fandomhighdorms | 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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"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!"

"And then... my illness in Sweden." OH, SHE COULD NEVER EAT A SWEDISH FISH WITHOUT CRYING.

"Whoever would have thought that syphilis could be cured with a combination of bedrest and pickled herring!"

Good times, Sweden. Good times.

Jean shook her shining red hair in the indoor breeze. "Not that we did much... rest."

"How can one possibly be expected to rest, when such serious things are afoot? Serious, terrible things..."

His tone went sad, then. Deep and low and sad, and so very, very... sexy.

"Oh, Josephina!" Jean swoooooned at his feet.

"Oh, Jean-Claude!" Jonothon swooped forward to catch her in his manly embrace.

Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

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