FIC: Haircut
Title: haircut
Rating: R
Words: ~4,000
Warnings: Boys touch each other. A lot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. You can ask Dan.
Summary: Josh gives Drake a haircut. This leads to Drake getting dirty thoughts.
A/N: Happy birthday klaudix_kiddo! I never actually wrote someone a fic before but you’re a sweetheart that never fails to make me feel better when I’m feeling like crap. So, I thought I’d do something in return to let you know I appreciate it, deary. It’s not much but I thought you’d like it. :)
When Drake goes into their room, Josh is standing behind the chair by the desk, facing him with that too eager smile across his face, snipping a pair scissors with one hand, cutting air.
Drake groans. “I’m not letting you near my head.”
He’s been getting grief about his hair since the other day at dinner when Megan mentioned that all the men in the family have long hair - “What’s up with the girly do?” - They all glanced at each other, and his mom made a comment about how she doesn’t want the neighbors to think they’re all a bunch of hippies. Walter said she was being silly.
Josh, the traitor, cut his hair later that night.
Then it was just Walter and Drake. The whole day and a half Walter has been giving him a thumbs up or, occasionally, a fight-the-power fist pump in the air that makes Drake nod awkwardly, and give him smiles that resemble winces. His mom gave him money to get a hair-cut, a stern look on her face that meant don’t spend it on junk. Then she reminded Walter that if he wants to sleep in the same room with her, he’d better lose the hippie look.
Walter looked startled, glancing at his boys with a pretend ease that was supposed to suggest their mom wasn’t the leader of the household. And when she left, he gave Drake a one armed hug in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, son, us cool guys sport the long hair look. I’ll talk to your mother.” Drake scrunched his nose up, and Josh tried not to laugh.
Now, when Drake goes to his room to seek out refuge from his crazy fight-the-man (or rather mom) stepfather, he finds his room has turned into a barbershop.
“Why not?” Josh asks. He tries not to let his smile fall but his excitement visibly dampers. “I'll have you know, I give myself haircuts all the time.”
“Exactly,” Drake says, sinking into the couch and putting his feet up on the table. “Have you seen your hair?”
Josh eyes roll up as if he can see through his skull and look at his own hair, and then he blows out a breath. “My hair is just fine, and I wouldn’t give you a haircut that’s the exact replica of mine.”
He rolls his eyes because, obviously, Drake doesn’t understand, and Drake doesn’t pretend to, either. “Huh?”
“Everybody’s head is different.”
Drake’s eyes flick over to Josh’s face. “You’re telling me.”
Josh shoots him a sour look but thankfully lets the comment slide, and continues. “Everyone has a certain shape to their head-”
“Some bigger than others,” Drake mentions.
Josh gives him a chilly glance, pausing poignantly just incase Drake feels the urge to get a few more rude comments out of his system. “Done?”
“Very.” Drake smiles.
There’s a book open on the desk, and Josh’s eyes keep straying to it’s pages, his voice turning into that rumbling soft sound that Drake tends to drown out. He listens to the highs and lows of his voice, and Drake has gotten pretty good at knowing when to join the conversation by now.
“-whether someone’s head is oval shaped, or heart shaped, or round shaped or square shaped-”
“Who has a square shaped head?”
“People have square shaped heads.”
“No, they don’t, how can someone’s head be square?”
“It’s possible,” Josh huffs.
“Okay, name two people with square heads.”
Josh straightens, his foot tapping incessantly against the floor, like his patience is running thin, and that’s the only thing that’ll keep him from throttling the other boy. “The point is,” he says tightly, “I’ll give you a good haircut.”
“And what’s the shape of my head?” Drake asks sweetly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Drake watches as Josh leans over, “C’mere, let me take a closer look at it,” Drake lifts his head up only to have Josh smack him in the face with a pillow.
Drake shoots him a grumpy look. “Fine. I’ll get a haircut,” Because it's one thing to look like a girl but there’s no way in hell he’s going to have the same hairstyle as Walter. “But it’s not going to be from you!”
“Well, no one is stopping you,” Josh says with a pout. “Go to the barber then.”
“Fine, I will!” Drake is about to storm out of the room but then he pauses, pats his back pocket, and then turns around. “Hey, lend me twenty bucks.”
“I will not,” Josh says, affronted. “What happened to the money mom gave you?”
“I bought a corndog.” When Josh raises an eyebrow in disbelief, Drake sighs. “Okay, I bought several corndogs.”
“Well, I ain’t giving you more corndog money,” Josh says with a determined fold of his arms.
“No, come on, I’ll get a haircut this time.”
“Yeah, and I’m a magical fairy.”
Drake gives him strange look. Oh. So, this is how he wants to play it, Drake thinks. “Fine, you wanna cut my hair?” Drake says, stomping across the room and flinging himself on the chair Josh made ready. “Go for it. My head is your oyster.”
Josh eyes get small and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something but then shakes his head. His excitement returns as he stares at Drake’s hair, and Drake gets an uncomfortable feeling like maybe he’s regretting this after all.
Drake suddenly finds a towel draped over his shoulders. He eyes the case in Josh’s hand. “You wanna be a hairdresser now?” He says it the same way as “You wanna be a magician?” A tone of voice Josh is probably well used to.
“Pfft. No.” Josh’s does that weird cockeyed thing, and then he unfurls the case with one expert flick of his hand.
Drake leans back into the chair unexpectedly as Josh kneels in front of him. He lays the case on Drake’s lap, and Drake tries to look down at the shiny scissors but Josh sticks his fingers in his hair, and he is momentarily frozen as Josh spreads his fingers, carding through the strands of his hair.
