Author's Note: Erm...I don't know what this is, but I was in the mood for Cheeks and this really angsty little bit came out of my brain.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.
It doesn't make sense.
Not to Charlie. Not to anyone.
Least of all to Steven, who is stuck in this continual suckfest of irrational infatuation—for he refuses to even utter that treacherous four letter word beginning with "L."
It's hard to stomach all of the emotions Charlie causes to bubble up inside of him, but Steven holds them in anyway, because admitting defeat wouldn't be worth it, not when the other party is a gallivanting womanizer that doesn't know the meaning of the phrase "monogamous relationship."
Steven licks his lips and stares across the bar that the poets decided to meet at in order to catch up with one another. It's been about three years, but instead of catching up, Steven feels more like he's babysitting than drinking with some high school buddies. Knox and Gerard are far past their limits of alcoholic beverage consumption, singing loudly along to songs they don't know, in an off-key and out-of-tune fashion, swaying back and forth with their arms around each other's shoulders. Todd is merely staring into the amber liquid that fills half of his glass, a cigarette smoldering limply from his hand. He sees nothing and hears nothing of the world surrounding him, choosing instead to lose himself in his own mind, travelling back to happier times when the group was whole and complete, without a gaping chasm that will never be filled. And Charlie…well, Charlie is the reason Steven is staring so longingly across the room, through the smoke and the mildewy haze of the bar.
In order to catch a glimpse of the cocky long-ago classmate, Steven has to search through the small crowd of scantily clad women that have positioned themselves around Charlie. This worst nightmare of a claustrophobic is where Charlie fits in perfectly, enjoying the attention he receives. Hell, Charlie doesn't even have to try. He walks past and heads turn, no matter if you're female or male. There's a charisma about him that captures your intrigue, if only for a moment. Most guys end up shaking their head, as if coming out of a daze, and go back to whatever meaningless thing it was they were doing before Charlie interrupted them by strutting so near. But the women, they stare blatantly, and in high school, before things got complicated, Cameron once calculated the amount of girls that visibly and tangibly drooled.
Steven wishes he was in the male group, able to brush off the short instant in which he was intrigued by another man. But he's not. He leans more to the drooling side, although he's never been caught with spittle running down his chin. Steven's too smart for that. Instead, he carries a hanky, in order to meticulously "blow his nose" or "clean his glasses."
He can feel the fire of jealously rise inside of him as one of Charlie's arms slips around the waist of a girl off to the side, pulling her closer, while his other hand slips up a short skirt. If it were any other guy, the girl most likely would have slapped him. But this is Charlie, and no one slaps Charlie. They just giggle and press up against him, mewing for more like a cat begging for milk. When the girl actually cries out in what can only be described as shock and pleasure, Steven tears his eyes away and mirrors Todd, glaring into his untouched drink. His eyes flit over to Knox and Gerard, who are now discussing the effects of mêlée weapons versus guns when it comes to zombie invasions. "I'm going to head out…class in the morning…" he mutters, patting Todd on the shoulder, who stares up at him with bleary blue eyes that really aren't registering Steven. Knox and Gerard suggest taking the shotgun that hangs above the bar, just in case an outbreak of the rage virus has spread through the city. Steven lets a small smile cross his face, shaking his head, and walks out the door.
He passes the small congregation of girls around Charlie, accidentally making eye-contact. Charlie raises an eyebrow, giving Steven the usual "where-the-fuck-are-you-going-so-early" look. Steven shrugs and forges on towards the door, hinges screaming, until he's finally out into the cold, quiet night. He glances up at the sky, watching as flakes of soft snow lazily make their way down from the heavens, and is only mildly surprised when he's joined by Charlie, cupping a cigarette that he holds between his lips, trying to light it without the disturbance of the wind.
"Where do you think you're going, Meeks?" he asks with a grin when he finally manages to take a hefty drag, blowing the smoke out in small circles. "We haven't even had fun yet."
Steven stares over at him blankly. "I've got class in the morning."
"It's a Friday night, Meeks."
"I have homework."
"You certainly know how to kill an evening."
Steven licks his lips and continues to just stare as Charlie puffs like a smokestack. "Those'll kill you someday."
Charlie snorts, "Don't pay attention to those ridiculous studies. I've been smoking since I was twelve and I'm healthy as an ox…or whatever the saying is."
Steven rolls his eyes. "I really have to go."
"No you don't. You're just upset that I've got all the girls and I'm not leaving any for the rest of you sad saps." Charlie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. "Don't you worry Meeksie; I've got a pretty, not to mention perky, little blonde slotted out just for you."
