Fic: Dice
Title: Dice
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: NC17
Summary: Bret and Jemaine get trapped in an elevator in Las Vegas.
Warnings: Sexy times!
Word Count: 5,928
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Going back in time! Set after SS1, ‘The Third Conchord’.
Notes: The last of my drabble memes, this one was requested by shiverelectric - she wanted Bret/Jemaine trapped in an elevator. This, again, not so much with the drabble - I actually started this fic a long time ago and it languished in incomplete land until I realized I could link it with this prompt and complete it!
This is also, the closest I will probably ever come to sex-in-one-fic since ‘The Pool’. It’s just so hard for me to have them have sex in one fic without my massive overexplinations as to how it could happen realistically (EPICS) to satisfy me and, again, also to me, I still never manage to get their voices right (not dry/awkward enough)…oh well…enough of my ramblings! To FICDOM!
It was a free trip, so they figured, why not?
Murray had told them it was for a gig. What he hadn’t told them was that it was actually for a gig for The Crazy Dogggz and that they were only invited along because it had been unanimously decided it would be cheaper and more efficient to bring Bret and Jemaine to carry their luggage than to hire out.
Jemaine, had, of course, been wildly offended, while Bret had just shrugged and gone with it. After all, Bret rather liked the band and it was a chance to go on all-expenses paid trip to a place in America they had never been.
Once Jemaine had figured out the gig was not for them, but for Murray’s other band he had, at first, refused to go, but had been won over as Bret pointed out the benefits of the place they were going.
“Las Vegas, Jemaine! Just imagine all the girls there!”
Jemaine could imagine all the girls there. The girls there who didn’t wear much clothes. Strip bars there were supposed to be infamous, certainly much better than New York’s fare, so Jemaine had caved and agreed to go.
The flight there had been long and boring and there were numerous occasions where Bret had sworn up and down that he was going to die and Jemaine had sworn up and down that that was impossible. Everyone involved was eternally grateful when they landed back on solid ground and it was all behind them.
Carrying the luggage had been humiliating, as had the other errand boy tasks they were assigned, but eventually they reached a point where Murray had said they were free to go. He even gave them both substantial per diems to use as they saw fit.
Jemaine had all ready spent a good chunk of his per diem in various G-Strings throughout the strip but now he was kind of bored with the whole affair, especially since he had had to do it alone. Bret had gone over to the MGM Grand because he had heard they had live lions you could look at, so Jemaine went there to find his friend.
He didn’t find Bret with the lions and wondered where else he could have gotten to. Las Vegas was a big, crazy place swarming with neon lights and a constant barrage of bells, whistles and other distractions. Jemaine knew if worse came to worse he could go to his room and eventually Bret would show up but, frankly, he would rather find him now, as he found himself worrying about his friend.
Bret wasn’t as savvy as Jemaine when it came to…well, everything. Bret was the kind of person who, when left alone, could get himself into all sorts of trouble. Jemaine just kept envision the thousand and one ways Bret could lose all his money or worse when he heard someone cry out, “Flip”, and there was only one person he knew who said that.
He tried to go in the direction of where he thought he had heard it come from and found a large crowd of people gathered around a long, rectangular table. He managed to ease his way through and found Bret at one end of the table, two girls on either side of him and Bret looked, well, he looked like he had had a little bit too much of everything.
The girl to his right purred something in Bret’s ear and he giggled as he turned an open hand up towards her. Dice rested in his palm and she leaned down, blowing on them in a way that was both seductive and obscene. Bret shook the dice and threw them.
An authoritative looking man at the other end of the table said something Jemaine didn’t understand but it must have been good as the whole crowd of people around the table burst into happy cheers and applause. Bret blushed as the same girl who had blown on the dice grabbed his head rather forcefully and turned him to her, kissing him savagely. Once released the other girl on his left reached out and did the same.
Jemaine scowled and managed to work his way through the people until he was close to Bret. Bret was a bit preoccupied as he was handed back and forth between the two girls for kissing but Jemaine cleared his throat gruffly and tapped the girl closest to him roughly on the shoulder, “’Scuse me.”
The girl turned, her face venomous, but once Bret could see Jemaine, he was nothing but smiles, “’J’maine!”
Jemaine gave the girl the same look and elbowed his way past her rather rudely, getting himself closer, “Bret, what are you doing?”
“J’maine, J’maine,” Bret slurred, eyes glassy, “Th’s game…’s great. ‘S great!”
“I’m sure it is, how did you get here?”
Bret looked troubled, and could only manage, “Huh?”
“Bret, I looked for you at the lions and you weren’t there, how did you get here?”
“Oh. Oh. OH! Oh oh,” Bret started giggling again, wobbling a bit and held up a finger, “See, th’ thin’ ‘bout tha’ is…”
“Baby,” The girl who was still to his right pouted, “You’ve got to throw again.”
“Oh! ‘K, ‘k,” Bret had the dice handed to him again and he held them out to Jemaine, hand wobbling slightly, “Here, here…bl’w on ‘em. Say it’s fer luck…”
“Bret, I’m not going to-”
“C’m on, c’m on,” Bret pressured and Jemaine sighed. He rolled his eyes then managed a weak puff of air on them. Bret turned and tossed them to another chorus of happy praise.
“We got a hot roller!” The authoritative man at the end of the table announced as he shuffled about various chips on the table with a long stick that, to Jemaine, looked like a backscratcher.
The hot girl to Bret’s right had procured a drink out of thin air it seemed, and she pushed it towards Bret, fluttering her exceedingly long, and most likely, fake eyelashes at him, “Here, baby, snagged another free one from a waitress!”
“Ooo! ‘nother, hic, one!” Bret cooed and took the tall, sweating glass from her. He took a rather loud, obnoxious slurp of it and the girl grinned, her smile all teeth, “That’s right, baby, Candy knows how to take care of her man.”
Jemaine bristled. He did not like this woman. There was something…predatory about her. And not in a good way. She may have been hot, but Jemaine just knew she was bad news. She was a demon woman. A bastard girl. The last thing Bret needed was to get tangled up with another bastard girl.
He took a firm hold of Bret’s elbow, “Come on, Bret, think it’s time we went back to our hotel.”
“Aww, hic, J’maine, J’maine…noooo,” Bret drew out the last word like a petulant child but tried only half heartedly to pull from Jemaine’s grip.
Candy (if that was her name) was shooting Jemaine daggers but he ignored her, more concerned with his friend, his voice doing its best to stay calm and friendly despite his annoyance, “Yes, Bret, come on…”
“Oh…all r’ght,” Bret pouted and he reached down on to the table, grabbing handfuls of his chips. Jemaine looked at the collection with raised eyebrows as Bret looked around the table and announced regretfully, “S’rry, ladies and gen-hic, ladies and gentl-hic, ladies and guys…g’t t’ go.”
The whole table bemoaned the loss of its’ ‘hot roller’, and Candy looked ready to explode, but some how, some way, the duo managed to extract themselves and get away.
Bret still had his drink in one hand and Jemaine eyed it distastefully, “Don’t think you should drink that, Bret. ‘S practically glowing.”
Bret just giggled and took another long draft of it, before saying intelligently, “Wot?”
Jemaine rolled his eyes and looked at the pockets of Bret’s jeans which practically bulged over with the chips he had just taken, “We should probably get those chips cashed out.”
Bret reared his head back animatedly, “Th’ chips ‘r cash?!”
Jemaine just raised one eyebrow now, “What did you think they were?”
Bret shrugged, “Dunno…hic…thought they were j’st chips…you know…you collect…hic… ‘em…”
Jemaine took all of Bret in and shook his head, “Bret, you’re drunk.”
