It's back? My word!Title:
Fast Times at NAMBLA High: Part FourteenAuthor:
The Daily Show... with a smattering of guest appearances. Pairing:
Including but not limited to:
Jon/Stephen, Stephen/Paul, Stephen/Craig Kilborn, Jon/Anderson Cooper, Paul/Amy, Rob/Frustration, Ed/Confusion, (Rob/Frustration)/(Ed/Confusion), Mo Rocca/Lewis Black, Sam/Jason, Demetri Martin/Nathan Corddry, Bob Novak/Hair nets, Aasif Mandvi/Tucker Carlson, Stone Phillips/Barbara Walters, Dan Bakkedahl/Rob Riggle, Dane Cook/His ego, Dave Gorman/John Oliver, Jerry Seinfeld/Steve Carell, Bill O’Reilly/Hatred, Keith Olbermann/Everyone, John Hodgeman/Bill Gates, Tucker/Craig, Aasif/Anderson, John Hodgman/Sarah Vowell, Will Ferrell/MOP?, Keith/Dennis Leary, George Clooney/CharmFeatured pairing(s):
Jonaphen. Or Stewbert, if you will. Because I know you all love portmanteaus. Rating:
R for language and drug useWarning:
Crack: it's what's for dinner. Other warnings: AU, drug use, underage drinking, het crap, and Will Ferrell being creepy. For this specific chapter? DRUGS. Yeah, you read right. DRUGAS. Also, references to things I am nerdy for.A/N:
So I’m taking my own advice and having fun again! Here’s the next chapter. I hope it’s worth the wait. Cross-posted at fakenews_fanfic
Feedback helps my crack addiction. Give generously. Also, concrit is very welcome.Previous chapters: Chapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter Four Point Five: An Interlude of sortsChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter Ten (A)Chapter Ten (B)Chapter Ten (C)Chapter Ten (D)Chapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenSummary: It's like a high school fic that isn't lame and is all cracky and shit. Read it.
~An annonymous reader who I totally didn't make up.BELIEVE THE HYPE.
READ THE STORY.
In this edition of FTANH: things are smoked, zombies are loved, and innuendo runs amok.FAST TIMES AT NAMBLA HIGH
Stephen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tapping his fingers on the brick wall next to him. He hated waiting. As he rapped his fingers on the rough surface, he glanced at the ground, eyes catching a cigarette butt crushed in the concrete. Smiling slightly, he realized that there was a chance it had belonged to Jon at one point. He smashed it with his toe, the little tobacco left spilling out onto the ground and mingling with the sprinkling of dirt that covered the rough surface.
Suddenly his attention was brought upwards as a familiar burning smell wafted into his nose. Glancing up at the source, he found himself face to face with a smirking Jon, smoking cigarette dangling from his quirked lips.
“Hey stranger,” the shorter boy intoned, glancing at the massacred butt at Stephen’s feet. “Busy I see.”
Stephen just grinned awkwardly in response, feeling a bit dopey as he quickly moved his foot away from the crushed paper. “Oh yeah,” he said lamely, raising a hand to shove his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “About as busy as you,” he continued, gesturing to the cigarette between Jon’s lips.
Those lips just quirked a bit more, Jon shaking his head as he walked past Stephen towards the parking lot. “Had a bitch of a time finding you,” the other boy said, not exactly sounding put out though he did raise an eyebrow in Stephen’s direction.
Stephen shrugged and followed, eyes scanning the lot to locate the hulking piece of shit he liked to call his car. “Sorry, figured you’d know to come to the same place as last time,” he remarked, the sarcasm leaking through. Jon just snorted before glancing back with that same raised eyebrow, causing Stephen to grin helplessly. The action prompted a similar response from Jon before the shorter boy looked away, obviously searching for the van himself.
“So,” Stephen began awkwardly once they had made it to the beat up vehicle, “how did Newspaper go?”
Jon shrugged, flicking his spent butt into the grass beside the car. He looked effortlessly cool doing it and Stephen fought a fleeting sense of envy. “It was okay,” Jon responded listlessly, throwing his backpack in before hauling himself through the passenger door. “Not all that eventful, though I almost got my ass kicked by the fucking janitor again.”
