Fast Times at NAMBLA High: Part 20
Er... yeah. So remember that story I started like more than a year ago? Hope you're still interested because here is yet another chapter...
Title: Fast Times at NAMBLA High: Part Twenty
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show... with a smattering of guest appearances.
Pairing: Including but not limited to:
Jon/Stephen, Stephen/Paul, Stephen/Craig Kilborn, Jon/Anderson Cooper, Paul/Amy, Rob/Frustration, Ed/Confusion, (Rob/Frustration)/(Ed/Confusion), Mo Rocca/Lewis Black, Sam/Jason, Demetri Martin/Nathan Corddry, Bob Novak/Hair nets, Aasif Mandvi/Tucker Carlson, Stone Phillips/Barbara Walters, Dan Bakkedahl/Rob Riggle, Dane Cook/His ego, Dave Gorman/John Oliver, Jerry Seinfeld/Steve Carell, Bill O’Reilly/Hatred, Keith Olbermann/Everyone, John Hodgeman/Bill Gates, Tucker/Craig, Aasif/Anderson, John Hodgman/Sarah Vowell, Will Ferrell/MOP?, Keith/Dennis Leary, George Clooney/Charm
Featured pairing(s): Paul/Amy, Paul/Stephen, mentions of Stephen/Amy
Rating: PG-13 for language and… other things
Warning: Crack: it's what's for dinner. Other warnings: AU, drug use, underage drinking, het crap, and Will Ferrell being creepy. For this specific chapter? Some angst. And drunkenness. Drunken angst.
A/N: Um… hello? Yes, you ARE seeing correctly. I am actually posting another chapter. Weird, right? I think you all deserve some sort of explanation. Basically, I went through a lot of shit last year, including a) falling for a douchebag, b) living with said douchebag, c) moving out of the apartment I had with said douchebag, c) leaving the country for a semester where I had no access to the internet or had contact with the western world, and d) returning home to find everything had collapsed to a degree around me like a poorly made soufflé. So yeah. Shit? Shit happened. Lots and lots of shit.
Said shit made it difficult for me to function, let alone write, and FTANH was the first thing to get sacrificed. I’m not sure why… well, actually, I do know why. When you’re busy with things you love and then come home to be fundamentally unhappy about 90% of the time, writing a happy crack story is hard. Even for me, who used to use this a refuge against such feelings.
So blah blah blah, basically I’m back. I’m not promising that things won’t get evil for me again or that my mood has completely changed, but I do want to say thank you to everyone who has been so supportive. And there’s, like, a billion of you so I won’t name everyone, but a special thanks to Lady V for helping me get some of my groove back and favabean05 for getting my crack juices flowing again, even if it was in the form of us rambling about a story involving the boys and gay zombies IN SPACE.
In conclusion: If you’re still interested in this story… you’re a saint. Really.
Length: 5532
Feedback: Feedback helps my crack addiction. Give generously. Also, concrit is very welcome. Or if you want to throw dead animals at me for taking so damn long, that’s okay too.
Previous chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Four Point Five: An Interlude of sorts
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten (A)
Chapter Ten (B)
Chapter Ten (C)
Chapter Ten (D)
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Summary:
The “I’m Trying to Entice New People” Version: so one morning in the shower, I happened to have this crazy idea of what it would be like if the crew of TDS, TCR and other random fandoms I have happened to all attend the same high school.
And then this happened. Basically, if you want to enjoy the psychotic ramblings of my brain set to the music of a high school drama mixed with crack and gayness, you’ll like this.
In this edition of FTANH: cupcakes are eaten, Mexican car bombs are botched, awkward conversations are had, and even awkwarder situations are experienced.
FAST TIMES AT NAMBLA HIGH
Part Twenty
Stephen heaved a heavy sigh, straightening his glasses as he shoved his math book into his backpack. He next stuffed in his dirty gym clothes, grimacing and rubbing his sore shoulder at the mere thought of the stupid class. Because, really, did badminton have to be a full-body sport? The assholes in his class seemed to think so. As if having to wear athletic goggles in place of his normal glasses wasn’t bad enough without having jocks inform him that he looked like a dumbass. Stephen knew that. Hell, he was the one wearing the stupid things.
In spite of feeling sweaty and annoyed that his shoulder now clicked every time he rotated it, he was feeling surprisingly good. Why? Well, Amy and Paul were finally normal again. Perhaps his friends’ interactions shouldn’t have accounted for so much of Stephen’s good mood, but he couldn’t help it. He was a natural people-pleaser after all. A “love-aholic”, as his mother had called him. He needed his friends to get along and he would be damned if he wasn’t thrilled that just that was happening.
After the party and when Stephen was put under his mother’s house arrest, he found that in his sparse interactions with the outside world that Paul and Amy had continued to be “weird” whenever the three of them happened to be together. Weird was pretty much the only word to describe it. Snippy comments and long angry glances abounded until, yesterday, they suddenly seemed cool again. Stephen wasn’t going to question it. He loved them both dearly but he wasn’t always privy to understanding their unique brands of madness.
He reached up to straighten the picture of the cave troll he had hanging in his locker (no amount of teasing from Paul could persuade him to take it down because that thing was bitching) and the slightly less nerdy cut out of a Boondocks comic strip before he slammed the locker door shut. He was startled into dropping his bag when Paul appeared to replace the now-shut door.
“Stephen!” he cried, grinning from ear to ear. “Know what today is?”
“Shit, Paul,” Stephen gasped, leaning down to pick up his bag. “You scared me.”
Paul just waved a dismissing hand and grinned again. “Sorry. But do you know what today is?”
Stephen furrowed his brow and looked around the hall for an idea, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Uh… Friday?”
“No!” Paul shook his head, as if Stephen were mildly stupid yet should be tolerated. “It’s your first day of freedom!” At Stephen’s continued confused stare, Paul put his hands on his hips. “You seriously don’t remember?”
“Um, no.”
“You’re not grounded anymore! The two weeks is up!” Paul threw his hands into the air. “Hooray!”
“Oooh.” Stephen slapped himself in the forehead. “I completely forgot!” He smiled, feeling touched that Paul had actually managed to remember when even he had forgotten. “Hooray!” He and Paul exchanged a mildly awkward high-five before Paul threw an arm over his shoulder and they began to walk.
“So, Amy and I were wondering: would you like to celebrate?” Paul waggled his eyebrows.
“Sure. At whose house?”
Paul grimaced. “My place, of course.”
“Of course.” Both stared into space at the idea of their other, far less appealing options.
Stephen’s house was generally avoided seeing as any attempt to hang out was usually converted into an effort to avoid being assimilated into whatever family gathering was occurring at the time. Stephen enjoyed his family, but they did have a tendency to absorb anyone within a ten-foot radius, making their victims participate in family games and conversations.
Amy often found herself talking about the weather forecast with one of Stephen’s ancient great-uncles, shooting the shit and pretending to be very knowledgeable about fly fishing. Paul, on the other hand, would find himself in conversations with attractive young women who would confuse him about their age and availability. Stephen assured him that none were available and that his older brother would probably beat him with a locker door if he ever tried anything. The nights would often devolve; Stephen performing damage control as Amy would inevitably get into a heated argument pertaining to trout gutting and Paul would be threatened by some relative for hitting on his sister. It almost never ended well.
Amy’s family was a whole other story. At Amy’s house they were under less of a threat of family gatherings than family battles. Strings of curses, insults, and enraged tirades were thrown around like “hello”; most conversations consisted of screaming matches. There would be a heated exchange about something as little as when one of the kids was to be home that night or how could Amy’s dad eat a prune that had been in a jacket pocket of a suit that had been in storage since 1972? Paul, turning red ear to ear, would sit, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as Mrs. Sedaris would comment on how much more often she would have sex with Mr. Sedaris if he had hair like Paul’s. Stephen, for his part, would just laugh and laugh and laugh until tears streamed down his face. No one seemed to find this offensive; they were all too focused on their internal wars to be bothered with the laughing boy gasping in the corner as he held onto the arm of his blushing friend for balance.
