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 8: Appassionato

Squilliam awoke the next morning to Squidward kissing him brightly and sweetly on the lips, saying, "Good morning, Squillie." He blinked his eyes open, watching as Squidward poured hot water from a kettle over a tea bag sitting inside his thermos. On his side of the bed, the sheets were ruffled and scattered, while on Squidward's side, the sheets were hardly wrinkled and supported Squilliam's neatly folded band uniform, each article of clothing in its proper position. "I made you a cup of your favorite tea. Earl Grey, right?"

"Oh - you didn't have to do that for me," he said, taking the thermos in his hand. He looked at the steaming beverage as the bottom of the container acquired a golden red tinge. Dry bits of inferior quality tealeaves, packaged and papered for his morning mediocrity. Squiddy really hadn't needed to do that to him.

He pulled another bag of tea out of his pocket and put it in his own thermos, pouring the water over until it was fully submerged.

Squilliam sniffed. "What is that, Peppermint?"

"Yeah, we get it at the health food store. I drink it all the time. You want to try it?"

"That's – not necessary. But thank you."

He handed Squilliam a silver tray. "I prepared some of that Fancy Deluxe Trail Mix you brought. So we can snack on something before breakfast."

Scrunching up his unibrow in a nervous tension, he said, "You realize we're not dating, right Squiddy?" Squidward didn't answer, just turned his head away to prevent Squilliam from seeing the rouge tint his cheeks were rapidly acquiring. "This is strictly a physical affair. You know that, doncha Squiddy dear?"

'Oh, no. Tears. Squidward, don't do this. Not now.' He blinked a few times until a tear emerged and dripped down his cheek. "You bastard. I thought you loved me differently."

He set the tray on the bed, standing to meet Squidward's gaze. "I'm sorry, Squiddy, really. But I just want to have fun with you. Please don't hate me."

"How can I not? You tell me so many things; I don't know what to think. Why don't you just leave? Leave me for good."

"Squidward," he said, glancing coyly as he slid chin against shoulder and curls of blonde. "I could never do that. I don't know, maybe a part of me does love you...like that."

"Shut it, Squilliam, just - shut up," he sputtered out, leaning into his bare shoulder.

"Okay, Squidward." He gently grasped his shoulders and pulled back, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Call me Squiddy."

"Okay, Squiddy. I'll shut up." Squilliam stepped away, flipping Squidward's hair back as he retreated to his bunk. They sat in their cots opposite each other, Squilliam reading an interior design magazine while Squidward read an interpretive dance magazine. They each sipped some tea. Every few minutes, they either took a sip or turned a page, shooting glances the other way every so often until eventually their eyes fixed on one another.

"Whatcha reading about?" Squidward asked Squilliam.

"Eclectic decorating styles that incorporate Victorian and Romantic elements."

"Oh," Squidward said, returning to his article.

Squilliam, still staring at him, asked, "How about you?"

"I'm reading about this dancer who's performing at Clownfishey Hall in New Kelp City."

"Oh," Squilliam said, shrugging in an attempt to affect indifference. After a few more minutes and several sips of tea and several stolen glances of each other's faces, Squilliam lowered his magazine to say, "Mind if I -"

Cut off by Squidward saying, "Can I take a look at that?" Squilliam slid off his bed, approached Squidward, and traded magazines, his eyes eagerly soaking up the words printed on the page as he stood there and Squidward did likewise. Noticing that Squilliam still stood by the bed, Squidward cleared his throat and said, "Um, Squilliam? You want to sit down or something?"

Wordlessly, Squilliam crawled into bed next to Squidward, his eyes still fixed on the glossy pages of his magazine as he pulled the sheets over his body and up to his shoulders, meticulously adjusting the pillows and sheets to better serve his comfort. Squidward glanced his way, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to ask him what the hell he thought he was trying to pull. He refrained from either action, though, afraid that either would immediately provoke him to back away again. As Squilliam pressed his shoulder against Squidward's and resumed reading after shooting him a quick smile, Squidward relaxed, realizing he was there to stay.

