Warning: Serious angst then sexy make-out ahead. You wanted that to make sense? Hah.


Sam's car soon pulled up and panic filled Jake's veins, his blood pressure significantly rising. He breathed in and out as well as he could remember to, but his lungs had forgotten the function in favour of seizing when he saw Sam.

He had a bottle, sheathed by the brown bag wrapped around it, and he took a long swig as he walked towards Jake. He had donned his leather jacket over his t-shirt, and his jeans caught the glow of Jake's headlights. He sat beside Jake on the hood of the car, sliding up beside him as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Talk." He said, and took another swig, smirking over at Jake.

"You won't like it," Jake said nervously, looking down at his now clearly drunk friend.

His heart was beating so fast it was more of a hum than a throb, and suddenly the dark surrounding the two of them seemed so much more ominous. He could back out, he knew—but he'd done that the last three times he'd tried to do this.

"Hence the booze."

He bit down on his tongue, shaking and sweating like he had the flu.

"You sure?" He asked, honestly wanting to know for Sam's benefit as much as his own. Because this was the last night he would likely ever talk to Sam, ever touch him or wrap around him when the world was just being too cold for either of them to stand.

"No." He felt his heart break into a million pieces at the word.

"Sam…" Please, Sam, please. Don't do this to me, now of all times.

Silence met his ears.


Sam looked at his lap intently.

"Sam, I—"

"Just spit it out, Jake!" he snapped, glaring at his friend. "It can't be that bad! What, are you dying? Do you have a week to live? Are you going to run away? Are you sleeping with my mom? Do you have an STD? Are you a child molester? A necrophiliac? Are you getting a green card marriage? Are you immigrating to Thailand? Did your dog die? Are you—"

"I'm gay, you asshole!" Jake shouted, standing up straight and pacing away from Sam.

It was out. Finally, out. Not just halfway out, or partially out, but fully, entirely…out. He had just let go of the string of his favourite, bright red helium balloon, and now his only choice was to crane his head upwards to the sky to watch as it floated away. It got smaller and smaller as the minutes ticked by, and he felt his vital organs fall out of his chest, one by one. He'd let Sam go. Sam. Sam who he loved like a brother, a child, and a boyfriend. Sam. Sam who he picked up when he fell. Sam. Sam who he'd read Twelfth Night to last summer on his back porch, with him stretched across his lap as the sun set.

He choked out a sob, sitting down beside the car and burying his face in his hands. Sam remained silent, looking upwards to the black sky as if it could give him an answer.


"I know, I'm gross. Sick. I wish there was a cure- that you could just give me a pill and I'd like girls, but I can't. I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life. I understand if you hate me, Sam, cause believe me when I say I hate me too."


"I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm so, so sorry. You needed me and I gave you everything I had, but it wasn't worth giving. My car, my booze, my clothes, my porn, my money, my bed…and, y'know, my heart. But I'm twisted. Wrong. I shouldn't feel this way about guys—about you. It makes me sick. I wish, I wish…but there are no stars out tonight, let alone shooting ones. I'd pray, too, but I don't think there's a god listening. I'd beg, but there's no one out there that wants to give away what I need."


"I don't want to leave you like this. Hell, I don't want to leave you at all. In a perfect world I could just stay with you for the rest of my life and never have to worry about anything like this. I would keep eating the carrots off your plate, keep hugging you and letting you wear my clothes. I want to. So, so badly. You're my everything. But I can't pretend I don't have these feelings. I'm sorry. It's not just a phase. It's me."


"All the times we made fun of fags, laughed at them, I never thought I'd be biting the same bullet I shot out. I get why so many of them try killing themselves. It's so goddamn lonely, sometimes. The only reason I haven't just ended it all yet was because of you, because I had to let you know. Had to tell you before I killed myself that I love you, Sam."

Tears ran down Sam's face, and he let out a shaky exhale.

"But this is probably the last time we'll ever talk." Jake says.

Sam does his best to start breathing normally again, but everything hurts inside and outside of him. He can't stop crying and choking, and he smashes the bottle against the ground with all his strength.

He's not just sad, now—he's angry. He's quivering with the emotion, which boils up inside him as though his skin was being heated by an open flame. He staggers around to Jake's side of the door and half collapses on top of him, straddling his lap and growling into Jake's face.

"Sam? Sam, get off—"

Sam bent his face closer to Jake's, his enraged features caught in the dim light, his eyes murky black.

