
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/233419.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Queer_as_Folk_(UK)
  Relationship:
      Stuart_Alan_Jones/Vince_Tyler
  Character:
      Stuart_Alan_Jones, Vince_Tyler
  Additional Tags:
      Best_Friends, High_School, Underage_Character, Underage_Sex
  Series:
      Part 2 of Almost_Never
  Stats:
      Published: 2001-08-03 Words: 11999
****** Close ******
by Cesare
Summary
     Stuart and Vince get a little too close over a copy of the Radio
     Times.
"So," Vince said, "here we are. Kitchen this way, living room that way, my
room's up these stairs."
"Your own key and everything," Stuart said. "No one's home?"
"Not right now. Mum's been working second shift. They've got a rush on. Want
something to drink?"
"What've you got?"
Vince cracked open the fridge and peered inside. "Water, tea, milk. And we made
blueberry soda last night, it still looks fizzy."
"Is it good?"
"I like it-- here-- try a bit." Vince got out a cup and filled it with ice and
an inch of purplish soda.
Stuart tried a sip and made a face. "That's awful. I'll have water."
Vince frowned and tasted the soda. "Well, it seems all right to me," he said,
adding more into his cup and pouring a glass of water out for Stuart.
"So how long's your mum going to be working nights?" Stuart asked.
"As long as they run the second shift," Vince said, handing him the water. "It
pays better, and I don't mind, it's sort of nice. It's like having a place of
my own, almost."
"It's brilliant," Stuart agreed. "She doesn't mind you having people over while
she's gone?"
"No," Vince said. "She says it's fine so long as nobody nicks anything. She's
only joking though, um... You'd like her, I mean, everyone likes her, she's
nice. So--" he turned to rummage through the cupboard. "There's some pretzels,
and we've got some salt and vinegar crisps, you want some?"
"Nah."
Vince got down the bag of pretzels and looked at Stuart sheepishly. "I haven't
actually started my report yet."
Stuart shrugged, "Yeah, me either. I haven't even read all of the play."
"I haven't read any of the play," Vince admitted.
"I haven't either-- I can't, I don't actually know how to read."
"Well I don't even know who Shakespeare is."
"I don't even know who you are."
"See, I was hoping you knew, cos I don't know who I am either," Vince grinned.
"So there's no point in me going to all the trouble of finding out who
Shakespeare is and learning how to read and getting through the play and
writing the report, cos even if I did all that, I don't know my name to sign
it."
Stuart was smiling wide enough to make his face hurt. "Sod the report, then,
let's just watch telly and order a pizza."
Vince's grin faltered, the corner of his mouth turning down. "Well. I could
really use a good mark on this assignment. We should probably get to work."
"Oh well. We can still call for a pizza."
"I'm not hungry--"
"Except for pretzels?"
"It's just, I don't really have the money on hand for it," Vince muttered.
"Doesn't matter, I can get it."
"That's not fair."
"You can pay me back if you want. Or don't eat any of it, I don't give a toss."
Stuart planted his hands on his hips and, after a long moment, prompted, "So,
the phone?"
"Oh. Sorry, um, through here," Vince pointed.
"Thanks." Stuart picked up the directory and asked casually, "Have you had
anyone over, since you've had the place to yourself?"
"Yeah, Debra came by to work on this science project we did. We made such a
mess, it was--"
"I mean," Stuart said, "have you had any men over."
"Oh." Vince shook his head. "No, I mean, who would I even-- no."
"Come on, there's been nothing since that bloke when you were on holiday? In
all this time? I can't believe you, Vince! You've got this perfect situation,
your own key, practically your own place, no adults, and you're just wasting
it! You haven't had anyone in here?"
"You know I would've told you if I had," Vince said, and then he made a face
and looked away.
"Jesus Christ," Stuart dialled the phone, "You've got an amazing opportunity
here and you're completely throwing it away. It's ridiculous, there's got to be
something we can do to-- Hiya-- delivery-- yeah." He covered the receiver.
"What's the number here again?"
"It's on the phone."
"I know your phone number, you twat, I'm talking about the street number."
"213." After a pause, Vince said, "You on hold?"
"No, I thought I'd just stand here like a mong and say nothing for no special
reason, I think it's relaxing."
"It's definitely relaxing for me," Vince shot back, "not having to listen to
you for a change."
"Piss off."
Vince eyed him speculatively and asked, "You want a drink? Like, a real drink."
He raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"
"Just a second." Vince kicked a chair out from the kitchen table and stood on
it to reach the top shelf of the cupboard. "I can't get into the mixers, she'd
notice that..."
The pizzeria came back on the line, and Stuart focused on the phone again to
place the order. By the time he hung up Vince was putting the liquor back up on
the shelf.
"What'd you make?"
"Rum," Vince said, hopping down off the chair. "I didn't have anything to put
it in but that soda, sorry, but I put a good shot of it in there."
Stuart accepted the glass from him and tried it. "It tastes all right now," he
said.
"It's the rum, it's sweet," Vince said, gulping from his own glass.
"It's good." He took a long swallow. "They said forty minutes. That seems a
long time."
"It's probably the busiest time for them, round about tea," Vince said. "We
should get started."
Stuart followed him into the living room, drinking deep. "What'd Shakespeare
have to go and write so many plays for anyway?"
"Beware the Ides of March," Vince quoted in a deep voice, settling onto the
couch. "What's an Ide?"
"How the fuck should I know? It's probably in the footnotes. I bet it's some
backwards Old English word for poof."
"Beware the poofs of March," Vince said in the same deep voice, and they both
cracked up.
"Beware the marching poofs," Stuart went on.
"We should have marching poofs instead of a marching band at school," Vince
laughed.
"Well, the marching poofs would have better choreography. They certainly
couldn't have worse."
"Beware the choreography of poofs," Vince tried.
It wasn't that funny, one Beware joke too many, but Stuart chuckled anyway and
opened the book. "I thought I'd do mine about the suicides," he said. "I
skipped ahead and a bunch of them top themselves all these different ways. This
one woman swallows hot coals. Not just one, but lots of them. That's brutal."
"I'm going to do it about the prophecies," Vince said.
"Can you get five pages out of that?"
"Yeah, I've looked up a bunch of ways the Romans used to tell the future, I've
got enough for at least a couple of pages right there."
"We're fine then, it's not even due til next Wednesday," Stuart said.
"But I've got a chemistry exam coming up too. Is Mr. Nelson making you memorize
valences?"
"Yeah," Stuart got out the valence sheet from his knapsack, "We have to know
everything in the first four boxes."
"Us too. I hate these stupid tables, I'm never going to be able to remember all
this."
"Guess we should study these," Stuart said, stretching, feeling nicely warm
from the drink. "I can come over again tomorrow to work on the Caesar paper."
"That'd be fantastic," Vince said.
Stuart smiled at him. Vince smiled back, but the look held too long, or
something; he seemed suddenly nervous, and stared down at the sheet.
"So what's the valence of nitrogen?" he asked.
"Five," Stuart answered, studying him, still smiling. Thinking.
*
After that Stuart wound up dropping by Vince's nearly every day after school.
They depleted the rum until Vince got worried his mum would notice. Then they
bought some orange juice and got into the vodka, Vince carefully replacing what
they drank with tap water.
A week later Stuart managed to nick a bottle of whisky. It tasted hideous in
juice so they drank it straight and pretended to enjoy it, coughing at anything
more than a sip until Vince thought to add in some plain soda water. That made
it a bit more tolerable.
They had to hide the whisky in Vince's room. "Mum never comes in here," he said
as they stashed it.
"We should drink it up here too then," Stuart said. "Just in case. What if she
came home when you didn't expect it?"
"She hardly ever gets off early," Vince argued, crossing his arms awkwardly.