Therefore it was Paul’s house that was usually chosen, seeing as it was the most conducive place for teenage-like gatherings. He only had one sibling anywhere near his age and that was his brother who was in college. His parents also had a habit of going away for weekends, leaving their house open to gallivanting… aka watching Amy bake shit.
“Where is Amy?” Stephen asked, realizing that their friend was not with them.
“Oh, she’s meeting up with us at my place.” Paul and Stephen shoved through the front doors of the school and began the search for Paul’s car. “She said she had to get something first.”
They exchanged a significant look before simultaneously saying, “Cupcakes.”
“God, I don’t understand why every occasion remotely resembling a celebration makes her think that she has to make those stupid things,” Stephen grumbled, spotting Paul’s car and grabbing his friend by the backpack strap to drag him in the correct direction.
“Who knows? She told me once… something to do with their genius of being individual cakes or some other shit.” Paul furrowed his brow in thought before unlocking the doors. “I forget.”
“Wow, you actually paid attention to one of her cupcake rants?” Stephen shook his head, dropping his bag inside the car before getting in as well. “I usually tune out about a third of the way through and try to think happy thoughts.”
Laughing, Paul put the car into gear. “Ah, you are a smarter man than I.”
They fell into companionable silence, Stephen idly tapping his fingers on the dashboard with Paul fiddling with the radio every once in a while. Stephen sent him a stern glare when the dial somehow found its way to a country station; Paul just grinned cheekily and switched it to what sounded like heavy rap.
“I like how you fluctuate between stereotypes,” Stephen yelled above the thumping bass. “It shows depths to you that no one would have guessed you were capable of.”
Paul just stuck out his tongue and pulled into the driveway, raising his eyebrows as they got past the trees that shaded his house and were able to see the spectacle that was in front of his home. Amy was dressed in a ridiculous pink, frilly dress with fake eyelashes attached to her lids; she probably would have been batting them flirtatiously if she hadn’t been busy looking pissed. In her hands was a tray of cupcakes, so multicolored that Stephen wondered if she had gotten the inspiration for them from a Jimi Hendrix poster.
Paul rolled down the window. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded above the music.
“Waiting for you gaywads to get here!” she yelled back. “These cupcakes are fucking wilting in the sun! What the fuck are you listening to? Rap? For the love of God, Paul, you’re whiter than Paulie Shore, give it up!”
Paul shut the car off and hopped out, Stephen following shortly after. “Jesus, woman,” Paul sighed, his tone harsh though Stephen could see the mischief in his eyes. “Get off my case. At least I’m not dressed up like a hooker employed by Andy Warhol.”
She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, jutting out her hip. “Can we just go inside please?”
Paul rolled his eyes back. “After you, Lady Marmalade.”
Amy kicked him in the shin but proceeded up the walk anyway, Paul following with a slight limp and scowl with Stephen trailing behind, a smirk on his face. As they entered the house, Amy traipsed off to the kitchen to put her beloved cupcakes somewhere safe and reappeared looking much happier than before.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the shit-eating grin, Sedaris?”
Amy shot him a look before grinning at Stephen again, her smile turning a bit dangerous. Stephen looked around nervously, afraid of what was coming. “What?”
She waggled her eyebrows before reaching into her shirt. Both Stephen and Paul’s brows shot up into their hairlines, something she noticed as she rooted around. “Guys,” she sighed, taking in Paul’s lascivious expression and Stephen’s scared one, “relax. I’m just trying to find… ah, there we go!” With that she pulled out a small bottle of liquid. “Ta da! Tequila!”
Stephen furrowed his brow as Paul snatched the bottle from Amy. “Where did you get this?” he asked, examining the label.
“David sent it to me. Apparently he has just spent some time in Mexico.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how he is. Anyway, he had to disguise it because my parents go through, like, all mail from him, so he cut out some pages in a Spanish Bible and sent that to me.” She waved the little bottle in Stephen’s face and cooed, “Yummmm, blaaaaasphemy.”
Stephen jerked his head away. “No, no way.”
Amy dropped the hand holding the bottle to her side and pouted. “What? Why?”
“I was just grounded for drinking! Why would I go and drink the moment I’m freed from being grounded for drinking?”
Paul shrugged, leaning against the wall. “So? Just sleep over here. Call your mom and tell her you may stay the night.”
Stephen frowned and stared at the bottle. “That’s hardly enough to get drunk…” He reasoned.
“Ooh!” Paul bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “We could make Mexican car bombs! Dad’s got loads of beer he doesn’t keep track of!”
“Mexican car bombs?” Stephen wrinkled his nose, knowing he was just stalling at this point. “Is that even a thing?”
“Yes, old man. Now are you in or aren’t you?” Amy put one hand on her hip and she dangled the bottle in front of Stephen’s nose.
Stephen sighed. “Mexican car bombs and cupcakes. You guys sure know how to throw a classy shindig.”
Amy grinned. “And that’s you’re way of saying yes. Hooray!”
As the other two flounced out of the room, Stephen set about the possibly messy business of calling his mother.
~~~~~~~~~~~
His mom had been accommodating if not slightly suspicious (“Paul’s parents aren’t there? Well… that’s interesting”) and had relented in agreeing to let Stephen stay the night if he so wished. He just had to remember to be home tomorrow for an evening family picnic and do his chores. After trying to get off the phone for the 8th or 9th time, he was successful and joined Amy and Paul in the family room.
They now found themselves splayed across the various seats in the room, their third (or was it the fourth?) car bomb in their hands and yet another cupcake finding its way into Stephen’s mouth.
“These,” he stated emphatically, his words sticking together with frosting, “are awesome. Fucking… fucking awesome, Amy.”
Amy giggled, trying to drink the beer mixed with tequila without wrinkling her nose. None of them were exactly sure how the car bombs were supposed to work, so they had settled on just pouring some tequila in and hoping it would do. All of them chose to ignore how horrible it tasted and hoped that it would get better eventually. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, they were right and the more they drank the less vile it tasted.
“Paul. Paul.” Amy knocked him with her elbow. “Paul, Stephen’s totally drunk, Paul.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stephen asked mildly, smiling with sleepy eyes. “I only drink, like… never.”
“This,” Paul stated, his words sage and his eyes closed, “is very true.”
“Lightweights,” Amy declared. “The lot of you!”
“Psh,” Stephen said, attempting to scoff. He more just sprayed crumbs everywhere, causing Paul to make a face and brush the offending bits off of him. “You’re, like, the tiniest person ever. So, obviously, you are the lightweight.”
“Yeah, but just think, Stephen,” Paul said, his expression serious though his still-shut eyes detracted from the gravity of his words. “With her mother there’s probably been alcohol in Amy’s system since she was in utero.”
Amy scowled and aimed a half-hearted punch at Paul’s shoulder, causing him to whimper and pout. Stephen watched the two of them with a lazy smile, his head lolling on the back of the couch, the beer/tequila (beerquila?) concoction slowly warming in his hand. Blinking took longer than usual and everything was moving at a pace that made him feel like he’d entered some sort of vortex where time jumped and slowed and shifted, leaving him unable to keep a firm grasp on what was happening around him.
“Shit,” he heard Amy say and, as he registered her words, he glanced over to see her biting her lip and staring at the screen of her cell phone.
“What’s up?” Paul asked, shifting forward.
“Tiffany just texted me. Apparently David’s finally come home from one of his ‘odysseys.’” She rolled her eyes and ran her hands through her now-messy hair, puffing out her cheeks as she sighed. “Looks like I may need to go home to perform some damage control.”
Stephen sat up straighter, trying to blink his eyes into feeling more awake. “Oh. Are you… is someone picking you up? You’re probably not cool to drive.”
A wicked smile crept across Amy’s face as she bit her lip. “Actually, I’ll be fine… since I’ve been giving all the tequila to you guys. And this is only my first beer.”
Both Paul and Stephen’s mouths dropped open, Paul pointing an accusing finger her way. “You crafty little bitch!” He then turned towards Stephen. “I knew we shouldn’t have let her mix the drinks!”