“Measuring,” Josh mumbles absently. Drake is used to seeing Josh bent over his homework, pen stuck in his mouth, muttering to himself as he reads, oblivious to the world around him. It’s strangely fascinating watching it up close, seeing Josh’s bottom lip redden when his teeth let go of it, and his lips part, soft breaths, indistinct mumbles leaving his lips as he talks to himself, and sometimes a hum in agreement with an unheard thought.
Drake is almost startled when he feels a swoop of air as Josh gets up to move behind him.
He tenses when Josh’s fingers dig into his hair again because he can see the glint of silver metal in the corner of his eye, before it disappears behind him, and he hears the first snip, quick and sharp in the quiet room.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
He sees auburn pieces fall onto the white towel, and Drake feels a bit of panic as more and more collect there, and land on the floor. Suddenly, the clanking of the scissor stops, and he feels Josh’s fingers in his hair again, gently grazing his scalp, and Drake tilts his head back, leaning into his touch unconsciously.
He figures Josh is “measuring” again, and lets his fingers slide slowly through his strands. “Relax,” Josh says quietly. Drake nods, unable to get his throat to let out words. He sinks into the chair, and lets Josh do whatever it is he’s doing up there without the worrying buzz at the back of his mind bothering him.
Drake closes his eyes. Minutes pass with nothing more than the noise of the scissors working, the warmth of Josh at his back, the shifting of his feet, and the feel of his fingers brushing through his strands, languidly.
He feels cool air again. When he opens his eyes, Josh is in front of him, bending on one knee as he unsnaps another pair of scissors from the case Drake almost forgets is on his lap. He finally gets a look at the black fabric, the stretchy bands that hold different sized scissors, a clunky collection of combs snapped up at the very end.
Josh’s fingers tilt his chin up. His hand comes up to brush some strands off his forehead, fingers sliding down the side of his face. He mumbles something again, his lips soft, wet.
Drake sees a smaller pair of scissors in his other hand, and his gaze follows the shiny metal until it hides behind Josh’s hand, snipping his bangs.
Josh’s lips part in utter concentration, eyes narrowed with intent. Drake stares at his eyes, unabashedly, wondering what color his eyes are. Bright blues smudged with a pale green, his eyes are beautiful.
Drake’s focus zaps to his mouth like a fly caught in light when he sees the tip of Josh’s tongue peak out at the corner of his parted lips. His concentration so intense on shaping Drake’s bangs, he doesn’t notice Drake’s darkening stare.
His body is wound up tight like an electric wire humming low along his back, energy, and sparks bound in, Drake feels restless, like he’s ready to blow.
“Almost done?” Drake’s voice is thick, unrecognizable to his own ears.
“Just about,” Josh murmurs.
The pads of his fingers brush along his scalp again, running through his hair, Drake watches as Josh’s eyes light up. He smiles softly like he’s proud of himself. Then he steps back, and Drake feels like he’s been hit with a bucket of ice water. He lets out a shaky breath while Josh runs to get something, a mirror, Drake vaguely realizes as he stands up.
“You like?” Josh is grinning now, glowing with pride when he holds the mirror in front of him.
Drake’s barely shoulder length hair now reaches just past his ears, brushing the nape of his neck, and the bangs sweep just above his eyebrows, covering his forehead.
“Huh, it doesn’t look half bad,” Drake admits.
Josh’s grin brightens.
Drake can’t explain the fluttering his heart gives at that smile.
-
“Drake,” His mom says, sounding surprised, when he enters the kitchen with Josh behind him. She presses her hand to her chest as she walks around him. “Your haircut….” She looks pleased.
“Good job,” Megan remarks, legs swinging under the dinner table. She doesn’t bother looking up from her laptop, “Now people won’t mistake you for a girl.”
Drake gives her a dark look.
“You look so handsome,” Audrey says.
“This is news?” Drake says. His mom ignores the cocky attitude, and Josh rolls his eyes as he grabs a grapefruit from the counter.
“When did you get a haircut? I didn’t see you leave the house,” Audrey says.
“Just now, Josh did it.”
“Josh? You did this?” Audrey says, turning to him in surprise. “You did a wonderful job.”
Josh smiles goofily, giving an ‘aw shucks’ hand wave from the counter before he continues to slice up the grapefruit.
And, okay, it isn’t that spectacular but his mom is happy he finally listened to her, and Josh can’t stop grinning, so he’ll let them have their moment.
When Walter walks in, he takes one look at Drake, and his shoulders fall. “Drake….” Betrayed by his stepson, he pouts. Audrey gives him a disapproving look before walking past him.
Drake shrugs, and swipes a grapefruit slice when Josh isn’t looking.
“I’m still with you, Walter,” Megan says, putting her tiny fist up in support.
“Thank you, Megan, at least one child of mine doesn’t betray me,” he looks at his sons pointedly. Josh looks sheepish, and Drake is sucking on a grapefruit slice, unfazed.
After he leaves with a huff to the living room, Megan picks up her laptop, turns to her brothers, and says, “Eh, I don’t really care.”
They aren't really all that surprised.
-
People at school even starting mentioning how good Drake’s haircut looks, and Drake finds himself smiling at the sight of Josh puffing his chest out proudly. They both haven’t stopped smiling since that morning.
A brunette girl passes Drake when he’s stuffing his backpack into his locker, and winks. “Lookin’ good, Drake.”
“Your brotha done good,” Josh says, leaning against the lockers with an enthusiastic grin.
Drake smiles, chuckling softly. “Yes, yes he has.”
He watches Josh’s face for a few more moments, watches him smile, his eyes lighten, and then Josh gives him a wide-eyed look. “I got somethin’ on my face?”
