A/N: Much love to my reviewers; you guys make me feel special! A little slash-suggestive bit, let's see how well this goes over, ne? Since I have three out-and-out slash votes (and Katie... heehee ^_^), I'm pretty sure that this will garner a good response.
****
"Might as Well, Part Five"
["Fit the mold and do what you're told/ Get a job and start growing old/ 9 to 5 can make your dreams come true/ But I don't wanna be like you/ I'm not cool and I'll never be/ I break the rules and I guarantee/ I don't want your sympathy/ I just need a little therapy/ At least that's what they say to me/
Hey ho let's go/ I'm gonna start a riot/ You don't wanna fight it/ One two fuck you/ Don't tell me what to do/ I don't wanna be like you/ Can't you see it's killing me/ I'm my own worst enemy/ Knock me down I'll keep on moving/ It's the art of losing/
You call me a loser/ Say I'm just a user/ But I'll just keep on moving/ Cause that's the art of losing."
--from "The Art of Losing" by American Hi-Fi]
Two days after scolding Fulton about his two of five goal to attempts ratio, Coach was waiting for Averman and the Bash Brothers as they left the Performing Arts Building. (Averman had put in a good word for Dean, who had expressed an interest in joining the Drill and Dance Team. [1]) He had his back to them, though, and Averman spotted the coach first.
"Aw, crap," Averman groaned, taking cover behind the Bashes. "Looks like Orion's out for our blood again, Fulton."
"Or at least our pain and suffering," Fulton deadpanned.
Dean was reluctant to leave his best friend to the whims of Coach Orion, who was shaping up to be even worse than Coach Bombay in his 'Captain Blood' reign of terror. He'd been running Fulton and Averman ragged at the team practices in an attempt to improve their scoring abilities, and he'd arranged special lunchtime and after-school drills for them to do.
"Run, Portman, bef--" Averman cut himself off as Orion turned around and saw them. "Oh, God, we made eye contact."
Dean struggled to keep the grin off his face as he replied, "We are being pulled in by his tractor beam and we can't escape. [2]"
"You can," Fulton corrected. "Don't you have some research to do on that cell-division report in science?"
Dean took his advice and left.
****
Neither of the two were in the commons when Dean came back from the library. Fulton didn't come up to the room by nine o'clock, when Dean was yawning back tiredness born of boredom. Finally, by nine forty-five, Dean was too tired to care where Fulton was--he was probably passed out on the couch downstairs anyway--and fell asleep curled up under the blankets.
****
Dean awoke and came to the groggy realization that there was a large, heavy something lying on top of him. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the bleariness from his eyes, and realized that what was lying on top of him was actually a large, heavy /someone./ Fulton Reed, to be exact, sprawled half over his chest, half on the wrinkled mass of blankets that had twisted off of him.
Giving Fulton's shoulder a gently insistent shake, Dean was awarded only with an unintelligible muttering and having Fulton snuggle closer to him. "Fulton!" He hissed sharply, lightly punching the other boy's arm.
"Mmhmm?" Fulton lifted his head, blinking bemusedly. "Whassa matter?"
"Bro, I think you're in the wrong bed," Dean replied, biting his tongue afterward to keep from laughing at the adorably confused look on Fulton's face as he processed this information. Fulton put his head back down and mumbled,
"Too tired."
"Do you even care that we're sharing a bed that will probably break under our combined weight?" Dean inquired dryly. He felt Fulton shaking his head, and the dark-eyed boy replied sleepily, his voice muffled by Dean's tee shirt,
"Nnhh-hhm. You're warm."
Dean rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with a sleep-deprived Fulton Reed. It was almost as bad as when he was drunk. Fulton's body shifted against his own, fitting comfortably, and the mostly-asleep Bash Brother made an amusing sound of content and sighed deeply.
Dean responded with a sigh of his own and wrestled a blanket out from beneath the two of them to cover Fulton with. "G'night, Fult," he whispered lovingly, putting an arm around Fulton's body and stroking his dark, silk-soft hair until they were both asleep and snoring.
~~ætre continuŽ...~~
A/N: French this time. I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify and remind everyone that Portman and Fulton were/are just best friends up to this point. Next chapter includes mortified Fulton and sexually-indecisive Dean. Funfun.
Review, you lazy lurkers (not talking about you, Katie ::hugs::), or I'll sic Connie and Tammy das Wunderbitch on you. Connie bites (just ask Guy), but Tammy will probably bury an ice-skate in your forehead.
[1] I couldn't resist! May dancing Portmans haunt your dreams!
