AN:

I know the characters are a bit OOC. But I LIKE this.

Part 3: Can I come over?

11:35 p.m.:

I know it's late
But you're on my mind
I'm wide awake
And I wanna stop by
So you can get up
And get out of the bed
Cause I wanna see you…

And I been wondering...

The ceremony wasn't for another several hours. It was scheduled for some time in the morning at a decent hour when the heat wouldn't be unbearable for those who hated the outdoors in the summer. Staying up late partying into the night was a choice they could have taken had the prospects of hangovers and headaches not taken precedence in being able to function like they should in the coming hours. Those who remained outside drinking and partying into the night would be up and rearing to go because they were used to it or had a higher tolerance for such things. Everything would officially breakdown around one, but leaving an hour ahead wasn't a crime.

After dancing for two hours straight, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with them and it was time to retire. They headed back for the large Villa looming over them in the darkness, kissed beneath the light of a waning moon. The Head Butler was waiting for them in the vast opening that was the main room. The gang hadn't really had a moment to actually reside in their rooms or find out where their things were stored officially for the night. The staff had taken their bags shortly after they had come, and after dinner they'd only grabbed a change of clothes from where the bags had been stored for the moment. Now those bags were like placement cards in the rooms they had gone to the second level to find, following the head butler without being asked.

It took a good bit of effort to climb the thirty stairs curving upward and unto the second level. Thighs were trembling from the exertion of dancing and straight forward strenuous labor was not on the menu for anyone wearing heels. Velma had abandoned her shoes the moment she was on the landing and would have tossed them if Daphne hadn't grabbed them before she could.

"You suck," she muttered to the giggling redhead.

The Butler silently led them down the appropriate corridors, finally coming to a stop when he saw the first door of five. Daphne didn't need to be told which one was hers. She slipped into her room with a wave, and nearly closed the door on Scooby's tail when he slid in with her.

Velma was a little more than shocked. "I thought—"

Shaggy shrugged. "Scooby has his moments," he yawned. "I'm too tired to care."

"Miss Velma, your room is two doors down. Mr. Rodgers?"

"Like, yeah man?"

The butler pointed to the door adjacent from Daphne's. "Your room is there. Mr. Fred, I'm afraid the last room is being occupied by Master Jarrod," he explained. "I've been instructed to take you to the other wing, with our sincere apologies."

Now that was a first...and something they weren't used to. They had their own rooms...and they were being separated. Shaggy sobered up from his sleepy high, unable to do or say anything. The look on Fred's face was strange even in its own right. Velma was confused herself, but chalked it up to their spending nearly every waking moment with one another. She, for one, was glad for a moment of privacy and quickly took it with a bright, "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Velma," Fred called. She smiled a bit and closed herself off. The boys were left alone in an awkward silence. Fred rubbed the back of his head tiredly. "So...I'll see you in the morning?"

"Like, sure man."

"Well rested?"

"For sure! It's not like we have to get up this time!"

True. He smiled tiredly, reaching out to lightly tap Shaggy's chin. "See ya bud."

"Yeah...see ya."

Fred walked off with the Butler, leaving Shaggy alone with his hand on the door and a sudden jolt of pain he couldn't quite place. He waited until he was out of sight to limp into his room, shrug out of his clothing, and climb into the waiting king sized bed. Those four pillows sitting pretty and fluffy at the head of the bed were calling for his head in the worst way. A nice plop down worthy of a score of ten, and he was ready for his brain to shut down.

Twenty-three minutes later, he sincerely wondered WHY his brain was being a rebel tonight.

1:47 a.m.:

The bed was comfortable. He knew that. His body knew it, and his back knew it too. His back was so grateful for comfort in all forms when it was offered, because as much as he loved the old girl, nights in the back of her had taken its toll and riding in that worn in broken up bucket seat just was not his idea of fun these days. If he coupled that with the added bonus of pulling tricks on the dance floor that he was getting too old to pull without pulling something vital, he should have been snoring into the pillow with a promise of pain reliever waiting for him in the morning. His brain should have been gone, shut down, done until the blaring alarm of his cell phone smacked him back into reluctant awareness, and he should be having either a dreamless night or one he would wake up from with sticky sheets on his person. Hell, he should have been in that awkward sleep of lying still like a vice wrapped around whatever happened to be close and immobile for anything less that peeing, a fire, or coffee.

It should have been him now...but it wasn't.