Squilliam firmly gripped Squidward's hand in his and kissed his lips with a vibrant shake of the wrist as he drew Squidward's tentacle to his hip. "Love ya, Squiddy." Squidward let his magazine droop. "What? Don't look so surprised. A cephalopod can change his mind, can't he?" They lay together kissing until they could no longer put off getting ready.

"Shit," Squidward said as he left Squilliam's mouth, a trembling hand pressing against the back of his neck as he kissed below his jaw twice more. "I forgot to take my meds last night." He took two pills from separate bottles in hand and swallowed them dry.

Squilliam tugged his limbs and abdomen out of the sweat-sticky dress while Squidward dug into his backpack, searching. "If you're looking for your breath mints, I've already snagged some." He wiggled a couple mints in the palm of his tentacle.

"No, I'm...here it is," he said, pulling out a silver and blue ring. "It's a mood ring. It changes color and shows you what you're feeling. Not really, but that's the idea. I have one, too."

"Aw, isn't that cute. You're trendy." For some reason, when Squilliam said, "trendy," it sounded less like "fashionable" and more like "fashion-slave."

"And now you get to be as trendy as I am," he said, slipping the ring onto Squilliam's tentacle. He grabbed his clarinet and headed for the door. "Let's blow."

They sprinted to the group, getting in place and lifting their clarinets to their mouths, their hair ruffled and dripping in sweat. Squilliam lifted two of his legs behind Squidward's, tickling and stroking his protruding suction cups before sliding up the backs of his legs, squeezing the flesh of his inner thighs.

"Squillie, not now." Squidward tried to dissuade him by fidgeting and squirming out of his reach.

"Aw, please? You made me so hot back there. Just one quick duo?"

"Make it a solo; I don't know about you, but I've got to practice."

"I'm sure you do."

"Don't act like you don't need to practice. You aren't that good." Squidward winked, raising his brow suggestively.

"I'm too horny though...and maybe you're right, so we should, um, go practice together?"

"Oh, get a grip on yourself."

He instead maintained a grip on Squidward's ass. "I love it when you turn red like that."

"Look everyone," Harry shouted, "it's the morning woodwinds!"

"Harry!" Squidward said through gritted teeth and a scowl, his blush deepening as his mind tried to persuade his cock that it was indeed worth it to fight off Squilliam's advances. "I don't - this isn't what it - I don't have -"

"The most obvious boner I've ever seen in my life," Squilliam said offhandedly. "That's cute, the way you're trying to use your clarinet to hide it. No points for originality, though, sorry."

Squidward gave up trying to conceal his arousal, instead attempting to divert his attention from the source of it. On days like this he wondered what god, the universe, and everything seemed to have against him. He wasn't the only clarinet pitching a tent that morning, after all. That provided him little comfort, of course, considering that Squilliam continued to play flawlessly, while he floundered on even simple passages.

As they wrapped up their morning practice, Mr. Shores handed Squilliam a piece of paper. "This telegram came in for you this morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Shores," he said, unfolding the slip of paper as he and Squidward walked to the cafeteria for lunch.

"What does it say?" he asked as Squilliam finished reading it.

"Oh – nothing," he glanced to his feet, crumpling up the telegram. "Just...stupid rich people stuff," he shrugged. "Nothing you'd wanna hear."

"Are your parents sending you stock updates? I don't know whether that'd be mortifying or fabulous."

"...Something like that, yes." Squilliam opened the door to the cafeteria.

"Could you invest in, uh, a dildo factory or something?"
"And you call me juvenile." He inspected the food beneath the glass before turning to the cafeteria worker. "Sweetie, just give me the least disgusting slop you have. There's money in it for you if you give us something actually edible."

As they approached their table with their food, Squidward said, and it had to be during one of those awkward moments when everyone gets quiet at once, "And there's nothing wrong with dildos."

