fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 7
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 7: addiction
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13, skirting R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: The tameness takes on some heat…
Back to Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
Bret came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his neck, a hand absently rubbing one end through his hair. He had slipped his boxers back on, but past that wore little else and he sighed as the outside air from the open windows hit him full force.
The tempertaure in New York was slowly crawling into higher digits and both Bret and Jemiane had looked for various ways to cool off. The air conditioning was out of order and they were both dismayed to discover that the electrical fan in their apartment (that they had long taken for granted) was on the fritz.
Bret had ended up deciding on a bath full of cold water while Jemaine, overcome with the heat, had settled down for a distracting sleep. As Bret ran the towel over his body he looked at his shirt hung over the top of the couch, debating whether or not he wanted to put it back on.
He looked towards the bedroom and saw Jemaine lying down on the heap of blankets and sheets on the floor that had now become their shared bed. He seemed completely dead to the world and Bret vaguely wondered if the heat had made him pass out completely.
Looking at his shirt again, Bret let out another sigh, deciding it was probably best if he put it on. After all, it wouldn’t do for Jemaine to wake up and find Bret sitting around in just his underwear. If he did, Bret would never hear the end of it. He tossed the towel to one side and slipped the shirt back on, grimacing as the loose cotton material clung to his damp back.
The cold bath had helped combat the heat a little, but overall it was a band aid over a gaping wound. The only way they were ever really going to find any relief from this heat wave was for either the air condition to magically start working or for them to purchase a new fan, as technically Bret could easily afford one. The only problem with that, being that if he spent money on a fan, he’d have less money to spend on Jemaine.
Bret found himself floating into the bedroom, his eyes cast down on Jemaine’s sleeping form. He shook his head; maybe it was for the best. The sooner the money was gone, the sooner he could stop…
Bret let out a breath, distressed at how loud it sounded to his ears as he slowly lowered himself down on to the floor opposite Jemaine. He lay on his right side, looking at Jemaine’s face. It was funny. He never had really looked at Jemaine’s face all that much before. After all, there had never really been much of a reason to focus his full attention on it.
But now, here, in the heat of their apartment, the world seemed slow and lazy and Bret felt as if he had all the time in the world. He could spend an eternity just looking at this or memorizing that, and right now he chose to spend it all on Jemaine’s face. The light from the outside window filtered in, a dull, amber glow filled with small motes of dust that settled over them and Bret’s eyes narrowed as he watched one particle floated down lazily to land on Jemaine’s lips.
This was the part of Jemaine’s face that was the most prominent and most noticeable to people, the one trait that stuck out the most in their minds, but Bret found himself kind of bored with that feature. So Jemaine had big lips. So what? Didn’t he have anything else about his face worth mentioning?
Bret found himself searching it, searching Jemaine’s face like a map or a constellation, looking for some new path, some new avenue, that no one had ever noticed before, something undiscovered. Something that Bret could scurry out and keep all for himself, like some strange secret.
Well, he certainly had a strong forehead. But it was supported by his eyebrows, thick and dark and, in a way; Bret almost found it sad that, even in sleep with his brow unfurrowed, Jemaine looked sort of foreboding and grouchy. Then there was his nose, which was kind of long and not big, necessarily, but certainly not small either. Not like Bret’s own nose, anyway.
His face was framed by his sideburns, which Bret always thought looked kind of like weird, rectangular shag carpets that led up to his ears or maybe dark landing strips for super tiny planes. Bret could almost imagine a microscopic vehicle, like the one in ‘Fantastic Voyage’, traveling down Jemaine’s ear and into his body to explore and work out any kinks or problems he might have internally. Maybe they could fix the problem that made Jemaine’s face look so serious even in sleep.
Bret blinked a few times, his imaginary tale ending as his attention shifted over to the lines under Jemaine’s eyes. Wrinkles? Or were they just the natural lines that had always been there? Lines from too much sleep or not enough, lines that outlined the shape of his eyes…
There were more lines too, on either side of his mouth and then there was that indent on his chin, like his face had been made from clay and the sculptor had pushed their thumb there, on that spot, just a bit too long and left a permant impression. Bret balked when he realized his own hand had risen up involuntarily, his thumb inches from pressing down on the very spot he had just been scrutinizing.
He drew his hand back as if it had been about to touch something exceedingly sharp or hot or just…dangerous. He drew that very hand close to his chest and curled it into a fist, squeezing it hard with his other hand. What had he been thinking? What had he almost done?
Jemaine let out a sleepy mummer and buried himself deeper into his pillow, completely unconscious of the events that had almost taken place. If Bret had touched him, would Jemaine have woken up? And if he had, what would Bret have said? Bret rolled over onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fist still clutched to his body.
He had almost touched Jemaine. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched Jemaine before but…this was different. This was wrong. And scary. And…and he didn’t know what was going on.
