bbang: love like a sunset, part 3/4
Drake lets himself wallow for the next few days. He doesn’t wait for Josh anymore; he knows Josh has been finding his own ways back and forth from home to school. Josh has always been resourceful like that. And he knows Josh has been avoiding him in school, too.
At least, avoiding all social interaction. He still sees Josh in the hallways and in some classes, and every time it feels like someone had just punched him in the gut.
Especially when Drake sees Josh with that kid, that Devon. It annoys the living hell out of Drake to see the two of them, laughing and chatting and smiling and being all perfectly chummy and wonderful and not at all acceptable in Drake’s eyes. Every time he catches a glimpse of Josh and his hovering little fanboy, Drake wants to rush over and stuff the twinky punk into a locker. Wants to throw himself at Josh and just tell him how much he misses him and his crude humor and his disgusting hand rolled American Spirits and his beautiful fucking face and his midnight rooftop conversations.
Drake wants to just confess already. Just tell Josh that, yes, he is in love with him, dammit. And that he doesn’t appreciate the new boytoy or the lewd jokes about him and his not-lusting-for teacher and the whole fact that he and Josh are totally not talking or anything at all.
But there is no way he is gonna do it. Drake Bell doesn’t have the balls. He’d much rather prefer to just sit and flounder in his pain for as long as humanly possible.
And he supposes his wallowing has started to show - in the slowness of his step, the lack of enthusiasm in his work, his loss of appetite - but he doesn’t care enough to try and put on a show. The only person who had tried to broach the subject was Amanda, and Drake’s cold shoulder response to her was enough to send the girl into a furious stomping fit and her own version of the ‘silent treatment’ - which, oddly enough, consisted of basically the same every day routine of walking to classes together and lunching together, just minus the talking. Which, when Drake thinks about it, is probably a small blessing in disguise.
But it was starting to get lonely. Not talking to Josh and Amanda - his everyday lifelines - it was starting to hit him hard. He supposes that he deserves it, though, after all the shitty things he’s been guilty of as of late.
It’s when he’s slouching in his history class, scrawling out lyrics to his newest song devoted to his self-pity and deprecation, that something new and interesting falls into his lap.
Or, well, not new per se - or interesting for that matter - not literally, anyhow.
Drake halts his writing and stares down at the three page essay he’d handed in the other day. It was covered in purple circles and notes, and at the top he could manage a thick ‘D.’ He looks up at the vision of his (sexily-suited and firm-assed) substitute teacher and frowns at the sight of Mr. Trainor’s ‘We have issues’ glare.
“Mr. Bell. Please see me after class.”
As Mr. Trainor walks away, Drake scowls and picks the essay up off his lap, his fingers carelessly crumpling it up on one side. He seriously doesn’t feel like dealing with this. Not today.
But when the bell rings and he rest of the classroom files out - Amanda hadn't even spared Drake a second glance, simply raising an eyebrow at him before flipping her hair and dramatically storming away - Drake sighs and drags himself out of his seat and to Mr. Trainor’s desk. His teacher sits perched on the edge of the desk, tie loosened around his neck, and Drake’s mind is instantly flooded with a voice that sounds an awful lot like Josh’s. Definitely a set up for a cheesy porno. Drake shudders and tries to get the thought out of his mind.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Trainor gains Drake’s attention and dives in.
“Mr. Bell. Drake. I’ve - I’ve noticed a serious decline in your work ethic recently. I mean, from what I can tell, you’re a smart kid. It says in your records that you’ve been earning an ‘A’ in this class thus far. But as of late? I mean, c’mon man, there’s something not right with you. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk to me about? Anything you want to get off your chest?”
Drake’s mouth had fallen open a little from his surprise. He had been expecting something a little more serious, more pain-in-the-ass. What he hadn’t been expecting was for Mr. Trainor to go all mini-therapist on him.
Fidgeting his fingers, Drake tries to formulate the easiest bullshit possible to get him out of the current situation. As he starts to launch into a quick but dramatic explanation that he’d just witnessed the carnage and horror of his dog’s death by speeding car the other day, he feels the warmth of foreign skin brushing against his own. Glancing down, he watches as Mr. Trainor’s hand hovers over his own fingers in an effort to still his fidgeting.
Drake gulps and wills his impending hard on to please fuck off and die. Pulling his hands away from Mr. Trainor’s reach, he darts his eyes up to the older man. The look on the teacher’s face is unreadable. Drake takes a step back.
“What the fuck are you playing at?”
Mr. Trainor chuckles to himself and reaches a hand back to scratch nervously at the side of his head.
“I’m not playing at anything, Drake. I’m just worried is all. I’m not - I’m not trying anything other than to reach out to you.”
Drake narrows his eyes and starts to make his way towards the door. “Nobody asked you to, sir. So please just leave it - leave me alone.”
As his hand hovers over the knob of the door, Mr. Trainor’s voice brings him to pause and sneak a glance out of his peripheral vision.
“I’ll be here, Drake. If and when you want to talk.”
After a few seconds, Drake wrenches the door knob and stomps out of the classroom.
He gets halfway down the hallway before he finds himself turning around, walking back and opening the door again. He enters the room, closing the door behind him as he slowly leans his back against the wood. Mr. Trainor’s still sitting on his desk, his dress shoes almost touching the linoleum floor as he swings his legs.
Drake takes a heavy breath before carefully walking over to the desk, reaching a shaking hand out and placing it on Mr. Trainor’s knee. The confusion is evident on his teacher’s face, but Drake doesn’t feel like backing out now. Not now that he’s finally mustered the balls to get this far.
“Mr. Trainor.”
“Drake.”