Everyone erupted in laughter, someone choking on her food. "Excellent timing, Squiddy. That's the one thing you really don't need to practice."

"I really don't," he said, taking a drink of sea cow's milk. "So, how's Maxi doing?"

"Son of a bitch! Is it really too much to ask for some decent coral?" He spat out the food he was chewing. "Maxi's doing fine."

"How's his band?"

"Popular, as ever."

"Did he get his license back yet?"

"In two months. Why, did you want to go somewhere with him?"

"No, I just wanted to know."

"Then you can quit nosing into other people's business and shut up about it."

"Okay, sheesh." He took a bite and said, "It makes sense I'd ask how he is, with all the times he's fallen flat on his face drunk."

"I need to use the facilities. Excuse me," he said, standing and walking to the restrooms.

Squidward had finished his lunch for fifteen minutes already when Jeffery approached him, asking, "What's bothering Squilliam?"

"What makes you think something's bothering him?"

"He was just sobbing in the bathroom."

"Do you think I should check up on him?"

"What do I look like to you, the gay Dr. Phish?" he said, walking off to meet up with his actual friends.

He started to get up, only to see Squilliam sashaying to their table, his eyes bright as ever with the confidence of influential living.

"Your food is cold."

"I'm not eating that crap. Why should I give a damn if it's cold or hot?"

"You should eat something."

"Tell me everything you're looking forward to next year."

"Band, of course. Then there's the big march coming up. Some of the new plays and art exhibits coming up sound really exciting, too. Oh! I need to run my slogans by Lori; we have to make signs up soon."

"You really believe you're making a difference?"

"Of course. It's the only tool we little people have to jam up the machine."

"What's this protest about? Marijuana?"

"No, no – this is about the right to marry."

"You want to get married? I'll show you how to make a real change. Tell me who the lawmakers are. We'll work something out."

"What makes you so sure you can? The grassroots organization I'm a part of hasn't made any headway."

"Simple. I speak their language."

"I never knew you were interested in politics."

"Not politics, my dear – money."

Squidward's gleeful smile drooped into a frown. "What I'm not looking forward to this year is seeing less of you."

He said, "Oh, you'll see even more of me than you've seen before, darling."

"But I've already seen all of you."

"But lots of guys have seen all of me. I want you to see more."

"That's impossible."

"You lack nuance, Squiddy." He picked up his tray. "Excuse me," he said, taking his lunch on a trip to the trashcan, stopping when Mr. Shores approached him. As they talked, Squilliam looked back at Squidward, forcing a smile before turning his head back quickly to face Mr. Shores. "Can I take a break from band practice? I need to go lie down." He rubbed his forehead listlessly.

"I can't let you stay in your cabin alone, but you can go speak to a counselor."

"I don't want to speak to a fucking counselor."

"I'm sorry; my hands are tied here."

"Yeah, well I'm going anyway," he said loudly as he marched out of the cafeteria.

That night, Squidward had been asleep for an hour when Squilliam threw himself under the blanket, his body springing up from the mattress and tumbling against Squidward, awakening him partially.

"Sorry."

"It's okay...thank you, thank you."

"Hm?"

"...an encore...of course I'll..."

"Aw. You're dreaming you're a professional clarinetist." He pinched Squidward's cheek, prompting his eyes to shoot open.

"Wuh...What are you doing here?" He sat up abruptly.

"That's a ridiculous question. I'm here to sleep. Have a problem with that?"

He plopped his head back on the pillow. "Good night, Squillie."

"...Good night, Squiddy." When he was sure Squidward was asleep again, Squilliam wrapped his arms around his torso, his head curled between Squidward's chest and the crook of his arm.

"Everything's um...okay with you, right?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" he said immediately, taken aback that he was still alert after all.

"You just seemed a little...I mean, why didn't you go to practice this afternoon?"

"Do you need to know every little detail of my life?"

"Never mind." He chuckled, hugging Squilliam with a tighter grip. "I guess you're excited about going to that art school, huh?"

"Ecstatic."

