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Jemaine was fumbling with the apartment key, trying valiantly to find the place where the key and lock should meet when he was suddenly crushed into the door by Bret.
"Ow!" Jemaine exclaimed, shoving Bret away from him, "what did you do that for?"
"Sorry, Jemaine," Bret said, grabbing the door frame to steady himself, "thought you had it open already."
"Well obviously I don't," Jemaine snapped, gesturing towards the still closed door, "it's not even unlocked yet."
"Gimme the key," Bret demanded, grabbing for they key, "you're too slow...lemme do it."
"No!" Jemaine protested, but dropped the key while trying to snatch it away from Bret's grasp. "Now look what you did." Jemaine bent to pick it up but wound up banging his forehead on the top of the doorknob on the way down. "Augh!" He cried out and slid down to sit with his back against the door, holding his hands to his head. "Fine." he conceded, "you open it."
Bret laughed and picked up the key from the floor. "You are SO drunk, man!" he teased.
"I'm drunk?" Jemaine protested, "you...you're the one who's drunk...falling into people... making them drop things and hit their heads on doorknobs..." he trailed off.
"I...I...am not drunk," Bret said, drunkenly, as he worked on the lock, not having much more luck with it than Jemaine had, "Well, OK, I am, but m'not that drunk. I only had..." he looked skyward, deep in thought, "3 drinks...no maybe 4... wait do those jello things count?"
"Yes." Jemaine answered.
"Those were awesome..." Bret said, dreamily, "OK then, maybe... 12." Bret concluded, "But you definitely had more, or at least the same amount...or something." The key finally slid home.
"Even if I did," Jemaine began, "it doesn't matter because it's a known fact that I can hold my liquor better than you." And with that he fell through the doorframe onto his back when Bret suddenly opened the door.
Bret exploded into giggles, barely able to breathe.
"Stop laughing and help me up, will ya." Jemaine groaned. "...probably have a concussion now..."
Bret stifled his laugher as best he could then grabbed Jemaine's hands and pulled. He nearly pulled himself on top of Jemaine at first but after steadying himself against the doorframe he managed to get both of them into a standing position and they stumbled, gracelessly into the apartment.
"Ugh, do you think I need ice for this?" Jemaine asked, calling Bret's attention to the growing bump on his forehead.
"Hmm..." Bret said, getting a good look at it, "yeah, maybe, it looks kinda nasty, man."
"Great." Jemaine grumbled. He opened up the freezer to discover they had no ice, so he grabbed a package of frozen broccoli to apply to his head.
Bret went into the bathroom and, realizing that standing wasn't the best idea, sat down and urinated for what seemed like a million years, trying hard to keep from falling asleep on the toilet (he'd, unfortunately, done that once before and Jemaine had teased him about it for weeks - loudly banging pots and pans and yelling for Bret to wake up any time he spent more than 2 minutes in there).
Bret brushed his teeth then stood at the sink for a while, zoning out trying to think of the next step that needed to be taken before he could go to bed. This usually didn't require this much concentration, but the alcohol coursing through his veins had him all discombobulated. He finally remembered that pajamas were the missing ingredient so he put them on then walked back out into the living room to find Jemaine sitting on the couch, eyes closed, with the bag of broccoli resting on his forehead.
"I'm going to bed, man," Bret announced, "I'm beat."
"Yeah, I'm going to go to bed soon too," Jemaine said. He sat for a few more minutes, until the coldness of the bag of broccoli began to get uncomfortable, then stood up shakily and walked over to the freezer to put the bag back.
He went into the bathroom and winced as he looked at the purplish bump forming on his forehead. 'Great,' he thought, 'probably look like a flippin' gargoyle by morning.'
After changing and brushing his teeth he walked out into the darkened bedroom, ready to collapse into bed, which he nearly did before realizing his bed wasn't empty.
"Bret..." Jemaine said, "Bret...BRET!" he bent down to smack his roommate on the leg.
"What?" Bret said sleepily as he looked up at Jemaine.
"Why are you in my bed?" Jemaine asked.
"Huh?" Bret sounded confused, and drunk, "what're you talking about?"
