Teenage Dream: Part One
Apr. 1st, 2011 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tourdefierceArthur Pendragon absolutely hates winter.
There really isn't anything about it that pleases him. Most kids his age love the fact that the holidays are there, two breaks in so many months, but since Arthur's family is the Pendragon family, he's not as keen on holidays as everyone else.
Besides that fact, there is always snow and slush and being cold when he'd rather be warm. Most of all though, it's the fact that winter sports suck that really pisses Arthur off. He wishes that men's volleyball was something that got continued into high school, because he loved indoor volleyball in middle school. Instead, he's left with either basketball or swimming.
Let it be known that Arthur looks like shit in tank-top jerseys.
So instead of being captain of the basketball team, he's captain of the swim team. (He leaves the captaincy of the basketball team for Lance, who looks magnificent in the jerseys and loves the smell of the wax they use in the gym. If it wasn't for Lance's lung capacity, Arthur would suspect him of huffing.) He's been captain ever since Valiant graduated when Arthur was a sophomore and now that Arthur's a senior, he really regrets ever choosing swimming.
It's not really complicated but it has certainly become complicated ever since he's come out—er, forced out—of the closet at the tail end of his junior year.
Back when Arthur was little, his father had left England after his wife's death, and Arthur grew up here. When Arthur was younger, Uther threw a big fit in response to Arthur's desire to play baseball, which was a completely shit sport compared to footie and if Arthur wanted to have a chance of ever earning his father's pride, he would quit the sport at once and take up a proper English pastime.
Uther hadn't been so lucky.
Arthur plays footie or soccer in the summer and fall, wastes his time with swimming in the winter and gets to play baseball in the spring, balancing both this American sport and the English's favorite sport in the summer.
Uther, bless his non-existent soul, makes a point to come to the soccer games when he can, but everything else falls off his radar. Not that Uther spends time at home. He's always on a plane to New York or London or some other cities in pursuit of a meeting. Arthur, for his part, likes it this way. He gets good grades and an early acceptance into Oxford, in exchange for free reign of the Pendragon home, car and whatever else.
The being gay part of the arrangement falls into the category of whatever else.
"We're going to be late," Arthur screeches from bottom of the stairs. In the kitchen behind him, Geoffrey snorts and Arthur can do nothing more than roll his eyes.
He really does hate being late.
"Morgana!"
"Quit screeching, you ponce!"
"You can't pretend to be English around me! I actually know you," Arthur yells back before adding, "you fucking harpy!"
A loud sound comes from upstairs and Geoffrey appears with two travel mugs in his hands. "Your tea, Pendragons."
Morgana swoops down off the stairs and grabs one of the mugs, giving Arthur a start because god, she really is a witch and then she kisses Geoffrey on the cheek, dashing away to grab her scarf.
"You're a doll, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey, being a good English chap, nods curtly and refuses to smile as Morgana flounces out the door, sans coat even though it's below freezing outside, and instead, turns back to the kitchen, where he most likely has plans to clean the entire house top-to-bottom so that he can go home for the weekend. (And by home, Arthur means the detached house in the back.)
Arthur slips on his own jacket and follows her.
"I hope you poke your eye out," Arthur says when he gets to the car to find her putting on eyeliner.
She smiles wickedly in the mirror, as if plotting to dig out his eyeballs with her eyelash curler, because she is made of pure evil.
"Listen, Arthur, I know you're all huffy because of the winter but would you mind being a bit more cheerful, please?"
"Nothing to be cheerful about," he spits back. "It's December."
He waves at the gate-guard and turns onto the main street that leads them to their high school, flipping on the radio and settling for classic rock because anything else will cause chaos in the early morning commute. It's a proven fact.
"Arthur," she purrs, not a minute later and when he looks over Morgana has this look on her face—the look that means she's either going to grant him a tiny bit of happiness or ruin his entire month. It disturbs him that both faces look the same.
"What?"
"I want to ask you a favor and before you say no, there are perks for you that may seem hidden but I'm willing to go a long way to see that this gets done."
Arthur frowns, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Why is it that everything that comes out of your mouth is either a come on or a veiled threat? It's like you're delusional and think this is The Godfather Part Nine or something."
She ignores him, shaking her head quickly and widening her eyes like she's impatient and he's the one holding her up.
"What is it, Morgana?"
"I have a friend..."
Arthur takes a turn too sharply and Morgana nearly spills her tea. He glares when she shouts his name in reprimand. "I don't want another fucking blind date," he snarls.
She makes a huffing noise through her nose. "It wasn't nearly as bad as you made it out to be."
"Edwin tried to set me on fire during dessert!"
"This is not about that."
Arthur looks away from the road to see her chewing on her lip, as if she's actually nervous about asking him for something. He's not really in charge of anything at the house but sometimes, like this, Morgana makes him feel like he has more of a say in what's going on in the Pendragon home than he realizes.
"Morgana, what is it?" He tries to sound a little bit more sincere, just in case it's something important, and thinks he succeeds when she tilts her head and blinks, looking more of the general bitch she actually is.
"Do you know Mr. Gaius?"
"Music teacher, right?"
"Well, he's been housing a foreign exchange student from Mercia High because he helps out with their musicals but he can't keep him for the rest of the school year."
Arthur nods. "I'd hate to be that kid. Can you imagine living with a teacher?"
"Precisely! Which is why I offered to have him come live with us."
Blinding, uncontrollable rage. He feels it all the time in Morgana's presence, but this time, this clear violation of his entire senior year is really taking the cake.
Arthur has to pull the car over, honking angrily when someone gets in his way, just so that they won't crash in a fiery ball of death and destruction that would surely break his father's heart.
"You did what!"
Morgana glares at him. "He has nowhere to go! We can't just let him live with Gaius all year!"
"Yes! Yes, we can! We can absolutely do exactly that."
"Arthur, you're being so selfish right now."
Arthur snorts. "This is not a fucking puppy, Morgs. This is a person and we can't just invite him into our dysfunctional home and—and, house train him!"
"But—"
"I don't want a stranger in our business, it's bad enough now and if this kid is awful, then what are we going to do? Hmm? And how foreign is foreign? Neither you nor I speak another language, and what about the fact that I'm gay? You can't just invite people into our house and expect them to be okay with me and it's just..."
She looks hurt, like he should have thought better of her but she's just springing this on him out of nowhere. Obviously, she's exactly as bad as she's always been.
"Arthur—"
He cuts her off with a wave of his hand and breathes for a few moments. Someone else living in their house? It is huge and they certainly have the funds but... it's just strange isn't it? He's only ever lived with Morgana and Geoffrey and if it wasn't for the fact that she could probably take him in a fight, Arthur is sure he would have killed Morgana years ago from living in such close quarters. And by close, he means that they occasionally cross paths in the kitchen and at school—they have their own fucking wings for heaven's sake!
He shakes his head. "Even if I said okay, Father would never go for it."
When the sneaky grin creeps up on her face, more prominent with her bright red lipstick, something in Arthur's gut falls out.
"You already asked him."
"He said yes."
"Why in the world would he do that!"
Arthur can see that it's already a losing battle. Uther had given Morgana an inch and now, Arthur is going to have to give her miles because she's insane and this kid, whoever he is, probably wants in her pants or something.
"Come on, it will look good on your CV for Oxford and you know it."
Arthur sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I've already been accepted, it doesn't matter."
"Think of your future, you selfish ass, if you won't think about how horrible it must be to live with a teacher instead of a family—instead of kids your own age."
He could put up more of a fight, go to Uther and demand this kid look for housing somewhere else but he knows Morgana and she probably already told the kid he could stay at their house. He's probably already packing his bags, hopeful of a home when he's been wandering from host house to host house for the last four months or worse, living with Gaius, who is also a chemistry teacher and may or may not be running a meth lab from the supplies the school carries—the jury is still out on that one.
"When did you tell him he could move in?"
Morgana smiles, bright and blinding and Arthur hates her for being his sister because she really is easy to please in moments like these. He also loves her a stupid amount.
"I said I'd let him know today."
"Fine," Arthur says, turning back to the road. "But there will be conditions and not just these."
"Yes?"
"We throw a party this weekend, Nimmie isn't invited and when Leon goes to get the booze, I get to pick whatever I want. And you'll stop picking the most ridiculous photos of me for the newspaper and the damn yearbook. Got it?"
Morgana looks thoughtful for a few seconds before leaning over the gearshift and saying, "Deal," before planting a lipstick stain on his cheek.
Looking at her gleeful face when she hops out of the car and takes off in the direction of the theater wing, Arthur has a feeling he's going to regret this obvious moment of weakness.
<3<3<3
The rest of the day is much of the same.
Elyan and he meet for lunch to plan out swim try-outs which have to be before winter break or they'll cut it too close for relay teams in the first few weeks of the following semester. Arthur tries not to grind his teeth, but it's hard when there is a little nagging part of his brain that says, No one wants you to be captain of this team because everyone's afraid you'll ogle them in their speedos. Instead of voicing any of these fears, Arthur just nods to whatever Elyan says, writes it in his planner and hopes he remembers the particulars of the meeting.
"I'll call Camelot pool and make sure they're still alright with the same schedule as last year," Elyan says as they part and Arthur thanks him, nodding and patting him on the back as they go their separate ways.
Arthur has a quick AP History review with Lance before their quiz and he still has AP Chemistry and AP English homework to get through today if he wants to go into the weekend with a clear mind about doing absolutely fuck all.
