fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 9
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 9: curiosity
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them. I also, again, do not own ‘Alice in Wonderland’, which was written by Lewis Carroll. Nor do I own ‘E.T’ - that’s owned by the peeps who made that film, Spielberg and such…
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Notes: Thought this part was saucy enough for the full 'R'…I removed the crack!fic warning, 'cause frankly, I failed at that, but, um, it's still a good read? Even if it's now my biggest EPIC ever!
Back to: Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
When Bret eventually came back to the apartment, Jemaine was watching something on the television. The apartment was completely back to normal. The couch and tables back where they belong. Everything in order.
“Bret,” Jemaine greeted neutrally, not looking at him.
Bret rubbed his hands together awkwardly, trying to think of what to say, what to do, but Jemaine beat him to it, saying simply, “Did you have a good time out?”
“I,” This was all Bret could manage, so he took in a deep breath and rubbed at the side of his neck, trying to think of more as the sound of his one word died out.
Jemaine filled the silence helpfully, “That’s good. Listen, Bret, I’m going to bed. It’s late. We’ve still got band practice tomorrow and we’ve got to meet Murray after that. He’ll probably talk to us about Mel’s story and I’m sure that will be…well…it’ll be something. You can stay up if you want. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Jemaine went into the bedroom and Bret watched him go, feeling as if, somehow, he had been let off of some hook. So then, that was it. Jemaine was going to just act as if nothing had happened. Bret sighed and nodded to himself. Maybe that was for the best. After all, that was what they had done in regards to what had taken place that day they had gotten the fan.
Maybe all it really had been was an accident. Maybe all it really was, was just a misunderstanding. Maybe Jemaine really had just lost himself in the moment.
Maybe, maybe…
But as Bret decided he too, would go to bed, he wondered why he felt his initial relief giving way to an uneasy feeling of disappointment.
88888888888
“Jemaine?”
“…”
“Jemaine.”
“Mffph.”
“Jemaine!”
“Mmrrr,” Jemaine moaned sleepily as he rolled about in his bed, his eyes blinking blearily, darkness greeting him, “Bret?”
“Yeah.”
“Bret,” Jemaine whined, “What do you want?”
“I….I had a nightmare.”
“Oh my god,” Jemaine groaned and rolled closer to the wall, away from Bret who hovered near his bedside. Bret looked down at him anxiously, his heart still racing from the nightmare.
“Jemaine, please I’m…it was scary,” Bret pleaded, “And…it’s dark…”
“So? Go turn on a light then…just…leave me out of it.”
“Jemaine, it’s dark and it’s scary and I don’t…I don’t want to be alone…please…”
Jemaine let out what could have possibly been the contender for the most exasperated noise ever made by a human person as he rolled back over on to his back and looked over in Bret’s direction.
He was about to tell Bret where he could get off but then decided against it as he realized that the damage had all ready been done. Bret had woken him up. He was awake now. Jemaine had always been one of those people who, while grouchy in the process of waking, once up was just up and couldn’t go back to sleep again for a while. Damn Bret. He knew that.
Jemaine sighed and slowly sat up, “All right. All right. I’m up. I’m up.”
“Thank you,” Bret breathed, relieved, as he went and turned on the light.
Jemaine squinted against it, grunting as he put his glasses on and checked the time, “Bret! It’s three in the morning!”
“I know. I’m sorry…”
Jemaine answered with another groan and got to his feet, hissing at the feeling of the cold floor against his bare feet, “All right. All right. You…you want to talk about it? The nightmare or…”
Bret shook his head quickly, “No! No! I just…I thought…maybe we could go watch some TV? Try to forget about it…”
“God forbid you do that alone,” Jemaine muttered under his breath as he grabbed one of his blankets and his pillow and went to the couch. He put the pillow behind his back and wrapped the blanket about his shoulders. Bret, thinking this was a good idea, grabbed his blanket and pillow as well.
The two of them sat on the couch in front of the television, watching the incredibly bad movie that was actually playing at this hour. Jemaine was just thankful it wasn’t infomercials and after a while Bret not only seemed to relax but to grow sleepy again. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier by the minute and the television screen was starting to look blurry.
