50ficlets fic: The Darkest Hours
Title: The Darkest Hours
Author: gmth
Claim: Drake/Josh
Prompt: Table five, #10: Light & Dark
Fandom: Drake & Josh
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 999
Summary: Josh isn't sure he likes what goes on in the dark.
Warning: Slashy stepbrothers. Crossposted to drakexjosh.
"Turn off the light."
Josh turns the page without saying a word.
With a sigh, Drake rolls over onto his back. "Josh."
"No."
"Come on!"
"No, all right? I'm trying to study."
Drake punches his pillow and drops his head into the middle of it with an annoyed grunt that sounds awfully close to "Jerk."
"I heard that."
"Good."
Josh turns another page and stares at a photo of President Kennedy without really seeing it. He knows the real reason Drake wants him to turn out the light. It's not because it's keeping him awake; Drake can sleep through anything. Josh has lost count of how many times he's come into their room and found Drake asleep with the TV blaring or a CD playing at top volume. He sleeps through thunderstorms that could awaken the dead. On summer mornings their room is flooded with light the moment the sun comes up, but Drake rarely tumbles out of bed before noon. Comparing Josh's sixty-watt bulb to all that is like comparing a spring breeze to a hurricane. Drake isn't complaining because the light is on.
He's complaining because the light isn't off.
This seems like a subtle difference, Josh thinks, turning the page again and glancing absently at the pictures of Dealey Plaza, but in reality the difference is huge. Because stuff happens in their room when the light is off, stuff that never happens when it's on. Stuff they never talk about.
Heat. And friction. Urgent kisses. Bare skin prickling with sweat. Soft gasps echoing in Josh's ears like thunder. Fingers clenching, muscles quivering, lips tracing desperate patterns on the column of his throat.
Drake whispering his name.
It doesn't happen every night. Drake only slips into Josh's bed when the room is inky black, without even a trace of moonlight. He's never seen Drake's face during those times. He has no idea if Drake kisses him with his eyes open or closed, no way of knowing if Drake smiles or makes faces or bites his lip when he comes. There are parts of Drake he's touched but never seen, places he's stroked and licked and teased by instinct alone. It makes him crazy that he can't see Drake's face or catch a glimpse of the warm skin shivering beneath his fingers, so crazy he sometimes has to struggle with himself not to turn on the light. Something tells him the night he gives in to that impulse is the last night he and Drake will ever have together.
In the cold light of mornings after, Josh tells himself that might not be such a bad thing. He knows it's got to stop. It's not right. They're brothers, or nearly so. He loves Drake, but not that way. Not really. Not that he'd admit aloud, anyway. The way Drake touches him makes Josh feel incredible, the best he's ever felt in his life, but the things they do together also make him feel terrible. Guilty. Afraid. And somehow so very... empty. Just thinking about it now makes his stomach tighten with anxiety, but when he rolls over to drop his book on the floor he also realizes he's hard as a fucking rock.
His fingers tremble as he switches off the light.
The darkness is almost a tangible thing as it presses in around him. Tonight's the night he's going to turn Drake away. He waits for the soft swish of Drake throwing back his bedspread, the muted thunk of his bare feet on the metal rungs of the ladder, and thinks enough is enough. He's sure Drake will thank him for it one day. After all, he must be as conflicted about it as Josh is. He changes the subject faster than a rabbit hopped up on speed whenever Josh even hints about it.
He waits, his heart thumping rapidly against his ribs. This is going to be one of the toughest things he's ever done. He takes a deep breath and thinks about what he's going to say. A shift in position sends a spike of pleasure through his belly as his erection rubs against his pajama bottoms, and his breath gets caught in his throat.
The silence is deafening. Josh lets the breath go in a shaky stream and clenches his fingers in the sheets. He feels like he's trying to anchor himself there, as though if he lets go he might float away like some weird Josh-shaped balloon, but at the same time he feels like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
Any moment now.
There's still no movement from Drake's side of the room, and little by little Josh relinquishes his hold on the bedsheets. His stomach is still tight, but the tension has changed from anticipatory dread to something he can't immediately identify. It feels sort of like it did when he realized Drake had thrown a surprise party for Tabitha's birthday and forgotten about his. Confusion. Disappointment.
Hurt.
He sits up quietly and looks in Drake's direction. The shadows are too thick to make out anything but a vague outline where Drake's bed should be. Josh bows his head and closes his eyes. It shouldn't be this hard. It should be easy to resist. It should be cut and dried, open and shut, a big fat no with an exclamation point behind it. But nothing is easy where Drake is concerned. It never has been.
Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Josh tosses the bedspread aside. His legs feel like jelly as he silently crosses the room. He hears Drake scooting over in bed, making room for him as he approaches.
"I knew you'd come," Drake says, sounding far too smug as far as Josh is concerned. He cuts off Drake's gloating with a hungry kiss, determined to turn defeat into victory. It feels like Drake's lips are twisted into a smirk beneath his, and for once, Josh is thankful he can't see the expression on Drake's face.