It was close to two in the morning, and he was quietly darting through the halls not knowing WHY.

"I don't even know why I got out of my bed," he murmured to himself. His brain said differently. He promptly told it to shove it somewhere unpleasant as he found himself down a familiar corridor.

'This is not the kitchen...'

No, it was not the kitchen, and yes, he was still scratching the back of his head. The kitchen was in the lower part of this labyrinth, which meant that he should have gone down another flight of stairs somewhere. He was too tired to really find the effort to go where he wanted.

"But not tired enough to sleep," he sighed. That was just great. Daphne was going to rip him a new one for sure in the morning.

It was totally not his fault he couldn't sleep. Well, not totally but mostly.

The closest door to him was a good enough place to lean against as he stopped to think. He was relatively tired and aching for sleep but he wasn't at that point where his brain would let him drop off like a loon on a cliff. He was too tired to move, but too aware to observe the door, the wood it was made of, the color of said wood and the intricate exquisite curvature of the engravings etched beneath his fingers carvings. He was too tired to care about it, and too awake to easily forget why he was sitting here outside of a door and mumbling about his stupid brain getting on board the tired train.

It wasn't like he didn't have nights like this. When he did, it usually happened on nights were getting up around noon the next day was acceptable. His coffee maker didn't judge him for it which is why he loved it and cuddled it mentally when it would give him what he wanted without fail. Daphne would not be as forgiving for his getting up at noon. She'd have his head and then feed it to the guests if he arrived without the much needed rest he was supposed to be getting. At least he wouldn't have to think, right? Bonus right?

But life without coffee?

He wanted to crawl back to his room at the dread of no caffeine.

He wasn't going to move though. He had a feeling that this was going to be the one night where sleep would just not come and would not be around until the next afternoon when he was driving somewhere and…yeah. He just wouldn't drive. He would mull over the reasons WHY he was awake though…as he'd done for the last two hours.

Lying awake at midnight never sat right. He had done his best to bore himself into sleep, but he'd only gotten to the 'stupid' part. He had counted the wrinkles in the sheets (none), counted the cracks in the ceiling, (again, none), and even counted how many times he'd sighed in a span of five minutes (thirty eight times). Once boredom was a failure, he decided to try another tactic. Reading.

Velma might have killed him if she knew he fell asleep on books like it was a religion.

Blake households had a vast expenditure of reading material littered throughout the house. Each room was privy to its share of books available on the market from times past and the present shades of grey, in which there were fifty and he was not even trying to ponder with his current thoughts thank you. He bypassed that book on the nightstand and went over to the bookshelf in question, hoping to find some Jane Austen to die by tonight amicably. He could hear Velma ranting about it already but she needn't have feared. It looked like the Blakes didn't take to her like her loyal dead fans.

He had skimmed the rim of the books with his fingers. Brushing up on some diseases that were hard to pronounce sounded like fun, not sleep, and he just was not going to tempt his brain into labeling the inaccuracies of an encyclopedia from a decade ago. Of course neither types of book were there either. He grabbed he fifth book without looking at the binding and flipped it over to see its cover.

That book was still on the floor in his room, laughing up at him with the words "Half Rise" burned into his corneas. He'd dropped it and immediately held his head, wanting to howl at the injustice of life.

How the hell was he supposed to know it was the Kama Sutra?!

The GAY Kama Sutra?!

He had pulled another one and ignored the images dancing on that paper. The cover on this book said "Midnight Thirsts" which just didn't bode well considering the blatant irony. He'd shoved that book back (eight agonizing minutes later), never minding the twining lock of two men plastered on the front. He didn't notice how one guy looked as if he were in heaven as the other leant into his neck; how his eyes remained closed, fingers curled into the brunet's hair and looking like he was begging silently to be ravished.

He surely didn't flip into the middle of the book, read an eyeful and quickly wished he hadn't. He definitely didn't think about how that title played on his mind, or how he was left rubbing the side of his neck and wondering about the legends of vampires. He hadn't stumbled back into the bed, mumbling with red cheeks, and shoving his face into the pillows to scream at himself for his vivid thoughts mocking him openly.

Nope.

"And who the hell are you trying to kid?!" he snapped at himself. All he'd gotten for his "cures" were more things to shove on the far side of his mind with the rest of the spank material (yes, that's what it was), and an ache he was not about to relieve so close to people he knew. Whatever happened to a predictable novel of mystery, or a book on something safe and boring like balls or something?