The brilliant light of dawn broke through the cabin windows early, waking Squidward from a sound sleep. As he came to terms with the increasingly familiar sight of the ceiling, he jolted up out of the covers, realizing what was missing. Shit, was he late?

His pulse began to normalize, the thought occurring to him that Squilliam might have rolled over onto the ground during the night. A frantic search of the bordering floor panels yielded nothing, again quickening his pulse. Harry was still there, deep in sleep, he noted in a sigh of relief. So he wasn't late. Squilliam had probably just gone to...do something Squilliam would do. Probably starting his shower.

He had to come back soon. He'd left his mood ring in the cabin, right next to Squidward's. When the time came to go to breakfast, he still saw no sign of Squilliam. When Mr. Shores announced that practice would begin in a minute, he started to panic. "Mr. Shores!" he cried, running to his band director. "Squilliam is missing, I saw him last night, but he's gone!"

"You mean he didn't tell you? It's okay, Mr. Tentacles. Calm down," he said, noting the tears at his eyes.

"What are you going to do to find him?"

"Calm down, he's okay. He went back to Bikini Bottom."

"Why? And why didn't he tell me? He left his mood ring..."

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. I can tell you that he's all right, though."

"Ohh..." he took a slow, deep breath, quickly exhaling. 'Fuck! I'm a fool for believing anything he told me. Was he using me the whole time? Maybe I just suck as a lover.'

Rehearsal was an exercise in frustration. The gap where Squilliam would have played lingered in his mind, bouncing around his brain and interrupting his concentration. What could he have done to make Squilliam leave without a word?

That evening, the group began the band initiation ceremony through which newcomers were inducted into the band. After a few silly tasks like musical chairs, they gathered around a fire to reflect on their summer at band camp.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Robbi said, the band looking to Squidward, awaiting a response.

He shook his head. "What was the question?"

"Your most memorable experience at band camp."

"Oh, of – course." His face twitched about the mouth and eyes. "It's...the most m-memorable...I...at band c-camp...b-band camp, right, what's my, what's my...best mem-memory...I-I-I ah..."

Mr. Shores clapped his fins. "Talk amongst yourselves," he said, then kneeled by Squidward's side. "You don't have to share if you're uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be your most memorable moment, either – you can talk about anything, anything at all. How about one of the group activities?"

"It's not that I...I'm not embarrassed."

"Mr. Fancyson is lucky to have someone like you to count on."

"But we're not –"

"Don't make excuses for me. I don't care what your relationship is. But you kiddos need to relax. This is high school. You two should enjoy yourselves." He patted Squidward's shoulder. "Are you ready? Or do you want to sit this out?"

"I'm ready," he said, clearing his throat. "My most memorable experience at band camp wasn't falling in love, or bonding with friends and people I barely knew, or humiliating myself in front of the band during one of the activities - it was the night I spent in my lover's arms, naïve enough to think it would last more than just one night." He started to cry.

"Sorry, man, that's a bummer."

"I know, Squilliam is such an asshole."

"He's a total snob, too." Rachel drew a shoulder toward her neck, curling her lips in a persnickety pucker as she mimicked him: "'You mean you didn't like Phil Bass's Music in the Shape of a Pear? You clearly lack an ear for phase shifting.'" Everyone laughed. Except Squidward.

"Ugh, really! And the way he's always talking about the guys he's with. Yeah, like we really wanted to know about every boner he got on the weekend."

"He's a total faggot. Oh - sorry, Squidward, I don't mean you - you act normal most of the time. But seriously, what's the deal with that girly fag act he puts on?"

"Just because he's a little swish doesn't make him a girl, Jeffery."

"He danced around in make-up and a skirt," he said with a snort of incredulity.

"So did you at our last party."

"That doesn't count; I was high as a kite."

"Squillie may not act like your typical manly man, but when it's time to perform, his manhood is very satisfying - as a few of you here are well aware."

"Ha ha, yeah Ryan!"

"Shut up! I was drunk!"