Author: gmth
Claim: Drake/Josh
Prompt: Table five, #10: Light & Dark
Fandom: Drake & Josh
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 999
Summary: Josh isn't sure he likes what goes on in the dark.
Warning: Slashy stepbrothers. Crossposted to drakexjosh.
"Turn off the light."
Josh turns the page without saying a word.
With a sigh, Drake rolls over onto his back. "Josh."
"No."
"Come on!"
"No, all right? I'm trying to study."
Drake punches his pillow and drops his head into the middle of it with an annoyed grunt that sounds awfully close to "Jerk."
"I heard that."
"Good."
Josh turns another page and stares at a photo of President Kennedy without really seeing it. He knows the real reason Drake wants him to turn out the light. It's not because it's keeping him awake; Drake can sleep through anything. Josh has lost count of how many times he's come into their room and found Drake asleep with the TV blaring or a CD playing at top volume. He sleeps through thunderstorms that could awaken the dead. On summer mornings their room is flooded with light the moment the sun comes up, but Drake rarely tumbles out of bed before noon. Comparing Josh's sixty-watt bulb to all that is like comparing a spring breeze to a hurricane. Drake isn't complaining because the light is on.
He's complaining because the light isn't off.
This seems like a subtle difference, Josh thinks, turning the page again and glancing absently at the pictures of Dealey Plaza, but in reality the difference is huge. Because stuff happens in their room when the light is off, stuff that never happens when it's on. Stuff they never talk about.
Heat. And friction. Urgent kisses. Bare skin prickling with sweat. Soft gasps echoing in Josh's ears like thunder. Fingers clenching, muscles quivering, lips tracing desperate patterns on the column of his throat.
Drake whispering his name.
It doesn't happen every night. Drake only slips into Josh's bed when the room is inky black, without even a trace of moonlight. He's never seen Drake's face during those times. He has no idea if Drake kisses him with his eyes open or closed, no way of knowing if Drake smiles or makes faces or bites his lip when he comes. There are parts of Drake he's touched but never seen, places he's stroked and licked and teased by instinct alone. It makes him crazy that he can't see Drake's face or catch a glimpse of the warm skin shivering beneath his fingers, so crazy he sometimes has to struggle with himself not to turn on the light. Something tells him the night he gives in to that impulse is the last night he and Drake will ever have together.
In the cold light of mornings after, Josh tells himself that might not be such a bad thing. He knows it's got to stop. It's not right. They're brothers, or nearly so. He loves Drake, but not that way. Not really. Not that he'd admit aloud, anyway. The way Drake touches him makes Josh feel incredible, the best he's ever felt in his life, but the things they do together also make him feel terrible. Guilty. Afraid. And somehow so very... empty. Just thinking about it now makes his stomach tighten with anxiety, but when he rolls over to drop his book on the floor he also realizes he's hard as a fucking rock.
His fingers tremble as he switches off the light.
The darkness is almost a tangible thing as it presses in around him. Tonight's the night he's going to turn Drake away. He waits for the soft swish of Drake throwing back his bedspread, the muted thunk of his bare feet on the metal rungs of the ladder, and thinks enough is enough. He's sure Drake will thank him for it one day. After all, he must be as conflicted about it as Josh is. He changes the subject faster than a rabbit hopped up on speed whenever Josh even hints about it.
He waits, his heart thumping rapidly against his ribs. This is going to be one of the toughest things he's ever done. He takes a deep breath and thinks about what he's going to say. A shift in position sends a spike of pleasure through his belly as his erection rubs against his pajama bottoms, and his breath gets caught in his throat.
The silence is deafening. Josh lets the breath go in a shaky stream and clenches his fingers in the sheets. He feels like he's trying to anchor himself there, as though if he lets go he might float away like some weird Josh-shaped balloon, but at the same time he feels like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
Any moment now.
There's still no movement from Drake's side of the room, and little by little Josh relinquishes his hold on the bedsheets. His stomach is still tight, but the tension has changed from anticipatory dread to something he can't immediately identify. It feels sort of like it did when he realized Drake had thrown a surprise party for Tabitha's birthday and forgotten about his. Confusion. Disappointment.
Hurt.
He sits up quietly and looks in Drake's direction. The shadows are too thick to make out anything but a vague outline where Drake's bed should be. Josh bows his head and closes his eyes. It shouldn't be this hard. It should be easy to resist. It should be cut and dried, open and shut, a big fat no with an exclamation point behind it. But nothing is easy where Drake is concerned. It never has been.
Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Josh tosses the bedspread aside. His legs feel like jelly as he silently crosses the room. He hears Drake scooting over in bed, making room for him as he approaches.
"I knew you'd come," Drake says, sounding far too smug as far as Josh is concerned. He cuts off Drake's gloating with a hungry kiss, determined to turn defeat into victory. It feels like Drake's lips are twisted into a smirk beneath his, and for once, Josh is thankful he can't see the expression on Drake's face.