Fic: Good Things, part 2/2
Flight of the Conchords
Title: Good Things (2/2)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
With that, the band meeting was adjourned. They exited the building to discover, to Jemaine’s dismay and Bret’s delight, it had started raining. The two ran home, ducking under awnings and leaping over large puddles. Jemaine muttered grumpily that perhaps Mel and Doug should invest in a little “couple’s counseling.” Bret laughed and went on to wonder aloud if acid rain was the inspiration behind acid wash jeans.
“That’d be an awesome idea for a song,” Bret said thoughtfully.
“Nnn,” Jemaine agreed.
“Hey, do you remember when that seagull...”
Things seemed to have blown over. Jemaine kicked at some soggy leaves on the ground, relieved. In fact, he would have even said that things were back to normal. Except 5 minutes later, dripping wet, they both reached for the apartment door at the same time and Jemaine’s hand cupped Bret’s around the knob. Bret stiffened and looked back at Jemaine. Cue Jemaine’s flashback to last night.
Augh.
Cue Jemaine’s flashback-back to the present.
And now the two were changed into dry clothes, sitting on the couch watching TV. Or at least Jemaine was facing the television. He wasn’t paying attention at all (how could he?) but had eyes stubbornly glued to the screen, hoping Bret would go to bed soon. It felt like they had been sitting there for forever. Any day now, Bret. Come on. Bret always got sleepy before him. Jemaine glanced up surreptitiously at the clock from under his glasses. 4:17pm.
What, only? He crossed his arms in annoyance, jaw clicking.
Meanwhile Bret was perched on the couch, obstinately facing Jemaine. Jemaine cleared his throat uncomfortably for the 40th time and scowled when Bret didn’t get the message for the 40th time to turn away. The dead air was like a heavy blanket on his chest. Jemaine was used to causing awkward silences, not being stuck in the middle of one. Especially not with his best friend.
“Bret,” he said reluctantly, turning to his bearded companion.
“Yeah, man?” Bret said, surprised by the rift in the lull.
“Do you...want to have a sleep?” Jemaine tried.
“No, do you?”
“No...” Jemaine grumbled.
Well, it was worth a go. He rolled off the couch with a groan and headed towards the kitchen.
Bret got up and followed, his serious face on. If there was ever such a thing as a thinking cap, Bret had it on tight as a beanie.
“Hey, Jemaine, I was thinking...”
“That Murray’s been parting his hair to the other side these days?”
“I- ...wow, really?”
“I’m gonna make a sandwich. Want one?”
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. You know, I was thinking, ‘there might be something different about Murray today,’ but I thought it was something a bit more subtle, like his depression.” Bret had a pondering face on now, all seriousness brushed aside.
Yisssss. Evaded. Jemaine opened the fridge, fishing for lunch meat. Bret hung on the open door, peering down at Jemaine as he rummaged around.
“So what was that last night, man?”
Augh, never mind.
“Do we have any lettuce? Why don’t we have any lettuce?” Jemaine stuck his head deeper into the fridge, his dark hair brushing against the light bulb at the top shelf.
“Jemaine.”
Jemaine came back up with an open packet of ham. He looked at Bret for a moment, briefly, before shaking his head, “It was just something that happened, Bret.”
“Is that something... going to happen again, maybe?” said Bret nonchalantly, screwing his lips to the side innocently.
Jemaine took his time lining ingredients on the counter. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest. More thirsty than anything. He swallowed thickly. “No, because we’re best friends,” he said evenly, keeping his eyes downcast, before adding, “But mainly no because that would be gay.”
“Oh,” breathed Bret, finally closing the fridge door. Jemaine hadn’t noticed the cold air escaping until now. It was hot in here. Jemaine’s hands found solace at a rustling bread bag, but his heart was beating double time. He didn’t want to be having this conversation.
“But you did kiss me, though,” Bret finished, looking slightly smug about it.
“I didn’t!” Jemaine said hotly, a hand waving incredulously, “you kissed me!”
“You kissed me back!” Bret shot back, just as indignant, “It’s basically the same thing!”
“Aw, well, that’s not very fair, is it? What was I supposed to do? It was only polite.”
“What? Sometimes you don’t even high five me back! You didn’t have to kiss me, man. Why did you?”
“That’s...”
Jemaine leaned heavy against the counter with both palms, shifting himself as the gears turned. He had been asking himself the same question and hadn’t an answer for either of them. At least not one he wanted to give. The more he didn’t think about it-- if he didn’t focus on any one thought and just let them flit by-- the less real it seemed. His mind had been running this whole time in a blank loop. He couldn’t think, really--his trains of thought kept jumbling together in a feeble wreck of half-baked excuses and abandoned reasoning. All he could think about was the way Bret made him feel.
“You didn’t like it?”
Jemaine, whose anxious fingers had found its way back to the bread, almost dropped the bag. “What?”
Bret hesitated, wincing. “I mean....didn’t it feel good?”
“No, no, it felt good. I just...” Jemaine wavered, stealing a glance up at Bret’s face as he paused. Bret’s face seemed to light up, even if just a little. Jemaine’s palms were sweaty and he licked his lips. “I don’t know, Bret. This is weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
“It is weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
Jemaine put down the bread annoyed, looking crossly at Bret. “It is weird, Bret. It was an accident and it shouldn’t have happened.”
Bret looked hurt, his delicate mouth pressed into a firm line. His eyes were dark and locked solidly with Jemaine’s. Jemaine’s face softened, but he bit his lip to keep from taking it back. Instead, he turned to the food, screwing open the mustard jar.
“Well, I liked it. And... I-I like you, Jemaine,” Bret said in a quiet voice, low but audible.
“Geez, Bret...” Jemaine stopped with a knife in the jar. His heart was beating so loudly he was sure he misheard the sound of his world being turned upside down.
Bret couldn’t be serious. Did he even know what he had just said? Know what he was doing to Jemaine? Jemaine’s frozen mind was racing now. There was something both likable and frustrating about Bret’s naïveté (and Jemaine had more than a decade’s experience with this). But Bret had no idea what he was getting himself--getting them-- into. Things were fine the way they were, Bret had no right to take that simplicity away from him.
Though, despite it all... Jemaine could feel himself falter at Bret’s words. He didn’t want any of this...but why, why, why did he still want Bret... It was a strange aching that had sparked into life last night and it made him feel unsafe, even now.
And it was so wrong. So stupid and so wrong and so wrong and Jemaine hated himself right now for wanting to say those three stupid words back and wondering if Bret really meant what he said or if he was just being Bret. And then he hated himself for wondering at all when he knew he was just on the list of things Bret liked, next to jazzercise and Top Gun. But the longing was making his heart wrench tight in its cage.
Bret’s body seemed tense. Like a tightly wound jack-in-the-box, about to snap under the pressure or spring towards Jemaine with the torque. His eyes hadn’t left Jemaine’s and were steadily drawing something from somewhere deep inside him, like the moon to the tide.
A consuming combination of distress and hurt swelled up in Jemaine’s chest, pooling in his throat, clogging it. It was becoming difficult to keep Bret’s gaze and Jemaine forced himself to remember that good things didn’t happen to him often. Bret was his friend. He needed to let go; he was already drowning. He could feel a ripple of emotions catching at the corners of his mind but they were advent and numbing them was easier than naming them. His eyes drifted to the wall beyond Bret’s left shoulder and he released a shuddering breath. The tear in the wallpaper was comforting. Dimly, he could feel his heart still leaping but it was a vague giddiness and, besides, it was already being masked with much more pressing things like uncertainty and it was increasingly sobering.
Probably alarmed by the silence, Bret reached out for Jemaine’s hand and Jemaine’s mind snapped in two at the touch. Jemaine’s hand flew back and reached up at his temples, smearing some mustard there as he rubbed under his glasses. He had a headache. He looked at Bret and was met with the most pathetic look he had ever seen. Worse than when Murray told Bret to go fuck himself. Worse than when Jemaine fired Bret from the band.
“Jemaine?”
“We should go back to the store tomorrow, we need some lettuce.”
“Jemaine.”
“Oh, and milk.”
“Jemaine, are you mad at me?” Bret was starting to whine.
“I should probably make a list, not sure if I can remember all of--”
Bret pulled Jemaine toward him by the arm, so that Jemaine was facing him. “Jemaine!”
“What?” Jemaine said sharply, jerking his arm away again. He was suddenly angry. He could feel his face heating and sharp stinging behind his eyes. “What do you want to hear, Bret? What do you want me to say?”
