Original Fic
Return to Part 1/2
In August Dave moves in with Steve, a second year shooting guard, into an apartment off-campus.
He's enrolled at Kean on a basketball scholarship; Joe's over at Montclair State. Dave found Steve through the housing board. He seems like a decent guy and there’s an open beer policy on the case in the fridge. Mostly, though, Dave keeps to himself and ignores it when Steve brings girls home and then fucks them loudly in the bedroom next to his.
It’s strange being at a school without Joe. Dave can’t exactly figure out why it should make a difference considering Joe usually makes the hour and a half drive to catch up with him on Thursday nights after practice. Dave always spots him slipping into the gym halfway through and even though the gym is loud with the sound of balls slamming off the back boards and sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, Dave can tell that he’s trying to be quiet while he picks his way through the bleachers near the door.
Joe, trying to be invisible, makes Dave laugh. He’s always been too big for himself. He'd be intimidating if it weren't for the fact that his red hair makes me him look so friendly. And plus he's a klutz. He's always tripping over nothing and his arms seem like they go on forever. Joe, Dave figures, is the sort of guy who looks like he'd play a good game of ball, but doesn't.
On the sidelines Dave takes another messy slug of water. Joe catches him watching and waves. Dave nods his head in return.
"Your boyfriend's here," Steve grins. He throws the ball to Dave. Dave absorbs the toss and scowls. "Fuck off," he says. "It's not like that."
Joe half watches them practice with his nose in a comic book. He should be studying considering he's on the verge of failing audio communications, but he's not. Afterwards they go out for pizza at a place on campus and Joe tells Dave about this girl he met at a frat party the week before Easter. Dave's only half listening and he misses her name.
Sarah? No. Sophie? Sophia? Something like that.
She's got silver eyes Joe tells him. He's been seeing her on sort of a regular basis and she's got this friend, Mary, he says. Dave picks the mushrooms off of his pizza and tosses them onto the side of his plate without looking up, "Oh yeah?"
It's another frat party on another Saturday night and Dave goes because there's nothing else to do. The basement ceiling at Sigma Pi's house is low and you have to duck past the overhang at the bottom of the stairs. There aren't a lot of people hanging around and someone keeps playing an old B-52s song on the stereo in the corner of the room. It's a shitty stereo, more like a botched electronic abortion, and behind the music is a static buzz that Dave can feel in his ears.
Sophie is short by normal standards and a midget by Joe's but she seems nice enough and Joe looks like he really likes her. Dave decides that he’s going to withhold judgment.
It turns out that Mary is a pretty girl, short with blond hair and a cute nose. Mostly they just sit on the couch and drink and talk about how lame it is here and whether or not they should leave and go to the Alpha House across campus instead. He kisses her though, once, pressing his hand against her ribs high enough that he can feel the swell of her breast against the joint of his thumb. After that she leans over and puts her beer down on the table in front of them and says she needs to go to the bathroom. Dave nods his head and drains the rest of his drink. He closes his eyes and rolls his head back against the cushions on the couch.
Rock Lobster starts up again and Dave groans. He actually really likes this song but seriously, enough is enough, right?
Mary doesn't come back from the bathroom and Sophie (he's sure by now its Sophie but he's wrong, it's Sophia) says she had to leave. "Well hell," Joe says. "Dave was supposed to hook up with her. It's late. Now what's he supposed to do?"
Sophia laughs. "Don't worry, I'll do you both!"
Joe kind of grins. Dave makes the mistake of not realizing that Sophia means a three-of-them-at-once threesome when he nods and mumbles, "Yeah sure, what the fuck?" and follows them back to her dorm.
Sophia's room is on the ground floor right next to the fire exit (which isn't armed). When they get through the door Sophia tips up on her toes and Joe kisses her while Dave looks around in a daze. He's a lot more buzzed than he looks and when Sophia turns and kisses him next he just opens his mouth and goes with it. She's a really good kisser and her fingers are curling around the backs of his ears. When Dave opens his eyes a slit, Joe's right there, gawping in front of him. He says in a hoarse whisper,
"You're kissing her the same way she and I kiss. Dude, it's almost like you and I are kissing."
and Dave's stomach does a nervous jerk.
He twists his head then, pulling Sophia around by her elbow so that's he's facing the bed with his back to Joe while he drops out of his pants and underwear. They land on the bed after that and Dave levers himself up on one elbow. He's covering her completely and even though he's not as hard as he'd like to be, he pushes inside. When Dave turns his head Sophia is pulling Joe down to the bed by his hand and then they are kissing, wet and open mouthed next to his ear, with Joe's chest pressed against his side as Dave thrusts into her.
It's strange to see Joe's face this close up and Dave notices the tiny freckle at the corner of his mouth with a pang that makes him feel unbearably sad, like he's dropping something fragile and can't figure out how to hold on without cracking it.
When Sophia pulls Joe's hand between them, Dave feels the brush of Joe's knuckles over his nipple. "Quit it," he says. His tongue feels suddenly dry in his mouth, like he's been chewing moth balls, and Dave swallows thickly, pushing himself back, off Sophia and towards the wall. His heart is hammering in the middle of his chest and he's pretty sure he's going to throw up. "Get undressed," Sophia says to Joe - like Dave's not lying next to her having a fucking heart attack. "I want to suck you."
Her voice is low and gravely and Joe's laughing and kicking his way out of his pants. The jeans land across the room on the floor and Joe pitches forward onto the twin mattress. The whole thing buckles and bounces under his weight and Dave flinches when Joe's bare foot skids down the length of his leg.
Joe's fucking her.
Dave can see the wet flash of Joe's cock moving in and out of her while he jerks himself off with a stubborn, angry glare. He tells himself it's just like watching porn: just like watching porn, just like watching -
Only 'just porn' doesn't get up and say things like, "Baby, I gotta piss."
Sophia swats at Joe's naked ass when he stands up and stumbles over towards the bathroom. When Joe comes back she darts off the bed. "My turn," she says, whirling into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
Joe drops down onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, drawing his knee up to his chest and hooking his elbow around it. He looks buzzed and totally relaxed and Dave's pretty sure he's never hated him more in his entire life.
Dave lets his eyes side part-way closed. His foot is jerking restlessly against Joe's leg and he can still see the hard jut of his cock from the corner of his eye so he twists his head a little further to the right and traces loose fingered spirals over his skin to distract himself.
Neither of them says anything and they can both hear the water being run behind the bathroom door. It feels like she's taking forever and really all Dave wants to do right now is leave his ambiguous sexuality behind and to go home. This was such a sucky idea. He lets his eyes slide all the way closed and when Joe's fingers curl over his toes a second later, warm and loose, Dave snaps them open. He scowls, jerking his foot backwards and Joe cuts him off, "Dude, we've been best friends since we were eleven, can't you handle this?"
"Can't I handle this?" Dave gapes at him as though Joe is suddenly talking in some foreign language; the language of total and utter gayness which is beyond Dave's heterosexual ability to comprehend.
Duh, no? Yes? Fuck off?
His mouth is hanging open but there's nothing coming out because this is Joe, after all; Joe who sees through all Dave's bullshit even if he doesn't always call him on it.
When the bathroom door opens again they both look up. Sophia smiles and says, "Come on, Joe, I want you to fuck me while I suck him off," and Dave tries sorting himself upright against the headboard. The problem is he's drunker than he'd realized and grumpy now too so he shifts around slow and sluggish. The bed moves and rocks like a boat and Dave feels seasick until her mouth closes over him, hot and wet, and Dave's eyes roll closed.
"Any chance I could get you two to kiss?" Sophia asks. She's nuzzling the side of Dave's cock, her tongue curling lightly over the head. Dave makes a strained, breathless noise and lets out an uncomfortable laugh, whispering, "No fucking way."
He's angry now, frustrated because deep down he wants to say yes. When he grips the back of her head, harder than is strictly necessary, he shoves her down on his cock. Sophia makes a whining noise high in the back of her throat, one that Dave can feel all the way down the length of his spine, as Joe slams into her, hard from behind. They slip forward, knees bumping and arms fumbling for balance, and Joe's hand lands on Dave's hip, pinning him down.
