It was two in the morning and Garrett hadn’t showered in 29 hours. And his fingers were sticky with Cheez-It dust.
“Oh,” he said softly after looking down at the watch on his wrist, “It’s really late now, still wanna drive home?”
Andrew was lounging across from him on the couch; they’d pushed off all Garrett’s lone shirts onto the ground so that they could sit without having to worry about any spiders crawling into their pockets. His socks didn’t match, his shirt had rose up slightly and displayed a slither of pale hip from under the hem of his unzipped jacket, his straight-boy hat had been abandoned, leaving his auburn hair dishevelled. Garrett gladly drank the sight in from the other side of the sofa.
“I’ve had two beers, I can’t drive like this,” Andrew mused, looking down at the length of his body and activating his rare double-chin, “I’ll probably end up hitting an old lady trying to cross the street.”
Two beers didn’t seem like enough to make anyone that drunk, it wasn’t enough to make Andrew stumble over his words; yet he was. Garrett had to remind himself that Andrew wasn’t one to drink every weekend like he does, then had to push away the underlying guilt he felt for providing Andrew the alcohol so freely; perhaps it would escalate into a problem like it did for Garrett years prior.
Nevertheless, Garrett laughs along with his friend, “I don’t know any old women who would want to cross the street at three—two, it’s two, in the morning. Your argument is invalid.” he sat up and leaned over the feet occupying his lap to reach the coffee table and retrieve his own bottle.
“Nothing has to be valid right now, I’m getting drunk.”
“No, you are drunk, there’s a difference.” Garrett said it smiling widely, enjoying the warmth on his thighs from the heels of Andrew’s feet. He tried not to think too deeply about it, especially the part of his mind that yelled at him that it was weird; weird that he was like this. Lonely and lusting.
“Ah-ha!” Andrew let out a high laugh, he pointed straight at Garrett’s nose, “that means—if you know I’m wasted—then, why would you offer for me to drive myself home? Were you—you were trying to get me to crash! Garrett Watts, thirsty for the views. I bet you’d even use my broken face as a thumbnail.”
Garrett continued laughing, he couldn’t help it, not when Andrew was giggling insanely like a fool. He was hypnotising, his joy contagious, and Garrett was buzzing with alcohol. Everything felt good, so of course, he’s going to laugh about the devastating topic of car incidents and ‘broken faces’.
“Don’t—haha, don’t joke about that stuff. And I wouldn’t dare use your face, I’d use your whole body, man. I don’t hold back. But seriously, I had an aunt—“
The joke didn't make it out fully, the two of them lost themselves in the humour of it all (which if any sober person had been present, they would deny there even being any). Garrett clutched onto the slim ankles of Andrew Siwicki as he laughed. He felt at peace. They relaxed back into the cushioning as their laughter died out.
Andrew turned his attention back to the movie on the wall, it was murmuring in the background of Garrett’s thoughts. If Andrew can’t drive home, where’s he going to go? He can’t stay here the night, it’s disgusting. Maybe he can stay at a motel, I’ll offer to pay.
“A dollar for your thoughts?”
Garrett looks over at Andrew in the low light of his messy apartment, he had yet to film his cleaning up video. His eyes were hooded slightly; tired. And he wasn’t watching the projection after-all, instead staring intently at Garrett. Andrew’s full, undivided attention on him felt like he was floating blissfully.
“Guess.” He answered playfully.
Andrew snorted, “I couldn’t possibly know, man. Not a mind reader—huh, imagine if I was—never-mind… I’ll pay a dollar.”
“We’ve been friends for, what, four years or something?” Andrew shrugged, “You should know me well enough to guess.”
“Right. Okay, I guess Halloween, Coachella, you’re thinking about how to get into Coachella twenty-nineteen, or what to get me for my next birthday. Or if we have enough time to watch Hocus Pocus again.”
Garrett wheezes, “Ew! I’m never watching that movie again in my life, that sucked.”
“Hey—I actually quite liked it, brought back childhood memories.” Andrew would have slapped his shoulder, but he couldn’t reach so instead he pushed his heel into the softness of Garrett’s inner thigh. It made him jump, and squeak. Andrew didn’t even consider the action as ‘crossing the line’, he couldn’t be fucked, he was trying to get smashed (not in the sexual sense, no way) tonight.
“Do we?” Garrett asks.
“Do we what?”
“Have enough time for another movie, I’ve got more on my list.” Please want to stay longer, I want to spend more time with you. I don’t mind that you’re drunk and won’t remember it in the morning.
“I don’t see why not. But only on one condition.” Andrew slurs, there’s a lopsided grin plastered on his face, along with flushed cheeks. Garrett almost sighed at the look of the man, and the sight was all his, no one else was here to steal his attention away.