"Oh god...I need sleep," he moaned. He slid down and thunked his head on the door, ready to resort to hitting it harder if it meant passing out. "I do not need her killing me in the morning..."

"Like...I don't need you creeping me out either," a voice mumbled. The door opened then and he looked up and spied the sleepy gaze of his best friend blearily looking down at him. Would it have been considered involuntary manslaughter to die of a dry mouth, or suicide? He didn't know, and sincerely didn't want to be the first victim of that question. He shut his mouth and tried not to stare at the lithe body sinking down to his level.

Well, it would be rude to not ask the obvious, right? "Did I wake you? Shags?"

"Like no...the boogie man in the closet woke me with his moaning," Shaggy sighed. "I think he was getting lucky because he sure was LOUD."

"Loud enough to wake you and not the others?"

"Moron," the hippie muttered affectionately flicking Fred in his forehead. "I wasn't sleeping. I CAN'T," he admitted none too gently. "Believe you me, I want nothing more than to sleep, but like...insomnia is something I'm not used to dealing with."

"...oh."

"Any ideas, Fred?"

Several, but none of which he said aloud. No need to keep them both awake because of that and wouldn't that be so very awkward? He crawled into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. Shaggy got up and walked back over to the bed, slumped down on the fluffy white, not surprised to feel another body plop down aside his ten seconds later. One eye peered upward to spy Fred glancing down, sleep more than apparent but far from his reach. Fred's mind was going on about something...and Shaggy wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know what.

"Like...you saw something, didn't you," he mused.

Fred bit the inside of his cheek. "A couple of things," he said easily. "But nothing important. Why are you still up?"

"I could ask you the same thing man."

"You could. So?"

"So...what?"

"Why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Why don't you ask me why I'm still up?"

"Like, why are you still up?!"

"I don't have the first fucking clue!" Fred crowed, holding the sides of his head and plopping backwards. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, and now his body was sore with an ache he didn't dare tread on. He thought about slapping his face a couple of times and just crawling back out of here, but he felt Shaggy shifting on the bed. Maybe he would slap him silly. Fred thought about asking, not wanting to open his eyes as the light of a dim lamp was clicked on and then there was more shifting.

Whatever he was going to say or do, it dissipated with his tension when thin nimble fingers dug themselves firmly into either side of his temple. The soft "yes" that came out of him was short of obscene, but he could care less as he let his eyes flutter shut after they flew open at the first touch. Magic fingers, yes, indeed, for the addled thing that was his brain being very, very, appreciative of this right now.

"You shouldn't get all worked up like this," Shaggy murmured. He kept up the gentle massage, knowing how much it tended to calm down anyone he used it on. Scooby was the one he discovered this power upon. The dog would be wound up tighter than a knot when they usually had a bad case and it took forever to get him to calm down some nights, especially when he was worked up right alongside. It was a pure accident born from an aborted attempt to playfully dig his fingers in a good scratching spot. Scooby was a puddle and thus…this massage was born and eventually granted upon the few humans who were privy to its magic.

He'd only ever used it on two people, and the other was not here. Blonde as well, but not here. "This is not good for you," he chided lightly. "You need to relax more."

Fred yanked at a piece of cloth on Shaggy's night garb. "Hello Mr. Pot."

"Hi Mr. Kettle. We've met before."

"Have we? Hmm, I should instagram your face to myself the next time we meet."

"Or you could just return the favor, Mr. Kettle."

Fred couldn't keep the deep groan coming from the center of his chest when Shaggy's hands moved to his scalp. Scooby had to be the luckiest dog on the planet. "Whatever..."

"...doesn't Daphne do this for you?"

"Pot...Are you insane?"

"No...More like, curious is all?"

"Why would she?" Fred asked, opening his slightly hazed eyes to spy Shaggy staring down at him. He seriously didn't think that— "Oh, no my friend, that was over WAY before it got started," he snorted. "She's a good girl."

"Who likes you?"

"Maybe…but keeping up with her is…a job I can't pay myself for."

"….how short was it?"

"Short."

"...like...do you wish it hadn't been so short?"

"No." He didn't. He really wished it hadn't been a thought at all but what could one do with the pressures of their teen peers dropping down their backsides long after high school was over?

Logic, as factual as it could be, didn't make sense at times. He was the blonde haired blue eyed jock that could do no wrong in the eyes of the school because of his good looks, charm, and his title as the quarterback. He'd done all that stereotypical shit and more, so of course when high school was over he was expected to marry and have many babies by either the high school head cheerleader or the high school fashionista.

