So, it's three am in the morning, I'm wide awake and watching Queer As Folk on the television, and I'm afraid that if I turn on the fan above me so I'm not so damn warm, I'll start getting my allergies again like I used to. Oh—oh, there goes Randy Harrison again, moving out of Gale Harold's apartment…penthouse…thing. Anyways. So here's a little fluff for you, sent from me and my insomnianity. Hey, it rhymes! (And it's not a word. Oh well)

Such a strange fic…not sure of the format I wrote it in. Enjoy it, hate it, please leave a review? Kthx…it's just weird XD

1. Cooking

2. Sex

3. Crossdress

4. Gay Bars

5. Prom

This was the last time that I was going to let Trevor cook for me.

"Trevor, your cooking skills are unbelievably horrible," I said, looking up from the lasagna he had made me and attempting myself from not puking. From behind the kitchen stove, he pouted.

"But this is the only way we'll be able to be a normal gay couple, Jess!" he said, using his little nickname for me that I didn't allow anyone else to use except for him. "The one on the bottom is supposed to cook for the more dominant one, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm afraid that your cooking just might kill me," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Besides, we don't have to be like a normal gay couple, do we, Trev?"

"Of course we do! I even researched on them!" Trevor's cute little innocent face poked itself at me from behind the kitchen counter, as I observed the piece of lasagna from the end of my fork.

"Trevor, it doesn't matter what kind of gay couple we are, okay?" I said, taking a hold of his chin as I set my silverware down and lightly pecking him on the lips. "As long as it's you and me, honey."

"Ew, don't call me that!" Trevor made a face and went back behind the stove, waving a hand at me. "You know how much I hate pet names. Anyways, well, can't we try to be as clichéd as possible? I find it kind of fun!"

"You're not the one eating the food of death," I muttered to myself, but not loud enough for Trevor to hear. And then, louder, "How about this? I cook for you and dominate you, and then we can take the clichés from there, okay?"

"Fine." Trevor crossed his arms and pouted some more, which was only so irresistibly adorable that I just had to pounce and kiss him again.

The next day, I woke up to hear a loud banging in my kitchen, and my mother saying, "Aw, isn't that cute, Trevor?"

I groaned and looked over to my bedside stand to my alarm clock. It was nine am in the morning, and it was in the middle of summer! Trevor knew that I didn't wake up until at least eleven in the morning on summer days.

I rolled out of bed, knowing that Trevor was going to burst into my room at any minute, with some other plan of his, and there would be no way for me to worm my way out of it. So instead, I changed out of my summer pajamas (which really just consisted of my boxers only, of course) into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, and then made my way downstairs, where I saw Trevor grinning at me mischievously.

"Hey Jesse," he said, greeting me with a light peck on my cheek. I looked at him oddly, but didn't hesitate to kiss him back.

"Hey Trev," I replied, moving out of his way to go to my pantry to get something to eat. "You want breakfast?"

"Nah, I already ate," he replied. Holding up a small pharmacy bag, I heard him say as I continued to shuffle through my pantry, "I was thinking of something for us to do today."

I stuck my head out of the pantry, alarmed, looked at the bag in his hand, the look on his face, and then the look on my own mother's face, who didn't seem to care much as long as we weren't doing anything illegal. And then I grabbed an energy bar from my pantry, and then took Trevor's hand dragging him upstairs.

"Come on," I said. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Once we had entered back into my bedroom, he perched on my bed inquisitively as I opened up my energy bar, threw the wrapper on the floor, and glared at Trevor. "How could you think of doing this?" I almost shouted.

"Doing what?" he asked innocently, looking up at me with wide round eyes.

"I know what's in that bag, and I want to know why!" I snatched the bag out of his hand, and pulled out its contents. Chuckling a bit to myself, I said, "Lubricant and condoms, Trevor? Really? And you bought this from CVS? And you're like, what, fifteen?"

"There's nothing wrong with buying lube and condoms," replied Trevor, though there was a faint red blush appearing on his cheeks.

"Yes there is!" I practically exploded. "Even though all the times we've had sex—"

"Once," said Trevor, and again, the blush would not leave his cheeks. Though apparently it proved to be contagious; I could feel the heat rising up my own cheeks. "Plus, isn't that what most gay couples are about? The sex, right? And I've heard that most gay guys value the physical relationship over the relationship itself. That's one of the perks of being gay, right?"

"Ugh!" I scowled at Trevor. "This again? You just want to be another stereotypical gay couple?"