Alicia said, "Oh! And don't you hate it when he gets in your face, laughing and joking like you're his best friend ever?"

"Oh, yeah! It's like he's trying to be friends with everyone, but it's so phony," her friend said.

"Stop it, guys, just stop! You people, in this band, this is the only place he feels welcomed, like he's not a freak. Yeah, maybe he's a little fucked up. But he's no worse than any of you fools," he said, then ran off into the dark to find a place to sit alone.

As the other members of the band flocked to the edge of the circle to watch him lose his mind, Mr. Shores went to the nearby mess hall to place a phone call to the camp counselor: "Yeah - you need to come get him... As soon as possible. He's huddled up in a tree, crying... I'd love to go talk to him about it, but you know how those rumors get started. He has nobody else he'd trust this stuff to, except for - well, you know... Yes. Just this morning... So you'll talk to him? Good."

He approached the hollowed out trunk where Squidward sat, crouched inside. "Mr. Tentacles? I called a counselor to talk to you about what's going on."

"Can't I just talk to you?"

"Oh, I'd like nothing better than to help you work this stuff out, but..."

"Yeah?" He wiped the tears off the bridge of his nose with the back of a tentacle.

"It's just that sometimes people get dumb ideas in their heads, when a teacher is close to a student. Especially when they're both male."

"And gay."

"No, no, it has nothing to do with you being gay."

"That's baloney and you know it; it has everything to do with me being gay. You don't want Principal Algae to hear you counseled a student about his gay lover at summer camp. You don't want to look like a perverted old man who gets off on that stuff."

"You're right. That's exactly it. What if I said I would talk to you about it? What would you say?"

"Yesterday Squilliam told me he loved me. Now he's gone, like always. I am such an idiot for believing that jerk about anything."

"Didn't he tell you why he left?"

"No," he said, blowing his nose. "He just left."

"Mr. Fancyson had a very good reason to leave. I can't say more than that, but trust me on that."

"Okay. So what if he did? Why did he leave his mood ring here? Why didn't he fucking tell me?"

"You'll have to ask him that when you get home. But he is a very private person."

"Squilliam? Private? You're kidding me."

"He deals with a lot of stuff he doesn't fit into his 'fancy rich guy' persona. He'd rather handle the nitty gritty of life by himself. A lot like you. You know, when I was younger, I knew someone who kind of reminded me of -"

"Squidward?" The counselor arrived, peered over Mr. Shores' shoulder. "Don't be shy. I don't bite." She grinned big.

"Never mind," Squidward said, "I'm doing okay here."

"Oh, I don't think so. Come on, we'll go inside to talk about what's depressing you over some hot cocoa. How's that sound?"

"I'd rather not. I'm doing fine."

"Honey, you're in a tree at ten o'clock at night. That's not normal."

Mr. Shores snapped, "Does he have to be normal?"

"Hey, you called me, saying to come get him ASAP because he's crying his eyes out in a tree trunk. Now Squidward, are you upset because you can't see Squilliam? You can see him again real soon, dear, just be patient."

"That's really all you think of me, isn't it? I feel sorry for all the students with serious mental issues who have to listen to your vapid, patronizing bullshit."

"You're going to face severe consequences for that tone of voice, young man!"

Mr. Shores grinned at him, shook his head in confident contradiction to her words. "Sal, why don't you head back to your office? I think I've got the situation under control."

Sal gave a measured look to each of them, then departed with a huff and a quick scuff of fin against dirt.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about, Mr. Tentacles?"

"Yeah. There is."

Squidward's father left the boat where Squidward sat, waiting wearily to get home. "Hey, Leslie! How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Mr. Shores said, looking Mr. Tentacles up and down. "Do you still play clarinet much these days?"

"Only on weekends. Now Squidward, he plays constantly. Sometimes I think he was born with a clarinet in his mouth." His voice softened as he asked, "So everything went all right?"

"He had some rough patches, but I think he had a good time."

"Oh, Neptune, Leslie, remember our first time at band camp?"