“Just tell me if you feel the same way or not!”
Jemaine’s face darkened into a scowl, but no sound escaped his pursed lips. Bret looked at him, expectantly. Those doe eyes were Bret’s best features-- not because they were beautiful, but because they had the power to freeze you as if you were the one caught in the headlights. It was frightening to realize that Bret was asking for something impossible. He didn’t want to lose Bret but Jemaine had a sour taste on his tongue and felt like he was losing now. He remembered how it felt to lose Bret once already, to Coco, coming home to an empty house and a note. Heartache squeezed through the mental dam, and Jemaine was startled at how raw the old memory felt.
God, he was so past thinking. He was sure his mouth would betray him anyway, even if his thoughts got that far. But all his words were caught in his throat, blocked (safeguarded) by that upheaval of hurt feelings that lumped there. Bret’s gentle eyes were searching Jemaine’s and Jemaine’s lips parted and oh, he was in love with Bret. There was no way it was never going to be the same.
“I’m scared,” he mouthed. He was unsure if he had even said it.
As if drawn in with a magnet, Bret pushed himself against Jemaine’s body, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Jemaine’s eyes shot open and hands rose up automatically, pushing Bret away. “Bret, stop!” He found his voice.
Bret shoved Jemaine’s hands away and his lips found Jemaine’s once more.
Jemaine pushed Bret away again, this time more urgently. “Bret!” Jemaine sounded more panicked than upset.
Ignoring him, Bret came in again for another kiss. Jemaine’s arms felt weak and fell to his sides. It was a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. Nothing light and sweet, like the night before. Just solid contact. But their lips were melded together and it didn’t seem possible to break that connection.
---
Bret’s heart was pounding in his ears and he was breathing hard through his nose. He had always been sort of shy, but when the situation called for it, he could be a man of action. David Bowie had told him once to act in the right moment, to do something crazy. It had worked for him in the past, and this moment was as good as any.
Bret clung to Jemaine’s shirt, his lips pressed to his friends. This was daring enough. Already he was starting to become unsure. But he didn’t know what to do next. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. Neither man moved, neither closer or away. Growing increasingly doubtful, Bret took a step back and opened his eyes.
But Jemaine’s eyes were still closed. Man, this was just as frightening as last night. Bret could feel white-hot panic coursing through his veins and he swallowed hard. He was still trembling from the heated conversation. It was nervewracking to let years and years of denial and careful hiding just come out in the open. He felt better about finally being honest with Jemaine (he never kept things from him, really) but was also deeply afraid of the way Jemaine was reacting to everything. He was afraid that Jemaine was going to walk out on him.
“Jemaine?” Bret said, anxiously. He was mad, wasn’t he?
Jemaine’s eyes were screwed as tight as the balls of his fists. Bret was bewildered. To him, things were linear-- a confession of how he felt and a simple question of how Jemaine felt. But Jemaine seemed to be struggling with something and it was perplexing. What Jemaine had said tonight made Bret want to stop. Quit trying to talk about it, laugh it off, and just go back to how things were. Say he didn’t really mean what he had said, swallow the pain, and never bring it up again. But at the same time, Jemaine’s hesitation-- things Jemaine started to say but never finished-- made Bret want to press on. He had never seen Jemaine like this, and it was unsettling.
He felt like he was opening Pandora’s box, but he wanted to keep going.
“Jemaine, I was serious when I said-” Bret started, but Jemaine cut him off.
“You don’t have feelings for me, Bret. You’re just lonely and you’re confusing me along with you.”
Bret felt a jolt of anger at being written off so flippantly, “Jemaine, you have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”
His breath immediately caught in his throat. He hadn’t meant to let loose the “L” word. That probably wasn’t scary at all to hear. Fliiiiip...
Jemaine groaned and looked up. His eyes were red but dry.
It caught Bret off-guard. Bret hadn’t seen Jemaine cry since Sally broke his heart. And dry crying was always worse than real crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Jemaine dry cry. He saw Jemaine dry heaving after one beer too many in Austin after a bar gig. Much worse than actually throwing up. And he saw Jemaine dry humping his pillow once (though Bret just pretended he had been sleeping). But that was irrelevant. The look in Jemaine’s eyes shook Bret to the core.
“Just leave me alone, will you? I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Where?”
Jemaine shrugged past him.
“Hey! You forgot your sandwich!” Bret called after him.
Jemaine had already gone out the door.
“And your umbrella,” Bret sighed in the kitchen, alone. It was still raining outside.
He started putting things back into the refrigerator half-heartedly, feeling sullen and empty.
He gave up part way and sat down in a chair, Indian-style. He had gone too far. He knew he had, but he wanted to know, and wanting to keep pushing Jemaine until...until what?
“What do you want to hear, Bret?”
He felt sick with himself.
He put his head on the table and the wood was cool against his skin.
Maybe Jemaine was right. Bret wanted so badly to hear Jemaine say what he wanted to hear. Last night probably was just an accident and Bret was getting worked up over nothing. He tried hard not to let that thought sink in. He was hurting enough already and his head felt heavy with regret. This hadn’t gone the way Bret had thought it would at all. He thought there would be a mutual understanding and then the two would have a cup of tea and hold hands again, maybe, and have a great band practice if it wasn’t too late into the evening. Maybe Bret had been wrong about all this. Maybe he had been chasing after nothing this whole time. But he had been so sure...
Jemaine had said he was confused about how he felt, though. What did that mean?
With a groan of despair, Bret stopped himself from thinking about it. He had already gotten his hopes up once already.
God, if Jemaine really just wanted to be friends...Bret’s heart throbbed painfully. He really thought he would be OK with that.
---
“Holy shit, you’re wetter than that Lebanese girl I was banging the other night!”
“Hey, Dave.”
Jemaine wiped his glasses pointlessly on a wet shirt, dripping puddles onto the floor of Mohumbhai and Son.
“You alright, man?” Dave said, worry thinly veiled in mock anger, “You look like crap. Stop dripping around those comic books. Vintage shit. And Is that fucking mustard in your hair?”
Jemaine reached into his hair absently, removing half the condiment from his hair and rubbing the rest of it in deeper. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just talking a walk.”
Dave gave Jemaine a weird look. “Where’s Jemaine?”
Jemaine was confused for a moment before realization hit, “Oh, I-I’m Jemaine. Bret’s at home.”
“What the fuck? I never see you New England homos without each other. What a trip. Well, what can I help you with?”
Jemaine decided against correcting Dave (on both fronts). Instead, he paused to think of how he wanted to word this. “Hey Dave, how do you....know...how do you know if you like someone as a friend or more than a friend?”
Dave laughed, crossing his arms over a camo shirt. “What the hell? What are you, in third grade? If you want to bone her, then you know you won’t be happy as just friends. Do you want to pork this chick or what?”
The tips of Jemaine’s ears turned pink. “I -I don’t know. No?”
“Then you guys are definitely just--”
“Yes.”
“Wait, what?”
Jemaine was red now, “Yeah, I think I might...At least, I like it when they’ve kissed me.”
Somehow it was easier to talk about when Bret wasn’t Bret, but some mystery girl. And it was a lot easier to be honest with himself when he was pretending Bret wasn’t Bret. Great, he thought to himself bitterly. Pretending someone was someone else seemed to be the patented way for dealing with things that were utterly over his head.
Dave whistled through his teeth. “Holy shit! You guys already made it to 2nd base?! Hot damn, Jemaine, who’s the foxy lady?”
“Someone you don’t know,” Jemaine answered quickly, averting his gaze, “But I don’t want our friendship to end. Can you be both...friends? But also...you know...also...?”
“No fucking way, man. You choose one or the other, you can’t do both. You can’t have your cake and fuck it, too. Are you kidding me?”
Jemaine felt his heart sink to the floor, joining the puddle of rainwater he had collected over the last five minutes.
“Alright. Well thanks, Dave.”
“Hey dude, wait, my shift is ending right now. Let’s go get a drink. Does your lady have any lady friends?”
---
Jemaine stumbled into the apartment. He was sopping wet and couldn’t stop the smell of alcohol from following him home, no matter how fast he ran through the rain. It rolled off his breath and into the cold air. He had always thought drinking helped make you feel better. On tv and in the movies, exasperated people smoked a cigarette or had a drink of brandy in tense situations. Jemaine rarely drank, especially something stronger than beer. He didn’t know how many drinks he had had tonight but he felt ill. And he wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol, or if his stomach was tying itself in knots over coming home to Bret. He didn’t bother with the lights.
