PLEASE READ: this story is not for you if you do not like:

1. Slash

2. Explicit slash sex

3. Swearing

4. Mild drug use, smoking, and drinking

If you have any problem at all with any of these, you shouldn't read this. You have been warned. For everyone who is totally excited to read about drunk teenaged boys gettin' it on, you are totally my people. Enjoy the story!


Above the Influence

or, How to Fail the Spring Formal with Your Former Best Friend


"I have drugs," Miles said, grinning.

There was some Swedish dance metal playing, and all the girls and all their dates were dancing to it in the school gym, because it was a school dance, and Miles was standing in front of Nate wearing a leather jacket and a huge smile.

"What," said Nate, too stunned to put together an actual question.

Miles grabbed him by the elbow and started dragging him outside. "C'mon, man."

Though it technically wasn't allowed, Miles managed to get them outside, near the back steps of the gym and partially concealed by shrubbery. The dance went on, close enough that Nate could still hear the bass thudding through the thin concrete walls.

"You're a dick," he told Miles, who looked way too pleased with himself. "Did you actually bring weed to the Spring Formal?"

"Of course I did, man," Miles said. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Nate settled down onto the stairs, feeling like the universe was against him and his quest to be a good person, and watched Miles pull a little baggie of weed out of his leather jacket's pocket. The dick hadn't even worn a suit. How he had gotten into the formal was beyond Nate.

"We're going to get caught," Nate reminded him.

Miles smoothed out the rolling papers on the pitted staircase. "No, we're not," he said. "Plus, if we are, I'm the faster runner, so they'll get you first."

The music had shifted into some shitty disco remix, and Nate sighed, leaning his head against the chipped iron railing. "This sucks."

"No, it doesn't. Look, Nate! Mind-altering substances!"

"It's just weed, man," Nate said. "That's nothing new."

"No night is a waste when you can get wasted," Miles told him sagely, pulling open the baggy.

"That's really deep, man."

"Oh, fuck you."

Nate watched absently as Miles crumbled the dried leaves in with some tobacco, laying the mixture out in a neat line down the centre of the rolling paper, and then starting to roll it. "Motherfucking right it is," he retorted, and despite himself, Nate ended up staring at Miles' long fingers, sure and swift on the waxy paper.

Miles licked the paper shut, fitted in the filter and pulled the lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Want first hit?" Miles said, passing both over.


First hit was almost always the best. Nate lit the joint and inhaled, the familiar smoke soaking into his lungs, and it was only a few seconds before his shoulders relaxed almost involuntarily. Something tight and coiled in his chest relaxed.

Miles took it back, taking a long drag. "Shit, nothing like weed to make you want to smoke for real," he said, smoke spiralling away from his mouth in a hazy cloud, and passed the joint back to Nate.

"Cigarettes are bad for you," Nate said. Nate was totally a good person.

Rolling his eyes, Miles shook the baggy and eyed the amount of weed left over. "Another?"

"Go for it," Nate said, closing his eyes to fully embrace the THC seeping into his bloodstream, and heard Miles snort quietly.

Nate could almost see it, despite his eyes being closed, because the scene was so familiar. Miles was rolling the papers, faster because he remembered how the ritual worked again, fingertips fragrant with the stench of smoke. Drugs and Miles, like chocolate and peanut butter. Nate knew that Miles had undermined everything his parents had been setting him up for in his future, but he couldn't bring himself to care, because he would trade pretty much all his brain cells in exchange for having Miles around.

He'd been twelve when he'd met Miles. Miles apparently hadn't realized that Nate was a loser, down to the clothes he wore and the way he carried himself, or maybe—more likely—he just didn't care. Nate had been trained to fear kids like Miles. Kids like Nate, studious, shy and weird, didn't talk to rambunctious headcases who had problems with authority. It was just how the world worked.

"You," Miles had announced when they met, seizing Nate under his arm. "You look like you need more of me in your life."

"Okay," Nate had said, vaguely terrified.

That was how things had stayed.

Even through Miles' high-school popularity and the drugs and sex that came with that, through the time he had failed grade eleven, even through the times when he climbed up Nate's drainpipe completely drunk at three in the morning and fell asleep wrapped around Nate like an affectionate cat, reeking of tequila and sex. Nate had seriously considered killing him at those times.

Nate blew out another lungful of smoke. The cold night began to soften around the edges, growing warmer and more distant, like the only real things were the steps Nate was sitting on and Miles in the background. His lighter was running out of butane and he kept flicking it. Sparks showered around his hand.

They both had their own joints at that point, and Nate slid down the steps to visit Miles because they were both just sitting in silence, watching the smoke spiralling into the sky. "I can't believe it's our last year," he said.

Miles half-grinned. "I've been counting it down for years now. I can't wait to get out of this fucking town. Go to the big city."

Just like that, things dimmed. "Right," Nate said. He kept forgetting Miles had exhausted all life had to offer in their small town. "That'll be cool."

"Sound a bit more depressed, man, it's going to be awesome. In a shitty sort of way. Weed will probably be cheaper there."


