Ready to Go
Jan. 10th, 2016 08:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i_am_tl_drTitle: Ready to Go
Characters: Quentin Kinley and Tyler Jordan Graham
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 7525
Notes: This story took NINE YEARS to finish. And it took me a year of working on the story of these two idiots to finish the story of the afternoon that launched their entire intimate relationship. But it's done now! Here's what happened when these idiots got wasted and did what they'd both been trying not to let themselves do.
Timeline: August 4, 2013
“You need to learn how to swim,” Tyler Jordan said on a Sunday afternoon. “I’m gonna teach you how.” Quentin gave him a quizzical look and then shrugged.
“Fine, teach me. I’ll get Rishi to let us use the hotel pool. It’s like a million fucking degrees today anyways, we might as well have a halfway legitimate excuse to make him let us in.”
“We should definitely get pool noodles. You’re gonna need the support in the deep end.” Tyler Jordan grinned. “And the deep end starts a little earlier for you.”
“Fuck you, I’m not that short!” Quentin kicked him, and Tyler Jordan laughed. “Fine, they sell those at Walmart. We’ll go grab some noodles, come back here and drink, and take a cab over to the hotel. No problem. Let’s do it.”
Quentin hadn’t been in Tyler Jordan’s car before that, mostly because the beat-up grey piece of shit looked like it was held together with duct tape and wishful thinking. Still, the Walmart wasn’t that far away, so it probably wouldn’t fall apart in the few miles between the apartment and there. Quentin realized a second reason not to get in the deathtrap of a car shortly after they pulled out: Tyler Jordan drove like a fucking madman, seemingly regarding traffic lights and posted signs like suggestions rather than rules. “Jesus, you don’t ever drive drunk, do you? Cause you drive like you’re drunk already.”
“Of course I don’t,” Tyler Jordan said, sounding very offended. “I’m not a fucking criminal. Well, except for the coke. But that’s pretty minor.”
“Coke? You?”
“Not all the time. Just once in a while. C’mon, I’m a rockstar, I have to have some vices. And it’s the best thing to offset a hangover on Monday morning.”
"Well, that's twice as good! Going in coked up and hungover, you'll work like a machine for an hour." The things he didn't know about Tyler Jordan... still, Quentin didn't bitch about other people's habits. Too much.
"Shit, I might as well be a machine, it's fucking construction. It's not like it's brain surgery." Tyler Jordan shrugged again, clipped a fire hydrant on the turn into Wal Mart, slammed into a parking spot and pulled off his seat belt. "Okay. Noodles. And we should probably grab chasers if we’re drinking."
"Jesus!" Quentin resolved to never get in the car with Tyler Jordan again without putting his seatbelt on, hands braced against the dash as they jerked to a stop. "Chasers, yeah, good idea. Orange juice?”
“Sounds good.” Tyler Jordan hopped out of the car, pocketing his keys and making sure he had his wallet. Check. "We should do a noodle duel. Heh, noodle duel. Say that five times fast. Right now."
Quentin swung his door shut, giving Tyler Jordan a weird look over the car as he walked around. "Noodle duel." He grinned. "Noodle duel, noodle duel, doodle nue-- fuck! Noodle duel, noodle doodle..." He shook his head, flipping Tyler off and laughing. "You say it five times fast. Noodle fucking massacre."
Tyler Jordan was pretty sure he was about to pee from laughing so hard. He had to stop, doubled over, for a second, before he caught his breath and jogged a little to catch up. "I'm not even going to try to say that more than once. Even once is a little iffy, here, bro. Come on." He gave Quentin a noogie on the way into the store, jogging in past him with a laugh and looking at him over his shoulder.
Yelping in indignation, Quentin chased Tyler Jordan into the store, shouldering him as he caught up. "Asshole. Don't mess with the hair." The greeter scowled after them, especially after Quentin called, "Nice pink tint, grandma," and high-fived Tyler Jordan on his way to pick up a bunch of bananas. "These things keep getting smaller. What, is there a problem in the banana republics?"
"What," Tyler Jordan said, stopping and looking back at Quentin, raising his eyebrows at him. "Dude, it's cold in the store, leave the poor phallic objects alone." He reached over to grab the bananas, and put them back on the shelf. "Jeez, you hurt their feelings. Dickmunch. Let's go get the noodles, maybe they'll be big enough for you." He may or may not have muttered 'size queen' under his breath on his way to the pool toy aisle.
"You're pretty defensive on their behalf," Quentin teased, patting the bananas as they passed them and skipping ahead to circle Tyler Jordan, grinning. "Got some skin in the size game? Bigger is better, little boy." Sure, he was shorter, but Quentin liked to keep his age (trying to equate it with maturity) as some kind of bonus to even that out.
Tyler Jordan just snickered a little bit, stopping to watch him skip around him. "You sound like such a queer, dude. People are going to think we're a gay couple if you keep it with the pet names. And why the fuck are you skipping?" He elbowed him a little, turning onto the noodle aisle. "Are you on the meth, Quentin?" He reached for the nearest noodle, rearing back with it and slamming it into Quentin's middle. "En garde, motherfucker."
"Ow! Bastard." Quentin grabbed a noodle-- unfortunately pink-- and whacked Tyler Jordan in the head with it. "What's wrong, honey, are you scared of a little mistaken identity?" He took a few steps back, falling into a mock-fencing stance and grinning wildly at Tyler Jordan. "Don't be afraid of luuuurve, baby." He could do this all day, especially if they gathered more of an audience than one shocked-looking little girl in pigtails.
"Okay, that's it. Sugar, you're going down." Tyler Jordan took a swing at Quentin's noodle, then at his leg, jumping back after and held up his noodle in a defensive sort of pose. "You wish there was some luuuurve. Come and get some," he wiggled a little bit, trying not to be too provocative that close to the kids' section.
"Oh, you want me to?" Quentin's eyes narrowed, and he poked at Tyler Jordan with his noodle in a few quick stabs, laughing. "Brace yourself, dude, your world is about to be rocked." A flurry of noodle-smacks followed, trying to drive the younger man down the aisle and into the heavier traffic of the main aisle.
Tyler Jordan made a face at him, getting backed up nonetheless, trying his best to keep his defenses up. "Like you could rock my world," he managed to get out, putting his arm up to block the noodle-smacks as well, going for a few weaker hits. "Shit, dude, ack," he had to look back to keep from falling into a few shelves, taking a couple quick steps backwards into the main aisle.
"Oh, I can," Quentin said confidently. On the other side of the toy section was the bedding section, and in the middle-- He dropped his noodle and tackled Tyler Jordan into the center display, a big bin of pillows, laughing manically the whole time.
Tyler Jordan half-shouted, half-squeaked, tackled back into the bedding and thrashing a little at first; he wrapped his arms around Quentin to flip them over, noodle cast aside in favor of half-poking him, half-tickling, half trying to get a noogie in there while he had the chance. "Fag!" he managed to shout, amidst all the giggling.
Making a really undignified squealing sound, Quentin tried to burrow himself back in the pillows, away from Tyler Jordan's tickling because that was so unfair. "You're on top of me, fairy!" he pointed out in a breathless yelp, reaching for a pillow to try and bat at his head with it. It was only a little weird that this was not an unsatisfactory situation; Quentin wasn't going to think about it anyhow.
"You're the queer who tackled me," Tyler Jordan was quick to correct, getting a mouthful of pillow when he tried. "Dude, weak!" He grabbed the pillow to fake-suffocate Quentin. Just for a second, before he threw it aside. He could already hear the 'would an associate please report to bedding for customer assistance?' on the PA. He cackled a little bit.
Spluttering against the faux-suffocation, Quentin laughed when he heard the announcement, and reached up to grab Tyler Jordan's shoulder, yanking him down into the pillow pile. "We're so getting kicked out," he laughed next to Tyler Jordan's ear, flipping them over and pinning him down into the pillows for a second. "There you go. Rightful place, right under me. How ya feeling, Nancy?"
Tyler Jordan snickered for a second, before he slapped Quentin and wiggled his way out of the pile, pushed him aside. "Dude, let me up. We can't get caught, we have to buy the noodles. We have to split up. You pay for the noodles," he reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. "And I've gotta piss. Meet you at the car." Okay, so he was a little bit pale, a little freaked out looking, but it was natural and biology and all that, and at least he was wearing a baggy t-shirt? Whatever. "Don't get pink ones either, queermo."
"Bitch," Quentin accused, floundering in the pillows for a second before he stood up and brushed himself off. "You do that. Have it running, just in case." He made a token effort at putting some of the pillows back, just to keep from having to stand up totally yet-- yeah, so what, the last time he'd been writhing around in pillows with someone like that was prom night, and they'd been stuffed animals, not pillows-- whatever. He grabbed two manly blue noodles and tried to act casual on his side trip into the dairy aisle on his way up to the registers.
The bathroom took a few minutes, mostly just for Tyler Jordan to get his shit in order, mentally, splash some water in his face and adjust his pants and he was good to go. He made it out to the car probably before Quentin even made it up to the register, knowing the lines in Walmart, pulling up outside the door and letting the car idle. It was just from never getting laid, that was all. Of course he was a little... oversensitive. Once he found a good chick, he'd be fine. This was totally just a phase.
Although he kept looking over his shoulder, waiting for the blue-vested associate to slap him in handcuffs and cart him away, Quentin made it to the self-checkout with no problems, scanned through and had a brief poking match with the machine over not bagging the noodles, and carried them out with the sort of speed only associated with Walmart as far as Nascar sponsorship went. He stuck them through the open back window and flung himself into the passenger seat. "Drive, man, drive like the fucking wind!"
