Part Duex!

AN:
I am pretty sure you see just...how much changed. :) This is the adult version baby!

Part 2: Closer

6:13 p.m.:

"Better?"

The urge to kick Fred in the face wasn't as volatile now, or appealing. Shaggy sighed and flexed his foot, testing the wrapping of the ace bandage around his foot. He knew it would hold. Fred had done this once too often to forget how now and didn't that bring about memories of idiots in masks running around tripping people the hell up? He sighed tiredly, putting his foot back down against his human footrest. "...yeah. Thanks."

"No problem, Shags."

Shaggy was proud of his ability to not shudder on cue. He hadn't heard that nickname used as often as he'd heard it today. It was Fred's staple; the label that just stuck in his privileges reserved for best friends. Fred pressed a careful hand to the heel of his foot and asked, "Can you walk on it?"

If he couldn't, he was going to make due. There was no room for a sequel! "I'm fine."

"Sure?"

"...if I say yes, you're going to tote me around anyway aren't you?"

Blonde locks falling in and out of his face didn't hide the smug knowing grin on that angular work of art. Fred was such a jock that if he were to cut himself sports equipment would come flying out. It still felt right to Shaggy to associate that word with Fred, even if that teen jock was a grown one and not playing some major sport for a living. It was mainly because of the girth of those arms currently bare and on display and sporting a tattoo that had to be recent because Shaggy KNEW that wasn't there a couple of months ago. Summer days usually meant slow times, and the usual ensemble of their taste in clothing had been swapped out for sensible gear. Fred was currently in a tank top, just as white as the usual tops he wore were, and he was squatting in a part of denim cargos that rode lower than should be humanly allowed.

Shaggy wondered if Fred knew that the reason so many women flocked to him was because of his cut self.

"Shaggy?"

"...man, how the hell do you manage to stay in shape?" he murmured without meaning to sound like he was drooling. He wasn't but he was allowed to be envious. "Like...it's unreal."

Fred gave him a strange look. "Same way you stay thin," he murmured. "Running away."

"Hey now! If you wanna live—"

"—You run like hell," he laughed silently. Shaggy clapped his hand on Fred's rock hard shoulder. Now this was normal. The joking like this should have always been this easy and for a moment Shaggy expected Fred to clap his leg and tell him to get up.

Fred clapped his leg alright, but it wasn't that brotherly clap that meant move his ass. It was questioning, hesitant, and loaded with questioned that had Shaggy blushing to the tips of his ears.

"Fred..."

"Hmm?"

"Like...what are you doing?"

"Wondering why the hell your freaking legs are so firm," he muttered. His right hand had taken hold of his left calf, right above where he'd finished wrapping his left ankle. He mindlessly let his fingers wander over the firm muscle, tracing the indents of perfect sculpture and the darkness of an old faded scar. Something about this particular scar never really rubbed him right. It was deep and jagged, tearing into the once perfect muscle. Flashes of that horrifying moment played briefly and Fred shoved them back, settled when he remembered that no one was bleeding and he wasn't trying to shove his fist in the face that had caused it.

He didn't ask about the other faded marks. This one he knew about, hated, and could touch without thinking too much about the reasons why. The healing of this particular one took longer than they all thought and it was sobering about the dangers of their occupation of hobby. It was a reminder, damaging forever and always. Fred stopped his thoughts again before he could go down that road and poked playfully at the smooth skin. "And shaved..."

"...swimming."

Um, news much? "You swim? Since when?"

"It was part of therapy...and it kind of stuck."

Therapy. Now there was a word some people needed to hear. However, when it came to that scar, this sort of therapy wasn't something he wanted Shaggy to add to his past adventures. Another curious caress of known scar came and went. Fred settled for tracing the edge of the bandages. Shaggy relaxed a bit, curiosity piqued when he thought about something else.

"So…what's up with the ink?"

"Velma."

"Velma?"

"She got tired of me talking about it…dared me to do it." Fred shrugged. "So I did. No regrets."