Drake shakes his head. Feeling his mouth dry, he swallows thickly, and then pats Josh on the back, stretching his lips into a smile. “No, there’s nothing, let’s just go to class.”
-
When Josh comes back from work, Drake hears the rustle of him changing from his uniform into his pajamas, the sounds of the cabinet doors clicking opening, the drawer shutting, and maybe even the sound of fabric sliding off his skin over the drone of the television.
Josh joins him on the couch minutes later. He gives Drake a little smile before turning to television.
Drake’s attention to the screen wavers with every slight movement Josh makes.
He doesn’t realize until he shifts closer what the heck is bothering him so much. The distance. The distance is almost unbearable, which is ridiculous because Josh is only a few inches away from him.
So, Drake scoots closer. He gets close enough that their arms press together, their elbows knocking when he crosses his arms, and their thighs brushing when he shifts his legs. Drake can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest with each breath against his shoulder. Drake likes the feeling. He can’t help leaning into him, having the warmth of Josh’s body so close to his own. He feels like he’s getting away with something big, but when he glances at Josh from the corner of his eye, Josh doesn’t even seem aware of it.
Drake fidgets under Josh’s side-glance, and finally Josh says he’s pooped out and ready for bed.
When the light go off, Drake is lying on his bed, feeling like the day’s not done yet because his muscles are restless, itching with the urge to run or jump, like a caffeinated buzz running in his veins, his eyes are wide, alert.
He stares at the ceiling, looking into the blackness that seems to surround him, thick and engulfing. His heartbeat is loud, pounding against his ribcage, and Drake focuses on each beat, each thump inside his chest.
His mouth is starting to dry like it did earlier that that day. His thin cotton shirt slides up his heated skin, and his hand lies on his belly, fingers running along his waistband.
Each swipe of his fingers on the skin just under his waistband feels prickly, his skin is oversensitive, and Drake is instantly reminded of the pads of fingers running over his scalp, slowly sliding their way through his hair. The hairs on his neck stand up, and he tilts his head back as his hand slides down.
He doesn’t know why he’s so turned on. He shuts eyes against the intense rush of arousal spiking down to his stomach, making his cock rise against the fabric of his pajama pants. He lets out a startled breath when his hand palms his cock.
He slows his breathing, acutely aware of Josh sleeping just a few feet away. That thought sends jolts of pleasure straight to his cock, making it twitch under his fingers.
Drake’s eyes widen in the darkness. Holy fuck…is he getting hard off of Josh?!
He quickly tries to conjure up a female, brunette with gorgeous eyes, strong hands, and a broad, flat chest-fuck.
His mind becomes like a massive, mismatched ping-pong game, a millions players against one, images being thrown back and forth, as he tries to make himself think of breasts and curves while his mind is lifting images of Josh’s lips, hands griping him tightly. His hand on his cock like this…
Beads of sweat break out on his forehead. His brain hurts, his cock is aching, unrelieved, he never had to think this much when jerking off before.
His palm slides down to the base of his cock. He tries slow careful strokes, trying to make less noise, but the building pressure at the pit of stomach makes his movements erratic, uneven.
His bottom lip hurts when he bits down hard. The sensation is starting to cloud his mind. His thought process, disjointed, breaking into a flood of every thought he’s trying hard to hold back - Josh’s lips moving over his mouth, his neck, his hands touching him like this. Josh touching him everywhere.
Drake shuts his eyes tight. He can feel heat, imprints of hands on his skin, burning. He hears his own whimpers no matter how hard he tries to hold them back, and his slow easy breaths are quickly turning into rough, short gasps.
The pressure is peaking, and it feels like the bed is titling over - Drake jerks himself off with everything he’s got. He parts his lips as he comes, hard.
Josh. Fuck. Yes. Josh.
He’s breathing hard, lungs burning. He shakily slips his wet and sticky hand out of his pajama pants. The echo of Josh’s name is still ringing in his ears as the waves of pleasure slowly dissipate.
Prickles of panic settle under his skin.
Holy shit.
Did he just shout out Josh’s name at the top of lungs?
HolyShit.
Drake feels himself chill like ice running over his skin.
The silence is deafening.
His heart is hammering in his chest. His own breaths are loud, hollow, in his ears - mortified.
He shuts his eyes so tight he can see spots of white circling around underneath his eyelids.
But as the silence stretches, agonizingly slow minutes, he feels his body begin to relax. Maybe Josh is that heavy of a sleeper, he thinks. Fuck. He hopes so.
Then everything under his eyelids floods red with a loud bang of the door.
Drake sits up, his hand flying to his chest, blinking rapidly at the light. Megan is hunched over at the threshold of the door with an angry tight-lipped expression that makes Drake’s blood run cold. His eyes dart to Josh’s bed - Drake’s body seizes at the sight of him. Josh is awake. Josh is very awake, sitting up on his bed with sleep tousled hair.
Megan’s voice jolts him just as much as Josh. “I am TRYING to sleep,” She grits out. “So, if you don’t mind, SHUT-UP!”
She doesn’t bother turning off the light when she slams the door.
Drake doesn’t embarrass easily. The burning in his cheeks is unfamiliar, and he wants nothing more than to sink into his bed, praying that a huge hole will crack open underneath him so he can fall into the darkness, and never have to look at Josh, looking at him.
Yet, when he turns his head, the side of eyes catching Josh’s profile, he realizes Josh isn’t looking at him at all. Josh has his head down, cheeks blazing red, and eyes staring at his hands in his lap.
Drake sits up, back straightening, as he stares directly at him, daring him to look at him. And Drake can’t explain the anger rising within him when Josh doesn’t meet his gaze.