“I’m n’t drink, you’re dunk!” Bret mumbled, his words nearly unintelligible and, at this point, Bret’s legs began to not work, sort of wobbling and caving in on one another as he walked, the contents of his drink spilling this way and that.
“Right,” Jemaine muttered dubiously and he stopped walking to take a better hold of Bret. If this kept up, Bret was sure to collapse.
Jemaine tried to loop one arm through Bret’s in an effort to anchor him, but all this did was cause Bret to notice what he was doing and, for some reason Jemaine could not discern, Bret took it as some sort of free pass to start latching himself on to Jemaine’s front.
Jemaine swallowed, uncomfortable, as Bret tried to wrap his little body around him like a lifejacket. Jemaine fell back on the only emotion he knew would get him through this, annoyance, and his voice came out exquisitely sharp as said, “Come on…we’ll worry about the chips later. Let’s get you back to the room and into bed.”
“…J’maine…you-you hittin’ on me…” Bret purred, eyebrows waggling as he giggled.
Jemaine ignored the lump that formed in his throat at this question and narrowed his eyes, “Agh! Bret! God, no! You’re a…man,” Jemaine added the last part lamely.
Bret didn’t seem to mind and merely laughed again, “I ama man, a man’s what I am, Sam.”
“What?”
“Green eggs ‘n ham,” Bret fell into more chuckles and finished off the last of his drink. He set the empty glass on top of one of the slot machines, not removing his arms from around a rigid Jemaine, his legs still sort of fumbling with the idea of standing.
Bret looked at the empty glass forlornly for a moment, “Drank it all…too bad…’s..was good,” Bret belched here, much to Jemaine’s disgust, “Sooo good, J’maine. ‘S…was…like…bananas with cherry centers an’ coconuts kisses…”
“You don’t say.”
“I loved it…an’ was free an’…wanna marry it…”
“Maybe later, Bret, now come on, help me out here….we can’t…get to the room if you’re like this. You need to walk. And, for god’s sake, get off me! People are staring!” Jemaine added the last part with some mortification.
Though, truthfully, only one person had looked over at them and it had been an elderly woman who had merely smirked, smoked more of her cigarette, and returned her attention to pulling the lever of her slot machine again.
Most of the people passing them weren’t even giving them a second glance. This was Las Vegas, after all.
“Wanna marry you,” Bret said with some emphasis, his eyes sparkling as he smiled lazily, “So…good t’ me…you’d maka good husb’nd wife…smell so good…’n warm… strong…”
Bret proceeded to practically bury himself into Jemaine’s chest, nuzzling, and that was much too much for Jemaine and, in a move that surprised even himself, he worked himself free from Bret and bent low, taking hold of Bret and throwing him over one shoulder.
Jemaine grunted a little at the extra weight, but was surprised to find it wasn’t too difficult. Murray had once said that Bret was compact and that Jemaine could easily carry him around like he did a tape recording - it wasn’t that easy, but Jemaine had to admit, it was easier than he thought.
Bret let out a yelp as he found himself dangling over Jemaine’s shoulder, head sort of upside down and he giggled, struggling slightly, “J’maine! Wh’t ‘r you doin’?”
Jemaine didn’t answer, instead arranging his shoulders and the ‘baggage’ resting over one of them. He strode forward purposefully, thankful that their hotel wasn’t too far; as he wasn’t sure how long he could carry Bret this way…maybe he should have tried to get him in a fireman’s carry instead of the single-shoulder…
Bret, for his part, was at least slack in his position, even though he was dangling rather freely and he found the experience a bit jarring as Jemaine walked. He also found it overly amusing, as his drunken state not only caused the world to spin more vicariously, but also pointed out things to him that, sober, he might not have noticed.
“J’maine…”
“Bret.”
“I c’n-I c’n see your butt fr’m here!” The end of this statement was almost completely consumed by giggles. Jemaine chose to staunchly ignore it, as well as the disconcerting (and, frighteningly real) possibility, that the brushing feeling he occasionally now felt along his backside was Bret’s hands.
Jemaine was overly grateful when he entered their hotel, his face red not only from exertion but from embarrassment. At least this activity saved him from seeing if anyone was staring at them (they were not) as he walked purposefully over towards the elevator to take them up to their room.
He carefully set Bret down on his feet and watched with some amusement as Bret made several different facial expressions at once. He imagined that the blood in Bret’s body had been unevenly distributed from dangling upside-down over his shoulder for such an extended period of time and now, with it rushing all back in his drunken state, he was feeling pretty unpleasant.
“You going to be sick, Bret?”
Bret blinked several times, and then shook his head vehemently.
“Have to pee?”
Bret shook his head again, voice thick as he muttered, “Nnn.”
“Really?”
“Yis…feel…feelin’ good still…” Bret gave a dopey smile as everything seemed to settle within him.
Jemaine just shook his head, voice incredulous, “Unbelievable.”
The elevator dinged as it opened and Jemaine entered, again taking gentle hold of Bret’s elbow so as to escort his friend in. They were the only two people in the elevator as its’ doors zipped shut and it moved up with some effort, sort of hissing and wheezing as it did so, much like their own elevator at home.
The hotel Bret and Jemaine were staying in was relatively cheap in comparison to the one across the street that Demetri, Todd, and Murray were staying at.
In fact, it had been highly rumored that the Casino Royale would eventually close its’ doors and be demolished and rebuilt to reflect the newer, brighter, and better casinos and hotels in Vegas, like its’ neighbors the Mirage and The Venetian. In fact, the only thing keeping it in tact was the fact that it had once been next to the Sands and the building itself was pretty old.
Sometimes history went a long way.
This couldn’t be any truer for Jemaine, who now looked at Bret and shook his head. He shared a long history with Bret. In fact, Bret was probably the only person Jemaine had ever had a long standing relationship with, and he found himself feeling on edge now as Bret suddenly loomed forward, leaning against him.
“Mmm, J’maine…” Bret breathed as he resumed nuzzling his friend again, this time into his friend’s shoulder.
“Bret…Bret! Stop that!”
“Why? Y’re so warm…”
“I am not…now stop leaning into me…”
“M’not…”
“Bret, you’re practically shoving me into the wall!”
This was not entirely true. Jemaine was actually the one edging closer to one of the walls of the elevator in an attempt to get away from Bret’s attentions (affections) but Bret just kept following him, cling to him like a burr.
Jemaine’s shoulder met with the wall, signaling that he was out of escaping room but he didn’t need to worry, as Bret now rested, in a slightly slanted position, a few inches away from him, “Hey J’maine, J’maine, guess what? J’maine, hey-”
“What, Bret?” Jemaine snapped in annoyance.
Bret, oblivious to this, smiled, “Th’t game I was playin’…’s great…really great…guess-guess wh’t its’ called. Guess, guess, guess-”
“What’s it called?”
“Craps!” Bret snickered, staggering on his feet a little when suddenly the elevator shrieked, shuddered and stopped completely, the pale fluorescent lights above their heads twinkling ominously.
Jemaine frowned, waiting a second or two, before sighing and saying with great chagrin, “I think we’ve stopped.”
“Re-hic-ally?”
“Yes. I think…maybe the elevators’ broken…”
Bret didn’t answer.
“Should-should move again soon…I’m sure…” Jemaine supplied.
Bret’s eyes widened and he let out a dramatic breath, “Oh craps!”
Jemaine glared at him, not amused, as he said stiffly, “I hate small spaces.”
“Small spaces?”
“The elevator, Bret!” Jemaine moaned, hating how Bret always made him state the obvious, “It’s small! And now we’re stuck here…god only knows how long…”
“Sure it’ll fix soon,” Bret mumbled and finally his feet shuffled the extra inches so that he collided with Jemaine, his face rubbing into his friend’s shoulder again, “Mm, least you’re not alone.”
