Topic 238: Freudian slip
"Hey, Drake." 
Drake looks up sharply, his attention jerked away from the stack of mail in his hands by Josh's voice. He's halfway through the puff of breath that will form the "H" in the word "Hey" in response when he stops short, his mouth dropping open slightly in surprise.
Josh is leaning against the kitchen counter, a bottle of spring water in one hand. His hair is damp and tousled, molded into the shape of the cycling helmet tossed upside down on the kitchen table. His cheeks are flushed a dull red, and sweat glistens on his face and neck, soaking a dark inverted triangle into the front of his T-shirt. Drake's eyes trace its shape from Josh's collar down to his navel, and then, almost against his will, drift further. The shirt's hem flops over the waistband of a pair of shorts made of some clingy black material, so tight they fit like a second skin. Drake feels his eyes grow wide as he realizes every bump and curve of Josh's crotch is outlined in sharp relief.
Drake swallows against the sudden dryness in his mouth. When he was a kid, he saw a movie about an astronaut on a rocket to the moon. A meteor hit the rocket and ripped a jagged hole in its side, and the astronaut was sucked out into space, gasping desperately at the last of the oxygen as everything in the cabin rushed past him with a whoosh of escaping air. Drake spent most of the following week wondering how that must have felt. Now, he knows.
"Hey," he croaks in return, but it comes out more like "Hey-ay-ay" as his eyes roll down the length of Josh's body. It seems to take forever for them to make the trip, but when they snap back up to Josh's face he can tell Josh didn't even notice. He clears his throat. "Been riding?" he says, tossing the pile of mail onto the island next to the stove. It's a stupid question and he knows it, but he's got to do something to get his brain out of that place it has absolutely no business being.
"Yeah," Josh says. He raises the bottle of water to his lips and drinks deeply. His entire neck works as he swallows, every muscle tensing and relaxing in turn. Water drips down his chin to mingle with the sweat on his neck, and Drake suddenly thinks he knows what it might have felt like had that astronaut flown too close to the sun, too.
"So, uh." He casts about frantically for something to say. "What are you doing home, anyway? I thought you were supposed to work tonight." There, that's good. He's still able to form coherent sentences, at least.
"I was," Josh says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"So what are you still doing here?" Drake replies, glancing at his watch. Any excuse to have something to look at other than Josh and His Amazing Wonder Shorts. "I thought your shift started at four o'cock."
Josh gives him a funny smile. "What?"
"Four o'clock," Drake says, his cheeks heating. "I thought your shift started at four o'clock."
"Oh. Yeah, it did. Or it would have, anyway, but um... I don't work at The Premiere anymore."
"What? Why? What happened?"
"You know that guy Gordon, the one that replaced Helen after she got married?"
"Yeah."
"Well, he decided he wanted to choose his own assistant manager. One who had better tits than me, I guess." Josh sighs. "She started yesterday."
"Oh man, that sucks. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks. He said I could have my old job back if I wanted it, but I just couldn't go back to wearing a red vest after getting to wear the yellow one."
"I don't blame you, man." Okay, this is okay. He's got it back under control now. The whole thing was just a surprise, that's all. He's not really interested in Josh's junk. No way. Not --
Josh shifts his weight from one foot to the other and reaches around to put the bottle of water on the counter behind him. The tantalizing bulge hidden just out of sight shifts with him, and Drake's eyes zoom back to it before he can help himself.
Fuck.
"Maybe you're better off," Drake manages, tearing his eyes away as Josh turns back toward him. "That guy's been giving you shit for a while now, right? You don't need to work for someone like that. He was suck a dick."
Josh's funny smile returns, this time accompanied by a furrowed eyebrow. "What?"
"Such a dick. I mean he was such a dick. Wow," Drake says with a forced laugh that sounds fake even to his own ears. "I don't know what's wrong with me today." His cheeks are glowing now, he can tell. Maybe he should shove his head in the refrigerator until he can get it back together.
"Yeah, I guess," Josh says, and Drake stifles a sigh of relief. Somehow, he's managed to dodge yet another bullet. "I really loved that job, though," Josh continues, "and now I have to find another one, quick. I need the money for school."
"Well hey, I can help you look," Drake says brightly. He pulls one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and turns it around to straddle it backwards. "I bet there are tons of jobs to choose from." Walter's discarded Union-Tribune is on the table, and Drake pulls it toward himself.
"It's okay, Drake," Josh starts, but Drake is already rifling through the employment section.
"Let's see," he says, burying his face in the paper so he can't see Josh as his stepbrother moves closer. "Personal assistant, physical therapist, insurance sales, receptionist --"
"Nah, none of those are any good," Josh says, leaning over Drake's shoulder to look down at the paper. "I need something part-time." With a sinking heart, Drake realizes Josh's magical crotch is now directly at his elbow. So close that if he just turned his head a little bit, he could --
"Oh. Yeah. Right." Drake clears his throat and turns the page. "Here we go. Part-time jobs. Let's see, uh... Cashier, telemarketer, security guard, dental assistant... Hmm..." He pulls the paper higher but still can't manage to block the glorious view from his peripheral vision. "Oh, here's a good one. This guy's looking for someone to do blowjobs."
"Drake --"
"I mean odd jobs. Dammit!"
"Drake, are you okay?" Josh places one hand on Drake's shoulder and gives him a gentle shake.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Drake replies weakly, looking up into Josh's face. "Odd jobs, Josh, doesn't that sound good?"
Josh chuckles and pulls his hand away. "Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks." He scoops his helmet up off the table. "I'm, uh... I'm going to take a shower. See you later."
Drake waits until he hears Josh's footsteps on the stairs before he closes his eyes and slowly drops his head to the table. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he chants softly, smacking his forehead against the table top with each repetition of the word.