Mr. Shores blushed, noting that Jonathan Tentacles was still just as attractive as when they were sixteen and gave way to hormonal impulses in the woods. Balder, bearing more wrinkles, but just as dashing to the similarly aged band director. "That was a long time ago, Jonathan."

"Yes, it was. But you never forget your first. Even if they're not a woman."

"A lot of guys wouldn't count our - experiences - at all."

"They're just afraid to admit they've had gay sex, because they're afraid it means they're gay. I know I'm not, so why do I care that we had some of the wildest, gayest sex this side of the Atlantic? I mean, it was great!"

"Oh Jonathan, now I remember why I had a crush on you. That, and you gave incredible blowjobs."

"Good to know the Tentacles Touch has some staying power. How are things going with Perry?"

"Great! We're hosting a party in a few weeks and you and your wife are more than welcome. Squidward should probably stay home for this one, though."

"We just might have to take you up on that offer, Les. Are you guys serious?"

"We've been together for a year now, and we're thinking about tying the knot next spring."

"Oh, that's fantastic news. Make sure you reserve front row seats for me, Sherry, and Squiddy."

"No problem, pal. Speaking of Squidward, you should probably get him home now. Squilliam left camp early."

"Oh...good idea. Thanks a lot!"

"It's my pleasure," he said.

Squidward's father got back in the boat, turning his key in the ignition. "How would you like a ride to Squilliam's house?"

"Yes, please!"

"All righty then." His son was unusually quiet. "How was your first time at band camp?"

"It was good."

"Just good?

"I learned a lot."

"You had fun, right?"

He couldn't deny that.

"Okay, now breathe from down here." Squilliam, from behind, wrapped his arms around Squidward's stomach.

"You're...you're holding me too tight. I can't breathe."

"Oh – my mistake." He loosened his grip, hands traveling lower, grasping his hips. "Is that better?"

"Mmm...I mean, yeah, that's better."

"Good. Now make your embouchure nice and tight, and blow for me."

As Squidward played, Squilliam moved to stroke Squidward's cock, making him squeak. "Squeak for me, Squiddy. That's how I know I'm doing it right." When Squidward moaned, Squilliam directed him to blow into his clarinet instead. After a minute, he couldn't hold it up to his lips anymore and his clarinet pressed against his chest. When he came, it got on his clarinet. Squilliam assured him that his repair team didn't ask questions as he wiped the lip of the bell and dragged a swab through the bore.

Squidward's father stirred him from his reverie to tell him they'd arrived at Squilliam's house.

"Is this about your mother?" Squilliam Fancyson II paced the room, grilling his son.

"What about her?"

"I know about Lillian's affairs. Is this your way of feeling closer to her? Knowing that you've both fucked a lot of guys you'll never see again?"

"I don't know why I did it; I just needed to stop thinking about Maxi -"

"Don't bring him into this."

"Why not, Daddy? Would you rather I brought his boyfriend into it?"

"You've already brought him into this!"

"Tell me, how did I do that, Mr. Fancyson II?"

"He would still have a chance at a normal life, if you hadn't turned him queer!"

He looked at his father in dismay. "Don't start this again. This was an accident, father; it is not my fault!"

"What I am implying is that you need to start learning how to be Squilliam Fancyson. You aren't the only one who has to live up to that name, you know."

"I know, and you know what else? I make my own name! I don't waste my life trying to be you, I live my life being me! Squilliam Nancy Fancyson, not Squilliam Channing Fancyson."

"Fine! Be Squilliam Nancy Fancyson! You must tone it down, though."

"Must I? What gives you the authority?"

"Don't forget, Nancy, I'm more than a corporate executive officer; I am also your father."

"I hate to break it to you, pop, but you're little more than a figurehead by now."

He sighed, his head dropping into his hands. "Sometimes I think you do this because you think that's how gay men are supposed to act. I guess that's my fault because you don't have any gay men in your life to act as your role model, but I can't help it that I'm straight."