"Just get out of my bed, Bret!" Jemaine insisted, getting annoyed. "You're probably drooling all over my pillow or something."
"You're crazy, man, I'm not in your..." Bret began, then stopped to look around, noticing that the wall had inexplicably moved to the wrong side of the bed, "Oh...sorry, must have gotten turned around somehow."
"It doesn't matter," Jemaine said, exasperated, "just get out. I'm tired and my head hurts."
"Why is your bed so much more comfy than mine?" Bret asked, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
"I...I don't know," Jemaine said, "can we discuss it in the morning? Come on, you need to go to your bed now." He grabbed Bret's arm and tried to yank him out but Bret was not budging.
"Hey...Jemaine... I have an idea," Bret whispered conspiratorially, still not looking as though he had any intention of moving, "why don't...you...go to my bed and I'll stay here?"
"What?" Jemaine exclaimed, "No! This is a ridiculous conversation!"
"S'not that ridiculous," Bret argued, "I mean, I'm already all tucked in and you're still up, so..."
"But it's my bed, Bret!" Jemaine exclaimed, "meaning that I'm the one who gets to sleep in it!"
Bret appeared to be dozing off again and shifted around in the blankets until he was pressed almost right up against the wall. "Mmhmm..." he mumbled, sleepily.
Jemaine sighed mightily and looked over at Bret's bed. He could go sleep on it, he supposed, but Bret was right, it really wasn't all that comfy. Jemaine had sat on it many times before, some of the springs stuck up and the stuffing was getting all wonky. Besides, it was all the way on the other side of the room. No, Jemaine decided, he would absolutely not move over to Bret's bed. That would mean Bret had won and Jemaine couldn't have that. He was getting into his own bed, Bret or no.
Jemaine sighed loudly again, hoping to disturb Bret's rest, then got into bed, yanking violently at the covers and being sure to push and shove Bret as much as possible in the process.
"Five minutes." Jemaine announced, once he had settled.
"What?" Bret asked.
"You have five minutes, then you have to get out and go to your bed, OK?" Jemaine explained.
"Hmm...K." Bret answered in a way that did not leave Jemaine all that confident that he would have his bed to himself any time soon.
Bret squirmed around next to him trying to reclaim some of the blankets. Jemaine kicked him in the shin.
"Ow!" Bret said, "what'd you kick me for?" he rolled over to lay on his back, his and Jemaine's shoulders touching.
"Because you won't stop moving," Jemaine said, exasperated, "and you won't get out of my bed and I want to sleep."
"So sleep then," Bret said, non-chalantly, "I don't mind."
"Well I can't exactly sleep when you're..." Jemaine whined, "Augh! why won't you just get out!"
"Fine," Bret said, "if you're going to be such a flippin' baby about it, I'll just go back to my bed."
"Thank you!" Jemaine said, relieved.
They lay there in silence for a few moments, neither moving.
"Why are you still here, Bret?" Jemaine asked, irritation rising in his voice.
"You said I had 5 minutes," Bret answered, matter-of-factly, "I figure I should have at least 2 or 3 left by now."
Jemaine wanted to scream but, realizing that arguing with Bret about this would be more trouble than it was worth, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said "Fine. You have exactly 2 minutes and then you HAVE to get out."
"Fair enough," Bret said, and settled back in.
"My head hurts," Jemaine groaned, after another few moments of silence.
"You should have been more careful." Bret advised.
"Well you shouldn't have made me drop the key," Jemaine retaliated.
"You're really grumpy when you're drunk," Bret remarked, quite awake now, "anyone ever tell you that?" Bret turned a bit so he was facing Jemaine.
"I'm only grumpy because you're making me grumpy," Jemaine said, "and I'm not that drunk," he lied, head swimming.
"Yes you are," Bret insisted, "cause I'm still pretty drunk and I know you're worse off than me."
"Whatever." Jemaine scowled.
Bret suddenly drew his face closer to Jemaine's head and sniffed the air a few times.
"Bret..." Jemaine began, completely weirded out, "are you...are you smelling me?"
"What?" Bret said, snapping out if it, "No...it's just that..." he sniffed again then moved away from Jemaine, "your head smells like broccoli a little bit."
