Wow, this wasn't a long time coming or anything.Title:
Fast Times at NAMBLA High: Part SevenAuthor:
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 Hodgeman/Sarah Vowell, Will Ferrell/MOP?, Keith/Dennis Leary, George Clooney/CharmFeatured pairing(s):
PG-13 for cursing, kissing, and a reference to drug usageWarning:
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? Longness, I guess. And less action than is probably realistic.A/N:
Ok, so I sort of died and didn’t write for forever and then once I finally did write, I had to do a massive rewrite because I thought it had the wrong tone and blah blah blah. Anywho, it’s extra-long as a sort of compensation. I was going to break it into two parts but what the hell, right?Length:
Feedback helps my crack addiction. Give generously.Previous chapters: Chapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter Four Point Five: An Interlude of sortsChapter FiveChapter SixSummary:
I got tired of the old summary, so for those of you new to this:
It's like if a non-idiotic form of the OC had sex with TDS and TCR in some sort of mad-crazy threesome and had a baby that they raised in my home town and forced to watch too much CNN. I swear I’ll come up with a better summary :-(
In this edition of FTANH: Jon smokes, Balrogs are good conversation topics, maybe-dates are awkward, and football brings people together.FAST TIMES AT NAMBLA HIGH
Smoke swirled from the end of his cigarette, the wind carrying it away as Jon leaned once more against the brick wall behind him. He took quick puffs, glancing about nervously to make sure that idiot O’Reilly wasn’t on the patrol again. He needed this. Badly. Sweet, sweet nicotine. He had to finish fast though… Chances were that this Stephen kid wasn’t a smoker and wouldn’t welcome the dirty habit being practiced in his car… he looked more like a fucking choir boy than anything.
Sighing, Jon flicked the spent butt away before deliberating a moment and lighting another one. Hell, he was only young once, right? He could bemoan his foolish sucking of smoke into his lungs once he was an old man, blaming the imprudence of youth and all that shit. Right now, he needed nicotine and neither health nor school laws were going to take that from him.
He just needed to finish before he got into that car.
Why the hell had he agreed to this anyway? Really, what could he and Stephen have in common? The other kid looked about as clean-cut as they come… he wore corduroy
for Christ’s sake. Jon was decked out in a pair of baggy jeans whose grungy splendor was only matched by his slightly baggier t-shirt, the magnificence of which was now accented by the ripped sleeve the thugs had left him with. Had he worn it before? Scrunching his eyes shut after sniffing at the armpit, he decided, yes, he in fact had.
Jon was obviously a pity friend. He was used to being many things, but a pity friend was not one of them. Of course, he had to remind himself, he wasn’t even in the class of pity friend yet seeing as he had only been offered a ride… not to come and bake Jesus-shaped cookies and watch Billy Graham on TV or whatever the hell good Christian kids (as Jon assumed Stephen to be) did during the afternoon hours.
Sighing again, Jon worried his thumb between his lips, taking no notice of the small bit of blood that was still caked beneath his nail. He had probably made a huge mistake, agreeing to this. Stephen, once actually speaking to Jon, would obviously conclude that he was a smarmy jerk who smoked and bitched about everything under the sun. At least from afar, Jon could pretend he and Stephen were destined to be pals but once the reality set in all the delusional happiness would just be sucked out of it. He should probably just walk home.
He suddenly found himself broken from his contemplation of flight when a light tap fell upon his shoulder. He jumped slightly, raising a fist at eye level and whirling around to kick whoever the offender was in the shin before either A.) running away or B.) curling up into the fetal position.
Much to his (sort of) relief, it was Stephen standing there before him. So much for making his get-away.
“Whoa there tiger,” Stephen chuckled, raising his hands in surrender and causing Jon to raise his eyebrows. Tiger?
Jon had been under the impression that only middle-aged uncles used that sort of term of endearment. Guess not.
Realizing the nearly finished cigarette was still hanging out of his mouth, Jon tossed it aside and lowered his fist. “Uh, sorry. Still a little on edge due to… you know,” he finished lamely, gesturing to his poor, poor backpack.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Stephen smiled, motioning to the still smoldering cigarette on the ground. Shrugging, Jon crushed it into the pavement. “Anyway, speaking of, well, that,” Stephen referred to the sad state of Jon’s shirt, “here.”
