skyfalling
in
cabfic
Fic Exchange, for iridescentglow
Recipient: iridescentglow
Title: Defining the genre
Author: wishpaper
Pairing: Cash/Singer
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,246
Summary: Singer is dumb; Cash is resourceful. They're in high school!
Notes: I really meant for porn to happen when I was writing this, but then it didn't. For that, I apologize.
If there is something Alex really needs to learn to remember, it is that he has little to no alcohol tolerance. He always tells himself he's going to watch it, this time, and not vomit in the azaeleas or in the sink or on Stacy Wishmeyer's shoes, this time, but for some reason he always thinks he can handle one more shot or one more beer, and it almost never ends pretty.
Now, for example, some kid's poor parents are out of town and his house has been taken over for what was apparently originally someone's birthday party-Alex doesn't even know whose-but has developed into something involving the majority of Alex's year at school and a fair number of other people, too. And Alex-well, he's not puking, that's the important thing, but he's fairly sure he shouldn't have taken that last shot with Ashley from his English class, even if she is really cute and was toasting Jessica Alba's sexiness.
But Alex's head is spinning a little now, and even though he's not puking yet, he thinks he might start if he doesn't sit down soon. He finds a couch that isn't entirely monopolized by couples making out and sinks into the corner of it, draping himself over the arm of the couch and pressing his forehead against the upholstery.
"Alex DeLeon!" Cash says happily, plopping onto the couch next to Alex and draping himself over him. "Jizzle said you were over here dying, I thought I should come check on you."
Alex groans and doesn't bother looking up. Cash is not exactly the person he'd most like to see right now. "Who th'fuck is Jizzle?"
"Ummm, Alex Johnson," Cash says. Alex can feel him shifting, sliding an arm around Alex's waist, propping his chin on Alex's shoulder. "I have to have different names for you guys, there are too many Alexes."
"Oh," says Alex. He wiggles his elbow a little, trying to nudge it back against Cash's stomach.
"Oww, don't," Cash says, redoubling his grip on Alex's waist. Alex feels queasy again, but not in a sick way; Cash's breath is hot on his neck, so moist and warm that Alex almost doesn't register the first touch of Cash's tongue against his skin.
"What," Alex starts, but Cash shushes him, nuzzles against his neck.
It's suddenly a good thing that Alex is as drunk as he is, because if he was any less inebriated he'd probably have punched Cash in the face by now. But, as it is, he's totally letting Cash kiss his neck in the middle of a crowded room, and people are probably watching, and Alex is just drunk and stupid enough not to care.
It's not like Alex has never been called a fag before. He's a small dude who wears little band t-shirts and skinny jeans, straightens his hair, listens to emo music-of course he's had names thrown at him, but. He's never actually done anything with a guy before. He's never really thought about doing anything with a guy.
This somehow isn't stopping him from letting Cash Colligan give him a hickey in front of half their school.
It's not stopping him from getting turned on by it either.
"Cash," Alex says, muffled against the couch arm, then "Cash," louder, wiggling to jam his elbow into Cash's ribs.
"Ow, fuck, what?"
"Stop, Jesus." Alex musters the will to sit up, extricating himself adamantly from Cash's grip. He pushes his hair out of his face and turns to face him.
Cash blinks at him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright-drunk.
"Hey, baby," he says, grinning wide.
Smug bastard.
"Oh, fuck off," Alex says, sputtering, pushing himself to his feet only to be hit by a wave of dizziness and fall right back onto the couch. So instead, he groans and buries his head in his hands.
By the time he looks up again, Cash is gone.
*
The thing is, Cash Colligan is kind of a jerk. If there's any universal truth in the world, Alex knows that this is part of it. Cash is kind of a jerk, and a cockblock, with the whole girl-stealing thing, and how he likes to pop up whenever Alex is trying to talk to a girl about something other than, like, his math homework. But Cash isn't just a jerk-he's a fucking charistmatic jerk, and at some point he decided that Alex is his friend.
Alex, on the other hand, is perfectly fucking happy with the friends he's got. They might not really completely get him all the time, and maybe they get antsy when he wants to spend hours in his room writing songs instead of, say, going out and being social, but at least they're not arrogant assholes who try to put totally unnecessary riffs in Alex's music.
