Author's Note: This chapter depicts a bit of crazed drug use... so hopefully it's still more lighthearted than awful. Besides, who can honestly resisted a rather stoned Wes Mitchell? Not this girl.

5 – Felt Good on My Lips

She ordered us a drink
It was a purple kind of pink
She said it's got a shot of a little bit of everything
Mello yellow umbrella for a fella like me
It was just a bit mellow for me to be seen with
But I took a sip
Yeah it felt good on my lips

Wes looked up from the encyclopedia open in front of him to find Travis' eyes fixed on him. He figured he ought to be used to this by now, after these last eight lunches spent in the library, but it never failed to weird him out just a little to find the other boy watching him like he was now.

"Can I help you, Marks?" He kept his voice low but still got the side-eye from the librarian.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that this isn't working. I mean, I know we're getting the information we need, but I just can't work like this."

"You mean you can't keep quiet for this long," Wes teased, loving the way that Travis' cheeks flushed just slightly at the accusation.

"Okay man, ya got me. So what do you say we meet up at my place this afternoon?"

Wes hesitated. His mother had left two nights ago for parts unknown – off to visit her sister, she'd said. How she'd pulled that one off, he didn't know. Neither he nor his mother had ever been allowed outside the immediate grasp of the head of their household for as long as he could remember. However, for some unknown reason, this time his father had acquiesced and his mother had flown the coop.

In the two nights since she'd vacated the family home, his father hadn't bothered to make it home for dinner. Last night, he hadn't even made it home by the time Wes had finally given up and crawled into bed at ten past eleven. Wes was tempted.

"I don't know…"

"Aw, c'mon, you can get out for one afternoon, can't you?" His eyes pleaded as much as his voice.

"I'm not sure. Travis, my father, he… he's not very understanding and breaking his rules is not an option. But…" He slammed his lips closed, trying to hide his faux pas.

Travis' eyes widened slightly, nostrils flaring. "But?" Hopefulness filled the word to bursting.

Wes sighed. "But, my mother is out of town currently."

"Annnnd?" Just the way he drew out the word was sexy. Enticing.

He sighed again, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "And my father is coming home later and later. Missing dinner. That kind of thing."

Two dark eyebrows reached for the sky. "He's having an affair?" It was half question, half lurid statement.

"Ew. I do not know nor will I ever ask, Travis."

A snicker drifted up and met his ears. "Is that a yes, Mitchell?"

Perfect pink lips pursed in a frown meant to dissuade any further argument. Wes couldn't tell him no, not when this was probably his only chance to experience the kind of life all the other kids had. He saw the chance and he took it. His head was nodding before the words escaped his mouth. "Yeah, sure."

"Awesome. Meet me out by the parking lot after school. Don't be late." Travis picked up his notebook and not bothering to stuff it into his backpack, left the library with a wave.

A pair of curious blue eyes followed him all the way to the glass doors. Wes wasn't sure if what he'd just agreed to was daring or stupid, but he intended to see it through. If his father found out, he'd kill him. But at least Wes was going to enjoy himself for a change.

The blonde stood on the sidewalk, basking in the pure, unadulterated California sun. The warmth felt good, a slight tingle rising along his neck and arms in response. Travis wasn't anywhere to be seen. Wes was seven seconds away from giving up and heading towards the bus to go home when a rumble caught his attention. Looking out into the vast sea of cars and trucks, he watched in awe as Marks pulled to the curb on a gleaming black crotch rocket.

"What on earth? Don't you own a car like a normal person?" He was appalled and curious at the same time. How close will I have to be so I don't fall off the back of this thing?

"Can't afford a car," he confessed. "Besides, the girls love a man on a bike."

Great. "So, uh, how am I going to get to your place?"

White teeth, spread in a brilliant display was his answer. "Hop on back, buttercup."

Of course. Dear God, why do you hate me so much? Seeing no other alternative, Wes closed his eyes, counted to ten, and swung a leg over the seat, settling himself in behind Travis.

"You good?" Wes nodded. "Great, hold on."

Travis pulled away from the curb, jolting his passenger and causing a knee jerk reaction in Wes, triggering the need to grab the nearest solid object. As tightly as possible.

