Marianna (insunshine) wrote in inlipstick,

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|It Seems Obscene|Shia LaBeouf, Zac Efron|1053|R|

gigantic showed me this and this a few days ago, and despite how animatronic Zac looks, Shia looks so EARNEST! He is also wearing, if I'm not mistaken, stone washed jeans and a sheep tee shirt.

This can entirely be blamed on gigantic and how partial I am to her face. Let it be known, I didn't want to post it. She made me.

Zac says it first, laughing like it's a joke, "How the fuck did you get out, man?" Shia blinks a little, and he laughs too, but there's an uncomfortable edge to Zac's voice, and his eyes are a little manic. It's the same damn question every time they see each other.

"A lot of hard work," is what he says, because it's what he always says. He's not even sure what Zac's talking about anymore, but he's pretty sure it involves Disney. If Shia has his way, he's never working for the Mouse again. Not unless he's handsomely compensated.

Zac shifts around his drink so that the ice cubes clink against the sides. "I just said 'fuck' in public," he says, and he starts to giggle, but the noise is a little high pitched, a little hysterical. The kid looks like he needs a break and a beer. Shia can't figure out what order they should be in.

"Yes you did," he says, because it seems like the safest option. Zac looks at him, and his eyes are a little dazed. He says it again, low and a little breathy. He sounds fascinated. It's a little mantra under his breath, a constant stream of sound that Shia can only hear because he's sitting so close.

He's sitting close enough that their knees are touching. There's a photographer floating somewhere around, probably more than one, and Shia starts to move, but Zac reaches behind his back and spreads his palm there, stopping him. "Fuck," he says. He sounds accomplished.

"Fuck," Shia responds. There seems to be some kind of code. Zac smiles at him, and the grin is still there, still manic, but there's something in his face, too; something intelligent quirked behind the curve of his lips. Shia's looking, but that doesn't mean he's interested. "Fuck," he says again, and Zac agrees.


They end up in Shia's truck, because that's where they always end up.

Shia's smoking a cigarette and Zac's eyeing the pack like he wants to swallow it whole. Shia's pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy it half as much that way, but he doesn't move much to stop him. The bed of the truck is small enough that he can get to his pack if he needs to. A man should not be separated too far from his cigarettes.

"You want?" He asks, gesturing towards the pack. Zac doesn't smoke. Zac's the spokesperson for at least three anti-smoking campaigns, has coined slogans, wears buttons, and beneath his sweater vests has a patch on his arm, keeping from sneaking puffs throughout a typical 9-5 day. He shudders a little as Shia holds out the pack.

His fingers are trembling. Shia wants to rib him for being a teen girl on prom night, but he doesn't. He's pretty sure Zac just wrapped on a picture that was about that exact topic. He moves to change the subject, even though neither of them have actually said anything. He says, "You want? Seriously, dude, my wrist is starting to hurt." Both his wrists ache, sometimes. It has nothing to do with cigarettes. On quieter nights, it has a lot to do with Zac.

Shia lets out a puff of smoke and leans his head against the seat back. He moves like he's going to shove the cigarettes away, and Zac grabs his wrist, circling his fingers around Shia's skin. Shia doesn't shudder. He says, "Fuck," because he can. Zac looks at him with wide eyes, and he shifts forward, free hand pressed against the soft cotton of Shia's shirt. Shia can feel the heat emanating from his palm. His lips are parted. Shia's breathing heavy through his mouth.

Zac's eyes are lidded and heavy. He says, "Fuck."


Shia's place is closer than Zac's. "She's there," he says, waving his hand around vaguely. They're surrounded by a cloud of smoke. Zac only coughs a little. "I can crash on your couch, right?" Shia nods, but doesn't respond, watching the street lights glint off the road. The sun is just rising and the sky's taken on a burnt orange color, mixing with pinks, streaking across the horizon line.

They don't go inside right away. Zac's hand is still pressed against Shia's stomach. He's holding the cigarette in his other hand, bringing it up to his mouth in quick succession. The smoke barely has time to leave his mouth before he puffs more in. His skin is clammy and there's a sheen of sweat along his brow.

His lips are very red.

Shia doesn't kiss him. Zac doesn't kiss back. They sit in the bed of Shia's truck, smoking cigarettes and watching as the sun becomes a ball of yellow streaking across the sky.


There's commotion on the television. Shia's not really watching, just mainlining coffee and eating some of the left over toast his dad made and promptly forgot to eat. He's still in his shorts, and the house is sweltering. The woman on the screen is blonde and perky. The top button of her blouse is unbuttoned, and she totters forward on her heels, bending just enough that her cleavage is accentuated.

Shia doesn't pay attention. He's reading the sports section.

" - news that shocked the tween world - " the anchor says on screen. Shia's eyes snap to attention and he sets his mug down in the sink before he's even done, taking the roundabout way around the island and standing in front of the set, arms crossed along his middle.

There's a picture of Zac split screened with Vanessa next to the blonde, and her eyes are smoky, imploring; begging the viewers to care.

Shia thinks about the past few nights, Zac's skin on his sheets, Zac's tongue in his mouth.

He listens as she says, "Vocal anti-smoking campaigner and one half of the High School Musical power couple, Zac Efron had no comment on the allegations of split with co-star and lady love Hudgens," she sighs into the camera. They show a clip of Zac, head ducked, crossing in front of a sea of paps. He's got a scarf wound around his neck, and Shia remembers the mark he'd left there, high on Zac's throat.

On screen, Zac says, "No comment." He says, "We would appreciate our privacy during this time."

He says, "No, there isn't anyone else."

Tags: *ficlets
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