Jemaine moved to put his keys down on the table but missed, dropping them on the floor. Cursing under his breath he reached down to pick up the keys and hit his head on the table on his way back up.
“Ow!”
Bret stirred in his bed.
Jemaine rubbed his head hoping it wouldn’t hurt the next day. Or hoping he would catch amnesia. All or nothing because right now--in this moment-- all he could think about was Bret. He was cursed. Bret’s warm eyes, Bret’s face. Bret’s lips. Bret’s smile. He hadn’t seen one in a while.
Jemaine shook his head violently as if he could physically shake Bret out of his thoughts. His head throbbed with or without the effort. Jemaine sunk onto the couch, not wanting to go into the bedroom where Bret was. It was too much right now, and he wasn’t up for it. Jemaine groaned and put his head in his hands.
Ironically, his jumbling thoughts were now crystal clear, even though his vision wasn’t. He knew he loved Bret. That was enough. He could admit that to himself now. It was a weird thing to come to terms with, but at least that was something real and it was something he reasoned with inside himself and decided. Somewhere between a red-headed slut and a gin and tonic, he allowed himself to go there, and stay there.
But what about Bret? Bret had said he loved him. But that was the hard part. Bret was unreliable. He left Jemaine to die when they got mugged in that alleyway last winter...He quit the band whenever the going got tough...lost interest in his sign-holding career after a month... obsessed about learning karate for a whole week before giving up because the book was too long. Had Bret ever liked anything for more than a short period of time? Did Bret even know was love was? Or what a relationship meant? Jemaine struggled to think back to their uni days. He couldn’t think of a single reason to think Bret did.
Jemaine rolled his head in his hands in frustration. Relationship, he snorted to himself. That was assuming a lot. Bret probably didn’t even want that. Did Jemaine? Pffft, no...
It was so like Bret, to be looking for attention or affection but not ready to commit to anything more. Like when he easily dropped his relationship with Coco for Sally...or when he stole BrahBrah from Jemaine (whom Bret had sworn he was crazy about) and then never her called back again. It wasn’t that girls got bored with Bret after a few months...it was that Bret got bored of them.
Jemaine felt threatened by that thought but allowed it to linger in his head. And then he felt guilty for thinking bad thoughts about his friend. His chest felt heavy and he achingly knew that he could never have what he wanted. Not fully. Say they tried things out. Bret would get bored (or worse, be disappointed), and leave. Say they didn’t try things out. Jemaine didn’t know if he could go back to how things were.
He wanted Bret even now, knowing it would end their friendship. (Dave had confirmed this tonight). See, this is why denial is so important as a defense mechanism, Self. It was destructive, this knowledge. This realization and flow chart of possible outcomes made him feel helpless. He wanted to be with Bret. All day, not just most hours of the day, and listen to him talk about giraffes and curry. It wasn’t his fault that he wanted to hold Bret, when Bret fit just right against his body, anyway. Jemaine had always had a sweet tooth, so it wasn’t so strange that he wanted to drown in the scent of Bret, who must scrub himself raw with sugar and soap to smell like that. And those kisses that made his heart stop.
“Jemaine?”
Jemaine nearly jumped out of his skin. Bret was standing in the doorway.
“Jemaine, it’s really late man, where were you?”
Jemaine winced as Bret turned the light on. “I was hanging out with Dave.”
“Oh...”
Bret sat down next to Jemaine on the couch.
“You smell like Eugene,” Bret crinkled his nose.
“Thanks,” Jemaine chuckled, leaning back to rest his head on the cushion. He closed his eyes, feeling peaceful now that Bret was by his side.
“You ok, Jemaine?”
“I’m fine,” Jemaine mumbled, though he wasn’t.
“If you’re going to go to sleep, you should go to bed.”
Jemaine grunted and turned away.
“Jemaine.”
“What?”
“You should at least change.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Hey listen,” Bret started, fingering the hem of his pyjama shirt. “I’m sorry I was so weird earlier. I probably should have told you sooner, but it’s a bit of an awkward thing to tell your best mate, and I probably shouldn’t have actually-”
“I love you, too.” Jemaine heard the words leave his mouth and was half aghast, half relieved at the admission. His head was swimming, but he felt lighter.
Bret looked shocked.
“Yeah, I know,” Jemaine’s said quickly. His face was flushed. “Bret, I think I’ve loved you for a long time now. I guess I wasn’t sure. But I am sure now, I think. Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m serious, Bret. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and...”
“It’s not going to change, Jemaine. I’ve tried, but I think I’m stuck on you.”
Jemaine gave a sloppy grin. “I guess it’s not just the ladies who are after my sugalumps.”
“Gross, Jemaine.” Bret made a face.
Jemaine laughed.
“What do you think we should...um...do...about it then?” Bret asked. He looked small against the couch with his legs folded under him.
Jemaine’s face was strained and he struggled to remember why... “Well, It’s always bad for me, you know, with girls...”
“This is different, though.”
“I know, but...I still want to be your friend,” Jemaine finished lamely.
Bret gave him a weird look.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Jemaine clarified and licked his lips, scared. He could taste the alcohol in his mouth and he was scared.
“You can still be my friend. Why wouldn’t we be? And I won’t leave you,” Bret said firmly. “I won’t.”
Jemaine’s palms were prickling and he felt like he did on that Friday in the 3rd grade when he told Claire Fitzpatrick he wanted to marry her.
“So you think we should...?”
“Yeah, I mean, only if you want to...” Bret said nervously.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I would be OK if it goes wrong.”
“It won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if you--”
“No way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so--”
Jemaine leaned forward and kissed Bret. And it was everything he needed.
---
Jemaine kissed Bret full on with warm lips, large hands coming up to cup Bret’s face. The pads of Jemaine’s thumbs stroked softly against Bret’s stubble as his mouth moved slowly against Bret’s. Bret melted into the kiss. His whole body hummed, starting from his lips down to his toes. His mind was still on the conversation that just happened but he was being pulled from it rapidly by Jemaine’s lips on his.
“Sorry,” Jemaine said breathy, breaking away. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to say something else. Were you?”
“No, I think you’re OK.”
Jemaine pressed his mouth against Bret’s again and their lips stumbled against each other in their haste to come closer together. They brushed back and forth and drifted gently over each other. Bret shivered at Jemaine’s breath on his lips as their mouths connected and moved away, came together and apart again, and the sensation had Bret unraveling at both ends. Bret could feel Jemaine smiling as they kissed. It felt like home.
Jemaine’s hands were lost in Bret’s curls and Bret was lost in the moment. He felt dazed but the pleasant buzzing in his head and his limbs made this want, this need for Jemaine, insatiable. Bret’s mouth became insistent, pushing hard on Jemaine’s, deepening the kiss. Needing to steady himself, Bret rested a hand on Jemaine’s thigh and, as if Bret’s touch was a galvanizing cue, Jemaine’s hands were suddenly back on Bret’s face-- cradling it, keeping him there in that perfect space. Their faces crushed together in a bruising kiss. Bret struggled to reposition himself. Everything was awkward but achingly sincere, just like everything the two musicians had ever produced together, and Bret had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the stinging.
Bret’s lips were swollen already but he wanted more, the smell of rain water and alcohol mixing with that scent of Jemaine that was sending sensations to his already overloaded brain.
His lips pulsed. Feathery kisses between open-mouthed ones. Jemaine’s hot tongue entered the mix and then it was inside Bret’s mouth, clinging to Bret’s tongue and hugging the roof of his mouth, every ridge. Bret moaned and his hands traveled to Jemaine’s neck, tracing down his throat, collar bones, damp chest hair.
Bret broke the kiss. “You’re still wet,” he murmured, his palms resting on Jemaine’s chest. He couldn’t stop smiling. Must be contagious.
“Probably should take it off,” Jemaine mumbled against Bret’s chin, as he moved. He kissed the flesh there, reaching the hollow of Bret’s neck before moving back up to Bret’s jaw. Jemaine’s hands clasped Bret’s, guiding them down the buttons of his shirt, lowering with Bret’s fingers as they worked their way down. Bret never felt clumsier as he struggled to undo them with shaking fingers. His cheeks were burning.
“God, Bret,” Jemaine groaned. His hair was mussed and his glasses askew from the kissing. But his voice was deep and needy and Bret felt the heat from his face travel south.
