fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 8
I just watched the last episode of 'Flight of the Conchords' and am pretty pleased! If that's the end of the series, it's a good enough ending for me! While I will miss seeing the boys, I know they have moved on to bigger and better things (omg!babies!srsly), and I will always have the show to watch again and again.
So, to celebrate! Here's the next part of my continued epic!
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 8: dancing
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13, skirting R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them. I also, again, do not own ‘Alice in Wonderland’, which was written by Lewis Carroll. Nor do I own ‘E.T’ - that’s owned by the peeps who made that film, Spielberg and such…
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’, mentions of ‘Same Girl’- though nothing too spoilery.
Notes: The tameness takes on some heat…
Back to: Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1,
“….'but I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.' `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice. `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'”
“Does she ever catch the Rabbit?”
“Hrm?” Bret breathed and blinked, looking away from the book. He was lying on the couch, one of the arm rests supporting his head and shoulders. He had been very engrossed in reading the story, his imagination far off in Wonderland with Alice and the Cheshire Cat until Jemaine had spoken, distracting him.
Jemaine repeated his question, “The White Rabbit. Does Alice ever catch him?”
Bret set the book down on his chest, “Can’t tell you that.”
“Aw! Why not?
“It’d ruin the story for you. If you knew that.”
“Yeah but,” Jemaine fidgeted where he sat at the kitchen table, his fingers covered in white and blue paint, a sheet of paper and the finger painting book in front of him, “I want to know.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
Jemaine scowled, “How much longer is that book?”
Bret looked down at the book, flipping a couple of pages and shrugging, “We’ve still got a bit to go.”
Jemaine let out a heavy sigh and Bret frowned, trying to look over the top of the couch at him without getting up, “Why? Do you not like it?”
“No,” Jemaine said and then mumbled quietly under his breath ‘quite the opposite actually’ before adding, “I just want to know what’s going to happen.”
“Well…if you don’t interrupt me I can read more and we can find out.”
“You mean I can find out. You all ready know. You’ve read this before.”
“Yeah. But. ‘S been a while. Maybe it changed.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Bret shrugged again, and then heard his stomach growl, “Flip. Getting hungry.”
Jemaine leaned back in his seat. He had just started painting a white rabbit, a blue top hat firmly on its’ head. He wanted to continue, but at the mention of food he realized he wanted something else, “Yeah. Food sounds good.”
Bret let out a breath and finally found the will to sit up fully. He put the book to one side and looked at Jemaine, “You want me to make something? I mean, you seem kind of stuck there.”
“Yeah. No. I can…I can wash up and help you.”
Jemaine went to the sink to wash his hands and Bret went to the cabinets. He dug through them a bit, frowning, “Not much here. Got some cereal. A can of corn. Some green beans.”
“Is there any more, you know, dinner type food in there?” Jemaine asked as he finished washing his hands and drying them off.
Bret dug deeper, “Huh. There’s a box of spaghetti here.”
“Do we have pasta sauce?”
“Dunno.”
Jemaine went to the fridge and opened it. It was basically empty and he listed off the things he saw, “Well. We’ve got milk. Butter. There’s some ketchup. You think ketchup would work, Bret?”
Bret shook his head, then, realizing Jemaine probably couldn’t see him since his head was in the fridge, spoke up, “No, man. I think that would be pretty terrible.”
Jemaine scowled and began going through the drawers, “Aha! Found some sauce! And…hey…think there’s some cheese too.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s not green yet.”
“Then it’s good. I’ll start boiling the water for the noodles then.” Bret went about making the noodles and Jemaine dealt with getting the sauce and cheese ready. Once everything was done they combined their forces, adding the sauce and cheese to the noodles and piling a decent amount on two plates.
They sat at either end of the table, the cup between them. Bret poked at his noodles with his fork, sighing, “Glad it’s cooler today.”
“Cooler?”
Bret nodded, “Not as hot.”
Jemaine thought about this a moment, head rolling about his shoulders, then nodded. Their new electrical fan hummed in the background and the windows were still open, but it wasn’t as stiflingly hot as it had been in the past few days.
Certainly not as hot as it had been that day when they had purchased the fan and had the…incident in front of it. The incident neither of them had breathed a word about since. And really, why should they? It was nothing. Nothing. Just two friends who had shared an awkward moment. It didn’t mean anything.
Right.
Still, in comparison to then, it was a rather nice evening.
Bret looked at the cup that sat between them, then at Jemaine, and then at the cup again before speaking, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine made a noise of acknowledgement, his mouth full of spaghetti.
“Who has the cup right now?”
Jemaine swallowed and licked his lips, “Hmm?”
“The cup. I don’t…whose time is it? Is it me or you?”
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed and he looked outside. The sun was starting to set, he imagined it was about five and he wracked his brain trying to think of who got the cup on his roster at this time of day, then he just shrugged, spearing his food with his fork and not looking at Bret as he said off handedly, “We can just share it.”
Bret leaned back in his chair, surprised, “Really?”