Ever since this had started, this whole companion mess, things had gotten progressively stranger and stranger and Bret found himself questioning things he never had before. Thinking things he never had before. And worse, worse, against all the odds, it was getting worse, because he found himself growing increasingly more and more addicted to something he knew he shouldn’t be addicted to in the first place.
Jemaine’s touch.
Bret found himself struggling not to spend all his money in one day and, as it was, he now dreaded how much he had all ready spent. How little he had left. And then he caught himself thinking of ways to somehow sneak prolonged contacts, ways to get more than his money’s worth, ways of making it…last.
And Jemaine certainly hadn’t helped matters. Offering free restings and then touching him, touching him, for free, without being asked, without being paid, without…and…god, it was so stupid, so childish. He had just been wiping ice cream off Bret’s face because apparently Bret was sloppy and here Bret was analyzing it to death.
But all he could think about, all he could remember, was the brief, careless touch and Jemaine’s thumb disappearing into his mouth…
And it was since that moment, since that inadvertent and, honestly, innocent touch that Bret had become gripped with this mad, crazy desire to touch Jemaine. A crazy desire he had almost indulged now and that would have been bad. So, so, bad because…
It wasn’t part of the deal. Not really. Bret was paying Jemaine to touch him. Not the other way around. Granted, Bret could probably make some deal where he paid Jemaine to let Bret touch him but…that was the thing.
Bret was all ready addicted as it was to Jemaine touching him but Bret…if he touched Jemaine…
Flip! And no, okay, flip wasn’t strong enough a word for this because, really, fuck, if Bret touched Jemaine he was worried he wouldn’t be able to stop. Bret was worried if he touched his friend he’d…fuck, he didn’t know what he would do and that terrified him beyond belief.
Bret realized he could hear himself breathing and it sounded dreadful. Awful. He took a deep breath and tried to control it. Concentrated on trying to get it to sound normal and right and not like this. It took a few minutes but eventually the sound wasn’t as loud.
It was all so ridiculous.
It was a shame that Miss Adams hadn’t been interested in men. Bret could use a woman. Any woman. He needed a girl. This whole companion thing…it had been a bad idea. A stupid idea. Bret rubbed at his forehead, scowling.
Yeah, it had been stupid.
He should just nudge Jemaine awake; tell him it was all over. They could go to Dave’s, buy a fan and then maybe go to a bar like Jemaine had originally suggested. Get some beers, get some women, get some…things could go back to how they were before…all this. Things could go back to normal.
Bret rolled back over to his right side. Jemaine hadn’t moved an inch and Bret reached out a hand to shake him awake. But the hand didn’t touch him. It just floated right above Jemaine’s shoulder. It felt like it was shaking. God, please don’t let it be…
Bret drew the hand back, running in through his hair and he pressed his face into his other arm because, dammit, he ached and he didn’t want to think about why.
Jemaine let out a rather loud sleepy grunt then, eyes blinking drowsily as he started to wake. As his eyes began to focus better, he noticed a form close to him and reared back, startled, voice thick with sleep, “Bret? ‘Zat you?”
“Yeah, man. It’s me.”
“Mmm,” Jemaine mumbled, rubbing his face along his pillow, “Whatcha doin’?”
“Nothing…you?”
“Wakin’. Why’re you here?”
“Oh…just….um…having a bit of a sleep.”
“You sleeping?”
“Was thinking about it.”
“Huh,” Jemaine opened one eye and then the other, alternating a bit before keeping both eyes fully open, pulling his face from the depths of his pillow with considerable effort. His entire demeanor was overly lazy as he said quietly, “You make up your mind then?”
“Yeah. Don’t think I’m going to. Sleep, that is. It’s too hot.”
Jemaine took in a deep breath and nodded his agreement, then, looking at Bret again, he frowned as he rolled over on to his back, “Um, Bret?”
“Yes?”
“Are….you not wearing pants?”
“I’m wearing boxers.”
“So, no, then.”
“Told you. It’s too hot.”
“Riiight,” Jemaine drew out, his gaze focused on the ceiling, “We should, um, do something then. To make it not so hot.”
“I was thinking we should go get a new fan. You know, to replace the broken one.”
“Good idea.”
“I…can use some of my money to get it.”
Jemaine’s eyebrows knitted together in thought, his frown deepening, “Your money?”
“Yeah.”
There was a thick silence and then Jemaine took a loud breath, his mouth open as if to ask a question. But, just as quick as it opened, it snapped shut and Jemaine rolled up into a sitting position, scratching at the back of his head as he muttered, “Okay. Right. I’ll…I’ll just…I’ve got to use the toilet.”
Bret sat up slowly and watched Jemaine walk away, wondering what, if anything, had just happened.
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Jemaine washed his hands, dried them off, and then gripped either edge of the sink in his hands. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and asked himself what the hell was wrong.