Jon found himself catching a baggy of safety pins. “Uh… thanks?”
“Don’t thank me, thank Amy. She’s that, uh… short girl, peppy, makes a lot of faces? Anyway, she carries this sort of stuff around all the time. For craft and clothes-related emergencies.” Jon merely nodded mutely, staring at the bag in his hands. The guy had brought him safety pins.
Was this a nice gesture or a bizarre one? Jon decided he wasn’t one to judge. “Anyway, I’ve found that having my clothes somewhat patched up before going home after something like this helps the old madre to not be as concerned. Shows that someone cared enough to help, yeah?”
Jon stared at this other boy in wonder. “Uh… thank you.” He held his shirt together before putting the pin in. Still sad, but it would do. Straightening, he swung what was left of his backpack over one shoulder and spread his arms. “How do I look?”
“You’ve got the grunge look down, soul brother,” Stephen chuckled, hauling his own backpack on and beginning to move forward. “Ready to roll?”
“Sure… hep cat,” Jon replied, still feeling fascinated by this taller boy. No one who uses 70’s slang could be that
Stephen laughed in a way that could only be called a giggle and shook his head. “’Hep cat’? Good one.”
The two of them walked in only mildly awkward silence before they reached what Jon could only assume was Stephen’s vehicle. Trying not to smirk he nodded to the car. “Nice ride.”
Stephen smiled wryly. “I know, right? You can’t pay for rust damage like that. And when you turn on the air conditioning, it sounds like a cat going through a dryer. Runs like a dream
, my friend.”
“Like a cat in a dryer, huh?” Jon remarked, looking over the minivan. “That I must hear.”
“Oh,” Stephen countered seriously as he slid into the driver’s side. “You will.”
Clambering in, Jon surveyed the area he had just entered. An air freshener in the shape of Spongebob Squarepants hung from the review mirror and the car actually had an honest-to-God 8-track. A little angel declaring “God, watch over this driver” was attached to the visor above the steering wheel, its wings looking particularly dangerous as they came to precariously sharp points. Water bottles of various shapes and sizes littered the inside and Jon kicked some aside for some foot room after being informed by Stephen that this was the most practical thing to do.
“Sorry about the mess,” Stephen offered, having the decency to look just a bit embarrassed by the state of things as he pulled out of his spot. “My mom usually drives this bandwagon.”
“Oh,” Jon replied dryly, “you mean these aren’t
your decorative tastes?”
“My only touch in this car would be this bad boy,” Stephen grinned, grazing his fingers along the base of a bizarre bobblehead figurine on his dashboard with the kind of fondness one usually reserves for puppies or small children, not terrifying car ornaments that were currently bobbing their heads in what should be a cute way but just came off as frightening.
“What. The fuck. Is that?” Jon implored emphatically, looking at it in horror. How in the hell
had he not noticed that thing before?
“This? It’s a Balrog,” Stephen explained, frowning as if this was the most obvious fact in the world. At Jon’s blank stare, he frowned all the greater. “From Lord of the Rings?” From Jon’s continued blank look, he went on. “The Balrogs were originally Maiar, but they became seduced by Morgoth, who corrupted them to his service in the days of his splendour before the making of Arda. During the First Age, they were among the most feared of Melkor's forces. When his fortress of Utumno was destroyed by the Valar, they fled and lurked in the pits of Angband…”
Jon bursting into laughter cut off his enthusiastic rambling. “My God, you are a gigantic
nerd. This… this is amazing, really. Any misgivings I may have had are completely gone.”
Stephen raised an elegant eyebrow. “Well, I’m obviously not doing my job then. And,” he added with a slight pout, “’gigantic’ is a bit of a stretch. Lord of the Rings
is good literature. Tolkien was a genius
Sensing the subject may not be the best thing to mock, Jon merely shrugged impassively. “I mean… if you like the sort of ‘quest for rings with midgets’ type of shit then yes, it is indeed excellent.”