"Go away!" Jemaine said, shoving Bret lightly.
"Pretty fun party, eh?" Bret said, changing the subject.
"Yeah, it was good," Jemaine agreed.
"Dave's parties are always awesome," Bret continued, "there were a lot of hot girls there."
"You can say that again," Jemaine said, dreamily, forgetting his irritation momentarily.
"So I guess you struck out pretty fantastically with that redhead you were chatting up?" Bret teased, with a smile in his voice.
"I did not," Jemaine protested, "I could have gone home with her, but she was pretty drunk and I didn't want to take advantage so I turned her down politely."
"Ha! Yeah right," Bret said, "I saw you. You leaned in for a kiss and accidentally spilled your drink down her top then she slapped you!"
"Oh," Jemaine said, sheepishly, "I..I didn't realize you saw that."
"I think everybody saw it," Bret said. "She made quite a scene."
"Yeah, well..." Jemaine struggled to come up with a witty retort, "I didn't exactly see you bringing home any ladies tonight."
"Well, no, not tonight," Bret conceded, "It was getting pretty late. But I did get a couple of phone numbers. Oh and I think I have a date for next Saturday."
"Oh." Jemaine said, and they lay in silence for a minute, both of them having completely forgotten about the 2 minute time limit.
"You know, I totally could have done it with that girl if my drink hadn't wound up down her top," Jemaine said, "I think somebody bumped into me. I was sabotaged, really."
"Sabotaged?" Bret repeated, skeptically.
"Yeah!" Jemaine said, now deep in thought. "Oh she was so hot. The things I wanted her to do to me..."
"What things?" Bret asked, conspiratorially, sounding genuinely interested.
"Well," Jemaine said, perplexed, "You know...sexy things..." he said mysteriously.
"Yeah, but, like what?" Bret asked again. "Tell me."
"Why?" Jemaine asked, suddenly feeling inexplicably drunker.
"Dunno," Bret said, "just something to talk about."
"Fine," Jemaine said, "but I don't want to be the only one talking. You have to tell me what you're going to do on your date next Saturday."
"I think we're just going to see a movie," Bret said.
"Well what will you do after the movie?" Jemaine said.
"I don't know," Bret answered thoughtfully, "maybe get a cup of tea then head home."
"Home...to go to bed with her?" Jemaine suggested, hopefully.
"Yeah...no probably not." Bret admitted.
Jemaine just rolled his eyes. "Nevermind. You suck at this. I'll just start."
Bret was too drunk to care much that Jemaine had just insulted him, and settled into the blankets to await Jemaine's story.
Jemaine hesitated a bit, wondering if it was weird to be talking about sexy things while lying in the same bed as Bret. They'd had raunchy conversations before, of course, but being literally shoulder to shoulder with Bret while having one struck Jemaine as being a little bit more intimate than normal.
But on the other hand, they were drunk, they were horny (at least Jemaine was, he could only guess that Bret was too, considering that he'd been the one to initiate this conversation), Jemaine didn't particularly feel like moving, and Bret obviously didn't either, so what the heck.
Jemaine began describing all of the filthy things that he wanted to do with the hot redhead, from kissing, to tearing each others' clothes off, to fondling each other on the bed and more. He carried on, quite engrossed in his own story, when he realized with horror that he was becoming quite aroused, visibly so if anyone cared to look. He stopped talking abruptly and looked over at Bret to make sure that he hadn't noticed anything and was a little taken aback (and also...a little excited? No, it couldn't be that...just the booze talking) to see that Bret was lying with his eyes closed, his hand moving a little bit under the blankets near his hips which were angled away from Jemaine. Jemaine knew there was only one thing that Bret could be doing.
Jemaine wanted to say something but was too embarrassed. He couldn't exactly get annoyed at Bret for being turned on when Jemaine himself was, but he wasn't all that pleased that Bret had decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, in Jemaine's bed with Jemaine lying right next to him. Jemaine couldn't think of anything appropriate or non-embarrassing to say, so he shifted over about an inch so their shoulders weren't touching anymore.