Jemaine shrugged again, “Sure. Why not?”
Bret raised an eyebrow, breathing out an ‘okay’, because there were a lot of reasons ‘why not’. First off, Jemaine was pretty rigid about rules once he set them down, and the cup roster was one of those rules. Second, they had never really shared anything and lastly, usually after Bret used the cup and it was Jemaine’s turn, Jemaine went through a rigorous process of practically razing the cup to make it clean. He always said it was just because he was being tidy, but the real reason was because he didn’t like the idea of putting his mouth anywhere where Bret’s mouth had previously been.
Granted, it shouldn’t be a big deal but…well, the thing of it was, it was a big deal because now here Jemaine was, breaking all three of these unspoken mores. Bret sighed, looking at the cup and then, with a firm nod, he picked it up and took a deep sip. He put it back down and focused back on his food, but every now and then snuck a peek at Jemaine to see if he would really share the cup.
Maybe he had just been talking a good game and wouldn’t…
Jemaine squirmed in his seat, looking at the cup with an ungodly amount of concentration. There was a slight tick beneath one of his eyes and then, quick as a shot, he took the cup, drank some and put it back down loudly.
Bret didn’t know why he was smirking, but he was as he took the cup again and had another sip. The rest of their dinner was relatively quiet, though there was some talk of the horrors Murray must currently be going through as he waded his way through Mel’s ‘novel’ and how they hoped the weather continued to stay relatively temperate.
Bret offered to wash the dishes if Jemaine would dry them and once that was over and everything was clean and back to normal, they both leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at one another in silent camaraderie. Jemaine spoke first, “Dinner was good. What now?”
Bret was about to shrug and ask what Jemaine wanted to do when a thought occurred to him, “Hey, we could watch that movie Dave gave us.”
Jemaine frowned, “Dave gave us a movie?”
“Yeah, remember? It was a couple days ago. His mum’s VCR was jammed.”
Jemaine clicked his tongue, “Ah, yes, that. Yeah, all right. Sounds good.”
Bret found the beat up copy of ‘E.T’ on top of the TV and the two of them sat close together on the couch to watch it. The beginning of the film was rather dark and a little spooky and Bret huddled close to the couch, not wanting to admit he was slightly creeped out. It was pretty obvious to Jemaine though, who couldn’t help but be amused as Bret shifted about the couch uncomfortably, sort of curling into himself.
“Bret, if the movie scares you, we don’t have to-”
“It’s not scary!” Bret said a little louder and a little more firmly than necessary.
Jemaine couldn’t help the small grin that formed at Bret’s reaction. Though he had to admit, the movie was a little…unsettling in the beginning. The scenes with the children were all right but the mysterious little guy running through the woods being chased by flashlights was sort of disconcerting.
When the film moved to the main character first finding E.T, it was a rather startling scene, enough so that Bret yelped a bit and buried his face into Jemaine’s shoulder. Jemaine immediately associated the leap in his heart with the shock of what happened in the film before he patted Bret’s arm, “It’s okay, Bret…scene’s over.”
“That…was a bit scary.” Bret admitted shame-faced, as he pulled back from Jemaine slightly. But only slightly. In fact, Bret sort of rearranged himself until his head rested on Jemaine’s shoulder and Jemaine looked over at him curiously. He opened his mouth, about to ask how much this should cost but, instead, closed it and focused his full attention back on the movie, not wanting to think about anything else...
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Bret sniffled as the film ended. Jemaine looked at him, “You crying?”
“Yeah. You?”
“No,” Jemaine said, clearing his throat and trying his best to discreetly rub a palm over his watering eyes, “Can’t believe you cried. You were scared of him.”
“Of who?”
“Of E.T.”
“Yeah, but, that was only in the beginning. The film is misleading.”
Jemaine nodded and Bret could feel the movement. He cautiously drew away from Jemaine as the film ended. He stretched and tried to ignore the fact that he felt rather less cozy than he did before. He scratched at his back as he rose to his feet and wondered about whether or not he should get ready for bed when he noticed that the sun was down now and he could see better out into the night. And more specifically…
Bret walked over to the windows and crouched down, looking across the street. Jemaine moaned, “Bret! You’re not spying again, are you?”
“I’m just…taking a peek,” Bret said innocently as he peered into Sid and Nancy’s apartment. Bret smiled, “Oh. Wow! Jemaine! You should come take a look at this!”
“No, thanks.” Jemaine said grumpily, crossing his arms. For some reason, ever since the film ended he found himself feeling slightly annoyed. He didn’t know why and he didn’t want to question it. All he knew was that he felt oddly…less. It was like something was missing and he couldn’t place what.
Bret didn’t notice, his eyes still across the street, his voice cheerful, “But Jemaine, they’re both dressed up all fancy. You should see his suit! He looks like…a secret agent or something. And she…well…she…”
Bret just trailed off but his stress on the word ‘she’ had Jemaine somewhat intrigued and he gave in to his curiosity, going over to join Bret over by the window. He leaned down just enough so he could see better into the apartment and, he had to admit, it had to be some sort of crime how well he could see into their place. It was almost like watching another movie all together, the picture just as clear and sharp.