Miles inhaled, cheeks hollowing out, and slanted his eyes sideways. Miles had really blue eyes. Really defined cheekbones. It was no wonder he picked up so many chicks, high on shit that Nate didn't even know the name of, drunk on life.

"Na-ate," he said in annoying sing-song. "Dance with any pretty girls tonight?"


Miles nodded. "Casey has nice tits."

"She's a cool girl."

"Does Nate have a crush?" Miles said, snickering out smoke, slinging his arm around Nate's shoulder. He smelled like marijuana, leather and the cologne he wore, cinnamon and something else. Miles smelled good, familiar.

Miles gave Nate a little shake. "Are you going to ask Casey out? Go steady with her?"

"No, probably not."

"Why not? You could feel her rack. It looks awesome. It probably feels awesome, too. Logically. And shit."

Nate just shrugged. "I don't want to ask her out. She's got a boyfriend. Besides, we're just friends."

"Oh, right, Kevin." Miles contemplated that for a while. "Me and Kevin have had some good times out on the town."

Nate stayed quiet. That was the Miles everybody else had a piece of, the jerk with the drugs and the come-hither eyes and the leather jacket. The one that belong to anybody and everybody.

"Man, c'mon," Miles said. "When was the last time you went out with a chick, like, a year ago? That's not healthy. You're dick is gonna fall off."

This was an old speech of Miles', and Nate knew what was coming next. He held up his hand to ward off the incoming attack. "No. No, I do not want your help."

"Dude. Seriously. As much as I hate to do this, you really need a fuckin' intervention or something."

"No," Nate said firmly, pushing his arm away and moving to the other side of the step. "That's none of your business."

Miles looked a bit hurt, but he lifted the joint back to his mouth and waited.

"No," Nate said again.

"I know plenty of hot chicks!" Miles protested. "Some of them are smart, too, you'd have nerdy babies or whatever."

"I don't want nerdy babies, what the hell."

Out of a cloud of new smoke, dissipating into the cold air, Miles gave him a pensive look. He stubbed out the last of the joint on the ground. "What do you want, then? I can help."

"I really doubt that," Nate said, looking out at the scrubby baseball field, lit only by the faint orange streetlights beyond the trees, so he wouldn't have to look at Miles' sharp, finely-drawn face.

There was a silent for a few moments.

"Are you fucking asexual or something?" Miles asked.


"Binary fission, right?"

"No, but good work on studying for Bio."

"Thanks," Miles said cheerfully, and paused for a moment. "You know, I always kind of suspected you were gay anyways, but it's nice to know for sure."

The combination of words threw Nate off enough that Miles took that as a yes and smirked. A few seconds later, Nate remembered to protest.

"Ha, HA, very funny, you must be higher than I thought. Stop saying stupid shit."

Miles just shook his head at Nate and pulled a flask out of his jacket, handing it over. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

No night was a waste when you could get wasted, indeed. Miles had way too many illegal substances stashed away in that jacket.

The flask was a scratchy silver and warm from Miles' body heat, and Nate took a quick swig from it, wincing as his mouth went numb. It was a welcome distraction. "Man, you actually got some good booze for once."

"I was going to spike the punch, but then there wasn't any, so we've got like, a mickey of good whiskey to go through. And you didn't answer my question, bitch."

"Fuck you," Nate muttered.

Laughing, Miles pulled the flask out of his hands and drank again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "You wish, man."

The tepid night air felt like it was alive, kissing the sides of Nate's neck. He stared out at the goalposts. "I don't know. It's stupid. It doesn't matter."

"Poor child," Miles said mockingly, but put Nate in an affectionate headlock. "No wonder you suck at dating girls."

It was comforting, being pressed into the warm hollow of Miles' shoulder, where Nate didn't have to concentrate on holding still and not acting wasted. "I hate you," Nate said, muffled.

"You love me," Miles said cheerfully, and downed another good bit of the whiskey, then offered it back to Nate. "So. How long have you know about your homosexual ways?"

"Fuck you."

"Hey, you're the one who brought it up."

"I did not fucking bring it up, you stupid motherfucker."

"Okay, maybe you didn't," Miles allowed, but that was minor concern in his overall campaign to annoy the shit out of Nate. "C'mon. I'm curious. I don't know any homos. Except for Brett, but he's addicted to cocaine, so I'm not sure if he realizes that he's been sucking dick for the past couple months."

"I'm not addicted to cocaine," Nate felt compelled to point out, shoving himself away from Miles and trying to sit up straight.

Miles raised his eyebrows and mimed smoking pot, but let it drop. "How long have you been gay, you fucker?"

"I don't know! Jesus. For a while."

"You ever gay sex someone up?"

"No," Nate said, staring straight ahead. "Well. Yes. But not really."

Miles' eyes went huge. It would've been funny to see him so surprised in any other situation. "What? Really? Who? What the fuck, Nate, why don't you tell me these things?"

Feeling his cheeks going red, Nate loosened his tie and picked at the flaking paint on the railing. "You don't know him," he muttered.

"What?" Miles said again, looking even more insulted. "You're having gay sex with people I don't know?"

