dA/N: Hey, I just wrote this whole thing tonight while I should have been getting lots of much needed sleep, so be generous, k? It's School of Rock, and yes, it's slash, but it take place five years after the movie, so the kids are older, so cut me some slack, 'k? This might be one-shot, but I don't think it is…I gave it an ending so that I can leave it as it is if I'm not inspired to write more, but I've already gotten ideas for more to it, so let me know if you want more! ^____^
Pairing: Freddy/Zack. YES, it's slash, so if you can't deal with it, leave NOW! This is five years after the movie, so both boys are 15 now, so cut me some freaking slack, k?
Summary: As a15 year old punk drummer, Freddy is basically in like Flynn with any girl he wants. But what if he doesn't want any of the girls? Freddy POV on the one he truly wants, possibly one-shot, let me know what you want.
Dedication: BEN! Who's going to teach me to play bass guitar! AlRIGHT! ^_____^
Miraged: Thank you so so sooooooooooo much for giving me Zach's last name! I seriously spent hours searching and couldn't find it! I love you forever! ^___________^ Thankies!
The School of Rock has been playing for five whole years now, and shockingly, we haven't lost a member yet, or broken up, or suffered any of those other band tragedies you read about in magazines, or watch on those cheesy TV specials on VH1. Nah, we've actually been doing pretty damn well for ourselves. We've all improved loads, and Dewey is pretty damn proud of us, or at least, that's what he says, and hey, I got no reason to doubt him. Dewey believes in us. Yeah, he used us, but…hell, why am I trying to explain it to you? You can't understand it unless you're part of the band, and you're not.
Band practice is the one thing I really look forward to each week. It's the one place where we can really be ourselves…though it's getting easier at school and at home. Our parents have really loosened up…or at least, I know that mine have. They're having a bit of trouble adjusting to the punk clothing, but as long as I keep up the grades…you know what I mean…as long as I study, I come out on top. I'm not an idiot- I just don't like studying, and before I never had a real reason to. I feel like Dewey really fucking liberated me when he came to school. I was such a nothing…such a nobody. Not that I really am now…I mean, the girls all think I'm the cat's pajamas or some such shit…they like me now that punk is in, now that my sweatbands and spiked hair and baggy plaid floods are cool. And I guess I'm really lucky, because I'm told constantly that drummers are "like, totally the hottest," so I guess that when it comes to girls, I'm in like Flynn. It's too bad I don't really want any of them.
Don't get me wrong, I got no problem with girls. I'm not gay. I just…I don't want them. None of them do anything for me. Once again, I'm not gay…not that there's anything wrong with gay people. There's not. I just…I don't know. The girls in the band are cool, and the roadies, and even Summer has chilled a little, but the rest of those girls I've got no fucking time for. They only like me now because I'm the cool punk drummer with a rebellious streak and an attitude problem, because I'm always the first one to fight back against The Man. They had no interest in me before when they were still snot-nosed little suck ups constantly toeing the line, so I got no interest or time to waste on them. I'll just stick with those who liked me from the start…and, if I have my way, one in particular.
I glance up from the sheet music that I'm pretending to study and allow my eyes to settle on the lithe form across the room. He's sitting on Dewey's table, dark head bent studiously over his guitar as he plucks away, probably working on a new song. I sigh, folding my arms across my drum set and resting my chin on them, allowing myself a good long stare. His face is rather serious, but his dark eyes have an excitement in them that never used to be there, except when he was playing guitar. He was such a quiet, studious boy, yet I always liked him. I don't know why, but I've always felt an affinity with Zack. I've always gotten along pretty well with him, though we never talked much. He was so silent, and after the first time I saw his father, I understood why. I mean, that man was a terror. I'm really glad that he's lightened up a lot, that he's letting Zack stick with rock. I mean, Zack's good. Not like the rest of us. I mean, we're all pretty damn good, but what Zack's got is just pure, natural skill, flowing out of his fingertips like a river to the ocean. He's got it. He really has. And I am just so insanely glad that he's being given this chance, and not just for the purely selfish reason that it allows me to see him more often. I'm glad that he's being allowed to do this, because when he's got that guitar in his hands, he smiles and it plain lights up the entire room. His face just glows with pure joy and radiance, and I just want to touch him, to see if his skin burns my hand. Not that that's the only reason that I want to touch him…
Having my hormones kick in has been a real pain in the ass. As I said, I've always liked Zack, but it was never a problem till now. Before, I just…knew…instinctively that what I felt for him was not just normal friendship. But I didn't really have to think about it, ya know? I mean, my hormones were dormant and silent, allowing me to play my drums and do my schoolwork and go about my business like a proper little prep school boy. Now, every second of the 24 hour day, my body is like, in fucking overdrive or something…and yeah, it's even at night. Zack is even in my dreams. And whereas before I could just be content to stare at him and think happy thoughts, now every fiber of my being tells me to run over and jump him, and this is even when I'm not looking at him.
