fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 3
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 3: meeting
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine, mentions of possible Murray/Jim?! What?!
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’, some references to 'Friends' - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: Build up is the best.
Back to Part 2, Part 1
“Band meeting. Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine.”
Jemaine raised his hand. Murray, who had his eyes focused on the yellow pad of paper before him, said again, “Jemaine?”
Bret nudged Jemaine, who scowled and pointed to his hand. Bret gave him a look of sufferance that somehow managed to get across the message that unless Jemaine said something Murray was just going to keep asking for him. Jemaine let out a loud sigh and lowered his hand, “Present.”
Murray, satisifed, looked up, “Ah, good, you are here.”
Jemaine rolled his eyes and Murray looked back at his paper, “All right then, now that that is settled, let’s see what we have here. Ah, yes, item one, catch phrases.”
Murray leaned back in his seat and looked at both Bret and Jemaine with some excitement, “It’s come to my attention, that many celebrities have catch phrases that register well with their audience. It’s something they use to capture attention and make themseleves remembered. It’s also good for marketing merchandise. There are a lot of good catch phrases out there. Yabba Dabba Do, Live long and prosper-”
“Good grief,” Jemaine added.
Murray frowned, “Jemaine, we can do without the open negativity, all right? I think this is a really promising idea. Remember the Fonz? Aaay. Right? The Fonz was cool and that was his catch phrase.”
“Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis.” Bret said with a chuckle.
“I’m talking about catch phrases, Bret!” Murray remarked heatedly, “Between the hostility from Jemaine here and the fact that you obviously weren’t listening, Bret, I feel like maybe this meeting has gotten off on the wrong foot-”
“No, Murray, that is a catch phrase.”
“What is?”
“The ‘whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout.’” Bret supplied helpfully.
“Oh. It is, is it? That’s a good one, Bret! You could use that. Nice to see you’re all ready thinking of ideas! Now if only Jemaine would get on board!” Murray gave Jemaine a stern glance, “Honestly, Jemaine, if anyone can think of a good catch phrase I would think it would be you.”
Jemaine shifted about restlessly in his chair, “May the force be with you?”
“Nice try, Jemaine, but I wasn’t born yesterday. That’s from Star Trek. And it’s ‘may the force be in you’.”
“May the force be in you?” Bret questioned.
“And may the force be in you as well, Bret,” Murray said, his face pleased, “Or what about, where’s the beef.”
“I don’t know. Where is the beef, Murray?” Bret asked confused.
“No, Bret, it’s - you don’t - you’re not supposed to know where the beef is. It’s just a carch phrase. It’s ironic.”
“How is it ironic?” Jemaine asked.
Murray raised his hands, brushing it all off, “Look, it doesn’t matter, all right? All that matters is that we come up with a few catch phrases for the both of you. I got some from around the office here, asked a few of my co-workers. I’ll read them and you tell me what you think. Okay, how about ‘Peel the potato! Grandma’s got a new racket’.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Jemaine pointed out.
“It doesn’t have to, Jemaine. It just has to be catchy and memorable.”
“Why would we have potatoes at a gig? And my grandmother’s dead, so-”
“Okay, right, fine, not that one. How about ‘Sorry ma, no time for questions’?”
Bret and Jemaine both shook their heads. Murray sighed, “Okay, um, here we go, ‘yo flava just ain’t doin’ it fo’ my milk anymo’.”
Both Bret and Jemaine leaned back in their chairs, the look of incredulousness on both their faces hitting Murray full force. He looked slightly abashed, “Yes, well, that was from our new intern, Darryl. He’s very street. Street catch phrases are all the rage nowadays.”
Bret and Jemaine shook their heads again and Murray went back to the list, “Okay, one left, how about ‘don’t wait on this one!’”
“Don’t wait on this one?” Jemaine repeated, “What does that mean?”
“It means, you know, you shouldn’t wait. On this one. This one is it.” Murray said, looking from Bret and Jeamine, “You like it?”