Stephen’s gaze didn’t leave Amy as he shook his head, eyes wide. “You are an evil, evil woman. Evil.”
Amy shrugged and batted her eyes as if she was brushing off a compliment. “Oh, stop.”
Paul just continued to point his finger her way. “Evil!” he stated, as if to accentuate Stephen’s point.
She laughed and got to her feet, brushing her dress to rid it of any offending wrinkles and making her way to the door. “Be that as it may, I’ve got to go. But feel free to finish the tequila! All of it.”
“I don’t know why she wants us to get drunk if she’s not here to take advantage of us,” Stephen mumbled into his drink.
“Maybe I just want you to take advantage of each other!” Amy called over her shoulder, sending them a wink and a cheeky smile. “See you later, lover boys.” With that she was gone, the sound of the engine of her car droning away as she sped off.
“Dude,” Paul stated, looking bewildered. “Gays are not the perpetrators of the gay agenda. Amy fucking Sedaris is.”
Stephen nodded, her head feeling heaving again. “You said it, brother.”
“More tequila?” Stephen just squinted at him with bleary eyes. “What? Orders are orders!”
“Fine,” he groaned, holding out his glass with a weak arm. “You’re almost as evil as Amy is.”
Paul winked. “I try.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stephen had never been this drunk before. Never ever. This was… stupid. Or awesome. Stupidly awesome? Awesomely stupid? Maybe both. Maybe neither. Just druuuunk.
He blinked at the ceiling, his eyelids taking longer to move than was normal. Tilting his heavy head from side to side, he watched as the ceiling seemed to swirl above him. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing but, hey, it looked kinda cool. He also wasn’t sure how exactly he had ended up on the floor on his back, but that was fine. Paul was somewhere near his head, his old guitar in his hands, playing something or other about daisies and other flowers out of tune.
The tequila had run out a while ago as had the glorious, glorious cupcakes but the beer remained and Paul and Stephen had felt the need to rectify the situation. Stephen didn’t know how they came to be so incensed by the idea of beer remaining somewhere on earth which had thus led to the drinking of all beer ever, but he was confident that he was going to regret it come morning.
“I,” he declared, throwing a finger up in the air, “need food. Food will... food will help this. This situation. Yes.”
Stephen craned his neck to look at Paul who continued to strum, his eyes half-shut and a small smile on his face. “Oh. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why will it help the situation?”
“Someone once told me…” Stephen furrowed his brow, his thoughts coming in and out of focus and his tongue uncooperative. “It’s supposed to make you not sick in the morning. I hate puking. I don’t want to puke. Hey.” He pointed a finger at Paul. “Do not let me puke.”
Paul gave a little salute. “Will do.” He put the guitar down beside him, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “I think I might have some pizza in the fridge. Think that will help with the not puking?”
Stephen blinked. “I… yeah. I think so.”
Paul hauled himself into a crouching position before stumbling to his feet, coming to stand above Stephen’s head. The perspective was strange with Paul looming above him, giving him a small smile and an extended hand. “Need help up?” Stephen just grunted in reply and lifted one of his leaden arms to grip his hand with Paul’s, making even more grunts as he was hauled to his feet. “Jesus,” Paul grumbled. “Don’t help or anything.”
Stephen giggled, making a small “oof” as he knocked into Paul once he was standing. “Standing is… it’s hard. Right now.” He glanced at his friend to find him grinning. “Shut up. I want to hear nothing out of-out of you, young… padawan.”
Paul groaned, his hand coming to rest on Stephen’s elbow as he swayed. “God, here come the nerd references, during which I’m only going to be able to understand about 70% of our conversation.”
“70%? That’s good!” Stephen nodded, mostly to himself. “Yeah. Good.”
Paul giggled. “Amy’s right. You are a lightweight.”
“And I’m still right,” Stephen pointed a finger towards his own chest, “in saying that I never drink so, really, this is… what you should expect. What is expected. The expected result. Yeah.”
Paul just shook a weary head. “Dude, you really do need some food.”
As he was led to the kitchen, Stephen blinked heavy eyelids at Paul. “Why are you so fine?”
“I work out.” Paul laughed as Stephen made a groan of disgust. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was drinking quite as fast as you.”
Stephen snorted and shoved up his glasses. “That’s awesome that I’ve become the, uh… the drunkard.”
Paul chuckled and patted his back, seating him on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. “No, you haven’t. I doubt you would be able to get this drunk off of that amount if you really were the group alchie.”
Stephen gratefully accepted the glass of water that was then handed to him. “True.” As Paul took a pizza out of the freezer, he groaned. “Oh man, I have to wait for it to cook?”
Paul shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “Yeah. Think you can wait that long?”
Stephen bit his lip and shrugged. “Yeah… that’s fine.”
His eyes were starting to drift closed, the wonderfully drowsy feeling of his limbs making him feel secure and warm, when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. “Dude,” Paul laughed once his eyes were blinking open. “Stay awake. At least until the pizza’s done.”
“Right.” Stephen nodded. “Pizza.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face, feeling fuzzy and out of sorts. “Uh… talk to me. Keep me awake.”
Paul leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling. Stephen took in the fact that his arms and torso were much better toned than his own with only the smallest twinge of jealousy (he’d had to get over such resentment the moment he realized he and Paul were meant for a closer relationship than just being two guys who had both befriended Amy). His hair looked nice that night, the fringe of curls framing his face and, with the bright kitchen light above his head, he almost looked like one of those Renaissance pictures of angels or saints that he used to see in the old cathedrals his dad would make him go to.
“Stephen?”
Stephen shook his head, wondering how long he had spaced out for. “Sorry, I got lost for a second. What?”
Paul sighed. “Basically I informed you that I doubted I was going to be able to have much of a conversation with you given the state you’re in.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Funny.” When Paul just smirked, his ran his hands over his face again. “Uh, just, like, ask me questions. Or something.”
Eyebrow raised, Paul pursed his lips. “Questions?” He puffed out his cheeks and thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one. What is something even I don’t know about?”
Stephen laughed and took a swig of water. “Something you don’t know? Jeez, even if such a thing did exist I probably couldn’t even think of it…” He paused, a realization dawning but he dithered, not sure about whether or not it would be wise to say anything. Well… what could it hurt, anyway? “I, uh… I smoked pot.” He tinkered with the glass in his hands, daring a glance at Paul whose eyebrows had shot up.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Stephen chuckled into the glass. “Like… some amount of time ago. Or something.”
“With who?” Stephen couldn’t tell if Paul was mad or not.
“Uh… Jon Leibowitz?” Paul stared at him. “The new kid?”
“How the hell did you come to smoke pot with the new kid?” Yeah… Paul definitely seemed at least a little angry.
“I dunno.” Stephen shrugged, smiling a bit at the memory. “He’s nice and, uh… yeah.” He looked Paul’s way, expression becoming serious. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Paul said, his tone petulant. “Why would I be?”
Stephen shrugged again. “I dunno… you just seem like you are.”
“Well…” Paul fingered a magnet he had taken from the fridge. “I just figured that if we ever did, you know, smoke it would… it would be together. You know?”
Stephen furrowed his brow, staring at the floor. “Oh. Oh crap.” He put the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t even think that that would-that it would be an issue.”
Paul sighed, deflating and crossing the room to stop Stephen from nearly gouging out his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look, don’t worry about it. Just promise that, I don’t know… that you’ll keep on including me in shit. Or at least telling me about it in a reasonable amount of time.”
Stephen gave him a light smile, trying to not continue to feel bad. “Still, sorry.” His smile turned wider as a thought occurred to him. “Any secrets of yours I need to be hearing about? You know, just to keep things fair.”
Paul made an odd face, his mouth opening as if to say something when the oven dinged. “Pizza’s ready!” he declared, his voice a bit too loud. Stephen blinked at him as he removed the food from the oven. “Want some?”
Feeling disoriented (hadn’t he asked Paul something?), Stephen nodded. Paul set a plate before him and watched in amusement as his friend inhaled the pizza, burning his mouth in the process. He did allow Paul to have some as well, though his enthusiasm didn’t quite match up to Stephen’s.