But anyway, Alex has a dream about Cash.
In it, they're both naked and Cash is on top of him. Cash has his mouth on Alex's neck and his hand around Alex's cock, and Alex is jerking and whining being generally shameless in ways he'd always thought he'd be too dignified to be if someone was jerking him off. In the dream, he doesn't care.
Cash's dick is hard, rubbing against Alex's thigh. Cash groans low in his throat and Alex digs his fingers into Cash's arm so hard that a real person would bruise.
Alex wakes up panting with sticky boxers.
He tries to tell his mom he's sick, but he doesn't have a fever, so she makes him go to school anyway. Except by the time they're done arguing about it, Alex is fifteen minutes late because he spent way too long in the shower trying to figure out why his mind and body hate him so much. Alex doesn't have anything against getting off with dudes, in theory. Getting off with dudes doesn't make you gay or anything. He just has something against Cash.
He tries be inconspicuous when he slips into first period-or, as inconspicuous as you can be when you have to walk to the front of the classroom to hand the teacher your tardy slip, so really he just keeps his head down and watches his feet a lot.
Alex knows, he would swear to god, that if he looked over at Cash, Cash would be looking at him. Cash is a freak; he always knows exactly how to get under Alex's skin. It's, like, his favorite hobby.
After pretending to take notes for a few minutes, he chances a glance in Cash's direction.
Cash isn't looking back.
Cash is: drawing on the cover of his notebook in sharpie, passing a note to the girl in front of him, texting with his cell phone under his desk.
Cash is not: paying any attention to Alex.
This trend continues all period.
Alex wonders if Cash is sick or something.
*
Cash does not only ignore Alex during first period, but for the rest of the week.
Alex has history with Alex Johnson-Jizzle, whatever-so he asks him what the fuck is up with Cash, but Johnson just shrugs at him.
"He's just a freak, dude," Johnson says. It's nothing Alex didn't already know.
So on Friday, Alex finds him in lunch sitting at his usual table with douchebag friends and Johnson, who isn't a douchebag but for some reason sometimes hangs out with them anyway. Cash turns around before Alex turns around, and Alex chooses to be the bigger person and assume that has no connection with the cocksucking motion Cash's friend was making across the table with his hotdog.
Alex crosses his arms across his chest. "Can we talk?"
Cash says, "Yes."
Alex blinks at him, waiting for him to get up so they can go talk. He doesn't.
"I meant, uh, alone," Alex says.
"I can't leave my food, these dudes will steal it." Cash shrugs. His douchebag friends grin a little bit. Alex wonders momentarily why Cash hangs out with jerks, but then he remembers that Cash is a jerk, too.
Alex sighs. "Never mind."
When Alex gets back to his table, his friends have stolen half his french fries.
Alex's friends are jerks.
*
Alex plans to spend the weekend being generally annoyed at the entire situation and, hopefully, actually finishing the song he's been working on. As of Saturday afternoon, he's doing pretty well with the annoyed part, but the song is proving to be more difficult than he figured. It's Cash's fault, he decides, because back when Cash was trying to insert himself in Alex's life as much as humanly possible-so, last week-he kept trying to put rock in where Alex wanted pop, and now the sound's all messed up and Alex can't decide what he was trying to do with it in the first place.
He texts Cash: why r u such a douche?
Cash texts back: same reason yr a fucken idiot.
Alex decides he's hit an artistic block curable only by caffeine, so he makes a Starbucks run and comes back to find Cash sitting on his bed.
"What the fuck," Alex says.
Cash grins at him. "I told your mom I left my hoodie up here last time."
Alex glares. "That's creepy."
"I don't think it's really fair for you to go around calling me a douchebag when you're the one who's like, 'hey, Cash, can you stop making any sort of effort, because for some reason you'll never figure out I think you're a complete twatwaffle?'" Cash has the pages of music Alex has been scribbling on in has lap and a sharpie in hand.
"If you marked on my music, I'll fuck you up," Alex says.
