It is 5am and you are listening to Los Angeles.

Omg. I forgot I wrote this one.

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:39:06 GMT

Title: You Really Got Me
Pairing: JF/JL
Author: Sparky
Rating: TEH SLASH. LET ME SHOW YOU IT.
Word Count: 1569
Warnings: If you don't laugh, you're made of stone. Or possibily some type of petrified wood, I don't know. It's dirty, and kind of romantic, and it's an offshoot of the first three johnslash fics I wrote. Yeah, I need an agent to keep these sorted out.

John Flansburgh sat at the back of the tour bus by himself. His headphones were cranked up to a near-uncomfortable level. He drummed out the beat on his thighs enthusiastically, singing along at the top of his lungs. He still couldn't hear himself.

"ISN'T THIS FUN??? ISN'T THIS WHAT LIFE'S ALL ABOUT??? ISN'T THIS A DREAM COME TRUE?!? ISN'T THIS A NIGHTMARE TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?!?!?!? OOOHHHHH WOAAAAHHH I I I LOVE LITTLE GIRLS THEY MAKE ME FEEL SO GOOD!!!! I LOVE...."

His blissful reverie of rocksome euphoria was interrupted suddenly by a firm smack to the back of his head.

"Heyyy!!" Flans growled, snatching off his headphones and looking up at the green paisley shirt in front of him.

Marty was grinning hugely. "THAT'S where my Oingo Boingo CD went!! You thieving bastard..."

"Sharing is caring." Flans said as he mock-coyly batted his eyelashes.

Marty took a playful cat-like swipe at Flans. "Oh stop it you silly bitch!!" He lisped in the gayest voice he could muster. He then slapped his knee as he guffawed at his own razor sharp wit, and headed to the front of the bus. "Just remember to give it back!" He barked amiably. "And work on that falsetto!"

"Fuck you!" Flans said happily and put his headphones back on, just in time to hear Danny Elfman firmly reiterate that he was on the outside looking in.

John Linnell was folded up in a seat closest to the front of the bus, reading 'War And Peace'. He glanced up briefly and stopped Marty as he tried to pass. "What time is it?"

Marty had never been one to resist the opportunity for an idiotic joke. "Time to get a watch!!!" He positively screamed with laughter as he pointed at Linnell's chest. "YEAH!! PWNED!!!"

Linnell blinked. "Po-owned? What the hell does that mean?" he said humorlessly and turned back to his book.

Dan Miller, who had been staring out the tour bus window, counting Shell stations and flossing his teeth turned around. "It kind of means, 'haha, I have insulted you and don't you look to be quite the fool right about now.'" Dan pocketed his dental floss. "Hey Marty, been cruising those internet message boards again?"

Marty grinned ear to ear. "What can I say, I loves me some Thundercats!"

"When we cross the next state line, I'm throwing your laptop out the window." Linnell muttered without looking up.

Marty retired to the shotgun seat of the bus, pulling out a pair of drumsticks and drumming on the dash. "I shouldn't have drank those six Mountain Dews in a row." He remarked in a very self-satisfied fashion.

"Where was he keeping those sticks?" Dan mused to nobody in particular.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lights on stage were hot, and Flans was sweating. And man if he didn't feel like a rockstar.

"WE WANT YOU! TO WANT!!! THE SUN!!!!!!!!" he bellowed into the mic.

The crowd screamed it's assent as the band kicked into the beginning strains of the last song of their second encore. Arizona always loved them.

The last song is always over way too quickly, Flans thought as he banged out the final chords. He leaned into the mic. "Thank you! Ladies and gentlemen! Marty! Dan! Dan! That's Linnell over there! You can call me Flansy! Goodnight Tuscon!" Flans's voice was going hoarse. He loved it.

Linnell nodded slightly as if to approve this statement. "Thank you, goodnight." He said with a half-smirk as he raised his hand and walked away from his keys.

Flans waved to the still-jumping crowd as he walked off stage. He felt like they needed to drag him off; he almost wanted to do a third encore. As he got backstage he ran his hand through his hair; it was soaked like he'd ran it under the faucet. He shook his head like a dog.

"Hey! Gross!" Danny Weinkauf protested as he was showered in sweat.

"Ahh, quit yer bitching! Pheromones! The ladies will throw their panties at you! How will you ever thank me?" Flans said as he bowed humbly.

"Blargh." Danny replied as he mopped his face with the hem of his t shirt.

"Gonna go wash up." Flans announced with a smirk, bumping into Dan as he walked past.

"Is there root beer?" Dan queried as he swept into one of the dressing rooms.

"Dunno." Marty piped up, coming seemingly out of nowhere and following the guitarist. "But I'm STARVING...where's the pizza?"

"You have to order it, numbnuts." Danny said. "And NO ANCHOVIES...you sicko."

"Mmm. Anchovies." Marty said gleefully.

Flans chortled to himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, The Three Stooges." He murmured as he approached the door of the restroom and swung it open.

Linnell was standing over the sink, wiping his face with a towel. He turned at the door opening, and seeing that it was Flans, he smiled. "Anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"Nope." Flans said happily, and with a devious grin he shut the door behind him and locked it.

"What are you up to?" Linnell grinned back, setting down his towel and leaning against the counter.

"Muah haha! Wouldn't you like to know!" Flans said in a low, raspy voice. The hoarse-voice thing could work, he thought to himself as he approached Linnell and draped his arms around his neck. "Well?" he purred, inches away from Linnell's face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Here?" Linnell said, eyes widening in slight disbelief. "You can't be...serious." His voice dropped to a low moan as Flans began kissing his neck, working his way up to his earlobe, and finally pressing their lips together. Linnell opened his mouth very slightly, just allowing the tip of Flansy's tongue to graze his teeth.

They parted momentarily. "Yeah. Here." Flans said seductively.

"You're sweaty." Linnell complained half-heartedly as Flans leaned into him again, pressing their bodies together.

"Does it matter?" Flans arched his eyebrow and pressed his groin insistently against Linnell's hip to emphasize his point.

"Erm...eh...I guess...not..." Linnell's words were cut off as Flans kissed him deeply. Which is a good thing, because this had rendered him completely speechless.

After several long, torturous minutes of making out with Flans dry humping maddeningly against him, Linnell finally broke his lips free with a slight gasp. "Oh god. This is so risky...this is ridiculous." He lamented breathlessly.

"You and your troublesome logic." Flans deadpanned as he pushed Linnell into a sitting position on the counter and knelt between his thighs. "What can we do to take your mind off the situation?" Flans smirked playfully as he started to unzip Linnell's trousers.

"Oh...oh god...yeah...that..." Linnell found himself at a loss for coherent speech yet again as Flans finally freed his erection from his pants and stroked expertly for a few seconds. "That's so amazing." Linnell sighed, defeated.

"I bet you say that to all the boys." Flans laughed, and leaned forward to rake the flat of his tongue across the head of Linnell's cock.

Linnell groaned his approval.

Flans took Linnell completely in his mouth and started to slowly move up and down, resting his palms on Linnell's thighs.

Linnell writhed and threw his head back. "John...oh...oh fuck, that's perfect." he breathed, putting his hands in Flans's hair and balling them into fists.

Flans sped up his rhythm sightly and started to gently stroke Linnell's thighs in tandem with his movement.

Linnell leaned back a bit, eyes closed, tongue between his teeth. His breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps, and he began to involuntarily thrust himself in time with Flans's rhythm. He gripped the edge of the counter. He was incredibly close. That was fast.

He slid his hand onto Flans's shoulder and dug in his fingernails, trying to signal that he was almost there; Flans moaned deep in his throat and the vibration pushed Linnell over the edge.

"Ahh...fuck...John...John..." He panted desperately as he convulsed with his orgasm, watching the lights throb behind his eyelids in measure with his pulse. He loosened his grip on Flans and dropped his head back, knocking it against the mirror. "Ow" He said pitifully. He was too spent to care.

"Hmm." Flans grinned with his eyes cast downward, resting his cheek on Linnell's knee.

Flans then stood and brushed his lips against Linnell's collarbone, stopping to bite lightly before putting his mouth over Linnell's. They pulled apart. Flans smirked. "Good?"

"Yeah." Linnell blushed, pressing his forehead against Flans's before standing and zipping up.

Flans leaned against the counter, took off his glasses and rubbed his hand across his face. "Well, you better get out there before they wonder if we're having sex in here..haha. I'm gonna just hang out for a couple minutes" he glanced pointedly down at his erection, "and, you know, jerk off." At this he beamed, making him appear to be about seventeen.

Linnell shook his head; he found himself utterly, completely charmed. Flans really had him wrapped around his finger. How he managed, Linnell hadn't a clue. "Okay yeah." He headed for the door, turned the lock, and paused. He smiled, and spoke without turning around. "Love you."

"Ahh, don't get all mushy on me." Flans laughed softly. "Love you too."

Linnell opened the door and headed down the hall, and was shortly greeted by the smell of pizza and the sound of three grown men squabbling, and yelling something about root beer.

~FIN~ <----the squiggly lines make it fancy, like ketchup

A Really Dirty Dirty Fic

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:27:37 GMT

Title: When You Were Mine
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: Sex.
Word Count: 3061
Warnings: This is a pretty x-rated fic involving Flansy and The Girl. This sort of belongs right after part two of the series, but I made it a stand alone fic because it's in the first person, and also because...well, I believe it stands alone. You may get acquainted with the full story before you read this one to better understand what's going on. But it's not really too confusing, and may be read on its own. It's smutty. Enjoy, if you must.

Things are kind of wrong tonight. Like the weather. It’s the middle of the night here in L.A., and it’s also the middle of June. But it’s freezing outside. I know freezing is relative, but it’s like, 45 degrees out there. Just not right.

Also, I’m currently in a hotel, on a sofa, lying on top of a man who’s not my husband.

Eh. Whatever. He sure can kiss, though. His mouth tastes fucking amazing.

Wow. My First Affair. Baby’s all grown up now. Baby’s really living like a rock star now.

I’m such an ass.

We stop making out for a second and he stares at me with these huge brown eyes. His glasses are slightly askew. Help. I’m melting.

“This okay?” He murmurs, eyes searching my face. He runs his hand down my back. It feels really warm. He stops in the middle of my back and just lets it rest there. I don’t have to wonder if he’s okay with this. I can feel that he is through his pants.

“Yeah.” I reply. I put my mouth back on his again mostly to shut him up. I don’t really want to analyze this. I like him, though. But I’ll deny it if you say so.

I wedge myself harder between his knees and press my pelvis against his firmly. He makes a noise that I really like. I make a mental checkmark and grin a little in spite of myself as he puts both hands in my hair. Then he rests them on either side of my face and pulls me away from his lips again.

Dammit.

He smiles sheepishly. “Um. Hang on a sec. You know…I…I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to.”

Jeesus. I guess we came up here to play Monopoly. Yeah.

“Well…what do you want to do?” I ask as I thrust against him again. He gasps. That works pretty good. I smile.

“Yeah. Ahh. Well. I want to do whatever you want to do.” He whispers as he starts to nuzzle my neck.

Oh fuck. You’re gonna make me be the one to say it, right? So I can be the bad guy. I get it. Don’t bump your fucking halo there, buddy.

I don’t feel like spelling it out. Assumptions are fine by me. “You wanna get on the bed?” I sit back slightly and start to unbutton his shirt.

“Huhh. Yeah. Sure. Okay.” He breathes, watching my hands.

I love how coherent they get at this point.

I run my hands over his now bare chest. Good. Not too hairy; I hit the jackpot. Well maybe; let’s not be too hasty. I sit up as I trail my hand down to the front of his pants and press my palm against the bulge behind his zipper. Ah. Okay yeah, we DID hit the jackpot.

He moans softly. “Yeah. That’s nice.”

Sir, I agree.

I start to unbutton his pants, and my hands are shaking. I try to keep them steady. I don’t want to look like a fucking amateur. Or wait. Maybe I do? Fuck. I hate gender expectations.

He stops me, putting his hand over mine. I watch him as he stands. He takes his shirt the rest of the way off and drops it on the floor. He takes my hands and gets me to stand up in front of him. He puts his hands under my t-shirt, running them up over my stomach. His fingertips just graze the wire of my bra. Then he pulls my shirt off over my head and pauses, looking at me.

He tilts his head. “You’re really beautiful.”

You know, I never really know what to say to that. “Thanks?” I reply cautiously.

He kind of chortles and runs his fingers over the hummingbird tattoo on the front of my shoulder. “Pretty.” He comments. His voice is so sweet. He really comes across as a nice guy.

I almost believe it.

He leans over and starts kissing my collarbone. He unbuttons my jeans and they fall to the floor. I step out of them.

Do I really want to do this? To him, I mean? Do I want to get him involved in this? For some reason, my mother’s voice echoes in my mind. She was always such a selfish child.

I shake the memory away and get back to work on his pants. I pull the zipper the rest of the way down, get on my knees and pull. Blue boxers. Strange…it’s what I was expecting. I stay down and grip him hard through the fabric. He rewards me with a lovely groan; I pull his shorts down and take him in my hand. Really nice. His cock is dark against his pale skin and feels heavy in my hand. I run my thumb around the head, in the slickness coming from the tip. He wants me. This might be okay. I run my tongue along the underside.

He stops me. “Wait, hang on. You don’t have to do that.”

Don’t be a hero, dude.

I look up at him “Hmm?”

He rests his hand on my shoulder. It feels oddly kind. “Get up.” I pause and consider. He’s asking, not telling.

So I do. “What’s wrong?” I look him up and down, standing there naked, and I want to laugh. Not because I’m mean. Well, I am. But that’s not why. It’s just that he’s not Mr. Guy. And I like that.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He puts his arms around me and holds me for a second, putting his face in the crook of my neck. I can feel his eyelashes against my skin. He runs his hands down to cup my ass. “This isn’t all about me, that’s all.” He mutters into my shoulder.

I want to scoff. I got myself a choirboy. Great.

“Also…” He hesitates.

Uh oh. Don’t tell me you’re gay. This always happens to me. “Yes?”

He flushes a bit; it makes him look so innocent. “Uhm. Well… I…I don’t have a condom.”

Whoops. Fuck. My stomach drops a little. I sigh. “Neither do I.”

Well. He’s kind of stupid to have turned down the blowjob, then.

He gives me this wounded puppy dog look. “Well. Now what?”

I shrug, walk over to the bed and sit down. I look down at my chest. Shit. I wish I’d worn a nicer bra.

I’m a little surprised at how turned on I am. Goddamn I want to fuck him. I really do.

I scoot to the far corner of the bed and lean against the headboard, knees in front of me. I jut my hips slightly forward and gaze at him, heavy lidded, and stick out my lower lip. I hope I look sexy but I probably look like a jerk. Oooh, lookit me, always trying to be all Lolita. Fuck. Wow, you’re so huge, daddy. Gag.

He walks over to the edge of the bed and stands there with this dumb half smile on his face, arms crossing his chest. He’s still hard. Oh. Good.

