As We Make Our Way Along (closed)

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waterboy

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Ian pounded his open palms against the inch thick glass that separated him from the source of his immense frustration. Who the hell has a vending machine in their fucking house? he thought to himself, now banging with his fists against the damned machine that refused to give him his soda, despite having happily accepted his money just moments before.

This is what I get for being talked into coming to a party at some rich snob's house. Despite the fact that everyone who was anyone had been talking about the party for months, Ian had had no interest whatsoever in attending said party. Apparently though, getting invited to millionaire Matthew Chase's birthday party was a big fucking deal, and so Ian had let himself be persuaded by friends of his who'd also been invited.

He continued in vain for a few minutes to try and get the machine to change its mind and give him the soda that really wasn't worth the trouble and that Ian didn't even want that much. Apparently that wasn't going to happen though, so Ian gave up with a defeated sigh and a final bang on the glass.
 
Sometimes, it pays off having friends in high places, Marcus reflected as he sipped from a red plastic cup filled with beer. He had known Matthew since they were in kindergarten, and had gone to every birthday since. And after they had gotten into high school, the parties had only gotten bigger and better, the alcohol began replacing soda, and pills and other drugs had become more common.

This year's birthday was the best. The music was pounding through the walls, the alcohol was flowing like water, ecstasy tablets and weed baggies were passed easily, and Matthew's parents were gone for the entire week. The majority of the party was in the first floor of the mansion he lived in, though couples were constantly sneaking off upstairs to have sex in any number of the bedrooms in the upper floors.

Finishing his cup, Marcus strolled outside, getting another cup from the keg and sitting down by the pool. Several girls were skinny-dipping, and a couple called out to him, wanting him to join. Marcus respectfully declined, claiming that he had a girlfriend, and went back inside, though he was splashed several times.

As he shut the door behind him, he caught sight of a guy he vaguely recognized from school messing with the vending machine. "Hey," he said. "Ian...right? You having problems?" He looked at the machine, and pressing the buttons for one and E at the same time. The machine then proceeded to give Ian back the dollar, though it was a bit more crumpled than it had been when he had put it in. "I didn't know you knew Matt...you see the pool yet?"
 
Ian turned away from the machine and towards the sound of the voice calling out his name, searching until he saw a guy strolling over to him, a cup filled with what was probably some kind of alcohol clutched in his hand. "What?" He replied, pointing to himself. He didn't know the guy, or how he knew Ian's name. "Me? Um, yeah. That's me."

He looked back to the vending machine and sighed. "Fuck it," he murmured, and pressed the button that refunded his cash. The damn thing didn't even have the decency to Gove it back to him in good condition. Ian pocketed the money and turned back towards the stranger, forcing a smile onto his face. "No trouble at all," he said breezily. "Don't worry about it."

Ian frowned, annoyed that he couldn't place the person standing before him. He was usually good with remembering people, either by face or name, but neither came to him now. It was especially frustrating because he seemed to know Ian. "I'm sorry, but have we met?"
 
Marcus grinned as he realized that Ian didn't recognize him. "We had English together in freshman year. I was going through that goth phase...I still kinda am." He gestured towards his clothes, which consisted of a tartan print pair of pants and a black band t-shirt.

"Actually, I'm kinda surprised you don't remember me. I always sat in the back, making snarky remarks and writing bad gothic poetry. You don't remember that time I brought a bag of gummy bears, licked them all, and threw them on the ceiling, and they'd stick?" He grinned, drinking from his cup again. Alcohol tended to make him more chatty and outgoing. Normally, Marcus wasn't very friendly, but he always felt looser and happier with alcohol in his system. It also made him less careful with his secret.

Marcus was gay. For as long as he could remember, he had only liked boys. Of course, given his parents, he was still in the closet, and occasionally he even dated some girl, just to keep them happy. However, when Marcus got drunk, he was a shameless flirt, and would try to get into the pants of any guy who caught his fancy.

And right now, Ian was looking pretty damn hot...
 