Cash looks pained for a second, kind of like how Alex feels when his little sister's being particularly trying. Alex is kind of afraid that he's going to take his pen and mark up the whole page, but he doesn't; he picks up the top sheet and holds it so Alex can see. The only difference is that across the top where the title was meant to go is "LOVE SONG FOR CASH COLLIGAN" in thick black letters.
Alex crosses his arms. "Yeah, no."
Cash shrugs. "You'd have, like, an instant fanbase. So many people can relate to the sentiment, you know." He pauses to let Alex finish rolling his eyes, then pats the mattress next to him. "Come sit with me, Alex DeLeon."
"On my bed," Alex grumbles, but does it. Cash scoots over a little so their shoulders are touching and pokes at the music he's holding with the back end of his sharpie.
"You really should've left that E-minor riff here. I know you think it makes it sound too rough or whatever, but as long as the drumming behind it isn't too aggressive I really don't think you'll have that problem."
Alex takes the page from him and studies it. It's possible he had been disregarding the riff just because it had been Cash's idea, but, in retrospect, Alex thinks that might be a really retarded thing to do. So he holds his hand out and Cash gives him the marker, and he writes it in.
Cash leans his head on Alex's shoulder.
Alex says, "You're a douchebag because you cockblocked me, like, three times, and then expected me to be your BFF as soon as you decided I was worth your time." He says this a little bit turned toward Cash, so the words are a little bit muffled by how his face is half-mushed in Cash's hair, but he figures Cash will get the gist of it, at least.
"You're the most paranoid person I know," Cash mumbles, patting Alex's knee. Alex has no idea what that's supposed to mean, so he doesn't say anything, and Cash doesn't say anything, either. So neither of them say anything for several long, surprisingly unawkward minutes, and then Cash snores against Alex's shoulder.
Alex jumps to his feet and Cash flops onto the mattress, clearly asleep.
"What the fuck," Alex says, and hits Cash in the shoulder until he wakes up.
"Th'fuck?" Cash says blearily, blinking sleepily up at Alex.
"You fell asleep on me," Alex says, frowning. He presses a hand to Cash's forehead. "Are you sick?"
"Ummm, no, just tired." Cash yawns, then wraps his fingers around Alex's wrist and pulls suddenly, hard, so Alex falls back onto the bed, half on top of Cash, his chin jabbing into Cash's shoulder.
"Ow," says Cash.
"What," says Alex.
"M'being resourceful," Cash says. His eyes are closed again and he loops his arms loosely around Alex's waist. He's surprisingly warm, but not in a feverish way. "If you're my blanket, I don't have to move to get under the real ones."
"Who says you're sleeping in my bed anyway?" Alex asks weakly, but Cash's breathing is evening out again, deep and slow. He can't have already fallen asleep again, so Alex is pretty sure he doesn't respond on purpose, but Alex figures he's got to be really fucking tired to be falling asleep in someone else's bed, so he decides not to move. For now.
Or, for the next hour.
Alex can't figure out how to move without waking Cash up, especially since every time he shifts a little Cash's arms tighten around his midsection as if even in his sleep he can tell what Alex is planning. Cash doesn't make the worst pillow ever, though-he's warm and solid and doesn't smell gross or anything, so Alex just gives up, lays his head on Cash's chest, and writes music in his head with Cash's heartbeat as the tempo. He doesn't even realize how long it's been until Cash finally stirs, his fingers digging lightly into Alex's back.
Alex pushes himself up on his elbows a little so he can see Cash's face.
"Are you awake?" he asks.
Cash makes an incoherent, vaguely affirmative noise, squinching his face up before opening his eyes, blinking sleepily up at Alex. He unwinds his arms from Alex's waist and stretches them above his head; Alex can feel Cash's muscles drawing out under him, stomach against stomach, thigh rubbing thigh, and Alex is suddenly incredibly minutely aware of the position they're in.
Cash grins at him. "You're still here."
Alex's heart does this weird flippy thing that could really very possibly be supressed rage.
"It's my bed," he mutters, then rolls away to his feet and busies himself with smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt.
