misfits fic: 'four times...'
A03 link
Chapter 1: Nathan: After they met
It starts just screwing around.
It's been a while, to be honest, and Nathan's reached the 'getting horny at women in the free catalogues' stage, and he was never what you'd call choosy, even in the rare times he's been in what he'd class as a relationship.
He takes the piss a little out of all of them, bored, wanting a reaction.
He's more surprised at it being the chavvy girl, Kelly, that revs his engine. He'd have thought Alisha, all short skirts and mimed blowjobs would be more his style, but Kelly's got something; whether it's the big, blue eyes; or the severe hairstyle, like a teacher from a porno, about to spank you; or maybe, just a little, the soft sincere look in her eyes when she rambles about coming back for the rest of them.
Nathan would have run as fast as his legs could carry him, and the rest of these cunts would too, he'd bet, and getting to know them further, he can't imagine that opinion changing. In fact, besides his mum, Nathan doesn't know anyone who'd piss on him if he was on fire, and here's this Jeremy Kyle reject, ready to race back and save their motley crew.
So he's surprised when it comes to his nightly tug to find that when he's stuck for images, it's not whats-her-face joining Kelly for a catfight before kiss-and-make-up; or even Curtis Donovan, undeniably fit even if he is an uptight prick; but instead, he finds himself thinking about that odd kid.
Nathan's never felt weird about a wank before, even that time he was at his auntie's and had to resort to a tampon leaflet for material; but he does sort of wonder what's up that he can get off to an obvious virgin with a spoddy haircut and an apparent tendency for arson.
But something about those huge fish-like eyes, always staring at him, so hard he can feel them on his back; filming everything like the world's least likeliest porno director; and that expressive mouth, twisting in revulsion, hanging open in shock, leering coldly or gasping in what Nathan suspects is the face he probably makes while coming.
And yeah, okay, it’s cliché, but the virgin thing, a little. He needles the guy a couple of times, each expecting that this time he'll bite back with the predictable denial, each time a little more hyped as he just takes it, no rebuttal. Nathan brings up sex, wanking almost every time he speaks to him, more and more fascinated, until he's got a respectable half-one most of the day.
It’s kind of sexy, someone their age, all pure, untouched, waiting for the first time, like a bride, it did it for him on it’s own; but then the filth spewed out under Alisha's touch, so nasty it even takes Nathan back? An untouched body, no, not with Curtis cut abs or Kelly's perfect tits, but still, stocky, surprisingly muscled; combined with a dirty, horny, gagging for it mind? Nathan defies anyone not to have a quick shuffle, it’s an idea scientifically designed to wank over for christ’s sake.
Curtis had stepped back, bewildered, but Simon's knees gave out completely, as if he's come right there, unable to stand under the weight of his desire.
Nathan thinks about it, even as they’re burying the probation worker. He also thinks about how quickly the odd kid offered the idea to hide the bodies, how he almost gazed at the corpse in the locker; and while he’s no pussy, he doesn't mind admitting, at least to himself, that it's a little scary; but somehow it just turns him on even more.
At home he can carefully prepare for a wank, crack out the magazine collection, some lube if he's feeling fancy, although with his current budget, more likely spit or hand soap and toilet paper. But tonight, even in the community centre, dark and, fine, a bit creepy at night; he can't bring himself to wait, doesn't need photos, a few tugs and he’s spilling over his hand and onto his bare stomach, pulling his own nipples a little; before groping blindly for a sock, eyes half closed, panting.
Chapter 2: Nathan: After Jessica
Friends are supposed to share everything, but Barry's being all boring about the details of his first time. Not only is this hurtful, but also frankly, a risk to the entire security of the group as a whole. Or something.
What if their powers are affected by fucking? Barry’s being selfish, keeping the specifics under wraps, this could important to them all!
He was first to get laid after their powers, as far as he knows, and he gives himself an inner high five for that one, even if it was shagging the granny (he suppresses a little shudder); but while it was hopefully his amazing, at that time unknown power causing those hurtful comments about the speed and expression of his orgasms; nothing seemed different than before. No Technicolor visions of the afterlife, no angels strumming harps.
Curtis and Alisha are quits, but while rewinding time could be feasibly useful in the case of…potential embarrassments, even Mr. Uptight would have mentioned if his power had drastically altered shagging.
The less he thinks about Kelly and the gorilla, the better; and for now, Alisha's stuck with her hand.
Maybe Barry turns invisible when he comes, Nathan considers idly. He doesn't know if that's how it works, but hey, who would have thought ecstasy would fuck their powers?
Now Barry can get off his face and laid whenever he likes, beating off boys and girls with both hands; and instead Nathan's gotta stay Mr Clean Living.
Mr Making Up A Girlfriend to save face in front of Barry, of all fucking people.
Barry, who seems to be under the impression he's jealous, as if a guy who looks like Nathan needs to worry about who an ugly fucker like Barry's creaming his anorak over. He's not even handsome, for god’s sake. Striking enough eyes, and his body's not hideous; but even if Nathan were into blokes, it's not like he couldn't do better, so Barry's little remarks are just pure arrogance as far as he's concerned.
When Barry gets all menstrual, throwing a tantrum: ‘You think if a girl likes me, there must be something wrong with her?’, Nathan can't resist. There's definitely something wrong with him, a hangover from that stupid tattoo; or dementia brought on by everyone else in the world apparently getting laid except him. This girl's a crazy man-killing spider psycho, what's his excuse?
While the creepy obsessive masturbator vibe was an acquired taste; Nathan hates himself for admitting it, even in his mind, but the new confidence, smug smirk and all, is oddly sexy. Nathan’s not exactly immune, at any rate, licking his lips a little, rambling about how near the party is to his bed; slagging off runners (to Curtis' muttered insults, but who gives a shit?); and spouting off about the dream girlfriend he totally wants to find, and shake off this stupid spell with some regular fanny.
Seeing him all tarted up for round two, when he hasn't even given Nathan anything on the big cherry pop, like it's too special for mere (im)mortals to hear; provokes another insult, more spiteful in tone than words, sounding almost angry rather than casual, as intended, a much more experienced fuck-machine teasing a new entrant to the ranks.
Maybe they both go invisible. Nathan asked him to do that for him, once. Asked Barry to save him; for the first time, but not the last, embarrassingly.
Barry fucked off, but reappeared later, watching him on the roof, sweaty and clutching his hand. Turns out he’s a spectacular failure at the rescuing business, but even so, Nathan’s kind of been relying on him ever since, for prompts, drinks, vending machine snacks, ideas when they're in the shit.
Or maybe Barry filmed it, eyes all round, lips wet and slightly parted, like when they started community service and he used to film Nathan all the time; following his hands, movements, mouth.
He’s knocked it on the head recently, the wisdom of filming all the criminal shit they get up to has occurred even to Nathan, and Barry’s always been the smart one in the group.
But maybe he films this girl. Maybe she likes it, poses a little more knowing the camera’s on her, touches herself at night, thinking about the red eye silently watching her all day. Maybe even at the idea of Barry doing the same thing.
Nathan knows realistically that with two virgins, it was probably mediocre, three pumps and a squirt; he’s probably getting off to the idea more than either of them did, but who gives a shit? They're both so fucking cute, it’s not weird or anything - Alisha seems as fascinated as him, after all.
Did he let her blow him, or was that off the table, after psycho girl? Or did he go down on her? Does he even know that’s a thing?
Barry’s obviously into some sick shit, judging from what he says to Alisha, but Nathan can’t decide what makes him harder, the idea of Barry being a trier in the sack, serious little face screwed up in concentration, desperate to please; or the idea of him getting nasty, even rough, demanding it, shoving his partner on their knees, choking them with his cock, calling them a whore.
Both are pretty affecting, judging by his cock. It's barely been two minutes, and he's already close.
With a final stroke, he comes, wiping away the evidence swiftly, and vowing that he'll get laid as soon as possible. The deprivation's clearly getting to him.
Chapter 3: Nathan: After They're Famous
So…Nathan’s getting laid, finally. Twins, or sisters at least, and blonde. Tits aren’t as gravity defying as the ideal, but the week is still young.
He’s out of the fucking community centre for once, getting comp’ed in a swanky hotel, meals and all, with nights in the club and all he can drink. Pretty much living the dream.
Icing on the cherry is Kelly’s little scowl when he brags about how much shagging he’s been doing; especially since his power is by far the most impressive - no-one’s lining up to see Curtis squint and look constipated; kiddies can’t exactly collect Top Trumps of Alisha’s power; Kelly’s is pretty Derren Brown-lite; and Barry’s refusing to join in at all.
It’s not the same without all five of them, though - for starters, it gives Curtis’ new bird way too many chances to take the piss out of him, clearly holding onto a lot of bitterness and resentment about the whole bed shitting thing, which after all, was an honest mistake.
So it’s kind of a relief to find Barry lurking in his bathroom, even if it scares the fuck out of him to see Stalker Boy suddenly appear in the mirror, watching him piss, post-shag.
He should probably worry, knowing how Barry feels about spying on people, and for that matter, pissing on their tits; but instead he gets a little second wind, to be honest.
Maybe it’s the idea that Barry didn’t say anything right away, was just checking out his cock, like earlier, in the community centre bogs.
Maybe it’s the idea that Barry came to him, didn’t just book a room, or sneak into one. Didn’t crash with Kelly, who’s always fussing over him like a mother hen; or Alisha, who’s been all weird and defensive of him recently, chucking her knickers at his head, like she’s on a mission to collect another dick for her collection. Just came straight here, to his best mate. Cute.
Or maybe it’s just the idea of sharing the king-size, top-to-tail at first probably, knowing Barry, unless they’re hammered, but still, morning wood against each other’s stomachs or backs, accidental-like. Mmm.
Whatever it is, he tells Barry to hang back for a minute, ready for round two.
If it’s awkward for Barry, in the bathroom, listening to the shagging, to Nathan, balls deep in some anonymous girl, hopefully hearing some very vocal moaning from her end, before finishing loudly himself (after a suitable length of time, of course), well…
Any uh, issues that arise could be easily sorted, is all he’s saying.
*
Later.
He can’t believe he’s fucked up again - usually his mistakes are fairly minor, even if the consequences aren’t.