"Oh yeah, I guess we did." Ian smiled, a wide smile of relief. Now that he knew what to look for, he could definitely see the resemblance between the guy and the goth kid who had caused their freshmen english teacher all kinds of hell, seemingly just for kicks. "Honestly, I don't remember much of that class. I spent a lot of it either with my earbuds in, sleeping, extremely hungover, or writing. Granted, it was an English class, but I wasn't writing for a graded assignment." He laughed. "I don't even know how I passed that class."

Ah, yes. The gummy bears, Ian thought to himself. He laughed again, running a hand through his light sandy brown hair. "Yeah, I remember the gummy bears. I'd be pretty hard pressed to forget that. A couple months later when it got hot one of them melted off the ceiling and into my hair. And I'll let you in on a little secret." He took a step closer and leaned towards the guy, whose name he thought started with an M. He still couldn't quite remember it.

"Melted gelatin? Harder to get out of your hair than gum. Once that shit dries, you're totally screwed. I had to cut it out." He grinned, to show that he wasn't pissed off about it. "But I forgive you," Ian help up an index finger, "under one condition. Buy me a drink?" He looked around him. "Well, we're at a party so you can't really buy me a drink unless it's from this god forsaken vending machine, so I think I'll have to settle for a beer."
 
Marcus laughed as Ian told him that a gummy bear had gotten in his hair. He couldn't help it, it was just too funny. Nodding as Ian told him to buy him a drink, he gesture for him to follow and began walking towards the kitchen, where the music was slightly louder. "What'll you be drinking?" he asked over the music, gesturing to the large grouping of bottles on the counters. Refilling his own cup, he got another red cup from the stack and grabbed whatever drink Ian wanted.

Handing it to him, he asked, "So, how do you know Matthew? You don't really hang out with his group...I mean, I don't either, but we go back a long way..." He grinned, leaning against the counter. Eating a couple pretzels from the bowl next to him, he smiled over at one of his friends, who had walked in to get himself a drink. Looking back at Ian, he took a drink from his cup, looking at him with his stormy grey eyes.
 
A small smile graced Ian's face for the first time that evening he watched the boy mock bow in a gesture that meant for Ian to follow him. He had to admit, he was intrigued by this odd character in the tartan pants. Ian trailed behind him to the kitchen, keeping enough distance that he could observe him as he walked. Ian had always done this, watch people walk. You could learn a lot about someone based on how they carried the self. This particular person's gait was confident, without being overtly cocky. He was closed off though, a certain curve in his shoulders betraying that he wasn't revealing everything about himself, despite how friendly he'd been to Ian so far. But that cordiality could also have been the byproduct of the copious amounts of booze flowing through the house.

Ian struggled to hear the guy over the music blaring from multiple speakers scattered around. "Something strong," Ian practically shouted, pointing to the hard liquor. "Tequila shots maybe, or gin. I do like a good gin and rum. I think I'll start with that." As his drink was being poured, he grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured three shots into glasses that were sitting on the counter. "I'd offer you some," he said, "but you've got a good head start on me and I have catching up to do." He downed the shots one after the other, not bothering with a chaser.

Ian grinned and took the red cup that was being extended towards him. "Thanks. Honestly, I don't really know Matthew at all. We've said hello in the hallways, and smiled if we saw each other at social events. Beyond that, I don't really know him." He knocked back a good amount of the contents of his cup. "Actually, I take that back. We wrote a paper together last year, first semester. For a sociology class. Something about the labels society puts on and the pressure it creates for us to live up to them. We focused ours on homosexuality." He looked down at his cup, which was now empty. "Huh, would you look at that. I'm out."
 
Marcus smiled to himself as Ian poured himself three shots of vodka and packed them away like they were nothing. He always like a guy who could keep up with him in terms of alcohol. While Ian talked about how he knew Matthew, Marcus poured himself another drink, a light grin on his face. "Yeah?" he asked once he talked abou the paper he'd written. "What was your stance on it?" As Ian mentioned he was out of his drink, he quickly poured him another.

Marcus wants really trying to get Ian drunk. Well, maybe a little. But not because he wanted to sleep with him, though that was a part of it. He actually wanted to see how much Ian could drink before he was falling over drunk. Marcus knew his limit, but he wanted to know if Ian could outdrink him.

Brushing a hand through his hair, he asked, "You wanna go someplace a little quieter? Not to have sex or anything, just so we can actually hear each other. And we can even take a couple of these," he added, picking up a few bottles of vodka.
 