"I know I don't need to act like this. But I like showing off; I like everybody knowing what a great lover I am; I like being a sex symbol for my generation."

"But you don't have to do that, Squill. Some of my associates I golf with are gay, and they don't go out dancing in high heels, or sleeping with another man every few days."

"Don't worry about me, Daddy. I can take care of myself."

He whispered to the younger Squilliam, patting his shoulder, "I don't care who ends up in your bed. Just keep your dignity."

He smiled. "You really don't care who?"

His father nodded his head 'no.'

Squidward knocked at the door, and Mrs. Fancyson opened the door, then looked at him disdainfully. "Squill, it's that peasant." Turning back to Squidward, she said, "He doesn't want to see you." She shut the door on Squidward's shocked and hurt face. "You've got to tell him he can't loiter around our property." She peeked through a window shade to confirm he was, in fact, still standing at their doorstep.

Out of Squidward's hearing, Squilliam called out, "Mother, his name isn't 'peasant,'" as he approached the door angrily. "It's Squidward Quentin Tentacles, and I want to see him - again and again and again. You'll just have to live with it." Squilliam interceded to lead him inside by his hand to the parlor, where his mother followed, his parents sitting apart from each other. "Squiddy, do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"I want to talk."

"Of course." They proceeded to his bedroom.

Squidward noted that Squilliam was still wearing his band shirt...and a tie. "So what's the tie for, Fancyboy? Need something to hang on the door while you're fucking your next victim so Maxi doesn't barge in on -"

Squilliam stared at him, turning his head slightly askew as he delivered a contemptuous smirk of, "He's in the hospital." And opened the doors to his bedroom.

Squidward gulped, stunned as he followed him inside. "Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Don't you read the fucking papers? Workers rights this, pride march that, you'd think you'd have read about the one thing that actually matters to me."

Squidward didn't say anything, just stroked his arm, despite the fact he had a perfectly good retort of: "What papers could I have read; I just got here, douche," lined up, just sitting in his head, going to waste. "I'm sure he'll be okay. You can afford the best doctors."

"Money can't turn time back and give my brother some brains, or he'd never have gone in that damn boat in the first place."

"How..."

"It's bad."

"I mean how did it happen."

"Oh. He snuck out to meet his boyfriend, and a boat just, some drunk driver, smashed right into them." Squidward was silent, processing. "His boyfriend is dead, you know. I don't know how we're going to tell him that. If we ever tell him that – oh god! Squiddy! It – it's not f-fair..."

Squidward held him tight, running his hands through his hair. "It's going to be okay, Squillie. He's going to be okay."

He gulped down the quiver in his throat. "He wasn't even drunk."

"Hey, Squillie, why don't we smoke a bowl?"

"Good thinking."

Squidward prepared the bong for use. "Try and relax, okay?" He let Squilliam take a hit first.

"Hey, it's 4:20!"

"Whoo!"

Squilliam looked into his eyes. "Would you ever blow a forty-six-year-old?"

"When I'm forty-six."

"Good answer." He smiled at Squidward. "Better than mine."

"Why, what's your answer? I mean, I know you're a slut, but forty-six..." Squilliam gave a deadly serious look. "Really?"

"No. But almost. Father caught me before we did anything."

"Um..."

"You know my daddy is only forty-one."

"When did this happen?"
"In the park outside the hospital."

"I asked you when."

"I'd just finished visiting Maxi."

"Is that what it takes to turn you on now? Do I need to pretend I'm a stranger as old as your father just so you can get it up?"

"You're overreacting. I didn't even want to give head! I just needed a distraction."

"Was I just a 'distraction' to you?"

"No, Squiddy! And if you were, you're the best distraction I've had. In my life."

"I wonder if I'll still look sexy when I'm forty-six."

"I would suck you when we're forty-six. We're sixteen now, so that's...thirty years? Will you keep distracting me in thirty years, Squiddy? We can have passionate old people sex."

"How did you know how old he was, anyway?"

