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The words “Gabriel Reyes” and “good roommate” were never used in the same sentence unless the words “isn’t a” were between them. Between the restaurant he worked at and his band Death Blossom, his hours spent at home were odd at best and sporadic at worst. It didn’t help he had a short temper when he was tired-which was admittedly most of the time since he was constantly busy and didn’t have time to sleep like a normal person. A lot of his past roommates also just didn’t get him, and it’s really frustrating when you get called rude when you’re actually trying your damndest to be polite and interested.
That said, he does have a pretty sweet apartment. It’s close to the beach and it’s a decent walk downtown, fairly close to pretty much anything worth doing. It’s a small apartment and the neighborhood gets a little loud, which Gabe hates because it’s always when he’s trying to sleep before working a double shift, but he really does love the place. It’s a prime location which is why despite having shitty luck with roommates, he’s able to replace them fast. Still. Rent won’t pay itself so Gabe would prefer a slightly more permanent roommate this time.
Jack Morrison, a 24 year old blond farm boy from some hick-ass, middle-of-nowhere town in Indiana, has been Gabe’s roommate for the better part of a month. He’s a nice enough guy, if a little disillusioned with romantic tales of city life and Hollywood, but he pays rent on time and is pretty much the perfect roommate for Gabe. For starters, the guy sleeps like a rock, meaning he’s never bothered when Gabe shambles into the apartment at 4:30 AM, usually (accidentally) slamming doors and stomping around the apartment until he crashes in his room. Jack also keeps his early bird schedule that he likely developed on his farm (surprisingly he wasn't affected by the time zone shift) and isn’t home making noise while Gabe sleeps, which is a big plus since he’s an extremely light sleeper. He’s sure to any random bystander, they seem like the don’t get along with how much they make fun of each other, but honestly the banter between them is something they both, well Gabe assumes both of them, enjoy. The list goes on and on.
The doorbell rings and Jack races to answer it, excitedly greeting his guest with a kiss on the cheek. Gabe is making an omelet for dinner-too tired to cook anything involved-and rolling his eyes. He didn’t have a problem with Jack having people over, but he feels a cold pit form in his stomach whenever it’s Jack’s boyfriend. He always gives Gabe dirty looks whenever Jack is in the room, and don’t even get him started on if he tries to so much as ask Jack a simple question. He’s surprised he hasn’t seen Jack’s dick yet with how often he gets felt up in Gabe’s presence.
Cook faster damn you. Gabe curses, hoping to escape before he gets roped into the conversation. He manages to make it down the hall with his omelet and a glass of orange juice before Jack accosts him.
“Watch a movie with us!” Jack beams while Gabe kicks his bedroom door open. He glances at Jack’s boyfriend, aaand there he goes . Possessively kneading Jack’s obnoxiously big bicep (well actually he grew up on a farm so he guesses it’s actually just the normal amount of obnoxious). Gabe wants to be sick.
“Some other time, niño ,” he politely declines, shutting his bedroom door loudly with his foot. He catches up on emails and texts while he eats. Amélie texted him about some new songs to try at Tuesday’s practice.
Not more experimental, depressing crap I hope. She’s mad at her boyfriend Gérard for still not asking her to marry him after the 8 years they’ve been dating. He’s out of town for a week and Amélie is particularly frustrated. Her songs lately have been all about how fleeting love can be and how Gérard doesn't know what he's got until it's gone. Real heartbreaking, syrupy shit. Gabe’s not trying to be insensitive, but could she not wreck Death Blossom’s image over a guy? They’re supposed to be hardcore, not a bunch of crybabies. On top of that, she plays like seven-thousand instruments and she’s always trying to incorporate them. Thus experimental, depressing crap.
I give the band soul, which you’re so keen on reminding me you lack. We’re playing the songs. -A
Experimental, depressing crap it is.
Like you could write better. All your songs are about monsters and darkness. -A
And death. Don’t forget death.
