyish features, he wasn't the manliest looking guy around, but that didn't stop him from being a force to be reckoned with. His often-icy demeanor and all-around entitlement could make the pretty boy seem downright scary. That and those eyes: big and round and dark-black, almost. It was unnerving to see eyes that color on someone so fair.

"I already made plans to be in New York that day," he said. "Dad's having a great big to-do at the estate upstate, he'll have an absolute shit-fit if I cancel now, and aside from that, I don't want to."

"Alex, please-"

"Reschedule it," he said curtly, "or I walk. That's final." On that note he hung up the phone, being sure to turn the ringer down before shoving it back into his pocket.

"Dick," he muttered, walking up the stairs to the condo. The place was actually somewhat modest for LA: a smallish two-bedroom place where things were nice but not flashy or opulent. The Edevane family, virtual Hollywood royalty, were refreshingly subdued about displaying their wealth.

Such had been the way of the man who made them rich and famous in the first place: Jack Edevane, founder of Edevane's Animation and Alex's late grandfather. He'd been a Midwesterner from a working-class background who came to LA as a teenager during the golden age of animation. With hard work and determination, he ended up becoming the maker of some of the mid 20th century's most beloved, enduring cartoon features, as well as the founder of a major animation empire.

Sadly, his virtuous ways weren't carried on by his only son, Alex's father, an actor and a notorious Hollywood playboy. He was known for little outside of his womanizing and hedonism, and was content to pay more talented outsiders to run his father's company while he starred in movies and lived it up.

But even he wasn't gauche about displaying his fortune. That attitude was the reason behind Alex's simple condo. Well, that and the fact that the trusts left to the youngest Edevane by his grandfather weren't accessible to him until he turned thirty or married-whichever came first.

"Oh, hey," greeted Alex, letting himself in to see his live-in love of eleven months. "I wasn't expecting you to be home so soon. How was Minnesota?...Geez, Si-Si, you look exhausted. Did you sleep on the plane?"

He walked to the other actor and gave him a quick squeeze and a peck on the cheek. Josiah Mattox was a man of about Alex's height and build and two years his junior. He too was pale and sweet-faced, with perpetually messy light-brown hair, large blue eyes, a crooked smile and a little snub nose that Alex secretly found adorably kissable. In ways, Josiah was similar to his late grandpa: he too was a Midwesterner who didn't come from money. He was a theater kid who'd come to LA after high school, played the audition game for a few years, and eventually managed to make a name for himself on a major TV network's show.

Josiah shook his head. Alex noticed then that his eyes were a little red-rimmed, and remembered that his boyfriend's visit home hadn't been a happy one. His mother, a special education teacher, was also a prolific foster mother who had gifted Josiah-his words-with an adopted special-needs sister five years prior. The little girl, Florence, now seven, was recently diagnosed with leukemia and had needed surgery, prompting Josiah to fly out for the week to support his family.

Alex collapsed tiredly into an oversized armchair at the center of the living room. The chair was a strange addition, easily big enough for two adults at once and styled in a flashy way that didn't suit the rest of the room. But he had to keep it; sigh, it was a house-warming gift from Neil Patrick Harris, with his stupid taste in furniture and his insistence that Alex have it and... well, nevermind that, Alex thought.

"C'mere," he said, opening his arms up to Josiah.

The boy collapsed into them, resting directly between Alex's legs and not facing him. The blond boy instinctively went to playing with his boyfriend's hair.

"You wanna tell me about it, Si-Si?" he cooed, almost playful. For some reason, Josiah was the one person who could melt his icy facade a bit. He didn't often feel compelled to be tender, so to do so at all was a new sensation for him.

His only answer came in the form of a quiet sob, followed by many similar to it, muffled by the fabric of the sleeve of Josiah's striped long-sleeve tee-shirt. After a few seconds the sniffling started, right on cue. Josiah was an extremely talented crier, so drippy about it that he'd earned the flattering on-set nickname "The Hot Mess".

Alex reached for his boyfriend's hand, pressing a kiss into the palm and then pressing it gently to Josiah's wet cheek. "You want me to go get you a tissue?"

"No," Josiah turned around with quick desperation, setting his legs across Alex's lap and burying his face into his chest. "Stay right here." He sniffled wetly. "...I'll use my sleeve."

"No need," said Alex kindly, closing his arms around his lover with one wrist positioned within a hand's reach of his face. He smiled sadly. "You can have mine. Here."


