Summer Nights at Band Camp
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 Four: Tempo di Marcia
The whir of wheels rolling against road lulled Squidward into a half-waking doze with the dull monotony of the mechanical, rocky terrain-carved rhythm. Why they couldn't have held band camp a little closer to town, he didn't know, but it probably had something to do with what Mr. Shores had said about the tranquility of the great outdoors. Whatever he'd said, it faded to the back of Squidward's mind as he rested his head against the glass, noting as his breath arrested that the bus tread frighteningly close to the jagged edge of the road.
Robbi Taylor, a tall silverside girl who was sitting next to him, leaned forward, the seat ahead supporting her by the underarms and shoulders as she chatted with a couple of her flautist buddies. As she bent her torso, her white shirt increasingly smoothed over her back, revealing an image of two clarinets, one askew and disassembled with smears of cork grease on the corks, the other assembled with the clarinet section members' names written on it, and musical notes spilling out the bell and tone holes, words reading: "Clarinets: Greased up and in the hole, we have fantastic rhythm." Eh. It wasn't so clever.
Not that that had stopped Squilliam from gloating about it, how his design had been chosen over all of two other submissions. Squidward was particularly fond of his own submission: an anthropomorphized clarinet playing itself, the words coming out of the bell reading: "We don't suck - we blow." Squilliam had ripped his design into shreds, of course (figuratively, as well as literally): the words weren't placed prominently enough; the phrase was completely done to death on the chests and backs of band geeks across the sea; the image wasn't a clear enough illustration of the concept; etcetera ad nauseam infinitum.
Squidward looked across the aisle, beyond Harry to the window on the opposite end of his row where Squilliam sat straight up beside, clarinet case and smooth tentacled hands in lap. He stared past Harry to admire Squilliam's polished appearance: his slender yet muscular legs, slicked black hair, his utterly beguiling unibrow, the gentle curve of his cheek, the powdery yellow and velvety maroon of his eyes. He could drown in those eyes.
***
"I brought you a present. It's for your birthday." Squidward handed him the delicately wrapped box, coral blue paper tied with fiery red ribbon, the box itself stuffed with confetti and baby blue tissue paper, gently cradling the treasure inside as Squilliam unraveled it and grasped it in his hands.
"Oh, my, Squiddy. It's simply wonderful."
"Press the button. It plays our favorite clarinet concerto."
Squilliam traced a suction cup over the miniature ceramic renderings of themselves from foreheads to noses to clarinets to legs, each touching, merging, until he finally located the button and depressed it, igniting the music to spark alive, a sweet, romantic tune. Carefully setting it on his bureau, he turned his wrist around and with the back of his hand caressed Squidward from his forehead to cheek to nose to chest, then gripped his shirt and kissed him hard.
"I made it just for you, Squillie. Sorry I couldn't get it to you on your birthday. I was a little busy recovering in the hospital." A sarcastic sentiment expressed with sweetness.
"Don't worry about that; this is lovely. I - adore it. I really do. I really do." The hand that had gripped his shirt gradually unclenched and slid down the cheap fabric, met Squidward's hand with a subtle thud and curled around it as he gazed at his new music box. "You want to take a bubble bath, Squiddy?"
***
"You want a handjob?" Harry licked his lower lip teasingly, stroked his fin between two of Squilliam's thighs.
He couldn't let go of the sounds his Squiddy had made when he'd first made him orgasm in band class - quiet, muffled, then a passionate squeal. Couldn't let go of the frantic blush that had rippled across his cheeks. Couldn't let go of how cute he'd looked in nothing but bathwater and rose petals.
"So? Do you want it or not?" Harry said with a nudge of the elbow.
"Oh, yeah. Just give me a minute to get ready." He leaned back, his eyes closed, as he pictured Squidward on his bed that one evening.
***
Squidward stood from the corner of the bed, positioned himself behind Squilliam, and tugged at his tie, loosening it from his neck and pulling it off, letting it drop to the ground as he methodically separated buttons from holes to the beat of the concerto playing from the music box. The sculptures themselves were mediocre, and he already had at least two of that exact music box in his drawers, but Squilliam didn't have to tell him any of that, instead humming along with the music as his shirt coiled to the ground on top of his tie.