Yawn. -A
Gabe tosses his phone on his end table, or at least on the pile of garbage and magazines where his end table is buried. He should plug in his phone, and he knows he’s going to be grumpy when he wakes up to find it dead, but honestly he doesn’t care right now. He sets his plate and glass on the ground and lies down. He wishes Amélie would be his roommate. He’s known her since high school, since she moved to LA as part of a French exchange program, and they’ve been practically inseparable since they met. Hell, she still visits his parents in the East Side with him during holidays when she can’t make the trip back to France to see her own family. Plus, Gabe can at least stand Gérard...in short bursts...when he’s not talking about his boring ass accounting firm.
He passes out for a few hours well deserved hours after that, waking up at a quarter after nine. He figures it’s safe to come out of his room now, and any awkward encounters with Jack’s boyfriend can be easily avoided. He rounds the corner and sees Jack sitting at the counter, reading a newspaper. Picturesque old guy.
“Returned from the grave?” He doesn’t even look up from his paper. Must’ve heard the door open.
“Temporarily,” Gabe responds as he opens the fridge and grabs two beers, offering one to Jack. “Where’s the verga ?” Jack lets out a sound of exasperation.
“Are you ever going to learn his name?” Jack asks, setting down his paper to accept the drink. Gabe just shakes his head and leans on the counter, across from Jack.
“Tell you what, I’ll learn his name when he stops thinking you’re going to slip and fall on my dick.”
“He doesn’t think that will happen!” Jack laughed.
“Then why the hell is he all over you as soon as I walk into a room?” Jack opened his mouth, but Gabe cut him off. “And don’t say,” Gabe does a horrible, high-pitched impression of Jack, “it’s because he’s affectionate.’ He’s one inch from giving you a handy at any given moment and you know it.” Gabe doesn’t see why Jack’s ass of a boyfriend is even remotely threatened by him.
“Whatever,” Jack scoffs.
“You’re not denying it, you exhibitionist!”
“Maybe he’s a little possessive, but that doesn’t mean he thinks I’m going to cheat on him.”
“I’m sure he’s more worried the straight, Latino guitarist that sleeps across the hall from you is going to trick your naive ass into bed with him. I mean, I am a catch, Morrison,” Gabe slaps his own ass for emphasis and Jack chokes on his drink before slamming back the rest. A few drops don’t make it into his mouth and instead trickle down his neck. Gabe watches as they disappear past the neckline of Jack’s shirt.
“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Jack says as he rinses out his empty bottle and tosses it into the recycling.
“See you, niño .”
“Try not to accidentally crawl into bed with me,” Jack winks before retreating down the hall.
“Damn. And doing it on a Captain America bedspread was on my bucket list. You’re a real dream killer, Jack Morrison! A heart breaker!” Gabe calls. He hears Jack let out a sarcastic laugh before his bedroom door clicked shut.
The real work for Gabe starts Fridays. Weekends are always busiest, and it doesn’t help that summer is right around the corner (cue obnoxious tourists that don’t tip to start pouring in by the hundreds if not thousands). Gabe likes it though. It’s fast paced and nobody gets pissed off when he raises his voice because frankly they’re all raising their voices to be heard over the commotion that is the kitchen. It’s a busy weekend and he works back-to-back doubles since they’re understaffed, but it’s so worth it when Sunday night rolls around. He’s finally off his shift and as usual, he wishes he drove instead of walked to work because he’s dead on his feet, but he makes it home without incident.
“How was work?” Jack asks as soon as Gabe opens the door.
“Busy as hell. Move your ass.” Jack’s sprawled out on the couch and Gabe flops on his legs without giving him a chance to move, earning a grunt of pain as Jack tries to pull his legs out from under Gabe’s thighs. “I’m ready to kill Angela. If she doesn’t kill me first.”
“You say that literally every week. Then you get your paycheck and you want to kiss Angela.”
“I do want to kiss Angela only because it means I’ll be close enough to kill her,” Gabe deadpans. “What about you, pretty boy? Save any lives?”
“You severely overestimate how busy a lifeguard actually is.”
