Fic | Spill
Title: Spill
Author: attilatehbun
Fandom: Figure Skating
Pairing/Characters: Jeffrey Buttle/Evan Lysacek, Anna Trebunskaya
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4000
Contains: RPS, 2nd person POV
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I highly doubt anything even remotely like this ever happened, and if it did that is not information I am privy to.
Author's Notes: Originally posted on the meme, for the TFLN prompt of: do you remember waking up from your blackout, kissing me ever so softly on the stomach, and saying "i love you bro. so much," then passing back out?.
Has now been cleaned up and made not as horrible, largely thanks to tehgiantsquid being fantabulous.
::
You don’t so much get out of the car as spill out of it, an ungainly sprawl of limbs hooking on door frames and curbs, of tiny flakes of gravel grinding their way up under your shirt. This seems unfair: you didn’t have that much to drink. Your head lands on cool grass, the blades tickle your ears, and your eyes flutter open. Oh look, smog. You chuckle low in your throat.
There’s a shuffling sound from somewhere around your knees: before you can raise your head to look, the foot still caught on something in the car is lowered, not ungently, to the ground. A pause, and then firm hands are under your arms, hauling you most of the way back to standing. You push with your feet helpfully (it’s the least you can do) and everything sways. The hands have gone around your waist and there’s a voice saying, “Easy, easy.”
It’s not easy, but you’re a hard worker, you’ll give it more than your best. You focus on staying upright and tell the world to stop spinning.
The world refuses to stop spinning. Everything is spinning, even your eyes in your head, so you close them, because at least you should be able to make your body listen to you. The owner of the voice isn’t spinning though; he seems steady and solid, so you sort of drape yourself over him, wind closer into the arms around your waist, find a shoulder with your cheek. You’re okay with faking it until you’re making it. Until you make it. Heh. Rhyming.
“Easy,” the voice says again, and an arm squeezes your waist.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in and help?” That’s another voice, a new voice with a familiar accent, and you attempt to turn towards it. You turn and you turn, and you feel the body under you stagger and catch. “I really don’t mind,” the new voice says again, like she doesn’t believe that they’ve got this. You don't know what there is to get.
“I’ve got him, really,” the first voice says. “Honestly, it’s fine, Anna.”
It’s Anna. “Aaaannnnnnaaa,” you say, and laugh into your support’s neck. It’s Anna. You like Anna. You like her face, it’s a nice face, you love her, she’s great, you want to give her a hug.
You want to give her a hug. You try to take a couple steps towards the car, which seems to be coming at you at entirely the wrong angle. Also, it’s moving, which is just silly because parked cars don’t move. Just before you collide with it, the strong hands are pulling hard on your hips until you stagger back into the now comfortable circle of arms. You lean into him, because it seems good for your balance, and you wrap your arms back around him, because you still want a hug. You get a lot of hair in your nose, but it’s soft and it smells good so you don’t really mind.
It’s also a familiar smell, and oh right, Jeffrey’s visiting. It’s Jeffrey. You love Jeffrey too. He’s beautiful.
“Hi, Jeffrey,” you say and wind yourself a little tighter.
“Hi, Evan,” Jeffrey says back, and you can’t tell if that’s fondness or exasperation in his tone. Maybe it’s both. Suddenly, it is extremely important for you to know which and you open your mouth to ask, but you can't because Jeffrey’s talking to Anna again.
“He just needs some water and some aspirin and a nice, long sleep,” he’s saying. “That much, I can handle.”
There’s a long pause, and you struggle to focus because pauses like that around Anna usually mean she’s either making a face or raising an eyebrow. If it’s a face, those are funny and you want to see. If it’s an eyebrow, it’s pretty devastating, and you’ll have to protect Jeffrey.
But Jeffrey’s handling it. “I know he’s kind of octopus man right now, but I’ve coped with worse. Promise,” he says, laughing. And wow, that’s. Wow. You can feel that laugh all through you and you can’t stop grinning.
“Okay,” Anna says, finally. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” He gives a little wriggle, and suddenly your lean is not at quite such a pronounced angle. “It was nice to finally meet you, even if the night, well…”
Anna laughs. “Yeah, same.” She pauses; you hear the car door open and the rap of her fingernails against the window glass. “You know, it’s funny. I haven’t seen him this relaxed in a long time.”
Something inside of you bristles at that. You’re relaxed. You’re totally relaxed. You’re relaxed all the time. You’re doing your best to be the most relaxed person ever. What does that mean, you’re not relaxed?
Jeffrey laughs again. “I don’t think ‘drunk’ is quite the same as actually relaxed.”
“No, it’s not that,” Anna says. “It’s--” You miss the next thing she says because Jeffrey is adjusting his hands around your middle again, and they’re really warm through your shirt.