"Right then," Arthur says as he catches a glimpse of Morgana talking to one of her friends, a curly haired girl that always wears purple and started the fencing team. The sight of them both laughing, probably headed to some useless theater meeting, makes him ache for free time the way Morgana manages to wield it.
It also reminds him of the fact that they have another person coming to actually live with them sometime in the next few days. Babysitting, exactly what he wants in his senior year.
"Fuck," he mutters, catching a glimpse of the time and jogging off to find Lance.
<3<3<3
He's waiting for Morgana to get done with practice—er—rehearsal, watching the school delinquents putter around the almost deserted back parking lot.
"So," Lance starts, shifting slightly against the car, "a foreign exchange student?"
Arthur groans. "Don't get me started."
"I'm still having a hard time believing Uther agreed to it."
"Morgana probably lured him into an agreement with weed brownies and color spreadsheets," Arthur says offhandedly because no one truly understands how manipulative Morgana can be. It's astonishing, the amount of shit she gets away with using her MacGyver skills in Powerpoint to make flow charts and enticing pie graphs.
"At least he speaks English, yeah?"
Arthur digs through his pocket for a piece of gum, folding a stick into his mouth before offering one to Lance. "Does he now? Morgana hasn't told me shit about him."
Lance takes the gum and shrugs, "I might have been stalking Gwen—"
"You're so fucking weird."
"–and heard them talking about your new friend," Lance finishes with a scowl. Arthur wants to take this opportunity to lecture Lance about the fact that he is hot, single and very, sickeningly popular, which means that he doesn't have to pine over Morgana's friends. However, Lance is too idiotically nice to notice how girls get dumber around him so that he'll help them with their homework or how one too many cheerleaders have tripped and fell in their uniforms, only to be helped up by Lance's dreamy arms. If Lance wants to spend his life with a perpetual state of blue balls, it's not really Arthur's problem, but if he could pick someone who isn't his sister's best friend then that would be extremely convenient.
Not that Gwen isn't hot, it's just... the pining is extreme.
Instead of saying any of that, Arthur presses about this exchange student business because it's not right that Lance knows more than he does.
"What'd she say then? All I know is that he's coming this weekend sometime."
"He's from England and get this, his name? It's Merlin."
"Like the wizard?"
"What other Merlin do you know, man?"
Arthur shrugs. "Anything else?"
"Nah, just that you all are having a party this weekend."
"Yeah, tomorrow night," Arthur says absently, since he spies Morgana striding across the parking lot. "Leon's bringing the booze and it's going to be pretty big."
"Yeah?"
Lance looks all timid and awkward, like he needs an invite and Arthur just rolls his eyes. "Lance, tell whoever and bring whomever you want."
Lance's smile is dazzlingly bright. Arthur sometimes wonders if he's some sort of Disney Prince come to life because he's just too good of a guy. It still amazes Arthur that he doesn't have some sort of crush on Lance, but he's only had one wank to Lance and sometime during the middle, his face had melted into Fernando Torres.
In Arthur's defense, they're both really tan and play soccer.
"I'll come by early?"
"You better," Arthur says before nodding to Lance and going around the car to climb into the driver's seat. "Later."
"Later!"
Morgana slides into the car with a faint look of annoyance, all traces of gratefulness from the morning car ride long gone and Arthur debates whether or not he's going to pick a fight.
"I'm not in the mood," she practically growls out when she gets her seatbelt fastened. "Can we just go the fuck home?"
Arthur starts the car.
<3<3<3
Saturday afternoon comes around quickly. Arthur hasn't seen Morgana since she stormed up the stairs, ignoring Geoffrey's tray for tea, and locked herself in her room after school yesterday. Normally, Arthur wouldn't really think about it because she's Morgana and is prone to violent mood swings of extreme feelings about anything and everything.
He's not sure why but he'd honestly rather not know.
At 7pm, he's slipping into his flip-flops and braving the brief but freezing trek from the pool house to the main house. He's walking into the kitchen when his cell phone crackles to life in his swim bag.
Text from Leon:
what do you want for tonight
There are already three handles of gin left over from the last liquor run. Arthur smiles, getting up to look inside the fridge and happily finding exactly what he needs.
Text to Leon:
just a keg and whatever morgana wants. Let's make a gin bucket.
Leon's response is startlingly immediate: fuck. Yes.
Arthur sends out a mass text just before he gets into the shower.
party at pendragon's. Bring whatever and whoever.
<3<3<3
Lance shows up at eight-thirty, just as Arthur is coming down the stairs, having spent entirely too much time deciding on what to wear. He'd settled on jeans a little tighter than normal and a white v-neck because even though he isn't planning on hooking up with anyone from school, there is a small possibility that Leon might bring friends or someone else might bring friends in need of a blow job.
It never hurts to be prepared.
"Do you want to move the furniture or start chopping fruit?"
Lance stares at him blankly before kicking off his shoes, shrugging his overnight bag off his shoulder and picking up a vase worth more than his family home in order to relocate it to Uther's study. Arthur huffs out a laugh, because he always forgets to put away something and ends up scouring art catalogs the next morning with Morgana, trying to find a look-a-like for whatever has been broken the night before.
Art shopping while hung over and desperately trying to put the puzzles pieces of memories back together is one of his least favorite things to do.
Arthur drags the two keg buckets out of the garage, setting them both on opposite ends of the deck. The night is cold but there isn't much of a chance for snow, which is good because Arthur hates having to mop the floors from people's filthy footprints all over the house the next morning.
Inside, he pulls out two pineapples and starts chopping, listening to Lance curse while moving around furniture in the next room. Four cartons of strawberries, two bags of frozen raspberries, a dozen oranges and some blueberries get thrown into a bowl with the pineapple slices to be taken out to a keg bucket. He pours in all three handles of gin, canisters upon canisters of fruit concentrate and water, until the keg is almost full and just ready for over consumption.
"Where are the rest of the turkey basters?"
Arthur looks up from pouring in water, after tasting the concoction to find it tasting mostly of gin, to see Lance holding three turkey basters and a smile.
"I think they're in the box in the garage, where we used to hide the booze?"
Lance laughs, tosses the ones in his hands for Arthur to catch, and disappears back into the house. Arthur remembers back before Morgana knew Leon and they had inconsistent suppliers of booze. They always had to stock up when they could get someone to do a run for them. Arthur has fond memories of making Lance hide the bottles in the garage because Arthur was still too short to reach the top shelving without an honest-to-god step stool.
This time, when Arthur sticks a turkey baster into the bucket and squirts the liquid into his mouth, it doesn't taste too terrible.
Arthur loads ice into both buckets, thankful for the chilly weather to keep everything colder, before he goes inside to check his phone. He's sure there are tons of messages because people always think that responding to mass text messages is an acceptable behavior—as if the text he sent was actually personalized and he gives a fuck who shows up—but he hasn't checked it since he got into the shower and there's bound to be messages that require a response.
He scrolls through his inbox, laughing as Lance fumbles with the bundle of turkey basters on his way outside, and reads the messages from the most important people.
Text from Leon:
be there soon.
Text from Vivian:
bringing the cheer squad.
Text from Morgana:
don't water down the gin-bucket, asshole.
Text from Morgana:
Merlin's coming tonight. Don't be a dick.
"Christ," Arthur says, before he deletes all the messages. He double checks the rooms, going around the house to make sure nothing that can't be replaced is safely tucked away in his father's locked study. Lance has done a brilliant job of putting everything where it's supposed to go and cleared out some space for people to dance or grind or have vertical sex or whatever. The house is too sprawling to get everything or try and quarantine which rooms are for use. Arthur's woken up to more than one person stumbling into the kitchen the next day, having slept in a closet or under a sofa, and now he ceases to be surprised or to attempt some semblance of control.
When Arthur turns back toward the kitchen, he hears Lance calling out to him in a clearly forced nonchalance. "Do you think Gwen is coming?"
Arthur smirks, takes the nearest red Solo cup and flings it at the back of Lance's head.
<3<3<3
Leon shows up as half the soccer team is piling out of various cars and he makes them carry the keg round back. Arthur greets everyone with half hugs and manly grunting, that generally means 'let's get shots, yeah?' and they all make their way inside after watching Leon tap the keg with ease.
"I can't believe we're drinking gin again, " Percy grumbles and everyone laughs.
"I feel like we're all collectively remembering the last time Perce had too much gin, am I right?" Leon says with a smirk, looking around at all the guys settling themselves in the kitchen.
Arthur smiles, patting Percy on his back as the giant shot-put star starts to blush and sputter. "Hey now," Arthur counters, leaning forward and nodding to Owain. "At least Percy here didn't sleep with Sophia again, after she gave him Chlamydia the first time around."
Owain scowls across the island, everyone falls into laughter and Lance lines up the shot glasses.
The rest of the night blurs into much of the same.
It's hours later that Arthur realizes that most of the upper-classmen have arrived, their pilfered alcohol tucked in backpacks and under their arms as the gin-bucket is getting liberal usage. There are half empty cans of soda everywhere because people never remember to bring their own chasers, but nothing has gone too terribly wrong and Arthur's got high hopes that this will be the one time no one pukes inside the house.
He's buzzed, feeling rosy cheeked from the booze and surprisingly cheerful when he finally spots Morgana.