“So you just stood around and looked pretty? Pamela Anderson’s portrayal was accurate after all.”
“Keep calling me pretty, Reyes. It’s feeding my ego.” Jack snickers when Gabe punches his sunburned shoulder, trying to defend himself with a pillow. Noticing none of his punches are landing, Gabe braces his feet on the arm of the couch and pushes until he’s crushing Jack between the other arm. He gets bored when Jack stops fighting back so they stay sitting like that for a while, Gabe leaning on Jack as they watch shitty, late-night television.
Tuesday Gabe drives the 45 minutes it takes to get to Amélie’s house for practice. He’s a little pissed off because an accident added another 20 minutes to his commute, but he softens a little when he sees his band. Amélie’s perched on the deck railing with Fawkes, who listening intently to whatever she’s talking about. Mako’s on the cushioned patio couch next to the railing, spinning a drumstick in the hand that isn’t on Fawkes’ ankle. They all turn around when they hear the car door shut.
“About time you showed up!” Fawkes yells, nearly losing his balance and tipping backwards if not for Mako’s grip.
“Traffic was a bitch. Sue me.” Gabe flips him off as takes the empty metal porch chair.
“As I was saying,” Amélie cut in before Fawkes could respond, “we’ve been asked to perform at several shows next month and I think we should cut it down to three. It’s a stressful time of year and-”
“Bullshit,” Gabe blurts out, “why would we do less? We’re just now breaking even!”
“I think it would be more beneficial to not wear ourselves out. Especially since we’re playing a large concert in the middle of July. I’d rather we spend time polishing our set list to ensure holiday shows instead-”
“What better way to practice than with smaller shows?” Gabe argues.
“Think about the long-term.”
“No shows means no money means I can’t pay rent means I’m homeless. There’s your long-term.”
“I’m with Gabe. I’ll take the more money option.” Fawkes chimes in.
“You two are sell-outs.” Amélie mutters.
“That was cold hearted, Spider-Bitch.”
They argue for another 10 minutes, getting nowhere before Mako stands up and mutters something about how they’re at practice not a financial meeting. It’s pretty much dissolved into baseless name calling anyways and they were getting nowhere fast.
All tension melts away once they have their instruments. Gabe’s got his baby, a black electric Stratocaster with white accents and skull-shaped hardware, plugged in and ready to go. He wishes it was dark enough to see “Reaper” glowing on the pick guard, but he figures that’s more for showing off than for practice. None of their instruments really match. Amélie’s persona “Widowmaker” is decked out in spiders and webs. She usually wears a lot of lace to match and wears backless shirts to showcase the black widow that adorns her back, shoulder to shoulder. Mako goes by “Roadhog” and has...piggies...but in a cool way not in a lame way that would make him look out of place or anything. He even tattooed his bellybutton to look like a pig as well. But it’s in a cool way. Fawkes goes by “Junkrat,” and surprisingly he does not have junk or rats included in his persona but explosives and pyrotechnics instead. Gabe supposes they all incorporate black in their motifs so in a weird way, it works and they don’t look too out of place next to each other.
They move through their normal set a few times, and even Gabe has to admit to himself it does feel a little stale. They workshop Amélie’s songs for a few hours, adding in some stronger rhythms and polishing off the solos before they decide to call it a day. Mako has work in a few hours and Fawkes has some big demolition project he’s starting early Wednesday morning, so they really can’t stay. Gabe decides to hang out a little longer since neither Amélie or him have anyone or anything to do tonight. It’s the first time in awhile they’re both actually free.
“So how’s the roommate? This one actually seems like he’s able to put up with your endless bullshit.” Amélie slaps Gabe’s thigh as she sits down next to him, opening up a bottle of water.
“I’m a fucking delight, fuck you.” Gabe laughs as he elbows her in the side, picking at his guitar. The strings need to be changed soon. “He’s fine though. I think he might actually make it to two months if his sketchy-ass boyfriend doesn’t kidnap him and lock him in some secret sex dungeon.”