Back in the bedroom, when Bret had announced his intentions to buy a fan, Jemaine had opened his mouth and had been about to ask if that was a good idea, considering Bret had pretty much promised to pay him all his money. That wouldn’t necessarily have been uncharacteristic of him, but the emotions behind the words were.
Not that Bret could sense his emotions but, well, even if he did…god, Jemaine didn’t even understand his own emotions. What did it matter if Bret spent twenty dollars on a fan and eighty dollars on him? It was Bret’s money and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Jemaine certainly couldn’t be envious of Bret wasting his money on a lousy fan.
Except that, bizarrely, he kind of was.
Great. Just great.
Jemaine rubbed at his forehead and tried to work this out in his mind so it could make some semblance of sense. Okay, so, it wasn’t that he was jealous; so much as he was annoyed because Bret was supposed to spend all his money on him so he could use all the money on the beers and the women.
Yes.
That was it.
It wasn’t because Jemaine was concerned (concerned, not freaked out) that once all of Bret’s money was gone he couldn’t touch him anymore. No, no, it certainly wasn’t that.
Jemaine wanted his ‘companionship’ to be over.
Jemaine didn’t want to be Bret’s companion any longer than necessary.
Jemaine didn’t want to touch Bret any longer than necessary.
Jemaine just wanted to get the money and get out and be done with it.
Bret was just a client and this was just a job and once it was over things could go back to how they used to be and all this confusion would end.
Jemaine tried to picture it in his mind. Bret handing him the hundred dollars, Jemaine down in the bar, surrounded by beautiful women. He had had this fantasy before. He had had it ever since he had come up with this idea.
At least, he had certainly fantasized about himself in the bar with the women. But this time…this time it was different. It was still the same fantasy, him at the bar, beautiful women all around him but this time Bret was there. In the back of the bar, looking lonely and put out and Jemaine….Jemaine couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Surrounded as he was, by a sea of beautiful women, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Bret. And his hands…they felt empty…lost and he felt this terrible ache in the center of him. This crazy, driving need to touch…
Jemaine smacked both hands on either of the sink in frustration, and then hissed at the after effects of the action. He rubbed his fingers in one palm and then the other, sort of massaging the pain away, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He scowled at himself, shaking his head.
It was all so ridiculous.
Jemaine felt a trickle of sweat working down his back and let out a sigh as the heat of the apartment really began to settle in on him. He hadn’t noticed it so much when he was asleep, but now, awake…
He looked at himself again and nodded resolutely.
It was all so ridiculous.
It was time to make it not so much.
He exited the bathroom and grabbed a handful of clothes. He started shrugging them on, not looking at Bret as he said curtly, “Come on. Let’s go buy a fan.”
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“Nice of Dave to give us this fan for free.” Bret remarked as he readjusted his grip on the large electric fan he held close to his chest. Both he and Jemaine exited the elevator and walked over to their apartment.
Jemaine looked from Bret to the fan and then back again.
Great.
So much for his defiant attempt to quickly get things back to normal.
The free fan meant that Bret still had more than enough money to spend on Jemaine. This, Jemaine supposed, should have made him feel better. He sighed as he fished out his apartment key and started unlocking the door, talking to Bret over his shoulder, “Yeah, but that’s only with the stipulation that we take care of Murray.”
“True.”
“Do you have any ideas as to how we can do that?” Jemaine questioned as he opened the door wide so Bret could enter with the fan. Bret took the fan over to the living room and gently set it down, huffing out a ‘phew’ as he wiped a hand over his sweaty forehead, “Dunno. We can bring it up at the next band meeting. Just tell Murray to stop annoying him.”
“No, Bret, you know Murray. That’ll just egg him on. He’ll bug Dave even more and then we’ll have to give the fan back.”
“Hrm, maybe we could try to get him to contact Shelly? After all, just seems like he’s lonely…”
“Nah, Shelly’s no good. I think she’s remarried or dead or something.”
“Oh,” Bret’s lower lip stuck out thoughtfully, “Too bad.”
Jemaine just made a noise in his throat. He hadn’t been a particularly big fan of Shelly’s. Actually, Bret hadn’t been either, so he had been somewhat surprised Bret had even brought her up. Then again, desperate times…
“We could,” Bret scratched the side of his forehead, the plug for the fan in his hand, “We could try to get Jim to forgive him.”
Jemaine’s mouth sort of scrunched up and he shook his head, “Nah. Don’t want to get mixed up in that.”
Bret shrugged and plugged in the fan, “Well, I’m out of ideas then.”
Jemaine sighed dramatically, and then noticed a folder sitting on the kitchen table. He walked over to the folder and flicked it open to see Mel’s story inside. One of his eyebrows rose, “Hey. Bret.”
