Fic: Stages of a Storm, Part 4: Dissipation (or 'This Didn't Happen')
Stages of a Storm
Part 4: Dissipation (or ‘This Didn’t Happen’)
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG-13
Word Count: 1,854
Warnings: Steaminess ahoy!
Brief summary: There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm-Willa Cather
Notes: Here be the end! Another round of applause for the lovely beta, Ms. lordstarfish. Also, there is a scene in here that is based off this gorgeous piece of artwork by the talented Ms.ediblestars -- thanks to her as well, as she gave me the green light to reference it!
When Jemaine woke it was very, very dark. The rain was still pattering outside and there was the occasional malcontented growl of thunder. He was confused for a few moments as to his actual position.
He was lying down, of that much he was sure, but his face was all warm and cushioned. It was pressed up against something nice and soft, some strange pillow and his glasses were resting askew on his face. He felt a drowsy grin form as he enjoyed his cozy position. He could vaguely make out the popcorn bowl on the floor and he sleepily dipped his hand into it, fiddling with a few pieces.
It wasn’t that he was hungry exactly, but his sluggish brain just latched on to it. The sound of his hand clacking against the glass bowl and the popcorn pieces inside shifting about was rather louder than it normally would have been and then something odd happened.
Jemaine’s pillow moved.
Jemaine froze and slowly realized his pillow was a little too warm and little too soft. And that his pillow was breathing. Jemaine’s eyes shifted up to one corner. Maybe he could just feign sleep a little longer…
“I know you’re not really asleep, Jemaine…”
The first word that popped into Jemaine’s mind was a rather filthy curse word. He licked his lips and tried to be nonchalant, “’llo Bret.”
Bret shifted, feeling Jemaine’s weight on him. He had one arm flung over the arm rest and the other resting at the nape of Jemaine’s neck. Bret swallowed and looked down at Jemaine, thankful for the darkness as a rather unique set of expressions filtered over his face.
Jemaine spoke up, “I - I was asleep, you know.”
“I know.”
“Just woke up…and…and you?”
“I was asleep too. I also just woke a bit ago.”
“Oh. Good. Good,” Jemaine cleared his throat, “I, uh, I must have fallen. In my sleep. I was sleeping sitting up and I must have, sort of, collapsed and somehow ended up…you know…here.”
Here being on Bret. Jemaine was starting to recognize that his face was nuzzled up against Bret’s chest, his tummy just a tad beneath him. Had his head been on his lap first? No. Not thinking about that.
“I see.” Bret murmured.
“So, what happened?”
“We fell asleep. Thought we both agreed on that.”
“No, no I mean - the movie-”
“What about it?”
“It’s off.”
“So are the lights.”
“Those too.”
“Hmm, must be the storm. Probably knocked out the power.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Bret nodded, even though Jemaine couldn’t see it. The oppressive darkness hung over them, somehow adding to the now, overpowering silence. Bret licked his lips, “Um, do - do you think-? I mean, maybe we should go to bed.”
After saying this, Bret immediately paled followed by a horrid flush, he was thankful for the cover of darkness, “I-I mean we should go to our separate beds and-and go to sleep.”
“Yes. Right.” Jemaine wasn’t quite sure why his heart was jumping around in his chest like a wired jack rabbit but he wished it would stop. The darkness was not helping. He very carefully moved about, trying to put his hands in the right places.
It was hard to angle himself up right, especially when he couldn’t see very well and his glasses kept slipping around his face. He rested his hand on something and frowned, “Think I found the remote.”
“Ahhhhttthat’s-that’s not the remote!”
“What? But it’s - oh. OH! Oh. Oh oh oh oh….”
“Please, ah, please be careful…there…Jemaine-”
“Sorry sorry sorry,” Jemaine moved his hand immediately, even though he still felt like it had burned an imprint, and why had it been-? And, ok, must never think of that again and he shifted once more, trying to move off. But somehow instead of moving off he was moving up and it felt like he was getting closer to Bret, who was trying to shrink away but, thanks to the arm rest at his back, wasn’t getting very far.