Squidward nibbled along his neck and down his right shoulder. "Sounds fabulous, Squillie-pie. Just let me get my shirt off." He lifted his shirt over his head while Squilliam turned to watch him, a stream of his long, blond hair swathed over his head and obscuring his eyes and much of his nose as he did. When he rocked his head to and fro to knock those intrepid golden locks out of his face, Squidward's smoothly swaying ass drew Squilliam's attention downward.
***
"Ready yet?" Chiseled eyes flashed with annoyance, veiling his enthusiasm.
"What? Oh, sure, go ahead."
***
Squilliam tied an herbal sachet around the faucet, ran the hot water over it as he prepared the bubble bath. "Turn on that stereo behind you, hun, I've got this wonderful new recording by Leonard Bernfish ready to go."
Classical music danced along the walls, echoed as the tub filled and Squidward tentatively submersed a tentacle in the shallow water. "Come on in. The water doesn't bite."
"It sure doesn't. But I do." Squilliam slinked into the bath, water waist deep as he nipped at Squidward's shoulder.
***
"Oh, Squiddy..."
"Did you just call me 'Squiddy'?" Harry asked, though he didn't slow the tempo of his pumping.
"Yeah, I did," he said, hitching his breath slightly. "Faster." Harry was more than happy to oblige.
Squidward shouted, "Out of my way, Tromboner-boy!" as he leapt over Rachel and the flautists, landing in Harry's lap, his chin poised next to Squilliam's hard on.
"Hello, Squiddy. How nice of you to drop by." A smile sparkled on his lips, not breaking but flaring out as the proximity of Squidward's mouth to his cock sharpened his ecstasy.
"The audacity!" He pushed Harry into the aisle, knocking him slightly off balance for a moment in the tumble of the bus.
"As if you don't deserve it." Squilliam gave an irritated nudge to his rib. "Hey, I haven't climaxed yet."
"Whoop-de-doo."
He huffed, "Well? What do you intend to do about it?"
"I don't give a damn about your -" Squilliam's sly smile and quick peck on Squidward's cheek soon proved him wrong as he began stroking. "You like that?" He varied the pressure, teasing his shaft, and almost thought he heard Squilliam squeal.
"Y-yes."
"I don't even know why I'm doing this."
"I think you know - aannn that's good - why."
Squidward grinned with a seductive smirk as he watched Squilliam's face quickly redden, faculties for snarky speech crashing down on him. There was nothing in the sea comparable to the feeling of doing all this for Squilliam. No - he wasn't doing this for Squilliam, he was doing this to Squilliam. Big difference. He was just getting his payback for that day in band class. Yeah...this would show him.
Squilliam didn't squeal, instead letting out a dignified "ooh." Because Squilliam Fancyson III was capable of such things. "So what are you going to do with it?" he asked, pointing to Squidward's cum-filled tentacle.
Squidward dragged his tentacle across the surface of Squilliam's nose, then leaned forward to lap at the cum that was hugging the curvature of the lowest portion of his nose.
Squilliam's nose thoroughly licked clean, Squidward displayed his tentacle, some cum still in his suction cups. "Suck it, bitch."
"Oh, Squidward. You've been getting into my bad pornography collection again, haven't you?" While Squidward bit his lower lip in embarrassment, Squilliam elegantly began sliding his tongue across each suction cup, then took the whole tentacle in his mouth, leaning against Squidward's chest as he tasted both of them together, tentacle and cum merging. Squidward was so easy, much easier than he let on. "I taste wonderful, as usual," he said as he withdrew.
"You know you liked me so much better."
"Maybe I should do a tasting for comparison." Squilliam tickled several of his thighs, giggles bubbling up from Squidward's chest.
"Yeah...maybe you should."
Squilliam pouted his lips. "Well, I'm not."
"What? Why the hell -"
"I think you know why not." Squilliam shifted into his own seat, disengaging himself from their entangled position.
"Come on, Squillie, I only did that because -"
"Shush up. And don't you call me that, Squiddy."
"Okay. Then stop calling me Squiddy."
With a chuckle, he said simply, "You know that won't ever happen. Squiddy." Squidward reclined in his seat, his four feet to the top of the seat ahead, trying to forget the blowjob that almost was.