*
Alex thinks long and hard about it, but he decides not to scribble out the title Cash wrote on his song. Even if it's a total misnomer, it's better than having a big black mark at the top of the page.
He can give it a new name later, anyway.
*
Alex asks Johnson, "Does Cash ever do random gay shit to you?"
Johnson looks up from his textbook, one eyebrow raised. "You do realize that might actually be the dumbest question ever asked?"
"Um," Alex says.
"It's Cash," Johnson says. "Of course he does random gay shit. He's kinda gay."
"Cash is gay?" Alex asks, dropping his voice low. He might not like the dude, but he still thinks it'd be wrong for him to broadcast this kind of information to the whole classroom.
Johnson shakes his head. "No, he's like. Kinda gay. Like Pete Wentz gay."
"Like, above-the-waist gay?"
"Like- you know, you could ask Cash these things instead of me. He probably knows better, since they're questions about him."
Johnson clearly doesn't appreciate the art of subtlety.
*
Alex does not, actually, go ask Cash those questions. Alex feels that might be the most awkward situation he's ever put himself in, ever, in his life, so he just goes with the assumption that Cash is a freak. It's always been a good assumption to go with, Alex figures, when it comes to Cash.
So now, Alex is laying on Cash's bed, singing at the ceiling while Cash sits a few feet away with his guitar-it turns out that Alex just can't resist the company of someone who will make music with him, even if that person is Cash Colligan.
"We should have Alex Johnson join our band," Cash says. "He's a good drummer."
Alex looks over at him. "Cash, we don't have a band," he says, patiently.
"Yeah, well." Cash shrugs. "We should. Your voice is hot, and we have my undeniable charm. We could take over the world, Alex DeLeon."
"Uh-huh," Alex says. He thinks Cash's brand of crazy might be the kind that rubs off, because he kind of likes the idea.
"C'mon," Cash says. He sets his guitar aside and climbs up on the bed next to Alex. Alex blinks up at him, and Cash grins back. "We'd be badass, admit it. You can't hate me that much, and besides, being around me all the time will wear you down. You'll be in love with me before you know it."
Alex waves a hand at him. "But then we'll have the whole dramatic intra-band unrequited love thing, and that wouldn't be good for anyone."
Cash stares at him.
"What?" Alex says.
"Are you stupid?" Cash says.
"Um, no?"
"Um, yes?" Cash imitates Alex's tone, rolling his eyes a little.
"Um, fuck you?"
"Um, I would, except you'd break my nose?"
"Uh-" Alex is not sure what the appropriate response is to that in any situation.
Cash runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. "I meant, you know, you'd try to break my nose. I don't think your scrawny arms could actually break anyway."
"Hey!" Alex says, and smacks Cash in the knee. Cash winces, then shrugs, and Alex tries really hard to process if he was serious or not.
"Okay, maybe we shouldn't have a band," Cash says. "That might be awkward."
"Uh, yeah," Alex says.
Cash grins at him. "But, if we don't have a band, it's okay for you to hate me."
"Why would-" Alex starts, and he's not even sure what he's going to ask, but it turns out it doesn't really matter. He doesn't get to finish the question anyway, because Cash kisses him.
It doesn't actually occur to Alex to pull away. Cash is a damn good kisser-he's heard Cash say this before, but he figured it had more to do with Cash's ego being the size of Canada than any actual skill. Apparently, Alex had underestimated him.
Cash is the one who finally pulls away.
"Uh," he says, looking sheepish. "Thanks for not punching me?"
"You're welcome," Alex says. He's resisting the urge to touch his lips-his mouth feels weird, kind of tingly, and he's not sure if it's because Cash is a dude or because Cash is Cash.
Cash is looking down, away from Alex, picking at something invisible on his bedspread. It's borderline humble, maybe actually a little shy-way different from the Cash that Alex is used to, and he's suddenly really glad he didn't try to break Cash's nose. He clears his throat, and Cash peeks up.
"October Bleeds Purple," Alex says.
"Who?" says Cash.
"Our band," Alex says, cracking a grin. "I'm assuming you're gonna want, like, a ridiculous emo name, right?" He lifts his eyebrows. "October Bleeds Purple."