Jemaine’s breath brushed across Bret’s face and Bret let out something resembling a squeak. Jemaine froze, “Bret? Was that you?”
“N-No.”
“Oh. We might have mice then.”
Bret was trying to hold back the alarmed ‘oh god’s that came with Jemaine squirming up the length of him and with each moment, each movement, it was growing increasingly more difficult. Why couldn’t Jemaine just find a good hand hold and push himself up and off all ready?
Worse, Jemaine stopped, his body still rested on top of Bret’s as, out of nowhere, he chuckled. Bret was sure it was from the hysteria of the situation but asked anyway, “What’s so funny?”
“This is like that scene, the one in ‘Top Gun’.”
Bret frowned and suddenly remembered the numerous times he had referenced real-life situations to various scenes in ‘Top Gun’. He smiled and replied with an ‘Oh yeah, it is, isn’t it?’ before realizing exactly what scene Jemaine was talking about.
Then he froze and felt…something…he felt…couldn’t be…
“Jemaine-”
Silence.
“Did-did you just put your mouth on my chin?”
More Silence.
“It…did you…”
Extra silence.
“Felt like your lips on my chin…”
“I…think sometimes you feel what you want to feel.”
“What?”
“Think you imagined it.”
“…don’t think so. My chin’s a little cool now from the…’s bit wet.”
“Maybe you’re sweating.”
“No, I don’t thinkaammm-”
Bret’s voice disappeared; the only sound was the rain.
“Mmm-did you…think you…you…you kissed me?”
“…no…”
“I-I couldn’t…did you just…couldn’t hear you…”
“I didn’t…I wouldn’t…” Jemaine’s voice was a broken whisper, his breath against Bret’s mouth. Bret could feel his proximity. He couldn’t see him well in the dark but he was so close. Bret’s whole body felt heavy and it was suddenly so hot again, and his hands were somehow on Jemaine’s back. And the dark. And the weight on him.
“Flip…” Bret’s didn’t know who moved first or what was happening or how it was happening but somehow it was happening and Jemaine’s lips were on his and his mouth was open and it was wet and slick.
This wasn’t Bret. This wasn’t what Bret did. He didn’t kiss on the first date and even when he did, the first kiss was chaste and short and not…this. And it was most certainly with girls. But it was dark and warm and his hands, his fingers were entangled in soft hair.
The kiss was off and weird and not very good. It was too hasty and frantic. There was too much tongue and too much sloppiness. But they just kept on kissing, neither drawing away. And then, then it shifted and became slower and Jemaine’s head tilted and that just made the angle better, made it right, and abruptly Bret groaned with the sheer pleasure of it.
Jemaine’s hands were fluttery, not sure where to go and where they could stay and they just hovered and browsed various parts of Bret’s anatomy. And suddenly his hips moved, jerking almost spasmodically, and the movement was sharper than intended, causing their teeth to clack together. They both grunted but with something that was a mix of pain and bliss.
Bret wanted to say Jemaine’s name but he didn’t. The dark was a cover. With the dark he could pretend…but in his mind they were doing exactly what they were doing now and it was bright and clear. He could see Jemaine and he wasn’t quick to replace Jemaine in his mind with someone else…he really didn’t want to.
He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know what that meant.
Jemaine’s hips moved again and Bret didn’t know anything anymore. You can move just a little, an old memory whispered in the back of his mind and he gave himself over to instinct, his hips moving as well, the friction building. It was hot and strange and a slight uncomfortable but they kept at it, because it somehow felt sort of amazing. It felt like when they first wrote a song and not all the pieces fit, but then that one note or key lyric fell into place and it all made sense and just worked.
Jemaine’s mouth finally left Bret’s and they both finally began to breathe because they had to and their breaths came out in rushed gasps. Jemaine rested his face against Bret’s neck and panted. His voice was so quiet and so pleading Bret almost couldn’t make it out.
“…should tell me to stop…please…help me…”
Bret’s eyes were watering and he didn’t know why.