“I…I could go pick some up really quick…”

I bite my lip to contain my laughter, but it’s not really working. What a fucking gentleman. “My car keys are in my pants.” I say, dropping my voice down low. It’s The Sex Voice. Then I start giggling like an idiot. Can’t help it. I’m an idiot.

He beams at me and gets on the bed, crawling towards me. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I can’t stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?” He asks as he parts my thighs and crawls between them.

“You.” I stick my tongue out at him.

“Oh.” He grins. He starts to kiss my thighs. It tickles. I laugh even harder. He bites gently and I squeal.

I’m such a rube. Gotta get a hold on myself.

He puts his mouth over my panties and rakes his bottom teeth over the fabric softly. I don’t want to moan but I do.

He looks so pleased with himself. Way to go, Bucky. “Hmm. Can I take these off?” He purrs, sliding his index finger between the elastic and my skin. He trails his finger down, stroking gently, feeling how wet I am.

“Yes.” I hope that sounded nonchalant. I doubt it. It feels fucking incredible already. I lean back, close my eyes and try to hide the shiver in my breath as I exhale.

He takes off his glasses and tosses them towards the night table. Then he pulls off my underwear and I feel his hot breath inches away from me. He puts his hands under my hips and shifts me down a couple of inches, getting himself into position. He strokes my clit with his fingertip for a few moments, so gently it’s making me insane as I anticipate his tongue. I squeak. He makes a tiny satisfied noise and puts his mouth over my clit and sucks harder than I’m expecting. I jump.

He jerks his head up. “Okay?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I wish he didn’t talk so much. Get on with it.

He puts his mouth back over my clit and begins to run his tongue around it firmly, putting just the very tip of his finger inside me, just barely moving it back and forth.

Fuck. Why is this so good? He makes me nervous. Dammit. Gotta maintain. I drape my arm across my eyes. My head is spinning. I let him go on for a minute or two until I can’t stand it anymore.

I put my hand in his hair and make a fist. “John?” I gasp.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t stop.

“John. Wait. Wait…stop for a second.”

He pauses and looks up at me. I can’t tell if the look on his face is smugness or lust. Right now, I kind of don’t care either way. “Come here. Kiss me.” I say. I hope that didn’t sound as desperate to him as it did to me.

He smiles and crawls up to me, covering my body with his. His weight feels really good on top of me. Safe, even. He puts one arm around me, underneath my neck and brushes his lips against mine, teasing me. I put my mouth over his and push my tongue between his lips. I kiss him deeply. I can taste myself. I want to beg him to fuck me already. I want to beg. I wriggle my hand between us and grip his erection.

He breaks away from my mouth and kisses my cheek, licking at it the way he had just done my mouth. “Are you sure you want this?” He seems so in control and I hate him a little for it.

I try not to growl at him in my impatience and succeed. “Yes.” I whimper. He takes my glasses off my face and tosses them on the floor. Normally I’d be really pissed about that. Those are vintage frames. Right now I don’t give a fuck. He kisses my forehead lightly and I feel hot fluttering in my chest. I try to ignore it.

I guide his hard on to the right spot and close my eyes, waiting. One quick, hard thrust forward and he’s inside me. I force myself not to make the obligatory first penetration gasp, even though at this point it’s an effort. He feels fucking huge. He’s not exceptionally big but it feels like almost too much. It feels unbelievable. I put my hands on his hips and urge him forward, pulling him into me. The heat coming off his skin is stifling already. I wonder if the hotel has the furnace on or something. I open my eyes and see a small bead of sweat rolling down his temple and I really want to lick it off, but I don’t. His eyes are shut; he’s moving his hips firmly and surely.

His good natured, aw shucks innocent schoolboy shtick has gone right out the door; he doesn’t ask me if he’s doing it right. He knows he is. I’m on the edge already. He could finish me any time he wants and despite my best efforts he knows it.

Cocky bastard.

He shifts his hips up so I get the benefit of the friction from the base of his cock against my clit. I thought he might be a moaner because he talks so much. But he’s not; he’s a heavy breather and I love the sound of his panting. He fucks like a goddamn machine; I can’t believe how good this feels.

I didn’t know he would fuck this way from the look of him. I would make a mental note not to judge next time but I’m kind of forgetting who I am right now.

A bead of sweat rolls off the tip of his nose and drips into my cleavage. The last of my composure dissolved, I drag my tongue from his throat to his ear and taste salt. I bite his earlobe hard, not caring if I hurt him.

He lets out a strangled kind of yelp-moan and puts his hand on my breast. He squeezes, and when he notices I’m still wearing my bra, he pushes one hand behind me and starts to fumble for the clasp. I arch my back up as much as I can; he tries to get it undone while keeping his rhythm going, but he can’t do it and lets out a frustrated snarl.

Ha. You’re not that slick, mister.

“Hang on, hang on.” I successfully mask the unsteadiness of my voice as I push on his chest to move him back. He tries to sit up and pull me up with him so he can stay inside me, but we only struggle for a couple of seconds before he realizes it’s not going to work. He pulls out of me as he sits up and leans back on his haunches.

“Fuck.” He pants as he runs his hand through his damp hair, grinning hugely.

“Yeah.” I assent. I sit up and undo my bra clasp. He pulls it off my shoulders and casts it aside, putting his hands on my tits and pushing them together, attempting to run his tongue over both of my nipples at the same time. It’s electric; the sensations shoot straight to my crotch.

Still, I laugh. “John! Come on!”

“Okay, sorry, right.” He gets back on top of me, pressing his belly to mine and he’s back inside me, this time thrusting long and slow, pulling out right to the tip and thrusting it back inside to the hilt and we’re sliding together from the sweat.

I don’t know how he’s doing this to me. God, I want to scream.

I put my mouth against his ear. “John…harder.” I whisper.

He obliges me and starts thrusting so hard, inching his hips up steadily as he holds his rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the headboard banging against the wall. He gropes my hip then runs his hand to the small of my back and pulls me against him hard, pressing his cheek against mine. God, I’m so close already. His breath is rapid, shallow and searing in my ear and he starts murmuring beautiful nonsense, he’s so turned on, I’m not even sure what he’s saying and it doesn’t matter. I’m almost there, and I don’t give him any warning when I suddenly orgasm, I just buck my hips up against him hard, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of screaming so I bite him on the shoulder much harder than I mean to and I’m pretty sure I’m screaming anyway, I think he’s coming too, he’s convulsing on top of me and repeating “Oh god oh god.” over and over and I don’t want him to stop.

Ever.

I’m not entirely sure that he’s finished until he groans and presses into me deep, holding himself there.

Then he collapses on top of me. I’m just now noticing that he’s heavier than he looks.

He’s still for a few moments. I don’t attempt to move. I try to catch my breath.

And now…what am I doing here again?

Oh man. What have I done?

He lifts up his head and our eyes meet. He grins at me and starts sprinkling kisses all over my face, murmuring that I’m beautiful.

I want to tell him to cut it out but I don’t have the heart. In my mind, I’m already halfway out the door. When he finally does stop, I let out the breath I’m holding.

He rolls off of me, onto his back, and lets out this satisfied groan like a man who’s just finished a job well done.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

He settles back and puts his arms behind his head, grinning at the ceiling. Well. Honestly? He’s real cute.

And me? Well. I’m an idiot. Hey, it bears repeating.

I roll on my side to face him. I notice the now reddening spot on his shoulder where I bit him. That’s gonna leave a mark. I glance at the alarm clock on the night table and cringe. Holy shit it’s late.

He peers at me and smiles. “I really like you.” He lifts his hand; I can feel the calluses on his fingertips as he brushes some hair out of my face. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

I want to punch myself in the middle of the chest to kill the fucking butterflies. This time, I roll my eyes. “What do you know?” I ask as I flop down on my back next to him.

“Everything.” He yawns as he closes his eyes. “Don’t go yet, okay?”

What are you, a mind reader? I scowl at him. “It’s five in the morning!”

“So? Stay just a little while. What’s another hour?”

Can’t argue with that logic. I’ll leave in a little bit.

And I will not fall for this guy. I won’t.

I think.

In ten minutes his breath is steady and even. Sleeping. Typical. I get up, consider a shower, decide against it and start gathering up my stuff.

You know, I kind of wish that when I get home somebody would ask me where the hell I’ve been all night.

But I won’t hold my breath.

Part Six: Flansy and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:21:30 GMT

Title: Time After Time
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: No sex
Word Count: 2186
Warnings: Wrapping it all up. Flans is on his way to a certain show that took place in the year of our lord two thousand and four at a certain House of Blues in Hollywood. Hilarity ensues? Not exactly.

John Flansburgh was trying to concentrate on navigating his vehicle through the heavy traffic on Sunset Boulevard, but his eyes kept flitting to the mix of eclectic people walking down the sidewalk. At the moment he was particularly transfixed by the gentleman who was walking four happily trotting white persian cats on four bright purple leashes. A young lady with waist length pink hair stopped to fawn over the fluffy felines. Flans glanced up and slammed on the brakes, stopping barely two inches from the rear bumper of the black Escalade in front of him. "Fuck. Eyes on the road, man." Flans reprimanded himself, picking up his Starbucks latte and taking a swig.

The rest of the drive to the House of Blues in West Hollywood was uneventful, albeit slow. He pulled around the far back and gave his keys to the valet. He was still a bit disoriented from the drive over and was eager to start the sound check. The sound check would be comforting. He stepped quickly down the walk to the back entrance, and being waved on by the guard, he entered.

Despite it being only two in the afternoon, the inside of the venue was very dark, and a relief to Flans's eyes, seeing as he was in the early stages of a headache. He made a mental note to ask Linnell for some Advil. He walked towards the stage, noting with satisfaction that everything had been set up properly. He had been fretting about this gig ever since they had arrived in Los Angeles last night, probably because this one was going to be filmed for broadcasting. He knew they were up to par and ready, but now that he was actually here, he could stop worrying and start taking action. Always a good thing.

Linnell came from backstage, on his heels a young man wearing a striped shirt and earphones around his neck. To the untrained observer it would appear that Linnell was completely nonchalant, but Flans could tell by the tone of his voice that he was getting slightly annoyed. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to ask him, I really have no idea. I think they should have sent you guys a list or something." Linnell looked up, saw Flans approaching and his expression changed to one of relief. "Hey John." He called. "Everything looks good, huh?"

Flans smiled. "Yeah, great." he concurred as he ascended the stairs to the stage. He looked at the podium sitting stage left and walked over to it, thumping it on the side. "Ahh, for Mr. Richter to stand behind....excellent, excellent."

"Well, they're almost ready for us to start the check, but they're still messing with the video system, and they told me it's gonna be thirty minutes...which means an hour." Linnell smirked. He then looked closely at Flans's face and frowned a little. "Hey, you okay? You don't look too good."

"I'm fine, I'm just getting a headache." Flans replied as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Do you have any Advil?"

"No. The irony, you ask the one time I don't." Linnell shook his head. "Go ask Marty, I think he has some aspirin or something. He's probably still skulking around the VIP section because of some nutty rumor that Francis Ford Coppola has it reserved." He chortled as he peered up to the upper level of the club.

Flans smiled wanly and headed in the direction of the VIP stairway. The guard there took no notice of him as he was busy leaning against the wall, chatting up a female lighting technician.

When he got to the top of the stairs he looked around for Marty, but didn't see anyone he knew. There were a couple of people sitting at the large wooden bar, and several others scattered around the various tables. He looked around briefly and noticed the door to the right of the bar. He walked closer to it; it said "Foundation Room". Perhaps somebody had seen Marty go in there, he thought.

His eyes were drawn unconsciously to the woman sitting by herself at a small round table closest to the door, her back to him so he couldn't see her face. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Flans read the back of her T-shirt and smiled. It had various band names and dates listed on the back, one of which was called "Pussywhipped By Uma". He ventured closer to her.

"Excuse me." He asked her back. "Do you know where that door leads?" He pointed.

She turned to face him. He recognized her immediately. Flans suddenly felt like he was going to faint. He steadied himself on the back of the nearest chair.

"The Foundation Room. Duh. Can't you read?" She shook her long curly hair out and smiled, unphased. She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. "Well well. Mr. Flansburgh. Hello there."

"Heh...hello." He goggled at her, breathless. The temperature in the room had suddenly seemed to go up ten degrees. He ran his sleeve across his forehead. "What..are you doing here...why...how are you?" he finished, still hardly believing his eyes.

"Have a seat." she said casually, gesturing towards the chair opposite her.

He shuffled towards it, the ground feeling amazingly spongy. He sat down and faced her. His eyes slowly drank her in. The last sixteen years had been quite kind to her; he thought she could have easily passed for twenty nine or thirty. She still dressed pretty much the same as she had the last time he saw her...he was amused to see that she still wore black Converse. The black rimmed glasses had been replaced by round wire frames; he noticed the light laugh lines that had developed around her eyes. His stomach was turning cartwheels. "You haven't changed a bit." he exhaled.

"Give me a break." She broke into a wide grin as she rolled her eyes. "Look at this," she held a lock of hair in his direction. "look...GREY! I'm going grey. Isn't that the worst??" She laughed. Her expression swiftly changed to one of cool appraisal. She poked him gently in the chest. "Nice shirt." She paused for effect. "You gained a couple pounds."

Despite hardly recovering from his initial shock, It was curious to him how simple it was to fall back into their old habit of verbally sparring. "Tact was never your strong point, was it?" he smirked.

"Ha! I may have no tact, but at least I didn't get fat!" she exclaimed, dissolving into a fit of giggles. She finally stopped and locked eyes with him. "But it looks nice on you, man." She tilted her head and gave him a look of pure adoration. Flans felt like he was melting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying not to sound stunned.

"I heard this great band was playing here, and I had to come and check them out. A trip down memory lane, I guess."

"I can't believe it....I just....god. I'm so glad to see you." he said softly.

"Glad to see you too. So what's new man? What have you been up to?" she chuckled. "Ever get anywere with those silly songs of yours?"

"Jeez. I just....so....how's Mr. Guy?" he asked. "You know, I've seen every single movie he put out."

She laughed delightedly. "Ohhh god. You slay me, you've never been a movie person! He's fine, fine. Did you see me as the cocktail waitress in that one flick..."

"Yes!" He shifted in his seat slightly. "Of course...emm..I own the DVD."

She positively roared. "My one line!! Another Manhattan, sir?"

"Yeah....wow....I just...." he put his hand on hers for a few seconds, then thinking better of it, he pulled it away and dropped his hands into his lap. "This is so insane.....I never thought....I never thought I'd see you again."

"Well, surprises around every corner, I suppose. So, I understand you're an old married man now."

"That's true. I'm really happy." He saw a shadow of sadness pass her face. He looked away and quickly changed the subject. "I love your albums. I own all three, and I still listen to them all the time. They're classic, I'm telling you."

"Didn't get me anywhere." He detected a note of bitterness.