Jemaine’s open shirt stuck to him like thin paper.
Bret eyes traced shyly down Jemaine’s torso. Slightly darker skin, broad shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. The expanse was covered with light hair that collected around his chest and slowly trailed down below his belly and into his pants. Bret started to feel self conscious about being small again.
Jemaine peeled his shirt off, hesitating about where to put it for a second before just dropping it on the floor. He looked back up with dark, green eyes so intense with longing that Bret thought he would combust on the spot. This smoldering gaze was better than Bret’s imagination could have ever constructed. This look was for him.
---
Jemaine felt Bret’s soft eyes on him. He was a little embarrassed, actually; he couldn’t remember the last time he had his shirt off around Bret. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something so badly, either. It felt like he had waited for this moment for as long as he could remember, the last two days may as well been years. All he knew was that this was the most he had felt in a long time and he didn’t want to let go of that feeling again.
Bret looked sheepish. His fair skin was lightly flushed and his eyes were dark and deep under knitted brows. God, no wonder Bret was so popular with the ladies. He really was gorgeous.
Jemaine kissed Bret’s cheek and leaned his damp forehead against Bret’s. He closed his eyes and breathed out. He was hyperaware of the feeling of his skin touching Bret’s, his hands on Bret’s waist. This was real. There was no going back.
Jemaine’s eyes opened and met Bret’s. They were burning. He took hold of the bottom of Bret’s shirt, tugging lightly for permission. Bret put his hands up so that Jemaine could lift the shirt off over his head.
Jemaine dropped the shirt somewhere on the floor, his eyes never leaving Bret’s slender frame. Breathing hard, he ran his hands down Bret’s sides, Bret's bare skin firm and fiery under his touch. They followed the soft curves of Bret’s hips that arched gently into his pants and his eyes darted back up to Bret’s face. Bret looked uneasy.
“Sorry,” Jemaine said quickly, dropping his gaze, “You look really...hot.”
“Thanks,” Bret said, rubbing an arm, “So do you.” He had goosebumps.
Jemaine kissed Bret, rubbing Bret’s arms for him, warming him. It was still raining outside and he could hear the drops drumming on the pane. Bret must be cold.
Jemaine’s hands kept up their smooth rhythm while his lips worked. Bret’s sweltering mouth melded with Jemaine’s effortlessly and almost immediately, the kiss became needy. Bret’s frantic hands trailed down Jemaine’s chest, tracing the planes of his body and feeling each contour. And Jemaine--Jemaine was still caught up with his mouth. He couldn’t stop kissing that pale skin. It was intoxicating. He desperately hoped he didn’t scare Bret with how many times he could kiss the same spot-- lips, cheeks, the side of Bret’s mouth, his nose, the underside of his jaw. His chest. He guessed Bret didn’t mind as urgent fingers tugged at his hair, pulling roughly when Jemaine was doing something right and pulling harder when Jemaine was doing something better. Jemaine listened for those little gasps and gathered fast how hard to suck on Bret’s neck, how fast to move his tongue on Bret’s skin. His fingers squeezed on Bret’s hips and it wasn’t long before Bret was making those noises again that were driving Jemaine crazy. His nascent erection continued to grow as Bret moaned and jerked against him. His hands dropped to Bret’s ass and Bret made a muffled noise against Jemaine's neck. Jemaine was painfully hard and had to consciously remind himself not to grip too tightly. He felt like he might come undone at any moment, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Bret.
Shifting his weight, Jemaine gently pushed Bret onto his back, straddling him. He gazed at Bret under him and tried hard to remember everything in this moment. Bret’s eyes were closed and he was panting. Dark curls spilled down onto his forehead and onto the couch cushions beneath them. His delicate cheeks still had a tinge of pink. Jemaine memorized every feature.
“You make me so hot, Jemaine.” Bret said, rubbing up deliciously against him. His eyes were open now, though heavily lidded. He kissed Jemaine roughly and then moved to his chest, lips leading a clumsy expedition further south. His hands were already on Jemaine’s waistband.
A spark of arousal shimmied down Jemaine’s spine and he ground his hips into Bret, his erection digging into the smaller man. Bret moaned and ground back, just as hard. Jemaine was so horny, it wasn’t even funny. He was all nerve-endings and felt desperate for contact. They rocked back and forth and the friction was good, but not enough through fabric. He lifted himself off Bret.
Bret wasted no time in undoing Jemaine’s belt and tugging down his jeans.
Jemaine had to get up to take them off.
Bret sat up on the couch, breathless.
--
Jemaine’s pants were pulled off hastily, joining a growing pile of clothes. He kneeled in front of Bret, his head buried in Bret’s stomach, lips brushing and tongue darting over soft skin, easing Bret’s pants off. Bret shifted to help Jemaine with the effort. The cool air on his bare legs was startling and Bret gasped once, and then again as the cold was replaced instantly with warm hands on his thighs.
Bret was blushing furiously now. Jemaine was so close...
Jemaine looked up nervously at Bret from between his legs. Tentatively, he brought a hand up to rest on the bulge in Bret’s underpants. Bret swallowed in anticipation, his heart pounding as hard as his cock was throbbing at the touch. They had gone farther than the night before and Bret was afraid that it was too much, too soon for Jemaine. It almost was for him. Jemaine’s other hand came up and dipped under the waistband of Bret’s underwear, pulling the fabric down.
Bret was rock hard. Precum leaked from the tip and glistened. But Bret’s eyes were on Jemaine’s face. Jemaine’s expression didn’t change and, this time without hesitation, he wrapped a hand around Bret’s naked cock.
“Oh...” Bret closed his eyes as he was engulfed in the heat of Jemaine’s fist. It was a strange sensation, nothing gentle like the girls before him and not as sure as his own hand. Jemaine’s hand was big and rough but felt good around Bret’s cock. Jemaine pumped up and down, squeezing hard. Bret mewled and dug his hands into the couch. It was almost painful. Gaining awareness, Jemaine loosened his grip but continued the frantic movements, watching Bret with a parted mouth. Bret closed his eyes and licked his dry lips as he edged closer and closer to climax and then back again. He was losing it in the rush of heat and touch that was burning through him. His moans stuck to the roof of his mouth as he spread his legs wider for Jemaine who was having trouble keeping a steady pace.
“Do you like that?” Jemaine said huskily, slowing down as he spoke.
“Yes,” Bret croaked, releasing the couch from his death grip. “Don’t stop.” Bret could barely register thoughts. He put his hand on Jemaine’s.
Jemaine bent his head down and took the tip of Bret’s cock in his mouth.
Bret cried out in both pleasure and surprise, bucking up into Jemaine’s mouth.
Jemaine gagged with a choked cough and let go.
“Sorry!” Bret apologized, concern overpowering the lust in his voice. “Are you ok? Don’t-”
“It’s ok,” Jemaine said, his hands now pinning down Bret’s hips. He replaced his lips on Bret’s cock and Bret nearly died. He hissed in pleasure as Jemaine began to bob up and down inexpertly. The pace was even more erratic than the one with his hands. Bret was engulfed in the feeling of tight, wet heat and threw his head back onto the cushions. He couldn’t control the noises he was making as he squirmed on the couch, tense and turned on light years beyond Bowie’s left nipple antennae.
“Flip, Jemaine!”
Jemaine let go of Bret’s hips, letting Bret set the pace. Bret was careful at first but wave after wave of pleasure lulled him into a haziness where hips began to move on their own. With each thrust Jemaine took more of Bret’s cock down his throat, stopping occasionally to wipe spit with the back of his hand or gasp for breath.
Time slowed into frames.
Bret could feel familiar heat pooling in his stomach and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
Bret opened his eyes and looked down at Jemaine who met his gaze. Ohhhh, those eyes.
“Jemaine, I’m gonna-”
Jemaine swallowed once more purposefully, and Bret came hard with a loud cry.
Bret lay there, spent, chest heaving. He opened his eyes to Jemaine’s face in his. Jemaine kissed Bret, holding him close to his body. Bret could hear Jemaine’s heart beating fast.
And then time sped up again.
Suddenly remembering, Bret felt for Jemaine’s cock through his underwear. To his disappointment, Jemaine’s was no longer hard and the fabric was damp.
“You don't just eat loud, Bret.”
Jemaine's low voice resonated in his chest.
"Shut up, Jemaine."
