Coliseum
Chapter Three

Caleb and I enter the party to little fanfare. That is, the only person who notices us walk in is Hannah Jamieson, whom I wish hadn't noticed. She swoops in immediately though, despite my hopes.

"Hey, Caleb, hey, Seb!" she greets us cheerfully. In the next instant she's clinging onto my arm, pulling me farther inside the crowded house.

I sigh wearily, pushing my hair out of my face. "Hi, Hannah," I say, glancing back at Caleb just in time to see him openly guffawing. Or laughing. One of the two. I glare at him in my nastiest fashion.

I can't actually blame him for laughing, as I would probably laugh at anybody else in this situation. See, Hannah is convinced that she and I should be together. As in, date. Although she would settle for sharing a bed in a sexual manner - she's propositioned me before, so this is not an exaggeration. Oh, and this is all despite the fact that I have made it clear that I'm not interested. I live with my boyfriend! How much more clear can I be?

I remember that fateful conversation one day last winter, at an after-finals party . . . Hannah, coming up to me, flirting with some kind of "We're done finals so we should sleep together!" garbage. Because, you know, the rest of the term, when I politely turned down her much more slight flirtations, saying I was in a relationship, I was just waiting to be done with the academic stress for the term. Obviously. This time, though, last winter, I had responded with a smile, and told her how troublesome that could be, being that it would be pretty hard to sneak around my boyfriend. My boyfriend, the one who also happens to be my roommate. Yeah. That one.

At first, when Hannah's eyes had widened and she'd disbelievingly asked me if I was gay, I thought that I had finally gotten through to her. But when I replied that technically, I was more bi, I thought, well, that had been a mistake on my part. Because with the slight bit of opportunity still there, Hannah now pursued me with a ruthless sort of energy. Such as waiting at the door for my arrival and grabbing my arm, for example. Caleb, of course, found this hilarious. As did Paris, once he realized that Hannah was too stalker-esque to be a serious threat to him.

"Your stalker called," was the casual greeting that would often be the first thing I heard when I walked into our apartment. "Wants to go out drinking. You know, seduce you when you're drunk. I should probably lie and say that you can't get it up when you're plastered, hey?"

Paris alternated between letting the machine pick up so that he couldn't be accused of not making an excuse for me, and picking up the phone, only the breezily inform Hannah that we were "in the middle of fucking," and could she call back later, please? Needless to say, it isn't so amusing to me, now that here we are, a year later, and I'm still getting those damn phone calls.

"Hey, Hannah, someone was trying to get your attention over there. By the entrance to that room with the big screen in it? Yeah, I definitely saw someone waving in your direction, trying to make you look. You should go check it out," Caleb says casually as Hannah leads us to what is undoubtedly a more private area of the house, a bedroom if she could wrangle it.

Hannah regards him with a slight suspicion, but, as I expected, soon smiles, and perkily chirps, "Okay! I'll be right back!"

"Can't wait!" Caleb calls out over his shoulder in a sing-song voice. He then turns to me, his face serious, and grabs my arm with far more force than Hannah, pulling me in the opposite direction of where we were heading.

"You know, Hannah had a much more gentle grasp on my arm," I tell him.

"Fine, I'll let her drag you around then. If you'd prefer it," Caleb replies, not even looking in my direction.

"On second thought?" I begin. "I'm fine with this."

Caleb nods. "That's what I thought."

We make our way downstairs, where there's a crowd of people, not one of them a peppy blonde stalker, and Caleb stops near some couches. Of course they're all occupied, but it's not as if I was expecting anything else. A tall, model-esque blonde girl standing next to me glances in my direction for a second, turning back to lean closer to a dark-haired guy that I recognize as Jess' cousin. And Jess' cousin, as luck may have it, is talking to one Connor Sullivan, who happens to be friends with Paris. Whom, incidentally, I haven't seen yet.

"Hey, Connor," I say, sidling up next to him. Connor glances at me, his brown eyes not blood-shot yet, which is a surprise. Connor is not known for being shy with drugs, let''s put it that way.

He nods at me. "Hey," he says in a grunt. "'Sup?"

I shrug. "Seen Paris around anywhere?"

