Push Around and Pose.

By Song Birdy.

author's notes. Elliot Smith is great stuff to write to. The title is taken from a lyric from "Easy Way Out". Writing is a whim for me. Some things just happen. Sorry this sucks. Disney is not mine. Duhr. Oh hey, Cee. This is for you Since I know you love Chad/Sharpay. I can't help it, I get INTRIGUED!

Okay, this is alright. Enjoy it, Chad/Sharpay fans. 3

Ps. You should see how crazy the Grammar checker goes on me sometimes.


He's pretty secure in the fact that she doesn't really like him all that much. She'll lie until her teeth hurt and she'll swear falsehoods until her eyes water to get what she wants - but he's certain that what's between the two of them is merely sex.

She knows better. It's not just sex. It's not love either though, she frowns to herself. It's a missing puzzle piece, she reminds herself in her mind, and she's forcing Chad to fit that space. That space where Troy should have been.

She's trying new perfumes lately, he's noticed. With each passing scent he wonders which Taylor may have used - the girl in the glass box that he could never touch. Sharpay shattered her box just for the golden boy but got his sidekick, and who is the sidekick to argue with leftover scraps? Especially when the scraps wrap their perfect smooth legs around his torso and whisper quietly in his ear things he could imagine hearing from his glass girl.

Red Door. Dior. Chanel No. 5. She frowns. Chanel used to be perfect for her. The flip of her hip, the swing in her step, the way her shirt would fall just perfectly around her chest.. it was not quite perfect anymore.

Quips in the hallways, snapping biting yelling pushing. No one can know what she does with Chad Danforth - he's not quite good enough for her anyway.

But then, she's not quite good enough for him either.

There are nights and days in secret hideaways when he wants so badly just to stop, scream, throw her down, call her dirty and leave. Wash his whole body over and over and over again until he can no longer feel the touch of her lips burning against his neck.

But the feeling of the Ice Queen giving herself into him is more than he can handle, it's more than he wants anyone else to feel - ever. His own personal conquest, gripping the back of her perfect blonde hair mussing it up with his not-quite-perfect hands. It's satisfying to know that that pure as ice snobby bitch needs his approval for something.

She stands in her showers some nights and shudders, thinking about his touch - primal, demanding, unheeding. She thrashes against her own mind, not wanting to admit to herself the truth - that it isn't quite just the sex that she enjoys.

And yet she frowns, shakes her head. She looks at her broken form in the mirror, at the knot in her hair where his hands have been, the smudges in her makeup from watering eyes and the bruises along her neck and chest where he has claimed her as his own. She shuffles through her perfume bottles, quickly choosing one and spraying it into her bosom with her shaking hands. Perhaps he will like this one enough to just hold her hand.