They were fine at school, or downstairs, but he got antsy when Stuart was in
his room.
"Just in case," Stuart repeated persuasively. "If she caught us drinking I
might not be able to come over any more."
Just like he thought, that worked on Vince straight away. "Yeah. S'pose you're
right. Okay."
Eventually Vince relaxed about having Stuart in his room as well, and they
lolled around on the narrow bed together, pretending to study, mostly talking
and working their way through the whisky.
"Fastest you ever got off," Stuart said.
"Probably the first time I ever tossed one off in the shower," Vince said.
"Went really quick, cos that time I didn't have to worry about cleaning up."
"That's so practical! That's not sexy," Stuart protested. "Right, what about
the longest it ever took, then."
"I don't know, I don't time it," Vince said. "What about you?"
"This once, last year, this bloke's cruising me in the toilets at this big
menswear shop, and we get into the stall. He starts up with me, it's nice, but
he asks how old I am, and when I tell him I'm fourteen he just--" Stuart tried
to do the expression, goggle-eyed with illicit lust, and Vince rewarded him by
crumpling up with laughter, choking on his mouthful of liquor.
"And then he just kept talking... whispering, like," Stuart went on. "And it's
all, I bet you've never done this, you've never done that, no one's ever
touched you here, but don't worry, you just need someone to show you how it's
done," he rolled his eyes in showy disdain, while Vince laughed again.
"Put me off," Stuart concluded, "it took me ages to come."
"I always worry someone else'll come in," Vince said.
"Always-- what? What've you been getting up to?" Stuart demanded. "You've been
copping off in toilets?"
"Sure, I've done that," Vince said, clearly striving to sound casual.
"You didn't say!"
"Doesn't count for much, does it? He wasn't even gay, the other bloke, I don't
think. It was more like, I don't know. Nothing, really. Barely looked at each
other. I'm standing there, I get this odd feeling like he's looking at me, so I
sort of," Vince demonstrated the quick sidewise glance of checking someone out
at a urinal. "And he's hard, and it's like he was just waiting for me to see
it, and I think he expected me to just walk off, but... any road, we ducked
into the stall, he did me first, really quick, and then I hardly touched him
and he came like that," Vince snapped his fingers. "Not much to it really."
"He came, you came. That counts," Stuart said definitively, shoving against
Vince's shoulder with his own. "I knew it, I knew there was more to it than
some fucking waster in Penzance. Bet you've been up to all sorts you didn't
tell me about cos it 'didn't count', you twat."
"Chance'd be a fine thing," Vince answered, but he looked pleased.
*
They only had geometry together at school ordinarily, but when one of the P.E.
teachers had to go to Ipswitch for a family emergency, Stuart was shifted into
the same gym class as Vince.
Vince didn't seem particularly enchanted with this development, and Stuart soon
realised why. In the locker room, Vince staked out a far corner, and changed
clothes quickly, facing the wall, very careful not to look round. His boxers
were striped blue and white, like toothpaste. Once suited up in his gym
uniform, he turned and spotted Stuart at once, and then averted his eyes just
as quickly.
Stuart always took his time changing. He stripped out of his clothes and then
dawdled about taking off the necklaces he wore under his shirt; he was one of
the very last to get his shoes tied.
Other boys whispered occasionally but no one said much of anything directly to
him. It had only taken a couple of fights to establish himself as the
unpredictable sort who might abruptly turn a confrontation from verbal to
physical at any moment. It was amazing, really, how few times it took, punching
and thrashing, until everyone more or less left him alone.
On the football field, Stuart did the requisite running up and down the green,
but when there was a skirmish he just stood back with his arms crossed, making
it clear that he couldn't be bothered.
Vince, though, was right in the thick of it every time. He played hard, a
determined look on his face; every time the ball came his way his eyebrows went
up, and then his mouth set into a line and he really threw himself into it,
playing with total absorption, total abandon, skidding on his knees across the
grass. He headed the ball so hard that it left a pink half-circle on his
forehead. It should've looked stupid, but it didn't.
"You're good," Stuart said after class, a bit grudgingly. He wasn't much for
sports himself, particularly team sports, but he hated being shown up in any
way. Still, Vince was excellent at football; there was nothing to do but admit
it. "Really good. You should see about joining the team."
"Nah," said Vince, "that today was mostly luck. I don't usually play all that
well."
"That was luck, four goals?" Stuart asked. "You were halfway down the field for
that last one. That was an amazing kick."
"It's all those blokes from your class, they're new, it's a bit different.
Usually I don't even get a look in."
"But if you're playing an opposing team," reasoned Stuart, "they're new every
game. You could at least try."
Vince shrugged. "I dunno. All that time in practices and that."
"Fuck's sake, Vince, if you're too scared just admit it."
Vince looked utterly deserted, and glanced at Stuart and said, "It's just, I
never have much of a chance to really play. Mostly no one ever passes me the
ball."
"Oh," Stuart said, and felt a dangerous swell of anger when he realised what
Vince had been trying to say without saying it, the whole time. "Bastards," he
added, the word completely inadequate to express his contempt.
"Yeah," Vince said, sounding resigned.
*
He didn't go over to Vince's that Thursday after school, although they'd
planned to do their usual trick, each doing half the geometry homework for the
week and copying one another's work.
The chemistry teacher overheard him calling Calvin Finch a cunt, so he had to
come in after school and wash down the sinks in the lab. Some older students
were still back there working, and one of them Stuart thought he had a chance
at, so he took his time with the sinks and the other boy lingered and after a
lot of meaningful glances and a desperate whispered conference, Stuart
maneuvered him into the supply closet.
It was fun, especially the way Ty nearly jumped out of his skin when Stuart
dropped to his knees. Evidently he hadn't been expecting anything like that.
Stuart's mouth felt odd after. He kept dragging the back of his hand across his
face, all the way home.
"Someone rang for you," his mother said when he came in the door.
"Who?"
"I wrote it on the memo pad, I don't know offhand..."
"Vince?"
"That was it."
He wondered how many times Vince would have to phone before his mother
remembered his name. "All right," he said, nicking an apple off the table, and
after a moment he took a second one as well.
"Dinner in half an hour," his mum said.
"I've got homework," he sidestepped. "I'll be in my room," and bombed up the
stairs before she could say anything else.
He phoned Vince and got an earful at once. "Where were you? Did you get in
trouble? Denny said Mr. Nelson caught you out on something you said, but nobody
heard what it was."
"Never mind that, I copped off with Ty McNeeley."
"Oh my god!" Stuart could hear the phone moving, as Vince shifted around.
"What, right at school? You're mad."
"It was easy," Stuart said. "But I forgot about the homework. It's proofs, we
can't really copy that over the phone."
"Can you come over? I s'pose it's a bit late now."
"I'll see," Stuart said. "Fuck. I'll have to ask at dinner. I'll call if they
say no."
Asking at dinner meant going to the family dinner table, rather than eating in
his room. Stuart stabbed his way through roast chicken and potatoes with barely
adequate patience as his sister and his mum chattered mindlessly about Dallas.
At the first opportune moment, "I've got some schoolwork I'm doing with Vince,
can I go over there? It's due tomorrow," he said.
"Why didn't you go right after school?" his mother asked. "It's getting late
now."
"I stayed after to help this other friend with his chemistry, I forgot about
this assignment."
"You're always over there," his mum said, rising to clear the plates. "His
parents are going to start charging you rent."
"Every day, practically. Can't help wondering," his dad said with an
insinuating grin, "does Vince have a sister?"
Stuart couldn't keep back an angry laugh. "No," he answered, meeting his dad's
wry gaze. "Can't I just have a friend I like to spend time with? It doesn't
always have to be, you know, it's--"
"'Course, of course," his dad said easily.