Jemaine’s mouth opened and closed, as he was unsure of how to respond to what Bret had just said, much less his actions. Finally he managed weakly, “Bret, I…could you maybe be less gay while we’re trapped here?”
Bret, who had closed his eyes and was in that vegetative state between being half asleep and half awake, merely made a confused noise of acknowledgement at Jemaine’s words, as if wanting him to elaborate.
Jemaine didn’t quite know how to do that, much less if he wanted to. Neither he nor Bret drank much and, as far as Jemaine could recall, he had only seen Bret drunk once and it had been years ago at his Mother’s birthday party and he spent most of that time in the bathroom being bulimic.
Bret certainly hadn’t been so….amorous, that time.
Since then Bret had drank very little, especially since beer made him have to use the toilet, so Jemaine was surprised that, after Bret had imbibed as many drinks as he appeared to have imbibed, not only did he not have to use the bathroom nor be sick he was, instead, rather touchy-feely.
It was very un-Bret like and very…
Jemaine was about to think ‘unpleasant’, when, abruptly and much to Jemaine’s surprise, Bret let out a sleepy murmur and took hold of Jemaine’s arms and turned his body so that his back was pressed up against the wall. Bret buried his face in the hollow between Jemaine’s shoulder and neck, Bret’s lips rubbing against Jemaine’s bare skin.
Jemaine swallowed thickly, voice coming out in strangled shock, “Bret!”
“Hmm? Wot?” Bret managed sleepily.
“Bret! You’re…I told you to…what are you doing?”
“C’n’t help it…you’re so warm….an’ you smell soooo good,” Bret drawled against his skin, “You smell like…lavender and tea…”
Jemaine highly doubted he smelled like either one of those things and began to wonder if Bret was maybe more than just a little drunk. Candy, after all, had seemed the demon bastard woman type. Maybe she’d drugged Bret too.
Jemaine knew he should have just shoved Bret away and told him to get lost. He could easily persuade his friend with the right comments; Bret’s self esteem was so fragile, after all. It would just take a simple ‘Yuck, ew, gross, no! Get off me, you scrawny, bearded weirdo’ and Bret would be on his way but the fact of the matter was…
And Jemaine felt pathetic even as he thought it.
The fact of the matter was, was that Jemaine rarely got any kind of physical contact, so even contact from his drunken friend was preferable to the norm.
Jemaine felt unbearably depressed at this realization, but knew it was true.
Sometimes, sometimes, he just got so damn lonely.
And his loneliness made him do sad, pathetic things.
Like put a wig on his friend and spoon him while he slept, for example.
Though there had, in Jemaine’s mind, been nothing gay about that.
There was something gay about this.
Even if Bret wasn’t really doing anything to him physically past cuddling him.
Which he was.
Jemaine could feel Bret’s lips against his skin, could tell he was smiling against him, as he made several, unidentifiable noises in his throat and Jemaine was pretty sure his little friend was close to passing out.
He wondered how Bret had got to this state.
Obviously he had gone to see the lions and then what? Most likely Bret had gotten swept up in some Vegas hysteria, ended up at that table, playing that game, with those women, who were loading him up with free drinks. And for what? Probably to take his money and use him sexually and, really, that just made Jemaine livid.
Poor Bret was always being used and taken advantage of and, honestly, it was not fair. Because it was so easy. Bret was like an innocent. For god’s sake, he was wearing a blue shirt with sunflowers on it right now. True, the tight jeans, leather jacket, and beard sort of helped to off-set it, but past that, Bret looked like he was in the sixth grade.
Jemaine at least looked a little savvier. He also wore his leather jacket but beneath was his normal button-up blue shirt and he too, wore jeans. And, okay, maybe their outfits weren’t that different save the shirts, but, as the old saying went, ‘the shirt makes the man’. Or, at least, Jemaine thought he had heard a saying like that once. Wasn’t sure how old it was…
Jemaine tapped one foot, wondering if the elevator was ever going to move, and he pushed down the edge of hysteria that kept attempting to strangle him as it reminded him of how he was trapped and he couldn’t escape.
In a way, Bret was lucky he was so insensible.
Jemaine wished he was just as drunk and thus not so starkly aware of their current predicament. As it was, there was no distraction, no relief from this-
Jemaine’s deliberation died in an instant.
Had he felt…
No, no, he couldn’t possibly have…
Then it came again, that soft brush, that wet feeling…
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed, and he breathed out, voice almost silent in its fear, “…Bret?”
No answer past another feeling against his neck, that unmistakable brush of, what could only be described as lips and moist breath. Jemaine swallowed thickly, oh no, no, no…
He reached up his hands, unsure, placing them on Bret’s shoulders, ready to push him away and bolt, no matter how small the space, when it came again, this time wetter than ever and, oh god, was Bret opening his mouth and…something silky and indescribable against the side of his neck, licking…
“Mmm, Jemaine…taste good too…” Bret breathed and Jemaine tried to vehemently ignore the hot stab of lust that shot through his entire body like an electrical jolt, as if he’d stuck his fingers in a socket.
“Bret.” Jemaine squeaked, fingers tightening on his shoulders, ready to push him away. Ready, ready, ready…
Bret’s hands, long forgotten, rose up like ghosts, finding passage over Jemaine’s legs and moving up under Jemaine’s shirt, cold fingertips touching his bare back and Jemaine shivered. He swallowed, finding his voice, “Bret…stop.”
Bret didn’t stop. Instead his mouth became more determined, sucking at Jemaine’s neck as his hands drew lazy circles on his friend’s back, his beard scraping Jemaine’s skin and, fuck, that should not have been as much of a turn on as it was. It should have been alien and weird and gross and not, not, not…
Jemaine groaned, head knocking back against one wall of the elevator, “Stop…Bret…stop.”
Bret didn’t hear or didn’t care as he kept up with the mouth pressure, his hips suddenly jutting forward to collide with Jemaine’s body fully, pressing them completely against one another.
Jemaine felt as if he had completely lost his mind.
As if, without his knowledge, he had stumbled head first into insanity or into another dimension or…something…as there was no way this was happening, no way he was allowing this…
Sure, he was pretty desperate for attention and physical touch but he wasn’t…he couldn’t be…
This was Bret.
Jemaine couldn’t…he had to…
“Bret…god…stop, stop,” Jemaine moaned, his fingers digging into his friend’s shoulders now as Bret’s teeth suddenly scrapped him and fuck.
Bret drew his head away and pinned Jemaine with his eyes. Jesus, they were hot dark liquid and pure sex as he asked in a smoke tinged voice, “Why?”
Why?
Why?!
Why, why, why…
Jemaine’s mouth flapped silently. He could think of a million reasons ‘why’. They were trapped in an elevator that could move at any second. They were in Las Vegas. They were best friends. They were in a band. They were both men. They were not gay. Why?! So many answers as to why.
But Bret just looked at him and suddenly Jemaine felt sort of off kilter as it suddenly started to dawn on him that there was also a ‘why not?’ Bret was drunk. Maybe he wouldn’t remember what he did. And even if he did…maybe they could make it work. And if not, maybe they could fix it…
And besides, if anyone ended up taking fault if things went bad, if there ever ended up being someone to blame, it could be Bret, right? Drunk Bret with his drunk amorous, unexpectedly gay, ambitions.
But then…
“…can’t…use you.” Jemaine breathed, as the realization washed over him like cold water. He wasn’t like Candy, or Lisa, or any other bastard girl. He couldn’t just use Bret to get off. Even if he was drunk and hitting on him. It wasn’t right. If he was going to do something with Bret (which he wasn’t, he shouldn’t, he never), then Bret should be sober and in his right mind for it.