April 29, 2015 7:22 pm  #2

Re: In the Chair (original fic, m/m)

Part 2:

Josiah took it and wiped delicately where the tears were dripping off that darling nose of his. He clutched his boyfriend's wrist desperately just as if it were a Kleenex. Even the usually stony-hearted Alex had to admit that it was rather precious. And slightly heartbreaking.

The Edevane heir sighed audibly. "I'm so sorry, Si," he said quietly. "You just... can't know how awfully sorry I am." The usually confident boy cursed himself inwardly. He sounded stupid, he just knew it. Why was he so bad at this? He was good at everything else: charming the bouncers at exclusive bars, winning fights with his agent, in-business flirting with girls he didn't even like, playing the charismatic teen villain in big-budget fantasy flicks.

Josiah wiped his nose again, the tears and snot soaking through Alex's sleeve now to a point that he could feel it. But it didn't matter to the rich boy in the slightest; nothing that came from his darling could ever be gross. The sad boy buried his face deeper into Alex's flat chest and cried harder as a result of those few kinds words, not ready to speak yet himself.

"Aw, shh... shh..." Alex stroked his boyfriend's hair and cradled him closer, staring down at him lovingly. Josiah was his own little theater geek, his little small-town homeschooled kid with a biblical name and no goddamm clue he was gorgeous. His poor little messy crier. Usually he surveyed the boy's tears with a caring if slightly detached pity, endeared but not horribly moved himself. But now he felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest, a prickle behind his eyes that he might have recognized as a need for tears himself, were he someone who ever cried. He didn't, though. He wasn't even sure he possessed the ability.

"Is she gonna be okay?" he asked finally, surprising himself with the fact that he was a little scared of the answer. He, rich and famous and beautiful, suddenly terrified over the fate of a little disabled girl with blonde pigtails who he'd met all of once.

Josiah sniffled loudly and turned, finally letting go of Alex's sleeve and shifting to sit beside him in the chair, his face grasped between his hands. "She hasn't woken up yet," he said. More tears dripped down his blotchy face, prompting Alex to reach over and brush them away with his fingertips. "I didn't wanna leave her, but I had to be back here because we're filming tomorrow morning." He choked back a little sob, the sound so childlike, and reached blindly for his lover's wrist again.

"You should have told me," Alex said firmly. "I would have called the network and made sure they changed it." He laughed lightly. "You know I'm a dick. I get shit done."

Josiah shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. "After they finished operating, she had so many tubes and machines hooked up to her..."

Alex winced. Why was this breaking his ice-cold Hollywood heart so fucking badly? This wasn't like him.

"...her eyes were... open and kind of darting around, but I knew she couldn't see me..." His voice broke a little. "...Oh Lex, I was so scared..."

The blond boy's hand went instinctively for his love's hair, not wanting to think about the awful, uncharacteristic sinking in his own stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"...and after I came home that morning, I sat on the edge of her bed at home... I missed her so much that I picked up one of her dolls and just held it, like that could help me feel like I was holding her again. Now I... I can't even do that..."

Josiah leaned forward, sobbing again. His nose dripped a little, prompting him to lift the edge of his own shirt to wipe it.

"Aw, for God's sake, Si," sighed Alex kindly. "Let me go get you something to blow your nose on. Don't get me wrong, I'd be happy to let you use both my sleeves, but I really don't think there's much dry fabric left there."

He kissed his boyfriend's hair and then left the room, appearing a moment later and sitting down beside him, handing him a handkerchief that was pristinely clean and folded, smelling of detergent. Josiah looked funny at the antiquated thing.

"It's my grandpa's handkerchief," Alex explained. "Besides money out the ass, this is what I got when he died. Real treat for a fourteen-year-old, huh?" He stopped, letting himself be serious for a moment. "...See, I know a thing or two about objects that make you feel close to people ...Go ahead, you can cry on it. I want you to."

Josiah took it and undid one of the folds, pressing it into his face with a shaky sigh to blot away the tears. It actually did feel a lot nicer than Kleenex-or clothes, for that matter. "That's super sweet, Lex," he said, "thanks. But I'm not about to get this beautiful sentimental token of yours all snotty."

Alex smiled and rolled his eyes. "Would you blow your fucking nose already so that I can maybe understand a word you're saying?"

Josiah rolled his eyes back, but he held the thing to his nose and blew in an abandoned, I-have-no-idea-I'm-pretty sort of way. "Ugh," he muttered, lowering it and wiping his nose. "Sorry. I'm so gross."

