#sleepy eyes and bony knees club

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through XVI

Chapter: 16/16

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

George appeared to have sobered up considerably since Ringo had first seen him tonight, seeing the damage of his face and realising Ringo had come to his rescue seemed to play a large part in that. Despite this, he still linked his arm in Ringo's as they walked over to the car, occasionally resting his head on Ringo's shoulder. They didn't talk as they headed out of the club, Ringo's mind was flooded with thoughts and he was certain George's was almost numb with intoxication. He was trying not to read too much into things, as usual, to focus on just getting George home safe because it was the right thing to do, it didn't have to mean anything.

Ringo started up the car then looked over at George, who was staring straight ahead. It took a while for him to realise Ringo was even looking at him, but eventually he did.

"What?" George asked a little accusingly.

"I don't know where you live." Ringo explained, his hands gripping the wheel.

"Oh..." George pondered for a moment "Can we not just go to yours?"

Ringo raised an eyebrow at him "You really don't want me knowing where you live, do you?"

"Not yet." George responded simply, it was a good enough answer for Ringo.

"Alright then." Ringo began driving the car back in the direction of his flat "You can sleep in my bed, I'll take the sofa."

George scoffed "Seriously? You literally came in my arse this morning, but you can't share a bed with me?"

Ringo felt his face heating up "No, it's not that. I-I just didn't want to give you the wrong idea, like I was gonna take advantage of you or something."

"I wish you would." George chuckled "Always the gentleman, aren't you?"

Just exactly how not wanting to take advantage of a drunk person made him a gentleman, Ringo wasn't quite sure, but it was just another piece of the puzzle of the complexity of George's mind.

"Looks like Paul and John were getting on tonight." George continued "What's the deal with that?"

"Haven't the faintest." Ringo smiled "John's liked him for a while, I think."

"No shit." George laughed "You know he never gets a dance from anyone else? If Paul isn't working on the night he just orders some drinks then goes home."

Ringo's smile widened, he wasn't entirely conscious of it "Well I've never gotten a dance from anyone but you."

George was silent for a few seconds "Really?"

Ringo nodded "Did you not know that?"

More silence.

"I guess I hadn't really considered it." George mumbled.

Neither of them spoke as they drove down the lamp-lit streets, they were mostly empty spare a few drunken individuals staggering home. George stared out of the window by his side the entire time, Ringo tried not to think much of it. When Ringo eventually parked the car, George shuddered a little and Ringo supposed he must've fallen asleep. He looked around outside the window slightly alarmed, as though he'd forgotten where they were going.

"You okay?" Ringo asked as he undid his seat belt "If you don't wanna come in, I can just order you an Uber."

George looked over at him with a smile, the plaster on his nose made him look slightly childish "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not gonna miss an opportunity to drink more of your tea, am I?"

Ringo chuckled quietly, then slid out of the car back into the cold air; he hurried over to the opposite side to open the door for George, worried he might still be in great pain. George looked at him confused when Ringo opened his door, the expression intensified when Ringo offered his arm out for George to hold. Was he ever going to get used to Ringo being nice to him? It made Ringo seriously question the type of guys George had previously dated, he could only assume they weren't the most considerate people. Ringo guided George up to his flat, linking arms with him all the way until they got to his sofa, which George lazily flopped down onto.

"You want a drink?" Ringo asked as he headed to the kitchen "I think I've got some leftovers if you're hungry."

"I'd love a drink, but something tells me you're not offering any alcohol." George called after him, there was no door separating the living room from the kitchen so they could still see one another.

Ringo came back into the room with two glasses of ice water "Even if I didn't already think you've had enough, I don't keep alcohol in my house anyway."

George accepted the glass happily, although it was clear he was hoping for something far stronger "Why not?"

Ringo sat down beside him on the sofa, not on the opposite end because he didn't want to seem rude - and he very much wanted to sit next to George - but not overly close either.

"Let's just say I don't have the best relationship with alcohol." Ringo took a sip of water after his words "No alcohol in the house means less drinking in the house."

"What about going out and drinking? You seem to do that a lot." George made himself comfortable, kicking off his shoes and curling up on the sofa.

"Let's just say I'm still working on it." Ringo copied his actions "But I'm not about to take criticism from someone who just fell arse over tit because they drank too much."

"Watching my arse were you?" George flashed his signature grin.

"No, funnily enough I was watching the blood pouring out of your face." Ringo responded with a smile of his own.

George paused for a moment, the smile vanishing from his face "Was it bad? Like were there a lot of people watching?"

Ringo put down his glass on the coffee table in front of him "Well it wasn't good. But I think everyone was too pissed to really notice, I was surprised nobody tried to help you."

"Nobody but you." George amended, he shifted on the sofa and turned so he was fully facing Ringo, then slid his legs over Ringo's lap.

Ringo lifted his arms slightly so that George's legs could spread across him. He knew George wouldn't have been acting so comfortable if he wasn't so drunk, but he enjoyed the gesture anyway. Ringo could see the sleepiness on his face, the way his arms were curled up across his chest and his lids fluttered heavily. Ringo wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, he rested one on George's bony knee and the other higher up on his thigh.

"You look ready to pass out." Ringo began to whisper.

"Mmm." Was all George said in response.

"Let's get you into a bed then, can't have you sleeping on the sofa." Ringo announced, tapping his hands on George's legs gently.

George had scrunched his eyes closed "Don't wanna move. Carry me." He whined, lifting up his arms to further his demand.

Ringo let out a huff of air, he'd dealt with a similar situation a plethora of times when John would get too drunk then collapse onto his sofa; sometimes Ringo would just leave him there, not without getting a glass of water and moving the bin closer of course. He gently peeled George's legs off of his lap then shifted off the sofa, lifting him was considerably easy and he couldn't help worrying about why he was so underweight. George fell into Ringo comfortably, resting his head on his shoulder as they passed into the bedroom; with his eyes shut and a small smile on his face, Ringo struggled to remember why he'd ever found him intimidating. Ringo lowered him onto the bed gently, lifting the sheets up so that he could slip underneath comfortably.

"I've got some pyjamas if you want them." Ringo spoke softly now.

George rolled over with a low groan "I don't need them. I sleep naked."

"Oh." Ringo paused for a few moments, staring over at George who had his back turned "I best leave you to sleep then."

George groaned again, turning onto his back "Just get in the bed, Ringo. Don't be daft."

Ringo took a couple steps closer "I really don't mind sleeping on the sofa."

"Well I do mind." George opened his eyes wide "What are you waiting for?"

Ringo paused for a moment "I sleep naked too."

George let out a loud cackle at this but said nothing else, he just sat up and began stripping off his clothes; Ringo half expected him to put on a mini-show, he had never seen George take off his clothes so normally. As soon as George was fully naked, he pulled the bed sheets off of himself to make room for Ringo who was still looking at him lost.

"Well?" George asked with a raised eyebrow, and Ringo was moving immediately.

Ringo practically jumped out of his clothes and into the bed, he only stilled when he felt George's hand caressing his face.

"I'm not gonna sleep with you." Ringo said plainly.

George pulled his hand back slightly "Why not? You sick of me already?"

Ringo chuckled "Of course not. But you're far too drunk, and injured." He shifted in the bed to get comfortable, pulling the duvet over his bare chest.

"You're unreal." George murmured, his eyes glancing away.