“Good?” Paul asked, grinning.
Stephen nodded, eyes wide. Sure, he could hardly taste it due to the fact that he had burned off about 90% of his taste buds but, hey, it was a worthy sacrifice to make.
“Good, yes. Good,” he grunted, sounding a bit like a caveman.
Paul chuckled. “Good, I’m glad. So I take it you won’t be puking then?”
Stephen nodded again. “No vomito por me,” he declared.
“Good.” There was a pause, a strange look passing over Paul’s face. Stephen ate the last bit of his pizza with less enthusiasm, feeling something serious approaching. “Stephen,” Paul began, shifting his weight. “Uh… you know how I asked about something I wouldn’t know about?”
Stephen blinked. “Uh, yeah. And I told you about the, er, the pot thing.”
Paul nodded. “Yeah… the pot thing. But, like, besides that, is there anything else? Like… anything else I don’t know about?”
Stephen furrowed his brow. “Uh…” Cocking his head, he regarded his friend. “I haven’t done any other drugs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Paul shook his head, looking surprised. “No, no. I know. I meant… anything else.”
Stephen swallowed the last of his pizza. “Like… what, exactly?”
“Like…” Paul trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “Like, that party. With you. And, uh… and Amy.”
Stephen felt the blood drain from his face. Oh, God. They were going to discuss this? Now? Was Paul actually thinking he was coherent enough to talk about this?
Stephen coughed into his fist. “Er… what about it?”
“Well, with you two. And the, uh… the…” Paul didn’t seem able to bring himself to say it.
Stephen made a pained face. “The… making out?”
Paul looked mildly relieved. “Yeah. That. Was that a, er…” He trailed off again, looking unsure of what he was asking. “Was that because you, uh, have… shall we say feelings for Amy or was it…?”
Stephen’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No. What?” He laughed. “No. No. God, no. Wait.” He furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell Amy I reacted that way but, uh, no. Not at all. No.”
Shut up, his brain commanded.
“Oh,” Paul said, looking pleased. “I just, well…”
“No, yeah, I could see why you would, uh, think that but no. Seriously.”
Paul laughed. “Just with you two…”
Stephen nodded. “No, yeah, I get it.”
A silence fell in the room, the tension remaining almost palpable.
Paul was the one who cleared his throat first. “Uh… so what did happen?”
Stephen blinked. “Well. Good question. See… I don’t really know either. All I can tell you is that Amy… I’m pretty much 100% sure that she isn’t interested in me.”
Paul stared at him. “She just kissed you.” It wasn’t a question, more just a flat statement.
Stephen fidgeted. “Yeah.” When Paul didn’t respond, he heaved a sigh. “Look, I’m not sure what happened. I’m pretty sure it was some weird jealousy thing with you and then I was there and she just… she ambush-kissed me.”
Paul’s eyes snapped towards him, an amused smile crossing his face. “Ambush-kissed you?” He giggled. “How can you ambush-kiss someone?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen grumbled, playing with his hands. “I was the ambushed one, remember?”
Paul continued to laugh, though in a much more subdued way. “So she ambush-kissed you.” Stephen frowned at him. “Poor you.”
“Hey, I was as confused by it as anyone,” he stated, drinking more water. “I’m hardly to blame.”
Paul grinned. “Yeah, sure. Not like you got into it or anything.”
Stephen colored, hopping to his unsteady feet from the stool and grabbing his plate. “Shut up,” he grumbled, heading towards the sink.
Paul was silent as Stephen washed his dishes but, as he turned around after loading them into the dishwasher, he found himself face-to-face with his friend before receiving a small peck on the lips.
Paul laughed at the look on Stephen’s face, though Stephen hardly noticed. “Sorry,” he giggled, “just wanted to see how the whole ‘ambush kiss’ is done. But seriously, you’re way to easy to-“
The reason Stephen hadn’t registered Paul’s words was the fact that something strange was building up inside of him, something hard and dark and long-ignored and when his friend had done that innocent action, it had shifted slightly inside of him. The mixture of alcohol and sleepiness suddenly caught up with him and, without thinking, he had cut off his friend’s words by gripping him by the sides of the head and pulling him into a harsh kiss.
Stephen felt as shocked as Paul surely was. This wasn’t like the liquid kiss he and Amy had shared nor was it like any of the other one’s he had shared with girls; Paul responded on impulse and, in a strange haste, they seemed to be almost fighting more than kissing, mouths opening and teeth clacking together. It was when Stephen brought himself forward to press full-length against Paul, their chests heaving together, that Paul seemed to come to and pulled back.
“Hey,” he whispered, taking Stephen by the sides of the head and shaking him a bit. “Hey.” As Stephen’s eyes coaxed themselves open, dread curled in his stomach. Paul must have noticed the fear in his friend’s eyes because, even though he looked more than a little freaked out himself, he managed a tremulous though reassuring smile. “Stephen?”
It was then that Stephen really came to, his hands leaping off of Paul’s body as he backed up as far away as possible until his back hit the far counter.
“Oh shit,” he muttered, his head falling into his hands. “Oh shit. Oh shit, I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what…”
Paul came forward, his movements hesitant as he tried to lay a comforting hand on Stephen’s shoulder. But Stephen shied away, head still cradled in his palms.
“Hey,” Paul murmured. “Dude, it’s okay. You just…” He didn’t seem to know what he was trying to say so he just shrugged. “Whatever the case may be, it’s okay.”
Stephen shook his head, feeling dizzy and sick. The comfortable heaviness in his limbs had given way to uncomfortable exhaustion, his head pounding in spite of the water he had drank. Swallowing hard, he lowered his shaking hands and rubbed one of them up and down his arm.
“I… I don’t know what happened,” he offered, trying to look Paul in the eye before dropping his gaze to the floor. “I just… something in me…” He couldn’t find the words. “Shit.”
“Look, just…” Paul sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Stephen shivered as he remembered he hands pausing there for a moment when he had…
Shit, he muttered again inwardly.
“Sorry,” he croaked out loud, feeling near tears.
Paul shook his head, sighing once more. “Just… just let’s forget about it, okay? We’re both, like, super drunk and I think it’d be best if we’d just… go to sleep. And forget about it.”
Stephen looked up. “You… you’re cool with me sleeping here?”
Paul gave him a look. “What, you honestly think I’m going to let you drive like that?”
Stephen dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling sheepish and stupid and horribly young. “No.”
“Come on.” Paul jerked his head towards the family room. “Are you cool with the couch? I can take it if you…”
Stephen shook his head. “No, it’s closer to the bathroom anyway. Which I think may be a good idea.”
They both laughed, though it sounded hollow to Stephen’s ears as his head continued to spin. “Right, I’ll get you a pillow.”
Paul’s absence wasn’t long enough for Stephen to truly beat himself up over what had happened but, soon enough, Paul was switching off the light and muttering a soft goodnight before padding to his room to sleep.
Though he felt ill and sick at heart, Stephen was able to drift off after only a few minutes of agonizing over what had happened. His sleep was fitful, often interrupted by strange dreams and visions of curly hair coupled with a broad smile.
Oddly enough though, as he snuck out that morning with a miraculously mild hangover, the only thing he remembered of his dreams was the smell of cigarettes and a giggle he couldn’t quite place.
TO BE CONTINUED?!?!
...yes.
Tune in next time for Nate and Demetri being Nate and Demetri, Rob and Nate trying to get some things straight (or perhaps not so much), and maybe even Rob and Ed being able to resolve some things.
ENDNOTE: So yeah, I’m hoping to have the next chapter up before another, like, 9 months go by. Basically, I love all of you for being so dedicated, in spite of me finding my own writing juvenile and thinking this story completely moronic at times. I really appreciate all your kinds words and encouragements and, hopefully, I’ll be able to live up to the love you have showered me with.
Ooh, also! classyhobos did some wonderful fanart:
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b181/Somii/jon-1.png
http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanart/85328.html#cutid1
As always, comment and friend if you like because you know I loves it.
