Title: Gone
Pairing: D/J Slash but not that explicit.
Summary: A drunken night changes Drake and Josh's relationship forever.
Disclaimer: This is an unauthorized work of fiction. Drake & Josh is owned by Nickelodeon.
Status Update: I'm taking a class so I got busy, but each night I think and have it all worked out in my head...I just have to write it! It is going to start getting exciting! :D

Chapter 1: Josh

Josh steps into the shower to try to revive the working parts of his head. Under a rain of water he is able to breathe deeply without wanting to throw up again, but he is unable stop his knees from swaying so he carefully lowers himself down into the tub. The porcelain is cool and soothing against his skin and the sprinkles on his back feel like little pats "it'll be OK, it'll be OK". Only now that he feels partly human again the events that led to him this unfortunate situation--head aching, mouth dry, stomach raw and heaving--starts to come back to him like the beginning of a ratcheting silent film.

He remembers Drake dragging him to a college party after afternoon swim practice. Why did he want him to go with him to this event so desperately? Oh yes, a girl he was meeting there needed a "safe" companion for her friend. Something like that, his painful head tells him, the same old story only this time the other girl doesn't show up and Drake abandoned him to take off with someone else, again. Josh was so tired from swimming a mile and a half in laps, and so thirsty that he decided to rest a little while in the corner and drink a few cupfuls of the cranberry punch before walking home. At some point he noticed the dance music began to slow and the room started to become unfocused. After a few more cups voices melded together and it didn't matter that Drake had left him alone and car-less, he felt excellent. And then he wasn't alone, so many faces and hands around him, wanting to talk, wanting to dance, he thinks someone actually tried to kiss him. He recalls how good it felt not to care about Drake and be sought after by the older college kids. And even more remarkable, that people, smart non-geek ones, actually want to listen to him talk and were laughing along with him.

Then Drake's handsome face blurred in and out in front of him like he was seeing him through a rotating camera lens unable to focus. Drake was yelling at him about vodka and he looked so mad. Josh couldn't understand what was the cause of this anger yet allowed himself to be led reluctantly away from his new friends. The sounds of the party he loved so much, the ice clinking into glasses, the spurts of laughter, the faint pitch of music faded until he could only hear himself say over and over "I'm sorry Drake, I'm sorry". He can not remember the car ride home, just Drake's rough hand over his mouth to stop his laughing as they sneaked inside their house. And then there was something else ...

Oh my god, he suddenly remembers in vivid technicolor. The memory causes him to clench his eyes shut and lean his head against the wall tiles. The tub is blessedly steady and not spinning under him.

It was Josh's idea. It was his doing. Once Drake dragged him into their room he must of stumbled, or swayed, allowing him push Drake against the wall so hard that he felt his stepbrother's hip bones dig into his. Or did he slam him against the wall? God, he hopes not. He remembers Drake's face was shadowed in the darkness, it was not possible to see his expression or the freckles he knew were there, so he continued to push against him because he was drunk and didn't care about consequences. He ran his hand down a bare arm, the hard line of it, feathered with soft hair and he breathed heavily into his neck. And before he could do anything else, Drake bent his head towards him, chest heaving, hands fisted on his collar, and kissed him, straight across the mouth. He had never known a mouth could taste that good, so good and tight around his, making his head swim -- or was that the alcohol, he no longer could differentiate. He grasped at Drake's face with clumsy hands while other fingers roamed down his sides and tugged on his belt loops to lead him to the bed. Josh then felt himself spiraling on top of Drake as legs straddled firmly around his hips.

"Oh ... my... god," he says out loud to no one. Now he remembers it all: the yanking of T-shirts over heads, the burrowing of fingers into his ass, the sudden pain of greedy mouth on the side of his neck -- all done with an urgency, a haste, a feeling that, perhaps, if this isn't done quickly it would not happen. They became simply lovers --no names, no stepbrothers, no genders, just them and they had wanted each other so bad, so bad.

Josh opens his eyes and the bathroom is suddenly too sunny, the present tense too bright. The water falling against the porcelain is too loud. He carefully touches the side of his neck and feels the bruise of a hickey. It wasn't a dream, it really happened. He uses a wobbly arm to push himself up. He stumbles out of the shower and wraps a towel loosely around his torso. He needs to find Drake but only manages to shuffle through the hall and crawl back into his bed. And despite feeling like he just threw up his stomach, lungs, and liver, and despite his head squeezing in pain with each heartbeat, he falls back asleep with a smile.