Nancy wore a rather stunning gown and Sid drew her close, spinning her around. They danced together, slow and sure and Bret sighed dreamily, “They must be going to some fancy dance party.”
Jemaine didn’t comment but mentally agreed. It did look like they were going somewhere elaborate and impressive and Jemaine secretly wondered why such classy people would live in this neighborhood and not somewhere more upscale. Looking at Sid’s suit, Jemaine began to imagine he really was a secret agent and he shook his head. The idea was ridiculous. Something more likely that Bret would dream up than he, but still the fantasy stuck.
He pulled away from the window and leaned back against the wall next to it. His imagination dreamed up more and more about secret agents and elaborate missions and he was so lost in this that he was completely oblivious to Bret, who continued to talk quietly, though mostly more to himself than to Jemaine, “It must be nice to get all dressed up and go dancing. Like an old black and white movie. I can’t remember the last time I went to a dance…”
Bret started looking between the apartment across the way and Jemaine, who was still lost in his own little world. Bret’s hands, which had gripped the window sill, flexed now apprehensively as he chewed on his lower lip, debating whether or not to ask what he was thinking. At last he caved, saying a bit louder, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine didn’t hear him, so Bret nudged him with an elbow until Jemaine snapped out of it and noticed him. Bret cleared his throat, “Jemaine, would you…could we…I want to…dance?”
Jemaine blinked a few times, confused, “Hrm?”
“I was,” Bret scratched at the back of his neck nervously, his posture rigid, “I thought maybe we could…dance…together.”
Jemaine frowned down at Bret, “Dance?”
“Yeah…you and-and me.”
“Like…wait, what? How?”
“How what?”
“How would we dance?”
“Well, um, together.”
“Like…slow?” Jemaine breathed and for some reason he felt like he was underwater. Bret rose to his feet and shifted about some, looking shy, “Yes, well, yeah. I just…I just thought we could…”
Jemaine just stared at him and Bret felt his face heat up as he searched his mind for some kind of answer. He found it in the strange web of their arrangement, saying stiltedly, “I would…pay you….of course.”
“Of course,” Jemaine repeated, wondering why he felt sort of, it was like he was…hurt. By the suggestion. Which was outrageous. Of course Bret should pay him. That was the agreement. Besides, he could probably get a good amount for this.
“So…do you want to?”
“You’re the boss,” Jemaine heard himself say and wondered why his voice sounded like that to his own ears. Bret flinched and Jemaine felt bad about it, so he said more softly, “Yes, Bret, I…would like to. Dance. With you.”
Bret seemed slightly humbled by that and rubbed his hands together, movements shaky, “Great. I’ll just…I’ll just find a record to put on then.”
Bret flipped through the records until he found something he thought would be okay. He wanted something that wasn’t too sexy or too romantic, but still something slow and right to move to. He put the record on and then turned nervously to Jemaine, who, after moving the couch and other various furniture and obstacles out of the way, stood in the center of the room looking overly uncomfortable.
Jemaine let out a loud breath through his nose, “So…how do we…um…”
Bret stepped up to Jemaine and anxiously took his hands, eager to get to the next part. It took some rearranging on both their parts and once they did start to move it was certainly slow but not at all graceful or right. It was kind of a clunky movement in a pathetic circle and suddenly Bret yelped, “Ah! That was my foot!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jemaine gasped and they tried again. Yet again Bret’s foot was crushed and then Jemaine’s and once Bret’s was hit again he drew back, frowning, “This isn’t working.”
“Well, you’re leading.”
“I know that. I’m a man!”
“Yes, I know, Bret,” Jemaine said irritably, “So am I, and that’s why this doesn’t work. We can’t both lead.”
“Ohhh, right, right,” Bret muttered thoughtfully, drawing a bit away from Jemaine, “Then who…who should lead.”
“Well me, naturally.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m taller,” Jemaine said smartly, “I think after gender it goes in order of height. You know. When it…when it comes to dancing.”
Bret narrowed his eyes in thought, looking at Jemaine critically, “I don’t know…”
“Come on, Bret, trust me.”
Bret crossed his arms, unsure and Jemaine tried again, “Look, it’ll work better this way. But…you know…if it doesn’t, we…we can switch places.”
Bret’s lips screwed up to one side in thought then he bobbed his head, “Yeah, all right. See your point.”
Bret moved back to Jemaine and they rearranged themselves again. They started once more to dance and Bret found himself slightly chagrinned to see that Jemaine was basically right. While he did still get his foot caught now and again (just par for the course, he supposed) Bret found it was much easier with Jemaine leading. They moved more fluidly and Bret smiled slightly.
It was nice to move to music. No matter whom you were moving with. Jemaine was still scowling a bit as he asked, with no small amount of discomfort, “Do you…want to me to twirl you?”