“No.” Jemaine said firmly.
Bret stuck out his bottom lip, head moving from side to side, “Yeah. I like it.”
Murray was delighted, “Okay, good, so, one possible catch phrase.”
He scribbled on the yellow pad a couple of times, then moved on, “Okay, item two, lottery winnings. Bret, I hear from David that you are into some money.”
Bret shifted about in his seat uncomfortably, “Yes.”
“That’s good news! Do you want to make a dontation to the band? We can always use more money.”
“No, I, um, I all ready have something to spend my money on.” Bret said, his face heating up and he scratched at his neck nervously. Jemaine was looking at the wall close to him with rapt attention.
“Oh? What is it? You’re not buying another rock are you?”
Bret rolled his eyes, irritated, why was everyone suddenly bringing that up?
“No, Murray, it’s not that.”
“What then? Some new instruments? I was thinking recently about how some new instruments might be good for the band. You know most bands have a drummer. We don’t have drums. Or maybe a harp. Wouldn’t that be something? I think we could really draw in a whole new crowd if we had a harp-”
“No, Murray’s it’s not - I can’t play the harp-”
“Well, can’t be hard. Right? I mean, how hard can it be? The harp only has like, what, four strings? You just pluck them-”
“It’s not a harp.”
“Well, then? What is it?’
“It’s,” Bret looked terribly nervous now, the pressure of Murray’s improptu investigation wearing on him, “It’s nothing.”
“You can’t buy nothing, Bret. It,” Murray looked from side to side, then leaned closer to Bret, whispering, “It’s not something illegal, is it? Like drugs. I don’t think I should have to tell you this, Bret, but drugs are no good for you. I know lots of musicians do drugs, but it’s really not something you should be getting in to-”
“No, Murray. It’s not drugs, it’s,” Bret looked at Jemaine, who was still looking at the wall, “It’s, um, Jemaine…”
“Bret!” Jemaine gasped, horrified.
Murray drew back, brow furrowed, “Jemaine?”
“Yes.”
“You bought…Jemaine?”
Bret shrugged, “Just for a little bit.”
“What, like, a servant?”
“Sort of.” Bret said quietly. Jemaine’s face was a sight to behold as it shuffled through various expressions of terror, embarrassment, and betrayal.
Murray, however, seemed pretty obtuse about the whole thing, “I don’t know if I like that, Bret. I don’t think one band member should buy another. It’s sure to cause tension in the band. Not to mention, I think that that is illegal. Buying someone…then again, it has been suggested to me before that you two be sold for services. The fan club has always been very insistant that if either of you somehow came up for sale, like a charity auction or something, that they would be interested in purchasing you-”
Bret recoiled, “You mean, Mel?”
Murray shrugged, “She said she would pay a pretty penny for either of you. I told her that it was unlikely that either of you would ever be for sale. I guess I was wrong though."
“We’re not for sale,” Bret said quickly, “Least…I’m not. Not to Mel, anyway, and-and Jemaine,” Bret cast a quick look at Jemaine, and, while not sure if his services weren’t for sale elsewhere, still felt he should offer him some protection from a possible Mel purchase, “ Well, Jemaine, he’s, you know, he’s, um, he’s sold out.”
“All right that’s,” Murray tried to wave the whole thing off but, still unable to help himself, asked with some interest, “So what are you having Jemaine do, Bret? Just chores I’d imagine?”
“Yeah…something like that.” Bret supplied. Jemaine had slouched so far down in his chair he was almost on the floor now, his head in his hands.
Murray sighed, “Yes, well, I guess that’s one way to spend your money. Certainly saves you from having to do the dishes and such.”
Bret suddenly narrowed his eyes at Murray, “Hang on, you heard this from Dave? Why did you go see him?”
Murray sighed, looking wistful, “Oh. Well. That. I was…sort of lonely. I was trying to see if David was interested in maybe seeing a movie with me, seeing as Jim and I are not currently on speaking terms.”