Joe looks down at him, over Sophia's shoulder, and thumbs the patch of Dave's skin under his hand. It's a soft, gentle gesture and Dave can feel the tiny calluses on Joe's thumb stirring up goosebumps on his skin. His tongue darts out over the bottom swell of his lip before he screws his eyes shut. "Watch where your fucking hands are going," Dave grouses.
Joe laughs, low and a little mean, and then he leans forward. He nuzzles his face into Sophia's neck while he humps her from behind then leans over her to lick a long, deliberate strip of skin covering Dave's lower ribs.
Dave comes in her mouth after that in four short, salty bursts. His semen leaks out past the corner of her lips and Dave turns his head away so he doesn't have to see Joe's tongue clean her chin before he kisses her. Joe's hand is still curled tightly around his hip and Dave grumbles, "Dude, stop touching me."
They shuffle upwards then and Dave lets Sophia take his hand. When she does she guides it between her legs, pressing his fingers over the slick nub of her clit, holding him there. "Some of us aren't done yet," she says, rocking against him. For a second he tries to jerk his hand free but she's got him by the wrist and Joe's weight behind her is pinning him down.
He can feel the motion of Joe fucking her, his cock pulling out and then sliding back in with a wet, sticky-sounding slap. He looks at Joe's face, at his slack mouth and the way his eyes look foggy and glazed over and then he takes a ragged breath and stretches his hand lower; his finger's skimming towards where they're joined. When Dave grips his fingers over Joe's cock he can feel the shock of it register on his face.
Sophia gasps as Dave hooks his fingers into her, his knuckles bracketing the sides of Joe's cock. Joe comes staring at Dave with wide shell-shocked eyes. Dave can feel him pulsing under his fingertips and looks away.
Afterwards they pull the mattress off the bed and dump all the bedding onto the floor. Sophia falls asleep between them with her arms flung over Joe's chest. Her hair looks dark against the Joe's milky white chest and her mouth has fallen open over his nipple. For a soft moment Dave lets himself want to reach out and touch.
"I've never kissed you first," Joe says quietly. Dave's eyes jerk up and his mouth automatically opens to argue. "No. Don't. It's true, you know that." Joe says. He smiles at Dave then: it's the same soft, forlorn smile that Joe reserves for when it's late at night or just the two of them; it's sad and mostly full of something close to love. Dave manages to hold himself still when Joe reaches over and threads his fingers easily through his hair and scratches.
He pats him softly, twice, and then dozes off to sleep.
Dave lies awake for hours afterwards listening to Joe's quiet whistle and Sophia's easy breathing. In the morning he's the first one awake and he spends at least a half an hour shaking on the bathroom floor before he twists his fingers down his throat and heaves into the toilet bowl. His vomit circles around in loose brown chunks and the smell of it makes him heave and gag until his stomach aches and his nose clogs with snot. After that he sinks back onto the floor and presses his back against the vanity, holding his head in his hands and fighting to keep his sobs silent.
He can hear them having sex again in the next room and he pushes himself further upright against the vanity. There is a drawer handle pressing sharply into his shoulder blade and Dave shoves back against it, hard, so that the tears dry up and everything goes numb.
When they leave, Dave politely kisses Sophia's cheek goodbye and as they cut across the lawn Joe slings his arm casually over the back of Dave's shoulders. Dave's stomach threatens to heave again and he jerks away from him, jogging ahead. "Dude. Seriously. Stop fucking touching me!" he shouts.
*
Dave ignores the voicemails on his machine and goes to his classes with his head down. He arrives at practice late and leaves early. It's not a perfect system though and he collides with Sophia in the quad one afternoon after class. She's wearing jeans and a black turtleneck. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Dave finds himself nodding hello. "I've got class," he says. He doesn't.
"I can walk you." Sophia falls into step beside him and Dave concentrates on taking steps that are measured, steps that are not running. Dave clears his throat but then settles back into silence when it dawns on him that he has no idea what he's supposed to say here.
"Look -"
"No." Dave cuts her off firmly. "I was drunk okay. I don't really remember anything."
Sophia stalls beside him and Dave watches the way her eyes shift from silver into a deeper shade of gray. She really is a pretty girl and Joe probably makes her laugh. Dave can picture her with her head thrown back, her throat exposed and vulnerable. She's probably the kind of girl Joe deserves; she's probably the kind of girl Dave's supposed to want. She opens her mouth to speak. Dave shakes his head roughly.
"I don't remember." He doesn’t leave any room for argument and Sophia tosses her head. She reminds him of a colt.
"Well, I hope you remember he's supposed to be your best friend." She stalks off after that and Dave finds himself at the gym lifting weights until his muscles scream. The next morning he wakes up late to the sun cutting a milky yellow stripe of light across the carpet. He has to run the entire three blocks to the Starbucks on Davis where he works part-time, nights and weekends. He’s still five minutes late when he punches in.
Joe’s waiting outside after his shift, his VW Rabbit pulled up beside the dumpster out back, idling thick black clouds of exhaust. When Dave steps out the back door he looks up. Overhead the sky is dark and overcast, the air pregnant with another spring rain. It takes him a few seconds to overcome his indecision. When he does he lurches forward, pulls the passenger door open with a jerk, and slides in without talking.
They ride like that, sullen and silent, while the radio snaps in the space in between them. Joe doesn’t have a CD player in his car and so they listen to some local radio jock talk about the Bulls. It’s all bullshit, Dave figures, while he stares out the window. The guy on the radio doesn’t have a fucking clue and Dave bites back a sigh and tugs against the material of his jeans.
Dave’s apartment is a squat red brick building, a six-plex really, with a cracked front door. The foyer is tiled in shades of oyster grey and there are supermarket flyers scattered on the floor next to the recycling box. There’s a glove pinned to the bulletin board with a thumb tack, along with a handwritten note about a weight bench for sale. Last week Dave pulled off a tab where someone wrote the phone number; he still hasn't called.
The rest of the thumb tacks are stuck in a row, gapping like loose teeth.
When Joe pulls into the lot Dave shifts in his seat. He’s staring ahead at the glass door, at the gold script that’s so faded and chipped it’s illegible. Joe shuts the car off, pushing it into park even though Dave hasn’t said, "Hey man, why don’t you come up."
For a second they just sit listening to the engine tick and pop as it cools and when Dave pops the latch on the door, Joe follows suit.
It’s ten steps to the front door, six steps up, and twelve to Dave’s door. Dave counts them off as they walk and swallows down the bile coating the back of his throat. Inside he throws his jacket over the couch and drops his keys onto the half wall that divides the kitchen from everything else. "I’m gonna shower," he says. He’s already halfway out of the living room when Joe says, "Yeah, man. Sure - whatever."
Joe is drinking a beer on the couch when Dave comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later. He walks into the kitchen and picks the phone up from the counter to order a pizza from the place around the corner. His t-shirt is sticking damply to his skin, his hair is still dripping down the back of his neck and when he opens the fridge for a beer Joe clears his throat and says, "I already got you one."
Dave lets the door swing shut then slumps down on the couch, cracking open the beer that Joe's holding out. The can hisses and Dave pushes his thumb through the condensation after he’s taken a long pull. He's staring hard at the logo when Joe says, "Are we gonna be cool?"
"You’re sitting on my fucking couch, aren’t you?"
Joe smiles then leans forward, grabbing the Playstation controller off the floor at his foot. He nudges the other controller towards Dave with the toe of his sneaker. "All right. Cool."
Dave wishes it were that easy.
*
"It’s a four hour drive to North Arlington, round trip," Joe says. It's December now and they've found their way back to this place that mostly feels normal. "C’mon. Don’t be a pussy."
"I’m not. Fuck. I fucking told you already. I probably have to work."
Dave works almost every Saturday and it’s hard to get time off in December. Even if he could, he can’t afford it. Dave thinks about what he hates more - constantly being broke or standing behind the cash register ringing up lattes and caramel macchiatos for smiling, fat, middle-aged soccer moms with Christmas lists.
It’s not a tough decision. Dave points his finger at Joe. "Your fucking car doesn’t have any heat."