"Just because that's all you think about," his mother put in, picking up the
glasses. She said it like she was joking, but no one laughed.
"Nice," Marie muttered, catching Stuart's eye. "You couldn't just let him
talk."
He flipped her off covertly, grimacing.
"You can go," his dad ruled all at once. "Marie can drive you."
"What?" his sister asked.
"You can have the car for an hour if you drive your brother to his friend's
house."
Marie jumped up. "Let's go," she urged.
"Clive," their mother said, coming out of the kitchen.
"I'll be home by eleven," Stuart headed her off.
She opened her mouth to object, but then she sighed, "All right, Stuart. Call
for a ride when you're finished. Your dad will pick you up. I don't want you on
the bus this late."
Marie sped and squealed the tyres all the way to Vince's. Stuart made her go
the long way around to eat up more of her hour with the car.
Vince opened the door before Stuart was half up the walk. He smiled in that
particular rare way he did sometimes when he first saw Stuart: shy and
brilliant.
Stuart wondered what would happen if he went up the stairs and kissed Vince
while Marie was waiting in the car-- right there in front of her and everybody,
and fuck all of them. Did Vince have a fucking sister.
"Hiya," Vince said, standing back to let him in. The car revved and growled as
Marie shifted into gear and drove away.
"Hi," Stuart said.
Vince closed the door and asked, "Ty McNeeley? Really?"
His thrilled amazement shoved Stuart right out of his bad mood. He grinned and
slung his arm over Vince's shoulders. "I'll tell you all about it," he said.
*
They walked by a corner shop on their way home every day, and Stuart always
kept his eyes open. Friday, there was only the one shortsighted woman minding
the till.
"Oh yes," he grinned, grabbing Vince's sleeve. "C'mon, we're going in here."
"What? What for?" Vince allowed himself to be hauled along.
"Keep her busy," Stuart hissed as the bell rang their entrance.
"How?" Vince whispered back, twigging to Stuart's plan, his eyes going wide.
"Think of something." He walked off briskly to the snack aisle and foraged
through the crisp packets.
The trick to robbing booze was taking advantage of opportunity. They usually
kept all the small stealable bottles behind the counter or on the top shelf,
which the cashier could see from the front. So those were out. The larger
bottles were too heavy and obvious. You couldn't be too timid and you couldn't
be greedy. It had to be just the right size, just the right position on the
shelf so that it would slip easily into a conveniently partly-unzipped knapsack
without the need for any big movements.
Vince, after a moment's dithering, went round to the far side of the counter.
In short order the woman went over and asked if she could help him, turning her
back on the liquor aisle.
"Yeah. Thanks. How much for, um, these watches?"
"Ten quid."
"Oh. All of them?" Vince sounded transparently nervous.
Stuart chewed on his lip. He knew this was chancy; not only was Vince a rather
poor liar, he also had an overdeveloped conscience. The one other time they'd
nicked things together, goading each other on until they each lifted a pack of
cigarettes, Vince had an attack of guilt before they'd got halfway down the
street, and took his back.
Still, he thought he could count on Vince this time, if only because Vince
wouldn't want him to get caught.
"Yes," the cashier said. "Was there something else?" She sounded amused. Maybe
it was obvious to her what was going on. Stuart wondered how fast Vince could
run.
"Oh... just..." Vince floundered.
"The rings? The bracelets, perhaps?" the woman prompted, smiling.
"Um. Yeah, the bracelets, if that's all right."
"Of course it is," she reached into the display case and pulled out a box with
several bits of jewelry laid out on grey velveteen. "Have you got a sweetheart,
then?" she asked liltingly.
Vince chuckled weakly, and darted a fast look at Stuart. His eyes dropped to
the box. "How much for this one?"
"Twenty. It comes with the charm."
Stuart watched and waited as he moved nearer to the alcohol. Someone had moved
a medium-sized bottle of Tanqueray, stranded it in the middle of the cheap
vodka. It was the perfect spot, the perfect size, ripe for dropping into his
bag. He looked to the front of the store.
"Is this for a special occasion? Or are you declaring your intentions?" the
cashier asked.
Vince looked agonizingly bashful and really, sort of adorable, ducking his head
like that; it was easy to see why the woman was so delighted to help him. "Um.
Declaring, I s'pose. Maybe. I, um. What about this one?"
She giggled, "Oh no, dear, this row is all men's bracelets."
Of course that made Vince even more uncomfortable. "Oh. Really? It just looks.
Sort of small."
"No, here, see?" She picked it up, took Vince's hand from where he was
clutching the counter for dear life, and wrapped the silver bracelet around his
wrist. "Fits you just right," she said.
He nodded a little as she returned it to the backmost spot in the box. She
looked at him expectantly. Vince quickly asked, "And this gold one?"
"That's eighteen karat gold plated. Very nice. It's thirty."
Stuart slid the bottle off the shelf and neatly into his knapsack without even
looking at it, and pulled the zipper silently closed. He moved to the end of
the aisle, where Vince could see him.
Vince's blue eyes flickered up just long enough to register Stuart's nod. He
gave the cashier a strained smile and said, "I s'pose I just, it's a bit much
for the ones I like. Maybe I should save up."
"You could start with something smaller," the woman suggested. "A card, or some
chocolates. Just to let her know how you feel."
"Chocolates would be nice," Vince said, "do you have any in those red boxes?"
She came out from behind the counter to show him, and when they were back near
the candy, Stuart walked out the door and down the corner to wait.
A few minutes later Vince came along clutching a sack.
"You really bought chocolates?" Stuart laughed.
"I couldn't just leave," Vince said. "She was so kind."
"Brilliant, let's have one," Stuart reached for the bag.
Vince snatched it away from him. "Get off," he said indignantly. "These are for
my mother."
*
It only made sense to give Vince a go. They spent all sorts of time together.
Vince had that house all to himself. And Vince was nice.
Vince was really nice, in fact, and the odd thing was, he only looked better
the longer Stuart knew him. Most boys looked all right at first, but once you
got close, they lost their luster; this one's nose was too big, that one's
right eye was noticeably lower than the other; bad breath, a braying laugh, a
distracting birthmark.
But Vince was nice, his bright blue eyes and fresh fair skin, the sweep of his
fringe over his brow, longish in front and parted on one side. His hair was
mostly an indistinct shade of brown, a nothing color, like ash, like dust, but
it glowed with surprising blond highights on sunny days. And it was no wonder
he was good at football; he had fantasic legs, not to mention a truly
spectacular arse. The curve of his bicep, the crook of his wrist, his elbow;
the back of his neck, smooth and edible. His almost prettily expressive face,
his strong and steady hands. The more Stuart looked at him, the more he saw.
Stuart kept trying to remember why he hadn't had Vince to begin with, what made
him decide to really talk to him, rather than just chatting him up. Whatever
the reason, it wasn't reason enough to keep his hands off that eloqent face,
that slim and sturdy body.
Even Vince's problems seemed sort of charming, his shyness and reticence, his
caution, his dogged insistence on doing the right thing. His head was always
down, his shoulders up in a defensive shrug; Stuart found himself standing up
taller around Vince, arching his back, as though he could improve his friend's
posture by example. That was annoying, but then again, it was so satisfying
when he could get Vince to relax, when he could distract Vince from that
watchful, wary stance. So even that, he found he didn't mind so much.
Then there was Vince's boundless enthusiasm for the most incredibly sad and
uncool things. He had an anorak's mania for stupid shite, science fiction,
space exploration, comic books... the whole assortment of things you were meant
to put behind you after your first orgasm. Vince still loved that stuff,
though, brimming over with weirdly wholesome, bouncy happiness at the most
idiotic rubbish. Stuart couldn't quite reckon how Vince could put himself out
like that, how he could bear to be that open to jeering, when he was so self-
concious in so many other ways. In a strange way, it even seemed sort of brave.