“Why’s that, Murray?”
Murray took in a deep breath through his nose, shoulders slumping, “We had a disagreement. You were right, Jemaine, about drinking beer and discussing our feelings it…wasn’t a good idea. Things got…out of hand.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Murray.” Bret said whole heartedly.
Murray shrugged resolutely, “It will all sort itself out, I’m sure.”
Bret gave Murray a little smile and patted his shoulder reassuringly. Murray perked up a bit at that, “Well, that’s pretty much the end of our meeting.”
“No gigs then?” Jemaine said from behind his hands, where his head was still buried.
Murray sat up straighter, all business again, “Ah. No, not as of yet. Maybe next meeting. Can you guys come by tomorrow? About this time?”
“Sure,” Bret said and rose to his feet. Jemaine was still buried in his seat, so Bret had to poke him a bit until he unfolded himself and stood, eyes cast on the floor. As they left they heard Murray call after them, “Oh, hey, you two! If - if either of you are interested in a knitted set of underwear, um, let me know…”
88888888888
“Why’d you go and tell, Murray?” Jemaine moaned as soon as he and Bret were outside of Murray’s office building.
“I couldn’t help it! He was grilling me pretty hard in there. I just…I cracked under the pressure.”
“’S humiliating…”
“He doesn’t really know what’s going on, Jemaine. Really. It’s okay.” Bret reassured him softly.
Jemaine sighed, his head moving about his shoulders as he stuck his hands in his pockets, “I suppose.”
They walked to the bus stop and waited diligently. Once the bus arrived they got on board and went towards the back. The bus was pretty full so they had to sit rather close together. Bret noticed how on every turn the bus seemed to lurch to the point where it felt like the cumbersome vehicle might tip over and each time it did, he either fell against Jemaine or vice versa.
He wasn’t sure if they had ever been in this situation before but right now, with the existing deal between them, the event seemed more noticeable than usual. Every time Bret’s arm or leg pressed up against Jemaine he could feel the heat of his body right through both of their clothes and the feeling was disconcerting, this wasn’t something he should even be giving any thought to. If anything he should be annoyed by it.
But he found with each lurch of the bus that he almost looked forward to his body being pressed close to Jemaine’s. The accidental brushing of their hands or their bare arms was sort of electrifying. Bret looked at Jemaine, wondering if he felt this way at all. Jemaine looked pretty much the same. Maybe a slight bit grumpier, probably due to the bumpy ride.
Bret sighed and wondered what was wrong with him. Where had this desperate need for physical contact come from? It seemed to have blossomed over night and seemed unwilling to go away. The fact he was paying Jemaine to help him alleviate it spoke of how desperate the situation had become.
Maybe the reason he felt this so much now was the fact that, technically, Jemaine had had yet to do anything to alleviate it. This thought struck Bret rather soundly as the bus lurched to their stop and they exited.
Jemaine stood on the sidewalk a moment, stretching his limbs and scowling, “That ride was terrible! Now I know how scrambled eggs feel.”
Bret looked at his feet and moved his weight from one to the other before speaking again, voice soft, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine made a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, his eyes searching from one end of the street to the other.
“Jemaine…when we get home…do you think, I mean, would you…with my hair…”
Jemaine stopped looking around the street and focused his full attention on Bret, “Again?”
“You never really did it the first time,” Bret pointed out sharply, “In fact, I did it for you, so, you know, technically you owe me a freebie.”
“What? No, I don’t!” Jemaine said, shaking his head as he turned and started walking towards their apartment. Bret tagged along behind him, voice stern, “Yes, you do.”
“No. Uh-uh, that’ll be five dollars.”
“Jemaine, you owe me. Not only did you fall asleep on me, but I think you drooled on my shirt a bit when you did-”
“Ew! Ah, disgusting! I did not drool!”
“You did, look at this stain,” Bret pointed to a spot on his shirt, just below his collarbone. Jemaine inspected the spot suspiciously, “Anything could have made that…”
“It was you. You owe me.”