She's surrounded by her usual harem, although there are a few people Arthur's doesn't recognize. They've commandeered the couch in the sunroom, turning on the space heater and sprawling out on the floor like the faux bohemian delinquents they desperately want to be. Morgana and Morgause are both taking up large sections of the couch with Gwen perched awkwardly between them. There's a man that Arthur doesn't recognize on the floor between Gwen's legs, where she's braiding his hair and giggling. He's really fucking hot, all ruggedly lines and leather pants that make Arthur wonder how soft the material would feel underneath his hands in contrast to those firm thighs. The guy tilts his head and Arthur looks up to find himself caught staring. He smirks in response and Arthur shifts, turning his head to take in the rest of the motley crew.
He can't tell if its the alcohol that's making him horny or if the guy is really just that hot.
There are two other people on the floor, a boy and a girl. They're both engaged in conversation with Morgause, the evil bitch, and he can't get a good look at their faces in the light. Morgause has been Morgana's best friend since they moved to America and, coincidentally, she's Arthur's sworn enemy—as is Nimmie, but upon their earlier agreement, Arthur hasn't seen her since the night started. Morgause isn't nearly as bad as Nimmie.
"I see you've joined us," Arthur says when he steps into the room to lean, in what he hopes is a sexy manner, against the door jamb. Morgana rolls her eyes in response.
"We've been here for a while but you've been too occupied with your homoerotic teammate bonding to notice."
Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes, both at her commentary and at the fact that her accent is always much more pronounced when she's trying to impress her friends. "It's not as if you're doing much better on the faggot-scale, Morgana," he says in an American accent, trying not to let his own voice slip into something closer to Morgana's by habit. He nods to where Morgause is now making out with the girl on the floor that Arthur doesn't recognize and raises an eyebrow. "Have you seen Leon?"
"He's driving a freshman home," Gwen says absently. "She got wasted off two cups of that paint-thinner and started to look a bit green."
They all snicker because the Pendragon gin-bucket is legendary for bringing men and women of all shapes and sizes to their knees. (Unfortunately for the carpet, various toilet bowls and, one notable time, the rose bushes.)
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Arthur says after a while, watching the way the guy between Gwen's legs eyes him with heavy eyes, enticing stubble and a very distracting mouth.
"No," she says. "I figured you can make friends, you're a big boy."
With that, she flips him off and turns back to her group. Arthur takes one last lingering look at the guy before backing out of the room and texting Leon. Someone has to make sure Morgana doesn't get out of control and it certainly isn't going to be him. He pockets his phone after he's done and goes to find Lance, who is predictably looking sullen in the corner.
Arthur grabs him by the shoulder and drags him off toward the kitchen for shots. He definitely needs to be drunker if he's going to make it through the party without killing Morgana or one of her friends.
<3<3<3
Arthur is fucking hammered.
The party is in full swing, the time on the wrong side of midnight and he's feeling fabulous. The walls are vibrating with shitty pop-music that Arthur secretly loves and he honestly can't feel his hands very well.
He's looking for his phone, because he's misplaced it sometime between taking shots out of Vivian's belly button and convincing Lance to go talk to Gwen. It turns out that the guy between Gwen's legs, Gwaine, was neither her boyfriend nor gay, which is good for Lance and only slightly disappointing for Arthur. He's a friend of Morgana's and from Arthur's experiences with his sister, the only friend of hers that isn't evil incarnate is Gwen. (Also, a hole's a hole right? If Gwaine really minded he could just close his eyes and think of... right.)
When Arthur finally finds his room, which might have been moved since the last time he stepped foot in it, he finds someone else in it.
It might be because he's wasted but the person standing and examining the photos on Arthur's shelves is fucking gorgeous. He's as tall as Arthur, possibly a bit taller but where Arthur is all blonde hair and tanned skin, this boy is the quite opposite. His hair is impossibly dark, almost black in the crappy light of the room and he glows in the moonlight he's so pale. Arthur can't help but stare, mesmerized at the thin frame of his wiry shoulders underneath a tight black t-shirt. Even from across the room, Arthur can tell he's skinny in the way his elbows look like sharp points and his fingers are long, spindle like, as they move across the pictures of Arthur on various sports teams, with his friends at parties or one of the few that include Morgana and Uther on some family outing or another.
Maybe he's just drunk or maybe it's because he's eighteen and impossibly horny but Arthur's half hard in his jeans just looking at the boy from behind. Whatever the reason, Arthur steps into the room and shuts the door slightly harder than required, causing the boy to spin around, arms flailing about him in surprise, and knocking over half a dozen frames and a trophy or two with a surprised yelp. Arthur watches as the boy loses his footing and collapses in a heap of gangly limbs.
It all happens so fast and the boy looks up from the floor, brow wrinkled in distaste at the falling or maybe at Arthur for surprising him but his eyes are too wide and deep blue, not like Arthur's light blue but darker.
"Bloody hell," he says and Arthur watches his mouth form the words in utter fascination until he looks up and they both stare in silence.
Arthur abruptly finds himself laughing hysterically, sliding to the floor with the door at his back. Tears are running down his face because this is absurd and his head is fuzzy with one too many squirts from a gin-filled turkey baster or second hand high from the spliff earlier, but there is a beautiful boy in his room and all he does is laugh because, for some reason, he feels like he might cry if he doesn't.
Yeah, he's pretty trashed.
When Arthur finally gets a hold of himself, only letting tiny giggles and hiccups tumble out, he opens his eyes to find the boy hasn't moved from his position among the frames and is laughing as well.
"Sorry I scared you," is the first thing that tumbles out of Arthur's mouth but he doesn't sound sorry. The boy across the room just shakes his head.
"I should be apologizing for snoopin' in your room, yeah?"
He grins, a blush working his way up to his cheekbones and Arthur realizes two things at the same time: one, this boy is English and two, he's Morgana's foreign exchange student.
"You're the wizard?" Arthur says because he can't honestly remember the name. Was it Harry? Or maybe something else from the Harry Potter books?
"Um, no," the boy says, "but I am a bit pissed."
Arthur frowns. "You're mad at me?"
This time, the boy laughs with his head back, almost banging it against Arthur's desk. He has an infinity scarf looped around his neck in a really obnoxious assortment of colors and Arthur wants to tear it off of him to suck hickeys all over the his pale neck. His mouth practically waters for it and his cock twitches in his snug jeans.
"No, mate, I'm drunk."
"Oh, well so am I," Arthur answers. Then as an afterthought, "what are you doing in my room?"
The kid blushes again, his legs slipping out from underneath of him and sprawling more appropriately out in front of him. Arthur has a vivid image of those legs up around his head. He almost chokes on his own tongue and the room spins a little.
"Morgana," the boy says helplessly. "She said you were a right prat but she didn't mention—"
Arthur is suddenly conscious of the half naked posters of soccer players, the rainbow flag hanging up on his closet door and a porcelain unicorn that Morgana had bought him when he came out last year. "What? That I'm a faggot because if it's going to be a problem you can fuck off to whatever country you—"
"No! Shit! No, fuck! I just mean that..."
The boy trails off and Arthur looks away from his pretty mouth and his sharp cheekbones and everything about him that makes Arthur ache with want.
"It's just," the boy stutters out, sounding resigned and tired. "She mentioned the gay part, said it's something we have in common."
Arthur looks up at that and the boy is staring at him with wide eyes, his face flushed from alcohol and his cheeks still red from all the blushing he's been doing. Arthur has to physically stop himself from crawling over there and humping his leg because he makes such a fucking delicious picture.
"What didn't she mention?"
The boy startles and looks away. "Oh, well, she didn't... " he trails off again and then he takes a few deep breaths before looking back at Arthur. "She didn't mention you were so pretty."
It takes a bit for Arthur's intoxicated mind to wrap around the adjective.
"Pretty?"
Because, well, isn't that a bit gay?
The boy scrambles, trying to get up on his knees and utterly failing to do anything more than flop around on his ass. "I should go. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have intruded. God, I'm so sorry!"
It takes just as long for Arthur to realize that this boy is embarrassed and oh, oh!
"You think I'm hot," Arthur says and finds himself smirking. The boy turns from where he's trying to get a trophy uncaught from his pant leg and frowns at him, his nose wrinkling in the most adorable way. "You want me."
"Jesus Christ, you don't have to be a knob about it," he spits out, looking more embarrassed and angry. Arthur's still smirking because he's drunk and this boy thinks he's hot.
The boy is still muttering, trying to get up from his sprawl but there are frames everywhere and then, Arthur's crawling across the floor because he can and the boy is looking at him with too bright eyes and surprise and wariness all over his face but Arthur wants nothing more than to kiss it all away.
"What are you doing?"
The boy is all thick vowels and sharp consonants and it's really, really fucking sexy. Arthur crawls, ignoring the crush of frames and awkward poking of trophies beneath his knees until he's invading the boy's personal space.
"You smell good," is all Arthur says because it's true. The boy smells like soap and cedar and the way the air smells just before it rains.
"W-what—"
"You think I'm hot," Arthur says, eyes roaming the boy’s face as he looms over the boy's still sprawled figure. "That's good, you know, because I'm going to kiss you now."
The boy blinks and then Arthur kisses him because he doesn't think he could do anything—could exist one more moment in this world without knowing what this boy tastes like. He doesn't disappoint. He tastes like stale fruit and bitter gin but Arthur licks around it, tongue at the seam of the boys lips until they open up and Arthur moans, tongue stroking at the taste of pineapples and something so uniquely boyish that makes him want so much more.
