(no subject)
69, BRO! (the walk of no shame)
all time low; alex gaskarth/jack barakat
r/nc-17; 15,160 words
this is part two. read part one first.
Several days later, in what Jack is pretty sure is St. Louis, Alex says, "Have you seen my scarf?"
"Which one?" Jack asks, currently very involved in kicking Zack's ass at drunk Halo, which is like regular Halo only with a lot more beer.
"Any of them?" Alex sounds genuinely concerned.
"Nope," says Jack, and resists the urge to glare when Zack disguises a laugh as a cough, because everyone but Alex knows that Jack has been methodically stealing the scarves and hiding them at the bottom of the dirty laundry. It's fucking Warped Tour in the fucking summer, and there is absolutely no need for scarves; Jack just doesn't want Alex to die of heat stroke, really. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alex studying him suspiciously. He concentrates very hard on his game.
"You should give them back," says Alex, "or I will be forced to violate you."
"You'll violate me anyway," Jack says, shooting Zack in the head onscreen. "Fuck yeah! Face it, Gaskarth, I'm irresistable."
"I hate you," says Zack.
"And yet you still want me," says Jack.
Zack looks to Alex. "Why is he in our band again?"
Alex shrugs. "No idea. Let's replace him with Trace Cyrus."
Jack feels the need to illustrate how much he disagrees with this sentiment, so he throws his controller down, but not hard enough to do any damage to it. "Dude, I take so much offense to that."
"Does that mean I can switch to solo mode?" asks Zack.
"I refuse to associate with you until you promise to never replace me with Trace Cyrus," Jack says. For good measure, he folds his arms and sulks.
"I will never replace you," Alex says, "if you give me my goddamn scarves back."
"Real nice of you to just assume I took them like that," Jack grumbles, but pushes himself off the couch anyway, swaying to his feet.
"But you did take them," Zack says. Jack flips him off. Alex laughs.
Back in the bunks, Jack digs Alex's scarves out from under at least a week's worth of dirty laundry, hoping with no remorse that they'll have at least acquired some of the smell. He flings them at Alex's head as he finds them, and Alex catches them, draping them over his shoulders like some retarded over-accesorized Prince of Persia.
"I'm trying to do you a favor here, seriously," Jack says, balling up the last one and lobbing it at Alex's face.
"I am an adult and I can dress myself," Alex says seriously.
"Ha ha ha," says Jack.
Alex frowns and looks mildly offended.
"Dude," says Jack. "Why so serious? Don't be a douche, I'm just messing with you."
Alex shrugs, tugging one stupid scarf from the collection on his shoulders and sniffing it experimentally. He shrugs again and tosses it into his bunk. Jack sighs and rolls his eyes. He hates it when Alex gets all serious.
"C'mere, bro," he says, pulling Alex over by the wrist. He puts his hands on Alex's face and makes him look at him. Alex makes a face, so Jack squishes his cheeks a little. "I fuckin' love you, man. Despite your scarves, and your big-ass forehead, and your weird curvy penis." He kisses Alex firmly on the mouth to punctuate this. "You are my favorite human being, you asshole."
Alex tries not to grin for a second, then gives up and does anyway.
"Dudes!" Rian busts in, dripping wet, which is weird because last Jack checked it was dry as fucking Egypt outside. Rian pauses and takes in the situation. "Oh, man, sorry dudes, didn't mean to interrupt your bromance. Carry on or whatever, but we have super soakers."
Alex's face mirrors Jack's immediate extreme lift in spirits. Jack punches him in the collarbone and yells, "Dibs on Jonathan Cook!" and totally beats him out the door.
"Damn, Kansas City," Alex says onstage, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. "You know, there is abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do here?"
"Middle of fucking nowhere, bro," Jack supplies helpfully.
"Yeah, seriously, I've had to resort to just boning Jack all the time for entertainment," Alex says.
A lot of people scream and a few look vaguely disgusted, which is generally the kind of reaction Jack likes from a crowd.
"Wanna hear Alex's orgasm noise, guys?" he asks, and laughs at the shrieking in favor. "Wow, it's not really that exciting, seriously."
"Hey, fuck you," says Alex. "Do you want to be replaced by Trace Cyrus?"
"Hey, Matt would never let you do that. Would you, Matt?" Jack looks sidestage to find him. Matt gives Alex a thumbs up. Alex returns it, grinning.
Jack says, "I hate this band."
Alex says, "I love you, bro."
"Sorry, I actually just lied," Jack says. "Dammit, I love this band."
Alex presses his face to the window in Salt Lake City and says, "Mmmm, delicious Mormons."
It is too early, Jack thinks, and he is becoming intimately acquainted with his Red Bull. No one else is even awake. Jack wouldn't be, except Alex fell asleep in his bunk last night and has no respect for Jack's beauty rest, so now he's grumping around on the couch instead, "Are they the ones who, like." He gestures vaguely, unable to remember exactly what it is that Mormons do.
"No cleavage ever, yeah," Alex says, and Jack grunts in acknowledgment. Alex always knows the important things to point out.
Alex pulls himself away from the window - Jack can't imagine the view is that different from every other lot they've parked in for the last few weeks, anyway - and shuffles back over to Jack and the couch, nudging his feet aside so sit next to him. Jack stretches his legs right back out over Alex's lap and yawns loudly.
"The next time you wake me up before noon," he says, "I will punch you in the throat."
"Nuh-uh." Alex shifts around a little so he's leaning on Jack's shoulder. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through texts or Twitter or whatever; Jack doesn't feel like reading over his shoulder right now. "My golden voice pays for your booze, bro."
Jack rolls his eyes. "I'll punch you in the dick, then."
"Low blow to punch a sleepy man in the balls, Barakat."
"Low blow, ha ha ha."
Alex snorts and turns his face into Jack's shoulder, grinning. "Shut up, asshole."
Matt wanders into the front lounge, shirtless, rubbing tiredly at his face. He does a double-take at the pair of them on the couch. "Holy shit, you're awake," he says in a tone that suggests he would sound more excited about it if he hadn't just woke up.
"I'm gonna assume you're talking about him," Alex says, poking Jack in the ribs.
"Ow," says Jack. "Asshole."
"Dickhead."
Jack punches him in the shoulder, then leans into him to look at his phone. "Who are you even texting right now?"
"You're both ridiculous," says Matt. He goes to the fridge to grab a Red Bull, then flops down on the free couch and turns the TV on.
"There's nothing good on at 11 in the morning, ever," says Alex.
Jack taps at the screen of Alex's phone. Alex smacks his hand away, then rolls his eyes and hands it over. His page of Twitter replies is up. Jack scrolls through them, half-reading; it's not that different from the way his own reads, but it's more interesting than the local news Matt's got on. "Change the fucking channel, fuck," he says without looking up.
"I don't know what the fucking channels are around here," Matt says, tossing the remote at Alex. Alex catches it and flips though a few channels before stopping on the Disney Channel. He's got a fucking homing device for it or something.
"Yay, Suite Life," says Alex.
Jack says, "I hate my life."
The party that night's on Underoath's bus and Jack is completely fucking hammered within like a minute of climbing aboard. It's that awesome. It's fucking crowded, too, in the best hot-sweaty way possible, even though Jack barely has enough room to freak-dance on Aaron when their song come on. ("Good Girls Go Bad"; Jack decides it's their song about three seconds after it comes on and he feels like grinding on someone. This kind of happens a lot - Jack and Rian have about five "their songs" and he's lost count of how many he and Alex have.) Zack sandwiches Jack with Aaron and violates him a little, but gets distracted pretty quickly because Zack is the least homosexual member of All Time Low. Also the worst dancer.
Jack can have a good time without being violated, though. He lost his shirt at some point, possibly before he even got on the bus, but it's so hot that he counts it as a win but vaguely hopes it wasn't a shirt he liked.
Alex is on the other end of the lounge. Jack feels like he has not seen him in like a year (it's actually been about half an hour since their set ended, but whatever), so he abandons Aaron and elbows his way over. "Yo, Gaskarth!"
Alex completely fucking beams at him and, when he's close enough, loops his arms around Jack's neck and kisses him enthusiastically. Jack laughs into it and grabs Alex's ass. It seems like the right thing to do in the situation. There's something like a chorus of cat-calls and one of the Kings dudes yells "Get a room!" Jack flicks him off without looking, dips Alex like they're in a fuckin' movie or something, and kisses him again. Alex makes a squawky surprised noise and clutches at Jack's shirt until he's standing upright again.
"Dude!" he says. "Warn a guy before you pull that shit." He's not mad, though, because he's still grinning and leaning on Jack, like always.
