Title: Mates

Author: Curt Kenobi

Rating: M or R

Summary: (Pointless slash, I think.) Rents and Sick Boy have been mates forever. Sick Boy's a slick bastard. Rents is...Rents. In true Welsh style (aka phonetic Scots and no quotation marks, just triple dashes).

Disclaimer: I don't own Trainspotting, but consider Irvine Welsh a god.

A/N: Should be a 2pt/6chap story. I've read Trainspotting and seen the movie (I incorporate both) and am reading Porno. Rents has been the bi-curious one. Sick Boy's the suave MF. Perfect set-up to a pairing. First part will take place in Trainspotting era; second part in Porno era. Hopefully this will evolve into a better story than I see it at present.


--------Rents: Apprehension---------

Ah'm sittin oan the sofa next tae Sick Boy. Eh's sprawled across it, leavin me barely any room. The fucker snores. No loud, likesay, but...it gits tae us. It's soft an ah find ah'm jist starin at ihm, watchin ihm breathe, tha rise an fall ay his chest. It's broad, ehs chest, n ah see the chesthairs that tell eh's no a natural blond peeking above the collar ay his tanktop. Ah shouldnae be talkin aboot natural hair colour, considerin not long ago ah dyed ma ain hair black -- jist tae realise that ma pubes wis still ginger. Ah've since decided it's a stupid thing tae do that only a radge cunt like me woulda done. (Couldnae wait fir it tae grow out, sae ah shaved it all off, jist about.)

Sick Boy's fuckin stylish, though. Fuckin ravishment waiting. Nae fuckin wonder birds are all ower ihm like eh wis chocolate or somethin. Eh may no be a natural blond, but the bleached-oot colour looks hot oan ihm. Confidence fair radiates offay the fucker. Makes me rather ashamed ay masel, tae be honest.

We've kent each other for ages. Eh's been ma mate since school. Even stayed in touch when ah went tae Aberdeen Uni fir a spell. Thinkin bout ma past jist makes us think ay the therapist sessions ah had tae go tae. N all ah want tae think aboot fir the now is Simon.

His lashes are brown, long. Ah ken eh's dreamin 'cos his eyes are flickerin beneath the lids. Ah wonder what about. Shaggin some fine bird? Shoot mair dugs in the arse n playin hero? -- That's an experience. Ah secretly covet ehs compliment tae me when ah had a go wi ehs air rifle. Fir a vegetarian, Rents, ye're a fuckin evil shot.

Aye, ehs a unique cunt. Kens tons ay shite aboot Sean Connery -- thinks Sean's ehs conscience or somesuch shite. He'll go oan n oan aboot ehs "life theory." Ah dinnae have one masel, but Sick Boy's sense -- it jist doesnae gie ye much tae hope fir. We all git auld, we cannae hack it anymair, and that's it. That's ehs life theory.

Ah lean forward. Dinnae ken why, but the impulse jist struck me. Ah'm clean, n when ah am, ah'm bored as fuck. Sae ah dae shite tae gie me the feelin that ah still am alive -- usually it's gittin back oan skag. But ah've wanted tae do this fir a long time.

Ah lay across Sick Boy. Eh's layin oan his side sae ah'm like draped atop ay ihm. Now ah'm face tae face wi him. Eh's got a strong nose -- straight, pointed. Thin lips, a wide mooth. Funny how sae simple and almost hard -- almost cruel -- ay mooth can git sae many birds. It's eywis fascinated me, though.

Sae ah leaned forward a bit mair n kissed him.

It surprised the fuck outta me when eh kissed back.

It scared the shit outta me when, after we pulled apart, he opened ehs eyes.

---Fir fuck's sake, Mark.

That wis all eh said. Ah dinnae ken if it wis an admonishment or a compliment.