Joe stares at him, then smiles, and Dave gives in. "All right. Whatever, I’ll go. But I’m not putting in for gas and you, motherfucker, have to buy my beer. I’m taking this trip with you at a financial loss"
Joe laughs. "Yeah, I’ll pay your motherfuckin’ minimum wage for the day, bitch."
On the second Saturday in December they drive north to some bar off the turnpike called Hartley’s; Joe’s cousin, Chris, plays in the band that’s headlining.
Before they leave town they stop at the Deptford Mall and Joe buys a pair of mittens from Eddie Bauer. They’re big, black, lobster-sized snowmobile mitts and Joe keeps clapping them together. They make a thick sound in Joe’s tiny car and Dave shakes his head at the way Joe grins.
Joe is driving and its Dave’s job to scrape off the frost that keeps building up on the inside of the windows. When Dave glances over he laughs. "This is so stupid," Joe says. Dave is leaning over the console between them scraping another large circle that Joe has to squat down to see through.
"Scraping your fucking windows is about the only thing my MasterCard is good for right now."
Dave’s fingers are red from the cold and he stuffs them back under his thighs. He’s sitting with his knees bunched up against his chest, wrapped in a quilt that he’d pulled up from the back seat. It probably has jizz on it, Dave thinks. They’re only on the road for fifteen minutes before he starts wiping his nose on a corner of it.
"Oh, no. That’s fucking gross," Joe whines. "Do not wipe your fucking nose on my blanket."
"Too bad. It’s not my fault your shit box doesn’t have a heater." Dave kicks at the dashboard to prove his point.
"It’s better than your shit box. Oh that’s right. You have don’t have a shit box. You have a ten speed. With a little white basket." Dave rabbit punches Joe’s shoulder three times, fast. Joe’s laugh comes out like a high-pitched squawk as he tries dodging Dave's fist. He ducks as much as he can behind the steering wheel of the car when he adds, in a breathless squeak, "And a bell."
Dave shakes his head. He says, "You are such a fucking goddamn cunt. You know that? A fucking goddamn cunt." but he's laughing.
They get turned around once they get off the turnpike and end up making a U-turn so they can circle back. At the doors Dave looks away while Joe hands over the ten dollar cover charge for them both. Once they’re inside, Dave looks around. It’s a mid-sized bar and Joe tugs his elbow. Dave turns his head and Joe ducks and presses his mouth tight to the shell of Dave’s ear.
"Let’s get a beer and find Chris," Joe shouts. Dave nods.
There’s a band already onstage. They’re not great but they’re not bad either. Dave drums his fingers against the bar while they wait for their drinks. They stand though some band called Multi Purpose Solution and another one called Red Rover. Dave doesn’t like either one and after his sixth or seventh beer he elbows Joe and points across the room towards the bathroom. Joe nods and Dave slips off.
The bathroom is small and shitty and the bulb overhead is bare. It makes the shadows look long and Dave blinks at the wall of the urinal while he pisses. Behind him the bathroom door thunks open and two boys walk in together. Dave tucks himself back in his pants and turns towards the sink. He can see them, heads bent together like a couple of fags, while he washes his hands before he walks out.
At the bar Joe is talking to a blond. She's wearing a tight t-shirt that has RUTGERS written across the chest in large red letters. Dave nods at them and orders another drink. When he turns around again Joe is bent forward kissing her. Dave's stomach does a quick, possessive lurch and he stares at the way Joe's mouth opens against hers. The flash of Joe's tongue looks wet and pink. It makes Dave think of the tiny freckle he spotted when Joe was bent next him, kissing Sophia.
Dave turns back to the stage, ignoring them. The bands have changed again and the dark-haired kid from the bathroom is there with a guitar strapped over his shoulder. They're the last set before Chris goes onstage and Dave watches him writhe around, mouth spitting into the microphone head. He's short, his face still chubby with baby fat. Dave finds himself embarrassingly hard.
*
It's past three am when they get back to Dave's apartment. "We're here," Joe says, pulling his car into a visitor’s spot. The parking brake squeaks loudly and Dave jolts at the noise in his sleep. "Wake up." Dave lifts his head and looks around in a daze. He's still got his hands balled up under his armpits and he's shivering.
"Your lips are blue," Joe says to him quietly and Dave nods. He watches dumbly as Joe leans over the console between them and unlatches his seatbelt. Joe's breath fogs in front of his mouth and Dave watches it, blurry-eyed. "C'mon, man." Joe claps his shoulder lightly, "Let's get you inside."
Dave nods and fumbles with the handle of the door. His fingers are stiff with cold.
"Where the hell is your couch?" Joe asks a minute later when Dave unlocks the door to his apartment.
Dave has already stepped out of his shoes and he tosses his jacket onto the floor inside the door where the couch would have been. "I thought I told you. Steve moved in with his girlfriend last week. It was his." Dave yawns and waves his arm around vaguely. They both stare tiredly at the empty space against the living room wall. There are four divots in the carpeting where the couch used to be.
"I'm not sleeping on the floor." Joe says after a few seconds. Dave shrugs. He's already sleepwalking through the living room towards the bedroom. "Sleep with me then, I don't give a fuck."
"Ooooh," Joe coos. "A slumber party."
Dave snorts out loud. In his room he unzips his jeans and tosses them at the foot of the bed. Joe's in the bathroom and Dave can hear him pissing into the toilet with the door open. There is a thin film of yellow light bleeding into the bedroom from the hallway until Joe snaps it off and then fumbles his way towards the bed. Joe stumbles into the corner of the dresser and then bounces back abruptly. Dave snickers in the dark while Joe curses about his toe.
After that he yawns, a long baritone sound, then balls the pillow under his head before rolling onto his side and crossing his arms over his chest. When the bed finally dips under Joe's weight Dave's skin prickles. There's a draft of cool air when Joe pulls back the covers. Dave can feel the shift and pull of the blanket against his bare legs while Joe flips around trying to get comfortable. His stomach turns sharply when Joe's foot brushes, warm and rough, over his calf.
Dave jerks at the contact and thinks about Joe's weight bearing down on him with Sophia trapped between them. His cock goes stiff. "Sorry," Joe mumbles. He pulls his foot away and Dave rolls forward, following it. The kiss is messy and Joe pulls back under it. Their lips make a graphic wet noise when they break apart. "Sorry," Dave mutters. "M'drunk. Didn't mean to do that."
"You're not that drunk," Joe whispers back.
"Yeah, I am," Dave argues. "M'very drunk."
"No," Joe says more firmly. Dave can feel Joe's hand wrapping around his forearm, near the bend of his elbow. Joe's thumb strokes over the thin skin there. "No, I don't think you are."
Dave freezes. By now his eyes have adjusted to the dark and he can see the outline of Joe's face hovering in front of him. Joe's eyes glint and then he's deliberately leaning in until their mouths are open and the air between them is brushing back and forth, warm and used. Dave can feel the claustrophobic tattoo of his heartbeat hammering against his chest. "C'mon," Joe whispers to him softly. He sounds like someone trying to gentle a horse and Dave can feel the urge to bolt like an electric current under his skin. "S'okay if you want to," Joe says. "It's cool."
Dave swallows dryly. He can smell the meady scent of beer when he presses forward, testing.
Joe's mouth stays slack under his and Dave runs his tongue against the underside of Joe's upper lip. Joe lies perfectly still under the assault, his fingers still warm on Dave's elbow. "Yeah," he breathes softly, slowly, against Dave's mouth during the break. "Yeah, you're not drunk are you?"
"No," Dave says hoarsely. Dave can feel the curve of Joe's smile against the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't think you were." Joe shifts slightly and waits until Dave brushes his mouth over him again. They trade soft-mouthed kisses back and forth in the dark, with Joe's fingers brushing smoothly over the back of Dave's triceps, until Dave starts humping his hips in a small purposeful movement against Joe's thigh.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Joe asks. His hand is hovering at Dave's hip and Dave can feel his fingers playing against the waistband of his boxers. Dave groans. It's a needy, bitten back sound that sounds rough around the edges. The answer, Dave thinks, should be obvious. He reaches down and takes Joe's hand, guiding it towards his dick.
