Summer Nights at Band Camp
by Hg Muffin-Stuff
Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.
Chapter Two: Accompagnato Con Fuoco
"Hey Squiddy, you're flat again."
Squidward lifted his left hand from the keys, placing it at his hip, huffing in irritation. "No, Fancyboy, you're just sharp."
"Oh, I beg to differ. Jeffery?" A short fish in a green and white striped shirt perked his head up from his flute. "This sound like an A, concert pitch, to you?" Squilliam played a note on his clarinet.
"Yeah, that's A. Maybe a teensy bit sharp," he said.
"Ha," Squidward smirked.
Frowning, Squilliam said, "Okay, then, let's hear you."
"All right then." Squidward played the note.
Jeffery squinted an eye. "Yep, you're flat."
"Oh, how do you know anyway?" he grumbled, trying the note again, trying to find the right pitch and only getting worse, stopping after he began to squeak.
Jeffery blew his bangs out of his face. "I only have perfect pitch, dumbass."
"Well, how was I supposed to know that? Dumbass."
Squilliam sidled up to Squidward and stroked his arm teasingly with a suction cup. "Don't worry, Squiddy. You'll get good at it eventually."
"Squilliam, I don't need your -"
His voice hushed but not hurried, Squilliam leaned forward, his mouth to Squidward's neck as he said, "Can I talk to you after class?"
"Why? So you can rub it into my face how much better than me you are?" 'Oh, no, Squidward, you didn't just say that out loud, did you?'
Squilliam's eyes softened in earnest, he took a step back. "It's just been awhile since we've talked. That's all."
As the bell rang and Mr. Shores gave his last minute instructions for practice and study over the loud clanging metal, Squilliam stole Squidward's arm in his suction cupped hand and led him down the hall past the rows of lockers, past the classrooms and the stairs and the water fountain, past the gym and finally leading the two of them outside into a cement cage between the field and the parking lot and closing the door behind them.
"I don't think we're supposed to be here," Squidward said.
"I don't care. I need a moment." Squilliam put a tentacle to forehead.
"So, um...did your brother's visit go well?"
After shooting Squidward a calculated glare, his face fell and he whispered, "It's all my fault."
"What are you talking about, Squilliam? What happened?"
"You know, this is one of my favorite spots to take my fuckbuddies to make out?"
"Ohh...that's, nice," Squidward said, his voice a mixture between awkward and eager, somewhat hoping that his intention had been to make out with him, but rather confused, as Squilliam himself didn't seem to know what the fuck he was talking about.
"Then I found out last week it's Maxi's favorite spot too."
"Are you pissed that he stole your romantic hideaway behind school maintenance? Come on, he's just here for what, a week? Two weeks? Then he'll be kissing those girls goodbye, and you can get back to sucking cock in this cement cubbyhole your fucktoys know as Chez Squilliam," he said, inflecting the last syllable of the name upward in a French accent.
"He won't be kissing any girls goodbye."
"What?"
"Promise you won't tell anyone, and I mean anybody. Not your mom, dad, or therapist. Yes, we know why you get called out of math every other Thursday."
"Okay, okay, I promise. What is it?"
Squilliam lowered his head and stared into Squidward's elbow. "He was...kissing Travis."
"Oh. Why would I tell anyone that? I know how people can be."
"Thank you, Squiddy, thank you." Squilliam winced and turned away. "This is all because of me, you know." Squidward rubbed Squilliam's arm as he continued. "He always envied my freedom to just express myself, that I would dare to wear high heels or talk about guys I'm interested in, just like I'd always envied the way my parents actually respect him. He's the only real Fancyson boy, you know. I'm just the poorly done clone."
As the tears began to fall from Squilliam's eyes, Squidward dug through his backpack, pulling out a handkerchief and extending it to him. "Here," he said, handing it over.
"I should've told him not to envy me," Squilliam said into Squidward's handkerchief. "Oh, thank you, darling. There's nothing to envy about my life. Getting beat up every day just because you're horny like everybody else, having fabulous wealth that you can't do anything useful with, parents who hate you or ignore you and mostly just wish you'd go away or become somebody else...I'd lose my mind if I couldn't have you with me, Squiddy."