"Who cares, they're amazing."

"Says you, buddy."

"You still play? Please tell me you still do."

"I don't perform anymore, of course.....but I play at home a lot..."

A strikingly beautiful young woman of probably about fifteen approached them. She had long black hair and giant brown eyes, and was unusually tall; probably five eleven, Flans estimated. She wore a purple tank top, huge shiny black boots and black trousers with zippers and buckles all over them...her bangs were fuchsia and there were about three dozen skinny black rubber bracelets going up her right arm. She stopped in front of their table. "Mom! I just saw Jack Black!! He was talking to one of the camera people!" she said excitedly, hopping up and down a little. "I asked him if I could have his jacket and he said no way!! AWESOME!!" At that moment she noticed Flans. "Oh...Hi."

"Mom...." Flans echoed under his breath.

"John, this is Bernadette. My daughter."

Bernadette extended one pale, long fingered hand to Flans. "Pleased to meet you." she said solemnly. Flans shook it; she reminded him of a swan.

"Pleasure is all mine." he replied, searching her face briefly.

"Well, I'm gonna try and see if I can't get Jack to change his mind. Never give up, right?" Bernadette said happily, freeing herself from Flans's grasp and starting to skip away.

"Do NOT leave the building!"

"FINE MOTHER!!" Bernadette hollered, scowling in a very put out and familiar fashion.

Flans watched her leave.

"Ahh, don't let the clothes fool you, that kid's got gravitas." She laughed. "You know, there's this agency who wants her to model for them, and I said no fucking way! No kid of mine is gonna be a model, she's no airhead...she's too smart for that. And you should hear her play bass man! I know I'm her mother so I sound biased, but I kid you not, she's a virtuoso..."

"She's not...." Flans interrupted.

"What?" she looked at him, puzzled.

"She's not...she's....not...mine...is she?" he stammered.

"Whaaaaaatt??" She doubled over laughing. "NO! Of course not! Are you joking?"

"Well, she's the right age....and she looks...."

"Like ME." she finished. "And do you think I would have kept something like that from you?"

"Well...well no, but...."

"Look dude, I got knocked up three months after you and I broke up. Crazy, huh?"

"Crazy." he repeated, feeling dazed. "I can't believe I never heard anything..."

"Well, you know how that goes. Getting pregnant and all kind of kept me busy. I was wrecked after us...."

"I was too." Flans stared at his hands. "All the times I wanted to talk to you...it was really hard for a while."

"But I guess life takes care of things for you sometimes. She came at a time when I really needed her. I mean...you know...how Mr. Guy is...and she's my everything. She's my best friend." she sighed wistfully. "That's a lot for a kid to handle. Guess that's why she's always been so mature. I swear, she's fifteen going on forty." She smiled gently.

He swallowed. "I never stopped loving you." He said it before he could stop himself.

"John." she said sweetly, brushing the side of his face with her fingertips. She tore her eyes reluctantly away from him and stood. "Well, I've got to get out of here....I promised the little brat I'd take her to Amoeba Music." She smoothed the front of her shirt, appearing flustered. She paused for a second, then gazed at Flans longingly. "It was great to see you again."

Flans felt himself choking up. "It was great to see you too." he stood. He embraced her, only allowing himself to hold her for a few moments, then forced himself to let her go. "You...should call me sometime. Maybe we can have dinner or something...you can come by...meet Robin." He felt a twinge of guilt at mentioning his wife's name.

"Yeah...THAT'S gonna happen." she said sarcastically. She stopped for a second, closing her eyes and exhaling deeply. She softened and looked up at him. "I'm just so glad you're happy John...I'm so glad for your success. Nobody deserves it more than you."

He regarded her seriously. "Thank you. For things you'll never even know about." he said quietly. He touched his forehead to hers for a moment, and she stroked his face one last time before she turned and walked away. He watched her go, trying to catch his breath. He was amazed when the pain finally flooded up in him; it felt like they had just broken up yesterday. He stood there for a full five minutes before he headed down the stairs and back to his band; He didn't want to actually see her leave the venue.

THE (official) END

Part Five: Flans and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:19:41 GMT

Title: Flansy's Last NIght In Town
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: No sex
Word Count: 2955
Warnings: Nothing you haven't seen before. Snarky remarks. Rich people. Stuff..and also things.

The wife of the famous and powerful director who owned the mansion where John Flansburgh stood over a blinking pinball machine raised her fists over her head in triumph.

"WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOHOOO!! In your face, Flanso! Didn't I TELL you I was a pinball wizard?"

"Wow.....I didn't even see that shot....where did the ball go?" He leaned down and peered through the glass at the flickering lights.

"Maybe you should check....UP YOUR ASS!! I OWN YOU!! GAME OVER MANNNN!!" Her voice echoed throughout the vast game room as she started to spin around with her arms held out.

"That's annoying." Flans scowled. He leaned against the Galaga arcade machine. "Let's do something else."

She stopped spinning and walked a few steps toward him, reeling sightly to the left. "Okay....wanna take a ride in the convertible?"

He thought about the day before last when they'd almost rear-ended a parked cab. The cab driver had actually gotten out to shout at her; he finally gave up when she pretended to cry. "Uhh...not right now."

"Oooh, I know!" she exclaimed, bumping into an air hockey table. "Let's go swimming! It's hot...." She liked to complain about the heat.

"Sounds like a plan my man." He chuckled to himself. He'd started to pick up a great deal of her linguistic mannerisms. He eyed her as she lit another cigarette. "And how many does that make today?"

"Eight." she replied, exhaling in his direction. "But who's counting? Oh yea....you are." she shot him a dirty look.

"It's just so bad for you."

"Gaaaahhhh." she growled softly, turning to walk out the door. She stopped after ten steps and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Coming?"

Flans shrugged. "Yes dear." He dutifully followed.

They headed back towards the east wing of the huge house where they could exit through the kitchen; it cut a minute or so off their walk to her apartment built into the side of the house.

She glowered at him, seemingly unprovoked. "Stop nagging me John."

"What?" He glanced at her, confused.

"You keep nagging me. Knock it off." She drew on her smoke, putting it out in a large marble ashtray as they passed. It looked like a basin for holy water.

"I didn't say anything!" he replied incredulously.

"You keep implying that I should stop smoking. So stop it, or I'll kick your ass." she threatened.

"Jeez...I was just trying to help. You're kind of cranky today."

She wheeled around to face him. "Me??? You'd better take that stick outta your ass, Flansburgh." Lately she'd taken to calling him his last name when she was perturbed with him. He didn't like it.

They made brief, semi-hostile eye contact. He broke his gaze away first, thrusting his hands into his pockets and beginning to walk again. "PMS." He muttered under his breath.

"PARDON me?" she narrowed her eyes. "I know you didn't just say what I think you said..."

"I didn't say anything." he sighed deeply. They'd never really had a fight before, but the last day and a half he had found her to have a chip on her shoulder. He had been making a marked effort to keep it from escalating, but she seemed determined to get on his last nerve.

"That's what I thought." She said smugly as they finally reached the stairs leading up to her apartment.

Flans felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "You have an answer for everything, don't you? Always need the last word, hmm?" he glared at her as she held open her apartment door. "Wonder why that is."

She flounced in after him. "Just what are you insinuating?" she snarled.

"Nothing at all...I wouldn't expect you to understand what I mean." he said condecendingly as he sat on the arm of the sofa, folding his arms across his chest.

She rounded on him. "Are you saying I'm STUPID?" she spat.

Flans tilted his head back, suddenly fascinated with the cieling. "I'm not saying anything except that some people have had it so good for so long that they think they can talk any way they want to anybody they please, and expect them to just tolerate it."

She squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, I see..I'm not stupid...I'm SPOILED?" she said furiously.

"If the shoe fits..." Flans casually started to bite his index fingernail, taking in the wood panelling on the opposite wall.

"Oh YEAH?" she shrieked suddenly, pointing at him. "Well you're STUBBORN! And hyper! And you think every goddamn thing you say is soooooooooo fascinating....you never SHUT UP.....and you ALWAYS INTERRUPT ME!" she stamped her foot.

"Oh really? At least I'm not immature..." he replied calmly, inspecting his cuticles.

"I am NOT immature!" she cried, tears of rage beginning to spill from beneath her glasses.

Flans looked up at the cieling again and smirked. "Pfft. Whatever." He rolled his eyes.

"Fine." she wept, stalking angrilly towards the bedroom. "Fine, you want to be a dick? Okay, have it your way Bucky."

Flans jumped as the bedroom door slammed hard enough to shake the walls. Fuming, he picked up a copy of Guitar World and began turning the pages roughly. Thirty seconds later he heard the bedroom door crash against the wall as it was thrown open; she stormed through the living room and out the front door wearing a black bikini. There was a green towel thrown over her shoulder. "Fuck you Flansburgh!" She yelled, the door shutting hard enough to shake the apartment once again.

Livid, he leapt up and yanked open the front door. "STOP CALLING ME FLANSBURGH!!" he bellowed.

She simply raised her middle finger as she headed up the path.

Thirty minutes later Flan's anger had worn off and was starting to give way to guilt. She had provoked him, he thought, but he felt just terrible making her cry. He stopped pacing around the apartment, put on his swim trunks, and headed for the pool. It was gigantic, and vaguely shaped like a four leaf clover. The tiles were an unusual deep blood red, giving the water a murky appearance.

He found her sitting in the jacuzzi, smoking yet again, leaning back, eyes closed. Her curly hair was wet and slicked back; he could see beads of water on her shoulders. He walked up silently behind her and sat down on the edge nearest to her.

"Hey."

She didn't open her eyes. "I'm not speaking to you.....ever again." she said tonelessly.

"I know." he replied, putting his legs in the water. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"I don't care." she replied, putting out her cigarette and still not looking at him.

He eased himself into the jacuzzi. "I'm really sorry." Flans persisted, moving closer to her. "I didn't mean to be a jerk. I'm always opening my big mouth without thinking....ask John." he smiled sheepishly.

"Fuck off." she said, voice wavering slightly.

He put his hand on her arm and slid it up to her shoulder. "I'm dreadfully sorry." he lowered his voice. "I don't deserve you. I'm lucky to even know you."

She finally looked at him, brown eyes glistening. "I'm not immature." she pouted.

"Of course not." Flans replied sweetly, tracing his finger down her cheek.

Deflated, she looked down at her hands. "I have a bad temper though." She reached over and trailed her wet fingers through his hair. "Maybe everything you say IS fascinating. But you're still stubborn.....I stick by what I said."

"I know. But I'm an asshole. Forgive me." He leaned over and kissed her neck.

"I'm just as bad." she moaned quietly as Flans started to kiss his way up to her ear. "You really know how to lay it on thick, don't you?"

"I'm a master of public relations." he murmured hotly into her ear. He moved down, kissing her jawline. "I love you." he whispered, putting his mouth on hers. He pulled her onto his lap; she straddled him and kissed him back. He was hard instantly; his erection rubbed against her thigh.

"Jeezus, John!" she giggled.

"Shh. I want to be inside you." he groaned in her ear, running his hands down her back.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, I've been thinking!" Flans shouted to her from the shower. "Alex Trebek is an android!! It makes perfect sense, real people don't talk like that!!"

She poked her head into the bathroom. "Shut the fuck up. Where did you put the coffee filters?" she asked good naturedly.

"Dunno. Why don't you buy some soap that won't strip me of my masculinity?" he held a bottle of the lavender-scented stuff up over his head so she could see it above the frosted glass.

"That's from Norway..."

"Ahhh. Norway, of course! That changes everything. Why can't you have a nice, normal bar of Dial?"

"No accounting for taste." she laughed as she went to continue the search for the mislaid coffee filters.

When he came out into the living room wearing only a towel, he found her laying on her stomach in front of the giant TV. On the screen, Christian Slater was informing a couple of football players that it seemed the high school cafeteria had an "open door policy for assholes." She squealed with laughter as Mr. Slater pulled a gun on the two jocks and pulled the trigger.

"What's this?" Flans asked with amusement.

She turned to look at him. "Fish, Matt and Ricky are coming over like at eight, so be un-naked by then." She turned her attention back to the screen. "Heathers, on Laserdisc. Ain't technology something?"

Flans looked at the clock. It was 6:45. "I have time." He walked over to the sofa and lay down.

She turned around. "Hey! Leather sofa plus wet John equals es muy mal." she threw a pillow at him. "Get up man, go sit under the blowdryer or something."

"Awww, come on!" Flans complained as he stood. "I want to see how this turns out!" He gestured towards the TV.

She turned her attention back to Christian Slater. "Everybody dies." she replied casually.

"Nice." Flans laughed, heading towards the bedroom to get dressed.

At 8:15 somebody pounded on the door. "Allow us entry, or the lawn gnomes get it!!!!" Flans recognized Ricky's voice.

She jumped up and opened the door. "Hey gents! Come in." she stood aside.

"So what's the plan?" Matt asked her, buttoning his shirt that had a moment ago been hanging wide open, revealing a tattoo of a dragon breathing fire in the shape of the name 'Daphne'.

"Well, since John is leaving us tomorrow, we're gonna go out and party, courtesy of Mr. Guy!! Somebody should tell him how generous he is!" She took a mock swing at Swordfish; he agreeably snapped his head back and fell into the recliner.

"Sweet!" Ricky exclaimed. "Are we taking.....the car?"

"Oh my yes!" She laughed, shoving Fish out of his seat. "Let's go, jackasses!"

The car turned out to be a huge silver Bentley with a vanity plate that read 'FILMGOD'. By Flans's estimation, it had hardly ever been driven. He wasn't certain that she was supposed to be driving it, but he figured the less questions he asked, the better. He sank back into the exceedingly comfortable leather shotgun seat. "I could get used to this." he muttered to himself. He noted with equal amounts of amusement and relief that on this particular trip she drove slowly and cautiously.

They arrived at Trader Vic's completely unhurt. She nervously handed her keys to the valet along with a folded up fifty dollar bill. "Please please be so careful with it." she said as Matt and Ricky pulled her away, her fingers dragging across the hood.

"Of course, Miss!" the valet called pleasantly.

The lounge was very loud and packed with people dressed decidedly better than they were. They weaved their way through the crowd to a table in the far corner. She took the corner seat, her back against the wall. "I ALWAYS get the Don's chair!" she shouted, smiling.

"What??" Flans yelled and sat down.

"Never mind." she replied, beginning to pull sugar packets out of the holder in the middle of the table and stacking them up to make a little sugar packet house.

Suddenly, Ricky jumped back up. "HEY! BRING US DRINKS, BITCH!" he screamed at a waitress with long red hair.

Flans stared at Ricky with his mouth hanging open.

The waitress walked over to their table, brow lightly furrowed. "Hey guys! Where you been?" she asked while smacking Ricky in the back of the head.

Ricky beamed and leaned over to Flans. "This is my sister, Jessica!" he hollered.

"OHH!" Flans laughed. "Hello!" he waved.