Cash laughs.
"No fuckin' way, dude. No way."
Title: Defining the genre
Author: wishpaper
Pairing: Cash/Singer
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,246
Summary: Singer is dumb; Cash is resourceful. They're in high school!
Notes: I really meant for porn to happen when I was writing this, but then it didn't. For that, I apologize.
If there is something Alex really needs to learn to remember, it is that he has little to no alcohol tolerance. He always tells himself he's going to watch it, this time, and not vomit in the azaeleas or in the sink or on Stacy Wishmeyer's shoes, this time, but for some reason he always thinks he can handle one more shot or one more beer, and it almost never ends pretty.
Now, for example, some kid's poor parents are out of town and his house has been taken over for what was apparently originally someone's birthday party-Alex doesn't even know whose-but has developed into something involving the majority of Alex's year at school and a fair number of other people, too. And Alex-well, he's not puking, that's the important thing, but he's fairly sure he shouldn't have taken that last shot with Ashley from his English class, even if she is really cute and was toasting Jessica Alba's sexiness.
But Alex's head is spinning a little now, and even though he's not puking yet, he thinks he might start if he doesn't sit down soon. He finds a couch that isn't entirely monopolized by couples making out and sinks into the corner of it, draping himself over the arm of the couch and pressing his forehead against the upholstery.
"Alex DeLeon!" Cash says happily, plopping onto the couch next to Alex and draping himself over him. "Jizzle said you were over here dying, I thought I should come check on you."
Alex groans and doesn't bother looking up. Cash is not exactly the person he'd most like to see right now. "Who th'fuck is Jizzle?"
"Ummm, Alex Johnson," Cash says. Alex can feel him shifting, sliding an arm around Alex's waist, propping his chin on Alex's shoulder. "I have to have different names for you guys, there are too many Alexes."
"Oh," says Alex. He wiggles his elbow a little, trying to nudge it back against Cash's stomach.
"Oww, don't," Cash says, redoubling his grip on Alex's waist. Alex feels queasy again, but not in a sick way; Cash's breath is hot on his neck, so moist and warm that Alex almost doesn't register the first touch of Cash's tongue against his skin.
"What," Alex starts, but Cash shushes him, nuzzles against his neck.
It's suddenly a good thing that Alex is as drunk as he is, because if he was any less inebriated he'd probably have punched Cash in the face by now. But, as it is, he's totally letting Cash kiss his neck in the middle of a crowded room, and people are probably watching, and Alex is just drunk and stupid enough not to care.
It's not like Alex has never been called a fag before. He's a small dude who wears little band t-shirts and skinny jeans, straightens his hair, listens to emo music-of course he's had names thrown at him, but. He's never actually done anything with a guy before. He's never really thought about doing anything with a guy.
This somehow isn't stopping him from letting Cash Colligan give him a hickey in front of half their school.
It's not stopping him from getting turned on by it either.
"Cash," Alex says, muffled against the couch arm, then "Cash," louder, wiggling to jam his elbow into Cash's ribs.
"Ow, fuck, what?"
"Stop, Jesus." Alex musters the will to sit up, extricating himself adamantly from Cash's grip. He pushes his hair out of his face and turns to face him.
Cash blinks at him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright-drunk.
"Hey, baby," he says, grinning wide.
Smug bastard.
"Oh, fuck off," Alex says, sputtering, pushing himself to his feet only to be hit by a wave of dizziness and fall right back onto the couch. So instead, he groans and buries his head in his hands.
By the time he looks up again, Cash is gone.
*
The thing is, Cash Colligan is kind of a jerk. If there's any universal truth in the world, Alex knows that this is part of it. Cash is kind of a jerk, and a cockblock, with the whole girl-stealing thing, and how he likes to pop up whenever Alex is trying to talk to a girl about something other than, like, his math homework. But Cash isn't just a jerk-he's a fucking charistmatic jerk, and at some point he decided that Alex is his friend.
Alex, on the other hand, is perfectly fucking happy with the friends he's got. They might not really completely get him all the time, and maybe they get antsy when he wants to spend hours in his room writing songs instead of, say, going out and being social, but at least they're not arrogant assholes who try to put totally unnecessary riffs in Alex's music.