Joke about Barry being a Conti - hey, no one could have foreseen that turning into them all chained up, about to be sawed into itty bitty pieces by a gun-toting maniac!
Taking the piss out of an ugly tattooist - who knew it’d end up with him going a bit…Eurovision?
But this Daisy thing is a massive fuck-up, and while, according to Scary PR Lady, he should be safe with the police, it’s still not great - besides anything else, what if one of them needs healing again?
Not that he plans on going without the belt and braces again…at least, not for a while. But the rest of them are hardly clean living, either - he bets Alisha’s no stranger to the clinic, at least, the little minx.
He’s especially fucked off, considering he had Barry in the room, stripped off to his skivvies and everything. That repressed bastard taking his trousers off was pretty much an open invitation, he curses himself.
He should have just headed home last night, he was going to, shagged out after the third girl, but then this cute little thing, all big blue eyes and lovely arse, whispers to him to meet her in the loo.
It’s weird, it’s not the same crate as the club they were in before, obviously, but it looks the same. To be honest, he’s a little creeped out to be back out again, he’s been broke long enough that he’d kind of lost the habit, and since his brother and all… It’s not like he can even get high now.
But he spent so long wanking like a twat, alone in a fucking community centre, that it feels like a waste to turn anyone down, to just go back to the room.
Especially as Kelly’s out there, pulling faces at the competition, or as she calls them ‘those skanky groupies’. He’s not sure what her problem is, since she’s made it pretty fucking clear that they’re better off as ‘mates’.
Just another reason not to think about the whole girlfriend, job, living situation thing. It’s clearly Barry’s worrywart instincts taking over.
Look at this, he’s landed on his feet again - last week he was homeless, this week he’s living gratis in the Grand Hotel.
This week, he’s banged more girls than he count - on one hand, at least. And only last week, he was counting the days since he’s got laid; horrified to realise that attempting to snog Barry when he had that stupid tattoo and fingering Kelly for thirty seconds was pretty much the closest he’d come in weeks, and both of those ended with them fleeing, and him cranking it alone.
To distract himself from all the serious crap, he thinks about the last time he was here. Good times, hanging out with his brother, his friends, a hot girl on his arm; but instead he keeps thinking about the toilets he was in, Barry in the next cubicle, off his face and babbling about how everyone’s looking at him, girls and guys.
Nathan encouraging him to fuck a girl, any girl, to build his confidence up; although Barry didn’t seem keen, instead warning him not to get killed, and indulging in his stalker crush on the bloke in the hoodie.
He has to picture some pretty nasty shit to finish, to be honest, considering it’s the fourth time tonight; so he doesn’t feel too bad about shutting his eyes and letting the girl ride him; thinking idly about Barry, whether if it had been their guardian angel in leathers trying to blow him, whether he’d have let him.
Maybe he does like guys.
Maybe he was right when he had the tattoo, and Barry’s not put off or 100% straight like Curtis; just shy, needs the gentle approach, not just the usual 'stick in a finger and hope for the best'.
Now he’s actually working for it, splayed on the sofa, cracking out the trusty booze.
He’s been a bit heavy on it the last few days. He’s sort of worried that if he sits still long enough, he’ll end up pouting about the meaninglessness of it all, how fame and money and casual shagging aren’t actually making him feel less of a loser, turning emo like Barry or Alisha.
Fuck that! If they’re a bunch of losers, at least they can be a bunch of rich losers who get laid.
It’s not like he hasn’t tried the lovey-dovey shit, anyway, the stone-cold sober two consenting adults, and look where it got him. Kelly preferred an actual monkey, and despite the little glances Barry’s shot him, watching him strip, on the roof, in the locker room, filming on his stupid camera; he wasn’t any more into the real thing.
This is pretty much the last shot he’s gonna take. Despite taking the piss, Barry is a mate, and he doesn’t want to fuck that up, would rather keep him around than force the issue, same as with Kelly.
But he’s trying, at least the best way he knows how - they’re into the minibar, he’s in his underwear, trying out a leer, a meaningful look, a touch or two.
Barry's buttoned up to the neck again, unfortunately, but he's still here, sharing the king size (Nathan had to use some reverse psychology bullshit there, convincing him it would be gayer not to; and that if he doesn’t, Nathan can only assume he’s hiding some real perversions) and there’s something in his smile, almost a smirk, (Nathan would say a dirty grin if it was anyone else) when Nathan cheerfully checks out his own cock.
He’s babbling about how clean it is, all ready for fresh shagging. Not terribly subtle, but no one ever accused him of that. He knows if there’s one thing Barry wants, it’s someone…well, not pure, but nice, shall we say, especially since his first shag was also a Miss Perfect virgin type.
He thinks he might actually be getting somewhere, when in comes Alisha, who’s apparently decided after months of pretending like she hates his guts that they’re now BFFs, and this would be a good time to share all her itty bitty thoughts about the nature of fame and what Barry said to her once.
(And since when are those two chatty? Nathan’s pretty sure that, shapeshifters popping Barry’s blowjob cherry aside, those two probably have less to say to each other than anyone.)
It doesn’t ring any bells with Nathan at any rate, but despite plopping down again, ready to pick up where they left off; some kind of radar’s gone off with Barry, and he fucks off without explanation, leaving Nathan alone with a semi, some serious confusion mixed in with the sexual frustration, and about two hours to go before he’s due to shoot himself in the head.
So much for the life of a celebrity.
Chapter 4: Nathan: After Alisha
So, community service is finished, but instead of giant burgers and paycheques from the circus, they’re all pretty much still down shit street, their powers apparently useless. Nathan’s not sure which is more pathetic, pulling pints, sweeping up shit, or giving out flyers; but it’s clear who the inexplicable winner is - fucking Barry of all people, who’s somehow lucked into an amazing flat, which, by the way, none of them have been invited to visit.
Nathan teases him about preferring him when he was awkward and shy, but actually, since dating Alisha, of all people, Barry's been even more secretive than ever.
Nathan wonders if it's significant he picked the one girl he can't touch, fuck, even kiss. A beautiful trophy, a definite guard against teasing, even Nathan's, considering it's been three months and he's still single, no thanks to sleeping in the fucking community centre, still.
Meanwhile, those two have moved in together after what…a day? How does that even work? They probably have to sleep in separate rooms anyway, and here's Nathan on a crappy mattress. Selfish is what he calls it.
*
Later
Nathan’s starting to feel more himself again after getting laid, not this weird topsy-turvy drunk feeling where Barry's with a hot girl, again, and he's jerking off alone.
Barry's finally popped his cherry, there’s a bloke selling and buying powers, Nathan’s met a girl. It feels like things are finally shifting.
It's fast, but hey, it's working for those other two fuckwits, and since when was he ever sensible? He and Kelly tried the slow burn and that was a bust.
Besides, he likes to be needed, the one they come to for help, advice, even if all he can offer is a quip or a pat on the shoulder.
Marnie's all alone, no friends, it reminds him of Barry when they met, only obviously Marnie's pregnant, and a girl, and not a freaky arsonist…He's lost this train of thought, but the point is, he's all in.
A baby, a girlfriend, a family. For a while it was kind of like the tossers from community service were a family; but he and Kelly are still awkward, Curtis and his new bird are fucking off, and Barry and Alisha are their own little twosome.
Now they're fucking, but somehow Barry's still miserable. Isn't that interesting.
Nathan never did see what Curtis and him saw in her. She's hot, he wouldn't say no if she'd wanted to collect the whole set, but she's hardly Miss Personality.
They get on a little better now, she obviously doesn't want to be the bitch slagging off her bloke’s best mate; but to be honest, Nathan liked her better before, when she was still slutting it up, being a bit of a cunt. When you could laugh at her jokes.
Now she's just...there. What do they even talk about between not-shagging? Barry's a complete geek, whereas Alisha's probably never sat through a film that wasn't Twilight. Even Nathan's seen fucking Terminator, for Christ’s sake. She should have stuck with that twat Curtis, bored each other to death.
The first time is always awkward, and god knows women aren't always full of sensitivity for the old ego, but he thinks it takes the piss a little if Alisha didn't bother and fake it, at least the first time. If she wanted a cock-master, fine, but she's been the one hanging all over Barry. Don't pick a spod and expect him to fuck like a king, is his motto.
He thinks about Barry fucking Alisha, but he can't picture it. She’s probably not so perfect, anyway, probably has wonky tits or weird snatch gunk or freaky piss flaps.
Or she just lies there. The whole blow job queen thing always seemed a bit of a put on.
It seems a shame to waste all that energy that Barry’s saved up from holding onto his V-card so long, all those nasty ideas he has, but hey. The heart wants what it wants, or the cock does, at any rate, and the sooner Barry starts the whole relationship bit, the sooner he can get bored with it, like every other bloke. He’s got Alisha on a pedestal at the moment, a few more hohum shags and he’ll see that she’s nothing special.
He's still all sex hazed himself, and it puts him in a more expansive mood, keen to teach, like he tried to before, pumping Barry for details about whats-her-face, the runner chick; or trying to get him laid in the club that time.
Dropping was always his move if speed was, ahem, of the essence or someone got a little snappy on the issue of size. Even the granny (ugh) enjoyed it; and Marnie fucking loves it, hips rocking so hard the first time, he was worried the baby would come out right there.
But then, Marnie likes everything. The arse is off the cards until after the baby, at least on her end, she's already fingered his; and blowjobs have got to be lying down so her tummy isn’t squashed, but it’s been about twelve hours and they’re not sick of each other yet, so Nathan’s pretty sure she’s his dream woman.
She especially likes dirty talk, it was a little awkward when she introduced herself to Barry and said how much she'd heard about him, as Nathan might have slightly exaggerated how far they've gone.
Marnie moaning, begging him ‘tell me how you get fucked, you little slut,’ as he rattles off filth in her ear, pumping away from behind; wasn't really the time for clarifying that, actually, the only guy he's thought about that way in months pretty much turned heel and ran the only time they got close to anything happening.
Still, Nathan likes the idea of Barry going back to the flat, Alisha all sympathetic about his lack of experience in that condescending way, before their shy little geek has her flat on her back, thighs twitching around his head, as she comes her little brains out, merry Chrismas’ing all over the sheets.
The idea of it being the tips Nathan taught him, of teaching Barry how to use his tongue.