"In a good way or a bad way?" Ringo asked, he placed his own hand over George's.

"Ask me again in the morning." George punctuated his sentence with a quick peck on the lips, then he turned his back to Ringo and settled into the bed.

A small smile grew on Ringo's face as he watched George adjusting, yet another surprising end to a night that Ringo never could have predicted; the only thing predictable about George seemed to be his unpredictability. Ringo watched him for a while, as he descended into sleep, his breath slowing gradually; it was the most intimate moment they'd shared so far, and he was determined to savour it because he had an awful feeling that in the morning things would change for the worse. He tried to quell the negative thoughts by curling up to George, he didn't cuddle him as tightly as he certainly wanted to, rather he threw a loose arm around him and curled his legs up slightly.

Ringo didn't take too long to fall asleep, but considerably longer than George who essentially passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. The morning seemed to come instantly, rays of sunlight peeping through the thin curtains. He awoke slowly but gently, the noise of the street below his window was unappealing to some but Ringo preferred waking up the noise of bustling life. Before he opened his eyes, he rolled over to stretch his legs somewhat but was unnerved by the expanse of space beside him. Where was George? His eyes shot open, revealing the emptiness awaiting him. Did he really just get up and leave? Ringo stretched out on the double mattress, letting out a heavy huff. It wasn't too surprising, Ringo supposed, George must have been pretty embarrassed about last night so fled as soon as he could.

The most enticing choice was to stay in bed for the rest of the morning, but that would only make the whole situation feel a lot worse. He let out a groan as he turned himself out of bed, stretching his arms behind him. Waking up alone was beyond normal for Ringo by this point, but this instance felt like the very first time and it hurt. Ringo managed to drag himself out of bed, he lazily threw on a dressing gown and slumped over to the kitchen. His eyes were still droopy as he felt the cold tiles beneath his feet, he rubbed them both vigorously and let out a stifled yawn.

"Good morning." A voice spoke out gently, making Ringo jump backwards slightly "What's so surprising? Did you forget I was here?"

Ringo smiled anxiously "I thought you'd gone."

George was stood in just his boxers with two mugs in his hands, a confused expression on his face. The plaster was still across the bridge of his nose, bloody and slightly curling at the edges, his face was still pretty bruised but he looked considerably better.

"Of course not." George smiled sweetly then held one of the mugs out to Ringo "I had to return the favour."

Ringo accepted it thankfully, sliding into the same chair he'd sat in a little less than a day ago. George sat opposite him once more, he hissed a little at the coldness of the chair across his skin.

"What a difference a day makes." Ringo sang lazily, making George snicker.

"I'm away from you for a whole day and I have a near-death experience." George was still smiling.

"I don't think it was quite that bad." Ringo said after taking a sip of his tea "But if it makes me look more heroic then yes, near-death sounds right."

"That's twice you've saved me now." George sipped his drink too "You'll have to think of some way I can repay you."

George slid his foot across to Ringo's under the table, brushing against his bare ankle. Ringo almost dropped his mug at the sudden contact, George's skin was frightfully cold. When he looked up at George, his eyes were dark and slightly squinted with his lips curled upwards. Ringo gulped hard, his mouth suddenly dry despite the drink in front of him.

"How about you let me take you out?" Ringo asked, practically squeaked.

George paused, his foot stilling in place "Really?"

"Yeah..." Ringo smiled widely "If you don't want to-"

"That's fine." George completed "I'm gonna have to start counting the amount of times you say that." He pulled his foot back but was smiling "Tonight might be a good place to start."

Ringo felt himself relax immediately, he hadn't even realised he'd been tense "Great." Was all he could manage to say.

"I'll have to head home to shower and things." George drank his tea almost desperately, emptying the mug.

"Oh, you can shower here-" Ringo began.

"If you like." George interrupted "Honestly your politeness is like a catchphrase."

Ringo chuckled "Sorry... I do mean it though."

"No, no, if we're gonna go for a proper date we're gonna do it properly." George stood up slowly from the table, discarding his almost empty mug "So you'll have to pick me up and everything."

Ringo blinked at him dumbfounded "Pick you up? Like from your house?"

George laughed, his voice was a little husky from only having just woken up "Funnily enough I don't live in the strip club."

Ringo laughed too, a little nervously "I know. I just thought you had a thing about-"

"Never mind all that." George said abruptly "Pick me up at 7, alright?" He looked at Ringo with wide eyes, awaiting confirmation.

"Alright." Ringo spoke finally, a small smile on his face.

George mirrored his smile "Alright. Well I'm gonna head back to mine and get dressed, I'll text you my address."

"I don't have your number." Ringo stood up.

"Oh... I'll write it down for you." George began walking out of the kitchen backwards, keeping eye contact with Ringo "Let me just get some clothes on." He retreated back into Ringo's bedroom with a wink, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as Ringo was alone, he felt the stupidest grin growing on his face. George was going out with him; properly this time, no strange circumstances surrounding them or unspoken tension. Just like two ordinary people. Maybe ordinary wasn't the right word, considering how they met and even what led to this date being set up in the first place, but it was the closest thing to normality Ringo expected they'd be able to achieve.

George didn't take too long getting dressed, Ringo suspected he was just as skilled putting his clothes on as he was taking them off. Even with his battered face and ruffled bedhead, Ringo still thought he looked breathtaking. George approached Ringo rather sultry, his hips swaying and a sly grin on his lips.

"Here you go." George passed on a piece of paper over to Ringo, who accepted it hastily and shoved it into the pocket of his dressing gown "Now I best be off, before you get sick of seeing me."

"I wouldn't count on that happening any time soon." Ringo smiled and placed his hand on George's face, he half expected him to flinch away but he didn't.

"Suppose I can give you a preview of tonight." George moved in closer, sliding his hands over Ringo's hips and pressing their lips together.

Ringo hummed happily against the contact, moving his other hand to the back of George's neck. It wasn't the most pleasant kiss, neither of them had brushed their teeth and the taste of the tea was only making it worse. But Ringo didn't care, kissing George was always a joy to him. Before it got too heated, George pulled away and immediately pressed a finger to his lips - Ringo hadn't considered how much it must still be hurting.

"Seven o'clock." George said with a grin, pulling away further.

"Seven o'clock." Ringo repeated with a smile, following George over to the door.

They didn't say anything else, Ringo just unlocked the door and George departed with a wave. Ringo watched as he walked away, and even though George didn't look back Ringo knew he knew that he was looking. Then Ringo reluctantly closed the door, letting out another heavy breath but for the exact opposite reason that he had done when he'd first awoken.

Ringo's first instinct, as it often was when anything major happened in his life, was to grab his phone and text John an update. It took a while to find his phone, he couldn't quite remember when or where he discarded it.

        you up yet?

        does it count as being up if I havent slept??

        guess I dont have to ask you how your night went

        no you dont         but ask anyway

        howd your night go?

        fucking fantastic         with emphasis on the fucking

        very romantic

        oh it was believe me

        Paul liked the poem then?

        very much so         he made sure to tell me         and show me         repeatedly

        im very happy for you

        why thank you         howd your night go???

        nothing too exciting the morning was better         me and George are going on a date tonight

        tonight??? thats amazing         look at us

        i know isnt it mad

        gives me a brilliant idea for my next book

        oh yeah?

        ill call it Me, My Best Friend and Our Stripper Boyfriends

        very family friendly

        my speciality

        id get back to the drawing board with that one

        what do you mean

        who in their right mind would want to read a book about that

        youd be surprised

[bloodvvit]

[Wanted to write a little ‘slice of life’ look into how Kai was raised once the Boss took him on, as he was mostly looked after by a higher ranking kyodai named Izo. Kai idolizes the boss, but also takes a shine to Izo, seeing him as kind of a older brother/mentor figure.]