"Buckle up, dude," Tyler Jordan said - he didn't have to squeal the tires on the way out, but he really wanted to, and so he did. He made sure to go around the speed limit all the way out, not really feeling like getting pulled over. "So back to the apartment to pick up the drinks and then to the hotel? Dude, did you call your brother yet? Give him a call, tell him to give us a room to pre-game in." He waved at Quentin a little bit.
Snapping his seat belt on, Quentin grabbed his phone and poked it a couple times. "Ring... ring... come on, Rishi, pick it up...." He pouted at the phone, then at Tyler Jordan for good measure, then stopped looking at Tyler Jordan because that way lay madness. "Rishi, it's Quentin, I want to use the pool today, is that cool? Call me back, man." He frowned when he snapped it closed. "To the apartment, Jeeves. We might be pregaming there."
"Don't ever call me Jeeves again," Tyler Jordan said, conversationally, pulling into the familiar parking spot outside their apartment and climbing out of the car, grabbing his noodle from the backseat. "Okay, we pre-game upstairs. And then... we take a cab to the hotel, because I don’t drink and drive. Or we make your brother pick us up. Score." He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look directly at Quentin for the past few minutes.
"Anything you say, sweetcheeks," Quentin wondered if it was some weird kind of layering that let him ironically call Tyler Jordan pet names, or if he'd just sunk to the level of being that creepy. He snagged his noodle and the orange juice and followed him up. "I could ask him to get us. Tell him your car broke down. He's a sucker for helping people out." He leaned on the wall while Tyler Jordan unlocked the door, idly swatting his ass with the noodle. Yeah, so what, he was acting pretty queer anyway.
Tyler Jordan just snickered a little and turned to poke Quentin in the crotch with his noodle in retaliation. "Dude, quit it, I'm fucking unlocking the door. Dude, say 'fucking unlocking' five times fast." What his fascination was with making Quentin say things, he had no idea. He got the door unlocked at any rate, pushed it open and threw his noodle onto the couch, immediately going for a beer.
"Don't--" Swatting away the noodle, Quentin winced a little. He still said it, though, for some reason just going along with it when Tyler Jordan told him to. "Fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking. BAM! Get me one, bitch." He pushed Tyler Jordan's noodle off the couch and flopped down, taking the opportunity while the other guy was in the kitchen to adjust himself and think about things that weren't Tyler Jordan. Magic Bullet ads pretty much killed the embarrassing erection instantaneously.
"Motherfucker," Tyler Jordan whined, grabbing him a beer as well and throwing it to him before he flopped down on the other side of the couch. "That shit ain't natural," he said, reaching for the remote. "You're getting the next round. Ooh, Daily Show rerun." Tyler Jordan liked his fake news a bit. He popped open his beer and took a healthy chug, propping his feet up on the coffee table.
"Thaaaaank you." Quentin flopped around, trying to get comfortable, making a face over his beer and looking around. "This is so frat boy of me, but we have a pen, right...?" He found one, poked a hole at the bottom of his can, and held it up to his mouth before popping the top. It was a matter of impatience: shotgunning a can of beer was so much faster than just drinking it.
"And you act like I'm an alcoholic?" Tyler Jordan snickered a little bit, reaching over to poke Quentin on the stomach while he was swallowing, demonic sort of grin on his face. "Quentiiiinnn, I'm worried about you. I might have to stage an intervention," he said, between chugs from his own can.
Gasping at the end, face screwed up, Quentin slugged Tyler Jordan on the shoulder. "Bastard! I'm only having a couple, I know you're going to drink twice what I am." He put the empty can on the coffee table, wiggling and then flopping over to swing his legs up on the back of the couch. "Go ahead and intervene me, man. No more coke-fuelled weekend binges together. How boring would life get?"
"You don't do coke," he protested, watching Quentin get all upside-down on the couch and then just laughing a little. "You don't need coke, buddy. You're already fucked up enough." Tyler Jordan shrugged at him and then finished off his beer. "Probably more than twice as much. Maybe even three, four times as much as you. It's not a problem unless I admit it is." He grinned a little bit, reaching over to poke Quentin's side again.
"Gosh, thanks," Quentin snarked, rolling his eyes and watching Jon Stewart upside-down. "I'm worse than a cokehead. Wonderful." He was fucked up, that just wasn't the point! "You're an alkie-!" He squeaked when Tyler Jordan poked him, that time, sides all vulnerable when he sat like that. He smacked at his hand, then at his stomach, not hard. "Leave me alone and focus on your beer, you alcoholically-addled alcoholic." Not shining repartee, but hey, he was distracted.
Tyler Jordan just snorted; he got up, poked Quentin a few more times on his way past, and wound up in the kitchen. "Well, if I'm an alcoholic I'm doing a shitty job. Beers? Come on, now. Real alcoholics drink tequila from the bottle." He grabbed the tequila and the vodka to bring back to the living room and flopped back down, going for Quentin's stomach again. It was like a magnet, really. He just had to go for the poking and the tickling.
"Masochists drink tequila from the bottle," Quentin corrected, watching Tyler Jordan leave and come back. Shit, he needed to not watch him from that angle. "Don't-- stop touching me, you fag," he whined, trying to dodge Tyler Jordan's fingers; he planted a hand on the other man's leg and flopped back over, sitting the right way up. "Jesus, you don't even try to keep your hands off me," he accused.
"I think you're projecting. It's just funny as hell when you squeal like a girl," Tyler Jordan smirked a little and gave his hand a pat, only halfway in a 'hey get off my leg' kind of way, taking a long drink of the tequila and snagging the OJ to chase it. "Masochism, alcoholism, potato tomato, dude. You want some?" He tipped the bottle toward him a little bit. That was much better. He could deal with suddenly wanting to be all over Quentin much easier when he was properly alcoholated.
"Bitch. No, man, I don't drink tequila." Quentin did reach for the vodka, though, with both hands, wrapping them around the frozen-cold bottle and pulling it into his lap. "I think vodka is underrated. It's so versatile. And it is made out of potatoes, so that makes it a vegetable, right?" He was rambling a little, trying not to think about how he'd just mostly-accidentally-but-part-on-purpose started to feel Tyler Jordan up and chickened out. "It's wonderful," he declared, and took an almost desperately long swig out of the bottle.
"Vodka is not a vegetable. It's... shit, is it? Is tequila a fruit? It doesn't taste like a fruit." Tyler Jordan made a face, falling over a little bit over his arm of the couch. "Whoa, The Daily Show is on." He took another drink, the perfect thing to do, and set the bottle down after a second. "Shit, you're drinking vegetables, dude. Why does it taste so good with orange juice then? Vodka doesn't make sense. That's why I drink tequila."
"Tequila's not made out of fruit, it's made out of cactus," Quentin said, clinking his bottle against Tyler Jordan's as it headed to the table. "Agave or some shit. Tequila is shit. Vodka is the best. It goes with everything." Including, apparently, trying to drink away the gay. Quentin sort of just kept up a steady sipping for a while before he put his bottle down too and keeled over, more or less into Tyler Jordan's lap.
What else could he do, besides laugh at his roommate and poke him a little. "Lightweight," Tyler Jordan taunted a little, ruffling his fingers through Quentin's hair in a vague gesture of affection. "God. Couple sips of vodka and you're falling all over the place. I can't take you anywhere." Nevermind the fact that they were in their apartment, or that Tyler Jordan was basically as drunk as Quentin was, if not a little moreso.
"Fuck you." Squinting up at Tyler Jordan, Quentin stuck his tongue out childishly. "Maybe I just felt like falling over, huh? Can't a man fall over without being totally blitzed anymore?" He reached up to tickle Tyler Jordan's side, but ended up more just patting him. "What's the world coming to, huh?"
"Shut up," Tyler Jordan laughed a little. "You're drunk. Don't even act like you're not. I bet you can't even touch your nose." The weird part was when he touched Quentin's nose for him, grinning down at him and then pushing his hair back. "Drunk-ass bitch," seemed more a term of endearment than anything else, at that point.
"Oh, I am," Quentin said, "But I could too..." But then Tyler Jordan did it for him, and Quentin nudged his nose up against his fingers, looked up at him when Tyler Jordan ran his fingers through his hair. For a second he just looked, then he smiled a little and reached up with one finger, first to touch his own nose, then Tyler Jordan's. "I'm not too drunk to do that."
"Well, there's a shocker," Tyler Jordan snickered, nudging his nose back against Quentin's finger too, shifting a little bit and biting his bottom lip. "Q, dude," he started, but had to bite his lip again. He went to lean down but stopped himself, then did it again, hesitating a little more; it was the most awkward he'd ever felt and he was drunk, he couldn't even imagine how it'd been if he'd been sober.
Tyler Jordan biting his lip set Quentin right back to pillow-pile levels of gayness, and he didn't even care this time. He was drunk-- but not too drunk, like he'd just said, and that wasn't why he curled his hand into Tyler Jordan's hair and pulled him down a little.
The funky strains of "Superfreak" blared, jarringly loud, from Quentin's pocket. He fell off the couch.
Tyler Jordan made an incredibly girly whining sound, looking down at Quentin on the floor and then groaning a little more, curling his legs up and reaching for the tequila. "Fucking modern technology bullshit," he muttered halfway to himself, watching Quentin to see who was calling, because if it wasn't important he was going to track the person down and kill them. He was trying not to think about how weird it was to be that disappointed.