“Ah, it’s lost on charlatans,” Stephen remarked sadly, shaking his head in a very somber way. “I swear, if you read it, you’ll be hooked.”
“Oh right,” Jon laughed darkly, “and then I’ll start playing D&D and wearing a wizard’s hat around school.”
A silence filled the car and Jon stole a glance at the other boy. He was tapping the steering wheel and staring at the road in an overtly studious manner. Mouth dropping open, Jon gaped at the taller boy. “Oh my God! You play D&D
“Hey, it’s a great game,” Stephen replied easily, though a slight blush was visible on his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how many women I’ve bagged from using the line ‘Hey baby, I’m a ninth level philosopher-wizard.’”
Jon stared at him incredulously. “I’m sure. That’s just about as enticing as saying ‘Hey, I just got back from my 9th Trekkie convention and still have my Klingon outfit. Wanna come back to my place? You can be the helpless Borg. Please… assimilate me.’”
Stephen let a sly grin come over his face. “I must say, that is
pretty damn sexy.”
Jon furrowed his brow incredulously before narrowing his eyes at the boy sitting next to him. “Hey, I think it may be a bit
early in this relationship for gay innuendo.”
“Jon,” Stephen replied seriously, taking a moment to glance away from the road to give Jon a significant look with raised eyebrows. “It is never too early for gay innuendo.”
Jon fought a smirk and tilted his head in consideration before nodding solemnly. “Right, yes, of course. How silly of me to forget.” As Stephen rifled through the 8-tracks littering the floor, Jon gestured to the ancient equipment taking up most of the dashboard. “So, uh, you install that or something?”
Grunting a slight noise of approval at whatever cassette he finally found, Stephen glanced at the player. “Uh… no, my dad did. He’s... he’s fond of vintage crap that most people just chuck.” He popped in the cassette and Johnny Cash’s voice filled the air.“I hear that train a-callin’
It’s comin’ ‘round the bend
And I ain’t seen the sunshine
Since I don’t know when…”
Jon probably wouldn’t have pegged Stephen for the Cash-loving type. He looked more like he would enjoy classical music. Or jazz. Something smart. “Do you like it having it in here?”
Stephen shrugged, looking apathetic. “It’s not bad… half the tapes are my dad’s. I’d probably put a CD player in if it wasn’t here.”
“Does your dad even drive it anymore?”
A strange silence reined in the car as Stephen contemplated the old device, an odd look coming over his face. He suddenly glanced at Jon, apparently realizing he still hadn’t answered. “Uh, no. He doesn’t. But I can’t bear to take it out, you know?”
Jon shrugged. “I guess. Can’t say I’d keep an 8-track in my car for my dad though.” Ignoring the imploring look sent his way, Jon instead opted to stare moodily out the window.
“So… you’re Jewish?”
Blinking rapidly, Jon turned to stare at the boy before him. “Wow, you sure know how to make a transition, huh?” He lessened the gravity of the situation by letting a small smile leak through.
“I do have amazing conversational skills,” Stephen reasoned, not looking at all phased.
Jon sighed, the smile growing bigger. “So, what clued you in? The air of cheapness coupled with an overwhelming sense of self-loathing?”
“No,” Stephen countered, a dry smile on his face, “it was the nose and last name.” He suddenly gave Jon a very ominous look and stared at him in a very disconcerting way. “I take it that means you haven’t accepted Christ as your risen savior then?”
Swallowing dryly, Jon momentarily considered jumping out of the car. It wasn’t that he had a problem with Jesus… he just wasn’t too fond of conversations that had to do with his accepting him as the one and only lord. Somehow, it didn’t make for good small talk. Shit, was this why Stephen had invited him for a ride? On some mission from God? He felt himself begin to sweat as Johnny Cash launched into the Ring of Fire. How appropriate.“I fell in to a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher…”
He could get out of this. He had some grace and was told he could be very persuasive.
Yes, there we go. Persuasion at its best. Maybe he could just take a Bible and get the hell
out of there.
,” Stephen was then saying, shaking Jon from his panic. “I was joking. Geez.”
Eyes widening, Jon gaped at Stephen again. “What… you… you bastard
Chuckling, Stephen bit his lip. “Wow, panic much?”
