Ephram wouldn't be in Bright Abbott's room if it weren't
for the fact that Bright has an X-Box there. He would be at home, happily
playing on his own, except for the fact that his game system is in the
living room, and so is his father, who shooed him out of the house so that he
could wrap Christmas presents while Delia's out of the house, too. Like they
don't already know what he bought them. Delia's a very good snoop.
So he'll settle playing some stupid car racing game with Bright only because he
can't play one of his own games at home. It's not like it's actually more fun
to play some stupid game with Bright, who makes these funny noises when he's
playing, and moves his head around like it's going to direct his car or
something.
And also, he's very pointedly not sneaking looks at Bright out of the
corner of his eye to see how damn good Bright looks. Because it's not really
that he looks different than he used to -- though his hair is a bit longer --
it's just that Ephram hasn't seen him in, like, four months, since Bright left
for college. That's why his stomach gave a funny little flip whenever he first
saw Bright again, Ephram decides.
Bright's car crashes, he makes this weird groan/moan sound, and then pauses the
game just before Ephram gets to his last lap. "I have a question," he
says.
"That's nice." Ephram glares at the paused screen.
"But it's kind of stupid."
"That's never stopped you from asking before."
Bright takes a deep breath. "How narcissistic do you have to be to want to
fuck yourself?"
That makes Ephram turn to face Bright, eyebrows raised. "Second only to
the guy who turned into a flower, I'd say. Why? Have you been staring at
yourself in the mirror again?"
"No, Ephram, I leave the fawning over me to countless hordes of admirers,
actually. I was asking because I was watching Fight Club, right?"
"How would I know if you were watching Fight Club?" Ephram asks,
smirking.
"Asshole. It wasn't a question."
"So that's why your inflection lifted at the end of the sentence. Because
it was a not-question. I see."
Bright huffs, which is kind of funny. Ephram doesn't think he's ever heard
Bright huff before.
"Whatever," Bright says. "So I was saying that I was watching
Fight Club, and it totally seems like the Narrator wants Tyler. Like, wants
wants him. But then if Tyler is actually him, then that sort of makes it to
where he really wants to fuck himself."
"Agreed."
"So isn't that weird?"
"I don't know. Would you fuck yourself?" Ephram asks, and struggles
to keep a straight face. The weirdness level of this conversation is off the
charts.
Bright actually looks thoughtful, then he shrugs. "Would you?"
"Fuck you or myself?"
"Ha, like anyone could resist me. I meant would you fuck yourself,
dumbass," Bright says.
"As many times as I've been told to do so, I haven't actually given it a
lot of thought. But I guess I would." Ephram grins. "Isn't that kind
of what masturbation is, anyway?"
"Not really. I mean, that's sort of a last resort. Like, for when you
can't have sex with anyone else. You don't really want to fuck yourself; you're
actually kind of settling for yourself."
Ephram stares at Bright for a minute. "Has college just made you really
good at BS'ing, or did that sort of made sense?"
"I've learned a lot of stuff at college," Bright says, leaning back
on his elbows and lifting an eyebrow.
Ephram tries really hard not to gape, because that really seems like an
invitation, and unless Bright's changed a lot, Ephram's not thinking
that's what Bright would be going for. Although that pose all but points a
flashing arrow down to Bright's crotch. Which Ephram is not staring at.
Apparently, though, Ephram doesn't succeed in not gaping, because Bright says,
"Dude, is there something wrong, or are you practicing your nutcracker
impression?"
Ephram blinks. "Nutcracker?" he chokes out. "What are you
talking about?" Because it sounds kind of dirty, he doesn't add.
"You know, those wooden nutcrackers that are painted to look like little
Russian guys. And they have those levers in their backs that you push down or
pull up to make their mouths open and close, and you..." Bright's hands
stop mid-motion, from where he was attempting to demonstrate his point.
"Never mind."
Ephram shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Why are you asking me about this
Fight Club stuff, anyway?"
"Well, it's not exactly something I could ask my roommate, is it?"
Bright shifts, and his eyes avoid Ephram's. "I mean, can you imagine?
'Hey, Doug? What do you think, does the narrator in Fight Club want to fuck
Tyler Durden?' Yeah, that wouldn't be awkward."
"And yet you don't mind asking me," Ephram says.
"Nah. I mean, you're weird. If that makes you think I'm weird, it's not
like you can shun me then; I'd be one of your own."
"What a sweet sentiment." Ephram rolls his eyes.
"So back to my point," Bright prods Ephram's leg with his foot.
"Was it at all normal that the Narrator wanted to fuck himself?"
"You're asking me if the guy who had a split personality, one of whom beat
himself up, gave himself chemical burns, and blew up his own apartment was
normal. You're right, that is a stupid question."
Bright scowls. "Hey, isn't that movie a little too mainstream for you,
anyway? You're supposed to be all into weird shit."
"We've just established that you've seen the movie. And if that isn't
'weird shit' I don't know what your definition would entail," Ephram says.
"And actually, anything with Edward Norton is fair game to us
weirdoes."
"Right," Bright says. "I don't know. It didn't seem weird until
the end, when you found out that Tyler sort of was the narrator. Up until then
it made sense that the Narrator would do pretty much whatever Tyler said. He's
just that kind of guy who could convince you to do anything. You could
understand why the Narrator would want him."