Bret clicked on the fan and, as cool air began to stream out and flow over his overheated skin, he let out a noise of relief. Jemaine took this sound as recognition of what he had just said, “Bret, we could give Murray Mel’s story.”
Bret made an inquiring sound even as he closed his eyes, giving himself over to the comforts of the fan. Jemaine continued, “We could give Murray Mel’s story, have him read it. Give us the lowdown on it. That would distract him. Keep him away from Dave.”
“Yeah, yeah…sounds good.” Bret said dreamily.
Jemaine shook his head and came over; about to chastise Bret for not listening to him when he too felt the cool lick of the air the fan was producing. He practically fell to his knees in front of it, sighing, “Ohhh…that’s…nice.”
“Mmhmm.” Bret agreed.
The two friends sat in front of the fan, practically worshiping it as they both cooled down. Bret smiled suddenly as he looked at Jemaine, and he nudged his shoulder with his own, “Hey.”
Jemaine merely made a sound, not moving a muscle as he continued to let the cool air of the fan bathe him.
“Jemaine, hey,” Bret said, again nudging him bodily.
“What?” Jemaine breathed.
“Check this out,” Bret said and he eased closer to the fan, until his face was inches from the grate that covered the spinning blades. He started speaking gibberish into the fan and Jemaine noticed with some amusement that the sound of Bret’s voice came back distorted as it bounced off the spinning blades.
Bret leaned back, “You try it.”
Jemaine leaned forward and cleared his throat, saying tentatively into the fan, “Testing, testing…”
His words came out strange and they both grinned. Bret leaned forward again and started saying the alphabet into the fan. Jemaine adjusted the settings knob on the fan, making the speed go faster.
“…E, F, G, H - Flip! Jemaine! I-” Bret’s words cut off as the air from the fan started hitting him full force, blowing his hair back in weird directions. Jemaine smirked and Bret smacked Jemaine’s hands away from the knob to try and adjust the fan to a better speed. Jemaine smacked Bret’s hand back and they both sort of struggled over the knob while Bret continued trying to say the alphabet through the blades. Jemaine leaned near the blades as well, muttering, “Danger! Danger!”
“…N…O…intruder! Intruder alert! Gah!” Bret laughed as his struggles over the knob and equal air time on the fan gave way to his full out grappling with Jemaine, who was actually laughing pretty openly now. They both wrestled in front of the fan, feet kicking ineffectually at the air as they squirmed over one another, hands locked together, each pushing back at the other.
Jemaine ended up underneath Bret, and he mentally registered that Bret was actually pretty strong for a little guy. The wiry muscles on Bret’s arms stood out as he forced Jemaine down beneath him. Jemaine laughed as he continued to struggle to get Bret off of him. He tried to roll Bret beneath him but not with much success and Bret was laughing too now as he started to push Jemaine’s hands down to the floor, effectively pinning him.
“Surrender! Surrender!” Bret crowed.
“Never!” Jemaine vowed valiantly as he grunted, trying to push back with all his might to upend Bret.
“Face it, Jemaine. I win…”
“Nope!”
“Submit,” Bret breathed and suddenly, simultaneously, the whole situation became starkly real to both of them. Instantly they both froze as it all settled in. Bret was on top of Jemaine, pinning him to the ground. Their legs were tangled up together; their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined.
They were both breathing heavily (panting) and their bodies couldn’t get much closer, hips pressed to one another and Jemaine took in a breath, the sounds of it shuddering through the air made both of them shiver.
Bret swallowed thickly as he found himself looking down at Jemaine’s face. He had looked at before but it seemed different now in this light, at this angle, and earlier he had avoided looking at Jemaine’s lips but now, now his gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to his friend’s mouth and he heard a loud thud in his ears.
He breathed out; looking at those lips and something came out of his own mouth, some inaudible curse as he found himself floating down closer and closer, drawn in like a tractor beam.
Bret’s face hovered just inches above Jemaine’s, eyes still on his mouth, his own head tilted to one side, his mouth so close…and then he blinked. His face was a strained mask as he drew away, disentangling himself from Jemaine, voice so soft Jemaine almost couldn’t hear him, “Sorry, I-”
“’S all right,” Jemaine returned, his eyes still focused on Bret. He had never seen Bret look so…intense before. So concentrated and serious and…
Jemaine tried his best to ignore the throbbing twitch that had formed in his belly and, even worse, the fact that the twitch hadn’t originated in his belly but from a place far lower than that. Jemaine shifted where he lay on the floor, hating the heavy feeling there, and tossed an arm over his eyes, despair setting in.
Bret got to his feet and licked his lips, his voice hoarse when he spoke, “Think…think I’m going to get a glass of water. Thirsty.”
Jemaine answered with a grunt, not moving an inch and wondered weakly if, now, it was even possible for things to ever go back to normal.