Kai’s long eyelashes fluttered against the high angle of his cheekbone as he roused, having not realized he’d dozed off while lounging at the foot of Izo’s mattress. Curled up with his knees to his chest and his skinny arms tangled around a pillow, the fifteen year old squinted against the light unhappily. With a slow stretch in place, he pushed himself to a sitting position and got smacked in the face with a discarded shirt.

“You’re still getting dressed?” the youth accused in an irritated tone. Huffing softly, the young yakuza heir jerked the colorful fabric from around his skull. Rather than throw it back at the preening, indecisive gangster pacing before his closet mirror, Kai expertly flapped the article of clothing out by the shoulder seams and carefully laid it down atop the length of the bed to join the rest of the kyodai’s wardrobe.

“We’re never going leave if you’re taking this long… Why does it matter, anyway? Is it a big meeting between the Bosses?” he asked, sounding miles more interested, if that was the case- rather than watch the man mull over more suits.

Izo held one shirt, then another over his chest as he inspected his reflection in his newly bought and installed full length mirror. Both looked equally good on his skinny frame. That was the one good thing about being built like a tall lamp post — it was easy finding clothing. Nearly anything he bought looked good when it was hanging off his bony shoulders.

“Nah, go back to sleep. I’ve got a hot date tonight,” Izo said as he turned sideways and tried yet another shirt. “Well, not really. I got a meet and greet with some of the guys at a hostess club. I might as well try not to look too shabby.”

The juvenile yakuza frowned even more at this revelation. And here, he’d been hoping for a fun and exciting evening out, not being abandoned at headquarters, when he could have been spending more time leaning how their business worked.

“And you’re wasting time on an outfit? You usually bring me along…” Kai frowned and narrowed his eyes, following the vivid lines of elaborate inkwork decorating Izo’s back, shoulders, and arms in a curious fashion. He’d seen them before, it wasn’t like his partner didn’t leap at the chance to show them off.

“Hey, aniki… Your tattoos. The last time I asked, you said they have certain meanings. Can you tell me more about them now?” he asked in a hopeful, but careful tone of voice. “We’ve been partners for the past three years, almost.”

Heh. Precocious boy slinging emotional words like ‘partners’ around. His devotion to hustling was adorable. Izo knew better, but the sweet way the brat went about saying it was like drinking down warm honey. It was a pleasant kind of warmth. 

“The outfit’s like a storefront window, it’s for convincing,” Izo said as he looked over his shoulder at Chisaki’s ward. He wasn’t looking so sleepy now, and his intense stare made Izo lift an arm to check out the black lines snaking about his rib cage. The ink work wasn’t done yet, just a series of outlines scattered about his shoulders and back. The goal was to eventually get a whole shirt done, but until that happened, Izo was content to only brave the parlors sporadically  It depended when his mood and tolerance for pain was highest.

“They mean a buncha stuff,” Izo hedged, “Sorta slogans like ‘I’m good at this sorta shit’, ‘I believe in that’. Some of it is because ‘a guy I respect has something like it’. Water’s obvious, you already know that one.” After a pause, Izo draped his shirt over the back of his chair. “They’re pretty nice, right?”

“I didn’t think there’d be so many… flowers,” Kai pointed out, unable to mask the wrinkling of his upturned nose at the thought. Eyelids lowering to half-mast, he quite visibly began mulling something over in his mind.

“I was wondering if the Boss was thinking I might have earned the right to get one yet. You think maybe that might happen sooner or later?”

Izo  twisted to look incredulously at the boy on his bed. “What’s wrong with flowers? The’re perfectly manly. Ain’t like they’re roses or nothing. They’re not on my back because they’re romantic.” 

They were there proclaiming his sense of duty, his loyalty and clear mind. They spoke of death and single-minded purpose. His skin was there for important stories and words. He’d sooner cut himself than get something like his girl’s name.

“They’re there for the things I don’t wanna say out loud. Anyone that knows about what ink means will know what they’re sayin’. As for you gettin’ yours…”

 Izo eyed Kai critically. Was he actually serious? He was already that enthusiastic about being a made man? Izo chuckled, “You’re a bit big for your britches already. Nah, it’ll be later. Boss don’t have much truck on taking kiddies on. You’ve got a few more years to go.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just- The last meeting you took me to was the first time I’d even seen the Boss’ ink before and those were… you know, dragons,” Kai explained matter-of-factly. The last thing he wanted was Izo thinking he didn’t understand or respect the meaning behind the imagery.

The teen folded his lean arms beneath his chin, both sharp elbows jutting over the edge at the foot of the mattress. “I was just thinking if I’m gonna stay on, then I should start thinking about it now. Or learning what that stuff all means, like you. I’m not stupid, you know… Wasn’t like I wanted to get something just to flash it at the nearest person on the street.”

Kai rested his chin on his crossed arms and sighed loudly. “Even if the Boss thought I was ready, I guess I just want know what he’d pick. It wouldn’t mean the same thing if it were up to me, right…? That’d be no different than if any civvie waltzed into a parlor and got something done for bragging rights- they don’t earn that like we do,” Kai reflected, often failing to censor his own thoughts due to his familiarity with the gangster he worked with, or simply due to his age.

Izo turned around, folding his arms over his chest as he looked Kai over. Eyes still too big for his head, despite the roundness of his cheeks. Skinny, gawky limbs that were only going to get even gawkier once he started growing — which hadn’t happened yet (and likely wouldn’t any time soon, if he didn’t start eating more.) Izo hadn’t been much older when he’d started getting seriously in over his head, doing significantly more involved things than running messages. That’d been his own damn fault, though. He’d had too big a mouth, had been too smart for his own good and run in ahead right into things he should have steered clear of, if he’d only known better.

Kai had a good little schtick going. He liked to talk big, even going so far as to act like he was already willing to go whole hog into the sorta life Izo was leading. It was a pretty good life, Izo thought, it had its perks, he got pocket money. But talking big and going so far as to get an ill-advised tattoo while sober, well… those were two entirely different things.

Izo crossed his arms over his chest as he hunched over the bed, brows drawing together. “The boss doesn’t pick it. You do. Like I said, they tell a story and it’s the kinda stuff you wanna say but don’t have real good words for it, because saying it would be lame. Get it?” 

Izo turned to the side and twisted, pulling his arms up to show a spot on his rib cage where the outline of a crane was placed. It had yet to be colored in. 

“See this? Got this because of a guy I knew — real swell guy. He’s old now, so he’s sick and dying. Helped me out of  some tight spots and I owe him.  He always had a thing for those weird-ass birds, so I’m getting this put on there as a thank you. Hopefully it’ll get done and I can show it to him before he kicks the bucket.”