Why is Josh embarrassed? Why is acting like that? Drake is the one that humiliated himself, shouted Josh’s name at the top his lungs as he came. Why the fuck is Josh acting like the weird one, the freak?
“Go turn off the light,” Drake snarls, fed up of sitting there, feeling stupid, embarrassed, and wet.
“I can’t,” Josh says testily. He tries to look up at Drake but when he finds Drake is looking back at him, he looks away, eyes falling to his lap again. That just makes Drake angrier.
“Why not?” Drake demands.
“I-I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s just…I-I-”
“What?” Drake yells. “What?”
“I-I’m hard! Alright?”
Josh’s nose flares, eyes hard, jaw clenched as he looks at Drake but then, like he just realized what he said, averts his gaze, and flushes deeply. He picks at the folds of his sheets with a frustrated, nervous, flick of his fingers.
Drake’s eyebrows lift high, disappearing behind his bangs. Then a slow smile stretches across his face. “You’re…hard?”
Josh refuses to raise his eyes, and mutters, “Well, you weren’t exactly Mr. discreet up there, with all those…noises.” Then he huffs out a soft irritated breath. And the image, the way Josh is acting, fingers picking uselessly at his bedspread, and his face turned, trying to hide his flushed face, it's...it's ridiculously cute. Drake starts laughing.
Josh raises his head, blinking in incredulity at the sight of Drake laughing so hard, his hand is clutching his stomach. “I’m glad you find this so funny,” Josh says, narrowing his eyes. He’s acting like this is some big, world-threatening, problem they have to face, and Drake is wiping at the corner of his eyes.
Drake gets up, and climbs down the ladder of his bed.
“What are you doing?” Josh asks slowly, eyes following his movements like he’s some dangerous wild animal.
Drake responds with a grin, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Josh’s eyes widen when Drake stands in front of his bed, and then his gaze falls to the wet spot at the front of his pajama pants.
“Your fault,” Drake says.
When Drake climbs onto his lap, Josh’s whole body tenses, and then he hesitantly puts his hands on his waist when Drake almost tumbles forward. Drake grips his shoulders tightly, balancing himself over Josh’s legs.
Josh is touching him like he’s a fragile piece of glass, and he’s staring at him like he's at a loss as how to handle him.
Drake looks down, and sees the outline of Josh’s cock jutting out, straining beneath his pajama pants, thick and hard. “Heh,” Drake breathes, “You weren’t kidding.”
“Drake…” Josh’s voice is gruff, uncertain.
His grip tightens around his waist when Drake’s fingers curl around his cock, giving an experimental tug. Josh lets out a groan somewhere deep in his throat and the sound goes straight to Drake’s cock.
Drake gives him a shaky grin. “You like that?” He says, his palm slides down the base of his cock, fingers pressing over the thin cotton material.
He watches Josh’s eyes haze, unfocused, and his lips part. Drake kisses him. Josh’s mouth moves unskillfully under his, and he moans because Josh’s hand slides up his back, tugging him closer. They end up fumbling down onto the bed, Josh falling on his back, and Drake knocking into his chest. Drake straddles him, his hand slowly moving over Josh’s crotch. Josh’s neck is long when he arches into him, hips reflexively lifting up.
Drake has never seen Josh so lost, uninhibited, letting out rough, short breaths at every movement of Drake’s hand, flick of his wrist, hot kiss on his neck, bite on his collarbone.
“D-Drake,” Josh gasps, his breaths are uneven, and he’s trying to reciprocate, his hands moving down to the small of Drake’s back, rubbing up his spine but then Drake increases the pace of his hand, making Josh weak, helplessly moaning beneath him.
“Ungh…Drake.” Josh bites his bottom lip, and Drake feels hot liquid wetting the fabric under his hand, and Drake keeps rubbing him, making Josh mumble incoherently, eyes shut tight, and hands fisted in the sheets.
And when Drake figures Josh is thoroughly finished, he slides in beside him on the bed, and watches him lay there, eyes still closed, and panting heavily.
“…you,” Josh lets out. Drake doesn’t understand him until Josh asks, “What about…you?” Drake stops Josh’s hand before it reaches his pants.
And even though Drake is hard. Fuck, who wouldn’t be? After watching Josh writhing beneath him. He shakes his head. “It’s okay, sleep.”
But Josh is stubborn, and sits up slowly, giving him that glassy-eyed look and soft smile that makes Drake’s heart pitter-patter uncontrollably in his chest. He kisses Drake, lips pressing his own, carefully, slowly. He tugs Drake closer, kissing him deeper, and a small sound leaves Drake’s throat.
“No,” Josh says against his lips, “It’s not okay.”
Drake doesn’t even think about fighting him on it.
-
Drake knows why he wants to press closer to Josh, feel his arms press against his when they sit next to each other. Josh doesn’t seem to mind. Now, Drake can pull his arm around him, feel his breaths against his cheek, and hear his heart beat against his ear. Now, they share secret smiles, and heated glances, their touches lingering more than they need to.
Megan calls them on it. Knowing dark eyes narrowing when Josh starts to whistle and Drake leans back in his seat, as he drives them home from school. Drake isn’t worried. He’s comforted with the knowledge that she knows everything anyway. He figures he should be more worried if she didn’t know. This is the way the universe worked, in Drake’s opinion.
When they enter the house, they find their parents snuggling on the couch, Walter’s hair a few inches shorter, and a happy smile on Audrey’s face, as she curls herself under his arm.
Megan complains about the abundance of happy in the house, and says she’s going to be sick as he trudges up the stairs.
Drake tugs at Josh’s collar just beneath the stairwell, smirking when Josh’s eyes darken with lust. “Upstairs, now.”
He’s not sure which one of them said it first, and he doesn’t really care at this point, either.