He claps his arm around Steven's shoulders, turning him as if to go back inside the bar, but Steven refuses, shoving away Charlie's hold. "I don't want some blonde girl," he protests. "God, Charlie…you act as if I never even told you." Steven shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks at the fresh snow on the sidewalk. "I'm not going to change."
Charlie stands in the snow, right in front of the door, debating what to do. He licks his lips and sighs. "I'm not going to change, either. I love boobs. I'm not going to say no to a horde of them cornering me in a bar, no matter how much you disapprove."
They've been through this before.
Charlie released an irritated huff and lit another cigarette, stamping the butt of the first one out. "Look, Meeks, I'm no sooner going to turn homo than you're going to go and get hard for a pair of tits, so can we drop the attitude and get on with our lives?"
Steven's cheeks burned, clenching his fists. "I have been trying to get on with my life Charlie, but you won't let me. You continue to shove 'perky' girls my way, even though you know nothing is going to happen."
"Well that's what a good friend does: hooks his mates up with…well…a fucking hot mate. Being perky is part of that hotness."
Steven shakes his head, letting out a bitter chuckle. "Hooking me up with someone that's good looking is fine. You just can't seem to ever get anyone that's the right gender."
Charlie takes a long drag as he looks Steven over. Letting his breath out slowly, he considers his ginger friend. "Well…the perky blonde was checking you out as you walked by, you know."
"Charlie!" Steven yells, close to losing his patience altogether. "I'm not interested in women! I'm interested in you!"
Charlie blinks. He's heard this before, but he's kept it locked away in the recesses of his mind. "I need a cigarette," he flatly says in quick staccato, fumbling for his pack and sucking on the third cig in the past ten minutes. After inhaling his toxic smoke, Charlie licks his lips and clears his throat. "So…you're still on me, huh?" It had been three years since the Poets had all been together, two since Steven had confessed to liking him, and one since Charlie'd been able to pretty much pretend what happened between the two of them was all a dream.
Steven sighs, staring at the ground and watching his breath steam from his mouth in the cool December air. "Yeah, Charlie…still you." It shouldn't have been hard to understand, Charlie hooked people more often than not. He had to be used to it by now.
"God damn it, Meeks," Charlie grumbles, running a hand through his hair and tossing the half-burned cigarette into the slush, listening to it sizzle on the wet ground.
Before Steven knows what's happening, Charlie's shoving him—quite roughly—against the brick wall of the bar, pressing every inch of himself against Steven. Lips to lips, chest to chest, hips to hips, groin to groin, toes to toes, and all Steven can do is stand there numbly, eyes wide, waiting for it all to end so he can ask just what the fuck Charlie is doing.
But it doesn't end. Charlie continues to kiss him, his hands clenching onto Steven's coat, squirming past the zipper and finding their way beneath the sweater vest and button up that Steven is wearing, until Charlie's fingers find skin, spreading out across Steven's abdomen. Steven can't help but let out a small whine, which just boosts Charlie's already over-inflated ego, and his hands dip to another zipper of Steven's, tugging it down.
This is where Steven stops him, shoving Charlie away firmly and shaking his head. "You can't do this to me, Charlie, not again," he scolds, wiping at his eyes and sniffing. It's not fair the way Charlie can play for both teams without feeling a thing. The way he can go around and fuck with everyone—literally and metaphorically. Steven licks his lips, breathing ragged, and glances down at his pants, hurriedly zipping them and tucking his shirt in once again.
Charlie raises an eyebrow. "Meeks, what's the matter? That's what you want, right? A nice, good fuck. And I'm here and willing."
Steven glances up, his jaw slightly hanging, and it finally clicks in his mind that Charlie will never understand. He gulps. "What's the matter?" he replies, a feral tone in his voice. "The matter is, Dalton, that I don't just want a 'nice, good fuck;' I don't want to be called Meeks anymore, I've got a first name, you know; and I really, really, don't want you to try and hook me up with perky blondes because you think that's going to…to…I don't know! Fix me or something!" He throws his hands up in frustration. "I'm gay and I like you, but I don't want a one night stand."
Charlie sighs. "But the two we've had were so fun, Meeksie." He pauses. "…Steven."
Steven blinks. "It's a start." And with that, he turns away from Charlie and heads down the sidewalk in the direction of his apartment, leaving tracks in the new snow that he knows Charlie will follow. Charlie will follow them, knock on his door, be forgiven without asking for forgiveness, and they'll fuck. Charlie will slip from the bed, pull on his clothes, leave before Steven wakes, and Steven will hate himself for letting it happen again. Another year will pass, and the process will repeat itself.
Such is the cycle of Steven and Charlie.
Author's Note: I'm not sure if this is the end, or if I'll continue with this fun little angst-fest.