"Really."

"Yes."

"So, how come she's not in here monitoring you like usual?" Shaggy teased. "I thought she didn't trust you with anything or any part of someone else's body?"

"I made that brace tight like I should have, not to cut off the circulation of her arm, thanks," he snorted under his own laughter, " Besides, I think she got side tracked with the lay of the land." He gave a dry chuckle. In actuality, he'd managed to snatch Shaggy up before she could say anything. He was probably going to get an earful for it later...if she could catch him. "Besides...you trust me, right?"

"Of course! You're, like, my best human bud!"

It was just like Shaggy to say something like that.

"Raggy?"

It was just like Scooby to tentatively poke his head in the door and see if things were all right. Shaggy gave that grin he reserved for his best pal, the Great Dane that gingerly trotted into the room and sat down at their feet. Shaggy's nimble and thin fingers snaked out to rub Scooby's ear, quickly finding that spot that would have had the dog purring if he were a cat. He wasn't, but he could put a cat to shame with that whole nine lives thing.

Fred would swear Scooby smirked at his open thoughts but it could have easily been gas. No need to dwell on anything heavy now anyhow. "I suppose you want to limp to dinner?" Fred teased lightly. "Or...should I carry you again?"

Shaggy pretended to think about it. "How about...you just help me along?" he mused. "Like...be my crutch."

"I suppose..."

"…You're the reason my mouth is losing its filter."

"Really."

"Yes…and you're, like, still going to carry me, aren't you..."

In the end, it wasn't worth fighting over. Scooby walked out in front of them, snickering the whole while at Fred helping Shaggy along. He might have shifted his weight to take on the brunt of them both a bit, but it was the thought that counted.

Scooby glanced at them from his lead. They were still bickering, but smiling at one another. Scooby wasn't some dumb ordinary dog that would wag his tail their compatible nature making him think of fun times ahead. No. He'd been with these two dumbbells long enough to see how Fred would lighten up when Shaggy was around and how Shaggy would calm down and relax for once in days. They were a balance of one another, despite that strange time apart they never talked openly about, and Scooby wasn't going to push them too unless they were ready.

He did shake his head in lieu of the smell of simmering beef down the hall. It was more appealing than their mingled frustrations covered up with stupid misconceptions, especially when the maids giggled at the obvious flirting between the two, not that they would ever see that themselves.

Humans were the strangest creatures ever, Scooby decided. Strange...and slow.

6:25 p.m.:

They made it to the dining room. It took some fumbling and a few digs into Shaggy's side to get him to relent to Fred's superior logic of carrying him, but they managed to get there without looking like they'd spent five whole minutes trying to catch their breath from laughing so hard at one point of their journey. Dinner was being served and Shaggy's stomach announced its intent to inhale whatever was placed before it as a sacrifice.

Fred just did not know where Shaggy put all that food.

The spread was as massive as they expected it to be. It was, after all, a known trait of Daphne's family. Everything was done with taste and lavish, though in the eyes of the Blakes this was a small get together meal. Small meant a party of at least fifteen, with their five to add to the mix. So of course that table was long, and yes, they were seated near the head with dear old Uncle Liam.

Fred would have sworn this was another job if Daphne hadn't flagged them down.

"Guys...up here!" she called. "Come, sit!"

Two seats remained unclaimed in wait of them. Across from one another. Shaggy unwrapped his arm from around Fred's neck and made for the first one on the left side. Velma stood, helping them out by pulling Shaggy's chair out for him. He sat down in relief and excitement, rubbing his hands together in the presence of that wonderful thing called food. Behind him, Velma threw a questioning glance at Freddy. He shrugged, not knowing what that meant and slipped by her in time to claim her seat.

"Juvenile..." she muttered.

"Juvenile got your seat."

Scooby was already seated on the other side of Shaggy. He looked at her and shook his head. It wasn't happening. She sighed and resigned herself to the sweet scent of Daphne's latest perfume and the promise that her allergies were going to be screaming at her later. She sat down as Daphne looked to her right, smiling at the two gentlemen seated at the first two seats. Uncle Liam was at the head of the table naturally, and gave a little grin spying them.