Jessica smiled widely at Flans and nodded. "Hey you, nice to meetcha!" She grinned at Mrs. Director. "He's cute!!" Jess exclaimed, giving the thumbs up.

"Told ya!" she laughed, throwing a sugar packet at Jessica. Flans blushed slightly.

"So what do you savages want to drink?" Jessica pulled a notepad out of her pocket.

"MAI TAIS!!!!!" Ricky and Fish screamed in unison.

"Honestly Jess, why do you even bother to ask anymore?" Matt pulled on her apron string and untied it.

"Stop it, dick!" Jessica squealed. "Okay, I know what the regular drunks want. What about you, handsome?" she winked at Flans.

Flans turned crimson. "When in Rome..." he giggled. A sugar packet struck him in the side of the head.

"Right on!" Jessica approved. "I'll be back....wait, no, fuck you guys. I'll send Stephen. I'm going on my break." She threw her hair over her shoulder and left them.

Four hours and six Mai Tais later, Flans was feeling pretty good. "Hey guyss....you should come to New York sometime...it's soo cool." he slurred.

"Buah ha ha! Tooottalllyy." Fish agreed, slinging his arm around Flans's shoulders. "You're the man. Thisss guy here...he's the man. THE MAN! Can we keep him?"

"You're idiots." she smiled, peering into her glass. She'd been nursing the same drink the entire time...there was still half of it left.

"But....I'm YOUR idiot." Flans draped his arms around her and kissed her sloppily on the cheek.

"Okay, gross." she said, dragging her hand down the side of her face.

"I love your sister, man." Matt was confiding to Ricky, who had his head down on his folded arms. "She's....FANTASTIC."

"Hmmmmm." Ricky commented.

"Okay, that's it....time to go." She stood. You guys stopped being hilarious two hours ago."

"Awwwww mannnnnn!" Flans objected, standing up shakily. Fish and Matt each grabbed one of Ricky's arms and yanked him up, Ricky swearing mildly.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flans walked back to the bedroom from the bathroom for the forth time that morning. The clock said 8:15. He flopped back down on the bed next to her. She turned to him, blinking sleepily. "Better?"

"I...am never...drinking rum...again." he moaned. "I didn't think there was anything left to throw up."

"Poor baby." she laughed, stroking his forehead. "It's no use, you totally missed your flight. I'm gonna call the airline, and bring you some tylenol or something." She picked up the cordless phone as she bounced gracefully off the bed.

"Don't shake." Flans protested weakly as she left the room. He pressed his palm over his eyes, his head throbbing like he'd been beaten repeatedly with a particularly blunt object. He tried to will himself to sleep.

He had managed to fade out for about ten minutes when the sound of the cordless clattering back into the cradle woke him up.

"Arrgghh....keep it down....please...." he whined, covering his face with the pillow.

"Ohh, I'm so sorry sweetheart." she giggled.

He was in too much pain to be properly annoyed with her.

"Here, I brought you some ginger ale and some ibuprofen...this is prescription stuff, it'll fix you right up."

"Ibuprofen?" His voice was muffled by the pillow.

"Yeh, take it, retard." she prodded gently, taking the pillow away from him.

"Owww, Jeezus, why didn't you close the shades?"

"Okay man, goddamn, you're not dying." she handed the ibuprofen to him.

"I am too." he said pitifully as he swallowed the two large white pills.

"Oh brother. Guess we're gonna have to take him out back and shoot him." She chortled, getting back into bed and turning towards him, leaning on her arm. "So, I got you a flight that leaves tomorrow...we don't have to be there untill noon."

He stretched out on his back and put his arm behind his head. "Great." he said miserably. "My brain...hurts."

"I'm just sorry to see you go."

He looked at her sadly. "We have a day left. Too bad I'm wrecked." He pulled her against him. She snuggled up and put her head on his shoulder.

"Well, it's better than nothing." she traced her finger in a circle on his chest.

"Thanks for dealing with the airline booking for me."

"Well, why wouldn't I? I love you...you know. Yeh."

"I just wish we could always be together like this. I mean, I feel better being here deathly hung over with you than I feel being fine by myself...wait, does that make sense? My communication skills are gone..."

"I get you, John. But maybe you should just try to go to sleep now, okay?" She reasoned that if she could get him to stop talking about it, she could temporarily forget that by tomorrow evening they would be on opposite ends of the country again.

They lay there in silence for a long while. She was just starting to doze when she was awoken by him running his fingers through her hair.

"Marry me?" he asked her hopelessly.

She said nothing. He felt her silent tears soaking through his t-shirt.

-End-

Part Four: Flans and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:17:44 GMT

Title: Baby Plays Around
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: No sex
Word Count: 3397
Warnings: Cussing. Strange, possibly absurd situations. The 80's. What were we thinking?

"Hang on guys, hang on." She waved for her band Alcatraz to stop playing as the phone rang. She snatched the reciever. "Hello?"

Flans cleared his throat. "Hello, you have reached the desk of John Flansburgh. I can't come to the phone right now, as I am currently busy working as a fluffer on the set of 'Bang My White Ass'."

She giggled. "Hi, you idiot."

He continued. "If your call is urgent...well....uhh....then fuck off. Ehh, sorry, I ran out of ideas. Crap." Flans laughed.

"I'm rehearsing right now, I don't have time for your tomfoolery."

"TOMFOOLERY, eh? That's an antiquated phrase. I'm so proud."

"You should be, you're older than dirt."

"Ooooh, watch it! This kitten's got claws!!!" Flans snickered. "So anyway, I know you're busy and all that but I wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday, and implore you not to get too drunk and vomit in front of strangers!"

"Yay! Wait, no vomiting? That doesn't sound like any fun."

"Well, you're twenty one now, which gives you superpowers...DRUNKEN superpowers....and I must urge you to use your newfound powers for good and not evil. Somebody had to do it."

"Well thank you, as always, for your words of eternal wisdom, and I don't know how I would ever be able to conduct my life without these nuggets of knowledgy goodness...but I've drank before." Flans heard her light a cigarette. "And I'm not going out."

"What? This is a big one! Why the hell not?"

"Cause I'm REHEARSING, jackass!" she said sweetly.

"Well it's still early! It's only eight here so it's five there, so what the fuck? Go out! GO!"

She flicked the ash off her cigarette into an empty soda can. "I don't really feel like it."

In the background, Flans heard a shout. "Heyyyy Smokey!" He recognized the voice of her drummer, Ricky. "Give me back my lighter you klepto!"

Her voice took on a patient, even tone, as if she were explaining something to a small child. "No Ricky, this is MY lighter. You are retarded. Matt has yours, so go ask him!"

Ricky wasn't going to give up. "Give me youuurrrsss!" he hollered. Flans heard quick footsteps, then the phone clattering to the floor.

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU HOMO!!!" She shrieked. Laughter. Scuffling. A dull thud. She picked up the phone. "I'm sorry, it's like being in a band with monkeys."

"Hey!" he heard another voice shout. "I'm EVOLVED, I went to finishing school." He thought it was her guitarist Swordfish (His given name was Rupert, and if you called him that you risked getting punched in the neck) but he wasn't sure.

"FUCKING SHUT UP FISH, I'M ON THE PHOOOOOOOONE!!! ALSO, YOU'RE NOT A BEATLE, SO QUIT TALKING ABOUT FINISHING SCHOOL!!" she bellowed. She coughed. "Sorry John."

He laughed. "That's okay, sounds like you're in good hands. I just wish I could be there."

"Baaah, it's okay." It suddenly got much quieter as she left the practice room. "I just need to be a hundred percent for this next gig, I think some important people are gonna be there. Mr. Guy set it up...." She sighed deeply, as she so often did at the mention of her husband. "So I have to look good, otherwise...well...it makes him look bad."

"Says you..and when is he coming home from New Mexico?"

"Erm.....six weeks."

"And did he call you today?" he asked meaningfully.

"No, and I don't give a fuck either." she said, sounding amused. "I would be surprised as hell if he DID call....I don't think he's ever remembered my birthday..." She dragged on her cigarette, then continued. "....and you know, my dad even called...and he's THERE with Mr. Guy, they're working on this shoot together..."

Flans bristled slightly at the mention of this. He knew that she had met her husband through her father, he being one of the top cinematographers in the movie industry. Every time it crossed his mind he couldn't help but feel angry. He thought that she'd been kind of wrangled into her relationship with Mr. Director at her father's coercion, although she never exactly admitted it.

"...so it's not like Mr. Guy couldn't have gotten on the phone." she finished triumphantly. "Fuckit, I don't care." she snarled. She pulled away from the phone suddenly and shouted. "MATT!! Get away from there! That's MY joint!!"

"Fuck youu!!" Matt's disembodied voice replied from the distance.

"Well, I'm gonna get back to it before they rip the place apart." she said cheerfully. Her voice turned throaty. "I knew YOU wouldn't forget my birthday, Flansy...." She hardly ever called him any variation of his surname; the way she said it hit him right in the crotch.

"Course not, I...uhh..yeh, I'd never forget." He stammered, distracted by his momentary lust. He shook it off. "And I'll see you in two days..."

"Hell yeah! Aren't you excited that you get to stay with me this time instead of in a hotel??" She said enthusiastically.

"Errmm...yes... but I would be lying if said I wasn't a bit apprehensive.."

"Relax man, the help won't rat me out." she laughed. "And anyway, you're staying in my loft, so...yeh, you'll dig it." she said happily.

As long as they were together, he figured, it didn't matter. "Cool." he chuckled. "Love ya."

"Yeeahh John, love you too......MY JOINT!" she yelped as she hung up.

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Flans held on tightly to the dashboard of her tiny beat up white car as she weaved through the traffic on the 405 freeway. "Watch it!" he screamed as she cut off a black Explorer. The explorer's horn roared like an angry beast.

She leaned out of the window. "FUCK OFF, DOUCHEBAG!!!" she shrieked, raising her middle finger above her head. The driver of the huge SUV yelled something unintelligible back and flipped her the bird in kind. "Aaaaaah, the 405 is THE DEVIL!!" she remarked to Flans as she beamed. "Having fun?"

Flans swallowed hard. "Yeah, loads." He was white as a sheet. "Aren't we going a little fast? The speed limit is 65."

"Nooooo way!" she cheerfully shouted. "You've got to do at least 80 in the carpool lane."

"Ugghh." Flans replied, feeling sightly nauseated. He noted with relief that the slighted Explorer had stopped riding their ass. He sank back into the passenger seat. "LAX was a nightmare." he shuddered.

"Yeh yeh!" she cheered, turning up the radio so Cyndi Lauper could tell them about how Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. "Lucky for you I used to be a messenger, I know LAX like I know...well, LAX!"

Flans managed a smile. "You never told me that. Linnell was a bike messenger..."

"Well yeah, but I didn't ride a bike." she laughed. "I would pick up import documents and deliver them to brokers. They were always rude to me." she swerved around a Cadillac driven by an ancient old man. "And the airport truckers would try to pinch my ass. I punched a guy in the nose once." she reminisced.

"No wonder you married up." he mused.

"Here's our exit!" she sang. Cyndi Lauper concurred that that's all they really want.

She pulled up into the vast driveway. The house was an enormous three story mansion with sprawling grounds and a miniature lake with a waterfall on the west side. Flans inhaled. "Holy.......shit." he gasped.

"It's not much." she quipped, killing the engine. A Hispanic man in his early thirties came out of the front doors and approached the driver's side door as she got out and stood. "'Sup Miguel." she grinned, punching him in the arm.

"Hey girl." he replied casually, smiling politely in Flans's direction. Miguel held his hand out for her keys. She handed them to him.

"Oh! Hang on Miguel, there's luggage!" She walked towards the trunk. He keyed it open, lifted Flans's suitcase out and set it on the ground, closing the trunk with a slam. "I got it." she said, waving away Miguel's attempt to pick it up for her.

Miguel shrugged, trying not to look amused. "Okay, I'll just park then."

She lugged the case behind her as she started around the east side of the house. "Thanks! Come up later, I have that book on hydroponics you wanted to read!"

"Sweet!" Miguel laughed as he got behind the wheel of her car.

Flans followed after her. They walked up the path to an apartment built off into the side of the house. She ascended the stairs backwards, pulling Flans's suitcase after her.

"I can get that...."

"No way! You're my guest!" she puffed. Flans shrugged.

She flung open the door, pushing the bag in front of her. "My palace!" she exclaimed and stood aside to let Flans enter.

"Wow. You don't stay in the main house?" he said as he took in his surroundings. It was expensively furnished with dark wood, leather and thick beige carpet. It was also decidedly unkempt: Guitars, cables, sheet music, clothes, comic books, and records were strewn everywhere along with a few overflowing ashtrays.

"Nahhh." she replied, closing the door and flopping down on the brown leather sofa. "I mean, he built this for me to work....the rehearsal room is over there..." she gestured vaguely to her left. "And the recording studio is down the hall, but he built like a whole apartment, and honestly, I'm uncomfortable in the house." She started to untie her shoes. "Freakin huge in there. I get lost."

He sat next to her. "Well, wow....it's....comfortable here." he said, picking up a copy of Skin and Ink magazine.

"I'll show you the main house later....it's like a museum." she said, chucking one of her black converse across the room. "He has an original Picasso in the sitting room." she said in a snooty voice.

"Mmmm." Flans replied, looking at a girl with six-shooters tattooed on her hips. "How many rooms in that joint?" he inquired, trying not to sound too nosy.

"Eighteen bedrooms....ten bathrooms...uhh....there's the arcade.....the screening room..." at this she rolled her eyes. "and you know, a shitload of closets and whatnot." she stood up and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. "It's hot!" she called as she flung it in the direction of the television.

Flans stood and walked over to the big screen tv. There were numerous pairs of pants draped over it, obscuring the screen. He pointed. "Don't you watch this?"

She scowled a bit. "Naahh, you know I don't care much for tv...."

"But it's GIGANTIC!" he marveled, pushing some of the pants off of it. It was dusty. He looked at the numerous shelves of the giant entertainment cabinet which encased it. "Is...that...a LASERDISC player?"

"You can have it." she replied disinterestedly as she walked to the opposite corner of the room. "Now HERE'S my baby." she said, fiddling with the equalizer on a massive hi-fi stereo system. The four speakers on either side of it were each about five feet tall. She lifted the lid and peered at the record. "Ohh, Neil Young. This belongs to Fish." she said, taking the disc off of the turntable and looking for the sleeve.

"That reminds me!" Flans exclaimed, walking to where she'd set his suitcase and unclasping it. "I got your birthday present here...."

"Yeaaahhh!!" she squealed. "Gimme!"

He took out a record wrapped in a brown paper bag. "Ehh, I didn't wrap it."

"Yay!" she exclaimed, snatching it from him. She pulled it out of the bag. "Ohhhhhhhh EXCELLENT! Elvis Costello!!! This is the new one!" she hopped up and down and took it over to the stereo.

