"You know," Mush said thoughtfully, pulling the tray of fresh-baked cookies—courtesy of a tube—out of the oven. "We always stick together."
Spot spun once around in one of the tall bar chairs at the counter surrounding the perimeter of the Meyers's kitchen.
"Point being?" he cocked a brow.
Mush set to putting the cookies on a cooling rack as Marie Antoinette, his cat, came over to inspect the peanut butter smell.
"Meaning, we're always there for each other," he stated. "Like, when Jack came out yesterday, it got me thinking. Nothing can break us up. It's like those girls in those books about the pants. We've never been apart. Jack didn't desert us to be popular when he came back from summer camp all Hottie McHothot and we didn't desert you when you were Tinkerbell."
Spot cast him a withering look. Mush was referring to a time when Spot had been very young and had taken iridescent gauze and wire to form fairy wings. He glued them to the back of his Spiderman t-shirt and often got beaten up because of it. The others had often taken up for him when the more Neanderthal grammar school students would pick on him.
"And when Snitch catches crap about his name. And Blink for his patch. And—"
Spot held up a hand. "I get it. Now spare me…and pass me a cookie."
"They need to cool," Mush bent down to pick up Marie Antoinette and Spot hit his mental pause button.
The way the angled, late afternoon sun, dappled by the rain, came streaming through the window and the slats of the blinds…it made Mush look angelic. The light reflected off of his perfectly proportioned face and made his eyes shine. Why had he never noticed it? Actually, the better question was why was he noticing it now?
Spot shook his head and pulled a free-floating cigarette out of his back pocket. It was partially squished from him sitting on it all day but it would have to do. He put it in his mouth and leaned over the biscotti-scented Yankee candle burning on the counter to light it.
Spot often forgot that it was nearly impossible to get away with smoking in Mush's house. Because Mush hid his own cigarette use behind fake sinus allergies and colds, his mother was ultra paranoid about it. Sure enough, he heard her thumping down the stairs.
"Theodore, you put that thing out right now or I'm telling your parents, child," she snapped matter-of-factly from the landing between the steps.
Begrudgingly, Spot put his cigarette in the sink and rushed cold water after it. Damn. He looked back at Mush who was testing a cookie for hotness.
"Ow!" he squealed. "Damnit!"
"Nicholas!" his mother chastised.
Mush wasn't listening and spat the glob of half-masticated cookie onto the ground. Marie immediately began nibbling at it. Spot watched him jump around the kitchen, flicking his tongue in pain and yet making no move for the sink and its healing cold waters. Of course, not the tap water. There was the whole water-will-have-a-chance-of-giving-you-cancer thing going around. Still, he could see in extreme cases why dashing for the supposed death water (an exaggeration to say the least) would be fine. Such as this.
He found himself nearly convulsing with laughter at his friend's antics while his mother all but dialed 911. Strangely, watching him hop around in some variation of an Irish jig…he was getting turned on. Very weird.
--
--
"So fucking Larkson has designs for me," Blink announced. "She was totally fucking checking me out during my detention."
Race and Jack nodded noncommittally at their friend's latest proclamation.
"And when I fucking went up to return my fucking Bart Simpson-esque sentences, she grabbed my ass!"
Race shot up and gave him a skeptical look. "She grabbed your ass?"
"Okay, she fucking brushed her hand against it. Big fucking difference."
"Mary Kay Letourneau," Jack stated from his spot near the television.
"Mrs. Robinson," Race added.
"Uh…that one chick from Class who boned Andrew McCarthy."
"Stacey's mom."
Jack shook his head. "Stacey's mom didn't really have designs for him though. He was just fabricating something."
Race gave a little golf clap towards his friend. "Fabrication. Big word, Jack."
Jack shoved him before wiping his now dampened hand on the side of his jeans. Blink had changed but Race, being several sizes smaller—not to mention the fact that the cuffs would hang well below his feet—was stuck in his freezing clothes until he decided to change into his pajamas. Keeping true to tradition of never changing at different times, he was stuck freezing.