“…tell me to stop…”
Jemaine’s lips were on Bret’s neck, kissing and licking and then their mouths found each other again and how was it; it was so awful at the beginning and so wonderful now? Their hips were still moving against each other, finding some strange rhythm and Bret’s body felt wound tight, the rest of him dizzy. Then there was a snapping noise and a hum and lights…bright lights…
Suddenly Bret was achingly cold and he realized his eyes had been closed. He opened them, panting and saw Jemaine on the far end of the couch. His hair was tousled and his clothes rumpled and the look of terror on his face was shattering. Bret sat up. He was cold. Freezing. And he realized he was trembling all over.
Jemaine got to his feet. His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white, and he wouldn’t look at Bret. He wouldn’t look at him.
“This didn’t happen. We will never speak of it.”
Jemaine turned and went into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him, the noise carrying the heavy click of finality. Bret just sat there. It was like all the heat had gone out of the world. He didn’t know what to do. Or what to think. The power was back on and the TV was hissing snow at him, the VCR noisily popping out the movie.
Bret rose to his feet unsteadily. The humming in his body was dying, his lips were going numb. He robotically cleaned up the spilled popcorn. He put away the bowl and the glasses. He threw away the empty can Dave had given him. He clicked off the TV and took out the tape. He looked at it with sudden distaste and hurled it far away from him.
He turned off the lights and lay back down on the couch. Eventually Jemaine emerged from the bathroom and lumbered into the bedroom. Bret could hear him collapse on his mattress.
Bret’s mind was a whirling, confused mess. He wrapped his arms around himself and drew his legs up close to his chin, his eyes watering again. He didn’t know what happened. It didn’t happen. But it did and he didn’t know…
The storm continued outside unabated.
I wish I knew who did the cover to this Depeche Mode song I'm listening too.
I, of course, love the original version by Depeche Mode, but I found this version on an old burned CD of mine. I'm pretty sure it's from some teen soundtrack, but for the life of me, I don't know which one...anyway, the song is kind of a mini-soundtrack for this part of the fic...so yea! :D
Part 4: Dissipation (or ‘This Didn’t Happen’)
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG-13
Word Count: 1,854
Warnings: Steaminess ahoy!
Brief summary: There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm-Willa Cather
Notes: Here be the end! Another round of applause for the lovely beta, Ms. lordstarfish. Also, there is a scene in here that is based off this gorgeous piece of artwork by the talented Ms.ediblestars -- thanks to her as well, as she gave me the green light to reference it!
When Jemaine woke it was very, very dark. The rain was still pattering outside and there was the occasional malcontented growl of thunder. He was confused for a few moments as to his actual position.
He was lying down, of that much he was sure, but his face was all warm and cushioned. It was pressed up against something nice and soft, some strange pillow and his glasses were resting askew on his face. He felt a drowsy grin form as he enjoyed his cozy position. He could vaguely make out the popcorn bowl on the floor and he sleepily dipped his hand into it, fiddling with a few pieces.
It wasn’t that he was hungry exactly, but his sluggish brain just latched on to it. The sound of his hand clacking against the glass bowl and the popcorn pieces inside shifting about was rather louder than it normally would have been and then something odd happened.
Jemaine’s pillow moved.
Jemaine froze and slowly realized his pillow was a little too warm and little too soft. And that his pillow was breathing. Jemaine’s eyes shifted up to one corner. Maybe he could just feign sleep a little longer…
“I know you’re not really asleep, Jemaine…”
The first word that popped into Jemaine’s mind was a rather filthy curse word. He licked his lips and tried to be nonchalant, “’llo Bret.”
Bret shifted, feeling Jemaine’s weight on him. He had one arm flung over the arm rest and the other resting at the nape of Jemaine’s neck. Bret swallowed and looked down at Jemaine, thankful for the darkness as a rather unique set of expressions filtered over his face.
Jemaine spoke up, “I - I was asleep, you know.”
“I know.”
“Just woke up…and…and you?”
“I was asleep too. I also just woke a bit ago.”
