Everything You've Done Wrong
What would you think if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,
I get high with a little help from my friends
Gonna try with a little help from my friends.
What do you do when my love is away?
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day?
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)
No, I get by with a little help with my friends,
I get high with a little help from my friends,
Gonna try with a little help from my friends.
-The Beatles, With A Little Help From My Friends
Chapter Nine: Look, I'm Breathing
Of course, they wanted everything to be back to normal. But it was hard to feel as if anything was normal when Dutchy was so pale, and so skinny, and really, looked as if he'd been to hell and back, and beaten repeatedly on both trips.
Blink thought that being recovering from things were supposed to look good. So then everyone could say, 'oh, you look fantastic Marge,' or, 'But you're looking so much better, Lou-Anne'.
Blink, being who he knew he was, didn't know what to say, and also knew he was openly staring. Why couldn't he be like Itey? Itey knew what to do. He was acting cautious, but in one of those nice ways that can't offend anybody.
Blink just grumbled and poked at his mic.
Dutchy was staring pointedly at the floor, chin in hands, waiting for everyone else to be ready to go. Race had left for the afternoon; Spot had taken off shortly thereafter (probably to meet up with each other again--they were quite closemouthed about their relationship). David and Mush had left to work on a school assignment together.
Dutchy had spent the day at school hiding in a practice room, skipping his classes, mindlessly playing his guitar. His fingers were blistered, which was saying something because he'd had calluses from the guitar for years now, but he'd been playing for hours. But his teachers wouldn't care. No one cared, really. No one knew how to freaking talk to him.
He sort of wished the principal had stopped in to yell at him for cutting class, but no. He'd just stopped, glanced in the window of the practice room, and shook his head sadly. Dutchy was a screw up druggie, on his first day out of rehab.
He'd expected it at school.
He didn't expect it from his best friends.
Wordlessly, he glanced up as Itey packed away his bass and winced when he unplugged it from the amp--the sound jabbed out into the silent air and made everything more awkward than it already was.
Dutchy hadn't thought that was even possible.
"So..." Dutchy mumbled. They didn't hear him. Or pretended that they didn't. Dutchy rolled his eyes. "SO," he said loudly and pointedly.
Itey and Blink both turned their heads sharply to look at him; Itey recovered quickly however, and smiled easily, but Dutchy knew him so well he could see the pity. And Blink couldn't hide it to save his life.
"Yeah?" Itey said, his voice oddly more high than usual.
"So...Spot and Tony, huh?"
"Yeah."
"When'd that happen?"
"Uh..." Itey shrugged. "While a...go."
While ago meaning 'while you were in rehab, you freaky, coke-addicted guitar-playing SLOB.'
"Oh."
"Yeah, they're real..." Blink tried, hoping to somehow restore normalcy through speech. But it wasn't working, because when he spoke he looked at Dutchy and was suddenly freaked out again. "They're not cute really, they barely talk to each other when other people are around, but they're good for each other. I mean, they're less... Act less like assholes."
"Tony is NOT an asshole," Dutchy snapped defensively, and looked up, and let his eyes meet Blink again.
"Dutchy," Itey said quietly.
"No, I fucking mean that. He--The guy tried to--" He choked on the words, fell silent. He stood up and grabbed his guitar, jerking the case surprisingly hard given how precious the instrument was to him. "Whatever, I'm out of here."
"I'll walk with you," Itey offered, shouldering his bass.
"Don't bother."
"Dutchy," Itey said again. "Don't treat us like this."
He turned around and glared at Itey, probably the first time someone had ever sounded genuinely mad when talking to Itey. "Don't treat YOU like this?" he half-yelled. "Don't treat you like this?"
"I didn't--" Itey was in breathing mode; whenever he seemed close to losing control, he breathed a lot when he spoke. Right now, Dutchy just wanted him to fucking stop breathing and go with what the moment was giving him.
Then again, Blink did that, and Dutchy didn't like that much better.
"Well you've been kind of a dick ever since you got here," Blink said simply, picking at his knuckles (which were red and bloodied from a game of knuckles with Spot earlier in the day).
Itey winced, Dutchy stared. Blink kept picking at his knuckles.
"I'm SORRY," Dutchy snapped. "I forgot how HARD this was for you, RYAN."
Itey tried to save the situation. "He didn't mean it that way, Dutchy--"
"I did too!" Blink snapped. "He doesn't have to act like we don't care about or like we're not his friends. And he HAS been."
"Yeah, I have," Dutchy spat back. "Because you won't fucking TREAT me like your friend, you just stare at me and jump whenever I talk, or move or... Or fucking breathe. And it's making me CRAZY and I can not take another second of it."
Itey winced; he hated conflict. But Blink didn't.
"Yeah, well, what are we supposed to SAY? 'Hey, what's up, how was rehab?'"
"YES," Dutchy answered emphatically. "And then I say, 'It fucking SUCKED,' and you smack me upside the head for being stupid enough to do that shit in the first place, and then we go fucking BACK TO NORMAL."
"Back to normal would be back you sniffing coke," Itey said, his tone turning a little harsh. "It can't ever be back to that."
"Well then let it be back to fucking ANYTHING besides THIS," Dutchy swore as his guitar slip from his grip, and he grabbed the handle with both hands--he was sweating. "Fuck fuck fuck I can't STAND it but at least make it easier to go through by fucking talking to me!"
Itey went back to breathing. "Dutchy, try and understand," he said. "We're not perfect; we don't know what to say."
Which was true, because there was silence.
Dutchy groaned and sank back on to the couch, and finally Blink said quietly--which was a shock in and of itself, because he never did anything quietly--"So, what's up? How was rehab?"
Dutchy managed to give him a wry, not at all sincere smile. "Fucking sucked."
Blink leaned over and smacked him upside the head. "You do that shit again and we'll kill you. You got that, idiot?"
"Got it." Dutchy looked a little relieved.
Itey smiled to himself. Dutchy was usually mellow--though he realized there was a decent chance that had been from the drugs--and screaming Dutchy was frightening. "So why'd it suck?" he asked.