Bret suddenly smiled then, but not his normally sunny, innocent smile. This smile was darker and more secretive and made Jemaine shiver deep inside. Bret spoke softly, clearly, “Maybe I’m the one using you…”
Jemaine swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he squeaked, “Oh.”
Bret tilted his head to one side, eyes on Jemaine’s lips, “Oh.”
“You…wouldn’t…”
Bret blinked and, honestly, Jemaine didn’t think it was fair how Bret could jump between blindly drunk to (at least looking) stone cold sober as he said softly, “No, I wouldn’t. I would never use you, Jemaine…but don’t think that’s what I’m doing. You seem to want this-”
“Bret-”
“And I certainly do.”
“…you do?”
A bitter smile now, “Drinking makes…things easier to say…to do…”
“I don’t-”
“Maybe ‘ve always wanted to-” Bret’s voice came out a bit slurred again.
“To?” Jemaine gasped, his head light, chest constricted.
“…to do this…”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Neither spoke for a minute and suddenly it all pressed down on Jemaine. On how they were trapped in here, in this small, tight space, with no escape and how hot it suddenly seemed and how he was so lonely and Bret was looking at him and breathing and oh, oh, it was all too much.
“God…Bret…”
Bret groaned then, the way Jemaine said his name was too much, and he finally surged those last few inches forward, their mouths meeting for the first time. It was an apprehensive gesture, neither of them opening their mouths, lips just touching and not doing a blessed thing.
Bret pulled back a little, eyes flickering over Jemaine’s face and his hands left their spot on Jemaine’s back to go up to his face, cupping either side of it before moving in again, lips brushing back and forth tantalizingly along Jemaine’s , trying to get them both used to the idea.
Jemaine relaxed marginally, not even aware until then that he needed to relax marginally, and he felt his mouth dropping open slightly, wanting, wanting. And Bret barely stifled a moan as he caught his friend’s bottom lip - wide and full and so, so soft - and he sucked on that lip sensually, teeth nibbling a bit, before angling his head just that much better so that his tongue could delve inside - tasting Jemaine. Sampling, then savoring, then wallowing as he explored leisurely.
Jemaine finally moaned then, losing himself, as his own tongue answered Bret’s, flickering against it and Bret groaned, hands going into Jemaine’s hair, urging him even closer, deepening the kiss further.
Jemaine’s hands hadn’t left Bret’s shoulders, glued there as they continued kissing, and, for the most part, Jemaine’s whole body was glued into one position. Bret pinning him to the elevator wall as he was and Jemaine’s mind was certainly glued shut, focused on only one word, one purpose, one person: Bret.
Bret was more animated, his hands leaving Jemaine’s hair to go to his leather jacket, grabbing the material and trying to ease it off and Jemaine’s body, as stiff as it was, sluggishly responded, removing the garment and then Bret’s fingers were on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them swiftly and, oh god, it was all happening so blindly fast and Jemaine thought maybe he should stop this, slow it down but then Bret’s mouth left his to trail down his neck again, licking and biting and teasing and Jemaine felt like he was completely out of his mind, he was completely gone…
Bret’s hands were on his chest now, running over the hard flat planes, not even pausing, skittish perhaps, but not stumbling in any way that suggested that he found this odd or out of place.
Bret touched Jemaine as if it was not at all strange for him to be touching a man, or, more importantly, as if it was not at all strange that he was touching Jemaine. It was as if he touched Jemaine all the time and then his fingers dug into Jemaine’s back unforgivingly as his hips suddenly ground forward again, their erections meeting through their jeans and they both groaned.
Bret pulled his mouth away from Jemaine’s neck and looked at him again, voice a growl as he reached for the button of Jemaine’s jeans, the sound of them snapping open almost deafeningly loud in the tiny elevator as he growled, “More.”
Jemaine whimpered, lost, as Bret’s mouth found him again and Bret’s hands eased down his jeans just that bit, his hand finding him, cupping him possessively through his underwear.
He moved up and under the elastic waistband, his hand taking a hold of him, palm bone dry, fingers strong and sure as they stroked the length of him experimentally, but Bret’s touches didn’t really require any finesse to get Jemaine going.
Jemaine was moaning and bucking into his hand, frantic with lust and need. Bret’s mouth had found one of his ears and was sucking on it, teeth nibbling the lobe and Jemaine choked out his name again.
Bret drew his mouth away, as well as his hands and he slowly descended downwards and Jemaine watched him wide eyed, overwhelmed, no way Bret was getting on his knees right now. No way was Bret looking up at him with those dark, hot eyes. No way Bret was freeing him from the confines of his…no way he was…oh.
Bret tentatively took Jemaine’s length in his mouth. His mind had been buzzing like the static on a television for what felt like hours now. Several parts of him couldn’t believe he was here, couldn’t believe he was doing this and all the other parts of him didn’t care. They just wanted this. No, not wanted, needed.
He needed Jemaine above him, needed to hear Jemaine groaning, needed to see him completely lost and awash in the sensation of what was happening. He needed it because it was just so indescribably perfect. It was like finding something long hidden from him or creating a masterpiece or completing a race or - it was just - it was, it was, it was…
Jemaine moaned his name, his fingers going into Bret’s hair, cradling his head as he hissed.
Everything.
It was everything.
Bret licked along the length and the very tip of him, tasting something not too unsimilar to the drink he had had earlier actually - sweet but salty - unpleasant at first but then giving way to tolerable and then from tolerable to desirable and Bret focused all his attention on what he was doing, moving his head faster, mouth quicker and Jemaine was making these desperate sounds now, clutching helplessly at the unforgiving metal walls of the elevator.
Bret looked up at him, their eyes meeting and Bret moaned and that was it. Jemaine cried out Bret’s name again, hands tightening in his hair as he completely unraveled in his friend’s mouth.
Jemaine slowly came back to himself, smiling deliriously as he panted, “Wow…you really are a hot roller.”
It took Bret a minute to understand what Jemaine meant and then he snorted, amused, as he rose to his feet and kissed him softly, “I am pretty good with a set of dice.”
“No kidding.” Jemaine said back and kissed him once more as he set himself right again, everything put back in its place, jeans zipped closed. They kissed tenderly now, soft and slow, and Jemaine drew away, whispering, “So…sober now?”
“Was quite a bit before it.”
“Liar.”
“Close enough, then.”
An uncomfortable silence settled in as the two men stood next to one another, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. Jemaine spoke first, “…Bret…what does this mean for…us?”
Bret shrugged, finally looking at Jemaine, “Dunno. Know I liked it.”
“Me too.”
“And…I mean…the thing is…I’ve always…liked you.” Bret blushed at the confession, looking away again but now Jemaine looked at him, perplexed as he asked, “Liked me?”
“You know…crushed on you.” Bret clarified with some embarrassment.
“Crushed? As in-”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Bret repeated shyly, finally meeting Jemaine’s eyes again, “I think I could…I mean, if-if we were…together…more, I could…maybe, love?”
Jemaine blinked rapidly, hoping his eyes weren’t tearing up at that, “Really?”
“Yes…you?”
“Oh. Yes. Probably. Or, just, yes. Yes…think I could…love you.” Jemaine breathed and he kissed Bret three times rapidly in succession. Bret’s smile grew with each one and then he froze, eyes widening as he said, “Hey…the elevator-”
The elevator dinged loudly as it opened and both Bret and Jemaine blinked as they were greeted with an open, empty hall. Bret scratched the back of his head, surprised, “Guess…guess it’s working again.”
“…how long has it been working?”
Bret shrugged and Jemaine sighed, shaking his head, as he smiled dryly and reached forward, clicking the button to shut the doors. He looked at Bret mischievously, his lips coming in for another kiss as he said quietly, “We’ll get off on the next floor…”
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: NC17
Summary: Bret and Jemaine get trapped in an elevator in Las Vegas.