“Mr. Ferrell?” Stephen asked, eyebrows shooting into the fringe of his messy hair. He chuckled as he put the car into reverse and pulled away. “Oh God…”
“So you’ve had a run in with him too?” Jon asked eagerly.
“Well, sort of. He thought I was at a urinal too long in the ninth grade. I got sprayed with a hose.” Stephen glanced to his right to find Jon’s wide eyes staring at him before the other boy snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, laugh it up,” the taller boy remarked darkly. “That man’s a mental case. He fought in ‘Nam or something.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Jon choked out once his laughter had subsided a bit. “No way that man’s old enough to have fought in Vietnam. He’s got to only be thirty or something!”
“Okay,” Stephen conceded, a small smile flitting across his lips, “so maybe by ‘fought in ‘Nam’ I mean ‘has deluded himself with the aid of the fumes of cleaning solvents to think he fought in ‘Nam.’” A giggle arose from Jon again, causing another helpless grin to grace Stephen’s face. That giggle was just… just ridiculous.
“Well, that would explain the post-traumatic stress disorder…” Jon remarked gravely once he had gained control of himself again.
“Yeah, it’s a wonder how he functions after that perilous encounter with a mop,” Stephen agreed, his voice somber. “I heard he still has night terrors about it.”
Jon just shook his head, a goofy grin still on his face as he looked out the window. “So,” he ventured after a moment, toying with the remains of his backpack. Stephen wondered idly if it was pride, apathy, or simply a lack of funds that caused Jon to hang onto the thing. His attention was drawn back to the other boy’s words as he asked, “Are you at the beck and call of your friends tonight or…?”
Stephen laughed slightly, watching as Jon’s mouth twitched into a fuller, if not shy, smile. “Uh, no,” he chuckled, shoving his glasses up again. “Technically, I’m grounded.”
“Grounded?” Jon intoned incredulously, as if such a thing was a foreign concept. “Why?”
“Uh, well, when I got home on Friday, I wasn’t er… 100%
sober.” Stephen coughed uneasily into his fist, ignoring the look of amusement Jon was sending his way. “So, uh, my mom grounded me… but I don’t think she really knows how to do it, so I’m still allowed to go out.”
Jon smirked at him. “I take it grounding doesn’t happen often for you?”
A sheepish smile played on Stephen’s face. “Uh… no, not exactly.”
“I guess that comes with the territory of being a good Catholic boy,” Jon said idly. Stephen glanced at him in apprehension but there was no real malice on his face. Just that smirk still.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just good at being devious on the sly,” Stephen said in a playful voice, angling a raised eyebrow Jon’s way. “My mother doesn’t suspect a thing of my dastardly ways.”
“I somehow think that’s unlikely since you describe it with the word ‘dastardly,’” the other boy snorted.
“What, that somehow lends me less credibility?” Stephen asked after a moment. Jon just shrugged, still smirking and staring out the window.
“It would make you credible if you were a villain from 1910,” he reasoned, rolling the window down. Stephen fought a smile and turned onto Jon’s road. They sat in companionable silence until the reached Jon’s driveway. “So, are you busy tying people to railways or can you hang out?” Jon asked, the only sign of his shyness the way he continued to fidget with the backpack in his lap.
Stephen contemplated this for a moment, weighing his options. In spite of having ten brothers and sisters before him, his mother still seemed largely unacquainted with the true concept of grounding. She had always been more fond of handing out punishments in the form of back-breaking chores and irrepressible and suffocating guilt. He figured he could probably be safe to stay out for a while longer.
“Well…” Stephen finally responded, the engine idling as Jon squirmed in his seat and toyed with everything around him. “I did have an evening planned full of moustache twirling, but I guess
I can fit you into my schedule.”
Jon’s face broke out into a unguarded grin and he swung his door open. “Moustache twirling sounds bizarrely dirty,” he muttered as they walked up to the small house together, yard overtaken with weeds. The house was one story and in need of some repairs… nothing that a weekend with a toolbox couldn’t fix. Of course, Stephen realized he had no skills in handiness and so it would probably be best not to offer his services.
“Yeah,” he finally answered, following Jon inside, “it does sound like a weird variation of moustache riding.”
The shorter boy snorted in amused disgust, toeing off his sneakers in the surprisingly put-together house given the outside appearance. Stephen followed suit, pulling off his shoes and casting his eyes about Jon’s home. “Nice place,” he remarked honestly, taking in the white walls and framed pictures. Jon just snorted again, though this time in derision. “What, you don’t think so?” Stephen asked.