"There's a party in the Manor tomorrow night," Jack said, switching the input from Blink's TV to DVD so they could put in the movies.
"There's always a party in the Manor," Race rolled his eyes. "And they almost always get broken up."
Jack just smiled conspiratorially and switched the audio on Blink's fancy, state-of-the-art player. His family had inherited a rather large sum of money a few years ago and had since been spending it on stupid "toys" for the house since they knew that to move Blink would prove catastrophic.
"Man, must we watch violent movies?" Race queried.
"Fuck yeah!" Blink proclaimed.
It was predetermined that they each had to watch their favorite movies at their house at every stay night. In their case, it would be American Psycho (Blink), Urban Cowboy (Jack), and Rocky (Race).
"That's how the cookie crumbles," Jack stated. "Although I never really understood that saying."
"Which one are we watching first?"
They stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Jack leapt to his feet and threw the movies down before closing his eyes and spinning around.
"Jack, what the fuck are you doing?"
"This is more fun," he said cryptically, coming to a halt.
Groping blindly for the ground, he fell to his knees and started crawling forward. Race looked at Blink with a look of suppressed laughter. The blonde shot him the same look. Jack kept crawling until he bumped into a chair and, in his dizzy state, fell over and subsequently landing on top of one of the movies.
"Ow," he moaned, opening his eyes. "Which one did I land on?"
Blink wedged his hand shamelessly under Jack's ass to pull out the DVD box. Race felt a pang of jealousy. Maybe then, if he had understood the jealousy that shot up through his spine as Blink groped under Jack's perky, perfect butt to grab the movie, maybe things would have been different.
"Ha!" Blink cried triumphantly, pulling the offending movie out from under Jack's denim-clad backside. "My fucking movie, bitches!"
He waved American Psycho tauntingly in front of their faces grinning like a little kid who just got a high score on a video game or something.
"Shut up, Blink," Jack shook his head to rid himself of dizziness. "Which movie should we watch second?"
He went to stand up to retry his method but Race shot out and wrapped his still damp arms around his ankles.
"No!"
--
Snitch sniffed Skittery's shoulder. "You smell like basil. It's good."
He shoved him away and went back to sulking. Skittery's father owned the only restaurant in their neighborhood and graciously gave his only son a job. However, this did not mean any special privileges and was often called in at random days to work no matter what. Today was one of those days, and he was none too pleased.
"Shut up," he grumped and crossed his arms over his chest.
Snitch let out a labored sigh. Knowing Skittery, he was going to be in a bad mood all night. Great, there went any fun for the night.
"Hey!" he tried to cheer him up. "Do you know what we have here? That you left last time and nearly had a coronary over?"
He elbowed Skittery to tempt him to answer. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, knowing to what Snitch was implying.
"What's that I see?" he cooed. "A smile? Gracing the features of Lindsey Newcomb's face? An actual smile?"
Skittery set his mouth into a scowl again. "No."
"Come on," he elbowed him again. You know what's here and how it makes you happy."
Once again, the corner of his mouth twitched and almost curled up a little. Snitch knew that victory was in clear sight but he needed to seal the deal. And what better to seal the deal than with Aqua?
"I've got a feeling you could use a little smile," he sang loudly, "hoping it will stay there for just a little while!"
Skittery's smile widened a little but his arms were still crossed tightly over his chest. Snitch broke away from him and reached into the cubby next to the little thirteen-inch television in his room to produce what Skittery had left there.
"Shwing!" Snitch made a sword-drawing noise and held it up like it was the Holy Grail. "You left season seven here. And I know you want to watch it."
Skittery's smiled disappeared. "You ass…I didn't leave that here. I left the movie here. You stole that, didn't you?"
"Stole, left, same difference," he replied flippantly. "What matters is that it's here so…Skits?"