Bret smirked at the idea and shook his head. Jemaine spoke again, still unsure, “And you…you don’t want me to…dip you, right?”
“No,” Bret said and found himself edging closer to Jemaine, “This…this is just fine,” then, he added as an after thought, “The way it is.”
Jemaine nodded a bit to himself and tried to ignore the fact that he was imperceptibly easing Bret closer and closer. Time seemed thick and slow and Jemaine again had the uncanny feeling he was underwater as Bret’s body was finally pressed against his. Jemaine tried to lift his head higher, feeling like he was drowning. He needed to keep above the imaginary water line and he found his face sort of pressed against the side of Bret’s head, the curls obscuring everything.
They danced, neither looking at the other, sort of just lost in the feeling and the music. There were no more words, because really, any other sounds than those of the record and the sounds of the city outside filtering in through the open windows would ruin the moment.
Jemaine didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes, didn’t even notice how close Bret’s body was to his own and his hands had stopped sweating ages ago. Bret, for his part, felt as if he was adrift at sea, with only one thing keeping him afloat and centered and he tried really hard not to think too much about the fact that that thing was Jemaine.
And then that’s when Bret felt it.
It was almost completely imperceptible.
In fact, Bret blinked once, not sure if he had even really felt anything.
But then, after what felt like a long time, it came again, the tenderest brush against his hair. A gentle, unassuming pressure just against the side of his head, his hair cushioning the action. Bret kept moving, but he felt his body stiffen a fraction. It couldn’t be…
Bret took in a shaky breath and waited fretfully. It was a strange place to be, this small span of seconds. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting to see if he had felt what he thought he had felt. Waiting to see if Jemaine would do again what Bret thought he had. Waiting to see how he would feel about it if what he thought Jemaine was doing was true…
And then it came again, that pressure against the side of his head, that warm, wet feeling of lips being pressed against him, Jemaine’s breath ruffling through the curls of his hair. Jemaine had…
The next thought in Bret’s head was overshadowed by the rest of his body’s actions, as he repelled himself away from Jemaine almost violently. Jemaine was startled by the unexpected movement, Bret’s whole body torn from his, hands yanked swiftly away from one another.
Jemaine just stood there, frozen, hands upheld, face expressionless.
Bret was the complete opposite, his movements’ jerky and on the edge of spasmodic. He ran his hands all over himself, through his hair and along his arms and over his chest, as if trying to rub the feelings away, shudders working all throughout his body, every vein tingling as if on fire.
He couldn’t look at Jemaine, couldn’t speak to him, and he found himself going to the front door of the apartment and leaving. He had to go. He had to get away. He had to…
And once he was gone Jemaine’s hands slowly lowered to his sides and he looked up at the ceiling. His gaze focused on a crack in the plaster and he tried to think about that, he tried to think about the ceiling paint, he tried to think about anything other than the fact that mere moments ago he had been dancing with his friend and he had kissed him.
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Bret got into the elevator and paced around in the small space. He was completely unconscious of the elevator’s movements. Up, down, up - what did it matter? He paced and paced and time was irrelevant and eventually he just found himself sinking to the floor.
He wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing his knees up to his chest and rested his head there, trying to sort out his mind and what he was thinking and what he was feeling.
Jemaine hadn’t…
Jemaine couldn’t…
Jemaine would never…
And yet, Bret was as sure of the fact that the sun would rise tomorrow as he was as sure of the fact that Jemaine had just kissed him up in their apartment. Granted, he hadn’t kissed Bret on the lips but that was besides the point…
Their agreement, their deal, was very clear.
It was nothing more than hugs, contact, the occasional hand holding. Kissing…kissing was completely out of the question. Kissing was something else entirely. Kissing was something you only did with girls.
Well, it was something you only did with girls if you were a man…or a lesbian…Miss Adams…and yeah, yeah, Bret was sure of it now, sure he was cracking up because his whole mind was nothing more than a messy jumble of thoughts and confused emotions and…
Jemaine kissing him.
Maybe...maybe Jemaine had just been confused. Maybe he had lost himself. Bret had certainly felt lost and maybe Jemaine had just sort of forgotten himself and thought Bret was a girl. Maybe he had envisioned Bret with a wig on and…
No, no, even with a wig on, Bret was a man and it was gay. Gay, gay, gay and Bret was straight, straight, straight…
That’s what he had told Brahbrah back when he had dated her. He was straight. Straight. He did not like men.
But this wasn’t just…
This was Jemaine.
Jemaine was his friend.
His friend.
That’s all he was.
That’s all he ever would be.
Bret didn’t want…he didn’t think…
But then why did he feel this way? His heart was racing about like a bird, caught in the cage of his thin chest and it felt as if it was going to escape out his mouth. He almost…he almost felt like he wanted it to escape and that made no sense and yeah, yeah he was definitely cracking up…
Bret rocked a bit where he sat, trying to piece it all together and it felt overwhelming. Impossible. It felt like someone had taken two, five hundred piece puzzles and thrown them on the floor in front of him and told him to sort them out and he couldn’t…
Bret hit his head back against the hard wall of the elevator and swallowed. God, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. All he knew was that when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jemaine.