"Nope. Not Dylan or Ryan either," he adds, naming the other two guys that Paris has become good friends with during our college experience. "Where are those fuckers?" And that sentence pretty much accurately sums up exactly why Connor and Paris are friends.

I shrug again. "Don't know. Probably outside, or by the kitchen door or something. Somewhere that, you know, they can light up."

A light enters Connor's eyes. "Oh," he says. "Yeah, that'd do it. I'm going to go find them. If I do, I'll tell Paris . . . ?" His voice trails off, a question in it.

"That I'm in the basement," I finish for him firmly. "Thanks."

"Yeah. See ya." And with that, Connor lumbers up the stairs and out of view.

"Well, he's a real conversationalist," Caleb observes, watching Connor's retreating back like I am doing. "Really adds to the conversation around him."

The blonde snorts, and Caleb looks at her appreciatively, his eyes taking her in from top to bottom. Jess' cousin doesn't seem too perturbed, but puts his hand on the blonde's arm gently.

"We should get going," he says to her. "I told Owen he could have the truck for his date tonight."

The blonde grins, a knock-out, and nods, and within seconds, they too have disappeared. Caleb watches her go with interest.

"Now, remember all the girls that I've talked about being hot before?" Caleb says to me, eyes still watching the blonde girl's back as she climbs the stairs, her hair swishing between her shoulder blades.

I snort, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "All of them? You talk about a different girl pretty much every day."

Caleb isn't bothered by this fact in the slightest. "Yeah, well, she makes them all fade into nothing. Now she is hot."

"She is also with a guy that looks like he could kick your ass. And also? Leaving. Oh, and that guy is the cousin of a friend of mine, I think. He looked like it anyway," I tell Caleb.

He shrugs. "There's ways around all of those matters. Unless, of course, that is the guy you're thinking of, because I can't find a credible way to deny bloodlines, if it's true. I can only hope your friend doesn't care too much for his cousin."

I laugh. "Give it up, Caleb. Move on to a girl more in your league. A girl like, say, Hannah. She's crazy enough to go for you."

Caleb guffaws. "Hannah's pretty hot," he begins.

I cut him off. "I do remember you going on about how hot she is, back in the day."

He ignores this. "As I was saying, she is pretty hot. And she's not bad, personality-wise, if you can ignore how she's bat-shit crazy about you. And while she has not displayed that craziness in any other manner, you kinda have to wonder. Once a crazy, always a crazy, am I right?"

"Don't you have a Psych class with her?" I ask him. Hannah is, as odd as it seems, a Psychology major. I don't get it either, how a girl supposedly studying Psychology could be so . . . crazy.

Caleb waves this off. "Yes, and I sit with her, and have some good conversations, but that is not the point. The point is, I know how crazy she can be. In Psych, she is my buddy. Outside of Psych, yeah, she's still kinda my buddy. Around you? Oh, God, bat-shit insane. And speak of the insane!" he says, staring at the stairs.

As if on cue, Hannah is entering the basement. She smiles when she sees Caleb and I looking at her, and starts to make her way over to us. Lovely.

"That's where you two got to!" Hannah exclaims as soon as she reaches us. "And you!" she says, turning to Caleb. "I never did find out who you saw."

Caleb shrugs. "Some brown-haired girl," he says, winking at me while Hannah glances around the room. "Maybe you just missed her."

"Or maybe you misinterpreted who she was looking at," Hannah counters him.

Caleb smiles easily. "There's that too," he agrees. "So, if you didn't find the girl, don't you think the least you could do is find us beer?"

Hannah gestures to the other side of the basement. "They have a bar over there. Help yourself."

Caleb grunts. "I bet you expect me to get you a beer too, princess."

She grins. "But of course. I'll keep Seb company until then," she says, stepping next to me, and taking my arm.

Caleb glances at me only to see me madly mouthing "No." He grins broadly.

"That sounds swell, doesn't it, Seb? Well, I'll just leave you two, and be back in a flash! Ta-ta!" Caleb says with a cheery wave before sauntering off. I hate him right now. I am unsurprised at his antics, true, but that doesn't mean I don't hate him. Because I do.