Jemaine eventually noted this with some amusement and commented, “Bret? Maybe you should go back to bed…”
Bret yawned as he spoke, “Nah. No. I don’t…I don’t want to go back to sleep in there. That’s where I had my nightmare.”
Jemaine took in a deep breath through his nose and shifted about where he sat, thinking. Then he said, “You could…sleep out here. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah…guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Jemaine made a move to get up, saying, “I’ll just get off the couch and-” but before he could finish the sentence Bret caught his wrist, looking earnest as he said, “No! Wait! Don’t! I…I told you…I don’t want to be alone…”
Jemaine frowned, “Well…then…what do you suggest? The floor?”
“No. No, I…don’t want to sleep there. Maybe,” Bret licked his lips, thinking hard, then said softly, “Maybe I could just…sleep here on the couch and you…you could stay here with me.”
“What? You going to scrunch up in one corner of the couch? Curl up like cat or-”
“I could,” Bret looked unsure as he spoke, “I could put my pillow on…on your lap and-”
“Whoa! On my lap?” Jemaine asked doubtfully.
“Yeah,” Bret said more firmly as the idea became clearer, “I could put my pillow there and my head there and lay the rest of the way out on the couch.”
“Mm,” Jemaine shook his head decisively, “No, no. That’s a bad, bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Why?!” Jemaine cried and he wished his voice hadn’t come out that loud but, honestly, just a few hours ago Bret had damn near had an aneurysm over the episode that had taken place during their dance and now he wanted to put his head on Jemaine’s lap.
This did not seem to faze Bret though, as he continued innocently, “I just think that’s the way this is going to work out best. And frankly you still have about fifty bucks to earn from me, so-”
“Yeah, sure, okay, whatever. Shut up and let me get ready,” Jemaine grumbled gruffly. He rearranged himself on the couch, making sure one arm was on the arm rest of the couch and the other was over the back of the couch, his whole body completely open and yet his face and overall posture not even slightly welcoming.
Bret was either completely oblivious to Jemaine’s obvious annoyance or steadfastedly ignoring it, as he tossed his pillow on to Jemaine’s lap and adjusted himself on the couch so that he lay stretched out on one side, his face opposite of the television screen. Jemaine had to admit that while the whole situation was relatively annoying it was not necessarily uncomfortable and in time he almost completely forgot that Bret was even resting on him.
He heard Bret yawn again, his voice sleepy as he said softly, “Jemaine?”
“Yes, Bret.”
“My nightmare…it was terrible.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah…E.T was there…he had a machete and then the Cheshire Cat showed up in a suit with a pop up book.”
“Really?”
“Mm,” Bret breathed sleepily, his eyes closed, “And Alice…she was wearing this evening gown and she was dancing with the Caterpillar.”
“Doesn’t seem so bad.”
“…and then…Murray was dressed like the Fonz and he kept saying ‘Aaay’ and Dave had VCRs for arms and he was shooting tapes at me and Mel was there too…she was with Miss Adams and they were…don’t want to say…then…Mum…walking in on me in the shower…while I was…”
Bret trailed off and, after a few more mintues, Jemaine thought he heard a soft snore escape him. Jemaine let out a relieved breath and focused his full attention on the movie. The movie was pretty terrible though, and he found his mind wandering. His mind wandering, however, was a pretty bad thing as all it could seem to fall upon was what had happened yesterday.
It had just been a dance.
A simple, stupid, dumb dance that had been Bret’s simple, stupid, dumb idea.
And yet…
Jemaine sighed and closed his eyes. His right hand thoughtlessly rose and began combing through Bret’s hair. It was a bizarrely comforting action, like petting a cat - if a cat had completely curly fur and was shaped like Bret’s head.
To say that Jemaine had become lost while he had been dancing with Bret was something of an understatement. At first it had started off as he had suspected it would - awkward and unnatural.
But once they had positioned themselves correctly, once they had really started to sway together, to move together, it had become hypnotizing. The awkwardness and the unnaturalness of what they were doing just seemed to melt away and give itself over to something unnamable.
Jemaine couldn’t say why he had kissed Bret. In fact, he was positive the first kiss he had placed against the side of Bret’s head had been done completely involuntarily.