On to Part 9
So, to celebrate! Here's the next part of my continued epic!
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 8: dancing
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13, skirting R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them. I also, again, do not own ‘Alice in Wonderland’, which was written by Lewis Carroll. Nor do I own ‘E.T’ - that’s owned by the peeps who made that film, Spielberg and such…
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’, mentions of ‘Same Girl’- though nothing too spoilery.
Notes: The tameness takes on some heat…
Back to: Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1,
“….'but I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.' `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice. `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'”
“Does she ever catch the Rabbit?”
“Hrm?” Bret breathed and blinked, looking away from the book. He was lying on the couch, one of the arm rests supporting his head and shoulders. He had been very engrossed in reading the story, his imagination far off in Wonderland with Alice and the Cheshire Cat until Jemaine had spoken, distracting him.
Jemaine repeated his question, “The White Rabbit. Does Alice ever catch him?”
Bret set the book down on his chest, “Can’t tell you that.”
“Aw! Why not?
“It’d ruin the story for you. If you knew that.”
“Yeah but,” Jemaine fidgeted where he sat at the kitchen table, his fingers covered in white and blue paint, a sheet of paper and the finger painting book in front of him, “I want to know.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
Jemaine scowled, “How much longer is that book?”
Bret looked down at the book, flipping a couple of pages and shrugging, “We’ve still got a bit to go.”
Jemaine let out a heavy sigh and Bret frowned, trying to look over the top of the couch at him without getting up, “Why? Do you not like it?”
“No,” Jemaine said and then mumbled quietly under his breath ‘quite the opposite actually’ before adding, “I just want to know what’s going to happen.”
“Well…if you don’t interrupt me I can read more and we can find out.”
“You mean I can find out. You all ready know. You’ve read this before.”
“Yeah. But. ‘S been a while. Maybe it changed.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Bret shrugged again, and then heard his stomach growl, “Flip. Getting hungry.”
Jemaine leaned back in his seat. He had just started painting a white rabbit, a blue top hat firmly on its’ head. He wanted to continue, but at the mention of food he realized he wanted something else, “Yeah. Food sounds good.”
Bret let out a breath and finally found the will to sit up fully. He put the book to one side and looked at Jemaine, “You want me to make something? I mean, you seem kind of stuck there.”
“Yeah. No. I can…I can wash up and help you.”
Jemaine went to the sink to wash his hands and Bret went to the cabinets. He dug through them a bit, frowning, “Not much here. Got some cereal. A can of corn. Some green beans.”
“Is there any more, you know, dinner type food in there?” Jemaine asked as he finished washing his hands and drying them off.
Bret dug deeper, “Huh. There’s a box of spaghetti here.”
“Do we have pasta sauce?”
“Dunno.”
Jemaine went to the fridge and opened it. It was basically empty and he listed off the things he saw, “Well. We’ve got milk. Butter. There’s some ketchup. You think ketchup would work, Bret?”
Bret shook his head, then, realizing Jemaine probably couldn’t see him since his head was in the fridge, spoke up, “No, man. I think that would be pretty terrible.”
Jemaine scowled and began going through the drawers, “Aha! Found some sauce! And…hey…think there’s some cheese too.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s not green yet.”
“Then it’s good. I’ll start boiling the water for the noodles then.” Bret went about making the noodles and Jemaine dealt with getting the sauce and cheese ready. Once everything was done they combined their forces, adding the sauce and cheese to the noodles and piling a decent amount on two plates.
They sat at either end of the table, the cup between them. Bret poked at his noodles with his fork, sighing, “Glad it’s cooler today.”
“Cooler?”
Bret nodded, “Not as hot.”
Jemaine thought about this a moment, head rolling about his shoulders, then nodded. Their new electrical fan hummed in the background and the windows were still open, but it wasn’t as stiflingly hot as it had been in the past few days.
Certainly not as hot as it had been that day when they had purchased the fan and had the…incident in front of it. The incident neither of them had breathed a word about since. And really, why should they? It was nothing. Nothing. Just two friends who had shared an awkward moment. It didn’t mean anything.
Right.
Still, in comparison to then, it was a rather nice evening.
Bret looked at the cup that sat between them, then at Jemaine, and then at the cup again before speaking, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine made a noise of acknowledgement, his mouth full of spaghetti.
“Who has the cup right now?”
Jemaine swallowed and licked his lips, “Hmm?”
“The cup. I don’t…whose time is it? Is it me or you?”
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed and he looked outside. The sun was starting to set, he imagined it was about five and he wracked his brain trying to think of who got the cup on his roster at this time of day, then he just shrugged, spearing his food with his fork and not looking at Bret as he said off handedly, “We can just share it.”
Bret leaned back in his chair, surprised, “Really?”
Jemaine shrugged again, “Sure. Why not?”
