Fortress of Solitude
It's when one of those night rears its head. When Effy sulks and sighs in a corner until a male gives her attention; when Emily and Naomi spend all night giggling and French kissing; when everyone in Roundview comes to the party and it's pounding and sweating and everything all at once.
Pandora's surprisingly serious for once, helping Emily heave a drunk Katie out of the way of revellers - whoevers house they're in is gonna be trashed sooner or later and judging that they've turned the music up and are downing more and more from the little off-licence down the road, it looks much, much sooner - while Effy and Cook snog in the bathroom, shower on full.
Freddie can't care anymore about the razor-blade sharp girl, whose brightness and sharpness and utter switchblade way to living had enticed him to her. Soon, she had become dull, some girl whose overconfidence masked doubts as big as the sky. He moves past her, gives Pandora an encouraging hug and Emily a quick, sympathetic smile before he moves on.
The spliff in his hand is long since gone, flakes of the weed crushed into the thick shag carpeting, and his breath's tinged with a bit of vodka and a bit of rum, but all that dissipates instantly when he rounds a corner and sees JJ. Slumped against the wall.
"JJ!"
He rushes, heedless of the girls in the way and of Thomas, rushing to stop Pandora from crashing into a half-broken cabinet, and drops to JJ's level. He's locked on, words and numbers tumbling out of him like water from Angel Falls.
"..." Freddie turns JJ's face towards him and then does the one thing he can think of shut him up and try and calm him down.
He kisses JJ. Full on, lips mashed together. He moves them against JJ's, trying to calm him down, cut off the self-destructive string of numbers and words and God... this feels good.
JJ's stopped now, his hands resting of Freddie's shoulders. He releases the kiss and presses his forehead to JJ's, brown eyes searching out for some calm truth in JJ's. And there's definitely something.
"Don't, Freddie. I can't be having some pity kiss in my life." JJ's words are soft-spoken, so pathetic-sounding that Freddie feels a bright, hot desire in his chest to protect him, to encase JJ in a bubble and only have Freddie visit him. Keep him safe from the evils of the world.
And he has no idea where that comes from, but its probably from the same place that makes Freddie lean, arms wrapping around JJ and kissing him tightly. He slides his tongue inside, forehead pressing against forehead, and his fingers stroke along the length of JJ's back.
JJ almost can't respond and the fire in Freddie's belly turns to ice in the moment that he thinks that JJ might not reciprocate. That he thinks that he might have fucked up the only solid, dependable, safe relationship he has left outside of just friendship.
But then JJ tentatively kisses back and then presses his hands to Freddie's chest, slipping desperately underneath hoodie and vest to find bare skin and this feels so much better than anytime with any girl ever.
Freddie has no idea where this is coming from, but he won't let this happen here. In this stinking shithole of a house. He yanks JJ to his feet, brushes a light kiss over his lips and then drags him downstairs.
The cab only takes ten minutes, but ten minutes is ten minutes too long - and Freddie's hands are itching with the desire to touch JJ everywhere and kiss him. He's never thought of himself as gay, never got a hard on over the times that he's seen Cook naked, never had a wet dream about Brad Pitt or Colin Farrell, never had the image of himself penetrating any actor or male singer the times he's stroked himself to completion.
Maybe he's just needing JJ - with his gravity-defying hair, way of smiling that makes the whole world shine, his maths, his optimism and dry wit - and when the cab finally arrives, it's only due to genuinely liking her that he lets Pandora share it home.
She keeps up a soliloquay about everything, eyes a little glazed from the booze but very much sober - and when she gets dropped off first, Freddie's clenched teeth have nothing to do with a stomach pain (like he makes out) and have everything to do with the boy pressed right up against him.
"Do you... want me?" JJ asks, teeth chattering despite the night being balmy and the central heating in the car being on.
"More than anything. I dont know why, J. But I do." Freddie tells the complete truth as he's becoming used to these days. And he does want JJ. Wants him in the way that a couple of gay guys had described in Philosophy and English when they did Walt Whitman.
Wants him curled up in his arms, early in the morning, sunlight streaming through and highlighting JJ's delicate features.
Wants him laughing and joking with him at the breakfast table, JJ making jokes with Karen and Freddie gazing at him, feeding him toast while Karen and JJ giggle together.