END.
Rating: R
Words: ~4,000
Warnings: Boys touch each other. A lot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. You can ask Dan.
Summary: Josh gives Drake a haircut. This leads to Drake getting dirty thoughts.
A/N: Happy birthday klaudix_kiddo! I never actually wrote someone a fic before but you’re a sweetheart that never fails to make me feel better when I’m feeling like crap. So, I thought I’d do something in return to let you know I appreciate it, deary. It’s not much but I thought you’d like it. :)
When Drake goes into their room, Josh is standing behind the chair by the desk, facing him with that too eager smile across his face, snipping a pair scissors with one hand, cutting air.
Drake groans. “I’m not letting you near my head.”
He’s been getting grief about his hair since the other day at dinner when Megan mentioned that all the men in the family have long hair - “What’s up with the girly do?” - They all glanced at each other, and his mom made a comment about how she doesn’t want the neighbors to think they’re all a bunch of hippies. Walter said she was being silly.
Josh, the traitor, cut his hair later that night.
Then it was just Walter and Drake. The whole day and a half Walter has been giving him a thumbs up or, occasionally, a fight-the-power fist pump in the air that makes Drake nod awkwardly, and give him smiles that resemble winces. His mom gave him money to get a hair-cut, a stern look on her face that meant don’t spend it on junk. Then she reminded Walter that if he wants to sleep in the same room with her, he’d better lose the hippie look.
Walter looked startled, glancing at his boys with a pretend ease that was supposed to suggest their mom wasn’t the leader of the household. And when she left, he gave Drake a one armed hug in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, son, us cool guys sport the long hair look. I’ll talk to your mother.” Drake scrunched his nose up, and Josh tried not to laugh.
Now, when Drake goes to his room to seek out refuge from his crazy fight-the-man (or rather mom) stepfather, he finds his room has turned into a barbershop.
“Why not?” Josh asks. He tries not to let his smile fall but his excitement visibly dampers. “I'll have you know, I give myself haircuts all the time.”
“Exactly,” Drake says, sinking into the couch and putting his feet up on the table. “Have you seen your hair?”
Josh eyes roll up as if he can see through his skull and look at his own hair, and then he blows out a breath. “My hair is just fine, and I wouldn’t give you a haircut that’s the exact replica of mine.”
He rolls his eyes because, obviously, Drake doesn’t understand, and Drake doesn’t pretend to, either. “Huh?”
“Everybody’s head is different.”
Drake’s eyes flick over to Josh’s face. “You’re telling me.”
Josh shoots him a sour look but thankfully lets the comment slide, and continues. “Everyone has a certain shape to their head-”
“Some bigger than others,” Drake mentions.
Josh gives him a chilly glance, pausing poignantly just incase Drake feels the urge to get a few more rude comments out of his system. “Done?”
“Very.” Drake smiles.
There’s a book open on the desk, and Josh’s eyes keep straying to it’s pages, his voice turning into that rumbling soft sound that Drake tends to drown out. He listens to the highs and lows of his voice, and Drake has gotten pretty good at knowing when to join the conversation by now.
“-whether someone’s head is oval shaped, or heart shaped, or round shaped or square shaped-”
“Who has a square shaped head?”
“People have square shaped heads.”
“No, they don’t, how can someone’s head be square?”
“It’s possible,” Josh huffs.
“Okay, name two people with square heads.”
Josh straightens, his foot tapping incessantly against the floor, like his patience is running thin, and that’s the only thing that’ll keep him from throttling the other boy. “The point is,” he says tightly, “I’ll give you a good haircut.”
“And what’s the shape of my head?” Drake asks sweetly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Drake watches as Josh leans over, “C’mere, let me take a closer look at it,” Drake lifts his head up only to have Josh smack him in the face with a pillow.
Drake shoots him a grumpy look. “Fine. I’ll get a haircut,” Because it's one thing to look like a girl but there’s no way in hell he’s going to have the same hairstyle as Walter. “But it’s not going to be from you!”
“Well, no one is stopping you,” Josh says with a pout. “Go to the barber then.”
“Fine, I will!” Drake is about to storm out of the room but then he pauses, pats his back pocket, and then turns around. “Hey, lend me twenty bucks.”
“I will not,” Josh says, affronted. “What happened to the money mom gave you?”
“I bought a corndog.” When Josh raises an eyebrow in disbelief, Drake sighs. “Okay, I bought several corndogs.”
“Well, I ain’t giving you more corndog money,” Josh says with a determined fold of his arms.
“No, come on, I’ll get a haircut this time.”
“Yeah, and I’m a magical fairy.”
Drake gives him strange look. Oh. So, this is how he wants to play it, Drake thinks. “Fine, you wanna cut my hair?” Drake says, stomping across the room and flinging himself on the chair Josh made ready. “Go for it. My head is your oyster.”
Josh eyes get small and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something but then shakes his head. His excitement returns as he stares at Drake’s hair, and Drake gets an uncomfortable feeling like maybe he’s regretting this after all.
Drake suddenly finds a towel draped over his shoulders. He eyes the case in Josh’s hand. “You wanna be a hairdresser now?” He says it the same way as “You wanna be a magician?” A tone of voice Josh is probably well used to.
“Pfft. No.” Josh’s does that weird cockeyed thing, and then he unfurls the case with one expert flick of his hand.
Drake leans back into the chair unexpectedly as Josh kneels in front of him. He lays the case on Drake’s lap, and Drake tries to look down at the shiny scissors but Josh sticks his fingers in his hair, and he is momentarily frozen as Josh spreads his fingers, carding through the strands of his hair.