And apart from that, Vince was so sensible. It was irresistible to taunt and
outrage him. He took it so well that Stuart had to wonder if that reasonable
exterior was just an intelligent ruse, if Vince was baiting him as much as he
baited Vince. He was never completely sure, and that was fascinating too.
Anyone else that nice, Stuart already would've had and been done with. But that
was the trouble. Anyone else he'd do right away, after that first moment of eye
contact, the first tense, enticing exchange of words. He knew how to approach
men that way, how to draw them in; he'd done it loads of times. But with Vince
he was already long past all that.
Stuart supposed he could just suggest it, one of those afternoons in Vince's
room. Vince clearly fancied him rotten, and Stuart had been enjoying that,
drawing it out, basking in his attention. He'd already prodded at Vince a bit,
touched his hand a bit too long, indulged in a showy stretch next to him on his
cramped single bed. But Vince was jumpy. Stuart couldn't just make his move, he
had to draw him out. It would have to be Vince's idea somehow, that was the
trick.
He thought about it off and on for ages, but before he'd decided on a course of
action, he got ahead of himself somehow and it happened spontaneously one
evening, unexpected, unplanned.
*
"Look at that outfit," Vince laughed. "Is that a suit or... I don't even know."
"Even if it was, how could you tell, he couldn't fill out a straw wrapper. Look
at those skinny wrists," Stuart tapped the page.
"I can't believe they like him in this. That should be the first thing under
Fashion Don'ts. Annie Lennox looks better in a suit than he does." Vince turned
the page of the magazine that lay across their laps. "Hm. Mick Jagger's still
sort of nice, considering."
"Nope. He tucks his trouser legs into his boots," Stuart said critically. "He's
a cunt."
"Did you see when he did 'Dancing in the Streets' with David Bowie?" Vince
asked. "They were so obvious."
"Yeah, that was completely ace. But that's no excuse for trouser legs tucked
into boots."
"George Michael," Vince said, turning another page.
"Not bad. Not like Boy George--"
"Scary," they chorused.
"There's camp," Vince said, "and then there's, like, extraterrestrial."
"George Michael in the 'Careless Whisper' video," Stuart recalled.
"What was that other song of theirs, he looked good in that one as well... it
was all in black and white, you know the one... 'One step further and my back
will break...'?" Vince hummed haphazardly.
"'Somebody tell me why I work so hard for you'... I don't remember. I never
liked that one, it's about a girl," Stuart said. "The video's good though. He
looks so serious. Not like in 'Wake Me Up', he looked stupid in that."
"Yeah, but in the black and white one he's so intense," Vince made a face that
was meant to be squint-eyed and meaningful, but he couldn't hold it, a grin
bursting through. "And 'Careless Whisper', that's good as well. 'I'm never
gonna dance again'..."
"You're never gonna sing again, if I have anything to say about it," Stuart
laughed.
"The way I danced with yoooooooouuu," Vince crooned off key right into his ear.
"Hm. If you do it like that you can," Stuart smiled at him, raising his
eyebrows.
"Like what, loud?" Vince asked.
Stuart leaned over and said close into his ear, "Like that," breathing softly
out.
The tenor of Vince's laugh changed, went a bit on edge, but he only bumped
against Stuart companionably and turned another page. "There you are, there's
David Bowie."
"I hate his hair like this though," Stuart complained. "I liked the way he had
it for that film he made."
"I never saw that."
"It was cut short in back and longer in front," said Stuart. "Sort of like
yours. It looked good." He tilted his head, caught Vince's stare. "It looks
good," he said.
Vince glanced back down at the magazine. "Thanks." He turned another page.
"Phwoar, look at that."
"Oh, nice. Is that all leather?" Stuart asked.
"I think it must be. Look how tight that is."
"He can't be wearing anything under that."
"He'd have to though," Vince said, "if you've ever been on a motorbike... they
rattle your teeth out, never mind what they could do the rest of you..."
"Nothing's gonna be rattling in that getup," Stuart said. "I wonder if they
line it with something or if it's just, you know. Skin to skin."
"God. He's so nice... I saw him on telly, they showed him bent over to work on
his bike, I thought I'd have a heart attack. I couldn't move for an hour."
"No fucking kidding," Stuart said. "It's a good thing they don't expect me
home, I'm not going anywhere."
"Stuart! What're you like?" Vince laughed.
"Like you, looks like," Stuart said, his eyes dropping down Vince's body
pointedly.
Vince hesitated. "You think?"
"Let's see," Stuart challenged.
After a long moment, Vince reached down and opened the top button of his
trousers, his eyes riveted to Stuart's face like he was just waiting for Stuart
to take the piss.
Stuart just smiled, leaning even closer, watching him undo his fly.
He could almost see Vince thinking better of it, and having no out, and going
on even though his nerve was failing him. As Stuart watched, he shoved the V of
his undone trousers apart and his hard-on stood free, thrusting up
incongruously from another pair of innocuous striped boxers, green and white.
"Not bad," Stuart said. "There's something about a bloke on a motorbike, hm?"
"Yeah," Vince sighed, his hand stealing down to tug himself with quick, rough
strokes.
"What's the hurry?" Stuart teased, running his fingers along the waistband of
Vince's open trousers.
"What's the holdup?" Vince returned. "I thought we'd, you know, together."
Quickly he added, "Just-- watching."
"We can do better than that. Here," he said, scooting even closer, "give us a
go."
"Huh?"
"Lay back a bit," Stuart said. "Here-- just, stretch out a little, like this.
That's better," he turned to lay against Vince and batted his hand away,
replacing it with Stuart's own, curled around Vince's cock in a sure grip.
"God," Vince said, more surprised even than turned on. Stuart had to laugh.
"Right," he settled in and began stroking slowly. "Nice, yeah?"
"Yeah... God," Vince said again. Turned on was beginning to win out, his breath
coming quicker now, more harshly. The magazine crunched and crumpled up, still
clenched in his left hand. After a moment, he shifted up a bit and worked his
other arm around Stuart.
"Move your leg up." Stuart wriggled until he managed to half-straddle Vince's
thigh from the side, pushing his own hard-on against his friend's hip.
Vince made a shocked noise, a sort of closed-mouth yelp, and then groaned
richly as Stuart thrust against him.
Stuart let his head fall against Vince's chest and giggled. This had been such
a good idea, this was so much fun-- Vince's ragged breath and lifting hips, his
hand desperately tight on Stuart's shoulder.
"Can I-- I can't really, um... here..." Vince tugged his right arm loose and
gestured tentatively towards Stuart's fly. "It's kind of-- I'm right handed-
- you could, um."
"Mm, thought you'd never ask," Stuart grinned, and started working the zipper
down, catching it a bit because he was trying to do that and keep wanking Vince
off at the same time, and Vince was moving, too, turning for a better angle,
his fingers pressing lightly against Stuart's cock through his trousers. The
magazine fell closed between them and Stuart glanced up; they were face-to-
face.
The moment he caught Vince's eye, Vince quickly looked down, the sexual flush
on his face going darker til he was blushing up to the tips of his ears. Stuart
shifted a little closer and bent his head, maybe to say something, but he
couldn't think of anything, so maybe he'd just kiss him instead-- whichever-
- before he could make another move there was a noise and Vince jumped back,
yanking away.
Stuart asked, "What?"
"Front door," Vince hissed, shoving his hard-on back into his trousers,
wincing. "Sh!"
"You're kidding," Stuart half-whispered, half-laughed.
"Quiet!" Vince struggled with the zip.
"Vinnie! Are you home?"
"Yeah, mum!" Vince shouted back.