They kiss, sloppy and slow for a while until Arthur realizes he doesn't know this boy’s name and it's something he wants to remember but it's just on the outside of his memory. It could be the gin that's making his brain fuzzy before, but now he's sure it's just the kiss. When they pull apart, they're both panting and Arthur stays close, one hand holding him up as he's still on all fours while the other is cupping the side of the boys face, thumb tracing those delicious cheekbones.
"What's your name?"
The boy no longer looks surprised, his eyes still wide but with something else that Arthur hopes is arousal because his cock is pressing desperately against the zip of his jeans and he wants to kiss this boy again. But first, he wants to know his name.
"Harry Potter."
Arthur blinks but then the boy is smiling, his red-spitslick mouth curling into laughter and Arthur is shoving him to the floor and climbing on top of him to kiss him again. It's a revenge kiss, Arthur thinks as he bites at the boy’s lips and sucks on his tongue as his laughter putters out into tiny little moans.
This time, the boy grabs at Arthur's shoulders and pushes his own tongue to slide against Arthur's. They make out with hungry mouths, moaning when the boy digs his fingernails into the side of Arthur's neck or when Arthur sucks filthily on the boys tongue and it's so good that all Arthur can think about is how much he needs more.
Arthur pulls away, biting down on the boy's bottom lip before getting distracted by the clean line of his jaw and placing open mouth kisses up and down the skin there, pausing to suck at the warm spot behind his ear that makes the boy moan, loud and whiny in Arthur's ear. His hips buck upwards, thigh fitting between Arthur's to bring their lower halves into contact.
This time, they both moan and Arthur buries his head in the boy’s neck, inhaling sharply as the boy shifts their hips together and hold's Arthur's body close to his by threading his fingers through Arthur's hair.
"Oh fuck," he moans underneath Arthur when they shift their hips about until they are riding each other's thighs. And Arthur wants to ask him name again but the boy mumbles something else and his accent is so thick and sexy that Arthur has to kiss him again.
They rut together, filthy kisses slick and hot between them and Arthur can't get enough of his mouth. The friction isn't enough, too many layers between them and Arthur's too drunk to come like this but he wants to. God, he wants to. If it wasn't for all the booze, Arthur is sure he would have come minutes ago. He's never been this thankful for being drunk before in his life. But then Arthur thrusts down hard, too hard, skidding the boy across the floor a bit and he arches up, mouth twisting in pain and Arthur pulls up when the boy cries out.
"Oh god," Arthur fumbles, pulling away. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"
The boy’s face is frowning in concentration, his hand behind his back as he pulls out a trophy from JV soccer his freshman year. "No, this jammed up in my back."
Instead of saying anything helpful, Arthur says, "Fuck, your accent is hot." They both look at each other. Arthur can't decide which is sexier, the swollen and bitten quality of the boy's mouth or the bright flash of arousal in his eyes.
A smile tugs at the boy's mouth and Arthur licks his lips. "Can we move this... frottage somewhere else?" The boy asks and Arthur blinks.
"Frottage?" Arthur asks, imitating the boy's much less posh accent.
Beneath him, the boy squirms and pulls at his hair. "Don't mock my accent, Mr. Pendragon."
"I wouldn't if you'd tell me your name, Mister...?"
The boy pushes at Arthur's shoulders and he sits back reluctantly, immediately missing the hot press of their bodies together, but then the boy is scrambling up and practically shoving his crotch into Arthur's face in the process.
Arthur thinks relocation is a brilliant idea.
When they finally crawl onto the bed, the boy lies on his side, back pressed up against the wall and Arthur, limbs drunk with lust and gin, lies next to him until their legs are tangling together.
"My name’s Merlin."
"Well, Merlin," Arthur breathes across the boy—Merlin's—face. "Do you still think I'm a prat?"
Merlin's smile is coy as Arthur's hand finds the place on his hip where his t-shirt has ridden up to reveal a gloriously pale section of warm skin.
"Yes," Merlin answers. "I do think you're probably a right arse but that doesn't stop me from wanting your kit off."
Arthur practically attacks Merlin's mouth, their teeth clacking together, and suddenly, everything is in the way. Both their arms are too long and too pointy but Arthur doesn't care as long as they get their clothes off. Merlin's shirt gets caught on his scarf but Arthur tugs until the black t-shirt pulls free and then pushes the scarf to the side in favoring of sucking bright red splotches all over his pale neck. Merlin moans so prettily, his hips thrusting in tiny movements against Arthur's and tugging at the fabric straining Arthur's shoulders.
He ignores Merlin's tugging as long as possible, too busy sucking marks into his neck and licking at his collar bones to pay any attention to his own clothing. It isn't his fault that the boy moans, loud and unashamed underneath him, every time Arthur rubs his teeth across the skin he's just sucked into his mouth. Nor is it Arthur's fault that Merlin tastes so good, clean and musky with boyish smells and tastes that cause his own hips to buck against Merlin's.
Finally, Merlin gets enough of Arthur's shirt bunched up at the shoulders that he has no choice but to pull away from Merlin's entirely too prominent collarbones to get his own shirt off. They kiss again, frantic and sloppy before going for each other's flies.
Arthur rests his forehead on Merlin's shoulder, looking down between them to try and figure out why his fingers have suddenly decided to forget how to undo a fly. Merlin's having much better luck and all Arthur's progress gets abandoned when Merlin shoves his hand into Arthur's pants, and squeezes him through the fabric of his underwear.
Arthur's hips buck, his hand going limp as all his world narrows down to Merlin's hand on his cock and oh fuck, it feels so good. Arthur moans, too loud and they both look up from where they're staring at Merlin's thin wrist sticking out of Arthur's half opened jeans.
"Fuck," Arthur says and Merlin nods equally as frantic. "Y-you too," Arthur manages to get out and there's more nodding before they're attacking their clothes again, legs kicking and mouths pressed together to fuck each other with tongues and panting breaths.
They only manage to get their jeans to their knees, their underwear in a similar state when Arthur presses their hips together, hands tangled around their slippery cocks and jacks them off together.
"Oh Christ, fuck yes," Merlin mutters into Arthur's open mouth. They're not even kissing anymore, too focused on their shuttering and desperate hips, cocks leaking between them, to properly kiss. Instead, they're panting into each other's mouths, fingers threading together when they both find a rhythm and it's so good, too good for Arthur to even describe. He feels high on the smell of sex, musky sweat and pre-come with Merlin's own smell of cedar and soap.
"Fuck, fuck, Arthur," Merlin moans, his hips jack knifing between them as his cock weeps. Arthur tries to take it all in; Merlin's kitten moans, the jut of his hipbones or the way his skin moves over them with every urgent thrust of his hips, the flush of his chest, the sharp pebbles of his nipples, the sparse hair on his too long legs as they thrust and twist or the way his cock, thick and red and so fucking hot with need slides just so against his own.
"Merlin," Arthur groans and then Merlin's eyes go wide, his back arches and he comes, cock spurting between them in thick pulses. He moans, long and wild before Arthur shoves his tongue into Merlin's fucked out mouth and comes between them, making an even larger mess of sweat and sticky come between their belly and thighs.
They lay there panting, their hands still laced together with come sticky and drying. Merlin brings his hand up to Arthur's face and Arthur does the only thing he knows he's sure about; he kisses Merlin again. It's slower, the frantic need to get off has passed and instead, Arthur maps the bumps of the other boy's teeth.
When they pull away, Merlin's smiling and Arthur feels too drunk but happy and tired. Their cocks are softening between them and it's frankly a little gross the amount of fluid drying on their skin. Merlin's nose wrinkles, which Arthur still finds adorable (which he blames on the alcohol consumption) and he knows Merlin's thinking the same thing about the mess.
Merlin reaches for the nearest cloth, it happens to be Arthur's t-shirt, and before Arthur can protest, he's wiping down their bellies and thighs. Arthur makes an indignant sound to which Merlin looks up, smile stretching wide and silly across his face.
Arthur just wipes his hand, sticky with their combined come, down Merlin's chest. They start laughing then, kissing with open mouths and half-hearted nips of each other's mouths until they rearrange their bodies, Arthur lying on his back with Merlin splayed across his chest and tucked up into his side.
We're cuddling, Arthur thinks absently but ignores it because Merlin's playing absently with his nipples and if Arthur wasn't so drunk, he could probably get hard again.
"That was stupid," Arthur finally says into the stillness. He can hear the faint whomp-whomp of music in another part of the house and people laughing outside but he's too concerned with the way Merlin's shaggy hair feels soft between his fingers or the way his hand looks too large against the bone of Merlin's shoulder blade.
"Hmm?"
"No condom," Arthur replies to Merlin, whose fingers are still playing with the flat of Arthur's nipple.
"S'alright," Merlin says, sleepy and tongue loose from orgasm. "Never have before... with someone else."
Arthur stares down at Merlin's dark head, something clenching hot and soft in his belly. Merlin snuggles closer, pressing his nose into the skin of Arthur's chest and further intertwining their legs. Arthur wants, quite simply, to care that he just slept with Morgana's foreign exchange student and that this will undoubtedly be awkward in the morning; he wants to care that he's going to have a killer hang over when he wakes and he knows he should nudge Merlin and ask him to sleep somewhere else; he wants to care that he knows, beyond a doubt, that he's going to fuck this up, but he just can't.
Instead he says, "Me too," into Merlin's hair, his arms curling around the smaller boy to do nothing but hold him. Merlin's only reply is to sigh a bit and that's how they drop off to sleep, wrapped up in each other and ignoring the consequences of the coming morning.
Take me to the morning after pill.