"I promise to warn you in the future before all sweeping romantic gestures," Jack says, and then plants a kiss on Alex's cheek, just because. He has these moments sometimes, where the world is fucking fantastic and Alex is the only goddamn thing he needs from it anyway. He's been having them since he was thirteen years old and they're pretty much the greatest moments of his life.
Travis Clark materializes on Jack's non-Alex side, draping an arm over Jack's shoulders. "'Sup, happy couple?"
"My penis," Jack says.
"You should be the first to know," Alex says, snaking an arm around Jack's waist. "I'm gonna marry this dude."
"Dude, I think your mom should be the first to know," says Travis.
"Man, I love your mom," Jack says to Alex.
"I think she'd be okay with it," Alex says consideringly, as if he's putting some serious thought into it. Then, decisively, "Yeah, totally."
"Definitely," agrees Jack. "Then she'd have the son she always wanted."
"Hey, fuck you."
Jack bats his eyes at him. "Later, pumpkin."
Rian says over Travis's shoulder, "Do you guys just get gayer as you get drunker or what? Not that you're not always homosexuals, but, you know."
"Suck it," says Alex. "You're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
"They're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love!" Jack and Travis sing together, swaying. Alex laughs a little too hard, pressing his face into Jack's shoulder.
"Don't puke, Alex," says Rian.
"Yeah, for the love of god," Jack says, giving Alex's head a noogie.
Alex makes an affronted noise and flails a little until Jack lets him go, then schools his face into a serious one. "You," he says, pointing at Travis. "Do you have a pocket knife or other such sharp implement?"
"Cutting solves nothing, Gaskarth," Jack says.
"No, but I bet Hunter does," Travis says, ducking away to grab him.
"Was that supposed to be ironic?" says Rian. "Like, his name is Hunter and he has a knife?"
"That's not ironic, that's coincidental," Alex says, rolling his eyes. "Why do people always use 'ironic' wrong? It's like no one paid attention in school ever."
"Well, yeah," Jack and Rian say in unison.
"Also, no one cares, dickwad," Jack adds. Alex punches him in the arm, looks thoughtful for a moment, then hooks an arm around Jack's neck and licks his cheek. "Aaaugh!" Jack says. Alex grins.
"Fuckin' victory, dudes!" says Travis, reappearing with a pocketknife in hand. "Who are we cutting open?"
"Alex's black emo soul," says Jack. Alex does that thing where he rolls his eyes without actually looking away from what he's doing, which is, at the moment, picking at the knot of one of the colored thread bracelets around his wrist. He bites his lip and squints at it, and apparently this tactic works because it comes loose after a few seconds.
"Cut this in half," he says, holding the bracelet taut by both ends in front of him. "And don't stab me."
"No promises, dude," Travis says, but manages to saw through the threads with little difficulty. The bracelet snaps in half; Alex measues the halves against each other, then bites the end of one so he doesn't have to hold it while he ties the other one around Jack's finger.
"Uh, dude," says Jack, "what?"
"Shut up, I'm fuckin' marrying you, bro," Alex says through his clenched teeth.
"You are never living this down," Rian says. "Ever. Never. Wow, I'm gonna go tell Zack."
"Tell him he's invited to the reception," Jack says. "It's in his mom's vagina."
"This is the most romantic wedding I've ever been to," Travis says.
"Shut it, ginger-head," Alex says as he finally manages to get the threads double-knotted. "There we go, you are officially my bitch forever."
Jack wiggles his fingers. "I feel all tingly inside."
"That's probably just a boner, dude," Alex says, taking the other half of the bracelet out of his mouth and attempting to wrap it around his own ring finger.
"I stand by what I said," Jack says. "Give me that, dumbass." He rolls his eyes and bats Alex's hands away from each other, grabbing the bracelet from him. Alex holds very still while Jack ties it in place. When Jack is finished, he clasps Alex's hand in both of his and says, very solemnly, "Bros before hos, dude."
Alex grins ridiculously and cups the back of Jack's neck, pressing his forehead against Jack's. "Hey, best friend."
"Hey," says Jack, also grinning stupidly.
"Haaaay," Travis says, knocking their heads together.
Jack had momentarily forgotten there were other people there. "Ow!" he says, and punches Travis in the nipple. "We're having a moment, dammit."
"Ow, my nipple," Travis says, covering it with his hand. "Cheap shot, Barakat."
"Your mom's a cheap shot," Alex says, and Jack high-fives him.
Jack is not sure how he gets back to his own bus, but he does, and in one piece, so that's the important thing. The bunks seem really far away, so he spends a while rolling around on the couch and/or in Rian's lap while Rian and Matt are trying to play X-Box, but once the bus lurches onto the highway, Calgary-bound, Jack's stomach decides that laying down in a real(-ish) bed would be fantastic.
He stumbles back to the bunk room and is about to climb into his bed when he has a way better idea and pulls back the curtain to Alex's instead. Then he frowns, because it's empty. He checks all the other bunks and almost gets punched in the face by Zack before he wanders back out into the lounge.
"Uh," he says. "Did we leave Alex in Salt Lake City?"
Matt shrugs without looking away from the game. "Pat Brown texted me, he passed out on Sing It Loud's bus."
"Sooooo," Jack says, unsatisfied with this explanation.
"So they promised to deliver him to Canada in one piece," Matt says. "Dammit!"
"Bahaha," says Rian, deviously.
"But," says Jack.
Matt rolls his eyes. "You'll survive, bro. It's like, two days. Maybe we'll even get him back at a rest stop."
Jack sighs. His life is hard.
He wakes up the next morning disgustingly hungover and having apparently crawled into Alex's bunk instead of his own, and the Alex-y smell has gotten all in his clothes. This is not necessarily a bad thing, just kind of weird. He wonders if anyone else noticed his bunk mix-up, and decides they probably did and will think it's a hilarious thing to talk about for the next two days. Jack doesn't blame them. He's still got half a bracelet tied around his ring finger, after all, and he's not really planning on taking it off.
"Haters to the left," he mutters to himself, and peels himself up to face the day.
They get Alex back at a rest stop in Montana that night. Alex yells obscenities across the parking lot and runs across to jump on Rian, who was rather unstrategically the first person of their bus.
"I thought I'd never see you again!" Alex wails, clinging to a staggering Rian like the monkey he actually is. "You have no idea the horrible sights I've seen."
"We can hear you, you know!" Ben calls from the other bus. Jack waves brightly at him.
"If Pat tells me one more time how great David Blaise is, I might start hating the guy on principle," Alex says, finally letting Rian go. "I mean, I'll secretly still love him, but that's beside the point." He latches onto Jack now, instead, hugging his arm. "Seriously, at a certain point, a man-crush becomes a gay crush."
"Speaking of," says Zack. "Where's your wedding ring?"
"What?" Alex gives him the look that says he thinks he's crazy.
"Ooooh, yeah," Rian says, waggling his eyebrows. "Dude, did you seriously lose it already? You're a failure."
Alex holds up both his hands, fingers bare, and frowns at them. He looks befuddled.
"Fuck you guys," Jack says, pulling Alex by the arm toward the rest stop building. "You're all homos, and we're getting hot dogs."
Later, Jack fights with the braided thread until it comes off his finger, but he ties it to one of the bracelets wrapped around his wrists instead of throwing it out. He feels kind of stupidly sentimental, but whatever. If anyone comments, he can just tell them to suck it.
In Calgary, Jack hooks up with a super-hot Canadian. Like, he was unconvinced that Canadians could actually be that hot until this encounter, but he takes that back now. She's got one of those K-names (Katie, Katelyn, whatever) and, more importantly, really great tits. Jack fucks her on the bus after their set while everyone else is at catering, getting fed and watered before their flight to L.A. that night, and she runs off about five minutes after they finish, cursing about the missed calls from her ride home; Jack grabs her for a goodbye kiss but is secretly glad to avoid the potential post-sex awkwardness.
It's great timing on everyone's part, because a few minutes after she leaves, Jack is lounging on the couch watching Spongebob and Rian and Vinny return with plates of Warped Tour cuisine.
"Yo," Jack greets them, raising a hand in salute.
Rian shoves Jack's feet off the couch and sits down. "What are you so fucking smug about?"
"Got laid," Vinny says through a mouthful of chicken.
Jack grins widely. "The man is correct."
"Oh," says Rian. He looks deeply confused for a moment, then shakes his head, shrugs, and eats.
"You should be happier for me, dude," says Jack. "Why won't you share in my joy like I share in your mom's?"