"I got tonight off, first shift burned out the line again," Vince's mum's voice
floated up. Stuart heard her trudge up a couple of the stairs and could barely
keep himself from hooting with nervous laughter as Vince grabbed the Radio
Times and tossed it down behind the bed. "I thought I might order in curries or
something."
"Yeah, sounds great." Vince gestured at Stuart madly, mouthing, 'Off the bed!'
Stuart stretched out on his back, crossed his legs at the ankle, and folded his
hands behind his head, flashing a cheeky smile. Vince shot him a dirty look and
moved away, perching anxiously on the edge of the mattress.
"Right, it'll probably be half an hour then!" Stuart heard her tread descending
the stairs, and movement off somewhere else down there.
He turned on his side to grin at Vince, and crooked his finger beckoningly.
"Are you daft?" Vince whispered. "My mum's just downstairs!"
"So? You said she never comes into your room," Stuart replied.
"Well not usually, but she does sometimes," Vince answered, shifting
uncomfortably.
"Sometimes isn't never!"
"Almost never. God... let me think." Vince ran his hands through his mussed
hair and frowned. "She'll have to pay for the food in a little while, maybe we
can get you out the back way then."
Stuart swung his legs off the side of the bed and glared sidewise. "You said it
was all right if you had people over."
"Yeah, but--" Vince took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. It's just. Never mind.
Maybe you should go for now. I mean, I want you to meet her and all but
maybe... not, um..."
"I should probably wash my hands first," Stuart answered, holding up and
spreading his right hand, strands of precum stretching between his fingers.
"Ugh!" Vince said, kicking his trainer. "Sick!"
"Don't ugh at me, it's not mine," Stuart pointed out, smirking. He pounced on
Vince and after a moment of wrestling slipped his hand under his shirt and
rubbed his damp fingers across Vince's belly.
Vince made a disgusted face, laughing halfheartedly, and shoved him away. "God!
Stuart! Get off!"
"Fine." Stuart grabbed a tissue and cleaned up. "I'm gonna have to finish this
or I'll go crosseyed. I dunno how you can just quit like that. Maybe I'll go to
the library. Blokes're always hanging round the toilets there. They're older
than us, but sometimes you can find one who's not too bad. Any road,
something's better than nothing, right?" He binned the tissue and added
nonchalantly, "We could both go. You could ask, I could wait out front."
"No, I, I can't," Vince said, "I sort of promised to help with some stuff, and
we're going to have dinner soon."
"Right. Well. See you later then," Stuart said.
"Yeah. Oh, wait. Here." Vince fumbled for a second, grabbing a battered
paperback and pressing it into Stuart's hands. "Like you borrowed it. In case
she sees you," he mumbled, catching Stuart's questioning look and quickly
dropping his eyes again, his blush coming faintly back.
"The Stars My Destination? This is supposed to look like something I'd read?"
Stuart asked.
"Just--"
"All right, all right."
Vince walked him down quickly and all but shoved Stuart out the front door,
saying too loudly, "Right then, bye!"
"That's very convincing, very natural," he muttered at Vince in the doorway,
"it's almost like you really are saying goodbye to someone; really, it's
excellent, well done."
"Piss off," Vince shot back under his breath. He leaned out of the door a bit,
and Stuart tipped his head up, but all he got was a quick: "It really is a good
book," and then Vince drew back into the house. "Bye," he said again, and shut
the door.
Stuart shoved the paperback into his pocket and walked home.
*
Next morning at school Stuart dropped onto the floor in the lobby next to
Vince, already staking out their spot near the back hall.
Vince glanced up from his textbook for just a moment. He was scrawling hasty
answers across a rumpled sheet of homework stuck inside.
"Never guess who I saw round the back just now," Stuart said.
"Who?" Vince asked.
"Dexter Woods, and guess who he was with."
"Curt?"
"Oh, you'd think. He was with Garrett Brigham! He was giving him money!"
"Oh come on, Dex Woods? No way!"
"Swear to god. Now, what could he be buying, that's what I want to know."
"From Garrett? Could be anything," Vince said. "He's got an older brother buys
him whisky and all. I heard he can get fake IDs, and Robbie Wright told me
Garrett got him hash, he said it was, but Robbie said it was mostly oregano."
"That's kid stuff. There's got to be someone round here sells poppers. I'm
telling you, Vince, those things are completely brilliant. We've got to get
hold of some."
"Why don't you ask that bloke who gave you the one?" Vince asked, voice
dropping to a whisper. "Find out where he got 'em."
"I don't remember his name. He was terrible anyway, he came in no time, and all
over the sleeve of my jumper, I was an hour trying to clean that up. I hope I
never see him again. Complete cunt. He probably got 'em in the Village. I bet
you can get anything down round there."
"Stuart, sh!" Vince cautioned, looking around anxiously.
"What? Fuck them," Stuart said impatiently.
Vince frowned deeply and went back to his text.
"What're you doing, anyhow?" Stuart demanded.
"History," said Vince. "This is due second hour, I really need to finish."
"Why didn't you do it last night?"
"I was busy last night," Vince muttered. His face began to go a bit pink.
"Hm. Not busy enough," Stuart grinned at him suggestively.
"Shut it. I have to get this done," Vince said.
Bored, Stuart got out The Stars My Destination and began to ostentatiously
read, pinching the pages delicately and turning them with exaggerated care.
When the first bell rang, Vince took off at once and didn't look back.
*
Ty McNeeley sidled up next to Stuart's locker in the deserted stretch of hall
behind the band room.
"So," he said.
"So," Stuart mimicked.
McNeeley studied his shoes. "I thought maybe. We could."
Stuart looked him over. He'd completely lost any shine he'd had for Stuart. He
was gangly. His ears stuck out.
"Nah," Stuart said. He shut his locker and walked away.
*
He read the book-- actually read it. Why not; he wasn't over at Vince's every
afternoon any more. Vince had homework one day, and then he said he'd promised
to tidy up the house, and then he said his mother had gone back to first shift,
and simply didn't invite Stuart over, avoiding his eyes. Vince wasn't waiting
around after school any more, wasn't anywhere to be found on their usual walk
home. So now Stuart had all sorts of time.
Most of the books Vince had passed on before were pulpy adventure yarns, and
Stuart had breezed through them without paying them much mind. This one seemed
to have a bit more to it, though, and he thought maybe Vince had handed it to
him just then for a reason.

     "No, it's too late," she said quietly, "the bombs are raining down on
     us, I see them falling."
     "Why are you staying here? It's crazy! You've killed us both!"
     "Yes," she smiled. "Why not run? No one will ever know you turned
     coward. Go!"
     "Never!"
     "Here comes a whole cluster of red streaks... down, down, down...
     directly at us. There'll be no escaping this unless you run. Quick,
     now! Run! Run!"
     He swept her off the bench. "Bitch! Never!"
     He held her, found the soft coral mouth and kissed her, bruised her
     lips with his, waiting for the final blackout.
     The concussion never came.
     "Tricked!" he exclaimed. She laughed. He kissed her again, the white
     throat, the snowy hair. She gasped for breath, then laughed again,
     her blind coral eyes blazing.
     "The bombing's stopped. The battle's over," she said.
     "It hasn't begun yet."
     "What d'you mean?"
     "The war between us."
     "Make it a human war," she said fiercely. "You're the first not to be
     deceived by my looks. Oh God! The boredom of the chivalrous knights
     and their milk-warm passion for the fairy tale princess. But I'm not
     like that... inside. I'm not. I'm not. Never. Make it a savage war
     between us. Don't win me... destroy me!"
Or maybe it was just another manky science fiction novel with especially awful
dialogue. Stuart spun it across the room; it thumped against the dresser and
fell to the floor, pages splayed open. He looked at the phone, but it didn't
ring, and he didn't call.