He leans in a little and lowers his voice as he finally vocalizes the secret that’s been weighing him down for the past few years.
“I - I’m gay.”
It’s when Miranda corners him on Friday that Drake realizes that he’s been even more of an asshole than he’d thought.
“Drake!” She reaches out to grasp the strap of Drake’s bag and stop him. When Drake turns to see her face, he instantly feels the guilt bubble up from his stomach. “Where’ve you been? You missed both our sessions this week. I waited for an hour the other day. What happened?”
Miranda’s face is a combination of anger and concern. Drake bites his lip and frowns as he tries to think of an excuse that isn’t a complete load of horseshit.
“I - I’m really sorry, Miranda. I totally forgot.” Not quite a lie. Drake had remembered that they were to happen, just forgot to forgo his own problems and actually show up. “I was gonna come find you as soon as I could, so I could explain.” Another lie. He had no intentions of ever trying to find anything that was located down the sophomore wing. Too many possibilities of seeing a certain giggling, tight-shirt-wearing, best-friend-stealing flirty piece of jailbait. “I just got, you know, caught up with things.”
Nodding in acceptance - which only makes Drake feel even worse about him and his lying self - Miranda manages a weak smile and releases her hold on Drake’s bag.
“Yeah. I understand. Don’t worry about it. Things happen.” She begins to rustle around in her purse. Drake watches as Miranda pulls out a familiar CD and hands it out to him. “Here. I listened to it.”
He gulps heavily as he reaches out to take the CD into his possession.
“I want to let you know,” she continues, her eyes resolutely not connecting with Drake’s. “It’s really good. You took my words and made it into something amazing.”
Drake begins to open his mouth, unsure of what he’s going to say, if he can manage to say anything at all. But Miranda half heartedly waves her hand in dismissal.
“Don’t. I - that’s not all. I tried to find you the other day, when you didn’t show the first time. I know you have history before your lunch hour, so I tried to run into you. But you never came out of Mr. Trainor’s room. So I - I peeked in. And I - “
As Miranda breathes in, Drake can feel his heart plummeting into his stomach. “Miranda. I can explain. Anything you might have seen, it’s just - “
“Drake. I saw you two. Together. He was touching you.”
The silence hangs between them, heavy and awkward. Miranda sighs and reaches her hand up to nervously twiddle with her hair.
“I’m just. I’m worried. Should I be worried, Drake? Is there something you’re not telling, you know, people? Is Mr. Trainor trying to - “
“Mr. Trainor isn’t trying to do anything to me, Miranda.” Drake flinches at the harshness in his voice, caught off guard by his own agitation. But he couldn’t stop it from coming now that he’d started it. “And frankly, it wouldn’t be any of your goddamn business if he were. So maybe you should just drop it, okay?”
Miranda bites her lip and nods slowly, and Drake cringes when he sees that she’s fighting back tears.
“Yeah. You’re right. It’s not really any of my business. See you later, Drake.”
She turns around and quickly walks away. Drake doesn’t make a single move to go after her. Instead, he too turns around.
It’s seventh period. He knows Mr. Trainor - no, Jerry - uses this hour for prep.
Drake makes his way toward the classroom.
He wasn’t sleeping anyway, but when Drake hears the telltale rustle and thunk of someone jumping from a branch to the roof, he drops his guitar on his bed and walks over to the window. Sliding the door up swift and easy, he sticks his head out and is greeted by the ever-familiar form of Josh perched on the shingles, lit cigarette dangling between his lips.
“Nice evening, eh?” Josh sends a cheesy salute in Drake’s direction before leaning backwards against the roof. Drake rolls his eyes and climbs out to join the other boy.
“I hope you just lit that up, because the thought of you climbing up here while smoking makes my stomach feel queasy.”
Josh snorts and turns to watch Drake as he gingerly lies next to him. “Glad to see that you haven’t changed much, Bell. Still a big motherly pussy with no zest for life.”
Drake winces and turns onto his side, lifting his head up and resting his chin on one hand as he looks down on Josh.
“Hey. About that. I - I’ve been kind of an asshole these past few weeks.”
“Kind of?” Even though Josh’s lips are trembling with a restrained smile, Drake knows his friend is still speaking on a level of seriousness.
“Alright. So I’ve been the biggest asshole on the planet. The king of the assholes.”
“The king of the fucking assholes,” Josh smirks, his fingers flicking the ash of his cigarette. “I like it. You should get some business cards made up for that.”
Drake lets a small smile break. He hesitates for a second before sitting up and reaching a hand out to rest on Josh’s shoulder.
“Hey, man. Really, though. I’m - I’m really sorry, you know. I’ve just been in a mood of sorts lately.”
Sitting up himself, Josh puts out his cigarette before reaching a hand around to grab Drake into a one-armed hug.
“S’okay, asshole. I understand that sometimes you get PMS-y. These things happen. Just - next time? Try not waiting until I feel the desire to spend the night on your roof gazing at the stars, okay?”
Drake grins with relief and relaxes into Josh’s embrace, letting his head fall down to rest against Josh’s shoulder.
He’d missed this. Christ, how he’d missed this. The smell of Josh, the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice.
“You remember that time,” Josh started, his eyes fixed on the clutter of stars that sat high above their heads. “Way back. What was it? Seventh? Eighth grade? You know, when we had that big fight and didn’t talk for, like, twenty days.”
“It was eighth grade, and we didn’t talk for seventeen.” He hears Josh snicker, feels it as Josh’s chest rises and falls harshly.
“Yeah,” Josh continues. “That one. You remember when we made up?”