Drake looks up sharply, his attention jerked away from the stack of mail in his hands by Josh's voice. He's halfway through the puff of breath that will form the "H" in the word "Hey" in response when he stops short, his mouth dropping open slightly in surprise.
Josh is leaning against the kitchen counter, a bottle of spring water in one hand. His hair is damp and tousled, molded into the shape of the cycling helmet tossed upside down on the kitchen table. His cheeks are flushed a dull red, and sweat glistens on his face and neck, soaking a dark inverted triangle into the front of his T-shirt. Drake's eyes trace its shape from Josh's collar down to his navel, and then, almost against his will, drift further. The shirt's hem flops over the waistband of a pair of shorts made of some clingy black material, so tight they fit like a second skin. Drake feels his eyes grow wide as he realizes every bump and curve of Josh's crotch is outlined in sharp relief.
Drake swallows against the sudden dryness in his mouth. When he was a kid, he saw a movie about an astronaut on a rocket to the moon. A meteor hit the rocket and ripped a jagged hole in its side, and the astronaut was sucked out into space, gasping desperately at the last of the oxygen as everything in the cabin rushed past him with a whoosh of escaping air. Drake spent most of the following week wondering how that must have felt. Now, he knows.
"Hey," he croaks in return, but it comes out more like "Hey-ay-ay" as his eyes roll down the length of Josh's body. It seems to take forever for them to make the trip, but when they snap back up to Josh's face he can tell Josh didn't even notice. He clears his throat. "Been riding?" he says, tossing the pile of mail onto the island next to the stove. It's a stupid question and he knows it, but he's got to do something to get his brain out of that place it has absolutely no business being.
"Yeah," Josh says. He raises the bottle of water to his lips and drinks deeply. His entire neck works as he swallows, every muscle tensing and relaxing in turn. Water drips down his chin to mingle with the sweat on his neck, and Drake suddenly thinks he knows what it might have felt like had that astronaut flown too close to the sun, too.
"So, uh." He casts about frantically for something to say. "What are you doing home, anyway? I thought you were supposed to work tonight." There, that's good. He's still able to form coherent sentences, at least.
"I was," Josh says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"So what are you still doing here?" Drake replies, glancing at his watch. Any excuse to have something to look at other than Josh and His Amazing Wonder Shorts. "I thought your shift started at four o'cock."
Josh gives him a funny smile. "What?"
"Four o'clock," Drake says, his cheeks heating. "I thought your shift started at four o'clock."
"Oh. Yeah, it did. Or it would have, anyway, but um... I don't work at The Premiere anymore."
"What? Why? What happened?"
"You know that guy Gordon, the one that replaced Helen after she got married?"
"Yeah."
"Well, he decided he wanted to choose his own assistant manager. One who had better tits than me, I guess." Josh sighs. "She started yesterday."
"Oh man, that sucks. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks. He said I could have my old job back if I wanted it, but I just couldn't go back to wearing a red vest after getting to wear the yellow one."
"I don't blame you, man." Okay, this is okay. He's got it back under control now. The whole thing was just a surprise, that's all. He's not really interested in Josh's junk. No way. Not --
Josh shifts his weight from one foot to the other and reaches around to put the bottle of water on the counter behind him. The tantalizing bulge hidden just out of sight shifts with him, and Drake's eyes zoom back to it before he can help himself.
Fuck.
"Maybe you're better off," Drake manages, tearing his eyes away as Josh turns back toward him. "That guy's been giving you shit for a while now, right? You don't need to work for someone like that. He was suck a dick."
Josh's funny smile returns, this time accompanied by a furrowed eyebrow. "What?"
"Such a dick. I mean he was such a dick. Wow," Drake says with a forced laugh that sounds fake even to his own ears. "I don't know what's wrong with me today." His cheeks are glowing now, he can tell. Maybe he should shove his head in the refrigerator until he can get it back together.
"Yeah, I guess," Josh says, and Drake stifles a sigh of relief. Somehow, he's managed to dodge yet another bullet. "I really loved that job, though," Josh continues, "and now I have to find another one, quick. I need the money for school."
"Well hey, I can help you look," Drake says brightly. He pulls one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and turns it around to straddle it backwards. "I bet there are tons of jobs to choose from." Walter's discarded Union-Tribune is on the table, and Drake pulls it toward himself.
"It's okay, Drake," Josh starts, but Drake is already rifling through the employment section.
"Let's see," he says, burying his face in the paper so he can't see Josh as his stepbrother moves closer. "Personal assistant, physical therapist, insurance sales, receptionist --"
"Nah, none of those are any good," Josh says, leaning over Drake's shoulder to look down at the paper. "I need something part-time." With a sinking heart, Drake realizes Josh's magical crotch is now directly at his elbow. So close that if he just turned his head a little bit, he could --
"Oh. Yeah. Right." Drake clears his throat and turns the page. "Here we go. Part-time jobs. Let's see, uh... Cashier, telemarketer, security guard, dental assistant... Hmm..." He pulls the paper higher but still can't manage to block the glorious view from his peripheral vision. "Oh, here's a good one. This guy's looking for someone to do blowjobs."
"Drake --"
"I mean odd jobs. Dammit!"
"Drake, are you okay?" Josh places one hand on Drake's shoulder and gives him a gentle shake.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Drake replies weakly, looking up into Josh's face. "Odd jobs, Josh, doesn't that sound good?"
Josh chuckles and pulls his hand away. "Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks." He scoops his helmet up off the table. "I'm, uh... I'm going to take a shower. See you later."
Drake waits until he hears Josh's footsteps on the stairs before he closes his eyes and slowly drops his head to the table. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he chants softly, smacking his forehead against the table top with each repetition of the word.