*
In the men's room at school the next day, Stuart stared at himself in the
mirror. He looked all right. He looked really good, in fact. Over the past few
months he'd finally worked out how to style his hair so that it stayed curly
rather than going wild and frizzy like it used to do.
He pulled a few strands down in front to curl squiggily over one eye, but it
looked too deliberate, too affected, so he smoothed it back. The bell rang for
the next class, so he supposed he wasn't going to geometry. Maybe he'd just
skive off the rest of the day.
One of the stall doors swung open as he washed his hands, and Cliff Saunders
came out and parked himself at the next sink. "Jones," he greeted.
"Hiya," Stuart answered, sending it up.
The other boy just passed his hands under the tap and reached for a paper
towel. He was staring at Stuart out of the corner of his eye, Stuart could feel
it. Finally Saunders told him, "Y'know... McNeeley's been saying all sorts
about you."
Stuart turned and flicked water off his hands into the other boy's face. "So?"
he said leadingly. It was fine with him if Saunders wanted to start a fight. He
was ready to thrash someone.
Saunders passed his hand over his nose and mouth. "So," he said finally, "did
you really--?"
He sounded more hopeful than hostile. Stuart broke into a grin and ducked his
head, gave him a lure of a stare, and then threw a look at one of the row of
empty stalls.
They shoved in together and banged the door shut behind them, snogging
furiously. Saunders had no idea what he was doing, it was obvious from the way
his hands combed tentatively through Stuart's hair, dropped, and locked onto
Stuart's hips. But he bucked against Stuart eagerly, and he kissed well enough.
Stuart was just unfastening the other boy's belt when they heard the outer door
swing open.
"Shit," Cliff whispered almost silently, and stepped up onto the toilet seat so
his feet wouldn't show. Stuart could see through the gap under the door hinge
that it was just a weedy little freshman using one of the urinals.
Stuart didn't give Cliff a chance to lose his nerve; he leaned over a bit
awkwardly and snogged him, sucking lewdly on his tongue until the outside door
shut again. Cliff stepped onto the floor and backed up against the side of the
stall, letting Stuart press against him aggressively, gasping as Stuart
finished undoing his belt and reached past his trousers and pants to touch him.
"Have you ever, you know," Cliff asked breathlessly.
"What, this? Sure."
"No, I mean," he flushed, his mouth working, inarticulate. "All the way."
Stuart smirked at him. "You want that?"
"I just, I."
Stuart took Cliff's hand and guided it to his own hard-on, smiled as Cliff
gripped him through his clothes. "You want that?" he repeated.
"Yeah," Cliff gave in, his fingers sliding the fabric over Stuart's cock, and
kissed him again, wet and hungry.
Stuart undid his own trousers in short order and wanked them both at once, and
Cliff surprised him, his hands tentatively moved to squeeze Stuart's arse.
Stuart rewarded him with a low groan and licked his hand so that he could pump
the other boy's cock faster, and after just a few hard strokes like that, Cliff
stiffened and grabbed frantically for the bog roll and came into a wad of
tissue paper he barely got into place in time. Stuart finished himself off to
the feel of Cliff's deep and languid snogging.
"You could come to mine tomorrow," Saunders blurted as they sorted their
clothes. "No one else'll be home."
"I could," Stuart taunted.
"Will you?"
He made the other boy wait, and then he shrugged. "Yeah," he said.
After Saunders left, he looked at himself in the mirror again. He looked even
better now. His hair was a bit mussed from the other boy touching it while they
kissed, but he liked that. It made it obvious what he'd been doing, to anyone
who knew.
Stuart strolled into geometry ten minutes after the bell.
"You're late, Mr. Jones," the teacher said.
"I was at the nurse's office," Stuart showed his pass. He stole a look at
Vince, who was hiding a sudden smile. They'd infiltrated the guidance
counselor's office to photocopy a real pass weeks ago. Stuart had a stack of
them now.
"All right," Mr. McElroy said, "take your seat."
Vince studied him as Stuart slid behind his desk; Stuart looked over at him,
tried a smile. Vince answered it with the slightest smile of his own, and then
he passed Stuart his notes from the beginning of class. Stuart copied them and
passed them back.
Stuart took his time gathering his things after class, and Vince waited for
him. They walked down the hall together, and then parted for their next
classes; neither of them said a word.
*
After school Stuart stopped by the corner shop. A greasy-haired man in his
twenties stood behind the counter, looking bored and tired. Stuart hated the
place, that was part of the reason he didn't mind nicking things there. It was
a busy corner, the shop must do well, and they had all sorts of stuff, but it
always looked disorganised and untended, and there was a visible layer of dust
on some of the slow-moving items.
No one else was in the shop, he was a little early. The clerk might get
suspicious if he moved out of sight, so he lingered near the counter,
pretending to look at the jewelry. There was all sorts for women but hardly
anything for men, just a couple of chunky rings, ugly gold chains, and only one
kind of bracelet, those silver ones.
The key to the display case had been left in the lock, a crammed keychain
dangling from it. This place was just sloppy. They deserved to be robbed.
He only had to wait a few minutes before some of the girls from his school came
through the door, chattering and giggling their way to the cosmetics section.
Like always, the greasy-haired bloke moved round the far side of the counter to
peer after them hopelessly, and while his attention was diverted, Stuart walked
past the rack of contraceptives and pocketed a tube of K-Y.
Stuart went to the snack aisle and picked out some crisps and thought about it.
There was no reason to steal it. He wasn't embarrassed to buy it. And it wasn't
as though the greasy-haired bloke was likely to make inquiries. Stuart had
already taken off his tie and zipped his jacket before he came in, so his
uniform didn't show.
Buying stuff you weren't supposed to have couldn't be much harder than
stealing. In both cases it was just a matter of behaving as though you were
entitled to do exactly what you'd done.
He got in line behind the girls, the lot of them talking, whispering, throwing
looks at him over their shoulders, all big spidery-lashed eyes and long mops of
teased, bleached hair. Once they'd gone he put the lube on the counter along
with the crisps, some gum, and a box of Trojans, assuming the bored, desultory
expression he'd perfected for nicking things.
"Anything else?" the man asked.
"Pack of Bensons," Stuart said impulsively, fishing money out of his wallet.
The clerk added the cigarettes and rang everything up. "£14.54," he said, and
that was that.
*
"Oh, god, oh, fuck, oh, fuck," Cliff chanted under his breath.
Stuart eased back again. "Just relax," he said for what had to be the tenth
time. "We can do something else." They already had done something else. He'd
sucked Cliff off to get him to loosen up a bit, but it was still slow going.
Cliff half turned and said, "If you want, I just, I really..." and trailed off.
Stuart was getting a bit sick of his inability to complete a sentence. He was
sick of Cliff all around, really. He had spots and his room was papered with
posters of red-faced football stars and he couldn't finish a thought to save
his fucking life.
"Let's do it this way," Stuart said, rolling Cliff onto his back and sliding on
top of him, reaching between them with a lubed hand to stroke them both,
drawing it out nice and slow until he forgot how annoying Cliff was. Cliff
could say yes well enough, after all, nearly shouting it when he came in a hot
sexy splash that got Stuart off as well.
It took ages to clean up, the lube was sort of globby and it had spread
everywhere. Stuart scrubbed at himself with a handful of tissues. There was
some on the sheets as well, but that was Cliff's problem.
"Sorry," Cliff said. "I really wanted to, it's just."
"Doesn't matter, it was fine," Stuart said, and mostly meant it.
Among other things, shagging was completely absorbing. He hadn't thought about
anything else the whole time he'd been having Cliff. But now that it was over
he just wanted to wipe off and leave.