"Yeah, Spike. That's an excellent record." He grinned. "Glad you like it...."

"You KNEW I would!" She turned the stereo up and started to dance around the room.

"This Town....great great song, the whole thing is good." Flans laughed. "You're lookin mighty fine in that bra....." he leered at her playfully.

She stopped in mid bounce and looked down at her chest. "I like yellow. Shut up." She did a pirouette.

"I wasn't teasing you, I said you look...nice." he grinned, walking towards her and putting his hands around her waist. Her skin felt cool.

"Your hands are hot." she complained, head butting him gently.

"Ow." he remarked. "You know what they say...warm hands, cold heart."

"I thought it was hot hands, compulsive masturbator." she laughed.

"I won't deny it." He raised his eyebrow. He leaned in kissed her deeply, putting his tongue in her mouth.

"Yoww!" she gasped. "Aren't you gonna buy me a drink first, sailor?" she joked.

"I'm interested in the rest of the tour." he murmured, biting at her ear. "Didn't you say you had a fabulous bedroom?"

"Haaaaaha, yeah, come on stud!" she giggled, taking his hand and pulling it over her shoulder, leading him towards the hallway. "Let's go make you a man now."

"I knew you were just using me for my body." he said with a mock frown.

"I'm actually just after your vast estate!!"

Later that evening Flans sat on the floor between her legs in front of her; she sat with her back against the bottom of the sofa and her arms around his chest. Fish was laying on the floor with a Psychedelic Furs album in front of him, separating the stems from some pot; Miguel sat on the sofa with his forearms resting on the huge glass coffeetable, rolling a joint. Veronica blared from the stereo.

"See, the trick is you can't roll it too tight." Miguel commented, holding up his handiwork. "People roll the shit out of it and then it just doesn't burn."

"Toke it up, mofo." she prodded, rubbing Flans's neck.

"I can't remember the last time I smoked pot." Flans said interestedly.

Fish glanced at him. "You're a square Flans, all the cool kids are doing it." He laughed to himself like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Nobody says square anymore..." she said, taking the now lit joint from Miguel. "It's spaz. You're a spaz, man. Like, gag me...with something." she said sarcastically and took a long hit. She held her breath and handed it to Flans.

Flans eyed the spliff, then took a cautious hit. His eyes watered and he started coughing immediately while she patted him on the back and exhaled an enormous plume of smoke. Flans handed the joint to Fish.

"Yep, my brother grows this in his basement." Fish said proudly, taking a big hit and sitting up crosslegged. "He's got a green thumb." he choked out with his breath held, then exhaled a copious amount of smoke in Flans's direction.

"Wow. That works quick." Flans took his glasses off and set them on the table, rubbing his eyes. Fish stood and handed the joint back to Miguel.

"Yeh, he's square but I love him." she cooed, rubbing her face against the back of Flans's head.

Miguel passed the joint back to her and laughed. "Man, I wish the boss was like you." He remarked. "Maybe he'll kick and then we'll work for you...that would be freakin sweet." He leaned back and smiled widely.

She took another huge puff, exhaled luxuriously and offered it to Flans who waved her away. Fish reached out and took it.

"Yeah, you guys could just come up here all day, smoke out, listen to records. It would ROCK! I wouldn't even make you work...I'd hire people to work for you! That would be the best!!" she giggled.

"Yeah man!" Miguel roared. "And we would go in the screening room and watch Cheech and Chong all day! Oh man, that.....would........ROCK!!!"

Fish coughed and looked at the joint-turned-roach. "Do you have a clip? I almost burned off my moustache." He complained.

"Umm....uhh.......er.....I dunno." she replied, and giggled defeatedly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think I'm stoned." Flans groaned, slumping back against her.

"You only had one hit!" she tittered. "One....hit.....John.......ohhhhh my goodness yes. One hit...like your one hit.....on the college raiiiiiidio." she sang happily. "Make a hole with the gun...something something....yeah baby, that's a great song...you're a great musician...you're....great." she put her head against his shoulder and shook with laughter.

"Good shit." Fish remarked, surrendering the roach to an ashtray. "Food would be good." He got up and headed towards the kitchen.

"Bring beef jerky!" Miguel cried.

"YESSSS!!!! JERKEEEEEE ROCKS!!" she guffawed. She crawled out from behind Flans. "I....love you." she said breathlessly to him, kneeling in front of his face. "You...are a man...among men....a man....yeh....OH! Put on The Smiths!" she cried, crawling away from Flans towards the record player. "I wanna hear...PANIC ON THE STREETS OF LONDONNNNNNNNN...PANIC ON THE STREETS OF BIRMINGHAMMMM!!!" she sang, laughing.

"Woow. This...is freaky." Flans stated, putting his glasses back on. "Should I be doing this? I mean, should I? Am I stoned? I can't tell. Should I be able to tell? I'm THIRSTY...." he put his hand to his head.

Fish arrived from the kitchen. "Here man....this will solve all your problems." He said amiably, handing Flans a package of cheetos.

"Oh. That works." Flans snickered while fending off Miguel, who was attempting to maul the bag of puffy orange snacks.

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Flans woke up with a start, not sure where he was. He squinted at the grandfather clock in the corner of the bedroom...it said ten fifteen. The last thing he remembered was that she had been laying next to him singing "Baby Plays Around" while tapping the beat on his chest; her side of the bed was empty. He fumbled for his glasses and stood up. He located his sweatpants, pulled them on and headed out towards the kitchen.

He found her there, taking bowls out of the dishwasher and putting them in the cabinets while a short blond woman with a high ponytail dried some glasses and set them on the counter. "Good morning!" Flans's girl said cheerfully. She walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He grinned sleepily.

"John, this is Francine, she's one of our housekeepers....Francie, this is John."

Francine dried her hands on a dishtowel and walked over. "I've heard so much about you!" she took Flans's hand in both of hers and shook it, smiling warmly.

"Only good I hope." He laughed. "It's a pleasure." Flans looked around the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

"No, we're all done here." Francine replied. She turned to Mrs. Director. "I'll see you later sweetie, I've got to go dust that cavern."

"Okay, bye! Don't do a good job!" she smirked as Francine left.

"You help the help?" Flans asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Of course, what am I supposed to do, sit here and watch her CLEAN?" she walked over to the counter. "Coffee?"

"Yes please!" Flans yawned.

She brought him a cup and sat down. "She's nicer to me than my mother is." she said sadly.

"Hmm. Your parents.....I don't understand..."

"Wait! She interrupted, bounding up. "I have something for you!!"

He looked at her, mildly surprised. "You do....what?"

"Well...." she called as she left the room. "We won't see each other on YOUR birthday so I picked this up for you!!" He heard some banging. "Shit!" she exclaimed as she knocked over one of her guitars.

She came back into the kitchen, lugging a hard guitar case.

"What's this?" he peered at her curiously.

"It's for you! Open it!"

"You bought me a guitar...." he said in amazement.

"NO! It's a tommygun. Open it!" she said excitedly.

Flans undid the clasps. He looked at the guitar; it was a custom made left handed Gretsch White Falcon. He moaned rapturously as he lifted it out of the case. "I can't....believe...it's....it's beautiful."

"EEEE! I knew you'd love it!! They sound so great and I think it will work really well with the accordion..."

"I....holy cow, I can't accept this!" he said as he sat and held it in his lap, fingering the inlays on the neck.

"Don't be stupid.....it's a lefty, and it's custom, so I can't take it back so you have to..."

He goggled at her. "I know what these cost..."

She shrugged. "Yeh, me too. That came out of MY money...that's from me....not Mr. Guy..."

He stroked the guitar lovingly. "I...I'm just speechless....I don't know what to say."

She hit him gently in the middle of his forehead with her palm. "Say thanks!" she laughed.

"Thanks..." he looked at her in amazement.

"Cool. I'm hungry. Get dressed, and I'll take you to Canters!" she giggled as she skipped down the hall towards the bedroom.

-Endie-

Part Three: Flans and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:14:33 GMT

Title: Only In Dreams
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: A good rule of thumb...if my stuff has sex in it, it's a hard R or a decent X. If there's no sex, it's usually just cussing, maybe a PG-13. Yeah, we'll go with that. No sex here.
Word Count: 2353
Warnings: It might be funny, I don't remember. The story goes on.

"Gross! Don't get ketchup on my side of the plate!" she complained.

"Sorry." John Flansburgh squinted. "I thought I had the bottle under control."

John's dining companion picked moodily at the french fries they were sharing. "You handle the condiments like you handle the ladies. Copiously, and messily, and you don't know when to stop." She tittered to herself.

"Wow, I'm insulted. And flattered. At the same time. Is there a word for that?"

"Flattersulted." She replied, pushing some of the helpless drowning fries back to his side with a knife.

"English major?" He said in a bad British accent, giving her what he thought to be a dashing look.

She looked at him blankly. "You have ketchup on you." she wiped his upper lip with her thumb.

"Gaaahhh." he replied, running the back of his palm across his mouth.

They had been seeing each other for six months, and Flans couldn't remember the last time he was so happy. It was almost perfect, except for two small obstacles: they lived three thousand miles apart, and she had a husband. But Flans didn't like to sweat the small stuff.

"Too bad you had a rough flight. Are we feeling better?" He queried, tapping the edge of his spoon against his coffee mug.

"We...are exhausted. And we....want to eat something with NO KETCHUP." She tossed her wadded up napkin at him. It bounced off his forehead and landed on their plate.

"I'm not very good with all this provider stuff, I'm used to eating by myself...standing over the sink...in my underwear.....scratching my ass with a fork." He put his tongue between his teeth as he used two straws like chopsticks to try and rescue the napkin.

She stared at him, pretending not to be amused. "You....are so.....disgusting." she groaned.

He smiled lasciviously at her. "Ahh, you say that now...but wait 'till tonight. You'll be singing a different tune, little girl."

"That's supposed to turn me on? I'm a woman of virtue." she sniggered. "My mother warned me about guys like you."

"Poor musicians with a five o' clock shadow and a lust for ketchup?"

The waiter brought them their check. She snatched it away quickly as Flans reached for it.

"Oh come on, don't be silly." he said. "Give it to me."

"Nooope, this one is on Mr. Guy." she said with a tiny nod of approval.

"HOW can you use your husband's credit card to feed your boyfriend?" he good-naturedly shook his head. "That's not right."

"He earns enough to feed you, me, your parents, your grandparents, your brother, your neighbors, your mailman and his dog." she teased. "And anyway, if being right is right, then I don't wanna be right." she handed the ticket and the charge card to the waiter as he walked by.

"And the redundancy award of the evening goes to....."

"Shut yer trap John, or I'll spit in your coffee." she wagged her finger at him.

"Classy!!" he laughed.
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He held the door to his small apartment open for her and followed after her with her suitcase. As she watched him carry it into the bedroom she shoved a pile of laundry off the armchair and sat down.

She picked up a t-shirt and waved it over her head. "Hey! Isn't this the wash you were going to fold last time I was here?" she called. "And then you kept putting it off because you needed to do the dishes instead, but you were out of soap, and you didn't have time to go to the market cause we were having sex all the time? And it's hard to leave the house when you're naked? Ahh, good times, good times." she tossed the shirt back on the pile.

"I didn't hear you complaining." he mused as he walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up the coffee decanter and ran it under the tap.

"That...is because....I love filth....I happen to be an insectophile." she wisecracked.

"I know...you're with me!" he grinned widely.

"I'm not WITH you...no man can HAVE me....for I am married to the sea..." she flung her arm across her eyes dramatically.

He laughed. "Okay, you need to go to bed, that's just ridiculous and will not be tolerated here. Go to sleep and don't come back untill you're funny again."

She stood. "I was never funny....." she walked towards the bathroom. "Not 'ha ha' funny anyway....and I'll thank you not to mention my mental problems!" she called. He heard her turn on the shower.

He shook his head, smiling to himself, as he poured water into the coffeemaker.

Four hours later Flans sat in front of the televison with a notebook and his acoustic guitar. He frowned and glanced up at the reporter on the eleven o' clock news, who was explaining how direly important it was to check that your smoke detectors were fully functional. "What rhymes with stopwatch?" Flans asked him distractedly.

He turned his head as the bedroom door opened. She walked over to him, looking disheveled, and sat down.

"Hi. What are you doing?" She rubbed her eyes.

He set his guitar down. "Trying to finish this piece of crap." he said as he cast his notebook aside. She put her head in his lap. He leaned back and absently stroked her hair, listening to the additonal wisdom the news reporter had to offer.

"Oh look. There was a shooting in Manhattan. Only six dead. Can't beat it with a stick." She remarked sleepily.

Flans chortled. "Nobody gets shot in L.A."

"That's cause the smog kills you first." She stroked his thigh. "Come to bed? I think I saw a roach in there carrying away the alarm clock." she yawned.

"Mock my living quarters, will thee?" he pushed her off his lap gently and stood, pulling her up to a standing position by her hands. "Mind thy tongue lass, lest you become a sacrifice to my minions! Oh yeah. I'm crazy, I'll do it."

She stretched. "That explains the shackles on the wall."

Flans put his arm around her waist as they walked to the bedroom. "No, come on, I'LL explain the shackles on the wall." he snickered.

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Flans awoke with a start to the sound of the phone ringing. By reflex he flung his arm in the general direction of the receiver, accidentaly sweeping the small stack of books on the nighttable to the floor.

"Whazzat??" his girlfriend mumbled next to him in her sleep, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Fuck...fuck...hello??" Flans barked.

"Did I wake you man?" It was John Linnell. He sounded simultaniously amused and annoyed.

"Huuh..whattimeizzit?" Flans muttered.

"It's 9:30 you lazy nefarious bastard." Linnel replied cheerfully. "And listen, you hear that?" There was a mild clunking, and then the sound of traffic rushing by as Linnell held the reciever of the phone out to the street. He came back. "I was here, just like I said I would be at nine. So get up, and get your ladyfriend, and come down here because this is my last twenty cents John....my LAST TWENTY CENTS...and I can't call you again....so be here...." Linnell's voice dropped to a deep bass growl. "OR DIE!!" He laughed.

Flans rubbed his eyes and felt around for his glasses. "I'm so sorry man. Give us fifteen minutes."

"You're paying." Linnell remarked and hung up.

Flans put his hand on her back and gently shook her. "Hey babe, wake up." he whispered.

"Mmmph." She flitted her hand towards him like he was a fly, then continued to snore softly.

He sat up and surveyed the bedroom. He couldn't believe it was Sunday already; the three weeks she had stayed with him had felt like three days. The room was a wreck; for someone who teased him about being a bit of a slob, he thought bemusedly, she was just as bad. Flans glanced at the t-shirt hanging from the wall sconce and couldn't tell if it was his or hers.

Forty five minutes later they walked arm in arm together down Fifth avenue, approaching the small cafe where they were meeting Linnell for breakfast. He spied Linnell sitting at an outside table. Linnell made eye contact with Flans and his brow furrowed. Flans smiled.