Shaggy wanted to fill his stomach and not think about the soft scent of Fred lingering on his skin from whatever he'd worn today. Fred was going over the books in his head, a welcome way to keep from pondering too much about certain hippies and how he wanted to laugh like they had again. Velma was seconds from muttering under her breath about pelting Fred in the head with a biscuit, because he was an obvious jerk that delighted in their strange ways of communicating.

Daphne put it all to a halt by snapping her fingers. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it," she chided. "We're here to have fun tonight!"

"Like, no one's mind wandering," Shaggy said. "I'm like, all for eating now and not talking with my mouth full!"

"REAH! EAT!"

"Before we do that, I'd like to introduce you to the marrying couple," she said. They gave one another sheepish looks and floated their attention to her hand showcasing the direction of said couple. It was only right to greet the ones that were the cause of such festivities. However as they moved to congratulate the bride and groom, they found there was no staple held to the ideology of the stereotype they were expecting.

"So, like, where's the lucky groom and bride to be?" Shaggy asked.

"Right here. This is Cousin Jarrod...and his fiancé, Darrel."

Shaggy had never been so glad to not eat before. He would have choked and that would have been drama and a waste of food. He settled for biting the tip of his tongue as his surprise got the better of him. Fred jarred him out of his shock with a firm shove in his side. Fred's ears were redder than the cherry tomatoes on the salad still waiting to be speared to death by forks all around. Shaggy knew him well enough to know that while his own shock rendered him speechless, Fred's over active imagination had spat out some vivid imagery and left him stiff in his nonchalance about the whole thing.

Shaggy nudged him this time and gave him a look that only made it worse for the blonde.

"...you don't want to know," Fred murmured.

Jarrod, or course, was a red head. Most of the people in Daphne's family were by nature or by choice. His light blue eyes crinkled in amusement at the duo he'd come to know as Freddie and Shaggy. Fair skinned by nature—like most of the Blakes—his slightly freckled but strong hand rested over his prominent chin. If it wasn't for the suit and the posture, they might have assumed he was a lumber jack. He certainly had the build of one. Muscles were defined and hidden somewhat under the dress shirt he wore. The sleeves were rolled up giving them a good view of those massive things he called forearms.

Well, maybe to Shaggy, who suddenly felt the need to fold his thin arms in his lap. Fred didn't hide his impression. He absently wondered if the man trained for a living, or was naturally built that way. Velma was currently trying not to match Freddie. It proved to be of no use when he smiled and laughed deeply at the gang.

"You guys are definitely characters," Jarrod chuckled. "Don't forget, we derive from the Scottish lads now, eh?"

"Who could forget," Darrel grumbled playfully. "You like tossing anything and everything...and the skirt is a DEAD giveaway..."

"It's a Kilt, and yeah, it is. Mom should have known."

Darrel shook his head and laughed soundly at the smirk he was given. His tanned skin was a nice contrast against the fair skinned hand taking his. Jet black hair highlighted only by subtle streaks of blonde were the only clue they were getting as to his heritage. His face was a mix of masculine meets feminine, like one of those new pop stars that looked too good for his own right. Slender but firm chin; high cheekbones; sexy eyes...

Shaggy blinked a bit. Since when did he openly note someone's eyes as sexy? In his defense, they were and there was nothing else to read into it. Darrel's eyes were a strange mix of green and blue, brightening to a soft sea like color when he looked up at Jarrod. They could only imagine what color they were when they were alone...and then it was time to change that whole train of thought.

He had been hanging around Fred for far too long.

Darrel was tossed somewhere between Shaggy's height and Fred's build. He wasn't as built as either Fred or Jarrod, but he had a nice slender figure made for someone like Jarrod. Easy to hold, and easy to lift. He, too, was dressed to kill in a sleeveless mock sweater tank, and from what Velma saw earlier, leather pants that fit him like a glove. He was eye candy through and through, and damned if everyone didn't know it. His slightly softer voice startled them a bit. They weren't expecting it to be quite that deep...or soothing.