Fumbling in his pocket for the phone, Quentin tried to keep his swearing to a level where Tyler Jordan wouldn't hear how much he would have given not to have been interrupted just then. "What," he answered his phone, sitting up slowly. "Oh. You got my-- no? The radio? Rishi, what the fuck are you talking about?" He shot Tyler Jordan a confused look, more than a little freaked out. "They want to interview-- yeah, I know where he is-- what?"
Tyler Jordan blinked at him a couple of times, tilting his head and giving him a 'what the hell?' kind of look. "Radio? You're getting interviewed on the radio? What the hell is going on?" He laughed a little bit, into his bottle, taking another long drink and setting it down on the tabletop. "Why are you suddenly famous enough to be on the radio?"
Quentin held up his hand and shushed Tyler Jordan. "Wait, let me get this straight," he said, looking right at his roommate. "Your DJ friend wants to interview the guys who tried to raft to Canada? Both of them. In two hours." He widened his eyes at Tyler Jordan and pointed at the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I got that. Uh, let me ask him. I'll... I'll call you back. Yeah." He hung up his cell phone, dropped it to the couch next to Tyler Jordan's hip. "Do you want to be on the radio?"
Tyler Jordan got a serious case of the giggles over that, shifting a little and unfolding his legs. "Your brother has a DJ friend who wants us on the radio? For that shit we pulled with the raft? Dude, seriously, let's do it. They'll have to tape it ahead of time because I cannot control the shit that comes out of my mouth and some of it might need editing, though." Tyler Jordan grinned a bit. "You want to do it?"
"You and your foul fucking mouth." Quentin sat down on the couch, legs tucked under him, nodding. "Yeah, I want to do it. I'll call him back..." He reached forward, wrapped his hand around the phone, then leaned forward and pushed his mouth against Tyler Jordan's, an awkward and too-quick kiss.
Even that short, awkward kiss made Tyler Jordan freeze. He stared at Quentin for a second, then leaned forward again, kissed him a bit more firmly, before he backed off. "Call your brother back," he said a little weakly, took a drink of tequila and then put the cap on the stuff, curling his legs up close to him on the couch. He didn't know what was going on at all, it was confusing but kind of good, too.
He'd just had to do it, and now Quentin wondered if maybe he shouldn't have. He just nodded, though, nodded and sat back, pushing himself into the corner of the couch and poking at his phone again. "Rishi? Yeah... Yeah, I know. Tell him we'll do it. Can you come pick us-- yeah. My place. Yeah." He winced a little, dropping his head back against the couch. "Yeah. Thanks, man. Four thirty. Yeah." When he dropped his phone into his lap, he didn't open his eyes for a minute. "We okay?"
Tyler Jordan looked over at him, his head tilted and resting against his knees, and he bit his lip. It'd never been a habit before he moved into this apartment, but he’d caught himself doing it a lot since then. "Yeah, I think we're okay," he said, hesitantly, shifting into the couch a little and letting his legs uncurl after a second. "I-- you don't want to talk about what just happened, do you?" He didn't know which answer to that question he was rooting for, really.
Quentin turned a little, shifted to push his feet against Tyler Jordan's, opening his eyes with something like surprise. "If you want to-- I mean, we could?" He definitely looked just as uncertain as he felt. It was one thing to make the jokes and be cool with that, but a whole other thing to admit that you want to make out with your roommate. "I don't not-want to talk about it. If that makes sense."
"You're open to talking about it," Tyler Jordan filled in for him, shifting a little more. "Just, I don't know, dude, I don't know if we should talk about it, or just... like, let it be, or just pretend it didn't happen--" that thought made a knot in his stomach twist unexpectedly, and he frowned. "I don't know.”
"Do you want to pretend it didn't happen?" Even just saying the words made Quentin feel kind of sick, and he was okay with admitting that. "Because I don't. So..." He shrugged a little, pushing his hair back out of his face. "If you just want to let it be, or if you want to talk... it's up to you. I just don't want to forget about it, if that's cool with you."
"Look, I--" Tyler Jordan started, but couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I don't know what-- what we're doing, if we're going to do this more or something, but either way that was a pretty weak first kiss. Think we should do it over?" He could barely keep from grinning, so he did, just a little. "Because I think we should. Try a do-over. I don't know, but if I'm going to be kissing a dude, I at least want some fireworks or rainbows or some shit."
Quentin laughed a little, shaking his head. "Ouch, man." He moved closer anyway, giving his lips a quick lick and making a kissy face at Tyler Jordan. "Fireworks and/or rainbows. Okay. First kiss, take two?" No need to rush into it, now, and it was easier when they were joking around; Quentin reached out to tip up Tyler Jordan's chin, brushing his hair back with his fingertips, and leaned closer.
Tyler Jordan smirked a little, facing Quentin and leaning forward. "Yep. And, action," he closed the couple of inches between them, kissing his roommate and it was very strangely not-weird. He expected it to be weirder; it was normal, was nice, was surprisingly comfortable having his lips pressed up against Quentin's. He tasted, predictably, like vodka and Tyler Jordan definitely didn't mind that.
The bite of tequila was strong on Tyler Jordan’s lips and Quentin couldn’t stop himself from chasing it, couldn’t help the quiet whimper that escaped him when Tyler Jordan’s lips parted at the trace of his tongue. His fingers curled around the back of Tyler Jordan’s neck and he took every liberty Tyler Jordan would allow him, aiming to make this kiss the most memorable one either of them had ever had. As it turned out, Tyler Jordan was very permissive, which shouldn’t have surprised Quentin at all, given what a daredevil he knew his roommate could be. He ended the kiss with a gentle nip at the lower lip Tyler Jordan had been biting all day long and pulled back just far enough to take in Tyler Jordan’s expression.
“Holy shit… yeah, fireworks,” Tyler Jordan breathed, brown eyes gone darker than usual, cheeks flushed from equal parts intoxication and almost instantaneous arousal. He studied Quentin for a couple of seconds before flashing a mischievous grin and leaning closer to kiss him again, being more assertive about it this time, fingers tangling in Quentin’s hair to tilt his head slightly and prove that he could give as good as he got. It wasn’t a competition but he still felt like he was winning when Quentin made a shaky, desperate sound and tightened his grip on Tyler Jordan’s neck.
“Fuck,” Quentin gasped, sounding breathless. “Can I-- is this getting to you as much as it’s getting to me?” He settled his free hand high on Tyler Jordan’s thigh, daring but not fearless. “Cause I’m lightheaded with how little blood is going to my brain right now.” He edged his fingertips a little higher and bit back a triumphant sound when Tyler Jordan’s hips rose slightly.
“Touch me and find out,” Tyler Jordan dared, and he gasped loudly when Quentin immediately moved his hand up to discover that he was definitely not the only one affected by the kissing. “Oh, fuck yes.” He couldn’t prevent the way his hips twitched up into the touch, and Quentin’s fingers curved to mold around the shape of him. “Q, you-- oh my god.”
Quentin forgot how to breathe for a second, stunned into stillness by the broken-open sound of Tyler Jordan’s voice and the look on his face, the burning heat of him even through his clothing. “Tell me I can keep going,” he pleaded, hooking his fingertips under the waistband of Tyler Jordan’s shorts with the heel of his hand pressed firmly against his cock. “Say I can.”
“Quentin,” Tyler Jordan sighed, almost shivering under his touch. “Yeah. Yes. Do it.” He didn’t know what he was really asking for, but he knew it would be good. He trusted Quentin to make whatever he was about to do good.
"Good," Quentin said, almost laughing. He pressed their foreheads together, shifted his weight around so he could do more than just feel around uselessly in Tyler Jordan's shorts, and when he curled his hand around him there wasn't a single little banana joke in his mind, just a sense of muted awe. "Hi there." Just a little squeeze; Quentin wanted to see if he could get Tyler Jordan to say his name all breathy like that again, that had been hot.
Tyler Jordan wasn't quite up to saying whole words yet; he mostly just mewled a little and pressed up into Quentin's hand. "Mm?" He bit his lip and took in a deep breath. "Quentin, shit," He laughed again, closing his eyes; he knew he was making funny faces, he couldn't help it. "Hi," he finally said, opening his eyes again. "I swear I'm gonna get to you in a second, just-- please keep doing that."
"Wasn't planning on stopping," Quentin murmured, making a sound suspiciously like a giggle. "Just-- one sec--" He pulled at Tyler Jordan's pants, getting them under his hips just enough to pull him out and see what he was doing-- which made the whole thing simultaneously weirder and hotter, really. "Better." Both hands now, wrapped around Tyler Jordan and stroking slowly, because there was absolutely no reason to rush as far as Quentin could see.
Closing his eyes tight, Tyler Jordan gave another little sound and licked his lips. "Shit, oh, Quentin," he ignored that it was strange to be saying Quentin's name in that tone, and arched his back a little bit more, nudging up into his hands, an annoying kind of mix of impatient and impossibly horny.
Scary, how pretty Tyler Jordan was when he wasn't trying. "What?" Quentin asked, teasingly. "What do you want, dude?" He wasn't even sure he was doing it right, he'd never touched a cock from this angle before, but from the look on Tyler Jordan's face he was pretty sure he was at least okay. He leaned closer to kiss him again, sweet all over.
"Shit, dude, I don't even care," Tyler Jordan laughed a little bit, kissing him back-- sweet, he closed his eyes and just moaned. "I don't even know," he said, halfway into his mouth. "Whatever you want to. It's not like I have any favorite moves, bro, you've just boldly gone where no one has ever gone before." He had a slight case of the giggles, half from being drunk and half from endorphins or some shit, he figured.