Maybe it had been an accidental brush of his lips there or maybe he had been so lost that he had thought he was dancing with a girl. Except, well, he knew it wasn’t the latter, because, sadly, he knew for certain that when he had been dancing with Bret all he had been thinking about was how he was dancing with Bret.
And maybe that’s why he felt so…indescribable about the second kiss, which he had been in complete control of. The first kiss had happened, and once the realization of what he had done had settled in, he found himself to be…curious.
The kiss hadn’t been…bad.
It had been nothing.
So, curiosity building within in him just as it had built within Alice before she had stepped into Wonderland, he had taken a risky and utterly terrifying leap into the unknown. He had placed a second kiss against Bret’s head.
And this time, well this time it had been…it had felt…
It had not just been nothing.
It had…it was…
Jemaine wanted to shift about on the couch but couldn’t with Bret’s weight on him and he let out a frustrated sigh, his hand now running along Bret’s arm and shoulder and then back into his hair and down again.
All of his emotions seemed to lie out before him, a jumbled mess, and he couldn’t find the strength within himself to sort them out. All he knew was that the second kiss had felt…okay and so he had placed a third and just as the third kiss had landed, just as his heart had started to skip a beat, Bret had repelled himself away. The look on his face and his actions and, fuck, he had been repulsed.
Of course he had been repulsed. Jemaine was his friend. His male friend. Jemaine was just Bret’s companion and he had taken advantage of him. Hadn’t he? That’s what it had to have been, and then Bret had left, or, more appropriately, fled and Jemaine had been left behind to figure out what the hell to do.
All he could come up with was to put the furniture back into place.
Then he had sat on the couch. In front of the television, not really watching, just waiting, waiting for Bret to come back. And the moment Bret returned, his mind kicked into high gear, his impressive denial facilities coming to his rescue as always, coming up with his classic reaction - just pretend none of it ever happened.
And of course, Bret seemed relieved to go that route and now here they were.
Jemaine leaned his head back against the couch and tried to drum up his fantasy again. There he was, down in the bar, gorgeous women everywhere and for once he knew all the right things to say and they smiled at him, their faces pretty, make-up perfect, perfume sweet and he bought them drinks and they ran their dainty hands along his shoulders, some sneaking caresses along his thighs and he felt…
Nothing.
Then he looked away from the bar and away from the women and in the far corner, almost obscured in the dark, was a thin figure with a mop of grown-too-long, curly hair and warm, dark eyes. He wore a shaggy old animal jumper and skinny jeans and ragged sneakers with artwork scrawled into the rubber soles. He scratched at his beard and looked nervous and out of place and familiar and…
Bret.
It was just good old Bret.
Familiar and yet not.
Jemaine sighed and opened his eyes, looking down at the sleeping Bret and wondering what he should do.
He felt as if he had the proverbial devil and angel on either shoulder. The devil told him to hurry up and get all the money. Forget Bret. Think about the women. The angel told him that he should forget money, that he should maybe think about…
And yes, maybe it was the other way around as to which fake figure said what, but either way he couldn’t seem to make a decision.
He’d been so lost in contemplation that he hadn’t even noticed that his hand had wandered completely down Bret’s side, his fingers absently brushing his friend’s hips and down along the side of his belly. He felt warm skin and prickly hair and he realized Bret’s shirt had ridden up a little.
See, this was a perfect example of how this wouldn’t work. Girls didn’t have any hair on their bellies or under their arms or on their chests or…women were smoother, suppler. Men didn’t feel that way, Bret didn’t feel that way. Bret felt bony and unappealing and…and yet Jemaine’s hand stayed where it was, just brushing, brushing, brushing. Brushing back and forth on the warm skin of Bret’s stomach.
Bret made a sleepy sound, a sound that was completely indiscernible, as he moved a little bit. His head burrowing deeper into his pillow and Jemaine really wished he couldn’t feel that action so acutely against his crotch.
Jemaine considered drawing his hand back but instead, instead he found his fingers sort of migrating upward, moving just that little bit under Bret’s shirt, sliding up his chest and then down again, gently, palm passing along the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He did the action once and then repeated it.