Linnell stood as they walked up. He pointed threateningly at his bandmate. "Long fifteen minutes. Next time you're so late you'll REALLY be the late John Flansburgh." He joked. He turned his attention to Flansy's girl. "Hello."

She smirked at Linnell. "Hi Johnny!" she exclaimed, putting her hands in his hair and ruffling enthusiastically. He swatted at her.

"Hey hey, stop it, my hair is my living." He cracked. He gave her a mock dirty look. "Don't call me Johnny."

She stuck her tongue out at him as they sat down.

"Enjoying Brooklyn?" Linnell asked companionably.

"Yes, actually. I love it more every time I'm here." She looked at Flans meaningfully. Flans beamed at her.

"You two make me mildly nauseous." Linnell remarked casually, stirring his coffee.

She chuckled. "Yeh well, My flight is in six hours so you only have to put up with it for a little while longer."

Linnell ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup, considering this. "Don't misunderstand me, I enjoy you when you're here." he said to her. "But Flans can't get any work done, and he acts all loopy...I mean, more than usual even. Separately you're great, but together you're still too saccharine...most couples get over that in like the first two months."

Flans pouted a little. "We don't get to see each other that often though...."

"Fair enough." Linnell chortled.

"AND I've been here three weeks and this is the first time I've gotten to seen you!" she exclaimed, slapping Linnell on the back of the hand.

"I've been working....taking up Flansy's slack."

"Indeed." Flans rolled his eyes.

"So....any news in the world of cinema?" Linnell asked cautiously. He still always felt the need to tiptoe around the subject of her husband. He had seriously objected to Flans's involvement with her at first, but a combination of her charm and Flans's blissful happiness had changed his mind. Getting to know her had helped, and she treated his friend unbelievably well, so he now figured the moral end of it was Flans's business. Besides, Flans had hinted around that she was extremely neglected by Mr. Director, and Linnell wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't behave differently than Flans had in the same situation.

"Well, they're shooting in Rome right now....some kind of suspense thing. I have no idea what it's about, I didn't even see the script." she said.

"Isn't that broad in it?" Flans asked. "The one with the big..." he held his cupped hands out in front of his chest.

Linnell marveled that the husband thing didn't seem to bother Flans at all.

"Yeh yeh...umn...whatshername, I don't even know." She shook her head. "I can never remember names. She's stacked though."

Linnell giggled at this. "Stacked. Eloquently put, like a teenaged boy."

"I was gonna say that she has fucking gigantic hooters, but I figured I'd tone it down on your account."

Linnell laughed, almost spitting out his mouthful of coffee.

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"Thanks, right here is fine." Flans told the cab driver as they pulled up in front of the airport. He thrust a ten dollar bill in the driver's hand. "Keep the change." She got out of the cab; Flans followed, lugging her suitcase behind him.

They walked in silence to the terminal. He was mentally calculating when was the next time he could fly out to Los Angeles. The prognosis looked pretty grim, as he and Linnell had a pretty solid booking of gigs for the next month at least.

He set down her suitcase. He heard the voice announce over the loudspeaker: "Flight 245 nonstop JFK to LAX will be boarding in approximately fifteen minutes."

"Well, here we are again." he said sadly. "I always hate this part."

She appraised him momentarily. She then spoke. "Do you know that I haven't been with Mr. Guy since I've been with you?"

He was somewhat surprised at this. "What do you mean...like....you haven't had sex with him?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

He laughed at the irony. "Let me clarify....so you're being faithful to me by not having sex with your husband?"

"You think that's funny?" She looked a bit hurt.

"No...I think it's unbelievably sweet.... but how are you managing that?" he asked, slightly incredulous.

She scuffled her shoes. "It's not hard man...you know him, he's never around...but, I mean....he's tried and I just....I...you're....you know...I just love you a lot, that's all." she muttered.

"You know, you don't always have to be so uncomfortable talking about this. I'd like to think we can talk about anything."

"We can...It's just...it sucks. I hate it. I feel so crappy mentioning him. WHY do you have to be so nice about it?" She frowned and continued. "I keep telling you that you can see other people too..."

He took her hand. "And I'm not interested in the slightest."

"John! You're impossible. Stop being so perfect." She sighed. "You deserve better than me." she said mournfully.

"There is no better than you." He wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her on the forehead. "Quit beating yourself up, okay? I love you. Leave it alone."

"Your rose-colored view of things never ceases to amaze me." she said, giving up.

They kissed briefly. She then pulled free of him. "John is right, you're pretty nauseating."

"WE. He said we." Flans laughed.

"You're more nauseating than me." She glanced regretfully over her shoulder. "Okay yeah, I'd better get on the plane now."

"Well, call me as soon as you get there."

"I will."

She picked up her suitcase and squeezed his hand hard, before reluctantly letting go and heading for the gate.

As he watched her leave him again, he folded his arms against his stomach. He marveled that no matter how many times they parted, it still made him feel sick to see her go.

The Endness.

Part Two: Flans and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:11:15 GMT

Title: She's So Unusual
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: More use of the effword. Pretty tame stuff.
Word Count: 2365
Warnings: This is how they met. I would suppose just after the release of Lincoln. 1988? This is a year before the first fic. That would make Flansy 28. If I'm wrong about dates, do me a favor and suspend your disbelief, woudja?

"So the bus driver pulls off the sheet and goes,, 'Ha! I'm not god, I'm the bus driver!!' and the nun pulls off her habit and goes, 'Ha! I'm not a nun, I'm the hippie!!' Get it?" John Flansburgh slapped his knee and doubled over, completely falling apart laughing.

"Hmm. Fascinating. I remember hearing that one before...Phoenix, I believe it was...waitress...eyes like steel..." John Linnell replied, keeping his eye on the band that was currently up. They had just finished a short, well received set at the small club in Los Angeles where they now stood in the wings of the stage, checking out the other bands who were playing the show. Still buzzing from the high of having people in the audience sing along with them, they didn't feel like going home yet.

The emcee got back on the mic. "Weren't they great? Let's hear it for 'The Sexbunnies'! They're gonna be huge, ladies and gentlemen..."

"I'm gonna see if there's coffee." Flans announced.

"Cool." Linnell replied disinterestedly.

Flans wandered through the groups of people standing around backstage, chatting, and tuning instruments, making his way back towards the dressing rooms when something hit him solidly in the ribs.

"Ow!" He barked.

The girl scowled at him. "Watch it, Bucky!" She sneered.

"You hit ME!" He looked at her pink Fender Stratocaster and massaged his side. "Bucky....?" he repeated incredulously.

"Pfft!" She hissed over her shoulder as the walked away.

Shaking his head, he noticed somebody with a cup of coffee, and went over to him to ask where it had come from.

He rejoined Linnell 15 minutes later, side still smarting. "Here." He handed Linnell a cup.

Linnell took a long sip. "Man, the last band was pretty awful...too bad you missed it."

"I'll survive."

"Okay, gentlemen and ladies!" The emcee blared. "This next one is a local band, you asked for them, you got them, put your hands together for your very own....ALCATRAZ!!!"

The crowd screamed.

The quartet came out from behind the stage; tall, lanky redheaded drummer, an even taller bassist with long black hair and a goatee, a stocky, round faced guitarist wearing wire framed spectacles, and a female guitarist with long, brown, curly hair and black rimmed glasses. And a pink Stratocaster. Flans blinked.

"Hey! Look, that girl rammed me in the side with her guitar! And she was rude, too!" He exclaimed to Linnell.

"What a jerk." Linnell replied calmly.

"Allright motherfuckers, let's start it up!!" The girl screamed into the mic. The crowd went insane.

Alcatraz started to play; Flans noticed that a lot of the crowd seemed to know the words. The audience was jumping; the girl growled into the mic and kicked the stand aside as she went into a burning guitar solo.

"Wow. Hendrixesque." Linnell murmured.

"Holy shit, she can play!" Flans yelped.

The song ended. "Thank you! This next song I wrote for my wedding, it's called 'Shoot Me In The Head'!!" the girl jeered. The crowd roared.

Linnell laughed as he turned to walk away. "Get her a magazine rack cause she's got issues." He and Flans started backstage again. Linnell yawned. "I'm getting tired...let's go."

They bumped into Jeremy, the owner of the club.

"Johns! Hey! Great set gentlemen!" He bellowed.

Flans shook Jeremy's hand enthusiastically. "Thank you sir, thank you! It's always a pleasure."

"You guys coming to the after party?" Jeremy's eyes widened.

The Johns looked at each other. Linnell didn't look too excited. "Well, we're a little tired..." he started.

"NONSENSE!" Jeremy laughed. "I won't take no for an answer! It's at my place, you know the drill! See you there, guys!" He walked away to chat up a heavily tattooed gentleman wearing a tank top and a skinny tie.

"Great." Linnell groaned.

"Well, it gives us a chance to network...besides, this is a good gig, I want to keep it." Flans gave him the thumbs up.

"I hate this town." Linnell frowned.

"I know pal."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flans leaned against the wall with a scotch and soda in his hand. He looked around for Linnell, having lost track of him; he spotted him sitting alone on a love seat in the quietest corner of the room, head resting in his hand, seemingly asleep. Flans smiled.

The party was in full swing around him. Jeremy's house was an enormous ranch style mansion in Beverly Hills. Flans wondered briefly how the owner of such a small underground club could afford such a huge house. He spied some people snorting cocaine behind the bar. "Ah haaa, bingo." He thought to himself and wandered away to find someplace to sit down. The spot next to Linnell had already been taken by a blue haired girl with glitter all over her face. Flans thought she looked like a fairy.

A small group of men in suits parted and he spied a free spot on a white sofa. Grateful, he walked over and plopped down. His elbow made hard contact with somebody, causing him to spill a bit of scotch onto his jeans.

"Careful, jackass!"

Flans was brushing off his pants. "Gosh I'm sorry, I didn't..." He looked over.

It was the girl from Alcatraz.

She squinted at him. "You're a fucking clutz. How do you even HOLD a guitar?"

"You!" He was stunned. "You hit me first! How do YOU....do you...kiss your mother with that mouth?" He finished lamely.

She considered this. "Not really...she's kind of a bitch."

"Oh, that's nice." Flans grimaced.

A tall, crushingly handsome man in his early forties came walking towards them; he wore Dockers and a polo shirt and a very expensive looking watch. Flans recognized him at once. He walked up to Flans's newfound companion and gave her a kiss.

"Ahh, there's the little missus. Where's Jeremy?"

She pouted at him like a teenager. "Dunno." She replied. "Do you have my smokes?"

He withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed them to her. He then patted her on the head and said, "Be a lamb and send him my way if you see him, he's introducing me to that actress for the shoot in Spain next week...where are my glasses..."

She pointed to the front of his shirt; they were hanging from his collar.

"Of course, yes, thank you Honey...have fun with your little rocker friends." He said condescendingly and wandered off.

Flans's eyes trailed after him. "That was...."

"Yes it was."

"And you're his...."

"Yes I am."

"Wow...a director's wife? What's that like?" He chuckled almost to himself. "Aren't you a little young to be married?" he pondered.

"Aren't you a little old to ask strangers personal questions?"

"Ehh...maybe. Then let me introduce myself. I'm John...."

"Flansburgh." She finished for him. "I know. I like your band, actually." She lit a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully.

"I like your band too. You can really handle that battering ram." He laughed. "Where'd you learn to play like that?"

She peered at him. "I didn't have too many dates in high school."

"Now I find that hard to believe." he blurted. He faltered, embarrassed by his own candor.

She snagged somebody's empty wineglass and began to use it as an ashtray. "Yeh well, says you buddy."

They were silent for a few moments.

"I don't even think you're old enough to be married." He suddenly challenged.

"Jeezus, I don't look that young." She frowned. "I'm 20."

"Riiiight...." Flans heckled her.

"No really!"

"Prove it."

"Jeezuz tittyfucking christ." she swore, pulling a beat up looking black wallet out of her pocket. She ripped open the velcro and brandished her driver's license in his face. "See?"

He took it from her. "Nice picture." He laughed.

"Shut up." She flicked an ash into the wineglass.

"No, I'm serious, you look good in it....I guess you DO know how to smile!" At this she stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, looking at her ID again. "Pretty name. One of my favorites, actually."

"Puh LEASE!" she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"No, seriously! Take a compliment, willya?" He grinned.

"Fine. But I hate you." She smirked.

"Fair enough." He tossed her license back at her and they sat there in companionable silence, watching the debauchery around them. Flans looked the carpet; he saw a familiar set of shoes walking in his direction.

"John! There you are." Flans waved.

Linnell had dark circles under his eyes and looked extremely irritated. "I think we've stayed long enough to sate Jeremy. I want to go. Coming?" He eyed Flans's new friend suspiciously.

"You know what, I'll catch up, I'm pretty awake still." Flans raised is now empty glass at Linnell.

"Okay, well, see you back at the hotel." He nodded in Mrs. Director's general direction. "Nice to meet you." he said uncertainly and left.

"He's a great musician." she said as they watched Linnell leave.

"I know it." Flans replied.

She turned to him suddenly. "Wanna go somewhere?"

He looked at her, startled. "Umm..where?"

"Dunno. Somewhere else? It's loud in here."

"What about your husband? Won't he miss you?" Flans blushed after he said it, hoping he didn't sound like a letch.

Her lip curled. "Bahh...he won't even notice. He'd pay more attention to me if I had a viewfinder." she snarled.

"Right, well, come on!" Flans said brightly and stood. She followed suit and grabbed him by the hand.

"Adelantado!" she called to nobody in particular, dragging him towards the front door.

Two hours later they were driving down Sunset Boulevard in her tiny beat up white car, and she was pointing out the various landmarks.

"Okay, there's the Pleasure Chest." she swept her arm to the right, almost smacking him in the face. "And to your left, there's a Carl's Jr. Mmm, onion rings."

Flans guffawed. "I've been to Hollywood before! You're supposed to show me something I haven't seen yet. You're a lousy tour guide."

"You've seen the Pleasure Chest?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well yeh, I mean, the music doesn't really pay the bills, to make ends meet I moonlight as a professional sex slave."

She laughed uproariously. "Ahh yes, I thought I recognized you from Rough Trade magazine!"

"And the truth shall set you free!" Flans hooted.

"Ermm.....Miracle Mile?"

"Seen it!" Flans said in a singsong voice.

"Hollywood and Vine?"

"Seen it!"

"Hermmm....Capitol Records building?"

"Own it!!" Flans shouted.

They were laughing so hard she was swerving slightly. She pulled over.

"I can't drive, you're a maniac! Tell me where I'm going."

"I don't know, it's 2 in the morning." he was still giggling. "I'm kinda punchy."

"Well, where are you staying then? I should drop you off." She mockingly frowned at him.

"The Hilton on South Grand."

"Hang on." She peeled out, tires squealing.

Ten minutes later they were in front of the hotel. The young valet was staring at them, and from the look on his face he wasn't sure whether it would be better to park her car or have it crushed into a cube.