"Come on...there's plenty to envy about you, Squilliam. What about your fantastic clarinet skills?" Squidward wanted to kill himself for saying that. Still, he hadn't technically admitted that Squilliam was any better than he was.
"I do have that."
"And what about all that action you're always getting?"
"Eugh. Don't remind me. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of guys who are good, but mostly I end up screwing horny virgins who don't know what they're doing and selfish twits who are only in it for themselves. I'm lucky to get a good lay in maybe once a month, tops."
"Oh. That would be frustrating." Squidward began to stroke Squilliam's wrist. "Squilliam, I may be a horny virgin, and I may be a bit selfish, but I really do like you, and I think that we can have something really special together."
"Special?" Squilliam asked, gripping Squidward's hand in his, stalling his strokes. "I can make you feel more passionately than you ever have." Slowly, he drifted his hips forward toward Squidward's, then, just as they touched, thrust his whole body forward to firmly embrace him as he caressed Squidward's cheek and rapidly tongued with him.
The suddenness shook Squidward nearly to the ground in a faint, but the mellow passion of the kisses soothed him and kept him upright - somewhat, anyway, as Squilliam now held him up against his chest at a thirty-degree angle, his free tentacles feeling Squidward up. Five months of growing attraction and desire had finally yielded something worthwhile, like strands of kelp developing and becoming entangled, just to be ripped from the ground, separated, and consumed. Except you couldn't eat a high school sweetheart. Or could you?
'It's now or never, Squidward.' With a single motion, Squidward moved his arms from Squilliam's waist and back to his shoulders, gripped them tightly, and kissed him long and slow, savoring the moment and humming a random sweet tune. He tilted Squilliam backward, massaging his back with two of his lower tentacles, still not breaking their kiss.
Squidward took his lips away and leaned in toward his neck to kiss him wetly. "My, my, Squiddy," Squilliam said with a bashful batting of the eyelids. "Kiss me again, Sizzle-Lips." These kisses did indeed sizzle, sizzled and lingered on his lips. They kissed again, and when Squidward paused to take a breath, Squilliam said, "Oh, baby, you're simply ravishing. But let's wait until we get to my place. I have some," he kissed Squidward's shoulder, "scented candles, and I can draw us a bubble bath, and your first time can be really special."
"What do you care about making it special? You're not a sensitive lover. I'm in band, you know."
"Some cum-stained maintenance shed in the back of a high school is no place for you to lose your virginity, Squiddy."
"Why not? I mean, most people seem to lose it in the back of a van."
"You deserve better than the back of a van for your first time. Trust me, I know."
"That's very - sweet of you, Squillie."
"What's that?"
"Oh - nothing, just that I hear 'Squillie' in my head when I think about you. You don't mind, do you? If I call you Squillie?" Squidward's confidence melted away as he spoke each word, his voice trembling as he expected Squilliam to swiftly rebuke him for his use of the affectionate moniker.
"Oh. No, I don't mind." Squilliam's blasé attitude at first cheered Squidward, until he worried at Squilliam's admonition that it would only be: "On one condition -" with a sly smile as he leaned in to kiss Squidward. "We get to do that. As often as possible."
Squidward hugged him, not in the romantic, don't-you-want-me kind of way that he had been aiming for, but in the eager, excited-just-to-be-near-you-unbridled-exuberance kind of way. "Tonguing is my specialty," he said, trying to save it with a breathy tone and double entendre, but Squilliam simply smiled, ran his arms slowly up through Squidward's hair, and glided his tongue into his mouth.
When the kiss had ended, Squidward gasped in a panic. "Oh, no! Do you realize how late we are for history?"
"No. And I don't care."
"Well, I do. Come on, we can kiss more later tonight when we have sex. Right now I'm just worried about not getting expelled."
"Oh, Squiddy, you won't get expelled for missing one class."
"Yeah, but missing class after they caught me smoking weed last week?"
"Oh, yeah. But I doubt they'd expel you for that. Just look at how many times they've caught me -"
"I'm not a Fancyson."
"Right. That's - you're right. We should go." Squilliam stood, dusted himself off and unruffled the hems of Squidward's t-shirt, while Squidward did likewise and straightened Squilliam's tie, smoothed his jacket. Holding the door open for Squidward, Squilliam whispered, "You look absolutely adorable, Squiddy," as Squidward grabbed his backpack and clarinet case and dashed through the door. Squilliam coolly grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him from running any further. "Don't run, dear. You'll get sweaty."