"For real?" They'd talked about this before, Tyler Jordan's ice-queen ex-fiancee, but Quentin hadn't thought he was really serious. Apparently so. "Well, shit, you--" He kissed Tyler Jordan again to shut himself up for a minute, but the words still came out after their lips parted. "Might as well make it memorable," he said, and there was a little biting on Tyler Jordan’s neck as Quentin slid to the floor in front of the couch, and he was nowhere near drunk enough to excuse the fact that he was practically nose-to-nose with Tyler Jordan's junk and that was a pretty cool thing in his mind. "Sup," he said against his hip, biting there too, just a little.
Tyler Jordan didn't know what to do, he was just dizzy from it all. He arched slightly, and pushed his fingers through Quentin's hair. "Oh, dude... you are up. You are so up, you're my favorite person in the whole fucking world." Tyler Jordan had no problems, obviously, with expressing his gratitude even before the fact.
Looking up at him, Quentin grinned with maybe a little more teeth than was apt at that point. "I know, I'm awesome." What he was, was nervous, but he wasn't about to fess up to that; he just curled his hand around Tyler Jordan again and gave him a little lick, curiously. "...shit, man, I think I might be gay," he told the cock in his hand-- in strict confidence, of course-- before he started to give possibly the third least talented blowjob that apartment had ever seen.
As far as blowjobs went, though, Tyler Jordan was absolutely positive that it was the best he'd ever had. Of course, it was the only one, too. He groaned, quietly, fingers sliding through Quentin's hair, careful not to pull. "Oh, fuck." His mouth was warm, was soft and wet and Tyler Jordan's toes were curling in his socks. "That-- ooh. Quentin," Tyler Jordan said his name like that again, breathy and soft and he was pretty sure it was the best name he'd ever said.
Quentin took to it better after a second, encouraged by Tyler Jordan's groans and his hands. Most of it was just trying to remember what he liked in a blowjob and then doing that, which mostly resulted in a lot of messy licking, but then Tyler Jordan breathed his name. "Mm..." He whimpered around him, held both of Tyler Jordan's hips in his hands and sucked harder.
Tyler Jordan gasped and half-squeaked, half-groaned, giving a little tremble. "Uh, Q- oh, dude, fuck, I-" Tyler Jordan was stuck in monosyllables, which was probably a better sign than his words were. "Dude, I'm, oh fuck, I'm gonna--" It was a good warning, he told him a good fifteen seconds before he actually came, crying out loud and shuddering hard, keening upward slightly.
Not that giving a blowjob, gladly, wasn't gay enough, but more or less it was sealed for Quentin when he heard that warning-- stuttered and fragmented as it was-- and kept going anyway. The best thing about blowjobs was the finish, anyhow; backing out when Tyler Jordan crossed the line would be lame. And it got the taste of tequila out of his mouth. When he pulled back, he sucked on his lower lip and looked up at Tyler Jordan.
Tyler Jordan trembled a little bit more and fell back onto the couch with a satisfied groan. "Oh... shit," he finally sighed, closing his eyes just for a second. "Wow, that... Jesus Christ, dude. That was fucking sensational. C'mere." He had to open his eyes to find where Quentin was and to pull him up, to kiss him nice and sweetly. "Thank you," he said against his mouth, between short, soft kisses.
Letting himself be pulled up, Quentin murmured in surprise when Tyler Jordan kissed him, "Oh," kissed again and again, "Wow, uh..." he kissed him back, laughing against his lips. "You're welcome, man. Glad you liked it." He pushed both hands through Tyler Jordan's hair, going past sweet and into tender for a moment.
Kissing him for a good minute or two while he recovered a little bit, Tyler Jordan pushed his shoulders a little, getting him to sit up. "Mm. Okay, so obviously I've never done this before, but I'm pretty sure you want some reciprocity here." He adjusted himself, tucked back into his pants, and wiggled off the couch to kneel on the floor in front of it, near his knees. "Yeah?" He reached up, and pressed his fingertips against Quentin through his pants.
Sitting back, Quentin spread his legs a little, a pose that would have been cocky in any other situation but felt like supplication now. "Reci-- yeah. That's-- yeah." He wiped his palms on his pants, slid one hand into Tyler Jordan's hair again, petting lightly. "If you want to. I mean, I'd never-- you know, not before today..." It was pretty obvious that he liked the idea, but for once in his life he wasn't going to push.
Tyler Jordan just smirked a little bit, working Quentin's zipper down. "Dude, seriously. If you want to put your cock in my mouth just say so. No need to fancy it up," he teased a little, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down a little, midway down his thighs. He reached up again and slid his hands underneath Quentin's boxers, squeezing gently and pulling him out.
"Fuckin'a," Quentin laughed, shifting up to let Tyler Jordan pull his pants down. "In that case, open up, sweetheart." The thumb he ran over Tyler Jordan's lips was all tease, and he bit his own lip a little at the feel of his friend's hand on him. "Please," he added sincerely.
"Mmkay," Tyler Jordan agreed easily, leaning closer to lick, carefully, closing his eyes. "I think I'm kinda gay, too," he told Quentin's package, grinning a little and licking again. The thing was, he'd only had one blowjob in his lifetime, so he didn't have much of a frame of reference; he tried his best anyway, licking and sucking and stroking with his hand, keeping it gentle and definitely not involving his teeth at all.
"Ohhh." Quentin almost purred at that first careful lick, shifting enough to get comfy and rubbing Tyler Jordan's shoulder encouragingly. "I'm really... really glad we're finding this out today," he told him breathlessly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes and moaning his approval at the suction and heat of his mouth. "So glad. Fuck, Tyler Jordan..."
It was a surprisingly casual blowjob. Tyler Jordan closed his eyes and sucked, moved his tongue a little and tried to take in a bit more of Quentin's length; he stopped when it choked him a little, and moved his hand down slowly, fingers curling around the bottom of his balls, rubbing slightly. He made a few sounds against him, opening his eyes to look up Quentin's face.
Chin falling to his chest, Quentin clutched at Tyler Jordan's shoulder and whined in the back of his throat in wordless apology when he choked. "Shit, Ty-- oh god." He tried not to move, but his hips went on without him, just a little motion. "You sure you haven't done this before? Shit..." Tyler Jordan's glance up pinned him, dark eyes hitting something in his core, and Quentin moaned again.
It was hard to talk with a cock in his mouth, so Tyler Jorsan just made a dismissive sort of sound in his throat and sucked a little harder, batting his eyes almost playfully up at Quentin. Hell, all he could do was his best, right? He gave another rub and a harder suck, making another noise. It was... actually kind of nice, doing this for him. He sort of had to admit that he liked it, even.
"Fuck," Quentin trembled and dug his fingers into Tyler Jordan's shoulder, eyes screwing shut suddenly, "You got maybe twenty seconds to back off if you wanna, bro." He couldn't even guarantee that much unless he kept his eyes closed, because-- just seeing Tyler Jordan on him like that was really doing a number on him. "Last chance…” He wanted to see, though, and he opened his eyes, gasping Tyler Jordan's name quietly, and came, shaking.
Well, hell, Quentin had manned up and swallowed; if Quentin could do it, then Tyler Jordan obviously could. He kept sucking, and when something hot hit the back of his throat he swallowed until it stopped. Then, he pulled his mouth away, sitting up a little and watching Quentin quietly, licking his lips a few times. "Mm. That... was something," he said, laughing a little.
"Something," Quentin agreed weakly, pulling at Tyler Jordan's shoulder. "Get up here, man, that was bold." He moved in to kiss Tyler Jordan, a line of little kisses on his lower lip before sliding into a firmer, deeper one on his mouth. "Can I just say? Fan-fucking-tastic, man. You're amazing." He wriggled back into his pants, zipped up, and pulled Tyler Jordan on top of him for a kiss, just to see how it was underneath him. It seemed pretty cool, actually.
Laughing a little against his mouth, Tyler Jordan leaned up into the kiss and climbed back onto the couch, straddling him easily, on top of his lap. He kissed him a few more times, then pulled back a bit. "I think it's from all the porn. Lots of porn." Grinning, he kissed him again and again, short quick kisses, before he pulled back, and collapsed onto the couch between the back cushion and Quentin. "Mmph. I could pass out right now." He stretched out a little.
"Let it never be said that porn is good for nothing," Quentin intoned solemnly, turning a little and wrapping an arm around Tyler Jordan's waist. Not because he was a snuggler, but because the couch was narrow. "Dude. We have a radio interview in..." He looked over his shoulder at the TV. "Like an hour. Don't pass out too hard." Truth was, he was planning on using Rishi's call as a wake-up.
Tyler Jordan laughed, letting his eyes fall closed. "An interview on the radio. Dude, we're celebrities now. So, you want to be big spoon or little spoon?" he was only teasing halfway now, getting comfortable as he could on the couch. It'd be easier to go to a bed, but he was drunk and exhausted and comfortable there, so why bother?
"You're taller, but I think I'm more of a big spoon," Quentin said drowsily, taking that as an invitation to cuddle up closer to Tyler Jordan. "This is going to sound gay, but your hair smells nice, dude." He laughed a little and nuzzled his hair, settling in like that. "Sleep good."
"It's my shampoo. Queer," he murmured affectionately, nestling back against him and wrapping his arm over Quentin's, and Quentin was right; the spoons worked good like this. "Good night." It just felt so comfortable and right that he fell asleep pretty much instantly, content as anything.