“Jeff, he--” Anna trails off.
Jeffrey squirms under you. Are you leaning too hard? You sway away, he tugs you back. “What?” he says, voice rough.
“No, nothing. Never mind,” Anna says. Her keys jangle, loud in the sudden silence. “Have him text me tomorrow? So I know he didn’t die?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Jeffrey says.
“Goodnight, Evan,” Anna says, turning to you. “Get some rest, okay?”
“Okay, Anna.” You wave at her; you like doing what she tells you. “Hmmm, you too.”
The car door shuts and after a second there’s the sudden roar of the engine as she drives away. Now it’s just you and Jeffrey, in the middle of, the middle of. Wait. Where are you again?
You swing your head up as Jeffrey pries himself away from you enough that you can both walk. He’s leading you up a path towards a building.
“Hey,” you say, “my apartment looks just like this.”
“That’s because this is your apartment,” Jeffrey says. He laughs and tugs at you like he’s trying to keep you from tripping all over your own feet. Obviously you wouldn’t do that, you’re good on your feet. Everyone says.
“'M coordinated,” you say.
“Should I let you go then?” Jeffrey says and turns towards you, his bangs brushing your jawline.
No. No. “No,” you say. You tighten the arm you have slung around his shoulders. “You got me.”
Jeffrey shrugs you into a more stable walking position. “I got you,” he grins. One of the hands that had been on your hips has gone up to clutch at your wrist, keeping you firmly in place. You want to grab his hand with yours and squeeze it, but your arm refuses to bend that way. Stupid arm.
“‘N I got you, okay?” you say. It’s really important that he knows this. "Okay?"
But he doesn’t reply, just pulls you carefully up the steps. Then, suddenly, he’s not holding you up any more, you’re leaning against the brick façade of the building and, no. You reach out for him.
“Hang on,” he says, “I have to get your keys. Just.” He holds his hands up. “One second.”
You sag back against the brick. Jeffrey lets out a harsh burst of breath, and then his hands are in your pants. In your pockets. In your pants. Jeffrey’s hands are in your pants. Hey, okay. This is a good change. You lean forward into him, because, finally, but Jeffrey doesn’t get it or something. Instead, he wedges his shoulder against your chest and mutters, “Come on, help me out here,” and pushes until you’re pressed back against the building and he’s jerking his hands out of your pockets, keys dangling from his fingers.
Oh right. The keys.
Still, you get to drop back down over his back almost immediately as he fumbles open the front door and shuffles you both to your apartment door. Then that one’s open, and suddenly you’re dropping down awkwardly onto your couch and Jeffrey’s on the other side of the coffee table. No.
He reaches up and over his head, stretching for the ceiling, and your eyes zero in on the stripe of stomach exposed by the motion. “Jeez, man,” he’s saying with a wide smile, “next time, you think you could lose a couple of inches? You are too tall and my back is not as young as it used to be.” He tugs his head once towards each shoulder; you can hear the crack even from several feet away.
You could rub that knot out for him. “Sorry,” you say, “let me--"
Jeffrey cuts you off. “No, you sit there. I’m going to get you some water.”
He heads into the kitchen and you settle back into the deep cushions. Everything is spinning a little less. Maybe the world was just on a delay for listening to you. You close your eyes.
You open them again to a persistent tapping on your foot. Jeffrey is sitting impossibly close to you. “Hey, hey,” he says, “you can sleep in a second, but you have to drink this first.”
You don’t even look at what he’s offering you, you just reach out and get your arms around him again. This time, you even get to hook an ankle over his knee.
“Evan, Evan,” he laughs, trying to stay upright as you pull insistently at him, “the water, remember?”
You don’t really feel thirsty, but it was really nice of Jeffrey to get it for you, so you dutifully drink it down. He drinks his water a lot slower, but once yours is finished he doesn’t mind you tangling him back up again. By the time he’s finished, you’re most of the way asleep against him.
You feel his fingers prodding at your head. “Time for bed,” he says.
Somehow your head has wound up down his side, almost to his ribs. His thin sweater feels really nice and you can’t help but rub your cheek against it. “Yup,” you say.
“Up, then.”
“Nope.” You tug his hips until the bone isn’t pressed into the nerve in your shoulder and settle in.
“Evan,” he starts, but you’re already asleep.
::
It’s a long slow time before you register that you’re awake. It’s hard even to tell if your eyes are open; it’s almost equally dark either way. Eventually, you discern an unearthly, flickering glow that must be the television. So. Not in your bedroom then.
There’s something warm and solid under you, something far more comfortable than your bed, despite the fact that you must be squashed awkwardly into the couch. Whatever it is, it’s moving, slow and steady, calming, and you breathe deeply. The smell calms you even more, and you rub your hand languidly across soft material.