Wants JJ to lay on top of his stomach in late-night TV marathons, giggling at the bad movies. Wants to feed him chocolate, kiss him delicately, feel nothing between them but warm, freshly laundered sheets and soft skin.
Wants JJ moaning, whispering his name. Wants him kissing in delight. Wants him smiling at him with unbridled joy and reverence like Freddie's looking at him like.
The ride back to JJ's eventually ends, Freddie throws a twenty-quid note and pulls JJ out. JJ fumbles around with his keys, while Freddie mouths a silent prayer to a God he hasn't spoken to since he was twelve and his mum went to heaven. The door opens and before JJ can open it, Freddie's pushing against JJ, lips straining and kissing.
The world's shifting back into focus with every kiss, the world's foundations moving onto its axis once more since his Mum died. Freddie just feels better, mingled with lust and joy and manages to get himself and JJ into the house.
JJ's parents are away - some conference or something - and Freddie drags JJ upstairs, twisting the keys and locking the door while JJ scrambles upstairs.
They're on the bed in seconds, the knocking of the noise inadvertently turning the radio on. Coldplay starts up, something that Cook and Freddie had teased him on once before, but now it seems appropriate. Freddie strips him naked to the sound of Chris Martin's crooning.
JJ's hands instinctively try to cover himself up, insecurities rearing their ugly heads - but Freddie honestly doesn't think he's seen JJ looking more beautiful. Freddie feels bulky, heavy, compared to JJ's gentle, pale attractiveness that's making him so hard now.
He pulls his own clothes off and sees JJ's eyes descending. Bulging. And when they meet his, they're so full of hope and awe that Freddie just has to kiss him.
JJ understands where this is going and spreads his legs wide, lies on his back on the bed. Freddie lubes himself up with saliva, and touches JJ's face.
"You sure you're ready?"
JJ's silent, panting nod speaks volumes and Freddie slowly slides in - feeling gentle wet smoothness and delicious friction heat mixing together into one unbelievable combination.
It's like heaven, better than heaven. And Freddie leans down, kissing JJ so hard he thinks he might bruise him with the force of it as he starts to push in, slamming into him with the urgency of a drowning man.
And when they both come, at the same time, it's as if the world has regained itself. The world is perfect and sunny once more, after a lifetime of fog. The axis back on course, the universe smiling and running after groaning like a skipping record for so long. The song is playing.
Freddie's like a drowning man afterwards too, big gulping breaths needed after that. He collapses onto JJ, but then curls up next to him. JJ's sweaty and wide-eyed but then the big, split-your-face-wide grin relaxes Freddie and they cuddle.
Not something Freddie had ever done with a girl, but nestling up to JJ, the CD player knocking itself off again with another bang, the duvet tucked around them and with JJ's hair nestled underneath his chin... just felt right.
Freddie tightens possessive arms around JJ, waves of sleepiness and satisfaction overwhelming him, and falls asleep to the sound of JJ's light snoring and his heartbeat. Pleasant dreams of nothingness fill him.
The morning after, Freddie awakens to an empty bed. And his heart drops to the pit of his empty, alcohol-soaked stomach. That is, until JJ appears.
He's humming ELO under his breath, carrying a breakfast tray laden with everything imaginable one could have for breakfast, and is naked except for a pair of boxers and Freddie's shirt.
Freddie's shirt. His shirt.
Possessiveness swells in his chest as JJ slips back underneath the warm covers, the radiators heating up and making the whole house toasty. Freddie bends down, sweeping lips and tongue into a kiss as protective as it is hot, and JJ's moaning.
He bends down, hand round the back of JJ's head and he breaks the kiss. Heavy breathing, Freddie forces himself to look down into the dilated eyes he's adoring.
"Mine. You're mine, you hear? Not Cook's. Mine."
JJ nods and then grabs a piece of toast. Freddie presses a kiss to the ruffled hair and grabs a piece of toast too, arm slipping possessively around JJ's shoulders.
"I'm yours, Freddie. If you want me."
The whispered truth makes Freddie want to run and sing and do all sorts of embarrassing things, a big carefree smile on his face. A naked run across the whole of Bristol is more than worth it to see JJ's tentative, scared insecurities melt away into joy.
"And I'm yours, J. For keeps."
They watch re-runs of British sitcoms that ended twenty years ago, and later they do a lot more than what they did last night. They will do much more than have one-night stands. They will simply be each other.
Freddie grins, tucking JJ into his side.
The world is right once more.
Fin.