Characters: Quentin Kinley and Tyler Jordan Graham
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 7525
Notes: This story took NINE YEARS to finish. And it took me a year of working on the story of these two idiots to finish the story of the afternoon that launched their entire intimate relationship. But it's done now! Here's what happened when these idiots got wasted and did what they'd both been trying not to let themselves do.
Timeline: August 4, 2013
“You need to learn how to swim,” Tyler Jordan said on a Sunday afternoon. “I’m gonna teach you how.” Quentin gave him a quizzical look and then shrugged.
“Fine, teach me. I’ll get Rishi to let us use the hotel pool. It’s like a million fucking degrees today anyways, we might as well have a halfway legitimate excuse to make him let us in.”
“We should definitely get pool noodles. You’re gonna need the support in the deep end.” Tyler Jordan grinned. “And the deep end starts a little earlier for you.”
“Fuck you, I’m not that short!” Quentin kicked him, and Tyler Jordan laughed. “Fine, they sell those at Walmart. We’ll go grab some noodles, come back here and drink, and take a cab over to the hotel. No problem. Let’s do it.”
Quentin hadn’t been in Tyler Jordan’s car before that, mostly because the beat-up grey piece of shit looked like it was held together with duct tape and wishful thinking. Still, the Walmart wasn’t that far away, so it probably wouldn’t fall apart in the few miles between the apartment and there. Quentin realized a second reason not to get in the deathtrap of a car shortly after they pulled out: Tyler Jordan drove like a fucking madman, seemingly regarding traffic lights and posted signs like suggestions rather than rules. “Jesus, you don’t ever drive drunk, do you? Cause you drive like you’re drunk already.”
“Of course I don’t,” Tyler Jordan said, sounding very offended. “I’m not a fucking criminal. Well, except for the coke. But that’s pretty minor.”
“Coke? You?”
“Not all the time. Just once in a while. C’mon, I’m a rockstar, I have to have some vices. And it’s the best thing to offset a hangover on Monday morning.”
"Well, that's twice as good! Going in coked up and hungover, you'll work like a machine for an hour." The things he didn't know about Tyler Jordan... still, Quentin didn't bitch about other people's habits. Too much.
"Shit, I might as well be a machine, it's fucking construction. It's not like it's brain surgery." Tyler Jordan shrugged again, clipped a fire hydrant on the turn into Wal Mart, slammed into a parking spot and pulled off his seat belt. "Okay. Noodles. And we should probably grab chasers if we’re drinking."
"Jesus!" Quentin resolved to never get in the car with Tyler Jordan again without putting his seatbelt on, hands braced against the dash as they jerked to a stop. "Chasers, yeah, good idea. Orange juice?”
“Sounds good.” Tyler Jordan hopped out of the car, pocketing his keys and making sure he had his wallet. Check. "We should do a noodle duel. Heh, noodle duel. Say that five times fast. Right now."
Quentin swung his door shut, giving Tyler Jordan a weird look over the car as he walked around. "Noodle duel." He grinned. "Noodle duel, noodle duel, doodle nue-- fuck! Noodle duel, noodle doodle..." He shook his head, flipping Tyler off and laughing. "You say it five times fast. Noodle fucking massacre."
Tyler Jordan was pretty sure he was about to pee from laughing so hard. He had to stop, doubled over, for a second, before he caught his breath and jogged a little to catch up. "I'm not even going to try to say that more than once. Even once is a little iffy, here, bro. Come on." He gave Quentin a noogie on the way into the store, jogging in past him with a laugh and looking at him over his shoulder.
Yelping in indignation, Quentin chased Tyler Jordan into the store, shouldering him as he caught up. "Asshole. Don't mess with the hair." The greeter scowled after them, especially after Quentin called, "Nice pink tint, grandma," and high-fived Tyler Jordan on his way to pick up a bunch of bananas. "These things keep getting smaller. What, is there a problem in the banana republics?"
"What," Tyler Jordan said, stopping and looking back at Quentin, raising his eyebrows at him. "Dude, it's cold in the store, leave the poor phallic objects alone." He reached over to grab the bananas, and put them back on the shelf. "Jeez, you hurt their feelings. Dickmunch. Let's go get the noodles, maybe they'll be big enough for you." He may or may not have muttered 'size queen' under his breath on his way to the pool toy aisle.
"You're pretty defensive on their behalf," Quentin teased, patting the bananas as they passed them and skipping ahead to circle Tyler Jordan, grinning. "Got some skin in the size game? Bigger is better, little boy." Sure, he was shorter, but Quentin liked to keep his age (trying to equate it with maturity) as some kind of bonus to even that out.
Tyler Jordan just snickered a little bit, stopping to watch him skip around him. "You sound like such a queer, dude. People are going to think we're a gay couple if you keep it with the pet names. And why the fuck are you skipping?" He elbowed him a little, turning onto the noodle aisle. "Are you on the meth, Quentin?" He reached for the nearest noodle, rearing back with it and slamming it into Quentin's middle. "En garde, motherfucker."
"Ow! Bastard." Quentin grabbed a noodle-- unfortunately pink-- and whacked Tyler Jordan in the head with it. "What's wrong, honey, are you scared of a little mistaken identity?" He took a few steps back, falling into a mock-fencing stance and grinning wildly at Tyler Jordan. "Don't be afraid of luuuurve, baby." He could do this all day, especially if they gathered more of an audience than one shocked-looking little girl in pigtails.
"Okay, that's it. Sugar, you're going down." Tyler Jordan took a swing at Quentin's noodle, then at his leg, jumping back after and held up his noodle in a defensive sort of pose. "You wish there was some luuuurve. Come and get some," he wiggled a little bit, trying not to be too provocative that close to the kids' section.
"Oh, you want me to?" Quentin's eyes narrowed, and he poked at Tyler Jordan with his noodle in a few quick stabs, laughing. "Brace yourself, dude, your world is about to be rocked." A flurry of noodle-smacks followed, trying to drive the younger man down the aisle and into the heavier traffic of the main aisle.
Tyler Jordan made a face at him, getting backed up nonetheless, trying his best to keep his defenses up. "Like you could rock my world," he managed to get out, putting his arm up to block the noodle-smacks as well, going for a few weaker hits. "Shit, dude, ack," he had to look back to keep from falling into a few shelves, taking a couple quick steps backwards into the main aisle.
"Oh, I can," Quentin said confidently. On the other side of the toy section was the bedding section, and in the middle-- He dropped his noodle and tackled Tyler Jordan into the center display, a big bin of pillows, laughing manically the whole time.
Tyler Jordan half-shouted, half-squeaked, tackled back into the bedding and thrashing a little at first; he wrapped his arms around Quentin to flip them over, noodle cast aside in favor of half-poking him, half-tickling, half trying to get a noogie in there while he had the chance. "Fag!" he managed to shout, amidst all the giggling.
Making a really undignified squealing sound, Quentin tried to burrow himself back in the pillows, away from Tyler Jordan's tickling because that was so unfair. "You're on top of me, fairy!" he pointed out in a breathless yelp, reaching for a pillow to try and bat at his head with it. It was only a little weird that this was not an unsatisfactory situation; Quentin wasn't going to think about it anyhow.
"You're the queer who tackled me," Tyler Jordan was quick to correct, getting a mouthful of pillow when he tried. "Dude, weak!" He grabbed the pillow to fake-suffocate Quentin. Just for a second, before he threw it aside. He could already hear the 'would an associate please report to bedding for customer assistance?' on the PA. He cackled a little bit.
Spluttering against the faux-suffocation, Quentin laughed when he heard the announcement, and reached up to grab Tyler Jordan's shoulder, yanking him down into the pillow pile. "We're so getting kicked out," he laughed next to Tyler Jordan's ear, flipping them over and pinning him down into the pillows for a second. "There you go. Rightful place, right under me. How ya feeling, Nancy?"
Tyler Jordan snickered for a second, before he slapped Quentin and wiggled his way out of the pile, pushed him aside. "Dude, let me up. We can't get caught, we have to buy the noodles. We have to split up. You pay for the noodles," he reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. "And I've gotta piss. Meet you at the car." Okay, so he was a little bit pale, a little freaked out looking, but it was natural and biology and all that, and at least he was wearing a baggy t-shirt? Whatever. "Don't get pink ones either, queermo."
"Bitch," Quentin accused, floundering in the pillows for a second before he stood up and brushed himself off. "You do that. Have it running, just in case." He made a token effort at putting some of the pillows back, just to keep from having to stand up totally yet-- yeah, so what, the last time he'd been writhing around in pillows with someone like that was prom night, and they'd been stuffed animals, not pillows-- whatever. He grabbed two manly blue noodles and tried to act casual on his side trip into the dairy aisle on his way up to the registers.
The bathroom took a few minutes, mostly just for Tyler Jordan to get his shit in order, mentally, splash some water in his face and adjust his pants and he was good to go. He made it out to the car probably before Quentin even made it up to the register, knowing the lines in Walmart, pulling up outside the door and letting the car idle. It was just from never getting laid, that was all. Of course he was a little... oversensitive. Once he found a good chick, he'd be fine. This was totally just a phase.
Although he kept looking over his shoulder, waiting for the blue-vested associate to slap him in handcuffs and cart him away, Quentin made it to the self-checkout with no problems, scanned through and had a brief poking match with the machine over not bagging the noodles, and carried them out with the sort of speed only associated with Walmart as far as Nascar sponsorship went. He stuck them through the open back window and flung himself into the passenger seat. "Drive, man, drive like the fucking wind!"