Bret raised an eyebrow, breathing out an ‘okay’, because there were a lot of reasons ‘why not’. First off, Jemaine was pretty rigid about rules once he set them down, and the cup roster was one of those rules. Second, they had never really shared anything and lastly, usually after Bret used the cup and it was Jemaine’s turn, Jemaine went through a rigorous process of practically razing the cup to make it clean. He always said it was just because he was being tidy, but the real reason was because he didn’t like the idea of putting his mouth anywhere where Bret’s mouth had previously been.
Granted, it shouldn’t be a big deal but…well, the thing of it was, it was a big deal because now here Jemaine was, breaking all three of these unspoken mores. Bret sighed, looking at the cup and then, with a firm nod, he picked it up and took a deep sip. He put it back down and focused back on his food, but every now and then snuck a peek at Jemaine to see if he would really share the cup.
Maybe he had just been talking a good game and wouldn’t…
Jemaine squirmed in his seat, looking at the cup with an ungodly amount of concentration. There was a slight tick beneath one of his eyes and then, quick as a shot, he took the cup, drank some and put it back down loudly.
Bret didn’t know why he was smirking, but he was as he took the cup again and had another sip. The rest of their dinner was relatively quiet, though there was some talk of the horrors Murray must currently be going through as he waded his way through Mel’s ‘novel’ and how they hoped the weather continued to stay relatively temperate.
Bret offered to wash the dishes if Jemaine would dry them and once that was over and everything was clean and back to normal, they both leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at one another in silent camaraderie. Jemaine spoke first, “Dinner was good. What now?”
Bret was about to shrug and ask what Jemaine wanted to do when a thought occurred to him, “Hey, we could watch that movie Dave gave us.”
Jemaine frowned, “Dave gave us a movie?”
“Yeah, remember? It was a couple days ago. His mum’s VCR was jammed.”
Jemaine clicked his tongue, “Ah, yes, that. Yeah, all right. Sounds good.”
Bret found the beat up copy of ‘E.T’ on top of the TV and the two of them sat close together on the couch to watch it. The beginning of the film was rather dark and a little spooky and Bret huddled close to the couch, not wanting to admit he was slightly creeped out. It was pretty obvious to Jemaine though, who couldn’t help but be amused as Bret shifted about the couch uncomfortably, sort of curling into himself.
“Bret, if the movie scares you, we don’t have to-”
“It’s not scary!” Bret said a little louder and a little more firmly than necessary.
Jemaine couldn’t help the small grin that formed at Bret’s reaction. Though he had to admit, the movie was a little…unsettling in the beginning. The scenes with the children were all right but the mysterious little guy running through the woods being chased by flashlights was sort of disconcerting.
When the film moved to the main character first finding E.T, it was a rather startling scene, enough so that Bret yelped a bit and buried his face into Jemaine’s shoulder. Jemaine immediately associated the leap in his heart with the shock of what happened in the film before he patted Bret’s arm, “It’s okay, Bret…scene’s over.”
“That…was a bit scary.” Bret admitted shame-faced, as he pulled back from Jemaine slightly. But only slightly. In fact, Bret sort of rearranged himself until his head rested on Jemaine’s shoulder and Jemaine looked over at him curiously. He opened his mouth, about to ask how much this should cost but, instead, closed it and focused his full attention back on the movie, not wanting to think about anything else...
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Bret sniffled as the film ended. Jemaine looked at him, “You crying?”
“Yeah. You?”
“No,” Jemaine said, clearing his throat and trying his best to discreetly rub a palm over his watering eyes, “Can’t believe you cried. You were scared of him.”
“Of who?”
“Of E.T.”
“Yeah, but, that was only in the beginning. The film is misleading.”
Jemaine nodded and Bret could feel the movement. He cautiously drew away from Jemaine as the film ended. He stretched and tried to ignore the fact that he felt rather less cozy than he did before. He scratched at his back as he rose to his feet and wondered about whether or not he should get ready for bed when he noticed that the sun was down now and he could see better out into the night. And more specifically…
Bret walked over to the windows and crouched down, looking across the street. Jemaine moaned, “Bret! You’re not spying again, are you?”
“I’m just…taking a peek,” Bret said innocently as he peered into Sid and Nancy’s apartment. Bret smiled, “Oh. Wow! Jemaine! You should come take a look at this!”
“No, thanks.” Jemaine said grumpily, crossing his arms. For some reason, ever since the film ended he found himself feeling slightly annoyed. He didn’t know why and he didn’t want to question it. All he knew was that he felt oddly…less. It was like something was missing and he couldn’t place what.
Bret didn’t notice, his eyes still across the street, his voice cheerful, “But Jemaine, they’re both dressed up all fancy. You should see his suit! He looks like…a secret agent or something. And she…well…she…”
Bret just trailed off but his stress on the word ‘she’ had Jemaine somewhat intrigued and he gave in to his curiosity, going over to join Bret over by the window. He leaned down just enough so he could see better into the apartment and, he had to admit, it had to be some sort of crime how well he could see into their place. It was almost like watching another movie all together, the picture just as clear and sharp.