Warnings: Sexy times!
Word Count: 5,928
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Going back in time! Set after SS1, ‘The Third Conchord’.
Notes: The last of my drabble memes, this one was requested by shiverelectric - she wanted Bret/Jemaine trapped in an elevator. This, again, not so much with the drabble - I actually started this fic a long time ago and it languished in incomplete land until I realized I could link it with this prompt and complete it!
This is also, the closest I will probably ever come to sex-in-one-fic since ‘The Pool’. It’s just so hard for me to have them have sex in one fic without my massive overexplinations as to how it could happen realistically (EPICS) to satisfy me and, again, also to me, I still never manage to get their voices right (not dry/awkward enough)…oh well…enough of my ramblings! To FICDOM!
It was a free trip, so they figured, why not?
Murray had told them it was for a gig. What he hadn’t told them was that it was actually for a gig for The Crazy Dogggz and that they were only invited along because it had been unanimously decided it would be cheaper and more efficient to bring Bret and Jemaine to carry their luggage than to hire out.
Jemaine, had, of course, been wildly offended, while Bret had just shrugged and gone with it. After all, Bret rather liked the band and it was a chance to go on all-expenses paid trip to a place in America they had never been.
Once Jemaine had figured out the gig was not for them, but for Murray’s other band he had, at first, refused to go, but had been won over as Bret pointed out the benefits of the place they were going.
“Las Vegas, Jemaine! Just imagine all the girls there!”
Jemaine could imagine all the girls there. The girls there who didn’t wear much clothes. Strip bars there were supposed to be infamous, certainly much better than New York’s fare, so Jemaine had caved and agreed to go.
The flight there had been long and boring and there were numerous occasions where Bret had sworn up and down that he was going to die and Jemaine had sworn up and down that that was impossible. Everyone involved was eternally grateful when they landed back on solid ground and it was all behind them.
Carrying the luggage had been humiliating, as had the other errand boy tasks they were assigned, but eventually they reached a point where Murray had said they were free to go. He even gave them both substantial per diems to use as they saw fit.
Jemaine had all ready spent a good chunk of his per diem in various G-Strings throughout the strip but now he was kind of bored with the whole affair, especially since he had had to do it alone. Bret had gone over to the MGM Grand because he had heard they had live lions you could look at, so Jemaine went there to find his friend.
He didn’t find Bret with the lions and wondered where else he could have gotten to. Las Vegas was a big, crazy place swarming with neon lights and a constant barrage of bells, whistles and other distractions. Jemaine knew if worse came to worse he could go to his room and eventually Bret would show up but, frankly, he would rather find him now, as he found himself worrying about his friend.
Bret wasn’t as savvy as Jemaine when it came to…well, everything. Bret was the kind of person who, when left alone, could get himself into all sorts of trouble. Jemaine just kept envision the thousand and one ways Bret could lose all his money or worse when he heard someone cry out, “Flip”, and there was only one person he knew who said that.
He tried to go in the direction of where he thought he had heard it come from and found a large crowd of people gathered around a long, rectangular table. He managed to ease his way through and found Bret at one end of the table, two girls on either side of him and Bret looked, well, he looked like he had had a little bit too much of everything.
The girl to his right purred something in Bret’s ear and he giggled as he turned an open hand up towards her. Dice rested in his palm and she leaned down, blowing on them in a way that was both seductive and obscene. Bret shook the dice and threw them.
An authoritative looking man at the other end of the table said something Jemaine didn’t understand but it must have been good as the whole crowd of people around the table burst into happy cheers and applause. Bret blushed as the same girl who had blown on the dice grabbed his head rather forcefully and turned him to her, kissing him savagely. Once released the other girl on his left reached out and did the same.
Jemaine scowled and managed to work his way through the people until he was close to Bret. Bret was a bit preoccupied as he was handed back and forth between the two girls for kissing but Jemaine cleared his throat gruffly and tapped the girl closest to him roughly on the shoulder, “’Scuse me.”
The girl turned, her face venomous, but once Bret could see Jemaine, he was nothing but smiles, “’J’maine!”
Jemaine gave the girl the same look and elbowed his way past her rather rudely, getting himself closer, “Bret, what are you doing?”
“J’maine, J’maine,” Bret slurred, eyes glassy, “Th’s game…’s great. ‘S great!”
“I’m sure it is, how did you get here?”
Bret looked troubled, and could only manage, “Huh?”
“Bret, I looked for you at the lions and you weren’t there, how did you get here?”
“Oh. Oh. OH! Oh oh,” Bret started giggling again, wobbling a bit and held up a finger, “See, th’ thin’ ‘bout tha’ is…”
“Baby,” The girl who was still to his right pouted, “You’ve got to throw again.”
“Oh! ‘K, ‘k,” Bret had the dice handed to him again and he held them out to Jemaine, hand wobbling slightly, “Here, here…bl’w on ‘em. Say it’s fer luck…”
“Bret, I’m not going to-”
“C’m on, c’m on,” Bret pressured and Jemaine sighed. He rolled his eyes then managed a weak puff of air on them. Bret turned and tossed them to another chorus of happy praise.
“We got a hot roller!” The authoritative man at the end of the table announced as he shuffled about various chips on the table with a long stick that, to Jemaine, looked like a backscratcher.
The hot girl to Bret’s right had procured a drink out of thin air it seemed, and she pushed it towards Bret, fluttering her exceedingly long, and most likely, fake eyelashes at him, “Here, baby, snagged another free one from a waitress!”
“Ooo! ‘nother, hic, one!” Bret cooed and took the tall, sweating glass from her. He took a rather loud, obnoxious slurp of it and the girl grinned, her smile all teeth, “That’s right, baby, Candy knows how to take care of her man.”
Jemaine bristled. He did not like this woman. There was something…predatory about her. And not in a good way. She may have been hot, but Jemaine just knew she was bad news. She was a demon woman. A bastard girl. The last thing Bret needed was to get tangled up with another bastard girl.
He took a firm hold of Bret’s elbow, “Come on, Bret, think it’s time we went back to our hotel.”
“Aww, hic, J’maine, J’maine…noooo,” Bret drew out the last word like a petulant child but tried only half heartedly to pull from Jemaine’s grip.
Candy (if that was her name) was shooting Jemaine daggers but he ignored her, more concerned with his friend, his voice doing its best to stay calm and friendly despite his annoyance, “Yes, Bret, come on…”
“Oh…all r’ght,” Bret pouted and he reached down on to the table, grabbing handfuls of his chips. Jemaine looked at the collection with raised eyebrows as Bret looked around the table and announced regretfully, “S’rry, ladies and gen-hic, ladies and gentl-hic, ladies and guys…g’t t’ go.”
The whole table bemoaned the loss of its’ ‘hot roller’, and Candy looked ready to explode, but some how, some way, the duo managed to extract themselves and get away.
Bret still had his drink in one hand and Jemaine eyed it distastefully, “Don’t think you should drink that, Bret. ‘S practically glowing.”
Bret just giggled and took another long draft of it, before saying intelligently, “Wot?”
Jemaine rolled his eyes and looked at the pockets of Bret’s jeans which practically bulged over with the chips he had just taken, “We should probably get those chips cashed out.”
Bret reared his head back animatedly, “Th’ chips ‘r cash?!”
Jemaine just raised one eyebrow now, “What did you think they were?”
Bret shrugged, “Dunno…hic…thought they were j’st chips…you know…you collect…hic… ‘em…”
Jemaine took all of Bret in and shook his head, “Bret, you’re drunk.”