Drake thinks for a moment before responding. “You mean when I caught Sean Wilkins cornering you with three of his asshole lackeys, calling you things like ‘fatty’ and ‘lardass’ and ‘white trash?’”
“Yeah, yeah. And then you threw your math book at Sean’s head. You missed by like a foot, but distracted him long enough so I could knee him in the balls. That kid fell to the ground and his lackey fuckers ran away like the pussies they are. And Sean was too embarrassed to report us, so we got off scott free.”
Josh’s grip around Drake’s body tightens and Drake smiles as he feels Josh grasp him closer.
“What good times, eh? We were like a crime fighting team.”
Drake giggles. “Does that mean I’m Batman?”
“Hell no. I’m Batman. You’re Robin, bitch. Get it? Cause you’re totally my bitch.”
Shaking his head, Drake sighs and relents. “Fine. I’m your bitch.”
Josh suddenly pulls Drake’s head against his chest and violently ruffles Drake’s hair.
“Good, cause the next time you start to pull your whiny emo shit again, I’m gonna say, ‘Bitch, tell me what’s crawled up your ass,’ and you’re gonna tell me. Okay?”
“Okay! Okay! Agreed! Now let me go!” Josh lets Drake wiggle out of his grasp. Exasperated, Drake scowls and crosses his arms. “Jackass.”
There’s a small pause that lasts for a few seconds before Josh asks, “So. Are you gonna tell me what was bothering you?”
Drake sighs and picks at a loose string hanging from his sleeve. “It’s stupid, really. I just - I got jealous, you know? What with your new fanclub and whatnot. I’m not used to sharing you.”
He turns to face Josh, to see his reaction. Josh’s face is a curious mix of amusement and confusion.
“Are you trying to say, in so little words, that you were jealous of Devon? My little fairy sophomore mentee?”
Drake nods, his mouth opening in preparation to explain himself in a little more detail, but Josh interrupts him with a barking laugh.
“You sure you don’t dye your hair, Bell?” He glares at Josh and tries to evade Josh’s hands that try to yank him closer.
“Don’t touch me,” he spats, swatting at Josh’s arm. But his resistance only works for so long, and soon Josh has him wrestled down onto the roof. With his hands held above his head and his legs bracketed in by Josh’s knees, Drake can only look up and frown at his captor.
“Asshole,” he scowls, his mouth trying not to grin with glee. He knows his face must be flushed red at this point, and he silently thanks the dark of the night for hiding this from his friend. Josh smiles down, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness and something else that Drake can’t quite discern.
“Yeah. I know. Maybe I’m the king of the assholes. And maybe you’re just the queen.” Drake’s eyes widen with surprise and his heart begins to speed up. Slowly, Josh’s head leans down, getting closer and closer.
Josh’s lips feel just as soft as they did four years ago, Drake thinks as he automatically sighs into the kiss. It only stays chaste for about half a second before Josh’s hands release their hold on Drake’s and slide down to grasp at Drake’s face, and then Drake grunts and opens his mouth to steal a taste. There’s faint traces of pasta (dinner) and tobacco (dessert) left on Josh’s tongue, but Drake doesn’t care. To him, it’s the greatest taste in the world. It’s a flavor he wants to keep forever, to roll into a new type of gum so he can taste it always.
They kiss for what seems like hours, tongues sliding over one another, running along lips and teeth and the inside of cheeks. It’s overwhelming and intense and the best thing Drake’s ever had, he’s sure of it. The feel of Josh’s hands against his skin is like an electric shock and the weight of his knees pressing against his hips is magnified into a sensation of pleasure, as if Drake can sense the impending concentration on the lower parts of their bodies.
He breaks away from Josh’s mouth long enough to gasp, “Josh,” before his hands are rushing down to grab at Josh’s waist, tugging and begging to please fall down. Josh gets with the program quick enough, his body shifting down and his legs falling to slot into Drake’s. They both groan, hips shifting curiously, testing this new sensation of warm bodies pressing against each other.
Drake can feel his heart pounding through his chest, can feel the hot weight of Josh’s hard on pressing into his hip. Inhaling sharply, he reaches his lips up to catch Josh’s again and slides his hand a little lower.
“Fuck, Drake.” Josh bites at Drake’s lower lip, his eyes starting down at him with pupils blown wide with lust and awe. He moves his mouth down, finding Drake’s collarbone and nipping and sucking and making Drake fucking moan. Drake grips Josh’s cock tighter, squeezing him through the fabric of his jeans. Josh reaches his own hand down to cover Drake’s, and Drake is pretty sure his throat has closed up, because he can’t breathe.
He’s confused when after a moment Josh pulls their hands away, but decides he doesn’t care when Josh shifts his hips again and their erections are pressed against each other. Josh groans and Drake gasps, his hands moving to Josh’s hips, fingers sliding under Josh’s shirt to dig into the skin.
“Oh God, Josh. Josh, fucking move. Please.” When Josh finally thrusts against Drake’s body, Drake is convinced that he’s ready to die. Pleasure shoots up his body and he chokes back an obscenely loud moan. Josh smirks above, as if he knows how gone Drake is becoming.
He lowers his face, his mouth ghosting over Drake’s as he whispers, “Mine.” Drake’s mind snaps and he pushes up to crush his lips against Josh’s. Their bodies begin an erratic rhythm of thrusting and kissing, all moving so quickly and almost too fast. Drake feels himself nearing the edge with a force stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. It’s when Josh slips his tongue into the shell of Drake’s ear that Drake finally falls, crashes over. He gasps heavily as his orgasm rolls over his body, his hips trying to desperately thrust against Josh’s in an attempt to bring Josh over, too. It only takes a few seconds and then Drake can feel Josh shuddering above him.