“Oh. Good. Good,” Jemaine cleared his throat, “I, uh, I must have fallen. In my sleep. I was sleeping sitting up and I must have, sort of, collapsed and somehow ended up…you know…here.”
Here being on Bret. Jemaine was starting to recognize that his face was nuzzled up against Bret’s chest, his tummy just a tad beneath him. Had his head been on his lap first? No. Not thinking about that.
“I see.” Bret murmured.
“So, what happened?”
“We fell asleep. Thought we both agreed on that.”
“No, no I mean - the movie-”
“What about it?”
“It’s off.”
“So are the lights.”
“Those too.”
“Hmm, must be the storm. Probably knocked out the power.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Bret nodded, even though Jemaine couldn’t see it. The oppressive darkness hung over them, somehow adding to the now, overpowering silence. Bret licked his lips, “Um, do - do you think-? I mean, maybe we should go to bed.”
After saying this, Bret immediately paled followed by a horrid flush, he was thankful for the cover of darkness, “I-I mean we should go to our separate beds and-and go to sleep.”
“Yes. Right.” Jemaine wasn’t quite sure why his heart was jumping around in his chest like a wired jack rabbit but he wished it would stop. The darkness was not helping. He very carefully moved about, trying to put his hands in the right places.
It was hard to angle himself up right, especially when he couldn’t see very well and his glasses kept slipping around his face. He rested his hand on something and frowned, “Think I found the remote.”
“Ahhhhttthat’s-that’s not the remote!”
“What? But it’s - oh. OH! Oh. Oh oh oh oh….”
“Please, ah, please be careful…there…Jemaine-”
“Sorry sorry sorry,” Jemaine moved his hand immediately, even though he still felt like it had burned an imprint, and why had it been-? And, ok, must never think of that again and he shifted once more, trying to move off. But somehow instead of moving off he was moving up and it felt like he was getting closer to Bret, who was trying to shrink away but, thanks to the arm rest at his back, wasn’t getting very far.
Jemaine’s breath brushed across Bret’s face and Bret let out something resembling a squeak. Jemaine froze, “Bret? Was that you?”
“N-No.”
“Oh. We might have mice then.”
Bret was trying to hold back the alarmed ‘oh god’s that came with Jemaine squirming up the length of him and with each moment, each movement, it was growing increasingly more difficult. Why couldn’t Jemaine just find a good hand hold and push himself up and off all ready?
Worse, Jemaine stopped, his body still rested on top of Bret’s as, out of nowhere, he chuckled. Bret was sure it was from the hysteria of the situation but asked anyway, “What’s so funny?”
“This is like that scene, the one in ‘Top Gun’.”
Bret frowned and suddenly remembered the numerous times he had referenced real-life situations to various scenes in ‘Top Gun’. He smiled and replied with an ‘Oh yeah, it is, isn’t it?’ before realizing exactly what scene Jemaine was talking about.
Then he froze and felt…something…he felt…couldn’t be…
“Jemaine-”
Silence.
“Did-did you just put your mouth on my chin?”
More Silence.
“It…did you…”
Extra silence.
“Felt like your lips on my chin…”
“I…think sometimes you feel what you want to feel.”
“What?”
“Think you imagined it.”
“…don’t think so. My chin’s a little cool now from the…’s bit wet.”
“Maybe you’re sweating.”
“No, I don’t thinkaammm-”
Bret’s voice disappeared; the only sound was the rain.
“Mmm-did you…think you…you…you kissed me?”
“…no…”
“I-I couldn’t…did you just…couldn’t hear you…”
“I didn’t…I wouldn’t…” Jemaine’s voice was a broken whisper, his breath against Bret’s mouth. Bret could feel his proximity. He couldn’t see him well in the dark but he was so close. Bret’s whole body felt heavy and it was suddenly so hot again, and his hands were somehow on Jemaine’s back. And the dark. And the weight on him.
“Flip…” Bret’s didn’t know who moved first or what was happening or how it was happening but somehow it was happening and Jemaine’s lips were on his and his mouth was open and it was wet and slick.