Dutchy looked up at him, no longer angry, just... Fragile. "Because they wouldn't let me have any drugs."
No one was sure if he was kidding or not.
*
Race did not want to take one more step. If he did, that meant he'd have to turn the corner. And if he turned the corner, that meant he'd have to see Dutchy go to court. Seeing Dutchy at court was suddenly scarier than... well, than Race realizing how bad he fucked up the other night. After all, when he turned the corner, he'd be staring right at where he'd been two years ago.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to see that.
"Come on, Tony." David gave his back a friendly push. "We can't be late, remember?...You doing okay?"
Race looked at David pointedly, and then shook his head. "I'm doing shitty."
"So is he."
"Yeah, I know..."
"It'll be fine." David gave his back a pat again. "Come on, you can do this. You've been through worse."
That analogy was probably really unhealthy, but Race didn't dwell on it. So he took one more step, and finally turned sharply to his left, feeling as if he was going to explode. Instead, he saw Dutchy a few paces away, standing by the court doors, looking nervous, twitchy, and absolutely horrible.
Race shuddered nervously, and David shoved him again. When Race started towards Dutchy, David and the others didn't follow, and Race was grateful.
It was like watching a movie; this kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen. When it had happened to Race, for some reason it hadn't feel strange, or impossible. But when he actually saw it, when he could watch... Then, nothing fit.
"Hey," Race croaked out, giving Dutchy's shoulder a punch. Dutchy jumped; he hadn't seen Race. "You look like shit."
Dutchy snorted. "You'd know?"
"I'd know."
"Can't picture you looking like shit."
Race grinned. "Why, thank you."
Dutchy swallowed hard. "Does it... Does it get better? Easier?"
"You get your appetite back," Race said, and no one else dared butt in because... Because they had no idea what to do or say. Race had been right, the morning after; he was the only one who knew what Dutchy was going through.
"I think I'm gonna hurl."
"You'll be fine," Race promised, trying to sound less confident than he felt. He knew for solid fact that Dutchy would be fine, but he couldn't exactly explain that to anyone else.
Dutchy finally mumbled towards the floor, "I fucking wish I was high right now."
"Yeah, I know." Race hesitantly put his hand on Dutchy's shoulder. "Look; just smile at the judge and the lawyers and everyone. When they ask what happened, tell them you did it once at a party, didn't know what you were doing, and the next thing you knew you couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop, that you regret it and you just hope they'll be kind enough to give you a chance to start again..."
Dutchy gave him an odd look. "Yeah?"
"Worked for me." He shrugged. "You're a first time offender and you're still a minor. Just... Tell them know how sorry you really are."
"Yeah," Dutchy said. "Yeah, do I look okay?"
"No, you look like a recovering cocaine addict."
"Thanks."
Race and Dutchy stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything, no one else breaking the moment.
Dutchy, for the first time since he'd OD'd, truly felt that maybe he might not need it. One day. He cleared his throat, and ruffled Race's hair. "Thanks, Midgito."
"Hey," Spot snapped, walking over to join them, sensing that the moment they needed was over. "Only I call him that. Get your own insult."
Dutchy made a face at Spot. "Fine, thanks, Fellow Crack Addict."
"You're welcome, Fellow Fuck Up."
"That's way worse..." Itey whined, and Mush patted his back sympathetically.
"So, time to face the music," Dutchy muttered, took a deep breath, and lead the way in.
"Dude, is his mom even here?" Blink asked, as they walked inside, Dutchy to where he needed to be for the hearing to get started, everyone else to take seats in the audience.
"No," Itey said. "She couldn't make it."
"Why the fuck not?" Race demanded.
"She's in Nevada somewhere." Itey shrugged. "She's a trucker; she's usually gone for a week or two at a time. Couldn't get back in time, I guess."
"God, she's making him go through this alone?" Race muttered. "That's... Fucked up."
"It took the police two days to track her down when... You know."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." Itey cleared his throat a little. "I'm thinking I should maybe see if he'll come crash at my house or something. 'Cause... Uh..."
"It's a stupid idea to let a recovering addict live by himself?" Race suggested. "You can say things like that, Itey. We'd both rather hear you say it than do that nervous cough thing one more goddamn time."
Spot and Jack were looking suspiciously around the room, and David elbowed them both--at the same time--sharply in the ribs. It was impressive how much a middle-aged mother David really was.
"Would you two stop that? You look like criminals," he hissed. Jack shoved him back and Spot snorted.
"Come on, they think we're criminals anyway," Spot mumbled. "Hey, that cop is pretty hot..."
Race glanced over his friends. 'Criminals,' was an exaggeration, but they didn't seem like the sort who frequented courts often. Much like the disastrous dinner at his house that seemed years ago now, though it was only a few weeks, they were dressed nicely. Nicer, actually; somehow, it would have just seemed wrong to wear t-shirts to a trial, or a hearing, or whatever it was. The only one who was truly clear on the details was Race himself, who was also the only one who was wearing a suit.
Well, aside from Dutchy. But that was a given.
This was like a bad flashback. Even though those were brought on by the wrong kind of drug.
He looked up and saw that things were about to get started, mumbled a short prayer under his breath, crossed himself (he wasn't really religious, but until things were done, was willing to ask for whatever help he could get) and tried to calm down. He'd assured Dutchy would get off easy. Soon, it would all be over, and things would be back to normal.
Soon...
*
"Holyfuckingshitchrist!!"
"...Dutchy, it's...it's just ice cream," Itey mumbled, but Dutchy paid no heed as he shoveled the dessert into his mouth. Itey turned to Race. "Is the appetite supposed to come back this quickly?"
Race shook his head. "He's eating it because the sugar is feeding his craving a little...I ate like, buckets of Skittles. And a lot of Oreos."
"You still eat lots of Oreos." Mush pointed at Race's sundae, which was, of course, full of Oreo chunks. Race grinned, pointing his spoon at Mush.
"Because Oreos rock. Oh, here-" Race handed another sundae to Dutchy, who didn't seem to be tasting anything he was eating.