Once he got home, he shut himself in his room and phoned Vince. "You won't
believe where I've been," he said.
"Where?" Vince asked.
"Cliff Saunders asked me to his. You should've seen him," Stuart gloated, "he
was begging for it."
"Oh my god, what did you do? Did you shag him? Really shag him?" Vince asked,
sounding excited, impressed.
"Gave it a go, but he couldn't take it," Stuart said. "Just ended up tossing
him off. I had him yesterday as well."
"I knew you'd been up to something when you came to class late," Vince said, "I
couldn't believe no one else twigged. You really went to his? How was it? How
far did you get?"
Stuart settled in and gave him the full report.
*
So they were back where they'd started, more or less, when the long weekend
came up.
"Are you doing anything?" Stuart asked.
"Nah, Mum's going in to work," Vince told him.
"Work? It's a bank holiday, there's no school..."
"Yeah, it's extra, she volunteered for it," Vince said. "We're going to the
cinema Sunday though, to see The Neverending Story. I loved that book, it was
brilliant."
"Jesus, Vince," Stuart shook his head, "it's no wonder no one takes you
seriously at school, you actually go telling people you're planning to see some
kids' film at a matinee with your mother--"
"I didn't tell people," Vince cut him off sharply, "I told you."
Stuart shut his face and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, glancing
aside. Vince's mouth was set into a stubborn line.
The pack of gum he'd bought at the corner shop was still in one pocket. Stuart
pulled it out and offered a piece to Vince silently.
Vince accepted it. They walked on, and eventually he grudgingly said, "Thanks."
"So what's the book about," Stuart asked.
"It's... just a good book," Vince shrugged, looking off into the distance.
"I could come over," Stuart said. "For the holiday. We've got almost that whole
bottle of Tanqueray."
"Yeah?" Vince smiled. "We could hire some videos. Or I s'pose I've still got a
lot stuff you haven't seen. There's this completely hilarious Star Wars
Christmas special, I got it from my pen pal in the States. It's the worst thing
ever. You've got to see it."
"What time's good?"
"Any time after ten." Vince made a face. "This stuff doesn't really stay good
very long, does it," he said almost apologetically, smacking his gum.
"Nah, it goes off fast," Stuart frowned.
Vince licked his fingers to keep them from sticking and then took his gum out
of his mouth, waiting til they reached a corner to drop it into a rubbish bin.
Stuart turned his head and spit his out propulsively toward some ornamental
greenery.
"Stuart! Someone's going to step on that," Vince scolded.
"In the bushes?" Stuart retorted. "Some bloke might get it stuck to his knee,
maybe--"
"God, do you ever think about anything but sex?"
Stuart raised his brows slyly, eyeing Vince, and it took the piss out of him at
once; Vince looked away, flustered.
"Nothing else comes to mind," Stuart said.
"You going over to Cliff's again?" Vince asked.
"What? No."
"Cos I've got this paper for history, I've been putting it off," Vince said,
heading down the street toward his house. "Gotta go. See you Monday?"
Stuart said, "Yeah. See you then," and let him go.
*
"This is nice," Vince said, "I've never had this much before, 's really good,
it's, um. It's unpleasantly like being drunk."
"What?" They were stretched out on a picnic blanket in the narrow back garden
behind Vince's house. Stuart got up on his elbow to see what he was on about.
"Ask a glass of water," Vince said, breaking himself up. Stuart didn't have the
faintest idea what he was laughing about. Vince picked that up eventually,
trailing off with a few weak giggles and a "Never mind."
"It's all right, this," Stuart allowed. "Sort of relaxing. I should've got
Cliff drunk before I had him, maybe then I could've got in there."
They both started snickering over that one.
"I can't believe I went all the way to his on a promise. I knew he wasn't any
good, he was an all right kisser but he'd no idea what to do with his hands. I
should've known he wasn't really up for it."
"I can't believe he asked you," Vince said with awe.
"He's useless," Stuart said, "hasn't got a clue. Didn't even know what he was
asking for, really."
"You going to try again?"
"Not with him," Stuart dismissed. "You should see his room, it's like a temple
to United."
"Oi, what's wrong with United?"
"Nothing, if you're a twat."
"United's the best, everyone knows that."
"Liverpool won it last time out. Those cunts in United are too busy breaking
their heads against the advert hoardings to score any goals."
"Fuck off, just cos Ronnie Whelan's from Dublin."
"Like I give a toss!"
"And the Bohemians have been shite for years, they didn't even get a look
in..."
Somehow from there, it seemed like a good idea to settle it with a drinking
match. Things got a little hazy after that, until Stuart found himself
incredibly ill and coughing up sour bile and gin into the toilet.
"You all right?" Vince asked from outside the door, sounding a bit shaky
himself.
Stuart flushed and wiped his mouth and came out wincing at the brighter light.
"Fine," he said.
"I lost most of it down the kitchen sink," Vince admitted.
"Eugh."
"Came out my nose too," he added, rubbing his face.
Stuart groaned involuntarily.
"Better now though," Vince said, weaving his way into the lounge. Somehow the
bottles had wound up in there. "I bet I could go right back to it."
"All right," Stuart said, "I'll pour," and made the next round, going heavy on
the tonic water.
"Cheers," Vince said, and gulped down half the glass.
"How was the film?" Stuart asked, sitting next to Vince on the floor.
"Amazing. I mean, it was a kids' movie, but... it was so good. There's like
this other planet, or dimension or something, that's all made up of peoples'
dreams. It kept being someplace new, there was a desert, then it was caves,
mountains, a swamp, the ocean. And it was full of all kinds of weird creatures.
A rock giant, a dragon with a head like a dog, and a huge turtle as big as a
mountain... and they were all going to disappear if the kid didn't come into
the story to save them. I could've watched it forever. It was like looking into
this whole other huge world." He closed his eyes. Stuart took the opportunity
to top off his glass with tonic.
"Does your mum like that stuff too, fantasy and Doctor Who and that?"
"Nah," Vince said. "She likes normal stuff. Coronation Street. Well. We watch
that together, it's good, I like it. I like Elsie. She's my favorite. She's a
bit like my mum I think. Just a bit. Mum's nicer than Elsie. You ever see it?"
"Nope." Stuart took another drink. He was thirsty but it didn't seem to help.
"I bet you could tell her," he said.
Vince's head came up, his brow furrowed. "I'm not telling her," he said.
"Why not, you're always saying how you're so close, and she's so great."
"She is. It's not cos of her, it's not anything to do with her. It's... it'd
just make a lot of trouble," Vince mumbled. "Besides. It's not like I've really
done much of anything."
"Maybe you could," Stuart said. "If you didn't have to hide. If she knew."
"I dunno."
"What're you afraid of? What's she going to do, boot you out?"
"No! Course not!"
"It's not like she's religious or anything. She's not like my mum."
"No..."
"Well, go on then. If you were really as close to her as all that, you could
tell her," Stuart urged.
Vince swallowed more from his glass. "Maybe," he said, his shoulder pressing
more heavily against Stuart's.
Stuart poured them each other, using a little less tonic this time.
"Cheers," Vince said after they'd both taken a drink, getting it backward. He
was starting to look a bit dazed.
Stuart bolted down the rest of his, trying to catch up. Just about then, there
was a thunking noise at the front door and suddenly Vince was much more alert.
"Bloody hell," he said, "what time is it? Oh, shit."
The woman opening the door looked too young to be Vince's mother, but when she
looked in and caught sight of them, she got a knowing look on her face, and
Stuart knew she must be.
"Vincent Tyler," she said as she shut the door. "What've you been getting up
to?"
Vince bit his lip. "Sorry, mum," he said, going a bit pink. He really did look
sorry.
"Sorry I caught you, no doubt," his mother said, putting her hands on her hips.