“It’s up to you what you wanna say. Most guys just stick with stuff like, ‘I’m strong and I can tear people’s heads off with my damn teeth like a pregnant bear.’ The boss’s dragon means he’s like the emperor. Getting the ink means you’re a made man, but you don’t wanna get a mark someone picks for you either because it makes you theirs. You pick it because it’s what you wanna say. Got it?” Izo hesitated, then added, “There’s some that do that — let someone put their mark on them. I hear some families are into that too, like branding farm animals. If anyone says they wanna do that with you, you tell ‘em no, kick ‘em real good and come and tell me.”  

Kai was far too young for those sorts of relationships and if anyone offered, that meant they were real creeps. Izo would cut bits off them in private somewhere.

The kid pushed his hands against the bed to get a better look, glancing from the silhouette of the bird coming to life on Izo’s darker skin, then back to the elder man’s face as he spoke. Kai had assumed the messages intended to be expressed through the tattoos were qualities others had to see and ‘confirm’ before making them yakuza language fact. To everyone else, he was just like any other middle school student in Tokyo. Now that he was officially partnered with a made man like his 'brother’, he felt… important. Not the way the Boss was important, but needed- Useful, like a part of the machine that was efficiently performing it’s role. In a strange way, Kai felt getting inked might confirm that- solidify his place within their ranks and as the heir to the Boss’ legacy.

“Yeah. I understand now,” he answered confidently, nodding once in affirmation. His gaze followed the swooping 'brushstroke’ of the bird’s neck as it melded to it’s back and folded wings curiously, frowning in silence as one of the notches of Izo’s ribs expanded with his breathing. “Does it hurt a lot? Especially places like these?” he asked, pointing at the thin layer of skin and muscle barely masking the bony landmark.

Izo shrugged, always a bit surprised how into medical stuff the kid was. He didn’t recall ever being like that at the same age. “Well, it always hurts when there’s not a lotta meat. I don’t have much all over, though. It’s not too bad.” 

Actually, it hurt like a bitch and Izo had let everyone up and down the street know he was getting his ink done just by all his screaming. But Kai’s wide-eyed look was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Izo had to give him props for consistency, though. The teen never let up with his schtick and he had to admit in his crusty, old-young heart that there were times he was quite warmed by it. Izo reached out to press down hard on Kai’s head, sending him tumbling. When he was down, Izo dug his knuckles into the teenager’s scalp for good measure. Straightening, he grunted, “What’s this about you wanting ink anyway? Why all a sudden?”

“Hey! Come on- Stop,” the kid half-laughed, half-ordered, trying to dodge the elder man’s hands until he’d lost his balance and tumbled from the bed. He rolled from the foot of the mattress and landed in a soft pile of discarded suits Izo had thrown, unceremoniously, to the floor- vibrantly dyed and patterned silks and sharkskin cushioning Kai’s coltish knees as he fended off more brotherly harassment. The question made him pause and look back up the rail-thin length of Izo’s slouching frame, blinking once as he stared back at that narrow-eyed, searching gaze reading his own expression and body language.

“Like I said. It’s been three years. I just thought, maybe… then we’d be blood brothers. You know, officially. That’s all,” he said, brushing Izo off and leaning back against the foot of the bed. He straightened his hair back out with a few brisk tugs of his thin fingers, tilting his chin up as though challenging the man to say otherwise.

Izo tsks, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth as his movements still and he stares down at Kai staring up at him with that far too serious glare.

The brat. How was he going to say no to a request like that? 

“Ah, you really know what to say, eh? Thought a lot about it, did you?” Scripted or not, he was good. Izo was melting a little despite himself.  He grabbed Kai’s head, looping an arm around his neck and squeezing as he roughly ground his knuckles in with a renewed vengeance. “Think you’re such a big man, EH?”

When he eventually released the boy, letting him drop to the hard floor like he was dropping a sack of rice. He turned back toward the mirror and dragged his fingers through his hair to work out some of the new tangles. Izo made a face and gave up on wearing it down. Finding a tie, he gripped it between his teeth and pulled his hair back away from his face to reveal sharp features that looked too narrow, too fox-like for even his own tastes. 

“Alright, since you say it so nicely, kid,” he muttered around the tie, “You can get what you want. But if it’s stupid looking, it’s on you. Remember that.”

[artificialqueens]

From Head to Mistletoe, We'll Never be Alone (Witney) - Sammy Indigo

A/N: Day Three! I do hope your week is starting well. This piece looks at the relationship between Willam and Courtney, with a hefty side order of Alaska, and a sprinkle of Sharon. Love to you all.

Willam loves his friends. 

He doesn’t like to show it, he doesn’t like to admit it very often, and he doesn’t like to tell themhe loves them…no queen needs their ego booted like that, in Willam’s opinion.

Most of the time, this is all true.

Mostly.

Sometimes it’s hard to pretend that he doesn’t love them.

Willam is a person of note, and he has a reputation to uphold, goddamnit, and so, the times when he fully expresses his undying love and loyalty for his friends can be described as ‘few and far between’. It tends to be easier to post a photo to Instagram with the caption ‘Love this bitch’, than it is to just give in and give someone a hug. 

Alaska and Courtney are probably his best friends, certainly the best friends he has who are drag queens, and definitelythe best ones he has who have also been through the hellhole that was Drag Race. They share a bond that can’t be broken, but that canbe severely tested by their egos and tempers. 

Well, Courtney and Willam’s egos and tempers. 

Alaska is mostly chill, despite the odd tantrum, but that’s usually not directed at anyone in particular.  Typically Willam and Courtney don’t fight per se, they just bicker. They all tease each other, all three of them, because that’s what friends do, but Willam likes to push it a bit more with Courtney until she bites back and gets mad.

(He fucking loves making Courtney mad.)

Back stage, Willam will tell Alaska that her hair looks beautiful, will help her zip her dress, will compliment her look for the evening. Alaska will beam, and thank him. Willam loves Alaska. Willam loves making sure that Alaska knows she’s his best friend.

Later, Willam will take one look at Courtney, as they’re about to perform and say, “For a queen with a wig company, you sure do have some shitty wigs.” 

To which Courtney will reply with a huge grin and slap to Willam’s arm, “Fuck all the way off, Bill.”

(Courtney is special.)

Or, Willam will wait until they’re about to get into the Uber to go to the venue, look Courtney up and down, and say, “Oh, girl, you’re wearing that to the gig? I admire your bravery.”

And Courtney, a smile on her lips and lipstick on her teeth, will laugh, “I hate you.”

Willam will laugh, too, and Alaska will roll her eyes as Willam pins Courtney to the side of the car to wipe the lipstick from her front teeth with his thumb as she squeals.

Before the meet and greet, just as Willam is teasing the last of his hair, he will catch Courtney’s eyes in the mirror, smirk, and sweetly ask, “What time are you going to start doing your make up?”

“I’ve already done it, you cunt.” She’ll reply, and kick his shin, not too hard. Sometimes she’ll tickle his sides until Willam laughs like a seal and Alaska tells them it’s time to go.

But then, Willam will pinch Courtney’s side, and mutter under his breath about her contour. She’ll brush him off and ignore him, choosing to stick by Alaska’s side. Willam will pull her dress, and call her ‘coont’, and shout and scream her own parodied song lyrics too loud in her ear. Courtney will tell him to leave her alone, hiss at him to ‘fuck off’ without smiling. She’ll huff and walk in front of Alaska. Willam will run ahead to walk by her side again.