Jemaine shook his head, “Don’t know why you like that so much…you must be part cat or something.”
“Part cat?”
“Yes, cats like, you know, being petted. And your hair thing-”
“It’s not like that,” Bret said, his face flushing as embarrassment settled in, though a small part of him didn’t necessarily object to being compared to a cat. Especially if it was a wildcat. He had just recently seen this program on wildcats…
Bret was so distracted by these thoughts that it took him a minute or two to recognize that Jemaine was still speaking to him, “…if not a cat, then certainly a monkey. They like grooming and with your stringy arms, you could be one of those monkeys that swing through trees-”
“Wait, what? I’m not a - my arms aren’t stringy!” Bret cried, insulted.
Jemaine just shrugged it off and Bret pouted, his feelings hurt. He stopped walking and just waited, arms crossed. Jemaine, not noticing at first, got pretty far before he discovered Bret wasn’t with him. Sighing, he back tracked and found Bret waiting expectantly for an apology.
“Bret, your arms are…they’re good.” Jemaine assured him.
Bret didn’t look convinced.
Jemaine blew out a breath, “They’re…I like them. So…that’s good. Right?”
Bret started to relent a bit, “I suppose…”
Jemaine looked deeply aggrieved as he finally went the extra mile, “I guess…I guess since you showed me how and all…I can…you know, your hair, for free. Just this one time.”
Bret gave Jemaine a smile so dazzling that Jemaine couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift. And yet. And yet. The smile caused a stirring in Jemaine’s stomach he had never felt before and he cleared his throat, hoping that words would will it away, “You have to take a shower first though.”
Bret frowned, “Jemaine, I all ready took a bath today.”
“Fine, take a bath then, I don’t care, which ever…”
Bret’s eyebrows rose as he took that in, “Okay.”
Satisfied that everything was settled then, Jemaine began walking back towards the apartment, this time with Bret in tow.
On to Part 4
Part 3: meeting
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine, mentions of possible Murray/Jim?! What?!
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’, some references to 'Friends' - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: Build up is the best.
Back to Part 2, Part 1
“Band meeting. Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine.”
Jemaine raised his hand. Murray, who had his eyes focused on the yellow pad of paper before him, said again, “Jemaine?”
Bret nudged Jemaine, who scowled and pointed to his hand. Bret gave him a look of sufferance that somehow managed to get across the message that unless Jemaine said something Murray was just going to keep asking for him. Jemaine let out a loud sigh and lowered his hand, “Present.”
Murray, satisifed, looked up, “Ah, good, you are here.”
Jemaine rolled his eyes and Murray looked back at his paper, “All right then, now that that is settled, let’s see what we have here. Ah, yes, item one, catch phrases.”
Murray leaned back in his seat and looked at both Bret and Jemaine with some excitement, “It’s come to my attention, that many celebrities have catch phrases that register well with their audience. It’s something they use to capture attention and make themseleves remembered. It’s also good for marketing merchandise. There are a lot of good catch phrases out there. Yabba Dabba Do, Live long and prosper-”
“Good grief,” Jemaine added.
Murray frowned, “Jemaine, we can do without the open negativity, all right? I think this is a really promising idea. Remember the Fonz? Aaay. Right? The Fonz was cool and that was his catch phrase.”
“Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis.” Bret said with a chuckle.
“I’m talking about catch phrases, Bret!” Murray remarked heatedly, “Between the hostility from Jemaine here and the fact that you obviously weren’t listening, Bret, I feel like maybe this meeting has gotten off on the wrong foot-”
“No, Murray, that is a catch phrase.”
“What is?”
“The ‘whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout.’” Bret supplied helpfully.
“Oh. It is, is it? That’s a good one, Bret! You could use that. Nice to see you’re all ready thinking of ideas! Now if only Jemaine would get on board!” Murray gave Jemaine a stern glance, “Honestly, Jemaine, if anyone can think of a good catch phrase I would think it would be you.”