Joe's palm feels rough and callused against him and Dave's cock jerks under it. "Stroke my balls too," Dave finally manages against Joe's throat. Joe chuckles against his temple and jerks him in long firm strokes that leave Dave gasping under him. Joe shifts again, drawing up on one arm to lean over Dave. Their mouths are hanging open and Dave is breathing roughly. His chest hitches painfully when Joe's finger reaches past his balls over the cleft of his ass. Dave shudders as Joe fingers him gently.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Joe asks quietly.
Dave lets out a hollow laugh. There's a deep ache in the backs of his shoulders where he holds his tension and his legs are trembling. The heat pooling in his balls spikes sharply. Dave licks his tongue over the swollen pads of his lips. He bites sharply at the skin at the base of Joe's throat and turns under him. The bite is going to leave a mark and Joe hisses.
"No," Joe mumbles. "I'm not going to just give it to you, Dave." Joe's mouth is covering the back of Dave's ear. It sounds raspy and wet when he says, "You have to ask for it this time." Dave groans again and turns his face into the pillow; a second after that he lifts his hips, pressing his ass pointedly into Joe's cock.
"No," Joe says gruffly jerking his hips back. "That's not enough. Not this time. You have to say you want it. Say it."
Dave's heartbeat stutters in the middle of his chest. His tongue feels thick and cottony in his mouth. He can feel the heat of Joe's chest pressed up against him. He flicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and clears his throat. Dave squeezes his eyes tight and shivers under the boil of nerves in his stomach. He flexes his fingers against the sheets and lets out a choked sob. "I want it."
"All right then," Joe says, softer now. He pets his hand down the length of Dave's side, "S'all right."
Joe mouths the back of his neck and Dave grinds his cock down into the mattress. "Do you have, like, lube or something?" he asks. Dave rolls to the side and fumbles in the nightstand next the bed. When he hands the tube to Joe, his fingers are shaking. Joe kisses him again, his lips still managing to smile against Dave's mouth. "It's okay, dude. It's just me." Dave nods and lets his eyes drift close.
Dave has spent, it seems, his whole life fighting against this - against wanting Joe in ways that always felt wrong. He takes another ragged draw of air and blows it out through his mouth. He can hear Joe uncapping the lube. He can feel the dip of the mattress again and then Joe's hair brushing against his skin when he leans over him.
"Can I suck your dick?" Joe asks. Dave takes an unsteady breath and nods his head as he rolls onto his back. He lifts his hand and lets his fingers rest against the top of Joe's head when Joe takes his dick in his mouth.
It's hot and wet - like any other blow job he's ever had - except that it's not. Not really because this time it's Joe between his legs, and Joe's fingers stroking over his ass. Dave gives in and lets his legs fall open a little further and Joe makes a soft noise that reverberates down to Dave's toes and back. Joe presses in with one finger. Dave drags in a sharp breath and holds it.
"Is that okay?" Joe wants to know.
Dave tilts his hips off the mattress and he strokes his thumb over the closed corner of Joe's eyelid. "Yeah," he breathes out, long and drawn out. "It's good."
He's done this much before: jerked off, cupped his balls with his hands and then fingered the pucker of his asshole. He's lubed up and pressed in with his fingers, working himself open and panting under disjointed fantasies that left him feeling red-faced and embarrassed after the glow faded and left him feeling cold.
Joe scoots further up onto his elbows. He's kneeling awkwardly over Dave, tongue pressing Dave's cock to the roof of his mouth while he torques his fingers apart, stretching him. Dave bears down on them, and moans around the white heat growing in the base of his stomach.
His legs are trembling, a tiny shake that Joe's got to be able to feel. Dave brushes his fingers through Joe's hair, letting the tips of them feel their way over the shell of Joe's ear then down to the hinge of his jaw. Dave can feel the subtle motion of Joe sucking him off against his thumb, Joe's lips and tongue and throat working against him. It's almost enough to make him come.
"I'm, I'm. Joe. I'm really close." Dave whispers. His voice sounds shocked and small, and he barely registers Joe pulling off and then kneeling in front of him. When Dave opens his eyes Joe is rolling a condom down onto his dick.
"How do you wanna do this? I mean -" Joe trails off.
"Have you?" Dave starts to ask.
Joe shakes his head abruptly. "N-no," he stammers. Dave smiles then. The unsteady waver in Joe's voice is oddly comforting.
When they were kids they'd spend long weekends at Joe's uncle's farm three hours outside of the city. In the barn there was a thick, scratchy rope tethered to a winch two and a half stories up. You had to climb a handmade ladder into the hayloft and then lean out, using a pull-hook, to drag the rope backwards into the mow. Dave had looked up at Joe's cousins cutting down from the loft and then letting go, mid-swing, to fall into a pocket of loose hay on the floor in a daze.
"The trick," Joe's cousin had told them with his arms crossed over his chest, "is all in when you let go. Too early and you'll miss the pile -" Dave turned away then and looked at the cement floor. He imagined hitting it with a slick-sounding watermelon rind crack. "Too late and you'll overshoot the hay and crash into the wall."
Joe and Dave both looked grimly at the bank of horse stalls lining the back wall. Most of them were empty except for one. In it was a dappled grey mare that tossed her head and kicked irritably at the stall with her hind foot.
"Chicken?" Joe's cousin wanted to know. His voice was low and he cocked his eyebrow, challenging.
"No," Dave said for them both. They scaled the ladder after that. At the top they edged closer to the lip of the loft. The spot of hay below looked a lot smaller now and all around them dust motes were floating lazily though dim shafts of light. Dave felt his nose itch and Joe's cousin leaned out deftly pulling the rope back and handing it to Dave.
"Dave, I dunno," Joe had said cautiously, still looking down. Dave could see Joe’s freckles standing out sharply against the nervous blanche of his face the shadows.
"I knew you guys were chicken." Joe's cousin sounded smug, watching them. Dave tightened his grip on the rope and swallowed past the lump growing in the back of his throat. Joe shifted uneasily next to him and craned his neck, looking downwards again.
"I'm not chicken," Joe countered. "I'm just not fucking stupid. And this is stupid, isn't it Dave? Dave? It's stupid, right?"
Dave had wanted to agree with Joe, who was already walking back to the ladder. "When do I let go?" he’d said instead, looking forward.
When Dave blinks Joe is staring down at him. His face looks soft in the dim light of Dave’s room. His tongue keeps darting nervously to the corner pocket of his lips. Dave shifts his head against the pillow slightly, restless. "I dunno. Like this, I guess."
Joe nods and gently strokes the back of his knuckles against the hard ridge of Dave's cock. Dave shivers under the attention and pulls his legs further up when Joe hunches forward, lining his dick up against Dave's asshole.
The stretch of Joe's dick in his ass feels hotter than Dave ever imagined and his eyelids flicker. "Is that okay?" Joe whispers against him. His voice sounds thin and his open mouth leaves a wet trail of saliva against Dave's chin. Dave lets go of a guttural sound that's been trapped in the middle of his chest since they started this nine years ago.
"Uh-huh."
*
Dave missed the bed of hay that day in the barn and broke his arm in the fall.
He can feel it on days like this, days when it’s damp and the sun is tucked far beneath the clouds like a lost sock in a deep drawer. It’s a dull, marrow-deep ache. He sometimes imagines the bone knit together - a thin, tea-stained fracture under muscles and tendons corded together.
He thinks about it while he runs and remembers the bottomless feeling of slicing through the air, the smell of hay and grain, the rough grit of the rope curled between his fingers.
He looks at the horizon. His footfalls are steady and even on the pavement under his feet, as sure and able as a heart beat. Like nothing’s changed. He runs his usual route through the park, past the empty basketball courts and the picnic tables stained dark grey with dew.
He runs, arms pumping loosely at his sides, chin up, face blank; he runs home to where Joe's VW is parked out front.
Letting go was terrifying. Letting go, Dave figures, always is.
________________________________________
A/N: Story idea from redfirecracker (some direct quotes from her LJ post). Thanks to tarteaucitron, sinsense for the beta’s. It’s nice to have people who help make you look SMRT on paper.