“Does he have a sex dungeon?”
“Probably not. God knows he’s constantly at my fucking house, tongue-fucking Jack’s ear like it’s filled with rock candy.”
“You paint an amazing picture. Please, stop. Go back to the cute roommate.”
“I didn’t say he was cute.”
“Cute enough to get dry-humped by a very possessive boyfriend.”
“I guess? How would I know?”
“You’re straight, not blind. Though you wouldn’t have to describe him if you’d actually introduce us.”
“Did you miss the part where I said I’m trying to keep my roommate? You’d only scare him off.”
“Mm,” Amélie hummed in that knowing way that said ‘you’re the worst out of the two of us and he’s still here. I wouldn’t scare him off.’ Fuck you . Gabe thinks.
“You don’t think I’m being, like, homophobic by getting grossed out by them, do you?” Gabe barely gets his guitar to safety when the usually graceful and composed woman sputters and spills her water all over them. “What the actual fuck? Watch it! This guitar is worth more to me than your life!”
“Shit-sorry,” she grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and wiped them off as best she could. “Do you think you are?”
“Why the fuck else would I ask, dumbass?” Gabe cleared his throat. “I don’t fucking know.”
Amélie answers him in her usual cryptic way which means he’s not getting any input from her on this one. He treats her to a home cooked meal and even lets her pick a movie to watch with it. Of course she chooses some artsy-fartsy French movie that’s in black and white and has no explosions or tits (what kind of a French movie doesn’t have tits? He really got screwed on that one). He complains the whole time the movie is on, but enjoys himself nevertheless. He’d sleep over, but Gérard is due back from his business trip tomorrow morning and Gabe would rather not hear their reunion or get caught in another conversation about conversion algorithms or whatever the fuck it was that accountants talked about.
Gabe manages to get home before midnight, which is a rare accomplishment in his book. He also manages to beat Jack home, which is another bonus, he thinks as he toes off his boots and hops over the back of the couch, ready to watch something on his big screen for a change. He has the next two days to himself so he goes ahead and indulges in some of the really good alcohol Angela let him take home as a “thanks for working doubles all weekend while our morning chef was out sick” gift. Working in that restaurant sure had its advantages.
45 minutes in and he was barely able to focus on the TV at all. Jack would have been down for the count in half that-the guy could not hold his alcohol at all, or at least nothing Gabe kept in his place anyways, which is generally a minimum of 30% alcohol if it's not beer. He kinda misses listening to Jack’s cringe worthy accent when he drunkenly tries to copy things Gabe says in Spanish-usually very dirty, very inappropriate things because he knows Jack doesn't understand what he's saying in the first place. Jack can't even roll his Rs, which is a shame because it would be hilarious to hear him attempt that without it sounding like a hum.
Stop thinking about Jack . Gabe mentally chastises himself. His brain was not on the same page though and instead brought up the memory of the last time they drank together. Jack fell off the couch and smacked his head on the coffee table-which they have now pushed back a few feet to avoid in the future. He wasn't hurt or anything that warranted a trip to the ER, but it left him a little dazed and gave him a bad case of the spins. Gabe, being the asshole that he is, kept nudging Jack with his feet until Jack closed on him like a vice grip and wrenched him off the couch.
His memory gets a little hazy near the end, probably because he was also really drunk, but he has a very clear picture of a very flushed, very glossy-eyed Jack looking up at him from between his thighs. Heat is pooling in his belly and he's squeezing his own thigh a little too hard and-
Nope . Gabe is not doing this. Hell no. Jack Morrison is his roommate. Not happening. There’s not anything remotely romantic or sexual there and it’s a little presumptuous to think Jack would be into him anyways. Right? Gabe rushes off to his room and buries his face in his pillows, trying to repress everything he's thought about in the past fifteen minutes.