“Well, I’m beginning to get feeling back in my face now,” Jon replied darkly. “You… you’re a bastard.”
“Yeah, I think we’ve covered that.”
Jon crossed his arms, huffing even though relief was flooding through him. “Fine, you’re an ass then?”
Stephen merely grinned at him. “You’re cute when you pout.”
Jon cocked an eyebrow. “And what did I say about innuendo?”
Looking innocent, Stephen pulled an exaggeratedly contemplative face. “That… you love it?” He dropped the façade and grinned again.
“And suddenly I feel like I have a far too intimate view on how your brain works,” Jon sighed gravely, shaking his head and eyeing Stephen suspiciously.
“Ah, you only think that now, but I fear that’s only the tip of the proverbial ice berg, my good man.”
Jon sighed, smirk playing at the corners of his mouth while looking out the window again. “You turn right here and my house is just up this street.”
Stephen spun the wheel before reaching down and picking up a new cassette and popping it in. Brass filled the air, followed soon by Bobby Darin’s smooth voice. Jon raised his eyebrows. Johnny Cash and
big band? This kid was full of surprises.“More than the greatest love the world has known
This is the love that I give to you alone
More than the simple words I try to say
I only live to love you more each day…”
The short remainder of the drive was spent in silence, Jon fiddling with his backpack and baggy of safety pins with Stephen humming along with the song. Pulling into his driveway, Stephen put the car into park.
“Your house, sir,” he declared with a flourish.
“Why, thank you,” Jon replied in his horribly ridiculous version of a British accent. “You are too kind.” Dropping the act, he continued seriously, “But, uh, really… thanks, man. That was cool of you.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. I’m just surprised you agreed.”
Jon scoffed. “What, to not walking two miles by myself? What do you think I am?” He then smiled, feeling his affection for this odd, nerdy boy grow within his chest. Were people supposed to get along so fast? Whatever, over-thinking this could wait until his hours of insomnia. “Besides, I could only be the brooding loner for so long.”
The brass strains grew louder and Stephen put the car into reverse as Jon shut the door behind him. Stephen cranked his window open. “Good to hear,” he said, grinning slightly and running a hand over the back of his head.
“So, uh,” Jon continued after a mildly awkward pause, “are… are you busy? You could come in and…”
“Unfortunately I can’t,” Stephen said, having the decency to at least look convincingly apologetic. “I promised Paul I would…”
“Forget about it,” Jon cut him off, trying to ignore the slight sting that lingered as he brushed off the rejection. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow, yeah?”
Regarding Jon again in that disconcerting way, Stephen nodded slowly. “Uh… yeah. Right. See you!”
“Bye, man.” Jon waved, watching until the car disappeared. Shaking his head, he walked up to his garage and opened it, making his way to the door.Well… that really could’ve gone worse
, he thought reasonably. A grin blossomed over his face as he dropped his backpack on the floor before greeting his dog. Now to find his stash and get to that Oprah.
Reaching up into the small alcove above the top shelf of his linen closet, his hand closed around the baggy and he smiled again.Much worse.~~~~~~~~~
Dave checked his watch. Right on time. How was his breath? He couldn’t tell. He could never tell, because hell, it was his own breath! Didn’t that mean he was used to it? What if he smelled bad? Whatever, there was nothing he could do at that point. Armpits? Appropriately manly. Yes. He exuded masculinity. Right.
He had called it a date
, idiot that he was. Was it a date? No, it couldn’t be an actual date. Dates involved roses and shit, not Jaffa cakes and tea. Or did they? God, he was so out of touch. How long had it been since he’d gone on an actual date and not just a random “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” type of affair, involving too much lager and desperation?
called it a date. And John hadn’t hauled off and hit him in the mouth. He really could have if he had wanted to. But then again, Dave had called it a date in front of a bunch of students so really, John couldn’t have. Besides, he didn’t seem like the hitting type. Hell, he was British. The British didn’t punch people.