Noting her friends' reactions, Daphne smiled sheepishly at them. "Did I happen to mention that they were two men, in love, and not taking 'no' for an answer?"

They shook their heads. It wasn't the fact that it was two men. Oh NO. It was the fact that it was a BLAKE, and Daphne didn't care less.

Scooby didn't care either. He was hungry and he let them know with a paw slapping the table top. Up when one of the drumsticks and down his throat it went. They laughed and joined in, digging into the food so generously placed in lieu of the morning's events.

Although Shaggy silently vowed to find out just what had Freddie blushing so much. It wasn't like him. 'Usually.'

9:35 p.m.:

'Okay...I'm full, content, and tired...so why am I here?'

Shaggy couldn't answer his own question. Dinner was a fulfilling affair and if was another one of their misadventures, this would be the opportune time to explore places they didn't need to be in, to be chased by something odd and screaming bloody murder, or to going to bed to be chased sometime that night because what was sleep anyhow?

None of that happened tonight. Shaggy wasn't sure if he should run to get the ball going or just be relieved this wasn't a masquerade ball.

Right after dessert had been devoured, the gang had traveled to the outside of the Villa into the back gardens where said ceremony was to be held. Velma, by then, was popping her first bout of allergy pills, already put off by the floral pollen seeded throughout the mansion. It wasn't as bad as she made it out to be but she was better safe than sorry later when she was up all night with a clogged nose and a box of tissues. Her words, not his, directed at Daphne trying not to laugh at her temperamental ways. They traveled along one of several gravel paths leading into the heart of the garden, passing the range of exotic and succulent flora known by Velma—resident genius yes indeed—and admired by all.

Fred couldn't quite keep his fingers from lingering on the petals of the many velvet roses, smiling to himself as they headed for the thunder upon the ground. The vibrations of that noise were deeper as they got closer to the opening of an enclosed tent welcoming them into a fray they didn't have time to visit often enough on their own.

From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a blanket of white within the green of life sitting behind that building. Inside was another layer, another tale hidden under a blank canvas and alive with means to let loose for the night without repercussion. Shaggy kept his eyes from the bar, refusing to go over the mental list of what could be made with whatever liquor was being served tonight. He was one of the many people of all shapes and sizes within this tent here to indulge rather than serve, and indulgence wasn't something to be forsaken tonight.

Good bits of the people were family and guests for the ceremony tomorrow and were centered on the open dance floor. Those who weren't grinding to the beat were sitting, standing, laughing, and talking, or watching the commotion that was the DJ flipping out another beat. The heavy Bass that was the backdrop thrummed heavily through them, that rhythm making it hard to keep still when the air itself was vibrating with liveliness. Another lively song came to the front, one that had the crowd moving a little faster and harder because of its newness.

Daphne stole Fred's hand and yanked him on the dance floor.

"And there they go," Shaggy murmured. Velma patted his shoulder lightly, offering what sympathy she could give. However, her interests were quickly skirted to a young man taking her hand and yanking her on the dance floor. It probably had something to do with that halter top...and a pair of hot pants she'd been conned into on a dare. Seriously, Shaggy didn't know what was with Velma and Fred with these dares, but if they meant to make take them out of their respective comfort zones, it was working.

Velma wasn't that chick she portrayed to the outside world. She wasn't dumpy or fat or completely awkward (most times), but she certainly dressed like it. It was an opportune time to snatch a glass of whatever was on the tray of a passing server because didn't that just mess with the universe when the hippie started thinking about the fashion tastes of a bookworm and judging it.

"It's like night and day," someone said. He looked to his right and spied the soon-to-be-wed couple standing aside him. They were still dressed in their suits, though casually and not for the sake of business. Jarrod whistled low and long, spying Velma moving in a way she rarely did outside of their group. She had hips she knew how to move and could give anyone—especially that guy—a run for their money.