Flans grinned. "This was fun, I'm glad we met."

"Me too."

He hesitated. "Umm, hey, why don't you come up for a cup of coffee?

"Coffee....or COFFEE?" She teased.

Flans coughed. "Coffee."

"Lead me to it."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He keyed open the door to his hotel room. "Ladies first."

"How chivalrous. Thank you." She curtsied and entered. Flans skipped in after her.

He walked over to the small counter where the coffeemaker sat and riffled around momentarily. "Uh oh. No coffee. Stupid maid service...I left out the sign..." He frowned.

She fell onto the couch next to the wall and leaned back. "You're a bad host, man. Tsk tsk."

"Ah well, fuckit." He walked over and sat down next to her. They looked at each other and shrugged.

"Now what?" She plucked at some lint on the arm of the sofa.

"Now...we plot how we're going to take over the world."

"Oooh, I like how you think." She gave him an evil smile. "Mind control? Torture? Cannibalism? Please say cannibalism!"

Flans laughed. "You really ARE nuts. That'll teach me." He got up and picked up his guitar case. "Music." he stated. He started to open it.

"If eating human flesh is wrong, I don't wanna be right." She dryly remarked. She reached out for his acoustic. "Gimme."

Grinning, he shook his head and handed it to her. "Not gonna do you any good kiddo, unless you can play lefty."

"I....am a virtuoso." she announced and attempted to finger some chords with her right hand. She strummed.

"Horrible. Simply...wretched." he mocked.

"Fuck you and your freak guitar." she good naturedly shoved it at him. He took it and played a four chord riff, humming a little. "Something I'm working on." he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes at him. "SUCKS!"

"Don't make me kick your ass." he threatened happily, shaking his fist at her.

"Bring it on, mister!" she laughed.

Flans leaned his guitar against the wall and leaned towards her. "You have a really...bad..attitude." he narrowed his eyes at her, pointing between her eyes for emphasis.

Laughing, she playfully chomped at his finger.

"Allright, that's it!" Flans laughed and pounced on her starting to tickle her. She shrieked and tried to throw herself off the sofa. "AHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! STOOPPPP!!!" She pounded his chest.

"Allright okay, I think you've learned your lesson." He chuckled, finally letting her go. He took off his glasses and began wiping his eyes. She got up and stood in front of him.

He looked up at her. "Yes?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

She got onto his lap, straddling him. Pleasantly surprised, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his palms against her back. "I like you." she said, fluttering her eyelashes prettily.

"I thought I was your arch nemesis!!" Flans joked. "I like you too." He ran his hands down to her hips.

She leaned down and kissed him sweetly. He reciprocated, and pulled away from her, looking her in the face. "This is so wrong." he lamented gently.

"I know." she shrugged. She kissed him again. And stopped. She looked into his eyes. She touched her nose to his.

"Can you keep a secret?" She purred.

"For you? Yeh. Yeh I can." he whispered, leaning back to lay across the sofa and pulling her down on top of him.

~Teh End~

Part One: Flans and The Girl

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 09:07:13 GMT

Title: Evaporated
Pairing: JF/A Girl (OC)
Author: Sparky
Rating: Really rather G, unless you're like the MPAA and think that gratuitous use of the effword merits a higher rating
Word Count: 1630
Warnings: I actually based this on the Ben Folds Five song by the same name. From then this fic spiraled out of control. It is a rather long series. If you've read it before, I hope you enjoy reading it again. If you've never read it..well, here it is. This takes place sometime towards the end of 1989, I believe.

It was almost dawn. John Flansburgh drove with the window down, feeling the sharp ocean air on his face. He kept his eyes open, looking for the spot where he had agreed to meet her. He remembered the time they had been there together once before, and it had made his heart leap to see her so happy, face to the wind, forgetting her problems for a few brief moments, her characteristic scowl temporarily vanquished.

He found her in spite of the dark, recognizing her small white car parked by the side of the road. She turned around at the approach of oncoming headlights, and for a moment she reminded him of a cat, the beams reflecting towards him off the lenses of her glasses. He pulled his car to a stop and cut the engine. He smiled in spite of himself, always charmed by her lack of feminine fashion sense; tennis shoes, out of style flared bluejeans (the cuffs woefully frayed at the back), her black leather jacket wrapped against the cutting wind.

He slowly opened the door and stood, knowing what was coming, dreading it. The logical part of his mind knew it was the right thing, that it was for the best. However, that didn't stop him from feeling like his guts were being ripped out.

She walked towards him. "Hey."

"Hey..hi." he replied as they embraced. Her jacket was ice, in deep contrast with the warmth of her lips as she briefly kissed the corner of his mouth. They parted and stood there momentarily unsure of what to say. She put her hands in her pockets and dropped her gaze to the ground with that hangdog posture he had seen so many times before; usually it was an insincere cover up gesture accompanied by a batting of the eyes, meant to charm her way out of taking responsibility for some cutting, albiet good natured, insult or another she had hurled at him. This time it was heart wrenching.

"Well, here we are." John stated. She didn't look up.

"You wanted to talk?" He pressed against his will. It felt like ages before she spoke.

"Yeh." she said noncommittally. She fished around in her pocket distractedly for a few moments and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a ligher. She shook one out of the pack, putting it in her mouth. She cupped her hand around the end of it and lit.

"That's so bad for you." he chided. He felt like he'd uttered that same statement at least a thousand times.

She exhaled. "Yea yea, John, you're the fucking surgeon general, gonna save me and the world, right?"

"I'm trying." he deadpanned.

She took a long drag and rolled her eyes at him. She always pretended nothing hurt her, but he could see pain behind her eyes. He had a way of seeing through her tough girl act that had enchanted her upon their meeting, attracting her to him in the first place.

"Well, talk to me kiddo, I don't have all day."

"Shit, John, give me a minute okay..."

"Fine, fine..." he backed off. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears.

She drew on her cigarette thoughtfully. "How goes the progress on the record? You finish that song you were working on?"

He smiled a bit, momentarily disarmed. "Yes, yes I did. I think you'll like it, you have to hear."

"I heard the new one on the machine. Really catchy, you guys are going to be so famous." She smiled.

"What, we're not famous now?"

"No." She smirked. "Sorry to break it to you buddy, but you're small fish in a big pond." She mockingly poked him in the chest.

"Ohh, look who's talking," he said, fending her off. "Playing at that coffee house every Sunday...they can't even drink to take the edge off."

"Fuck you dude!" She giggled. "We so totally rock!"

"I think you lifted that last song idea from me."

"So THAT'S why they keep booing when we play it."

"Haahaha, oh god, stop it, you're killing me." He laughed sarcastically. For a few moments they giggled; it almost felt like everything would be okay. They locked eyes. The smile fell from her face. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from his.

"Yea so look, I think we should end this, okay?" She said suddenly. Her voice had turned almost casual.

His stomach dropped. "I knew you were getting at this." He said gently.

"It was just a matter of time, right?" She looked at her shoes. "You knew that going into this."

"According to you it was, but people change. Circumstances change."

"Well they haven't, have they?" she said with a slight chill in her voice. "So yeah, that's what was so important. I didn't want to tell you over the phone." Her tone softened. "I think you deserve better than that. You deserve better than this."

"I love you...."

She shot an angry look at him. "That has nothing to do with anything."

"It has everything to do with EVERYTHING!! Look, it doesn't have to be this way you know, you can leave...you can! Just...just come to New York with me, okay? Just...consider it...." His voice started to break.

She put her hand lightly across her face. "John......don't."

"But...."

"John! Why aren't you listening to me? I can't leave him, okay? I just can't and you KNOW IT. It's ALWAYS been this way and it was never going to change, and that's how it is and you never listen to me, you're always babbling about how things are all sunshine and puppies and shit and they aren't, I'm so sick of your peter pan fucking outlook on everything. Life is miserable, and unfair. Get over it." She took the last drag on her cigarette, dropped the butt and started fishing around for another one in her pocket. "You never hear a thing i say, you never listen...." She shook out another smoke and put it in her mouth, her lips trembling. She tried to light it but her hands were shaking too badly.

He put his hands over hers. "Here, let me...."

The tears started to fall down her cheeks as she tried to back away. "Oh for fucks sake John, knock it off...."

He took another step towards her, holding his hand out.

Giving up, she relinquished her lighter to him. He struck it twice and the flame jumped up; he held it out towards her but she just lowered her hand and turned her back to him. She walked towards the guardrail and stopped, looking towards the ocean that was invisible in the pitch black. The only sound was the crashing waves. She dropped the cigarette over the edge, watching it flick out of existence. She then stood motionless.

He walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him once again. "I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry." She whispered, bowing her head. "Please don't hate me." He pulled her to him. She buried her face in his chest, finally breaking down, weeping.

He let out a long, shuddery breath, trying not to sob. "Don't say that. I could never hate you, never. I love you so much." He choked. "I don't care, it was worth it. I'll never be sorry. He can't possibly love you more than I do."

She looked at him, tear filled eyes glistening. "You always have the knack for saying the one thing that kills me, don't you?" He took her face in his hands.

"I only speak truth, babe." He smiled wanly.

"That's what I get for trying to be happy....this is what I get for being a bad person." She shook her head.

"You're not. You can't plan these things...and if you're bad then so am I. But you have your obligations, and I think it's noble. I don't like it, but it's noble."

He hugged her hard, then kissed her for what he knew was to be the last time. She pushed him away.

"Go on, get out of here. You have a musical revolution to start." She smiled sadly.

"I don't see what good it's gonna do me."

"Maybe next time that will teach you to get involved with harlots like me." She laughed weakly.

He chuckled. "Stop, it's not funny." Defeated, he laughed. "You're amazing."

"Only around you." He could see she was tearing up again. He bit his lip.

"I'll...I'll call you when I get home." He reached out for her fingertips, grazing them, not wanting to let her go.

"Better not. It will just make this too hard."

"Ahh, god, I know."

"Well then...John..." she curtsied, much to his bitter amusement. "See you around."

"Always the cutup?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I aim to please." She smiled bravely.

He shook his head and slowly and reluctantly started shuffling back towards his car. The sun was starting to rise; the sky was now pale and grey. "Dead man walking." He muttered to himself.

"Hey."

He stopped and turned.

"I love you."

"Always." he replied. He put his hand over his chest and clutched at his t-shirt, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, rounding his shoulders, he made what seemed like the longest walk of his life back to his car.

As he drove away he saw her raise her hand briefly in his rear view mirror, before she finally disappeared in the distance. The sun was up now, bright and clear, reflecting off the hood of his car. The other vehicles on the road began to blur slightly in his field of vision as the tears started to fall from underneath his glasses.

He turned the radio up. He had a flight to catch.

-The End-

The Third One

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 08:52:51 GMT

Title: The Third One
Pairing: JF/JL
Author: Sparky
Rating: Yeah. Slashy.
Word Count: 1204
Warnings: Here there be filth.

Flans was stunned. "Wha...what did you say to me?" He stuttered.

"I'm in love with you." Linnell faltered, then went on. "I mean you knew, right? You got me to...you know, and I...I just...do. I have for a long time now." His eyes dropped to the floor.

"Jeezus christ man...I...I don't know if I'm ready for this." Flans ducked free of Linnell's embrace and started across the living room.

"Excuse me?" Linnell felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

"John, man, I wasn't trying to...you know, to get involved capitol I! I was just..."

"Screwing around with me?" Linnell's expression darkened.

"No no, not like that...I just need...I need to sleep on this." Flans turned and walked towards his bedroom. "Just need to get my head straight." And without another word he shut the door.

Linnell walked in a daze towards his own bedroom. He shut the door and put his hands over his face. He was trying to keep his composure, but it was no use. He felt something in his chest snap and the tears started running down between his fingers. He was furious with himself. "Why did I say anything?" He whispered to himself, choking back a sob.

He cried for ten minutes, pacing, wanting to go to Flans and try to make things right again. He didn't want to jeopardize the band. He wanted to jeopardize his friendship with Flans even less. "But I already screwed that up." he thought angrily.

He started dwelling on the previous night with Flans as he dried his tears. Was there something he had missed? Some signal that Flans had given him? Had he been reading into it too much? "WHY am I so stupid?" Linnell's brain screamed at him.

Linnell couldn't stop thinking about Flans. How Flans had looked at him. How shy and sweet he had been. He had been certain that Flans loved him back. How sexy Flans had been. In spite of himself, Linnell started to get turned on. Very turned on. He cursed his body for betraying him, but he couldn't help it. He put his hand on his crotch absently, trying to will himself to stop thinking about sex, there were more serious issues he had to deal with, but his brain and body didn't want to cooperate. He flung himself down on the bed, hand still resting on his crotch. "How can you be this way at a time like this?" He thought to himself. He rubbed his erection softly. It felt amazing. He unzipped is pants.

Defeated, Linnell decided he might as well deal with it in the morning. He pushed his pants down and took himself in his hand. He was very hard. He stroked himself gingerly, and his mind turned to Flans. He remembered how Flans had touched himself. He allowed himself to wonder what it would be like if Flans touched him. Whenever he had these thoughts in the past he would push them out of his mind, but now he dwelled on them and his body responded quickly, making him groan with pleasure.

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes before he had a violent orgasm, gasping, his head pressed back against the pillow. He sighed. He glanced up. Flans was standing in the doorway.

Linnell sat up in a panic. "How long have you been standing there??"

"Long enough." Flans responded, his face serious. Linnell was mortified and drew his gaze quickly away from Flans's face. He looked at the front of Flans's jeans; it seemed he was quite excited. Linnell found himself speechless.

Flans walked towards the bed. "It would appear that I owe you one." He stated, his gaze turning playful.

Linnell couldn't believe his ears.

Flans wasted no time, he dropped his pants and laid down next to Linnell, who moved over silently.

Linnell couldn't take his eyes off of Flans, who began to rub himself with his eyes shut. After a few moments he looked up at Linnell. "Would you like to touch me?" He asked quietly.

Linnell felt like he was dreaming. He slowly reached out his hand. He grazed his fingers gently down Flans's chest, down to his belly, and delicately wrapped his fingers around his erection. Flans moaned, barely audible.

Linnell hardly managed to choke out the words. "Show me."

Flans put his hand over Linnell's and moved his hand up and down. Flans's hand felt very warm, and Linnell was amazed at how hard Flans was. He mimicked the pace that he had indicated as Flans took his hand away.

Again Flans closed his eyes. His mouth was slightly open and beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip. "That's perfect, that feels so good." he breathed.

Linnell screwed up his courage, and barely believing he was about to do so, put his mouth over Flans's as he jerked him off. They kissed deeply; Linnell tasted sweat mingled with Flans's saliva. He tasted amazing. Their tongues touched; Flans inhaled sharply.