"He's the son of some family friends," Nate said. "He was in town for a couple days."

"Why didn't I see him?"

"Uh. That's when you had to get your stomach pumped and you were in the hospital for a while. And then you got charged with drug possession. And that's why you failed grade eleven."

"Oh yeah, I got send to fuckin' juvie," Miles said fondly. "I remember it well. It was horrible. Anyway, who is this dude?"

"Man, I told you. I haven't seen him since."

Alert to some bitterness in Nate's voice, Miles looked up quickly. "Did he use you and lose you? Shit, do I have to beat the bitch down?"

"Don't beat him. It was just a one-night sort of thing."

"Well, did you...y'know..." Miles made a vague hand gesture.

"Fuck you, stop asking me questions about it."

Miles picked up something in Nate's voice that actually made him back off. "Some random dude takes my best friend's ass cherry, and I don't even know until a year later. Fuck me," Miles said, shaking his head in disgust, but then something new apparently occurred to him. "Wait. Have you ever thought about fucking around?"

"What?" Nate asked, feeling slightly panicked and like he was losing even more control over the conversation, if that was even possible.

"With me," Miles clarified.

Words could not possibly contain the depths of horror. "What the fuck, Miles?"

He shrugged. "It's legit, man, I mean, you're my best friend, we hang out all the fucking time."

Miles had perfect cheekbones and blue eyes and the muscles of someone who worked out. There had been many, many occasions where he'd fallen asleep in his boxers in Nate's bed, completely drunk, and woke up the next morning clinging to him like an octopus, breathing creepily on the back of his neck. He always made banana pancakes when they hung out and he always offered Nate first hit, first shot, first overtures of friendship.

There was nobody else like Miles. Nate couldn't lose him. He'd known that for the past two years, ever since he developed his stupid, hopeless crush, and that made it easy to say, "No, not really."

Miles looked surprised. "Seriously? Am I not good-looking enough for you or something?"

"No, you douche, it's're my best friend. It would be awkward."

"You're my best friend too!" Miles said, momentarily diverted, and smacked Nate on the arm, which made Nate realize the drugs were finally getting to him. "But, c'mon. Seriously. Seriously. Why not?"

"It would be weird, man."

"It wouldn't be weird. Is it because I'm like, I don't know, not good enough?"

Nate gave Miles a flat stare. "Stop fishing for compliments, you asshole."

"No, really, I'm not," Miles was looking strangely earnest, probably a side effect from the double-whammy of alcohol and drugs. "You're all with the fancy thinking and physics and like, bright futures and shit, and I'm the kid who almost dropped out of high school in grade nine and failed a grade and nearly got expelled and had to go to juvie."

"You're not stupid," Nate said, sighing. "You're just...retarded."

"Well, at least I know you're not into me because you like bad boys or whatever." Miles grinned. "Okay, so say I was interested in having sex with you. Would you do it?"

"What the fuck," Nate said, burying his head in his hands.

"Would you?"

It was the fucking Spring Formal, and Nate had accidentally outed himself to his very straight, very high friend. His whole life was a farce. "No," he said at last. "I don't think so."

They were playing shitty rap in the gymnasium, Nate could hear it through the wall, and he almost wished he was inside the gym, dancing, instead of having this conversation. Almost, but not quite. He really hated rap.

Miles took a long, contemplative drink from the flask, then capped it and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He looked thoughtful. Since that was a rare enough thing, Nate let him be, and tapped out the rhythm of the song against the concrete steps.

After a moment, Miles sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. "I want to fucking smoke," he said.

"You quit," Nate reminded him.

"I still have a pack."

Of course he did. The leather jacket had everything a fucked-up kid could ever want.

The song was getting near the breakdown, and Nate slapped his hands against the step. "Do you want me to talk you out of it or something? Go ahead. You probably never quit, did you, you asshole."

"Ha, no, I didn't." Miles reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a pack of Canadian Classics, tapped out one stick, and jammed it in his mouth. "Where'd my lighter go?"

"Right here," Nate said, handing it over.

Miles muttered his thanks and bent his head into his cupped hands, a brief spark lighting up his lean face, before he leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke. There was something beautiful in the way he smoked. His mouth was gleaming, with spit or whiskey, and his eyes reflected the faint glow of the cigarette's cherry. Nate looked away.

Miles propped himself back on his elbows and took another drag. "Fuck, I missed this," he said blissfully. "Why did I even quit?"

"Because your risk for lung cancer is horrifically high," Nate said immediately. "It's got formaldehyde, tar, and all sorts of other cacogenic shit in it. And you're giving money to the tobacco companies who use it to buy off the government, because they're massive corporations and they pay lobbyists to push their interests in legislation which means our whole standard of democracy has become corrupt."

Miles waved one of his hands, trailing smoke. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fuck, I completely forgot about all that shit."

"That's because you're a bad person."

He glared at Nate for a moment, then sighed and reached over, holding the cigarette in front of Nate's face. "Here. Try it."

"What? No, I don't want tar in my lungs."

"Try it," Miles said again, sitting up and making a pass at making him take it. "C'mon, just this once. Then you can bitch about it for the rest of your life."