"Buckle up, dude," Tyler Jordan said - he didn't have to squeal the tires on the way out, but he really wanted to, and so he did. He made sure to go around the speed limit all the way out, not really feeling like getting pulled over. "So back to the apartment to pick up the drinks and then to the hotel? Dude, did you call your brother yet? Give him a call, tell him to give us a room to pre-game in." He waved at Quentin a little bit.
Snapping his seat belt on, Quentin grabbed his phone and poked it a couple times. "Ring... ring... come on, Rishi, pick it up...." He pouted at the phone, then at Tyler Jordan for good measure, then stopped looking at Tyler Jordan because that way lay madness. "Rishi, it's Quentin, I want to use the pool today, is that cool? Call me back, man." He frowned when he snapped it closed. "To the apartment, Jeeves. We might be pregaming there."
"Don't ever call me Jeeves again," Tyler Jordan said, conversationally, pulling into the familiar parking spot outside their apartment and climbing out of the car, grabbing his noodle from the backseat. "Okay, we pre-game upstairs. And then... we take a cab to the hotel, because I don’t drink and drive. Or we make your brother pick us up. Score." He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look directly at Quentin for the past few minutes.
"Anything you say, sweetcheeks," Quentin wondered if it was some weird kind of layering that let him ironically call Tyler Jordan pet names, or if he'd just sunk to the level of being that creepy. He snagged his noodle and the orange juice and followed him up. "I could ask him to get us. Tell him your car broke down. He's a sucker for helping people out." He leaned on the wall while Tyler Jordan unlocked the door, idly swatting his ass with the noodle. Yeah, so what, he was acting pretty queer anyway.
Tyler Jordan just snickered a little and turned to poke Quentin in the crotch with his noodle in retaliation. "Dude, quit it, I'm fucking unlocking the door. Dude, say 'fucking unlocking' five times fast." What his fascination was with making Quentin say things, he had no idea. He got the door unlocked at any rate, pushed it open and threw his noodle onto the couch, immediately going for a beer.
"Don't--" Swatting away the noodle, Quentin winced a little. He still said it, though, for some reason just going along with it when Tyler Jordan told him to. "Fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking fucking unlocking. BAM! Get me one, bitch." He pushed Tyler Jordan's noodle off the couch and flopped down, taking the opportunity while the other guy was in the kitchen to adjust himself and think about things that weren't Tyler Jordan. Magic Bullet ads pretty much killed the embarrassing erection instantaneously.
"Motherfucker," Tyler Jordan whined, grabbing him a beer as well and throwing it to him before he flopped down on the other side of the couch. "That shit ain't natural," he said, reaching for the remote. "You're getting the next round. Ooh, Daily Show rerun." Tyler Jordan liked his fake news a bit. He popped open his beer and took a healthy chug, propping his feet up on the coffee table.
"Thaaaaank you." Quentin flopped around, trying to get comfortable, making a face over his beer and looking around. "This is so frat boy of me, but we have a pen, right...?" He found one, poked a hole at the bottom of his can, and held it up to his mouth before popping the top. It was a matter of impatience: shotgunning a can of beer was so much faster than just drinking it.
"And you act like I'm an alcoholic?" Tyler Jordan snickered a little bit, reaching over to poke Quentin on the stomach while he was swallowing, demonic sort of grin on his face. "Quentiiiinnn, I'm worried about you. I might have to stage an intervention," he said, between chugs from his own can.
Gasping at the end, face screwed up, Quentin slugged Tyler Jordan on the shoulder. "Bastard! I'm only having a couple, I know you're going to drink twice what I am." He put the empty can on the coffee table, wiggling and then flopping over to swing his legs up on the back of the couch. "Go ahead and intervene me, man. No more coke-fuelled weekend binges together. How boring would life get?"
"You don't do coke," he protested, watching Quentin get all upside-down on the couch and then just laughing a little. "You don't need coke, buddy. You're already fucked up enough." Tyler Jordan shrugged at him and then finished off his beer. "Probably more than twice as much. Maybe even three, four times as much as you. It's not a problem unless I admit it is." He grinned a little bit, reaching over to poke Quentin's side again.
"Gosh, thanks," Quentin snarked, rolling his eyes and watching Jon Stewart upside-down. "I'm worse than a cokehead. Wonderful." He was fucked up, that just wasn't the point! "You're an alkie-!" He squeaked when Tyler Jordan poked him, that time, sides all vulnerable when he sat like that. He smacked at his hand, then at his stomach, not hard. "Leave me alone and focus on your beer, you alcoholically-addled alcoholic." Not shining repartee, but hey, he was distracted.
Tyler Jordan just snorted; he got up, poked Quentin a few more times on his way past, and wound up in the kitchen. "Well, if I'm an alcoholic I'm doing a shitty job. Beers? Come on, now. Real alcoholics drink tequila from the bottle." He grabbed the tequila and the vodka to bring back to the living room and flopped back down, going for Quentin's stomach again. It was like a magnet, really. He just had to go for the poking and the tickling.
"Masochists drink tequila from the bottle," Quentin corrected, watching Tyler Jordan leave and come back. Shit, he needed to not watch him from that angle. "Don't-- stop touching me, you fag," he whined, trying to dodge Tyler Jordan's fingers; he planted a hand on the other man's leg and flopped back over, sitting the right way up. "Jesus, you don't even try to keep your hands off me," he accused.
"I think you're projecting. It's just funny as hell when you squeal like a girl," Tyler Jordan smirked a little and gave his hand a pat, only halfway in a 'hey get off my leg' kind of way, taking a long drink of the tequila and snagging the OJ to chase it. "Masochism, alcoholism, potato tomato, dude. You want some?" He tipped the bottle toward him a little bit. That was much better. He could deal with suddenly wanting to be all over Quentin much easier when he was properly alcoholated.
"Bitch. No, man, I don't drink tequila." Quentin did reach for the vodka, though, with both hands, wrapping them around the frozen-cold bottle and pulling it into his lap. "I think vodka is underrated. It's so versatile. And it is made out of potatoes, so that makes it a vegetable, right?" He was rambling a little, trying not to think about how he'd just mostly-accidentally-but-part-on-purpose started to feel Tyler Jordan up and chickened out. "It's wonderful," he declared, and took an almost desperately long swig out of the bottle.
"Vodka is not a vegetable. It's... shit, is it? Is tequila a fruit? It doesn't taste like a fruit." Tyler Jordan made a face, falling over a little bit over his arm of the couch. "Whoa, The Daily Show is on." He took another drink, the perfect thing to do, and set the bottle down after a second. "Shit, you're drinking vegetables, dude. Why does it taste so good with orange juice then? Vodka doesn't make sense. That's why I drink tequila."
"Tequila's not made out of fruit, it's made out of cactus," Quentin said, clinking his bottle against Tyler Jordan's as it headed to the table. "Agave or some shit. Tequila is shit. Vodka is the best. It goes with everything." Including, apparently, trying to drink away the gay. Quentin sort of just kept up a steady sipping for a while before he put his bottle down too and keeled over, more or less into Tyler Jordan's lap.
What else could he do, besides laugh at his roommate and poke him a little. "Lightweight," Tyler Jordan taunted a little, ruffling his fingers through Quentin's hair in a vague gesture of affection. "God. Couple sips of vodka and you're falling all over the place. I can't take you anywhere." Nevermind the fact that they were in their apartment, or that Tyler Jordan was basically as drunk as Quentin was, if not a little moreso.
"Fuck you." Squinting up at Tyler Jordan, Quentin stuck his tongue out childishly. "Maybe I just felt like falling over, huh? Can't a man fall over without being totally blitzed anymore?" He reached up to tickle Tyler Jordan's side, but ended up more just patting him. "What's the world coming to, huh?"
"Shut up," Tyler Jordan laughed a little. "You're drunk. Don't even act like you're not. I bet you can't even touch your nose." The weird part was when he touched Quentin's nose for him, grinning down at him and then pushing his hair back. "Drunk-ass bitch," seemed more a term of endearment than anything else, at that point.
"Oh, I am," Quentin said, "But I could too..." But then Tyler Jordan did it for him, and Quentin nudged his nose up against his fingers, looked up at him when Tyler Jordan ran his fingers through his hair. For a second he just looked, then he smiled a little and reached up with one finger, first to touch his own nose, then Tyler Jordan's. "I'm not too drunk to do that."
"Well, there's a shocker," Tyler Jordan snickered, nudging his nose back against Quentin's finger too, shifting a little bit and biting his bottom lip. "Q, dude," he started, but had to bite his lip again. He went to lean down but stopped himself, then did it again, hesitating a little more; it was the most awkward he'd ever felt and he was drunk, he couldn't even imagine how it'd been if he'd been sober.
Tyler Jordan biting his lip set Quentin right back to pillow-pile levels of gayness, and he didn't even care this time. He was drunk-- but not too drunk, like he'd just said, and that wasn't why he curled his hand into Tyler Jordan's hair and pulled him down a little.
The funky strains of "Superfreak" blared, jarringly loud, from Quentin's pocket. He fell off the couch.
Tyler Jordan made an incredibly girly whining sound, looking down at Quentin on the floor and then groaning a little more, curling his legs up and reaching for the tequila. "Fucking modern technology bullshit," he muttered halfway to himself, watching Quentin to see who was calling, because if it wasn't important he was going to track the person down and kill them. He was trying not to think about how weird it was to be that disappointed.
