fic: Blame
Title: Blame
Author: stttmsbwa
Rating: R
Summary: It's a crazy night and Jerry's faced with an interesting situation.
A/N: Alas, more RPS angst. I wrote it on a whim, trying something that's been nagging me in the back of my mind. Goes in with the rest of the "5 Things" 'verse and whatnot. Enjoy!
5 Things 'verse:
5 Things Drake Bell Knows About Jerry Trainor
5 Things Josh Peck Knows About Drake Bell
5 Things Jerry Trainor Knows About Josh Peck
Best. Friend. Ever.
Pretending
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
None of this was supposed to happen.
But as Jerry took another shot, feeling the heavy taste of liquor hitting the back of his throat, he knew there was going to be something he’d regret in the morning.
It was those hips. Those sweet, sashaying hips. They entranced Jerry. Called out to him. With every sway and every step, all Jerry wanted to do was pull those hips closer and dig his fingers into them, dig hard enough to leave dotted bruises on that beautiful, white skin.
The party made him feel out of place. But then again, he almost always felt out of place. Always working with a younger crowd. Almost always partying with a younger crowd.
Sometimes he wondered what people thought of him. Of a thirty year old man getting drunk with a bunch of kids in their twenties. Did they think him odd? Strange? Old?
Did any of these thoughts matter once those hips were swaying and stepping in Jerry’s direction?
Drake stumbled and latched onto Jerry’s arm for support. Garbled words hazily sped through Jerry’s left ear and right out the other side.
Drake Bell was utterly trashed. And Jerry was too trashed himself to fully appreciate the sight before him.
Flushed and giggly with unfocused eyes and an unsteady balance, Drake grabbed Jerry’s hand and led him out onto the dance floor.
The uncoordinated moves that proceeded were unnoticed by either men, because the sole focus of their “dancing” wasn’t to put on a show but to use the rhythm of the music to flush their bodies close and press tightly against each other, trying trying trying to just get off with every motion.
And Jerry’s fingers had worked their way to those beautiful hips and were desperately attempting to press deeper and deeper with every grind.
Time lost all meaning to Jerry somewhere after Drake dragged him to the dance floor. Was it five minutes or fifty minutes? Two songs or twenty songs?
Somewhere in there, though, Drake’s inability to stand straight after half a bottle of vodka began to take affect. And soon Jerry’s fingers weren’t clinging desperately to Drake’s hips but to Drake’s arms.
And somewhere in Jerry’s own drunken mind, he thought it would be a fabulous idea to attempt to drag Drake off the dance floor and towards the exit of the club.
And to a taxi.
And somewhere en route to the streets of the city, as Jerry lifted a hand to flag a yellow cab down, another hand grabbed him and tugged him down the sidewalk.
Jerry had to admit; sometimes Josh Peck scared the living shit out of him.
More garbled words entered Jerry’s ears, but this time it was garbled due to his own inebriated state. Through the darkness, though, Jerry could see the outline of a black limo getting closer.
Josh opened the door and helped Jerry haul Drake into it. Josh climbed in after a murmuring Drake. Jerry hesitated.
Scowling, Josh stuck his head out of the entrance of the door.
“Get the fuck in, Jerry.”
Who was Jerry to argue?
The ride was awkward and Jerry spent most of it either looking out the window or stealing glances at the unconscious form of Drake. Which led to stealing glances at a silent Josh, who spent his ride either staring at Drake or staring at Jerry.
Josh was a formidable figure that night. With arms crossed and eyes bloodshot, Jerry could tell how often he’d been working out recently and how many joints he’d smoked that night.
Or at least Jerry thought maybe he could.
They reached the building and Jerry shakily helped Josh carry Drake through the entrance and into the elevator. Jerry’s mind was almost sobering up, but still racing and aching and so confused.
Through the door and into the bedroom, Drake was unceremoniously dropped onto his bed.
Josh made sure to close the door behind them, sending a slanted glare in Jerry’s direction.
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
Jerry didn’t know how to respond.
“You don’t even know how fucked up this situation has gotten.”
No, he didn’t.
“I still don’t know who to blame. Who do I blame, Jerry?”
Don’t blame anyone.
“Me?”
Blame the drugs.
“Drake?”
The alcohol.
“You?”
The hips. Blame the hips.
“I don’t understand, Jerry.”
Neither did he.
“Make me understand.”
Jerry didn’t have time to think as he was suddenly shoved against Drake’s door, warm body pressed heavily against his own. Rough lips instantly dipped into the hollow of his neck and teeth bit down on skin. Hard.
And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want it. And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t like it. And it would be a lie to say that he had never thought about it before.
But as Jerry’s breath was knocked out of him as Josh tripped him to the ground, and as two pairs of hands desperately fumbled with belts and zippers and buttons and shirts, and as mouths forcefully connected and Jerry could taste the scotch and smoke, and as hands moved everywhere and hips began trusting and voices began moaning and suddenly Jerry’s whole body was trembling and he felt young again, so young, younger than any other time he’d ever done this with Drake and -
And then it was over. And then Jerry’s eyes couldn’t stay open. And then sleep took over.
--
Josh woke up to the sound of a door closing. The clicking chimed in his ears and he lifted his head.
Somehow he’d managed to fall sleep on the floor beside Drake’s couch.
And somehow he’d managed to suddenly remember everything that had happened.
He could still sort of taste Jerry on his tongue. And the thought made him sick.
Stumbling up, Josh walked to Drake’s door and entered.
The musician was rolled up in blankets, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. Josh smiled bitterly and slowly made his way to the bed.
Sliding underneath the covers to join Drake, Josh pressed his forehead against Drake’s and whispered softly.
“I tried. But I still can’t understand.”
Drake merely mumbled in his sleep.
Josh sighed and closed his eyes, trying to forget everything.