Two fists grasped Marks' shirt in desperation.

"Wrap your arms around my waist," he shouted back at his passenger.

"What?"

They slowed as they came to the parking lot exit. Travis turned his head back to look at the frightened expression on Wes' face. "Wrap your arms around my waist so you don't fall the hell off, man. I figured that much was obvious."

"But…"

"But nothing. Grab on or fall off. Your choice."

The car ahead of him pulled out onto the street. Travis followed, goosing the gas a bit more than necessary to make his point. A pair of very pale arms tightly enfolded Travis' midsection, garnering a grin out of the driver. "That's my boy," he chuckled, unheard over the roar of the engine, "hold on tight, I won't let you fall."

His body jerked backwards suddenly, Travis' forward momentum almost taking him off the back of the bike. Frantic, Wes scrambled for purchase on the slippery t-shirt under his fingers. Re-securing himself, he leaned forward, into the safety of the bigger man's broad back. The warmth rising from Travis' skin was soothing, a refreshing contrast to the cool wind whipping into his face. I should be wearing a helmet, he thought idly, the words seeming to blow in one ear and straight out the other.

Wes inhaled, a nose full of Travis' scent tickling his senses, so uniquely him, indescribable, and yet, recognizable in an instant. He'd been told to hold on and tightly. Taking advantage of his order, knowing the duration of their ride to Travis' home would be a short one, he gave in to the urge to squeeze and held the maddening driver as close as he could, questing fingertips gripping and caressing solid abs.

Oh god…

As wrong as he knew it was, he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the feel of Marks' body against his, the smell of his body wash, the rumble of the bike between his legs. This closeness was effecting a change in him, making him restless and needy. Needing things he knew he couldn't have. Not now, not ever.

But in this moment, for these few seconds, he could enjoy… revel… in the feel of another man's body in his arms.

As he suspected, the ride was over sooner than he'd hoped. Travis steered the metal monstrosity into the drive of a modest yellow home. The rumbling engine quieted, ticked, settled.

Travis steadied the bike and looked over his shoulder. "Here we are, baby. Home sweet home."

The expression had always seemed odd to Wes because not once in his life had his home ever been anything akin to 'sweet'. But he took it on faith that Travis' world was different. He was banking on it. With a nod to his driver, Wes untangled himself from Marks' body and managed to keep his feet under him while getting off the bike. The older boy followed and led Wes into the garage, guiding him into the house.

Inside, the kitchen was quiet. Wes looked around, spying knickknacks on the walls and clean dishes piled in the sink. "Where's your mom, Trav?"

Travis looked up from tossing his keys onto the counter. "Work. She's a nurse down at the hospital and works twelve hour shifts. She'll be home sometime after eight."

It all made sense now, how he got away with the things that he did, why no one seemed to ever corral his overeager self. Wes followed him farther into the kitchen, accepting a soda when it was handed to him. Taking one for himself as well, Travis inclined his head towards the hallway. "C'mon, my room's back this way."

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Wes nodded and followed.

Unsure of what time it was, he was certain at least an hour had passed since they'd thrown themselves upon the mercy of their mutual homework, if the crick in his neck was any indication. Wes rubbed the back of his neck while surreptitiously watching Travis from beneath his lashes. He was physical perfection. Strong back, broad shoulders, angelic face. And those eyes, those soul-stealing blue eyes that enveloped you and sucked you into their grasp.

"Blondie? Ya in there?" Travis was grinning at him, watching him much too closely.

Damn. He'd been woolgathering again, daydreaming about Travis' damn eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Just thinking."

An eyebrow lifted in question. "About?"

Wes opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say. "Uhh, about… our project. I'm amazed at how inventive people can be when it comes to making supposedly innocent items into mood-altering substances."

"Really." He sounded sarcastic, but his eyes were fixed completely on the young blonde sprawled across his bed. "Like what?"

"Like…" Wes hedged, flipping through the book he had out. "Cactus, for one. Did you have any idea?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "actually that one I did know."

Wes sat up. "You did? How?"

That damn grin again. "One of my foster brothers makes it."

"It?" Wes was one part confused, one part curious.