Shaggy grinned a bit and relaxed. Velma was smart, yes, but the girl didn't know her true potential.

"Cousin Shaggy, was it?"

"Yeah. How's it hanging?"

Darrel popped Jarrod in the side before he could answer that. "Ow! Oh come on..."

"That was too easy for you," Darrel muttered. "I think we kept that Fred guy lightheaded enough."

Fred's impression of a tomato hit a world record of some sort at dinner. He could have been drunk and they wouldn't have known. "Yeah, well..." Jarrod shrugged, smirking faintly as he looked to the dance floor, "He's fun to tease...and obvious as hell."

"Like, what are you talking about?" Shaggy asked. "Obvious about what?"

"He's got the hots for someone...and doesn't even know it."

Shaggy nodded and kept the lump in his chest in check as he poured the rest of his drink down his throat. "...you're, like, talking about Daphne, right?"

Jarrod laughed at him and shook in glee. "No, like, I'm not," he mocked playfully. "Wake up cousin, because he's so not digging the female lass in the way you think laddie."

The Scott had to be drunk already. His incredulous look only had Darrel laughing at him next. "He's right Shaggy," he said as he was swept into the sudden captive crowd pulling at him and Jarrod to find their way on the floor. He didn't leave without shoving another drink in Shaggy's hand and patting his cheek in parting with, "He's got his eye on someone else. Trust us. We know it for a fact."

They were gone, and Shaggy nearly fell into the hole under him that appeared when his brain honed in on Velma.

'Velma? No way...like, UH-UH!

But what if—

'Okay, NO. NO, NO, NO.'

His brain was about to be disowned at this rate. He kept a small sigh to himself and thought about wandering over in the direction of the food. Good food and drink was a good way to keep his mind from being a total piece of unregulated shit. His foot was feeling better at least and the distance from where he was to the table wasn't too far for him for him to get to. Sure, Fred wasn't here acting as a crutch but he could make it a couple of steps without getting into too much trouble. Right?

/This is sick.../

The rip of the chord didn't strike him to the uncanny events that were about to unfold. He was too focused on his plan to notice the DJ eyeing him in the distance. Someone else was eyeing him as well, a glint of malice in their eyes when the slender arm of someone else reached out and grabbed Shaggy.

"Attention...it's time to dance!" The DJ shouted. "Get your butts on the floor and show me what you got!"

The chord ripped again, repeating it three more times before the throb of that heavy bass overwhelmed him. The scent of heavy perfume mixed with the light musk of sweat drifted heavily in his nose. For a moment he could have sworn she'd be there before him, blonde hair swaying in time with her hips; those shapely legs dancing backward on those heels just for him. Instead, he found another woman, just as shapely and deathly with looks that could have any grown man drooling at her feet. Black streaked with the fire red that was her spirit called for fingers to stroke the wild mane, eyes wide with amber smoldered and set him on fire from within. Her red lips parted a bit; her tongue snaking out just so to lick clean the dot of champagne still lingering at the corner of her mouth. Her hand kept hold of his, pulling his somewhat clumsy frame forward and into the fire.

/Work like you're working a pole
Shake it 'til you're shaking the floor
Pop it like you're poppin' a cork

Oh, Don't stop, Don't Stop.../

Her body was fluid with the beat, steady in its rhythm and determined in its actions. Hips tempered only by the bare minimum anyone would call pants; they enticed, called, and sung their way into the minds of everyone staring at them. He found himself captivated...captivated by the thought that she must be drunker than he'd thought originally because seriously…him?

Beer goggles did exist!

/Jerk it like you're making it choke
Break it like you're breaking a code
Drop it till you're taking it lower

Drop it, Drop it.../

She pressed herself close again, lips dangerously close to the underside of his chin. He could feel her warmth flowing through him, smell the sweet scent that was her laced through that interesting mix of champagne, chocolate, and something just as deadly as pure sin. Her eyes were filled with the promise that this was only the beginning. He swallowed thickly and backed up, falling into something twice as warm and much harder than she would ever be. He relaxed and promptly stiffened when it wrapped its hands on his waist.