"Well of course," Trevor muttered. "That's the only way I'll ever be normal."

"Trev, you'll never be normal," I said, rolling my eyes and taking a bite out of my energy bar. Then I walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently met my lips to his. "And that's one of the things I love the most about you."

"Okay, that's great and all, but go brush your teeth now. Please," laughed Trevor, wiping his mouth. I rolled my eyes, but then walked out of my bedroom to my bathroom.

Trevor was trying it again. But this time, instead of lube and condoms, he brought over a pink, two-hundred dollar prom dress.

A pink two-hundred dollar prom dress.

"I wanna crossdress," is how he approached with this tactic to me, walking into my room one day, and holding this dress. I only stared at him.

"No way in hell," was the way I really wanted to answer from the bottom of my heart—or, at least, from the bottom of my brain. From my hormones, though, I thought Trevor would look damn sexy wearing that pink dress. It really would show off his feminine curves. But instead of saying that, as well, I merely replied with a,

"Where did you get that?"

"My ex-girlfriend's friends, they lent me some of their dresses when I asked them for them," he responded, smirking. "What do you think?"

"I think, no," I replied, turning my head and returning to my work on my desk (which was a nice drawing of Trevor when he had been asleep on my bed a few nights before—did I mention I was an artist?). Though, the mental image of my boyfriend in a dress was slightly distracting. I shook my head, returning to my drawing.

"Aw, c'mon Jess." He pouted once again, waving the silk cloths at me. "I went out of my way to get this dress. Don't you want to see me in it?" Ah, yes. The power of seduction, especially from my boyfriend, was a powerful…power. Hopefully, though, not powerful enough to waver my thoughts.

"Of course. But not now." I sketched out his shoulder. "Work first, sex later."

"What are you talking about, sex later?" said Trevor, coming over nearer to me and sitting on my bed. "You're always saying, 'Sex later.' What kind of teenage boy are you?"

"A controlled one, at that," I replied smartly. "Anyways. One-time sex is enough for now, don't you think?"

"That was three months ago!" whined Trevor, his voice cracking only making me feel just the slightest bit more horny. "I want sex!"

"No you don't, you just wanna be a normal gay couple," I said, rolling my eyes and tracing my pencil over the paper. "Which, frankly, and quite honestly, I can't really care any less about. Besides, Trevor, as you're younger than me, you obviously have much more control over your hormones than I do, so I think you can at least last as long as I can."

"You're no fun," Trevor said, resting beside me and flopping himself down on my bed. "Why don't you wanna be a normal gay couple? We at least have that feminine-masculine thing going on, don't we?"

"I suppose." I continued to draw out Trevor. "Though, of course, I do have to admit that you act more like a guy than I do. You act much more dominant when we're not alone."

"That's because you're a sissy out in public," my boyfriend teased, sticking his tongue out at me. "But don't worry. I don't mind being on the bottom. Besides, you're older and bigger, so it only works. That's the only aspect of a gay couple we have going on, though."

"Well, what other aspects would you suggest?" I wondered, my focus not leaving my drawing one bit. I saw the pink cloth of the prom dress lay on my bed carelessly out of the corner of my eye.

"Hmmm." Trevor thought to himself, as I concentrated on my drawing, not letting his presence distract me.

When I was done, I had realized that I had just drawn what I had imagined to be Trevor sleeping in my bed wearing the prom dress.

Goddammit.

"So you think," I said, "that walking around the mall and holding hands, shopping for stuff, and then later seeing a movie is totally stereotypical for a gay couple?"

"Yes," Trevor replied. I sighed and unfolded my crossed arms.

"Why do you want to do this so much?" I asked him, rolling my eyes. "It's like being a couple is so important to you! We've been together for nearly two years, and all of a sudden you actually want to start acting like one? I thought we were fine with the little thing we had going on already."

"Yeah, but we've only been acting like this was mostly a friendship, not something special, something romantic." Trevor gave me a look. "Don't you think we should start acting about it much more publicly, rather than keeping most of it closeted and personal?"

"That's the most important part of our relationship," I pointed out, tugging at his hand. "It's the fact that it's closeted, personal and unique which is what makes us unique. I don't want us to end up like some…some…I dunno!" I waved my free arm around wildly. "If all the intimate stuff was kept to a low level, don't you think that makes it more secretive and personal between us?"

"But I want the world to know that we're together, Jess," Trevor protested. "Please? At least for me."