In August Dave moves in with Steve, a second year shooting guard, into an apartment off-campus.
He's enrolled at Kean on a basketball scholarship; Joe's over at Montclair State. Dave found Steve through the housing board. He seems like a decent guy and there’s an open beer policy on the case in the fridge. Mostly, though, Dave keeps to himself and ignores it when Steve brings girls home and then fucks them loudly in the bedroom next to his.
It’s strange being at a school without Joe. Dave can’t exactly figure out why it should make a difference considering Joe usually makes the hour and a half drive to catch up with him on Thursday nights after practice. Dave always spots him slipping into the gym halfway through and even though the gym is loud with the sound of balls slamming off the back boards and sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, Dave can tell that he’s trying to be quiet while he picks his way through the bleachers near the door.
Joe, trying to be invisible, makes Dave laugh. He’s always been too big for himself. He'd be intimidating if it weren't for the fact that his red hair makes me him look so friendly. And plus he's a klutz. He's always tripping over nothing and his arms seem like they go on forever. Joe, Dave figures, is the sort of guy who looks like he'd play a good game of ball, but doesn't.
On the sidelines Dave takes another messy slug of water. Joe catches him watching and waves. Dave nods his head in return.
"Your boyfriend's here," Steve grins. He throws the ball to Dave. Dave absorbs the toss and scowls. "Fuck off," he says. "It's not like that."
Joe half watches them practice with his nose in a comic book. He should be studying considering he's on the verge of failing audio communications, but he's not. Afterwards they go out for pizza at a place on campus and Joe tells Dave about this girl he met at a frat party the week before Easter. Dave's only half listening and he misses her name.
Sarah? No. Sophie? Sophia? Something like that.
She's got silver eyes Joe tells him. He's been seeing her on sort of a regular basis and she's got this friend, Mary, he says. Dave picks the mushrooms off of his pizza and tosses them onto the side of his plate without looking up, "Oh yeah?"
It's another frat party on another Saturday night and Dave goes because there's nothing else to do. The basement ceiling at Sigma Pi's house is low and you have to duck past the overhang at the bottom of the stairs. There aren't a lot of people hanging around and someone keeps playing an old B-52s song on the stereo in the corner of the room. It's a shitty stereo, more like a botched electronic abortion, and behind the music is a static buzz that Dave can feel in his ears.
Sophie is short by normal standards and a midget by Joe's but she seems nice enough and Joe looks like he really likes her. Dave decides that he’s going to withhold judgment.
It turns out that Mary is a pretty girl, short with blond hair and a cute nose. Mostly they just sit on the couch and drink and talk about how lame it is here and whether or not they should leave and go to the Alpha House across campus instead. He kisses her though, once, pressing his hand against her ribs high enough that he can feel the swell of her breast against the joint of his thumb. After that she leans over and puts her beer down on the table in front of them and says she needs to go to the bathroom. Dave nods his head and drains the rest of his drink. He closes his eyes and rolls his head back against the cushions on the couch.
Rock Lobster starts up again and Dave groans. He actually really likes this song but seriously, enough is enough, right?
Mary doesn't come back from the bathroom and Sophie (he's sure by now its Sophie but he's wrong, it's Sophia) says she had to leave. "Well hell," Joe says. "Dave was supposed to hook up with her. It's late. Now what's he supposed to do?"
Sophia laughs. "Don't worry, I'll do you both!"
Joe kind of grins. Dave makes the mistake of not realizing that Sophia means a three-of-them-at-once threesome when he nods and mumbles, "Yeah sure, what the fuck?" and follows them back to her dorm.
Sophia's room is on the ground floor right next to the fire exit (which isn't armed). When they get through the door Sophia tips up on her toes and Joe kisses her while Dave looks around in a daze. He's a lot more buzzed than he looks and when Sophia turns and kisses him next he just opens his mouth and goes with it. She's a really good kisser and her fingers are curling around the backs of his ears. When Dave opens his eyes a slit, Joe's right there, gawping in front of him. He says in a hoarse whisper,
"You're kissing her the same way she and I kiss. Dude, it's almost like you and I are kissing."
and Dave's stomach does a nervous jerk.
He twists his head then, pulling Sophia around by her elbow so that's he's facing the bed with his back to Joe while he drops out of his pants and underwear. They land on the bed after that and Dave levers himself up on one elbow. He's covering her completely and even though he's not as hard as he'd like to be, he pushes inside. When Dave turns his head Sophia is pulling Joe down to the bed by his hand and then they are kissing, wet and open mouthed next to his ear, with Joe's chest pressed against his side as Dave thrusts into her.
It's strange to see Joe's face this close up and Dave notices the tiny freckle at the corner of his mouth with a pang that makes him feel unbearably sad, like he's dropping something fragile and can't figure out how to hold on without cracking it.
When Sophia pulls Joe's hand between them, Dave feels the brush of Joe's knuckles over his nipple. "Quit it," he says. His tongue feels suddenly dry in his mouth, like he's been chewing moth balls, and Dave swallows thickly, pushing himself back, off Sophia and towards the wall. His heart is hammering in the middle of his chest and he's pretty sure he's going to throw up. "Get undressed," Sophia says to Joe - like Dave's not lying next to her having a fucking heart attack. "I want to suck you."
Her voice is low and gravely and Joe's laughing and kicking his way out of his pants. The jeans land across the room on the floor and Joe pitches forward onto the twin mattress. The whole thing buckles and bounces under his weight and Dave flinches when Joe's bare foot skids down the length of his leg.
Joe's fucking her.
Dave can see the wet flash of Joe's cock moving in and out of her while he jerks himself off with a stubborn, angry glare. He tells himself it's just like watching porn: just like watching porn, just like watching -
Only 'just porn' doesn't get up and say things like, "Baby, I gotta piss."
Sophia swats at Joe's naked ass when he stands up and stumbles over towards the bathroom. When Joe comes back she darts off the bed. "My turn," she says, whirling into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
Joe drops down onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, drawing his knee up to his chest and hooking his elbow around it. He looks buzzed and totally relaxed and Dave's pretty sure he's never hated him more in his entire life.
Dave lets his eyes side part-way closed. His foot is jerking restlessly against Joe's leg and he can still see the hard jut of his cock from the corner of his eye so he twists his head a little further to the right and traces loose fingered spirals over his skin to distract himself.
Neither of them says anything and they can both hear the water being run behind the bathroom door. It feels like she's taking forever and really all Dave wants to do right now is leave his ambiguous sexuality behind and to go home. This was such a sucky idea. He lets his eyes slide all the way closed and when Joe's fingers curl over his toes a second later, warm and loose, Dave snaps them open. He scowls, jerking his foot backwards and Joe cuts him off, "Dude, we've been best friends since we were eleven, can't you handle this?"
"Can't I handle this?" Dave gapes at him as though Joe is suddenly talking in some foreign language; the language of total and utter gayness which is beyond Dave's heterosexual ability to comprehend.
Duh, no? Yes? Fuck off?
His mouth is hanging open but there's nothing coming out because this is Joe, after all; Joe who sees through all Dave's bullshit even if he doesn't always call him on it.
When the bathroom door opens again they both look up. Sophia smiles and says, "Come on, Joe, I want you to fuck me while I suck him off," and Dave tries sorting himself upright against the headboard. The problem is he's drunker than he'd realized and grumpy now too so he shifts around slow and sluggish. The bed moves and rocks like a boat and Dave feels seasick until her mouth closes over him, hot and wet, and Dave's eyes roll closed.
"Any chance I could get you two to kiss?" Sophia asks. She's nuzzling the side of Dave's cock, her tongue curling lightly over the head. Dave makes a strained, breathless noise and lets out an uncomfortable laugh, whispering, "No fucking way."
He's angry now, frustrated because deep down he wants to say yes. When he grips the back of her head, harder than is strictly necessary, he shoves her down on his cock. Sophia makes a whining noise high in the back of her throat, one that Dave can feel all the way down the length of his spine, as Joe slams into her, hard from behind. They slip forward, knees bumping and arms fumbling for balance, and Joe's hand lands on Dave's hip, pinning him down.