There really isn't anything about it that pleases him. Most kids his age love the fact that the holidays are there, two breaks in so many months, but since Arthur's family is the Pendragon family, he's not as keen on holidays as everyone else.
Besides that fact, there is always snow and slush and being cold when he'd rather be warm. Most of all though, it's the fact that winter sports suck that really pisses Arthur off. He wishes that men's volleyball was something that got continued into high school, because he loved indoor volleyball in middle school. Instead, he's left with either basketball or swimming.
Let it be known that Arthur looks like shit in tank-top jerseys.
So instead of being captain of the basketball team, he's captain of the swim team. (He leaves the captaincy of the basketball team for Lance, who looks magnificent in the jerseys and loves the smell of the wax they use in the gym. If it wasn't for Lance's lung capacity, Arthur would suspect him of huffing.) He's been captain ever since Valiant graduated when Arthur was a sophomore and now that Arthur's a senior, he really regrets ever choosing swimming.
It's not really complicated but it has certainly become complicated ever since he's come out—er, forced out—of the closet at the tail end of his junior year.
Back when Arthur was little, his father had left England after his wife's death, and Arthur grew up here. When Arthur was younger, Uther threw a big fit in response to Arthur's desire to play baseball, which was a completely shit sport compared to footie and if Arthur wanted to have a chance of ever earning his father's pride, he would quit the sport at once and take up a proper English pastime.
Uther hadn't been so lucky.
Arthur plays footie or soccer in the summer and fall, wastes his time with swimming in the winter and gets to play baseball in the spring, balancing both this American sport and the English's favorite sport in the summer.
Uther, bless his non-existent soul, makes a point to come to the soccer games when he can, but everything else falls off his radar. Not that Uther spends time at home. He's always on a plane to New York or London or some other cities in pursuit of a meeting. Arthur, for his part, likes it this way. He gets good grades and an early acceptance into Oxford, in exchange for free reign of the Pendragon home, car and whatever else.
The being gay part of the arrangement falls into the category of whatever else.
"We're going to be late," Arthur screeches from bottom of the stairs. In the kitchen behind him, Geoffrey snorts and Arthur can do nothing more than roll his eyes.
He really does hate being late.
"Morgana!"
"Quit screeching, you ponce!"
"You can't pretend to be English around me! I actually know you," Arthur yells back before adding, "you fucking harpy!"
A loud sound comes from upstairs and Geoffrey appears with two travel mugs in his hands. "Your tea, Pendragons."
Morgana swoops down off the stairs and grabs one of the mugs, giving Arthur a start because god, she really is a witch and then she kisses Geoffrey on the cheek, dashing away to grab her scarf.
"You're a doll, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey, being a good English chap, nods curtly and refuses to smile as Morgana flounces out the door, sans coat even though it's below freezing outside, and instead, turns back to the kitchen, where he most likely has plans to clean the entire house top-to-bottom so that he can go home for the weekend. (And by home, Arthur means the detached house in the back.)
Arthur slips on his own jacket and follows her.
"I hope you poke your eye out," Arthur says when he gets to the car to find her putting on eyeliner.
She smiles wickedly in the mirror, as if plotting to dig out his eyeballs with her eyelash curler, because she is made of pure evil.
"Listen, Arthur, I know you're all huffy because of the winter but would you mind being a bit more cheerful, please?"
"Nothing to be cheerful about," he spits back. "It's December."
He waves at the gate-guard and turns onto the main street that leads them to their high school, flipping on the radio and settling for classic rock because anything else will cause chaos in the early morning commute. It's a proven fact.
"Arthur," she purrs, not a minute later and when he looks over Morgana has this look on her face—the look that means she's either going to grant him a tiny bit of happiness or ruin his entire month. It disturbs him that both faces look the same.
"What?"
"I want to ask you a favor and before you say no, there are perks for you that may seem hidden but I'm willing to go a long way to see that this gets done."
Arthur frowns, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Why is it that everything that comes out of your mouth is either a come on or a veiled threat? It's like you're delusional and think this is The Godfather Part Nine or something."
She ignores him, shaking her head quickly and widening her eyes like she's impatient and he's the one holding her up.
"What is it, Morgana?"
"I have a friend..."
Arthur takes a turn too sharply and Morgana nearly spills her tea. He glares when she shouts his name in reprimand. "I don't want another fucking blind date," he snarls.
She makes a huffing noise through her nose. "It wasn't nearly as bad as you made it out to be."
"Edwin tried to set me on fire during dessert!"
"This is not about that."
Arthur looks away from the road to see her chewing on her lip, as if she's actually nervous about asking him for something. He's not really in charge of anything at the house but sometimes, like this, Morgana makes him feel like he has more of a say in what's going on in the Pendragon home than he realizes.
"Morgana, what is it?" He tries to sound a little bit more sincere, just in case it's something important, and thinks he succeeds when she tilts her head and blinks, looking more of the general bitch she actually is.
"Do you know Mr. Gaius?"
"Music teacher, right?"
"Well, he's been housing a foreign exchange student from Mercia High because he helps out with their musicals but he can't keep him for the rest of the school year."
Arthur nods. "I'd hate to be that kid. Can you imagine living with a teacher?"
"Precisely! Which is why I offered to have him come live with us."
Blinding, uncontrollable rage. He feels it all the time in Morgana's presence, but this time, this clear violation of his entire senior year is really taking the cake.
Arthur has to pull the car over, honking angrily when someone gets in his way, just so that they won't crash in a fiery ball of death and destruction that would surely break his father's heart.
"You did what!"
Morgana glares at him. "He has nowhere to go! We can't just let him live with Gaius all year!"
"Yes! Yes, we can! We can absolutely do exactly that."
"Arthur, you're being so selfish right now."
Arthur snorts. "This is not a fucking puppy, Morgs. This is a person and we can't just invite him into our dysfunctional home and—and, house train him!"
"But—"
"I don't want a stranger in our business, it's bad enough now and if this kid is awful, then what are we going to do? Hmm? And how foreign is foreign? Neither you nor I speak another language, and what about the fact that I'm gay? You can't just invite people into our house and expect them to be okay with me and it's just..."
She looks hurt, like he should have thought better of her but she's just springing this on him out of nowhere. Obviously, she's exactly as bad as she's always been.
"Arthur—"
He cuts her off with a wave of his hand and breathes for a few moments. Someone else living in their house? It is huge and they certainly have the funds but... it's just strange isn't it? He's only ever lived with Morgana and Geoffrey and if it wasn't for the fact that she could probably take him in a fight, Arthur is sure he would have killed Morgana years ago from living in such close quarters. And by close, he means that they occasionally cross paths in the kitchen and at school—they have their own fucking wings for heaven's sake!
He shakes his head. "Even if I said okay, Father would never go for it."
When the sneaky grin creeps up on her face, more prominent with her bright red lipstick, something in Arthur's gut falls out.
"You already asked him."
"He said yes."
"Why in the world would he do that!"
Arthur can see that it's already a losing battle. Uther had given Morgana an inch and now, Arthur is going to have to give her miles because she's insane and this kid, whoever he is, probably wants in her pants or something.
"Come on, it will look good on your CV for Oxford and you know it."
Arthur sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I've already been accepted, it doesn't matter."
"Think of your future, you selfish ass, if you won't think about how horrible it must be to live with a teacher instead of a family—instead of kids your own age."
He could put up more of a fight, go to Uther and demand this kid look for housing somewhere else but he knows Morgana and she probably already told the kid he could stay at their house. He's probably already packing his bags, hopeful of a home when he's been wandering from host house to host house for the last four months or worse, living with Gaius, who is also a chemistry teacher and may or may not be running a meth lab from the supplies the school carries—the jury is still out on that one.
"When did you tell him he could move in?"
Morgana smiles, bright and blinding and Arthur hates her for being his sister because she really is easy to please in moments like these. He also loves her a stupid amount.
"I said I'd let him know today."
"Fine," Arthur says, turning back to the road. "But there will be conditions and not just these."
"Yes?"
"We throw a party this weekend, Nimmie isn't invited and when Leon goes to get the booze, I get to pick whatever I want. And you'll stop picking the most ridiculous photos of me for the newspaper and the damn yearbook. Got it?"
Morgana looks thoughtful for a few seconds before leaning over the gearshift and saying, "Deal," before planting a lipstick stain on his cheek.
Looking at her gleeful face when she hops out of the car and takes off in the direction of the theater wing, Arthur has a feeling he's going to regret this obvious moment of weakness.
The rest of the day is much of the same.
Elyan and he meet for lunch to plan out swim try-outs which have to be before winter break or they'll cut it too close for relay teams in the first few weeks of the following semester. Arthur tries not to grind his teeth, but it's hard when there is a little nagging part of his brain that says, No one wants you to be captain of this team because everyone's afraid you'll ogle them in their speedos. Instead of voicing any of these fears, Arthur just nods to whatever Elyan says, writes it in his planner and hopes he remembers the particulars of the meeting.
"I'll call Camelot pool and make sure they're still alright with the same schedule as last year," Elyan says as they part and Arthur thanks him, nodding and patting him on the back as they go their separate ways.
Arthur has a quick AP History review with Lance before their quiz and he still has AP Chemistry and AP English homework to get through today if he wants to go into the weekend with a clear mind about doing absolutely fuck all.
"Right then," Arthur says as he catches a glimpse of Morgana talking to one of her friends, a curly haired girl that always wears purple and started the fencing team. The sight of them both laughing, probably headed to some useless theater meeting, makes him ache for free time the way Morgana manages to wield it.