"Kiss me."

He says like a predator, like he'd prefer to attack Jake instead.

"What? What? Sam, no—"

"Jake. Kiss me."

"Sam, you hate gays—"

"I love you."

"No, no, that's crazy—"

"I loved you long before I knew you ever loved me, because you're the only person in my life worth loving. Worth living for. You're mine. You're the only thing I've got but you're the only thing I could ever ask for. So I swear to god, you selfish son of a bitch, if you take that away from me I will kill myself and spend the rest of my afterlife haunting your ass. So shut up and kiss me, because I don't give a damn if you're a girl, boy, homo or heterosexual. I love you because you're Jake, and I don't care if that means getting pink penises spray painted on my locker, beat up in dark alleys or raped in prison. You're worth it—you and your smiles and hugs and complicated Shakespearian literature. Even if it means I end up being the girl moaning your name in your car or moving in with you or getting married and adopting Ugandan babies—"


"—because you're the love of my life. And if you don't kiss me I'm kissing you, so hurry the fuck up."

Shock lasted for only split seconds, as on some levels the two of them had already known the truth about their relationship from the second they'd met.

Jake paused for only a moment before flipping over Sam onto his back, finding his lips in the dark first with his fingers and then following swiftly with his lips.

Soft, delicate petals of flesh, pressing against each other delicately, taking in the soft flesh of one another. Slowly, antagonising so. Both of their mouths are open, and Sam can pick out whisky on Jake's breath as the two of them both let warm exhales ghost the inside of the other's mouths. Sam feels like he's trying to suck Jake's soul out of his body and into his, like he can absorb all the pain and hurt of his best friend's and take it in as his own. The night air around him would be biting if not for the large body encasing him, all muscles and gentle slopes pressing against his.

He angles his head slightly to the left and Jake to the right, the two of them closing their lips for a brief moment, enjoying a classic kiss. It's not chaste or rushed or filled with lust, just two mouths meeting in sweetness under the all-consuming darkness. Sam thinks he might be floating until Jake secures an arm under his neck and places his large hand on the back of Sam's head, leaving him supported. The other arm weaves under his waste and then slightly up his back, lifting him slightly. Sam grieves as Jake's lips leave his own, but is soon pleased again when he finds them reconnect with the smooth skin on his neck. They only tingle slightly at first, but he gasps slightly into the abyss as Jake's mouth opens and he sends more warm breaths down Sam's neck. The tongue marks the cold spots his breath missed, and Sam writhes under the wet muscle as it traces the contours of the area right below his ear. Jake takes a moment to kiss him behind there, where his skin is sensitive and soft, and chuckles as Sam shudders. He brings his mouth around again to the shell of Sam's ear, this time whispering short confessions of his affliction with the other.

"You look so good when you first wake up… all flushed and pink, with your hair stuck against my chest…"

Then he refocused his affections to the bottom of Sam's jaw, letting the tip of his tongue trace the firm bones and soft palette of flesh beneath them. Sam moans slightly, but Jake captured the noise inside his mouth, swallowing the sound of bliss in favour of gently wrapping his tongue around Sam's, soaking in the flavour of tooth paste covered by alcohol. Electricity pumps through him and every muscle in his body is aware of how moist Jake's tongue is, pushing and pulling in a mesmerising dance with his own. It tickles the top of his mouth and presses against the insides of his cheeks, mapping and marking the features of it.

Sam wriggles again, all too aware of how their jeans are rubbing together in a far to friction like manner, but all he can do is groan slightly in Jake's mouth and try his best to fight the arousal in favour of sampling that perfected taste.

Jake is too consumed in bliss for words, and at that very moment he can't think of what might happen in the next second, next minute or a week from now—because he's stuck in this era and can't think beyond it. Only instead of it being catastrophic and tortuous, it's the best he's ever felt, with his Sam beneath him and entirely surrounded by his body.

He is now living one of those life changing moments, instead of five hours ago, wondering whether or not he should've passed Sam that note.


Crap end? Yeah, well, it's late, and this isn't too bad considering I wrote it with a sore throat and the sound track of Inception playing in the background. You try writing about a sexy make-out when Leonardo Di Caprio is talking about how he, "specializes in a certain type of security." Thoughts? Let me know, please and thank you, and maybe lend me some ideas for another fic if you enjoyed this one. :D