"So, what's new with you, Seb? How did finals go?" Hannah asks me, turning to face me and letting go of my arm in the process, a fact that I'm extremely grateful for. Finals were a month ago, in December, but this is the first time I've happened to run into Hannah for more than approximately two minutes so it's entirely appropriate for this oft-asked question to come up now.

I shrug in reply. "Fine. I managed to take a whack at the unexpected questions, and, naturally, answered the ones that were expected. So all in all, everything went fine. You?"

She shrugs. "There were some unpleasant questions, and one altogether unpleasant exam, but I pulled through, so no complaints, I guess. How was your Christmas? Did you just stay in the city?"

I shake my head, wishing desperately I had a beer to sip from. "Nah, not the whole time, no. I went to my mom's place. My little half-sister, she just had her first birthday in the middle of December," I offer, not sure why, exactly, I am offering Hannah Jamieson a glimpse into my personal life.

"You have a little sister? Aw, that's so cute!" Hannah says happily, undoubtedly imagining me in a caring older brother role. "What's her name?"

"Samantha," I say.

"Sebastian and Samantha," she muses. "Those names almost kind of match. I wonder if that's intentional?" In this, Hannah almost sounds normal. I've heard the same kind of thoughts from other people, at least.

I shrug. "I don't think so. My dad picked Sebastian, being that it's French, but my mom liked the Anglicized spelling better so I got the 'a' at the end there. Still, my dad's picking, as opposed to my mom and step-dad picking Samantha's name. I don't really connect too much with my mom and step-dad, you know, living out of town and all, so I doubt any thought was put into the sound of the kids' names."

Hannah smiles ruefully. "I wish the same could be said for me. That it's a happy coincidence."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah. I have two older brothers. Harley and Hunter. Nice, hey?"

I nod. "Oh, yeah. Totally my cup of tea."

She smirks. "I can just tell."

It is then that Caleb returns with a beer in each hand, and a wide grin on his face. "Look what I found!" he exclaims.

"Beer?" Hannah says, reaching out to take one of the offered beverages.

"Obviously," Caleb snorts. "But also Dom! Now, isn't that better than beer?"

Dominic West steps out from behind Caleb, silently pressing a beer into my hand. He opens his own drink without saying a word, and drinks it, dark eyes critically surveying the room.

"No," Hannah says shortly in reply to Caleb's question, eyeing the silent Dominic with distaste. While she and Caleb may get along, and she certainly likes me, albeit in a different way, Dominic has never been one of Hannah's favorite people, and vice versa.

"I like beer. And mingling. I'm going to go mingle," Hannah declares. She shoots me a glance but I pull a Dominic, silently taking a drink while I avert my eyes. Hannah soon disappears, and I turn to Dominic.

"What's up, man?" I ask him.

He shrugs, pausing with the rim of his beer bottle nearly touching his lips. "Not much," he says in his low, bored voice. "I'm not in much of a partying mood."

Caleb roles his eyes. "You're never in a partying mood. Live a little!"

Dominic stares at him, his expression unreadable. Caleb, however, is unfazed by Dominic's scrutiny, and surveys the room with a grin, head bobbing slightly with the music. He gestures to a girl to dance, and she nods, laughing at his wide grin. Caleb is very approachable, and also? Very happy to approach. He disappears into the crowd a minute later, but I'm sure he'll find his way back to us. So I'm left with Dominic.

Caleb is right. Dominic is never happy to be a part of the party scene; he never truly comes alive here. Dominic West is a genius, and Caleb says that partying doesn't work Dominic's brain enough for it to be worth his time. So, Dom gets bored. And if he gets really bored, he tends to display destructive behavior, such as a good deal of drinking and a great deal of sex. And with his looks, Dominic West can get away with a great deal of sex.

Dom looks kind of like a brooding artist, which is good, because he broods, and he draws. So, there's that. He's got dark hair, black, but without the sheen of a true jet-black head of hair. Instead his hair looks more like a matte, if one was to compare it to photographic prints or something. A matte instead of a glossy. He has dark eyes as well, a kind of brown-grey color, charcoal maybe. His face is all angles, from the deep caverns that his eyes are set in, under dark brows, to his full mouth, to the jutting cheek bones. A face that gets noticed. He's got a nice solid build, some defined muscles and all that, so yes, Dominic can get away with promiscuous sex.