Nancy wore a rather stunning gown and Sid drew her close, spinning her around. They danced together, slow and sure and Bret sighed dreamily, “They must be going to some fancy dance party.”
Jemaine didn’t comment but mentally agreed. It did look like they were going somewhere elaborate and impressive and Jemaine secretly wondered why such classy people would live in this neighborhood and not somewhere more upscale. Looking at Sid’s suit, Jemaine began to imagine he really was a secret agent and he shook his head. The idea was ridiculous. Something more likely that Bret would dream up than he, but still the fantasy stuck.
He pulled away from the window and leaned back against the wall next to it. His imagination dreamed up more and more about secret agents and elaborate missions and he was so lost in this that he was completely oblivious to Bret, who continued to talk quietly, though mostly more to himself than to Jemaine, “It must be nice to get all dressed up and go dancing. Like an old black and white movie. I can’t remember the last time I went to a dance…”
Bret started looking between the apartment across the way and Jemaine, who was still lost in his own little world. Bret’s hands, which had gripped the window sill, flexed now apprehensively as he chewed on his lower lip, debating whether or not to ask what he was thinking. At last he caved, saying a bit louder, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine didn’t hear him, so Bret nudged him with an elbow until Jemaine snapped out of it and noticed him. Bret cleared his throat, “Jemaine, would you…could we…I want to…dance?”
Jemaine blinked a few times, confused, “Hrm?”
“I was,” Bret scratched at the back of his neck nervously, his posture rigid, “I thought maybe we could…dance…together.”
Jemaine frowned down at Bret, “Dance?”
“Yeah…you and-and me.”
“Like…wait, what? How?”
“How what?”
“How would we dance?”
“Well, um, together.”
“Like…slow?” Jemaine breathed and for some reason he felt like he was underwater. Bret rose to his feet and shifted about some, looking shy, “Yes, well, yeah. I just…I just thought we could…”
Jemaine just stared at him and Bret felt his face heat up as he searched his mind for some kind of answer. He found it in the strange web of their arrangement, saying stiltedly, “I would…pay you….of course.”
“Of course,” Jemaine repeated, wondering why he felt sort of, it was like he was…hurt. By the suggestion. Which was outrageous. Of course Bret should pay him. That was the agreement. Besides, he could probably get a good amount for this.
“So…do you want to?”
“You’re the boss,” Jemaine heard himself say and wondered why his voice sounded like that to his own ears. Bret flinched and Jemaine felt bad about it, so he said more softly, “Yes, Bret, I…would like to. Dance. With you.”
Bret seemed slightly humbled by that and rubbed his hands together, movements shaky, “Great. I’ll just…I’ll just find a record to put on then.”
Bret flipped through the records until he found something he thought would be okay. He wanted something that wasn’t too sexy or too romantic, but still something slow and right to move to. He put the record on and then turned nervously to Jemaine, who, after moving the couch and other various furniture and obstacles out of the way, stood in the center of the room looking overly uncomfortable.
Jemaine let out a loud breath through his nose, “So…how do we…um…”
Bret stepped up to Jemaine and anxiously took his hands, eager to get to the next part. It took some rearranging on both their parts and once they did start to move it was certainly slow but not at all graceful or right. It was kind of a clunky movement in a pathetic circle and suddenly Bret yelped, “Ah! That was my foot!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jemaine gasped and they tried again. Yet again Bret’s foot was crushed and then Jemaine’s and once Bret’s was hit again he drew back, frowning, “This isn’t working.”
“Well, you’re leading.”
“I know that. I’m a man!”
“Yes, I know, Bret,” Jemaine said irritably, “So am I, and that’s why this doesn’t work. We can’t both lead.”
“Ohhh, right, right,” Bret muttered thoughtfully, drawing a bit away from Jemaine, “Then who…who should lead.”
“Well me, naturally.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m taller,” Jemaine said smartly, “I think after gender it goes in order of height. You know. When it…when it comes to dancing.”
Bret narrowed his eyes in thought, looking at Jemaine critically, “I don’t know…”
“Come on, Bret, trust me.”
Bret crossed his arms, unsure and Jemaine tried again, “Look, it’ll work better this way. But…you know…if it doesn’t, we…we can switch places.”
Bret’s lips screwed up to one side in thought then he bobbed his head, “Yeah, all right. See your point.”
Bret moved back to Jemaine and they rearranged themselves again. They started once more to dance and Bret found himself slightly chagrinned to see that Jemaine was basically right. While he did still get his foot caught now and again (just par for the course, he supposed) Bret found it was much easier with Jemaine leading. They moved more fluidly and Bret smiled slightly.
It was nice to move to music. No matter whom you were moving with. Jemaine was still scowling a bit as he asked, with no small amount of discomfort, “Do you…want to me to twirl you?”
Bret smirked at the idea and shook his head. Jemaine spoke again, still unsure, “And you…you don’t want me to…dip you, right?”