(Willam loves to make Courtney mad.)

Usually it takes Alaska saying without any humour, “Stop, Willam, you’re making her mad”, to get Willam to shut up, but he’ll probably still pinch Courtney’s arm as they walk together just for some retaliation like they’re kids in the back of a car. Willam craves Courtney’s attention and it doesn’t matter what kind of attention it is.

Courtney likes to whine and complain and shout back and act the victim a lot, but they both know it’s mostly an act. Courtney likes to pout and sulk so Willam will feel bad, and so he’ll go and check to make sure she’s okay instead of seeking out the hot guys behind the bar. Alaska and Anthony will share a lookand wont say a thing as Willam sits very close to Courtney on the green room’s sofa, even when she’s so obviously seething and ignores him completely. 

On the tour bus, Courtney barricades herself in her bunk. Everyone senses the tension between them, but Alaska brushes it off. Gets the rest of the cast and crew playing Cards Against Humanity while Willam climbs into the bunk, next to Courtney.

Her back will be to him, but it’s an old game and they both know how it goes.

“M’sorry.” Willam mutters, and hugs her from behind. “But you’re so fun to make fun of.”

Courtney turns in his arms, and rests her head on his shoulder. “You’re a bitch.”

“I know.” Sometimes, Willam kisses her, and sometimes he holds her hand.

“I’m still mad.” Courtney says.

“How can I make you not mad?” Willam asks her, even though he knows what she’s going to say.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

She kisses his cheek. “No, do it properly. Tell me you love me, properly.”

“You’re so needy.”

“And you’re so mean.” She whispers. “Do it properly, so I know you mean it. Tell me like you don’t tell anyone else.”

Willam’s not sure how they got to this point in their friendship, but it’s their thing, now. No one else’s. Alaska knows how the routine goes, she’s witnessed it too many times, but she can keep a secret. Willam hugs Courtney tightly, nuzzles his nose into her hair, even if she still stinks from sweating in a wig on stage. 

“I love you, Courtney.” He kisses her temple. “I’m sorry and I love you.” He says it with a reverence that isn’t associated with ‘Willam the drag queen’, and Courtney will kiss him back. Maybe on the chin. Maybe on the lips.

“Love you, Bill.”

Maybe they’ll sleep together in the tiny bunk, or maybe they’ll eat dinner and go back to their separate beds.

Sometimes (read: all the time) Willam likes to goad Courtney on stage. It’s funny, and the crowd always likes it, and it always makes Alaska laugh. Making Alaska laugh is one thing Courtney and Willam always agree on, so Willam likes to make the effort. 

Occasionally he’s more than teasing though, and the territory will be crossed into ‘mean’ and the crowd will “oohhh” instead of laugh. When that happens, Willam just tells them all to ‘fuck off’, Sharon Needles ‘It’s comedy!’ style, but he’ll squeeze Courtney’s hand back stage in apology and Alaska will ‘awww’ at them until Willam shoves Courtney into a wall or flicks her Adam’s apple. Courtney just laughs and kisses his cheek so he’ll squirm away. If there’s a lipstick mark on his cheek for the rest of the night, well, it’s not the worst thing that Willam’s ever had on his face.

People who don’t know them very well personally (club promoters, stand in assistants, ect) often think they hate each other. 

Alaska is Switzerland as Willam and Courtney scream obscenities at each other and glare across the green rooms in what appears to be silent hatred. Alaska tells the promoters not to worry. This is “just how they love each other”.

At meet and greets, Courtney likes to be clingy. Willam likes Alaska to be the buffer between them because Courtney is a goddamn woman, but that usually only lasts for the first five or ten photos before Courtney has switched sides to lean against Willam and drape herself across his lap. He pushes her away and tells her to get off but she just moves closer and eventually towards the end of the meet and greet, Willam will give in and rub her knee and hold her hand for a bit. But then he’ll tell her she’s a mess and that her lashes look wonky.

The bus bunks are tiny, smaller than a normal single bed. Alaska is too tall and has to sleep with her knees sticking out of the curtain. Willam can stretch out straight but only just.His feet press flat against the bottom wall. It’s not the most comfortable thing, and he prefers a queen bed he can stretch out in, but it’s fine. Courtney sleeps below Willam and is usually asleep by the time Willam has managed to get into a comfortable position. He likes to wait for the hum of the moving bus to lull everyone else before he drops down and slides under Courtney’s curtain. 

She wont open her eyes but she’ll scoot backwards to the wall to make a tiny sliver of room for Willam and lift her arm so he can slide under it and rest against her chest. It’s always too hot and they end up kicking the sheets away. 

“Okay?” Courtney will mumble against his temple.

Willam will cuddle closer and close his eyes. “Mm, yeah.” He’ll whisper, and they’ll fall asleep like that. Too hot and too close, but happy and cuddly.

And in the morning Alaska likes to wake up first so she can go to the bathroom and eat breakfast in peace. Willam’s bunk will still have the curtain around but one of his feet will be sticking out of Courtney’s bunk. It makes her smile each morning. She likes to wake them up by climbing in on top of them and just laying there until Willam shoves her off with a cackle. 

When they eat breakfast Willam will call Courtney a dog and tease her about her vegan cheese (even though he constantly steals it off her plate), but he’ll hold her hand under the little table and on days when he’s still sleepy, he’ll rest his head on her shoulder. Courtney’s shoulders are bony and angular, but she’s comfy and cosy and maybe Willam loves her a lot.

Courtney tells him she loves him all the time, and Willam tells her he hates her, and Alaska just laughs to herself knowing he’ll be climbing into Courtney’s bed for a cuddle come nightfall.

Christmas rolls around quicker than either of them anticipate, and when Alaska asks what their plans are, both shrug. Alaska is going home on Christmas day with her brother, but flying back out on boxing day to do shows with Sharon right through until new year.

Willam hasn’t thought much about it. 

Dipper is going home, Anthony is staying with family, Rhea is going to visit friends. His parents are going on vacation with his sister and her kids.

“I guess I’ll just stay home and watch Die Hardor some shit.” Willam tells them. “Maybe get high and call my Mom?”

Alaska frowns at this. “And you, Court?” She asks.

Courtney scrunches her nose up. “Stay at home, too, I suppose.” She says. 

Alaska rolls her eyes and Willam doesn’t know why. “Why don’t you guys just spend Christmas together?”

“Oh.” Courtney says, surprised. “I suppose we could.” She smiles. “I mean, if you wanted to?” 

Willam wants to grin, but instead he kicks her. “Sure. If you think you can’t cope on your own for one day.”

Alaska mutters under her breath, but neither of them hear what she says. She rolls her eyes again. 

………..

On Christmas Eve, Courtney sleeps in Willam’s bed and wears bright red pyjamas with the Grinch on them. They’re from the women’s section and they’re shorts and a camisole, so her sensitive Australian body ends up being too cold even in the mild Los Angeles December. 

She looks fucking cute, though, Willam thinks, even as her freezing feet press into his calves under the covers. 

Outside the house, a police siren can be briefly heard in the distance.

“Is that Santa?” Willam whispers.

Courtney bursts out laughing.

Willam hugs her tighter.

………

In the morning, Willam kisses Courtney.

They kiss a lot, anyway. They’re drag queens, and kissing your friends isn’t as big of a deal among their social group as it seems to be in grander society. 