“It’s fine.” Jon shrugged, glancing around the house. “Nothing that some gasoline and a few matches wouldn’t fix.” At Stephen’s questioning stare, the other boy sighed and shook his head. “It’s just been a bitch and a half to take care of since we’ve gotten here. The landlord is a total dick.”
Stephen just nodded, sitting down uneasily on the couch in the middle of the family room they had entered. “Well, you guys have cleaned it up well.”
Jon only response was a grunt as he landed on the couch next to him. “So,” he said after a moment, rolling his head in Stephen’s direction from where he was slumped, “do you smoke?”
“Um…” Stephen murmured, feeling suddenly hot around the neck, “no.”
“Uh, I don’t mean cigarettes,” Jon responded after a second’s pause, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
“What? Oh! Oh.” Stephen bit down on his lip, trying not to feel like an idiot. “Uh… I…” he briefly considered lying for a moment, but as Jon stared at him openly with unexpectedly kind eyes, he continued, “No. I’ve actually never tried it.”
A slight twitch of his eyebrow was the only indication Stephen got that Jon was surprised. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he reasoned, a small smile on his face. “That is, if you want to.”
Stephen paused. Did
he? It wasn’t an insane thought and it wasn’t like it had never crossed his mind. Just a combination of good, old-fashioned Catholic guilt and a lack of opportunity had prevented him from trying. He had always imagined such a chance would come in college or something, but really, now was as good a time as any.
Clearing his throat nervously, he gave Jon a shrug and small nod. A warm smile spread across the other boy’s face as he got up quickly and disappeared around a corner. Stephen, finding himself alone, fidgeted in his seat and debated whether or not this was the worst decision he had made that day or ever
. Jon returned after a moment, dropping to the floor and spreading out his supplies on the coffee table.
“Alright, well, I used to use my friend’s bowl so all I have are rolling papers,” the boy on the carpet said. Stephen nodded like he understood perfectly. “Um, here.” Jon held out a paper towel tube and fabric softener sheets. “Stuff those into the tube.” At Stephen’s questioning eyebrow, Jon grinned wider. “You, uh, blow the smoke out through the tube and then the house doesn’t reek as much.” He held up a bottle of Febreeze and winked. “This’ll help too.”
Stephen just stared at the assortment before him, feeling a little overwhelmed. “You need all this shit?” he asked in wonder.
“Well, you don’t need
it, but I prefer to play it safe,” Jon remarked, shrugging as he got to his feet and cut apart what appeared to be a pair of panty hose.
” Stephen couldn’t help but ask incredulously.
“What, can’t a guy feel pretty?” Jon replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’m putting it over the smoke detector. So it doesn’t go off.”
“Oh,” Stephen murmured, appropriately mollified as he shoved the sheets into the roll of cardboard before him. He stared at it in his hands as Jon dropped to the floor again, apparently satisfied that the fire department wouldn’t be dropping in uninvited.
Taking out a small metal, circular box, Jon opened it and placed some of the pot in it. Stephen saw the box had little pegs in it. “You use this to crush the weed,” Jon explained patiently, demonstrating. “Then,” he explained after a moment of fiddling with the marijuana, a look of pleasant concentration on his face that caused him to let his tongue poke out between his clenched teeth, “you roll the joint… and…” He licked the edge of the paper, glancing up at Stephen in excitement. “Tada!” He looked delighted with the end product, beaming up at Stephen and presenting his handiwork. It was like a child showing off his most recent finger paint creation.
Stephen just smiled bemusedly and nodded in approval, even though he had no idea if it was deserving of such approval or not. Jon grinned all the more, making an odd pleased humming noise before pulling out his lighter and flicking it. Glancing between the joint and the boy on the couch, he suddenly frowned slightly. “Do you want it first, or…?”
Stephen shook his head quickly, gesturing to Jon. “No, uh, you go right on ahead.”
The grin returned to Jon’s face and the joint was soon placed between his smiling lips, the lighter’s flame brushing against the tip until it too flared. Stephen watched, a bit mesmerized, as Jon breathed in the smoke, eyes slipping shut in silent, heady satisfaction. Somehow, he made the action even more pornographic than when he smoked a cigarette.
