Tw: alcohol consumption

C.C. raked his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and yanking slightly in indignation. He stared at the notepad that was in front of him, the scrawled writing of his lyrics taunting him, and his guitar lay at his side, abandoned. He had tried to play some chords in order to brainstorm some melodies, and he quickly switched gears to lyrics, since he couldn't play a good chord to save his life.

   But, that wasn't going well, either. He thought that he had been killing it, writing feverishly, and then, he took a moment to stop and read over what he had done. And, he had come to find that his lyrics were just as terrible as his chords. "Unskinny Bop?" What the fuck did that even mean?

   He stood up, pacing around wildly. For emphasis, he kicked the notebook in front of him. It didn't get very far, considering the floor was carpeted, but that didn't bother him. It was a cheap rage outlet, not a strength test.

   Although, that rage outlet was proven to be unsuccessful when frustrated tears started to prick his eyes. He groaned and collapsed on the floor again, pressing his palms to his eyes. Being in a band was so annoying sometimes, especially when he was the only one that would do shit. Poison was supposed to have a whole night centered around lyric-writing that night, but Rikki and Bret insisted that they should go out and party and leave C.C. home to write the lyrics. "You're just so much better at it than us, man!" Bret had said dismissively. "We wouldn't be able to add anything to what you're thinkin'."

   Bobby, however, was a more frustrating case. Bobby had claimed that he would stay with C.C. and help crank out a couple verses, but he had passed out in his bed before C.C. had even started. Waking him up was technically always an option, but C.C. knew that if he did, Bobby would say something like "yeah, yeah, be out in a minute," and then proceed to fall back asleep.

   The reason Bobby's case was so frustrating was that he was there, in the house, doing nothing of value. He could easily be helping out, but nope. He was sleeping his midday beers off. He had also said that he would help, and didn't keep his word. At least Bret and Rikki had straight up said that they weren't going to help, even though their excuse was lame as hell. He was grateful for their somewhat upfront attitudes, though.

   But, he was still pissed about Bret and Rikki, too. It didn't seem fair that they got to go out, party, and have the time of their lives while C.C. was stuck at home, practically pulling out his own hair due to his writer's block. He realized that he could just abandon the project entirely and go to bed, but that would mean he'd have a huge fight with the others about "slacking off." He could easily clap back with their lack of effort, but he felt that this wasn't worth the fight. Besides, these lyrics needed to get written, or else Poison would never put out another song again.

   Grabbing his notebook again, C.C. read his lyrics over once more. He was praying that the letters had somehow shifted while he had been wallowing in self-pity. Shifted to lyrics he could actually somewhat get behind.

   Alas, that didn't happen, and he would still cringe every time the words "unskinny bop" stared back at him.

   I can't possibly imagine the band digging this, he thought. He closed the notebook, laying down on his back and absently flipping it around. They're not picky, but damn.

That's when he heard the door unlock, and he sat bolt upright, eyes hopeful. Maybe this was Bret or Rikki coming to save him!

It wasn't, but the face he saw come through the door did not disappoint regardless.

You shut the door behind you after you had walked in, looking at your boyfriend, who was sat on the floor. You raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to question what the hell he was doing.

"(Y/N)!" C.C. groaned happily, dropping the notebook. He hopped up and hugged you tight, laughing crazily. "You're home! I thought you were sleeping over Kayla's!"

You laughed, hugging him back. You were a little confused at what got him so relieved, but you didn't question it. After all, you got free hugs out of it. A C.C. hug was the best kind. "I was going to, but she got drunk off her ass. She started running around and causing a ruckus before puking in the toilet. She's nasty when she gets drunk, babe. She tried to give me a swirlie. She passed out after that, though, so I left. I'm not tired, and I don't wanna deal with her when she wakes up." You shook your head fondly at your best friend; what a piece of work she was.

C.C. pulled apart, nodding. "Sounds like her."

"So, what's up with you?" you asked, walking over to the couch and plopping down on it. "Why the welcome home party?"

He sighed, having been reminded of the initial problem at hand. "Just been having a shitty time writing lyrics and all, so I'm happy you're back. That way, I won't lose my sanity by doing it all alone. You can give me pointers! And, maybe justify the shitty writing I've already done." He laughed at himself.

You crossed your arms playfully, looking up at your boyfriend. "Oh, so the only reason you wanted me here was for lyric-writing?" you teased. "You didn't actually miss me?"

C.C. rolled his eyes, playfully slapping your thigh. "Shut up, of course I missed you. You know, what I said was just. . .added benefits of you being home!"

"Uh-huh." You sighed dramatically, pointing at the notebook on the floor. "You wrote 'em in there, right? Let me see what you have."