The movement of his hand up and down and up and down, a back and forth caress that became something of a rhythm and then Jemaine felt Bret moving with it, just a bit, and that could only be because he was having a warm-animals’ response to the feeling. And maybe a bit because it felt good.
Not that Jemaine could know for sure if it felt good for Bret or not, but, for his part, the feeling was…bizarrely pleasant, if not a bit terrifying. It reminded him of the time he went to New Zealand’s famous tall building. It was the tallest building in New Zealand at the time, almost five stories. He’d been a teenager and like the other sightseers’, he had gathered close to the edge of the roof and peered down.
The drop had seemed unfathomable. Just open air and down, down, down. It had filled him with dread and yet there’d been this slight thrill, wondering what it would be like to freefall into the abyss. He had wondered at the time, as he wondered now, if that was the way most people felt when they were on a ledge looking down. That terrible curiosity.
Curiosity had gotten him into trouble before and it seemed destined to do so again as his hand continued its’ trek up Bret’s chest and then down to push a little at the waist of his pajama pants. Pushing and pushing and finally edging under the waistband, just an inch at a time, elastic catching on the rough edges of Jemaine’s fingers.
Jemaine wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing but he became aware of the fact that he hadn’t had a good intake of oxygen in minutes and when he did the sound came out all broken and heavy. His mind in a million different places, frantic and unfocused and screaming at him but all he could think about, all he was consumed with, was the heat under his hands and how unmistakably good it felt.
He didn’t know when he became this daring and frankly, he didn’t think it was daring as much as it was rampant stupidity. He knew better. He knew how this looked. He knew this was wrong but his hand stayed where it was, palm resting on wiry hair and his fingers just floating right above the edge of, the edge of…
And Bret let out a strange noise (oh god, was that a moan?) and moved just that much so that his hand just barely whispered across it and Jemaine pulled his hand back as if it had been bitten, unable to believe what he had just touched. The edge, the edge…edge wasn’t really a good word for what he had just felt. Hot velvet skin, and his fingers were a little damp and he was positive it was hard.
Jemaine swallowed thickly, hand rubbing again along Bret’s hips, unsure whether he was willing away the feeling on his fingers or trying to memorize it and then Bret let out another noise, this one of protest, and Jemaine looked down. Bret turned his whole body until he was face up to Jemaine, and his eyes blinked open but the emotion there, that hungry liquid look, was unmistakable, and the hot stab of arousal Jemaine experienced almost unnerved him to the point of panic.
Bret’s eyes focused better on Jemaine’s face and with each passing second he felt more and more embarrassed as he sat up and rubbed a hand at his hair and eased his shirt down, his cheeks flushed as he looked sheepishly at his friend, “…J’maine.”
“Bret.” Jemaine returned neutrally, annoyed that his voice cracked on the word.
“Did I…um,” And Bret didn’t want to ask if he made sounds in his sleep, he really didn’t, but the last strings of his heated dream still lingered about him both mentally and physically and really, he hoped Jemaine didn’t notice that.
In fact, he picked up the blanket that had puddled near his feet and drew it up, casually using it to cover his lap and any evidence. Jemaine swallowed, still too caught up in his own thoughts and actions to even notice and he just cleared his throat, saying softly, “Better dreams?”
Bret’s blush grew worse, “Oh. Ah, yes.”
“Good. Good.”
“Think…think I can go to bed now.”
“Right. Good. I’ll just…you know, stay here. I’m…watching this program.”
Bret looked at the television and his eyes narrowed in confusion as the program that was on now was just infomercials but he merely shrugged it off and got to his feet, “Okay, man. See you tomorrow.”
Bret moved off to the bedroom and Jemaine slumped back against the couch, willing his heart to slow down. And worse, willing the return of that throbbing twitch between his legs to go away. Okay. Enough was enough. He couldn’t do this anymore.
Jemaine didn’t know what was wrong with him; he didn’t know why he had done that, but if Bret had caught him…
No. It was time to set things right. Time to get things back to the way they were supposed to be. Back to normal. He had tried and failed when he had had Bret attempt to purchase the fan but now, now Jemaine was going to have to take the matter into his own hands.