What the hell, maybe just demonstrating it himself for the guy - obviously the plumbing’s different, but knowledge is power and all that.
Well, it wakes up the beast, sleeping briefly after the last round; and, getting hard in his boxers, he shoves the sweets in Barry’s hand, clasps it briefly, before wandering off to find Marnie, with another story to tell her.
Chapter 5: Simon: Researching Powers
Simon's only human. No one who suddenly found they could turn invisible could not resist looking, for once sure no one will spot his eye-line, catch him, tease him.
Kelly is kind, he doesn't think she'd mind so much, and Curtis probably notices him the least of all, visible or invisible; but somehow the risk of Alisha or Nathan catching him, of the humiliating heat as they smirk or snap, recognising the filthy thoughts that might as well be printed across his face, makes him more fascinated with them, not less.
Alisha scares him a little more. She has power that Nathan lacks, both literally; and because Curtis likes her, creating a unit of two, a majority in the group.
Nathan's more vulnerable, although he'd probably deck Simon for that description.
The others laugh along with Nathan's jeers at him, but they're just as likely to mock Nathan himself, and the first day wasn't over before Simon recognises that Nathan has weak spots. Not as many as Simon perhaps, and he certainly behaves as if he's invulnerable, but the attitude always verges on the try hard.
Stupidly, it kind of makes him like Nathan more.
If Simon has ever wanted anything, growing up, apart from friends; it's to be a hero, someone who can help not just because he understands how things work, but because people need him. See him. And of all the group, Nathan's certainly the one who needs the most - attention, explanations, cash, somewhere to sleep, it doesn't end, he's constantly demanding, as rudely as if he's doing them the favour by asking.
So when Nathan asks him to help him find out what his power could be, he acquiesces quickly.
He doesn't know why his mind goes to suicide right away - drowning in a bucket would be a foolish way to go, even for Nathan. When Nathan replies that he’s trying to breathe underwater, Simon asks, credulously 'Can you?' He always seems to be taking Nathan too literal, asking these stupid questions, but he can't help it. Nathan's confident enough that Simon is half convinced he can do anything. It fits the rule of narrative, after all.
He certainly has Simon's measure, constantly embarrassing him, even as he gets a little thrill at the acknowledgment, that scattergun attention span momentarily focused on him. It's not nice, but it's being seen.
He knows it's bothering Nathan not to have found a power, that it’s important to him, as the amount of insults he uses triples, voice taking on a slightly wheedling tone.
He feels a little mean throwing the tin, it’s not hard to trick Nathan, after all, but the aim was too perfect to resist after the 'pervert' jab to the big bloke with the car. Nathan's the one who brings up sex constantly anyway, leering about masturbation being his superpower, casually dismissing strength as an option as he'd have pulled his cock off.
So Simon really can't be blamed when, considering the various forms of potential powers at home that night, he can't seem to drop that context.
Sometimes he watches porn, other times an image is enough. It would make him feel better, less freakish if it was always something normal - large breasts, big cocks, slim, athletic bodies - but in a vicious cycle, the shame only adds to his arousal, and sometimes it's people vulnerable, drunk, or asleep, or simply unaware of his presence, there for his pleasure.
Thinking about people he knows is somewhere in between, it feels like a violation, his stomach swoops guiltily when he arrives the next morning; but then again, different as they are, none of them are shy, all used to being looked at.
Maybe the power is one over others, some kind of mind control. Alisha has lust, but there are dozens of forms. Endurance. Pheromone manipulation. Shapeshifting.
Simon doesn't know whether it feels better if it's something Nathan's doing on purpose, yet another way of grabbing attention; or the idea of Nathan being susceptible to it himself; out of control, attitude dropped, sweaty and begging for it.
He thinks of softly encouraging him, again, murmuring: 'try not to think with your conscious mind, channel your strength', as Nathan struggles, handcuffed to the railings of the mezzanine where he sleeps; as Simon grinds against his lap, riding him.
Maybe blindfolded, no idea who's touching him, not even caring, just desperate to come, pleading for it. Or no, better yet, calling out his name; that Simon's not even sure he knows, he relies so often on the stupid nicknames.
All his jabs about virgins and wanking, and yet Simon has him literally in the palm of his hand, pulling against the cuffs to get closer, to wrap legs round his waist, rutting upwards, dry humping Simon vainly, trying to get closer, still powerless.
It's Simon who can disappear. Simon who can watch them, all of them, at any time.
Stripping off, wanking, or just sitting around, not beautiful and confident, taking the piss out of the loser at community service; but bored and lonely, playing with their dog, watching their old races, brushing their hair in the mirror or picking at vending machine snacks in a dark, cold hall.
He finishes in his hand, thinking about biting Nathan's long pale throat, finishing himself on the other boy's closeness, leaving Nathan frustrated and helpless. Again.
Chapter 6: Simon: After Lucy
They’re walking back from the boat; Curtis and Alisha ambling along, a little apart, bumping clothed hips.
Kelly, who seems quiet tonight, nods to Simon and Nathan, but exits swiftly. Nathan's eyes follow her briefly, before he wanders back to the community centre.
Simon follows, anxious to collect his laptop, and to check once more that the freezer room is locked; before the realisation. Oh.
He searches around for a distraction from Sally, noticing red marks on Nathan’s neck.
'What happened?' He asks curiously, regretting it immediately afterwards.
Probably Nathan and Kelly have finally got together, as Nathan's predicted since their first day. Now he's going to get another joke made at his expense, about not recognising love bites.
'You, you twat. Or...' he waves his hand, 'your mousey girlfriend. Bitch bit me when she was being you. Before she shoved me on a pipe.'
'On the neck?' Simon asks, again, before he can help it. It just seems...oddly intimate.
Lucy was vicious in all forms, whether leading him on to embarrass him in front of Alisha; attacking Curtis and him as Kelly; or taunting him as Nathan; but he'd expect a physical attack from her to be weapon based, not combat, and certainly not risking close enough range to bite. Nathan's not much of a fighter, Simon's seen from how quickly Shaun got the better of him; and Simon exercises regularly - despite being shorter, he probably could take Nathan; but Lucy wouldn't have known that.
Then again, Alisha and Nathan were openly mocking Lucy this morning, which probably just encouraged her rage towards them, her conviction that his new friends are a corrupting influence.
She certainly made sure it affected his still fragile links with everyone - he can barely look at Alisha, ears turning red, remembering her rejection, her protests at the idea of touching him.
And to have Nathan be the one to discover Sally, observing, noting every humiliation, reading his face like always, flagging up every denial like a human lie detector, voicing his worst fears. That he’s weird, sick, even. And everyone knows it.
He’s always wanted Nathan to be his friend, since they met. He’s not even sure why, half the time he's disgusted by him, his oblivion, cruelty, his open disregard for others, his sheer delight in obnoxious, scatological baseness. But for all that, he can't help but be charmed, the way Kelly apparently is too.
He remembers everything anyone says to him, making up for the years of the bare minimum of words exchanged, at school and home; but interactions with Nathan in particular are burned in his brain, quickly recalled.
Somehow when he thinks about being with the group, it's Nathan who comes to mind first, good or bad.
Nathan, the first of them, angry and betrayed at the time but still, the first to call him a friend.
Nathan, suddenly awkward, agreeing today that they are friends, patting his shoulder, crying out when Kelly hit him.
*
That night, he thinks about Lucy, not just the locker room, but being all of them.
Alisha's harsh tongue but soft mouth, on her knees again, this time him enjoying it instead of freezing, panicking. Pushing forward, down her throat a little. Hoping she likes the taste of freak spunk down her throat, or over her lovely face.
*
Curtis, strong hands that bruise when hitting; this time grasping his cock, wanking him roughly; Simon not sure where to look but at his tattoo, shining medallion, as his muscles shift and twist under his gleaming skin.
Curtis eyes are too intense up close, have seen too much. It’s ridiculous but Simon's a little afraid of what he'll see, reflected in them.
'I should finish you', Curtis spits under his breath, 'you little prick.' He does, Simon coming on his hand.
Curtis wipes it contemptuously on his jumpsuit, and exits with a warning: 'Stay away from Alisha.'
*
Kelly, icing his eye, kind as ever. 'We need to stick together', he whispers, kissing her neck. 'All of us.'
'You always think the nicest things', she breathes, as he pulls her leggings down, pushes inside her gently. 'And the filthiest.'
Simon pauses, mid thrust, but at her nails tightening on his back, he slowly recovers his rhythm.
'Don't worry about it. Just...don't let him dick you around.' She gasps, as he thrusts. 'Or at least, let me watch.'
Her face when she comes is so unguarded, he almost doesn't recognise her, but as she scrapes back her hair into her usual bun, reapplies the thick eyeliner around her blue eyes, she winks at him, and he thinks he'd do it all again, Sally, Tony, and everything; just to know at least one of them can still be so trusting.
*
And finally Nathan.
Lucy is cruellest in his form. She senses threats and is quick to eliminate them, as painfully as possible, not unlike the real Nathan.
Simon can't help himself, reaching out, touching to see if he’s real, alive, in a way Nathan would never allow. 'I'm sorry. I should never have left you with them,' he mutters, oddly upset.
He knows this is fake, knows that he shouldn't give Lucy further ammunition, information about any of them, but he can't help it, it feels like he's on the roof again.
Like some part of him always will be, frozen, stuck in a loop of being a second too slow, too late.
He's always wanted to save people, if only to save himself, but instead, he retreated. To his freezer, to invisibility. To failure.
Lucy doesn't understand the apology, and Nathan's eyes reflect a flicker of confusion, but she's an expert improviser.
Simon feels chills as she somehow replicates the words, if not the tone of the real Nathan: 'I thought we were friends. I thought you liked me', she offers, looking wounded in a way Nathan never would have showed, even mortally injured.
'We are. I do!' Simon blurts, aware he's being played but still hopelessly sincere, falling into the pattern instinctively.
'Then prove it', Nathan says, shoving him down onto his knees.
Simon fumbles with his fly, hands shaking, not sure if it's Nathan, or Lucy, or both he's so desperate to appease, to make amends to.
It's not that he's never thought about this.
Nathan pretty much lives for provoking these thoughts about him from anyone he meets. Curtis is probably the straightest guy ever, if Simon's any judge, but Nathan hasn't given up trying to shock a reaction from him, although Simon's well aware that he gives Nathan far more ammunition himself.