“Measuring,” Josh mumbles absently. Drake is used to seeing Josh bent over his homework, pen stuck in his mouth, muttering to himself as he reads, oblivious to the world around him. It’s strangely fascinating watching it up close, seeing Josh’s bottom lip redden when his teeth let go of it, and his lips part, soft breaths, indistinct mumbles leaving his lips as he talks to himself, and sometimes a hum in agreement with an unheard thought.
Drake is almost startled when he feels a swoop of air as Josh gets up to move behind him.
He tenses when Josh’s fingers dig into his hair again because he can see the glint of silver metal in the corner of his eye, before it disappears behind him, and he hears the first snip, quick and sharp in the quiet room.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
He sees auburn pieces fall onto the white towel, and Drake feels a bit of panic as more and more collect there, and land on the floor. Suddenly, the clanking of the scissor stops, and he feels Josh’s fingers in his hair again, gently grazing his scalp, and Drake tilts his head back, leaning into his touch unconsciously.
He figures Josh is “measuring” again, and lets his fingers slide slowly through his strands. “Relax,” Josh says quietly. Drake nods, unable to get his throat to let out words. He sinks into the chair, and lets Josh do whatever it is he’s doing up there without the worrying buzz at the back of his mind bothering him.
Drake closes his eyes. Minutes pass with nothing more than the noise of the scissors working, the warmth of Josh at his back, the shifting of his feet, and the feel of his fingers brushing through his strands, languidly.
He feels cool air again. When he opens his eyes, Josh is in front of him, bending on one knee as he unsnaps another pair of scissors from the case Drake almost forgets is on his lap. He finally gets a look at the black fabric, the stretchy bands that hold different sized scissors, a clunky collection of combs snapped up at the very end.
Josh’s fingers tilt his chin up. His hand comes up to brush some strands off his forehead, fingers sliding down the side of his face. He mumbles something again, his lips soft, wet.
Drake sees a smaller pair of scissors in his other hand, and his gaze follows the shiny metal until it hides behind Josh’s hand, snipping his bangs.
Josh’s lips part in utter concentration, eyes narrowed with intent. Drake stares at his eyes, unabashedly, wondering what color his eyes are. Bright blues smudged with a pale green, his eyes are beautiful.
Drake’s focus zaps to his mouth like a fly caught in light when he sees the tip of Josh’s tongue peak out at the corner of his parted lips. His concentration so intense on shaping Drake’s bangs, he doesn’t notice Drake’s darkening stare.
His body is wound up tight like an electric wire humming low along his back, energy, and sparks bound in, Drake feels restless, like he’s ready to blow.
“Almost done?” Drake’s voice is thick, unrecognizable to his own ears.
“Just about,” Josh murmurs.
The pads of his fingers brush along his scalp again, running through his hair, Drake watches as Josh’s eyes light up. He smiles softly like he’s proud of himself. Then he steps back, and Drake feels like he’s been hit with a bucket of ice water. He lets out a shaky breath while Josh runs to get something, a mirror, Drake vaguely realizes as he stands up.
“You like?” Josh is grinning now, glowing with pride when he holds the mirror in front of him.
Drake’s barely shoulder length hair now reaches just past his ears, brushing the nape of his neck, and the bangs sweep just above his eyebrows, covering his forehead.
“Huh, it doesn’t look half bad,” Drake admits.
Josh’s grin brightens.
Drake can’t explain the fluttering his heart gives at that smile.
-
“Drake,” His mom says, sounding surprised, when he enters the kitchen with Josh behind him. She presses her hand to her chest as she walks around him. “Your haircut….” She looks pleased.
“Good job,” Megan remarks, legs swinging under the dinner table. She doesn’t bother looking up from her laptop, “Now people won’t mistake you for a girl.”
Drake gives her a dark look.
“You look so handsome,” Audrey says.
“This is news?” Drake says. His mom ignores the cocky attitude, and Josh rolls his eyes as he grabs a grapefruit from the counter.
“When did you get a haircut? I didn’t see you leave the house,” Audrey says.
“Just now, Josh did it.”
“Josh? You did this?” Audrey says, turning to him in surprise. “You did a wonderful job.”
Josh smiles goofily, giving an ‘aw shucks’ hand wave from the counter before he continues to slice up the grapefruit.
And, okay, it isn’t that spectacular but his mom is happy he finally listened to her, and Josh can’t stop grinning, so he’ll let them have their moment.
When Walter walks in, he takes one look at Drake, and his shoulders fall. “Drake….” Betrayed by his stepson, he pouts. Audrey gives him a disapproving look before walking past him.
Drake shrugs, and swipes a grapefruit slice when Josh isn’t looking.
“I’m still with you, Walter,” Megan says, putting her tiny fist up in support.
“Thank you, Megan, at least one child of mine doesn’t betray me,” he looks at his sons pointedly. Josh looks sheepish, and Drake is sucking on a grapefruit slice, unfazed.
After he leaves with a huff to the living room, Megan picks up her laptop, turns to her brothers, and says, “Eh, I don’t really care.”
They aren't really all that surprised.
-
People at school even starting mentioning how good Drake’s haircut looks, and Drake finds himself smiling at the sight of Josh puffing his chest out proudly. They both haven’t stopped smiling since that morning.
A brunette girl passes Drake when he’s stuffing his backpack into his locker, and winks. “Lookin’ good, Drake.”
“Your brotha done good,” Josh says, leaning against the lockers with an enthusiastic grin.
Drake smiles, chuckling softly. “Yes, yes he has.”
He watches Josh’s face for a few more moments, watches him smile, his eyes lighten, and then Josh gives him a wide-eyed look. “I got somethin’ on my face?”