It also reminds him of the fact that they have another person coming to actually live with them sometime in the next few days. Babysitting, exactly what he wants in his senior year.
"Fuck," he mutters, catching a glimpse of the time and jogging off to find Lance.
He's waiting for Morgana to get done with practice—er—rehearsal, watching the school delinquents putter around the almost deserted back parking lot.
"So," Lance starts, shifting slightly against the car, "a foreign exchange student?"
Arthur groans. "Don't get me started."
"I'm still having a hard time believing Uther agreed to it."
"Morgana probably lured him into an agreement with weed brownies and color spreadsheets," Arthur says offhandedly because no one truly understands how manipulative Morgana can be. It's astonishing, the amount of shit she gets away with using her MacGyver skills in Powerpoint to make flow charts and enticing pie graphs.
"At least he speaks English, yeah?"
Arthur digs through his pocket for a piece of gum, folding a stick into his mouth before offering one to Lance. "Does he now? Morgana hasn't told me shit about him."
Lance takes the gum and shrugs, "I might have been stalking Gwen—"
"You're so fucking weird."
"–and heard them talking about your new friend," Lance finishes with a scowl. Arthur wants to take this opportunity to lecture Lance about the fact that he is hot, single and very, sickeningly popular, which means that he doesn't have to pine over Morgana's friends. However, Lance is too idiotically nice to notice how girls get dumber around him so that he'll help them with their homework or how one too many cheerleaders have tripped and fell in their uniforms, only to be helped up by Lance's dreamy arms. If Lance wants to spend his life with a perpetual state of blue balls, it's not really Arthur's problem, but if he could pick someone who isn't his sister's best friend then that would be extremely convenient.
Not that Gwen isn't hot, it's just... the pining is extreme.
Instead of saying any of that, Arthur presses about this exchange student business because it's not right that Lance knows more than he does.
"What'd she say then? All I know is that he's coming this weekend sometime."
"He's from England and get this, his name? It's Merlin."
"Like the wizard?"
"What other Merlin do you know, man?"
Arthur shrugs. "Anything else?"
"Nah, just that you all are having a party this weekend."
"Yeah, tomorrow night," Arthur says absently, since he spies Morgana striding across the parking lot. "Leon's bringing the booze and it's going to be pretty big."
"Yeah?"
Lance looks all timid and awkward, like he needs an invite and Arthur just rolls his eyes. "Lance, tell whoever and bring whomever you want."
Lance's smile is dazzlingly bright. Arthur sometimes wonders if he's some sort of Disney Prince come to life because he's just too good of a guy. It still amazes Arthur that he doesn't have some sort of crush on Lance, but he's only had one wank to Lance and sometime during the middle, his face had melted into Fernando Torres.
In Arthur's defense, they're both really tan and play soccer.
"I'll come by early?"
"You better," Arthur says before nodding to Lance and going around the car to climb into the driver's seat. "Later."
"Later!"
Morgana slides into the car with a faint look of annoyance, all traces of gratefulness from the morning car ride long gone and Arthur debates whether or not he's going to pick a fight.
"I'm not in the mood," she practically growls out when she gets her seatbelt fastened. "Can we just go the fuck home?"
Arthur starts the car.
Saturday afternoon comes around quickly. Arthur hasn't seen Morgana since she stormed up the stairs, ignoring Geoffrey's tray for tea, and locked herself in her room after school yesterday. Normally, Arthur wouldn't really think about it because she's Morgana and is prone to violent mood swings of extreme feelings about anything and everything.
He's not sure why but he'd honestly rather not know.
At 7pm, he's slipping into his flip-flops and braving the brief but freezing trek from the pool house to the main house. He's walking into the kitchen when his cell phone crackles to life in his swim bag.
Text from Leon:
what do you want for tonight
There are already three handles of gin left over from the last liquor run. Arthur smiles, getting up to look inside the fridge and happily finding exactly what he needs.
Text to Leon:
just a keg and whatever morgana wants. Let's make a gin bucket.
Leon's response is startlingly immediate: fuck. Yes.
Arthur sends out a mass text just before he gets into the shower.
party at pendragon's. Bring whatever and whoever.
Lance shows up at eight-thirty, just as Arthur is coming down the stairs, having spent entirely too much time deciding on what to wear. He'd settled on jeans a little tighter than normal and a white v-neck because even though he isn't planning on hooking up with anyone from school, there is a small possibility that Leon might bring friends or someone else might bring friends in need of a blow job.
It never hurts to be prepared.
"Do you want to move the furniture or start chopping fruit?"
Lance stares at him blankly before kicking off his shoes, shrugging his overnight bag off his shoulder and picking up a vase worth more than his family home in order to relocate it to Uther's study. Arthur huffs out a laugh, because he always forgets to put away something and ends up scouring art catalogs the next morning with Morgana, trying to find a look-a-like for whatever has been broken the night before.
Art shopping while hung over and desperately trying to put the puzzles pieces of memories back together is one of his least favorite things to do.
Arthur drags the two keg buckets out of the garage, setting them both on opposite ends of the deck. The night is cold but there isn't much of a chance for snow, which is good because Arthur hates having to mop the floors from people's filthy footprints all over the house the next morning.
Inside, he pulls out two pineapples and starts chopping, listening to Lance curse while moving around furniture in the next room. Four cartons of strawberries, two bags of frozen raspberries, a dozen oranges and some blueberries get thrown into a bowl with the pineapple slices to be taken out to a keg bucket. He pours in all three handles of gin, canisters upon canisters of fruit concentrate and water, until the keg is almost full and just ready for over consumption.
"Where are the rest of the turkey basters?"
Arthur looks up from pouring in water, after tasting the concoction to find it tasting mostly of gin, to see Lance holding three turkey basters and a smile.
"I think they're in the box in the garage, where we used to hide the booze?"
Lance laughs, tosses the ones in his hands for Arthur to catch, and disappears back into the house. Arthur remembers back before Morgana knew Leon and they had inconsistent suppliers of booze. They always had to stock up when they could get someone to do a run for them. Arthur has fond memories of making Lance hide the bottles in the garage because Arthur was still too short to reach the top shelving without an honest-to-god step stool.
This time, when Arthur sticks a turkey baster into the bucket and squirts the liquid into his mouth, it doesn't taste too terrible.
Arthur loads ice into both buckets, thankful for the chilly weather to keep everything colder, before he goes inside to check his phone. He's sure there are tons of messages because people always think that responding to mass text messages is an acceptable behavior—as if the text he sent was actually personalized and he gives a fuck who shows up—but he hasn't checked it since he got into the shower and there's bound to be messages that require a response.
He scrolls through his inbox, laughing as Lance fumbles with the bundle of turkey basters on his way outside, and reads the messages from the most important people.
Text from Leon:
be there soon.
Text from Vivian:
bringing the cheer squad.
Text from Morgana:
don't water down the gin-bucket, asshole.
Text from Morgana:
Merlin's coming tonight. Don't be a dick.
"Christ," Arthur says, before he deletes all the messages. He double checks the rooms, going around the house to make sure nothing that can't be replaced is safely tucked away in his father's locked study. Lance has done a brilliant job of putting everything where it's supposed to go and cleared out some space for people to dance or grind or have vertical sex or whatever. The house is too sprawling to get everything or try and quarantine which rooms are for use. Arthur's woken up to more than one person stumbling into the kitchen the next day, having slept in a closet or under a sofa, and now he ceases to be surprised or to attempt some semblance of control.
When Arthur turns back toward the kitchen, he hears Lance calling out to him in a clearly forced nonchalance. "Do you think Gwen is coming?"
Arthur smirks, takes the nearest red Solo cup and flings it at the back of Lance's head.
Leon shows up as half the soccer team is piling out of various cars and he makes them carry the keg round back. Arthur greets everyone with half hugs and manly grunting, that generally means 'let's get shots, yeah?' and they all make their way inside after watching Leon tap the keg with ease.
"I can't believe we're drinking gin again, " Percy grumbles and everyone laughs.
"I feel like we're all collectively remembering the last time Perce had too much gin, am I right?" Leon says with a smirk, looking around at all the guys settling themselves in the kitchen.
Arthur smiles, patting Percy on his back as the giant shot-put star starts to blush and sputter. "Hey now," Arthur counters, leaning forward and nodding to Owain. "At least Percy here didn't sleep with Sophia again, after she gave him Chlamydia the first time around."
Owain scowls across the island, everyone falls into laughter and Lance lines up the shot glasses.
The rest of the night blurs into much of the same.
It's hours later that Arthur realizes that most of the upper-classmen have arrived, their pilfered alcohol tucked in backpacks and under their arms as the gin-bucket is getting liberal usage. There are half empty cans of soda everywhere because people never remember to bring their own chasers, but nothing has gone too terribly wrong and Arthur's got high hopes that this will be the one time no one pukes inside the house.
He's buzzed, feeling rosy cheeked from the booze and surprisingly cheerful when he finally spots Morgana.
She's surrounded by her usual harem, although there are a few people Arthur's doesn't recognize. They've commandeered the couch in the sunroom, turning on the space heater and sprawling out on the floor like the faux bohemian delinquents they desperately want to be. Morgana and Morgause are both taking up large sections of the couch with Gwen perched awkwardly between them. There's a man that Arthur doesn't recognize on the floor between Gwen's legs, where she's braiding his hair and giggling. He's really fucking hot, all ruggedly lines and leather pants that make Arthur wonder how soft the material would feel underneath his hands in contrast to those firm thighs. The guy tilts his head and Arthur looks up to find himself caught staring. He smirks in response and Arthur shifts, turning his head to take in the rest of the motley crew.