On to Part 10
Part 9: curiosity
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them. I also, again, do not own ‘Alice in Wonderland’, which was written by Lewis Carroll. Nor do I own ‘E.T’ - that’s owned by the peeps who made that film, Spielberg and such…
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Notes: Thought this part was saucy enough for the full 'R'…I removed the crack!fic warning, 'cause frankly, I failed at that, but, um, it's still a good read? Even if it's now my biggest EPIC ever!
Back to: Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
When Bret eventually came back to the apartment, Jemaine was watching something on the television. The apartment was completely back to normal. The couch and tables back where they belong. Everything in order.
“Bret,” Jemaine greeted neutrally, not looking at him.
Bret rubbed his hands together awkwardly, trying to think of what to say, what to do, but Jemaine beat him to it, saying simply, “Did you have a good time out?”
“I,” This was all Bret could manage, so he took in a deep breath and rubbed at the side of his neck, trying to think of more as the sound of his one word died out.
Jemaine filled the silence helpfully, “That’s good. Listen, Bret, I’m going to bed. It’s late. We’ve still got band practice tomorrow and we’ve got to meet Murray after that. He’ll probably talk to us about Mel’s story and I’m sure that will be…well…it’ll be something. You can stay up if you want. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Jemaine went into the bedroom and Bret watched him go, feeling as if, somehow, he had been let off of some hook. So then, that was it. Jemaine was going to just act as if nothing had happened. Bret sighed and nodded to himself. Maybe that was for the best. After all, that was what they had done in regards to what had taken place that day they had gotten the fan.
Maybe all it really had been was an accident. Maybe all it really was, was just a misunderstanding. Maybe Jemaine really had just lost himself in the moment.
Maybe, maybe…
But as Bret decided he too, would go to bed, he wondered why he felt his initial relief giving way to an uneasy feeling of disappointment.
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“Jemaine?”
“…”
“Jemaine.”
“Mffph.”
“Jemaine!”
“Mmrrr,” Jemaine moaned sleepily as he rolled about in his bed, his eyes blinking blearily, darkness greeting him, “Bret?”
“Yeah.”
“Bret,” Jemaine whined, “What do you want?”
“I….I had a nightmare.”
“Oh my god,” Jemaine groaned and rolled closer to the wall, away from Bret who hovered near his bedside. Bret looked down at him anxiously, his heart still racing from the nightmare.
“Jemaine, please I’m…it was scary,” Bret pleaded, “And…it’s dark…”
“So? Go turn on a light then…just…leave me out of it.”
“Jemaine, it’s dark and it’s scary and I don’t…I don’t want to be alone…please…”
Jemaine let out what could have possibly been the contender for the most exasperated noise ever made by a human person as he rolled back over on to his back and looked over in Bret’s direction.
He was about to tell Bret where he could get off but then decided against it as he realized that the damage had all ready been done. Bret had woken him up. He was awake now. Jemaine had always been one of those people who, while grouchy in the process of waking, once up was just up and couldn’t go back to sleep again for a while. Damn Bret. He knew that.
Jemaine sighed and slowly sat up, “All right. All right. I’m up. I’m up.”
“Thank you,” Bret breathed, relieved, as he went and turned on the light.
Jemaine squinted against it, grunting as he put his glasses on and checked the time, “Bret! It’s three in the morning!”
“I know. I’m sorry…”
Jemaine answered with another groan and got to his feet, hissing at the feeling of the cold floor against his bare feet, “All right. All right. You…you want to talk about it? The nightmare or…”
Bret shook his head quickly, “No! No! I just…I thought…maybe we could go watch some TV? Try to forget about it…”
“God forbid you do that alone,” Jemaine muttered under his breath as he grabbed one of his blankets and his pillow and went to the couch. He put the pillow behind his back and wrapped the blanket about his shoulders. Bret, thinking this was a good idea, grabbed his blanket and pillow as well.
The two of them sat on the couch in front of the television, watching the incredibly bad movie that was actually playing at this hour. Jemaine was just thankful it wasn’t infomercials and after a while Bret not only seemed to relax but to grow sleepy again. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier by the minute and the television screen was starting to look blurry.