"Whatever," says Rian. He shrugs. "Alex is getting food?"
"What?" says Jack, then gets it. "No, dude, seriously, I mean I legitimately got laid, like with a chick and everything."
"We're very proud of you," says Vinny. "We didn't think you had it in you."
"Or that's exactly what we thought," says Rian.
"I hate you both," says Jack. "Beer me." Vinny grabs one from the fridge and tosses it to him. "Muchos gracias, sir."
"Muchas," says Rian.
"Tacos?" says Jack.
Rian rolls his eyes. "Never mind."
Jack pops the top of his beer and downs it. It's like two in the afternoon and he's way too sober for life. When he's finished he crushes the can in his hand with an appropriate manly noise.
"This is Sparta," says Vinny.
"Beer me again," Jack says. "I refuse to rely on airplane booze today."
Rian says, "Conan. Fucking. O'Brien."
Jack punches him in the shoulder. "Don't fucking say that, man, I'll throw up on you."
Leaving the tour to fly to L.A. is kind of like going back to an entirely different world that Jack almost forgot existed. There are people who have showered recently, for one thing. That's just fuckin' weird. Jack sits with Zack at the airport bar while they wait for their flight, kicking the rungs on his bar stool and making love to a gin and tonic. As much as he loves the Captain, he is about to embark on a classy endeavor and that deserves a classy drink. Alex and Rian hit up the Cinnabon instead, because they're freaks.
Boarding, Jack shuffles behind Alex in line and pokes him in the back, just above his belt. "Dibs on sitting with Gaskarth," he says. Alex is the best plane buddy because he shares his snacks and always lets Jack have the window seat.
"I'm sitting with Rian," Alex says. "You always take the fucking window seat."
"Dammit," says Jack. "Seriously?"
So Jack spends the flight next to Vinny, who doesn't share at all, but at least Jack is able to wrestle him out of the window seat. Alex and Rian are in the row in front of them; Jack puts his hoodie hood up and leans against the window and he can see a sliver of Alex doing the same thing between the seat and the airplane wall. It takes all of Jack's willpower to resist poking him with something. Jack is not a model of self-restraint, but he's had enough bitching from Rian about "exacerbating Alex's moods" that he, on occasion, refrains from being an asshole. Only on occasion, because Alex is his fucking best friend and if Jack wants to "exacerbate his moods" (whatever the fuck that means), he'll damn well do it.
But instead, he tells the flight attendant to bring him whichever tiny bottle of airplane booze is the most badass and slouches down in his seat with his earphones in, deciding resolutely that if anyone but Andrew himself, miraculously aboard their flight, bothers him before he gets all the way through Everything In Transit, he'll punch them in the throat.
It's past midnight when they land in L.A., so they do the classy thing and stop at In-N-Out for burgers on the way to the hotel. Jack isn't completely sober but he doesn't feel drunk, just jittery, a little jetlagged and nervous. He's trying not to think too hard, which isn't usually a problem for him, but he just had a long flight and Alex is still being moody and it's going to be super-weird to fall asleep the normal way instead of passing out drunk, so his head's in a funny place.
Between shoving French fries into his mouth, Jack texts Rian incessantly on the DL until he agrees to room with Zack and let Jack deal with Alex. Freaking out over playing on Conan shouldn't be a difficult thing to manage. Jack has a lot of confidence in his Alex-managing skills.
In the hotel room, Jack tosses his duffel onto the far bed, closest to the window, because Alex has this thing about being close to the door. He digs through it aimlessly for his toothbrush until he hears Alex come in.
Alex throws his bag into his bed, giving Jack a flat look. "Thought I was rooming with Rian."
"Traded," says Jack. "You're being a bitch, dude."
"Whatever." Alex says. He unzips his bag and pokes through it ferociously for a few seconds, then stops. Sighs, and hits it half-heartedly with a loose fist.
"You're not gonna fuck it up," Jack says. "Dude. I'm nervous as shit, too, but I know if anyone fucks up it's not gonna be you."
Alex looks up and gives Jack a kinda-half-smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, man."
Jack frowns at him. "Why are you hating on me, bro?"
"I'm not," Alex says quickly, but he totally is, because he was being perfectly nice to Rian and anyone else all day but now they're alone and he's, like, PMSing everywhere. Jack's not down with it.
"Seriously?" Jack doesn't roll his eyes, but he considers it strongly. "You can't fuckin' lie to me, man, it doesn't work. I know you too well."
"I'm not hating on you, dude. Promise." Alex pulls his old Less Than Jake t-shirt out of his bag and sets it aside. He starts undoing the buttons on his stupid flannel shirt, frowning down at his fingers.
"Alex--" Jack starts.
"I'm tired," Alex says. "And I'm nervous as hell about tomorrow, so can we just go to sleep?"
"Uh," says Jack. "No?" He knows better than to let Alex stew in things. He pushes a hand through his hair, rolls his eyes, and rounds Alex's bed toward him. Alex lets Jack knock his hands away from his shirt so Jack can take over, watching his fingers work the buttons through their buttonholes. Jack leans his forehead against Alex's and doesn't say anything.
After a long minute, Alex lets out a slow breath. "Sorry," he says. "Today isn't working right in my head."
"You say that like your head ever works right," Jack says, grinning. He thumbs at the last button and lets Alex's shirt hang open, tugging the flannel lightly. Alex's crazy might be rubbing off, he thinks, because he can barely even tell if he's buzzed anymore but he still thinks the best thing to do right now, in the interest of keeping Alex sane, is to kiss him.
Alex, apparently, does not agree; he shoves Jack away so hard he stumbles back a few steps.
"How are you even drunk right now?" Alex says, exasperated. "You haven't drank since the plane!"
"I'm not," says Jack. He gives Alex a dirty look and straightens his t-shirt. "Sorry, Jesus, you don't have to be an asshole."
"Neither do you, dickhead," Alex says. He exhales violently and turns to lean back against the wall, his head thumping lightly against it.
Something clicks in Jack's brain, kind of, maybe, and he laughs out loud. "Are you seriously freaking out right now? Seriously? Because holy fucking Batman, Alex, you could pick a better time to have a big gay freakout."
"Shut up," says Alex. "I'm not. I'm just. Fuck, okay, just forget it, okay?" With effort, he stands up straight again and holds out a hand. "Come here."
Jack does, and lets Alex kiss him this time. He curls his fingers into the sides of Alex's shirt and Alex touches his face, his fingers light and retardedly careful, like Jack's gonna punch him if he does something wrong. Like he could.
When Alex breaks the kiss, he sighs. "You drive me fuckin' crazy," he says.
Jack grins a little bit. "Well, you spin me right 'round, baby. Right round."
Alex snorts a laugh and punches him in the shoulder. Jack pouts and rubs the spot, feigning injury, and Alex just rolls his eyes and pulls him in to kiss him again, not so carefully, but all tongue-y and teeth-y like Jack's used to from Alex, insistent and demanding; Jack's not even drunk and it still makes his blood rush in his ears. He slides his hands over Alex's shoulders, under his shirt, pushing it off, and Alex takes his hands off Jack long enough to let it fall to the floor, then pushes his hands up Jack's t-shirt, his fingers digging into Jack's ribs.
Jack catches his hands. "Hey," he mumbles.
"Mmm?" Alex says, not bothering the pull away.
"I'm not drunk," says Jack. "Okay?"
Alex bites Jack's lip. "Yeah, I--"
He trails off, gaping a little, when Jack drops to his knees. Jack grins up at him, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Alex's jeans, and tugs at the button on his fly with his teeth.
"Don't fuck around about oral sex, dude," Alex says, unsure, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air between Jack's head and his own hips.
"I would never," Jack says, because, man, he would never. He pushes his nose against Alex's stomach, breathing in. He's never given a sober blowjob, and he's not even sure he's ever given a drunk one, but he can think of at least two or three occasions where it's a distinct possibility. First time for everything, though.
"Jack, seriously--" says Alex.
"Seriously," says Jack. "Shut up. I'm gonna suck your dick, don't fuckin' complain about it." Alex shuts up and Jack fights with his zipper for a moment, feeling clumsy, but manages to get it undone without any major catastrophes. Alex is half-hard when Jack gets his dick out; he wraps a hand around it, contemplative, and Alex's fingers finally thread tentatively into his hair. He glances up to see Alex watching him, so he catches his eye, grins a little and mouths at the head of Alex's cock. What's the point in being nervous about a blowjob when you've got Conan fucking O'Brien to freak out about instead?