This is different, though.

It’s Christmas morning, and Courtney’s still in her Grinch pyjamas. She’s tucked into the corner of Willam’s living room couch, with the duvet from the bed wrapped around her shoulders. She’s on her phone, smiling at the screen.

Willam makes them a hot drink each, because that was always the first thing his mom and dad used to do on Christmas morning. He puts his on the coffee table, and goes to hand Courtney’s to her, but she looks up from her phone. And she smiles at him. And it’s a different smile.

Not the ‘I’m looking at something nice on my phone’ smile.

But the ‘I’m looking at Willam’ smile.

And the latter smile, is the most beautiful thing that Willam has ever seen.

She’s making him soft and it’s making him sick.

He puts the drink on the table, tells Courtney he hates her, and kisses her. He kisses her slowly, with a hand on her thigh, and a hand on her cheek. She smiles the whole time. 

Courtney pulls away to press her forehead against his. She pulls at the tiny hoop in one of his ear lobes until he opens his eyes.

“Are you kissing me because it’s Christmas or because you love me?”

Willam tries to bite her chin but she pulls his earring. He growls and she laughs.

“Tell me, Bill.”

“Does it matter?”

“To me.” She says. She licks a stripe across his lips. “Do you love me or is it Christmas?”

“Both?”

“Both?”

“Yeah.” Willam bites her lip and tugs. 

Courtney chuckles. “What about tomorrow when it’s not Christmas, anymore?”

Willam shrugs. “Then it won’t be Christmas.”

“But…?”

“But what?”

She grins. “Tell me.” Courtney whispers. “Tell me the truth. It’s a secret. I won’t tell.”

Willam fucking loves her.

“I love you.”

Courtney smiles. And maybe she cries a little. “I know you do, Bill.” She kisses his lips, and holds his hands. “Even when it’s not Christmas. You love me.”

“Do you love me?” He asks it quietly, under the action of kissing her collarbone. He hopes she hasn’t heard him. 

“It’s not a secret that Ilove you, you cunt.” She says. “But I do.”

They didn’t buy each other Christmas gifts. They spend three days together and then don’t see each other until the following February. Alaska says they’re soul mates in training, and Willam doesn’t know what that means, but Sharon laughs her ass off when Alaska says that, and Courtney blushes so hard her shoulders turn pink.

Tour bus beds are smaller than a usual single bed. They’re not very comfortable, and Willam’s always too hot when he’s cuddled up with Courtney, but he always sleeps well.

It’s the last day of February. The tour they’re on allows them a day of respite in a city that sounds new but looks familiar. Willam sleeps until midday, and then does two hours of work on his laptop in an almost empty bus. Most of the girls have chosen to go out into the city shopping and for food, if only for the fresh air and to escape the bus’s confines. Alaska calls him and tells him to meet them at her pinned location. Willam agrees, because even via text he can picture Alaska’s puppy eyes and he can’t say ‘no’ to her.

It’s a short walk, and the location is a restaurant. It’s vegan, and when Willam steps inside, Courtney is beaming at a menu in her hand, printed on a slate made to look like a chalkboard. Sharon and Alaska are sat on one side of the table, arguing over whether Sharon likes jackfruit or not. Willam slips into the booth on the other side of the table, next to Courtney. Their backs are to the wall so they can see the whole of the restaurant.

“You’ll love this place.” Courtney says as a greeting, handing him the slate. “No dairy.”

“The rest of the bus will be grateful, I’m sure.”

Courtney laughs and leans against him. She’s wearing a stupid pink hat that he’s sure is Aja’s, and there’s still a smudge of black under each eye from last night’s performance. They had kissed for a long time last night, after the show. Willam thinks he fell asleep kissing her.

When their food arrives, the four of them stop talking completely. It’s a testament to the food that Willam chooses to continue eating over pointing out the fact that Courtney has dropped vegan mayo down her chin.  When he only has fries left on his plate, Willam uses one to scoop the mayo from Courtney’s chin, and put it in his mouth. Sharon calls him a ‘filthy whore’, and Alaska rolls her eyes. Courtney laughs so hard that she cries and the left over eyeliner runs down her cheek.

It’s fucking freezing when they leave, and Alaska and Sharon speed off toward the bus, leaving Courtney and Willam sauntering behind. Courtney has some gloves on, but she takes one off and stuffs it in Willam’s coat pocket, and grabs his hand. Their hands go red in the cold air and Willam’s knuckles seize. They hold hands until Courtney drags them into Goodwill. She flits through the racks of dresses, then the rack of children’s bed sheets, shoving fabric into the cart Willam pushes.

“What are you going to do with an old Little Mermaidbed sheet?”

“Give it to Adore. She loves Ariel.” Courtney adds a solar powered dancing flower to the cart. 

“Does Adore want a bed sheet?”

“Probably not, but she’ll appreciate it. I’ll give it to her as a Christmas present.”

“It’s February.”

“So?”

So?  Willam doesn’t have an answer.

In the toy section, Courtney picks up a Barbie doll that has seen better days. “I was going to get you something for Christmas, you know?”

Willam blinks. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” She puts down the doll and picks up a candle that looks like a ghost holding a pumpkin. “Actually I did get you something. I just never gave it to you.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs, and puts the candle in the cart. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“What was it?”

“It doesn’t mater.”

“I think it does.” Willam says. He pushes the cart to the side of the aisle and stands next to Courtney. 

She takes his hand and squeezes it hard, twice. “Maybe I’ll give it to you for your birthday.” The shelf- basket next to them is filled entirely with stuffed animals. “Let’s buy one for Alaska.”

They pick a snake but put it back and choose the light pink Care Bear with a rainbow in its stomach, instead. It’s got a voice box in its stomach that makes no noise, and the bulb that is supposed to make its heart nose glow, doesn’t, but when Willam drops the ghost candle into Sharon’s lap, and Courtney hands Alaska the bear, Alaska cries a little and tells them she loves them. Willam lets her hug him for as long as she wants.

When they go to bed, Willam doesn’t get into his own bunk first, just goes straight for Courtney’s, and doesn’t say anything when Jinkx cocks an eyebrow at him.

………………

Willam forgets it’s his birthday. He’s been sleeping weird hours with touring and flights to Europe, and buses on ferries, and trains in the UK. Then he gets back to WeHo and it’s suddenly Pride, and then it’s his birthday. 

It’s mid-July by the time he sees Courtney. She comes to his studio and barges through the door without knocking, and kisses him on the mouth in front of Rhea and Dipper. They don’t say anything until she greets them, and Willam dares them in his mind to try being cute and make a comment. They don’t. He’s grateful.

“I missed you.” She tells him once it’s dark and everyone else is at home. They’ve locked the doors and turned the lights down, and pulled out the futon to stretch out on. “I really missed you.”

Willam kisses her. 

“Did you miss me, Bill?”

He kisses her again on the lips, and then kisses her ear.

She whines and pouts like Alaska does when she’s pretending to be Farrah Moan. “Tell you missed me, properly.”

“I missed you.” Willam kisses her neck. She smells like the bunks they share on buses.

“No.” She whines in an exaggerated Australian accent. “Do it properly, Willam.”