On to Part 8
Part 7: addiction
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13, skirting R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: The tameness takes on some heat…
Back to Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
Bret came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his neck, a hand absently rubbing one end through his hair. He had slipped his boxers back on, but past that wore little else and he sighed as the outside air from the open windows hit him full force.
The tempertaure in New York was slowly crawling into higher digits and both Bret and Jemiane had looked for various ways to cool off. The air conditioning was out of order and they were both dismayed to discover that the electrical fan in their apartment (that they had long taken for granted) was on the fritz.
Bret had ended up deciding on a bath full of cold water while Jemaine, overcome with the heat, had settled down for a distracting sleep. As Bret ran the towel over his body he looked at his shirt hung over the top of the couch, debating whether or not he wanted to put it back on.
He looked towards the bedroom and saw Jemaine lying down on the heap of blankets and sheets on the floor that had now become their shared bed. He seemed completely dead to the world and Bret vaguely wondered if the heat had made him pass out completely.
Looking at his shirt again, Bret let out another sigh, deciding it was probably best if he put it on. After all, it wouldn’t do for Jemaine to wake up and find Bret sitting around in just his underwear. If he did, Bret would never hear the end of it. He tossed the towel to one side and slipped the shirt back on, grimacing as the loose cotton material clung to his damp back.
The cold bath had helped combat the heat a little, but overall it was a band aid over a gaping wound. The only way they were ever really going to find any relief from this heat wave was for either the air condition to magically start working or for them to purchase a new fan, as technically Bret could easily afford one. The only problem with that, being that if he spent money on a fan, he’d have less money to spend on Jemaine.
Bret found himself floating into the bedroom, his eyes cast down on Jemaine’s sleeping form. He shook his head; maybe it was for the best. The sooner the money was gone, the sooner he could stop…
Bret let out a breath, distressed at how loud it sounded to his ears as he slowly lowered himself down on to the floor opposite Jemaine. He lay on his right side, looking at Jemaine’s face. It was funny. He never had really looked at Jemaine’s face all that much before. After all, there had never really been much of a reason to focus his full attention on it.
But now, here, in the heat of their apartment, the world seemed slow and lazy and Bret felt as if he had all the time in the world. He could spend an eternity just looking at this or memorizing that, and right now he chose to spend it all on Jemaine’s face. The light from the outside window filtered in, a dull, amber glow filled with small motes of dust that settled over them and Bret’s eyes narrowed as he watched one particle floated down lazily to land on Jemaine’s lips.
This was the part of Jemaine’s face that was the most prominent and most noticeable to people, the one trait that stuck out the most in their minds, but Bret found himself kind of bored with that feature. So Jemaine had big lips. So what? Didn’t he have anything else about his face worth mentioning?
Bret found himself searching it, searching Jemaine’s face like a map or a constellation, looking for some new path, some new avenue, that no one had ever noticed before, something undiscovered. Something that Bret could scurry out and keep all for himself, like some strange secret.
Well, he certainly had a strong forehead. But it was supported by his eyebrows, thick and dark and, in a way; Bret almost found it sad that, even in sleep with his brow unfurrowed, Jemaine looked sort of foreboding and grouchy. Then there was his nose, which was kind of long and not big, necessarily, but certainly not small either. Not like Bret’s own nose, anyway.
His face was framed by his sideburns, which Bret always thought looked kind of like weird, rectangular shag carpets that led up to his ears or maybe dark landing strips for super tiny planes. Bret could almost imagine a microscopic vehicle, like the one in ‘Fantastic Voyage’, traveling down Jemaine’s ear and into his body to explore and work out any kinks or problems he might have internally. Maybe they could fix the problem that made Jemaine’s face look so serious even in sleep.
Bret blinked a few times, his imaginary tale ending as his attention shifted over to the lines under Jemaine’s eyes. Wrinkles? Or were they just the natural lines that had always been there? Lines from too much sleep or not enough, lines that outlined the shape of his eyes…
There were more lines too, on either side of his mouth and then there was that indent on his chin, like his face had been made from clay and the sculptor had pushed their thumb there, on that spot, just a bit too long and left a permant impression. Bret balked when he realized his own hand had risen up involuntarily, his thumb inches from pressing down on the very spot he had just been scrutinizing.
He drew his hand back as if it had been about to touch something exceedingly sharp or hot or just…dangerous. He drew that very hand close to his chest and curled it into a fist, squeezing it hard with his other hand. What had he been thinking? What had he almost done?
Jemaine let out a sleepy mummer and buried himself deeper into his pillow, completely unconscious of the events that had almost taken place. If Bret had touched him, would Jemaine have woken up? And if he had, what would Bret have said? Bret rolled over onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fist still clutched to his body.
He had almost touched Jemaine. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched Jemaine before but…this was different. This was wrong. And scary. And…and he didn’t know what was going on.