They collapse together on the roof, chests heaving and bodies glazed with sweat. Josh rolls off of Drake a minute later, but keeps his arms and legs tangled up with Drake’s. Shutting his eyes and burrowing his face into Josh’s neck, Drake grins sloppily and sighs.
As he approaches her that next Monday morning, Drake figures telling Amanda is the perfect way to get her to forgive him the fastest.
And it works, too. Because going up to a girl (even a girl who’s pissed off at you for blowing her off for the past few weeks) and saying, “Josh and I had almost-sex on my roof last night” is a surefire way to get her to forgo most, if not all, of her resolute anger.
As is expected, Amanda’s face goes from pissed off to shocked excitement. Her hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen with glee.
“Oh my God, Drake. Oh my God! Tell me every single last detail. Now.” Drake winces at Amanda’s flailing arms, trying his best to walk a little faster than her as they make their way to history.
“What? Hell no. I’m not one of your non-existent girlfriends. I do not kiss and tell.”
Amanda clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. “Oh, c’mon Drake. How am I supposed to be the hag to your fag if you won’t tell me all about your gay sexual experiences? I need to live vicariously through you! Now, dish.”
Drake rolls his eyes but says, “We talked a little. About stuff. I said I was sorry. We joked around. He kissed me and then we grinded against each other until we both came in our pants. Happy?”
The thoughtful look on Amanda’s face tells Drake that she’s more than happy to imagine her two guy friends having a dry humping session on a roof, and Drake silently wonders why in the world he’s friends with her.
Amanda’s eyes twinkle with girlish delight. “Were there declarations of love? Did you confess your unyielding affection for him? Did he tell you you’re his one and only?” Drake frowns as he considers Amanda’s words.
“Umm, no. Actually, we didn’t talk about any of that kind of stuff.” A look of horror crosses over Amanda’s face, and she sends an incredulous glare at Drake. “What?! We’re guys, Amanda. We don’t talk about feelings and shit. And we both enjoy orgasms. It’s the way to male life.”
But even as Drake recites his manly speech of male manliness, Josh’s voice whispers in his head. Mine. Josh had said that Drake was his. That had to mean something, right? It definitely did.
“So, are you guys like fuck buddies now? Or, like, boyfriends? Am I even allowed to say that word? Boyfriends?”
Drake shakes off his thoughts and laughs at his friend. “Of course. I mean, we haven’t talked about what we are, if there even is a non-platonic ‘we,’ but if there is and if there will be, then yes. Boyfriends.”
They reach the door to the classroom and Amanda shakes her head as she reaches for the door handle.
“Trust me, Drake. There’s never been a ‘just platonic’ anything between you and Josh.”
Drake shrugs nonchalantly, but can’t help but let his face split into a giddy grin.
“And seeing you this happy after two weeks of Bell Hell? Well, I’m pretty sure I can forgive you.”
Amanda’s smiling at him, and he has his two best friends back, and he’d had the most intense sexual experience on the roof of his house just last night with the only guy he’s ever wanted, and he’s pretty sure that everything would be fine. Drake could only pull the girl into a quick, tight hug and say, “You’re the best.”
“Damn straight I am! Now let’s go sit down and learn shit.”
The next couple of days pass without any real action. He and Josh don’t really address what happened that night on the roof, but the goofy grins and stolen glances that they share prove that they aren’t just forgetting it.
Especially when Drake gets dragged into closets and bathroom stalls for quick make-out/grope sessions.
Drake’s heart continues to swell and swell with overwhelming happiness, and sometimes he fears he’s going to just drop dead and die right there and then.
The only thing that has Drake down is Miranda. He had gone to the library on Tuesday, had waited and waited. But the younger girl never showed.
On Wednesday, Drake follows Josh down the sophomore wing (and he won’t admit it, but it still bugs him that Josh and his stupid mentee are new best friends. Josh snorts every time Drake makes a face at any small mentioning of Devon, and Drake would continue to be concerned if Josh didn’t also reach over to quickly squeeze his hand reassuringly) and doesn’t even try to roll his eyes when Josh quickly finds Devon and makes his way over to the younger kid.
It only takes Drake a few seconds to spot Miranda. She’s talking to another kid, some boy Drake doesn’t know. When he approaches them their conversation dwindles into nothing, Miranda’s gaze fixed solidly at the ground as the other kid hastily stutters a “see you later” and walks away.
Drake coughs a little before saying, “I waited for you yesterday.”
“I had things.”
He nods knowingly. “I understand.”
They stand in silence for a little while. Drake sighs and rubs at his arm. “I’m really sorry, Miranda. I’ve been a total dick these past few weeks. And then I took out some of my anger at you. You don’t deserve that.”
Miranda lifts her eyes up to meet Drake’s. She studies him for a bit, and Drake can only hope that his sincerity is pouring out in gratuitous waves.
“I’m not letting this go,” she says, her voice holding a steady tone. Drake’s stomach lurches as she continues, her eyes boldly holding their gaze with Drake’s. “I know there’s something going on, and I’m sorry, but I can’t just forget it’s happening. I’m scared for you, Drake, and I’m going to do everything in my power to get you to see that it’s not - ”
“It’s not what, Miranda? Do you even know what you’re talking about? Do I even know what you’re talking about. Jesus.” Drake’s face is flushed and he can feel his body trembling with anger and nerves. Miranda’s expression doesn’t change, just stays stuck in its seriousness.
“What are you guys talking about?” Josh’s voice scares Drake a little, his head twitching in surprise as he turns around a little to find his friend grinning curiously behind his left shoulder. “It sounds intense. Is it big secrets?”