He knew what it was. The stress of the court room had probably given Dutchy a huge need for a line. Jack was a genius to suggest the ice cream parlor. Dutchy just needed to find something to distract him as much as possible, all the time.
Still, when Dutchy reached for Race's own sundae, Race pulled it away and Blink smacked Dutchy's hand as Dutchy went for his banana split.
"I can not fucking BELIEVE," Dutchy said between bites, "fucking COMMUNITY SERVICE. They gave me fucking community fucking service!"
"Don't choke," Itey told him, as Dutchy had forgotten it was hard to swallow and speak at the same time. He coughed, grabbed his water and drained half of it, then went right back to his ice cream.
"I mean, they didn't--I fucking thought I'd be in JAIL--or fined up the ass--fuck, this is good stuff."
"You know, I'm gonna time how fast he goes through the next one," Mush noted, as Dutchy was already nearly done with the ice cream part of his sundae and was working on the banana at the bottom.
Race just smiled to himself, and went back to his own sundae. This was the same ice cream parlor they'd been at the night of the concert; it was the very same table. He reached for Spot's hand under the table, and Spot smirked took a gulp of his smoothie. They'd been together for a week, and hadn't been caught. Race was starting to think things might actually go his way for a change.
"I mean--" Dutchy snatched Jack's sundae swiftly, and already started devouring it before Jack could get it back. "How the fuck did they let me off so fucking EASY?" He stuffed more ice cream in his mouth and then made an odd face and started hacking.
"For god's SAKE, breath!" Itey snapped, slapping Dutchy's back.
"Cold!" Dutchy said, his mouth still full of ice cream.
Under the table, Spot was trailing little circles on the palm of Race's hand, and Race could feel a flush creep up his cheeks. He didn't dare look at Spot; if he did, he'd probably end up kissing him.
He noticed that Mush was watching him with a look of fascinated observation; kind of like the crocodile hunter. Race grinned at him, and then turned to Dutchy.
"Dude, fucking slow down and then start ag--" Dutchy ignored him and went right back to the ice cream, at the same speed, once he finished coughing. Race shrugged. "Or...you know, be Godzilla."
I remember Tony choking on Skittles," Mush finally said.
"Only once or twice."
"Once or twice an hour, maybe. I swear, we thought you were gonna die or something," David said. "Which would have been a real shame, given you'd just gotten out of the hospital and rehab and all."
"So the moral of the story," Mush said, "is don't choke, Dutchy."
Dutchy glanced up from Jack's ice cream, started to say something, then changed his mind and went back to eating.
"You're gonna be sick later," Jack said. "And you owe me a sundae."
"Will not, and whatever."
"So, uh," Itey interrupted. "Dutchy, I was thinking..."
"What?" Dutchy asked, actually pausing long enough to throw Itey a curious look.
"Just, maybe... Would you like to crash at my place for awhile?"
Dutchy went back to the ice cream.
"Dutchy?"
"I'm okay on my own."
"No, you're not." It was the most forceful Itey ever got.
"I really--"
"You're having a craving," Race interrupted. "I fucking know. And if there's no one there to stop you, and it's the middle of the night and you can't sleep, and you're afraid of the way people will look at you in school the next day... Trust me, you want as many fucking people between you and the nearest dealer as possible."
Dutchy didn't answer; he just kept eating his sundae. Itey cleared his throat. Nothing. "Dutchy?...Dutchy, you're--"
"Okay, okay!"
"Dutchy, it's--"
"I'm eating, whore!" Dutchy snapped, and grabbed Itey's smoothie, taking off the cap and downing it in one gulp.
Spot snorted, and Race kicked him under the table. Spot paid no heed, and kept snickering. A thing about Spot; if he shouldn't laugh, he would if he found it funny, and he never tried to hide he was laughing, no matter how much he should.
Dutchy was quick though, so he took Spot's smoothie too.
"Hey, bitch!" Spot snapped.
Dutchy flipped him off with his left hand as he guzzled the drink, holding it in his right. Nonverbal communication was better than choking, he decided, and it was Race's turn to not pretend to hide his laughter.
"So, Dutchy...?" Itey asked.
"I don't want to be a bother." Dutchy glanced around the table; the only thing he hadn't decimated was Race's Oreo sundae, and Race sighed and slid it over to him.
"It's no bother."
"To have someone camped on your floor for a week at a time? It would be a bother. And probably bad for my back."
"We have a guest room."
"Oh."
"So really, you can't argue."
"Wouldn't want to eat you out of house and home."
"My mom likes cooking almost as much as Tony's does; no problem there either."
"...Uh."
"Just say yes."
"Fine."
"Thank you."
"Well." David smacked his hand on the table. "Then everything's taken care of!"
"No it's fucking not, he stole my fucking smooothie," Spot growled. Race shoved him. "Ow!"
"Baby." Race grinned.
"Look who's talking, Midgito."
"Skinny."
"Whore."
"Asshole."
"Pussy."
"Fuck you--"
"He so already did," Jack said, looking through his wallet so he could buy himself another sundae.
"No, he didn't," David said. "I think his sister scared Spot too much."
"Shut up!" Spot yelled.
"Feeling sex starved?" Blink asked sympathetically, then put an arm around Mush. "I know what that's like... Wait. No, I don't, at all."
Mush blushed and looked away, but was grinning. Spot scowled. "Fuck you both."
"I don't think Tony would be happy with you if you did that," Mush said mildly.
"Unless he wants to watch or something sick like that."
"Okay, ew," David said. "I really don't care to hear anything else about your sex lives, thanks."
"Yeah; we were discussing Spot's," Blink reminded him. "Or rather, his tragic lack there of. 'Cause he's afraid of Tony's sister."
"Shut the fuck up, I am NOT!"
"I am," Race spoke up. "She's almost as scary as my dad is when she's pissed."
"Oh, is that why you won't put out?" Blink laughed.
"Seriously, I am gonna beat the snot out of you."
"He gets violent when he's not being laid on a regular basis, Tony, I should warn you," Jack said.