Nate tried batting him away, but sadly, due to a long time spent playing video games while Miles pumped iron in the gym or whatever he did, Miles barely even flinched at the attack. He grabbed Nate's jaw and said, "C'mon, open up."

His fingers were digging into the soft flesh below his ears. "What the fuck, you're actually trying to force me to smoke," was what Nate meant to say, but Miles took the chance to jam the cigarette into his open mouth and pinch his nose shut.

"Now breathe in," Miles ordered.

Nate tried to hold his breath despite the gut instinct not to, trying to force Miles' hand from his face, and Miles' fingers twitched, brushing against his lips. In between the struggle to get way, the urge to press closer rose in Nate.

Fuck, Nate was high. And possibly drunk. Miles was his friend. His friendly tobacco-forcing friend. He'd always known that someday, someone was going to force him to smoke, and he would probably cry afterwards.

Nate sucked in, and somehow the smoke managed to inflame his pot-hardened lungs. He started to splutter.

"Gross," Miles said, taking his hand and the cigarette away, snickering. Nate doubled over and coughed, trying to get air back into his lungs. "Dude, fuck, you should've seen the look on your face."

Nate's throat felt like it was scraped raw, and his lips were tingling where Miles' fingers had been, although his jaw was, too, so that might've just been the abuse. "That was sick," he rasped out. "Where's the fucking whiskey?"

"I made the vegetarian emo-fuck smoke," Miles said, helpfully whacking him on the back and handing over the whiskey flask. "Ha, now you're going to get addicted."

The world was beginning to spin, a bit. Nate drank a bit to steady it, and then a bit more to make his throat numb. Maybe mixing pot and whiskey and nicotine in potent quantities wasn't the best idea. He leaned into Miles. Miles, at least, had a liver of steel, and was good at faking sober.

"Fuck, you ripped off my face," Nate said, resting against Miles' broad shoulder. Miles absently petted his head. "Miles, I don't think I should've done the last shot."

"Yeah, we're going to have fun getting you home," Miles said, not sounding too worried about it.

Nate sighed and went limp against Miles, who tolerated it with good grace, going so far as to hold him steady when he showed signs of toppling over. "I love you," Nate said. "Even if you force me to smoke. You're my best friend."

"You always fucking get like this." Miles sighed, like he'd never declared love and then kissed Nate's ear in a drunken fit, told him they should go to prom together, and then passed out in a ditch—which he totally had—and finished up his cigarette. "Can I ask you something?"


"When I asked before, you know, about your whole gay thing—you were lying, right?"

Nate craned his neck to see Miles better. "About being gay?"

Upside-down, Miles seemed especially serious and strange-looking. Miles really was a handsome bastard. Someday he would meet a girl who could keep his attention for more than two weeks and they would be really happy together. They would have really stupid kids, though, knowing Miles' taste in girls.

"No, you were lying about wanting to fuck around, right?" Miles said.

Nate nodded.

"Yeah?" Miles asked.

Nate nodded again, because lying would have been beyond him at that moment, he knew enough to know that, and replied, "Yeah."

"Okay," Miles said, and resumed smoking, though he let Nate stay on his shoulder. Nate wasn't entirely sure about what just happened. The music inside sounded crappy, though, and Miles was comfortable in his own way, and the night was a good one, so Nate let it be.

Miles stubbed out the cigarette on the ground, next to the remains of the joint. "So," he announced.

Nate struggled upright. "What?"

"I'm kind of drunk," Miles said. "So if this doesn't work out, let's just blame that, okay?"

"Okay," Nate agreed. "What's going on?"

Miles leaned over, and realization hit Nate like a punch, directly to the stomach, right before he got a close-up look at Miles' blue eyes and felt their lips touch.

"Ugh," Nate said, rearing back and laughing helplessly.

Miles glared at him. "What the fuck, man? I thought you wanted to."

"I didn't expect you to attack my face!"

"Well, that's what you get, you goddamn tease." Miles leaned forward, trying way too hard to be seductive, and they only came in contact for a second before Nate was giggling again.

Miles sat back, looking frustrated. "What the hell, Nate."

"Sorry, sorry," Nate said. "Wait, wait. Am I your random gay experiment? I don't want to sacrifice our friendship for sex."

"If I wanted random gay action, I would've gotten Brett to suck my dick a long time ago," Miles said, sighing really heavily and then reaching for another cigarette. "You know what? Never mind. We're both drunk."

"That's not my fault," Nate pointed out. "Also not my fault that your sex-moves are hilarious."

Miles paused in the middle of tapping out another cigarette to glare at Nate. "They are not hilarious. I can pick up any chick I want."

Nate laughed. "But I'm not a chick, eh?"

After a second, Miles smiled a bit, and put his little box of cancer back into his pocket. "I can't always tell with you, Nate."

"Ah, fuck you."

Nate was feeling pretty good about this being just a strange drunken moment in their friendship, because they were back to insulting each other, but then Miles leaned over.