"I don't care if they think we fucked. Half the band already thinks we did anyway."
Squilliam chuckled. "Oh, honey, I wouldn't care if they watched us fuck in seven positions. I just mean I don't want you to get sweaty until after we've gotten going tonight."
"Oh, I see." Squidward smiled as they walked side by side, relished his fantasy of them as a couple. "So how was your first time?"
"You think that's appropriate hallway conversation? You're so crass."
"Hey, you're the one who brought up doing it in seven positions." And not even a trombonist. Impressive. "But since when are you sensitive about your sex life? Nobody ever has sex with you expecting you to keep quiet about it."
"Let's just say, this person expected me not to brag about it to my friends. And it was my first time. I wasn't known as a slut yet, dumbass."
"Okay. I won't pry."
As they approached their classroom, Squilliam said, "We should go in one at a time. Our peers will all know instantly what we were up to, but maybe the teacher will be fooled. He's rather dull, isn't he?"
Squidward snickered. "As dull as a 20-watt bulb." He clutched at Squilliam's hands and leaned forward to kiss him, lifting two of his legs back at the same time.
Squilliam smiled as their lips parted, said, "Can't wait to see you tonight, Squiddy." Slowly curling his hands out of Squidward's grip and folding them around Squidward's arms, sliding down again, he locked lips, the two kissing hard, Squidward dipping Squilliam slightly, turning him a bit as he held him close. "See you there soon, honey," Squilliam said as he strode confidently into the classroom, acted as though nothing were abnormal about arriving twenty minutes late, and closed the door behind him.
Sighing in high pitch and with a great degree of tremolo and vibrato, Squidward blushed and looked downward, embarrassed at his shameless display of infatuation, despite there being no one to witness it.
Or so he had thought. And hoped.
"Well, if it isn't that band faggot Squidward Testicles. Still having threesomes with richie and his brother?" Oh, great. Eric.
Squidward gulped. He'd acted in this play before, and this was his cue to exit stage left. Wordlessly, he jumped for the door, only to fall flat on his back, a muscular shark standing in front of him, blocking the door. In fact, not just standing in front of him, but also standing on top of him, two other guys at the side pulling at his tentacles, keeping him from struggling.
"Let me -"
Eric punched him in the jaw. "What's in the case? Your dildo?"
"That's my clarinet, you ninny. Now unhand me!" Eric simply gagged his mouth, and they dragged him down the hall, passing the stairs and the water fountain, past the gym and into the empty locker rooms. Eric shoved him onto a bench as the others helped restrain him. Squidward shot his head back to see what was going on, glimpsed two of the fish holding his clarinet, the sensation of fins grasping his thighs, pulling his body upward, his knees hitching up toward his chest, the insults intended to further his humiliation that he would never register.
He released an ink cloud, but the cold plastic of the mouthpiece had already begun ravaging him, and going quickly deeper. All that had changed was that it became that much more confusing and terrifying, but at least he could imagine himself somewhere faraway. Yeah, right! He was in agony. As if he could simply close his eyes and dream it all away.
The agony struck him deeper than any tears could wash into, and apart from the few that shot away from his eyes in sheer reflex to pain, he didn't cry, but sputtered in skittering breaths. He tried not to think about how far it was going into him, or about how those beautiful keys were being desecrated within him after all that attention he'd painstakingly applied over the years to preserve its beauty immaculately, even while his less dedicated peers had been so careless in the care and keeping of their instruments. His one childhood friend, now skewering him and taking his hopes and dreams prisoner.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and he was left alone with a mess of blood and his damaged instrument to cradle in his arms. The one good thing about school, they had managed to destroy, and to them it was nothing more than a game.
He stared at the mangled and bloodied keys, keys he'd just finessed that morning to play a bright tune that would take him away from the hell of living without the risk or emotional dive of attempting suicide. Drawing the bell close to his face, he kissed the rim of it, his tear falling into the bore. There was no chance that he would allow some lowlife to rip away the only things he held dear to him.