Drake can feel his throat closing up, and he doesn’t even know quite why. He turns back to Miranda, and he can’t help the sudden silent panic that flares from his entire body. Miranda stares back, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed.
“I’ve gotta go.” And before Drake can even get another word in, Miranda turns and briskly walks away.
Drake watches her for a moment before he shakes his head in relief and turns back to Josh. He’s got a huge sloppy grin on his face and Drake can’t help but return it.
Miranda’s wrong. Drake doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He’s perfectly fine and there isn’t anything suspicious going on.
These facts don’t really help alleviate the trembles that rattle Drake’s body, though.
It’s always been a sign of foreboding, he supposes.
Drake has had nervous habits ever since he was seven. His mother had baked a gooey batch of chocolate chip cookies, placed them on the counter top to cool. Drake had snuck a hand up and stolen three hot cookies. The chocolate smudged all over his fingers and across his lips, and he’d spent twenty minutes in the bathroom scrubbing and hiding. He was sure his mother would know (although, looking back now, he knew his mother wouldn’t have cared regardless), would punish him for taking without asking.
When his mother’s voice called him down, the loud sound of his name from his mother’s mouth made him break out into twitches and shakes. His face was flushed and his chest was pounding. The cookies sat heavily in his stomach and all he wanted to do was puke them up and plead for forgiveness.
As he’d slunk into the kitchen, his eyes welling with ready-to-fall tears and his hands trembling, his mother had her back to him. Drake swallowed heavily and weakly said, “Yeah, momma?”
And his mother had turned around, her face beaming with a smile. “I baked cookies! You want some, sweetie?” She didn’t know - she didn’t know and Drake wasn’t in trouble and there were more cookies to be eaten.
Drake couldn’t do anything other than nod quickly and scramble into his seat. He had choked down two more cookies, but they had tasted like lead.
He didn’t really like chocolate chip cookies as much after that.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Drake.”
Jerry’s face is trying to hold that smile, the one that got Drake into this mess to begin with. It’s that smile that says, “I am confident in you and what you can do. You’re amazing.” It makes Drake feel all melty and light.
It also makes him feel contorted with confusion and guilt.
“But,” Drake says, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, the bottom of it soft and comforting against his skin. “What will people say? I can’t deal with that. It’s not that I don’t care about this, it’s just - ”
“Drake, I understand that you care. I care, too. This is important to me, just as I know it is to you. And I want to make this work.”
Sighing tightly, Drake lifts a hand to tangle in his hair. “I don’t know. I’m - this is all so new. I’m just kind of scared, you know? And I don’t think I’ll ever stop being scared.”
Jerry shifts closer, scooting his way down his desk so he can reach out and rest a hand on Drake’s shoulder. It should concern Drake that Jerry’s so physical, so free with his touches. But instead it only makes Drake feel a little safer, a little better. Which, in turn, only makes him feel more confused.
“It’s going to be scary. I’m not going to lie. But it’ll be okay, eventually. I promise.”
Drake gnaws a little at his bottom lip and Jerry withdraws his hand.
“Go on, Drake. Go find that Josh of yours. Make yourself feel better.”
He flushes bright red, but doesn’t ask how Jerry knows. Nothing surprises him anymore. The world has turned upside down and toppled into his lap it seems. So Drake supposes that all that’s left to do is try to pick up the pieces and stand back up again.
He doesn’t look back when he leaves the classroom, but he can feel Jerry’s eyes on him. They’re silently pushing him to do the one thing that he doesn’t want to ever do.
Josh isn’t hard to find. It’s as simple as locating the shortest, loudest, shiniest among the rest of the kids in the hallways. Because, as irritating as it was, where there’s an annoying twink named Devon, so there is also a Josh.
It was getting easier to not feel the sharp sting of jealously at the thought and sight and sound of the demon jailbait when Drake knew that a simple smirk and a shoulder nudge would be enough to get Josh to drop his new toy and sneak off into the boy’s handicapped stall for a few minutes of hurried groping. Unfortunately, even though he could take the Josh out of the World of Devon, it was hard to get the World of Devon out of Josh.
“He’s funny as fuck, man. I mean, the kid’s got a wicked sense of humor. Sometimes we can go back and forth, you know? And it just flows. Perfectly. Him and me? We could probably do a decent stand up routine together, you know? It would be amazing, too.”
Drake sits on his bed and plucks softly at his guitar strings, the wooden body laying cradled against his crossed legs and his shirtless chest. Josh’s dangling a cigarette-holding arm out of the window as he talks, his mouth moving and his lips curled up in a delicious smile that Drake just wants to lick off.
“You know he plays, too, right? I mean, I have mentioned it before, right man? Cause he does. And he’s not that bad. Not as good as you, not by a long shot. But he has potential, you know?” Drake scowls a little but Josh doesn’t notice, just laughs a little before going on. “Maybe you could listen to him. Give him some pointers. I know you two don’t get on real well, but he’s told me before that he kind of idolizes you. At least, the thought of you. I’ve told him how good you are and he’s dying to hear you play. It’d be good for you and him, to bond over music.”
He shoots a glare at Josh and halts his playing. “He’s not my mentee, Josh. He’s yours. So stop trying to get me to, like, hang out with him and shit. I’m not interested, okay?”
Josh rolls his eyes and flicks his cigarette out the window without taking another drag. Standing up, he starts walking towards Drake.
“You know, the dumb little twink’s totally out and shit. With his parents, with his friends, everything. His mom’s one of those PFLAG ladies with pins and flags and the like. He’s - he knows about us.”
Drake flinches at Josh’s words, at the feel of Josh’s hand sliding across his bare back. “You told him? You told him?”