Spot started to actually lunge towards Jack, ready to inflict bodily harm, but Race was still holding his hand and yanked him back into his seat. "I'm gonna go get another sundae," he declared. "Since SOMEONE ate mine."
Dutchy waved his hand as he finished up his smoothie, and Spot, looking oddly shy, stood up and followed Race to the counter.
"Oooh! He leaves with his boy!"
"Look at them together!"
"Spotty's in wuuuuvv..."
Spot found an obscene hand gesture for every single boy at the table. "I fucking hate you all!" He turned to Race, who grinned.
"You wuuuuv me."
"Fuck you too!"
Race rolled his eyes. "I already said not yet, Spot. I'm not... You know, haven't quite got my head around this whole thing yet."
"What whole thing? You're gay, you want to sleep with boys. Specifically, me."
"It's not as easy as that, okay?" Race muttered darkly. "And I wouldn't really want to be having sex if I had a girlfriend, either."
"...Because you're gay."
"I meant if I was straight. I'm just..."
"A pussy?"
"Shut up."
Spot shrugged, and ordered another smoothie, which Race paid without even asking if Spot wanted him to. Spot sort of felt guilty, like he was taking advantage of Race, but that wasn't how he meant it. Race handed him the smoothie, caught his eye, and smiled. He wasn't angry, just exasperated.
"I'll let you know when I'm ready," he said softly as they walked back to the table.
"I know."
He sat down and paused, glancing at his sundae, then scooped up the cherry he always saved for last and deposited it on top of Spot's smoothie. "How's that for imagery?" he murmured in Spot's ear.
Spot smirked.
"I have to go..." Itey said, looking at his watch. "I have to pick up Sophie by..." Race shot a glare. Itey rolled his eyes. "Sophia by 6:30. Come on, Dutch."
"I want another ice cream!" Dutchy protested, and Itey smacked him.
"Can we get a ride?" Mush asked as Blink started trailing kisses down his neck. Itey made a face.
"But...just don't do that in the back seat, please..."
Mush made no promises as they gathered their things. Mush ruffled Race's hair, giving him a wink. Race grinned and Spot tightened his grip around Race's hand under the table. Race kicked him again.
"Look." Jack was distracted, pointing in the paper he was reading. "Dude, look Tony, Davey, your band concert made the paper."
"What?" Race asked, arching an eyebrow, then reaching across the table to snatch the paper from Jack. He skimmed the text, about the achievements of the conductor and the senior members and blah blah blah, and his eyes stopped on the picture.
It was him, fixing his drumset, at the very beginning.
"Damn, I'm hot."
"Give me thaaaaat!" Spot yelled.
Spot seemed to be a lot more open when it was just Jack and David who were with them, and he stared hungrily at the picture, before ripping it out.
"Hey, other people want to read that!" David scolded, and Spot stuck his tongue out, Gene Simmons style as he stuffed the picture in his pocket.
Race stared. "You could have asked for a picture."
"I want this one," Spot answered, leaning back in his seat and patting his pocket. "You look like shit in all your family pictures anyway."
"I do not, shithead!"
"Well, maybe not. But you look freaking serious in all of them, it's not you. But this is you."
"Awwww, who knew Spot could be sweet?" Jack mocked, and Spot punched his shoulder.
"I bet Tony knew. Gotta wonder what their pillow talk sounds like," David mused. "'Oh, Tony, fuck me, in Italian--'"
"FUCK YOU."
The fact that they both yelled it probably revealed a lot more than they wanted anyone to know about their relationship, and how close David's mockery had been to the truth. David laughed.
"C'mon, Dave; let's leave the love birds alone," Jack said. "Want a ride home?"
"Yeah, sure. Have fun, you two," David said, and Race threw a dirty napkin at him. He laughed and followed Jack out of the parlor.
"I can't stay much longer," Race said finally. "I gotta get home so I can get to Sophia's thing tonight."
"What, her date? You're not chaperoning her, are you?"
"No, but--"
"Because I don't see what your fucking problem is with her dating Itey," Spot continued. "I mean, you like him and know he's nice and know he, like, loves her. You know he'll do anything for her. So what are you afraid of?"
"Becoming an uncle."
"Itey wouldn't do that to her, Tony," Spot said, rolling his eyes. "And she wouldn't let him. I mean, she could take him in a fight."
"Yeah, probably."
"And if she's anything like you, they won't be sleeping together for a long time."
"SPOT, I already said--"
"You're confused, I know. I didn't mean it like that." He paused, and gave Race a serious look. "I really didn't. I don't want to, like, pressure you or anything..."
"Gee, sweet of you."
"But my POINT was you KNOW you've got nothing to worry about, and Itey is a lot better than a LOT of guys she could date." He shot Race a cocky grin. "Like, she could have a thing for me, the local badass."
Race rolled his eyes. "I know Sophia can handle herself. But--"
"Jesus, I can't wait to see what happens when MARIA starts dating."
"SHUT UP."
Spot laughed at him, and Race scowled.
"And I'm not chaperoning them tonight, she's got a flute recital, which I'm going to."
"Is Itey?"
"Of course. That's what he's picking her up; she needs to be there an hour before it starts."
Spot nodded, and trailed his finger in little circles on the surface of the table. Race continued, digging into his new Oreo Sundae. "Anyway, I can't be late. I missed her last one because I forgot, and she was so pissed she put pepper and paprika in my dessert the next night."
Spot smirked slightly and continued trailing his finger on the table.
"And so I have to be in the front row."
"She any good?" Spot asked. Race grinned as he looked down at Spot's hand, watching the invisible patterns he made.
"Yeah. She's real good. It's all she does, I fucking swear. That's actually the reason she doesn't date too much."
Spot snorted. "Yeah, Midgito, that's the reason all right."
Race shrugged. "I didn't say it was all of the reason." He slapped his hand on top of Spot's. "Cut it out, will ya?"
Spot tore his hand away to adjust the straw in his smoothie before taking a small sip. "So that's what you're doing tonight then?"
"Yeah." Race started jabbing at his sundae, smooshing up the oreos into little crumbs, and then swirling all of the ice cream together--it was starting to really look disgusting.