“I get to choose.” Garrett opens his mouth to rebut, Andrew cuts him off, “You’ve picked the past seven movies we’ve seen together, it’s only fair that it’s my turn!”
He had a point. Over the past few months they’d recently gone out to the cinemas together, platonically, although Garrett would have preferred more (preferred was a strong word, maybe comfortable was better, Garrett would have been comfortable with more). And during every session Garrett had been the one to pick which film they were going to watch, and he’d chose Hocus Pocus and The Nightmare Before Christmas when he’d gone over to Andrew’s shared apartment earlier that month.
“Fine, you can choose, but I’ve got a condition of my own.”
Andrew giggles, Garrett dies a little inside, “You’re turn to shoot.”
“You must stop sulking in that corner and come closer to me. I feel too alone.” Garrett tries to cover up his obvious desperation for proximity between them with a laugh, whether or not Andrew realised that would never be known.
“Sure thing, princess.” It made no sense, but it still made Garrett smile. That was a positive point in Andrew’s books. Andrew grunted as he shoved over on the couch, Garrett briefly felt regret for asking when Andrew’s feet were taken from his lap, he making room for Garrett to slide in closer beside him. Now they had their thighs touching, their feet dangerously close by the floor (it just asking to tangle them together), and Garrett’s arm around the back of the couch. He made a note to make sure he didn’t end the night with his hand stroking Andrew’s hair, or deathly gripping his shoulder — that’s not something only friends would do, and Garrett knew that that’s what Andrew thought they were; wanted them to stay as. “Now you’ve got your three wishes—haha get it—you’ve gotta tell me what you were really thinking.”
Andrew’s face was too close to his. It panicked Garrett, all he had to do was crane his neck forward half a foot and their noses would be brushing, lips hovering over one another, their equally hot breaths mingling in the silent night. Did Garrett want that to happen? He felt his own hand tighten on his thigh, tried to forget about how Andrew had made the same sensation with the heel of his foot, tried to forget how comfortable Andrew behaved when he and Garrett were alone. He’d stopped being nervous around Garrett two years ago. And Andrew was king of nervousness.
He opted for the truth, “Wondering where you’re going to stay the night.”
Andrew frowned, “Not here? Sorry if I was—uh, inviting myself over, I just thought—“
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I just don’t have anywhere for you to sleep,” Garrett smiled reassuringly at his friend, “you’re my guest, I’m not going to let you sleep on this shitty couch.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad. I’d be more than happy to,” Andrew pats the space beside his hip, the opposite to the that’s pushed up flush against Garrett’s, but Garrett still didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of leaving Andrew alone out here whilst he has an entire mattress to himself. He wasn’t like that, couldn’t do that to a close friend. More. I do want more.
“I couldn’t let you.” Garrett hopes Andrew understands his reasoning and didn’t just assume that he wanted Andrew out of his apartment, “It’s okay, we’ll find you somewhere else.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t sound too sure, he sounds to Garrett as if he’s just been let down. Disappointed.
Garret surrenders his spot on the couch and walks around towards his front door, Andrew twist his body around the back of the couch to watch.
“Uh—movie? Which one?” He’s crouched down by the monitor.
“No, no, it’s all good. I think I’ll head out now. You were right, it’s getting late—it is late.”
“Early.” Garrett corrects, and only smiles when Andrew does. There’s something pulling at his heart strings; did he scare Andrew off, was he too harsh when he said he couldn’t stay over, was Andrew mad, upset with him? “You’re not gonna stay for one more movie? You’re choosing, you wouldn’t possibly give up this opportunity would you?”
Andrew rubs a hand down his face once he gets up from the couch, he is drunk. He wobbles slightly on his socked feet and pads over close to Garrett, he doesn’t look mad; only exhausted.
“Too many big words for three in the morning, Garrett.” he laughs momentarily, it’s quiet and hurts something in Garret’s chest, “I don’t know what you just said, but nah, let’s get me outta here. I’m sure we’ve got filming tomorrow or something.”
“Right—yeah, good idea.” Garrett gives in trying to hide his true emotions, he’s not sober enough for that anymore. He’d snuck in two shots of rum earlier whilst Andrew hadn’t been paying attention, it’d finally kicked in fully. Garrett couldn’t be bothered to give a shit anymore. It’d been too long. “Where’d you wanna go?”
“Back to ours.”
“Ours? I moved out ages ago.”
Andrew hummed, he’d somehow moved closer to Garrett without moving his feet. Garrett steadied himself with a hand on the door behind him, he was ready.
