someone posted this to twitter but I lost the tweet sadly but this has sent me absolutely spiralling the difference in the size of their hands the way Will is like holding James thumbs with his whole hand I physically can’t
“You’re shaking,” you mumble, focusing on screwing up the eyeliner pen in your hands.
“No I’m not,” James responds quietly. But he can feel the trembling of his hands where they rest at the small of your back.
He doesn’t even know why. He’s not really nervous about going on stage - no more than usual, anyway. He’s not overwhelmed by noise or people; it’s just you and him in his dressing room, soundtracked by piano instrumentals through a Bluetooth speaker. And he’s had other people do his eyeliner before. Admittedly, none of his bandmates has ever straddled his lap in order to do it, but it’s hardly a new position for you.
Maybe it’s just because it’s you.
You grin down at him. “Okay,” you chuckle. James watches you intently through dark eyes. The scented dehumidifier on the dressing table momentarily breaks the silence, spurting up a cloud of steam behind James’ head. Almost immediately, the room smells intoxicatingly of roses. Just for a moment, your eyes dart up to the fog in surprise. When they slip back to his face, his eyes haven’t left you. Gently, his hands squeeze at your back. Their grip doesn’t loosen.
Your smile softens. “Come here, Pete Wentz.” Steadily, you bring your fingers up to his face. His eyes flutter closed as your fingertips run up his cheekbone, until they can gently stretch out his right eyelid.
Despite his hands still tremoring where they hold you, James stays still as you touch the eyeliner pencil to his lash line. Your knees dig more into his thighs than they do the plush leather of the sofa, keeping you settled snugly on his lap. No moving for you, either.
Once his right eye’s done, you lean back into his hold, your hand falling to rest against the hair peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt. Below your palm, through the heat of his skin, you can just feel the thump of his heart steady and sure.
You tilt your head, guiding his face to the side with the hand that still holds the eyeliner, checking your handiwork. Hmm. It’s a little bit wonky, but not enough to be noticed by the thousands of fans already queuing up outside to see him. He’ll sweat most of it off on stage anyway.
You settle back into place, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Your lip gloss stains his stubbly skin. A smirk grows on your lips, but you don’t say anything. James grins back at you, no doubt thinking you’re smiling at him. You can’t resist cupping his face and kissing him properly.
When you separate, you’re straight back to work. Holding the eyeliner aloft between your faces, you close one eye as you release more of the pencil, eyeballing how much you’ll need. You hum along to the instrumental underneath your breath, focused on the pencil.
Slightly blurred in your peripheral vision, you don’t notice James staring up at you, eyes darker and pupils blown wider. His hands have stopped shaking.
You lower the pencil, and are pinned suddenly by the weight of his stare. Even with only one of his eyes made up, highlighting his thick lashes and the golden flecks of his eyes, he looks beautiful.
He slides his hands up your back, into your hair, and nudges your face back to his with just an ounce of strength. Nothing matters to him - not his half made-up eyes, not the crew beginning to bustle around in preparation outside, not the fans causing a ruckus beyond the arena walls. Nothing, besides his hands in your hair, your body in his lap, and your lips on his.
“I’ve got to…” you try to speak into his mouth, but his lips are relentless. “.... do the other eye.”
He ignores you for a moment longer, until a crash outside, followed by raised voices, makes him finally pull back with a groan. Gulping, you watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath a patch of missed stubble on his throat.
“That had better not’ve been one of my guitars.”
His face is definitely covered in lip gloss now, and he shines like a disco ball as he lifts his head, eyes glazed.
“I hope it was,” you grumble jokingly, still panting slightly from his kiss. He pokes you in the side, chuckling. “If you stay still for just one more second, I’ll let you up and you can find out.”
James wrinkles his nose, and pretends to dodge away from you. With a little tap of the eyeliner pencil on his forehead, he’s back to sitting like an angel, looking up to the ceiling as you finish off the other eye.
“There,” you finally mutter, tossing the eyeliner to the sofa. You hold his cheeks once more, checking the lines are even. Close enough.
Outside, a babbling drone of excited conversations, lost within each other, echoes down the backstage hallways. The doors have opened. There’s a knock on the dressing room door.
You smile softly at James, leaning forward for just one more kiss. There’s another knock on the dressing room door, firmer this time. It breaks your kiss, but James bumps his nose with yours, grinning. His black-framed eyes glimmer in the low light.