He sighed in return, picking it up and flipping to the appropriate page. He went to hand it to you, then drew back unexpectedly. He looked at you accusingly, mouth formed in a cute pout. "Promise not to laugh?"

"Oh, come on, they can't be that bad." You reached for the notebook.

He yanked it out of your reach, his pout deepening. "Oh, it is, (Y/N). Just promise me."

"Fine, I promise."

He slowly, hesitantly, handed the book to you. He immediately turned around after, though, covering his face with his hands. He definitely did not want to see the amused expression he knew was coming. He groaned loudly into his hands. He was a shitty lyricist, and he'd be exposing that to his girlfriend. Someone whose opinion of him meant the world. He knew he was overreacting, but come on! Those lyrics were awful!

C.C. heard no commentary from you as you read the lyrics, and he couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign.

Finally, after what felt like forever of you not saying anything, he decided to turn around to see what the holdup was.

And, to his chagrin, you were smirking in amusement at him.

"Oh, fuck off!" he hissed, snatching the notebook from your hands and throwing it dramatically. "I told you to give me pointers! I told you to justify what I wrote! Not be condescending! Damn!"

"Whoa, hold on there. I didn't even say anything," you laughed, standing up and grabbing his shoulders. You shook him, and the anger seemed to be drained from his eyes with that movement.

"Are you calm?" you asked slowly, in a purposely condescending tone.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Okay." You let go of him and picked up the notebook again, flipping through the pages of lyrics until you got to the ones for "Unskinny Bop." You stood next to C.C., your hip touching his hip as you showed him what he had written.

Just the sight of it made him want to explode. He was so angry at himself, it was borderline stupid. "So, what do you wanna say about it?" he asked, just wanting to get this over with so he could get that damn notebook out of his face.

"I think it's good," you answered honestly, causing C.C.'s head to whip toward you, surprised.

You laughed at his expression, pointing to the lyrics. "Read it again."

"I don't wanna. Shit sucks. I'm actually gonna throw this out the window if I have to read it again."

"C.C.," you sighed, rolling your eyes. "Just fucking read it, will you?"

He rolled his eyes in return, begrudgingly reading through it. He wasn't any less impressed with it than he had been initially. "Dude, you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious. I think this'll be a hit." You looked at him, vaguely gesturing to the scrawled writing. "What part about it don't you like? Maybe I can tell you why I like it, and that'll make you like it."

"The whole thing," he grumbled.

"Okay. Be more specific there, buddy."

"How?!" he shrieked loudly, completely disregarding the fact that Bobby was sleeping in the other room. "How can I be more specific, (Y/N)?! I hate everything!" His finger came in contact with the paper, and he moved it wildly around its whole area. "Everything about it! The whole block of text! It's cheesy! Stupid! It doesn't make sense!"

"Okay!" you shrieked back, still playful despite his genuine rage. "If you hate everything about it, give me one specific example of what you hate. If you hate the whole thing, that shouldn't be too hard."

He scoffed, sharply pointing to the title that was written in fun, fancy lettering. That had been before he had been in the lyric-writing zone, a zone of which had failed him miserably. During that zone, his handwriting had gotten more and more messy, but still legible. "The title, for one. It makes no sense! What does 'unskinny bop' mean? 'Unskinny' isn't even a word!"

You thought for a minute, then answered. "I'm gonna be honest, I could not tell you what it means." You looked at C.C., his hair in his face as he chewed on his lower lip in frustration. "But, that doesn't really matter. It's cool when musicians make up new words, because it's unique to them. And it looks and sounds cool, you know? 'Unskinny bop' has a nice ring to it. Besides, it can have your audience talking. Speculating about what it means, you know? Which could get you some new fans."

He thought about it, sighing when he realized that you were right. Just because it was a made-up word didn't automatically make it bad. "Yeah, I guess. I wouldn't go as far to say that it would get us new fans, though."

"Hey, you never know," you replied, smiling easily at him as his tense expression relaxed by a minuscule amount; that was progress. "What else about it has been pulling on your dick?"

He sighed again. "The lyrics are just so cheesy. Like, I'm aware Poison isn't exactly hard in terms of our lyrics, or anything, really. But, I feel like we've crossed the line of it being too cheesy." He pointed at a specific line of writing and continued. "'You got too many bees in your honey?' Like, come on. That's just lame."

"I didn't think so. This song is meant to be upbeat, yeah? And fast?"

"Yeah."