But Bret was grinning. Good things just got better.
Title: Good Things (2/2)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
With that, the band meeting was adjourned. They exited the building to discover, to Jemaine’s dismay and Bret’s delight, it had started raining. The two ran home, ducking under awnings and leaping over large puddles. Jemaine muttered grumpily that perhaps Mel and Doug should invest in a little “couple’s counseling.” Bret laughed and went on to wonder aloud if acid rain was the inspiration behind acid wash jeans.
“That’d be an awesome idea for a song,” Bret said thoughtfully.
“Nnn,” Jemaine agreed.
“Hey, do you remember when that seagull...”
Things seemed to have blown over. Jemaine kicked at some soggy leaves on the ground, relieved. In fact, he would have even said that things were back to normal. Except 5 minutes later, dripping wet, they both reached for the apartment door at the same time and Jemaine’s hand cupped Bret’s around the knob. Bret stiffened and looked back at Jemaine. Cue Jemaine’s flashback to last night.
Augh.
Cue Jemaine’s flashback-back to the present.
And now the two were changed into dry clothes, sitting on the couch watching TV. Or at least Jemaine was facing the television. He wasn’t paying attention at all (how could he?) but had eyes stubbornly glued to the screen, hoping Bret would go to bed soon. It felt like they had been sitting there for forever. Any day now, Bret. Come on. Bret always got sleepy before him. Jemaine glanced up surreptitiously at the clock from under his glasses. 4:17pm.
What, only? He crossed his arms in annoyance, jaw clicking.
Meanwhile Bret was perched on the couch, obstinately facing Jemaine. Jemaine cleared his throat uncomfortably for the 40th time and scowled when Bret didn’t get the message for the 40th time to turn away. The dead air was like a heavy blanket on his chest. Jemaine was used to causing awkward silences, not being stuck in the middle of one. Especially not with his best friend.
“Bret,” he said reluctantly, turning to his bearded companion.
“Yeah, man?” Bret said, surprised by the rift in the lull.
“Do you...want to have a sleep?” Jemaine tried.
“No, do you?”
“No...” Jemaine grumbled.
Well, it was worth a go. He rolled off the couch with a groan and headed towards the kitchen.
Bret got up and followed, his serious face on. If there was ever such a thing as a thinking cap, Bret had it on tight as a beanie.
“Hey, Jemaine, I was thinking...”
“That Murray’s been parting his hair to the other side these days?”
“I- ...wow, really?”
“I’m gonna make a sandwich. Want one?”
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. You know, I was thinking, ‘there might be something different about Murray today,’ but I thought it was something a bit more subtle, like his depression.” Bret had a pondering face on now, all seriousness brushed aside.
Yisssss. Evaded. Jemaine opened the fridge, fishing for lunch meat. Bret hung on the open door, peering down at Jemaine as he rummaged around.
“So what was that last night, man?”
Augh, never mind.
“Do we have any lettuce? Why don’t we have any lettuce?” Jemaine stuck his head deeper into the fridge, his dark hair brushing against the light bulb at the top shelf.
“Jemaine.”
Jemaine came back up with an open packet of ham. He looked at Bret for a moment, briefly, before shaking his head, “It was just something that happened, Bret.”
“Is that something... going to happen again, maybe?” said Bret nonchalantly, screwing his lips to the side innocently.
Jemaine took his time lining ingredients on the counter. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest. More thirsty than anything. He swallowed thickly. “No, because we’re best friends,” he said evenly, keeping his eyes downcast, before adding, “But mainly no because that would be gay.”
“Oh,” breathed Bret, finally closing the fridge door. Jemaine hadn’t noticed the cold air escaping until now. It was hot in here. Jemaine’s hands found solace at a rustling bread bag, but his heart was beating double time. He didn’t want to be having this conversation.
“But you did kiss me, though,” Bret finished, looking slightly smug about it.
“I didn’t!” Jemaine said hotly, a hand waving incredulously, “you kissed me!”
“You kissed me back!” Bret shot back, just as indignant, “It’s basically the same thing!”
“Aw, well, that’s not very fair, is it? What was I supposed to do? It was only polite.”
“What? Sometimes you don’t even high five me back! You didn’t have to kiss me, man. Why did you?”
“That’s...”
Jemaine leaned heavy against the counter with both palms, shifting himself as the gears turned. He had been asking himself the same question and hadn’t an answer for either of them. At least not one he wanted to give. The more he didn’t think about it-- if he didn’t focus on any one thought and just let them flit by-- the less real it seemed. His mind had been running this whole time in a blank loop. He couldn’t think, really--his trains of thought kept jumbling together in a feeble wreck of half-baked excuses and abandoned reasoning. All he could think about was the way Bret made him feel.
“You didn’t like it?”
Jemaine, whose anxious fingers had found its way back to the bread, almost dropped the bag. “What?”
Bret hesitated, wincing. “I mean....didn’t it feel good?”
“No, no, it felt good. I just...” Jemaine wavered, stealing a glance up at Bret’s face as he paused. Bret’s face seemed to light up, even if just a little. Jemaine’s palms were sweaty and he licked his lips. “I don’t know, Bret. This is weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
“It is weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
Jemaine put down the bread annoyed, looking crossly at Bret. “It is weird, Bret. It was an accident and it shouldn’t have happened.”
Bret looked hurt, his delicate mouth pressed into a firm line. His eyes were dark and locked solidly with Jemaine’s. Jemaine’s face softened, but he bit his lip to keep from taking it back. Instead, he turned to the food, screwing open the mustard jar.
“Well, I liked it. And... I-I like you, Jemaine,” Bret said in a quiet voice, low but audible.
“Geez, Bret...” Jemaine stopped with a knife in the jar. His heart was beating so loudly he was sure he misheard the sound of his world being turned upside down.
Bret couldn’t be serious. Did he even know what he had just said? Know what he was doing to Jemaine? Jemaine’s frozen mind was racing now. There was something both likable and frustrating about Bret’s naïveté (and Jemaine had more than a decade’s experience with this). But Bret had no idea what he was getting himself--getting them-- into. Things were fine the way they were, Bret had no right to take that simplicity away from him.
Though, despite it all... Jemaine could feel himself falter at Bret’s words. He didn’t want any of this...but why, why, why did he still want Bret... It was a strange aching that had sparked into life last night and it made him feel unsafe, even now.
And it was so wrong. So stupid and so wrong and so wrong and Jemaine hated himself right now for wanting to say those three stupid words back and wondering if Bret really meant what he said or if he was just being Bret. And then he hated himself for wondering at all when he knew he was just on the list of things Bret liked, next to jazzercise and Top Gun. But the longing was making his heart wrench tight in its cage.
Bret’s body seemed tense. Like a tightly wound jack-in-the-box, about to snap under the pressure or spring towards Jemaine with the torque. His eyes hadn’t left Jemaine’s and were steadily drawing something from somewhere deep inside him, like the moon to the tide.
A consuming combination of distress and hurt swelled up in Jemaine’s chest, pooling in his throat, clogging it. It was becoming difficult to keep Bret’s gaze and Jemaine forced himself to remember that good things didn’t happen to him often. Bret was his friend. He needed to let go; he was already drowning. He could feel a ripple of emotions catching at the corners of his mind but they were advent and numbing them was easier than naming them. His eyes drifted to the wall beyond Bret’s left shoulder and he released a shuddering breath. The tear in the wallpaper was comforting. Dimly, he could feel his heart still leaping but it was a vague giddiness and, besides, it was already being masked with much more pressing things like uncertainty and it was increasingly sobering.
Probably alarmed by the silence, Bret reached out for Jemaine’s hand and Jemaine’s mind snapped in two at the touch. Jemaine’s hand flew back and reached up at his temples, smearing some mustard there as he rubbed under his glasses. He had a headache. He looked at Bret and was met with the most pathetic look he had ever seen. Worse than when Murray told Bret to go fuck himself. Worse than when Jemaine fired Bret from the band.
“Jemaine?”
“We should go back to the store tomorrow, we need some lettuce.”
“Jemaine.”
“Oh, and milk.”
“Jemaine, are you mad at me?” Bret was starting to whine.
“I should probably make a list, not sure if I can remember all of--”
Bret pulled Jemaine toward him by the arm, so that Jemaine was facing him. “Jemaine!”
“What?” Jemaine said sharply, jerking his arm away again. He was suddenly angry. He could feel his face heating and sharp stinging behind his eyes. “What do you want to hear, Bret? What do you want me to say?”
