(no subject)
Keywords: rock songs, white sheets, Microsoft Word, dancing, the color purple
Yes, I've finally finished it! This is another one of my birthday presents to myself, dedicated to Alicia because if she hadn't cancelled on me last night, I'd never have gotten this done. ^.^;
Freddy was most definitely not drunk. He was as not drunk as it was possible to be after as many beers as he’d had all night. He liked to think that the reason he’d finally collapsed onto some complete stranger’s bed with no intention of getting up was not because he couldn’t walk in a straight line or remember where he was. It was simply because he felt like lying down and the bed was comfortable and he liked white sheets, damn it. They were pretty.
And, okay, maybe Freddy was drunk. A little. The world was spinning and he felt like he was going to fall over and though it knew it wasn’t possible logically speaking ("You’re lying down, Jones," he’d told himself in a voice so slurred even he didn’t know what he’d said.) he was still convinced he was about to topple off the bed and to the floor. It was like, he thought, dreaming that you were falling and then waking up with that sick consciousness-to-body slam only to find yourself laying on the floor staring up at your mattress. Only he had no intention of ending up on the floor and he was making sure he didn’t by hanging on for dear life to the pretty sheets with one hand.
So, even if Freddy was drunk and about to take a tumble even though there was no possible way he could, it was totally not because Zack was downstairs with his tongue down some chick’s throat. So totally not.
Oh shit, who was Freddy kidding? It was so totally because Zack was downstairs with his tongue down some chick’s throat. Freddy was man enough to admit to himself that while not gay exactly, he was definitely not the happy hetero he’d assumed he was, especially not where Zack was concerned. Still, lust he could handle. Freddy was of the opinion that decent rock songs couldn’t be written if you weren’t at least a little bent. There was, however, a big difference between subbing in for whatever team needed you for a one-night stand and actually falling in like with someone of the same sex.
The difference was that Freddy wouldn’t be drunk off his fucking ass hanging onto some stranger’s bed if it was just lust, and there wouldn’t be some kind of odd pain in his chest either, like, that kind you got when your favorite band of all time announced their farewell tour and you realized you were gonna miss it because your aunt’s funeral was the same day as the concert and you couldn’t possibly get out of that.
Damn Aunt Trudy and her untimely demise.
"Hey," a soft voice said, the door to the bedroom opening slightly.
Freddy’s entire world shifted and he shook with the effort it took not to fall off the bed.
"Shit, Zack!" he yelled. "You scared me."
Zack closed the door behind him and snorted and took a running dive onto the bed, making Freddy groan and tighten his grip even more on the sheets.
"Don’t," he whimpered. "I’m about to fall."
"Dude, you’re so not. You’re lying down in the middle of a king-sized bed."
Freddy frowned and cracked one eye open. Well . . . when he put it that way . . .
"What’re you doing up here alone, anyway?" Zack asked.
Freddy wasn’t sure what to say so he settled for an intelligent, "Um?" Zack laughed and shifted up onto his elbow, leaning over the blonde. His shaggy dark hair curtained his forehead and dark eyes and Freddy had the sudden urge to lean up and see what it was like under there. He was just drunk enough to do so, but his head felt too heavy to lift so he decided to bring Zack down to him instead.
It was slow going. Freddy managed to lift his hand up to Zack’s hip and he trailed it slow and sloppy up the angular line of the brunette’s body, finally finding his way over a sloping shoulder and to the column of his throat. He lightly fingered the knobs of Zack’s spine for a moment before anchoring his hand at the back of his head and pulling him down until that shaggy brown hair brushed Freddy’s own forehead.
Zack raised an eyebrow.
"Hey," he said slowly.
Freddy nodded gravely at him.
"Hey."
Zack stared down at him for several minutes before asking, "Just how shitfaced are you, Freddy?"
Freddy bit his lip and shrugged.
"Um, I think I was falling off the bed. How shitfaced is that?"
Zack considered it a moment before nodding once and starting a long, meandering monologue that Freddy couldn’t quite follow.
"I’ve been thinking," he started, and if Freddy’s reaction time had been quicker he’d have said something sharp and smartass-y . "I don’t know about some of the girls I’ve been seeing," he said. "Like, that girl just now. She was a shitty kisser. And in between her shitty kisses all she wanted to talk about was school. Apparently her Chem professor hates her, she sits next to a scary dyke in Music Appreciation, and Microsoft Word ate the best paper she’s ever written and instead of the ‘A’ she would’ve gotten, she got a ‘C’ instead."