Jemaine eventually noted this with some amusement and commented, “Bret? Maybe you should go back to bed…”
Bret yawned as he spoke, “Nah. No. I don’t…I don’t want to go back to sleep in there. That’s where I had my nightmare.”
Jemaine took in a deep breath through his nose and shifted about where he sat, thinking. Then he said, “You could…sleep out here. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah…guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Jemaine made a move to get up, saying, “I’ll just get off the couch and-” but before he could finish the sentence Bret caught his wrist, looking earnest as he said, “No! Wait! Don’t! I…I told you…I don’t want to be alone…”
Jemaine frowned, “Well…then…what do you suggest? The floor?”
“No. No, I…don’t want to sleep there. Maybe,” Bret licked his lips, thinking hard, then said softly, “Maybe I could just…sleep here on the couch and you…you could stay here with me.”
“What? You going to scrunch up in one corner of the couch? Curl up like cat or-”
“I could,” Bret looked unsure as he spoke, “I could put my pillow on…on your lap and-”
“Whoa! On my lap?” Jemaine asked doubtfully.
“Yeah,” Bret said more firmly as the idea became clearer, “I could put my pillow there and my head there and lay the rest of the way out on the couch.”
“Mm,” Jemaine shook his head decisively, “No, no. That’s a bad, bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Why?!” Jemaine cried and he wished his voice hadn’t come out that loud but, honestly, just a few hours ago Bret had damn near had an aneurysm over the episode that had taken place during their dance and now he wanted to put his head on Jemaine’s lap.
This did not seem to faze Bret though, as he continued innocently, “I just think that’s the way this is going to work out best. And frankly you still have about fifty bucks to earn from me, so-”
“Yeah, sure, okay, whatever. Shut up and let me get ready,” Jemaine grumbled gruffly. He rearranged himself on the couch, making sure one arm was on the arm rest of the couch and the other was over the back of the couch, his whole body completely open and yet his face and overall posture not even slightly welcoming.
Bret was either completely oblivious to Jemaine’s obvious annoyance or steadfastedly ignoring it, as he tossed his pillow on to Jemaine’s lap and adjusted himself on the couch so that he lay stretched out on one side, his face opposite of the television screen. Jemaine had to admit that while the whole situation was relatively annoying it was not necessarily uncomfortable and in time he almost completely forgot that Bret was even resting on him.
He heard Bret yawn again, his voice sleepy as he said softly, “Jemaine?”
“Yes, Bret.”
“My nightmare…it was terrible.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah…E.T was there…he had a machete and then the Cheshire Cat showed up in a suit with a pop up book.”
“Really?”
“Mm,” Bret breathed sleepily, his eyes closed, “And Alice…she was wearing this evening gown and she was dancing with the Caterpillar.”
“Doesn’t seem so bad.”
“…and then…Murray was dressed like the Fonz and he kept saying ‘Aaay’ and Dave had VCRs for arms and he was shooting tapes at me and Mel was there too…she was with Miss Adams and they were…don’t want to say…then…Mum…walking in on me in the shower…while I was…”
Bret trailed off and, after a few more mintues, Jemaine thought he heard a soft snore escape him. Jemaine let out a relieved breath and focused his full attention on the movie. The movie was pretty terrible though, and he found his mind wandering. His mind wandering, however, was a pretty bad thing as all it could seem to fall upon was what had happened yesterday.
It had just been a dance.
A simple, stupid, dumb dance that had been Bret’s simple, stupid, dumb idea.
And yet…
Jemaine sighed and closed his eyes. His right hand thoughtlessly rose and began combing through Bret’s hair. It was a bizarrely comforting action, like petting a cat - if a cat had completely curly fur and was shaped like Bret’s head.
To say that Jemaine had become lost while he had been dancing with Bret was something of an understatement. At first it had started off as he had suspected it would - awkward and unnatural.
But once they had positioned themselves correctly, once they had really started to sway together, to move together, it had become hypnotizing. The awkwardness and the unnaturalness of what they were doing just seemed to melt away and give itself over to something unnamable.
Jemaine couldn’t say why he had kissed Bret. In fact, he was positive the first kiss he had placed against the side of Bret’s head had been done completely involuntarily.