Jeffrey.
It slowly dawns on you that you’re lying almost entirely on top of Jeffrey, and this does nothing to encourage you to move. Once that realization hits, you’re able to separate out the gentle pressure of his fingers carding through your hair. You smile against his stomach.
Just in front of you, Jeffrey’s sweater has ridden up - whether it was naturally or from the movement of your hand, you’re not sure - and you can’t help yourself. You rub your hand across his belly again, catching the hem and pushing it up, just a little, just enough. You nose briefly at his skin, then tilt your head to brush an open-mouthed kiss next to his navel.
Somewhere above you, somewhere in the dark, Jeffrey sucks air between his teeth in a sharp hiss. There was something you wanted to tell him, or find out from him, or both, something important. Something that really mattered. You can't. You don't. You open your mouth.
“Jeff,” you say, “Jeff. I love you, bro. Jeff. So much.”
Jeffrey’s fingers tighten in your hair. His breath hitches.
You want to make him do that again. You angle your head again, intending to be more firm this time, make it mean something, but sleep is creeping back in around your edges. Before you can do more than breathe across his stomach, it has you again.
::
When you wake up, it’s with a sudden, sharp jolt that has you tumbling off the sofa in a jumbled mess. You catch the corner of the coffee table under your arm, and the pain that flares there is so brilliant that it’s two whole seconds before you realize that: one) your head is trying to split open, and two) the sunlight is trying to help it along its way by boring through your skull. You don’t know what to clutch at first.
Finally, you manage to bring your knees up and get your head down between them. You focus on deep breaths first and wait for everything to subside a little.
“Am I dead?” you say to the patch of carpet you can see between your legs.
“Doubt it would hurt as much if you were,” calls a voice from the kitchen. Jeffrey pokes his head around the corner a moment later. You turn to look at him, you turn way, way too fast, and whoops, your vision starts to tunnel again.
By the time you get a hand to your head and your back pressed against the couch for support, Jeffrey’s standing over you, smirking, holding out two aspirin and a huge tumbler full of water. You take it all gratefully and demolish it in about two gulps.
You hand the glass back, sighing “Thanks,” and tipping your head back onto the couch.
Wait. “I was sleeping on the couch?” you say. You must have been; now that the edge is off your headache other pains are starting to creep in, the little cricks and cramps and pops that come from folding your overlarge body onto a normal-sized couch. Also, you seem to have a scrape/bruise on your lower back, which isn’t really that uncommon, but you didn’t skate yesterday and you definitely didn’t have it yesterday morning.
Jeffrey settles in next to you on the floor, touching you at knee, hip, shoulder. It’s nearly too much. “That you did,” he says. “What do you remember?”
You think back, you strain against the limits of your throbbing brain. You remember going out for drinks with Jeffrey, you remember being excited to introduce him to Anna and Maks, you remember reminding yourself to behave around Jeffrey. You remember doing tequila shots with Maks, you remember doing more tequila shots with Maks, you remember re-reminding yourself to behave, because making drunken passes at a friend never ends well, especially not if said friend is staying with you for another week, you remember doing even more tequila shots with Maks, you remember starting to hang off Jeffrey like a limpet.
“Anna drove us home? I think?” you say, more to yourself. “Did I fall? I must have fallen, it feels like there’s a bruise the size of Canada on my ass. And you got me inside--"
“And kept you from tripping and giving yourself another concussion,” Jeffrey supplies, grinning.
You feel your cheeks burn. “Sorry,” you say, and Jeffrey just bumps his shoulder against yours.
“‘S’okay,” he says. “I got you.”
That phrase sounds familiar, it sparks something in your brain, but you can’t attach it to anything right now. “And then,” you say, “and then, everything’s fuzzy.”
“That’s all you remember?” Jeffrey says. His face sort of shuts down, which is weird, because even when Jeffrey’s not smiling, he’s still kind of always smiling.
You shake your head. “There’s nothing else. I didn’t like, barf on your shoes or anything, did I?” Your mouth tastes gross, but not like barf-mouth, so you think you’re safe on that score.
"No," Jeffrey says, "no, there was no barfing. I made you drink some water and then you passed out on the couch."
You realize that Jeffrey is no longer sitting against you. He's moved, almost imperceptibly, but you're hyper-aware of him at the moment and you no longer feel the pressure of his hip on yours. Something feels off here.
"That's it?" you say.
"Yeah, that's it," Jeffrey says. He stands and there's a smile on his face again. "Look, I'm going to go make us some breakfast. Or, I suppose, lunch. And before you ask, no, you cannot have a protein shake."
You pout before you can stop yourself. "I just like them," you say. Then you look up at him. You think there's something still odd in his eyes, but you've never been good at reading this stuff. "Jeff? Really, thank you."