Ian laughed, mostly to himself. "My mother always told me never to take drinks from strangers. But I've already accepted one from you, so what's another going to do, eh?" He watched as the guy refilled his cup with clear gin and resin colored rum. The light reflected in the cup, making the liquid dance with shadows and light. "Thanks," he said, continuing to drink almost immediately. He didn't drink all that often, but hey, he was here, and there was plenty available, so he figured what the hell, may as well.

"My stance? I think people should be who they wish to be, love whom they wish to love, and do these things without constantly worrying about making a wrong move. Life is harsh enough as is, so I don't think we should go around making others' lives more difficult unnecessarily. Nor do I believe we have the right to." He shrugged his shoulders. "But hey, that's just my opinion. I don't want to start ranting about civil liberties and scare you off."

Ian punctuated some of his sentences with a long drink from his newly filled cup, and soon enough that one was finished too. "You know," he said, the alcohol beginning to loosen his tongue a bit, "if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to get me drunk." He smiled crookedly. "Can't say that I mind though. I need to relax."

The guy's comment made Ian burst out laughing. He composed himself, but couldn't help but smile, his mouth twitching as he struggled not to laugh. "I didn't think you meant to have sex. But it was considerate of you to clear that up. I'd say yes, let's go, but I've already broken rules tonight. I accepted a drink from a stranger, despite the possibility of being roofied. But going off somewhere alone with a stranger, even if said stranger is male? My mother would be absolutely appalled! I don't even know your name yet. I'll go with you," he continued, pouring more rum into his cup before setting the bottle down, "but first I want to know your name."
 
"I'm Marcus," he said over the blare of the music. Once that was taken care of, he led Ian through the house, occasionally grabbing at his shirtsleeve when the throng of bodies got too much. They made their way upstairs, where there were less people and the music wasn't as loud. He walked down the hallway, trying to find a bedroom where there weren't moans and the sounds of headboards banging against walls. Finally, he found an unoccupied bedroom, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind Ian. Flopping down on the bed, cradling the bottle of Jack Daniels he had taken along with him.

"I think it's cool, you know..." he commented. "That you think people should be able to love who they love without...without being afraid they'll get hurt or something...my parents don't understand that..." He was beginning to slur his words, his mind feeling all mushy.
 
"Nice to meet you Marcus. I'm Ian, but you already know that." Ian's cup was running low so he tried to pour more, but Marcus was leading him away from the table so he gave up and put his half refilled cup in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. He thought about putting the bottle of rum, which was newly opened, back, but thought better of it and instead took it with him. The sounds of the music grew quieter when they went upstairs, though not by much. Just enough to be able to carry on a conversation at a normal decibel level.

Ian followed Marcus into the bedroom and stood awkwardly in the middle as Marcus locked the door and then made himself at home on the bed. He took the red cup from between his teeth, clenching and unclenching his jaw to loosen it up, since it had stiffened up carrying the cup around the house. It was not even halfway full, so he finished it off and placed it on the dresser by the door, opting now to drink straight from the bottle of rum.

"Well," he said, twisting the cap off of the large bottle and taking a long swig, "it's not really the fear of getting hurt that I think people should have to do without. Pain is inevitable, and sometimes in relationships you get hurt. It's just a fact. Does that mean I like it? No. But unless I cut myself off from emotions altogether it's inevitable. I just think you need to take the good with the bad, and let the bad remind you just how great the good can be."

Ian drank more, still standing there awkwardly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, not really sure what to do with himself. "I dunno if that makes any sense. But enough about what I think. What did you mean about your parents?"
 
Marcus shrugged and rolled his eyes. "They don't like people like me, and all my life I've heard about how awful gay people are, how they're ruining the world...shit like that... If I tell them I'm gay, there's no telling why they'll do. And I'd love to have a boyfriend, but there's no cute gay guys in this town...and I don't want my parents to hate whoever I choose to give my heart to." He sat up some, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hands.

After he swallowed it, he added, "You're cute as hell, too...but lemme guess...you're straight, too...with my shit luck, I can see that happening..." He sighed, his blue eyes downcast for a moment. Looking back up at Ian, he smiled for a moment before drinking again, stifling back a yawn.
 