The sudden loss of contact was enough to snap Bret out of his reverie and he opened his eyes to see Jemaine staring wildly at him, Bret's hand abruptly stopped its motion under the covers and creeped above the blankets where it was visible.
"Uhh..." Bret stammered, "sorry, man..." he averted his eyes from Jemaine's gaze, flushing with embarrassment. "I just got so caught up in what you were talking about...forgot where I was for a second..."
"Yeah," Jemaine said, "s'ok...forget about it..." he trailed off, wanting to discuss this as little as possible.
"Do you want me to leave?" Bret asked.
'Yes,' Jemaine thought. "No," Jemaine said, much to his and Bret's surprise.
"Really?" Bret asked, certain he had overstepped a major boundary and weirded out Jemaine irreparably, "because I...I'll just go." He finished.
"You don't have to," Jemaine said before Bret could get up, not quite certain of why he suddenly wanted Bret to stay. It was as though he couldn't even control the words coming out of his mouth anymore.
"You sure?" Bret asked, realizing he didn't particularly want to go. At least he knew if Jemaine let him stay that he wasn't mad at him or anything.
"Yeah, I'm sure." Jemaine said, still willing himself to shut up so he could be alone to take care of his own erection. "I'm comfy now and you'd just have to climb over me and then I wouldn't be comfortable anymore and...stay, just stay." He was glad it was dark so Bret wouldn't see the flush of red rising in his cheeks.
"OK," Bret said. "But I guess the story's over then, huh?"
"That's probably best," Jemaine agreed.
"Yeah," Bret said.
They lay in awkward silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing sideways at each other and turning away quickly whenever their eyes met. Jemaine found himself unable to resist looking at where the blankets draped around Bret's waist and was surprised to see a prominent bulge still there.
He began to formulate an idea then stopped himself, suddenly feeling way too hot and finding it difficult to breathe. He stared at the ceiling, watching it spin slightly, wondering absently how Dave had managed to pack so much alcohol into that jello. The idea came into Jemaine's head again, making him a little excited in spite of himself, and he tried to push it aside. No. There's no way. They could not do this. It was out of the question. Jemaine would not suggest it. Not going to happen. End of story.
"Hey Bret," Jemaine started, speaking without even realizing he was going to do so.
"Yeah," Bret answered, looking over at Jemaine, who was still staring at the ceiling, unable to look Bret in the eye.
"Remember that...thing that Dave told us about a few months ago?" Jemaine began.
"What thing?" Bret asked.
"You know...that thing?" Jemaine tried again.
"Dave tells us loads of things, man," Bret said, "you're going to have to be more specific."
Jemaine sighed. He was going to have to say it. Why couldn't Bret just know what he was talking about? That would make things so much easier.
"You remember," Jemaine continued, exasperated, "that thing where you...lie down on your own arm for a bit until your hand goes kinda numb then you...you know..." he blushed furiously, "and it's supposed to feel like it's someone else's hand?"
"Oh yeah," Bret said, "I remember. That doesn't really work, though, you know. My hand got all tingly and fell completely asleep. I could barely even get a grip on my..." Bret began, then stopped talking abruptly when he suddenly realized he had over shared.
Jemaine looked at him funny for a minute, but carried on. "Anyway, I was thinking, since it's kind of a...you know...game you can play so it seems like somebody else is touching you...that maybe it might be even better to play another kind of game where somebody else actually IS touching you but you're pretending they're...I don't know...a gorgeous woman or something like that."
"I'm not sure I follow..." Bret said, confused.
Jemaine wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment, yet somehow the powerful combination of booze and horniness compelled him to continue speaking.
"No," Jemaine continued, "I just meant that maybe...y'know...if you and I were to...but thinking about hot ladies while...then...yeah..." He trailed off, incapable of saying any more words than that. He found himself half hoping that Bret would understand and be into it and half hoping that it would sail right over Bret's head and they could both just go to sleep in their own beds and never talk about this again.
Bret was silent for a minute, then realization dawned on him through the haze of alcoholic gelatin permeating his brain. "So you're suggesting that we...touch each others'...while pretending we're being touched by hot women?"