Darlene Honeycomb was not a girl he wanted to lay with when she knew all of his football buddies a little too well. Daphne Blake already had her claws in him anyhow, and she was rich, hot, and not blonde and it was all types of okay back then when he wasn't quite as educated in the real world schematics of life like now. Everything and everyone was telling them that she and he should just give it a shot already and just get the statistics of the average American family under their belts already.

Were they all types of wrong, or what!

College brought out different pursuits. Fred didn't actively pursue Daphne back then, but his handle on what he wanted changed. Women still wanted him and he could love a nice looking body, but a drunken night and a dare brought him to the other side of the fence, and a tapered down awareness of it. The others still didn't know about those days and he more than likely wouldn't tell them, but his initial thoughts were of phases and when he was ready to settle down he would. Because he loved Daphne and the idea of that dream was appealing then; a good looking couple, powerful and decisive, sure to grow and eventually head down the path of marriage. He would be the world famous Detective/Reporter/Photographer, and she would be the High Fashion Journalist traveling to all the corners of the earth. That's how it would have, and perhaps, should have been.

He certainly found out during that short month of them trying to make that oddity work that loving someone and being in love with them were two very different things.

Daphne, as much as he loved her, was on a totally different level of incompatibility he was not aware of when they weren't working together. Her life wasn't about being the wife of the most popular guy around. She was always on the go, always doing something, and never still longer than she had to be to sleep, get something to eat, or watch something she wanted on the television. That part didn't bother Fred that much, but it was the way she tried to dig her hands into him and change him to match her pace…Fred had balked and backpedaled so hard after the third shopping trip that he was sure he'd totaled his mental car.

She realized what was happening after talk of a different hair color came up. She was absolutely horrified about it. Daphne did apologize and she was the one to say they should just stay friends, and Fred let her because who wanted to be the woman that got dumped by his image? Fred didn't want that heat on his back and Daphne didn't want people thinking the wrong thing about either of them. They were not the modern Ken and Barbie. Saying yes to everything and getting nothing in return never ended well.

Fred brought himself back to the mind numbing caress of Shaggy's inquisitive fingers. That had been around the time Shaggy had come back. Of course he thought (and probably the rest of the town because no one knew how to move on) they were still something. Yeah, no, he didn't wish it was that short. "I wish it hadn't have happened," he admitted. "She needs someone who will break her habits without forcing her to."

"...Like, you never got past first base, did you."

Fred twisted his face and pretended to look offended. "Like, Dude, that's our sister. Um, ew?"

Shaggy laughed at him, shifting himself so that Fred's head was in his lap. His shoulders dropped with the floor of gratifying relief that came his way. The why didn't matter, but it was nice not thinking that Jarrod and Darrel had been utterly wrong about it. He couldn't quite place his fingers on why, but he was still glad. Fred's soft smile of drowsiness was turning into one of total relaxation. His knotted brow had relaxed, and his dimples had subsided in lieu of yawning and moaning his appreciation for the scalp massage. If he wasn't careful, the man would fall asleep in his lap.

Shaggy didn't quite care.

"So like, what's the deal with Velma?" he asked. Fred's brow canted at his off the wall question. "Is she, or isn't she?"

"Huh? OH! Oh no. NO!" Fred shook his head laughing and waved his hands to further emphasize his loud protest. Shaggy never could figure Velma out completely and he was too much of a nice person to ask. Fred and Velma though, they had history from their Shaggy-less days that made it easy to answer that question and mean it. "No way man. She's picky is all, and she refused to change her style for obvious reasons."

"I supposed that's going to change now," Shaggy mused. "I can't believe you dared her to wear that…or that she had it!"

"She got a nice reaction. Daphne's says she wants to take Velma shopping. I mean, she let her hair grow out some, so why not the rest?"

"Like, the rest is grown out! She just covers it up with those sweaters."

"Shoot me if I ever go back to those long sleeved things," Fred laughed. "I look like such a Jock."

"Do the same for me if I go back to those brown things...and that shirt!" Shaggy chuckled. "Oh man...it's like I had, twenty of the same shirt!"

"You did...because it was your favorite color."