Ian didn't say anything as Marcus talked about his parents, just made empathetic noises if Marcus said something particularly true, and examined the rum he was holding. He wondered idly how much he could drink before either getting sick or passing out. The same for Marcus, too; the other boy had put a serious dent in the vodka, and he was already trashed before they entered the room. "I'm sorry dude. That really sucks. I'm sure you'll find someone sooner than you think, if you keep an open mind." Ian hadn't been talking about himself, at least he didn't think he was, but as soon as he said the words he knew how it would sound.

He mentally cursed himself. Too late now, he thought ruefully. "Me? Oh, um... thanks I guess. I'm no model, but I guess I'm... decent, I guess. I keep saying I guess. I should stop that. Now I'm rambling, sorry. I do that sometimes." Ian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was one of those rare people that were utterly unaware of just how good looking they were. He smiled awkwardly. "I'm not really good at conversation." He took a swig of rum to shut himself up.

"Am I straight? Now that is a good question," he said thoughtfully. "I don't have an answer though. I dunno, I guess I just like who I like, whomever that happens to be. I've never really thought of people in that nature before. It sounds weird, I know. 'Everyone has thought about this at least once in their life,' you must be thinking. But I haven't. I'm just not really interested in people. Well, at least not until recently. I did meet this one guy, but I don't really know what to do about it. I'm not good at these kinds of things." he took a drink and walked a little closer to the bed, closer to Marcus. "He's cute, and funny, but not in a conventional way, which is nice. I think he's interested in me, but I'm not sure. What do you think?"

dis be him, minus, ya know, the plugs and septum. but you get the idea
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Marcus was beginning to feel a little woozy as he listened to Ian, feeling like he was about to pass out. Giving Ian a disbelieving look as he said that he was 'decent', Marcus began giggling to himself as the other said the phrase, "I guess," several times, the sound light and playful. Nearly falling asleep as Ian told him that he never really felt anything for anyone, he felt a tiny bit jealous as he talked about a guy he met that he likes. Looking up at Ian, he shrugged and mumbled drunkenly, "I say, tell him. If he's into dudes, then he probably already likes you...you're cute as hell," he repeated, not remembering that he had already said that.

He closed his eyes, already halfway asleep. Stifling back a yawn, he added, "You're pretty...y'know that?" He grinned slightly, a slightly red color creeping up his cheeks. He reached up, brushing back his dark hair clumsily. He yawned again, thinking in his drunken state that he really wouldn't mind having Ian as a boyfriend. He was cute, and Marcus thought that if he could get to know him better when he wasn't drunk, he might even be boyfriend material.

After a second, he mustered the strength to open his eyes again, revealing his pale blue eyes, though they were clouded by alcohol and unfocused. "Do I know this 'other man'?" he asked, looking over at Ian. "Is he my competition?"He smiled slightly, taking another drink from his bottle.
 
It was clear to Ian that Marcus was beyond fucked up, to the point of passing out. Ian himself wasn't far behind. He'd finished more that three quarters of the bottle of rum, and he felt like he was floating above his body on a cloud. "I would tell him, but he's not in the best place right now. I know he finds me attractive, but I hope he doesn't like me just for that. Looks aren't everything."

Ian grinned. "I suppose that's hypocritical though, because I find him quite attractive too. He has very dark hair, and I can't help but wonder if it's as soft as if looks. And his eyes, they're this pale gray blue that I've never seen on a person before. His choice in clothes is questionable, but I like it. It's different." Ian took another step closer to the bed. "He's different."

"Yes, I believe you do know him. Quite well, I might add." The rum bottle had only a few drinks left in it, and Ian was starting to feel tired. Marcus clearly had no idea that he was the guy Ian was talking about, and Ian did that've the energy to play games. But despite the courage boost the booze gave him, he was still too shy to outright say that it was Marcus whom he liked. "It's really not much of a competition. I've only got my eyes on this person, tartan pants and all." He sighed, frustrated that he couldn't just come out and say what he felt. Though the comment about the pants should have made it pretty obvious whom he meant. "And I thought I was bad at this," he muttered to himself. Albeit, they were both plastered, but still. Ian finished his bottle and tossed it in the garbage can,where it landed with a clank.
 