'Oh, why couldn't band camp be held a little closer to home?' Squilliam begged of the upholstery. 'Squiddy does look stunning in this band geek get-up, though. And the sun keeps flashing on his hair, almost like he's a model or something. And his legs are at a perfectly revealing angle. Oh, Squillie, you devil.'
Damn. Squidward had drilled that silly pet name into his thoughts, even.
***
As the bath filled up, Squidward wrapped Squilliam in an embrace with two of his outer legs, while the other two curled up, intertwined with Squilliam's and pressed against their chests.
Squilliam turned the faucet off. "You're excited, aren't you, Squiddy?"
"Well...uh..." That shy and restrained giddiness that Squidward seemed to wear when he was with him was the obvious giveaway.
"Of course you are. Who wouldn't be excited to lose their virginity to me?" He pinched the small of Squidward's back. "Are you nervous?"
Cocking his head and pulling backward a little, he said, "Of course not!"
"It's okay, Squiddy darling. You're really cute when you're nervous, you know." The tension was stronger than that between two spinning ballet dancers, one holding the other and launching him into a tours en l'air. "Give me a kiss." He slid his hand up Squidward's back, pressed their lips together but let him take over from there. When Squidward's tongue left his mouth, he gave a quick peck at his cheek and said, "You don't need to be nervous."
"That's a hot one."
"No. I mean it. I'll be as rough or gentle as you want. You don't think I'd get a reputation as such a fantastic lover by being a selfish little ass, do you?"
"Well...what if you don't like me?"
"I don't think we're in any danger of that happening."
"Come on, Squillie...I'm not that naïve."
"Would we be here now if we weren't attracted to each other? Squiddy, give yourself a little more credit."
"I've just been waiting so long for this, I don't want to screw things up. I want you to like me as much as I like you."
"I do like you, Squidward."
"No, no, I didn't mean that. I just meant -"
"Oh. Oh, right. Of course you did." He blushed, actually filling-the-cheeks blushed. Not that Squidward would ever know, given that the moment Squilliam had felt the heat on his cheeks, he shot his arms out in a makeshift embrace, burying his face in that blonde bliss known as Squidward's hair and tickling his chest and buttocks with his free tentacles. He had been right at lunchtime - Squidward felt very good to him.
In their hug-slash-make-out-session, their legs untangled, Squidward's pulled up and apart, straddling Squilliam's abdomen. As Squilliam moved from kissing the back of his head to neck to lips, Squidward slid downward, his legs pulling further upward, feet stretched to Squilliam's chest and shoulders. They were so. Tantalizingly. Close.
"Pull your legs up. We're going to play a little game so you can be a good boyfriend for my little brother."
'No. Don't think about such a thing at a perfect moment like this, you sick bastard.' He took in the scent and the texture of Squidward's soap-bubbled skin.
"Get in the back."
"The back of a van? Isn't that a little cliché?"
"Just go there."
Squidward kissed the corner of Squilliam's lips. "Anything wrong, Squillie?"
"I'm fine."
"Then fuck me. I'm horny as shit for you."
"Classy, Squiddy."
Rape wasn't supposed to feel that good. In fact, twelve-year-old Squilliam Fancyson III was pretty sure that rape was supposed to not feel good at all. He sure as hell didn't want to be screwing his date's older brother. But he couldn't ignore that subtle yet painful thrill swelling inside him.
"So?" Squidward asked, his voice brightly eager.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. But not here. It wouldn't be terribly comfortable for you."
"I don't care, let's just -"
"Trust me, Squiddy, you'll care."
"You know, um - Greg, was it?"
"Yeah."
"I just want to, thank you for showing me how it's done. Can I have a picture? You know, to relive the memories. One that makes me feel dirty, like with your cum on my face or something."
"Sure thing, kiddo."
'I can't wait until mother and father see what their dirty little mollycoddle has been up to.'
Squilliam stroked Squidward's nose, smiled earnestly at the nasal tittering that inevitably followed. Squidward was the epitome of innocence. And he was all his, for the night anyway. "You like these candles, Squiddy?"
"Oh, they're lovely. They really put me in the mood -"
"To fuck, yeah, I know."
"Well? Why don't we hit those sheets and make the neighbors jealous, huh?"
"In a minute." He sunk lower into the tub.
