The Difference Between Skinnys and Spray-Ons
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Camp Rock or the Jonas Brothers. Camp Rock belongs to Disney and the Jonas Brothers belong to themselves.
Characters: Shane, Nate and Jason
Words: 1, 703
Author's Notes: watched bits of Camp Rock today – basically, all the music – and I just love it when the boys perform "Play My Music". Anyway, after observing their jeans, this little fic came to me.
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"You don't have to believe me, but the way I, way I see it,
Next time you point a finger, I might have to bend it back,
And break it, break it off,
Next time you point a finger, I'll point you to a mirror."[/i]
- Playing God, by Paramore
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"Oh come on! They're not that tight!"
"Have you seen your jeans Shane, or should I ask your legs?"
There was a wooden crash as Shane pushed open the door to his cabin, Nate right on his heels. Jason looked up as the pair entered but smothered a smirk, pretending to be immersed with the riff he was playing on his guitar.
Both boys were scowling at each other, though Nate was, naturally, more controlled. Shane threw his acoustic down onto his allocated bed and spun back round to Nate, hands on hips. There was a moment in which they simply stared at each other, daring the other to make the first strike. In the end, it was Nate.
"Well?" he pressed, raising an eyebrow – an expression that was so him.
"Well what?" Shane shot back, shrugging carelessly.
"Care to explain?" Nate said, gesturing at Shane's legs with a hand.
The older band member looked down at his jeans momentarily before returning his eyes to Nate's dark ones. "What's there to explain Nate? I'm wearing jeans. That's all it is."
"Oh really? Because, those are some pretty tight jeans you got going on there. I'm surprised you can even walk in them, let alone teach hip-hop dance in them."
"Is that what this is about Nate?" asked Shane. "You jealous because you didn't get to see me dancing in these jeans?"
"Oh boy," Jason muttered while Nate scoffed, turning away and rolling his eyes.
"You can be so annoyingly childish sometimes, you know that?" the younger man replied, starting to look as though his patience was growing thin. "Why would I even want to see you dance in those? I'm just worried about the sanity of your students."
"Aw, how cute Natey," came the mockingly sweet reply. "You care about the poor little kiddies now do you?"
The look Shane got in return could've killed. "Surprised I care for someone other than myself? Must come as quite a shock for you Shane, seeing as how you've never actually done it."
Jason thought now was as good a time as any to intervene. If he didn't, something was sure to happen – and that something would almost definitely not be good. Most likely, his fellow band members would spark a full-blown argument, yell and scream at each other, storm off and then pretend the conversation had never happened a few hours later, which only strained their relationship further.
Jason put down his guitar and was in the very act of standing up when Shane spoke again.
"You don't know much about jeans, do you Nate?"
Jason stopped, confused. Nate looked at Shane, blinking slowly, not understanding.
"What is there to know about jeans?" he asked slowly, warily. "They're made of denim, they're a type of pants and you put your legs through them. Did I miss anything?"
"Very good," Shane complimented condescendingly, causing Nate to scowl once more. "But what about the different cuts and styles?"
"Like stone-wash?" Jason supplied, trying to include himself and build up the role of peace-maker.
"Kinda," Shane answered absently, waving him off. "You know Nate, like boot-leg, straight leg or…short leg," he added, eyeing up Nate's form.
The boy's eyes narrowed. "I'm not that much shorter than you," he pointed out. "The only thing you over-shadow me in is ego, and you can keep that victory."
"Watch it," Shane growled, before running a hand through his hair, visibly trying to keep his temper in check. "Back to what I was saying before you interrupted-"
"Only because you jibed at my height."
"-anyway," he continued loudly, drowning the other out. "There are also skinnys and spray-ons. Familiar with these terms, Natey?"
Nate crossed his arms. "Of course I've heard of skinnys."
"And spray-ons?"
"You're just making that up."
"Am not!" the front-man countered. "I'll give you the very in-depth way of defining if jeans are skinnys or spray-ons."
"Go ahead," the curly-haired boy replied, raising both eyebrows tauntingly.
"Jeans can be rated on a level of tightness. Tightness must be judged all over. That is, jeans that a skin-tight at the thighs but loose at the ankles can't be given a ten."
"Ten being the absolute tightest?" Nate questioned, causing Shane to nod in reply.
"And the defining line-between skinny and spray on is nine. Anything nine and above is spray-on. Anything below nine but above seven is skinny."
"And zero would be massively baggy jeans?" Jason asked, while Nate simply looked on impassively.
Shane nodded again. "So," he said dramatically, looking down at his jeans. "Hmm, tight at the thighs and hips, but loosening slightly around the ankles, I'd rank these as eight-point-fives. Which places me safely in the skinny zone."
He shot a triumphant look in Nate's direction, though the other boy simply rolled his eyes.
"Problem?" Shane challenged.
"Obviously," Nate answered in the same tone. "You got to judge your own jeans. Of course you're gonna come up with the score you want."
"So…the system still stands then?" the elder asked, becoming a little pleased with himself.