No matter how he tries to ape a macho guy, a superhero type, he seems to give himself away, somehow leave himself open for jokes and comments.
When he has thought about it, it's often Nathan on his knees, apologetic about the insults, the put downs. Nathan confessing that it's easier sometimes than admitting to himself, to Simon how he feels. That they don't need to fight anymore. That they never did, that he's always wanted to do this.
Or if it is Simon, that he's taking his time. Admiring Nathan, not just quick, embarrassed glances or snippets of filming to be wanked over later.
Instead, he's as needy as if he’s the one receiving; taking Nathan as deep as he can, nearly choking as Nathan’s cock hits the back of his throat, eyes watering.
After Nathan comes, he slides down the bank of lockers, still panting, next to Simon, who’s gagging a little, mouth twisted at the unexpected taste.
Nathan’s silent for a moment, bringing Simon back to reality. Nathan would never be quiet, even after an orgasm.
He eyes the figure nervously, but Nathan’s eyes are shut, chest heaving. He reaches out again, confused. Is Lucy about to shift shapes once more?
Instead, Nathan looks almost frightened, an expression alien to his face, standing on trembling legs, before hissing in a serious tone Simon's never heard, didn't know Nathan's vocal chords were capable of. ‘They won't be your friends if they find out. Especially him.’ With that, he pulls up his zip, exiting, long legs breaking into a stride as he almost runs from the room.
Chapter 7: Simon: After Returning
Setting up the cameras in the community centre while his past self and friends wade in the river; Simon reflects that it’s ironic it’s Nathan he has to save first, considering he’s the only one of them who never found out the hooded man’s identity; was never aware of how it all ended, or began for him and Alisha.
In some ways, it's better. If he can't save Alisha from the inevitable, at least one of his friends can get away, live a normal life.
Never seeing the group again, the death that surrounds them, that they all seem sometimes to be fated for, may be the best gift he can give Nathan; Marnie, wherever she is; and her as yet unconceived son.
He arranges the photographs on the wall in the flat as soon as he takes them. It feels good to film again.
Sally's discovery of the video of Nathan on his phone, of the shots of her…what happened afterwards, killed his interest a little; making him aware even before his discovery of his future self that actions may need to be taken, that he can't save everyone, that it may be in all their best interests not to have evidence.
He also stores the things he took before leaving. He wishes he could say he'd asked for them, that they'd offered the trinkets, but all his memories, even those of Alisha, end up stolen. He'd taken them quietly over the months, not really sure why.
Now he knows.
The photograph of Alisha and him. Kelly's plastic hair grip, left in her old locker. An old local newspaper, the front page detailing Curtis Donovan's fall from grace. And a necklace, a cheap plated thing with a whistle pendant, left in a soap dish in a Vegas hotel room and never missed.
He'd gotten so well. Living in the flat. Still in community service, still starey perhaps, but with friends. Just friends, not life rings from loneliness.
He could feel the normality in his interactions with Rudy (it was a relief to take the role of sensible counterpart instead of psycho. Sometimes he played off Nathan in that way, but Nathan was there from the beginning, knew him when he was still raw. He can fool Rudy that he was always this person.)
With Kelly, pulling apart naturally, as he and Alisha and her and Seth paired up, and the need for her to defend him faded.
With Curtis, although they never did become close.
He wasn’t drowning them in his old intensity. Watching them unawares. Being that person anymore.
Seeing Sally shook him, though, made him question how much he'd managed to erase the old Simon.
Maybe that's how Alisha felt seeing Rudy again, and he can't bring himself to hold her past against her. He can accept that certain triggers, situations, people bring that boy to the fore.
Sometimes he thinks Nathan is one of those.
Maybe because he always had Simon's number, able to see through him even before the invisibility, to read his thoughts as if he were Kelly.
Or maybe because Nathan never knew him as the hero, the best lover of Alisha's life, her knight in shining armour until the only moment it counted.
Nathan disappeared so completely from their lives it was if he’d taken Simon’s power; when Simon was still the worshipful one, following him around like a puppy, tail wagging, going to him for help, advice, a place to stay.
That young boy is right in front of him on the surveillance tapes. Simon always had a good memory, but he needs more now. Needs data, insights the others wouldn't share at this point.
While his younger self is on several of the tapes, Alisha unhelpfully is in the least, usually the last to arrive and first to leave the community centre.
As to be expected, Nathan is in almost all.
Less expected, although perhaps foolishly on Simon’s part, he's masturbating in several.
One in particular after the awkward visit Simon paid him, after their visit to Vince’s.
He remembers the odd feeling under the spell of Peter's drawings, the sick horror of realising what he'd done, damaging his only chance: at love, at becoming someone, at his destiny.
He hopes it's not how Nathan and Kelly feel under the influence of their tattooes.
He remembers how genuine it felt at the time, though, his disgust at Alisha's mockery of Peter, so similar to his present self.
Of insisting vainly that he has friends.
Of his relief afterwards, the blood still on his hands, of knowing it was the power, it wasn't him, he didn't feel those things, want that boy.
He's not like that. He's not going to be.
The future may be short, leading to his and Alisha's doom, but it's also heroism and love; which is more than he could have imagined, miserable and ashamed.
A year with the perfect girl, as the perfect hero, confident and self-sacrificing is worth any number of years as the awkward pervert, so ashamed he thinks he can smell it sometimes, washes his hands over and over to remove the stink, virginal and leering, filthy fantasies that will never be realised. Should never be.
Now never will be, a relief of sorts.
Alisha is at this point still with Curtis, he hasn't engineered the meeting with Nikki, it isn’t time yet to tell her, to follow her. It’s Nathan’s turn to be saved, from the gang, the grave, the fire.
He can't remember why he wanted to shoot these. Why he took these useless photographs. Why he doesn't just forget the boy he isn't anymore, grab Alisha and run away with her, leaving them all.
But leaving his friends is why he had to return in the first place.
He keeps watching, searching.
Photos of Nathan’s grave, remembering his comment to Kelly: ‘It sounds like him’. Not that he would know, obviously. But Nathan confirms as much to a curious Alisha seconds later.
Simon raises his eyebrows. A fairly sedate reaction, but enough to begin an argument, naturally.
‘Hey, I had to entertain myself in there! A week's a long time when you're hungry, it stinks, and the iPod shuffle keeps bringing up George Michael. Colonel Hands was pretty much my best friend in there, he had to talk me down many times after I'd remember you, fucking up a simple grab. Friends don’t do that to each other!’
The guilt, still raw, pangs, and he looks awkwardly at his hands. It's only now he puts the sentence into context, confused. Nathan couldn't have meant it like that. He misspoke, or was exaggerating to demonstrate his frustration. He never was particularly articulate, witty though he could be.
And the endless videos.
Nathan, trapped in a vending machine after they all walk off, leaving him, touching himself in the middle of the hall like some kind of pervert (who's worse, the exhibitionist, or the voyeur? he wonders briefly.)
Nathan, clutching a jar of vaseline and his porno as if they’re trophies, talking to the others on the phone, leaving them locked in the freezer room as he wanks in the toilets.
Nathan, stealing Simon's cologne, breath still smelling of his gum, off with his beloved magazines to the bathroom, feet away, where anyone could hear his panting groans, the slick sounds of skin on skin, of his hand touching his cock.
And bizarrely, Nathan, wearing the wedding dress Tim made Kelly try on, stupid ever-present necklace hanging over the bodice, leaning against the toilet door, arms full of tulle, babbling to himself about virgin brides and how right it all feels.
Simon doesn’t know where he was that night, the tape only shows Curtis, Kelly and Alisha’s swift exits; but on a momentary whim, he imagines his younger side inside the cubicle, waiting, crouched on his knees. Invisible, but still nervous of being caught, heard, seen by the others.
He wouldn’t have known it at the time, but Alisha witnessing, breaking this twisted cycle in some small way, could have been the best thing that ever happened to her. Instead, she’s left to mourn the man who saved her life before letting her die.
The man destined to lead her to love, to change her powers, to her future. To the dirty floor of a corridor, a box cutter slicing her throat as she chokes on her own blood.
Simon watches, silent as ever, as Nathan slowly fingers himself, throat exposed, head tilted against the wall.
Imagines that this time, he made a different choice.
That when Alisha tells him about his future self’s ending, he succumbs once more to cowardice, to abandoning a friend.
That he refuses the future he didn’t even know enough to want.
That he lets her go, instead of keeping her like Sally, frozen in time instead of ice.
That he stayed in the hotel room, refused to use his power to spy on his friends once more.
That instead he’d fucked Nathan, on the sofa of the suite, or right now in the bathroom. He’d wanted him, wanted them both.
He’d been glad for Nathan, for Marnie, for not making the selfish choice, keeping another close to him even if it dooms them. But weighing up the baby versus immortality, the power trades they made; he wonders if they’d all have been better off if he’d let Nathan be the one he trapped, made fall in love with him.
In some ways it would have been easier than with Alisha. Even if he hadn’t used the tattoo’s power, Nathan was always the needier one.
He could have given Curtis, or Alisha herself the immunity power. Waved them goodbye for a happy, long lifespan; of limited contact shrinking to none as time passed, of exchanged Christmas cards and Facebook greetings.
It would hurt him to do it. To never see her lovely face, smiling up in adoration. To never kiss her. See her coming apart under his tongue.
But to see her age, to blossom into adulthood. A job. Marriage. Children. Wrinkles. Even long-distance, it’s tempting.
And there would be compensations.
Nathan, shaking, biting his lip as Simon delves under the netting.
Licking up his thigh, hot mouth on him.
Nathan muttering filth and endearments interchangeably, clutching his hair, his shoulders, before coming, completely gone, so much so he calls out his name.
Not one of the many nicknames, affectionate though they may be, but his name, his real name, the one Nathan pretends not to know, but lets slip sometimes.
The tattoo episode was one such occasion, and it was that perhaps before anything else that tipped off Simon that the whole thing was too good to be true; but if he can become a hero, make Alisha fall in love with him, save them all… Well, this goal doesn’t seem so lofty in comparison.
He watches the tapes over and over, wondering if this will be the time he choses to end the loop once and for all, or whether it’s too late, already. If it always has been.