Just as Squidward was lifting himself out of it. "Squillie? You don't...want to do this?"
"I - will you give me a minute?"
"Something is wrong; I knew it." He tapped his feet in a spill-the-coral posture.
"No, there's nothing - can't a cephalopod have a minute without there being something wrong? Shit, Squiddy..." He jumped out of the bath, scarcely sloshing the water as he rushed to Squidward's side, clutching his hands and leaning head against shoulder. "I do want you."
Squidward lay back against the silk sheets and numerous pillows, striking an enticing pose, eyebrows raised suggestively. Squilliam dove onto the bed beside him, twirled his hair in a tentacle, eyed his partner from tentacles to eyes. Of all the arts they dabbled in, Squidward had always been involved from an earlier age, and never had one introduced the other to a given discipline. What a treasure to be able to introduce him to the art of sex.
"You don't have to worry about me being too clingy or anything, Squillie," said Squidward, pawing at his chest. "I know you, and I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to go on this ride. I'm just here to have some fun with you."
"Good. Good boy, Squiddy." A quick kiss to the shoulder. 'Shit. Those words aren't relieving me. I thought for sure I was anxious because I don't want to break Squiddy's heart when I dump him. What if I'm anxious that he'd actually be okay with being dumped? And I'd want him to miss me.'
"Hey, gorgeous, when are we gonna -"
"I can't." Couldn't do it. Couldn't face those possibilities.
"Huh?"
"We - shouldn't. I know, you tell me you aren't clingy, valiant effort. But I don't want to break your heart. And no matter how much you try to deny it, I can see that you really are in love with me."
Squidward chuckled, a snort of incredulity. "You think I'm in love with you?"
Sniffles. 'Oh, please, let me run, hide, and die. Fucking nightmare.'
"Okay, so maybe a tiny part of me is in love with you."
Cracking a smirk, Squilliam said, "The 'tiny part' must be your dick, right?"
Instead of getting angry or embarrassed, Squidward simply forced a smile and replied, "You would know. It takes one to know one, after all."
"And what is that supposed to mean? That you need a small dick to see one? That's the most pathetic comeback I've heard from you in a long time."
They held hands loosely as they sat together, everything like old times at school, except that they were naked and surrounded by silky sheets.
"You're usually far wittier than that, though. Those medications must be affecting your sass centers." His voice fell, but he didn't dare ask about the wellbeing of the recently rebuffed, however genuine his concern.
"Yeah, I already told my parents I was having a sleepover. Do you mind if I stay just this night?"
"Oh, sure, go ahead." He watched Squidward curl into his blankets. "I guess I'll get in too." When he slipped under the covers, he kept himself facing the opposite way, a large gulf between them, with the exception of a single foot he brushed against one of Squidward's in what he hoped would feel like a convincing accident.
Squidward certainly hoped his muted tears were sufficiently muted by the ravishingly soft silk sheets, tears that weren't truly muted until he felt a rough twitch from across the bed and kept himself awake for another hour to relish the contact of tentacle against tentacle. An illusion of intimacy was better than nothing.
***
Squidward sneered. "What kind of snob monograms his clarinet case in royal purple velvet?"
Squilliam inspected Squidward's own clarinet case. "What kind of guy who can discern royal purple would accessorize his cheap clarinet case with tacky pins of teenage heartthrobs? What kind of geek are you, anyway?"
"The kind of geek you'd like to fuck."
"Ooh, touché. You're just sizzling today, aren't you?"
***
It was never wise to date - no, not date, fuck - within one's section. Too much like incest.
Morning glazed the city and the eyes of the (very lightly) sleeping Squilliam, stirring him from his fitful dreams. He discreetly shuffled himself underneath the blankets, his maneuver complicated by the realization that his foot was still connected to Squidward's, each suction cup clinging desperately to another. Lifting the blanket, he took to the delicate task of separating them, piece by piece, each ga-plop of freedom sending him tingling.
Thoroughly disengaged, he approached the other side of his bed, to where Squidward snored at a steady rate, his chest slowly rising and falling, his hair swirling remarkably neat around the pillow. With a tender kiss to his nose, Squilliam left him for the cold morning air and his thoughts.