But anyway, Alex has a dream about Cash.
In it, they're both naked and Cash is on top of him. Cash has his mouth on Alex's neck and his hand around Alex's cock, and Alex is jerking and whining being generally shameless in ways he'd always thought he'd be too dignified to be if someone was jerking him off. In the dream, he doesn't care.
Cash's dick is hard, rubbing against Alex's thigh. Cash groans low in his throat and Alex digs his fingers into Cash's arm so hard that a real person would bruise.
Alex wakes up panting with sticky boxers.
He tries to tell his mom he's sick, but he doesn't have a fever, so she makes him go to school anyway. Except by the time they're done arguing about it, Alex is fifteen minutes late because he spent way too long in the shower trying to figure out why his mind and body hate him so much. Alex doesn't have anything against getting off with dudes, in theory. Getting off with dudes doesn't make you gay or anything. He just has something against Cash.
He tries be inconspicuous when he slips into first period-or, as inconspicuous as you can be when you have to walk to the front of the classroom to hand the teacher your tardy slip, so really he just keeps his head down and watches his feet a lot.
Alex knows, he would swear to god, that if he looked over at Cash, Cash would be looking at him. Cash is a freak; he always knows exactly how to get under Alex's skin. It's, like, his favorite hobby.
After pretending to take notes for a few minutes, he chances a glance in Cash's direction.
Cash isn't looking back.
Cash is: drawing on the cover of his notebook in sharpie, passing a note to the girl in front of him, texting with his cell phone under his desk.
Cash is not: paying any attention to Alex.
This trend continues all period.
Alex wonders if Cash is sick or something.
*
Cash does not only ignore Alex during first period, but for the rest of the week.
Alex has history with Alex Johnson-Jizzle, whatever-so he asks him what the fuck is up with Cash, but Johnson just shrugs at him.
"He's just a freak, dude," Johnson says. It's nothing Alex didn't already know.
So on Friday, Alex finds him in lunch sitting at his usual table with douchebag friends and Johnson, who isn't a douchebag but for some reason sometimes hangs out with them anyway. Cash turns around before Alex turns around, and Alex chooses to be the bigger person and assume that has no connection with the cocksucking motion Cash's friend was making across the table with his hotdog.
Alex crosses his arms across his chest. "Can we talk?"
Cash says, "Yes."
Alex blinks at him, waiting for him to get up so they can go talk. He doesn't.
"I meant, uh, alone," Alex says.
"I can't leave my food, these dudes will steal it." Cash shrugs. His douchebag friends grin a little bit. Alex wonders momentarily why Cash hangs out with jerks, but then he remembers that Cash is a jerk, too.
Alex sighs. "Never mind."
When Alex gets back to his table, his friends have stolen half his french fries.
Alex's friends are jerks.
*
Alex plans to spend the weekend being generally annoyed at the entire situation and, hopefully, actually finishing the song he's been working on. As of Saturday afternoon, he's doing pretty well with the annoyed part, but the song is proving to be more difficult than he figured. It's Cash's fault, he decides, because back when Cash was trying to insert himself in Alex's life as much as humanly possible-so, last week-he kept trying to put rock in where Alex wanted pop, and now the sound's all messed up and Alex can't decide what he was trying to do with it in the first place.
He texts Cash: why r u such a douche?
Cash texts back: same reason yr a fucken idiot.
Alex decides he's hit an artistic block curable only by caffeine, so he makes a Starbucks run and comes back to find Cash sitting on his bed.
"What the fuck," Alex says.
Cash grins at him. "I told your mom I left my hoodie up here last time."
Alex glares. "That's creepy."
"I don't think it's really fair for you to go around calling me a douchebag when you're the one who's like, 'hey, Cash, can you stop making any sort of effort, because for some reason you'll never figure out I think you're a complete twatwaffle?'" Cash has the pages of music Alex has been scribbling on in has lap and a sharpie in hand.
"If you marked on my music, I'll fuck you up," Alex says.