“Just tell me if you feel the same way or not!”
Jemaine’s face darkened into a scowl, but no sound escaped his pursed lips. Bret looked at him, expectantly. Those doe eyes were Bret’s best features-- not because they were beautiful, but because they had the power to freeze you as if you were the one caught in the headlights. It was frightening to realize that Bret was asking for something impossible. He didn’t want to lose Bret but Jemaine had a sour taste on his tongue and felt like he was losing now. He remembered how it felt to lose Bret once already, to Coco, coming home to an empty house and a note. Heartache squeezed through the mental dam, and Jemaine was startled at how raw the old memory felt.
God, he was so past thinking. He was sure his mouth would betray him anyway, even if his thoughts got that far. But all his words were caught in his throat, blocked (safeguarded) by that upheaval of hurt feelings that lumped there. Bret’s gentle eyes were searching Jemaine’s and Jemaine’s lips parted and oh, he was in love with Bret. There was no way it was never going to be the same.
“I’m scared,” he mouthed. He was unsure if he had even said it.
As if drawn in with a magnet, Bret pushed himself against Jemaine’s body, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Jemaine’s eyes shot open and hands rose up automatically, pushing Bret away. “Bret, stop!” He found his voice.
Bret shoved Jemaine’s hands away and his lips found Jemaine’s once more.
Jemaine pushed Bret away again, this time more urgently. “Bret!” Jemaine sounded more panicked than upset.
Ignoring him, Bret came in again for another kiss. Jemaine’s arms felt weak and fell to his sides. It was a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. Nothing light and sweet, like the night before. Just solid contact. But their lips were melded together and it didn’t seem possible to break that connection.
---
Bret’s heart was pounding in his ears and he was breathing hard through his nose. He had always been sort of shy, but when the situation called for it, he could be a man of action. David Bowie had told him once to act in the right moment, to do something crazy. It had worked for him in the past, and this moment was as good as any.
Bret clung to Jemaine’s shirt, his lips pressed to his friends. This was daring enough. Already he was starting to become unsure. But he didn’t know what to do next. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. Neither man moved, neither closer or away. Growing increasingly doubtful, Bret took a step back and opened his eyes.
But Jemaine’s eyes were still closed. Man, this was just as frightening as last night. Bret could feel white-hot panic coursing through his veins and he swallowed hard. He was still trembling from the heated conversation. It was nervewracking to let years and years of denial and careful hiding just come out in the open. He felt better about finally being honest with Jemaine (he never kept things from him, really) but was also deeply afraid of the way Jemaine was reacting to everything. He was afraid that Jemaine was going to walk out on him.
“Jemaine?” Bret said, anxiously. He was mad, wasn’t he?
Jemaine’s eyes were screwed as tight as the balls of his fists. Bret was bewildered. To him, things were linear-- a confession of how he felt and a simple question of how Jemaine felt. But Jemaine seemed to be struggling with something and it was perplexing. What Jemaine had said tonight made Bret want to stop. Quit trying to talk about it, laugh it off, and just go back to how things were. Say he didn’t really mean what he had said, swallow the pain, and never bring it up again. But at the same time, Jemaine’s hesitation-- things Jemaine started to say but never finished-- made Bret want to press on. He had never seen Jemaine like this, and it was unsettling.
He felt like he was opening Pandora’s box, but he wanted to keep going.
“Jemaine, I was serious when I said-” Bret started, but Jemaine cut him off.
“You don’t have feelings for me, Bret. You’re just lonely and you’re confusing me along with you.”
Bret felt a jolt of anger at being written off so flippantly, “Jemaine, you have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”
His breath immediately caught in his throat. He hadn’t meant to let loose the “L” word. That probably wasn’t scary at all to hear. Fliiiiip...
Jemaine groaned and looked up. His eyes were red but dry.
It caught Bret off-guard. Bret hadn’t seen Jemaine cry since Sally broke his heart. And dry crying was always worse than real crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Jemaine dry cry. He saw Jemaine dry heaving after one beer too many in Austin after a bar gig. Much worse than actually throwing up. And he saw Jemaine dry humping his pillow once (though Bret just pretended he had been sleeping). But that was irrelevant. The look in Jemaine’s eyes shook Bret to the core.
“Just leave me alone, will you? I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Where?”
Jemaine shrugged past him.
“Hey! You forgot your sandwich!” Bret called after him.
Jemaine had already gone out the door.
“And your umbrella,” Bret sighed in the kitchen, alone. It was still raining outside.
He started putting things back into the refrigerator half-heartedly, feeling sullen and empty.
He gave up part way and sat down in a chair, Indian-style. He had gone too far. He knew he had, but he wanted to know, and wanting to keep pushing Jemaine until...until what?
“What do you want to hear, Bret?”
He felt sick with himself.
He put his head on the table and the wood was cool against his skin.
Maybe Jemaine was right. Bret wanted so badly to hear Jemaine say what he wanted to hear. Last night probably was just an accident and Bret was getting worked up over nothing. He tried hard not to let that thought sink in. He was hurting enough already and his head felt heavy with regret. This hadn’t gone the way Bret had thought it would at all. He thought there would be a mutual understanding and then the two would have a cup of tea and hold hands again, maybe, and have a great band practice if it wasn’t too late into the evening. Maybe Bret had been wrong about all this. Maybe he had been chasing after nothing this whole time. But he had been so sure...
Jemaine had said he was confused about how he felt, though. What did that mean?
With a groan of despair, Bret stopped himself from thinking about it. He had already gotten his hopes up once already.
God, if Jemaine really just wanted to be friends...Bret’s heart throbbed painfully. He really thought he would be OK with that.
---
“Holy shit, you’re wetter than that Lebanese girl I was banging the other night!”
“Hey, Dave.”
Jemaine wiped his glasses pointlessly on a wet shirt, dripping puddles onto the floor of Mohumbhai and Son.
“You alright, man?” Dave said, worry thinly veiled in mock anger, “You look like crap. Stop dripping around those comic books. Vintage shit. And Is that fucking mustard in your hair?”
Jemaine reached into his hair absently, removing half the condiment from his hair and rubbing the rest of it in deeper. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just talking a walk.”
Dave gave Jemaine a weird look. “Where’s Jemaine?”
Jemaine was confused for a moment before realization hit, “Oh, I-I’m Jemaine. Bret’s at home.”
“What the fuck? I never see you New England homos without each other. What a trip. Well, what can I help you with?”
Jemaine decided against correcting Dave (on both fronts). Instead, he paused to think of how he wanted to word this. “Hey Dave, how do you....know...how do you know if you like someone as a friend or more than a friend?”
Dave laughed, crossing his arms over a camo shirt. “What the hell? What are you, in third grade? If you want to bone her, then you know you won’t be happy as just friends. Do you want to pork this chick or what?”
The tips of Jemaine’s ears turned pink. “I -I don’t know. No?”
“Then you guys are definitely just--”
“Yes.”
“Wait, what?”
Jemaine was red now, “Yeah, I think I might...At least, I like it when they’ve kissed me.”
Somehow it was easier to talk about when Bret wasn’t Bret, but some mystery girl. And it was a lot easier to be honest with himself when he was pretending Bret wasn’t Bret. Great, he thought to himself bitterly. Pretending someone was someone else seemed to be the patented way for dealing with things that were utterly over his head.
Dave whistled through his teeth. “Holy shit! You guys already made it to 2nd base?! Hot damn, Jemaine, who’s the foxy lady?”
“Someone you don’t know,” Jemaine answered quickly, averting his gaze, “But I don’t want our friendship to end. Can you be both...friends? But also...you know...also...?”
“No fucking way, man. You choose one or the other, you can’t do both. You can’t have your cake and fuck it, too. Are you kidding me?”
Jemaine felt his heart sink to the floor, joining the puddle of rainwater he had collected over the last five minutes.
“Alright. Well thanks, Dave.”
“Hey dude, wait, my shift is ending right now. Let’s go get a drink. Does your lady have any lady friends?”
---
Jemaine stumbled into the apartment. He was sopping wet and couldn’t stop the smell of alcohol from following him home, no matter how fast he ran through the rain. It rolled off his breath and into the cold air. He had always thought drinking helped make you feel better. On tv and in the movies, exasperated people smoked a cigarette or had a drink of brandy in tense situations. Jemaine rarely drank, especially something stronger than beer. He didn’t know how many drinks he had had tonight but he felt ill. And he wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol, or if his stomach was tying itself in knots over coming home to Bret. He didn’t bother with the lights.