I put my hand on Dominic's shoulder. "We'll leave in a bit," I tell him, like I always do. Every weekend, Dominic comes out with Caleb and I, regardless of what he says after every party, that he's done with it.

Dominic only sighs. "Yeah," he says, his eyes sweeping the room like usual. He snaps back to me a second later, his full attention on me. "Hey, how's Caleb getting home?" he asks me, his tone brisk and business-like.

I shrug. "I'm probably driving him, I guess. I mean, I drove him here."

Dom's eyes float down to the beer in my hand, and my eyes follow his. "Oh," I say. "This is my first one. It's cool."

Dominic nods. "Can I get a ride too?" he asks.

"Of course."

"Perfect," he breathes. "Caleb'll want to be here for a while, hey?"

"Probably. Why?"

A slow smile comes over Dominic's face. "It's too early for the festivities to really begin, but I need to start working to ensure that my festivities go as planned. We'll need to be here for a few hours before I'll be able to excuse myself."

I groan. "Dom," I begin.

He stares at me, straight at me, which used to unnerve me, seeing these dark eyes just drill holes right into you. "Don't," he says.

A sigh escapes me now. "God, Dominic."

"This is my life, Sebastian," he says. This conversation, or at least, ones like it, isn't new. "I am fully aware of just how much sin I am living in."

Again, I sigh. "See, it's not the sin I have the problem with."

"It's the quantity of sin," Dom finishes for me, his voice flat. "That's my problem."

I just shake my head, looking down. When I look up again, I'm sure that a rueful smile is on my face. "Okay. Get out of here, you harlot."

He stands still. "And the ride?"

"We'll find each other. You'll get your ride."

He reaches up and squeezes my shoulder. Dominic isn't much for affection, but he gives little signs of thanks, like that, to Caleb and myself. "I'll see you," he promises, not one to say thanks. He was never asking for my permission to pursue whichever young woman has caught his eye tonight. He was simply telling me of his intentions.

I nod. "Yep. You will," I confirm.

I watch him head off, parting the crowd as he goes. Even from behind him I know that his serious expression is being replaced with the lightest of smiles. Dom always looks so hard and serious that even the smallest smile lightens his face a great deal. I can still see him when he reaches the girl. This time, she has coppery hair. Long, layered. Ivory-colored arms. And then, a second later, the crowd fills in again, and Dom and the girl are gone.

He'll be around her all night now, moving her to the couch with a hand on the small of her back, massaging the back of her neck while she sits. But he won't kiss her until they just happen to be beside an empty bedroom. He'll pull her into the dark room, and then, then he'll kiss her. The girl may be different each time, but the routine stays the same. He doesn't need such a intricate routine, of course. I think he just likes the game, as twisted as that sounds. I never know what happens of the girls he beds. Not one of them has ever made a reappearance that I know of. Which is quite the feat, really. I'm not so sure he's proud of it.

With Caleb working up a storm on the dance floor with a girl he most certainly won't bed, and Dominic working up a storm off the dance floor with the girl he's only with to bed, that leaves me, standing here by myself. Ah, but committed to waiting around for both Dominic and Caleb. That doesn't mean that I, too, can't get any action while I wait.

I head upstairs, following my own advice to Connor when I told him to try the kitchen door. It's too cold to really venture outside, so for anyone who wants to smoke any kind of substance without pissing somebody off, there's always the kitchen door to let the breeze in. There's people milling all around the kitchen, of course, a group around the door like I suspected. Through the window beside the door I can make out people standing just outside the door as well. The familiar mop-topped head puffing smoke is outside the door, mouth opening to laugh as soon as all the smoke has cleared from that same mouth. Paris.

"Hey," I say, sticking my head out, and letting my fingers find his elbow. "Come talk to me."

Paris passes his cigarette to Ryan Abbott without question, leaving Ryan standing with Connor and Dylan Kercher. He squeezes in the door behind me, and follows me to a more quiet hallway, tucked away in the back of the house where people aren't so congested.

"Something up?" he asks me, his voice carrying his smoky breath to me.

I wrinkle my nose. "Yeah, we really need to get you some Nicotine."

He laughs a bit, but I don't fail to notice him rolling his eyes. "You? Were a chimney in high school. A fucking chimney, I might add. It's my turn, is it not? Is it not?" he repeats.