"That's gross." Spot wrinkled his nose.
"I'm a guy, doing gross things with my food is what I do."
Spot continued playing with the straw in his smoothie, and didn't respond. For awhile. "So, what time is this at?"
"Is what at?"
"Sophia's flute thing."
"Oh." Race stuffed some ice cream in his mouth. "Eight."
"...well, I'm not..." Spot mumbled a bit and sat up straight. "I'm not doing anything tonight, so I guess I'll come along."
Race stopped eating his sundae, or rather, stopped chewing his sundae, so the spoon was still in his mouth. He stared at Spot. "What?" he asked, but it came out muffled and ice cream started to dribble down his chin.
"God, you fucking special needs idiot," Spot snorted, and shoved a napkin at Race's face. Race grabbed it from him and swiped the ice cream off of his chin.
"What did you say?" Race repeated, taking the spoon out of his mouth and swallowing his ice cream before taking another spoonful.
Spot rolled his eyes. "You heard me, Midgito."
"I did, but I'd like to hear it again." Race popped some more sundae in his mouth. He was nodding his head, looking too sure of himself for his own good, Spot decided.
"I might come."
"You might come."
"Yes."
"Wow." Race fluttered his eye lashes. "You're the best boyfriend ever!"
"Fuck yeah, I am." Spot leaned forward in his seat. "So I deserve a fucking tongue in my mouth, don't you agree?"
Race reddened, which Spot found too tantalizing for words. "Spot, I told you, not in freaking public."
Spot let out an annoyed snort as he craned his neck to give the place a once over. "There's barely anyone in here anyway. Don't be such a pussy."
"I'm not a pussy, I'm just careful," Race shot back, going back to stabbing at the sundae. "Besides, I already told you I'm new at this."
"Yeah, you sure were new at it when you kissed me the other night."
Race's eyes darted up at Spot. "That's different."
"It's funny 'cause it's not."
"We weren't in front of anyone."
"How do you know?" Spot took a sip of his smoothie. "Maybe Tracy was outside in a tree on her weekly stalking duty."
Race burst out laughing, and Spot grinned as he bit his straw.
"But Spo-ot," Race whined annoyingly, "you're the one who hates PDAs."
"So?"
"So how is shoving my tongue down your throat not a PDA?"
"I'm just getting it out of the way," Spot answered. "I mean, if I go--if--I'll be sitting there all night watching you and I'm sure you'll find some way to make me insane, but with your parents there we won't even be able to sneak off, and well... You wouldn't want to leave me that frustrated."
"Maybe I would." Race smirked and ran a finger down Spot's side, no longer worried that he could feel all the ribs. He stopped at Spot's pants, ran his finger along the sliver of flesh between his shirt and belt, and hooked a finger through the nearest belt loop. "Maybe that's exactly what I want to do." He leaned in as he said it, and Spot could feel the ice cream chill in his breath.
"Cocktease," Spot mumbled, put a hand on Race's shoulder, leaned the rest of the way in, and closed the space between them.
Race made a noise of protest against his mouth, but a few seconds later, was kissing Spot back, trailing his hand down to Spot's crotch.
Spot moaned slightly and deepened the kiss, leaning inward and hooking his arm around Race's neck, shifting his legs open slightly, and let his own hand match Race's...with more of a Spot twist.
Race shuddered, and groaned, and then Spot pulled away.
Completely.
He even pulled his legs together.
And he was smirking cockily at Race with his arms crossed. Race stared at him, slightly open mouthed, and looking a tad dazed.
"I hate you," Race eventually panted.
"So you can dish it out, but not take it?" Spot answered, and reached for his smoothie again.
"We seriously... We can't do that in public..."
"You don't sound like you mind."
"Fuck you."
Spot raised an eyebrow, and smirked, and licked his lips. He didn't say anything, but then, he didn't have to.
"I really hate you," Race answered.
"You're the one who said it."
"Shut up."
"What happened to, 'you're the best boyfriend ever'?"
"That was before you were being a dick."
"Kissing you is being a dick?" Spot raised his eyebrows. "Guess I'm gonna have to stop doing it. Maybe find my kissage elsewhere."
Race punched his arm.
Hard.
Spot bit back the ache in his shoulder. "That hurt, bitch."
"Good." Race glared as he finished up his sundae. "And you suck."
"Your dick."
"Cut it out!"
"Anyway." Spot shoved his half finished smoothie towards Race, who started finishing it without a word. "I'll show up, I guess, but it better not be like, shit face music like your band concert."
"That wasn't shit faced music!" Race exclaimed, mouth full of smoothie.
"God, swallow, dumbass, swallow."
"And you didn't even listen to most of it. You were busy trying to get with me in the parking lot."
"Well, then, the parts you were in and I had to watch sucked."
"That's not what you said at the time."
"It's called lying to get in someone's pants, Tony." Spot smirked.
"See, where as right now you're lying with no chance of getting in my pants, so really, you're just being stupid."
"At least I didn't choke on a freaking smoothie."
Race paused, pulled out the straw and saw that the fruit seeds were clinging to it, and used it to fling the seeds at Spot.
Spot with strawberry goop on his cheek was adorable.
Race wanted to lick it off. But they were in public. And Spot was being a jerk, sort of. So instead he just grinned as Spot glared at him, and then held up a napkin.
Spot yanked the napkin away from Race and stuck his tongue, making obscene gestures at him.
Race rolled his eyes. "Spot, I-"
"Seriously though." Spot flicked the napkin away after wiping his face. "Let's just go in the bathroom and make out. I need a fucking hand job."
Race stared incredulously at Spot. Who grinned. Guiltlessly.
Then Race considered the options.
He grabbed Spot's crotch. Spot winced, and said "CHRIST!" so loud that the other people in the place (an old couple and the teenager at the counter) glanced over.
Then Race withdrew his hand, checked his watch, and stood up. "I have to run."
"I really, really hope you get in a car crash."
"No you don't," Race smirked as he started for the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "You like my car too much."