"Oh. It turns out he's an employee of my father's. One of the CEOs, executives, something like that."

"I guess he's out of a job."

"You really don't know anything about business, do you? Now that Daddy has dirt on him, he's very useful as an expendable, obedient resource."

"What business is he in, anyway, organized crime?"

"Does it really make a difference?" He took a handful of barnacle chips into his mouth. "You'll stay with me, right Squiddy? I want you with me, wherever we are."

"Why didn't you tell me why you left?"

"I didn't want to depress you. You were having so much fun."

"You could've just said 'family emergency' or something." He laughed. "You're right, Squiddy, I'm such a barnaclehead!" He laughed even more, inhaling more marijuana.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I hate that word."

"You said it to me."

"I did, didn't I? Fuck, let's talk about something, anything but this."

"How about fucking?"

They laughed. "Splendid idea." Squilliam kissed Squidward's nose.

"So you really, you like how I do it?"

"Mmm...oh yes. If I were stuck on a desert island, and I had to choose between my clarinet, and the orgasms you gave me...I'd definitely choose the orgasms."

"So you want to do it again?"

"It's a date. Come on, let's dance." He pulled Squidward along by his wrist, leading him to the dance room.

He flipped the switch and music poured out of huge speakers while multi-colored lights and a disco ball spiraled around the room. Squidward basked in the array of colors and sounds bouncing off the walls, back in a time when even the fluffy love songs really meant something. "I love this song!"

"Ooh, Squiddy, your happiness is contagious." He had an aura, a joie de vivre. "I really need to start going to school high more often. It would really take the edge off when you aren't around anymore for our mid-day make-out sesh."

Squidward grinded his pelvis against Squilliam's, the line between dancing and fucking quickly eroding. He pushed Squilliam back against a sofa, his legs wrapped around Squidward's.

"This is the position me and Maxi always do it in," he said, cocking an eyebrow in a facetious gesture.

They giggled, Squilliam rubbing his face against Squidward's chest.

"You feel like music," he said, touching the surface of the skin with all of his tentacles, "yes, you're just like music."

"And you're the light. You're flickering - Don't turn off!" They kissed up until the moment of climax. Squilliam's tentacle slid down his cheek until he was firmly grasping Squidward's chin as their kiss ended. "We should do this more."

"I agree." He grabbed his hands and pulled them both upright. "How would you like to see a new art exhibit tonight? I have VIP tickets!"

"Huh? How would you have VIP tickets?"

"All of my tickets are VIP tickets. I'm a Very Important Person, aren't I?"

His voice cracked through his nasal tittering. "You're my Very Important Person."

"You're my VIP, too." He tickled Squidward's belly. "Would my VIP like to stop for dinner at a fancy restaurant before going to the art exhibit?"

"Are you kidding? That sounds wonderful."

"Let's get clothes to change into!"

As they walked out the door, Squilliam sliding Squidward's jacket over his arms, he said, "Just so things are clear, you do realize I want you to be my lover."

"No," Squidward said, playfully sarcastic and restraining his laughter, then snorting and chortling away.

"You know, as in my boyfriend."
"Oh, yeah, it's like some kind of cryptic message; I can't figure it out."

Squilliam laughed, "Oh, Squiddy. Really, though, I want you to promise you'll stay with me. We'll be friends, at least. No matter what."

Squidward paused to kiss him, and they stood in front of the house, kissing passionately. "You taste like pot."

Squilliam smiled. "So do you, Squiddy. So do you."

The sequel, Beats Per Minute, is in the works. It includes romance, corporate conspiracy, amnesia, family conflicts, FASHION IS A SERIOUS BUSINESS, high school high-jinks, confronting dormant demons, and ulterior motives. But mostly, it follows Squidward and Squilliam's relationship from high school to college.

Oh, yeah, and anyone catch how I mistakenly started calling Robbi Rachel? There was supposed to be one Rachel (the non-band-geek Squidward asked out), but now, there are just two Rachels, one in the band and one not.