Maybe it had been an accidental brush of his lips there or maybe he had been so lost that he had thought he was dancing with a girl. Except, well, he knew it wasn’t the latter, because, sadly, he knew for certain that when he had been dancing with Bret all he had been thinking about was how he was dancing with Bret.
And maybe that’s why he felt so…indescribable about the second kiss, which he had been in complete control of. The first kiss had happened, and once the realization of what he had done had settled in, he found himself to be…curious.
The kiss hadn’t been…bad.
It had been nothing.
So, curiosity building within in him just as it had built within Alice before she had stepped into Wonderland, he had taken a risky and utterly terrifying leap into the unknown. He had placed a second kiss against Bret’s head.
And this time, well this time it had been…it had felt…
It had not just been nothing.
It had…it was…
Jemaine wanted to shift about on the couch but couldn’t with Bret’s weight on him and he let out a frustrated sigh, his hand now running along Bret’s arm and shoulder and then back into his hair and down again.
All of his emotions seemed to lie out before him, a jumbled mess, and he couldn’t find the strength within himself to sort them out. All he knew was that the second kiss had felt…okay and so he had placed a third and just as the third kiss had landed, just as his heart had started to skip a beat, Bret had repelled himself away. The look on his face and his actions and, fuck, he had been repulsed.
Of course he had been repulsed. Jemaine was his friend. His male friend. Jemaine was just Bret’s companion and he had taken advantage of him. Hadn’t he? That’s what it had to have been, and then Bret had left, or, more appropriately, fled and Jemaine had been left behind to figure out what the hell to do.
All he could come up with was to put the furniture back into place.
Then he had sat on the couch. In front of the television, not really watching, just waiting, waiting for Bret to come back. And the moment Bret returned, his mind kicked into high gear, his impressive denial facilities coming to his rescue as always, coming up with his classic reaction - just pretend none of it ever happened.
And of course, Bret seemed relieved to go that route and now here they were.
Jemaine leaned his head back against the couch and tried to drum up his fantasy again. There he was, down in the bar, gorgeous women everywhere and for once he knew all the right things to say and they smiled at him, their faces pretty, make-up perfect, perfume sweet and he bought them drinks and they ran their dainty hands along his shoulders, some sneaking caresses along his thighs and he felt…
Nothing.
Then he looked away from the bar and away from the women and in the far corner, almost obscured in the dark, was a thin figure with a mop of grown-too-long, curly hair and warm, dark eyes. He wore a shaggy old animal jumper and skinny jeans and ragged sneakers with artwork scrawled into the rubber soles. He scratched at his beard and looked nervous and out of place and familiar and…
Bret.
It was just good old Bret.
Familiar and yet not.
Jemaine sighed and opened his eyes, looking down at the sleeping Bret and wondering what he should do.
He felt as if he had the proverbial devil and angel on either shoulder. The devil told him to hurry up and get all the money. Forget Bret. Think about the women. The angel told him that he should forget money, that he should maybe think about…
And yes, maybe it was the other way around as to which fake figure said what, but either way he couldn’t seem to make a decision.
He’d been so lost in contemplation that he hadn’t even noticed that his hand had wandered completely down Bret’s side, his fingers absently brushing his friend’s hips and down along the side of his belly. He felt warm skin and prickly hair and he realized Bret’s shirt had ridden up a little.
See, this was a perfect example of how this wouldn’t work. Girls didn’t have any hair on their bellies or under their arms or on their chests or…women were smoother, suppler. Men didn’t feel that way, Bret didn’t feel that way. Bret felt bony and unappealing and…and yet Jemaine’s hand stayed where it was, just brushing, brushing, brushing. Brushing back and forth on the warm skin of Bret’s stomach.
Bret made a sleepy sound, a sound that was completely indiscernible, as he moved a little bit. His head burrowing deeper into his pillow and Jemaine really wished he couldn’t feel that action so acutely against his crotch.
Jemaine considered drawing his hand back but instead, instead he found his fingers sort of migrating upward, moving just that little bit under Bret’s shirt, sliding up his chest and then down again, gently, palm passing along the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He did the action once and then repeated it.
