Title: A Matter of Perspective
Author: GatorGrrrl
Fandom: Drake & Josh
Pairing: Drake/Josh
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,443
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. No profit being made, no offense intended.
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: unoriginality, boy kissing, implied sex, bad words, angst
Summary: Being a virgin was never as bad as not being one.
A/N: I am at an impasse with my massively huge, other-fandom fic and needed to write something in the hopes of getting the juices flowing again. And look! It's Drake/Josh angst! *does happy dance* Oh, boys. How I've missed you. Nothing original here, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
A Matter of Perspective
The sex is awful. Not just bad, but mind-numbingly terrible. Drake doesn't know what to do with his hands and afterward, he can't meet Josh's eyes. The worst part is that they do it on Drake's bed and for three days after, Drake makes sure he falls asleep on the sofa. By Friday, his neck is so sore he can barely turn his head to the right, and for the first time since he can remember, he actually strips the sheets off his mattress and carries them down to the laundry room. He uses bleach when he shouldn't and there are yellow splotches all over them, but the stains are gone. And the smell, which was worse. Not so much the smell of sex—he's smelled that before—but the smell of failure. He's never had bad sex before, at least not as bad as this, and he can't seem to move past it. He's Drake Parker for fuck's sake; he's not bad at anything. Except maybe Algebra.
Josh still won't look at him.
*
A week. It's been a week since The Sex and Josh still can't quite look Drake in the eye. If he could go back, he would. In a heartbeat. Back before things got so weird between them. Back before the need to know just what Drake's tongue tasted like had gotten the better of him. Back before he'd seen first-hand just how horror mixed with regret looked behind his brother's dark eyes.
The problem is, he still can't help but picture what Drake looks like beneath his clothes.
*
Josh's sheets are noisy. Josh's sheets are noisy and they're keeping Drake awake and that's all it is. It can't possibly be anything else because Drake never lets anything bother him enough to keep him awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Josh move beneath his sheets just a few feet away.
He flops onto his side and the wood beneath the mattress squeaks and Drake has a sudden flash of teeth digging into his collarbone and hot breath against his neck.
Josh tosses again and Drake grabs a fistful of splotchy blue sheet and grits his teeth.
Fucking noisy sheets.
*
Drake's a goddamn liar. This isn't some new revelation, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when he comes home smelling like he took a dive in a vat of knockoff Chanel. And unless Josh is mistaken, that purpling spot below Drake's left ear was not there when Drake left the house after dinner.
Hanging with Trevor. Right. What-the-fuck-ever. Not unless Trevor has developed a sudden affinity for impostor fragrances and sucking on boys' necks.
Of course, Josh doesn't care.
Only he does.
*
Clarissa is stupid. Not stupid as in 2+2=5 stupid, but stupid as in Drake-is-my-boyfriend stupid. Stupid as in Drake-really-likes-me stupid. As in when-Drake-kisses-me-he's-not-thinking-of-someone-else stupid.
Only she doesn't know she's stupid. But Drake knows. And that's bad enough.
*
Virgin. A month ago, if someone had asked Josh to describe himself in three words, he would've said smart, conscientious, and virgin. Only now that last one no longer applies. And maybe the first one, too. Two of three gone in one fell swoop, in a matter of minutes. Minutes whose awkwardness drags on still, stacking like bricks between them.
He wants to go back. Being a virgin was never as bad as not being one.
*
Clarissa breathes into Drake's neck and digs her acrylic nails into his shoulder blades. This, he thinks, is easy. Familiar. He's good at this. And he knows exactly what to do with his hands.
Only, when he comes, he feels like crying.
*
His personal best is 2,300,086 points and Level Ten in one sitting, but tonight Josh can't seem to make it past Level Three without getting killed. The door opens and the familiar click of Drake's boots tap out a trail behind him.
Josh watches himself die, digitally animated blood spurting from his digitally animated chest, and mindlessly maneuvers his thumbs across the buttons to restart the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Drake peel off his jacket.
His chest hurts. They don't speak.
*
The sounds from the TV seem too loud in his ears and the smell of sex too pungent on his skin. Drake hangs his jacket over the back of the chair and stares out the window. The light behind him projects his reflection onto the glass and over his shoulder, he can see Josh sitting on the sofa, not looking at him.
Above everything else, he misses the sound of Josh's voice.
*
Josh dies again, this time on purpose, and turns off the game. Drake's gone to take a shower and Josh is alone and there's nothing left to do but go to bed. So he does, pulling the sheets over his face to block the light.
Drake is normally a morning shower person.
*
Forty-seven minutes later, Drake walks into their bedroom. He stands just inside the door and stares at Josh. There's something about the shape of Josh's body beneath his blankets that tells Drake he's awake. He's awake and he's breathing and he's pretending he doesn't know Drake is standing there.
"I'm sorry it wasn't good," Drake says and feels his face get warm. It's not really what he wants to say, but there it is anyway.
*
Josh feels his face crumple and sinks his teeth into the inside of his bottom lip. Good. He can't fucking believe it. Good. Doesn't Drake know? It was everything.
*
Drake drags his sweaty palm down the seam of his pajama pants and watches the Josh-lump not move beneath the covers. Maybe he is asleep after all, he thinks, and stares a little longer.
Except…
*
The sheets are bunched in Josh's palm, the cloth biting into his skin, and the sound of the blood in his ears is so loud he barely hears the snick of the door lock.
*
Drake flips off the light and on shaky knees, walks over to Josh's bed. The glow of the neighbors' floodlight pours through the window and he watches the shadows slide across the hills and valleys of Josh's blanket as he breathes.
*
Even through the blanket, Josh can feel him. It's like a magnetic force tugging at the iron in his blood. Always, since day one, this is how it's been. For him, at least.
"I want another chance," he hears.
*
Thirty-eight seconds, Drake counts inside his head. Thirty-eight seconds and he's starting to feel dizzy from holding his breath. Then the blankets peel back and he starts to breathe again.
The shadows are now on Josh's face, sliding across his lips, and Drake wants to taste them.
*
Josh smells soap on Drake's skin as he crawls under the covers. Soap and uncertainty and too much wasted time. When he's settled against him, Josh touches his face.
"I've missed you," he whispers.
*
Drake presses his lips to Josh's and slides his hand beneath Josh's t-shirt, feeling the warm huff of breath push past Josh's lips. When his fingertips brush along Josh's spine, Josh makes a small sound, and Drake presses in, tracing the tip of his tongue over the swell of Josh's bottom lip.
Josh's mouth opens and Drake slips his tongue inside. He tastes toothpaste and honesty and everything he didn't know he wanted.
*
Drake's fingertips are callused and scratch along Josh's skin in a way that makes him hard. But instead of pulling away, he pushes closer and discovers Drake is hard, too. Drake moans against his lips and Josh pulls his hand away from Drake's face. Brings it down to the bunched cotton around Drake's slim hips and slips his fingers inside, knuckles brushing against heated skin that jumps beneath his touch.
*
Breaking the kiss, Drake blinks at Josh in the dim light and slides his thumb in slow arcs across Josh's skin. He's close enough to taste Josh's breath and he closes his other hand in the hem of Josh's t-shirt.
"Touch me," he says.
*
Josh holds Drake's gaze and concentrates on the shape of Drake's lips and the texture of the fabric against his fingers. The last time—the first time—it had all been so fast, so clumsy and awkward and needitnow. They'd ended up far apart, farther away than they'd ever been. And Josh had nearly suffocated.
But now he can breathe again. And he does. Takes a breath, then takes a chance.
*
This time, when Drake comes, he feels like laughing.
The End