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Title: Fast Times at NAMBLA High: Part Twenty
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show... with a smattering of guest appearances.
Pairing: Including but not limited to:
Jon/Stephen, Stephen/Paul, Stephen/Craig Kilborn, Jon/Anderson Cooper, Paul/Amy, Rob/Frustration, Ed/Confusion, (Rob/Frustration)/(Ed/Confusion), Mo Rocca/Lewis Black, Sam/Jason, Demetri Martin/Nathan Corddry, Bob Novak/Hair nets, Aasif Mandvi/Tucker Carlson, Stone Phillips/Barbara Walters, Dan Bakkedahl/Rob Riggle, Dane Cook/His ego, Dave Gorman/John Oliver, Jerry Seinfeld/Steve Carell, Bill O’Reilly/Hatred, Keith Olbermann/Everyone, John Hodgeman/Bill Gates, Tucker/Craig, Aasif/Anderson, John Hodgman/Sarah Vowell, Will Ferrell/MOP?, Keith/Dennis Leary, George Clooney/Charm
Featured pairing(s): Paul/Amy, Paul/Stephen, mentions of Stephen/Amy
Rating: PG-13 for language and… other things
Warning: Crack: it's what's for dinner. Other warnings: AU, drug use, underage drinking, het crap, and Will Ferrell being creepy. For this specific chapter? Some angst. And drunkenness. Drunken angst.
A/N: Um… hello? Yes, you ARE seeing correctly. I am actually posting another chapter. Weird, right? I think you all deserve some sort of explanation. Basically, I went through a lot of shit last year, including a) falling for a douchebag, b) living with said douchebag, c) moving out of the apartment I had with said douchebag, c) leaving the country for a semester where I had no access to the internet or had contact with the western world, and d) returning home to find everything had collapsed to a degree around me like a poorly made soufflé. So yeah. Shit? Shit happened. Lots and lots of shit.
Said shit made it difficult for me to function, let alone write, and FTANH was the first thing to get sacrificed. I’m not sure why… well, actually, I do know why. When you’re busy with things you love and then come home to be fundamentally unhappy about 90% of the time, writing a happy crack story is hard. Even for me, who used to use this a refuge against such feelings.
So blah blah blah, basically I’m back. I’m not promising that things won’t get evil for me again or that my mood has completely changed, but I do want to say thank you to everyone who has been so supportive. And there’s, like, a billion of you so I won’t name everyone, but a special thanks to Lady V for helping me get some of my groove back and favabean05 for getting my crack juices flowing again, even if it was in the form of us rambling about a story involving the boys and gay zombies IN SPACE.
In conclusion: If you’re still interested in this story… you’re a saint. Really.
Length: 5532
Feedback: Feedback helps my crack addiction. Give generously. Also, concrit is very welcome. Or if you want to throw dead animals at me for taking so damn long, that’s okay too.
Previous chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Four Point Five: An Interlude of sorts
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten (A)
Chapter Ten (B)
Chapter Ten (C)
Chapter Ten (D)
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Summary:
The “I’m Trying to Entice New People” Version: so one morning in the shower, I happened to have this crazy idea of what it would be like if the crew of TDS, TCR and other random fandoms I have happened to all attend the same high school.
And then this happened. Basically, if you want to enjoy the psychotic ramblings of my brain set to the music of a high school drama mixed with crack and gayness, you’ll like this.
In this edition of FTANH: cupcakes are eaten, Mexican car bombs are botched, awkward conversations are had, and even awkwarder situations are experienced.
FAST TIMES AT NAMBLA HIGH
Part Twenty
Stephen heaved a heavy sigh, straightening his glasses as he shoved his math book into his backpack. He next stuffed in his dirty gym clothes, grimacing and rubbing his sore shoulder at the mere thought of the stupid class. Because, really, did badminton have to be a full-body sport? The assholes in his class seemed to think so. As if having to wear athletic goggles in place of his normal glasses wasn’t bad enough without having jocks inform him that he looked like a dumbass. Stephen knew that. Hell, he was the one wearing the stupid things.
In spite of feeling sweaty and annoyed that his shoulder now clicked every time he rotated it, he was feeling surprisingly good. Why? Well, Amy and Paul were finally normal again. Perhaps his friends’ interactions shouldn’t have accounted for so much of Stephen’s good mood, but he couldn’t help it. He was a natural people-pleaser after all. A “love-aholic”, as his mother had called him. He needed his friends to get along and he would be damned if he wasn’t thrilled that just that was happening.
After the party and when Stephen was put under his mother’s house arrest, he found that in his sparse interactions with the outside world that Paul and Amy had continued to be “weird” whenever the three of them happened to be together. Weird was pretty much the only word to describe it. Snippy comments and long angry glances abounded until, yesterday, they suddenly seemed cool again. Stephen wasn’t going to question it. He loved them both dearly but he wasn’t always privy to understanding their unique brands of madness.
He reached up to straighten the picture of the cave troll he had hanging in his locker (no amount of teasing from Paul could persuade him to take it down because that thing was bitching) and the slightly less nerdy cut out of a Boondocks comic strip before he slammed the locker door shut. He was startled into dropping his bag when Paul appeared to replace the now-shut door.
“Stephen!” he cried, grinning from ear to ear. “Know what today is?”
“Shit, Paul,” Stephen gasped, leaning down to pick up his bag. “You scared me.”
Paul just waved a dismissing hand and grinned again. “Sorry. But do you know what today is?”
Stephen furrowed his brow and looked around the hall for an idea, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Uh… Friday?”
“No!” Paul shook his head, as if Stephen were mildly stupid yet should be tolerated. “It’s your first day of freedom!” At Stephen’s continued confused stare, Paul put his hands on his hips. “You seriously don’t remember?”
“Um, no.”
“You’re not grounded anymore! The two weeks is up!” Paul threw his hands into the air. “Hooray!”
“Oooh.” Stephen slapped himself in the forehead. “I completely forgot!” He smiled, feeling touched that Paul had actually managed to remember when even he had forgotten. “Hooray!” He and Paul exchanged a mildly awkward high-five before Paul threw an arm over his shoulder and they began to walk.
“So, Amy and I were wondering: would you like to celebrate?” Paul waggled his eyebrows.
“Sure. At whose house?”
Paul grimaced. “My place, of course.”
“Of course.” Both stared into space at the idea of their other, far less appealing options.
Stephen’s house was generally avoided seeing as any attempt to hang out was usually converted into an effort to avoid being assimilated into whatever family gathering was occurring at the time. Stephen enjoyed his family, but they did have a tendency to absorb anyone within a ten-foot radius, making their victims participate in family games and conversations.
Amy often found herself talking about the weather forecast with one of Stephen’s ancient great-uncles, shooting the shit and pretending to be very knowledgeable about fly fishing. Paul, on the other hand, would find himself in conversations with attractive young women who would confuse him about their age and availability. Stephen assured him that none were available and that his older brother would probably beat him with a locker door if he ever tried anything. The nights would often devolve; Stephen performing damage control as Amy would inevitably get into a heated argument pertaining to trout gutting and Paul would be threatened by some relative for hitting on his sister. It almost never ended well.
Amy’s family was a whole other story. At Amy’s house they were under less of a threat of family gatherings than family battles. Strings of curses, insults, and enraged tirades were thrown around like “hello”; most conversations consisted of screaming matches. There would be a heated exchange about something as little as when one of the kids was to be home that night or how could Amy’s dad eat a prune that had been in a jacket pocket of a suit that had been in storage since 1972? Paul, turning red ear to ear, would sit, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as Mrs. Sedaris would comment on how much more often she would have sex with Mr. Sedaris if he had hair like Paul’s. Stephen, for his part, would just laugh and laugh and laugh until tears streamed down his face. No one seemed to find this offensive; they were all too focused on their internal wars to be bothered with the laughing boy gasping in the corner as he held onto the arm of his blushing friend for balance.