Fumbling in his pocket for the phone, Quentin tried to keep his swearing to a level where Tyler Jordan wouldn't hear how much he would have given not to have been interrupted just then. "What," he answered his phone, sitting up slowly. "Oh. You got my-- no? The radio? Rishi, what the fuck are you talking about?" He shot Tyler Jordan a confused look, more than a little freaked out. "They want to interview-- yeah, I know where he is-- what?"
Tyler Jordan blinked at him a couple of times, tilting his head and giving him a 'what the hell?' kind of look. "Radio? You're getting interviewed on the radio? What the hell is going on?" He laughed a little bit, into his bottle, taking another long drink and setting it down on the tabletop. "Why are you suddenly famous enough to be on the radio?"
Quentin held up his hand and shushed Tyler Jordan. "Wait, let me get this straight," he said, looking right at his roommate. "Your DJ friend wants to interview the guys who tried to raft to Canada? Both of them. In two hours." He widened his eyes at Tyler Jordan and pointed at the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I got that. Uh, let me ask him. I'll... I'll call you back. Yeah." He hung up his cell phone, dropped it to the couch next to Tyler Jordan's hip. "Do you want to be on the radio?"
Tyler Jordan got a serious case of the giggles over that, shifting a little and unfolding his legs. "Your brother has a DJ friend who wants us on the radio? For that shit we pulled with the raft? Dude, seriously, let's do it. They'll have to tape it ahead of time because I cannot control the shit that comes out of my mouth and some of it might need editing, though." Tyler Jordan grinned a bit. "You want to do it?"
"You and your foul fucking mouth." Quentin sat down on the couch, legs tucked under him, nodding. "Yeah, I want to do it. I'll call him back..." He reached forward, wrapped his hand around the phone, then leaned forward and pushed his mouth against Tyler Jordan's, an awkward and too-quick kiss.
Even that short, awkward kiss made Tyler Jordan freeze. He stared at Quentin for a second, then leaned forward again, kissed him a bit more firmly, before he backed off. "Call your brother back," he said a little weakly, took a drink of tequila and then put the cap on the stuff, curling his legs up close to him on the couch. He didn't know what was going on at all, it was confusing but kind of good, too.
He'd just had to do it, and now Quentin wondered if maybe he shouldn't have. He just nodded, though, nodded and sat back, pushing himself into the corner of the couch and poking at his phone again. "Rishi? Yeah... Yeah, I know. Tell him we'll do it. Can you come pick us-- yeah. My place. Yeah." He winced a little, dropping his head back against the couch. "Yeah. Thanks, man. Four thirty. Yeah." When he dropped his phone into his lap, he didn't open his eyes for a minute. "We okay?"
Tyler Jordan looked over at him, his head tilted and resting against his knees, and he bit his lip. It'd never been a habit before he moved into this apartment, but he’d caught himself doing it a lot since then. "Yeah, I think we're okay," he said, hesitantly, shifting into the couch a little and letting his legs uncurl after a second. "I-- you don't want to talk about what just happened, do you?" He didn't know which answer to that question he was rooting for, really.
Quentin turned a little, shifted to push his feet against Tyler Jordan's, opening his eyes with something like surprise. "If you want to-- I mean, we could?" He definitely looked just as uncertain as he felt. It was one thing to make the jokes and be cool with that, but a whole other thing to admit that you want to make out with your roommate. "I don't not-want to talk about it. If that makes sense."
"You're open to talking about it," Tyler Jordan filled in for him, shifting a little more. "Just, I don't know, dude, I don't know if we should talk about it, or just... like, let it be, or just pretend it didn't happen--" that thought made a knot in his stomach twist unexpectedly, and he frowned. "I don't know.”
"Do you want to pretend it didn't happen?" Even just saying the words made Quentin feel kind of sick, and he was okay with admitting that. "Because I don't. So..." He shrugged a little, pushing his hair back out of his face. "If you just want to let it be, or if you want to talk... it's up to you. I just don't want to forget about it, if that's cool with you."
"Look, I--" Tyler Jordan started, but couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I don't know what-- what we're doing, if we're going to do this more or something, but either way that was a pretty weak first kiss. Think we should do it over?" He could barely keep from grinning, so he did, just a little. "Because I think we should. Try a do-over. I don't know, but if I'm going to be kissing a dude, I at least want some fireworks or rainbows or some shit."
Quentin laughed a little, shaking his head. "Ouch, man." He moved closer anyway, giving his lips a quick lick and making a kissy face at Tyler Jordan. "Fireworks and/or rainbows. Okay. First kiss, take two?" No need to rush into it, now, and it was easier when they were joking around; Quentin reached out to tip up Tyler Jordan's chin, brushing his hair back with his fingertips, and leaned closer.
Tyler Jordan smirked a little, facing Quentin and leaning forward. "Yep. And, action," he closed the couple of inches between them, kissing his roommate and it was very strangely not-weird. He expected it to be weirder; it was normal, was nice, was surprisingly comfortable having his lips pressed up against Quentin's. He tasted, predictably, like vodka and Tyler Jordan definitely didn't mind that.
The bite of tequila was strong on Tyler Jordan’s lips and Quentin couldn’t stop himself from chasing it, couldn’t help the quiet whimper that escaped him when Tyler Jordan’s lips parted at the trace of his tongue. His fingers curled around the back of Tyler Jordan’s neck and he took every liberty Tyler Jordan would allow him, aiming to make this kiss the most memorable one either of them had ever had. As it turned out, Tyler Jordan was very permissive, which shouldn’t have surprised Quentin at all, given what a daredevil he knew his roommate could be. He ended the kiss with a gentle nip at the lower lip Tyler Jordan had been biting all day long and pulled back just far enough to take in Tyler Jordan’s expression.
“Holy shit… yeah, fireworks,” Tyler Jordan breathed, brown eyes gone darker than usual, cheeks flushed from equal parts intoxication and almost instantaneous arousal. He studied Quentin for a couple of seconds before flashing a mischievous grin and leaning closer to kiss him again, being more assertive about it this time, fingers tangling in Quentin’s hair to tilt his head slightly and prove that he could give as good as he got. It wasn’t a competition but he still felt like he was winning when Quentin made a shaky, desperate sound and tightened his grip on Tyler Jordan’s neck.
“Fuck,” Quentin gasped, sounding breathless. “Can I-- is this getting to you as much as it’s getting to me?” He settled his free hand high on Tyler Jordan’s thigh, daring but not fearless. “Cause I’m lightheaded with how little blood is going to my brain right now.” He edged his fingertips a little higher and bit back a triumphant sound when Tyler Jordan’s hips rose slightly.
“Touch me and find out,” Tyler Jordan dared, and he gasped loudly when Quentin immediately moved his hand up to discover that he was definitely not the only one affected by the kissing. “Oh, fuck yes.” He couldn’t prevent the way his hips twitched up into the touch, and Quentin’s fingers curved to mold around the shape of him. “Q, you-- oh my god.”
Quentin forgot how to breathe for a second, stunned into stillness by the broken-open sound of Tyler Jordan’s voice and the look on his face, the burning heat of him even through his clothing. “Tell me I can keep going,” he pleaded, hooking his fingertips under the waistband of Tyler Jordan’s shorts with the heel of his hand pressed firmly against his cock. “Say I can.”
“Quentin,” Tyler Jordan sighed, almost shivering under his touch. “Yeah. Yes. Do it.” He didn’t know what he was really asking for, but he knew it would be good. He trusted Quentin to make whatever he was about to do good.
"Good," Quentin said, almost laughing. He pressed their foreheads together, shifted his weight around so he could do more than just feel around uselessly in Tyler Jordan's shorts, and when he curled his hand around him there wasn't a single little banana joke in his mind, just a sense of muted awe. "Hi there." Just a little squeeze; Quentin wanted to see if he could get Tyler Jordan to say his name all breathy like that again, that had been hot.
Tyler Jordan wasn't quite up to saying whole words yet; he mostly just mewled a little and pressed up into Quentin's hand. "Mm?" He bit his lip and took in a deep breath. "Quentin, shit," He laughed again, closing his eyes; he knew he was making funny faces, he couldn't help it. "Hi," he finally said, opening his eyes again. "I swear I'm gonna get to you in a second, just-- please keep doing that."
"Wasn't planning on stopping," Quentin murmured, making a sound suspiciously like a giggle. "Just-- one sec--" He pulled at Tyler Jordan's pants, getting them under his hips just enough to pull him out and see what he was doing-- which made the whole thing simultaneously weirder and hotter, really. "Better." Both hands now, wrapped around Tyler Jordan and stroking slowly, because there was absolutely no reason to rush as far as Quentin could see.
Closing his eyes tight, Tyler Jordan gave another little sound and licked his lips. "Shit, oh, Quentin," he ignored that it was strange to be saying Quentin's name in that tone, and arched his back a little bit more, nudging up into his hands, an annoying kind of mix of impatient and impossibly horny.
Scary, how pretty Tyler Jordan was when he wasn't trying. "What?" Quentin asked, teasingly. "What do you want, dude?" He wasn't even sure he was doing it right, he'd never touched a cock from this angle before, but from the look on Tyler Jordan's face he was pretty sure he was at least okay. He leaned closer to kiss him again, sweet all over.
"Shit, dude, I don't even care," Tyler Jordan laughed a little bit, kissing him back-- sweet, he closed his eyes and just moaned. "I don't even know," he said, halfway into his mouth. "Whatever you want to. It's not like I have any favorite moves, bro, you've just boldly gone where no one has ever gone before." He had a slight case of the giggles, half from being drunk and half from endorphins or some shit, he figured.