“Still call it ours, it’s always been ours.” Garrett looks down at Andrew’s face, he’s too drunk. He couldn’t. It could turn into some illegal.
“We had fun there, didn’t we?”
Andrew hummed again, his chin was raised so that he and Garrett were holding steady eye contact. He could see the heat behind Andrew’s dark eyes, it was intoxicating, he wanted it too. Garrett knew this now, though he wasn’t sure which part of Andrew wanted it; his close friend, or the sex induced friend encouraged by alcohol.
“Is Caleb still there? Ricky?”
“You know they are.” Garrett did know that. “Were you—you and, uhm,” he started again, Garret pined further, “were you and him ever a thing? I saw a vine comp of yours on Youtube once, and you two were close, really close. There was this one of you pushing him up against—“
Garret had to cut in quickly, Andrew didn’t know what it did to him to hear him say these things out loud. “Ricky? You’re talking about Ricky?” He knew exactly which vine he was talking about. A lot of people had reacted positively from it.
“Yeah. Did you like him?” Why was he asking this? Why would he be interested, surely he wasn’t jealous. His history with Ricky wasn’t something that should interest Andrew in the slightest, he’d never been very entertained by Garrett talking about his boyfriends, if ever he had one. Had something changed recently, was Garrett missing something? Did Andrew care? Perhaps he’d always cared.
Andrew’s chest was almost touching Garrett’s, his feet were slotted in with his, his hands pushed against the door on either side of Garrett’s hips. He was too close to not be asking for it now, he was willing and he was trying to show Garrett that.
Garret didn’t move in yet. Is it only the alcohol? I need to know, I can’t risk taking advantage of him, I would never forgive myself.
“For a bit. I was trying to distract myself from someone else.” He was whispering now, his voice had fallen an octave lower, the hand not on the door was shaking slightly. He was nervous, yet Andrew wasn’t.
“Who?” Andrew’s voice was just as quiet, just a slow, just as attractive and drawn out. It was ripping Garret apart bit by bit, a thorn stuck in his heart, wedged in there and he’d been unable to pick it out for years. He’d been slowly bleeding to death until this exact moment. Finally, Andrew was returning something, he’s the one to pry out the thorn, and he’d finally acknowledging that.
The word hung in the stuffy air, it had become hot in here. They were both sweating now despite it being freezing outside, Garrett could feel the chill on his palm from through the wood.
Andrew pushed up on his toes, suddenly he had a hand on Garret’s shoulder, one on his chest, and his nose was touching Garrett’s. Asking. Garrett’s hands immediately went to Andrew’s hips, he tried not to dig into the meat there, tried not to feel the jut of the bone against the soft flesh of his hands, it was driving him mad.
“Do it.” Garrett whispered, he was staring down through hooded eyes.
Andrew moved in. His lips were dry against Garrett’s, they moved fluently, hands gripping and mouths opening for each other. It was Andrew’s first time kissing a man, Garrett could tell. He flicked a tongue along the line of Andrew’s bottom lip and through a whine, he opened for Garret’s tongue. Their lips slowly became wetter with the messiness of their kisses, they were both desperate. Garrett could taste the alcohol on Andrew’s tongue, but also stale popcorn and the sweetness of generic candy. It was glorious.
“Fuck—Garrett.” Andrew pulled away slightly, to get his breath back. Garrett almost toppled over from he sight of him; cheeks flushed beyond believe, pupils blown wide, darkening his sensual eyes even more, his hair wasn’t any neater than before, it gave Garrett an idea.
“Kiss me again.”
Andrew grunted weakly, he’d wanted this for so long, but not nearly as long as Garrett. He pushed up onto the balls of his feet again and leant fully into Garrett’s warm body. Their chests rested together now, hands crept up from his hips, over his shoulders and into his hair. Garrett tangled his long fingers in the soft curls, softly tugging in rhythm with Andrew’s lips. Garrett took Andrew’s bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled, Andrew stiffened and canted his hips forward, they made contact with Garrett’s. The movement pushed them both backwards, wobbling on two feet Andrew drove Garrett bodily into the door, it pulled the breath from him, made him grunt into the stifling air. It only made Andrew want him more.
Andrew had shaved two days ago, his face was clean but with Garrett’s stubble moving against the softness of his cheeks, he could feel the sting, the burn from the hairs. It made him picture himself later, with a red rash along his neck and chin, made him picture himself saying that Garrett Watts had given him beard burn, and how? From roughly making out against his front door. The idea sent waves of his own arousal flowing into Garrett’s mouth.
Andrew was losing it slowly, he tried to talk throughout “oh—shit Garrett, you’ve no idea how—fuck, god—“ but couldn’t get a full sentence out without keening under Garrett’s strong hands. He was turning pliant purely because of Garrett’s heated gaze over him.