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As Ian told him about the guy he liked and how he wasn't in the best place at the moment, Marcus said, "Well...you should tell him when he's better..." While Ian described the guy, he mumbled, "Shit, he sounds hot..." A second later, he had finished the bottle of Jack Daniels, and set it on the floor beside the bed.

However, as he heard Ian mention tartan pants, he mumbled, "Shit, I've got tartan pants on...he's stealing my look!" Then, a second later, his drunk mind put together the pieces, and he said, "Oh, shit! I'm the guy you like...right?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise, slowly sitting up on the bed and watching Ian as he threw away his own bottle. He stood, walking to him. By the time he had turned, Marcus was placing a sloppy, drunken kiss on his lips, his hands clumsy as he moved them against Ian's, trying to hold his and tasting the alcohol on his lips.

"Mmm," Marcus hummed as they pulled away. "Your lips taste good...I like them..."
 
Ian laughed shortly. "Well, considering the state he's in now, tomorrow he probably will be in a terrible mood. He may not even remember the last time we talked." He tugged at the neck of his shirt nervously. "Besides, I don't know when I'll see him again. I don't have his number." He smiled. "Oh yes, he's hot. Very hot. I never thought he'd be my type, but I guess you never know who you'll be attracted to."

"Would you look at that. I guess you do." Ian wished he still had a bottle of liquor to hide behind. He wondered if he should tell Marcus. Should he just come out and say it? Thankfully, he was saved the trouble when Marcus finally made the connection and sat up, more alert than he had been before. He heard a rustle coming from the direction of the bed as he tossed the bottle aside, and when he looked back Marcus was standing in front of him, and then he was being kissed.

Ian kissed Marcus back, wishing in that moment that he'd had more experience so he'd know what to do with himself. He'd only kissed a few people, and they had all been in games of truth or dare or seven minutes in heaven when he was 13. "Thanks," he said shyly. "Yours are... Yours are really nice, I guess. I really don't have a lot of experience, of any kind."
 
Marcus grinned. "Thanks," he said, walking back to the bed. "You wanna lie down with me? Not sex, just...cuddling..." He lied down, still grinning like a fool. While he waited for Ian to answer, he passed out, his head falling to the side as his eyes shut.

When morning came, all too soon, he squinted against the sudden brightness, burrowing underneath the covers. He had a blinding headache and was unbelievably hungover, his head feeling like it was splitting in half. Whimpering quietly, he wished the sun would go away as he put the pillow over his head.

He had vague memories from the night before. He remembered the kiss, but he couldn't put a face to the guy on the other side of it. After making sure that his pants were still on, he concluded that he hasn't had sex, but he was certain that something more than kissing had happened. After a second, he forced himself to sit up, groaning as his headache flared up, and glanced at the other side of the bed, hoping to see who it was that had kissed him.
 
Ian was flustered by the question, and his nerves made his cheeks burn. To Marcus, they must have been flaming scarlet red. "I, um, I don't... I guess I could, I mean we could, yeah. Why not." He smiled and climbed onto the bed, but when he lay down next him, Ian found that Marcus had already fallen asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, flipping onto his stomach. Ian was more tired than he'd thought, and soon he too was asleep.

He slept in the deep black sleep of a drunk person all through the night. In the morning, when someone on the bed next to him shifted their body, he didn't notice, just turned his head in the direction of the person in his sleep. To anyone looking, he may have looked dead had it not been for the rising and falling of his back.
 
Upon seeing Ian, he smiled softly to himself, despite his hangover. Ian definitely wasn't his type, but he was cute. Marcus tended to date older guys, who could buy him alcohol and get him into college parties and clubs. But Ian...

He forced himself out of bed, staggering around like a sleepy bear until he found a piece of paper and a pen. On it, he wrote his name and his phone number, leaving it on top of Ian's sleeping form. Walking downstairs, he found some of his friends smoking joints on Matthew's back porch, and joined them. The weed fought back his hangover some, but he still had a blinding headache, and quickly retreated back inside, deciding that he better make his way home soon before his parents began wondering where he was.
 
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