Therefore it was Paul’s house that was usually chosen, seeing as it was the most conducive place for teenage-like gatherings. He only had one sibling anywhere near his age and that was his brother who was in college. His parents also had a habit of going away for weekends, leaving their house open to gallivanting… aka watching Amy bake shit.
“Where is Amy?” Stephen asked, realizing that their friend was not with them.
“Oh, she’s meeting up with us at my place.” Paul and Stephen shoved through the front doors of the school and began the search for Paul’s car. “She said she had to get something first.”
They exchanged a significant look before simultaneously saying, “Cupcakes.”
“God, I don’t understand why every occasion remotely resembling a celebration makes her think that she has to make those stupid things,” Stephen grumbled, spotting Paul’s car and grabbing his friend by the backpack strap to drag him in the correct direction.
“Who knows? She told me once… something to do with their genius of being individual cakes or some other shit.” Paul furrowed his brow in thought before unlocking the doors. “I forget.”
“Wow, you actually paid attention to one of her cupcake rants?” Stephen shook his head, dropping his bag inside the car before getting in as well. “I usually tune out about a third of the way through and try to think happy thoughts.”
Laughing, Paul put the car into gear. “Ah, you are a smarter man than I.”
They fell into companionable silence, Stephen idly tapping his fingers on the dashboard with Paul fiddling with the radio every once in a while. Stephen sent him a stern glare when the dial somehow found its way to a country station; Paul just grinned cheekily and switched it to what sounded like heavy rap.
“I like how you fluctuate between stereotypes,” Stephen yelled above the thumping bass. “It shows depths to you that no one would have guessed you were capable of.”
Paul just stuck out his tongue and pulled into the driveway, raising his eyebrows as they got past the trees that shaded his house and were able to see the spectacle that was in front of his home. Amy was dressed in a ridiculous pink, frilly dress with fake eyelashes attached to her lids; she probably would have been batting them flirtatiously if she hadn’t been busy looking pissed. In her hands was a tray of cupcakes, so multicolored that Stephen wondered if she had gotten the inspiration for them from a Jimi Hendrix poster.
Paul rolled down the window. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded above the music.
“Waiting for you gaywads to get here!” she yelled back. “These cupcakes are fucking wilting in the sun! What the fuck are you listening to? Rap? For the love of God, Paul, you’re whiter than Paulie Shore, give it up!”
Paul shut the car off and hopped out, Stephen following shortly after. “Jesus, woman,” Paul sighed, his tone harsh though Stephen could see the mischief in his eyes. “Get off my case. At least I’m not dressed up like a hooker employed by Andy Warhol.”
She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, jutting out her hip. “Can we just go inside please?”
Paul rolled his eyes back. “After you, Lady Marmalade.”
Amy kicked him in the shin but proceeded up the walk anyway, Paul following with a slight limp and scowl with Stephen trailing behind, a smirk on his face. As they entered the house, Amy traipsed off to the kitchen to put her beloved cupcakes somewhere safe and reappeared looking much happier than before.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the shit-eating grin, Sedaris?”
Amy shot him a look before grinning at Stephen again, her smile turning a bit dangerous. Stephen looked around nervously, afraid of what was coming. “What?”
She waggled her eyebrows before reaching into her shirt. Both Stephen and Paul’s brows shot up into their hairlines, something she noticed as she rooted around. “Guys,” she sighed, taking in Paul’s lascivious expression and Stephen’s scared one, “relax. I’m just trying to find… ah, there we go!” With that she pulled out a small bottle of liquid. “Ta da! Tequila!”
Stephen furrowed his brow as Paul snatched the bottle from Amy. “Where did you get this?” he asked, examining the label.
“David sent it to me. Apparently he has just spent some time in Mexico.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how he is. Anyway, he had to disguise it because my parents go through, like, all mail from him, so he cut out some pages in a Spanish Bible and sent that to me.” She waved the little bottle in Stephen’s face and cooed, “Yummmm, blaaaaasphemy.”
Stephen jerked his head away. “No, no way.”
Amy dropped the hand holding the bottle to her side and pouted. “What? Why?”
“I was just grounded for drinking! Why would I go and drink the moment I’m freed from being grounded for drinking?”
Paul shrugged, leaning against the wall. “So? Just sleep over here. Call your mom and tell her you may stay the night.”
Stephen frowned and stared at the bottle. “That’s hardly enough to get drunk…” He reasoned.
“Ooh!” Paul bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “We could make Mexican car bombs! Dad’s got loads of beer he doesn’t keep track of!”
“Mexican car bombs?” Stephen wrinkled his nose, knowing he was just stalling at this point. “Is that even a thing?”
“Yes, old man. Now are you in or aren’t you?” Amy put one hand on her hip and she dangled the bottle in front of Stephen’s nose.
Stephen sighed. “Mexican car bombs and cupcakes. You guys sure know how to throw a classy shindig.”
Amy grinned. “And that’s you’re way of saying yes. Hooray!”
As the other two flounced out of the room, Stephen set about the possibly messy business of calling his mother.
~~~~~~~~~~~
His mom had been accommodating if not slightly suspicious (“Paul’s parents aren’t there? Well… that’s interesting”) and had relented in agreeing to let Stephen stay the night if he so wished. He just had to remember to be home tomorrow for an evening family picnic and do his chores. After trying to get off the phone for the 8th or 9th time, he was successful and joined Amy and Paul in the family room.
They now found themselves splayed across the various seats in the room, their third (or was it the fourth?) car bomb in their hands and yet another cupcake finding its way into Stephen’s mouth.
“These,” he stated emphatically, his words sticking together with frosting, “are awesome. Fucking… fucking awesome, Amy.”
Amy giggled, trying to drink the beer mixed with tequila without wrinkling her nose. None of them were exactly sure how the car bombs were supposed to work, so they had settled on just pouring some tequila in and hoping it would do. All of them chose to ignore how horrible it tasted and hoped that it would get better eventually. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, they were right and the more they drank the less vile it tasted.
“Paul. Paul.” Amy knocked him with her elbow. “Paul, Stephen’s totally drunk, Paul.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stephen asked mildly, smiling with sleepy eyes. “I only drink, like… never.”
“This,” Paul stated, his words sage and his eyes closed, “is very true.”
“Lightweights,” Amy declared. “The lot of you!”
“Psh,” Stephen said, attempting to scoff. He more just sprayed crumbs everywhere, causing Paul to make a face and brush the offending bits off of him. “You’re, like, the tiniest person ever. So, obviously, you are the lightweight.”
“Yeah, but just think, Stephen,” Paul said, his expression serious though his still-shut eyes detracted from the gravity of his words. “With her mother there’s probably been alcohol in Amy’s system since she was in utero.”
Amy scowled and aimed a half-hearted punch at Paul’s shoulder, causing him to whimper and pout. Stephen watched the two of them with a lazy smile, his head lolling on the back of the couch, the beer/tequila (beerquila?) concoction slowly warming in his hand. Blinking took longer than usual and everything was moving at a pace that made him feel like he’d entered some sort of vortex where time jumped and slowed and shifted, leaving him unable to keep a firm grasp on what was happening around him.
“Shit,” he heard Amy say and, as he registered her words, he glanced over to see her biting her lip and staring at the screen of her cell phone.
“What’s up?” Paul asked, shifting forward.
“Tiffany just texted me. Apparently David’s finally come home from one of his ‘odysseys.’” She rolled her eyes and ran her hands through her now-messy hair, puffing out her cheeks as she sighed. “Looks like I may need to go home to perform some damage control.”
Stephen sat up straighter, trying to blink his eyes into feeling more awake. “Oh. Are you… is someone picking you up? You’re probably not cool to drive.”
A wicked smile crept across Amy’s face as she bit her lip. “Actually, I’ll be fine… since I’ve been giving all the tequila to you guys. And this is only my first beer.”
Both Paul and Stephen’s mouths dropped open, Paul pointing an accusing finger her way. “You crafty little bitch!” He then turned towards Stephen. “I knew we shouldn’t have let her mix the drinks!”