Jemaine moved to put his keys down on the table but missed, dropping them on the floor. Cursing under his breath he reached down to pick up the keys and hit his head on the table on his way back up.
“Ow!”
Bret stirred in his bed.
Jemaine rubbed his head hoping it wouldn’t hurt the next day. Or hoping he would catch amnesia. All or nothing because right now--in this moment-- all he could think about was Bret. He was cursed. Bret’s warm eyes, Bret’s face. Bret’s lips. Bret’s smile. He hadn’t seen one in a while.
Jemaine shook his head violently as if he could physically shake Bret out of his thoughts. His head throbbed with or without the effort. Jemaine sunk onto the couch, not wanting to go into the bedroom where Bret was. It was too much right now, and he wasn’t up for it. Jemaine groaned and put his head in his hands.
Ironically, his jumbling thoughts were now crystal clear, even though his vision wasn’t. He knew he loved Bret. That was enough. He could admit that to himself now. It was a weird thing to come to terms with, but at least that was something real and it was something he reasoned with inside himself and decided. Somewhere between a red-headed slut and a gin and tonic, he allowed himself to go there, and stay there.
But what about Bret? Bret had said he loved him. But that was the hard part. Bret was unreliable. He left Jemaine to die when they got mugged in that alleyway last winter...He quit the band whenever the going got tough...lost interest in his sign-holding career after a month... obsessed about learning karate for a whole week before giving up because the book was too long. Had Bret ever liked anything for more than a short period of time? Did Bret even know was love was? Or what a relationship meant? Jemaine struggled to think back to their uni days. He couldn’t think of a single reason to think Bret did.
Jemaine rolled his head in his hands in frustration. Relationship, he snorted to himself. That was assuming a lot. Bret probably didn’t even want that. Did Jemaine? Pffft, no...
It was so like Bret, to be looking for attention or affection but not ready to commit to anything more. Like when he easily dropped his relationship with Coco for Sally...or when he stole BrahBrah from Jemaine (whom Bret had sworn he was crazy about) and then never her called back again. It wasn’t that girls got bored with Bret after a few months...it was that Bret got bored of them.
Jemaine felt threatened by that thought but allowed it to linger in his head. And then he felt guilty for thinking bad thoughts about his friend. His chest felt heavy and he achingly knew that he could never have what he wanted. Not fully. Say they tried things out. Bret would get bored (or worse, be disappointed), and leave. Say they didn’t try things out. Jemaine didn’t know if he could go back to how things were.
He wanted Bret even now, knowing it would end their friendship. (Dave had confirmed this tonight). See, this is why denial is so important as a defense mechanism, Self. It was destructive, this knowledge. This realization and flow chart of possible outcomes made him feel helpless. He wanted to be with Bret. All day, not just most hours of the day, and listen to him talk about giraffes and curry. It wasn’t his fault that he wanted to hold Bret, when Bret fit just right against his body, anyway. Jemaine had always had a sweet tooth, so it wasn’t so strange that he wanted to drown in the scent of Bret, who must scrub himself raw with sugar and soap to smell like that. And those kisses that made his heart stop.
“Jemaine?”
Jemaine nearly jumped out of his skin. Bret was standing in the doorway.
“Jemaine, it’s really late man, where were you?”
Jemaine winced as Bret turned the light on. “I was hanging out with Dave.”
“Oh...”
Bret sat down next to Jemaine on the couch.
“You smell like Eugene,” Bret crinkled his nose.
“Thanks,” Jemaine chuckled, leaning back to rest his head on the cushion. He closed his eyes, feeling peaceful now that Bret was by his side.
“You ok, Jemaine?”
“I’m fine,” Jemaine mumbled, though he wasn’t.
“If you’re going to go to sleep, you should go to bed.”
Jemaine grunted and turned away.
“Jemaine.”
“What?”
“You should at least change.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Hey listen,” Bret started, fingering the hem of his pyjama shirt. “I’m sorry I was so weird earlier. I probably should have told you sooner, but it’s a bit of an awkward thing to tell your best mate, and I probably shouldn’t have actually-”
“I love you, too.” Jemaine heard the words leave his mouth and was half aghast, half relieved at the admission. His head was swimming, but he felt lighter.
Bret looked shocked.
“Yeah, I know,” Jemaine’s said quickly. His face was flushed. “Bret, I think I’ve loved you for a long time now. I guess I wasn’t sure. But I am sure now, I think. Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m serious, Bret. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and...”
“It’s not going to change, Jemaine. I’ve tried, but I think I’m stuck on you.”
Jemaine gave a sloppy grin. “I guess it’s not just the ladies who are after my sugalumps.”
“Gross, Jemaine.” Bret made a face.
Jemaine laughed.
“What do you think we should...um...do...about it then?” Bret asked. He looked small against the couch with his legs folded under him.
Jemaine’s face was strained and he struggled to remember why... “Well, It’s always bad for me, you know, with girls...”
“This is different, though.”
“I know, but...I still want to be your friend,” Jemaine finished lamely.
Bret gave him a weird look.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Jemaine clarified and licked his lips, scared. He could taste the alcohol in his mouth and he was scared.
“You can still be my friend. Why wouldn’t we be? And I won’t leave you,” Bret said firmly. “I won’t.”
Jemaine’s palms were prickling and he felt like he did on that Friday in the 3rd grade when he told Claire Fitzpatrick he wanted to marry her.
“So you think we should...?”
“Yeah, I mean, only if you want to...” Bret said nervously.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I would be OK if it goes wrong.”
“It won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if you--”
“No way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so--”
Jemaine leaned forward and kissed Bret. And it was everything he needed.
---
Jemaine kissed Bret full on with warm lips, large hands coming up to cup Bret’s face. The pads of Jemaine’s thumbs stroked softly against Bret’s stubble as his mouth moved slowly against Bret’s. Bret melted into the kiss. His whole body hummed, starting from his lips down to his toes. His mind was still on the conversation that just happened but he was being pulled from it rapidly by Jemaine’s lips on his.
“Sorry,” Jemaine said breathy, breaking away. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to say something else. Were you?”
“No, I think you’re OK.”
Jemaine pressed his mouth against Bret’s again and their lips stumbled against each other in their haste to come closer together. They brushed back and forth and drifted gently over each other. Bret shivered at Jemaine’s breath on his lips as their mouths connected and moved away, came together and apart again, and the sensation had Bret unraveling at both ends. Bret could feel Jemaine smiling as they kissed. It felt like home.
Jemaine’s hands were lost in Bret’s curls and Bret was lost in the moment. He felt dazed but the pleasant buzzing in his head and his limbs made this want, this need for Jemaine, insatiable. Bret’s mouth became insistent, pushing hard on Jemaine’s, deepening the kiss. Needing to steady himself, Bret rested a hand on Jemaine’s thigh and, as if Bret’s touch was a galvanizing cue, Jemaine’s hands were suddenly back on Bret’s face-- cradling it, keeping him there in that perfect space. Their faces crushed together in a bruising kiss. Bret struggled to reposition himself. Everything was awkward but achingly sincere, just like everything the two musicians had ever produced together, and Bret had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the stinging.
Bret’s lips were swollen already but he wanted more, the smell of rain water and alcohol mixing with that scent of Jemaine that was sending sensations to his already overloaded brain.
His lips pulsed. Feathery kisses between open-mouthed ones. Jemaine’s hot tongue entered the mix and then it was inside Bret’s mouth, clinging to Bret’s tongue and hugging the roof of his mouth, every ridge. Bret moaned and his hands traveled to Jemaine’s neck, tracing down his throat, collar bones, damp chest hair.
Bret broke the kiss. “You’re still wet,” he murmured, his palms resting on Jemaine’s chest. He couldn’t stop smiling. Must be contagious.
“Probably should take it off,” Jemaine mumbled against Bret’s chin, as he moved. He kissed the flesh there, reaching the hollow of Bret’s neck before moving back up to Bret’s jaw. Jemaine’s hands clasped Bret’s, guiding them down the buttons of his shirt, lowering with Bret’s fingers as they worked their way down. Bret never felt clumsier as he struggled to undo them with shaking fingers. His cheeks were burning.
“God, Bret,” Jemaine groaned. His hair was mussed and his glasses askew from the kissing. But his voice was deep and needy and Bret felt the heat from his face travel south.