Jeffrey's smile flickers briefly. "Yeah, no problem," he says, then heads for the kitchen.
You decide to take a shower. You're still wearing last night's clothes, for one thing, and your skin is kind of crawling. Standing makes you sway a little, and your vision blurs, but you grit your teeth and tell your equilibrium to take one for the team, because this shower is going to happen.
Once in the shower, you just stand under the spray for a good fifteen minutes. You are so glad you bought that massaging shower head; you can turn the hot water way up and just let it pound all the hangover and couch-sleeping aches out of your muscles. But eventually your skin starts to go kind of numb and tingly, so you turn it back to regular and let your brain start to filter back in.
You've soaped and rinsed and you're shampooing your hair when Jeffrey's harmless "I got you" finally finds something to attach to and you start to remember things. Mainly images at first, then other things. Like how you refused to let go of Jeffrey for more than ten seconds at a time, how he let you crawl all over him before you passed out, the feel of his sweater under your cheek. How his fingers pulled your hair when you-- when you-- oh fuck.
You jump out of the shower; you don't rinse the shampoo out and you barely even have the forethought to wrap a towel around your hips before you're running for the kitchen. You stop short in the living room, your brain only just registering that Jeffrey's on the couch, bare feet propped on the coffee table, eating a sandwich and flipping channels with his free hand.
"I said what?" you say.
Jeffrey jumps about a foot into the air - it's kind of a miracle the sandwich doesn't go flying - and scrambles to his feet, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Jesus, Evan, what the--" His eyes widen when he sees you, then they run the length of your body before flicking back to your face. "What are you--"
"I said what?" you repeat, because you're kind of stuck on it. Okay, so you, you maybe have...feelings, you always known you felt things for Jeffrey, it's not something you deny, not to yourself at least, but that you said them, that you said that, that you said it like that, oh god what were you thinking? Were you thinking?
You can see when Jeffrey puts it together. "I-- Oh. Evan, I-- It's." He's stammering, he can't meet your eyes, but it's fine because you can't really meet his right now either.
Your face feels like it's on fire. You don't even know what to say, you'd only gotten as far as whaaaaaat, so you blurt the first thing that pops into your head. "Were you just going to ignore it? Were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Why the hell didn't you say something?"
Jeffrey throws his hands in the air. "What was I supposed to say? I thought I should give you a chance-- You didn't-- Did you want me to say something?"
Somewhere, buried in the back of your mind, there's a logical voice telling you that he's giving you both an out. But above that, you think of a hiss of breath. "I--"
Jeffrey drops his hands. "This is the point where you're supposed to take it back. Do you want to take it back?"
"What? No! I mean." You stutter to a stop. That's not what you want, but. "Do. Do you want me to take it back?"
Suddenly Jeffrey's looking at his feet; now his face is bright red. "I. Well. I mean, it didn't--" He takes a deep breath and looks Evan squarely in the eye. "No. No, I don't want you to take it back. I--"
You feel like you need to sit down. "Oh."
"So, what do you--" Jeffrey trails off. But he's moving closer and closer to you.
"Oh," you say again, because your brain is stuck on this now. You weren't even trying for this, and now? Wow.
Jeffrey's really close, and you know you need to say something, and it'll come to you if you can just stop staring at his grin, how it's getting wider and wider until it seems like his face shouldn't be able to take it anymore.
"Screw it," he says, finally, and then he's kissing you, one hand curled around the back of your neck. Soap is dripping down from your hair into your eyes, and Jeffrey's got a little bit of mustard on the corner of his lip, and you're light-headed, dazed. And. And. And your equilibrium is just going to have to take another one for the team, because this kiss is getting 150%.
After a moment that could not possibly have been as long as it felt, Jeffrey finally pulls back, just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. Your hands have found their way to his hips and you're kneading them almost unconsciously. "I think the shower's still running," he says.
"And I'm getting you all soapy," you say without stepping back.
"Yeah," Jeffrey breathes. "You should go finish up."
You rub your nose against his, grin into your shared breath. "You could come with me?" Your thumbs rub over his hipbones, up down, up down, up down. His eyes flutter closed; you love that, so you make him do it again.
"No," he says, "we have. Things."
"Yeah," you say, "but we also have this." And maybe it's pretty soppy, but it's also pretty true, and apparently Jeffrey agrees. He leans in and wipes shampoo off your forehead, and says, "Okay. But after, you have to text Anna. I promised."
You want to tell him that you never promised, you want to nuzzle his jaw, you want to do a million stupid, silly things. But instead you just kiss him again and tug him backwards down the hall, because it's important to finish the things you start.