"Mmhmm." Jemaine confirmed, not even able to use an actual word.
"Wouldn't that be...you know...gay?" Bret inquired.
"Well," Jemaine said, finding his voice again, "not really, because we'd be pretending that our hands are ladies' hands, right?" He said, madly justifying, "I mean, if we were to just...you know...do...that, without thinking about women, it would for sure be gay, but if we're imagining ladies then it's totally OK. People do it all the time...so I've heard." he lied.
"Hmm..." Bret pondered, not wanting to be gay, but also quite keen to get off after Jemaine's story had made him so unexpectedly hot and bothered. "David Bowie DID tell me that as long as you're pretending the other person is a woman that things like this aren't actually all that gay..."
Jemaine was confused for a minute then remembered Bret's series of David Bowie dreams he'd had back around the time he was bulimic.
"So...?" Jemaine asked.
"Yeah, OK." Bret agreed, "why not."
"OK then," Jemaine agreed, sounding pleased at first, then suddenly feeling terror grip him. This was actually going to happen. He realized that he hadn't really been prepared for Bret agreeing so easily, or at all. But he carried on nonetheless, his excitement overriding his uncertainty. "Um...ok...so rules. No talking...or actually, no noises of any kind - we don't want to shatter the illusion," Jemaine said.
"Agreed." Bret said.
"Clothing remains on, as much as it can," Jemaine continued, "we do this under the covers, eyes closed at all times, and we never talk about this again or tell anyone ever. Sound good to you?"
"Sounds good." Bret said, head spinning wildly with anticipation.
"OK." Jemaine said, "Do you have your lady in mind?"
"Yes," Bret said, after thinking a moment to conjure up the image of the cute brunette he was taking to the movies the following week.
"Me too," Jemaine said, "So...yeah."
The both laid there, neither wanting to make the first move.
"Jemaine...?" Bret asked, quietly.
"No talking!" Jemaine scolded.
"Well, we haven't even done anything yet," Bret protested.
"Fine," Jemaine conceded, "what is it?"
"I was just thinking..." Bret continued, "we might want some...y'know..."
Jemaine didn't know what he was talking about for a second, then it dawned on him, "Oh," he said, reaching a hand blindly under the side of the bed and coming back up with a small bottle of lotion. He held it up to Bret who nodded. They each pumped the bottle into a hand and wordlessly reached down to spread the cool substance over their own members.
That embarrasing interruption out of the way, Bret asked "So...who starts?"
"Same time?" Jemaine said after a moment's consideration. "And no more talking."
"OK," Bret agreed, breathlessly.
Both men looked at each other one last time before closing their eyes and each slowly moving a hand under the covers to cross the divide between their bodies. Jemaine touched Bret's hip tentatively, his hand still slick with lotion, as Bret's hand settled on Jemaine's thigh.
They were at an impasse again and neither moved for another minute both feeling a strange kind of electricity between them and wondering if the other felt it too. Jemaine figured it must be the booze. What other explanation could there be?
Bret knew that talking at this point would have ruined everything, so after another agonizing moment he finally made the first move and slowly but awkwardly worked his hand under the waistband of Jemaine's sweatpants and closed his fingers around Jemaine's cock.
Jemaine tried to follow the rules and not make a sound but couldn't stop the low moan that escaped him as Bret finally touched him. Not wanting to draw attention to it, Jemaine screwed up his courage and maneuvered his way over until Bret's cock was enclosed in his hand.
The started to move their hands rhythmically up and down, neither doing it quite right but both impossibly worked up just the same.
Jemaine suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be imagining a hot lady gripping him, not Bret (because that would be gay). So he immediately concentrated on bringing the hot redhead from earlier that night into the forefront of his mind. He thought he had settled on the image when suddenly Bret's face popped into his head again. No no no. He thought, then conjured up the image of the woman again. That's better. Now Bret's face was back again. If Jemaine hadn't been so frustrated and confused it would almost be comical: redhead - Bret - redhead - redhead - Bret - Bret - redhead - Bret - Bret - Bret...
'Fuck it,' Jemaine thought to himself. It if was going to take this much concentration to maintain the illusion, he wouldn't bother. Bret didn't need to know.