The movement of his hand up and down and up and down, a back and forth caress that became something of a rhythm and then Jemaine felt Bret moving with it, just a bit, and that could only be because he was having a warm-animals’ response to the feeling. And maybe a bit because it felt good.
Not that Jemaine could know for sure if it felt good for Bret or not, but, for his part, the feeling was…bizarrely pleasant, if not a bit terrifying. It reminded him of the time he went to New Zealand’s famous tall building. It was the tallest building in New Zealand at the time, almost five stories. He’d been a teenager and like the other sightseers’, he had gathered close to the edge of the roof and peered down.
The drop had seemed unfathomable. Just open air and down, down, down. It had filled him with dread and yet there’d been this slight thrill, wondering what it would be like to freefall into the abyss. He had wondered at the time, as he wondered now, if that was the way most people felt when they were on a ledge looking down. That terrible curiosity.
Curiosity had gotten him into trouble before and it seemed destined to do so again as his hand continued its’ trek up Bret’s chest and then down to push a little at the waist of his pajama pants. Pushing and pushing and finally edging under the waistband, just an inch at a time, elastic catching on the rough edges of Jemaine’s fingers.
Jemaine wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing but he became aware of the fact that he hadn’t had a good intake of oxygen in minutes and when he did the sound came out all broken and heavy. His mind in a million different places, frantic and unfocused and screaming at him but all he could think about, all he was consumed with, was the heat under his hands and how unmistakably good it felt.
He didn’t know when he became this daring and frankly, he didn’t think it was daring as much as it was rampant stupidity. He knew better. He knew how this looked. He knew this was wrong but his hand stayed where it was, palm resting on wiry hair and his fingers just floating right above the edge of, the edge of…
And Bret let out a strange noise (oh god, was that a moan?) and moved just that much so that his hand just barely whispered across it and Jemaine pulled his hand back as if it had been bitten, unable to believe what he had just touched. The edge, the edge…edge wasn’t really a good word for what he had just felt. Hot velvet skin, and his fingers were a little damp and he was positive it was hard.
Jemaine swallowed thickly, hand rubbing again along Bret’s hips, unsure whether he was willing away the feeling on his fingers or trying to memorize it and then Bret let out another noise, this one of protest, and Jemaine looked down. Bret turned his whole body until he was face up to Jemaine, and his eyes blinked open but the emotion there, that hungry liquid look, was unmistakable, and the hot stab of arousal Jemaine experienced almost unnerved him to the point of panic.
Bret’s eyes focused better on Jemaine’s face and with each passing second he felt more and more embarrassed as he sat up and rubbed a hand at his hair and eased his shirt down, his cheeks flushed as he looked sheepishly at his friend, “…J’maine.”
“Bret.” Jemaine returned neutrally, annoyed that his voice cracked on the word.
“Did I…um,” And Bret didn’t want to ask if he made sounds in his sleep, he really didn’t, but the last strings of his heated dream still lingered about him both mentally and physically and really, he hoped Jemaine didn’t notice that.
In fact, he picked up the blanket that had puddled near his feet and drew it up, casually using it to cover his lap and any evidence. Jemaine swallowed, still too caught up in his own thoughts and actions to even notice and he just cleared his throat, saying softly, “Better dreams?”
Bret’s blush grew worse, “Oh. Ah, yes.”
“Good. Good.”
“Think…think I can go to bed now.”
“Right. Good. I’ll just…you know, stay here. I’m…watching this program.”
Bret looked at the television and his eyes narrowed in confusion as the program that was on now was just infomercials but he merely shrugged it off and got to his feet, “Okay, man. See you tomorrow.”
Bret moved off to the bedroom and Jemaine slumped back against the couch, willing his heart to slow down. And worse, willing the return of that throbbing twitch between his legs to go away. Okay. Enough was enough. He couldn’t do this anymore.
Jemaine didn’t know what was wrong with him; he didn’t know why he had done that, but if Bret had caught him…
No. It was time to set things right. Time to get things back to the way they were supposed to be. Back to normal. He had tried and failed when he had had Bret attempt to purchase the fan but now, now Jemaine was going to have to take the matter into his own hands.
On to Part 10