"Speaking of." Spot stood. "Can I get a ride home?"
"Will you behave?"
"What am I, your dog?"
"My bitch." Race started walking again.
"I fucking hate you." Spot followed him, and Race laughed as he hit the button to unlock the car.
Spot got in the passenger with an expression on his face like a little boy who'd just gotten a Monster Truck for his birthday. Spot really liked Race's car.
As they pulled out, Race slipped in a CD, a mix of his favorite Sloan tunes. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and turned at the second light.
"Where're you..." Spot glanced over his shoulder. "Dude, I'm in the fucking other direction."
"Yeah..." Race said distractedly, and then pulled them into an alley down by the dead end of the one way sign.
Next thing Spot knew, Race was one top of him.
*
If the bus with Spot was late, then Spot would be late, and Race would be late for waiting for him. Race glared at the bus stop in annoyance, as though that would make the bus come faster, and was once again reminded of why he was so glad he had a car.
That and he had really, really enjoyed spending time in the back seat an hour earlier.
But he'd needed to drop Spot off so Spot could change, and also, his dad wouldn't be thrilled if Spot had just shown up at their house... So they'd decided he'd catch the bus up, and Race would meet him after his parents left. But that required the bus to be on time.
Which it wasn't.
He idly flipped stations on the radio and waited for the bus to appear.
His thoughts were all over the place; all over places where Spot's face were. He was feeling kind of...out of it. Dazed, even, and he couldn't get Spot out of his head.
The fact that he was coming to Sophia's flute recital with him actually meant a lot... It really did, and it proved that there was a lot more to him and Spot than Race initially thought there was.
He was starting to like Spot more and more as time progressed. And it had only been a week.
He looked over and saw a bus coming from the distance; whether it was Spot's or not he couldn't tell, it was too far off to read the route number.
As the bus got closer he recognized the 77, the often late bus that ferried people back and forth from his stop to the one in front of David's house, and waited for Spot to get off, then honked. Spot looked over at him, and grinned; he walked to the car and vaulted over the door without opening it. Convertibles, he thought for the thousandth time, were awesome.
He looked over at Race, and smiled to himself. Race looked good. Not tuxedo good, and Race looked good in casual clothes all the time anyway, but slightly dressy--button down shirt, tie, slacks that had clearly actually been ironed--well, he cleaned up nicely. His boyfriend being hot, he decided, was even better than his boyfriend's hot car.
"Have a nice shower?" Race asked, noting Spot's still damp hair.
Spot ran a hand through it and smirked. "Yeah. Jerked off in it."
"Thinking of me?"
"I could say the same to you." Spot shook his hair, like a dog, and adjusted his shirt, which was also slightly larger than his other ones; he seemed to be trying to hide his skinniness for the night.
"You look good," Race noted, nodding his head.
"I always do."
"Especially when I'm jerking you off." Race started the car. "My my, did I say that out loud?" He craned his neck as he pulled out of his parking spot.
The performance was actually in a theater hall downtown, as Sophia had long since surpassed her school's band and was taking solo lessons and doing solo performances. The building was full of modern art and roped off pianos asking people to not play them (signs which were largely ignored, given how many people were attempting to bang out Heart and Soul). Race lead the way to the actual performance hall, and they sat near the front, though on the opposite side of the room from his parents. Spot slumped down in the chair, hoping to avoid their gaze, and Race noted Itey sitting next to Maria.
Itey looked oddly nervous. But he had a bouquet of flowers on his lap, doubtlessly for Sophia after the performance, and Race smiled. So maybe Spot had had a point earlier when he said Race should lighten up on Itey. Itey was sweet, and did care about Sophia, a lot.
He sighed, and waited for the lights to dim. Of course, sitting next to Spot in a darkened room... But his parents were across said dark room, so he kept his thoughts to himself. But that didn't stop him from holding Spot's hand, since there was no way to see that across the room in the dark.
Spot clenched his hand, slouching heavily in his seat, and blowing damp strands of hair out of his eyes. Race sighed. Why did his boyfriend have to be so sexy?
Since when was he so used to Spot being his boyfriend, anyway?
Why was he having such a hard time processing thoughts?
The stage dimmed, and the house lights shut off as different portions of the Orchestra Seats lit up, and the symphony filed out from the wings.
Sophia glowed, as usual, and looked positively stunning. And Race could distract his thoughts of Spot for a moment to remember how proud of her he was. All the time.
Spot seemed to get bored halfway through the recital and started trying to distract Race, which was amusing briefly, but Race really didn't want to miss his sister's concert. He also didn't want her to look down at the audience and see him and Spot screwing around, because he somehow doubted she'd react like Isabella and laugh and not tell anyone.
That was a scary thought. He loved Sophia, but couldn't tell her. He didn't like that at all.
Keeping things from his sisters was so much harder than keeping things from his parents... Which he found himself dwelling on as the concert wrapped up, but then pushed it out of his mind as he headed into the lobby to congratulate her. But he found himself hanging back, watching as Itey shyly handed her the flowers. He watched her face light up, and his when she accepted them, and smiled. "Fine," he muttered to Spot. "They can date."
"I don't think you can stop them at this point."
Race kicked him, and then strutted over to Sophia and Itey, who were staring at each other like they were about to kiss; but Race figured he'd be a good brother and make sure she didn't do that when his parents were in eyeshot.
"Rosetta," Race said, giving her forehead a kiss. "You were wonderful." He grinned at her as Spot came up behind him. "It's just astounding that you're actually good at something."
"Thank you, fratello," she replied. "One of has to have some talent."
"Better than being ugly."
"Which you so are."
"Which is why we look so alike."
"You two are stupid," Spot piped up from behind him. Race made a face at him, and then turned to Itey, who was very red.
"Hey, Tony," he said sheepishly. Race stared at him and glanced at his sister, and then made the hardest choice he'd ever had to make that didn't in some way involve cocaine.
"Hey, Itey." He slapped Itey's shoulder. "Uh...well, you can give Rosetta a ride home, right?"
Itey's eyes actually went wide. "Uh, I can?"