"Fred?!"

/This is serious
I'm delirious
So oblivious/

Fred let out an uneasy breath, forcing himself not to groan. Shaggy wasn't in those infernal brown things he liked to wear tonight. No. He'd been trying not to think about it, how he managed to fit in those snug jeans that had eyes on his usually unnoted ass that Fred wanted to shove Shaggy's shirt over…but he even that was snug and form fitting tonight all because Daphne insisted on changing and Shaggy's wardrobe had come to light with his changing tastes.

Fred pulled him back again, hooking sure fingers into the loops of his jeans. "You wanna dance?"

Shaggy looked at him as if he was delirious. "Dance?!"

"Sure thing!"

"Fred, wait a—whoa!"

/I could dance all night.../

The she-harlot was pulled back into the crowd and left to seduce the unlucky man that had set his sights on her. Unfortunately for her it was no one else but Jarrod, shaking his head and plucking her upside her own. "Caitlyn...I swear," he sighed yanking her away from them, "You bring Sirens worry with that succubus act."

"He looked lonely," she smirked. "So, I offered my company."

Jarrod plucked her in the forehead again and pointed. "Not happening."

/As long as it's funky.../

Fred ignored her loud protest of shock, not in the least bit worried. He laced his hands with the slender smaller ones, grinning when she laughed and moved in time with them. Shaggy lowered his head a bit and couldn't quite keep it together when Daphne sauntered up behind Fred and grabbed his waist. He laughed, never quite noticing the blue eyes glazing over from behind. His ankle was still protesting the use of extreme dancing, but it didn't stop him or his friends from moving his hips. This wasn't quite so bad...weird, but not that bad.

/This rhythm just makes me high.../

Velma slipped out from before him and grabbed Daphne, pulling the taller girl aside them and dancing like two drinks would allow right then. Daphne gleefully joined in, leaving the boys to either watch or dance with themselves. Shaggy stopped for a second, finding it hard to concentrate with the heady scent of cologne and musk hitting him harder than the sweetness of that girl. He almost stumbled back, holding his head a bit when he spun to spy Fred over his shoulder.

"Fred?"

"Let's keep dancing," he said. He smiled gently as he slipped his hands into Shaggy's, pausing long enough to place his head against the nape of his neck. He wasn't used to having all that hair there, and he wasn't used to Shaggy getting all this attention. He was sure that the hippie wasn't aware of just how many people were mentally oogling his ass and physically wanting to do so under the threat of broken limbs from a blonde that didn't want to explore that feeling really. He chalked it up to not wanting his friend to be snatched by hands that didn't know how to handle him properly and left it there. After that mess with—yeah there was no need to think about her or what she'd done or seeing his friend like that ever again.

"Fred?"

Fred hummed and shoved his nose against Shaggy's cheek. "Let's have fun..." he whispered. "Let's pretend we don't have to be or do anything."

/I'm like a junkie.../

Shaggy turned, unsure of when Fred had gotten taller, or when his eyes ever looked like midnight pools littered with stars. He nodded, letting his drink be snatched and swallowed by Fred as his hips moved without his say so in a manner that should have stayed between him and a mirror. Fred didn't mind it much. He mirrored those movements and made his own, so immensely glad that the woman from earlier hadn't gotten to see this up close. Denied was the name of the game and he wanted to fist pump like a jersey shore jackass.

Fred lanced his fingers with Shaggy's instead, pulling him closer and headed for the floor with cat calls all around.

He was so glad they didn't dance like this all the time. Fred knew he'd die from blood loss, but where that blood would go was his own to know and no one else to wonder about or answer to. 'I'd probably pass out either way…'

/I could dance all night.../

And some things haven't changed too much...but yes, I like the idea of Fred with a tattoo.

Next?