He can't tell if its the alcohol that's making him horny or if the guy is really just that hot.
There are two other people on the floor, a boy and a girl. They're both engaged in conversation with Morgause, the evil bitch, and he can't get a good look at their faces in the light. Morgause has been Morgana's best friend since they moved to America and, coincidentally, she's Arthur's sworn enemy—as is Nimmie, but upon their earlier agreement, Arthur hasn't seen her since the night started. Morgause isn't nearly as bad as Nimmie.
"I see you've joined us," Arthur says when he steps into the room to lean, in what he hopes is a sexy manner, against the door jamb. Morgana rolls her eyes in response.
"We've been here for a while but you've been too occupied with your homoerotic teammate bonding to notice."
Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes, both at her commentary and at the fact that her accent is always much more pronounced when she's trying to impress her friends. "It's not as if you're doing much better on the faggot-scale, Morgana," he says in an American accent, trying not to let his own voice slip into something closer to Morgana's by habit. He nods to where Morgause is now making out with the girl on the floor that Arthur doesn't recognize and raises an eyebrow. "Have you seen Leon?"
"He's driving a freshman home," Gwen says absently. "She got wasted off two cups of that paint-thinner and started to look a bit green."
They all snicker because the Pendragon gin-bucket is legendary for bringing men and women of all shapes and sizes to their knees. (Unfortunately for the carpet, various toilet bowls and, one notable time, the rose bushes.)
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Arthur says after a while, watching the way the guy between Gwen's legs eyes him with heavy eyes, enticing stubble and a very distracting mouth.
"No," she says. "I figured you can make friends, you're a big boy."
With that, she flips him off and turns back to her group. Arthur takes one last lingering look at the guy before backing out of the room and texting Leon. Someone has to make sure Morgana doesn't get out of control and it certainly isn't going to be him. He pockets his phone after he's done and goes to find Lance, who is predictably looking sullen in the corner.
Arthur grabs him by the shoulder and drags him off toward the kitchen for shots. He definitely needs to be drunker if he's going to make it through the party without killing Morgana or one of her friends.
Arthur is fucking hammered.
The party is in full swing, the time on the wrong side of midnight and he's feeling fabulous. The walls are vibrating with shitty pop-music that Arthur secretly loves and he honestly can't feel his hands very well.
He's looking for his phone, because he's misplaced it sometime between taking shots out of Vivian's belly button and convincing Lance to go talk to Gwen. It turns out that the guy between Gwen's legs, Gwaine, was neither her boyfriend nor gay, which is good for Lance and only slightly disappointing for Arthur. He's a friend of Morgana's and from Arthur's experiences with his sister, the only friend of hers that isn't evil incarnate is Gwen. (Also, a hole's a hole right? If Gwaine really minded he could just close his eyes and think of... right.)
When Arthur finally finds his room, which might have been moved since the last time he stepped foot in it, he finds someone else in it.
It might be because he's wasted but the person standing and examining the photos on Arthur's shelves is fucking gorgeous. He's as tall as Arthur, possibly a bit taller but where Arthur is all blonde hair and tanned skin, this boy is the quite opposite. His hair is impossibly dark, almost black in the crappy light of the room and he glows in the moonlight he's so pale. Arthur can't help but stare, mesmerized at the thin frame of his wiry shoulders underneath a tight black t-shirt. Even from across the room, Arthur can tell he's skinny in the way his elbows look like sharp points and his fingers are long, spindle like, as they move across the pictures of Arthur on various sports teams, with his friends at parties or one of the few that include Morgana and Uther on some family outing or another.
Maybe he's just drunk or maybe it's because he's eighteen and impossibly horny but Arthur's half hard in his jeans just looking at the boy from behind. Whatever the reason, Arthur steps into the room and shuts the door slightly harder than required, causing the boy to spin around, arms flailing about him in surprise, and knocking over half a dozen frames and a trophy or two with a surprised yelp. Arthur watches as the boy loses his footing and collapses in a heap of gangly limbs.
It all happens so fast and the boy looks up from the floor, brow wrinkled in distaste at the falling or maybe at Arthur for surprising him but his eyes are too wide and deep blue, not like Arthur's light blue but darker.
"Bloody hell," he says and Arthur watches his mouth form the words in utter fascination until he looks up and they both stare in silence.
Arthur abruptly finds himself laughing hysterically, sliding to the floor with the door at his back. Tears are running down his face because this is absurd and his head is fuzzy with one too many squirts from a gin-filled turkey baster or second hand high from the spliff earlier, but there is a beautiful boy in his room and all he does is laugh because, for some reason, he feels like he might cry if he doesn't.
Yeah, he's pretty trashed.
When Arthur finally gets a hold of himself, only letting tiny giggles and hiccups tumble out, he opens his eyes to find the boy hasn't moved from his position among the frames and is laughing as well.
"Sorry I scared you," is the first thing that tumbles out of Arthur's mouth but he doesn't sound sorry. The boy across the room just shakes his head.
"I should be apologizing for snoopin' in your room, yeah?"
He grins, a blush working his way up to his cheekbones and Arthur realizes two things at the same time: one, this boy is English and two, he's Morgana's foreign exchange student.
"You're the wizard?" Arthur says because he can't honestly remember the name. Was it Harry? Or maybe something else from the Harry Potter books?
"Um, no," the boy says, "but I am a bit pissed."
Arthur frowns. "You're mad at me?"
This time, the boy laughs with his head back, almost banging it against Arthur's desk. He has an infinity scarf looped around his neck in a really obnoxious assortment of colors and Arthur wants to tear it off of him to suck hickeys all over the his pale neck. His mouth practically waters for it and his cock twitches in his snug jeans.
"No, mate, I'm drunk."
"Oh, well so am I," Arthur answers. Then as an afterthought, "what are you doing in my room?"
The kid blushes again, his legs slipping out from underneath of him and sprawling more appropriately out in front of him. Arthur has a vivid image of those legs up around his head. He almost chokes on his own tongue and the room spins a little.
"Morgana," the boy says helplessly. "She said you were a right prat but she didn't mention—"
Arthur is suddenly conscious of the half naked posters of soccer players, the rainbow flag hanging up on his closet door and a porcelain unicorn that Morgana had bought him when he came out last year. "What? That I'm a faggot because if it's going to be a problem you can fuck off to whatever country you—"
"No! Shit! No, fuck! I just mean that..."
The boy trails off and Arthur looks away from his pretty mouth and his sharp cheekbones and everything about him that makes Arthur ache with want.
"It's just," the boy stutters out, sounding resigned and tired. "She mentioned the gay part, said it's something we have in common."
Arthur looks up at that and the boy is staring at him with wide eyes, his face flushed from alcohol and his cheeks still red from all the blushing he's been doing. Arthur has to physically stop himself from crawling over there and humping his leg because he makes such a fucking delicious picture.
"What didn't she mention?"
The boy startles and looks away. "Oh, well, she didn't... " he trails off again and then he takes a few deep breaths before looking back at Arthur. "She didn't mention you were so pretty."
It takes a bit for Arthur's intoxicated mind to wrap around the adjective.
"Pretty?"
Because, well, isn't that a bit gay?
The boy scrambles, trying to get up on his knees and utterly failing to do anything more than flop around on his ass. "I should go. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have intruded. God, I'm so sorry!"
It takes just as long for Arthur to realize that this boy is embarrassed and oh, oh!
"You think I'm hot," Arthur says and finds himself smirking. The boy turns from where he's trying to get a trophy uncaught from his pant leg and frowns at him, his nose wrinkling in the most adorable way. "You want me."
"Jesus Christ, you don't have to be a knob about it," he spits out, looking more embarrassed and angry. Arthur's still smirking because he's drunk and this boy thinks he's hot.
The boy is still muttering, trying to get up from his sprawl but there are frames everywhere and then, Arthur's crawling across the floor because he can and the boy is looking at him with too bright eyes and surprise and wariness all over his face but Arthur wants nothing more than to kiss it all away.
"What are you doing?"
The boy is all thick vowels and sharp consonants and it's really, really fucking sexy. Arthur crawls, ignoring the crush of frames and awkward poking of trophies beneath his knees until he's invading the boy's personal space.
"You smell good," is all Arthur says because it's true. The boy smells like soap and cedar and the way the air smells just before it rains.
"W-what—"
"You think I'm hot," Arthur says, eyes roaming the boy’s face as he looms over the boy's still sprawled figure. "That's good, you know, because I'm going to kiss you now."
The boy blinks and then Arthur kisses him because he doesn't think he could do anything—could exist one more moment in this world without knowing what this boy tastes like. He doesn't disappoint. He tastes like stale fruit and bitter gin but Arthur licks around it, tongue at the seam of the boys lips until they open up and Arthur moans, tongue stroking at the taste of pineapples and something so uniquely boyish that makes him want so much more.
They kiss, sloppy and slow for a while until Arthur realizes he doesn't know this boy’s name and it's something he wants to remember but it's just on the outside of his memory. It could be the gin that's making his brain fuzzy before, but now he's sure it's just the kiss. When they pull apart, they're both panting and Arthur stays close, one hand holding him up as he's still on all fours while the other is cupping the side of the boys face, thumb tracing those delicious cheekbones.
"What's your name?"