"Not at all," Alex insisted. "You're crying. It's fine." His heart sank for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint. When he spoke, his voice wasn't quite his own. It was smaller, a little weaker and less sure. Like a child who'd lost someone. "...I mean it's a fucking handkerchief, right? Someone ought to cry on it..."

And then, out of nowhere: that huge, unfamiliar lump in his throat. Why was his vision blurring? Fuck. Goddamn. "...God knows I can't."

The great irony was that Alex's voice broke rather pitifully on that last line, causing him to turn his face away from his now-perplexed boyfriend. "Oh my god," he muttered, blinking. "Fuck me. I'm sorry. Ugh."

Last edited by Super-Secret (April 30, 2015 2:42 am)

     Thread Starter

April 30, 2015 1:52 pm  #3

Re: In the Chair (original fic, m/m)

Part Three (Or, Is Alex going to cry? Fuck yes he is.)

(Super-Secret, resident potty-mouth.)


Alex's face flushed, slight blotches appearing along his cheekbones and around the edges of his nose. Josiah looked almost panicked, broken momentarily out of his own misery by sheer surprise. In eleven months of dating and fourteen months total of knowing each other, he'd never seen Alex come anywhere even remotely close to tears. The kid was a brick wall.

"I am so sorry!" he exclaimed. "Oh god... I don't wanna go down in history as the guy who made Alex fucking Edevane cry..."

Alex sniffled delicately. "Yeah, well, you're alone there," he said, trying to get his bearings back with humor. "Half this town would probably kill for the sadistic thrill of seeing me snot-sob... Not that I blame them. I'd kinda deserve it."

Josiah sensed that his boyfriend was hedging, and knew that he had to play his cards right. It wasn't that he wanted to see Alex cry. He just wanted to break through what felt like the last hurdle in their relationship, the last little piece of his heart that Alex seemed to hold from him at arm's length. Hell, Josiah could possibly see himself marrying this boy. But in order to get there he had to have all of Alex-even the broken parts, even the parts he wouldn't let anyone else see.

"Maybe..." he said slowly, reaching over to push a lock of hair away from his lover's forehead, "...there's some stuff you need to talk about, too?"

Alex avoided his gaze. "What's to talk about?" he asked, his voice tense and a little shaky and his eyes-those cold, beautiful black eyes-damp but not overflowing. "My mom OD'd when I was four, not that she ever really was much of a mom to begin with, and from there on it was just my dad and whatever coked-up starlet he brought home that night."

He felt a prickle inside of his nose, behind his eyes. His throat felt tight; oh god, his stomach hurt. "...The only person who ever did show me any real love died right when I needed him the most... and you know, I thought to myself, 'why?' Why did he leave, why then?" Finally he turned to lock eyes with Josiah, wearing an unfamiliar lost-boy expression that broke the other actor's heart. "Couldn't he tell that I needed him...?"

Josiah put a hand on his boyfriend's heart. "People get sick, sweetheart," he said gently. "Sometimes they die. They don't choose it."

Alex looked away again, bitter. "Yeah, well... from there it was my first major movie, and VIP parties and cocaine at fourteen, rehab at sixteen, and now... Now every goddamm person I ever meet just wants something from me, and I can't so much as fucking sneeze without the paparazzi in my face. But you know, none of that really matters. It's just that I... I..."

"You what, Lex?"

"...I'm just so worried about your sister, and I just really, really hate seeing you c-c-cry..." Finally a tear spilled down Alex's cheek, the kind of perfect single tear directors dream about.

Josiah thumbed it away. "Aw," he said with a little smile. "Alert the press: You do have a heart."

"But I don't," Alex choked out, ignoring the irony of the fact that he said it right as his eyes started raining all over his face. "Not really..."

"You do," Josiah insisted, grinning mischeviously and petting Alex's hair before running a slow finger down the length of his chest. "I happen to know for a fact that your soul is totally made of... drippy, sappy, tender emotional stuff."

"...Now here." He folded the handkerchief nicely so that the messy part was hidden, and pressed it into Alex's shaky hand. "Take this super-emotional, sentimental thing that you've been like, painstakingly keeping for ten years. Which you really, really need, by the way, because you're kinda dripping everywhere."

The handkerchief seemed to be the invitation Alex needed, because he said nothing back. He just planted his face in it and let himself sob. It was such a tenderly desperate gesture, like a little kid giving up, seeking solace.