Flans pulled his mouth away from Linnell's and kissed the side of his face. He moved up, nipping Linnell's ear gently. His hot breath felt phenomenal. "Don't stop, I'm almost there." He panted into Linnell's ear. Just as he said this Linnell felt him stiffen. Eyes shut tightly, gasping, he came.

Flans relaxed; Linnell reluctantly let him go.

There was silence between them for several achingly long moments. Then Flans smiled weakly at Linnell. "I'm sorry, for earlier, I was...." he found himself at a loss for words.

Exhausted, relieved, feeling a hundred emotions welling up in him all at once, Linnell snuggled up to Flans and draped his arm across him. He put his head on Flans's chest; Flans rested his chin on the top of Linnell's head.

"I love you." Flans said simply.

~FIN~

The Second One

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 08:49:35 GMT

Title: The Second One
Pairing: JF/JL
Author: Sparky
Rating: Not as fucking dirty, but a little naughty
Word Count: 1204
Warnings: Slashy slashness. Don't say I didn't warn you.

John Flansburgh chuckled to himself as he got undressed for bed. He always jumped at the opportunity to get John Linnell to loosen up and have a good time. Linnell tended to be uptight sometimes, and beat himself up over the smallest things.

Flans wondered if Linnell had enjoyed it. He also wondered if Linnell would behave awkwardly because of it. Perhaps he would, Flans concluded, but he was relatively certain that he could snap Linnell out of it if that happened. Flans thought about how sexy Linnell had been pleasuring himself and felt his face flush...it had really turned him on. Thinking about it was getting him in the mood to go again, but he decided against it and fell into bed with a satisfied sigh. "Bah, I'm too old to whack off all night like a teenager." He murmured. Flans turned off the light.

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Flans stumbled out into the sun-drenched living room of the two bedroom suite that he and Linnell were sharing in Los Angeles. He didn't remember leaving the curtains open. He walked over to the picture window...it was a beautiful clear day outside, and it appeared that the smog that had hung heavy in the air the day before had burned off. Excellent, he thought.

He saw no sign of Linnell; Linnell's bedroom door was closed. Flans went into the kitchenette and started riffling through the cabinets looking for coffee filters. When the coffee was on, he went back into the living room and to the telephone.

He picked up the receiver and dialed room #408.

"Huh...wha...h-hello?" said the voice on the other end.

"Mr. Weinkauf, this is your 7:30am wake up call."

Danny groaned. "Flanso...we have the day off...I want to sleep...leemelone..."

"Naw man! Come on! Don't you want to go..." Flans paused dramatically. "To DISNEYLAND????"

"Umm...no."

"Okay, how about the Seven Veils?"

Danny cackled. "Yeah right! Robin would skin you alive."

"What are you talking about? Robin is a sport!! She knows there's enough of me to go around!" Flans laughed.

"Don't worry John, I'll cover for ya. I'll just tell her you didn't see the sign that says 'Live Nude Girls' and thought it was a Moroccan restaurant."

Flans roared with laughter. "Live nude girls? As opposed to dead nude girls?" He snorted.

"Aww that's sick man." Danny sniggered.

"Ahh ha ha, fuckin a. Anyway, I think we all need to go to Canters."

"Hey yeah, I'm starving. Let me round up everyone, you get John. Let's head out around 8:30, yeah?"

"Cool." Flans hung up.

Linnell's bedroom door opened. Linnell emerged rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning!" Flans smiled.

"What the heck is so funny out here? That was the best sleep I'd been getting in weeks and you wake me up. Next time I'm going to room with Marty, he's quieter, and doesn't leave his clothes everywhere. Mmm...coffee." Linnell ceased his complaining and walked past Flans into the kitchenette. Flans sighed and followed.

"You sure you'd rather room with Marty?" Flans queried cautiously, watching Linnell pour the coffee.

Linnell glanced up, still looking tired but his expression had changed a bit. "What do you mean by that?" He said stiffly. Flans noticed his hands were shaking.

"Eh, nothing." Flans took his cup and walked back into the living room. He turned on the TV for the news and sat down, waiting for Linnell to join him. He didn't.

Twenty minutes later Linnell came out of the kitchen and walked brusquely past Flans toward the bathroom, barely looking in Flans's direction. "Yeah, I'm gonna take a shower." He said with a note of coldness in his voice.

Flans frowned, puzzled, at the girl giving the weather report on TV. "Man, this isn't what I planned for at all." He thought to himself. He hoisted himself up, sighing, and turned the set off.

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Marty weaved in and out of traffic on the 101 freeway. The radio was blaring, and he was singing along at the top of his lungs, "LOVE ME LOVE ME! SAY THAT YOU LOVE MEEE! FOOL ME FOOL ME, GO ON AND FOOL MEEE..."

"ARRRRRGH!!" Linnell bellowed from the backseat, completely losing his cool. "Turn it DOWN! This song sucks!!!"

"WHAAAAAATTT???" Marty yelled happily, narrowly missing plowing into a silver Honda.

Flans reached down and snapped off the radio. "He said turn it down." he said tonelessly. His ears were ringing. Marty scowled at the shotgun seat like a child who had been scolded.

Dan was sitting in the back seat between Linnell and Danny. He glanced from Linnell to Flans, who hadn't really been speaking to each other all day. "You guys okay? You've been kind of crappy today."

"Yeah, whatsamatter, lover's tiff??" Danny chimed in cheerfully.

"Fuck off." Linnell spat. The car filled with stunned silence; Linnell hardly ever swore.

"Jeezus, sorry." Danny muttered. Nobody spoke the rest of the way back to the hotel.

Linnell walked 20 steps ahead of Flans down the hall of the hotel. He fumbled for the passkey in his pocket and dropped it; he picked it up, jammed it in the slot and swept into the room, letting the door fall back and slam in Flans's face.

Completely shocked, Flans looked in his wallet for his passkey, but couldn't find it. He knocked. "Hey John, dude, what the fuck??" Flans said loudly, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Linnell opened the door and shot Flans a horrible look, turned on his heel and started back towards his bedroom.

"Hey John, what the hell is wrong with you man? Stop a minute!" Flans grabbed Linnell's shoulder. "Talk to me."

Linnell shook off Flans's hand furiously and kept walking. "Don't touch me, I have nothing to say to you."

"Wait man, I don't....I don't..." Flans stammered.

Linnell whirled around and faced Flans, shoulders squared like he wanted to fight. "I'm not gay!" He growled fiercely, shoving his finger in front of Flans's face.

Flans's stomach turned to ice. "Yeah....yeah I know. It's okay man." He said softly, holding his palms out in front of him.

"So if you think....if you....I didn't like it!" Linnell's voice was shaking. "You wanted that! Not me!"

"It's okay John, okay...calm down..." Flans said gently as he backed away, stopped by the wall.

Linnell stepped towards Flans again, a look of rabid anger on his face, untill the two men were a foot apart. For a moment Flans thought Linnell was going to hit him and continued to hold his hands out.

"John, look, I'm so sorry okay, I didn't think...I didn't...it didn't mean anything..not like that...you're my friend man, I just thought you'd enjoy..." Flans's voice trailed off.

Linnell's face fell, and he faltered for a second. Then, without warning, he advanced on Flans and kissed him hard on the mouth, and slid his hand down to Flans's crotch.

Incredulous, Flans drew in his breath sharply.

They parted lips. Linnell put is forehead against Flans's and his arms around his neck. With his eyes closed, Linnell whispered, barely audible. "I just don't think it's fair of you to tease me when you know that....that I'm in love with you."

Flans looked at Linnell in bewilderment.

THE END!

The First One

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 08:27:31 GMT

Title: The First One
Pairing: JF/JL
Author: Sparky
Rating: Fucking dirty
Word Count: 1510
Warnings: If you don't like Johnslash, just walk away. Just walk away. This is the first TMBG fic I ever wrote. No flames, just love, kk? Kk.

John Linnell wandered aimlessly around the video store. He'd told the guys that there was nothing he was interested in seeing...he just wanted to get back to the hotel and finish reading his copy of the New Yorker.

The other boys in the band were having a great time....they all had been very enthusiastic to learn that they had the next two days off to party in Los Angeles. Marty and Dan, the drummer and guitarist were romping through the action/adventure section playing a very childish game of tag, much to the apparent chagrin of two middle-aged ladies, one of which was carrying a toy poodle with a bow around it's neck. Danny, the bass player, was in the comedy section, loudly reading off titles and asking anybody within earshot if they'd seen that particular film, and what they thought of it. He was, at the moment, trying to chat up a stiff-looking businessman who seemed like he could care less about the finer points of "Half Baked".

John Flansburgh was nowhere to be seen, which didn't suprise Linnell, as Flans didn't really care too much for movies in general.

When the very large manager of the video store started glaring severely in their direction, and muttering loudly "Damn stoners, get a job." Linnell decided it was time to go. He called the guys over to the checkout.

Flans suddenly emerged from behind a shelf. He had a slight smirk on his face and the air about him of a man who was up to something. This made Linnell smile slightly too... but he chalked it up to Dan, Danny and Marty, who DID tend to act like overgrown teenagers sometimes.

They all piled into the rental car, and Linnell was very glad to be leaving. He decided to forgo the reading and go straight to bed, thinking it would be nice to sleep in for a change.

They arrived at the hotel, miraculously unscathed against by Marty's crazy driving; "He fits right in with the L.A. drivers." thought Linnell.

"Allright boys, catch you in the morning!" hollered Flans down the hall of the hotel. Linnell took out the passkey and opened the door to the two bedroom suite that he and Flans were sharing, and let Flans go ahead in first.

Flans walked into the living room and dropped three videos on the coffee table. "Eh? What do you say John? All the kids dig it!" Flans said, rattling the copy of "Half Baked" in Linnell's general direction.

"No thanks man, I'm exhausted. Tomorrow, maybe." Linnell yawned.

"Suit yourself" Flans said jovially and collapsed onto the sofa, clicking on the TV.

Linnell awoke with a start an hour and a half later. He had been dreaming that he could fly, but every time he started having a really good time he would suddenly lose all feeling in his arms and plummett. He sat up in bed and looked around. The only light in the room was a pale flickering through the open crack in his bedroom door. He was thirsty. He stood and carefully shuffled towards the door, but stopped as he heard a sound coming from the living room. A voice. A female voice. Then a muffled moan. A female moan.

Linnell stood frozen, unsure of what was going on. "Does Flans have a girl in here? No way! What about Robin??" he wondered. He debated for a few moments whether or not he should just go back to bed and forget it, but curiosity got the better of him. He crept silently to the door, pushed it open and peered through the crack. He saw the TV screen and realised that it was the source of the woman's voice he had heard, and that the woman in question was quite naked. Slightly shocked, he skulked out into the living room and spied Flans still sitting in the same spot on the sofa he had occupied previously, too absorbed in the show to notice him.

"Ahem." Linnel coughed.

Startled, Flans looked around, noticed Linnell and smiled sheepishly. "Oh hey John. Just...you know, watching....stuff...."

"A porno?" Linnell queried, now amused.

"Gimme a break dude, a man has, errmm..needs. Hey, it's a good one man, pull up a seat!"

Linnell hesitated, then thought, "What the hell." and walked over to the other end of the sofa and plopped down.

Linnell had never really had the urge to watch porn per se, but had seen videos, of course. But this was kind of awkward, sitting there with his best friend, watching strange people having sex. It was an odd feeling. He glanced over at Flans, who was just sitting there, apparently completely unphased with his eyes glued to the screen.

"You think she's hot?" Flans asked.

"Ehhmmm....*cough*....she's not really my type...but...ermm...."

"Ha ha dude, that guy is really bangin the fuck outta her!!!" Flans sniggered.

Linnell shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His face felt hot, and he was unsure of what to say, but in spite of himself he found that he was becoming aroused. In front of Flans. He wondered how Flans felt, but didn't dare ask him, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"Dude, this is completely hot." Flans said, still transfixed by the screen. Linnell didn't reply, but stole a look at Flans's crotch. He was definately hard. Linnell wondered why he was looking, squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. He turned his attention back to the TV. He blinked. His eyes wandered back to Flans's lap. Flans glanced up and caught Linnell looking. He smirked. Linnell looked quickly away.

Flans casually dropped his hand into his lap. "Yeh, definately hot..." He rubbed softly.

Linnell felt a tiny bit panicked and guilty, but at the same time completely intrigued. He still said nothing.

"Hey man, you wouldn't mind if I...." Flans trailed off.

Linnell's eyes snapped up. "What?" His voice sounded too high.

Flans's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Jerked off?"

Linnell's brain felt fuzzy. He balked. He then heard his voice say, "Sure....I don't mind...go ahead."

Flans smiled in an uncharactaristically shy way, and unzipped his pants carefully. Linnell kept his eyes firmly on the television now, but could see Flans in his peripheral vision. He saw Flans push his jeans down and start to stroke himself slowly.

Linnell was absolutely overcome by a sensation of blind hot sexual arousal. He couldn't remember the last time he was so turned on. His hand had a mind of it's own, and slid to his crotch, and just rested on his erection. He didn't think he could get any harder, and wondered if he dared say or do anything. He was throbbing, aching to join Flans but didn't think he could move. Flans spoke.

"Ehmm....looks like you could stand to take care of yourself too....I mean...if you wanted...." Flans trailed off again.

Linnell couldn't believe what he was saying to Flans. "Yeah sure, why not?" and without allowing himself to think for another minute pushed down his sweatpants and took himself in his hand. He started to rub, operating on instinct and still not daring to pull his eyes away from the video, but listening to Flans very intently, enjoying the sound of Flans's stroking and his occasional small gasp.

Linnell was approching climax very quickly, and slowed his pace considerably to match Flans's. He was now brave and aroused enough to occasionaly flick his eyes between the television and Flans's moving hand.

"God that feels fucking amazing." Flans softly panted. Linnell could barely stand it, he wanted to orgasm so badly but didn't want to finish before Flans did. His own breath was quickening and he could feel a rush of heat in his groin. He slowed even more, really on the edge now. He noticed he was looking at Flans more than at the TV, and Flans had been stealing frequent glances at him as well.

Flans leaned back a tiny bit and began to stroke very rapidly. He was breathing very heavily now. He looked over at Linnell, rubbed even harder and moaned, "Oh goddamn, are you close? I'm gonna cum..." and let out a long moan as he started to convulse with his orgasm.

Linnell's orgasm snuck up on him so quickly he hardly knew what happened. The rush completely overcame him, he closed his eyes and rode it, seeing white lights explode behind his eyelids.

It was over. Linnell kept his eyes shut for a minute afterwards, soaking in what had happened. When he finally dared to open one eye, he saw Flans was wiping off his belly with tissue. Linnell smirked, finding this strangely endearing. Flans dropped the tissue into the waste basket next to the sofa, hiked up his jeans, zipped up and picked up the box of tissues. He grinned playfully at Linnell and chucked the box at him. It hit Linnell square in the chest and he caught it.

As Flans walked toward his bedroom, he hollered cheerfully over his shoulder "Get some sleep!!"

The End...........?