Gabe unfortunately can not repress thoughts through sheer willpower alone. That and his fucking dreams betrayed him. He hasn’t had a wet dream since high school and it certainly wasn’t about a guy then. He can’t even look at Jack now without imagining him with...way fewer clothes on. He asks for extra hours at the restaurant (Angela gives them to him without question), and he spends a few nights at Amélie’s house, avoiding all topics that involved Jack and his dream. His temper is at a record level of touchiness until Amélie finally suggests he go home. He knows she's right-he hadn’t even brought extra underwear and going commando in the same set of sweatpants three days straight really loses its charm fast, but he still gives her the cold shoulder as he gathers up his things and tosses them in the car.
The lights in the apartment are off and Gabe prays that Jack isn’t home. He breathes a sigh of relief when it looks Jack-free and rummages through the fridge for anything to eat. He settles on just bread and butter, not really looking for anything heavy.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Gabe drops the butter container on the floor and jumps up, smacking his head on the freezer door. Jack has him cornered and Gabe feels a slight panic. Act normal.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You disappeared for four days! You didn’t even text me.” Jack crosses his arms.
“What are you? My dad?” Gabe leans against the fridge door and crosses his arms as well.
“Gabe.”
“Jack.”
“I can stand here all night. What’s wrong?”
You have a boyfriend. Gabe thinks. “Nothing,” he says. Jack fixes him with a look and Gabe bites out, slightly angrier than he means to, “nothing. I’ve been at Amélie’s. Why do you care? You had the apartment to yourself for a change.”
“Because we’re friends?” Gabe pushes past him, feeling a little trapped. “Gabriel.”
“Jackson.”
“Not my name and you know it.”
Gabe shrugs. “I’m an adult, Jackson . I’m back, it’s all fine. You make it sound like you missed me. Did you fall hopelessly in love with me now or something?” Gabe starts walking backwards down the hall, saying anything that comes to mind without taking a breath. “Wouldn’t blame you, niño ! Last chance to declare it!” He shuts his door and leans against it, breathing like he just ran a marathon. That was smooth. Not awkward at all. He falls into bed with a groan.
Did you make it home safe? -A
I’m ready for the sweet embrace of death.
Gabe wakes up hot, sticky, and uncomfortable. He looks down and yep. Wet dreams are apparently going to become a daily occurrence. Literally can today go fuck itself? It’s suffocatingly hot even without his blankets covering him and he can already tell the AC is busted. The now-drying wet spot on his boxers is doing absolutely nothing to ease his comfort so he gets up and B-lines for the bathroom. Having an existential crisis about his sexuality wasn’t something Gabe was planning on doing while scrubbing down with timber scented Old Spice, but here he was. He’s going through every guy he knows, even just people he’s seen on the street or in the restaurant, but none of them strike a chord quite like Jack does. It only serves to confuse him more and turn off the hot water so he can at least try to think.
Jack’s waiting patiently by the door when Gabe gets out of the bathroom. “ ‘Mornin,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “You never beat me to the bathroom.”
“We’re going to the beach blondie, hurry up.” What the fuck?
Jack perked up like a dog being told it’s going for a walk. “We are?”
“I have 2 weeks before I’m booked solid. Fuck yeah we’re going.” Gabe falls into a slight panic when he realizes he just invited his possible crush for some half-naked one-on-one time at a very crowded beach and grabs his phone as soon as he's in his room.
Apparently I decided we’re going to the beach.
To watch you burst into flames under the harsh light of the sun? -A
You can finally meet my roommate.
I’m in. Fawkes and Mako can come too? -A
No shit.
Meet you there. -A
Gabe quickly pulls on some trunks and a tank top. It’s only 9 in the morning. Jack must have gotten in super late last night if he slept in like that-not that he cares what Jack was doing. It’s too hot to cook anything for breakfast, so Gabe settles on some cold pizza and a lemonade. Jack finally gets out of the shower, and Gabe is trying to remember how to act like a fucking normal human being around him before he rounds the corner.
“So who else is coming?” Jack’s pulling on a t-shirt and his hair is ruffled from being towel dried, sticking up in every possible direction.