::end::
...look we are all just going to pretend that I hit my head or something here, idek, don't look at me. /preemptive "no throat-punching"
Author: attilatehbun
Fandom: Figure Skating
Pairing/Characters: Jeffrey Buttle/Evan Lysacek, Anna Trebunskaya
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4000
Contains: RPS, 2nd person POV
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I highly doubt anything even remotely like this ever happened, and if it did that is not information I am privy to.
Author's Notes: Originally posted on the meme, for the TFLN prompt of: do you remember waking up from your blackout, kissing me ever so softly on the stomach, and saying "i love you bro. so much," then passing back out?.
Has now been cleaned up and made not as horrible, largely thanks to tehgiantsquid being fantabulous.
::
You don’t so much get out of the car as spill out of it, an ungainly sprawl of limbs hooking on door frames and curbs, of tiny flakes of gravel grinding their way up under your shirt. This seems unfair: you didn’t have that much to drink. Your head lands on cool grass, the blades tickle your ears, and your eyes flutter open. Oh look, smog. You chuckle low in your throat.
There’s a shuffling sound from somewhere around your knees: before you can raise your head to look, the foot still caught on something in the car is lowered, not ungently, to the ground. A pause, and then firm hands are under your arms, hauling you most of the way back to standing. You push with your feet helpfully (it’s the least you can do) and everything sways. The hands have gone around your waist and there’s a voice saying, “Easy, easy.”
It’s not easy, but you’re a hard worker, you’ll give it more than your best. You focus on staying upright and tell the world to stop spinning.
The world refuses to stop spinning. Everything is spinning, even your eyes in your head, so you close them, because at least you should be able to make your body listen to you. The owner of the voice isn’t spinning though; he seems steady and solid, so you sort of drape yourself over him, wind closer into the arms around your waist, find a shoulder with your cheek. You’re okay with faking it until you’re making it. Until you make it. Heh. Rhyming.
“Easy,” the voice says again, and an arm squeezes your waist.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in and help?” That’s another voice, a new voice with a familiar accent, and you attempt to turn towards it. You turn and you turn, and you feel the body under you stagger and catch. “I really don’t mind,” the new voice says again, like she doesn’t believe that they’ve got this. You don't know what there is to get.
“I’ve got him, really,” the first voice says. “Honestly, it’s fine, Anna.”
It’s Anna. “Aaaannnnnnaaa,” you say, and laugh into your support’s neck. It’s Anna. You like Anna. You like her face, it’s a nice face, you love her, she’s great, you want to give her a hug.
You want to give her a hug. You try to take a couple steps towards the car, which seems to be coming at you at entirely the wrong angle. Also, it’s moving, which is just silly because parked cars don’t move. Just before you collide with it, the strong hands are pulling hard on your hips until you stagger back into the now comfortable circle of arms. You lean into him, because it seems good for your balance, and you wrap your arms back around him, because you still want a hug. You get a lot of hair in your nose, but it’s soft and it smells good so you don’t really mind.
It’s also a familiar smell, and oh right, Jeffrey’s visiting. It’s Jeffrey. You love Jeffrey too. He’s beautiful.
“Hi, Jeffrey,” you say and wind yourself a little tighter.
“Hi, Evan,” Jeffrey says back, and you can’t tell if that’s fondness or exasperation in his tone. Maybe it’s both. Suddenly, it is extremely important for you to know which and you open your mouth to ask, but you can't because Jeffrey’s talking to Anna again.
“He just needs some water and some aspirin and a nice, long sleep,” he’s saying. “That much, I can handle.”
There’s a long pause, and you struggle to focus because pauses like that around Anna usually mean she’s either making a face or raising an eyebrow. If it’s a face, those are funny and you want to see. If it’s an eyebrow, it’s pretty devastating, and you’ll have to protect Jeffrey.
But Jeffrey’s handling it. “I know he’s kind of octopus man right now, but I’ve coped with worse. Promise,” he says, laughing. And wow, that’s. Wow. You can feel that laugh all through you and you can’t stop grinning.
“Okay,” Anna says, finally. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” He gives a little wriggle, and suddenly your lean is not at quite such a pronounced angle. “It was nice to finally meet you, even if the night, well…”
Anna laughs. “Yeah, same.” She pauses; you hear the car door open and the rap of her fingernails against the window glass. “You know, it’s funny. I haven’t seen him this relaxed in a long time.”
Something inside of you bristles at that. You’re relaxed. You’re totally relaxed. You’re relaxed all the time. You’re doing your best to be the most relaxed person ever. What does that mean, you’re not relaxed?
Jeffrey laughs again. “I don’t think ‘drunk’ is quite the same as actually relaxed.”
“No, it’s not that,” Anna says. “It’s--” You miss the next thing she says because Jeffrey is adjusting his hands around your middle again, and they’re really warm through your shirt.