His friend was starting to look rather angry. His face was turning pink.
"I…you…I…" he sputtered. "I was looking for that for, like, a month! Give it back!"
He held his hand out, palm up, as though expecting Snitch to place it there.
"No," he pulled it to his chest.
Skittery stood up, keeping his hand out. "I said, 'give it back.'"
Snitch scuttled back a little. "No."
"What are you, seven?" Skittery followed that by stomping his foot and pouting a little. "Give it!"
He stuffed the DVD boxed set down his pants and stuck his tongue out. "Try getting it back now."
"Snitch," he was offended. "Give it back. That's so gross. You're so gross. You…I paid for that you freaky little monkey!"
Snitch was still laughing and didn't notice when Skittery launched himself at him, tackling him to the ground. He had forgotten where he had hidden the "sacred Buffy discs" and screamed when Skittery's hands went for his crotch.
"Stop molesting me you sicko!" he shrieked.
He thrashed his legs a little and threw his head back. Despite the fact that he had bathed with Skittery and had seen him naked on numerous occasions, the fact that his hands were so close to his nether regions made him feel all…squicky.
"You are so gross," he snapped at him. "Grabbing my crotch."
"My DVD was there. You left me no choice, tree-hugger," Skittery retorted, using the term that was most often hurled at Snitch at school.
"Don't call me a tree-hugger. I care about the environment. We as humans are carelessly destroying what has been here for millions of years, not to mention thousands of animal species that have been here longer than us and are going to be here long after we…" Snitch stopped his ramble halfway when he realized that Skittery had yet to move.
His body was pressed up against every inch of his and he found himself staring into his clear, brown eyes. His heart quickened when he mentally noted that their mouths were close enough that if he pushed his lips out, even a little, they would kiss. That, for some reason, made his heart start to hammer.
"Don't you ever shut up?" Skittery demanded but his voice was low, like he was chastising a barking puppy that he had backed into a corner.
"Not sure," Snitch answered truthfully, wondering why his voice had suddenly dropped a couple of registers.
It was at that point that they both realized that they were boys and were lying on top of each other in what could easily be read as a compromising position. Skittery jumped to his feet and inspected the DVD for any damage. Snitch lay there, dazed and not entirely sure of what just happened.
"I…" Skittery dropped it into his backpack. "I should go. Um, to Mush's. He and Spot are probably lonely."
Snitch felt himself nodding or, rather, his head moving in some bobble-headed variation of nodding. His body was tingling all over. Finally, just as Skittery was leaving his room, he found his voice.
"You're a sicko," he said. "And I thought Jack was the only one."
He turned at the door. "What?"
Shakily, he rose to his feet.
"You heard me. Coming at me, molesting me, almost, almost…" he lost steam and let out a stream of air through his lips.
"You're a moron," Skittery said almost coldly. "I'm not gay and I didn't molest you. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jokinen."
Snitch opened his mouth for a comeback but paused. Skittery never addressed him with his last time. He must've been peeved big time. Not that he was going to let that stop him.
"Get out, Lindsey," he leaned against his dresser. "You big molester!"
"You're such an idiot," he snapped. "I'm not gay. You're overreacting."
"I am not!"
Skittery turned and left. Snitch slammed the door behind him, causing the action figures that still were on his shelves to teeter and collapse on the wood. No way could he stay home. God, what was Skittery's problem? No…his problem. There had been nothing wrong with that. Skits just wanted his precious season seven back. No big deal. Why did he have to go psycho insane Mommy Dearest on him and beat him for his proverbial wire hangers?
There had been nothing intimate about that little episode. Why had he overreacted? Why did his mouth rule everything he said? Snitch stuck his thumb into his mouth and suckled it a little, a habit he had had as a child and had never quite kicked. He needed to do something. He cast a look at his alarm clock. Two. Shit. Skittery had worked later than he had thought. Of course, the jerk had to close with his dad that night. Great.