With a trembling hand and a stagger in his step, he crawled to his knees, suction cups clinging to the rows of lockers, as he stood feebly and searched for his own, his clarinet still loosely gripped in his right hand. As he found his own locker, he methodically turned the dial of his lock, clockwise, pause, sigh, counter-clockwise, head pressed against metal, pause click, clockwise, eyes closed - shit. He'd circled three times too many. Once again he proceeded, his motions even more deliberate, and the lock unceremoniously clicked and disengaged.
A chill washed over his body as he ran his hand along the walls, searching for an empty locker to stow it in. He could bury Clara later that afternoon, but for the moment he couldn't let anyone find out what had happened to him. Especially Squilliam.
He grasped the handle of the locker, squeezed it, opened the door, shoved his clarinet inside and closed the door, grasped the lock...slipping. He was vaguely aware of his arm sliding down the lockers, still not sure whether he'd clasped it shut, the combination lock fading out of view.
Squilliam. Oh, shit, they had an evening planned together! He was under no illusion about Squilliam's intentions; either he'd find out about his ordeal when they fucked or Squidward would hem and haw and Squilliam would boot him from his house, just another conquest that didn't work out. One of those unreliable virgins. He couldn't take that kind of heartbreak, even from somebody he never expected to return his affection.
The lock dangled, each part separated, and Squidward drew in a labored breath and clenched it in his hand, forcing the rod to close, his arm drifting away, the side of his tentacle grazing the notched edges of the dial as he collapsed to the ground, the room fading to grainy sepia and bursts of sodium-vapor yellows. The sensation of blood trailing his thigh, sluicing down between his legs, cradled his mind, rocked him in a calm unease that he was alive.
Perhaps most inexplicable of the day's events, though, was the realization of the loneliness that swelled inside him, that he hoped to have Squilliam by his side as he lost consciousness, his regard for his dignity flying past the ceiling with his last remaining sensation.
***
Twenty minutes of boring lecture was quite enough for Squilliam. Squidward had ditched him on purpose, he was sure of it. Or something terrible had happened to him. But Squidward had had a rough enough week already, and he didn't want to assume the worst.
"Mr. Finley, excuse me, but I need to use the restroom," he said, standing and flicking his wrist, an air of self-importance circling his words.
"Sit down, Fancyson, there's only ten more minutes left to class. Now, when the President..."
"Excuse me, but I don't think I've made myself clear. My need is - ahem. Dire," he said, flashing a fifty from his breast pocket and twiddling it while wiggling his eyebrow.
"Bribery isn't going to work, mister. If you want to go fuck your latest beau in the bathroom, you're going to have to wait ten minutes like the rest of us."
Squilliam smiled slyly. "How about a hundred?"
"Fine, just go."
Smiling brightly, he dropped two fifties, let them float onto the desk as he walked into the hallway. Doorway closed, he asked timidly, "Squiddy? Squiddy, are you here, baby?"
'Great. This was probably all a set-up. He probably wanted to get me all along, to reject me for the sake of rejecting me, just so he could laugh at me and everyone would see that I wasn't good enough for the loner Squidward Tentacles.'
He took a brisk pace through the hallway, combed the bathrooms with a rapidly discerning eye, and then headed for the fountain to get a drink. "It's almost five minutes until the bell; where in the sea can he be?" As he bent over to get a drink, though, he saw in the reflection of the metal receptacle a door slightly ajar, a flash of blue and gold. "Squiddy?" Squilliam turned around, made rushed and faltering steps to the inside of the locker room, where he saw the brilliant blonde hair streaming from Squidward's paled aqua face, the bruises and splashes and puddles of blood dotting his tentacles and face, cushioning his body. He felt almost guilty for finding his mutilated body attractive, attractive in the way one could see a precious beauty unfolding from a dying flower.
Squilliam fell to his knees, lips trembling as he fumbled through his pocket to get his shell phone, dial 9-1-1. "My Squiddy...he's unconscious. Blood - lots of blood. He was beaten pretty badly. Please, help him. He needs help, now. Help him! I don't know, maybe ten or twenty minutes just get here! Oh, Squiddy, you'll be fine, just wake up, please." He pressed his cheek against Squidward's forehead. "You have to be okay." He parted some hair out of the way and kissed Squidward's nose. "You're my best friend, Squiddy dear. My only friend, and I love you. Oh, Squidward, you have to be okay. I know you'll be. You'll make it through, honey, I promise."