"Mescaline. It tastes nasty as hell but man, do you ever fly on that shit."

He blinked. Was he hearing this correctly? Travis' foster brother was manufacturing – and selling? – drugs? "Travis, just what are you trying to tell me?"

"Let me show you." He stood and patted Wes on the top of his head. "I'll be right back."

When he returned, he carried a small, clear glass with an oddly greenish-colored liquid filling it. Travis held it out to Wes. "Here, try it, but just a sip. We have quite a bit of time before my foster mom returns, so you should be sober again by the time I need to take you home."

Wes looked at him in disbelief. He wants to get me high? But the thought was appealing in a radical, stick-it-to-the man kind of way. No. No, he wouldn't do it. He was an upstanding citizen, he worked hard, he obeyed the rules, did as he was told. His father would flip and flip again if he knew he'd even considered it.

The idea he could thumb his nose at his father was all it took to seal his fate. That and the expectant look plastered across that handsome, dark face staring back at him.

"Give me the glass."

Wesley Ryan Mitchell had never been stoned before. Hell, he'd never so much as been tipsy before meeting the bane of his existence, Travis Marks. But at this moment in time, staring up into the most gorgeous blue eyes he'd ever seen, it was a moot point.

Until those beautiful blue-grey eyes began to morph into the Eye of Sauron, or something equally frightening. Twin pinpoints of ruby flared in the centers, spiraling out into swirling mists of aqua. The edges misted green, drawing Wes in deeper towards that plusing, red heart.

Forcing his gaze away, he tried to breathe. In, out, in, out.

"Damnit," he muttered, turning back. Travis' eyes still swirled, brightened, and oscliated through the visible spectrum of colors as he watched, entranced. Tears welled up behind his eyes, unbidden. "What the hell did you give me," he half-whispered, half-pleaded. Come closer, let me fall into those churning depths…

Travis smiled down at him, wide, luscious lips spreading into an alluring grin. White teeth danced and sparkled. "Just a shot of cactus juice, buttercup. Remember our discussion? Nah, probably not, considering." The face kept staring at him, unrelenting. "Damn boy, you are gone. And off such a tiny sip, too."

"Cactus?" Wes squeezed his eyelids closed, arching his back as he twisted on the bed.

He watched helplessly as Travis admired the lean length of body squirming on his sheets. Wes had wanted Travis from the moment they'd first met, several weeks ago, but never thought he'd accomplish it. The idea that maybe, just maybe, Travis was interested in him, too, hadn't occurred to him until this second. He blamed the drugs for such an impossible concept as that. They were from different worlds, he and Marks. Or they had been, until the Fates intervened and brought them together, for better or for worse.

"I have to admit, sunshine, that our lovely health teacher probably wouldn't approve of taking our research on hallucenogens quite this far, but it's a bit too late for that at the moment, isn't it?" And, in a manner of speaking, it was their teacher's fault, after all, for parterning them up for this anti-drug project in the first place.

The blonde still writhed, clutching at the bedclothes, trying to escape some unknown force. "You okay, man?"

Wes's eyes fluttered open, latching onto the kaledioscopes set on either side of that perfect, sloping nose. "Yeah," he breathed. "But I think my body's on fire." Blood becomes lava, skin the surface of a volcano…

Travis grinned. "Oh yeah, you're hot, that's for sure." Leaning across Wes' frame, he placed one hand flat on the mattress beside his left shoulder, the other resting lightly in the middle of the blonde's chest. His fingers began idly tugging at a button on the pinstriped preppy shirt.

Wes' eyes caught hold of his partner's fingers toying with his button. The squirming slowed, then ceased. A thought formed, whirled in his brain, before settling on his tongue.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Please, please.

That floating, Cheshire cat smile appeared again, then faded into words. "I was thinking about it, blondie."

Wes nodded in time to the music mimicking the beat of his heart. "Then I suggest you do so before my lips flutter off into the sun."

"Don't worry," he reassured, caressing the trecherously flightly lips with a fingertip, "I'll catch them before they reach the window."

"Promise?" Please don't let them flee before you touch them.

"Promise."