I keep hoping that he'll glance my way, but that doesn't happen, and it's probably better that it doesn't…I mean really, what would I say? Yet my stupid rebellious mind takes over again and I find myself rising to my feet and walking across the room towards him. I feel my foot bump into something and, looking down, I see the top hat that Dewey gave Zack to replace the one he threw to the crowd at our first concert. I scoop it up and peer at it for a moment and I shake my head, smiling. It's such the perfect Zack accessory. Whereas I am the rebel punk, the smartass troublemaker, Zack is the epitome of the nerdy punk, and a satin top hat is the perfect addition to his outfit. It's got a shocking glitter spangled purple ribbon tied around it. I stifle my smile and continue on my way. He doesn't even notice my approach, and doesn't glance up as I plop down on the table that he's leaning against. I unceremoniously dump the hat on his head, over his eyes.
"GAH!" He cries out in surprise as the hat drops down straight over his eyes, blocking out all light. I lean close to him.
"Whatcha doing, Jimi Hendrix? Writing some more stellar songs for us?" I ask teasingly, my voice half a whisper. He pushes the hat up and out of his eyes and turns to me, a wide smile on his face.
"Shut up, Freddy. I'm not that good."
"Shut up, yeah you are."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am NOT!"
"Are TOO!" And I shove the hat over his eyes again. He trips backwards and I'm on my feet in an instant, grabbing the guitar with one hand and placing the other one behind his back, saving him and his precious instrument at the same time. When I haul him back to his feet, he comes crashing into me, the guitar pressed tightly between us and we're so close that it's painful, but neither of us moves. He stares at me, breathing heavily from the surprise, and I stare back into those onyx eyes and can't breathe at all.
"Thanks," he says, his voice breathless.
"For what?" I ask. "I didn't do anything."
"Yeah you did! If you hadn't have caught me, I could have broken my guitar!"
"YEAH," I continue, my voice rising a bit in plain irritation at my stupid self, "and it would have been because of ME!"
"Shut up, I don't care about that," he interrupts. "It wasn't your fault…you didn't mean to do it."
"Yeah, like that matters," I mutter. I realize then that I'm still holding him in my arms, but he's made no sign of protestation. I realize that, from where my hand is still tightly clenched about the neck of his guitar, I can feel his heart beating heavily through his chest. But his breathing is normal now. Then why…why is his heart beating so fast? I look up at him and notice that his hat is askew. I release his guitar and reach up to fix the hat, balancing it properly on his head, taking more time about it than I should, anything not to look into his eyes.
"Freddy…"
I look into his eyes…those two beautiful drowning pools of liquid onyx…and do something very foolish. Leaning forward, I feel my eyes sliding slowly shut. I hear his sharp intake of breath, and then I brush my lips up against his, very gently, almost chastely. His lips are oh so soft and I don't ever want to pull back, but then I realize what a stupid thing I'm doing and I pull away slowly, my eyes still shut, wanting to hold this moment in my memory forever. At least when he hates me for this I can have this one happy memory to look back on.
I open my eyes slowly and lock them on his lips, anything to avoid those eyes, for a few more seconds of blissful ignorance of his true feelings. Bad idea. His lips are perfect, and now they are slightly parted after the kiss we just shared and all I want to do is kiss him again.
"Freddy…"
Reluctantly, I peel my eyes off of his lips and allow them to slowly glide up his face until they lock with his own eyes. And I'm shocked. I see no anger in his eyes, no disgust…only a curiosity and yet an understanding which wasn't there before. I stare back into those eyes, my own lips parted now as I attempt to gauge his feelings, my eyes slightly narrowed, not in anger or suspicion, but in curiosity.
"Why'd you do that, Freddy?"
I shrug. "I don't know…I guess…I couldn't help myself." It's not a very good answer, and I know it. He stares at me and I suddenly feel like shooting myself. Instead, I settle for pulling my drumsticks out of my back pocket and, turning away, I begin to hit myself over the head with them, over and over again. "STUPID, Freddy! Stupid stupid stupid stupid!"
A hand grabs the drumsticks before I can hit myself again, and I open my tightly clenched eyes in surprise. Looking up, I see Zack in front of me.
"Don't DO that!" Zack exclaims, somehow managing to sound and look angry, horrified, and amused all at the same time. I stare at him for a moment and then pull the drumsticks out of his hands and whack myself over the head again.
"Stupid stupid stupid-" I continue my ranting, but he grabs them again.