This time was not quite as funny. Miles kissed him open-mouthed and aggressively, not putting on any act or pretension. It wasn't how he'd kiss a girl at all; there was no hesitancy in the way he leaned in, the way he grabbed Nate's chin and forced his head into a different angle so he could lick into Nate's mouth. His fingers were hot on Nate's jaw, and his tongue was curling against Nate's, and all Nate could feel was pure need.

Nate jerked back. It was too much, too soon. His lungs were burning and all he could taste was tobacco on both their lips.

For some reason Miles had apparently taken Nate's declaration that he wasn't female as a free pass to do whatever the fuck he wanted. He pushed into Nate's space when Nate pulled back, and grabbed the back of his neck. Then he bit his lip. It was just shy of being painful, and Nate made a rough, almost whimpering sound, torn between leaning in and pulling away.

"Yeah, fuck, you like that," Miles muttered into his mouth.

Nate tried to push him away, just to try to get his head back together because everything was spinning and not just because he was drunk, but Miles moved until he was straddling Nate's lap and ground down.

"Fuck," Nate gasped. "Miles, what the hell—"

A ghost of a smirk crossed Miles' face, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and his pupils were blown. "And you mocked my moves."

"Jesus Christ," Nate said, grabbing his hips in a futile attempt to move Miles into a place that was less right-over-his-dick, but his hands ended up just resting there. He looked at them in confusion. "This is weird."

"Yeah. It is." Looking at Nate, Miles very deliberately licked his lips, and smirked when Nate couldn't help but watch. They were only a couple inches away. Nate could feel him radiating heat.

"This is so gay," Nate said. "Like, literally."

"Yeah, I know."

Nate tried to summon the proper words—nobody had ever told him anything about how to get his apparently not-so-straight friend off of him—but couldn't even string together a coherent sentence. "Have before? Never?"

"Nah." Miles grinned at Nate like he always did, which just made the experience all that more surreal, considering Nate was hard and Miles was just right there. "You're just that special."

Nate tried to figure out what this all meant. "Wait. Do"

Miles cut him off by kissing him again, pressing him down onto the steps.

When they broke apart, Miles' voice was rougher than usual, ripped up by the smoking and lack of oxygen. "Better?" he asked, leaving his hand on Nate's neck, a patch of heat on his gooseflesh skin. How they ended up horizontal, Nate had no idea. In fact, he had no idea how this whole thing had even started, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was Miles' fault. As usual.

"Uh," Nate said. "Keep practicing."

He could feel Miles' grin, and then they were kissing for the third time, and it was definitely better and even if they lost their friendship completely it might be worth it because Nate had never felt that way, ever. Miles was kissing him wet and dirty, hand gripping side of Nate's face, other hand anchored on his hip, and they were both making strange noises and Nate's eyes were closed and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ever.

"Excuse me, you're not supposed to be out here—Oh. Oh my God."

Someone had come outside.

They both flung themselves away from each other. Nate collided with the railing, his heart hammering in his chest, only to see his English teacher flushing bright red and looking in the opposite direction with the determined expression of someone who was desperately trying to forget what they had just seen.

"I'll just, uh," he said, and trailed off. "Go back in, shall I?"

He closed the door again.

They both looked at each other, and despite the sudden air of awkwardness, Nate started to laugh. After a moment, Miles joined him. Soon they were collapsed on the top step and Nate, at least, was so wrung out that he could only giggle for another few minutes.

"Aw, fuck," Miles said, managing to unscrew the cap of his flask and pouring some into his mouth. "Man. We made out in front of the English teacher."

Nate choked back another fit of laughter and took the flask. "Shit. Holy fucking shit."

"We better get the hell out of Dodge," Miles said, sitting upright with the help of the rails. "I bet the whole fucking dance thing is nearly over."

Slightly disappointed that there would be probably be no more making out, ever, Nate tried to get up and found his knees were unable to support weight. Strange. Strange and troubling. Probably Miles' fault again.

A sure signal the dance was winding down, the music has gone from Daft Punk to the opening riff of Forever Young, which Miles probably should've been dancing to with his on-again, off-again girlfriend who'd probably blown him in the bathroom during one of the slow songs. Miles was a slut. That was part of the other Miles, too, the sheer and utter skankiness.

He grabbed Nate by the elbow and hauled him upright, then gave him a hug and drunkenly staggered off to the side, still holding onto him. "Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while," he sang, horribly off-key.

"How do you know the words?"

"You're not the only smart one, fucker," Miles said, and let him go, shoving him away. "Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies!"

Nate couldn't help but grin, and Miles came back, wrapping his arm around Nate's shoulders and drinking the very last bit of whiskey. "Man, it's going to be so much more fun in the city."

Nothing was more deflating than Miles talking about the city and the fun times he was going to have there. "Yeah," Nate said, only a little bit wistfully, and almost tripped over his own feet.

"Dude, seriously. We're going to have such an awesome time."

Nate almost tripped again, but this time it was from hearing failure or something. Ears affected balance. It was a natural process. "What?" he asked.

"Ah, fuck you," Miles said, slapping Nate on the back of the head. "We're going to the city even if you don't want to. You'll like it there even if you're all pissed about it now."