Joe looks down at him, over Sophia's shoulder, and thumbs the patch of Dave's skin under his hand. It's a soft, gentle gesture and Dave can feel the tiny calluses on Joe's thumb stirring up goosebumps on his skin. His tongue darts out over the bottom swell of his lip before he screws his eyes shut. "Watch where your fucking hands are going," Dave grouses.
Joe laughs, low and a little mean, and then he leans forward. He nuzzles his face into Sophia's neck while he humps her from behind then leans over her to lick a long, deliberate strip of skin covering Dave's lower ribs.
Dave comes in her mouth after that in four short, salty bursts. His semen leaks out past the corner of her lips and Dave turns his head away so he doesn't have to see Joe's tongue clean her chin before he kisses her. Joe's hand is still curled tightly around his hip and Dave grumbles, "Dude, stop touching me."
They shuffle upwards then and Dave lets Sophia take his hand. When she does she guides it between her legs, pressing his fingers over the slick nub of her clit, holding him there. "Some of us aren't done yet," she says, rocking against him. For a second he tries to jerk his hand free but she's got him by the wrist and Joe's weight behind her is pinning him down.
He can feel the motion of Joe fucking her, his cock pulling out and then sliding back in with a wet, sticky-sounding slap. He looks at Joe's face, at his slack mouth and the way his eyes look foggy and glazed over and then he takes a ragged breath and stretches his hand lower; his finger's skimming towards where they're joined. When Dave grips his fingers over Joe's cock he can feel the shock of it register on his face.
Sophia gasps as Dave hooks his fingers into her, his knuckles bracketing the sides of Joe's cock. Joe comes staring at Dave with wide shell-shocked eyes. Dave can feel him pulsing under his fingertips and looks away.
Afterwards they pull the mattress off the bed and dump all the bedding onto the floor. Sophia falls asleep between them with her arms flung over Joe's chest. Her hair looks dark against the Joe's milky white chest and her mouth has fallen open over his nipple. For a soft moment Dave lets himself want to reach out and touch.
"I've never kissed you first," Joe says quietly. Dave's eyes jerk up and his mouth automatically opens to argue. "No. Don't. It's true, you know that." Joe says. He smiles at Dave then: it's the same soft, forlorn smile that Joe reserves for when it's late at night or just the two of them; it's sad and mostly full of something close to love. Dave manages to hold himself still when Joe reaches over and threads his fingers easily through his hair and scratches.
He pats him softly, twice, and then dozes off to sleep.
Dave lies awake for hours afterwards listening to Joe's quiet whistle and Sophia's easy breathing. In the morning he's the first one awake and he spends at least a half an hour shaking on the bathroom floor before he twists his fingers down his throat and heaves into the toilet bowl. His vomit circles around in loose brown chunks and the smell of it makes him heave and gag until his stomach aches and his nose clogs with snot. After that he sinks back onto the floor and presses his back against the vanity, holding his head in his hands and fighting to keep his sobs silent.
He can hear them having sex again in the next room and he pushes himself further upright against the vanity. There is a drawer handle pressing sharply into his shoulder blade and Dave shoves back against it, hard, so that the tears dry up and everything goes numb.
When they leave, Dave politely kisses Sophia's cheek goodbye and as they cut across the lawn Joe slings his arm casually over the back of Dave's shoulders. Dave's stomach threatens to heave again and he jerks away from him, jogging ahead. "Dude. Seriously. Stop fucking touching me!" he shouts.
*
Dave ignores the voicemails on his machine and goes to his classes with his head down. He arrives at practice late and leaves early. It's not a perfect system though and he collides with Sophia in the quad one afternoon after class. She's wearing jeans and a black turtleneck. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Dave finds himself nodding hello. "I've got class," he says. He doesn't.
"I can walk you." Sophia falls into step beside him and Dave concentrates on taking steps that are measured, steps that are not running. Dave clears his throat but then settles back into silence when it dawns on him that he has no idea what he's supposed to say here.
"Look -"
"No." Dave cuts her off firmly. "I was drunk okay. I don't really remember anything."
Sophia stalls beside him and Dave watches the way her eyes shift from silver into a deeper shade of gray. She really is a pretty girl and Joe probably makes her laugh. Dave can picture her with her head thrown back, her throat exposed and vulnerable. She's probably the kind of girl Joe deserves; she's probably the kind of girl Dave's supposed to want. She opens her mouth to speak. Dave shakes his head roughly.
"I don't remember." He doesn’t leave any room for argument and Sophia tosses her head. She reminds him of a colt.
"Well, I hope you remember he's supposed to be your best friend." She stalks off after that and Dave finds himself at the gym lifting weights until his muscles scream. The next morning he wakes up late to the sun cutting a milky yellow stripe of light across the carpet. He has to run the entire three blocks to the Starbucks on Davis where he works part-time, nights and weekends. He’s still five minutes late when he punches in.
Joe’s waiting outside after his shift, his VW Rabbit pulled up beside the dumpster out back, idling thick black clouds of exhaust. When Dave steps out the back door he looks up. Overhead the sky is dark and overcast, the air pregnant with another spring rain. It takes him a few seconds to overcome his indecision. When he does he lurches forward, pulls the passenger door open with a jerk, and slides in without talking.
They ride like that, sullen and silent, while the radio snaps in the space in between them. Joe doesn’t have a CD player in his car and so they listen to some local radio jock talk about the Bulls. It’s all bullshit, Dave figures, while he stares out the window. The guy on the radio doesn’t have a fucking clue and Dave bites back a sigh and tugs against the material of his jeans.
Dave’s apartment is a squat red brick building, a six-plex really, with a cracked front door. The foyer is tiled in shades of oyster grey and there are supermarket flyers scattered on the floor next to the recycling box. There’s a glove pinned to the bulletin board with a thumb tack, along with a handwritten note about a weight bench for sale. Last week Dave pulled off a tab where someone wrote the phone number; he still hasn't called.
The rest of the thumb tacks are stuck in a row, gapping like loose teeth.
When Joe pulls into the lot Dave shifts in his seat. He’s staring ahead at the glass door, at the gold script that’s so faded and chipped it’s illegible. Joe shuts the car off, pushing it into park even though Dave hasn’t said, "Hey man, why don’t you come up."
For a second they just sit listening to the engine tick and pop as it cools and when Dave pops the latch on the door, Joe follows suit.
It’s ten steps to the front door, six steps up, and twelve to Dave’s door. Dave counts them off as they walk and swallows down the bile coating the back of his throat. Inside he throws his jacket over the couch and drops his keys onto the half wall that divides the kitchen from everything else. "I’m gonna shower," he says. He’s already halfway out of the living room when Joe says, "Yeah, man. Sure - whatever."
Joe is drinking a beer on the couch when Dave comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later. He walks into the kitchen and picks the phone up from the counter to order a pizza from the place around the corner. His t-shirt is sticking damply to his skin, his hair is still dripping down the back of his neck and when he opens the fridge for a beer Joe clears his throat and says, "I already got you one."
Dave lets the door swing shut then slumps down on the couch, cracking open the beer that Joe's holding out. The can hisses and Dave pushes his thumb through the condensation after he’s taken a long pull. He's staring hard at the logo when Joe says, "Are we gonna be cool?"
"You’re sitting on my fucking couch, aren’t you?"
Joe smiles then leans forward, grabbing the Playstation controller off the floor at his foot. He nudges the other controller towards Dave with the toe of his sneaker. "All right. Cool."
Dave wishes it were that easy.
*
"It’s a four hour drive to North Arlington, round trip," Joe says. It's December now and they've found their way back to this place that mostly feels normal. "C’mon. Don’t be a pussy."
"I’m not. Fuck. I fucking told you already. I probably have to work."
Dave works almost every Saturday and it’s hard to get time off in December. Even if he could, he can’t afford it. Dave thinks about what he hates more - constantly being broke or standing behind the cash register ringing up lattes and caramel macchiatos for smiling, fat, middle-aged soccer moms with Christmas lists.
It’s not a tough decision. Dave points his finger at Joe. "Your fucking car doesn’t have any heat."