Realizing he was staring, Stephen looked away hurriedly as an odd heat crept up his neck. “Your turn,” Jon suddenly croaked, bringing Stephen’s eyes forward again as he offered the joint, breathing out through the tube he took from Stephen’s side.
Taking the blunt uneasily between his fingers, the taller boy stared at it uncertainly before finally settling it in his mouth. “Don’t breathe it in too fast,” Jon warned, a dopey half-smile on his face. “If it starts burning too badly just stop and hold your breath.”
Nodding, Stephen did as he was told. The acrid smoke certainly did burn on the way down, causing Stephen’s eyes to water as he sputtered and choked out a cough, pulling the blunt from his lips as he doubled over. Jon sprung up and disappeared for a moment as Stephen’s vision swam from the tears in his eyes. The next moment he opened them, a glass of water was in front of his face.
“Sorry,” Jon murmured apologetically as Stephen sipped gratefully. “I forgot how bad it burns for people who’ve never smoked before.”
Stephen just shrugged, incapable of speech at the moment. “It’s okay,” he finally wheezed, wiping at his streaming eyes with his sleeve and handing the joint back to Jon. “I guess I just need a little more practice.”
The next few times it was his turn, he breathed in a little slower, the burning less obvious between the sips of water. He watched as Jon expertly exhaled into the cardboard tube, transfixed by the ease with which the other boy moved. Jon glanced at him, his eyes heavily lidded and slightly bloodshot, giving Stephen a subdued smile with a raised eyebrow. Realizing yet again that he was staring, he mentally shook himself and cast his eyes around the room.
“So,” Stephen found himself saying, suddenly feeling suffocated by the silence in the room, “where’re your parents?”
Jon shifted, an odd shadow passing over his face as he began to roll another joint. Had they already finished one? Stephen felt like time was passing like sand through his fingers… at moments stretching in a trickle and then pouring quickly without his realizing it.
“Mom’s at her job. She works late,” the shorter boy offered off-handedly. “Dad… well, who the fuck knows,” he finished, barking out a bitter laugh. Stephen wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he let his silence be the question. “Um…” Jon finally continued uncomfortably, the shadow on his face darkening his eyes. It was like a shutter had been closed on the twinkle that was usually there. “My dad… he kinda… doesn’t live with us anymore?” Jon’s gaze was fixed on the newly made joint in his hands before he finally let his eyes reach Stephen’s again. So there it was… that sadness, that connection that Stephen had suspected. He felt a little sick that this was the root of it; their mutual loss. “He uh…” Jon suddenly found the carpet fascinating. “He left us.”
Stephen was silent. He wasn’t really sure what words would be adequate to explain to Jon that he understood, so he simply plucked the lighter from the coffee table and flicked it until the flame flared to life. With that, he held it forward as Jon looked up at him, an expression of relief on his face. It was a look that said, “thank you for not making me talk about it,” and Jon allowed Stephen to light the joint now between his lips, inhaling in relish.
They sat in quiet again, Stephen feeling unable to break it this time. Jon finally seemed to shake himself, like a puppy coming back from a swim, causing a lazy smile to cross Stephen’s face. “What do your parents do?” Jon ventured.
Shit. Now it was his turn to divulge.
Swallowing a little hard, Stephen took the joint from Jon’s fingers, feeling fascinated by how the other boy’s fingers felt under his own. Wow
. He was really
“Er…” Stephen began eloquently. “Mom’s working as a secretary right now. Dad worked at a medical university.”
“’Worked’?” Jon asked, taking a drag on the joint. Dammit
, Stephen chided himself. He picked up on the tense.
“Is he retired or something?”
Stephen felt a dark laugh bubble out of him as he said, “Hah. Sort of.” Jon just gave him a blank look and a quirked eyebrow. Stephen’s tongue grew large, expanding in his mouth all while at the same time becoming incredibly dry. Why the hell did he say that? “He’s uh…” Stephen began, halting to draw in the smoky air. “He’s dead.”
Jon’s eyebrows shot into the fringe of his hair and Stephen knew what was coming next before the question left Jon’s mouth. “How…?”