Cash looks pained for a second, kind of like how Alex feels when his little sister's being particularly trying. Alex is kind of afraid that he's going to take his pen and mark up the whole page, but he doesn't; he picks up the top sheet and holds it so Alex can see. The only difference is that across the top where the title was meant to go is "LOVE SONG FOR CASH COLLIGAN" in thick black letters.
Alex crosses his arms. "Yeah, no."
Cash shrugs. "You'd have, like, an instant fanbase. So many people can relate to the sentiment, you know." He pauses to let Alex finish rolling his eyes, then pats the mattress next to him. "Come sit with me, Alex DeLeon."
"On my bed," Alex grumbles, but does it. Cash scoots over a little so their shoulders are touching and pokes at the music he's holding with the back end of his sharpie.
"You really should've left that E-minor riff here. I know you think it makes it sound too rough or whatever, but as long as the drumming behind it isn't too aggressive I really don't think you'll have that problem."
Alex takes the page from him and studies it. It's possible he had been disregarding the riff just because it had been Cash's idea, but, in retrospect, Alex thinks that might be a really retarded thing to do. So he holds his hand out and Cash gives him the marker, and he writes it in.
Cash leans his head on Alex's shoulder.
Alex says, "You're a douchebag because you cockblocked me, like, three times, and then expected me to be your BFF as soon as you decided I was worth your time." He says this a little bit turned toward Cash, so the words are a little bit muffled by how his face is half-mushed in Cash's hair, but he figures Cash will get the gist of it, at least.
"You're the most paranoid person I know," Cash mumbles, patting Alex's knee. Alex has no idea what that's supposed to mean, so he doesn't say anything, and Cash doesn't say anything, either. So neither of them say anything for several long, surprisingly unawkward minutes, and then Cash snores against Alex's shoulder.
Alex jumps to his feet and Cash flops onto the mattress, clearly asleep.
"What the fuck," Alex says, and hits Cash in the shoulder until he wakes up.
"Th'fuck?" Cash says blearily, blinking sleepily up at Alex.
"You fell asleep on me," Alex says, frowning. He presses a hand to Cash's forehead. "Are you sick?"
"Ummm, no, just tired." Cash yawns, then wraps his fingers around Alex's wrist and pulls suddenly, hard, so Alex falls back onto the bed, half on top of Cash, his chin jabbing into Cash's shoulder.
"Ow," says Cash.
"What," says Alex.
"M'being resourceful," Cash says. His eyes are closed again and he loops his arms loosely around Alex's waist. He's surprisingly warm, but not in a feverish way. "If you're my blanket, I don't have to move to get under the real ones."
"Who says you're sleeping in my bed anyway?" Alex asks weakly, but Cash's breathing is evening out again, deep and slow. He can't have already fallen asleep again, so Alex is pretty sure he doesn't respond on purpose, but Alex figures he's got to be really fucking tired to be falling asleep in someone else's bed, so he decides not to move. For now.
Or, for the next hour.
Alex can't figure out how to move without waking Cash up, especially since every time he shifts a little Cash's arms tighten around his midsection as if even in his sleep he can tell what Alex is planning. Cash doesn't make the worst pillow ever, though-he's warm and solid and doesn't smell gross or anything, so Alex just gives up, lays his head on Cash's chest, and writes music in his head with Cash's heartbeat as the tempo. He doesn't even realize how long it's been until Cash finally stirs, his fingers digging lightly into Alex's back.
Alex pushes himself up on his elbows a little so he can see Cash's face.
"Are you awake?" he asks.
Cash makes an incoherent, vaguely affirmative noise, squinching his face up before opening his eyes, blinking sleepily up at Alex. He unwinds his arms from Alex's waist and stretches them above his head; Alex can feel Cash's muscles drawing out under him, stomach against stomach, thigh rubbing thigh, and Alex is suddenly incredibly minutely aware of the position they're in.
Cash grins at him. "You're still here."
Alex's heart does this weird flippy thing that could really very possibly be supressed rage.
"It's my bed," he mutters, then rolls away to his feet and busies himself with smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt.
*
Alex thinks long and hard about it, but he decides not to scribble out the title Cash wrote on his song. Even if it's a total misnomer, it's better than having a big black mark at the top of the page.