Jemaine shifted about restlessly in his chair, “May the force be with you?”
“Nice try, Jemaine, but I wasn’t born yesterday. That’s from Star Trek. And it’s ‘may the force be in you’.”
“May the force be in you?” Bret questioned.
“And may the force be in you as well, Bret,” Murray said, his face pleased, “Or what about, where’s the beef.”
“I don’t know. Where is the beef, Murray?” Bret asked confused.
“No, Bret, it’s - you don’t - you’re not supposed to know where the beef is. It’s just a carch phrase. It’s ironic.”
“How is it ironic?” Jemaine asked.
Murray raised his hands, brushing it all off, “Look, it doesn’t matter, all right? All that matters is that we come up with a few catch phrases for the both of you. I got some from around the office here, asked a few of my co-workers. I’ll read them and you tell me what you think. Okay, how about ‘Peel the potato! Grandma’s got a new racket’.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Jemaine pointed out.
“It doesn’t have to, Jemaine. It just has to be catchy and memorable.”
“Why would we have potatoes at a gig? And my grandmother’s dead, so-”
“Okay, right, fine, not that one. How about ‘Sorry ma, no time for questions’?”
Bret and Jemaine both shook their heads. Murray sighed, “Okay, um, here we go, ‘yo flava just ain’t doin’ it fo’ my milk anymo’.”
Both Bret and Jemaine leaned back in their chairs, the look of incredulousness on both their faces hitting Murray full force. He looked slightly abashed, “Yes, well, that was from our new intern, Darryl. He’s very street. Street catch phrases are all the rage nowadays.”
Bret and Jemaine shook their heads again and Murray went back to the list, “Okay, one left, how about ‘don’t wait on this one!’”
“Don’t wait on this one?” Jemaine repeated, “What does that mean?”
“It means, you know, you shouldn’t wait. On this one. This one is it.” Murray said, looking from Bret and Jeamine, “You like it?”
“No.” Jemaine said firmly.
Bret stuck out his bottom lip, head moving from side to side, “Yeah. I like it.”
Murray was delighted, “Okay, good, so, one possible catch phrase.”
He scribbled on the yellow pad a couple of times, then moved on, “Okay, item two, lottery winnings. Bret, I hear from David that you are into some money.”
Bret shifted about in his seat uncomfortably, “Yes.”
“That’s good news! Do you want to make a dontation to the band? We can always use more money.”
“No, I, um, I all ready have something to spend my money on.” Bret said, his face heating up and he scratched at his neck nervously. Jemaine was looking at the wall close to him with rapt attention.
“Oh? What is it? You’re not buying another rock are you?”
Bret rolled his eyes, irritated, why was everyone suddenly bringing that up?
“No, Murray, it’s not that.”
“What then? Some new instruments? I was thinking recently about how some new instruments might be good for the band. You know most bands have a drummer. We don’t have drums. Or maybe a harp. Wouldn’t that be something? I think we could really draw in a whole new crowd if we had a harp-”
“No, Murray’s it’s not - I can’t play the harp-”
“Well, can’t be hard. Right? I mean, how hard can it be? The harp only has like, what, four strings? You just pluck them-”
“It’s not a harp.”
“Well, then? What is it?’
“It’s,” Bret looked terribly nervous now, the pressure of Murray’s improptu investigation wearing on him, “It’s nothing.”
“You can’t buy nothing, Bret. It,” Murray looked from side to side, then leaned closer to Bret, whispering, “It’s not something illegal, is it? Like drugs. I don’t think I should have to tell you this, Bret, but drugs are no good for you. I know lots of musicians do drugs, but it’s really not something you should be getting in to-”
“No, Murray. It’s not drugs, it’s,” Bret looked at Jemaine, who was still looking at the wall, “It’s, um, Jemaine…”
“Bret!” Jemaine gasped, horrified.
Murray drew back, brow furrowed, “Jemaine?”