He kisses her neck and nips at her collarbone, holding her t-shirt collar aside with his pinkie finger. “Court.” Willam coaxes her into his lap by the hold he has on her collar. “Courtney, I missed you.” He kisses her lips as she moves a leg to straddle him. “I missed you so fucking much.” Her mouth tastes of the foul coconut water she and Rhea were drinking earlier. Willam licks her teeth. “Missed you.”

“Yeah?” She smiles. “I cried, you know.” Courtney says, arms around his neck and fingers in his curly hair. “I kept getting upset when I went to bed.”

“Because I wasn’t there?”

“I was worried you’d forget me.”

He pulls a hand away from his hair, and sucks two of her fingers into his mouth. Courtney bites her lip and Willam sucks on her fingers three times before pulling them out and holding her hand. 

“I thought about you every day.” Willam says, truthfully. “Alaska said I was pining.”

“Was she right?” 

He closes his eyes and pulls Courtney forward to lay over his chest. “Alaska’s always right.”

Four days later Courtney walks into Willam’s kitchen wearing a navy silk robe and Adidas slides. She takes Willam’s mug out of his hand and replaces it with a small box wrapped in red wrapping paper with snowflakes on. The paper is creased and all the corners are worn a little, if not torn completely.

“Here.” She says. “Open it.”

Willam stares at the gift. “Is this my Christmas present?”

“Yeah.” She says, shortly. “Hurry up. Open it.”

He teases her. “Can’t I savour the moment? It’s Christmas in July, after all.”

Courtney doesn’t smile. “Fucking open it, Bill. It’s been in my suitcase for six months and it’s going back in there if you don’t open it soon because I’m losing my bottle over here.”

“The fuck?” Willam doesn’t mean to say that out loud, and when he looks at her, she glares at him. “Okay, okay. Jesus.”

He tears the paper off, revealing what is very obviously a small jewellery gift box. When Willam opens it, he says, “Oh.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, give it back.” Courtney says, lunging forward. “It’s stupid.”

Willam pulls it out of her reach and stands up. He pushes his back against the far side of the room, eye still glued to the gift. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, again. “Please. Just, let’s forget it. Let’s pretend this never happened.”

“No.”

“What?”

When Willam looks up from the box, Courtney is staring at him with shining eyes and pale skin. “I, um.” he frowns at his own inability to speak.

“I don’t know why.” Courtney says. She’s still holding onto his mug with both hands. “I don’t know. I missed you and I thought maybe you missed me, too, and I wanted to be with you…” She trails off and sighs.

The last time Willam cried properly, was eight months ago, when he watched an old video of Warner as a puppy bounding around his old living room. 

He wipes at his cheeks quickly and gently takes the necklace out of the box. “Remember when I bought you that one that said ‘BLOCKED’?” 

“Yeah.” Courtney says. “For Christmas.”

“You gotta put it on me.”

She smiles. Courtney puts the mug on the table and crosses the room in two strides. Willam laughs and kisses her hard until they’re both giggling and Courtney is crying. She’s always crying. She hugs his face to her chest and kisses his hair. 

“I’m so glad you don’t hate me.”

“I could never. Not today, anyway, on Christmas.”

Courtney laughs again. “I love you so much, you know.”

“Yeah.” He lets her clip the necklace around his neck, fingering the delicate silver cursive that rests on his collarbone. “I guess I must love you, too, kinda, if I gotta walk around with your name on me.”

She stands in front of him and kisses his cheek. “It was this or a tattoo.” Courtney jokes. She looks at the tile floor and drops her voice. “I wanted to be with you, wherever you were. But then I really thought you’d hate it.”

“I love it.”

“You’re not exactly one for sentimentality.” She says.

“I make exceptions.” He says. “It’s hard to keep pretending I don’t love you, though, Court. And I’m tired.”

“Stop pretending, then.”

Willam smiles. “I stopped pretending before you even realised.”

……….

Sharon watches Willam from the other side of the dressing room. He’s in drag, just not wearing any clothes, trying to whip Courtney with a rolled up sequin dress as she attempts to hide behind Bianca. Bianca, for her part, is completely ignoring Willam’s seal laughs and Courtney’s whistle tone squeals, and stoically continues to comb back her flyaways.

The couch jumps slightly as Alaska drops down onto it next to Sharon.

“Noodles.” She greets.

“Lasky.” Sharon says. She nods her head in Courtney and Willam’s direction. “What’s going on there?”

Alaska glances over to them with little interest. “The traditional pre-show act of Willam making Courtney mad?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Alaska says, and makes eye contact with Sharon. “It’s non of our business.”

“But you know.”

“Of course I know.” Alaska says with a roll of her eyes. “Doesn’t mean there’s some big secret everyone needs to gossip about.”

Sharon huffs and slides down slightly on the couch. She puts her head on Alaska’s shoulder. Across the room, Willam accidentally catches Bianca with the dress-whip, and his eyes go wide before he high tails it out of the room, still naked aside from his strip of tape and his jewellery. Courtney laughs hysterically.

“His necklace says ‘Court’.” Sharon mutters.

“He loves basketball.” Alaska says without missing a beat. “Leave them to it.” She pats Sharon’s knee. “Let them be.”

“God,” Sharon groans, “can I at least taunt them a little?”

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

Alaska watches Willam sheepishly return to the room. Courtney is giggling, and he hides behind her as Bianca glares at them both. “I just want to see if they’re still in training.”

Sharon chuckles, quietly. “Never thought I’d see the day when Willam Belli was so open about being in love.”

Alaska smirks. “I did.”

[youtubedreamer]

Clubbing

Warnings: smut ;);) 

(I’m sorry ok one day I’ll have an actually good title)

Enjoyy

* * *

I couldn't remember exactly how it happened. Dan and I had intended to head out for a couple of drinks, before returning back to our hotel for the night. We'd just finished the last show in our US tour, so tonight was a night to celebrate and we meant to enjoy it as much as we could, but we did need to leave early the next morning for a meeting which it would be wiser to attend than not. Dan had suggested that we went out for a bit, had a couple of drinks and met up with some friends, and then headed home before midnight. However, this was not exactly the path things had taken. It was about two in the morning, and Dan had disappeared off in whatever club it was that we were in to get us more drinks. I couldn't remember exactly where we were, but I didn't care. I loved moments like these, moments where it was actually acceptable to lose yourself in music and movement and bodies and alcohol and your own uninhibited desires, or at least to pretend to. It meant I could dance as close as I wanted to my friend, and everybody else, including him, was too drunk to care. I made my way slowly to the bar through the sea of bodies and coloured lights, but I still couldn't see Dan. I slid into a chair and rested my chin on my hands, but just as I did so, two drinks clapped down onto the counter beside me, and two arms slipped around me from behind, heavy and messy and so warm, and Dan's voice was suddenly murmuring in my ear, sleepy and seductive, although that was perhaps only in my head.