Ever since this had started, this whole companion mess, things had gotten progressively stranger and stranger and Bret found himself questioning things he never had before. Thinking things he never had before. And worse, worse, against all the odds, it was getting worse, because he found himself growing increasingly more and more addicted to something he knew he shouldn’t be addicted to in the first place.
Jemaine’s touch.
Bret found himself struggling not to spend all his money in one day and, as it was, he now dreaded how much he had all ready spent. How little he had left. And then he caught himself thinking of ways to somehow sneak prolonged contacts, ways to get more than his money’s worth, ways of making it…last.
And Jemaine certainly hadn’t helped matters. Offering free restings and then touching him, touching him, for free, without being asked, without being paid, without…and…god, it was so stupid, so childish. He had just been wiping ice cream off Bret’s face because apparently Bret was sloppy and here Bret was analyzing it to death.
But all he could think about, all he could remember, was the brief, careless touch and Jemaine’s thumb disappearing into his mouth…
And it was since that moment, since that inadvertent and, honestly, innocent touch that Bret had become gripped with this mad, crazy desire to touch Jemaine. A crazy desire he had almost indulged now and that would have been bad. So, so, bad because…
It wasn’t part of the deal. Not really. Bret was paying Jemaine to touch him. Not the other way around. Granted, Bret could probably make some deal where he paid Jemaine to let Bret touch him but…that was the thing.
Bret was all ready addicted as it was to Jemaine touching him but Bret…if he touched Jemaine…
Flip! And no, okay, flip wasn’t strong enough a word for this because, really, fuck, if Bret touched Jemaine he was worried he wouldn’t be able to stop. Bret was worried if he touched his friend he’d…fuck, he didn’t know what he would do and that terrified him beyond belief.
Bret realized he could hear himself breathing and it sounded dreadful. Awful. He took a deep breath and tried to control it. Concentrated on trying to get it to sound normal and right and not like this. It took a few minutes but eventually the sound wasn’t as loud.
It was all so ridiculous.
It was a shame that Miss Adams hadn’t been interested in men. Bret could use a woman. Any woman. He needed a girl. This whole companion thing…it had been a bad idea. A stupid idea. Bret rubbed at his forehead, scowling.
Yeah, it had been stupid.
He should just nudge Jemaine awake; tell him it was all over. They could go to Dave’s, buy a fan and then maybe go to a bar like Jemaine had originally suggested. Get some beers, get some women, get some…things could go back to how they were before…all this. Things could go back to normal.
Bret rolled back over to his right side. Jemaine hadn’t moved an inch and Bret reached out a hand to shake him awake. But the hand didn’t touch him. It just floated right above Jemaine’s shoulder. It felt like it was shaking. God, please don’t let it be…
Bret drew the hand back, running in through his hair and he pressed his face into his other arm because, dammit, he ached and he didn’t want to think about why.
Jemaine let out a rather loud sleepy grunt then, eyes blinking drowsily as he started to wake. As his eyes began to focus better, he noticed a form close to him and reared back, startled, voice thick with sleep, “Bret? ‘Zat you?”
“Yeah, man. It’s me.”
“Mmm,” Jemaine mumbled, rubbing his face along his pillow, “Whatcha doin’?”
“Nothing…you?”
“Wakin’. Why’re you here?”
“Oh…just….um…having a bit of a sleep.”
“You sleeping?”
“Was thinking about it.”
“Huh,” Jemaine opened one eye and then the other, alternating a bit before keeping both eyes fully open, pulling his face from the depths of his pillow with considerable effort. His entire demeanor was overly lazy as he said quietly, “You make up your mind then?”
“Yeah. Don’t think I’m going to. Sleep, that is. It’s too hot.”
Jemaine took in a deep breath and nodded his agreement, then, looking at Bret again, he frowned as he rolled over on to his back, “Um, Bret?”
“Yes?”
“Are….you not wearing pants?”
“I’m wearing boxers.”
“So, no, then.”
“Told you. It’s too hot.”
“Riiight,” Jemaine drew out, his gaze focused on the ceiling, “We should, um, do something then. To make it not so hot.”
“I was thinking we should go get a new fan. You know, to replace the broken one.”
“Good idea.”
“I…can use some of my money to get it.”
Jemaine’s eyebrows knitted together in thought, his frown deepening, “Your money?”
“Yeah.”
There was a thick silence and then Jemaine took a loud breath, his mouth open as if to ask a question. But, just as quick as it opened, it snapped shut and Jemaine rolled up into a sitting position, scratching at the back of his head as he muttered, “Okay. Right. I’ll…I’ll just…I’ve got to use the toilet.”
Bret sat up slowly and watched Jemaine walk away, wondering what, if anything, had just happened.
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Jemaine washed his hands, dried them off, and then gripped either edge of the sink in his hands. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and asked himself what the hell was wrong.