“Yes.”
“You bought…Jemaine?”
Bret shrugged, “Just for a little bit.”
“What, like, a servant?”
“Sort of.” Bret said quietly. Jemaine’s face was a sight to behold as it shuffled through various expressions of terror, embarrassment, and betrayal.
Murray, however, seemed pretty obtuse about the whole thing, “I don’t know if I like that, Bret. I don’t think one band member should buy another. It’s sure to cause tension in the band. Not to mention, I think that that is illegal. Buying someone…then again, it has been suggested to me before that you two be sold for services. The fan club has always been very insistant that if either of you somehow came up for sale, like a charity auction or something, that they would be interested in purchasing you-”
Bret recoiled, “You mean, Mel?”
Murray shrugged, “She said she would pay a pretty penny for either of you. I told her that it was unlikely that either of you would ever be for sale. I guess I was wrong though."
“We’re not for sale,” Bret said quickly, “Least…I’m not. Not to Mel, anyway, and-and Jemaine,” Bret cast a quick look at Jemaine, and, while not sure if his services weren’t for sale elsewhere, still felt he should offer him some protection from a possible Mel purchase, “ Well, Jemaine, he’s, you know, he’s, um, he’s sold out.”
“All right that’s,” Murray tried to wave the whole thing off but, still unable to help himself, asked with some interest, “So what are you having Jemaine do, Bret? Just chores I’d imagine?”
“Yeah…something like that.” Bret supplied. Jemaine had slouched so far down in his chair he was almost on the floor now, his head in his hands.
Murray sighed, “Yes, well, I guess that’s one way to spend your money. Certainly saves you from having to do the dishes and such.”
Bret suddenly narrowed his eyes at Murray, “Hang on, you heard this from Dave? Why did you go see him?”
Murray sighed, looking wistful, “Oh. Well. That. I was…sort of lonely. I was trying to see if David was interested in maybe seeing a movie with me, seeing as Jim and I are not currently on speaking terms.”
“Why’s that, Murray?”
Murray took in a deep breath through his nose, shoulders slumping, “We had a disagreement. You were right, Jemaine, about drinking beer and discussing our feelings it…wasn’t a good idea. Things got…out of hand.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Murray.” Bret said whole heartedly.
Murray shrugged resolutely, “It will all sort itself out, I’m sure.”
Bret gave Murray a little smile and patted his shoulder reassuringly. Murray perked up a bit at that, “Well, that’s pretty much the end of our meeting.”
“No gigs then?” Jemaine said from behind his hands, where his head was still buried.
Murray sat up straighter, all business again, “Ah. No, not as of yet. Maybe next meeting. Can you guys come by tomorrow? About this time?”
“Sure,” Bret said and rose to his feet. Jemaine was still buried in his seat, so Bret had to poke him a bit until he unfolded himself and stood, eyes cast on the floor. As they left they heard Murray call after them, “Oh, hey, you two! If - if either of you are interested in a knitted set of underwear, um, let me know…”
88888888888
“Why’d you go and tell, Murray?” Jemaine moaned as soon as he and Bret were outside of Murray’s office building.
“I couldn’t help it! He was grilling me pretty hard in there. I just…I cracked under the pressure.”
“’S humiliating…”
“He doesn’t really know what’s going on, Jemaine. Really. It’s okay.” Bret reassured him softly.
Jemaine sighed, his head moving about his shoulders as he stuck his hands in his pockets, “I suppose.”
They walked to the bus stop and waited diligently. Once the bus arrived they got on board and went towards the back. The bus was pretty full so they had to sit rather close together. Bret noticed how on every turn the bus seemed to lurch to the point where it felt like the cumbersome vehicle might tip over and each time it did, he either fell against Jemaine or vice versa.
He wasn’t sure if they had ever been in this situation before but right now, with the existing deal between them, the event seemed more noticeable than usual. Every time Bret’s arm or leg pressed up against Jemaine he could feel the heat of his body right through both of their clothes and the feeling was disconcerting, this wasn’t something he should even be giving any thought to. If anything he should be annoyed by it.