"Thank you," Wes sighed, allowing his lips to briefly flutter into a smile for Travis. His Travis. "Now you can kiss me." Kiss, kiss, a kiss before you go…

Travis anchored Wes' flight risk to his face with his own mouth, securing his lips to the blonde's. Their bodies melted, merged, and seperated. Wes allowed his spirit to soar, detach from his body to reach for the heavens. It promised to return, and it held true to its word, slamming back home, to earth, to his physical form, roughly the moment his nemesis' lips lifted, moved away.

Wes had never felt so empty as he did in that moment.

Blonde lashes fluttered, opened, settled closed again. Travis drew the tip of one finger along the pale fringe, startling Wes into opening his eyes completey. "You still in there, man?"

Wes blinked. Blinked again before focusing on the dusky face hovering inches above his. The feel of something solid pressed against the outside of his thighs. Lifting himself up just enough to look down the length of his body, he noticed Travis straddling his legs, leaning forward into him. "Trav? What?"

With one hand, Travis gently pushed Wes into a reclining position. "Relax, give it a few minutes before you try and sit up. I'd hate to have to wrangle you up off the floor. Again." He'd already fallen off the bed once.

He scrubbed at his aching temples with his fingers, praying the disorientation would dissolve. "What happened?"

Travis moved to the empty half of the bed, watching Wes closely. "You got wasted. On the smallest taste of anything I've ever seen. You were pretty funny though."

Pushing into an upright position, Wes glared at the other boy. "That's right. You drugged me." And I let you. "Why did you do that, Travis? Do you have any idea of what…" Shut up, shut up, shut up, Wes!

"Man, you took it from me. You knew what it was. This is not my fault. Well, not all my fault!"

Wes stood and paced the small patch of floor between the bed and the door. How did he let this happen? Is he so freaking enamored of this… this hellion that he can't even make decent choices? "So it's all mine then? Let's drug the new kid and see what happens?"

Travis sighed and moved to the edge of the bed. Swinging his feet over the side, he looked Wes over slowly. "No. I was trying to help you, you idiot. You are so fucking high strung that I'm surprised you haven't snapped yet. You need to loosen the hell up before you go off the deep end here."

He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't find the words. Travis was right. No, he was more than right – he was right on the money with this one. Forced to maintain such strict control over himself, he'd never learned how to let go, to have fun, to just be. However, he couldn't let this go. Not now, not after he'd done something so horribly wrong… and ingesting the drugs was the least of his worries.

It was foggy, but he knew it'd happened.

He'd let Travis kiss him.

And he'd liked it. He wanted him to do it again. And then one more time, just to be sure…

"Travis, I have to go. I need to get out of here." He started shoving books into his backpack. A touch to his shoulder startled him, made him drop the papers in his hand. "I'll start putting this to- ."

"Wes, relax. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have given it to you, but you have got to chill before you have a heart attack."

"Travis, you don't understand… you don't… I've gotta…" He panicked, drew back, attempted to get as far from Travis as the little room would allow.

Travis had other ideas. Letting the crazed, still partially stoned kid out onto the streets alone wasn't an option. He did what he did best, he reacted first, thought second.

Marks grabbed Wes by the shoulders, whispering comforting words, calming him with his presence. Wes backed himself into the bedroom door, trapping himself between Travis and solid wood. He was scared, he didn't know what to do. Fleeing seemed like the best option, but he couldn't think, couldn't act. When Travis' mouth approached his, pressing into him firmly, gently, he reluctantly gave in, relaxed. Enjoyed.

The kiss was brief, calming, and over much too soon. Wes' heart pounded, his mouth worked, but no sound emerged.

"Blondie," Travis soothed, his lips on Wes' cheek, his forehead. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." Another press of the lips to his chin, to his nose. "What's got you so damn scared? Did I push you too much? Please don't let me be the reason you're so freaked right now."

Wes lifted his mouth to Travis, pressed his lips to Marks', taking the intiative, letting him know the only way he knew how, that this was okay. That he needed this. But the words… how did he even begin to explain this?

"Marks… Travis… I don't know how…"

Travis carressed his face soothingly, lovingly. "Just talk. It'll fall into place."

So, he talked.