It wasn’t alcohol. Garrett concluded when Andrew began trying to confess to him, it made his heart soar.
They woke up late the next morning. The day was gloomy, there wasn’t any sun going through the small window of Garrett’s window. He’d almost forgotten what had happened earlier that morning, but turning over on his mattress confined it all. Andrew was still sleeping, hair looking like a damn bird’s nest (thanks to Garrett). His eyelashes were tickling his cheeks, his face was relaxed, he looked incredibly young and vulnerable; it made Garrett want to cry.
They hadn’t done anything more than making out, there had been a bit of rutting but Garrett stopped it before it turning into anything more; neither of them were prepared for that to happen. Garrett would have been devastated if he’d had sex with Andrew whilst drunk, he’d never want that to happen, ever.
Andrew woke slowly, he smiled as soon as he saw Garrett and tucked himself further into the sheets.
“I hope we didn’t fuck.” he said. His voice was raspy and deep, Garrett stifled the shiver that threatened to crawl down his spine.
“Of course not.”
“Thank god,” Andrew murmured, turning onto his back to stretch his arms above his head and crack his back. Something in Garrett died hearing those words, Andrew sensed that straight away and continued to justify himself, “only that when we do,” he put a hand on Garrett’s cheek, “I want to remember it all, I want to be fully in the moment. No alcohol to distract me. I want it to just be you and me.”
Garrett’s heart fluttered, he was propped up on his elbow and looked down at Andrew sprawled in his bed, it always felt like he was looking down on that angel. Nevertheless, the sight was a blessing.
“You know, we don’t have to have sex. Like ever. I don’t mind, I just want to be—“ he stopped suddenly. Fuck. I didn’t even ask what we are, now he’s going to think I’ve forced us to be in a relationship. Oh god, he’s going to want to leave. Fix this, Garrett. Fix it.
“I can see you panicking, stop that.” Andrew brushed a stray lock away from Garrett’s forehead, there was a cut on the bridge of his nose; he’d slept with his glasses on but had since taken them off. Andrew wondered if he knew just how handsome he was; with his sharp jawline, his piercing eyes full of both concern and hot, sweet love too, his beautifully coloured golden hair, always messy and begging for Andrew’s fingers to card through.
He’d successfully turned Andrew Garrett-sexual, despite being the cause of his spiralling sexuality crisis, Andrew found himself glad that Garrett had always acted so forward towards him. He’d been the trigger, and thank god for that. For without it, he’d never get to be seeing Garret how he is right now. Ruffled and sleepy with pillow creases tattooed to his face.
“Sorry, I don’t want you to think that we’re suddenly boyfriends now that—“
“Garrett, slow down. It’s all good. I want it too.” Andrew reassured, still caressing his soft cheek, avoiding the fraction of it that was interrupted by facial hair.
“Want to be together? Yes. Please.”
Garrett smiled widely from above the ginger, he ducked down to peck him on the lips. The feeling still unfamiliar but welcome either way, Andrew tried not to pull away from Garrett’s morning breath.
“Christ—Garrett, you need something to eat.”
The blonde looked sheepish, “Oh, yeah sorry ‘bout that.” and pulled down to kiss Andrew deeply. Despite the stale taste, he melted into it and allowed his lips to be pulled by Garrett’s dry ones. It felt like a dream.
Once they’d both shifted back into the pillows of Garrett’s unimpressive bed, Andrew watched Garrett lift a wrist over his face to check the time.
“We should go get breakfast on the way to Shane’s.”
“Mhm.” Andrew had his eyes closed again, enjoying feeling the warmth coming into him from Garrett’s side of the bed, he could definitely get used to this. He hadn’t woken up in another persons bed in months. Megan had been a bit of a failure, he hadn’t been feeling it as much as she was, and hadn’t been searching for a quick fuck ever since. It made his heart scream, here he was, lying in bed with his best friend, fully clothed, a bit hot, happy and tired, with his disgusting mouth taste stuck on his own tongue.
“Fuck, yum, yes please.” The thought of greasy eggs and bacon on pancakes made his mouth water, ultimate hang-over cure.
Garrett squealed happily and shoved off the covers to get to his feet, he’d removed his jacket from last night, and underneath he was wearing a very flamboyant Hawaiian shirt. Andrew stared in amazement.
“Yeah?” He turned around at the door way, looking back at Andrew in his bed from over his shoulder.
“You’re super gay.”
Garret smiled slowly, it was a devilish grin, it made Andrew want to curl into a ball.
“And now so are you.”
He wasn’t wrong.