Josh shrugs his shoulders and lowers his head to rest against Drake’s shoulder. “You told Amanda, didn’t you? I told Devon.”
“Whatever. I’ve been friends with Amanda a hell of a lot longer then you’ve even known Devon existed. Besides, what did you tell him about us anyway?”
“I told him, you know, that you and me are a - a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Like, together. Yes, a thing. A together thing.”
Drake huffs and pulls away from Josh’s touch. “Whatever.” Josh growls in frustration and yanks the guitar out of Drake’s hands. Before he can even protest, though, Josh has him pinned against the bed, knees holding his thighs tightly together and both hands suddenly holding Drake’s above his head.
“You,” Josh whispers as he lowers his lips onto Drake’s nose. “Need to stop being such an emotional bitch. Just talk to Devon. Get to know him. Stop thinking that I’m fucking him behind your back. The kid’s not that bad, you know.”
Drake grunts as he tries to worm his way out of Josh’s grasp. His efforts are useless.
“Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll try to talk to the little twink, okay?”
Josh smiles down at Drake. “See? All better. And now I’m gonna suck your dick.”
Drake waits another week before finally following through with his promise. It’s not like he’s avoiding his encounter with Devon.
Except, really, he is.
Until something hits him and he realizes that Devon has something that Drake doesn’t. And Drake figures that maybe Devon could help him in ways that he never thought Devon could. It all makes sense in Drake’s mind, it really does.
So he finds the kid after school, tugging him out of the crowd of giggly sophomores and into the boy’s bathroom. Devon’s face goes from surprise to amusement, and Drake has to fight back the urge to start an extremely manly bitch-slap-fight just so he can wipe that smug grin off the boy’s face.
They stand in an awkward silence for a short spell, Drake biting his lower lip while trying to find words to voice his questions and Devon smiling with his arms crossed over his ridiculously pink-shirted chest (could this kid be any gayer?). At last, Drake opens his mouth and says, “So.”
Devon nods his head in acknowledgement. Drake sighs and tries again.
“I know you and I haven’t exactly hit it off these past few weeks.”
“That’s an understatement,” Devon snorts, and Drake shoots him a small glare. “I mean,” he continues, his lower lip jutting out in a childish pout. “You’ve been a total dick and it’s kind of embarrassing, you know? I mean, come on. Totally embarrassing, for both you and me. Or, well, maybe just you.”
“Excuse me?”
“That you’re threatened by me. I mean, you’re Drake fucking Bell for Christ’s sake. You shouldn’t really have to be concerned with the likes of me. I’m just some ostentatious sophomore who happens to be blatant about his cocksucking abilities, which are highly commended let me tell you.”
“Yeah, about that,” Drake interrupts in attempt to redirect this conversation before it crashes and burns. “So you’re all experienced and whatnot, right? With being, um - “
“Gay? A faggot? Queer? Homosexual? Yes. About as much as anyone can have by the time they’re sixteen - you know, besides the unfortunate mass of underage slave boys whose nubile bodies are worshiped and molested by sick old men who just love that young cock.”
Drake’s eyes bulge a little as Devon drabbles on. This kid - he really is something else. Drake could see why Josh enjoyed having him around.
“Um. Yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe I could get your help with something. You see - “
Raising an eyebrow, Devon crosses his arms and interrupts, “Does have anything to do with that hot ass teacher, Mr. Trainor?”
The smirk that grows on the younger kid’s face causes the muscles in Drake’s fingers to twitch, as if warning him that something was afoot. Something was up. “Ah. Well, sort of. You see, Jerry - I mean, Mr. Trainor and I are - “
Devon’s sharp barking laughs make Drake flinch. “Oh, man,” he cackles, throwing his head back and pointing a finger at Drake. “You really are, aren’t you? Holy fucking Christ, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“What? What’s true? What are you talking about?”
His laughter quells and Devon lowers his finger, his upper lip curling upward into a sneer. “You. And Mr. Trainor. Or, as you like to call him, Jerry. You’re totally fucking him, aren’t you? Son of a bitch, Miranda was totally right.”
Drake sputters and tries to intervene before things got really ugly. “No, you don’t understand. It’s not like that. It’s just - “
But Devon doesn’t listen.
“You - are you some kind of retard or something? I mean, seriously, man.”
“Wait a minute here, you’re not hearing me. I’m trying to tell you - “
“I don’t even know why I’m complaining. This is probably the best thing that could have ever happened. Now that I know you really are screwing around like the two-timing lying scumbag that you are, I can help Miranda’s plan and finally make my move.”
All of the defense that Drake was building, all the explaining he was ready to launch into - it all falls to the wayside as he lets Devon’s words sink in.
“Planning? What planning? What move?”
Devon pauses for what Drake can only assume must be suspense, and it makes Drake want to launch across the few feet separating them and wrap his fingers around the twink’s neck.
“Miranda. She’s planning on saving your sad, sad situation - she thinks you’re self-damaging and down a road that will only bring you pain and destruction, and me? Well, I think you’re just a selfish cockslut who gets off on letting Mr. Teacher Man bend you over his desk. Anyway, she’s got this plan to expose you and your lies in the hopes that you’ll change your ways. And at first I was like, ‘you’ve totally got to be joking,’ because I knew you were kind of stupid, but not that stupid. Not that fucking Mr. Trainor is terribly stupid, what with him being a definition hottie, but more or less because I figured you’d never do anything to jeopardize your budding romance with Josh. But I suppose that’s all for the best. Because, Josh? Is totally my next move.”
Drake can feel the muscles in his face twitching as Devon’s smirk turns into a wide, toothy smile. Fuck restraint, he’s ready to launch himself onto the kid and strangle those words out of him.