Chapter 1: Nathan: After they met
It starts just screwing around.
It's been a while, to be honest, and Nathan's reached the 'getting horny at women in the free catalogues' stage, and he was never what you'd call choosy, even in the rare times he's been in what he'd class as a relationship.
He takes the piss a little out of all of them, bored, wanting a reaction.
He's more surprised at it being the chavvy girl, Kelly, that revs his engine. He'd have thought Alisha, all short skirts and mimed blowjobs would be more his style, but Kelly's got something; whether it's the big, blue eyes; or the severe hairstyle, like a teacher from a porno, about to spank you; or maybe, just a little, the soft sincere look in her eyes when she rambles about coming back for the rest of them.
Nathan would have run as fast as his legs could carry him, and the rest of these cunts would too, he'd bet, and getting to know them further, he can't imagine that opinion changing. In fact, besides his mum, Nathan doesn't know anyone who'd piss on him if he was on fire, and here's this Jeremy Kyle reject, ready to race back and save their motley crew.
So he's surprised when it comes to his nightly tug to find that when he's stuck for images, it's not whats-her-face joining Kelly for a catfight before kiss-and-make-up; or even Curtis Donovan, undeniably fit even if he is an uptight prick; but instead, he finds himself thinking about that odd kid.
Nathan's never felt weird about a wank before, even that time he was at his auntie's and had to resort to a tampon leaflet for material; but he does sort of wonder what's up that he can get off to an obvious virgin with a spoddy haircut and an apparent tendency for arson.
But something about those huge fish-like eyes, always staring at him, so hard he can feel them on his back; filming everything like the world's least likeliest porno director; and that expressive mouth, twisting in revulsion, hanging open in shock, leering coldly or gasping in what Nathan suspects is the face he probably makes while coming.
And yeah, okay, it’s cliché, but the virgin thing, a little. He needles the guy a couple of times, each expecting that this time he'll bite back with the predictable denial, each time a little more hyped as he just takes it, no rebuttal. Nathan brings up sex, wanking almost every time he speaks to him, more and more fascinated, until he's got a respectable half-one most of the day.
It’s kind of sexy, someone their age, all pure, untouched, waiting for the first time, like a bride, it did it for him on it’s own; but then the filth spewed out under Alisha's touch, so nasty it even takes Nathan back? An untouched body, no, not with Curtis cut abs or Kelly's perfect tits, but still, stocky, surprisingly muscled; combined with a dirty, horny, gagging for it mind? Nathan defies anyone not to have a quick shuffle, it’s an idea scientifically designed to wank over for christ’s sake.
Curtis had stepped back, bewildered, but Simon's knees gave out completely, as if he's come right there, unable to stand under the weight of his desire.
Nathan thinks about it, even as they’re burying the probation worker. He also thinks about how quickly the odd kid offered the idea to hide the bodies, how he almost gazed at the corpse in the locker; and while he’s no pussy, he doesn't mind admitting, at least to himself, that it's a little scary; but somehow it just turns him on even more.
At home he can carefully prepare for a wank, crack out the magazine collection, some lube if he's feeling fancy, although with his current budget, more likely spit or hand soap and toilet paper. But tonight, even in the community centre, dark and, fine, a bit creepy at night; he can't bring himself to wait, doesn't need photos, a few tugs and he’s spilling over his hand and onto his bare stomach, pulling his own nipples a little; before groping blindly for a sock, eyes half closed, panting.
Chapter 2: Nathan: After Jessica
Friends are supposed to share everything, but Barry's being all boring about the details of his first time. Not only is this hurtful, but also frankly, a risk to the entire security of the group as a whole. Or something.
What if their powers are affected by fucking? Barry’s being selfish, keeping the specifics under wraps, this could important to them all!
He was first to get laid after their powers, as far as he knows, and he gives himself an inner high five for that one, even if it was shagging the granny (he suppresses a little shudder); but while it was hopefully his amazing, at that time unknown power causing those hurtful comments about the speed and expression of his orgasms; nothing seemed different than before. No Technicolor visions of the afterlife, no angels strumming harps.
Curtis and Alisha are quits, but while rewinding time could be feasibly useful in the case of…potential embarrassments, even Mr. Uptight would have mentioned if his power had drastically altered shagging.
The less he thinks about Kelly and the gorilla, the better; and for now, Alisha's stuck with her hand.
Maybe Barry turns invisible when he comes, Nathan considers idly. He doesn't know if that's how it works, but hey, who would have thought ecstasy would fuck their powers?
Now Barry can get off his face and laid whenever he likes, beating off boys and girls with both hands; and instead Nathan's gotta stay Mr Clean Living.
Mr Making Up A Girlfriend to save face in front of Barry, of all fucking people.
Barry, who seems to be under the impression he's jealous, as if a guy who looks like Nathan needs to worry about who an ugly fucker like Barry's creaming his anorak over. He's not even handsome, for god’s sake. Striking enough eyes, and his body's not hideous; but even if Nathan were into blokes, it's not like he couldn't do better, so Barry's little remarks are just pure arrogance as far as he's concerned.
When Barry gets all menstrual, throwing a tantrum: ‘You think if a girl likes me, there must be something wrong with her?’, Nathan can't resist. There's definitely something wrong with him, a hangover from that stupid tattoo; or dementia brought on by everyone else in the world apparently getting laid except him. This girl's a crazy man-killing spider psycho, what's his excuse?
While the creepy obsessive masturbator vibe was an acquired taste; Nathan hates himself for admitting it, even in his mind, but the new confidence, smug smirk and all, is oddly sexy. Nathan’s not exactly immune, at any rate, licking his lips a little, rambling about how near the party is to his bed; slagging off runners (to Curtis' muttered insults, but who gives a shit?); and spouting off about the dream girlfriend he totally wants to find, and shake off this stupid spell with some regular fanny.
Seeing him all tarted up for round two, when he hasn't even given Nathan anything on the big cherry pop, like it's too special for mere (im)mortals to hear; provokes another insult, more spiteful in tone than words, sounding almost angry rather than casual, as intended, a much more experienced fuck-machine teasing a new entrant to the ranks.
Maybe they both go invisible. Nathan asked him to do that for him, once. Asked Barry to save him; for the first time, but not the last, embarrassingly.
Barry fucked off, but reappeared later, watching him on the roof, sweaty and clutching his hand. Turns out he’s a spectacular failure at the rescuing business, but even so, Nathan’s kind of been relying on him ever since, for prompts, drinks, vending machine snacks, ideas when they're in the shit.
Or maybe Barry filmed it, eyes all round, lips wet and slightly parted, like when they started community service and he used to film Nathan all the time; following his hands, movements, mouth.
He’s knocked it on the head recently, the wisdom of filming all the criminal shit they get up to has occurred even to Nathan, and Barry’s always been the smart one in the group.
But maybe he films this girl. Maybe she likes it, poses a little more knowing the camera’s on her, touches herself at night, thinking about the red eye silently watching her all day. Maybe even at the idea of Barry doing the same thing.
Nathan knows realistically that with two virgins, it was probably mediocre, three pumps and a squirt; he’s probably getting off to the idea more than either of them did, but who gives a shit? They're both so fucking cute, it’s not weird or anything - Alisha seems as fascinated as him, after all.
Did he let her blow him, or was that off the table, after psycho girl? Or did he go down on her? Does he even know that’s a thing?
Barry’s obviously into some sick shit, judging from what he says to Alisha, but Nathan can’t decide what makes him harder, the idea of Barry being a trier in the sack, serious little face screwed up in concentration, desperate to please; or the idea of him getting nasty, even rough, demanding it, shoving his partner on their knees, choking them with his cock, calling them a whore.
Both are pretty affecting, judging by his cock. It's barely been two minutes, and he's already close.
With a final stroke, he comes, wiping away the evidence swiftly, and vowing that he'll get laid as soon as possible. The deprivation's clearly getting to him.
Chapter 3: Nathan: After They're Famous
So…Nathan’s getting laid, finally. Twins, or sisters at least, and blonde. Tits aren’t as gravity defying as the ideal, but the week is still young.
He’s out of the fucking community centre for once, getting comp’ed in a swanky hotel, meals and all, with nights in the club and all he can drink. Pretty much living the dream.
Icing on the cherry is Kelly’s little scowl when he brags about how much shagging he’s been doing; especially since his power is by far the most impressive - no-one’s lining up to see Curtis squint and look constipated; kiddies can’t exactly collect Top Trumps of Alisha’s power; Kelly’s is pretty Derren Brown-lite; and Barry’s refusing to join in at all.
It’s not the same without all five of them, though - for starters, it gives Curtis’ new bird way too many chances to take the piss out of him, clearly holding onto a lot of bitterness and resentment about the whole bed shitting thing, which after all, was an honest mistake.
So it’s kind of a relief to find Barry lurking in his bathroom, even if it scares the fuck out of him to see Stalker Boy suddenly appear in the mirror, watching him piss, post-shag.
He should probably worry, knowing how Barry feels about spying on people, and for that matter, pissing on their tits; but instead he gets a little second wind, to be honest.
Maybe it’s the idea that Barry didn’t say anything right away, was just checking out his cock, like earlier, in the community centre bogs.
Maybe it’s the idea that Barry came to him, didn’t just book a room, or sneak into one. Didn’t crash with Kelly, who’s always fussing over him like a mother hen; or Alisha, who’s been all weird and defensive of him recently, chucking her knickers at his head, like she’s on a mission to collect another dick for her collection. Just came straight here, to his best mate. Cute.
Or maybe it’s just the idea of sharing the king-size, top-to-tail at first probably, knowing Barry, unless they’re hammered, but still, morning wood against each other’s stomachs or backs, accidental-like. Mmm.
Whatever it is, he tells Barry to hang back for a minute, ready for round two.
If it’s awkward for Barry, in the bathroom, listening to the shagging, to Nathan, balls deep in some anonymous girl, hopefully hearing some very vocal moaning from her end, before finishing loudly himself (after a suitable length of time, of course), well…
Any uh, issues that arise could be easily sorted, is all he’s saying.
*
Later.
He can’t believe he’s fucked up again - usually his mistakes are fairly minor, even if the consequences aren’t.