Author: stttmsbwa
Rating: R
Summary: It's a crazy night and Jerry's faced with an interesting situation.
A/N: Alas, more RPS angst. I wrote it on a whim, trying something that's been nagging me in the back of my mind. Goes in with the rest of the "5 Things" 'verse and whatnot. Enjoy!
5 Things 'verse:
5 Things Drake Bell Knows About Jerry Trainor
5 Things Josh Peck Knows About Drake Bell
5 Things Jerry Trainor Knows About Josh Peck
Best. Friend. Ever.
Pretending
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
None of this was supposed to happen.
But as Jerry took another shot, feeling the heavy taste of liquor hitting the back of his throat, he knew there was going to be something he’d regret in the morning.
It was those hips. Those sweet, sashaying hips. They entranced Jerry. Called out to him. With every sway and every step, all Jerry wanted to do was pull those hips closer and dig his fingers into them, dig hard enough to leave dotted bruises on that beautiful, white skin.
The party made him feel out of place. But then again, he almost always felt out of place. Always working with a younger crowd. Almost always partying with a younger crowd.
Sometimes he wondered what people thought of him. Of a thirty year old man getting drunk with a bunch of kids in their twenties. Did they think him odd? Strange? Old?
Did any of these thoughts matter once those hips were swaying and stepping in Jerry’s direction?
Drake stumbled and latched onto Jerry’s arm for support. Garbled words hazily sped through Jerry’s left ear and right out the other side.
Drake Bell was utterly trashed. And Jerry was too trashed himself to fully appreciate the sight before him.
Flushed and giggly with unfocused eyes and an unsteady balance, Drake grabbed Jerry’s hand and led him out onto the dance floor.
The uncoordinated moves that proceeded were unnoticed by either men, because the sole focus of their “dancing” wasn’t to put on a show but to use the rhythm of the music to flush their bodies close and press tightly against each other, trying trying trying to just get off with every motion.
And Jerry’s fingers had worked their way to those beautiful hips and were desperately attempting to press deeper and deeper with every grind.
Time lost all meaning to Jerry somewhere after Drake dragged him to the dance floor. Was it five minutes or fifty minutes? Two songs or twenty songs?
Somewhere in there, though, Drake’s inability to stand straight after half a bottle of vodka began to take affect. And soon Jerry’s fingers weren’t clinging desperately to Drake’s hips but to Drake’s arms.
And somewhere in Jerry’s own drunken mind, he thought it would be a fabulous idea to attempt to drag Drake off the dance floor and towards the exit of the club.
And to a taxi.
And somewhere en route to the streets of the city, as Jerry lifted a hand to flag a yellow cab down, another hand grabbed him and tugged him down the sidewalk.
Jerry had to admit; sometimes Josh Peck scared the living shit out of him.
More garbled words entered Jerry’s ears, but this time it was garbled due to his own inebriated state. Through the darkness, though, Jerry could see the outline of a black limo getting closer.
Josh opened the door and helped Jerry haul Drake into it. Josh climbed in after a murmuring Drake. Jerry hesitated.
Scowling, Josh stuck his head out of the entrance of the door.
“Get the fuck in, Jerry.”
Who was Jerry to argue?
The ride was awkward and Jerry spent most of it either looking out the window or stealing glances at the unconscious form of Drake. Which led to stealing glances at a silent Josh, who spent his ride either staring at Drake or staring at Jerry.
Josh was a formidable figure that night. With arms crossed and eyes bloodshot, Jerry could tell how often he’d been working out recently and how many joints he’d smoked that night.
Or at least Jerry thought maybe he could.
They reached the building and Jerry shakily helped Josh carry Drake through the entrance and into the elevator. Jerry’s mind was almost sobering up, but still racing and aching and so confused.
Through the door and into the bedroom, Drake was unceremoniously dropped onto his bed.
Josh made sure to close the door behind them, sending a slanted glare in Jerry’s direction.
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
Jerry didn’t know how to respond.
“You don’t even know how fucked up this situation has gotten.”
No, he didn’t.
“I still don’t know who to blame. Who do I blame, Jerry?”
Don’t blame anyone.
“Me?”
Blame the drugs.
“Drake?”
The alcohol.
“You?”
The hips. Blame the hips.
“I don’t understand, Jerry.”
Neither did he.
“Make me understand.”
Jerry didn’t have time to think as he was suddenly shoved against Drake’s door, warm body pressed heavily against his own. Rough lips instantly dipped into the hollow of his neck and teeth bit down on skin. Hard.
And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want it. And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t like it. And it would be a lie to say that he had never thought about it before.
But as Jerry’s breath was knocked out of him as Josh tripped him to the ground, and as two pairs of hands desperately fumbled with belts and zippers and buttons and shirts, and as mouths forcefully connected and Jerry could taste the scotch and smoke, and as hands moved everywhere and hips began trusting and voices began moaning and suddenly Jerry’s whole body was trembling and he felt young again, so young, younger than any other time he’d ever done this with Drake and -
And then it was over. And then Jerry’s eyes couldn’t stay open. And then sleep took over.
--
Josh woke up to the sound of a door closing. The clicking chimed in his ears and he lifted his head.
Somehow he’d managed to fall sleep on the floor beside Drake’s couch.
And somehow he’d managed to suddenly remember everything that had happened.
He could still sort of taste Jerry on his tongue. And the thought made him sick.
Stumbling up, Josh walked to Drake’s door and entered.
The musician was rolled up in blankets, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. Josh smiled bitterly and slowly made his way to the bed.
Sliding underneath the covers to join Drake, Josh pressed his forehead against Drake’s and whispered softly.
“I tried. But I still can’t understand.”
Drake merely mumbled in his sleep.
Josh sighed and closed his eyes, trying to forget everything.