But he found with each lurch of the bus that he almost looked forward to his body being pressed close to Jemaine’s. The accidental brushing of their hands or their bare arms was sort of electrifying. Bret looked at Jemaine, wondering if he felt this way at all. Jemaine looked pretty much the same. Maybe a slight bit grumpier, probably due to the bumpy ride.
Bret sighed and wondered what was wrong with him. Where had this desperate need for physical contact come from? It seemed to have blossomed over night and seemed unwilling to go away. The fact he was paying Jemaine to help him alleviate it spoke of how desperate the situation had become.
Maybe the reason he felt this so much now was the fact that, technically, Jemaine had had yet to do anything to alleviate it. This thought struck Bret rather soundly as the bus lurched to their stop and they exited.
Jemaine stood on the sidewalk a moment, stretching his limbs and scowling, “That ride was terrible! Now I know how scrambled eggs feel.”
Bret looked at his feet and moved his weight from one to the other before speaking again, voice soft, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine made a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, his eyes searching from one end of the street to the other.
“Jemaine…when we get home…do you think, I mean, would you…with my hair…”
Jemaine stopped looking around the street and focused his full attention on Bret, “Again?”
“You never really did it the first time,” Bret pointed out sharply, “In fact, I did it for you, so, you know, technically you owe me a freebie.”
“What? No, I don’t!” Jemaine said, shaking his head as he turned and started walking towards their apartment. Bret tagged along behind him, voice stern, “Yes, you do.”
“No. Uh-uh, that’ll be five dollars.”
“Jemaine, you owe me. Not only did you fall asleep on me, but I think you drooled on my shirt a bit when you did-”
“Ew! Ah, disgusting! I did not drool!”
“You did, look at this stain,” Bret pointed to a spot on his shirt, just below his collarbone. Jemaine inspected the spot suspiciously, “Anything could have made that…”
“It was you. You owe me.”
Jemaine shook his head, “Don’t know why you like that so much…you must be part cat or something.”
“Part cat?”
“Yes, cats like, you know, being petted. And your hair thing-”
“It’s not like that,” Bret said, his face flushing as embarrassment settled in, though a small part of him didn’t necessarily object to being compared to a cat. Especially if it was a wildcat. He had just recently seen this program on wildcats…
Bret was so distracted by these thoughts that it took him a minute or two to recognize that Jemaine was still speaking to him, “…if not a cat, then certainly a monkey. They like grooming and with your stringy arms, you could be one of those monkeys that swing through trees-”
“Wait, what? I’m not a - my arms aren’t stringy!” Bret cried, insulted.
Jemaine just shrugged it off and Bret pouted, his feelings hurt. He stopped walking and just waited, arms crossed. Jemaine, not noticing at first, got pretty far before he discovered Bret wasn’t with him. Sighing, he back tracked and found Bret waiting expectantly for an apology.
“Bret, your arms are…they’re good.” Jemaine assured him.
Bret didn’t look convinced.
Jemaine blew out a breath, “They’re…I like them. So…that’s good. Right?”
Bret started to relent a bit, “I suppose…”
Jemaine looked deeply aggrieved as he finally went the extra mile, “I guess…I guess since you showed me how and all…I can…you know, your hair, for free. Just this one time.”
Bret gave Jemaine a smile so dazzling that Jemaine couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift. And yet. And yet. The smile caused a stirring in Jemaine’s stomach he had never felt before and he cleared his throat, hoping that words would will it away, “You have to take a shower first though.”
Bret frowned, “Jemaine, I all ready took a bath today.”
“Fine, take a bath then, I don’t care, which ever…”
Bret’s eyebrows rose as he took that in, “Okay.”
Satisfied that everything was settled then, Jemaine began walking back towards the apartment, this time with Bret in tow.
On to Part 4