"It still is...Scooby sniffed out that shirt." He stalled his fingers from their massage and reached out to gently trace the line that was Fred's defined nose. His own had a small hump to it, a distinguishing feature bestowed upon him via his father's genes. Fred's was the definitive of perfect, given the fact that he'd broken it once or twice. His fingers stopped at the end of his nose, flicking the tip of it lightly. Fred laughed and snatched his hand, effectively pulling him down.

"Scooby sniffed out that shirt?"

"Like, yeah man. It was before...the first day of high school."

"You don't say?"

"I needed a shirt...and Scooby wandered into my closet and was like, sniffing around the stuff my mom bought but I never wore. He pulled out that shirt, and I figured I'd go with the hippie tree loving look. I wasn't, like, trying to impress anyone."

Fred remembered it. He remembered punching Greg Fresco in the back for talking smack about it but that was something for Fred to enjoy privately."...you did look good in it," Fred mused, "when you were a cute kid."

"Cute?!"

"Of course! You were adorable and girls fed you for that reason alone. Scooby was a bonus!"

"So like, if that's the case, why couldn't I score a date to save my life?!"

Fred shrugged. Teens were ugly fickle things in social cliques and he might have probably kept the preying jerks off of Shaggy's backside. Fred of course wasn't going to say that aloud. He grinned though. Shaggy slumped down and thumped his hand on Fred's silent laughing chest. Shaggy knew, but he said the obvious anyhow. "You totally suck."

Fred grabbed his other hand and pulled, dragging Shaggy out of his position and down to lie on him; across him really. Shaggy's head found a resting spot on Fred's shoulder once he slid back into a more comfortable position, laughing with the blonde about their sleep riddled antics. Normally one of them would have shoved the other away claiming the need for space and starting the mandatory pillow fight, but they didn't move away from the comfort that snared them.

This was better than sleeping in the old girl when times prompted it, comfort wise physically anyhow. Nights when they had no shelter to sleep in resulted in old blankets being brought out and lain down for the girls to sleep upon. Scooby would be with them in the back, their heated pillow and silent guardian from the things that could rock the mystery machine. Fred and Shaggy took turns driving if they had to keep going through the night, one sleeping in the passenger seat and the other fighting off sleep silent invited.

On those nights where driving just wasn't an option, Fred and Shaggy would keep to a corner of their own. They'd stay up a little later, kind of like now, talking about nothing and everything until they would doze off. When they woke, if they weren't sleeping awkwardly in their own spaces, they were huddled up together. Fred would always wake first, and seeing Shaggy's head pressed against his own just pulled him back under. He would tug the then teen closer to him, knowing that his clinging lanky frame needed an anchor to keep the nightmares at bay, and just go back to sleep until Shaggy's stomach would rouse them.

Doing what they did made Shaggy more of a nervous wreck than ever. Sleep was the least Fred could give him. It was bad when people were deliberately masquerading as monsters, but recently, in their adult years, those "masks" had become devastatingly real. Fred often found himself questioning the integrity of myths and folklore. It wasn't as accurate as seeing it up close. Either way, when they stumbled across one of those, Shaggy was up for nights on end. He was up, too, easing him into some hours of sleep until he couldn't quite take it himself. It was easier that way...and more comforting the longer he thought about it.

He wondered why it couldn't have been one of those nights. Shaggy would be drooling on him rather than lying awake wondering what was plaguing Fred's brain and Fred would be free to suck down this feeling of euphoria while mentally berating the woman that broke his friend in half with these seemingly gentle touches. Of course that only fueled the stimulants of his mind and he knew sleep just would not visit tonight.

He resisted sucking his teeth and stared down at Shaggy idly tapping the protruding end of his collarbone. He was thinking, but not so deeply that he didn't blush appropriately when Fred linked their hands together.

Shaggy mentally groaned. Oh god, they were talking about their feelings now. "...Fred…can we just—"

"No." Fred hushed him with a look, his thought process shot to hell and he just could not deal with this a moment longer in silence. "...you know, after that whole Googie thing, I thought for sure you'd leave," he said quietly. Shaggy bit his lip, unsure of where Fred was going with this. Fred gently placed their hands over his heart, sighing as his nose found the head of umber he'd been unconsciously thinking of all night. "I didn't think you'd ever come back home."

"I wasn't going to," Shaggy admitted. It was a twist in a knife they'd kept buried between them, but one Fred wanted to rip out of that wound now of all times. Shaggy sighed and gave in. There was no getting away from it now. "She was…my chance to…be normal. She was special…the only girl who noticed me…I thought for sure…"

"I thought so, too." And it hurt more then. It hurt him because Shaggy chose her and Fred couldn't fault him the reasons why. But… "She broke your heart...and broke mine, too."