She sounded stern, but she looked to Stuart as though she might start laughing
at any moment.
Vince managed to sound terribly guilty just heaving a sigh.
She looked him over. "So you must be Stuart," she said.
"Nice to meet you," Stuart answered, and mostly managed not to slur the words.
He gave her the wide, meaningless smile that usually worked on adults. "I'd
stand and shake your hand, but, ehm--" he jogged his shoulder to show that
Vince was still leaning against him. Vince hurriedly scooted away.
"You've right good manners for an underage drunk," she observed with one
eyebrow raised. "Nice to meet you as well. But if you two got into my liquor,
I'm taking it out of the both of you in housework."
"I brought it," Stuart told her.
"Did you. Tanqueray, hm?" she said, picking up the bottle. "I'll have some of
that. Stuart, be a love and pass that tonic."
*
"Can't we find a quieter way home?" Vince asked plaintively the next afternoon.
"You can't still be hung over."
"Well, I didn't get to stay in 'sick' this morning, did I," Vince grumbled.
"Mum made me come in to school bright and early. Said I should get used to it,
getting through the day with a hangover, if I was gonna make a habit of this."
"Your mum's completely mad," Stuart said. She'd lectured them on knowing their
limits while she handily put away the rest of the gin.
"Yeah, I know. I told you she's great," Vince said, and then his voice dropped.
"Heads up, nine o'clock."
Stuart rolled his eyes. "Is that right or left or what?"
"Left," Vince said, as Cliff Saunders came walking up on Stuart's other side.
"Hiya, Tyler," Saunders said. "Stuart."
Stuart exchanged barely suppressed smiles with Vince. "Hiya," Stuart chirped
with entirely false brightness. Vince nudged him surreptitiously.
"What's happening," Saunders asked.
"Oh, lots of things," Stuart said, and then let a long moment pass, as Saunders
obviously expected him to elaborate.
Finally the other boy asked, "Like what?"
"Like... things. Everything. Life," Stuart said, laughing openly now.
Vince took pity on Saunders and said, "We're just going to mine to work on this
geometry assignment."
"I thought maybe we could do something tomorrow," Saunders said to Stuart, all
in a rush.
"I thought maybe we wouldn't," Stuart said. Vince jabbed him with an elbow to
the ribs for that one.
Saunders kicked at the pavement. "Fine. You don't have to be a cunt about it."
Stuart would've loved to come back with something nasty to that one, but Vince
was already silently threatening to cuff him, his hand poised.
Stuart made a face at him and turned back to Saunders and said, "Well if I
don't have to, I suppose I won't then. Bye-bye," he added in his most insincere
tone of voice, and yanked Vince with him down the next side street.
"I can't believe you!" Vince said, "What're you like?"
"I shouldn't've done him that second time," Stuart said. "I think it gave him
notions."
"Oh, imagine that," Vince said.
"Well I didn't give him any cause to think anything like that," Stuart said,
"it's not as though I like him, it's not like he's my friend. He's got no
reason to expect anything from me."
Vince laughed. "What're you going to do then, just never have the same bloke
more than once?"
"Why not?" Stuart asked. "There's a whole world full of fantastic boys out
there. I could go my whole life and never shag the same one twice."
"You could do, too," Vince shook his head admiringly.
"Just wait 'til we can go down to the Village," Stuart grinned. "It'll be
brilliant. I'm never looking back."
"Look, the moon's out already," Vince said, his walk slowing. He pointed it
out, a white shadow in the blue above them. "You ever see the rabbit in the
moon?"
"Nope."
"Me neither. And then there's meant to be a man in the moon as well, of
course," Vince said, "but I don't see that either. To me it sort of looks more
like Marilyn Monroe."
"What?" Stuart giggled.
"It does!" Vince glanced at him, grinning. "You've got a very strange laugh
sometimes, you know that?"
"I don't," Stuart denied, though he knew he did. It was sort of high and
sounded silly; he'd tried to stop laughing like that but sometimes it just came
out.
"You do. I like it though," Vince said. "No one else sounds like that. Just
you." He tipped back his head and looked up again, standing, for once, straight
and tall, his face smooth and lovely, his eyes full of sky and the promise of
summer.
Stuart stopped and watched him. All at once, he wished Vince could always be
just like he was now. All vision and possibility, clear and pure, undimmed.
He thought of all his conquests, the way they always seemed diminished somehow,
after, always becoming just a body, used up and flawed.
He didn't want that with Vince. He didn't want Vince that way. The thought made
a peculiar ache shoot through him, a sick feeling that faded fast, but not fast
enough.
Stuart reached for Vince's hand, and touched his sleeve instead. "Come with
me," he said.
"Where?"
"Just come on," Stuart said impatiently.
The woman was at the register at the corner store. Stuart stopped just outside
the door and instructed, "Get her to go to the back, on that side," he pointed.
"There's nothing back there but makeup and that," Vince protested. Stuart
glared at him until he said, "All right, all right, I'll ask about perfume or
something."
"Good," Stuart said, and they headed inside.
"I'm sure we can find just the thing," the woman said warmly as Vince tried,
unsuccessfully, not to look guilty. She left the counter to lead him back. "Is
this for your sweetheart?"
"No, uhm, we didn't really hit it off," Vince said. "This is for my mum, her
birthday's coming up..."
Stuart went to the jewelry display. Sure enough, the key was in the lock. The
key to the cash register was probably on that bulging keychain, anyone could
just rob the lot. They were getting off easy, he thought as he slid the back
panel out of the way and reached inside.
He could hear sneezing from the back of the store, and Vince and the woman
apologizing to each other in stereo. He could hardly imagine what Vince had got
himself into back there. Suppressing another fit of giggles, Stuart left.
Around the corner, Vince walked up, sniffling, his nose still buried in a
tissue. "I was never allergic before," he said, a bit muffled. "I wonder if
it's cos of all that drinking yesterday." His eyes were watering, his nose was
red and his hair was sticking up in front, but for all that, Stuart still
thought he was dead good looking.
Vince tucked the tissue into his pocket, blinking. "What'd you take? We were
right by the liquor."
Stuart produced them from his pocket, the bracelet Vince had tried on before
and a second one, exactly like it.
"Oh my god," Vince said.
"The clasp is a bit hard to manage, I'll have to put it on for you," Stuart
said.
Vince shook his head. "Stuart, you can't just go taking those, it's not right.
I wouldn't have helped if I'd known you were doing that."
Stuart narrowed his eyes and smiled, a smile with a sharp edge to it. "Yeah,
you would've," he said.
At that Vince's mouth took on that stubborn, resentful line, and he exhaled
loudly and turned to go stomping off.
"Vince." Stuart waited until Vince stopped and faced him again. "Are we friends
or what?"
Vince met his eyes, and this time he didn't look away. The anger faded from his
face, and he answered Stuart's gaze steadily, seriously, for a long moment.
"Yeah," he said. "We're friends."
"All right then," Stuart said, "here."
Vince held out his hand and Stuart looped the bracelet around his wrist.
"It'll probably turn your hand green or something," he said, and Vince laughed.
Stuart secured the clasp and held on just a second more, the silver warming
under his hand. "Never take it off. Promise."
"Promise," Vince said. "Even if it turns my hand green." He took the other one
and fastened it onto Stuart's wrist.
"Thanks," Stuart told him, and Vince smiled and squeezed his hand and looked
sort of wistful, as though he understood, and then he let go and Stuart was
sure he did.
*
It was just because they'd left it undone, that was all. That was why it stuck
in Stuart's mind like nothing else had, how they'd been so close, how hard his
heart had been pounding, how Vince's head fell back when Stuart touched him.
He didn't think of it all that often. Just... often enough.
He never did give back that book.
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