Jemaine’s open shirt stuck to him like thin paper.
Bret eyes traced shyly down Jemaine’s torso. Slightly darker skin, broad shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. The expanse was covered with light hair that collected around his chest and slowly trailed down below his belly and into his pants. Bret started to feel self conscious about being small again.
Jemaine peeled his shirt off, hesitating about where to put it for a second before just dropping it on the floor. He looked back up with dark, green eyes so intense with longing that Bret thought he would combust on the spot. This smoldering gaze was better than Bret’s imagination could have ever constructed. This look was for him.
---
Jemaine felt Bret’s soft eyes on him. He was a little embarrassed, actually; he couldn’t remember the last time he had his shirt off around Bret. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something so badly, either. It felt like he had waited for this moment for as long as he could remember, the last two days may as well been years. All he knew was that this was the most he had felt in a long time and he didn’t want to let go of that feeling again.
Bret looked sheepish. His fair skin was lightly flushed and his eyes were dark and deep under knitted brows. God, no wonder Bret was so popular with the ladies. He really was gorgeous.
Jemaine kissed Bret’s cheek and leaned his damp forehead against Bret’s. He closed his eyes and breathed out. He was hyperaware of the feeling of his skin touching Bret’s, his hands on Bret’s waist. This was real. There was no going back.
Jemaine’s eyes opened and met Bret’s. They were burning. He took hold of the bottom of Bret’s shirt, tugging lightly for permission. Bret put his hands up so that Jemaine could lift the shirt off over his head.
Jemaine dropped the shirt somewhere on the floor, his eyes never leaving Bret’s slender frame. Breathing hard, he ran his hands down Bret’s sides, Bret's bare skin firm and fiery under his touch. They followed the soft curves of Bret’s hips that arched gently into his pants and his eyes darted back up to Bret’s face. Bret looked uneasy.
“Sorry,” Jemaine said quickly, dropping his gaze, “You look really...hot.”
“Thanks,” Bret said, rubbing an arm, “So do you.” He had goosebumps.
Jemaine kissed Bret, rubbing Bret’s arms for him, warming him. It was still raining outside and he could hear the drops drumming on the pane. Bret must be cold.
Jemaine’s hands kept up their smooth rhythm while his lips worked. Bret’s sweltering mouth melded with Jemaine’s effortlessly and almost immediately, the kiss became needy. Bret’s frantic hands trailed down Jemaine’s chest, tracing the planes of his body and feeling each contour. And Jemaine--Jemaine was still caught up with his mouth. He couldn’t stop kissing that pale skin. It was intoxicating. He desperately hoped he didn’t scare Bret with how many times he could kiss the same spot-- lips, cheeks, the side of Bret’s mouth, his nose, the underside of his jaw. His chest. He guessed Bret didn’t mind as urgent fingers tugged at his hair, pulling roughly when Jemaine was doing something right and pulling harder when Jemaine was doing something better. Jemaine listened for those little gasps and gathered fast how hard to suck on Bret’s neck, how fast to move his tongue on Bret’s skin. His fingers squeezed on Bret’s hips and it wasn’t long before Bret was making those noises again that were driving Jemaine crazy. His nascent erection continued to grow as Bret moaned and jerked against him. His hands dropped to Bret’s ass and Bret made a muffled noise against Jemaine's neck. Jemaine was painfully hard and had to consciously remind himself not to grip too tightly. He felt like he might come undone at any moment, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Bret.
Shifting his weight, Jemaine gently pushed Bret onto his back, straddling him. He gazed at Bret under him and tried hard to remember everything in this moment. Bret’s eyes were closed and he was panting. Dark curls spilled down onto his forehead and onto the couch cushions beneath them. His delicate cheeks still had a tinge of pink. Jemaine memorized every feature.
“You make me so hot, Jemaine.” Bret said, rubbing up deliciously against him. His eyes were open now, though heavily lidded. He kissed Jemaine roughly and then moved to his chest, lips leading a clumsy expedition further south. His hands were already on Jemaine’s waistband.
A spark of arousal shimmied down Jemaine’s spine and he ground his hips into Bret, his erection digging into the smaller man. Bret moaned and ground back, just as hard. Jemaine was so horny, it wasn’t even funny. He was all nerve-endings and felt desperate for contact. They rocked back and forth and the friction was good, but not enough through fabric. He lifted himself off Bret.
Bret wasted no time in undoing Jemaine’s belt and tugging down his jeans.
Jemaine had to get up to take them off.
Bret sat up on the couch, breathless.
--
Jemaine’s pants were pulled off hastily, joining a growing pile of clothes. He kneeled in front of Bret, his head buried in Bret’s stomach, lips brushing and tongue darting over soft skin, easing Bret’s pants off. Bret shifted to help Jemaine with the effort. The cool air on his bare legs was startling and Bret gasped once, and then again as the cold was replaced instantly with warm hands on his thighs.
Bret was blushing furiously now. Jemaine was so close...
Jemaine looked up nervously at Bret from between his legs. Tentatively, he brought a hand up to rest on the bulge in Bret’s underpants. Bret swallowed in anticipation, his heart pounding as hard as his cock was throbbing at the touch. They had gone farther than the night before and Bret was afraid that it was too much, too soon for Jemaine. It almost was for him. Jemaine’s other hand came up and dipped under the waistband of Bret’s underwear, pulling the fabric down.
Bret was rock hard. Precum leaked from the tip and glistened. But Bret’s eyes were on Jemaine’s face. Jemaine’s expression didn’t change and, this time without hesitation, he wrapped a hand around Bret’s naked cock.
“Oh...” Bret closed his eyes as he was engulfed in the heat of Jemaine’s fist. It was a strange sensation, nothing gentle like the girls before him and not as sure as his own hand. Jemaine’s hand was big and rough but felt good around Bret’s cock. Jemaine pumped up and down, squeezing hard. Bret mewled and dug his hands into the couch. It was almost painful. Gaining awareness, Jemaine loosened his grip but continued the frantic movements, watching Bret with a parted mouth. Bret closed his eyes and licked his dry lips as he edged closer and closer to climax and then back again. He was losing it in the rush of heat and touch that was burning through him. His moans stuck to the roof of his mouth as he spread his legs wider for Jemaine who was having trouble keeping a steady pace.
“Do you like that?” Jemaine said huskily, slowing down as he spoke.
“Yes,” Bret croaked, releasing the couch from his death grip. “Don’t stop.” Bret could barely register thoughts. He put his hand on Jemaine’s.
Jemaine bent his head down and took the tip of Bret’s cock in his mouth.
Bret cried out in both pleasure and surprise, bucking up into Jemaine’s mouth.
Jemaine gagged with a choked cough and let go.
“Sorry!” Bret apologized, concern overpowering the lust in his voice. “Are you ok? Don’t-”
“It’s ok,” Jemaine said, his hands now pinning down Bret’s hips. He replaced his lips on Bret’s cock and Bret nearly died. He hissed in pleasure as Jemaine began to bob up and down inexpertly. The pace was even more erratic than the one with his hands. Bret was engulfed in the feeling of tight, wet heat and threw his head back onto the cushions. He couldn’t control the noises he was making as he squirmed on the couch, tense and turned on light years beyond Bowie’s left nipple antennae.
“Flip, Jemaine!”
Jemaine let go of Bret’s hips, letting Bret set the pace. Bret was careful at first but wave after wave of pleasure lulled him into a haziness where hips began to move on their own. With each thrust Jemaine took more of Bret’s cock down his throat, stopping occasionally to wipe spit with the back of his hand or gasp for breath.
Time slowed into frames.
Bret could feel familiar heat pooling in his stomach and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
Bret opened his eyes and looked down at Jemaine who met his gaze. Ohhhh, those eyes.
“Jemaine, I’m gonna-”
Jemaine swallowed once more purposefully, and Bret came hard with a loud cry.
Bret lay there, spent, chest heaving. He opened his eyes to Jemaine’s face in his. Jemaine kissed Bret, holding him close to his body. Bret could hear Jemaine’s heart beating fast.
And then time sped up again.
Suddenly remembering, Bret felt for Jemaine’s cock through his underwear. To his disappointment, Jemaine’s was no longer hard and the fabric was damp.
“You don't just eat loud, Bret.”
Jemaine's low voice resonated in his chest.
"Shut up, Jemaine."
But Bret was grinning. Good things just got better.