“In a plane crash,” Stephen blurted out in a rush. “He, uh, and my two next oldest brothers. I was eleven.”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Jon regarded him with wide eyes. That familiar sick, sinking feeling was broiling in Stephen’s stomach and suddenly the heavy aroma of pot was becoming too much for him. He was being smothered.
, Stephen,” Jon suddenly breathed, actually looking crestfallen in a way that the other boy hadn’t been expecting. “You’ve… and here I am, bitching about…”
“Stop.” Stephen even surprised himself with how harsh his voice sounded as he cut the other boy off. “Just… just stop. We’re not going to do this.”
“Do what?” Jon asked, not looking hurt as much as mystified.
“Try to out-grief each other.” He felt compelled to meet Jon’s eyes then, knowing that he was probably being too intense. Too serious. But he needed to get this out. “We’ve… we both have had shit happen. And it sucks. Equally. I just… I don’t want you to think that just because this happened to me that somehow that makes your pain less, okay? Because… everyone has something shitty happen to them at some point but it doesn’t mean that they shouldn’t feel grief over it. So… so I’m not going to try and out-grief you.” He had run out of steam somehow along the way, his voice no longer sounding strong but thin and strained. Jon just regarded him with a solemn gaze until he blinked twice and nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he murmured, smiling slightly.
“Okay?” Stephen asked shakily, raising the joint to his mouth and noticing that his hand was trembling.
“Yeah,” Jon said kindly. “Okay.”
Both boys looked elsewhere for a moment; Stephen regaining his composure and Jon looking lost in his own thoughts as he puffed away at the joint, blow tube long forgotten. Sighing, Stephen relished the feeling of the air entering and exiting his lungs. Running his fingertips along the fabric of the couch, he marveled at the texture as it slid beneath his fingers.
“Alright there?” Jon’s amused voice broke him out of his reverie. Snapping his eyes open, Stephen looked at him questioningly. “You were, uh…” Jon chuckled a little, the high-pitched giggle on the edge of his voice. “You were caressing
Jerking his hand away as if he were burned, Stephen warily regarded the fabric. “It feels good,” he muttered lamely, feeling heat creeping up his neck. Jon suddenly giggled causing Stephen to join him, his laughter an odd high tittering. The noise was insane sounding and made Jon in turn laugh harder which then made Stephen curl into a ball as he gasped for air.
When their giggles had finally subsided Stephen stared at Jon. “What… hee… what were we laughing about?”
“You were molesting my couch,” Jon answered easily, flopping onto the floor on his side and letting out another snort of laughter.
“We should… we should do something,” Stephen said. He fell silent as he realized he probably sounded like an idiot. Jon, however, didn’t seem to notice this.
“Movie… movie would be good,” Jon murmured, rolling halfway onto his stomach and smashing his face into the carpet. “Over there… go look…” He waved a limp hand in the direction of what appeared to be an entertainment counsel.
Stephen dropped from the couch onto his knees and began crawling to the area Jon had indicated. Finally, he arrived and sighed contentedly as he brushed his hands along the surface of the carpet.
“You’re doing it again,” Jon crooned from where he was looking up at Stephen from the other side of the room. Sighing in annoyance, Stephen lifted his treacherous hands.
“Why does everything feel so fucking good?” he murmured in irritation, turning his attention back to the doors of the counsel. A giggle from Jon made him grin again and he opened up the cabinet.Wow
, he thought as he stared at the contents. “Jon… what the hell? You have like… 70 zombie movies.”
Jon rolled over again and crawled next to him, stretching on all fours like a cat. Stephen watched in rapt amusement until Jon’s expectant gaze brought him back to himself. “I like zombies,” the other boy said flippantly, tossing himself onto his back again and staring up at Stephen languidly.
“…the fuck? Cannibal Holocaust?
Are you kidding me?”
Jon giggled. “That’s not zombies.”
“No, of course not,” Stephen retorted, rolling his eyes. “It’s the final solution… but this time they eat the Jews.
” He spread out his hands menacingly, causing Jon’s eyes to screw up as he giggled again. “The incinerators made great barbecue ribs. Mm mm good!”
Jon gasped out a laugh and punched him in the arm, wheezing out, “Oh my God, you are going to hell,” before giggling again. Stephen just grinned down at him before perusing the selection again.
“Seriously… what’s with all the zombies? And is this Will and Grace? My, my, we are versatile.”