Josiah stared. He couldn't help it. It was kind of jarring. Alex didn't cry like he did everything else: cool, charismatic, enigmatic. It was noisy and indelicate and incapacitating. It was downright childlike.

After a moment he came to his senses and gathered the poor thing up in his arms, rocking him and stroking his hair. When Josiah spoke again, it was soft. All the teasing was gone from his voice.

"You know," he said, "some of the kids my mom works with have this diagnosis: hyper-empathy. It means that they hurt because they feel other people's feelings too much." He shifted, squeezing Alex even tighter, and kissed his hair. "Look at you crying for me now. I dunno, Lex, I think that could be you, too."

Somehow Alex found his voice enough to choke out the words: his deepest, most secret shame, the wound he'd never dared show anyone. "My dad's... psychologist said I... I h-had no empathy... He said I was a... a... a s-sociopath..."

"Uh-huh," said Josiah wryly, rubbing his back. "...And who's violently sobbing right now into their beloved hanky because they just love their boyfriend way too much?"

No answer. Just the sound of the aforementioned sobbing. Though now it had taken on the timbre and intensity of someone with a chest cold having a coughing fit.

"Your dad's psychologist can blow me," Josiah complained. "The guy's obviously a hack."

Again, no reply. Unless of course one were to count the sound of sobbing: awful, physically painful, horribly violent sobbing.

Josiah kissed his hair again. "I'm sorry, Lex," he said softly. "I know it hasn't been easy for you. Here, sweetheart, just go right ahead and cry. Just... try not to hyperventilate. And try and tell me if you're gonna throw up, okay?"

Then he was silent. The only sound in the room was Alex losing it. Josiah held him and reflected on the fact that he basically had the picture of privilege sobbing into his chest. Alex fucking Edevane, epitome of young Hollywood, beautiful sociopathic blond boy, force to be reckoned with: All of that was crumpled in his arms now, desperately clutching the soggy handkerchief that he was awfully-probably messily-weeping into.

Oh my god, Josiah thought, I love him. I can do it. I can marry this boy. We can buy a big house, have a few adorable kids, the whole nine yards. Just like Neil Patrick Harris... but, you know, with better taste in chairs.

It was some time before Alex could find any words again. When the tide finally started subsiding, the first ones he found were gasping, whimpered: "...I'm sorry..."

"Shh," Josiah whispered. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You're sad. I get it."

"Uh huh... ugh, here, just lemme... I need to..." Alex shifted away from his lover's grasp and re-folded his hanky, sighing shakily while he mopped his face and blotted his eyes. His nose was all runny-ugh, it made him feel like a kindergartener-and he kept having to sniffle to keep it back, with only marginal success.

"All better?" asked Josiah tenderly, smiling sadly through the tracks of tears on his own face. Seeing Alex cry had been too much for him.

"I'm a fucking trainwreck," Alex laughed dryly, sniffling and passing the soggy handkerchief to him so he could dry his eyes, too. "Oh my god..."

"Yeah, well, congrats," said Josiah, dabbing carefully at his eyes and nose with the edge of the cloth. "We just had an epic fucking meltdown together. An important couple's milestone if I do say so myself."

No reply. Just more cringe-worthily wet sniffling. He wordlessly handed the handkerchief back to Alex, who muttered "ugh" again and proceeded to blow his runny nose into it-a bit more loudly and excessively than he'd meant to.

Josiah grinned. "Ladies and gentlemen, Alex Edevane," he teased. "The epitome of young Hollywood, he will charm your panties off with his sexy, sexy ways..."

"Shut up, you jerkass," said Alex, crumpling the hanky in one hand and settling back into Josiah's arms. "I've been crying."

Josiah leaned down, ever so gently, to kiss his blotchy eyes and his damp blond eyelashes. "I know," he said, playing with Alex's hair. "And it's kind of adorable."

-The End-

(Whew, felt good to get THAT out of me!)

Last edited by Super-Secret (April 30, 2015 1:55 pm)

     Thread Starter

July 24, 2016 2:10 am  #4

Re: In the Chair (original fic, m/m)

I literally just registered so I could tell you how much I love this story!! I've reread it a few times and I can't get enough, I love these characters and all of the snot (it's one of my fave parts of the cry kink too). I really hope to see more of these two, or just more writing from you in general :D <3


March 6, 2017 4:26 pm  #5

Re: In the Chair (original fic, m/m)

This is wonderful! I have a big thing for nose blowing after crying, and you write this so well.


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