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Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

Jonothon Evan Starsmore, the stunningly handsome and ridiculously wealthy rock-star descendant of the late Jack Starsmore, heir of the vast Starsmore Fortune, esteemed leader of the mighty and powerful Clan Akkaba, and wielder of Mysterious Powers of Which He Never Spoke, lifted his guitar and took a pleased look around at his surroundings. The stage was set. The band was ready (even if they were all nameless, faceless individuals. The focus wasn't on them, here.)

No, no, the focus was on Jonothon, his hair perfect, his face perfect, his chest? Dare I say it? Perfect, as if sculpted by the hand of God himself. It would have been a shame to put a shirt on it, in spite of the time of year. And anyhow, this particular corner of the island was unseasonably warm. It would be a shame to not take advantage of the sunny sky, the green of the grass and the leaves in the trees, the warmth the day had to offer... and other types of heat, at that. Perfect chests were for showing off, and Jonothon would like to encourage all of his audience to partake in that very same mindset.

But all of that hardly mattered. What really mattered, here, was that there was to be a concert today. And, perhaps afterwards, Jonothon would let his most avid admirers backstage for a personal tour.

[Open! So very, very open.]

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"Jean."

Beautiful, beautiful Jean, who filled his dreams and his thoughts and, dare he say it, his bed on those cold, cold Wednesday evenings, between his appointments with Claude and his Alcoholics Anonymous Support Group meetings... Or was it Monday evenings, between his weekly Clan Akkaba staff meetings and his appointments with Florence?

No matter! It was Jean, and only Jean, who could possibly understand his pain, and he found himself moving forward, his arms open, looking to pull her into his warm, heavenly embrace.

Jean could hardly help but through herself at those strong arms, that perfect chest and that biteable jawline. It wasn't fair to tease her so, fate.

"Jonothon--I--I'm dying."

"Oh, cruel fate! Say it is not so!" Jonothon held her close, so very close, and shut his beautiful eyes and breathed in the smell of her beautiful hair, and he was very sad, indeed. "The universe is doubly cruel, dear, sweet Jean! For I myself have begun to show signs of the dreaded Legacy Virus, myself, and fear I shall be dead within the week."

Not because of the virus, of course, but because of raging fans who had paid ridiculous money to see a Starsmore concert, and were going to have to settle for nine minutes and eighteen seconds of an Iron Maiden cover song, instead.

Starsmore fans were terrifying.

Jean gasped in horror and shock. "Not Legacy!" How could god be so cruel?!

"But you're so young and virile and--" She was zoning out on those rippling muscles now. "--How?!"

"I suppose," Jonothon said, his tone solemn, as he lifted a hand to stroke at a stray lock of her hair, "it must have been that flesh-eating bacteria awareness benefit concert in Africa, last month. Legacy spreads the same way as Malaria, after all."

Through the terrible bite of radioactive pygmy meerkats. He had been certain that he'd worn repellent, but apparently it had failed him.

"And you? You, oh beautiful Jean! How could fate have been so cruel as to decide to sweep in and steal you away, so young? So... beautiful?"

Edited 2009-12-06 16:57 (UTC)

"The--brain cancer." From the days of her youth. When her and Jonothon were just children. Oh, how they laughed and played!

The joy they once had...

THE JOY.

"But they had said that you were cured!" Jonothon drew in a sharp gasp, his eyes wide with fear. With PAIN. "I remember bringing you flowers that I had picked myself from the family garden. Do you remember, Jean? Forget-me-nots."

So that she could remember. Remember everything, for always.

They were magical.

"I--my memory is already fading," She replied with a sob. "I want to remember, Jonothon. I so want to remember it all."

Jonothon's hand moved to cradle her cheek, next. Warm. Soft. Perfect, like his chest. Like his jaw. Like his chest, with deserved mention twice for its sheer perfection.

"I can remind you, Jean."

It really was perfect. You could bounce quarters off his chest, it was so perfect.

"Jojo--" She cooed his secret nickname from when they were still children.

"Genie," Jojo purred back, his voice thick and lustful and gorgeous. "Will you let me remind you, Genie? It is my only wish, I'll spare you the other two."

Edited 2009-12-06 17:17 (UTC)

Coming from those soft, supple, seductive lips, it was near impossible to say no.

And yet...

"There's something more, Josie-Posie."

Josie-Posie pulled away, but a bare inch, so that he could look again into her beautiful eyes.

"More? Oh, dear, beautiful Jeannie-Bear, what more could there possibly be?"

"I--" How could she confess this to his perfection? "I'm pregnant."

A gasp caught in Jonothon's throat.

"But, Jean-Jean-bo-Bean! How could that be?!"

Pardon him. He had to take a moment to strike a very dramatic pose, to properly demonstrate how very shocked he was. It was mere coincidence that it showed off his gorgeous chest. The chest that was so gorgeous, the cameras panned over it a second time. Again.

Look at those abs.

"That night we spent in Puerta Rico," Jean replied, looking away dramatically. As if his chest was too much beauty for her to take. As if it was more beautiful than a plastic bag in the breeze. "Jononononono."

"Oh, Jeanerella!" If she was going to look away, then he was going to have to move forward, sweeping her into his arms in the most dramatic, loving motion that the network could afford to make him do. "We shall be a family!"

A pause. A very dramatic pause, then.

"For as long as the two of us have left."

Jean sniffled, putting her hands on her stomach. "Our child would be an orphan before it's born."

Even though there were so many other potential fathers.

"NO," Jonothon cried, pulling away and slamming a fist into (and through) the nearest wall. "There MUST be some other way, my love! I will not watch you die again!"

"JimmyJoJoJonotino!" Jean called out, reaching for his hand. "You shouldn't aggravate the Legacy Virus."

"Oh, I know, my lean, mean, Jean machine," Jonothon sighed, turning again to clutch her hands in his own. "Soon, I fear I'll not be able to have these conversations anymore. All I'll be able to speak will be..."

Pause for dramatic tension.

"Lyrics."

"No!" Jean threw herself at his chest to cling so prettily to it. "You musn't even think that!"

"It is all I can think! Every stray thought is 'utter trust is a deadly thing,' and 'unaware of the consequence,' already!"

He held her close, tight, never wanting to let go. Oh, how cruel life had been to them!

"Help me to forget, Jean! Let us help one another to think... better thoughts. Of happier times."

"Of our childhood days in Thailand!"

"Of our formative teenage years in Alaska!"

Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

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