"So, sometimes lyrics like that are good for upbeat songs. It makes it peppier and it gives it some danceability." You thought for a moment and then added, "Like, you wouldn't wanna go all W.A.S.P.'s 'The Headless Children' on this song. It's peppy. Dark lyrics aren't meant for this song. Neither are ballad-y, romantic ones. Too serious, you know? Babe, I think your lyrics are a perfect match."

C.C. relaxed more, studying the paper again. You were right. The upbeat demeanor of this song would have people dancing, and the lyrics would only help push that demeanor. "So, it's basically like a good lame?"

"Yeah, exactly."

He nodded, his frustration finally letting go completely. His attitude toward the song was vastly improved, all thanks to you. Thank God, too, since he would have had to start all over if he continued to hate the song.

He took the notebook from you, threw it, and embraced you in a tight, firm hug. You always knew just what to say to calm him down.

You giggled, hugging him back. "You're welcome," you commented, burying your head in his chest. He had that specific C.C. smell that you loved. You couldn't place what it was, but you did know that it was comforting, and it had just a reasonable amount of cologne mixed in there. You liked cologne on him, and you liked being close enough to him to smell it. He just had a very comforting presence.

"Thank you," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You two stayed like that, silent, but C.C. broke the period of quiet. "So, do you think the guys'll like it?"

"Oh, yeah," you replied immediately, with no hesitation whatsoever. "They're all a bunch of cheeseballs."

C.C. laughed, and he practically jumped out of his skin as he heard an offended gasp come from behind him.

He craned his neck behind him so that he could see the offender of his peace, and Bobby was standing there, hand on his heart. "(Y/N)!" he cried. "Why would you call me a cheeseball? I just woke up! That's such a shitty way to start the day!"

"Fuck off, Bobby," C.C. said, turning his attention back to you, who was giggling in his arms. "Serves you right for deciding to conk out when you said you'd help me."

Bobby blushed, embarrassed, before saying, "I can help now!"

"Nah, he's already got me," you stated, finally pulling apart from C.C. and pecking his lips. "He wrote a whole song by himself, and I helped him feel comfortable with it. Wanna read it?"

Bobby scoffed. "Fine. So, I'm guessing that means I won't get lyric-writing credits?" he asked, pouting.

"Now you're gettin' it." C.C. walked over to where the notebook was, flipping through it and handing it to Bobby. "And if you don't like it, fuck off. You can write the lyrics next time."

Bobby raised his hands in defense after taking the book. "Damn, all right, man."

As Bobby read, C.C. kept planting grateful kisses along your lips, neck, and jaw, causing you to have to restrain your giggles by biting your lip. He was so blessed to have you to call his own, and to have you to allow him to be more confident with himself. He had never really had that from a girlfriend before, and it really made him realize how different you were, and how good this thing you two had going was.

Eventually, you decided enough was enough, and you grabbed him and pressed your lips to his.

Somehow, Bobby was unsuspecting of this whole thing as he read, quietly whispering the lyrics in order to genuinely process them. When he was finished, he nodded in approval, having taken into account the same factors as you. "I like it!"

When he didn't hear a response, he looked up curiously.

He saw you two making out, lips moving in sync and hands grasping at each other, and groaned, covering his eyes. "I fucking hate it when you get a girlfriend, C.C. All you do is eat her face."

When he didn't get a response, yet again, he threw his arms up in the air dramatically and left, going back to his room.

After quite a while, you finally broke apart. "He said he liked it," you decided to say, finally commenting on what had happened around five minutes prior.

C.C. laughed. "Yeah, he did. I guess you were right. Thanks for helping me out tonight, (Y/N). I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, of course. Anytime you need me to affirm anything, just let me know."

He smiled at your willingness to make him feel good, nodding. "Be right back." He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed two beers, and returned to where you stood. He handed one to you, smiling. "Now, we celebrate. We celebrate C.C. DeVille actually pumping out halfway decent material, and we celebrate (Y/N) for healing his dumbass insecurities."

You smiled, popping open the can. "I can drink to that. Or to anything, really."

He laughed as he popped open his own can. Some of the fizz of the beer leaked out onto the top of the can, so he lowered his lips to it and sucked it off. When he was finished with that, he raised his can. "Tonight, we celebrate."

You clinked yours with his. "We celebrate."

And, with that, you two retired to the couch, happily drinking your beers and frequently returning to the fridge to grab more. You were both very buzzed by the end of your binge, and, by the time Bret and Rikki came back, you both were fast asleep, your limbs entangled. Your head was on C.C.'s chest, and your sleep was being enhanced by his rhythmic, lulling breathing.

Bret noticed the pair of you first. He snickered in his own drunken stupor, gesturing to you after nudging Rikki.

Rikki returned the snicker. "Lovebirds," he commented before he and Bret retired to their rooms.