Stephen’s gaze didn’t leave Amy as he shook his head, eyes wide. “You are an evil, evil woman. Evil.”
Amy shrugged and batted her eyes as if she was brushing off a compliment. “Oh, stop.”
Paul just continued to point his finger her way. “Evil!” he stated, as if to accentuate Stephen’s point.
She laughed and got to her feet, brushing her dress to rid it of any offending wrinkles and making her way to the door. “Be that as it may, I’ve got to go. But feel free to finish the tequila! All of it.”
“I don’t know why she wants us to get drunk if she’s not here to take advantage of us,” Stephen mumbled into his drink.
“Maybe I just want you to take advantage of each other!” Amy called over her shoulder, sending them a wink and a cheeky smile. “See you later, lover boys.” With that she was gone, the sound of the engine of her car droning away as she sped off.
“Dude,” Paul stated, looking bewildered. “Gays are not the perpetrators of the gay agenda. Amy fucking Sedaris is.”
Stephen nodded, her head feeling heaving again. “You said it, brother.”
“More tequila?” Stephen just squinted at him with bleary eyes. “What? Orders are orders!”
“Fine,” he groaned, holding out his glass with a weak arm. “You’re almost as evil as Amy is.”
Paul winked. “I try.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stephen had never been this drunk before. Never ever. This was… stupid. Or awesome. Stupidly awesome? Awesomely stupid? Maybe both. Maybe neither. Just druuuunk.
He blinked at the ceiling, his eyelids taking longer to move than was normal. Tilting his heavy head from side to side, he watched as the ceiling seemed to swirl above him. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing but, hey, it looked kinda cool. He also wasn’t sure how exactly he had ended up on the floor on his back, but that was fine. Paul was somewhere near his head, his old guitar in his hands, playing something or other about daisies and other flowers out of tune.
The tequila had run out a while ago as had the glorious, glorious cupcakes but the beer remained and Paul and Stephen had felt the need to rectify the situation. Stephen didn’t know how they came to be so incensed by the idea of beer remaining somewhere on earth which had thus led to the drinking of all beer ever, but he was confident that he was going to regret it come morning.
“I,” he declared, throwing a finger up in the air, “need food. Food will... food will help this. This situation. Yes.”
Stephen craned his neck to look at Paul who continued to strum, his eyes half-shut and a small smile on his face. “Oh. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why will it help the situation?”
“Someone once told me…” Stephen furrowed his brow, his thoughts coming in and out of focus and his tongue uncooperative. “It’s supposed to make you not sick in the morning. I hate puking. I don’t want to puke. Hey.” He pointed a finger at Paul. “Do not let me puke.”
Paul gave a little salute. “Will do.” He put the guitar down beside him, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “I think I might have some pizza in the fridge. Think that will help with the not puking?”
Stephen blinked. “I… yeah. I think so.”
Paul hauled himself into a crouching position before stumbling to his feet, coming to stand above Stephen’s head. The perspective was strange with Paul looming above him, giving him a small smile and an extended hand. “Need help up?” Stephen just grunted in reply and lifted one of his leaden arms to grip his hand with Paul’s, making even more grunts as he was hauled to his feet. “Jesus,” Paul grumbled. “Don’t help or anything.”
Stephen giggled, making a small “oof” as he knocked into Paul once he was standing. “Standing is… it’s hard. Right now.” He glanced at his friend to find him grinning. “Shut up. I want to hear nothing out of-out of you, young… padawan.”
Paul groaned, his hand coming to rest on Stephen’s elbow as he swayed. “God, here come the nerd references, during which I’m only going to be able to understand about 70% of our conversation.”
“70%? That’s good!” Stephen nodded, mostly to himself. “Yeah. Good.”
Paul giggled. “Amy’s right. You are a lightweight.”
“And I’m still right,” Stephen pointed a finger towards his own chest, “in saying that I never drink so, really, this is… what you should expect. What is expected. The expected result. Yeah.”
Paul just shook a weary head. “Dude, you really do need some food.”
As he was led to the kitchen, Stephen blinked heavy eyelids at Paul. “Why are you so fine?”
“I work out.” Paul laughed as Stephen made a groan of disgust. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was drinking quite as fast as you.”
Stephen snorted and shoved up his glasses. “That’s awesome that I’ve become the, uh… the drunkard.”
Paul chuckled and patted his back, seating him on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. “No, you haven’t. I doubt you would be able to get this drunk off of that amount if you really were the group alchie.”
Stephen gratefully accepted the glass of water that was then handed to him. “True.” As Paul took a pizza out of the freezer, he groaned. “Oh man, I have to wait for it to cook?”
Paul shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “Yeah. Think you can wait that long?”
Stephen bit his lip and shrugged. “Yeah… that’s fine.”
His eyes were starting to drift closed, the wonderfully drowsy feeling of his limbs making him feel secure and warm, when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. “Dude,” Paul laughed once his eyes were blinking open. “Stay awake. At least until the pizza’s done.”
“Right.” Stephen nodded. “Pizza.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face, feeling fuzzy and out of sorts. “Uh… talk to me. Keep me awake.”
Paul leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling. Stephen took in the fact that his arms and torso were much better toned than his own with only the smallest twinge of jealousy (he’d had to get over such resentment the moment he realized he and Paul were meant for a closer relationship than just being two guys who had both befriended Amy). His hair looked nice that night, the fringe of curls framing his face and, with the bright kitchen light above his head, he almost looked like one of those Renaissance pictures of angels or saints that he used to see in the old cathedrals his dad would make him go to.
“Stephen?”
Stephen shook his head, wondering how long he had spaced out for. “Sorry, I got lost for a second. What?”
Paul sighed. “Basically I informed you that I doubted I was going to be able to have much of a conversation with you given the state you’re in.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Funny.” When Paul just smirked, his ran his hands over his face again. “Uh, just, like, ask me questions. Or something.”
Eyebrow raised, Paul pursed his lips. “Questions?” He puffed out his cheeks and thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one. What is something even I don’t know about?”
Stephen laughed and took a swig of water. “Something you don’t know? Jeez, even if such a thing did exist I probably couldn’t even think of it…” He paused, a realization dawning but he dithered, not sure about whether or not it would be wise to say anything. Well… what could it hurt, anyway? “I, uh… I smoked pot.” He tinkered with the glass in his hands, daring a glance at Paul whose eyebrows had shot up.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Stephen chuckled into the glass. “Like… some amount of time ago. Or something.”
“With who?” Stephen couldn’t tell if Paul was mad or not.
“Uh… Jon Leibowitz?” Paul stared at him. “The new kid?”
“How the hell did you come to smoke pot with the new kid?” Yeah… Paul definitely seemed at least a little angry.
“I dunno.” Stephen shrugged, smiling a bit at the memory. “He’s nice and, uh… yeah.” He looked Paul’s way, expression becoming serious. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Paul said, his tone petulant. “Why would I be?”
Stephen shrugged again. “I dunno… you just seem like you are.”
“Well…” Paul fingered a magnet he had taken from the fridge. “I just figured that if we ever did, you know, smoke it would… it would be together. You know?”
Stephen furrowed his brow, staring at the floor. “Oh. Oh crap.” He put the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t even think that that would-that it would be an issue.”
Paul sighed, deflating and crossing the room to stop Stephen from nearly gouging out his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look, don’t worry about it. Just promise that, I don’t know… that you’ll keep on including me in shit. Or at least telling me about it in a reasonable amount of time.”
Stephen gave him a light smile, trying to not continue to feel bad. “Still, sorry.” His smile turned wider as a thought occurred to him. “Any secrets of yours I need to be hearing about? You know, just to keep things fair.”
Paul made an odd face, his mouth opening as if to say something when the oven dinged. “Pizza’s ready!” he declared, his voice a bit too loud. Stephen blinked at him as he removed the food from the oven. “Want some?”
Feeling disoriented (hadn’t he asked Paul something?), Stephen nodded. Paul set a plate before him and watched in amusement as his friend inhaled the pizza, burning his mouth in the process. He did allow Paul to have some as well, though his enthusiasm didn’t quite match up to Stephen’s.