"You…you weren't the one with her…"

"No I wasn't. But she stole you from us…stole you from me. My best friend was gone and she locked him up for herself."

Shaggy tried not to listen for the implications under those loaded words, but he was failing and falling somewhere dangerous. "...I did miss you Fred. I did. I just...didn't know how to say no...you know?"

"She hung up on me."

"I didn't know at the time..."

Fred nodded, and hated himself for what he said next. "...but she had the right idea."

Shaggy looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Fred shook his head silently, inhaling the scent of faded vanilla and Shampoo that smelt of peaches and cream. Shaggy must have gotten the girly bathroom, but it smelt great on that soft skin. "You needed a break from us...from what we do. Your nerves were shot to hell, and you know it," he said before Shaggy could protest. "Besides...you needed a break from me."

That may have been true then, but it wasn't now. Wouldn't Fred like to know just what the hell he'd been up to in his absence? Shaggy decided to tell him later, when this comfort was offered again. "...being away from you made it harder to sleep," Shaggy admitted softly. "She was there...but she didn't know how to calm me down. Even Scooby couldn't calm me down like you could. I didn't trust her like you..."

'Didn't love her...like you...'

"...you trust me now?"

"Of course! Why?"

'Because I'm done skirting around this.'

He didn't quite need to say it. He nudged Shaggy's head upward with a soft breath, moving in to steal those lips before he could say anything. It was nothing more than a two second kiss; short, sweet, and chaste in all intentions, but speaking volumes in its very existence. Fred knew his cheeks were on fire...and he was pretty sure those lurid thoughts were about to hit him harder than they had about twenty minutes ago. Shaggy gaped at him, fixing his jaw in a tight grip that might have had Fred leaping out of the bed. Thankfully Shaggy's eyes weren't good at lying, and neither was he.

"...man, you have like, the WORST timing," Shaggy muttered.

"Hey! I'm not doing it at your wedding! Although that would have been interesting."

"No way! Like, just so we're clear...that wasn't a friend kiss, was it?"

"Hmm? No, why?"

Shaggy effectively shut him up with another, silencing him into complete stupidity with that thing he was doing with his tongue. How the heck did he know how to do that?! It didn't much matter after a moment, stealing his breath away with a light flick of his tongue against the soft palate trembling in excitement. He gave him a second to breathe, stealing his senses away with open wet kisses, mapping the inner caverns of that warmth thoroughly and thoughtfully. He tasted of mint and chocolate, and something more he couldn't quite finger, but found just as addicting as nibbling his lower lip. He got the nicest reaction out of Shaggy, and Fred was too glad he wasn't wearing that infernal gown tonight.

He'd been kissed before, but never so openly. The passion of lips dancing upon another's was an art fueled with intentions tainted by conquest and other motives. This kiss, this gentle slide of tongues against one another, curling and tasting and remembering the sensitive spots…this kiss was one of a starving man drinking his fill of a his favorite carnal desire and letting it consume him in a fire that set his partner aflame as well. Fred gave as much as he was given, thanking his stars no one in high school he knew could kiss like this, because he would find them, kill them for teaching Shaggy this, and then thank them with flowers on their grave. Hell, Red Herring would have died at the sight of this and that would have been a bonus.

Fred pulled back and laughed abruptly. He could almost swear that the red headed idiot was screaming at him from afar. Shaggy pulled away and bopped him in his shoulder, tuned well enough to Fred to know who he was thinking about. "Stop thinking about that idiot!"

"I c-can't help it...it's just too funny!"

"Huh. Well this will be hilarious...I'm going to sleep!"

"What?! NO!"

"Give me one good reason not to."

He could give him several...and Fred decided that enough was enough. Without warning or knowing how it happened, Shaggy was underneath him, gasping for air he couldn't quite catch. Fred's lips were enjoying themselves on the small groove between his chin and neck, and his hands were quickly skirting up the length of his exposed thigh...

"You want to know what I saw earlier?" he breathed against his cheek. Shaggy blinked and almost swore he was in bed with a closeted incubus. That smoldering look left his back in a puddle, and his will was tossed out to the floor much like his t-shirt in the next moment. He had a feeling that sleep was the last thing on Fred's mind.

'Oh my GOD...'

No worries...it gets better. *smirk*