Rating: NC-17 (violence/romance)
Summary: The true life of the Tipton Hotel.
(Still don't own it.)
Chapter Five: One In, One Out
Rating: NC-17
The Tre-ddie Slash goes
out to Lexi.
- - - - - -
Friday Early Night (6ish) Cody and Zack walked into the suite at the same time, both quiet and deep in thought. The two didn't have any classes this year, Zack being placed in lower classes as Cody continued to top most of the school. Tossing his bag in the room, Cody walked into the kitchen grabbing an apple, taking a seat at a chair at the table. Zack, silent more than ever, stared at the blank T.V. screen, his hands crossed.
But nothing could hold it back; Cody's lips curled into a grin. Leaning back in the chair, his small grin went from ear-to-ear, all of his teeth exposed over his lips. His feelings – at first – startled him. He had thought about Bob. Bob – of all people! What happened to Vanessa, what happened to one of those England twins, or even his secret crush over Max? No, they were all gone. Bob was in his mind.
And Cody was on Bob's mind. But Zack wasn't on Jesse's mind.
Friday Night
She crawled off the
side of the bed, collapsing on the wooden floor. Her blonde hair was
a mop of untidy curls that crowded her face as she tried her best to
crawl towards the bathroom. It was pain and pleasure all in one, but
mostly pain as she tried to balance on her own two legs. But she
couldn't. She rested her hands down; she laid her head on one side,
slightly moaning. "Maddie?" came an alarmingly loud voice, and
she jumped, looking over her shoulder.
There was Trevor, sitting on the side of the bed. Maddie couldn't help but grin at how cute he looked, sitting there. His brown hair was clamming to the sides of his head, so the bangs flickered on the side of the left green eye. His nervous – unsettled – smile exposing only three teeth; but now, more than ever, he looked sad. "Are you – you know, alright? I mean, I don't – I haven't –"
"I'm fine . . . Trevor," she said, turning her head back towards the bathroom. She was able to reach to the door when Trevor must have seen enough and bent down to pick her up. She rested one hand on the door frame rather than his shoulder, like he expected, looking away from him, into the bathroom. She let out one laps of breathe before standing on her feet. Unsuccessfully, she was able to make it to the toilet, where she sat, looking away from Trevor's face.
"Do you want me to stay?"
"N – yes –" Once again, she let out a slow and unsteady breath, putting her hands to her head, pulling back her hair. "Whatever you want, Trevor. I just want to think right now."
With no idea how to reply, Trevor walked back to the bed, and started collecting the articles of clothing. His mind was spinning with questions. Maybe it was different for girls their first time around. Trevor had jerked off many a times, and now that he was seventeen – as well as Maddie was sixteen – he thought he was ready. And he thought he loved Maddie. But it was his first time having s – he gulped. He couldn't – he couldn't even think of the word now. Dropping the jeans he had picked up, he sat on the bed in his boxer-briefs, thinking hard and long. What would he father say? His mother wouldn't care one bit as she pranced around Paris or Hollywood or Miami for her daily shopping spree. Maybe – maybe he wouldn't have to tell his father.
Standing up, he somewhat gained confidence. Maybe he wouldn't have to tell his father. But then, the sinking feeling sunk in. He would have to tell, however, if Maddie was pregnant.
Later
"I said get out!"
London tossed the shoes at Lance, who stood not more than a couple
feet away. He had spent the last hour trying to apologize for what he
did the other night –gripping her hand that left a mighty bruise –
but she spent that same amount of time tossing shoes at his head.
Lance thought she would've run out of shoes by now, but as she
tossed last year's Women's Sneaker Of The Year at his head, he
continued trying to get to her.
"London, I'm – woah – sorry."
"I – I'll – I'll kill you!" she screamed quickly, tossing more and more shoes.
"With – No, London, please!"
Lance suddenly remembered that her father owned this hotel. He paid him. She paid him. All of it came at him like a snowball being thrown in his face; if he did anything wrong, he could find himself begging for a job at the St. Mark's. He knew Ilga would refuse; if St. Mark caught one of his workers staring at his wife, it wouldn't be hard to be fired there, too.
But, something that startled both of the two standing them, something that brought Lance back to reality, something that gave London the ability to be serious, was the gun. It wasn't more than a simple shot gun you could hide in your pocket, but she held with a dead-serious face that she would pull the trigger.
She was even holding it right, too. "London, no! I – I want to get married first!"
There was a silence, as Lance continued to stare into her eyes and not the gun. She lowered it. "Then you leave me alone. If I don't have a gun, I'll have a bodyguard."
Even Later
Jesse took the
microphone from the announcer then looked to his guitarist's way.
He nodded, and began playing, but Jesse stopped him. "This –
this," he looked out into the blank crowd. The bright lights just
below his face made everything seem black out in the audience. He –
he imagined Zack's face, from the time they hung out at the hotel,
till the time they were in the bath together. "This one goes out to
Zack Martin." A sudden gasp was expressed from the crowd, before
them –
Before they what? Cheered, threw tomatoes at him, or even the obsessed girl fans began crying? Jesse woke up, looking towards the clock – not too much past midnight. Leaning his head back on a pillow, he pulled the covers up to his neck, feeling cold for not wearing a shirt. He had gotten used to not wearing one on the bus, as well as to bed because of the no A.C., but now he felt stupid for not wearing one, but he still felt too cold to go across the room and get one.
Rolling on his side, he looked at the bathroom door. He remembered everything from the first moment of privacy that the bodyguard left with Jesse and Zack. They began with a couple of games, moved up to Zack's suite, played there, until they were attacked by those older girls – who, by now, had to be seventeen, if he was right; Zack was thirteen.
Jesse worked out the details in his mind's eye, closing his real eyes: he had decided to go into Zack's bedroom, hanging out there to avoid the loud noise of the fans. Zack was cleaning space on the other bed when he noticed a bit of "magazines." Chuckling, he remembered when he was thirteen, too. Surfing through it, he found himself needing to release himself. And Zack was right there next to him. As simple as that, Zack leaned over, and sent a –
Jesse let out a moan in his bedroom, the same moan from the time with Zack. He felt juice wetting his boxers, making him slowly close his eyes of exhaustion.