"Fine, we'll go out one night," I agreed, folding my arms once more. "But not the mall and the movie, okay? We can go with clichés, but that's a little too orthodox for me."

"All right." Trevor grinned mischievously, putting a finger to his chin, and thinking. "How about…a gay bar?"

"Oh god." I couldn't believe I was allowing myself to get dragged into this. "But fine. We'll need fake IDs." I was praying he was going to say that he didn't have access to that kind of thing, and we could just settle for making out in my bedroom.

The bad part? My question was answered, but only oppositely.

The gay bar was, in short, interesting, terrifying, and made me want to curl up into a ball and die. Of course, like any other gay guy, I did enjoy it…a bit. Only the images, of course. Well, it depends on your definition of "enjoy". If "enjoy", you mean sexually aroused, horny, yes. If by "enjoy", you mean that I'd want to go there again, that I had the time of my life…then no. It was terrifying.

The night lasted for about three hours, of dancing, drinking (water only for me; I didn't care if I seemed like a pussy to the others) and shameless flirting…with me, of course. I didn't do any flirting, except for with Trevor, and that was only when necessary. For example:

Picture this. Me and boyfriend innocently sitting at bar (though, I suppose "bar" and "innocent" shouldn't be used together in the same sentence) and drinking (him, it's a beer; they don't know he's underage because of his fake ID), when a very creepy guy who seems around the age of thirty walks by and starts hitting on said boyfriend. Trevor, despite being slightly drunk (even though it's only his second; I'm not quite sure how well he could handle alcohol), is scared. Much to my relief.

Guy starts shamelessly but harmlessly flirting with Trevor. So, of course, I figure it's no big deal. Trevor doesn't know this, of course. I allow him to make conversation with this creepy guy, as long as none of them try anything.

Then—BAM! Suddenly creepy flirting-guy asks Trevor to dance, offering his hand. Trevor glances at me, but of course, I nod my approval, not really seeing any harm in this guy. He would never go for a guy who seemed half his age—would he? I did know, of course, that Trevor wouldn't go for this guy. He wasn't that much of a slut.

So they start dancing. It seems all nice and innocent at first (though, I'm still a bit hesitant of using the word "innocent" when I'm at a gay bar), but then suddenly, I see—the creepy old man is kissing my boyfriend? What the hell? I march through the crowd of dancing gay men, wrench Trevor from the creepy man's grasp, and place my lips firmly on his, shoving my tongue in his mouth. He tastes of beer and a little bit of creepy-man-aroma, but nonetheless, his natural Trevor-cinnamon flavor is still there. I almost quite nearly fuck his brains out, as a result of my anger towards this relentless man, who had the nerve of kissing my boyfriend. I feel him sway against me when I am done, and turn around to scowl at the man. He seems scared, and runs away. I suppose I was much more intimidating than I though.

Then, of course, we dance for a bit, and then call it a night. All in a day's work.

To my displeasure, however, it was just was Trevor wanted. All in a gay's world.

After the little fiasco at the gay bar, a week later, Trevor came prancing into my room, seemingly joyful of whatever his latest plan was going to be.

"So," Trevor said, sitting on my bed and looking over at me as I continued to sketch him again (this time, it was him leaning against me while I was drawing). "I've already attempted to go through a lot of gay clichés, and there's still some that I haven't attempted but I know we probably can't go through naturally."

"Really?" I looked up at him in surprised, almost mockingly. "What gay clichés haven't you told me about yet?"

"Well, of course there's always that whole family-angsty stage, but both our parents are too comfortable for us to go through that," Trevor stated, looking up from a list he held in his hands. "There's also that whole friend-drama thing too, where we tell our friends and the rest of the school and it flips out, but frankly, no one in our school cared, and pretty much acted like they already knew. So we didn't exactly go through the normal stages of a gay boy's life."

"Obviously," I snorted, quickly erasing a stray line on his kneecap on my paper. "What else?"

"Well." Trevor scanned his paper. "So far we've tried the cooking thing which didn't work, obviously we already had the first-kiss-before-we-go-out thing, the gay bars, we haven't had sex in months, even though we should have it at least once a week, and the crossdressing thing obviously ended up in a no." He made a mark on his paper. "What we still have yet to go through, though possibilities of it are very slim considering the type of person you are, is making out-slash-giving blowjobs during school hours when we should be in a class, and the whole shoving-into-lockers-slash-wall-slash-door thing. I couldn't really think of anything else."

"And that's what's special about us, eh?" I pointed out. "That we're not following the normal gay couple stereotypes?"