“I mean, it’s not like I don’t already have him eating out of my hand. He’s quite the catch, Drake. And you’ve totally fucked yourself over,” Devon laughs, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “Fucked all your chances with Josh by fucking your own teacher. I guess I should thank you. At least now I know where to be when the shit hits the fan. Right next to Josh, ready to let him fall into my sympathetic arms. He’ll be mine, then, you know. With someone he deserves, someone who doesn’t lie and doesn’t fuck teachers and who isn’t afraid to tell the world who he really is.”
“I’m gonna fucking - “ Drake starts, but Devon takes a step back and raises his hand.
“You aren’t going to fucking anything except shut up and watch me walk away,” Devon responds, voice steady and face placid. As he starts for the door, he turns and takes a moment to give Drake a once-over.
“You know, from what Josh had told me, I thought you were a cool guy. Someone I’d like to model myself after. Now? I just know I’m better.”
Drake watches the younger kid as he walks to the exit and steps out of the bathroom. He stands still, his entire body shaking with shock. His vision blurs as his eyes begin to well.
As Devon’s words rush through his mind, he realizes where everything connected and how everything was fucked up. And if what Devon had said is true, then Drake was to be in some serious shit if he didn’t start explaining himself soon.
After wiping at his face a few times with the back of his hand, Drake composes himself the best he can and storms out of the bathroom. He’s supposed to be in class - some class, any class, something he could give two fucks about at the moment - but it doesn’t matter anymore.
He needs to find the only person that matters right now.
It doesn’t scare Drake that he can’t find Josh for the rest of the day. It doesn’t alarm him when Josh never shows up for their customary ride home. It doesn’t freak Drake out in the least when Josh doesn’t answer his phone or any texts.
No, not at all. Drake spends the rest of his day in full assurance that Josh hasn’t been lured into a world of falsehood and lies from the lips and mind of a certain Devon “Life Ruiner/Home Wrecker” Werkheiser.
Which, really, is a blatant and total fallacy. Because Drake actually spends the rest of the day fidgeting and sweating and dreading over it all, his heart constantly pounding in his chest and his mind reeling with all the possible disastrous outcomes that could result from all of this fuckery.
He tries calling Amanda about ten times, but consistently ends up directly in her voice message. Which probably means that her phone died and hasn’t charged it yet.
Then again, maybe someone got to Amanda first, and now she knows all about Miranda’s theory and Devon’s plotting and maybe she’s jumped the bandwagon, too.
Drake figures that if he really wanted to know whether or not Josh knew, he could just waltz on over and knock on Josh’s window. But - it wasn’t him who did that. That was Josh’s thing. That was special. And what if Drake did it, for the first time - and it ended up being the last time, ever. Because Josh would know, Drake just knew. If Drake went over, Josh would know and he would just look at Drake with disdain and tell him that nothing could ever be the same ever again.
And Drake thinks he might die of pain if he loses Josh like that. No, it’s better to just wait until tomorrow. To talk to Josh before school and sort this whole mess out.
It’s safe to say that Drake spends the entire night tossing and turning in his bed; every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is the image of Josh’s crestfallen face.
When Drake finally wrenches himself out of bed, his heart leaps into his throat when his eyes catch the clock on his bedside table. It’s eight thirty. He’s an hour late for school. Panicked and hurried, Drake fumbles out of his covers and quickly shoves himself into a pair of jeans he finds on the floor. He rushes into a shirt, grabs his bag and races for his car.
The rest of his day progresses in a similar manner - harried and rushed and hectic. Drake barely has time to think about his next step, nonetheless try and seek out Josh or Amanda or even Miranda so he can ask her why in God’s name is she fucking with his life so badly.
When Drake walks into history, his eyes immediately dart around in search for Amanda. She’s sitting in her desk and Drake plops down next to her. She notices his fearful appearance and gives him a heavy gaze filled with worry.
“Drake, what the hell happened to you? You look like you just ran a marathon.”
“Your phone. You didn’t pick up last night. I called you, endlessly, for hours.”
Amanda sighs and lifts her empty hands and says, “I went over again. My dad confiscated and then turned if off. I’ll probably have it back by tomorrow, though. He’s such a pushover. I’ll go home and bake him cookies, butter him up with baked goods. Let him lick the bowl. Then he’ll remember what an adorable and loveable daughter I am and what the hell? Two hundred dollars in phone bills? Totally worth it when he’s got such a wonderful girl like me as his kid. Right?”
The blank stare that Drake sends in reply deflates Amanda’s enthusiasm a little, but Drake doesn’t have the energy to feel bad for being a Downer Debbie.
“So weren’t, like, avoiding me or anything, were you?”
“Of course not,” Amanda replies, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Why? Was I supposed to be? Am I still mad at you for something? Cause I didn’t think so.” Her eyes slide into a glare as she adds, “What did you do now?”
Drake buries his face into his hands, his voice muffled against his palms. “Nothing. There’s some kind of serious misunderstanding going on, though, and it’s totally going to fuck up things with Josh if I don’t - “
“If you don’t be quiet and pay attention to the lesson, Mr. Bell? Is that what you were going to say?” Drake raises his head from his hands slowly only to become even more anxiety-induced by the sight of Mr. Trainor standing over his desk, arms crossed and one eye brow raised in mock interest. “Because if not, then I suggest you say it anyway. Or, rather, not say anything else unless it has something to do with the fall of the Berlin Wall.”