Okay, that was a lie. He knew plenty of British who were more than happy to punch… often and hard. He’d been the recipient at times. And even the giver in his younger years. But John seemed… proper English. Polite and all that. The type that ate scones and talked about how Rugby was played by ruffians and that rot. But Dave came across as proper English too. Damn their culture with the stuffy emotional repression! Maybe that’s why he knew so many British who were the punching type. It was the repression talking.
Now he knew he was just wasting time, waiting for… what? A sign from God concerning whether it was a date or not? Angels descending from heaven singing, “Daaaave, worry nooot for a date you are oooon! Hosanna!” It was probably pretty presumptuous, thinking God would send a sign telling a gay man whether or not he was on a gay date. Although, to be fair Dave hadn’t been to church in a while. Things could have changed. Though judging by American telly, that didn’t appear to be the case.
Sucking a breath, he decided he had dithered long enough and rapped hastily on the door.
There was a moment of rustling noise on the other side before he heard a haggard call of, “Just a minute!” made its muffled way to his ears. Nervously checking his breath again, Dave considered momentarily that it was becoming a tick. Oh God, what if it was a tick and he just hadn’t noticed before? Maybe he had Tourette’s and no one had diagnosed him. Now he would be let into John’s house and horrify the other man with his loud cursing and massive body spasms, during which he would most likely break something valuable. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
“Shut up, brain,” he growled to himself, running a hand through his hair before the door was thrown open.
“Dave!” John said, sounding a little too boisterous.
“John!” Dave replied, attempting to match his tone.
There was an awkward pause as both men stared at each other before John stepped aside. “Come on in.”
“Uh, I got wine on top of the biscuits,” Dave said, offering up the bottle and walking through the threshold. “As a thank you.”
“Oh, cheers! You didn’t need to do that.” John took it and grinned. “Can I take your coat?”
So far, date vibes were all over this place like elephant droppings in a petting zoo. Dave was confident. Cool. Collected. Suave. He was fond of the word suave. He always pronounced it with a Spanish accent… “swah-vey”.
He fought the urge to yell at his brain again. He needed to stop acting like a nervous teenager.
“Did you find the place alright?” John was asking as he shoved Dave’s coat into his tiny closet in the front hall.
“Yeah, not too hard. Still getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road and all that though.”
“Tough, innit?” John answered, grinning again and looking a bit manic in all his glorious hospitality.
Another awkward pause.
It was at this moment that Dave decided perhaps dates weren’t all they’re cracked up to be. They always seemed to be consisted of sweaty palms and uncomfortable silences and hasty fumblings that ended into even more uncomfortable silences in the morning. Perhaps arranged marriages were where the true genius lay.
But, no, he reasoned. That wouldn’t work at all because he’d be married to a woman who would cry to her parents every night that their dowry was for naught since all her husband would do is sit and watch films and pine over some Bollywood hunk.
He was shaken from his contemplation of how he would look decked out in Indian garb by John ushering him into his small kitchen.
“Smells good,” Dave remarked nervously, cursing himself as his voice cracked on the last word. John merely grinned again and Dave vaguely worried that his face was going to get stuck like that. John handed him a wine glass which he took gratefully. “So, uh, do you host people much?” he asked awkwardly, toying with the back of the chair that he found himself behind after wandering into the even smaller dining/living room.
“Well, no, not really,” John admitted from his place in the kitchen. Dave did a quick room check since he was alone.Pictures of girlfriends? No.
Just mainly of what appeared to be family, unless John had an affinity for older women. There were a couple of small statues about as well as a framed football jersey hanging from the wall. The whole place looked like a very odd mix of a bachelor’s pad and gay man’s flat.
Besides these few decorations, the room was fairly bare save a small TV in the corner and an odd lumpy object beside it. Covered in a blanket, Dave deciphered that it must have been a cage of some sort.
“You got a pet then?” he called, just to fill the deafening silence.
“Oh, right, you mean Harold. That’s my hedgehog. You can have a look if you’d like. He’s most likely sleeping at the moment.”
“You have a hedgehog?” Dave intoned, feeling that this was quite an amusing revelation. He slowly made his way to the cage. “That’s different.”