“Jeff, he--” Anna trails off.
Jeffrey squirms under you. Are you leaning too hard? You sway away, he tugs you back. “What?” he says, voice rough.
“No, nothing. Never mind,” Anna says. Her keys jangle, loud in the sudden silence. “Have him text me tomorrow? So I know he didn’t die?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Jeffrey says.
“Goodnight, Evan,” Anna says, turning to you. “Get some rest, okay?”
“Okay, Anna.” You wave at her; you like doing what she tells you. “Hmmm, you too.”
The car door shuts and after a second there’s the sudden roar of the engine as she drives away. Now it’s just you and Jeffrey, in the middle of, the middle of. Wait. Where are you again?
You swing your head up as Jeffrey pries himself away from you enough that you can both walk. He’s leading you up a path towards a building.
“Hey,” you say, “my apartment looks just like this.”
“That’s because this is your apartment,” Jeffrey says. He laughs and tugs at you like he’s trying to keep you from tripping all over your own feet. Obviously you wouldn’t do that, you’re good on your feet. Everyone says.
“'M coordinated,” you say.
“Should I let you go then?” Jeffrey says and turns towards you, his bangs brushing your jawline.
No. No. “No,” you say. You tighten the arm you have slung around his shoulders. “You got me.”
Jeffrey shrugs you into a more stable walking position. “I got you,” he grins. One of the hands that had been on your hips has gone up to clutch at your wrist, keeping you firmly in place. You want to grab his hand with yours and squeeze it, but your arm refuses to bend that way. Stupid arm.
“‘N I got you, okay?” you say. It’s really important that he knows this. "Okay?"
But he doesn’t reply, just pulls you carefully up the steps. Then, suddenly, he’s not holding you up any more, you’re leaning against the brick façade of the building and, no. You reach out for him.
“Hang on,” he says, “I have to get your keys. Just.” He holds his hands up. “One second.”
You sag back against the brick. Jeffrey lets out a harsh burst of breath, and then his hands are in your pants. In your pockets. In your pants. Jeffrey’s hands are in your pants. Hey, okay. This is a good change. You lean forward into him, because, finally, but Jeffrey doesn’t get it or something. Instead, he wedges his shoulder against your chest and mutters, “Come on, help me out here,” and pushes until you’re pressed back against the building and he’s jerking his hands out of your pockets, keys dangling from his fingers.
Oh right. The keys.
Still, you get to drop back down over his back almost immediately as he fumbles open the front door and shuffles you both to your apartment door. Then that one’s open, and suddenly you’re dropping down awkwardly onto your couch and Jeffrey’s on the other side of the coffee table. No.
He reaches up and over his head, stretching for the ceiling, and your eyes zero in on the stripe of stomach exposed by the motion. “Jeez, man,” he’s saying with a wide smile, “next time, you think you could lose a couple of inches? You are too tall and my back is not as young as it used to be.” He tugs his head once towards each shoulder; you can hear the crack even from several feet away.
You could rub that knot out for him. “Sorry,” you say, “let me--"
Jeffrey cuts you off. “No, you sit there. I’m going to get you some water.”
He heads into the kitchen and you settle back into the deep cushions. Everything is spinning a little less. Maybe the world was just on a delay for listening to you. You close your eyes.
You open them again to a persistent tapping on your foot. Jeffrey is sitting impossibly close to you. “Hey, hey,” he says, “you can sleep in a second, but you have to drink this first.”
You don’t even look at what he’s offering you, you just reach out and get your arms around him again. This time, you even get to hook an ankle over his knee.
“Evan, Evan,” he laughs, trying to stay upright as you pull insistently at him, “the water, remember?”
You don’t really feel thirsty, but it was really nice of Jeffrey to get it for you, so you dutifully drink it down. He drinks his water a lot slower, but once yours is finished he doesn’t mind you tangling him back up again. By the time he’s finished, you’re most of the way asleep against him.
You feel his fingers prodding at your head. “Time for bed,” he says.
Somehow your head has wound up down his side, almost to his ribs. His thin sweater feels really nice and you can’t help but rub your cheek against it. “Yup,” you say.
“Up, then.”
“Nope.” You tug his hips until the bone isn’t pressed into the nerve in your shoulder and settle in.
“Evan,” he starts, but you’re already asleep.
::
It’s a long slow time before you register that you’re awake. It’s hard even to tell if your eyes are open; it’s almost equally dark either way. Eventually, you discern an unearthly, flickering glow that must be the television. So. Not in your bedroom then.
There’s something warm and solid under you, something far more comfortable than your bed, despite the fact that you must be squashed awkwardly into the couch. Whatever it is, it’s moving, slow and steady, calming, and you breathe deeply. The smell calms you even more, and you rub your hand languidly across soft material.