Joe stares at him, then smiles, and Dave gives in. "All right. Whatever, I’ll go. But I’m not putting in for gas and you, motherfucker, have to buy my beer. I’m taking this trip with you at a financial loss"
Joe laughs. "Yeah, I’ll pay your motherfuckin’ minimum wage for the day, bitch."
On the second Saturday in December they drive north to some bar off the turnpike called Hartley’s; Joe’s cousin, Chris, plays in the band that’s headlining.
Before they leave town they stop at the Deptford Mall and Joe buys a pair of mittens from Eddie Bauer. They’re big, black, lobster-sized snowmobile mitts and Joe keeps clapping them together. They make a thick sound in Joe’s tiny car and Dave shakes his head at the way Joe grins.
Joe is driving and its Dave’s job to scrape off the frost that keeps building up on the inside of the windows. When Dave glances over he laughs. "This is so stupid," Joe says. Dave is leaning over the console between them scraping another large circle that Joe has to squat down to see through.
"Scraping your fucking windows is about the only thing my MasterCard is good for right now."
Dave’s fingers are red from the cold and he stuffs them back under his thighs. He’s sitting with his knees bunched up against his chest, wrapped in a quilt that he’d pulled up from the back seat. It probably has jizz on it, Dave thinks. They’re only on the road for fifteen minutes before he starts wiping his nose on a corner of it.
"Oh, no. That’s fucking gross," Joe whines. "Do not wipe your fucking nose on my blanket."
"Too bad. It’s not my fault your shit box doesn’t have a heater." Dave kicks at the dashboard to prove his point.
"It’s better than your shit box. Oh that’s right. You have don’t have a shit box. You have a ten speed. With a little white basket." Dave rabbit punches Joe’s shoulder three times, fast. Joe’s laugh comes out like a high-pitched squawk as he tries dodging Dave's fist. He ducks as much as he can behind the steering wheel of the car when he adds, in a breathless squeak, "And a bell."
Dave shakes his head. He says, "You are such a fucking goddamn cunt. You know that? A fucking goddamn cunt." but he's laughing.
They get turned around once they get off the turnpike and end up making a U-turn so they can circle back. At the doors Dave looks away while Joe hands over the ten dollar cover charge for them both. Once they’re inside, Dave looks around. It’s a mid-sized bar and Joe tugs his elbow. Dave turns his head and Joe ducks and presses his mouth tight to the shell of Dave’s ear.
"Let’s get a beer and find Chris," Joe shouts. Dave nods.
There’s a band already onstage. They’re not great but they’re not bad either. Dave drums his fingers against the bar while they wait for their drinks. They stand though some band called Multi Purpose Solution and another one called Red Rover. Dave doesn’t like either one and after his sixth or seventh beer he elbows Joe and points across the room towards the bathroom. Joe nods and Dave slips off.
The bathroom is small and shitty and the bulb overhead is bare. It makes the shadows look long and Dave blinks at the wall of the urinal while he pisses. Behind him the bathroom door thunks open and two boys walk in together. Dave tucks himself back in his pants and turns towards the sink. He can see them, heads bent together like a couple of fags, while he washes his hands before he walks out.
At the bar Joe is talking to a blond. She's wearing a tight t-shirt that has RUTGERS written across the chest in large red letters. Dave nods at them and orders another drink. When he turns around again Joe is bent forward kissing her. Dave's stomach does a quick, possessive lurch and he stares at the way Joe's mouth opens against hers. The flash of Joe's tongue looks wet and pink. It makes Dave think of the tiny freckle he spotted when Joe was bent next him, kissing Sophia.
Dave turns back to the stage, ignoring them. The bands have changed again and the dark-haired kid from the bathroom is there with a guitar strapped over his shoulder. They're the last set before Chris goes onstage and Dave watches him writhe around, mouth spitting into the microphone head. He's short, his face still chubby with baby fat. Dave finds himself embarrassingly hard.
*
It's past three am when they get back to Dave's apartment. "We're here," Joe says, pulling his car into a visitor’s spot. The parking brake squeaks loudly and Dave jolts at the noise in his sleep. "Wake up." Dave lifts his head and looks around in a daze. He's still got his hands balled up under his armpits and he's shivering.
"Your lips are blue," Joe says to him quietly and Dave nods. He watches dumbly as Joe leans over the console between them and unlatches his seatbelt. Joe's breath fogs in front of his mouth and Dave watches it, blurry-eyed. "C'mon, man." Joe claps his shoulder lightly, "Let's get you inside."
Dave nods and fumbles with the handle of the door. His fingers are stiff with cold.
"Where the hell is your couch?" Joe asks a minute later when Dave unlocks the door to his apartment.
Dave has already stepped out of his shoes and he tosses his jacket onto the floor inside the door where the couch would have been. "I thought I told you. Steve moved in with his girlfriend last week. It was his." Dave yawns and waves his arm around vaguely. They both stare tiredly at the empty space against the living room wall. There are four divots in the carpeting where the couch used to be.
"I'm not sleeping on the floor." Joe says after a few seconds. Dave shrugs. He's already sleepwalking through the living room towards the bedroom. "Sleep with me then, I don't give a fuck."
"Ooooh," Joe coos. "A slumber party."
Dave snorts out loud. In his room he unzips his jeans and tosses them at the foot of the bed. Joe's in the bathroom and Dave can hear him pissing into the toilet with the door open. There is a thin film of yellow light bleeding into the bedroom from the hallway until Joe snaps it off and then fumbles his way towards the bed. Joe stumbles into the corner of the dresser and then bounces back abruptly. Dave snickers in the dark while Joe curses about his toe.
After that he yawns, a long baritone sound, then balls the pillow under his head before rolling onto his side and crossing his arms over his chest. When the bed finally dips under Joe's weight Dave's skin prickles. There's a draft of cool air when Joe pulls back the covers. Dave can feel the shift and pull of the blanket against his bare legs while Joe flips around trying to get comfortable. His stomach turns sharply when Joe's foot brushes, warm and rough, over his calf.
Dave jerks at the contact and thinks about Joe's weight bearing down on him with Sophia trapped between them. His cock goes stiff. "Sorry," Joe mumbles. He pulls his foot away and Dave rolls forward, following it. The kiss is messy and Joe pulls back under it. Their lips make a graphic wet noise when they break apart. "Sorry," Dave mutters. "M'drunk. Didn't mean to do that."
"You're not that drunk," Joe whispers back.
"Yeah, I am," Dave argues. "M'very drunk."
"No," Joe says more firmly. Dave can feel Joe's hand wrapping around his forearm, near the bend of his elbow. Joe's thumb strokes over the thin skin there. "No, I don't think you are."
Dave freezes. By now his eyes have adjusted to the dark and he can see the outline of Joe's face hovering in front of him. Joe's eyes glint and then he's deliberately leaning in until their mouths are open and the air between them is brushing back and forth, warm and used. Dave can feel the claustrophobic tattoo of his heartbeat hammering against his chest. "C'mon," Joe whispers to him softly. He sounds like someone trying to gentle a horse and Dave can feel the urge to bolt like an electric current under his skin. "S'okay if you want to," Joe says. "It's cool."
Dave swallows dryly. He can smell the meady scent of beer when he presses forward, testing.
Joe's mouth stays slack under his and Dave runs his tongue against the underside of Joe's upper lip. Joe lies perfectly still under the assault, his fingers still warm on Dave's elbow. "Yeah," he breathes softly, slowly, against Dave's mouth during the break. "Yeah, you're not drunk are you?"
"No," Dave says hoarsely. Dave can feel the curve of Joe's smile against the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't think you were." Joe shifts slightly and waits until Dave brushes his mouth over him again. They trade soft-mouthed kisses back and forth in the dark, with Joe's fingers brushing smoothly over the back of Dave's triceps, until Dave starts humping his hips in a small purposeful movement against Joe's thigh.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Joe asks. His hand is hovering at Dave's hip and Dave can feel his fingers playing against the waistband of his boxers. Dave groans. It's a needy, bitten back sound that sounds rough around the edges. The answer, Dave thinks, should be obvious. He reaches down and takes Joe's hand, guiding it towards his dick.