Nate sighed frustratedly. "Yeah, whatever. It does make some kind of strange sense." His eyes flicked over to Jason, who was still watching their interaction. "Jason?" he asked. "Your opinion on Shane's jeans?"
Jason frowned, looking the jeans up and down a few times. He reached a conclusion but wondered whether he should say it or not. Well, he thought with a mental shrug, either way, one of them was going to hate him. He may as well be honest about it.
"Sorry Nate, but I'm gonna side with Shane on this one."
"Come on!" Shane yelled, fist-pumping.
"Fine!" Nate snapped, turning abruptly on his heel and heading towards his bed. "I guess you can wear them. But when your legs fail from loss of circulation don't come crying to me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Shane cried, effectively stopping Nate dead in his tracks.
"What's wrong?" Jason asked, having thought the argument was over. From the expression on Nate's face, he'd clearly thought the same.
The troublesome singer grinned wolfishly before leaping across the room and grabbing his fellow band-mate. Shane dragged Nate down, pinning him to the bed. Nate's expression was nothing short of murderous.
"What the-"
"We haven't judged your jeans yet," Shane provided, smirking.
"What?" Nate stuttered, his discomfort coming through his voice.
"Your jeans," he repeated slowly. "You were so quick to judge me on mine Natey, but how do yours compare? Seeing you out on stage today…I'm amazed you can even walk in them, let alone perform in them."
"He has a point," Jason added, coming over to Nate's bed.
"Whose side are you on?" Nate growled, trying to push Shane off but failing.
"I'm on truth's side!" he replied cheerfully, grinning at the deep frown that spread across his friend's forehead.
"So," Shane said slowly, adjusting his grip so that he could keep Nate pinned while spinning round. "I'm looking at your jeans, and let's see: tightness round the hips, skin-tight at the thighs, damn tight at the calves, but letting up a little at the ankle. I'm gonna have to give you a solid nine Natey, maybe even a nine-point-five." He grinned cockily. "Jason?"
Jason let his eyes roam over said black jeans and shrugged. "I dunno exactly, but you're well within spray-on territory."
"Traitor," Nate snapped, pouting in defeat. There was a beat then, "you can let go now Shane."
"No."
Jason laughed at Nate's expression and returned to his bed, figuring that his part in this whole shamble was completed. Shane wouldn't do anymore harm and Nate was unlikely to start up again; one argument a day was more than enough for him.
"Dude, let me up," Nate ordered, pushing up as hard as he could.
"Tut tut," Shane replied, using his full-grip now and pushing his friend down. "Like I'm gonna let go just cause you tell me to."
"Oh yeah? Well, how else am I supposed to get up genius?"
"You gotta do something for me."
Nate immediately went on guard. With Shane, there was no telling what outrageous demand he would make.
"Calm down," Shane said in a placating tone. "It's nothing bad. You just have to admit that you actually love seeing me in these jeans."
"But I don't."
He shrugged. "Don't care. You just have to say it."
"But if it's a lie then it doesn't mean anything to you anyway," Nate pressed, still trying to break out of the vice-like grip he was trapped in.
"Just do it Nate."
"No."
"Come on."
"No way."
"Ok, fine."
"Really?"
Nate didn't even have time to move before Shane was upon him, hands tickling his ribs, causing him to erupt into a fit of giggles. He tried to move away from the offending hands but Shane's legs kept him in place.
"Admit it?"
"Never."
The onslaught continued for a few more minutes, Nate quickly becoming breathless. He struggled and squirmed, but to no effect. Shane was relentless and there was no way he was backing down before he got what he wanted.
"Admit it?" he offered again.
"Alright!" Nate screamed, Shane stopping immediately. "Just…let me…get my breath…back."
"Since I'm such a considerate person, I'll give you ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eig-"
"Okay, okay," Nate said, taking in a big lung-full of air and looking Shane straight in the eyes. "Shane, I actually really love seeing you in those jeans."
"Aww, thank you," Shane said sweetly, unable to hide his pride in having won this particular battle. "Love you in yours too."
And with that, he placed a swift kiss on Nate's forehead and jumped off, leaving Nate grumbling and rubbing his head in disgust. Shane just laughed at his friend's expression, causing said friend to just shake his head in disbelief.
"You're so immature," Nate said.
Shane threw himself on his bed, threading his hands behind his head. "And yet, everyone wants to be me."
Before Nate could retaliate, Shane pulled if his shoe and chucked it at the light switch next to the door. It made a definite click and then the light flicked off, leaving the members of Connect 3 shrouded in darkness.
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A/N: sorry about the ending! I couldn't think of a good way to end it, so that's what you get. XD
This whole fic is actually based off a conversation me and a bunch of friends had at a conference. For some reason, all these emos turned up one year so we started rating their jeans and came up with the 'skinny and spray-on' system. AND…we found a TEN! It was on the last day, but yes, there was a guy in tens. :DDD
Feel free to review and leave your thoughts! I always like to know what you thought and also what improvements you have.
DG777