“Yeah, well, it was me mum’s but she gave him to me as a going away gift. She raised him and all that. He’s pretty easy-going…” Something clattered in the kitchen and John made a small noise of distress, causing Dave to smile. “Sorry, anyway, he was in this litter of her other hedgehogs and she gave him to me instead of selling him.”
Dave paused, processing this. “So… your mum breeds hedgehogs?”
“Uh… in her spare time,” John laughed, coming out from the kitchen and placing a dish in the middle of the table. “Well, there we are then. Let’s tuck in!” The mild mania was back and Dave briefly felt bad for the other man. He was obviously nervous, though Dave couldn’t tell if it was for the same reasons he was nervous or merely from the pressure to be a good host.
They sat down across from each other and began their meal, exchanging awkward small talk about how much better American weather was from British as Dave tried to relieve John of some of his anxiety by almost over-praising the food before him. Soon they lapsed into a sort-of-comfortable silence and the food was gone, the wine leaving both of them much looser than they had been previously.
“Want to watch some football?” John asked tentatively as they cleaned up the plates quietly. “One of the ESPN channels shows games from England.”
“Oh, cheers, that would be great,” Dave responded earnestly. He hadn’t gotten to watch any since coming to the States, mainly owing to his lack of cable. He grabbed the biscuits from the place on the counter as John grabbed two beers from the fridge. Dave crinkled his noise. “You like beer cold now?” he asked jovially, plopping on the couch.
John sighed sadly, shaking his head. “Yeah, fear that’s one way the yanks have sucked me in. You get so used to it that you can’t really imagine it any other way.” He put one down in front in Dave as he sat next to him. “Now don’t gripe and drink your cold beer like a good guest,” he scolded, smiling more naturally than he had all night.
Dave pulled a mock-pout before droning sadly, “Yes sir.” He picked up the bottle and took a pull before making an exaggerated face and peering at the label. “I guess
I’ll survive,” he remarked gravely before grinning at John. The other Brit smiled back shyly and Dave felt a wave of attraction for this odd, sort of tweedy man who was turning on the telly.
To be honest, this wasn’t exactly the type of guy Dave usually went for. His conquests were often younger than him and were more often than not impressed by his knowledge and charisma. Other than that, his men were far older, making him feel like the one doing the hero worship. Of course, Phil had not been like either. He was a dark-haired Irishman who considered himself a conceptual artist, a practice that Dave found more and more ridiculous as he got older. He supposed that was the failing of his relationship with Phil… there wasn’t any humor there. Before, he had assumed they balanced each other out; Dave literally being the yang to Phil’s yin. But you can only compensate for someone for so long before you just want the stupid brooding to stop and the laughter to begin.
That in itself made John quite different from Phil. Dave could’ve never been friends with his ex outside of their relationship… hell, Dave probably would have hated him had it not been for the drama of their love. John seemed… jovial. Good-humored. Sure, he wasn’t as handsome as Phil had been, but the fact that he just seemed like an overall good and decent human being made him far more attractive than Phil could have managed to be.
Dave set the bottle down carefully and threw a casual arm over the back of the couch, effectively opening himself up to John. The other man seemed to notice this but his eyes stayed firmly on the television screen.
“So, why’d you move to the States then?” Dave asked, finding that he honestly wanted to know.
John sent him a slightly uneasy glance before noticeably relaxing at the engaging smile Dave was wearing. “Uh, well, I had some personal troubles and… I decided to become a teacher. And the States needs teachers right now, so I figured, ‘Why the hell not?’ you know?” He fiddled with the neck of the bottle. “I needed a change.”
Dave shifted a bit, trying to catch his eye again. “Why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Well… I was in concert piano, you see, before I decided to teach. I was pretty good… but it just… I wasn’t getting much out of it. But then me and my, uh… significant other broke it off and everything seemed to make much more sense again. I thought I should be trying to make a difference, so I got the degree and just… left. Hopefully it wasn’t as big a mistake as everyone’s told me it was.” John sighed before shaking himself from the introspective look that had overcome his face. “You?” he asked timidly, trying not to look embarrassed.
“Well… work trouble for me as well. That and me and the live-in boyfriend had a falling out,” Dave added, using a false bravado to mask the nervousness he felt. Well, this was the make-it or break-it point.