Joke about Barry being a Conti - hey, no one could have foreseen that turning into them all chained up, about to be sawed into itty bitty pieces by a gun-toting maniac!
Taking the piss out of an ugly tattooist - who knew it’d end up with him going a bit…Eurovision?
But this Daisy thing is a massive fuck-up, and while, according to Scary PR Lady, he should be safe with the police, it’s still not great - besides anything else, what if one of them needs healing again?
Not that he plans on going without the belt and braces again…at least, not for a while. But the rest of them are hardly clean living, either - he bets Alisha’s no stranger to the clinic, at least, the little minx.
He’s especially fucked off, considering he had Barry in the room, stripped off to his skivvies and everything. That repressed bastard taking his trousers off was pretty much an open invitation, he curses himself.
He should have just headed home last night, he was going to, shagged out after the third girl, but then this cute little thing, all big blue eyes and lovely arse, whispers to him to meet her in the loo.
It’s weird, it’s not the same crate as the club they were in before, obviously, but it looks the same. To be honest, he’s a little creeped out to be back out again, he’s been broke long enough that he’d kind of lost the habit, and since his brother and all… It’s not like he can even get high now.
But he spent so long wanking like a twat, alone in a fucking community centre, that it feels like a waste to turn anyone down, to just go back to the room.
Especially as Kelly’s out there, pulling faces at the competition, or as she calls them ‘those skanky groupies’. He’s not sure what her problem is, since she’s made it pretty fucking clear that they’re better off as ‘mates’.
Just another reason not to think about the whole girlfriend, job, living situation thing. It’s clearly Barry’s worrywart instincts taking over.
Look at this, he’s landed on his feet again - last week he was homeless, this week he’s living gratis in the Grand Hotel.
This week, he’s banged more girls than he count - on one hand, at least. And only last week, he was counting the days since he’s got laid; horrified to realise that attempting to snog Barry when he had that stupid tattoo and fingering Kelly for thirty seconds was pretty much the closest he’d come in weeks, and both of those ended with them fleeing, and him cranking it alone.
To distract himself from all the serious crap, he thinks about the last time he was here. Good times, hanging out with his brother, his friends, a hot girl on his arm; but instead he keeps thinking about the toilets he was in, Barry in the next cubicle, off his face and babbling about how everyone’s looking at him, girls and guys.
Nathan encouraging him to fuck a girl, any girl, to build his confidence up; although Barry didn’t seem keen, instead warning him not to get killed, and indulging in his stalker crush on the bloke in the hoodie.
He has to picture some pretty nasty shit to finish, to be honest, considering it’s the fourth time tonight; so he doesn’t feel too bad about shutting his eyes and letting the girl ride him; thinking idly about Barry, whether if it had been their guardian angel in leathers trying to blow him, whether he’d have let him.
Maybe he does like guys.
Maybe he was right when he had the tattoo, and Barry’s not put off or 100% straight like Curtis; just shy, needs the gentle approach, not just the usual 'stick in a finger and hope for the best'.
Now he’s actually working for it, splayed on the sofa, cracking out the trusty booze.
He’s been a bit heavy on it the last few days. He’s sort of worried that if he sits still long enough, he’ll end up pouting about the meaninglessness of it all, how fame and money and casual shagging aren’t actually making him feel less of a loser, turning emo like Barry or Alisha.
Fuck that! If they’re a bunch of losers, at least they can be a bunch of rich losers who get laid.
It’s not like he hasn’t tried the lovey-dovey shit, anyway, the stone-cold sober two consenting adults, and look where it got him. Kelly preferred an actual monkey, and despite the little glances Barry’s shot him, watching him strip, on the roof, in the locker room, filming on his stupid camera; he wasn’t any more into the real thing.
This is pretty much the last shot he’s gonna take. Despite taking the piss, Barry is a mate, and he doesn’t want to fuck that up, would rather keep him around than force the issue, same as with Kelly.
But he’s trying, at least the best way he knows how - they’re into the minibar, he’s in his underwear, trying out a leer, a meaningful look, a touch or two.
Barry's buttoned up to the neck again, unfortunately, but he's still here, sharing the king size (Nathan had to use some reverse psychology bullshit there, convincing him it would be gayer not to; and that if he doesn’t, Nathan can only assume he’s hiding some real perversions) and there’s something in his smile, almost a smirk, (Nathan would say a dirty grin if it was anyone else) when Nathan cheerfully checks out his own cock.
He’s babbling about how clean it is, all ready for fresh shagging. Not terribly subtle, but no one ever accused him of that. He knows if there’s one thing Barry wants, it’s someone…well, not pure, but nice, shall we say, especially since his first shag was also a Miss Perfect virgin type.
He thinks he might actually be getting somewhere, when in comes Alisha, who’s apparently decided after months of pretending like she hates his guts that they’re now BFFs, and this would be a good time to share all her itty bitty thoughts about the nature of fame and what Barry said to her once.
(And since when are those two chatty? Nathan’s pretty sure that, shapeshifters popping Barry’s blowjob cherry aside, those two probably have less to say to each other than anyone.)
It doesn’t ring any bells with Nathan at any rate, but despite plopping down again, ready to pick up where they left off; some kind of radar’s gone off with Barry, and he fucks off without explanation, leaving Nathan alone with a semi, some serious confusion mixed in with the sexual frustration, and about two hours to go before he’s due to shoot himself in the head.
So much for the life of a celebrity.
Chapter 4: Nathan: After Alisha
So, community service is finished, but instead of giant burgers and paycheques from the circus, they’re all pretty much still down shit street, their powers apparently useless. Nathan’s not sure which is more pathetic, pulling pints, sweeping up shit, or giving out flyers; but it’s clear who the inexplicable winner is - fucking Barry of all people, who’s somehow lucked into an amazing flat, which, by the way, none of them have been invited to visit.
Nathan teases him about preferring him when he was awkward and shy, but actually, since dating Alisha, of all people, Barry's been even more secretive than ever.
Nathan wonders if it's significant he picked the one girl he can't touch, fuck, even kiss. A beautiful trophy, a definite guard against teasing, even Nathan's, considering it's been three months and he's still single, no thanks to sleeping in the fucking community centre, still.
Meanwhile, those two have moved in together after what…a day? How does that even work? They probably have to sleep in separate rooms anyway, and here's Nathan on a crappy mattress. Selfish is what he calls it.
*
Later
Nathan’s starting to feel more himself again after getting laid, not this weird topsy-turvy drunk feeling where Barry's with a hot girl, again, and he's jerking off alone.
Barry's finally popped his cherry, there’s a bloke selling and buying powers, Nathan’s met a girl. It feels like things are finally shifting.
It's fast, but hey, it's working for those other two fuckwits, and since when was he ever sensible? He and Kelly tried the slow burn and that was a bust.
Besides, he likes to be needed, the one they come to for help, advice, even if all he can offer is a quip or a pat on the shoulder.
Marnie's all alone, no friends, it reminds him of Barry when they met, only obviously Marnie's pregnant, and a girl, and not a freaky arsonist…He's lost this train of thought, but the point is, he's all in.
A baby, a girlfriend, a family. For a while it was kind of like the tossers from community service were a family; but he and Kelly are still awkward, Curtis and his new bird are fucking off, and Barry and Alisha are their own little twosome.
Now they're fucking, but somehow Barry's still miserable. Isn't that interesting.
Nathan never did see what Curtis and him saw in her. She's hot, he wouldn't say no if she'd wanted to collect the whole set, but she's hardly Miss Personality.
They get on a little better now, she obviously doesn't want to be the bitch slagging off her bloke’s best mate; but to be honest, Nathan liked her better before, when she was still slutting it up, being a bit of a cunt. When you could laugh at her jokes.
Now she's just...there. What do they even talk about between not-shagging? Barry's a complete geek, whereas Alisha's probably never sat through a film that wasn't Twilight. Even Nathan's seen fucking Terminator, for Christ’s sake. She should have stuck with that twat Curtis, bored each other to death.
The first time is always awkward, and god knows women aren't always full of sensitivity for the old ego, but he thinks it takes the piss a little if Alisha didn't bother and fake it, at least the first time. If she wanted a cock-master, fine, but she's been the one hanging all over Barry. Don't pick a spod and expect him to fuck like a king, is his motto.
He thinks about Barry fucking Alisha, but he can't picture it. She’s probably not so perfect, anyway, probably has wonky tits or weird snatch gunk or freaky piss flaps.
Or she just lies there. The whole blow job queen thing always seemed a bit of a put on.
It seems a shame to waste all that energy that Barry’s saved up from holding onto his V-card so long, all those nasty ideas he has, but hey. The heart wants what it wants, or the cock does, at any rate, and the sooner Barry starts the whole relationship bit, the sooner he can get bored with it, like every other bloke. He’s got Alisha on a pedestal at the moment, a few more hohum shags and he’ll see that she’s nothing special.
He's still all sex hazed himself, and it puts him in a more expansive mood, keen to teach, like he tried to before, pumping Barry for details about whats-her-face, the runner chick; or trying to get him laid in the club that time.
Dropping was always his move if speed was, ahem, of the essence or someone got a little snappy on the issue of size. Even the granny (ugh) enjoyed it; and Marnie fucking loves it, hips rocking so hard the first time, he was worried the baby would come out right there.
But then, Marnie likes everything. The arse is off the cards until after the baby, at least on her end, she's already fingered his; and blowjobs have got to be lying down so her tummy isn’t squashed, but it’s been about twelve hours and they’re not sick of each other yet, so Nathan’s pretty sure she’s his dream woman.
She especially likes dirty talk, it was a little awkward when she introduced herself to Barry and said how much she'd heard about him, as Nathan might have slightly exaggerated how far they've gone.
Marnie moaning, begging him ‘tell me how you get fucked, you little slut,’ as he rattles off filth in her ear, pumping away from behind; wasn't really the time for clarifying that, actually, the only guy he's thought about that way in months pretty much turned heel and ran the only time they got close to anything happening.
Still, Nathan likes the idea of Barry going back to the flat, Alisha all sympathetic about his lack of experience in that condescending way, before their shy little geek has her flat on her back, thighs twitching around his head, as she comes her little brains out, merry Chrismas’ing all over the sheets.
The idea of it being the tips Nathan taught him, of teaching Barry how to use his tongue.