"Wait, what? Us?"

Miles snorted. "Fucking obviously. We'll get shitty jobs in construction or whatever. It'll be awesome."

"You want me to come with you?"

They were headed across the field, down the little path that led to the back alley where Miles had parked his crappy car. It occurred to Nate that Miles maybe shouldn't be driving home in his condition. Nate could still hear the bass thumping from the gym, and he let himself hope for a little bit—that things would turn out okay between them.

"Yeah, of course you're coming with me to the city, man, I have it all fucking planned out."

Miles kissed Nate on the cheek, sloppy and affectionate, and Nate grinned. It was nice. Things were still normal, if gayer than usual.

Then Miles grabbed Nate, slammed him against a tree, and pinned his hands over his head. Nate didn't know if this meant there would be more making out of what, and his heart thumped in anticipation. Only Miles didn't do anything. He just stayed there.

Nate realized his eyes were closed and opened them, only to find himself looking into Miles' smirking face. He closed his mouth with a snap. He hadn't realized his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were shut, and he probably also looked like a complete idiot.

"You're so into me," Miles said, voice rumbling from deep inside his chest. Nate could feel it resonating through his skin. "Admit it."

"Yeah, fucking obviously," Nate said, trying to free himself with no luck.

Miles ran his thumb along Nate's bottom lip, keeping his hands pinned with the other and leaning into him heavily. His blue eyes were dark. Nate shivered, and then Miles ducked his head and kissed him, long and lingering and completely in control. All Nate could do was try not to hyperventilate and die.

Happily immersed in the joys of tongue-fucking, Nate didn't even notice was Miles was up to until his shirt was half-unbuttoned and Miles was sliding a callused hand up Nate's collarbones. Nate made a horrible squeaking sound and accidentally bit down on Miles' tongue.

"Fuck!" Miles yelped, jerking backward and falling on his ass. "You bit my fucking tongue, dipshit!"

"You were taking off my shirt!" Nate protested, feeling somewhat unfairly treated, and held his shirt closed like an offended virgin being ravished. Which he was, kind of.

"I'm bleeding!"

Nate winced. "Sorry."

Touching his lip, Miles looked over at his with narrowed eyes. Then he looked Nate up and down, and the anger in his face was replaced by something else. "C'mon," he said, pushing himself to his feet with only the smallest of stumbling. "I think it's time we relocated."

"Wait, what?" Nate said. "Where?"

"The pot van."

Miles had an old purple automobile, affectionately referred to as either the rapist van or the drug van, that he got around in because he couldn't afford a decent car. "C'mon," he urged, grabbing Nate by the wrist and hauling him upright. There was a brief instant where they were pressed against each other before Nate stumbled and nearly fell.

They made their shambling way across the field, trying not to topple over, and eventually found the Pot Van parked at a cul-de-saq near the school that was completely devoid of life, being in the middle of a future subdevelopment surrounded by skeleton houses.

Miles shoved Nate into the back seat of the van, then jumped in himself and slammed the door shut. The overhead light went off, and suddenly Miles was on top of Nate again, biting his neck and trying to pull off his own leather jacket at the same time.

"Your elbow's in my stomach, fuck," Nate said, trying to resettle Miles in a more comfortable position. Miles yanked his hand free of his sleeve and swore when he smacked it against the front seat.

Nate was more than a little amused by that. "You okay?"

Miles muttered something indistinct and threw his jacket into the back, the empty flask making a solid thump on top of a pile of random junk he kept around, and shifted until he was sitting directly on top of Nate. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Nate's breathing was loud even to his own ears, and he tried to rein his heartbeat in. It wasn't easy with Miles staring down at him, looking ruffled and wasted and generally hot.

"Well?" Nate said. "Are you waiting for something?"

A slow smile curled around Miles' mouth. "Just admiring the view," he said.

Nate made an effort to hit him, but he blocked it without even really trying. "Nothing you haven't seen before, jackass."

"Yeah, but I'm seeing you in a new light now that I'm sexing you up, you know? This is all new to me." Miles kept a hold on his wrist as he looked down Nate's body, and when Nate tried to pull away he didn't let go. He felt his dick twitch, and fuck if that wasn't just another layer of messed.

It was strange, having sex and Miles mixed up together, with a thin sheen of the familiar over the unknown. The musty smell of the pot van was familiar, and so was lying down in the back seat, but not with his best friend straddling him.

Nate thought he'd know mostly everything about Miles. He knew how he acted around girls he wanted to sleep with, but this wasn't it. Miles was looking at him the same way he always did, affection and exasperation mixed together, but now there was something else that made Nate's stomach feel strange just looking at.

"It's new to me too," Nate said.

"What? I thought there was that dude, what's-his-face."

Nate snorted. "Yeah, but we didn't make out or anything. It was pretty wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am."

A crease appeared in between Miles' eyebrows. "Wait. What have you actually done?"

"Handjobs, mostly." Nate shrugged, which was weird to be doing while on his back. "Blowjobs once. How about you?"