Jeffrey.
It slowly dawns on you that you’re lying almost entirely on top of Jeffrey, and this does nothing to encourage you to move. Once that realization hits, you’re able to separate out the gentle pressure of his fingers carding through your hair. You smile against his stomach.
Just in front of you, Jeffrey’s sweater has ridden up - whether it was naturally or from the movement of your hand, you’re not sure - and you can’t help yourself. You rub your hand across his belly again, catching the hem and pushing it up, just a little, just enough. You nose briefly at his skin, then tilt your head to brush an open-mouthed kiss next to his navel.
Somewhere above you, somewhere in the dark, Jeffrey sucks air between his teeth in a sharp hiss. There was something you wanted to tell him, or find out from him, or both, something important. Something that really mattered. You can't. You don't. You open your mouth.
“Jeff,” you say, “Jeff. I love you, bro. Jeff. So much.”
Jeffrey’s fingers tighten in your hair. His breath hitches.
You want to make him do that again. You angle your head again, intending to be more firm this time, make it mean something, but sleep is creeping back in around your edges. Before you can do more than breathe across his stomach, it has you again.
::
When you wake up, it’s with a sudden, sharp jolt that has you tumbling off the sofa in a jumbled mess. You catch the corner of the coffee table under your arm, and the pain that flares there is so brilliant that it’s two whole seconds before you realize that: one) your head is trying to split open, and two) the sunlight is trying to help it along its way by boring through your skull. You don’t know what to clutch at first.
Finally, you manage to bring your knees up and get your head down between them. You focus on deep breaths first and wait for everything to subside a little.
“Am I dead?” you say to the patch of carpet you can see between your legs.
“Doubt it would hurt as much if you were,” calls a voice from the kitchen. Jeffrey pokes his head around the corner a moment later. You turn to look at him, you turn way, way too fast, and whoops, your vision starts to tunnel again.
By the time you get a hand to your head and your back pressed against the couch for support, Jeffrey’s standing over you, smirking, holding out two aspirin and a huge tumbler full of water. You take it all gratefully and demolish it in about two gulps.
You hand the glass back, sighing “Thanks,” and tipping your head back onto the couch.
Wait. “I was sleeping on the couch?” you say. You must have been; now that the edge is off your headache other pains are starting to creep in, the little cricks and cramps and pops that come from folding your overlarge body onto a normal-sized couch. Also, you seem to have a scrape/bruise on your lower back, which isn’t really that uncommon, but you didn’t skate yesterday and you definitely didn’t have it yesterday morning.
Jeffrey settles in next to you on the floor, touching you at knee, hip, shoulder. It’s nearly too much. “That you did,” he says. “What do you remember?”
You think back, you strain against the limits of your throbbing brain. You remember going out for drinks with Jeffrey, you remember being excited to introduce him to Anna and Maks, you remember reminding yourself to behave around Jeffrey. You remember doing tequila shots with Maks, you remember doing more tequila shots with Maks, you remember re-reminding yourself to behave, because making drunken passes at a friend never ends well, especially not if said friend is staying with you for another week, you remember doing even more tequila shots with Maks, you remember starting to hang off Jeffrey like a limpet.
“Anna drove us home? I think?” you say, more to yourself. “Did I fall? I must have fallen, it feels like there’s a bruise the size of Canada on my ass. And you got me inside--"
“And kept you from tripping and giving yourself another concussion,” Jeffrey supplies, grinning.
You feel your cheeks burn. “Sorry,” you say, and Jeffrey just bumps his shoulder against yours.
“‘S’okay,” he says. “I got you.”
That phrase sounds familiar, it sparks something in your brain, but you can’t attach it to anything right now. “And then,” you say, “and then, everything’s fuzzy.”
“That’s all you remember?” Jeffrey says. His face sort of shuts down, which is weird, because even when Jeffrey’s not smiling, he’s still kind of always smiling.
You shake your head. “There’s nothing else. I didn’t like, barf on your shoes or anything, did I?” Your mouth tastes gross, but not like barf-mouth, so you think you’re safe on that score.
"No," Jeffrey says, "no, there was no barfing. I made you drink some water and then you passed out on the couch."
You realize that Jeffrey is no longer sitting against you. He's moved, almost imperceptibly, but you're hyper-aware of him at the moment and you no longer feel the pressure of his hip on yours. Something feels off here.
"That's it?" you say.
"Yeah, that's it," Jeffrey says. He stands and there's a smile on his face again. "Look, I'm going to go make us some breakfast. Or, I suppose, lunch. And before you ask, no, you cannot have a protein shake."
You pout before you can stop yourself. "I just like them," you say. Then you look up at him. You think there's something still odd in his eyes, but you've never been good at reading this stuff. "Jeff? Really, thank you."