[2] "Wayne's World! Wayne's World! Party time, excellent!" I stole this gag from WeBuiltThisCityOnRockAndRoll. Sorry, hun.
****
"Might as Well, Part Five"
["Fit the mold and do what you're told/ Get a job and start growing old/ 9 to 5 can make your dreams come true/ But I don't wanna be like you/ I'm not cool and I'll never be/ I break the rules and I guarantee/ I don't want your sympathy/ I just need a little therapy/ At least that's what they say to me/
Hey ho let's go/ I'm gonna start a riot/ You don't wanna fight it/ One two fuck you/ Don't tell me what to do/ I don't wanna be like you/ Can't you see it's killing me/ I'm my own worst enemy/ Knock me down I'll keep on moving/ It's the art of losing/
You call me a loser/ Say I'm just a user/ But I'll just keep on moving/ Cause that's the art of losing."
--from "The Art of Losing" by American Hi-Fi]
Two days after scolding Fulton about his two of five goal to attempts ratio, Coach was waiting for Averman and the Bash Brothers as they left the Performing Arts Building. (Averman had put in a good word for Dean, who had expressed an interest in joining the Drill and Dance Team. [1]) He had his back to them, though, and Averman spotted the coach first.
"Aw, crap," Averman groaned, taking cover behind the Bashes. "Looks like Orion's out for our blood again, Fulton."
"Or at least our pain and suffering," Fulton deadpanned.
Dean was reluctant to leave his best friend to the whims of Coach Orion, who was shaping up to be even worse than Coach Bombay in his 'Captain Blood' reign of terror. He'd been running Fulton and Averman ragged at the team practices in an attempt to improve their scoring abilities, and he'd arranged special lunchtime and after-school drills for them to do.
"Run, Portman, bef--" Averman cut himself off as Orion turned around and saw them. "Oh, God, we made eye contact."
Dean struggled to keep the grin off his face as he replied, "We are being pulled in by his tractor beam and we can't escape. [2]"
"You can," Fulton corrected. "Don't you have some research to do on that cell-division report in science?"
Dean took his advice and left.
****
Neither of the two were in the commons when Dean came back from the library. Fulton didn't come up to the room by nine o'clock, when Dean was yawning back tiredness born of boredom. Finally, by nine forty-five, Dean was too tired to care where Fulton was--he was probably passed out on the couch downstairs anyway--and fell asleep curled up under the blankets.
****
Dean awoke and came to the groggy realization that there was a large, heavy something lying on top of him. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the bleariness from his eyes, and realized that what was lying on top of him was actually a large, heavy /someone./ Fulton Reed, to be exact, sprawled half over his chest, half on the wrinkled mass of blankets that had twisted off of him.
Giving Fulton's shoulder a gently insistent shake, Dean was awarded only with an unintelligible muttering and having Fulton snuggle closer to him. "Fulton!" He hissed sharply, lightly punching the other boy's arm.
"Mmhmm?" Fulton lifted his head, blinking bemusedly. "Whassa matter?"
"Bro, I think you're in the wrong bed," Dean replied, biting his tongue afterward to keep from laughing at the adorably confused look on Fulton's face as he processed this information. Fulton put his head back down and mumbled,
"Too tired."
"Do you even care that we're sharing a bed that will probably break under our combined weight?" Dean inquired dryly. He felt Fulton shaking his head, and the dark-eyed boy replied sleepily, his voice muffled by Dean's tee shirt,
"Nnhh-hhm. You're warm."
Dean rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with a sleep-deprived Fulton Reed. It was almost as bad as when he was drunk. Fulton's body shifted against his own, fitting comfortably, and the mostly-asleep Bash Brother made an amusing sound of content and sighed deeply.
Dean responded with a sigh of his own and wrestled a blanket out from beneath the two of them to cover Fulton with. "G'night, Fult," he whispered lovingly, putting an arm around Fulton's body and stroking his dark, silk-soft hair until they were both asleep and snoring.
~~ætre continuŽ...~~
A/N: French this time. I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify and remind everyone that Portman and Fulton were/are just best friends up to this point. Next chapter includes mortified Fulton and sexually-indecisive Dean. Funfun.
Review, you lazy lurkers (not talking about you, Katie ::hugs::), or I'll sic Connie and Tammy das Wunderbitch on you. Connie bites (just ask Guy), but Tammy will probably bury an ice-skate in your forehead.
[1] I couldn't resist! May dancing Portmans haunt your dreams!
[2] "Wayne's World! Wayne's World! Party time, excellent!" I stole this gag from WeBuiltThisCityOnRockAndRoll. Sorry, hun.