Drake shakes his head. Feeling his mouth dry, he swallows thickly, and then pats Josh on the back, stretching his lips into a smile. “No, there’s nothing, let’s just go to class.”
-
When Josh comes back from work, Drake hears the rustle of him changing from his uniform into his pajamas, the sounds of the cabinet doors clicking opening, the drawer shutting, and maybe even the sound of fabric sliding off his skin over the drone of the television.
Josh joins him on the couch minutes later. He gives Drake a little smile before turning to television.
Drake’s attention to the screen wavers with every slight movement Josh makes.
He doesn’t realize until he shifts closer what the heck is bothering him so much. The distance. The distance is almost unbearable, which is ridiculous because Josh is only a few inches away from him.
So, Drake scoots closer. He gets close enough that their arms press together, their elbows knocking when he crosses his arms, and their thighs brushing when he shifts his legs. Drake can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest with each breath against his shoulder. Drake likes the feeling. He can’t help leaning into him, having the warmth of Josh’s body so close to his own. He feels like he’s getting away with something big, but when he glances at Josh from the corner of his eye, Josh doesn’t even seem aware of it.
Drake fidgets under Josh’s side-glance, and finally Josh says he’s pooped out and ready for bed.
When the light go off, Drake is lying on his bed, feeling like the day’s not done yet because his muscles are restless, itching with the urge to run or jump, like a caffeinated buzz running in his veins, his eyes are wide, alert.
He stares at the ceiling, looking into the blackness that seems to surround him, thick and engulfing. His heartbeat is loud, pounding against his ribcage, and Drake focuses on each beat, each thump inside his chest.
His mouth is starting to dry like it did earlier that that day. His thin cotton shirt slides up his heated skin, and his hand lies on his belly, fingers running along his waistband.
Each swipe of his fingers on the skin just under his waistband feels prickly, his skin is oversensitive, and Drake is instantly reminded of the pads of fingers running over his scalp, slowly sliding their way through his hair. The hairs on his neck stand up, and he tilts his head back as his hand slides down.
He doesn’t know why he’s so turned on. He shuts eyes against the intense rush of arousal spiking down to his stomach, making his cock rise against the fabric of his pajama pants. He lets out a startled breath when his hand palms his cock.
He slows his breathing, acutely aware of Josh sleeping just a few feet away. That thought sends jolts of pleasure straight to his cock, making it twitch under his fingers.
Drake’s eyes widen in the darkness. Holy fuck…is he getting hard off of Josh?!
He quickly tries to conjure up a female, brunette with gorgeous eyes, strong hands, and a broad, flat chest-fuck.
His mind becomes like a massive, mismatched ping-pong game, a millions players against one, images being thrown back and forth, as he tries to make himself think of breasts and curves while his mind is lifting images of Josh’s lips, hands griping him tightly. His hand on his cock like this…
Beads of sweat break out on his forehead. His brain hurts, his cock is aching, unrelieved, he never had to think this much when jerking off before.
His palm slides down to the base of his cock. He tries slow careful strokes, trying to make less noise, but the building pressure at the pit of stomach makes his movements erratic, uneven.
His bottom lip hurts when he bits down hard. The sensation is starting to cloud his mind. His thought process, disjointed, breaking into a flood of every thought he’s trying hard to hold back - Josh’s lips moving over his mouth, his neck, his hands touching him like this. Josh touching him everywhere.
Drake shuts his eyes tight. He can feel heat, imprints of hands on his skin, burning. He hears his own whimpers no matter how hard he tries to hold them back, and his slow easy breaths are quickly turning into rough, short gasps.
The pressure is peaking, and it feels like the bed is titling over - Drake jerks himself off with everything he’s got. He parts his lips as he comes, hard.
Josh. Fuck. Yes. Josh.
He’s breathing hard, lungs burning. He shakily slips his wet and sticky hand out of his pajama pants. The echo of Josh’s name is still ringing in his ears as the waves of pleasure slowly dissipate.
Prickles of panic settle under his skin.
Holy shit.
Did he just shout out Josh’s name at the top of lungs?
HolyShit.
Drake feels himself chill like ice running over his skin.
The silence is deafening.
His heart is hammering in his chest. His own breaths are loud, hollow, in his ears - mortified.
He shuts his eyes so tight he can see spots of white circling around underneath his eyelids.
But as the silence stretches, agonizingly slow minutes, he feels his body begin to relax. Maybe Josh is that heavy of a sleeper, he thinks. Fuck. He hopes so.
Then everything under his eyelids floods red with a loud bang of the door.
Drake sits up, his hand flying to his chest, blinking rapidly at the light. Megan is hunched over at the threshold of the door with an angry tight-lipped expression that makes Drake’s blood run cold. His eyes dart to Josh’s bed - Drake’s body seizes at the sight of him. Josh is awake. Josh is very awake, sitting up on his bed with sleep tousled hair.
Megan’s voice jolts him just as much as Josh. “I am TRYING to sleep,” She grits out. “So, if you don’t mind, SHUT-UP!”
She doesn’t bother turning off the light when she slams the door.
Drake doesn’t embarrass easily. The burning in his cheeks is unfamiliar, and he wants nothing more than to sink into his bed, praying that a huge hole will crack open underneath him so he can fall into the darkness, and never have to look at Josh, looking at him.
Yet, when he turns his head, the side of eyes catching Josh’s profile, he realizes Josh isn’t looking at him at all. Josh has his head down, cheeks blazing red, and eyes staring at his hands in his lap.
Drake sits up, back straightening, as he stares directly at him, daring him to look at him. And Drake can’t explain the anger rising within him when Josh doesn’t meet his gaze.