The chances that the others were up was high, right? Right. He stuffed his feet back into his sneakers and set off to Blink's house.
--
Mush rolled over on his bed, snoring softly. Spot, though, was wide awake. He suffered from chronic insomnia after mainlining his caffeine addiction into espresso shots. Although he had never been a good or sound sleeper. Every little noise caused him to jump up out of bed. That was why he had the wings when he was little. Thinking back, he felt like an idiot but they had given him a sense of comfort and all that jazz that only six people would ever know about.
He turned his gaze to Mush, wondering how he could zonk out at such an early time. He pulled his arm up, allowing his Rainbow Brite (a gag gift from Blink) to ride up and show his stomach. Spot turned his gaze away and pretended to go through songs in his head. It helped lull him to sleep when his insomnia got extremely bad.
He stole a glance back at Mush who was mumbling in his sleep about cabbage. He wondered what the fuck kind of dream he was having.
That was when Spot heard someone slide a key into the lock and the back door open. He knew which door because the kitchen was directly under them.
"Mush," he stood to wake his friend. "Someone's here."
He stuck his hand out to shake him but let his hover an inch over his exposed stomach, feeling the sweet warm radiated from it. How did Mush say so warm? Spot was always freezing. Lucky bastard.
He shook him. Mush shot up like a mouse trap and cracked right into Spot's head.
"Ow, you asshole!" he snapped, rubbing his head where they had collided.
"What is it?" Mush rubbed his eyes sleepily. "That you have to wake me up and then call me an asshole over."
"Someone's here," he repeated. "They just came in."
He saw his friend's eyes widen in the gloom. "Think it's an insane axe murderer?"
Spot rolled his eyes. "Yes, because Jason Voorhees uses a key to get into a house."
"Shut up," Mush shoved him just as the door opened.
Much to their dual surprise, Skittery leaned in the doorway looking more than a little miffed.
"Snitch is an asshole," he said simply. "So I'm staying here."
No sooner had the words left his mouth when they heard the sound of a key being put back into the lock and someone stepping in.
"Jason's back," Mush said simply. "And I think this time he brought Freddy."
There was a massive amount of shuffling denoting more than one person. Sure enough, when Mush's door opened again, everyone else stood there. Snitch's eyes were wild and crazed while everyone else just looked sleepy. Spot idly wondered how Jack's Howdy Doody pajamas pants he wore—and nothing else, the slut—didn't give him nightmares.
"What's going with you two?" Race yawned. "You woke everyone up."
"We're…" Skittery sighed and leaned against Mush's dresser.
"You fucking dragged us the fuck out of bed to not even fucking tell us what the fuck is going on?" Blink asked irately.
"Louie," Mush's mother could be heard. "You watch your mouth, boy."
"I swear she has fucking curse-senses," he mumbled.
They chuckled.
"So if there's nothing really the matter," Jack said. "Let's all get to bed. Here. We haven't stayed all together in awhile. Aaaand, the party in the manor is tomorrow night."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Mush asked.
"Nothing but we're going," Jack laughed.
"Shut up, Cowboy," Mush threw a pillow at him, which Jack caught only to be pelted with another one.
"Ow!" he snapped.
"John Francis Kelly, boy, I can hear you all the way in here!"
They burst into laughter and those standing collapsed on the floor. Even Skittery and Snitch who, in Spot's opinion, looked a little uncomfortable joined in.
"Good night, Blink," Race yawned.
"Good night, Mush," Blink snuggled into the carpet.
"'Night, Spot," Mush curled into his blankets.
"'Night, Jack," Spot murmured.
"Good night, John-boy!" Jack exclaimed which got them all laughing again.
"Shut the fuck up and go to fucking bed," Blink muttered.
And that was that.
--
A/N: Beh, short chapter, but I needed to show the 'awww' factor of their friendship and set up the different pairings for the future. Other than that, I'm happy with the content of this one. Tell me what you think…and don't be afraid to suggest anything.