What the hell, maybe just demonstrating it himself for the guy - obviously the plumbing’s different, but knowledge is power and all that.
Well, it wakes up the beast, sleeping briefly after the last round; and, getting hard in his boxers, he shoves the sweets in Barry’s hand, clasps it briefly, before wandering off to find Marnie, with another story to tell her.
Chapter 5: Simon: Researching Powers
Simon's only human. No one who suddenly found they could turn invisible could not resist looking, for once sure no one will spot his eye-line, catch him, tease him.
Kelly is kind, he doesn't think she'd mind so much, and Curtis probably notices him the least of all, visible or invisible; but somehow the risk of Alisha or Nathan catching him, of the humiliating heat as they smirk or snap, recognising the filthy thoughts that might as well be printed across his face, makes him more fascinated with them, not less.
Alisha scares him a little more. She has power that Nathan lacks, both literally; and because Curtis likes her, creating a unit of two, a majority in the group.
Nathan's more vulnerable, although he'd probably deck Simon for that description.
The others laugh along with Nathan's jeers at him, but they're just as likely to mock Nathan himself, and the first day wasn't over before Simon recognises that Nathan has weak spots. Not as many as Simon perhaps, and he certainly behaves as if he's invulnerable, but the attitude always verges on the try hard.
Stupidly, it kind of makes him like Nathan more.
If Simon has ever wanted anything, growing up, apart from friends; it's to be a hero, someone who can help not just because he understands how things work, but because people need him. See him. And of all the group, Nathan's certainly the one who needs the most - attention, explanations, cash, somewhere to sleep, it doesn't end, he's constantly demanding, as rudely as if he's doing them the favour by asking.
So when Nathan asks him to help him find out what his power could be, he acquiesces quickly.
He doesn't know why his mind goes to suicide right away - drowning in a bucket would be a foolish way to go, even for Nathan. When Nathan replies that he’s trying to breathe underwater, Simon asks, credulously 'Can you?' He always seems to be taking Nathan too literal, asking these stupid questions, but he can't help it. Nathan's confident enough that Simon is half convinced he can do anything. It fits the rule of narrative, after all.
He certainly has Simon's measure, constantly embarrassing him, even as he gets a little thrill at the acknowledgment, that scattergun attention span momentarily focused on him. It's not nice, but it's being seen.
He knows it's bothering Nathan not to have found a power, that it’s important to him, as the amount of insults he uses triples, voice taking on a slightly wheedling tone.
He feels a little mean throwing the tin, it’s not hard to trick Nathan, after all, but the aim was too perfect to resist after the 'pervert' jab to the big bloke with the car. Nathan's the one who brings up sex constantly anyway, leering about masturbation being his superpower, casually dismissing strength as an option as he'd have pulled his cock off.
So Simon really can't be blamed when, considering the various forms of potential powers at home that night, he can't seem to drop that context.
Sometimes he watches porn, other times an image is enough. It would make him feel better, less freakish if it was always something normal - large breasts, big cocks, slim, athletic bodies - but in a vicious cycle, the shame only adds to his arousal, and sometimes it's people vulnerable, drunk, or asleep, or simply unaware of his presence, there for his pleasure.
Thinking about people he knows is somewhere in between, it feels like a violation, his stomach swoops guiltily when he arrives the next morning; but then again, different as they are, none of them are shy, all used to being looked at.
Maybe the power is one over others, some kind of mind control. Alisha has lust, but there are dozens of forms. Endurance. Pheromone manipulation. Shapeshifting.
Simon doesn't know whether it feels better if it's something Nathan's doing on purpose, yet another way of grabbing attention; or the idea of Nathan being susceptible to it himself; out of control, attitude dropped, sweaty and begging for it.
He thinks of softly encouraging him, again, murmuring: 'try not to think with your conscious mind, channel your strength', as Nathan struggles, handcuffed to the railings of the mezzanine where he sleeps; as Simon grinds against his lap, riding him.
Maybe blindfolded, no idea who's touching him, not even caring, just desperate to come, pleading for it. Or no, better yet, calling out his name; that Simon's not even sure he knows, he relies so often on the stupid nicknames.
All his jabs about virgins and wanking, and yet Simon has him literally in the palm of his hand, pulling against the cuffs to get closer, to wrap legs round his waist, rutting upwards, dry humping Simon vainly, trying to get closer, still powerless.
It's Simon who can disappear. Simon who can watch them, all of them, at any time.
Stripping off, wanking, or just sitting around, not beautiful and confident, taking the piss out of the loser at community service; but bored and lonely, playing with their dog, watching their old races, brushing their hair in the mirror or picking at vending machine snacks in a dark, cold hall.
He finishes in his hand, thinking about biting Nathan's long pale throat, finishing himself on the other boy's closeness, leaving Nathan frustrated and helpless. Again.
Chapter 6: Simon: After Lucy
They’re walking back from the boat; Curtis and Alisha ambling along, a little apart, bumping clothed hips.
Kelly, who seems quiet tonight, nods to Simon and Nathan, but exits swiftly. Nathan's eyes follow her briefly, before he wanders back to the community centre.
Simon follows, anxious to collect his laptop, and to check once more that the freezer room is locked; before the realisation. Oh.
He searches around for a distraction from Sally, noticing red marks on Nathan’s neck.
'What happened?' He asks curiously, regretting it immediately afterwards.
Probably Nathan and Kelly have finally got together, as Nathan's predicted since their first day. Now he's going to get another joke made at his expense, about not recognising love bites.
'You, you twat. Or...' he waves his hand, 'your mousey girlfriend. Bitch bit me when she was being you. Before she shoved me on a pipe.'
'On the neck?' Simon asks, again, before he can help it. It just seems...oddly intimate.
Lucy was vicious in all forms, whether leading him on to embarrass him in front of Alisha; attacking Curtis and him as Kelly; or taunting him as Nathan; but he'd expect a physical attack from her to be weapon based, not combat, and certainly not risking close enough range to bite. Nathan's not much of a fighter, Simon's seen from how quickly Shaun got the better of him; and Simon exercises regularly - despite being shorter, he probably could take Nathan; but Lucy wouldn't have known that.
Then again, Alisha and Nathan were openly mocking Lucy this morning, which probably just encouraged her rage towards them, her conviction that his new friends are a corrupting influence.
She certainly made sure it affected his still fragile links with everyone - he can barely look at Alisha, ears turning red, remembering her rejection, her protests at the idea of touching him.
And to have Nathan be the one to discover Sally, observing, noting every humiliation, reading his face like always, flagging up every denial like a human lie detector, voicing his worst fears. That he’s weird, sick, even. And everyone knows it.
He’s always wanted Nathan to be his friend, since they met. He’s not even sure why, half the time he's disgusted by him, his oblivion, cruelty, his open disregard for others, his sheer delight in obnoxious, scatological baseness. But for all that, he can't help but be charmed, the way Kelly apparently is too.
He remembers everything anyone says to him, making up for the years of the bare minimum of words exchanged, at school and home; but interactions with Nathan in particular are burned in his brain, quickly recalled.
Somehow when he thinks about being with the group, it's Nathan who comes to mind first, good or bad.
Nathan, the first of them, angry and betrayed at the time but still, the first to call him a friend.
Nathan, suddenly awkward, agreeing today that they are friends, patting his shoulder, crying out when Kelly hit him.
*
That night, he thinks about Lucy, not just the locker room, but being all of them.
Alisha's harsh tongue but soft mouth, on her knees again, this time him enjoying it instead of freezing, panicking. Pushing forward, down her throat a little. Hoping she likes the taste of freak spunk down her throat, or over her lovely face.
*
Curtis, strong hands that bruise when hitting; this time grasping his cock, wanking him roughly; Simon not sure where to look but at his tattoo, shining medallion, as his muscles shift and twist under his gleaming skin.
Curtis eyes are too intense up close, have seen too much. It’s ridiculous but Simon's a little afraid of what he'll see, reflected in them.
'I should finish you', Curtis spits under his breath, 'you little prick.' He does, Simon coming on his hand.
Curtis wipes it contemptuously on his jumpsuit, and exits with a warning: 'Stay away from Alisha.'
*
Kelly, icing his eye, kind as ever. 'We need to stick together', he whispers, kissing her neck. 'All of us.'
'You always think the nicest things', she breathes, as he pulls her leggings down, pushes inside her gently. 'And the filthiest.'
Simon pauses, mid thrust, but at her nails tightening on his back, he slowly recovers his rhythm.
'Don't worry about it. Just...don't let him dick you around.' She gasps, as he thrusts. 'Or at least, let me watch.'
Her face when she comes is so unguarded, he almost doesn't recognise her, but as she scrapes back her hair into her usual bun, reapplies the thick eyeliner around her blue eyes, she winks at him, and he thinks he'd do it all again, Sally, Tony, and everything; just to know at least one of them can still be so trusting.
*
And finally Nathan.
Lucy is cruellest in his form. She senses threats and is quick to eliminate them, as painfully as possible, not unlike the real Nathan.
Simon can't help himself, reaching out, touching to see if he’s real, alive, in a way Nathan would never allow. 'I'm sorry. I should never have left you with them,' he mutters, oddly upset.
He knows this is fake, knows that he shouldn't give Lucy further ammunition, information about any of them, but he can't help it, it feels like he's on the roof again.
Like some part of him always will be, frozen, stuck in a loop of being a second too slow, too late.
He's always wanted to save people, if only to save himself, but instead, he retreated. To his freezer, to invisibility. To failure.
Lucy doesn't understand the apology, and Nathan's eyes reflect a flicker of confusion, but she's an expert improviser.
Simon feels chills as she somehow replicates the words, if not the tone of the real Nathan: 'I thought we were friends. I thought you liked me', she offers, looking wounded in a way Nathan never would have showed, even mortally injured.
'We are. I do!' Simon blurts, aware he's being played but still hopelessly sincere, falling into the pattern instinctively.
'Then prove it', Nathan says, shoving him down onto his knees.
Simon fumbles with his fly, hands shaking, not sure if it's Nathan, or Lucy, or both he's so desperate to appease, to make amends to.
It's not that he's never thought about this.
Nathan pretty much lives for provoking these thoughts about him from anyone he meets. Curtis is probably the straightest guy ever, if Simon's any judge, but Nathan hasn't given up trying to shock a reaction from him, although Simon's well aware that he gives Nathan far more ammunition himself.