He manages a weak, “Yes, sorry sir,” and promptly flops his head onto his desk as Mr. Trainor walks back to the front of the class. He can feel Amanda’s eyes drilling holes into his entire body, but he doesn’t wish to muster the effort to lift himself and face her concern. When the class ends and Amanda reaches a hand over to slide through Drake’s unbrushed hair, Drake supposes he’s ready now to spill the whole story to her, to just sit up and blurt out how this whole fucked-up situation came to be.
“Mr. Bell, could I see you for a second?” Mr. Trainor’s face is stern and serious as he sends Amanda a look that silently says, ‘Leave, please.’ And she does, nodding at Drake and sending a suspicious look at Mr. Trainor as she slowly walks out of the room.
Drake pushes himself up and out of his desk, makes his way towards Mr. Trainor’s desk. His face has changed from serious to apprehensive, and Drake can hear the concern as he asks, “Drake. Is everything alright? You and Josh aren’t fighting again, are you?”
“No,” Drake spits out bitterly. He’s starting to get really sick of discussing his personal life with Mr. Trainor, even though he’s the one who had started this whole thing. Drake’s starting to get sick of a lot of things that seem to be purely of his own fault. “It’s not Josh. It’s this. This whole thing that we have going on. It’s really weighing me down and making things really complicated and - look, Jerry, I can’t do this, okay? I’ve got too many issues going on, things I’ve got to sort out and fix. I don’t have time for this - no time, no energy, no nothing. It’s done, Jerry.”
As Drake starts for the door, he feels Mr. Trainor’s hand grab for his shoulder and stop him.
“Drake. You can’t just stop. Not after all this. We’ve come so far. This is important. I don’t want to see you give all this up, all because you’re scared. That’s what’s bothering you, right? People finding out? People knowing?”
Drake’s crumbles a little and he fights back the tears threatening to pour out. God, he’s turned into such a cry-baby little bitch recently.
“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. Not just that, but yes. There’s more, Jerry. There’s that and Josh and - I just can’t, okay? I’m grateful for what you’ve done, for what you’re trying to do but - I give up, alright? I’m done.”
He pulls away from Mr. Trainor’s grip and pulls open the door.
Only to stumble upon four people eavesdropping.
Amanda. Miranda. Devon. Josh. All standing there, eyes wide and faces guilty. Drake can’t help but just stare. Miranda tries to talk first, her voice quiet and gentle.
“I was - I was only trying to help. Drake, please, just understand.”
“What’s going on, Drake?” He can’t look Amanda in the eye, can’t answer her question. Instead, he turns to Josh and almost dies when he sees that Josh’s face is almost completely unreadable.
“I can explain. Really. It isn’t - “
Devon steps in front of Josh and snips, “Oh, go fuck your teacher, Bell. We’ve heard enough.”
And then Drake can’t take it anymore. He ignores all the voices that call after him (he can hear Amanda and Miranda, even Mr. Trainor. But not Josh. And he thinks he’s dying a little inside, because he doesn’t hear Josh’s voice.) as he strides quickly down the hallway. Then he starts jogging, then running, and once he pushes open the front doors of the school he’s sprinting towards the parking lot and towards his car.
He just needs to get out, get away from all this fucked up crazy. Fumbling with his keys for a little bit, Drake manages to unlock his door and slide into the driver’s seat within thirty seconds. He hastily shoves the key into the ignition and peels out of his parking spot and off of the school’s property. As he’s speeding down a residential road, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Yanking it out with one hand, Drake glances down to check the caller id. His heart pounds in his chest - Josh - but he flips it open and holds it against his ear.
“Drake. Drake? Where the fuck are you? What the fuck is going on?”
“I - I’m driving.”
“What? You left? Drake, what the hell was going on in there? Seriously, man, I’ve been hearing some fucked up things from Miranda and Devon. Amanda swears none of it is true and Mr. Trainor just left, man. Just up and walked away. Said he didn’t think it was his place to say anything. And it only made the situation more awkward. Drake. Drake. You there?”
Drake’s eyes are starting to flood with tears and he lets go of the wheel long enough to bat at his face in an attempt to clear his vision. The light ahead turns red and he hits the brakes just in time to skid to a semi-legal stop.
“Yeah. I’m here, Josh. I’m - Josh, really, you’ve just got to hear me out. It’s not what you think, I swear.”
“What am I supposed to think, Drake? Really. I mean, Miranda’s got pictures of this guy touching you. And, like, it’s not so bad when you just think, ‘Hey, maybe this guy is just being friendly.’ But then I heard him, Drake. I heard you and him talking about something, and now I have no idea what to think. Tell me, Drake, what the fuck am I supposed to think?”
Pressing his head into the steering wheel, Drake sighs heavily into the phone. “Not that, Josh. Anything but that. It’s not like that with me and Jerry, I swear. It’s just - ”
“Jerry. Who the - fucking hell, Drake. You’re using his goddamn first name. Just tell me the truth, okay? Are you fucking him? Is he fucking you? Are you letting him? Does he keep you after class and kiss you and then get down on his knees and suck you off? Does he? Are you? Goddammit Drake, fuck. I - ”
Drake can hear Josh’s throat growling, the way he gets when he’s crying. Drake can’t find the words to explain, can’t figure out what to say to make everything clear.
“Josh, I - I love you. Josh, I love you and I can’t - ”
He hears Josh’s breath hitch, sees the light turn green, presses on the gas, clutches the phone to the side of his head and gets ready to just blurt out the entire story but not before he tells Josh one more time that he does, he loves him and can’t live without him.
Drake doesn’t see the truck. Doesn’t hear the horn. All he remembers is Josh’s voice screaming in his ear, the feeling of sharp pain as his head launches forward, the sound of metal crunching, and then just blackness.
| part four |