"Man, you're a virgin," Miles said in disbelief, still frowning, although whether it was about the other guy or about Nate's virginity was up in the air. "And you know what I've done, because unlike you, I don't keep secrets like a bitch."

"You don't have STDs," Nate clarified.

Miles nodded solemnly. "I glove the love."

After a moment, they both cracked up, and Miles chose that moment to start making out again.

Nate finally relaxed into it. Miles seemed pretty serious about their make out sessions of failure, and not as likely to play it off as just being drunk like he normally did when they got affectionate—although they'd never made out before, Nate would've remember that—and besides, it felt good. Better than his one girlfriend and their horribly awkward explorations. Better than the guy and the furtive handjobs, exchanged in silence with an air of extreme guilt.

Miles kissed like there was no going back. He licked the roof of Nate's mouth and laughed when he shivered.

"That feels weird as hell," Nate said.

"You like it, bitch."

Nate did that same thing to him and was smug when Miles' hips jerked forwards. "Shit, Nate," he said, slightly breathless.

"You like it too," Nate said, and added, "Bitch."

"Oh, what now," Miles said, laughing, and then started sucking on Nate's neck.

"What the hell are you doing?"

With a wet popping noise, Miles detached from his neck and said, "I'm giving you a hickey," and then resumed.

"You fucking vampire, stop it."

"Make me," Miles said, nibbling on the skin right beneath Nate's jaw. Nate jerked and squeaked. Miles did it again, smirking.

"Fuck," Nate said, unable to get enough air in his lungs, like he'd just smoked again, and Miles' breath was hot and alcohol-soaked against his skin.

He started to tug at Nate's shirt. "Come on, let's get this off."

Feeling strangely reluctant to let Miles see him without the barrier of clothing, Nate resisted at first, but Miles just took that as a challenge and tugged at the buttons hard enough that one went flying off.

"Oh. Whoops," Miles said. "I'm literally ripping your clothing off, this is kind of awesome."

"Not for me," Nate grumbled, and Miles kissed him swiftly, wrestling off his shirt and throwing it in the same place as his jacket. "Now this really is a rapist van."

That startled a laugh out of Miles, who spread his hands out across Nate's chest and stalled out, watching the way his skin was prickling. The heat in his gaze was making Nate uncomfortable. People didn't ever look at him like that, and coming from Miles, it was just strange.

"Mood music!" Miles suddenly announced, and launched himself into the front seat to start the van. AC/DC immediately started blaring from the shitty speakers. Looking highly pleased with himself, Miles clambered back over Nate, kneeing him in the stomach.

Nate groaned, partly from pain and partly from the music. "We're doing gay things to AC/DC?" he asked, elbowing Miles away.

"What else?" Miles countered.

"Man, it's AC/DC. I just don't feel right having gay sex to it."

Miles sighed, and went back over to the radio to find some appropriate gay-sex music. "Happy?" he grumbled when he returned.

Nate tugged at his hands, dragging him back over, and said, "No. Take off your shirt."

Miles didn't bother with any teasing or slowness, just grabbed the collar and yanked it over his head, emerging slightly ruffled but smooth-skinned in the orange streetlight.

Nate's mouth went dry. He knew Miles was hot, with muscles that jumped and shifted under his tanned skin whenever he moved, but it was much different knowing it and then having it up close—having it there for him.

Miles watched him watching. "Yeah?" he said.

"Hell yeah," Nate replied, running a hand over Miles' washboard stomach and grinning when Miles twitched. "You're so ticklish."

"Fuck you," Miles said, unimpressed, and poked Nate in the ribs.

Rather stupidly, they started to scuffle, and it ended with Miles, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, pinning Nate's hands above his head, feet braced between his knees. Nate arched up involuntarily, biting back a groan.

"You like it," Miles said, sounding surprised.

Blushing, Nate fixed his gaze on the strangely patterned upholstery of the Pot Van, because it was turning out to be a great night for embarrassing self-revelations, but Miles said, "Hey, wait, no. That's a good thing. I'd be into that."


"Fuck yeah I would," Miles declared, and his grip around Nate's wrists tightened. Nate tried to pull away, but couldn't. He didn't really understand how it was making him feel so dizzy.

"Maybe another time," Nate said. Miles released him, but bent down to lick around his nipples. Nate had never realized that nipples felt so awesome before. He rubbed his hips against Miles', trying to get more friction, and realized that Miles was hard, too.

However far they went, it was still going to be the best sex of Nate's none-too-impressive resume.

"Fuck," Miles said, voice wrecked, and tugged at Nate's tuxedo pants. "How the fuck do these come off?"

Hands trembling, Nate yanked at them, managing to slide them off enough that he was in his underwear, pants still wrapped around his thighs. He felt in equal parts embarrassed about his skinny pale body, and so turned on he was going crazy with it. For a while, there was nothing but the homo-sex appropriate music, because his partner is gay crime was strangely silent. "Miles?" he ventured.

"Fuck, Nate," Miles said, eyes dark and kind of crazy looking, and hooked his fingers through the waistband of Nate's briefs to pull them down.

