Title: Changing Frequencies
Pairing: Meeks/Pitts
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Written as a birthday present for fennecfriend, who agreed that the dancing was more than platonic. Also written because I found all of one fic where these guys were together, and it was in the background of a Neil/Todd fic, so they were completely overshadowed. I just don't think its fair that pretty much all of the other Dead Poets have been slashed except for these guys. Also, I'm not one hundred percent sure that Ogden Nash's poetry was in wide circulation in 1959, but if it was, Charlie would be all over it. I would also like to broadcast, once again, that this story is slash, and those who do not appreciate the idea of two nerdy guys snogging...are probably pretty normal. But that's what this story is about, so if that's not your cup of tea, hit the back button now.
Disclaimer: If I had created Dead Poets Society, nobody would need to write slashfiction for it, because the book and movie would be slash on their own. But I didn't, so it's not.
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"C'mon, Pittsy, give them back," Meeks says, laughing nervously as he tries to get his glasses back. Pitts, bemused, holds them higher, stretching his already-considerable height on tiptoes.
"Jump for 'em," he says between gasps of laughter, evading Meeks' increasingly persistent leaps for the glasses.
"That's what I keep doing." He takes a bound towards his roommate, and Pitts moves away, hopping onto his bed. "That's not fair; you're already taller than I am." Meeks takes a leap for Pitts' gangly legs and the two of them collapse on to Pitts' bed, struggling for breath between bouts of hysterical laughter.
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Water drizzles lazily through the hole in the ceiling and shouts of laughter echo and bounce crazily off of the walls of the Indian cave as the Dead Poets meet for the third time. Charlie is commanding the attention of pretty much everyone, reciting Ogden Nash with aplomb, and Pitts sits back against the wall, with his eyes closed, a faint smile on his face and Stephen Meeks' head almost-but-not-quite resting on his shoulder.
"The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex.
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix to be so – oh, shit!" shouts Charlie as the fire fizzles pathetically and goes out.
As the cave is plunged into damp darkness, Pitts jerks forward and presses his lips to Meeks' in an act of desperate thievery. It's an awkward kiss and Meeks' glasses get in the way a bit, but it's a good kiss, all the same. Pitts leaps backwards, as suddenly as he'd moved forward, before the fire can get bright enough for the others to see. And nobody thinks to ask why the two are grinning like madmen.
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Meeks fiddles with the radio dial, squinting as the cold wind scrapes across his face. He can hear Pitts behind him, shifting from foot to foot with chill and impatience. Meeks turns the dial as far as it goes, but is left with nothing but static and the occasional squeal of a nearly-tapped frequency. He thumps the radio lovingly, and steps back with a sigh, jumping as Pitts wraps his arms around him.
"This won't make the radio work any faster, you know," says Meeks, tilting his head so that it rests on Pitts' shoulder.
"I know," Pitts replies, his response muffled as he presses his lips to Meeks' throat, "but I don't think hitting the radio is going to do much either." His broad hand buries itself in Meeks' hair so it flops over his forehead and into his eyes. Meeks turns so that they are face to face, and throws his arms around Pitts' neck.
After some time, they pull apart; gasping a little, until Meeks speaks.
"Gerard?" Pitts' first name feels awkward in his mouth.
"What?" he asks, a little apprehensive.
"Do you ever…you ever miss girls? What I mean is," Meeks stammers quickly as puzzlement furrows Pitts' brow, "Do you ever have regrets about what we're doing?"
"No. Why? Do you?"
"Not…like that, exactly. It's more like…I'm worried about what would happen if we were ever caught. Can you imagine how bad that would be? What we would go through? That'd be our whole lives down the drain."
"Are you backing out on me?"
"No! I'm just…I just don't know anymore."
They stand together, sharing an uncomfortable silence for the first time in ages, and they shouldn't be like this, not ever. They should be able to look each other in the eye. They always have been able to before now. Meeks breaks the unbearable silence.
"I…I think it must be the wiring in this stupid thing. I'll go work on it." He gathers up the radio hurriedly and dashes down the stairs. Pitts stands alone, biting his nails and biting back tears.
That night, Meeks greets him with a finished radio, bandaged fingers, an apology, and a kiss. And they're alright again. Almost.
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Pitts leans against the doorframe for a moment, regarding his downcast roommate with a frown. Meeks is sitting cross-legged on his bed, his head in his hands, muttering to himself. After a moment's indecision, Pitts crosses towards him, settling heavily down beside him and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Did you sell out, too?" Meeks asks, not looking up.
"Yeah," Pitts mutters. "Everyone has, by now. Everyone but Todd and it's only a matter of time before he does too."
Meeks shakes his head. "I can't believe we're doing this. We know Keating had nothing to do with this; we know why Neil is dead; it wasn't his fault -"
Meeks' voice thickens and breaks and his shoulders shake furiously as he begins to sob. Pitts sighs, and takes Meeks' glasses off before crushing him to his chest in a hug. Meeks' tears wet the front of his shirt as Pitts presses his face into Meeks' hair and weeps silently, and the two of them hold each other like that for a very long time.
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They're quiet at the funeral, standing at the back without making much noise or calling to much attention to themselves. They see Todd in a corner, with his head bowed and Knox, with Chris on his arm, but they just exchange nods from across the room. They're not ready to really talk to the other Dead Poets yet. They stand at the back of the assembled crowd in their identical dark suits and Pitts gives Meeks' hand a squeeze as they lower Neil into the ground. They leave together, as silently as they came, with their arms intertwined, leaning on one another for support.
The End
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Well, there you have it. Reviews and constructive criticism rock my world. Flames, however, do not.