It's way weirder than a handjob, sucking dick, but Jack likes to think he gets the hang of it pretty quickly - he's gotten enough blowjobs in his life to know what he likes, and he's had enough conversations with Alex about it to know what Alex likes, and just in general it's kind of hard to fuck up sucking someone's dick. Especially Alex's, because he's easy. Alex's hands keep tightening in his hair and then loosening again like Alex remembers what's going on, but Jack sort of wishes he'd just keep them there. It's kind of hot.
"Fuck," Alex groans, and "God, Jack," and he moans quietly, like he does, his breathing heavy. Jack gets a good system going, his head bobbing and his hand working the rest of Alex's dick he can't reach without choking and vomiting (natch); he palms himself through his jeans with his free hand, because he is a completely shameless human being.
At a certain point, though, Jack's jaw starts to ache, and he is seriously considering starting to bitch about it when Alex yanks his hair hard and says, "Jack!"
Jack pulls off to say, "What?" and Alex comes on his face.
Alex blinks down at him. Jack blinks back, taking his hand off Alex's dick to touch the jizz on his cheek. He looks down, and it's on the collar of his shirt, too. Alex is turning progressively redder in the face, and there is pretty much a giant neon clock over his head ticking down the seconds to him freaking out.
"Man," says Jack, flexing his jaw experimentally. "See, that's why shirts should be off for this kind of thing." He grins, and Alex does, too, tentative for a second before he laughs and kneels, pulling Jack in and kissing him, jizz-face and all.
"You're disgusting," Jack says when he pulls away.
"Yeah, maybe," Alex says. He tugs at the hem of Jack's shirt and Jack lets him pull it off, this time; Alex uses it to carefully wipe Jack's face clean while Jack makes faces at him, wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth. "That was really hot, though."
"Things usually are when I'm involved," Jack says. Alex rolls his eyes. Jack ignores him. "Hey. Bro."
"Hey, what," Alex says, tilting Jack's chin up a little to make sure he didn't miss anything.
"I've got an awesome boner right now," says Jack. "Want to see?"
"Ew, no," says Alex. Jack punches him in the chest.
One of these days, Jack is going to teach Matt about the correct priorities in life. Mostly because the correct priorities would include the priority of not administering wake-up calls at ten in the morning, which is a ridiculously ungodly hour.
"Whaaaat," Alex grumbles into the phone when he answers. Jack's phone went off twice but he ignored it, because it's all the way across the room on his bed, and he is so fundamentally opposed to getting up right now. Alex's phone is right on the bedside table, though, so he's obligated to be a responsible human being an answer it.
Alex talks groggily to Matt for a few minutes while Jack pushes his face against Alex's shoulder and tries to pretend that nothing has woken him up yet. When Alex hangs up, he exhales violently and rolls back over to drape himself over Jack.
"Gotta be ready to go by twelve-thirty," he mumbles. "Matt says to make sure you take a shower."
"No, I was gonna go to Conan smelling like jizz and Warped Tour," Jack says. He pushes his fingers through Alex's hair; Alex hums and kisses his shoulder. It occurs to Jack, vaguely, that he has no fucking idea what he's doing. Alex looks happy, though, so whatever he's doing, it must be at least a little bit right. And he still doesn't want to get up. "I don't wanna get up," he says.
"Good," says Alex. "M'comfortable."
"Hey," says Jack. "I am not your personal pillow, dude."
Alex snorts.
"Okay, maybe a little."
"Damn right." Jack feels Alex grin.
Jack frowns. "My mouth tastes like penis."
Alex says, "If getting my phone didn't require moving, I would tweet that."
"And then I'd be forced to murder you," Jack says, giving him a demonstrative noogie. "'Sorry, Conan, performance is off, our lead singer's dead. What, you wouldn't mind filling in? Really? Dude, of course we're okay with that!'"
Alex beats him half-heartedly with a fist. "Conan would never rock the terrorist scarf like I do."
Jack catches Alex's hand, pulls at it and bites his knuckles. "Conan is so far above the terrorist scarf, bro."
"Owww," Alex whines.
"Pussy," Jack says, flicking him in the forehead. Alex elbows him, and there's a short wrestling match that Jack totally wins, because he's awesome. He sits on Alex and pins his wrists down, grinning triumphantly.
Alex squirms. "I thought you didn't wanna get up."
"Changed my mind," Jack says. Alex makes a face up at him, his bedhead hair sticking up in about fifty different directions. Jack finds the combination almost overwhelmingly endearing. Alex's crazy has definitely rubbed off on him.
"Jack," says Alex.
Jack blinks at him. "What?"
Alex squirms a little again, half-heartedly. "You're looking at me funny, bro."
"That's because you're funny-looking," Jack says. He lets go of Alex's wrists, prepared in case Alex decides to fight him again, but Alex just leaves them laying on the pillow and blinks placidly up at Jack, the corner of his mouth curled in an almost-smile.
Jack touches Alex's face, tilts his chin up a little, and leans down to kiss him. Alex doesn't punch him. He counts it as a win.
So, yeah, then they play the Tonight Show with Conan fucking O'Brien. In the dressing room, Alex wraps his arms around Jack's waist from behind, buries his face in Jack's neck and says, "I am so fucking happy."
Jack can't stop fucking grinning.
The afterglow lasts for several hours, until they have to go catch their flight back to Vancouver, discover Alex's passport is missing, and there's a ridiculous clusterfuck that in the end has their set at Vancouver Warped canceled. They pow-wow at the airport bar in San Francisco with hotdogs and gin and tonics, Rian and Jack sitting on either side of Alex while he scrolls through his Twitter replies and becomes increasingly more depressed about it.
"Everyone hates me now," he says, moping into his drink.
"Put down the phone, Gaskarth," Rian says. "They don't hate you."
"Well, they might a little," says Jack. "But they'll get over it."
Rian gives him a look like, nice. Except sarcastically. Jack shrugs.
Zack, on Rian's other side, says to Alex, "Would it make you feel better if I stuffed my entire hotdog in my mouth at once?"
Jack says, "You can stuff my entire hotdog in your mouth at once."
"I'll stuff your mother's entire hotdog in my mouth at once," says Zack.
"Excuse you," Jack says around a mouthful of hotdog (real hotdog, not euphemism hotdog). "My mother does not have a hotdog. She has a beautiful vagina. I should know, I came out of it."
"He's right," says Alex, brightening. "I should know, I came into it."
"Urgh," Jack says, choking a little. He chews, then swallows. "You're disgusting. Go back to moping."
"Man," Rian says to Zack. "It's too bad the plan didn't work."
Jack narrows his eyes at them. "Which plan."
"The plan to leave you in L.A. and bring back Trace Cyrus instead," says Zack, sipping his drink.
"Isn't that joke old yet?" Jack pouts, poking Alex. "Tell them that joke is old."
"Not old yet," Alex says, wiggling away from the poking.
"I hate you all like the internet hates Alex," says Jack.
"Dude," the other three say in unison. "Too soon," Rian says.
Jack rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He hooks an arm around Alex's neck and plans a big sloppy kiss on his cheek. "I apologize."
"Forgiven," Alex says.
"You're so biased," says Rian. "You never hate on Jack when he's an asshole."
"That's because I love him best," says Alex.
"That's because we're M-F-E-O," Jack adds helpfully.
"Like Spongebob and Patrick," Zack says.
"Exactly," says Jack.
On the plane, Alex sits with Jack, leans on his shoulder and shares his snacks and gives him the window seat, and Jack shares an earphone so they can listen to Jack's Mannequin together. Somewhere over Oregon, Alex pulls Jack's hand into his lap and threads their fingers together; Jack glances over, but Alex is looking at their hands, not him. He squeezes Alex's hand, looks out the window, and hums along to the music until Vinny and Zack start throwing peanuts at him.
In Seattle, Alex says to the crowd, "Man, you guys are beautiful. Today is beautiful, dammit. Seattle is fucking beautiful, you know?"
"The sky is beautiful," Zack says, with a mocking air. "The trees are beautiful, the grass is beautiful..."
"Beer is beautiful," Jack says. "Boobs are beautiful."
Alex says, "You're beautiful, Jack. And so is your mom."
"Your curvy blue penis is beautiful," Jack says.
"It's true," Zack says to the screaming girls. "His curvy blue penis is very aesthetically pleasing."
"It leaves a funny aftertaste, though," says Jack. And wins, because Alex and Zack both can't retort because they're laughing too hard. He smiles smugly at the crowd. "I win."
"You do win," Zack says, composing himself. "Tell the man what he's won, Alex."
Alex grins at him. "You win a free ride on my curvy blue penis, brother."
"Fuck yes," says Jack. "Can we play another song first, though?"