Freddy nodded when Zack paused for breath, not that he was paying any attention to what his friend and like-interest was saying. He was more or less occupying himself by watching the movements of Zack’s lips, the way his tongue moved inside of his mouth.
"You know how your lips turn the color purple whenever you eat one of those gross grape Jolly Ranchers?" Freddy murmured, still mesmerized by Zack’s mouth.
"Yeah?"
Freddy frowned and tried to remember where he’d been going with that thought.
"Grape Jolly Ranchers taste like shit," he said finally. "But your lips are pretty when they’re purple."
Zack swallowed and Freddy shifted his attention to the bobbing of Zack’s Adam’s Apple. It was quite captivating.
"About that," Zack muttered. "Freddy, are you aware that sometimes you look at me like you want to fuck me?"
Freddy shrugged languidly and considered licking Zack’s throat because it looked so creamy and . . .
"And sometimes you look at me like you like me ."
"What?!" Freddy cried, tearing his eyes away from Zack’s skin and fixing them on his friend’s own.
Zack blinked.
"Well you do!" he said. "And, I mean, we both know you’re drunk enough to admit to it."
Freddy opened his mouth to lie. The words ‘you’re totally right’ came out instead. Zack nodded slowly.
"Are you gonna remember any of this in the morning?" he asked, his voice shades deeper than it had been moments ago.
Freddy frowned and shrugged.
"I dunno. Probably not."
Zack sighed.
"Okay then," he murmured. "So I’ll just say this and hope you don’t remember it tomorrow. Girls don’t really do it for me anymore, man. I mean, I still like them. But I want to fuck you. I like you."
Freddy hoped that he did remember this in the morning, but actually being in the moment felt surreal and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t pass this off as some kind of drunken hallucination. There was no way for him to even tell if this was really happening, but he didn’t care. He increased the pressure on the back of Zack’s head and pulled him so close their lips were almost touching.
"Guess that works out well for me, doesn’t it?"
Zack’s answer was lost in the kiss that Freddy pressed to his lips. It was soft and both of them had chapped lips and Freddy probably needed a mint and when he touched the tip of his tongue to Zack’s bottom lip he tasted girly lip-gloss from the brunette’s slut of the night. It wasn’t the best kiss Freddy had ever imagined but it was fucking perfect.
Because beneath the lip-gloss Zack was kissing him back and Zack’s tongue swirled in Freddy’s mouth with no signs of retreating. The brunette rolled over and onto Freddy, their tongues dancing slow and lazy. The still air of the room was filled with the wet smacks and sighs of a proper kiss, and when Zack ground his erection into Freddy’s, groans and whimpers joined in the sexually charged symphony.
~*~
Freddy woke up in a bed that wasn’t his with an ADHD six-year-old tap dancing on every sensitive surface of his brain. He frowned down at the fact that he was half-naked and covered in a dark blue duvet because he most definitely remembered pretty white sheets and not dark blue duvets. He tried to figure out who he knew with a dark blue duvet and the only answer he could come up with was . . .
"Hey," a soft voice said from the doorway.
Freddy’s entire world shifted and he shook with the effort it took not to fall off the bed.
"Um . . ." He trailed off and sat up, clutching his head with one hand and twisting the blanket in his other one.
"You got really drunk last night and I didn’t, so I drove you here and let you sleep it off in my bed," Zack said quickly. Way too quickly.
Freddy shook his head.
"No. I mean yeah, but no. I mean . . . shit. We didn’t fuck, did we? I wasn’t that drunk, was I?"
Zack, who was looking incredibly hot and vulnerable dripping wet from a shower, a towel wrapped around his slim hips, bit his lip and shook his head.
"No. You weren’t that drunk," he said softly.
Freddy took in Zack’s dejected look and grinned at him.
"Good," he said, still massaging his left temple. "It’s so much better when you’re sober, anyway."
There was a beat of silence.
"At least brush your teeth first," Zack said, pushing his wet hair off of his forehead and smiling.
w00tiful's keywords: castles in the sky, envious, pure, sought after, glorious