"Really?" Ephram asks.
"You didn't feel that way?"
"No, I did. It just...seems weird that you did." And it really does.
Because Bright isn't exactly the type Ephram would have pinned to see the
sexual dynamic between those two.
"Well, I'm full of surprises," Bright says, wry twist to his mouth.
"Are you now?" Ephram asks contemplatively.
"I might have another stupid question," Bright says after a pause.
"I am Jack's complete lack of surprise," Ephram says, and he hardly
flinches when Bright punches him in the arm.
Bright laughs a little bit, and Ephram finds that it's a sound he's sort of
missed.
"Would you fight me?" Bright asks.
"What?" Ephram says. "That's ridiculous! We don't have a reason
to fight each other anymore."
"I know," Bright says. "I told you it was a stupid question.
Just...forget it."
"All right." Ephram shrugs. "You should have known the answer,
anyway. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Besides, have you looked at me lately? With
my muscle mass, I would be an idiot to even try to get into a fight, especially
with you."
"Which is why you would be the Narrator," Bright says.
"Jesus, Bright! Is that what you were leading to?" Ephram shakes his
head. "I'm not having this conversation; they're the same person!"
And, you know, one of them wanted to fuck the other one, Ephram thinks.
"Well, not exactly," Bright says. "I mean, they interacted and
stuff."
Ephram laughs. "What, so you think you would be Tyler Durden?"
Bright's such a cocky bastard.
"Yeah. Why not?" Bright asks, sounding defensive.
"Well, partly because he's an evil mastermind. Have you ever even had
an evil master plan?"
"It doesn't matter. You look more like Edward Norton."
"Great reasoning, there." Ephram rolls his eyes. "No, you would
be the Narrator, because you're normal and boring. I'd be Tyler Durden because
I'm weird and crazy, remember?" He hopes that Bright won't remember what
he said about how he wasn't going to have this conversation.
Bright frowns, and Ephram grins triumphantly and gets up to stretch, hands
above his head. Ephram gasps and freezes a moment later when Bright smacks his
ass. Turning slowly -- incrementally, really -- Ephram sees Bright's eyes as
wide as his own, face flushed red.
"Is that normal and boring?" Bright asks after a frozen moment of jesusfuckwhatjusthappened.
"Okay," Ephram says, trying to keep his voice even. "You're
definitely the Narrator now, as you're clearly insane! What the fuck was
that?"
"Um." Bright looks desperate. "Reflex? From, ah, playing
sports?"
"Yeah, because I just made a really great play," Ephram says
sarcastically. "And you know, it's not very convincing when you say it
like you're asking me instead of telling me. Besides, you haven't been on a
team in over a year, so I'm not about to buy that crap." He crosses his arms,
waiting for an explanation.
Bright stares down at his feet while he toes the carpet with one socked foot.
"Uh, you might actually be right. About me being the Narrator, that
is."
Ephram furrows his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I." Bright clears his throat and looks back up at Ephram. "I
might sort of, uh, want you."
"Really?" Ephram asks, voice squeaking on the word, and it feels like
his eyebrows should be meeting his hairline right about now.
"Really," Bright says. "Would you be willing to allow one more
somewhat stupid question?"
"By all means," Ephram says, meeting Bright's gaze curiously, and
still more than a little shocked.
"Hmm. Well, uh, this is going to sound really weird, but..."
"Weirder than what you already said?" Ephram says under his breath.
Bright takes a deep breath and lets his words tumble out as he exhales, looking
determined. "Can I kiss you?"
Ephram blinks. "That was forward."
"And here I thought not asking would be forward." Bright licks
his lips, says, "And it can't be any more forward than what I've already
said. Or, um, done, actually."
"Yeah, okay." Ephram says, staring at Bright's lips and unconsciously
licking his own lips.
"Okay? About the kiss? Are you sure?" Bright asks.
"Yeah. I mean, yes." Ephram laughs, but cuts the sound short, because
um. Kissing and stuff. Awkward.
"Wow, I never really thought you'd say yes," Bright says.
"Then why'd you ask? Don't you want to kiss me?" Awkward, indeed,
Ephram thinks.
"No, I mean, yeah! It's just... Well, I always kind of thought you were,
um, straight," Bright says. "Until you agreed about how
understandable it was that one guy would want to fuck another guy, and you
didn't walk out when I, uh, you know." He gestures to Ephram's ass, and Ephram
feels his face flushing. Bright's mouth -- which, by the way, Ephram is still
staring at -- quirks.
Ephram finally finds words. "Straight? I don't know about that. I like to
see myself as an equal opportunity kind of guy."
"So this is okay, then?" Bright asks, finally standing up and taking
a step toward Ephram.
Ephram jumps a little when Bright's hand trails down his back to rest on his
hip. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, you're in college now. You're
supposed to be experimenting."
Bright nods. "What's your excuse, then? You're still in high school,"
he says, but he leans toward Ephram, anyway.
"I don't have to have an excuse. Maybe I just want to be a gay sex
prodigy, and I have to get a head start on this sort of stuff," Ephram
breathes, so close to Bright that he can count the freckles on the bridge of
Bright's nose.
Bright smiles and closes that last bit of space separating their lips, and
Ephram goes about getting his head start.
END.