'I'm hopeless. Homosexuality? Sure. An artist and a slut? Okay. But I can't, cannot, CANNOT be a homosectional. I mean, two clarinets, doing each other? What would people think?
'All right, so that's just a distraction. I mean, the fact he plays clarinet can hardly be an issue when he sucks so badly at it (really, he blows). Heh. Sucks. Blows. Squiddy would laugh at that.
'I can't risk him, but how can I not?'
***
Squidward woke up to a vaguely muffled cacophony of band chatter, only a single voice standing out from the rest as familiar and distinct in its timbre. Ironic that they who were so harmonic in class and at performances produced such discord when not directed by notes on a page or the band director's guidance.
"Squiddy, wake up. You're drooling on my shoulder."
"Wha -? Oh, sorry." Not that sorry. Knowing Squilliam, he probably got more of a thrill out of having warm saliva get on him than from that handjob earlier.
***
The smell of fresh vanilla hazelnut coffee and sunshine permeated the halls. 'So this is what it's like to wake up rich,' Squidward thought. 'At least he's getting me breakfast, or at least morning coffee, after that scene last night.'
Even with that thought, the temporary loneliness of the bed was no comfort, particularly as he had nothing to do but wrestle with the events of the prior evening. Squilliam was probably trying to set him up the whole time, just to achieve that "gotcha!" moment and humiliate him for daring to think that he could ever hook up with someone as shining as Squilliam Fancyson III.
By the time an hour had passed, he was confident that Squilliam wasn't making breakfast. However, in order to be sure, he slipped on his shirt, skated across the floors to see if he was in the kitchen. "Squillie?" The bathroom. "Are you here?" The solarium.
Suspicions confirmed, he retreated to Squilliam's bedroom, grabbed his belongings and headed for the door in a spate of quiet crying.
"Where do you thin' you're goin'?" The voice was both familiar and unfamiliar. Robust, yet silky and slightly frayed.
"Oh, Maximillian. I didn't know you were still here on break."
"I have anoth'r day. An' call me Maxi." He must have noticed Squidward staring at him, with the musculature of a jock and endowed with not only the Fancyson unibrow but a damningly alluring handlebar moustache as well. He commanded a powerful air about him, such that when he told him to sit down, Squidward sat down immediately. That, or maybe it was his broken confidence that made him feel lower than anybody he might have encountered. "Wha's wrong, Squi'ward?"
"N-nothing. And call me Squiddy."
"Nothing?"
"I mean...sure, it's nothing. Who am I kidding? Your brother and I were friends...really good friends. But now he doesn't want to see me, and I am such an idiot for letting him into my heart in the first place. And you probably couldn't care less about your little brother's jilted fuck buddy."
Maximillian put his arm around Squidward in what seemed like a desperate plea of joviality. "No, tha's no' true! I care! Squill's jus' like all those other guys. You can never trust 'em, kiddo. They all wanna..." He grabbed Squidward around the waist and kissed him hard. "Like that. An' leave."
When they were separated, Squidward was stunned for a moment before flinging himself with abandon, tentacles clinging to oversized deltoids, his tongue slipping against Maximillian's, his lips bristling against that trademark handlebar as his pupils floated upward to gaze at the Fancyson unibrow. Slightly less glamorous than Squilliam's, edges frayed, though still he clearly took care to groom his, and its roughness merely contributed to his rough-and-tumble countenance. Maximillian sat on the edge of the bed next to him, kisses and touches getting uncomfortably deeper.
Squidward drew in a quick breath. 'His arms, his scent, his face, his voice - it's all wrong. Especially on Squillie's bed.' "No, Maxi, stop."
"Why? I know the shit my broth'r puts his lovers through. You're no' the first, baby cakes."
"It doesn't feel right. Not after everything we've been through together."
"Aw, come on. You'll feel better." He nibbled at Squidward's chest.
He pushed Maximillian backward against the bed.
"You're a fool, Squiddy."
Extreme disdain seething from his lips, he said, "That's Squidward to you."
"Squill dun't care for his lovers except for wha they do for him. Tha's - it."
Squidward turned away from him and said, "He cared about me."