THE END
all time low; alex gaskarth/jack barakat
r/nc-17; 15,160 words
this is part two. read part one first.
Several days later, in what Jack is pretty sure is St. Louis, Alex says, "Have you seen my scarf?"
"Which one?" Jack asks, currently very involved in kicking Zack's ass at drunk Halo, which is like regular Halo only with a lot more beer.
"Any of them?" Alex sounds genuinely concerned.
"Nope," says Jack, and resists the urge to glare when Zack disguises a laugh as a cough, because everyone but Alex knows that Jack has been methodically stealing the scarves and hiding them at the bottom of the dirty laundry. It's fucking Warped Tour in the fucking summer, and there is absolutely no need for scarves; Jack just doesn't want Alex to die of heat stroke, really. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alex studying him suspiciously. He concentrates very hard on his game.
"You should give them back," says Alex, "or I will be forced to violate you."
"You'll violate me anyway," Jack says, shooting Zack in the head onscreen. "Fuck yeah! Face it, Gaskarth, I'm irresistable."
"I hate you," says Zack.
"And yet you still want me," says Jack.
Zack looks to Alex. "Why is he in our band again?"
Alex shrugs. "No idea. Let's replace him with Trace Cyrus."
Jack feels the need to illustrate how much he disagrees with this sentiment, so he throws his controller down, but not hard enough to do any damage to it. "Dude, I take so much offense to that."
"Does that mean I can switch to solo mode?" asks Zack.
"I refuse to associate with you until you promise to never replace me with Trace Cyrus," Jack says. For good measure, he folds his arms and sulks.
"I will never replace you," Alex says, "if you give me my goddamn scarves back."
"Real nice of you to just assume I took them like that," Jack grumbles, but pushes himself off the couch anyway, swaying to his feet.
"But you did take them," Zack says. Jack flips him off. Alex laughs.
Back in the bunks, Jack digs Alex's scarves out from under at least a week's worth of dirty laundry, hoping with no remorse that they'll have at least acquired some of the smell. He flings them at Alex's head as he finds them, and Alex catches them, draping them over his shoulders like some retarded over-accesorized Prince of Persia.
"I'm trying to do you a favor here, seriously," Jack says, balling up the last one and lobbing it at Alex's face.
"I am an adult and I can dress myself," Alex says seriously.
"Ha ha ha," says Jack.
Alex frowns and looks mildly offended.
"Dude," says Jack. "Why so serious? Don't be a douche, I'm just messing with you."
Alex shrugs, tugging one stupid scarf from the collection on his shoulders and sniffing it experimentally. He shrugs again and tosses it into his bunk. Jack sighs and rolls his eyes. He hates it when Alex gets all serious.
"C'mere, bro," he says, pulling Alex over by the wrist. He puts his hands on Alex's face and makes him look at him. Alex makes a face, so Jack squishes his cheeks a little. "I fuckin' love you, man. Despite your scarves, and your big-ass forehead, and your weird curvy penis." He kisses Alex firmly on the mouth to punctuate this. "You are my favorite human being, you asshole."
Alex tries not to grin for a second, then gives up and does anyway.
"Dudes!" Rian busts in, dripping wet, which is weird because last Jack checked it was dry as fucking Egypt outside. Rian pauses and takes in the situation. "Oh, man, sorry dudes, didn't mean to interrupt your bromance. Carry on or whatever, but we have super soakers."
Alex's face mirrors Jack's immediate extreme lift in spirits. Jack punches him in the collarbone and yells, "Dibs on Jonathan Cook!" and totally beats him out the door.
"Damn, Kansas City," Alex says onstage, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. "You know, there is abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do here?"
"Middle of fucking nowhere, bro," Jack supplies helpfully.
"Yeah, seriously, I've had to resort to just boning Jack all the time for entertainment," Alex says.
A lot of people scream and a few look vaguely disgusted, which is generally the kind of reaction Jack likes from a crowd.
"Wanna hear Alex's orgasm noise, guys?" he asks, and laughs at the shrieking in favor. "Wow, it's not really that exciting, seriously."
"Hey, fuck you," says Alex. "Do you want to be replaced by Trace Cyrus?"
"Hey, Matt would never let you do that. Would you, Matt?" Jack looks sidestage to find him. Matt gives Alex a thumbs up. Alex returns it, grinning.
Jack says, "I hate this band."
Alex says, "I love you, bro."
"Sorry, I actually just lied," Jack says. "Dammit, I love this band."
Alex presses his face to the window in Salt Lake City and says, "Mmmm, delicious Mormons."
It is too early, Jack thinks, and he is becoming intimately acquainted with his Red Bull. No one else is even awake. Jack wouldn't be, except Alex fell asleep in his bunk last night and has no respect for Jack's beauty rest, so now he's grumping around on the couch instead, "Are they the ones who, like." He gestures vaguely, unable to remember exactly what it is that Mormons do.
"No cleavage ever, yeah," Alex says, and Jack grunts in acknowledgment. Alex always knows the important things to point out.
Alex pulls himself away from the window - Jack can't imagine the view is that different from every other lot they've parked in for the last few weeks, anyway - and shuffles back over to Jack and the couch, nudging his feet aside so sit next to him. Jack stretches his legs right back out over Alex's lap and yawns loudly.
"The next time you wake me up before noon," he says, "I will punch you in the throat."
"Nuh-uh." Alex shifts around a little so he's leaning on Jack's shoulder. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through texts or Twitter or whatever; Jack doesn't feel like reading over his shoulder right now. "My golden voice pays for your booze, bro."
Jack rolls his eyes. "I'll punch you in the dick, then."
"Low blow to punch a sleepy man in the balls, Barakat."
"Low blow, ha ha ha."
Alex snorts and turns his face into Jack's shoulder, grinning. "Shut up, asshole."
Matt wanders into the front lounge, shirtless, rubbing tiredly at his face. He does a double-take at the pair of them on the couch. "Holy shit, you're awake," he says in a tone that suggests he would sound more excited about it if he hadn't just woke up.
"I'm gonna assume you're talking about him," Alex says, poking Jack in the ribs.
"Ow," says Jack. "Asshole."
"Dickhead."
Jack punches him in the shoulder, then leans into him to look at his phone. "Who are you even texting right now?"
"You're both ridiculous," says Matt. He goes to the fridge to grab a Red Bull, then flops down on the free couch and turns the TV on.
"There's nothing good on at 11 in the morning, ever," says Alex.
Jack taps at the screen of Alex's phone. Alex smacks his hand away, then rolls his eyes and hands it over. His page of Twitter replies is up. Jack scrolls through them, half-reading; it's not that different from the way his own reads, but it's more interesting than the local news Matt's got on. "Change the fucking channel, fuck," he says without looking up.
"I don't know what the fucking channels are around here," Matt says, tossing the remote at Alex. Alex catches it and flips though a few channels before stopping on the Disney Channel. He's got a fucking homing device for it or something.
"Yay, Suite Life," says Alex.
Jack says, "I hate my life."
The party that night's on Underoath's bus and Jack is completely fucking hammered within like a minute of climbing aboard. It's that awesome. It's fucking crowded, too, in the best hot-sweaty way possible, even though Jack barely has enough room to freak-dance on Aaron when their song come on. ("Good Girls Go Bad"; Jack decides it's their song about three seconds after it comes on and he feels like grinding on someone. This kind of happens a lot - Jack and Rian have about five "their songs" and he's lost count of how many he and Alex have.) Zack sandwiches Jack with Aaron and violates him a little, but gets distracted pretty quickly because Zack is the least homosexual member of All Time Low. Also the worst dancer.
Jack can have a good time without being violated, though. He lost his shirt at some point, possibly before he even got on the bus, but it's so hot that he counts it as a win but vaguely hopes it wasn't a shirt he liked.
Alex is on the other end of the lounge. Jack feels like he has not seen him in like a year (it's actually been about half an hour since their set ended, but whatever), so he abandons Aaron and elbows his way over. "Yo, Gaskarth!"
Alex completely fucking beams at him and, when he's close enough, loops his arms around Jack's neck and kisses him enthusiastically. Jack laughs into it and grabs Alex's ass. It seems like the right thing to do in the situation. There's something like a chorus of cat-calls and one of the Kings dudes yells "Get a room!" Jack flicks him off without looking, dips Alex like they're in a fuckin' movie or something, and kisses him again. Alex makes a squawky surprised noise and clutches at Jack's shirt until he's standing upright again.
"Dude!" he says. "Warn a guy before you pull that shit." He's not mad, though, because he's still grinning and leaning on Jack, like always.