The boy no longer looks surprised, his eyes still wide but with something else that Arthur hopes is arousal because his cock is pressing desperately against the zip of his jeans and he wants to kiss this boy again. But first, he wants to know his name.
"Harry Potter."
Arthur blinks but then the boy is smiling, his red-spitslick mouth curling into laughter and Arthur is shoving him to the floor and climbing on top of him to kiss him again. It's a revenge kiss, Arthur thinks as he bites at the boy’s lips and sucks on his tongue as his laughter putters out into tiny little moans.
This time, the boy grabs at Arthur's shoulders and pushes his own tongue to slide against Arthur's. They make out with hungry mouths, moaning when the boy digs his fingernails into the side of Arthur's neck or when Arthur sucks filthily on the boys tongue and it's so good that all Arthur can think about is how much he needs more.
Arthur pulls away, biting down on the boy's bottom lip before getting distracted by the clean line of his jaw and placing open mouth kisses up and down the skin there, pausing to suck at the warm spot behind his ear that makes the boy moan, loud and whiny in Arthur's ear. His hips buck upwards, thigh fitting between Arthur's to bring their lower halves into contact.
This time, they both moan and Arthur buries his head in the boy’s neck, inhaling sharply as the boy shifts their hips together and hold's Arthur's body close to his by threading his fingers through Arthur's hair.
"Oh fuck," he moans underneath Arthur when they shift their hips about until they are riding each other's thighs. And Arthur wants to ask him name again but the boy mumbles something else and his accent is so thick and sexy that Arthur has to kiss him again.
They rut together, filthy kisses slick and hot between them and Arthur can't get enough of his mouth. The friction isn't enough, too many layers between them and Arthur's too drunk to come like this but he wants to. God, he wants to. If it wasn't for all the booze, Arthur is sure he would have come minutes ago. He's never been this thankful for being drunk before in his life. But then Arthur thrusts down hard, too hard, skidding the boy across the floor a bit and he arches up, mouth twisting in pain and Arthur pulls up when the boy cries out.
"Oh god," Arthur fumbles, pulling away. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"
The boy’s face is frowning in concentration, his hand behind his back as he pulls out a trophy from JV soccer his freshman year. "No, this jammed up in my back."
Instead of saying anything helpful, Arthur says, "Fuck, your accent is hot." They both look at each other. Arthur can't decide which is sexier, the swollen and bitten quality of the boy's mouth or the bright flash of arousal in his eyes.
A smile tugs at the boy's mouth and Arthur licks his lips. "Can we move this... frottage somewhere else?" The boy asks and Arthur blinks.
"Frottage?" Arthur asks, imitating the boy's much less posh accent.
Beneath him, the boy squirms and pulls at his hair. "Don't mock my accent, Mr. Pendragon."
"I wouldn't if you'd tell me your name, Mister...?"
The boy pushes at Arthur's shoulders and he sits back reluctantly, immediately missing the hot press of their bodies together, but then the boy is scrambling up and practically shoving his crotch into Arthur's face in the process.
Arthur thinks relocation is a brilliant idea.
When they finally crawl onto the bed, the boy lies on his side, back pressed up against the wall and Arthur, limbs drunk with lust and gin, lies next to him until their legs are tangling together.
"My name’s Merlin."
"Well, Merlin," Arthur breathes across the boy—Merlin's—face. "Do you still think I'm a prat?"
Merlin's smile is coy as Arthur's hand finds the place on his hip where his t-shirt has ridden up to reveal a gloriously pale section of warm skin.
"Yes," Merlin answers. "I do think you're probably a right arse but that doesn't stop me from wanting your kit off."
Arthur practically attacks Merlin's mouth, their teeth clacking together, and suddenly, everything is in the way. Both their arms are too long and too pointy but Arthur doesn't care as long as they get their clothes off. Merlin's shirt gets caught on his scarf but Arthur tugs until the black t-shirt pulls free and then pushes the scarf to the side in favoring of sucking bright red splotches all over his pale neck. Merlin moans so prettily, his hips thrusting in tiny movements against Arthur's and tugging at the fabric straining Arthur's shoulders.
He ignores Merlin's tugging as long as possible, too busy sucking marks into his neck and licking at his collar bones to pay any attention to his own clothing. It isn't his fault that the boy moans, loud and unashamed underneath him, every time Arthur rubs his teeth across the skin he's just sucked into his mouth. Nor is it Arthur's fault that Merlin tastes so good, clean and musky with boyish smells and tastes that cause his own hips to buck against Merlin's.
Finally, Merlin gets enough of Arthur's shirt bunched up at the shoulders that he has no choice but to pull away from Merlin's entirely too prominent collarbones to get his own shirt off. They kiss again, frantic and sloppy before going for each other's flies.
Arthur rests his forehead on Merlin's shoulder, looking down between them to try and figure out why his fingers have suddenly decided to forget how to undo a fly. Merlin's having much better luck and all Arthur's progress gets abandoned when Merlin shoves his hand into Arthur's pants, and squeezes him through the fabric of his underwear.
Arthur's hips buck, his hand going limp as all his world narrows down to Merlin's hand on his cock and oh fuck, it feels so good. Arthur moans, too loud and they both look up from where they're staring at Merlin's thin wrist sticking out of Arthur's half opened jeans.
"Fuck," Arthur says and Merlin nods equally as frantic. "Y-you too," Arthur manages to get out and there's more nodding before they're attacking their clothes again, legs kicking and mouths pressed together to fuck each other with tongues and panting breaths.
They only manage to get their jeans to their knees, their underwear in a similar state when Arthur presses their hips together, hands tangled around their slippery cocks and jacks them off together.
"Oh Christ, fuck yes," Merlin mutters into Arthur's open mouth. They're not even kissing anymore, too focused on their shuttering and desperate hips, cocks leaking between them, to properly kiss. Instead, they're panting into each other's mouths, fingers threading together when they both find a rhythm and it's so good, too good for Arthur to even describe. He feels high on the smell of sex, musky sweat and pre-come with Merlin's own smell of cedar and soap.
"Fuck, fuck, Arthur," Merlin moans, his hips jack knifing between them as his cock weeps. Arthur tries to take it all in; Merlin's kitten moans, the jut of his hipbones or the way his skin moves over them with every urgent thrust of his hips, the flush of his chest, the sharp pebbles of his nipples, the sparse hair on his too long legs as they thrust and twist or the way his cock, thick and red and so fucking hot with need slides just so against his own.
"Merlin," Arthur groans and then Merlin's eyes go wide, his back arches and he comes, cock spurting between them in thick pulses. He moans, long and wild before Arthur shoves his tongue into Merlin's fucked out mouth and comes between them, making an even larger mess of sweat and sticky come between their belly and thighs.
They lay there panting, their hands still laced together with come sticky and drying. Merlin brings his hand up to Arthur's face and Arthur does the only thing he knows he's sure about; he kisses Merlin again. It's slower, the frantic need to get off has passed and instead, Arthur maps the bumps of the other boy's teeth.
When they pull away, Merlin's smiling and Arthur feels too drunk but happy and tired. Their cocks are softening between them and it's frankly a little gross the amount of fluid drying on their skin. Merlin's nose wrinkles, which Arthur still finds adorable (which he blames on the alcohol consumption) and he knows Merlin's thinking the same thing about the mess.
Merlin reaches for the nearest cloth, it happens to be Arthur's t-shirt, and before Arthur can protest, he's wiping down their bellies and thighs. Arthur makes an indignant sound to which Merlin looks up, smile stretching wide and silly across his face.
Arthur just wipes his hand, sticky with their combined come, down Merlin's chest. They start laughing then, kissing with open mouths and half-hearted nips of each other's mouths until they rearrange their bodies, Arthur lying on his back with Merlin splayed across his chest and tucked up into his side.
We're cuddling, Arthur thinks absently but ignores it because Merlin's playing absently with his nipples and if Arthur wasn't so drunk, he could probably get hard again.
"That was stupid," Arthur finally says into the stillness. He can hear the faint whomp-whomp of music in another part of the house and people laughing outside but he's too concerned with the way Merlin's shaggy hair feels soft between his fingers or the way his hand looks too large against the bone of Merlin's shoulder blade.
"Hmm?"
"No condom," Arthur replies to Merlin, whose fingers are still playing with the flat of Arthur's nipple.
"S'alright," Merlin says, sleepy and tongue loose from orgasm. "Never have before... with someone else."
Arthur stares down at Merlin's dark head, something clenching hot and soft in his belly. Merlin snuggles closer, pressing his nose into the skin of Arthur's chest and further intertwining their legs. Arthur wants, quite simply, to care that he just slept with Morgana's foreign exchange student and that this will undoubtedly be awkward in the morning; he wants to care that he's going to have a killer hang over when he wakes and he knows he should nudge Merlin and ask him to sleep somewhere else; he wants to care that he knows, beyond a doubt, that he's going to fuck this up, but he just can't.
Instead he says, "Me too," into Merlin's hair, his arms curling around the smaller boy to do nothing but hold him. Merlin's only reply is to sigh a bit and that's how they drop off to sleep, wrapped up in each other and ignoring the consequences of the coming morning.
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Date: 2011-04-05 04:20 am (UTC)Merlin's only reply is to sigh a bit and that's how they drop off to sleep, wrapped up in each other and ignoring the consequences of the coming morning. Dáwwwwwww
Okay, okay, going to read the rest now.
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Date: 2011-04-05 08:24 pm (UTC)They're cute and drunk and they have a lot of feelings... in their dicks.