He can give it a new name later, anyway.
*
Alex asks Johnson, "Does Cash ever do random gay shit to you?"
Johnson looks up from his textbook, one eyebrow raised. "You do realize that might actually be the dumbest question ever asked?"
"Um," Alex says.
"It's Cash," Johnson says. "Of course he does random gay shit. He's kinda gay."
"Cash is gay?" Alex asks, dropping his voice low. He might not like the dude, but he still thinks it'd be wrong for him to broadcast this kind of information to the whole classroom.
Johnson shakes his head. "No, he's like. Kinda gay. Like Pete Wentz gay."
"Like, above-the-waist gay?"
"Like- you know, you could ask Cash these things instead of me. He probably knows better, since they're questions about him."
Johnson clearly doesn't appreciate the art of subtlety.
*
Alex does not, actually, go ask Cash those questions. Alex feels that might be the most awkward situation he's ever put himself in, ever, in his life, so he just goes with the assumption that Cash is a freak. It's always been a good assumption to go with, Alex figures, when it comes to Cash.
So now, Alex is laying on Cash's bed, singing at the ceiling while Cash sits a few feet away with his guitar-it turns out that Alex just can't resist the company of someone who will make music with him, even if that person is Cash Colligan.
"We should have Alex Johnson join our band," Cash says. "He's a good drummer."
Alex looks over at him. "Cash, we don't have a band," he says, patiently.
"Yeah, well." Cash shrugs. "We should. Your voice is hot, and we have my undeniable charm. We could take over the world, Alex DeLeon."
"Uh-huh," Alex says. He thinks Cash's brand of crazy might be the kind that rubs off, because he kind of likes the idea.
"C'mon," Cash says. He sets his guitar aside and climbs up on the bed next to Alex. Alex blinks up at him, and Cash grins back. "We'd be badass, admit it. You can't hate me that much, and besides, being around me all the time will wear you down. You'll be in love with me before you know it."
Alex waves a hand at him. "But then we'll have the whole dramatic intra-band unrequited love thing, and that wouldn't be good for anyone."
Cash stares at him.
"What?" Alex says.
"Are you stupid?" Cash says.
"Um, no?"
"Um, yes?" Cash imitates Alex's tone, rolling his eyes a little.
"Um, fuck you?"
"Um, I would, except you'd break my nose?"
"Uh-" Alex is not sure what the appropriate response is to that in any situation.
Cash runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. "I meant, you know, you'd try to break my nose. I don't think your scrawny arms could actually break anyway."
"Hey!" Alex says, and smacks Cash in the knee. Cash winces, then shrugs, and Alex tries really hard to process if he was serious or not.
"Okay, maybe we shouldn't have a band," Cash says. "That might be awkward."
"Uh, yeah," Alex says.
Cash grins at him. "But, if we don't have a band, it's okay for you to hate me."
"Why would-" Alex starts, and he's not even sure what he's going to ask, but it turns out it doesn't really matter. He doesn't get to finish the question anyway, because Cash kisses him.
It doesn't actually occur to Alex to pull away. Cash is a damn good kisser-he's heard Cash say this before, but he figured it had more to do with Cash's ego being the size of Canada than any actual skill. Apparently, Alex had underestimated him.
Cash is the one who finally pulls away.
"Uh," he says, looking sheepish. "Thanks for not punching me?"
"You're welcome," Alex says. He's resisting the urge to touch his lips-his mouth feels weird, kind of tingly, and he's not sure if it's because Cash is a dude or because Cash is Cash.
Cash is looking down, away from Alex, picking at something invisible on his bedspread. It's borderline humble, maybe actually a little shy-way different from the Cash that Alex is used to, and he's suddenly really glad he didn't try to break Cash's nose. He clears his throat, and Cash peeks up.
"October Bleeds Purple," Alex says.
"Who?" says Cash.
"Our band," Alex says, cracking a grin. "I'm assuming you're gonna want, like, a ridiculous emo name, right?" He lifts his eyebrows. "October Bleeds Purple."
Cash laughs.
"No fuckin' way, dude. No way."