"Yeah, but what's the harm in having sex every once in a while?" whined Trevor, pouting and leaning towards me. "Even if we don't follow most—much less, any, gay couple stereotypes, we are teenage boys, you know. Don't tell me that you don't jack off at least once a week, dude."

I blushed at this, because I knew it was the truth. But hey, I was male and pubescent. Why wouldn't I? Sex is like our fuel. Without it, how could we live?

Still, I didn't answer to this unasked question. Instead, I focused on my drawing, praying that the silence that followed after it would soon be filled up with some other subject. Trevor sighed from beside me, and then went back to his list, as I concentrated on getting my picture perfect. He then continued to read off the list of gay couple clichés.

"Let's see here…we have the whole feminine-masculine thing, coming out to family, friends, school, getting a boyfriend, flirting with other guys, fag hags…blah blah blah…" He read the list more carefully. "Jess, why can't we just follow at least one gay cliché?"

"There's dancing. You forgot about dancing and prom," I pointed out, tracing my pencil lines darker over Trevor's hair on my sketchpad. From what I could tell by his tone of voice, Trevor rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but that's not until next year and remains unimportant until then," he said, making a mark on his paper. "I'm not sure if you even want to go to junior prom, let alone with me."

"Of course I do!" I said quickly, giving him a look. "What, you think that I wouldn't want to go to prom with my own boyfriend?"

"Well, you don't really seem like the prom-y dance-y type," he pointed out, mirroring the look on my face.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I looked up from my drawing once again, to raise my eyebrows at him. He shrugged.

"I mean, I know we're a couple and all, and we're supposed to go to dances together, but I really don't expect us to actually do it, on account of you being…well you," he replied. "I was pretty damn surprised when you asked me out to winter formal last year. You just don't seem like the go-to-dances type, that's all."

"Well, even if I don't, there's no chance in hell I'm not taking you to prom," I stated.

"Are you asking me out to prom now?" he said, with a raised eyebrow of his own. "It's currently the middle of summer, and it doesn't follow any of the clichés!" He flipped through his notepad once again.

"Maybe that's the best part about us." I didn't take my eyes of my paper. "Maybe it's best if we don't follow most clichés, much less any at all. Besides, even if I'm not the dance-y type kind of boyfriend, I think prom is one stereotype I'm willing to follow at the least. You know how important it's supposed to be for high schoolers."

I could feel Trevor's eyes penetrating my back, before hearing his voice ask me, "And you're going to do it? For me?"

"Well not only for you, of course, since I want to go to prom to," I replied. "I know how romantic you are, anyways. And I just want to see what so special about it, since even the 'masculine' ones are excited about it too." I rolled my eyes to myself as I continued on my drawing.

"Well, there's a cliché down," Trevor said happily, marking something on his paper. "Even though it's like, eight months from now. You promise to go with me?"

"Of course I do. Who else would I go with? You're my boyfriend," I said, rolling my eyes once again. "Besides, I think it's kind of ridiculous going by the book, isn't it? Why can't we just be, I dunno, different? The best part about stereotypes is that you don't have to follow them."

"But it just doesn't feel normal if we don't act like those expected gay couples, you know," Trevor said, looking up from his notepad to face me. "I mean, yeah, it's great to be original and all, but sometimes stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason."

"That's the whole point of having them." I still didn't look up to face Trevor as I said this. "Dude, just because we're together and we're gay doesn't mean you have to go by every relationship and homosexual stereotype for us to be normal. Since when were either one of us normal? That's the whole beauty of clichés—so we don't have to follow them and just create a cliché of our own."

"Fine." Trevor put down his paper on my bed and looked over at me. "You win."

"No stereotypes?" I said, finally turning around to look him dead in the eye. He nodded.

"No stereotypes."

"That's the Trevvy I know," I said teasingly, walking up from my desk chair and flicking him under his chin. He rolled his eyes.

"That nickname is inevitably unnecessary," he said. "Besides, isn't that a stereotype?"

"Hell if I know, but I thought that was only with straight couples." I shrugged. "Just you and me. We shouldn't care about stereotypes and shit."

"But you have to admit they're quite nice to make our relationship more productive." Trevor gave me a pointed look. "Or, at least, more enjoyable."

His looks seemed to be saying a little more than what was coming out of his mouth. Finally, I sighed.

"Okay. Sex once a month. Is that all right?" I offered, finally giving in.

"Better than any other cliché," he shot back, lightly kissing me on the lips.