Back in the bedroom, when Bret had announced his intentions to buy a fan, Jemaine had opened his mouth and had been about to ask if that was a good idea, considering Bret had pretty much promised to pay him all his money. That wouldn’t necessarily have been uncharacteristic of him, but the emotions behind the words were.
Not that Bret could sense his emotions but, well, even if he did…god, Jemaine didn’t even understand his own emotions. What did it matter if Bret spent twenty dollars on a fan and eighty dollars on him? It was Bret’s money and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Jemaine certainly couldn’t be envious of Bret wasting his money on a lousy fan.
Except that, bizarrely, he kind of was.
Great. Just great.
Jemaine rubbed at his forehead and tried to work this out in his mind so it could make some semblance of sense. Okay, so, it wasn’t that he was jealous; so much as he was annoyed because Bret was supposed to spend all his money on him so he could use all the money on the beers and the women.
Yes.
That was it.
It wasn’t because Jemaine was concerned (concerned, not freaked out) that once all of Bret’s money was gone he couldn’t touch him anymore. No, no, it certainly wasn’t that.
Jemaine wanted his ‘companionship’ to be over.
Jemaine didn’t want to be Bret’s companion any longer than necessary.
Jemaine didn’t want to touch Bret any longer than necessary.
Jemaine just wanted to get the money and get out and be done with it.
Bret was just a client and this was just a job and once it was over things could go back to how they used to be and all this confusion would end.
Jemaine tried to picture it in his mind. Bret handing him the hundred dollars, Jemaine down in the bar, surrounded by beautiful women. He had had this fantasy before. He had had it ever since he had come up with this idea.
At least, he had certainly fantasized about himself in the bar with the women. But this time…this time it was different. It was still the same fantasy, him at the bar, beautiful women all around him but this time Bret was there. In the back of the bar, looking lonely and put out and Jemaine….Jemaine couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Surrounded as he was, by a sea of beautiful women, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Bret. And his hands…they felt empty…lost and he felt this terrible ache in the center of him. This crazy, driving need to touch…
Jemaine smacked both hands on either of the sink in frustration, and then hissed at the after effects of the action. He rubbed his fingers in one palm and then the other, sort of massaging the pain away, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He scowled at himself, shaking his head.
It was all so ridiculous.
Jemaine felt a trickle of sweat working down his back and let out a sigh as the heat of the apartment really began to settle in on him. He hadn’t noticed it so much when he was asleep, but now, awake…
He looked at himself again and nodded resolutely.
It was all so ridiculous.
It was time to make it not so much.
He exited the bathroom and grabbed a handful of clothes. He started shrugging them on, not looking at Bret as he said curtly, “Come on. Let’s go buy a fan.”
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“Nice of Dave to give us this fan for free.” Bret remarked as he readjusted his grip on the large electric fan he held close to his chest. Both he and Jemaine exited the elevator and walked over to their apartment.
Jemaine looked from Bret to the fan and then back again.
Great.
So much for his defiant attempt to quickly get things back to normal.
The free fan meant that Bret still had more than enough money to spend on Jemaine. This, Jemaine supposed, should have made him feel better. He sighed as he fished out his apartment key and started unlocking the door, talking to Bret over his shoulder, “Yeah, but that’s only with the stipulation that we take care of Murray.”
“True.”
“Do you have any ideas as to how we can do that?” Jemaine questioned as he opened the door wide so Bret could enter with the fan. Bret took the fan over to the living room and gently set it down, huffing out a ‘phew’ as he wiped a hand over his sweaty forehead, “Dunno. We can bring it up at the next band meeting. Just tell Murray to stop annoying him.”
“No, Bret, you know Murray. That’ll just egg him on. He’ll bug Dave even more and then we’ll have to give the fan back.”
“Hrm, maybe we could try to get him to contact Shelly? After all, just seems like he’s lonely…”
“Nah, Shelly’s no good. I think she’s remarried or dead or something.”
“Oh,” Bret’s lower lip stuck out thoughtfully, “Too bad.”
Jemaine just made a noise in his throat. He hadn’t been a particularly big fan of Shelly’s. Actually, Bret hadn’t been either, so he had been somewhat surprised Bret had even brought her up. Then again, desperate times…
“We could,” Bret scratched the side of his forehead, the plug for the fan in his hand, “We could try to get Jim to forgive him.”
Jemaine’s mouth sort of scrunched up and he shook his head, “Nah. Don’t want to get mixed up in that.”
Bret shrugged and plugged in the fan, “Well, I’m out of ideas then.”
Jemaine sighed dramatically, and then noticed a folder sitting on the kitchen table. He walked over to the folder and flicked it open to see Mel’s story inside. One of his eyebrows rose, “Hey. Bret.”