"I promise to warn you in the future before all sweeping romantic gestures," Jack says, and then plants a kiss on Alex's cheek, just because. He has these moments sometimes, where the world is fucking fantastic and Alex is the only goddamn thing he needs from it anyway. He's been having them since he was thirteen years old and they're pretty much the greatest moments of his life.
Travis Clark materializes on Jack's non-Alex side, draping an arm over Jack's shoulders. "'Sup, happy couple?"
"My penis," Jack says.
"You should be the first to know," Alex says, snaking an arm around Jack's waist. "I'm gonna marry this dude."
"Dude, I think your mom should be the first to know," says Travis.
"Man, I love your mom," Jack says to Alex.
"I think she'd be okay with it," Alex says consideringly, as if he's putting some serious thought into it. Then, decisively, "Yeah, totally."
"Definitely," agrees Jack. "Then she'd have the son she always wanted."
"Hey, fuck you."
Jack bats his eyes at him. "Later, pumpkin."
Rian says over Travis's shoulder, "Do you guys just get gayer as you get drunker or what? Not that you're not always homosexuals, but, you know."
"Suck it," says Alex. "You're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
"They're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love!" Jack and Travis sing together, swaying. Alex laughs a little too hard, pressing his face into Jack's shoulder.
"Don't puke, Alex," says Rian.
"Yeah, for the love of god," Jack says, giving Alex's head a noogie.
Alex makes an affronted noise and flails a little until Jack lets him go, then schools his face into a serious one. "You," he says, pointing at Travis. "Do you have a pocket knife or other such sharp implement?"
"Cutting solves nothing, Gaskarth," Jack says.
"No, but I bet Hunter does," Travis says, ducking away to grab him.
"Was that supposed to be ironic?" says Rian. "Like, his name is Hunter and he has a knife?"
"That's not ironic, that's coincidental," Alex says, rolling his eyes. "Why do people always use 'ironic' wrong? It's like no one paid attention in school ever."
"Well, yeah," Jack and Rian say in unison.
"Also, no one cares, dickwad," Jack adds. Alex punches him in the arm, looks thoughtful for a moment, then hooks an arm around Jack's neck and licks his cheek. "Aaaugh!" Jack says. Alex grins.
"Fuckin' victory, dudes!" says Travis, reappearing with a pocketknife in hand. "Who are we cutting open?"
"Alex's black emo soul," says Jack. Alex does that thing where he rolls his eyes without actually looking away from what he's doing, which is, at the moment, picking at the knot of one of the colored thread bracelets around his wrist. He bites his lip and squints at it, and apparently this tactic works because it comes loose after a few seconds.
"Cut this in half," he says, holding the bracelet taut by both ends in front of him. "And don't stab me."
"No promises, dude," Travis says, but manages to saw through the threads with little difficulty. The bracelet snaps in half; Alex measues the halves against each other, then bites the end of one so he doesn't have to hold it while he ties the other one around Jack's finger.
"Uh, dude," says Jack, "what?"
"Shut up, I'm fuckin' marrying you, bro," Alex says through his clenched teeth.
"You are never living this down," Rian says. "Ever. Never. Wow, I'm gonna go tell Zack."
"Tell him he's invited to the reception," Jack says. "It's in his mom's vagina."
"This is the most romantic wedding I've ever been to," Travis says.
"Shut it, ginger-head," Alex says as he finally manages to get the threads double-knotted. "There we go, you are officially my bitch forever."
Jack wiggles his fingers. "I feel all tingly inside."
"That's probably just a boner, dude," Alex says, taking the other half of the bracelet out of his mouth and attempting to wrap it around his own ring finger.
"I stand by what I said," Jack says. "Give me that, dumbass." He rolls his eyes and bats Alex's hands away from each other, grabbing the bracelet from him. Alex holds very still while Jack ties it in place. When Jack is finished, he clasps Alex's hand in both of his and says, very solemnly, "Bros before hos, dude."
Alex grins ridiculously and cups the back of Jack's neck, pressing his forehead against Jack's. "Hey, best friend."
"Hey," says Jack, also grinning stupidly.
"Haaaay," Travis says, knocking their heads together.
Jack had momentarily forgotten there were other people there. "Ow!" he says, and punches Travis in the nipple. "We're having a moment, dammit."
"Ow, my nipple," Travis says, covering it with his hand. "Cheap shot, Barakat."
"Your mom's a cheap shot," Alex says, and Jack high-fives him.
Jack is not sure how he gets back to his own bus, but he does, and in one piece, so that's the important thing. The bunks seem really far away, so he spends a while rolling around on the couch and/or in Rian's lap while Rian and Matt are trying to play X-Box, but once the bus lurches onto the highway, Calgary-bound, Jack's stomach decides that laying down in a real(-ish) bed would be fantastic.
He stumbles back to the bunk room and is about to climb into his bed when he has a way better idea and pulls back the curtain to Alex's instead. Then he frowns, because it's empty. He checks all the other bunks and almost gets punched in the face by Zack before he wanders back out into the lounge.
"Uh," he says. "Did we leave Alex in Salt Lake City?"
Matt shrugs without looking away from the game. "Pat Brown texted me, he passed out on Sing It Loud's bus."
"Sooooo," Jack says, unsatisfied with this explanation.
"So they promised to deliver him to Canada in one piece," Matt says. "Dammit!"
"Bahaha," says Rian, deviously.
"But," says Jack.
Matt rolls his eyes. "You'll survive, bro. It's like, two days. Maybe we'll even get him back at a rest stop."
Jack sighs. His life is hard.
He wakes up the next morning disgustingly hungover and having apparently crawled into Alex's bunk instead of his own, and the Alex-y smell has gotten all in his clothes. This is not necessarily a bad thing, just kind of weird. He wonders if anyone else noticed his bunk mix-up, and decides they probably did and will think it's a hilarious thing to talk about for the next two days. Jack doesn't blame them. He's still got half a bracelet tied around his ring finger, after all, and he's not really planning on taking it off.
"Haters to the left," he mutters to himself, and peels himself up to face the day.
They get Alex back at a rest stop in Montana that night. Alex yells obscenities across the parking lot and runs across to jump on Rian, who was rather unstrategically the first person of their bus.
"I thought I'd never see you again!" Alex wails, clinging to a staggering Rian like the monkey he actually is. "You have no idea the horrible sights I've seen."
"We can hear you, you know!" Ben calls from the other bus. Jack waves brightly at him.
"If Pat tells me one more time how great David Blaise is, I might start hating the guy on principle," Alex says, finally letting Rian go. "I mean, I'll secretly still love him, but that's beside the point." He latches onto Jack now, instead, hugging his arm. "Seriously, at a certain point, a man-crush becomes a gay crush."
"Speaking of," says Zack. "Where's your wedding ring?"
"What?" Alex gives him the look that says he thinks he's crazy.
"Ooooh, yeah," Rian says, waggling his eyebrows. "Dude, did you seriously lose it already? You're a failure."
Alex holds up both his hands, fingers bare, and frowns at them. He looks befuddled.
"Fuck you guys," Jack says, pulling Alex by the arm toward the rest stop building. "You're all homos, and we're getting hot dogs."
Later, Jack fights with the braided thread until it comes off his finger, but he ties it to one of the bracelets wrapped around his wrists instead of throwing it out. He feels kind of stupidly sentimental, but whatever. If anyone comments, he can just tell them to suck it.
In Calgary, Jack hooks up with a super-hot Canadian. Like, he was unconvinced that Canadians could actually be that hot until this encounter, but he takes that back now. She's got one of those K-names (Katie, Katelyn, whatever) and, more importantly, really great tits. Jack fucks her on the bus after their set while everyone else is at catering, getting fed and watered before their flight to L.A. that night, and she runs off about five minutes after they finish, cursing about the missed calls from her ride home; Jack grabs her for a goodbye kiss but is secretly glad to avoid the potential post-sex awkwardness.
It's great timing on everyone's part, because a few minutes after she leaves, Jack is lounging on the couch watching Spongebob and Rian and Vinny return with plates of Warped Tour cuisine.
"Yo," Jack greets them, raising a hand in salute.
Rian shoves Jack's feet off the couch and sits down. "What are you so fucking smug about?"
"Got laid," Vinny says through a mouthful of chicken.
Jack grins widely. "The man is correct."
"Oh," says Rian. He looks deeply confused for a moment, then shakes his head, shrugs, and eats.
"You should be happier for me, dude," says Jack. "Why won't you share in my joy like I share in your mom's?"
"Whatever," says Rian. He shrugs. "Alex is getting food?"