"STOP it, Freddy!" And before I can open my eyes, I feel something soft and satiny brush against my forehead, sending shivers down my spine. I open my eyes slowly and find Zack kissing the throbbing spot on my forehead where I had been hitting myself. He pulls back, eyes closed, then slowly opens them and meets my confused stare. I arch one eyebrow at him and he flushes and looks away. "Don't fucking do that, you idiot!"
"Yes, I AM an idiot, and that's WHY I'm doing it." I go to raise the drumsticks again and he grabs them, holding them down about waist height. It's then that I notice that he is no longer wearing his guitar. I glance to my left and see it laid gently on the table I had sat on before, the table I had been standing next to when I kissed him. A strangled noise escapes my throat and I tug hard on the drumsticks, determined to escape, but Zack makes no move to let me go.
"NO," he says, voice very firm. "You aren't going anywhere." And he is nothing like the quiet Zack that I usually see each day.
"HA," I say loudly, an over exaggerated laugh, "How you gonna stop me? You can't keep me here!"
"You wanna BET?" And he tugs forcefully on the drumsticks, pulling me into him and planting his lips firmly over mine, and I'm too shocked to do a thing. It's an awkward kiss at best, but then again, I bet I'm not any great kisser, either. It doesn't last long, and he stares solemnly at me when we separate. "Toldja."
I can't help but smile. "Yup. You sure showed me." He smiles back, a nervous but honest smile.
"So…is…did you…" he seems to be having difficulty finding the words.
"Did I mean it?" I fill in for him.
"…yes." He seems relieved that I filled in the words for him.
"What, the kiss?"
"Yes."
There is a pause as I try to decide what to do. I finally decide that I'm already in up to my neck and sinking fast, so I may as well take the plunge. "…every bit of it," I reply, my voice soft. "Did you?"
He nods. "Yes." And my heart soars as though it has silver wings to fly into the night sky with, and I think he feels the same, because suddenly, there it is: that lovely smile that lights up the entire room, that smile that makes his face glow so much that I want to reach out and touch it, only this time, I do. I place one hand on his cheek, stroking his soft skin gently, and then, his skin really does burn my hand, as his face goes from pale alabaster to hot pink in seconds. I snicker.
"You look like a fucking stop sign, Mooneyham." I tease. He turns even redder at my use of his last name and at my teasing words. "…that just came from a Ketchup factory…" I continue, and he blushes more. "…where they had an Ebola epidemic…" Before I can go on, he pulls my drumsticks out of my hands completely and whacks me over the head with them. "OW!"
"I refuse to apologize, because you deserved it." He glances up at me though, and despite himself, a small, apologetic smile crosses his face. "Sorry." I can't help but grin.
"That really fucking hurt, Zach!"
"Aw, shut up, now I'm sorry that I apologized."
"I will NOT shut up!"
"I bet I could get you to shut up," he says, eyes glittering with mirth and a sly smirk crossing his face.
"And I bet I'd like it, too," I reply, "but I bet I'm going to beat you to it." And before he can utter a word, I grab his loosened school tie and tug him against me, my other hand going up to tangle in his soft brown hair as I kiss him, deeper this time. He resists a bit at first, but quickly gives in, his lips relaxing against mine and his body melting into me and I just can't get enough of him. The top hat falls to the floor, forgotten. I trace my tongue across his lower lip and feel sparks shoot through my body at the tiny shocked gasp he lets out when I do so. His lips part as he gasps and I take advantage of the fact to slide my tongue past his lips and into his mouth, to get more of his taste into my mouth. I run my tongue across the roof of his mouth and he moans somewhere deep in his throat and it just drives me completely wild. I pull away from him but he doesn't open his eyes, merely stands there with his eyes shut tight, his mouth open and his breath coming heavily. "You're so fucking beautiful," I whisper. He opens heat-filled eyes to stare dazedly at me. I brush some hair out of his eyes and smile at him, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his cheek. He tucks his slim fingers through the belt loops on my pants and tugs me into him before wrapping his arms around me, tracing his fingers up and down my back. I've often watched his slim, graceful fingers flit quickly over those guitar strings and wished with all my heart to have those fingers touch me, and now my dream's come true. I take one of his hands in mine and, bringing his hand to my lips, I gently kiss his fingertips.
To me, loving Zack has never been a question. It's been the natural thing to feel, more natural even than breathing…more natural than playing the drums. It sounds clichéd, but it's true. When I walked into that classroom that day and saw the drum set, I felt my heart leap in my chest. I knew instantly that I had found somewhere that I belonged. And when Dewey told me what he wanted me to do, I did it, no problem. The drums just came easily to me, and it's the same with loving Zack. Every time I look at him, my heart starts pounding and my skin feels volcano hot and too small for my body. And now, as my heart leaps when I look into his eyes, I know this time exactly what it's saying. "We're home," it says to me. "We're home."