“I’m n’t drink, you’re dunk!” Bret mumbled, his words nearly unintelligible and, at this point, Bret’s legs began to not work, sort of wobbling and caving in on one another as he walked, the contents of his drink spilling this way and that.
“Right,” Jemaine muttered dubiously and he stopped walking to take a better hold of Bret. If this kept up, Bret was sure to collapse.
Jemaine tried to loop one arm through Bret’s in an effort to anchor him, but all this did was cause Bret to notice what he was doing and, for some reason Jemaine could not discern, Bret took it as some sort of free pass to start latching himself on to Jemaine’s front.
Jemaine swallowed, uncomfortable, as Bret tried to wrap his little body around him like a lifejacket. Jemaine fell back on the only emotion he knew would get him through this, annoyance, and his voice came out exquisitely sharp as said, “Come on…we’ll worry about the chips later. Let’s get you back to the room and into bed.”
“…J’maine…you-you hittin’ on me…” Bret purred, eyebrows waggling as he giggled.
Jemaine ignored the lump that formed in his throat at this question and narrowed his eyes, “Agh! Bret! God, no! You’re a…man,” Jemaine added the last part lamely.
Bret didn’t seem to mind and merely laughed again, “I ama man, a man’s what I am, Sam.”
“What?”
“Green eggs ‘n ham,” Bret fell into more chuckles and finished off the last of his drink. He set the empty glass on top of one of the slot machines, not removing his arms from around a rigid Jemaine, his legs still sort of fumbling with the idea of standing.
Bret looked at the empty glass forlornly for a moment, “Drank it all…too bad…’s..was good,” Bret belched here, much to Jemaine’s disgust, “Sooo good, J’maine. ‘S…was…like…bananas with cherry centers an’ coconuts kisses…”
“You don’t say.”
“I loved it…an’ was free an’…wanna marry it…”
“Maybe later, Bret, now come on, help me out here….we can’t…get to the room if you’re like this. You need to walk. And, for god’s sake, get off me! People are staring!” Jemaine added the last part with some mortification.
Though, truthfully, only one person had looked over at them and it had been an elderly woman who had merely smirked, smoked more of her cigarette, and returned her attention to pulling the lever of her slot machine again.
Most of the people passing them weren’t even giving them a second glance. This was Las Vegas, after all.
“Wanna marry you,” Bret said with some emphasis, his eyes sparkling as he smiled lazily, “So…good t’ me…you’d maka good husb’nd wife…smell so good…’n warm… strong…”
Bret proceeded to practically bury himself into Jemaine’s chest, nuzzling, and that was much too much for Jemaine and, in a move that surprised even himself, he worked himself free from Bret and bent low, taking hold of Bret and throwing him over one shoulder.
Jemaine grunted a little at the extra weight, but was surprised to find it wasn’t too difficult. Murray had once said that Bret was compact and that Jemaine could easily carry him around like he did a tape recording - it wasn’t that easy, but Jemaine had to admit, it was easier than he thought.
Bret let out a yelp as he found himself dangling over Jemaine’s shoulder, head sort of upside down and he giggled, struggling slightly, “J’maine! Wh’t ‘r you doin’?”
Jemaine didn’t answer, instead arranging his shoulders and the ‘baggage’ resting over one of them. He strode forward purposefully, thankful that their hotel wasn’t too far; as he wasn’t sure how long he could carry Bret this way…maybe he should have tried to get him in a fireman’s carry instead of the single-shoulder…
Bret, for his part, was at least slack in his position, even though he was dangling rather freely and he found the experience a bit jarring as Jemaine walked. He also found it overly amusing, as his drunken state not only caused the world to spin more vicariously, but also pointed out things to him that, sober, he might not have noticed.
“J’maine…”
“Bret.”
“I c’n-I c’n see your butt fr’m here!” The end of this statement was almost completely consumed by giggles. Jemaine chose to staunchly ignore it, as well as the disconcerting (and, frighteningly real) possibility, that the brushing feeling he occasionally now felt along his backside was Bret’s hands.
Jemaine was overly grateful when he entered their hotel, his face red not only from exertion but from embarrassment. At least this activity saved him from seeing if anyone was staring at them (they were not) as he walked purposefully over towards the elevator to take them up to their room.
He carefully set Bret down on his feet and watched with some amusement as Bret made several different facial expressions at once. He imagined that the blood in Bret’s body had been unevenly distributed from dangling upside-down over his shoulder for such an extended period of time and now, with it rushing all back in his drunken state, he was feeling pretty unpleasant.
“You going to be sick, Bret?”
Bret blinked several times, and then shook his head vehemently.
“Have to pee?”
Bret shook his head again, voice thick as he muttered, “Nnn.”
“Really?”
“Yis…feel…feelin’ good still…” Bret gave a dopey smile as everything seemed to settle within him.
Jemaine just shook his head, voice incredulous, “Unbelievable.”
The elevator dinged as it opened and Jemaine entered, again taking gentle hold of Bret’s elbow so as to escort his friend in. They were the only two people in the elevator as its’ doors zipped shut and it moved up with some effort, sort of hissing and wheezing as it did so, much like their own elevator at home.
The hotel Bret and Jemaine were staying in was relatively cheap in comparison to the one across the street that Demetri, Todd, and Murray were staying at.
In fact, it had been highly rumored that the Casino Royale would eventually close its’ doors and be demolished and rebuilt to reflect the newer, brighter, and better casinos and hotels in Vegas, like its’ neighbors the Mirage and The Venetian. In fact, the only thing keeping it in tact was the fact that it had once been next to the Sands and the building itself was pretty old.
Sometimes history went a long way.
This couldn’t be any truer for Jemaine, who now looked at Bret and shook his head. He shared a long history with Bret. In fact, Bret was probably the only person Jemaine had ever had a long standing relationship with, and he found himself feeling on edge now as Bret suddenly loomed forward, leaning against him.
“Mmm, J’maine…” Bret breathed as he resumed nuzzling his friend again, this time into his friend’s shoulder.
“Bret…Bret! Stop that!”
“Why? Y’re so warm…”
“I am not…now stop leaning into me…”
“M’not…”
“Bret, you’re practically shoving me into the wall!”
This was not entirely true. Jemaine was actually the one edging closer to one of the walls of the elevator in an attempt to get away from Bret’s attentions (affections) but Bret just kept following him, cling to him like a burr.
Jemaine’s shoulder met with the wall, signaling that he was out of escaping room but he didn’t need to worry, as Bret now rested, in a slightly slanted position, a few inches away from him, “Hey J’maine, J’maine, guess what? J’maine, hey-”
“What, Bret?” Jemaine snapped in annoyance.
Bret, oblivious to this, smiled, “Th’t game I was playin’…’s great…really great…guess-guess wh’t its’ called. Guess, guess, guess-”
“What’s it called?”
“Craps!” Bret snickered, staggering on his feet a little when suddenly the elevator shrieked, shuddered and stopped completely, the pale fluorescent lights above their heads twinkling ominously.
Jemaine frowned, waiting a second or two, before sighing and saying with great chagrin, “I think we’ve stopped.”
“Re-hic-ally?”
“Yes. I think…maybe the elevators’ broken…”
Bret didn’t answer.
“Should-should move again soon…I’m sure…” Jemaine supplied.
Bret’s eyes widened and he let out a dramatic breath, “Oh craps!”
Jemaine glared at him, not amused, as he said stiffly, “I hate small spaces.”
“Small spaces?”
“The elevator, Bret!” Jemaine moaned, hating how Bret always made him state the obvious, “It’s small! And now we’re stuck here…god only knows how long…”
“Sure it’ll fix soon,” Bret mumbled and finally his feet shuffled the extra inches so that he collided with Jemaine, his face rubbing into his friend’s shoulder again, “Mm, least you’re not alone.”