“’My, my’?” Jon snorted, looking horrified by Stephen’s choice of words. “You sound like an evil British man.”
an evil British man,” Stephen answered, mimicking a ridiculous accent ala Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
Once he had stopped laughing again, Jon craned his neck to look at his collection. “Zombies… zombies are cool. Yeah. And the Will and Grace is my mom’s.”
,” Stephen replied with a raised brow. “And zombies are nerdy.” He suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed at the other boy. “Hah! You are a nerd! A big giant nerd! Possibly even nerdier than me.”
Jon rolled his eyes and clambered to sit upright ungracefully. “Yeah, but my nerdy obsession is way more useful than yours, thus making it far superior.”
“Oh, and how pray tell is that?” Stephen asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Well,” Jon began to explain with a self-satisfied air, “first off, your nerdiness would only impress the select number of people who would actually think they know more about hobbits than you do. Second, your knowledge isn’t useful because it would never save anyone! It could, like, only save you if you were ever faced with a slightly badly-tempered giant eye that hangs over the top of some tower. My nerdiness, however, will save me during the apocalypse when I must battle legions of the undead.”
“You forget, I won’t be here during the apocalypse,” Stephen replied with an air of superiority. “I’ll be gone already. Part of the beauty of being a Christian.”
“Pfft, I think your Cannibal Holocaust comment just made you eligible for being around during Armageddon,” Jon retorted. “And then you’ll be all, ‘Ooh, Jon, save me from the zombies! Ooh, Jon, they’re eating my brain! Ooh, Jon, I need help finding shelter because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!’”
“Wait,” Stephen replied, contemplating this, “I would be looking for shelter after
they had eaten my brain? How does that work?”
“See, the point is,” Jon answered smugly, “is that you
won’t know what you’re doing and I
will. Hence you being stupid
Stephen just rolled his eyes. “Alright zombie master, what do you want to watch?”
Jon shrugged. “Don’t care. I’ve seen them all.”
Stephen eyed the movies and picked one up at random. “Well, I have not.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Jon said, looking horrified, “you haven’t seen any
of these? Not even Dawn of the Dead?” When Stephen just shook his head, Jon somehow managed to look even more appalled. “Dude! That’s a classic!”
“I wasn’t allowed to watch violent movies growing up,” Stephen shrugged, examining another graphically bloody DVD case and grimacing.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jon gasped. “Oh, ho ho ho. We have a lot of ground to cover then.”
Stephen sighed. “Fine, if we’re going to watch a gory bloodbath of a movie, next time we’re watching one of my
Jon let out a weird whiney noise. “Fantasy?
“Oh, you’re a baby.”
Jon grumbled but finally nodded his head. “Fine. But first, we dine on… THE UNDEAD!” He then cackled like a mad man and rubbed his hands together maniacally.
Sighing in surrender, Stephen resigned himself to his fate.~~~~~~~~
“Ok, so wasn’t it awesome when that guys head was like, ‘BLAMMO!’?” Jon asked in excitement, miming the action of the zombie’s head exploding with his hands and nearly bouncing up and down where he sat on the couch.
“So… much… bloooood…” Stephen groaned, lolling his head back and forth on the back of his seat.
“Oh, I have popped so many of your cherries tonight,” Jon grinned, still bouncing. “How ya feelin’ champ?” he asked, knocking Stephen’s shoulder when he didn’t respond.
Stephen swung his head so his gaze was in line with Jon’s. “A little like death.”
“Hah,” Jon snorted, “you’re probably coming down then. Let’s put this shit away.”
Groaning, Stephen lumbered to his feet and grabbed the tube that had been discarded on the floor. “Throw this away?” he asked, his voice sounding scratchy. When Jon nodded, he left to go towards the kitchen and searched for the bin. Once he had thrown it away, he paused at the refrigerator on his way back to the family room. There was a picture of Jon there, pinned up with a butterfly magnet, huge smile spread across his glowing face. He looked about 12. Stephen leaned forward, examining it more closely. He looked happy
. This was who Jon used to be, Stephen realized. Maybe someday he would smile like that again.
He suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of air freshener being sprayed. Smiling, he made his way back to the other boy. Once he was through the doorway he found himself being accosted with the bottle of Febreeze.