"For real?" They'd talked about this before, Tyler Jordan's ice-queen ex-fiancee, but Quentin hadn't thought he was really serious. Apparently so. "Well, shit, you--" He kissed Tyler Jordan again to shut himself up for a minute, but the words still came out after their lips parted. "Might as well make it memorable," he said, and there was a little biting on Tyler Jordan’s neck as Quentin slid to the floor in front of the couch, and he was nowhere near drunk enough to excuse the fact that he was practically nose-to-nose with Tyler Jordan's junk and that was a pretty cool thing in his mind. "Sup," he said against his hip, biting there too, just a little.
Tyler Jordan didn't know what to do, he was just dizzy from it all. He arched slightly, and pushed his fingers through Quentin's hair. "Oh, dude... you are up. You are so up, you're my favorite person in the whole fucking world." Tyler Jordan had no problems, obviously, with expressing his gratitude even before the fact.
Looking up at him, Quentin grinned with maybe a little more teeth than was apt at that point. "I know, I'm awesome." What he was, was nervous, but he wasn't about to fess up to that; he just curled his hand around Tyler Jordan again and gave him a little lick, curiously. "...shit, man, I think I might be gay," he told the cock in his hand-- in strict confidence, of course-- before he started to give possibly the third least talented blowjob that apartment had ever seen.
As far as blowjobs went, though, Tyler Jordan was absolutely positive that it was the best he'd ever had. Of course, it was the only one, too. He groaned, quietly, fingers sliding through Quentin's hair, careful not to pull. "Oh, fuck." His mouth was warm, was soft and wet and Tyler Jordan's toes were curling in his socks. "That-- ooh. Quentin," Tyler Jordan said his name like that again, breathy and soft and he was pretty sure it was the best name he'd ever said.
Quentin took to it better after a second, encouraged by Tyler Jordan's groans and his hands. Most of it was just trying to remember what he liked in a blowjob and then doing that, which mostly resulted in a lot of messy licking, but then Tyler Jordan breathed his name. "Mm..." He whimpered around him, held both of Tyler Jordan's hips in his hands and sucked harder.
Tyler Jordan gasped and half-squeaked, half-groaned, giving a little tremble. "Uh, Q- oh, dude, fuck, I-" Tyler Jordan was stuck in monosyllables, which was probably a better sign than his words were. "Dude, I'm, oh fuck, I'm gonna--" It was a good warning, he told him a good fifteen seconds before he actually came, crying out loud and shuddering hard, keening upward slightly.
Not that giving a blowjob, gladly, wasn't gay enough, but more or less it was sealed for Quentin when he heard that warning-- stuttered and fragmented as it was-- and kept going anyway. The best thing about blowjobs was the finish, anyhow; backing out when Tyler Jordan crossed the line would be lame. And it got the taste of tequila out of his mouth. When he pulled back, he sucked on his lower lip and looked up at Tyler Jordan.
Tyler Jordan trembled a little bit more and fell back onto the couch with a satisfied groan. "Oh... shit," he finally sighed, closing his eyes just for a second. "Wow, that... Jesus Christ, dude. That was fucking sensational. C'mere." He had to open his eyes to find where Quentin was and to pull him up, to kiss him nice and sweetly. "Thank you," he said against his mouth, between short, soft kisses.
Letting himself be pulled up, Quentin murmured in surprise when Tyler Jordan kissed him, "Oh," kissed again and again, "Wow, uh..." he kissed him back, laughing against his lips. "You're welcome, man. Glad you liked it." He pushed both hands through Tyler Jordan's hair, going past sweet and into tender for a moment.
Kissing him for a good minute or two while he recovered a little bit, Tyler Jordan pushed his shoulders a little, getting him to sit up. "Mm. Okay, so obviously I've never done this before, but I'm pretty sure you want some reciprocity here." He adjusted himself, tucked back into his pants, and wiggled off the couch to kneel on the floor in front of it, near his knees. "Yeah?" He reached up, and pressed his fingertips against Quentin through his pants.
Sitting back, Quentin spread his legs a little, a pose that would have been cocky in any other situation but felt like supplication now. "Reci-- yeah. That's-- yeah." He wiped his palms on his pants, slid one hand into Tyler Jordan's hair again, petting lightly. "If you want to. I mean, I'd never-- you know, not before today..." It was pretty obvious that he liked the idea, but for once in his life he wasn't going to push.
Tyler Jordan just smirked a little bit, working Quentin's zipper down. "Dude, seriously. If you want to put your cock in my mouth just say so. No need to fancy it up," he teased a little, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down a little, midway down his thighs. He reached up again and slid his hands underneath Quentin's boxers, squeezing gently and pulling him out.
"Fuckin'a," Quentin laughed, shifting up to let Tyler Jordan pull his pants down. "In that case, open up, sweetheart." The thumb he ran over Tyler Jordan's lips was all tease, and he bit his own lip a little at the feel of his friend's hand on him. "Please," he added sincerely.
"Mmkay," Tyler Jordan agreed easily, leaning closer to lick, carefully, closing his eyes. "I think I'm kinda gay, too," he told Quentin's package, grinning a little and licking again. The thing was, he'd only had one blowjob in his lifetime, so he didn't have much of a frame of reference; he tried his best anyway, licking and sucking and stroking with his hand, keeping it gentle and definitely not involving his teeth at all.
"Ohhh." Quentin almost purred at that first careful lick, shifting enough to get comfy and rubbing Tyler Jordan's shoulder encouragingly. "I'm really... really glad we're finding this out today," he told him breathlessly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes and moaning his approval at the suction and heat of his mouth. "So glad. Fuck, Tyler Jordan..."
It was a surprisingly casual blowjob. Tyler Jordan closed his eyes and sucked, moved his tongue a little and tried to take in a bit more of Quentin's length; he stopped when it choked him a little, and moved his hand down slowly, fingers curling around the bottom of his balls, rubbing slightly. He made a few sounds against him, opening his eyes to look up Quentin's face.
Chin falling to his chest, Quentin clutched at Tyler Jordan's shoulder and whined in the back of his throat in wordless apology when he choked. "Shit, Ty-- oh god." He tried not to move, but his hips went on without him, just a little motion. "You sure you haven't done this before? Shit..." Tyler Jordan's glance up pinned him, dark eyes hitting something in his core, and Quentin moaned again.
It was hard to talk with a cock in his mouth, so Tyler Jorsan just made a dismissive sort of sound in his throat and sucked a little harder, batting his eyes almost playfully up at Quentin. Hell, all he could do was his best, right? He gave another rub and a harder suck, making another noise. It was... actually kind of nice, doing this for him. He sort of had to admit that he liked it, even.
"Fuck," Quentin trembled and dug his fingers into Tyler Jordan's shoulder, eyes screwing shut suddenly, "You got maybe twenty seconds to back off if you wanna, bro." He couldn't even guarantee that much unless he kept his eyes closed, because-- just seeing Tyler Jordan on him like that was really doing a number on him. "Last chance…” He wanted to see, though, and he opened his eyes, gasping Tyler Jordan's name quietly, and came, shaking.
Well, hell, Quentin had manned up and swallowed; if Quentin could do it, then Tyler Jordan obviously could. He kept sucking, and when something hot hit the back of his throat he swallowed until it stopped. Then, he pulled his mouth away, sitting up a little and watching Quentin quietly, licking his lips a few times. "Mm. That... was something," he said, laughing a little.
"Something," Quentin agreed weakly, pulling at Tyler Jordan's shoulder. "Get up here, man, that was bold." He moved in to kiss Tyler Jordan, a line of little kisses on his lower lip before sliding into a firmer, deeper one on his mouth. "Can I just say? Fan-fucking-tastic, man. You're amazing." He wriggled back into his pants, zipped up, and pulled Tyler Jordan on top of him for a kiss, just to see how it was underneath him. It seemed pretty cool, actually.
Laughing a little against his mouth, Tyler Jordan leaned up into the kiss and climbed back onto the couch, straddling him easily, on top of his lap. He kissed him a few more times, then pulled back a bit. "I think it's from all the porn. Lots of porn." Grinning, he kissed him again and again, short quick kisses, before he pulled back, and collapsed onto the couch between the back cushion and Quentin. "Mmph. I could pass out right now." He stretched out a little.
"Let it never be said that porn is good for nothing," Quentin intoned solemnly, turning a little and wrapping an arm around Tyler Jordan's waist. Not because he was a snuggler, but because the couch was narrow. "Dude. We have a radio interview in..." He looked over his shoulder at the TV. "Like an hour. Don't pass out too hard." Truth was, he was planning on using Rishi's call as a wake-up.
Tyler Jordan laughed, letting his eyes fall closed. "An interview on the radio. Dude, we're celebrities now. So, you want to be big spoon or little spoon?" he was only teasing halfway now, getting comfortable as he could on the couch. It'd be easier to go to a bed, but he was drunk and exhausted and comfortable there, so why bother?
"You're taller, but I think I'm more of a big spoon," Quentin said drowsily, taking that as an invitation to cuddle up closer to Tyler Jordan. "This is going to sound gay, but your hair smells nice, dude." He laughed a little and nuzzled his hair, settling in like that. "Sleep good."
"It's my shampoo. Queer," he murmured affectionately, nestling back against him and wrapping his arm over Quentin's, and Quentin was right; the spoons worked good like this. "Good night." It just felt so comfortable and right that he fell asleep pretty much instantly, content as anything.