"What?" says Jack, then gets it. "No, dude, seriously, I mean I legitimately got laid, like with a chick and everything."
"We're very proud of you," says Vinny. "We didn't think you had it in you."
"Or that's exactly what we thought," says Rian.
"I hate you both," says Jack. "Beer me." Vinny grabs one from the fridge and tosses it to him. "Muchos gracias, sir."
"Muchas," says Rian.
"Tacos?" says Jack.
Rian rolls his eyes. "Never mind."
Jack pops the top of his beer and downs it. It's like two in the afternoon and he's way too sober for life. When he's finished he crushes the can in his hand with an appropriate manly noise.
"This is Sparta," says Vinny.
"Beer me again," Jack says. "I refuse to rely on airplane booze today."
Rian says, "Conan. Fucking. O'Brien."
Jack punches him in the shoulder. "Don't fucking say that, man, I'll throw up on you."
Leaving the tour to fly to L.A. is kind of like going back to an entirely different world that Jack almost forgot existed. There are people who have showered recently, for one thing. That's just fuckin' weird. Jack sits with Zack at the airport bar while they wait for their flight, kicking the rungs on his bar stool and making love to a gin and tonic. As much as he loves the Captain, he is about to embark on a classy endeavor and that deserves a classy drink. Alex and Rian hit up the Cinnabon instead, because they're freaks.
Boarding, Jack shuffles behind Alex in line and pokes him in the back, just above his belt. "Dibs on sitting with Gaskarth," he says. Alex is the best plane buddy because he shares his snacks and always lets Jack have the window seat.
"I'm sitting with Rian," Alex says. "You always take the fucking window seat."
"Dammit," says Jack. "Seriously?"
So Jack spends the flight next to Vinny, who doesn't share at all, but at least Jack is able to wrestle him out of the window seat. Alex and Rian are in the row in front of them; Jack puts his hoodie hood up and leans against the window and he can see a sliver of Alex doing the same thing between the seat and the airplane wall. It takes all of Jack's willpower to resist poking him with something. Jack is not a model of self-restraint, but he's had enough bitching from Rian about "exacerbating Alex's moods" that he, on occasion, refrains from being an asshole. Only on occasion, because Alex is his fucking best friend and if Jack wants to "exacerbate his moods" (whatever the fuck that means), he'll damn well do it.
But instead, he tells the flight attendant to bring him whichever tiny bottle of airplane booze is the most badass and slouches down in his seat with his earphones in, deciding resolutely that if anyone but Andrew himself, miraculously aboard their flight, bothers him before he gets all the way through Everything In Transit, he'll punch them in the throat.
It's past midnight when they land in L.A., so they do the classy thing and stop at In-N-Out for burgers on the way to the hotel. Jack isn't completely sober but he doesn't feel drunk, just jittery, a little jetlagged and nervous. He's trying not to think too hard, which isn't usually a problem for him, but he just had a long flight and Alex is still being moody and it's going to be super-weird to fall asleep the normal way instead of passing out drunk, so his head's in a funny place.
Between shoving French fries into his mouth, Jack texts Rian incessantly on the DL until he agrees to room with Zack and let Jack deal with Alex. Freaking out over playing on Conan shouldn't be a difficult thing to manage. Jack has a lot of confidence in his Alex-managing skills.
In the hotel room, Jack tosses his duffel onto the far bed, closest to the window, because Alex has this thing about being close to the door. He digs through it aimlessly for his toothbrush until he hears Alex come in.
Alex throws his bag into his bed, giving Jack a flat look. "Thought I was rooming with Rian."
"Traded," says Jack. "You're being a bitch, dude."
"Whatever." Alex says. He unzips his bag and pokes through it ferociously for a few seconds, then stops. Sighs, and hits it half-heartedly with a loose fist.
"You're not gonna fuck it up," Jack says. "Dude. I'm nervous as shit, too, but I know if anyone fucks up it's not gonna be you."
Alex looks up and gives Jack a kinda-half-smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, man."
Jack frowns at him. "Why are you hating on me, bro?"
"I'm not," Alex says quickly, but he totally is, because he was being perfectly nice to Rian and anyone else all day but now they're alone and he's, like, PMSing everywhere. Jack's not down with it.
"Seriously?" Jack doesn't roll his eyes, but he considers it strongly. "You can't fuckin' lie to me, man, it doesn't work. I know you too well."
"I'm not hating on you, dude. Promise." Alex pulls his old Less Than Jake t-shirt out of his bag and sets it aside. He starts undoing the buttons on his stupid flannel shirt, frowning down at his fingers.
"Alex--" Jack starts.
"I'm tired," Alex says. "And I'm nervous as hell about tomorrow, so can we just go to sleep?"
"Uh," says Jack. "No?" He knows better than to let Alex stew in things. He pushes a hand through his hair, rolls his eyes, and rounds Alex's bed toward him. Alex lets Jack knock his hands away from his shirt so Jack can take over, watching his fingers work the buttons through their buttonholes. Jack leans his forehead against Alex's and doesn't say anything.
After a long minute, Alex lets out a slow breath. "Sorry," he says. "Today isn't working right in my head."
"You say that like your head ever works right," Jack says, grinning. He thumbs at the last button and lets Alex's shirt hang open, tugging the flannel lightly. Alex's crazy might be rubbing off, he thinks, because he can barely even tell if he's buzzed anymore but he still thinks the best thing to do right now, in the interest of keeping Alex sane, is to kiss him.
Alex, apparently, does not agree; he shoves Jack away so hard he stumbles back a few steps.
"How are you even drunk right now?" Alex says, exasperated. "You haven't drank since the plane!"
"I'm not," says Jack. He gives Alex a dirty look and straightens his t-shirt. "Sorry, Jesus, you don't have to be an asshole."
"Neither do you, dickhead," Alex says. He exhales violently and turns to lean back against the wall, his head thumping lightly against it.
Something clicks in Jack's brain, kind of, maybe, and he laughs out loud. "Are you seriously freaking out right now? Seriously? Because holy fucking Batman, Alex, you could pick a better time to have a big gay freakout."
"Shut up," says Alex. "I'm not. I'm just. Fuck, okay, just forget it, okay?" With effort, he stands up straight again and holds out a hand. "Come here."
Jack does, and lets Alex kiss him this time. He curls his fingers into the sides of Alex's shirt and Alex touches his face, his fingers light and retardedly careful, like Jack's gonna punch him if he does something wrong. Like he could.
When Alex breaks the kiss, he sighs. "You drive me fuckin' crazy," he says.
Jack grins a little bit. "Well, you spin me right 'round, baby. Right round."
Alex snorts a laugh and punches him in the shoulder. Jack pouts and rubs the spot, feigning injury, and Alex just rolls his eyes and pulls him in to kiss him again, not so carefully, but all tongue-y and teeth-y like Jack's used to from Alex, insistent and demanding; Jack's not even drunk and it still makes his blood rush in his ears. He slides his hands over Alex's shoulders, under his shirt, pushing it off, and Alex takes his hands off Jack long enough to let it fall to the floor, then pushes his hands up Jack's t-shirt, his fingers digging into Jack's ribs.
Jack catches his hands. "Hey," he mumbles.
"Mmm?" Alex says, not bothering the pull away.
"I'm not drunk," says Jack. "Okay?"
Alex bites Jack's lip. "Yeah, I--"
He trails off, gaping a little, when Jack drops to his knees. Jack grins up at him, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Alex's jeans, and tugs at the button on his fly with his teeth.
"Don't fuck around about oral sex, dude," Alex says, unsure, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air between Jack's head and his own hips.
"I would never," Jack says, because, man, he would never. He pushes his nose against Alex's stomach, breathing in. He's never given a sober blowjob, and he's not even sure he's ever given a drunk one, but he can think of at least two or three occasions where it's a distinct possibility. First time for everything, though.
"Jack, seriously--" says Alex.
"Seriously," says Jack. "Shut up. I'm gonna suck your dick, don't fuckin' complain about it." Alex shuts up and Jack fights with his zipper for a moment, feeling clumsy, but manages to get it undone without any major catastrophes. Alex is half-hard when Jack gets his dick out; he wraps a hand around it, contemplative, and Alex's fingers finally thread tentatively into his hair. He glances up to see Alex watching him, so he catches his eye, grins a little and mouths at the head of Alex's cock. What's the point in being nervous about a blowjob when you've got Conan fucking O'Brien to freak out about instead?