John considered him for a moment before asking carefully, “Why’d you break it off, then?” His face was completely neutral, which Dave decided was much better than getting punched in the face.
“Well, he was a bit… dramatic, to say the least,” he answered, trying to be nonchalant. “He was a conceptual artist and all that. Bit of a temper too. It just wasn’t right, you know?”
John snorted, shaking his head. “All too well, really. Mine was a conductor. Made me call him ‘maestro’ in bed. It was mortifying.” There was a moment of silence as the other man glanced up at Dave, suddenly seeming aware that he’d given himself away.
“So,” Dave smiled, “well then.”
John swallowed before coughing nervously into his fist. “Well then,” he answered, his voice weak.
Dave considered him for another moment. “John… I hope I’m not making you nervous…”
The man in question looked up and shook his head fervently, looking a bit desperate. “No! Uh… I mean, no. You’re not.”
“So…” Dave moved a bit closer, which wasn’t hard considering how small the couch was. “You wouldn’t mind if I kissed you?”
John actually laughed before snapping his mouth shut and looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m not exactly used to being propositioned,” he explained, his face reddening a bit. “So… this was
a date then?”
Dave bit his lip and jiggled his knee, looking up at John from under his eyelashes in what he hoped was a coy way. “Maybe, if you’d like.”
“Alright then,” John murmured after a moment, closing the space between them.
Their lips met and there were the few obligatory awkward moments as the two got used to the contours of each other’s faces. Dave smiled against John as his rather larger nose bumped into his before John reached up and hastily removed his glasses. As their kisses became deeper, Dave found himself being pushed backward into a lying position with John moving over top of him. This continued for a few minutes until Dave put a hand in the middle of John’s chest and pushed him back just a bit.
“John,” he whispered breathlessly. “I think… I think maybe we should call it a night.” At the crestfallen look on the other man’s face, he couldn’t help but smile. “Look I… I honestly like you,” he added hastily, “and I don’t want to ruin that by moving too fast. That’s happened to me too many times before, alright?”
John slowly sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking some carefully deep breaths. “Alright, no, you’re right. I can’t believe you’re the one to slow this down,” he muttered, chuckling. “Usually it’s me backing out.”
“Hey,” Dave countered seriously, though he smiled. “I’m not
backing out. I’m just… I want to do this right, you know? I mean, I know I’m about to bloom a vagina, but I want get to know you and shit first.”
John gave him a look and said, “You’re not
blooming a vagina. I… I respect what you’re saying. I mean… what harm can it do, right?” The two men stared at each other for a moment, trying to calm down. “Although… I may have to make you leave now, seeing as I’m in dire need of a wank.”
Dave barked out a laugh and got to his feet. “Alright, ‘nough said. I’ll leave the jaffa cakes here, yeah? For next time.” He winked at John and made his way to the closet to grab his coat.
John ambled to his feet as well and led the other man to the front door before pausing and running a nervous hand through his hair. “So there’s a next time then?” he asked, looking apprehensive.
It took all of Dave’s willpower not to jump him again for looking so adorably vulnerable. Instead, he gave the other man a soft kiss on the lips before grinning. “I’d say most definitely.” With that, he threw open the door and made his way outside. “See you tomorrow!” he called, walking resolutely to the car. He’d be damned if he was going to screw this up.
Behind the now-closed door, John sighed before sliding down the plank of wood.
“Now for that wank,” he muttered to himself, getting to his feet and making his way to his tiny shower stall.TO BE CONTINUED?!?!...yes.Tune in next time for chemistry, jealousy and even possibly a party!
ENDNOTE: The first half of this chapter may as well have been titled "An Ode to my Car", seeing as the description was pretty much my van. Except for the Balrog. And the Spongebob air freshener are purple dice in my car. Oh, also: I have no idea how D&D works so I pulled the term "ninth level philosopher-wizard" out of my ass seeing as researching the game turned out to be more tedious than I cared to deal with. So bring on the "homg, that's not how it's played at all!!!!11!!"s. I stand firm in my ignorance. Oh... and if you want any of the songs I mentioned, hit me up. I was going to upload them but laziness prevailed.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).
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