"Tha's wha everyone thinks when they're in the lips of a skilled player. Or...they're jus' naïve. You know how he talked to me about you? He always talked to me about you. He'd say, 'Maxi, I jus' can't wait to fuck that Squiddy. I jus' can't wait until I take his virginity. My Squiddy has such a hot ass, you wouldn' believe it.' He jus' wanted to hear you moan for him, like the rest of 'em. He jus' said those nice things to get you in the sack."
Squidward sniffled. "Then why did he leave before we got a chance to have sex? Why did he set up a luxurious romantic bubble bath just to run out on me when I was ready to give him the unattached pleasure he wanted from me?"
Maximillian shrugged and said, "I dunno. Maybe he wanted to be alone. Ya know, like we are." He kissed him, his aim a little sloppy, and then kissed him again. A poor comfort for Squidward's fragile ego, but it would have to suffice. In the middle of a kiss, Maximillian pulled Squidward's shirt off over his head, breaking their connection in the process.
Perhaps it was a misreading of signals when Squidward pushed him backward against the bed again, and he responded by clinging to Squidward's shoulders, bringing him crashing on top. In any case, Maximillian was the only one having fun in the unacknowledged struggle that Squidward pitched.
"Ahem."
Squidward's jaw dropped long enough for Maximillian to get his tongue inside. Immediately after shaking loose of his iron grip, he leapt away from the bed, immediately regretted this move as he remembered his nudity.
Squilliam was the first to speak up. "Maxi, are you drunk again? Dad is going to be so pissed if he finds out." Squidward hadn't considered that some other factor besides his overwhelming attractiveness might have been playing a role in their flirtations, though he had smelled the alcohol on his breath. "And Squiddy, you...whore," he intoned breathily, obviously attempting to muster up some dramatic energy.
Squidward folded his arms. "That's rich, coming from you."
"Are you calling me a whore?"
Maxi said, "Why not, ya are one."
Squilliam turned sharply on his brother. "Did I ask your opinion?" He said to Squidward, "He's such an ass when he's drunk."
"Hey, weren' you the cutie I picked up Thursday night?" He licked his lips, making eyes at Squilliam.
"Let's just say he's an ass a lot." Squidward gave a nod of understanding, while Squilliam gave the once-over to his nude body. "So Squiddy, what the hell is going on here?"
He teased Maximillian's chest with a tentacle. "Just making up for a little lost romance. Squillie-pie."
"You couldn't wait one...day. Twelve hours. A morning! A morning, Squidward, you couldn't handle that? You couldn't wait for me that long before sashaying your sexy self around, couldn't wait just a few hours for me to come back and talk to you. Well, go ahead and fuck! I don't care. Just don't bother me with your emotional my-life-sucks-take-care-of-me shit anymore. I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of you."
Squidward gulped, shoved Maximillian flat against the bed as he stood abruptly, lips trembling, pupils falling to converge at Squilliam's feet. "I-is that true? Squillie? You don't care... You're really sick of me?"
Squilliam took his brother by the shoulders, his anger doused as he helped his brother to stand. "I'm so sick, my stomach is churning."
"I won't bother you with my existence, then. Farewell, and if I don't see you again in an eternity it would be too soon!" He grabbed his shirt and headed for the exit.
Squilliam shut the door behind his back as Maximillian stumbled out into the hall and Squidward approached him. "Likewise. Oh, Squiddy, look, you forgot your clarinet. Isn't that silly of you?" He pointed to a corner of their room near his bed where Squidward's clarinet case sat.
He quickly retrieved his clarinet and returned to his exit strategy at a constant beat. "Yeah, I'm a fucking riot. Now, good riddance -"
"See you at six." Squilliam smiled sweetly and gave a gentle wave goodbye.
"Uh - huh?"
"For your clarinet lesson. Remember, four hours a night, seven days a week, until you're as good as I am...so I guess, an eternity."
Squidward pushed past him to leave the room, stepped over Squilliam's brother who was sprawled out over the hallway floor singing one of his band's songs out of tune. "Shut up. I don't need you to unleash my talent."
"Oh. That's too bad, then. We'll miss you in the band. Your sour notes provided a nice contrast to my exquisite playing. I guess you'll just have to quit band, flunk out of high school, and enroll in a shitty community college, and you'll never get as good as I am."
"See you at six. Jerk." He left promptly, leaving nothing but a memory and a sniffle.
It had been for the best that they split ways before they got intimate. Before things got messy.