Bret clicked on the fan and, as cool air began to stream out and flow over his overheated skin, he let out a noise of relief. Jemaine took this sound as recognition of what he had just said, “Bret, we could give Murray Mel’s story.”
Bret made an inquiring sound even as he closed his eyes, giving himself over to the comforts of the fan. Jemaine continued, “We could give Murray Mel’s story, have him read it. Give us the lowdown on it. That would distract him. Keep him away from Dave.”
“Yeah, yeah…sounds good.” Bret said dreamily.
Jemaine shook his head and came over; about to chastise Bret for not listening to him when he too felt the cool lick of the air the fan was producing. He practically fell to his knees in front of it, sighing, “Ohhh…that’s…nice.”
“Mmhmm.” Bret agreed.
The two friends sat in front of the fan, practically worshiping it as they both cooled down. Bret smiled suddenly as he looked at Jemaine, and he nudged his shoulder with his own, “Hey.”
Jemaine merely made a sound, not moving a muscle as he continued to let the cool air of the fan bathe him.
“Jemaine, hey,” Bret said, again nudging him bodily.
“What?” Jemaine breathed.
“Check this out,” Bret said and he eased closer to the fan, until his face was inches from the grate that covered the spinning blades. He started speaking gibberish into the fan and Jemaine noticed with some amusement that the sound of Bret’s voice came back distorted as it bounced off the spinning blades.
Bret leaned back, “You try it.”
Jemaine leaned forward and cleared his throat, saying tentatively into the fan, “Testing, testing…”
His words came out strange and they both grinned. Bret leaned forward again and started saying the alphabet into the fan. Jemaine adjusted the settings knob on the fan, making the speed go faster.
“…E, F, G, H - Flip! Jemaine! I-” Bret’s words cut off as the air from the fan started hitting him full force, blowing his hair back in weird directions. Jemaine smirked and Bret smacked Jemaine’s hands away from the knob to try and adjust the fan to a better speed. Jemaine smacked Bret’s hand back and they both sort of struggled over the knob while Bret continued trying to say the alphabet through the blades. Jemaine leaned near the blades as well, muttering, “Danger! Danger!”
“…N…O…intruder! Intruder alert! Gah!” Bret laughed as his struggles over the knob and equal air time on the fan gave way to his full out grappling with Jemaine, who was actually laughing pretty openly now. They both wrestled in front of the fan, feet kicking ineffectually at the air as they squirmed over one another, hands locked together, each pushing back at the other.
Jemaine ended up underneath Bret, and he mentally registered that Bret was actually pretty strong for a little guy. The wiry muscles on Bret’s arms stood out as he forced Jemaine down beneath him. Jemaine laughed as he continued to struggle to get Bret off of him. He tried to roll Bret beneath him but not with much success and Bret was laughing too now as he started to push Jemaine’s hands down to the floor, effectively pinning him.
“Surrender! Surrender!” Bret crowed.
“Never!” Jemaine vowed valiantly as he grunted, trying to push back with all his might to upend Bret.
“Face it, Jemaine. I win…”
“Nope!”
“Submit,” Bret breathed and suddenly, simultaneously, the whole situation became starkly real to both of them. Instantly they both froze as it all settled in. Bret was on top of Jemaine, pinning him to the ground. Their legs were tangled up together; their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined.
They were both breathing heavily (panting) and their bodies couldn’t get much closer, hips pressed to one another and Jemaine took in a breath, the sounds of it shuddering through the air made both of them shiver.
Bret swallowed thickly as he found himself looking down at Jemaine’s face. He had looked at before but it seemed different now in this light, at this angle, and earlier he had avoided looking at Jemaine’s lips but now, now his gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to his friend’s mouth and he heard a loud thud in his ears.
He breathed out; looking at those lips and something came out of his own mouth, some inaudible curse as he found himself floating down closer and closer, drawn in like a tractor beam.
Bret’s face hovered just inches above Jemaine’s, eyes still on his mouth, his own head tilted to one side, his mouth so close…and then he blinked. His face was a strained mask as he drew away, disentangling himself from Jemaine, voice so soft Jemaine almost couldn’t hear him, “Sorry, I-”
“’S all right,” Jemaine returned, his eyes still focused on Bret. He had never seen Bret look so…intense before. So concentrated and serious and…
Jemaine tried his best to ignore the throbbing twitch that had formed in his belly and, even worse, the fact that the twitch hadn’t originated in his belly but from a place far lower than that. Jemaine shifted where he lay on the floor, hating the heavy feeling there, and tossed an arm over his eyes, despair setting in.
Bret got to his feet and licked his lips, his voice hoarse when he spoke, “Think…think I’m going to get a glass of water. Thirsty.”
Jemaine answered with a grunt, not moving an inch and wondered weakly if, now, it was even possible for things to ever go back to normal.
On to Part 8