"Well, you have a car, right?" He shrugged. "Just don't try and feel her up or anything, okay?"
He wasn't sure whose reaction was better, Itey's or Sophia's. But he just smiled at the two of them. "Okay," Itey said finally.
Sophia paused, then said in Italian, "The idiot comes to his senses."
"Si, Rosetta." He rolled his eyes. "I've got to get Spot home so I can do my homework. But you were very good."
"Thank you." And this time she was sincere. He kissed her forehead again, waved to his parents across the room, and headed back towards the parking lot.
"She is good," Spot noted as they headed for his car. "Do your parents know you'll be late?"
"I told them I was giving a friend a ride."
"They didn't care?"
"They, uh" He wasn't quite sure how to brush off the deal he had with his father, which left him a bit more freedom. "They've decided to forgive me, I think. If I don't screw up again..."
"Don't screw up, then."
Race didn't say anything and Spot shoved him. "Don't-screw-up-then."
"I won't."
"Good." Spot glanced over his shoulder, and then linked hands with Race. Race jumped slightly, and Spot smirked. "Come on, we're at a theatre. Everyone here is gay."
Race shoved Spot forward. "Just get in the car."
"Yeah, order me around."
"You just wish."
Race's mind was elsewhere as he saw Itey and Sophia leaving the theatre, also hand in hand, Sophia smiling and laughing and looking amazing and Itey looking enthralled and...and ecstatic. Now he knew how parents felt when they realized their kids were growing up for the first time.
"Hey, come on." Spot poked a finger at Race's stomach. "She's still your little sister, ass."
Race rolled his eyes and they got into the car, and spent most of the ride quietly enjoying each other's presence, occasionally speaking up to make fun of each other, but mostly just relaxing. "So, you had some more writing for me?"
"Up in my room." Spot paused. "You wanna come up?"
"Nah, I shouldn't... It's late, I've got my homework to do still, and... you know, every time I'm alone in a room with you, I seem to get distracted."
"Yeah, I know." Spot smirked as Race pulled in in front of Jack's house. "C'mon; just for a few minutes."
"Uh..." Race shrugged. "Well, okay. But I can't--I really can't stay. I don't want to screw up and all."
"Fine." Spot got out, and Race followed suit, locked the car behind him, and followed Spot up to the house.
Jack was watching TV in the living room. "Hey, Spot, where you--" he paused and saw Race. "Oh, it's you."
"Hey." Race got the distinct impression Jack was still not his number one fan. Probably because every time he'd seen Jack in the past week, Jack had been outright hostile.
"Jack," Spot mumbled, giving Jack the closest he ever got to a pleading look.
Jack narrowed his eyes at Race, shrugged, and went back to the television set. Race didn't know quite how to take that, but then Spot started down the hall so Race followed, giving Jack a wave. Jack pretended not to notice.
Their place was small, which Race expected, and so far didn't seem to have anyone else living in it... Race assumed the woman of the house was sleeping or something.
"My room isn't La Ritz, like yours," Spot said as they came up to a closed door with a large poster of a shirtless Jim Morrison on the front. "So--"
"I know." Race leaned forward, pressing his hand onto Spot's waist. "Come on, open up."
Spot smirked, turned the handle and opened the door.
Spot's room was very small, and absolutely covered in posters, a few of which were of Che Guvarez, with more various movie posters and bands, and even a Dali Print.
"You like art?" Race asked, making a confused face.
"Nah...just those freaking long legged elephants. And the melting clocks." Spot was digging around in a drawer on the bedside table. "Shit, where did I put that..."
Race sat on the bed, as there were no chairs, and Spot dug through his desk for another minute, then found a notebook and dropped it onto Race's lap. "There's some stuff in there somewhere."
"Okaaay." Race picked it up and opened it, but Spot slammed it shut again. "What?"
"You can't read it while I'm right here. That would just be... Weird."
"Why?"
Spot ignored the question and continued, "Besides, if you've got to go soon, there are a lot more fun ways to spend the time. And we're not in public this time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Race set the notebook on the floor, and no sooner than he'd straightened up again was Spot reaching for him, grabbing his belt, pulling them together.
"Are you always so horny?" Race laughed between kisses.
"Yes. And now I've got someone to share it with."
"Your hands were getting tired?"
"Shut up." And Race did as Spot asked, less because Spot had asked and more because he found himself too busy kissing Spot to have any other reaction.
He lost track of time, until someone pounded on the door. "SPOT!" Jack snapped from the outside. "Do you MIND, I'm going to bed and I don't want to hear THAT."
Spot rolled his eyes and muttered something about assholes and anal sleeping patterns under his breath. "Yeah, yeah," he said to the door, and turned back to Race, kissed him again.
"I have to go."
"I know."
Race kissed Spot's mouth firmly, and pulled away a moment to pick up the notebook, and turned towards the door. He kissed Spot quickly again before opening it. When he finally did manage to stop kissing Spot, he did open the door, and Jack sure was waiting on the other side of it, a frown on his face and his arms folded across his chest.
"Hey, Jacky." Race grinned goofily, and gave Jack's shoulder a pat before walking past him.
Spot brushed by Jack and followed Race without so much of a word to his brother. Jack continued glowering.
There was more kissing at the front door, and more at the car when Race got in, and Spot watched him drive off with a grin on his face that was probably happy enough to ruin his entire reputation as a jerk who never liked anyone. It was impossible to look bitter when he was in such a good mood.
His good mood disappeared when he saw Jack still waiting by his room upstairs. "Thought you were going to bed," he said as though it was nothing.
"I am. After we talk."
"There's nothing to talk about." Spot crossed his arms and leant against the wall, glaring over at Jack. Sure, Jack was taller and definitely weighed more, but Spot had the dangerous glare thing down pat.
They didn't say anything for a moment until Jack finally broke down, tearing his eyes away. Spot always won their glaring showdowns.
"He's just fucking with your head," Jack said, pushing at Spot's door with his foot. "You know that. So why don't you just stop fucking around and see with your eyes for once?"
Well.