It's way weirder than a handjob, sucking dick, but Jack likes to think he gets the hang of it pretty quickly - he's gotten enough blowjobs in his life to know what he likes, and he's had enough conversations with Alex about it to know what Alex likes, and just in general it's kind of hard to fuck up sucking someone's dick. Especially Alex's, because he's easy. Alex's hands keep tightening in his hair and then loosening again like Alex remembers what's going on, but Jack sort of wishes he'd just keep them there. It's kind of hot.
"Fuck," Alex groans, and "God, Jack," and he moans quietly, like he does, his breathing heavy. Jack gets a good system going, his head bobbing and his hand working the rest of Alex's dick he can't reach without choking and vomiting (natch); he palms himself through his jeans with his free hand, because he is a completely shameless human being.
At a certain point, though, Jack's jaw starts to ache, and he is seriously considering starting to bitch about it when Alex yanks his hair hard and says, "Jack!"
Jack pulls off to say, "What?" and Alex comes on his face.
Alex blinks down at him. Jack blinks back, taking his hand off Alex's dick to touch the jizz on his cheek. He looks down, and it's on the collar of his shirt, too. Alex is turning progressively redder in the face, and there is pretty much a giant neon clock over his head ticking down the seconds to him freaking out.
"Man," says Jack, flexing his jaw experimentally. "See, that's why shirts should be off for this kind of thing." He grins, and Alex does, too, tentative for a second before he laughs and kneels, pulling Jack in and kissing him, jizz-face and all.
"You're disgusting," Jack says when he pulls away.
"Yeah, maybe," Alex says. He tugs at the hem of Jack's shirt and Jack lets him pull it off, this time; Alex uses it to carefully wipe Jack's face clean while Jack makes faces at him, wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth. "That was really hot, though."
"Things usually are when I'm involved," Jack says. Alex rolls his eyes. Jack ignores him. "Hey. Bro."
"Hey, what," Alex says, tilting Jack's chin up a little to make sure he didn't miss anything.
"I've got an awesome boner right now," says Jack. "Want to see?"
"Ew, no," says Alex. Jack punches him in the chest.
One of these days, Jack is going to teach Matt about the correct priorities in life. Mostly because the correct priorities would include the priority of not administering wake-up calls at ten in the morning, which is a ridiculously ungodly hour.
"Whaaaat," Alex grumbles into the phone when he answers. Jack's phone went off twice but he ignored it, because it's all the way across the room on his bed, and he is so fundamentally opposed to getting up right now. Alex's phone is right on the bedside table, though, so he's obligated to be a responsible human being an answer it.
Alex talks groggily to Matt for a few minutes while Jack pushes his face against Alex's shoulder and tries to pretend that nothing has woken him up yet. When Alex hangs up, he exhales violently and rolls back over to drape himself over Jack.
"Gotta be ready to go by twelve-thirty," he mumbles. "Matt says to make sure you take a shower."
"No, I was gonna go to Conan smelling like jizz and Warped Tour," Jack says. He pushes his fingers through Alex's hair; Alex hums and kisses his shoulder. It occurs to Jack, vaguely, that he has no fucking idea what he's doing. Alex looks happy, though, so whatever he's doing, it must be at least a little bit right. And he still doesn't want to get up. "I don't wanna get up," he says.
"Good," says Alex. "M'comfortable."
"Hey," says Jack. "I am not your personal pillow, dude."
Alex snorts.
"Okay, maybe a little."
"Damn right." Jack feels Alex grin.
Jack frowns. "My mouth tastes like penis."
Alex says, "If getting my phone didn't require moving, I would tweet that."
"And then I'd be forced to murder you," Jack says, giving him a demonstrative noogie. "'Sorry, Conan, performance is off, our lead singer's dead. What, you wouldn't mind filling in? Really? Dude, of course we're okay with that!'"
Alex beats him half-heartedly with a fist. "Conan would never rock the terrorist scarf like I do."
Jack catches Alex's hand, pulls at it and bites his knuckles. "Conan is so far above the terrorist scarf, bro."
"Owww," Alex whines.
"Pussy," Jack says, flicking him in the forehead. Alex elbows him, and there's a short wrestling match that Jack totally wins, because he's awesome. He sits on Alex and pins his wrists down, grinning triumphantly.
Alex squirms. "I thought you didn't wanna get up."
"Changed my mind," Jack says. Alex makes a face up at him, his bedhead hair sticking up in about fifty different directions. Jack finds the combination almost overwhelmingly endearing. Alex's crazy has definitely rubbed off on him.
"Jack," says Alex.
Jack blinks at him. "What?"
Alex squirms a little again, half-heartedly. "You're looking at me funny, bro."
"That's because you're funny-looking," Jack says. He lets go of Alex's wrists, prepared in case Alex decides to fight him again, but Alex just leaves them laying on the pillow and blinks placidly up at Jack, the corner of his mouth curled in an almost-smile.
Jack touches Alex's face, tilts his chin up a little, and leans down to kiss him. Alex doesn't punch him. He counts it as a win.
So, yeah, then they play the Tonight Show with Conan fucking O'Brien. In the dressing room, Alex wraps his arms around Jack's waist from behind, buries his face in Jack's neck and says, "I am so fucking happy."
Jack can't stop fucking grinning.
The afterglow lasts for several hours, until they have to go catch their flight back to Vancouver, discover Alex's passport is missing, and there's a ridiculous clusterfuck that in the end has their set at Vancouver Warped canceled. They pow-wow at the airport bar in San Francisco with hotdogs and gin and tonics, Rian and Jack sitting on either side of Alex while he scrolls through his Twitter replies and becomes increasingly more depressed about it.
"Everyone hates me now," he says, moping into his drink.
"Put down the phone, Gaskarth," Rian says. "They don't hate you."
"Well, they might a little," says Jack. "But they'll get over it."
Rian gives him a look like, nice. Except sarcastically. Jack shrugs.
Zack, on Rian's other side, says to Alex, "Would it make you feel better if I stuffed my entire hotdog in my mouth at once?"
Jack says, "You can stuff my entire hotdog in your mouth at once."
"I'll stuff your mother's entire hotdog in my mouth at once," says Zack.
"Excuse you," Jack says around a mouthful of hotdog (real hotdog, not euphemism hotdog). "My mother does not have a hotdog. She has a beautiful vagina. I should know, I came out of it."
"He's right," says Alex, brightening. "I should know, I came into it."
"Urgh," Jack says, choking a little. He chews, then swallows. "You're disgusting. Go back to moping."
"Man," Rian says to Zack. "It's too bad the plan didn't work."
Jack narrows his eyes at them. "Which plan."
"The plan to leave you in L.A. and bring back Trace Cyrus instead," says Zack, sipping his drink.
"Isn't that joke old yet?" Jack pouts, poking Alex. "Tell them that joke is old."
"Not old yet," Alex says, wiggling away from the poking.
"I hate you all like the internet hates Alex," says Jack.
"Dude," the other three say in unison. "Too soon," Rian says.
Jack rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He hooks an arm around Alex's neck and plans a big sloppy kiss on his cheek. "I apologize."
"Forgiven," Alex says.
"You're so biased," says Rian. "You never hate on Jack when he's an asshole."
"That's because I love him best," says Alex.
"That's because we're M-F-E-O," Jack adds helpfully.
"Like Spongebob and Patrick," Zack says.
"Exactly," says Jack.
On the plane, Alex sits with Jack, leans on his shoulder and shares his snacks and gives him the window seat, and Jack shares an earphone so they can listen to Jack's Mannequin together. Somewhere over Oregon, Alex pulls Jack's hand into his lap and threads their fingers together; Jack glances over, but Alex is looking at their hands, not him. He squeezes Alex's hand, looks out the window, and hums along to the music until Vinny and Zack start throwing peanuts at him.
In Seattle, Alex says to the crowd, "Man, you guys are beautiful. Today is beautiful, dammit. Seattle is fucking beautiful, you know?"
"The sky is beautiful," Zack says, with a mocking air. "The trees are beautiful, the grass is beautiful..."
"Beer is beautiful," Jack says. "Boobs are beautiful."
Alex says, "You're beautiful, Jack. And so is your mom."
"Your curvy blue penis is beautiful," Jack says.
"It's true," Zack says to the screaming girls. "His curvy blue penis is very aesthetically pleasing."
"It leaves a funny aftertaste, though," says Jack. And wins, because Alex and Zack both can't retort because they're laughing too hard. He smiles smugly at the crowd. "I win."
"You do win," Zack says, composing himself. "Tell the man what he's won, Alex."
Alex grins at him. "You win a free ride on my curvy blue penis, brother."
"Fuck yes," says Jack. "Can we play another song first, though?"
THE END