Joe's palm feels rough and callused against him and Dave's cock jerks under it. "Stroke my balls too," Dave finally manages against Joe's throat. Joe chuckles against his temple and jerks him in long firm strokes that leave Dave gasping under him. Joe shifts again, drawing up on one arm to lean over Dave. Their mouths are hanging open and Dave is breathing roughly. His chest hitches painfully when Joe's finger reaches past his balls over the cleft of his ass. Dave shudders as Joe fingers him gently.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Joe asks quietly.
Dave lets out a hollow laugh. There's a deep ache in the backs of his shoulders where he holds his tension and his legs are trembling. The heat pooling in his balls spikes sharply. Dave licks his tongue over the swollen pads of his lips. He bites sharply at the skin at the base of Joe's throat and turns under him. The bite is going to leave a mark and Joe hisses.
"No," Joe mumbles. "I'm not going to just give it to you, Dave." Joe's mouth is covering the back of Dave's ear. It sounds raspy and wet when he says, "You have to ask for it this time." Dave groans again and turns his face into the pillow; a second after that he lifts his hips, pressing his ass pointedly into Joe's cock.
"No," Joe says gruffly jerking his hips back. "That's not enough. Not this time. You have to say you want it. Say it."
Dave's heartbeat stutters in the middle of his chest. His tongue feels thick and cottony in his mouth. He can feel the heat of Joe's chest pressed up against him. He flicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and clears his throat. Dave squeezes his eyes tight and shivers under the boil of nerves in his stomach. He flexes his fingers against the sheets and lets out a choked sob. "I want it."
"All right then," Joe says, softer now. He pets his hand down the length of Dave's side, "S'all right."
Joe mouths the back of his neck and Dave grinds his cock down into the mattress. "Do you have, like, lube or something?" he asks. Dave rolls to the side and fumbles in the nightstand next the bed. When he hands the tube to Joe, his fingers are shaking. Joe kisses him again, his lips still managing to smile against Dave's mouth. "It's okay, dude. It's just me." Dave nods and lets his eyes drift close.
Dave has spent, it seems, his whole life fighting against this - against wanting Joe in ways that always felt wrong. He takes another ragged draw of air and blows it out through his mouth. He can hear Joe uncapping the lube. He can feel the dip of the mattress again and then Joe's hair brushing against his skin when he leans over him.
"Can I suck your dick?" Joe asks. Dave takes an unsteady breath and nods his head as he rolls onto his back. He lifts his hand and lets his fingers rest against the top of Joe's head when Joe takes his dick in his mouth.
It's hot and wet - like any other blow job he's ever had - except that it's not. Not really because this time it's Joe between his legs, and Joe's fingers stroking over his ass. Dave gives in and lets his legs fall open a little further and Joe makes a soft noise that reverberates down to Dave's toes and back. Joe presses in with one finger. Dave drags in a sharp breath and holds it.
"Is that okay?" Joe wants to know.
Dave tilts his hips off the mattress and he strokes his thumb over the closed corner of Joe's eyelid. "Yeah," he breathes out, long and drawn out. "It's good."
He's done this much before: jerked off, cupped his balls with his hands and then fingered the pucker of his asshole. He's lubed up and pressed in with his fingers, working himself open and panting under disjointed fantasies that left him feeling red-faced and embarrassed after the glow faded and left him feeling cold.
Joe scoots further up onto his elbows. He's kneeling awkwardly over Dave, tongue pressing Dave's cock to the roof of his mouth while he torques his fingers apart, stretching him. Dave bears down on them, and moans around the white heat growing in the base of his stomach.
His legs are trembling, a tiny shake that Joe's got to be able to feel. Dave brushes his fingers through Joe's hair, letting the tips of them feel their way over the shell of Joe's ear then down to the hinge of his jaw. Dave can feel the subtle motion of Joe sucking him off against his thumb, Joe's lips and tongue and throat working against him. It's almost enough to make him come.
"I'm, I'm. Joe. I'm really close." Dave whispers. His voice sounds shocked and small, and he barely registers Joe pulling off and then kneeling in front of him. When Dave opens his eyes Joe is rolling a condom down onto his dick.
"How do you wanna do this? I mean -" Joe trails off.
"Have you?" Dave starts to ask.
Joe shakes his head abruptly. "N-no," he stammers. Dave smiles then. The unsteady waver in Joe's voice is oddly comforting.
When they were kids they'd spend long weekends at Joe's uncle's farm three hours outside of the city. In the barn there was a thick, scratchy rope tethered to a winch two and a half stories up. You had to climb a handmade ladder into the hayloft and then lean out, using a pull-hook, to drag the rope backwards into the mow. Dave had looked up at Joe's cousins cutting down from the loft and then letting go, mid-swing, to fall into a pocket of loose hay on the floor in a daze.
"The trick," Joe's cousin had told them with his arms crossed over his chest, "is all in when you let go. Too early and you'll miss the pile -" Dave turned away then and looked at the cement floor. He imagined hitting it with a slick-sounding watermelon rind crack. "Too late and you'll overshoot the hay and crash into the wall."
Joe and Dave both looked grimly at the bank of horse stalls lining the back wall. Most of them were empty except for one. In it was a dappled grey mare that tossed her head and kicked irritably at the stall with her hind foot.
"Chicken?" Joe's cousin wanted to know. His voice was low and he cocked his eyebrow, challenging.
"No," Dave said for them both. They scaled the ladder after that. At the top they edged closer to the lip of the loft. The spot of hay below looked a lot smaller now and all around them dust motes were floating lazily though dim shafts of light. Dave felt his nose itch and Joe's cousin leaned out deftly pulling the rope back and handing it to Dave.
"Dave, I dunno," Joe had said cautiously, still looking down. Dave could see Joe’s freckles standing out sharply against the nervous blanche of his face the shadows.
"I knew you guys were chicken." Joe's cousin sounded smug, watching them. Dave tightened his grip on the rope and swallowed past the lump growing in the back of his throat. Joe shifted uneasily next to him and craned his neck, looking downwards again.
"I'm not chicken," Joe countered. "I'm just not fucking stupid. And this is stupid, isn't it Dave? Dave? It's stupid, right?"
Dave had wanted to agree with Joe, who was already walking back to the ladder. "When do I let go?" he’d said instead, looking forward.
When Dave blinks Joe is staring down at him. His face looks soft in the dim light of Dave’s room. His tongue keeps darting nervously to the corner pocket of his lips. Dave shifts his head against the pillow slightly, restless. "I dunno. Like this, I guess."
Joe nods and gently strokes the back of his knuckles against the hard ridge of Dave's cock. Dave shivers under the attention and pulls his legs further up when Joe hunches forward, lining his dick up against Dave's asshole.
The stretch of Joe's dick in his ass feels hotter than Dave ever imagined and his eyelids flicker. "Is that okay?" Joe whispers against him. His voice sounds thin and his open mouth leaves a wet trail of saliva against Dave's chin. Dave lets go of a guttural sound that's been trapped in the middle of his chest since they started this nine years ago.
"Uh-huh."
*
Dave missed the bed of hay that day in the barn and broke his arm in the fall.
He can feel it on days like this, days when it’s damp and the sun is tucked far beneath the clouds like a lost sock in a deep drawer. It’s a dull, marrow-deep ache. He sometimes imagines the bone knit together - a thin, tea-stained fracture under muscles and tendons corded together.
He thinks about it while he runs and remembers the bottomless feeling of slicing through the air, the smell of hay and grain, the rough grit of the rope curled between his fingers.
He looks at the horizon. His footfalls are steady and even on the pavement under his feet, as sure and able as a heart beat. Like nothing’s changed. He runs his usual route through the park, past the empty basketball courts and the picnic tables stained dark grey with dew.
He runs, arms pumping loosely at his sides, chin up, face blank; he runs home to where Joe's VW is parked out front.
Letting go was terrifying. Letting go, Dave figures, always is.
________________________________________
A/N: Story idea from redfirecracker (some direct quotes from her LJ post). Thanks to tarteaucitron, sinsense for the beta’s. It’s nice to have people who help make you look SMRT on paper.