"I didn't smoke cigarettes."

"And that makes it better. In crazyland."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Whatever. I actually came to find you because I haven't seen you all night."

"Oh, yeah. That. Well, I found somebody to take home."

"Not with that breath you didn't."

Paris raises his eyebrows nearly to his hairline. "I have the slightest inkling that you're assuming I'm referring to you. Oh, Seba. What a nasty awakening you're in for."

"I'd be a lot more scared if you didn't pull this every time I tell you that you have to brush your teeth before I'll kiss you. As of right now, yes, I'm assuming that you're talking about me."

"You shouldn't assume, it makes an ass out of 'u' and 'me,'" Paris says prissily.

I pull him to me, and his arms find their way around my waist. "Shut up," I mutter.

He nudges me with his bony elbow. "No, you shut up. Shut the fuck up."

"Aren't you witty?"

"Aren't you not shutting up?"

I sigh, leaning into him and closing my eyes. We stand like that for a moment until we're broken apart by someone's voice down the hall.

"Check out the Brokeback, dude!" some guy yells from halfway down the hall.

"For fuck's sake! Get a room!" his friend adds helpfully.

Paris gives them the finger, eloquent as always. "Fuckers," he mutters as the guys head in the opposite direction. "So," he says, his voice more cheerful now. "Thought you were coming with Moseley," he says, referring to Caleb by his last name.

"I did. He's dancing."

"Of course he is. Little fucker," Paris says, smiling. Caleb long ago managed to endear himself even to Paris, so much so that Paris often affectionately calls Caleb a "little fucker," Paris' favorite choice of expressing affection. It's quite cute, really.

"Dancing with a girl," I add.

"Well, that's new," Paris adds. "Not by himself? I'll have to congratulate him. Aw, he's growing up so fast, Seba!"

I grin. "Yep. We're going to have to start buying him condoms soon."

"I don't want to be the one to show him how to use them," Paris declares. "And I'll stand by that until you're able to tell me if he's packing. Down there," he clarifies because it really needs clarification, obviously.

"So, never," I reply.

Ever since Paris discovered that yes, Caleb is a virgin, he had not been able to shut up about it. It's not as if Caleb is completely innocent. In fact, he's not at all. The matter of losing his virginity isn't a pressing issue to him, as he's able to find, erm, other ways to amuse himself, to put it diplomatically. Being raised Catholic, Caleb is a bit more romantic about holding onto his virginity than either Paris or Dominic was. Everything except actual sex though is fair game. As I said, not exactly innocent.

"You really should find out for me."

"Okay, one, can you find out the same information about your friends? And two, why do you need to know? And three, no. Just no," I tell him.

"Number three wasn't a question," Paris points out.

"I realize that. It is true though, which is what I was going for."

"Still not a question."

"Yep."

"So your first two points are void."

"If that's what you want."

Paris glares at me, and then sighs huffily. "Okay, fine, you broke me down, you fucker. I could find out the same information about my friends, and I would for you, because I love you," he says, drawing out the word in a mocking tone. "And two, I don't need to know. It would just make me happy to know. Also, horny."

"You're my boyfriend," I point out.

"So?" he says, glaring haughtily, typical Paris.

"So I'd think you'd, you know, have enough information about, you know, me regarding the down-there area."

"Why, Seba, if I didn't know better, I'd think you're embarrassed to be discussing your down-there area with me! That's cute. Really precious. Really. Fucking precious."

"Shut up," I tell him.

"No, I don't think I will. But hey! A new thought, on the same subject, has entered my mind. You know how you said that I had enough information regarding your area?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think I need more. More information! What do you think?" Paris asks devilishly.

I sigh. "I think that yes, more information would not hurt you. But I also know that I have to wait for Caleb and Dominic, to give them rides."

"Fuckers," Paris swears. He looks up at me. "Well, that's no fun."

"Not really, not now, no," I agree.

"I bet fucking Dominic is finding out plenty of information about areas," he says bitterly. Paris knows exactly how Dominic is. Not that that means he particularly likes Dominic, because he doesn't. Dominic is too silent for him, he says. Too mysterious.