“Good?” Paul asked, grinning.
Stephen nodded, eyes wide. Sure, he could hardly taste it due to the fact that he had burned off about 90% of his taste buds but, hey, it was a worthy sacrifice to make.
“Good, yes. Good,” he grunted, sounding a bit like a caveman.
Paul chuckled. “Good, I’m glad. So I take it you won’t be puking then?”
Stephen nodded again. “No vomito por me,” he declared.
“Good.” There was a pause, a strange look passing over Paul’s face. Stephen ate the last bit of his pizza with less enthusiasm, feeling something serious approaching. “Stephen,” Paul began, shifting his weight. “Uh… you know how I asked about something I wouldn’t know about?”
Stephen blinked. “Uh, yeah. And I told you about the, er, the pot thing.”
Paul nodded. “Yeah… the pot thing. But, like, besides that, is there anything else? Like… anything else I don’t know about?”
Stephen furrowed his brow. “Uh…” Cocking his head, he regarded his friend. “I haven’t done any other drugs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Paul shook his head, looking surprised. “No, no. I know. I meant… anything else.”
Stephen swallowed the last of his pizza. “Like… what, exactly?”
“Like…” Paul trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “Like, that party. With you. And, uh… and Amy.”
Stephen felt the blood drain from his face. Oh, God. They were going to discuss this? Now? Was Paul actually thinking he was coherent enough to talk about this?
Stephen coughed into his fist. “Er… what about it?”
“Well, with you two. And the, uh… the…” Paul didn’t seem able to bring himself to say it.
Stephen made a pained face. “The… making out?”
Paul looked mildly relieved. “Yeah. That. Was that a, er…” He trailed off again, looking unsure of what he was asking. “Was that because you, uh, have… shall we say feelings for Amy or was it…?”
Stephen’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No. What?” He laughed. “No. No. God, no. Wait.” He furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell Amy I reacted that way but, uh, no. Not at all. No.”
Shut up, his brain commanded.
“Oh,” Paul said, looking pleased. “I just, well…”
“No, yeah, I could see why you would, uh, think that but no. Seriously.”
Paul laughed. “Just with you two…”
Stephen nodded. “No, yeah, I get it.”
A silence fell in the room, the tension remaining almost palpable.
Paul was the one who cleared his throat first. “Uh… so what did happen?”
Stephen blinked. “Well. Good question. See… I don’t really know either. All I can tell you is that Amy… I’m pretty much 100% sure that she isn’t interested in me.”
Paul stared at him. “She just kissed you.” It wasn’t a question, more just a flat statement.
Stephen fidgeted. “Yeah.” When Paul didn’t respond, he heaved a sigh. “Look, I’m not sure what happened. I’m pretty sure it was some weird jealousy thing with you and then I was there and she just… she ambush-kissed me.”
Paul’s eyes snapped towards him, an amused smile crossing his face. “Ambush-kissed you?” He giggled. “How can you ambush-kiss someone?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen grumbled, playing with his hands. “I was the ambushed one, remember?”
Paul continued to laugh, though in a much more subdued way. “So she ambush-kissed you.” Stephen frowned at him. “Poor you.”
“Hey, I was as confused by it as anyone,” he stated, drinking more water. “I’m hardly to blame.”
Paul grinned. “Yeah, sure. Not like you got into it or anything.”
Stephen colored, hopping to his unsteady feet from the stool and grabbing his plate. “Shut up,” he grumbled, heading towards the sink.
Paul was silent as Stephen washed his dishes but, as he turned around after loading them into the dishwasher, he found himself face-to-face with his friend before receiving a small peck on the lips.
Paul laughed at the look on Stephen’s face, though Stephen hardly noticed. “Sorry,” he giggled, “just wanted to see how the whole ‘ambush kiss’ is done. But seriously, you’re way to easy to-“
The reason Stephen hadn’t registered Paul’s words was the fact that something strange was building up inside of him, something hard and dark and long-ignored and when his friend had done that innocent action, it had shifted slightly inside of him. The mixture of alcohol and sleepiness suddenly caught up with him and, without thinking, he had cut off his friend’s words by gripping him by the sides of the head and pulling him into a harsh kiss.
Stephen felt as shocked as Paul surely was. This wasn’t like the liquid kiss he and Amy had shared nor was it like any of the other one’s he had shared with girls; Paul responded on impulse and, in a strange haste, they seemed to be almost fighting more than kissing, mouths opening and teeth clacking together. It was when Stephen brought himself forward to press full-length against Paul, their chests heaving together, that Paul seemed to come to and pulled back.
“Hey,” he whispered, taking Stephen by the sides of the head and shaking him a bit. “Hey.” As Stephen’s eyes coaxed themselves open, dread curled in his stomach. Paul must have noticed the fear in his friend’s eyes because, even though he looked more than a little freaked out himself, he managed a tremulous though reassuring smile. “Stephen?”
It was then that Stephen really came to, his hands leaping off of Paul’s body as he backed up as far away as possible until his back hit the far counter.
“Oh shit,” he muttered, his head falling into his hands. “Oh shit. Oh shit, I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what…”
Paul came forward, his movements hesitant as he tried to lay a comforting hand on Stephen’s shoulder. But Stephen shied away, head still cradled in his palms.
“Hey,” Paul murmured. “Dude, it’s okay. You just…” He didn’t seem to know what he was trying to say so he just shrugged. “Whatever the case may be, it’s okay.”
Stephen shook his head, feeling dizzy and sick. The comfortable heaviness in his limbs had given way to uncomfortable exhaustion, his head pounding in spite of the water he had drank. Swallowing hard, he lowered his shaking hands and rubbed one of them up and down his arm.
“I… I don’t know what happened,” he offered, trying to look Paul in the eye before dropping his gaze to the floor. “I just… something in me…” He couldn’t find the words. “Shit.”
“Look, just…” Paul sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Stephen shivered as he remembered he hands pausing there for a moment when he had…
Shit, he muttered again inwardly.
“Sorry,” he croaked out loud, feeling near tears.
Paul shook his head, sighing once more. “Just… just let’s forget about it, okay? We’re both, like, super drunk and I think it’d be best if we’d just… go to sleep. And forget about it.”
Stephen looked up. “You… you’re cool with me sleeping here?”
Paul gave him a look. “What, you honestly think I’m going to let you drive like that?”
Stephen dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling sheepish and stupid and horribly young. “No.”
“Come on.” Paul jerked his head towards the family room. “Are you cool with the couch? I can take it if you…”
Stephen shook his head. “No, it’s closer to the bathroom anyway. Which I think may be a good idea.”
They both laughed, though it sounded hollow to Stephen’s ears as his head continued to spin. “Right, I’ll get you a pillow.”
Paul’s absence wasn’t long enough for Stephen to truly beat himself up over what had happened but, soon enough, Paul was switching off the light and muttering a soft goodnight before padding to his room to sleep.
Though he felt ill and sick at heart, Stephen was able to drift off after only a few minutes of agonizing over what had happened. His sleep was fitful, often interrupted by strange dreams and visions of curly hair coupled with a broad smile.
Oddly enough though, as he snuck out that morning with a miraculously mild hangover, the only thing he remembered of his dreams was the smell of cigarettes and a giggle he couldn’t quite place.
TO BE CONTINUED?!?!
...yes.
Tune in next time for Nate and Demetri being Nate and Demetri, Rob and Nate trying to get some things straight (or perhaps not so much), and maybe even Rob and Ed being able to resolve some things.
ENDNOTE: So yeah, I’m hoping to have the next chapter up before another, like, 9 months go by. Basically, I love all of you for being so dedicated, in spite of me finding my own writing juvenile and thinking this story completely moronic at times. I really appreciate all your kinds words and encouragements and, hopefully, I’ll be able to live up to the love you have showered me with.
Ooh, also! classyhobos did some wonderful fanart:
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b181/Somii/jon-1.png
http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanart/85328.html#cutid1
As always, comment and friend if you like because you know I loves it.
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.