“Here you go, babe,” he breathed, moving to sit beside me. I couldn't remember how much he'd had to drink, but it was definitely significantly more than me, and it doesn't take much to wreck Dan. His shirt was open at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, sweat glistening on his collar bones and in his hair, pushed back off his forehead in an adorable tously quiff that I felt a sudden impulsive need to run my fingers through. He smiled at me, lopsided and heart-stopping and so much more open than I ever normally got to see. We sipped our drinks in an easy, contemplative silence for a few moments, and then Dan asked if I wanted to dance, and I didn't know in what manner I acceded, but suddenly Dan's hand was on my arm pulling me out of my seat, and we were swallowed by the pulsating mass of bodies. There was no space, and although bodies were pressed into me on all sides, the only one I was aware of was Dan's, his arms draped loose and heavy around my waist and his thighs and crotch flush with mine. I tried to breathe, shaky, hurried breaths, but my gaze was scattered, from his hair to his eyes, dropping hurriedly to his lips and then regretting it, a trembling mess who hoped to God that Dan was too drunk to notice the painfully obvious bulge in my jeans against his.

“I like this song,” he murmured, drawing my attention, unbidden, to his lips once again, and the mesmerising shapes that they formed. I could feel the alcohol in my veins, burning fire, clouding my mind and making rational thought impossible.

“Don't you?” He asked, slightly disconcerted by my lack of response. We had abandoned any pretense at dancing, just swaying our bodies together in time to the music, wrapped around each other in a way that I hoped he wouldn't remember through the haze of tomorrow's hangover.

“Mmm,” I replied, a moan falling from my lips as his crotch rubbed against mine.

His eyes darkened. “Oh, God, Phil,” he breathed, eyelids falling shut, and he ground into me again, his closed eyes allowing me to study his face in all the detail I craved, and I was falling, filled so completely with the need to touch him, for him to touch me, that nothing was enough. I tried to lose myself in my best friend, in his hips and his crotch and the way sweat beaded on his beautiful forehead, the warm steadiness of his hands on my back, the aching sound of his voice, the smell of his hair, but I couldn't, perpetually terrified of going too far, doing too much, and losing him forever. But he wasn't terrified, or at least he didn't seem to be, rolling his hips against mine and making me tug his body impossibly closer, desperate hands running over the planes of his back, his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, a tiny part of my brain still trying to claim that this was what friends did, that it was okay, but it wasn't what friends did and it really wasn't okay; there was nothing okay about the slant of his neck and the dangerous glint in the hazy brown of his eyes, nothing okay about the way his body moved against mine and his hands clutched my shoulders like he was drowning and his lips formed the shape of my name almost soundlessly, like he didn't want to and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“God, Phil,” he groaned again, in a way that I felt more than heard, my body singing, and I really, truly wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, but for some reason I said, “I think we should go.”

He pouted, my knees weak, threatening to collapse, and he whined, “Phil, I like it here. We never go out.”

And now my mouth was saying things like, “We have a meeting tomorrow”, and “We need to get some sleep”, and “You'll thank me in the morning”, but my heart was saying, stay, stay with me, wrap all of you around me until there's none of me left and I can finally be a part of your bones and your skin and your soul, and I no longer have to exist without half of me.

But he let me drag him out of the club, our legs and arms tangling, unwilling to let go, his hand weighing on mine, burning red hot, a constant invasive reminder of his immediate presence that clouded my thoughts beyond coherence as I tried to focus my attention on apple maps to get us home. He was soft and giggly and warm, tripping over his feet and stumbling against me, but despite all of this, when we finally reached our hotel and found our corridor, I believed I was going to push him away, make sure he got into bed, and leave for my room.

I stopped in front of his door, the carpet fuzzy beneath my exhausted feet, and turned round to ask him for his key. He smiled deviously, and his arms hit the wall on either side of my head, and then my body hit the door behind me, and then his mouth hit mine. I was so shocked that I could do nothing to prevent my body from instantly responding, my hands grasping him and pulling him closer, closer, winding in his shirt and his curly hair, clutching his ass and surrendering my body to him. He fumbled behind me, not breaking away for a moment, and then the door burst open, and we half-stepped, half-fell into his hotel room. It swung sharply shut behind us, and he threw me on the bed, straddling me, bony knees and elbows and a soft mouth that leaned down to capture mine again. For the first time, I couldn't think, every part of me consumed by him- not even by thinking of him, but by him himself, leaving no room for any thoughts. His lips left mine, trailing hot open mouthed kisses down my neck and chest, throwing my shirt to the floor. I tried to pull his off too, and he shrugged it off impatiently, the sudden expanse of Dan taking my breath away so I almost didn't notice as he pressed wet, sloppy kisses to the V of my hipbones and tugged open the buttons on my jeans, until his mouth was suddenly on my clothed crotch, and I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips at the sudden wild need that coursed through me from his touch. The heat and the friction were almost too much, and I squirmed in agonising pleasure, my hands fisting in the sheets on either side of me. He pulled my boxers down with his teeth, then licked a stripe up the inside of my leg to my dick again, and took the full length of me into his mouth without hesitation. I gasped, my vision going dark, sweating, panting, writhing under his touch. “Dan,” I cried, his name a breathless moan, “Stop! Stop, or I'll-”

He pulled off, licking his lips, a sleepy light in his half lidded eyes and precum dribbling down his chin as he crawled unceremoniously up the bed towards me again.

“Ooh, Phil,” he moaned, as I pinned him underneath me on the bed, ripping his jeans and boxers off of him and put one hand to his crotch, rubbing in hot, teasing circles that made him bite into my shoulder and hiss deliciously dirty noises against my neck. I reached the other to stretch him, but he turned his face into my neck and moaned, my finger catching on his clenching rim. “Oh God, Phil,” he groaned, desperate fingers grasping at me, eyes heavily lidded, burning with desire. “Just fuck me already.”

“But I need to-”

His jaw clenched and he turned his head to the side, another moan spilling from his lips. “Fuck, Phil, I- I did it yesterday, just- oh God,”

The thought of Dan's fingers inside himself, Dan moaning, a hot mess, cumming all over himself and maybe this very bed, broke every resolution I'd had, and I pushed into him without warning, trying to wait for him to adjust to the size of me, but his tight, hot, clenching walls testing my remaining resolve. “Are you ready? Oh, God, are you ready?”

“Fuck me, Phil,” he begged, and I couldn't hold on any longer. I thrusted into him with a steady rhythm, filling him completely and making him mine, the friction against my dick pleasure almost beyond what I could bear, and I vaguely registered his hand coming up to stroke himself, moaning out as I hit in exactly the right spot. I adjusted my angle to hit it every time, pushing his hand out of the way to rub him myself and gritting my teeth to hold my orgasm at bay until he came first, suddenly, with a cry almost of pain, gasping my name and then moaning, “Phil, cum for me, baby,” and my orgasm hit me like a ton of bricks. I know that I must have made some noise, but I don't remember, lost entirely to the heat of him and the sensual, overpowering pleasure that shot through me, blinding me to anything and everything else.

[hungryconcretesart]

Real friends

[plastic-covered-furniture]

Am I cool yet?

[bruisedromance]

this drawing is not mine, i just made it transparent. credit to the artist.

[whothefuckwantstodiealonee]

can someone tell me where i can get that skull shirt that real friends madE?

you should help me out and please help me find it.

[whisperbabe]

literally spent like half an hour today getting ready to cut this sticker and then place it on my phone without messing it up

[liqueurstore]

(〠_〠)

[ad-rigorem]

Real Friends

[punkrockskylines]

NEW REAL FRIENDS!

[shiips]

Real Friends.

[ttransit]

Free shirt from the lovely boys of real friends. I miss them already.

If you haven't done so before, give them a listen.

[seahavens]

[whothefuckwantstodiealonee]

Newest tattoo.