Why is Josh embarrassed? Why is acting like that? Drake is the one that humiliated himself, shouted Josh’s name at the top his lungs as he came. Why the fuck is Josh acting like the weird one, the freak?
“Go turn off the light,” Drake snarls, fed up of sitting there, feeling stupid, embarrassed, and wet.
“I can’t,” Josh says testily. He tries to look up at Drake but when he finds Drake is looking back at him, he looks away, eyes falling to his lap again. That just makes Drake angrier.
“Why not?” Drake demands.
“I-I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s just…I-I-”
“What?” Drake yells. “What?”
“I-I’m hard! Alright?”
Josh’s nose flares, eyes hard, jaw clenched as he looks at Drake but then, like he just realized what he said, averts his gaze, and flushes deeply. He picks at the folds of his sheets with a frustrated, nervous, flick of his fingers.
Drake’s eyebrows lift high, disappearing behind his bangs. Then a slow smile stretches across his face. “You’re…hard?”
Josh refuses to raise his eyes, and mutters, “Well, you weren’t exactly Mr. discreet up there, with all those…noises.” Then he huffs out a soft irritated breath. And the image, the way Josh is acting, fingers picking uselessly at his bedspread, and his face turned, trying to hide his flushed face, it's...it's ridiculously cute. Drake starts laughing.
Josh raises his head, blinking in incredulity at the sight of Drake laughing so hard, his hand is clutching his stomach. “I’m glad you find this so funny,” Josh says, narrowing his eyes. He’s acting like this is some big, world-threatening, problem they have to face, and Drake is wiping at the corner of his eyes.
Drake gets up, and climbs down the ladder of his bed.
“What are you doing?” Josh asks slowly, eyes following his movements like he’s some dangerous wild animal.
Drake responds with a grin, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Josh’s eyes widen when Drake stands in front of his bed, and then his gaze falls to the wet spot at the front of his pajama pants.
“Your fault,” Drake says.
When Drake climbs onto his lap, Josh’s whole body tenses, and then he hesitantly puts his hands on his waist when Drake almost tumbles forward. Drake grips his shoulders tightly, balancing himself over Josh’s legs.
Josh is touching him like he’s a fragile piece of glass, and he’s staring at him like he's at a loss as how to handle him.
Drake looks down, and sees the outline of Josh’s cock jutting out, straining beneath his pajama pants, thick and hard. “Heh,” Drake breathes, “You weren’t kidding.”
“Drake…” Josh’s voice is gruff, uncertain.
His grip tightens around his waist when Drake’s fingers curl around his cock, giving an experimental tug. Josh lets out a groan somewhere deep in his throat and the sound goes straight to Drake’s cock.
Drake gives him a shaky grin. “You like that?” He says, his palm slides down the base of his cock, fingers pressing over the thin cotton material.
He watches Josh’s eyes haze, unfocused, and his lips part. Drake kisses him. Josh’s mouth moves unskillfully under his, and he moans because Josh’s hand slides up his back, tugging him closer. They end up fumbling down onto the bed, Josh falling on his back, and Drake knocking into his chest. Drake straddles him, his hand slowly moving over Josh’s crotch. Josh’s neck is long when he arches into him, hips reflexively lifting up.
Drake has never seen Josh so lost, uninhibited, letting out rough, short breaths at every movement of Drake’s hand, flick of his wrist, hot kiss on his neck, bite on his collarbone.
“D-Drake,” Josh gasps, his breaths are uneven, and he’s trying to reciprocate, his hands moving down to the small of Drake’s back, rubbing up his spine but then Drake increases the pace of his hand, making Josh weak, helplessly moaning beneath him.
“Ungh…Drake.” Josh bites his bottom lip, and Drake feels hot liquid wetting the fabric under his hand, and Drake keeps rubbing him, making Josh mumble incoherently, eyes shut tight, and hands fisted in the sheets.
And when Drake figures Josh is thoroughly finished, he slides in beside him on the bed, and watches him lay there, eyes still closed, and panting heavily.
“…you,” Josh lets out. Drake doesn’t understand him until Josh asks, “What about…you?” Drake stops Josh’s hand before it reaches his pants.
And even though Drake is hard. Fuck, who wouldn’t be? After watching Josh writhing beneath him. He shakes his head. “It’s okay, sleep.”
But Josh is stubborn, and sits up slowly, giving him that glassy-eyed look and soft smile that makes Drake’s heart pitter-patter uncontrollably in his chest. He kisses Drake, lips pressing his own, carefully, slowly. He tugs Drake closer, kissing him deeper, and a small sound leaves Drake’s throat.
“No,” Josh says against his lips, “It’s not okay.”
Drake doesn’t even think about fighting him on it.
-
Drake knows why he wants to press closer to Josh, feel his arms press against his when they sit next to each other. Josh doesn’t seem to mind. Now, Drake can pull his arm around him, feel his breaths against his cheek, and hear his heart beat against his ear. Now, they share secret smiles, and heated glances, their touches lingering more than they need to.
Megan calls them on it. Knowing dark eyes narrowing when Josh starts to whistle and Drake leans back in his seat, as he drives them home from school. Drake isn’t worried. He’s comforted with the knowledge that she knows everything anyway. He figures he should be more worried if she didn’t know. This is the way the universe worked, in Drake’s opinion.
When they enter the house, they find their parents snuggling on the couch, Walter’s hair a few inches shorter, and a happy smile on Audrey’s face, as she curls herself under his arm.
Megan complains about the abundance of happy in the house, and says she’s going to be sick as he trudges up the stairs.
Drake tugs at Josh’s collar just beneath the stairwell, smirking when Josh’s eyes darken with lust. “Upstairs, now.”
He’s not sure which one of them said it first, and he doesn’t really care at this point, either.
END.