“Blech,” he coughed, waving a hand as Jon drenched him. “God, can you not
get it in my mouth?”
Jon grinned lecherously. “I know it’s big, but I think you can fit it.”
Stephen tried to frown as he rolled his eyes but failed miserably. “I thought you said it was too early for gay innuendo?” he muttered, feeling his ears turn red.
“Dude,” Jon scoffed. “I gave you my pot
. We’re like blood brothers now. That’s like my fucking peace pipe.”
“Literally,” the taller boy joked lamely. He suddenly found a bottle and mints shoved into his hands. “These are for…?”
“Eyes,” Jon said, pointing to the bottle, “and breath,” he pointed to the mints.
Stephen eyed him for a moment before shoving on the mints into his mouth and taking off his glasses to drip some of the liquid from the bottle into his eyes. “It’s scary how good you are at this,” he muttered around the mint, earning a smile from Jon.
“It’s my calling to be the subversive element in your life,” Jon said dreamily.
“Well, it’s working,” Stephen replied, the statement somehow carrying more weight behind it than he had intended. Jon regarded him for a moment as a strangely ambiguous moment hung between them, feeling almost tangible in a way Stephen felt he could reach out and touch. Maybe he was just high still.
“Anyway,” Jon said, breaking the spell. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Oh fuck,” Stephen suddenly breathed vehemently. “I totally forgot I was grounded. Shit. Shit, shit, shit
As Stephen paced and pulled at his hair, Jon just stood there and laughed, grabbing at the taller boy’s arm. “Whoa, Stephen, relax. Just tell her that you were reaching out to the new kid. Community service. You know…” He lapsed into giggles again as Stephen looked at him skeptically.
“I’m dead. Dead like a… like a fucking zombie!” Stephen cried, pointing at Jon.
“Number one,” Jon stated reasonably, “zombies are un
dead. And you’ll be fine. Just go home now.”
“Do… do I reek?” Stephen asked uneasily, stepping forward and holding out his shirt. Jon, after giving him a skeptical look to which Stephen gave him pleading eyes, leaned forward and sniffed.
“Uh…” he stepped back quickly.
“What?” Stephen asked anxiously.
“No, no, you uh… you smell… nice.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“…Thank you?” Stephen finally ventured, feeling the heat return to his ears again. A ludicrous giggle erupted from him and Jon followed suit nervously. “Uh… anyway… I should get going…” he said between giggles.
“Hah, yeah, uh… right. See you tomorrow?” Jon asked, sounding oddly vulnerable.
“Yeah,” Stephen responded kindly. “Of course. We should… do this. Again.”
“Right,” Jon said quickly. “I mean, I have to lose my Lord of the Rings virginity still, right?”
Stephen barked out a laugh. “Right, I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Jon grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
They just smiled at each other stupidly for a moment until Stephen mentally kicked himself again. Paul and Amy were always claiming he had a staring problem and he was beginning to wonder if they were right.
“Well… see you,” Stephen finally laughed, making his way to the door.
“Bye,” Jon called. Stephen heard rather than saw the other boy flop back onto the couch and heave a contented sigh. Stephen sighed as well and let himself out, getting into his car and pulling away.
Hopefully his mother wasn’t going to kill him. But, with a grin, Stephen reckoned it had been worth it.TO BE CONTINUED?!?!...yes.Tune in next time for Anderson possibly showing up again, Nate actually not being avoidant, uncomfortableness reigning supreme, and… other things.
ENDNOTE: Hello! Yes, I didn’t die. I just went through an emo period, which makes it difficult to try and be funny. Not that I ever am funny, but you know what I’m saying. Thanks to the lovely ladies at fakenews_fanfic
for helping me remove my head from my butt and realize that I was putting too much pressure on myself. Ya’ll = awesome. I may be posting there exclusively if my story is deemed too long for tds_rps
. I personally hope it won’t be. Oh right, and Cannibal Holocaust is a real movie. I shit you not. That conversation was actually had between me and my friend's roommate's boyfriend. It looked disturbing. Suffice to say, I didn't watch it.
As usual, comment and/or friend me because, well... I like it!Author’s personal disclaimer:
DRUGS ARE BAD. Everything is Reefer Madness was right and marijuana will make you run around and like… lick power outlets and have torrid homosexual sex while running people over with cars. (The more you know… DING!)Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.