Nate yelped. Miles, however, looked intensely focused, the way he got when he made anything, and left his hand hovering in between their bodies. "Is this..." he began.

"Just do something," Nate said. It seemed to snap Miles back to the present objective, namely getting off, and he wrapped his hand around Nate's dick.

Nate nearly jumped out of his skin. "Fuck, Miles," he said, breathless and not even caring how he sounded. "Please."

"Like to beg, don't you," Miles said in dark, amused voice. "Come on, baby, come for me."

Nate did, shuddering and clutching at Miles' shoulders.

After a blissful few moments of complete black-out, he came back to Miles making a face and wiping his hand on Nate's hip. "Hey," Nate protested, but not very strongly. His whole body was tingling.

"You have a weird orgasm face," Miles informed him. "It's a lot like your face when you kill people in video games."

"Fuck you," Nate said lazily. He touched Miles' studded belt, and all the laughter died on his face suddenly, leaving only naked desire in Miles' eyes.

"Can you..." Miles began, but trailed off.

"Here, let me get on top," Nate said, pushing at Miles' muscled side. After a second, Miles obliged, pulling open his belt and letting his pants slide off a bit, and Nate enjoyed this role reversal for a second before grabbing Miles' belt loops and dragging down his jeans.

Miles sucked in a breath, and so did Nate, before he finished the job and had Miles lying naked in front of him, completely hard and flushed. It was a beautiful sight. "You going to do anything with that?" Miles asked hopefully, but even his voice sounded strained, and all his muscles were tense.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it," Nate said, settling back in between Miles' legs. The interior of the van was cramped, but he was pretty sure he'd manage to succeed. "Sit up a bit."

"Are you going to...holy shit, oh fuck, oh fuck," Miles babbled as Nate ducked his head and began to give the second blowjob of his life.

The taste and the feeling were just as weird as he remembered it being, but it was Miles this time and not just the stranger willing to exchange sexual favours. It was Miles' hips that kept stuttering up, Miles who was muttering curse words in one continuous string, Miles who grabbed Nate's hair when sucked hard and said, "Get off, get off, I'm going to..."

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, and Nate barely managed to pull off in time before Miles was coming. Some of it landed on his lips.

"Augh, that's fucking gross," Nate said, rearing back.

Miles blinked sleepily at him for a moment, expression fucked-out and satisfied, then smirked and said, "C'mere."

Nate shuffled forwards a bit, and Miles leaned forward until he could lick out Nate's mouth, grinning when Nate made a disgruntled noise.

"That's sick."

"But hot," Miles said.

Nate couldn't really deny that. "You just have all the answers, don't you."

"Someone should know what they're doing here." Miles grabbed Nate and hauled him until his back was pressed against Miles' chest and he was trapped within the circle of his arms. Nate didn't really expect anything else from him, but made the token effort to escape. Miles just tightened his arms and rested his face against Nate's hair.

"Well..." Nate began, but lost the train of thought. "That wasn't what I expected from this dance."

"Ravished in the back seat of the pot van?" Miles began kissing Nate's neck again in an absent sort of way, nibbling and sucking, and Nate shifted awkwardly, because he was only human and having Miles use him as a chew toy was doing strange things to him.

"Yeah. I guess. I mean...why me?"

"Seriously?" Miles said, and then bit down hard on Nate's neck. Nate yelped. "Fuck you, you deserved that, you low esteem bitch. Why the fuck wouldn't it be you? It's always been you."

Nate felt himself prickling with warmth, and petted Miles on the foot absently. "You like girls, though, don't you? I mean, I thought you did."

"I like you more. Man, honestly, I always kind of wondered if this was how things were going to end up between us, but then you always pretended you liked women. See, if you didn't lie, things would've worked out great way earlier."

"So you like me?" Nate asked hopefully.

Miles sighed heavily and rested his forehead on the back of Nate's head. "Fuck. I just gave you a handjob. I want to move to Vancouver with you. Of course I like you."

"Okay. Cool." Nate hesitated for a second, and then turned around so he was facing Miles and kneeling between his legs. Miles was sprawled back, watching Nate steadily with lazy contentment. "I like you too," Nate told him.

The corner of Miles' mouth crooked up. "Good."

Nate leaned forwards and kissed him softly, cupping his cheek with a hand. Miles didn't move. After lingering for a second, Nate broke the kiss, and then sat back on his heels and gazed down at him.

Miles reached up and touched Nate's forehead. Neither of them spoke. Nate could almost feel the individual ridges of skin as Miles stroked his fingers down Nate's nose, bumping over his lips and chin, to finally settle over Nate's heart. Miles balled his hand and knocked it once against Nate's sternum.

"Don't worry, man," he said. "We're good. Everything's gonna be good."

Nate stared down at him. His heart was thumping against Miles' hand, and he knew they could both feel it, because Miles broke into a huge grin and dragged Nate down. His arms went around Nate, crushing them together, and when Nate spluttered and muttered something about his lungs collapsing, Miles just laughed.

"Believe it, Nate," he said, and then bit his ear. "This thing with you and me? Is going to fucking rock."

Nate believed him.



Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.