"Not yet he's not. It's not late enough yet," I say, correcting him.

"Wait. So he hasn't even gotten going yet? And we have to fucking wait for him? Well, fuck that, tell him to get his own ride."

"I can't, Paris. I knew full well what I was getting into when I agreed to give him a ride, and besides, he's my friend. I've agreed to give him a ride now. I can't very well back out." Also, I would have to go and interrupt him and his lady-friend in order to back out, and I don't much relish that idea, for obvious reasons.

"Oh, you could, and you know it but you're too goddamn polite to do it," Paris snaps. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, fine, you know what we're going to do?"

"What?"

"We are going to go back to our apartment, and I am going to brush my teeth, and we're going to fuck each other almost senseless, leaving you with just enough sense to come back here and drive your fucking friends home. I'm fucking horny now, and that's what we're going to do."

I don't quite suppress my grin. "Wow. No point arguing with that, hey?"

Paris glares at me. "No, no point. Now, let's go. Get your ass in the car, Seba!" he yells when I don't instantly walk briskly down the hallway.

I follow him out of the house, and lead him to where I've parked my car. His hand rubs circles on my thigh during the drive to our apartment. He starts near my knee, but by the time we're five minutes away from the party, he has move upward, nearly hitting my hip.

"Not while I'm driving," I murmur, making a left turn. There's a devilish glint in his eyes when I glance at him.

"No?" he says.

"No," I say firmly. "I'll be more than happy for that once we reach our destination. But I'd like to reach said destination without crashing, and you know damn well that you are capable of distracting me if your hand moves any more."

"Like, around your area?" he says, moving his index finger right there.

I sigh. "That would be it. Paris, please, five minutes, that's all I'm asking. I'll speed, but let us get home safely, and you'll have full run of me, okay?"

"Now that's a deal I can honor! Fuck yeah, Seba, best idea you've had in a while." He sits there grinning like an idiot, silent the whole way home.

Once I unlock the door of our apartment, I don't even have time to flick any light switches before Paris is up against me, pressing me across the threshold of our entranceway, his lips hard on mine. Guess he was lying about brushing his teeth first.

He closes the door with one hand, his lips still on mine, expertly guiding me until he slams me into a wall, and presses even closer to me, feeling all my curves and crevices. It's against the wall that he tugs at my sweater and the shirt underneath it until I raise my arms, allowing him to rid me of the garments. After that, though, after leaving what are undoubtedly angry red hickeys across my chest and down my stomach, Paris maneuvers me into one of the bedrooms, mine, and pushes me down onto the bed, his body on top of mine.

It doesn't take him long to discard my remaining clothing, and then move on to discarding his own clothes. Until we are both naked. Then, after a few tantalizing moments where he simply looks at me, he begins an in-depth exploration of, yes, my area.

We lie there for a while afterwards, his arm across my chest, chin pressed into my shoulder so I can feel his breath coming out in puffs. The phone rings, and I glance at it on my bedside table, its screen lit up a bright orange. Paris, on the other hand, doesn't move.

"Paris?" I venture.

"Hmm?" he says from somewhere inside my collarbone.

"I need to, you know, get the phone," I say, moving my arm the little bit that I can in a gesture towards the phone.

"Is it important?" he asks, his tone obviously saying that no, it isn't important.

I squint at the name on the caller ID. MURPHY BRIAN, it proclaims. Oh, my God.

"Yeah," I say quietly, as the phone stops ringing. "It was."

"Couldn't have been that important if you didn't even answer it," Paris says in an off-hand tone, dismissing itas our voice mail message plays, my voice coming out clear across the room.

"You've reached Seb and Paris. Or you will have reached us, once we get back to you. So leave your name, number, and whatever else you feel like saying, and we'll do our best. Beep."

There's a moment of silence before a voice comes through, sounding tinny and nervous. "Hi, Sebastian? Call me when you can, okay? Um, I'll try again, another time, because it's pretty important. It's the same number as, you know, before. Oh, um, this is, um, it's Braelyn. Beep."

We sit there, silent, probably stoic. Braelyn. Braelyn Murphy. Oh, my God.

It takes Paris a minute to speak again, and when he does, there's nothing off-hand about his tone of voice. "Well, fuck," he says.

--

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