Jemaine’s mouth opened and closed, as he was unsure of how to respond to what Bret had just said, much less his actions. Finally he managed weakly, “Bret, I…could you maybe be less gay while we’re trapped here?”
Bret, who had closed his eyes and was in that vegetative state between being half asleep and half awake, merely made a confused noise of acknowledgement at Jemaine’s words, as if wanting him to elaborate.
Jemaine didn’t quite know how to do that, much less if he wanted to. Neither he nor Bret drank much and, as far as Jemaine could recall, he had only seen Bret drunk once and it had been years ago at his Mother’s birthday party and he spent most of that time in the bathroom being bulimic.
Bret certainly hadn’t been so….amorous, that time.
Since then Bret had drank very little, especially since beer made him have to use the toilet, so Jemaine was surprised that, after Bret had imbibed as many drinks as he appeared to have imbibed, not only did he not have to use the bathroom nor be sick he was, instead, rather touchy-feely.
It was very un-Bret like and very…
Jemaine was about to think ‘unpleasant’, when, abruptly and much to Jemaine’s surprise, Bret let out a sleepy murmur and took hold of Jemaine’s arms and turned his body so that his back was pressed up against the wall. Bret buried his face in the hollow between Jemaine’s shoulder and neck, Bret’s lips rubbing against Jemaine’s bare skin.
Jemaine swallowed thickly, voice coming out in strangled shock, “Bret!”
“Hmm? Wot?” Bret managed sleepily.
“Bret! You’re…I told you to…what are you doing?”
“C’n’t help it…you’re so warm….an’ you smell soooo good,” Bret drawled against his skin, “You smell like…lavender and tea…”
Jemaine highly doubted he smelled like either one of those things and began to wonder if Bret was maybe more than just a little drunk. Candy, after all, had seemed the demon bastard woman type. Maybe she’d drugged Bret too.
Jemaine knew he should have just shoved Bret away and told him to get lost. He could easily persuade his friend with the right comments; Bret’s self esteem was so fragile, after all. It would just take a simple ‘Yuck, ew, gross, no! Get off me, you scrawny, bearded weirdo’ and Bret would be on his way but the fact of the matter was…
And Jemaine felt pathetic even as he thought it.
The fact of the matter was, was that Jemaine rarely got any kind of physical contact, so even contact from his drunken friend was preferable to the norm.
Jemaine felt unbearably depressed at this realization, but knew it was true.
Sometimes, sometimes, he just got so damn lonely.
And his loneliness made him do sad, pathetic things.
Like put a wig on his friend and spoon him while he slept, for example.
Though there had, in Jemaine’s mind, been nothing gay about that.
There was something gay about this.
Even if Bret wasn’t really doing anything to him physically past cuddling him.
Which he was.
Jemaine could feel Bret’s lips against his skin, could tell he was smiling against him, as he made several, unidentifiable noises in his throat and Jemaine was pretty sure his little friend was close to passing out.
He wondered how Bret had got to this state.
Obviously he had gone to see the lions and then what? Most likely Bret had gotten swept up in some Vegas hysteria, ended up at that table, playing that game, with those women, who were loading him up with free drinks. And for what? Probably to take his money and use him sexually and, really, that just made Jemaine livid.
Poor Bret was always being used and taken advantage of and, honestly, it was not fair. Because it was so easy. Bret was like an innocent. For god’s sake, he was wearing a blue shirt with sunflowers on it right now. True, the tight jeans, leather jacket, and beard sort of helped to off-set it, but past that, Bret looked like he was in the sixth grade.
Jemaine at least looked a little savvier. He also wore his leather jacket but beneath was his normal button-up blue shirt and he too, wore jeans. And, okay, maybe their outfits weren’t that different save the shirts, but, as the old saying went, ‘the shirt makes the man’. Or, at least, Jemaine thought he had heard a saying like that once. Wasn’t sure how old it was…
Jemaine tapped one foot, wondering if the elevator was ever going to move, and he pushed down the edge of hysteria that kept attempting to strangle him as it reminded him of how he was trapped and he couldn’t escape.
In a way, Bret was lucky he was so insensible.
Jemaine wished he was just as drunk and thus not so starkly aware of their current predicament. As it was, there was no distraction, no relief from this-
Jemaine’s deliberation died in an instant.
Had he felt…
No, no, he couldn’t possibly have…
Then it came again, that soft brush, that wet feeling…
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed, and he breathed out, voice almost silent in its fear, “…Bret?”
No answer past another feeling against his neck, that unmistakable brush of, what could only be described as lips and moist breath. Jemaine swallowed thickly, oh no, no, no…
He reached up his hands, unsure, placing them on Bret’s shoulders, ready to push him away and bolt, no matter how small the space, when it came again, this time wetter than ever and, oh god, was Bret opening his mouth and…something silky and indescribable against the side of his neck, licking…
“Mmm, Jemaine…taste good too…” Bret breathed and Jemaine tried to vehemently ignore the hot stab of lust that shot through his entire body like an electrical jolt, as if he’d stuck his fingers in a socket.
“Bret.” Jemaine squeaked, fingers tightening on his shoulders, ready to push him away. Ready, ready, ready…
Bret’s hands, long forgotten, rose up like ghosts, finding passage over Jemaine’s legs and moving up under Jemaine’s shirt, cold fingertips touching his bare back and Jemaine shivered. He swallowed, finding his voice, “Bret…stop.”
Bret didn’t stop. Instead his mouth became more determined, sucking at Jemaine’s neck as his hands drew lazy circles on his friend’s back, his beard scraping Jemaine’s skin and, fuck, that should not have been as much of a turn on as it was. It should have been alien and weird and gross and not, not, not…
Jemaine groaned, head knocking back against one wall of the elevator, “Stop…Bret…stop.”
Bret didn’t hear or didn’t care as he kept up with the mouth pressure, his hips suddenly jutting forward to collide with Jemaine’s body fully, pressing them completely against one another.
Jemaine felt as if he had completely lost his mind.
As if, without his knowledge, he had stumbled head first into insanity or into another dimension or…something…as there was no way this was happening, no way he was allowing this…
Sure, he was pretty desperate for attention and physical touch but he wasn’t…he couldn’t be…
This was Bret.
Jemaine couldn’t…he had to…
“Bret…god…stop, stop,” Jemaine moaned, his fingers digging into his friend’s shoulders now as Bret’s teeth suddenly scrapped him and fuck.
Bret drew his head away and pinned Jemaine with his eyes. Jesus, they were hot dark liquid and pure sex as he asked in a smoke tinged voice, “Why?”
Why?
Why?!
Why, why, why…
Jemaine’s mouth flapped silently. He could think of a million reasons ‘why’. They were trapped in an elevator that could move at any second. They were in Las Vegas. They were best friends. They were in a band. They were both men. They were not gay. Why?! So many answers as to why.
But Bret just looked at him and suddenly Jemaine felt sort of off kilter as it suddenly started to dawn on him that there was also a ‘why not?’ Bret was drunk. Maybe he wouldn’t remember what he did. And even if he did…maybe they could make it work. And if not, maybe they could fix it…
And besides, if anyone ended up taking fault if things went bad, if there ever ended up being someone to blame, it could be Bret, right? Drunk Bret with his drunk amorous, unexpectedly gay, ambitions.
But then…
“…can’t…use you.” Jemaine breathed, as the realization washed over him like cold water. He wasn’t like Candy, or Lisa, or any other bastard girl. He couldn’t just use Bret to get off. Even if he was drunk and hitting on him. It wasn’t right. If he was going to do something with Bret (which he wasn’t, he shouldn’t, he never), then Bret should be sober and in his right mind for it.