Jack had gotten right to the point.
Spot stared, not quite believing what he heard. "What?"
"You heard me," Jack answered. "Fucking take my word on something for once, this won't end pretty."
"What--what fucking makes you think this isn't serious?" Spot snapped. "We're more serious than you and Sarah are."
"Yeah, but at least Sarah doesn't use me."
"So what the fuck is he using me for then, Jack?" Spot demanded.
"He fucking wants to piss off his dad," Jack answered flatly.
"He does not--"
"He's fucking straight!" Jack half-yelled. "God. Mush used to throw himself at Tony, and he never noticed or cared. He doesn't. Like. Boys."
"Trust me, he does. And fuck you, Jack. Because--because why the hell shouldn't he like me?"
"Because he's rich," Jack said maliciously. "Because he could have anyone he wants, and you aren't exactly his class. But you're great for making his dad enraged."
"Fuck YOU," Spot repeated. "He's not--he can't tell his dad because he'd--his dad would kill him."
"Please, Spot. I thought you of all people would realize the thing with his dad is bullshit."
Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.
"You know what it means, Sean!" Spot glared at the use of his real name. "You know exactly what it fucking means. He's got everything, and you got jack shit, but still, he wants every to fucking feel sorry for him just because his dad has a little fucking temper! I don't see you going around trying to win everyone-"
"Don't fucking TALK about my dad!" Spot roared. "I fucking put that behind me, and I'm not about to talk about it because you want me to be your little therapy case!"
"I don't--"
"You WANT me to be fucked up and unhappy!" Spot shoved Jack into the wall. "You LIKED it when you were the only one I fucking told anything to! As soon as something fucking good, shit, AMAZING, comes into my life you just want to back it down and bring me back to whatever the fuck I am."
Jack was biting his lip, his fists clenched. "What, you saying Tony matters to you more than I do?"
"It's not like I matter to you," Spot said sourly. "Like I said; you just want someone to head shrink."
"That's what you think?"
"Yeah, it's what I think!" Spot yelled back. "It's how you fucking act!"
"Well, fuck you too!" Jack spat. "I'm fucking TRYING to look out for you, like a fucking brother--"
"You're not my brother!" Spot interrupted. "Okay, you're just not. I don't have a brother, and my mom is a drug addict and my dad is insane, and don't you fucking dare think that gives you the right to act like you know what's best for me!"
"Yeah? Well it's not like my life was exactly a picnic, but I fucking managed to deal with it, and you--you fucking won't, you're always acting like such a little shit and people put up with it because they feel bad for you, but--"
"YOUR life wasn't a fucking PICNIC?" Spot screamed. "Don't--fucking DO NOT act like you have ANY idea what the hell my life was like just because your dad is in jail, you asshole!"
"You're the asshole!" Jack shot back. "You and you're fucking attempt at being a misunderstood, angst full--"
"Did your dad fucking hang you by your hair outside an eight story window when you were eight years old and sing 'Rock A Bye Baby' at the top of his lungs? NO!" Spot shoved Jack one more time, his voice cracking. "NO, he fucking didn't! You have SOMETHING at least! You have a mom now, you have a girlfriend, you have best friends and none of them 'feel sorry for you' as a reason to hang out with you. Yeah, I have jack shit, I had jack shit, and now I might actually have something."
Jack winced, realizing words he'd said. Spot didn't, not caring about the ones he'd responded with.
"So fuck you." Spot shook his head.
"Sean—" Jack started.
"No. Fuck you. I'm going out." Spot turned back the way he'd come, so angry he couldn't even stomp, though he did slam the door impressively loudly on his way out. Jack heard it, and slumped against the wall, defeated. That hadn't gone the way he'd planned.
Outside, Spot walked down the bus stop. He had a few dollars on him, and the 77's last run would be there in another 15 or 20 minutes, assuming it was on time. And he really couldn't stand the thought of seeing Jack again for awhile, and wanted to be with someone who cared about him, who didn't think of him as Jack's fucked up foster brother. Which all of his friends did. Except for Racetrack.
Racetrack's family would not be happy to see him.
He didn't really give a damn.
*
B: Well, it's been awhile. Because stupid things like "real life" and "school" and "theater" kept getting in the way of getting this chapter edited.
F: And we're getting sick and tired and doing very badly. *grin* Also, I had a girly crisis which B helped me with. She rocks tons.
B: As does Funkie, because she lets me giggle about The Boy, who is yet another reason why the chapter was late in coming. BUT, well, we hope you enjoyed it. It's the beginning of a longish story arch, though you can't quite see where it's going yet. Mwahahahaha.
F: Can I give a sexy hint?
B: Please do.
F: Spot. Sex. With a girl.
B: Aaaaaaah, yes. I'm smirking, by the way. Also, another sexy hint? "Mafia."
F: Also, you know who likes sexy? Shade. You know who this chapter is dedicated to? Shade.
B: Because we love her to death, and know she's had a hard time lately. *hugs* Stay strong, darling.
F: Also, may I add that my love for all of these characters (particularly Itey) is becoming way too unhealthy? Not to mention that we're more addicted to this fic than our fans are...
B: It's kind of sad. We totally are. And in my case, substitute "Dutchy" for "Itey" because as much as I adore the sweet, shy bass player thing... Well. Sexy, drug addicted guitarist. ::drool:: Yeah, this is not healthy.
F: It's funny because I love Jay and she loves Patrick and that really plays a role...
B: Everyone in the whole wide world should know who Jay and Patrick are. Get thee to sloanmusic[dot]com! Patrick is so hot and snarky...
F: Jay is so pretty and soft...
B: So there you go. Also, Sloan rocks.
F: This chapter was celebrated with me having a pig out night and sharing a little of it with B.
Namely cereal and ice cream.
B: And with IHOP in honor of my show tomorrow. Mmm. IHOP.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed (still no time for shoutouts, which sucks, we know) and especially Thistle, who left us THREE reviews. Wow.
F: Thistle rocks.
B: And so does everyone else who's reading this. Stay tuned for our next exciting chapter. 'Night!