No matter how he tries to ape a macho guy, a superhero type, he seems to give himself away, somehow leave himself open for jokes and comments.
When he has thought about it, it's often Nathan on his knees, apologetic about the insults, the put downs. Nathan confessing that it's easier sometimes than admitting to himself, to Simon how he feels. That they don't need to fight anymore. That they never did, that he's always wanted to do this.
Or if it is Simon, that he's taking his time. Admiring Nathan, not just quick, embarrassed glances or snippets of filming to be wanked over later.
Instead, he's as needy as if he’s the one receiving; taking Nathan as deep as he can, nearly choking as Nathan’s cock hits the back of his throat, eyes watering.
After Nathan comes, he slides down the bank of lockers, still panting, next to Simon, who’s gagging a little, mouth twisted at the unexpected taste.
Nathan’s silent for a moment, bringing Simon back to reality. Nathan would never be quiet, even after an orgasm.
He eyes the figure nervously, but Nathan’s eyes are shut, chest heaving. He reaches out again, confused. Is Lucy about to shift shapes once more?
Instead, Nathan looks almost frightened, an expression alien to his face, standing on trembling legs, before hissing in a serious tone Simon's never heard, didn't know Nathan's vocal chords were capable of. ‘They won't be your friends if they find out. Especially him.’ With that, he pulls up his zip, exiting, long legs breaking into a stride as he almost runs from the room.
Chapter 7: Simon: After Returning
Setting up the cameras in the community centre while his past self and friends wade in the river; Simon reflects that it’s ironic it’s Nathan he has to save first, considering he’s the only one of them who never found out the hooded man’s identity; was never aware of how it all ended, or began for him and Alisha.
In some ways, it's better. If he can't save Alisha from the inevitable, at least one of his friends can get away, live a normal life.
Never seeing the group again, the death that surrounds them, that they all seem sometimes to be fated for, may be the best gift he can give Nathan; Marnie, wherever she is; and her as yet unconceived son.
He arranges the photographs on the wall in the flat as soon as he takes them. It feels good to film again.
Sally's discovery of the video of Nathan on his phone, of the shots of her…what happened afterwards, killed his interest a little; making him aware even before his discovery of his future self that actions may need to be taken, that he can't save everyone, that it may be in all their best interests not to have evidence.
He also stores the things he took before leaving. He wishes he could say he'd asked for them, that they'd offered the trinkets, but all his memories, even those of Alisha, end up stolen. He'd taken them quietly over the months, not really sure why.
Now he knows.
The photograph of Alisha and him. Kelly's plastic hair grip, left in her old locker. An old local newspaper, the front page detailing Curtis Donovan's fall from grace. And a necklace, a cheap plated thing with a whistle pendant, left in a soap dish in a Vegas hotel room and never missed.
He'd gotten so well. Living in the flat. Still in community service, still starey perhaps, but with friends. Just friends, not life rings from loneliness.
He could feel the normality in his interactions with Rudy (it was a relief to take the role of sensible counterpart instead of psycho. Sometimes he played off Nathan in that way, but Nathan was there from the beginning, knew him when he was still raw. He can fool Rudy that he was always this person.)
With Kelly, pulling apart naturally, as he and Alisha and her and Seth paired up, and the need for her to defend him faded.
With Curtis, although they never did become close.
He wasn’t drowning them in his old intensity. Watching them unawares. Being that person anymore.
Seeing Sally shook him, though, made him question how much he'd managed to erase the old Simon.
Maybe that's how Alisha felt seeing Rudy again, and he can't bring himself to hold her past against her. He can accept that certain triggers, situations, people bring that boy to the fore.
Sometimes he thinks Nathan is one of those.
Maybe because he always had Simon's number, able to see through him even before the invisibility, to read his thoughts as if he were Kelly.
Or maybe because Nathan never knew him as the hero, the best lover of Alisha's life, her knight in shining armour until the only moment it counted.
Nathan disappeared so completely from their lives it was if he’d taken Simon’s power; when Simon was still the worshipful one, following him around like a puppy, tail wagging, going to him for help, advice, a place to stay.
That young boy is right in front of him on the surveillance tapes. Simon always had a good memory, but he needs more now. Needs data, insights the others wouldn't share at this point.
While his younger self is on several of the tapes, Alisha unhelpfully is in the least, usually the last to arrive and first to leave the community centre.
As to be expected, Nathan is in almost all.
Less expected, although perhaps foolishly on Simon’s part, he's masturbating in several.
One in particular after the awkward visit Simon paid him, after their visit to Vince’s.
He remembers the odd feeling under the spell of Peter's drawings, the sick horror of realising what he'd done, damaging his only chance: at love, at becoming someone, at his destiny.
He hopes it's not how Nathan and Kelly feel under the influence of their tattooes.
He remembers how genuine it felt at the time, though, his disgust at Alisha's mockery of Peter, so similar to his present self.
Of insisting vainly that he has friends.
Of his relief afterwards, the blood still on his hands, of knowing it was the power, it wasn't him, he didn't feel those things, want that boy.
He's not like that. He's not going to be.
The future may be short, leading to his and Alisha's doom, but it's also heroism and love; which is more than he could have imagined, miserable and ashamed.
A year with the perfect girl, as the perfect hero, confident and self-sacrificing is worth any number of years as the awkward pervert, so ashamed he thinks he can smell it sometimes, washes his hands over and over to remove the stink, virginal and leering, filthy fantasies that will never be realised. Should never be.
Now never will be, a relief of sorts.
Alisha is at this point still with Curtis, he hasn't engineered the meeting with Nikki, it isn’t time yet to tell her, to follow her. It’s Nathan’s turn to be saved, from the gang, the grave, the fire.
He can't remember why he wanted to shoot these. Why he took these useless photographs. Why he doesn't just forget the boy he isn't anymore, grab Alisha and run away with her, leaving them all.
But leaving his friends is why he had to return in the first place.
He keeps watching, searching.
Photos of Nathan’s grave, remembering his comment to Kelly: ‘It sounds like him’. Not that he would know, obviously. But Nathan confirms as much to a curious Alisha seconds later.
Simon raises his eyebrows. A fairly sedate reaction, but enough to begin an argument, naturally.
‘Hey, I had to entertain myself in there! A week's a long time when you're hungry, it stinks, and the iPod shuffle keeps bringing up George Michael. Colonel Hands was pretty much my best friend in there, he had to talk me down many times after I'd remember you, fucking up a simple grab. Friends don’t do that to each other!’
The guilt, still raw, pangs, and he looks awkwardly at his hands. It's only now he puts the sentence into context, confused. Nathan couldn't have meant it like that. He misspoke, or was exaggerating to demonstrate his frustration. He never was particularly articulate, witty though he could be.
And the endless videos.
Nathan, trapped in a vending machine after they all walk off, leaving him, touching himself in the middle of the hall like some kind of pervert (who's worse, the exhibitionist, or the voyeur? he wonders briefly.)
Nathan, clutching a jar of vaseline and his porno as if they’re trophies, talking to the others on the phone, leaving them locked in the freezer room as he wanks in the toilets.
Nathan, stealing Simon's cologne, breath still smelling of his gum, off with his beloved magazines to the bathroom, feet away, where anyone could hear his panting groans, the slick sounds of skin on skin, of his hand touching his cock.
And bizarrely, Nathan, wearing the wedding dress Tim made Kelly try on, stupid ever-present necklace hanging over the bodice, leaning against the toilet door, arms full of tulle, babbling to himself about virgin brides and how right it all feels.
Simon doesn’t know where he was that night, the tape only shows Curtis, Kelly and Alisha’s swift exits; but on a momentary whim, he imagines his younger side inside the cubicle, waiting, crouched on his knees. Invisible, but still nervous of being caught, heard, seen by the others.
He wouldn’t have known it at the time, but Alisha witnessing, breaking this twisted cycle in some small way, could have been the best thing that ever happened to her. Instead, she’s left to mourn the man who saved her life before letting her die.
The man destined to lead her to love, to change her powers, to her future. To the dirty floor of a corridor, a box cutter slicing her throat as she chokes on her own blood.
Simon watches, silent as ever, as Nathan slowly fingers himself, throat exposed, head tilted against the wall.
Imagines that this time, he made a different choice.
That when Alisha tells him about his future self’s ending, he succumbs once more to cowardice, to abandoning a friend.
That he refuses the future he didn’t even know enough to want.
That he lets her go, instead of keeping her like Sally, frozen in time instead of ice.
That he stayed in the hotel room, refused to use his power to spy on his friends once more.
That instead he’d fucked Nathan, on the sofa of the suite, or right now in the bathroom. He’d wanted him, wanted them both.
He’d been glad for Nathan, for Marnie, for not making the selfish choice, keeping another close to him even if it dooms them. But weighing up the baby versus immortality, the power trades they made; he wonders if they’d all have been better off if he’d let Nathan be the one he trapped, made fall in love with him.
In some ways it would have been easier than with Alisha. Even if he hadn’t used the tattoo’s power, Nathan was always the needier one.
He could have given Curtis, or Alisha herself the immunity power. Waved them goodbye for a happy, long lifespan; of limited contact shrinking to none as time passed, of exchanged Christmas cards and Facebook greetings.
It would hurt him to do it. To never see her lovely face, smiling up in adoration. To never kiss her. See her coming apart under his tongue.
But to see her age, to blossom into adulthood. A job. Marriage. Children. Wrinkles. Even long-distance, it’s tempting.
And there would be compensations.
Nathan, shaking, biting his lip as Simon delves under the netting.
Licking up his thigh, hot mouth on him.
Nathan muttering filth and endearments interchangeably, clutching his hair, his shoulders, before coming, completely gone, so much so he calls out his name.
Not one of the many nicknames, affectionate though they may be, but his name, his real name, the one Nathan pretends not to know, but lets slip sometimes.
The tattoo episode was one such occasion, and it was that perhaps before anything else that tipped off Simon that the whole thing was too good to be true; but if he can become a hero, make Alisha fall in love with him, save them all… Well, this goal doesn’t seem so lofty in comparison.
He watches the tapes over and over, wondering if this will be the time he choses to end the loop once and for all, or whether it’s too late, already. If it always has been.