“No,” Bret said and found himself edging closer to Jemaine, “This…this is just fine,” then, he added as an after thought, “The way it is.”
Jemaine nodded a bit to himself and tried to ignore the fact that he was imperceptibly easing Bret closer and closer. Time seemed thick and slow and Jemaine again had the uncanny feeling he was underwater as Bret’s body was finally pressed against his. Jemaine tried to lift his head higher, feeling like he was drowning. He needed to keep above the imaginary water line and he found his face sort of pressed against the side of Bret’s head, the curls obscuring everything.
They danced, neither looking at the other, sort of just lost in the feeling and the music. There were no more words, because really, any other sounds than those of the record and the sounds of the city outside filtering in through the open windows would ruin the moment.
Jemaine didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes, didn’t even notice how close Bret’s body was to his own and his hands had stopped sweating ages ago. Bret, for his part, felt as if he was adrift at sea, with only one thing keeping him afloat and centered and he tried really hard not to think too much about the fact that that thing was Jemaine.
And then that’s when Bret felt it.
It was almost completely imperceptible.
In fact, Bret blinked once, not sure if he had even really felt anything.
But then, after what felt like a long time, it came again, the tenderest brush against his hair. A gentle, unassuming pressure just against the side of his head, his hair cushioning the action. Bret kept moving, but he felt his body stiffen a fraction. It couldn’t be…
Bret took in a shaky breath and waited fretfully. It was a strange place to be, this small span of seconds. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting to see if he had felt what he thought he had felt. Waiting to see if Jemaine would do again what Bret thought he had. Waiting to see how he would feel about it if what he thought Jemaine was doing was true…
And then it came again, that pressure against the side of his head, that warm, wet feeling of lips being pressed against him, Jemaine’s breath ruffling through the curls of his hair. Jemaine had…
The next thought in Bret’s head was overshadowed by the rest of his body’s actions, as he repelled himself away from Jemaine almost violently. Jemaine was startled by the unexpected movement, Bret’s whole body torn from his, hands yanked swiftly away from one another.
Jemaine just stood there, frozen, hands upheld, face expressionless.
Bret was the complete opposite, his movements’ jerky and on the edge of spasmodic. He ran his hands all over himself, through his hair and along his arms and over his chest, as if trying to rub the feelings away, shudders working all throughout his body, every vein tingling as if on fire.
He couldn’t look at Jemaine, couldn’t speak to him, and he found himself going to the front door of the apartment and leaving. He had to go. He had to get away. He had to…
And once he was gone Jemaine’s hands slowly lowered to his sides and he looked up at the ceiling. His gaze focused on a crack in the plaster and he tried to think about that, he tried to think about the ceiling paint, he tried to think about anything other than the fact that mere moments ago he had been dancing with his friend and he had kissed him.
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Bret got into the elevator and paced around in the small space. He was completely unconscious of the elevator’s movements. Up, down, up - what did it matter? He paced and paced and time was irrelevant and eventually he just found himself sinking to the floor.
He wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing his knees up to his chest and rested his head there, trying to sort out his mind and what he was thinking and what he was feeling.
Jemaine hadn’t…
Jemaine couldn’t…
Jemaine would never…
And yet, Bret was as sure of the fact that the sun would rise tomorrow as he was as sure of the fact that Jemaine had just kissed him up in their apartment. Granted, he hadn’t kissed Bret on the lips but that was besides the point…
Their agreement, their deal, was very clear.
It was nothing more than hugs, contact, the occasional hand holding. Kissing…kissing was completely out of the question. Kissing was something else entirely. Kissing was something you only did with girls.
Well, it was something you only did with girls if you were a man…or a lesbian…Miss Adams…and yeah, yeah, Bret was sure of it now, sure he was cracking up because his whole mind was nothing more than a messy jumble of thoughts and confused emotions and…
Jemaine kissing him.
Maybe...maybe Jemaine had just been confused. Maybe he had lost himself. Bret had certainly felt lost and maybe Jemaine had just sort of forgotten himself and thought Bret was a girl. Maybe he had envisioned Bret with a wig on and…
No, no, even with a wig on, Bret was a man and it was gay. Gay, gay, gay and Bret was straight, straight, straight…
That’s what he had told Brahbrah back when he had dated her. He was straight. Straight. He did not like men.
But this wasn’t just…
This was Jemaine.
Jemaine was his friend.
His friend.
That’s all he was.
That’s all he ever would be.
Bret didn’t want…he didn’t think…
But then why did he feel this way? His heart was racing about like a bird, caught in the cage of his thin chest and it felt as if it was going to escape out his mouth. He almost…he almost felt like he wanted it to escape and that made no sense and yeah, yeah he was definitely cracking up…
Bret rocked a bit where he sat, trying to piece it all together and it felt overwhelming. Impossible. It felt like someone had taken two, five hundred piece puzzles and thrown them on the floor in front of him and told him to sort them out and he couldn’t…
Bret hit his head back against the hard wall of the elevator and swallowed. God, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. All he knew was that when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jemaine.
On to Part 9