Jeffrey's smile flickers briefly. "Yeah, no problem," he says, then heads for the kitchen.
You decide to take a shower. You're still wearing last night's clothes, for one thing, and your skin is kind of crawling. Standing makes you sway a little, and your vision blurs, but you grit your teeth and tell your equilibrium to take one for the team, because this shower is going to happen.
Once in the shower, you just stand under the spray for a good fifteen minutes. You are so glad you bought that massaging shower head; you can turn the hot water way up and just let it pound all the hangover and couch-sleeping aches out of your muscles. But eventually your skin starts to go kind of numb and tingly, so you turn it back to regular and let your brain start to filter back in.
You've soaped and rinsed and you're shampooing your hair when Jeffrey's harmless "I got you" finally finds something to attach to and you start to remember things. Mainly images at first, then other things. Like how you refused to let go of Jeffrey for more than ten seconds at a time, how he let you crawl all over him before you passed out, the feel of his sweater under your cheek. How his fingers pulled your hair when you-- when you-- oh fuck.
You jump out of the shower; you don't rinse the shampoo out and you barely even have the forethought to wrap a towel around your hips before you're running for the kitchen. You stop short in the living room, your brain only just registering that Jeffrey's on the couch, bare feet propped on the coffee table, eating a sandwich and flipping channels with his free hand.
"I said what?" you say.
Jeffrey jumps about a foot into the air - it's kind of a miracle the sandwich doesn't go flying - and scrambles to his feet, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Jesus, Evan, what the--" His eyes widen when he sees you, then they run the length of your body before flicking back to your face. "What are you--"
"I said what?" you repeat, because you're kind of stuck on it. Okay, so you, you maybe have...feelings, you always known you felt things for Jeffrey, it's not something you deny, not to yourself at least, but that you said them, that you said that, that you said it like that, oh god what were you thinking? Were you thinking?
You can see when Jeffrey puts it together. "I-- Oh. Evan, I-- It's." He's stammering, he can't meet your eyes, but it's fine because you can't really meet his right now either.
Your face feels like it's on fire. You don't even know what to say, you'd only gotten as far as whaaaaaat, so you blurt the first thing that pops into your head. "Were you just going to ignore it? Were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Why the hell didn't you say something?"
Jeffrey throws his hands in the air. "What was I supposed to say? I thought I should give you a chance-- You didn't-- Did you want me to say something?"
Somewhere, buried in the back of your mind, there's a logical voice telling you that he's giving you both an out. But above that, you think of a hiss of breath. "I--"
Jeffrey drops his hands. "This is the point where you're supposed to take it back. Do you want to take it back?"
"What? No! I mean." You stutter to a stop. That's not what you want, but. "Do. Do you want me to take it back?"
Suddenly Jeffrey's looking at his feet; now his face is bright red. "I. Well. I mean, it didn't--" He takes a deep breath and looks Evan squarely in the eye. "No. No, I don't want you to take it back. I--"
You feel like you need to sit down. "Oh."
"So, what do you--" Jeffrey trails off. But he's moving closer and closer to you.
"Oh," you say again, because your brain is stuck on this now. You weren't even trying for this, and now? Wow.
Jeffrey's really close, and you know you need to say something, and it'll come to you if you can just stop staring at his grin, how it's getting wider and wider until it seems like his face shouldn't be able to take it anymore.
"Screw it," he says, finally, and then he's kissing you, one hand curled around the back of your neck. Soap is dripping down from your hair into your eyes, and Jeffrey's got a little bit of mustard on the corner of his lip, and you're light-headed, dazed. And. And. And your equilibrium is just going to have to take another one for the team, because this kiss is getting 150%.
After a moment that could not possibly have been as long as it felt, Jeffrey finally pulls back, just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. Your hands have found their way to his hips and you're kneading them almost unconsciously. "I think the shower's still running," he says.
"And I'm getting you all soapy," you say without stepping back.
"Yeah," Jeffrey breathes. "You should go finish up."
You rub your nose against his, grin into your shared breath. "You could come with me?" Your thumbs rub over his hipbones, up down, up down, up down. His eyes flutter closed; you love that, so you make him do it again.
"No," he says, "we have. Things."
"Yeah," you say, "but we also have this." And maybe it's pretty soppy, but it's also pretty true, and apparently Jeffrey agrees. He leans in and wipes shampoo off your forehead, and says, "Okay. But after, you have to text Anna. I promised."
You want to tell him that you never promised, you want to nuzzle his jaw, you want to do a million stupid, silly things. But instead you just kiss him again and tug him backwards down the hall, because it's important to finish the things you start.
::end::
...look we are all just going to pretend that I hit my head or something here, idek, don't look at me. /preemptive "no throat-punching"