Bret suddenly smiled then, but not his normally sunny, innocent smile. This smile was darker and more secretive and made Jemaine shiver deep inside. Bret spoke softly, clearly, “Maybe I’m the one using you…”
Jemaine swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he squeaked, “Oh.”
Bret tilted his head to one side, eyes on Jemaine’s lips, “Oh.”
“You…wouldn’t…”
Bret blinked and, honestly, Jemaine didn’t think it was fair how Bret could jump between blindly drunk to (at least looking) stone cold sober as he said softly, “No, I wouldn’t. I would never use you, Jemaine…but don’t think that’s what I’m doing. You seem to want this-”
“Bret-”
“And I certainly do.”
“…you do?”
A bitter smile now, “Drinking makes…things easier to say…to do…”
“I don’t-”
“Maybe ‘ve always wanted to-” Bret’s voice came out a bit slurred again.
“To?” Jemaine gasped, his head light, chest constricted.
“…to do this…”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Neither spoke for a minute and suddenly it all pressed down on Jemaine. On how they were trapped in here, in this small, tight space, with no escape and how hot it suddenly seemed and how he was so lonely and Bret was looking at him and breathing and oh, oh, it was all too much.
“God…Bret…”
Bret groaned then, the way Jemaine said his name was too much, and he finally surged those last few inches forward, their mouths meeting for the first time. It was an apprehensive gesture, neither of them opening their mouths, lips just touching and not doing a blessed thing.
Bret pulled back a little, eyes flickering over Jemaine’s face and his hands left their spot on Jemaine’s back to go up to his face, cupping either side of it before moving in again, lips brushing back and forth tantalizingly along Jemaine’s , trying to get them both used to the idea.
Jemaine relaxed marginally, not even aware until then that he needed to relax marginally, and he felt his mouth dropping open slightly, wanting, wanting. And Bret barely stifled a moan as he caught his friend’s bottom lip - wide and full and so, so soft - and he sucked on that lip sensually, teeth nibbling a bit, before angling his head just that much better so that his tongue could delve inside - tasting Jemaine. Sampling, then savoring, then wallowing as he explored leisurely.
Jemaine finally moaned then, losing himself, as his own tongue answered Bret’s, flickering against it and Bret groaned, hands going into Jemaine’s hair, urging him even closer, deepening the kiss further.
Jemaine’s hands hadn’t left Bret’s shoulders, glued there as they continued kissing, and, for the most part, Jemaine’s whole body was glued into one position. Bret pinning him to the elevator wall as he was and Jemaine’s mind was certainly glued shut, focused on only one word, one purpose, one person: Bret.
Bret was more animated, his hands leaving Jemaine’s hair to go to his leather jacket, grabbing the material and trying to ease it off and Jemaine’s body, as stiff as it was, sluggishly responded, removing the garment and then Bret’s fingers were on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them swiftly and, oh god, it was all happening so blindly fast and Jemaine thought maybe he should stop this, slow it down but then Bret’s mouth left his to trail down his neck again, licking and biting and teasing and Jemaine felt like he was completely out of his mind, he was completely gone…
Bret’s hands were on his chest now, running over the hard flat planes, not even pausing, skittish perhaps, but not stumbling in any way that suggested that he found this odd or out of place.
Bret touched Jemaine as if it was not at all strange for him to be touching a man, or, more importantly, as if it was not at all strange that he was touching Jemaine. It was as if he touched Jemaine all the time and then his fingers dug into Jemaine’s back unforgivingly as his hips suddenly ground forward again, their erections meeting through their jeans and they both groaned.
Bret pulled his mouth away from Jemaine’s neck and looked at him again, voice a growl as he reached for the button of Jemaine’s jeans, the sound of them snapping open almost deafeningly loud in the tiny elevator as he growled, “More.”
Jemaine whimpered, lost, as Bret’s mouth found him again and Bret’s hands eased down his jeans just that bit, his hand finding him, cupping him possessively through his underwear.
He moved up and under the elastic waistband, his hand taking a hold of him, palm bone dry, fingers strong and sure as they stroked the length of him experimentally, but Bret’s touches didn’t really require any finesse to get Jemaine going.
Jemaine was moaning and bucking into his hand, frantic with lust and need. Bret’s mouth had found one of his ears and was sucking on it, teeth nibbling the lobe and Jemaine choked out his name again.
Bret drew his mouth away, as well as his hands and he slowly descended downwards and Jemaine watched him wide eyed, overwhelmed, no way Bret was getting on his knees right now. No way was Bret looking up at him with those dark, hot eyes. No way Bret was freeing him from the confines of his…no way he was…oh.
Bret tentatively took Jemaine’s length in his mouth. His mind had been buzzing like the static on a television for what felt like hours now. Several parts of him couldn’t believe he was here, couldn’t believe he was doing this and all the other parts of him didn’t care. They just wanted this. No, not wanted, needed.
He needed Jemaine above him, needed to hear Jemaine groaning, needed to see him completely lost and awash in the sensation of what was happening. He needed it because it was just so indescribably perfect. It was like finding something long hidden from him or creating a masterpiece or completing a race or - it was just - it was, it was, it was…
Jemaine moaned his name, his fingers going into Bret’s hair, cradling his head as he hissed.
Everything.
It was everything.
Bret licked along the length and the very tip of him, tasting something not too unsimilar to the drink he had had earlier actually - sweet but salty - unpleasant at first but then giving way to tolerable and then from tolerable to desirable and Bret focused all his attention on what he was doing, moving his head faster, mouth quicker and Jemaine was making these desperate sounds now, clutching helplessly at the unforgiving metal walls of the elevator.
Bret looked up at him, their eyes meeting and Bret moaned and that was it. Jemaine cried out Bret’s name again, hands tightening in his hair as he completely unraveled in his friend’s mouth.
Jemaine slowly came back to himself, smiling deliriously as he panted, “Wow…you really are a hot roller.”
It took Bret a minute to understand what Jemaine meant and then he snorted, amused, as he rose to his feet and kissed him softly, “I am pretty good with a set of dice.”
“No kidding.” Jemaine said back and kissed him once more as he set himself right again, everything put back in its place, jeans zipped closed. They kissed tenderly now, soft and slow, and Jemaine drew away, whispering, “So…sober now?”
“Was quite a bit before it.”
“Liar.”
“Close enough, then.”
An uncomfortable silence settled in as the two men stood next to one another, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. Jemaine spoke first, “…Bret…what does this mean for…us?”
Bret shrugged, finally looking at Jemaine, “Dunno. Know I liked it.”
“Me too.”
“And…I mean…the thing is…I’ve always…liked you.” Bret blushed at the confession, looking away again but now Jemaine looked at him, perplexed as he asked, “Liked me?”
“You know…crushed on you.” Bret clarified with some embarrassment.
“Crushed? As in-”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Bret repeated shyly, finally meeting Jemaine’s eyes again, “I think I could…I mean, if-if we were…together…more, I could…maybe, love?”
Jemaine blinked rapidly, hoping his eyes weren’t tearing up at that, “Really?”
“Yes…you?”
“Oh. Yes. Probably. Or, just, yes. Yes…think I could…love you.” Jemaine breathed and he kissed Bret three times rapidly in succession. Bret’s smile grew with each one and then he froze, eyes widening as he said, “Hey…the elevator-”
The elevator dinged loudly as it opened and both Bret and Jemaine blinked as they were greeted with an open, empty hall. Bret scratched the back of his head, surprised, “Guess…guess it’s working again.”
“…how long has it been working?”
Bret shrugged and Jemaine sighed, shaking his head, as he smiled dryly and reached forward, clicking the button to shut the doors. He looked at Bret mischievously, his lips coming in for another kiss as he said quietly, “We’ll get off on the next floor…”