#leeston

got bored and decided to make cute little gifs of my favorite noisemakers :)

theyre so in love they make me sick.. new fic of them coming soon

⤷ ⋮ if you'd like to read: suffocate me with unsaid words

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“Suffocate me with conversation Suffocate me with unsaid words Suffocate me with indecision Suffocate me with who comes first”

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⤷ ⋮ pairing: thurston moore/lee ranaldo [sonic youth]

⤷ ⋮ word count: 7.8k

⤷ ⋮ cw: non-applicable

⤷ ⋮ tags: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, awkwardness, takes place in the late 70s, the coachmen and the flucts era too, so take that as you will, song: suffocate me by angelfish, I KNOW ITS A SONG ABOUT SEX, no they do not fuck, better luck next time, no beta we die like the arcadians, no beta we die like blooze blurrr, did i mention that this isn't beta read

⋮ small snippet..

He didn't know why Thurston was so quiet, dreary in that night not long ago, standing in the bleeding rush of raw midnight, just there. Talking. Talking, knocking at his door in muffled murmurs of his name, coming by late for no other purpose than what he delineated vaguely as ‘just because.’ That hammered, too—Because, what?—the plea of question still trapped in chained debt to his deft mind, the concept that sputtered in verses and meanderings since, the examination that bludgeoned and tore at sense, just like the inconsequential way he couldn't stop staring at that fucking jacket. The nostalgia for an event so close in vicinity to the present was almost harrowing, the abandonment wringing out his skull like a permanent reminder.  It was a hunch, intuition stuck halfway down, too unpredictable to swallow beyond fear of rescinding it in tenuous vomit. Thurston always had a reason, always knew what he planned; he thought of things aloud, banged his body with bloody, scarring queries, a ‘just because’ was impossible, for someone who had a deep justification for anything else he committed towards, everything to him was squandered with intention. Yet, even with such foresight, somehow there was some kind of truth in that spontaneity. Nothing necessarily occurred, solely patterns that were internalized, imbued with a depth of conversation that left a tired brain stripped of all cryptic munitions. And, then there was that piece of forgotten physicality, static energy slumped in boredom against the arm of the couch.  Lee tried to muster it up, grip his bearings and discuss it; it would've been much more rudimentary in process had he done so—but, instead, he choked on it. He simmered and observed the object of attraction, of fixation, tried to perpetuate significance and emotional connotations to what he scanned profusely, because it was Thurston’s, because that evening had left him vied awry, because that remnant was a heart-stifling wound that had him flat-lining at almost every infectious opportunity. Lee had a handful of reasons, of empathy-ridden excuses that posed as a logical facade, and he simply knew, all guttural instinct and tenured flame, that Thurston's brain worked all the same. While less catered to that cathartic sense of mannerism, it still splayed out in a relatively divine consistency. 

or; thurston leaves his jacket at lee's apartment. lee can only tolerate so much.

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ITS HERE! ITS HERE! the crowd of like the two male bonding / leeston shippers applaud..

im still so mad that lee doesn't have a character tag on ao3 yet.. OR THAT I HAD TO MAKE THEIR PROPER SLASH TAG.. we all need to collectively join hands and start geeking over lee and thurston yaoi TOGETHER.