This wasn’t Bret. This wasn’t what Bret did. He didn’t kiss on the first date and even when he did, the first kiss was chaste and short and not…this. And it was most certainly with girls. But it was dark and warm and his hands, his fingers were entangled in soft hair.
The kiss was off and weird and not very good. It was too hasty and frantic. There was too much tongue and too much sloppiness. But they just kept on kissing, neither drawing away. And then, then it shifted and became slower and Jemaine’s head tilted and that just made the angle better, made it right, and abruptly Bret groaned with the sheer pleasure of it.
Jemaine’s hands were fluttery, not sure where to go and where they could stay and they just hovered and browsed various parts of Bret’s anatomy. And suddenly his hips moved, jerking almost spasmodically, and the movement was sharper than intended, causing their teeth to clack together. They both grunted but with something that was a mix of pain and bliss.
Bret wanted to say Jemaine’s name but he didn’t. The dark was a cover. With the dark he could pretend…but in his mind they were doing exactly what they were doing now and it was bright and clear. He could see Jemaine and he wasn’t quick to replace Jemaine in his mind with someone else…he really didn’t want to.
He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know what that meant.
Jemaine’s hips moved again and Bret didn’t know anything anymore. You can move just a little, an old memory whispered in the back of his mind and he gave himself over to instinct, his hips moving as well, the friction building. It was hot and strange and a slight uncomfortable but they kept at it, because it somehow felt sort of amazing. It felt like when they first wrote a song and not all the pieces fit, but then that one note or key lyric fell into place and it all made sense and just worked.
Jemaine’s mouth finally left Bret’s and they both finally began to breathe because they had to and their breaths came out in rushed gasps. Jemaine rested his face against Bret’s neck and panted. His voice was so quiet and so pleading Bret almost couldn’t make it out.
“…should tell me to stop…please…help me…”
Bret’s eyes were watering and he didn’t know why.
“…tell me to stop…”
Jemaine’s lips were on Bret’s neck, kissing and licking and then their mouths found each other again and how was it; it was so awful at the beginning and so wonderful now? Their hips were still moving against each other, finding some strange rhythm and Bret’s body felt wound tight, the rest of him dizzy. Then there was a snapping noise and a hum and lights…bright lights…
Suddenly Bret was achingly cold and he realized his eyes had been closed. He opened them, panting and saw Jemaine on the far end of the couch. His hair was tousled and his clothes rumpled and the look of terror on his face was shattering. Bret sat up. He was cold. Freezing. And he realized he was trembling all over.
Jemaine got to his feet. His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white, and he wouldn’t look at Bret. He wouldn’t look at him.
“This didn’t happen. We will never speak of it.”
Jemaine turned and went into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him, the noise carrying the heavy click of finality. Bret just sat there. It was like all the heat had gone out of the world. He didn’t know what to do. Or what to think. The power was back on and the TV was hissing snow at him, the VCR noisily popping out the movie.
Bret rose to his feet unsteadily. The humming in his body was dying, his lips were going numb. He robotically cleaned up the spilled popcorn. He put away the bowl and the glasses. He threw away the empty can Dave had given him. He clicked off the TV and took out the tape. He looked at it with sudden distaste and hurled it far away from him.
He turned off the lights and lay back down on the couch. Eventually Jemaine emerged from the bathroom and lumbered into the bedroom. Bret could hear him collapse on his mattress.
Bret’s mind was a whirling, confused mess. He wrapped his arms around himself and drew his legs up close to his chin, his eyes watering again. He didn’t know what happened. It didn’t happen. But it did and he didn’t know…
The storm continued outside unabated.
I wish I knew who did the cover to this Depeche Mode song I'm listening too.
I, of course, love the original version by Depeche Mode, but I found this version on an old burned CD of mine. I'm pretty sure it's from some teen soundtrack, but for the life of me, I don't know which one...anyway, the song is kind of a mini-soundtrack for this part of the fic...so yea! :D