Bret, however, was having a similar problem on his side of the bed. He was finding it rather difficult to continue concentrating on the cute brunette in his mind. He knew he was supposed to be using his imagination, but imagination only went so far when you were acutely aware that the reality of the situation is that you're lying there with your friend's dick in your hand and yours in his! That's not exactly something that's easy to put out of one's mind. Bret was starting to feel unspeakably good, however, and he was beginning to care less and less about maintaining the woman's face in his brain - he barely even knew her. Besides, it would be rather disturbing if her hands were as large as Jemaine's were. Bret reluctantly admitted to himself that what was really going on was about a million times hotter than any fantasy.
After a bit of an awkward start, they began to find their rhythm. Jemaine could feel the waves of pleasure starting low in his belly and marveled at the fact that Bret seemed to knew exactly the right way to touch him.
Jemaine suddenly felt a moment of panic at the thought that perhaps Bret wasn't enjoying this as much as he himself was. He wanted to open his eyes and look at his friend but knew he shouldn't break the rule. It was his rule, plus he'd already abandoned the woman fantasy which was the main idea behind this whole thing in the first place.
As it turns out, Jemaine needn't have worried. Bret had held off long enough but was no longer capable of making no noise at all. His moans started off as little more than heavy breaths, turning into whimpers, then quickly getting louder.
Jemaine was certain he had never heard anything so arousing in his life than the noises that were coming from Bret right now. He knew he had to look, to see what he had reduced Bret to.
Jemaine opened his eyes and turned his head carefully to gaze at Bret. His eyes were still closed and his mouth was open, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. Jemaine suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but knew he had to resist. That would definitely be crossing a line, he thought, crazily, not unaware of the massive line they'd already plowed right over. No. He can't. Bret was probably still thinking of that woman anyway, he wouldn't want to kiss Jemaine.
Bret, feeling Jemaine's eyes on him, opened his own and turned look at his friend. Jemaine was startled for a moment, but soon locked his gaze with Bret's, beginning to moan as well, a low growl in his throat.
Something unspoken passed between them as they stared at each other, breathing heavily, hands wildly pumping, each approaching the edge, and they angled their bodies toward each other. Neither was quite sure who made the first move, it all happened so fast, but suddenly their lips were smashing together, as if pulled by magnets. They moaned into each other's mouths, tongues exploring and teasing, as the pace of their hands sped up to match the intensity.
Jemaine's other hand found it's way to Bret's hip and he drew the slighter man closer to him, craving more contact. Bret's fingers entwined themselves in the hair at the nape of Jemaine's neck and pulled roughly, deepening the kiss and making Jemaine cry out a little, shocked at Bret's forcefulness and nearly coming right then.
Even though it was messy and amateur (and with a man), Jemaine was certain had never experienced a better kiss than this. It was impossible to think of anything else but Bret, Bret's mouth on his, Bret's hands on him, his hands on Bret. It was indescribable and Jemaine never wanted it to end.
Unfortunately, neither could hold out much longer at this frantic pace, and Bret suddenly broke away from the kiss and buried his head in the hollow between Jemaine's neck and shoulder to muffle the cry as he came, stars bursting beneath his eyelids.
The noises Bret made as he came combined with everything else into a kind of blissful sensory overload and sent Jemaine over the edge as well, moaning loudly as he rode out his climax, face buried in Bret's mop of slightly sweaty curls.
After a moment, they came up for air, both gasping frantically. Jemaine reached for some tissues beside the bed and they hastily cleaned themselves off before falling back onto the mattress, Bret with his head against Jemaine's shoulder and Jemaine resting a hand on Bret's stomach.
They lay in silence for a few minutes, just breathing, neither wanting to break the spell.
Finally Bret spoke, "So I guess my two minutes are probably up?"
"I'll say," Jemaine laughed.
"Do you want me to...?" Bret began tentatively.
"No, no, you can stay," Jemaine invited, "I mean, if you want to..."
Bret pulled the blankets up higher and snuggled closer to Jemaine in response. Jemaine smiled, closed his eyes, and fell asleep thinking of nobody else but Bret.