“My band. They’ll meet us there.”
“You mean I finally get to meet the illusive Death Blossom?”
“We aren’t illusive, just underground.”
“Do I get to come to any of your shows?”
“If you’re into that sorta thing. I pegged you as the type to blast that sexy tractor country song.”
“Not even close,” Jack rolled his eyes as he rummaged around in the fridge. His shirt hiked up a bit in the back and Gabe was instantly distracted from whatever he was saying. He snapped out of it when Jack said he invited his boyfriend.
“Great. Looking forward to it.” Gabe covers the disappointment in his voice by shoving as much pizza as he can into his mouth. “Help me pack the car. I want to get there before all the good spots are taken.”
It takes a half hour to pack the car and another twenty to stop off at a grocery store to pick up some burgers and dogs for lunch. They make it to the beach around eleven and Gabe scans it, immediately spotting his band and the volleyball net they’ve set up. He prays for a moment that they aren’t going to be their usual brand of stupid.
Amélie spots Gabe and Jack first. She’s wearing a bikini with strings that wrap around her like spider legs, bug-eyed sunglasses, and the biggest, most ridiculous straw sun hat he’s ever seen. She extends a hand to Jack, who currently is holding the cooler and 3 bags of groceries. He tries his best to extend his pinky out to her and she takes it with glee.
“Amélie. Charmed. You must be Jack. Gabe has told me so much about you.”
“Has he?” Jack grinned.
“Don’t get too excited. It’s just about how intolerable you are as a human being,” Gabe sets down the towels and portable grill he’s carrying.
“Please tell me you guys will play volleyball with us. Mako won’t play and Amélie won’t play me one-on-one,” Fawkes whines.
“You aim for the face and I refuse to play against you when we have concerts in less than two weeks.”
“But you’re going to what? Let me take one for the team?” Gabe laughs.
“You wear a mask on stage and play just as dirty. Maybe you and Fawkes will cancel each other out,” Amélie supplied.
“So I’m on Gabe’s team?” Jack piped up.
“Unfortunately for me, yes.” Amélie brought a hand to her chest and feigned disappointment. “One day, perhaps fate will bring us together and we may demolish our foes and look absolutely stunning while doing so. But today, you're going down.” They’re doing this on purpose.
“Mako, get lunch set up, will you? I’m about to destroy half the band.” Gabe and Fawkes rush to take the front positions, taunting each other through the net and baring their teeth. Amélie serves first and Fawkes sends it over Gabe and to Jack, who easily saves it and sends the ball to Gabe, who immediately goes for the spike, but Fawkes is already there to spike it right back. The ball makes it back to Amélie and Fawkes is trying to kick at Gabe’s ankles. Oh it’s on . Gabe thinks as he kicks back and jumps for the ball. He manages to hit it back to Jack, but he lands on a particularly soft patch of sand and slips backwards. Jack spikes the ball towards the opposite end of the net and scores a point. Gabe cheers.
It’s Jack’s turn to serve and Fawkes and Gabe leap for it. He forgets how fucking tall Fawkes is and misses the ball. Jack is barreling towards them and hits it up in the air before crashing into Gabe. They manage to stay upright and the the ball comes for them again.
“Got it!” Gabe yells and he spikes it, earning another point while Fawkes gets a face full of sand. They play a few more matches, Jack and Gabe in the lead at 5-4 before the smell of burgers and dogs get their attention. Jack’s boyfriend showed up while they were playing and was chatting with Mako. They both look relieved when the game paused. Jack kneels down and kisses his boyfriend right on the mouth, bragging about how he’s winning volleyball. Gabe rolls his eyes and looks at Amélie, tongue lolling out while gesturing to the two lovebirds. She feigns gagging and laughs, opening up the buns.
Gabe grabs his food, two burgers and two dogs with plenty of mustard, and plops next to Amélie under the umbrella.
“So that’s the boyfriend?”
“Aren’t they disgusting?”
“They’re cloyingly sweet. My teeth are going to rot and fall out of my skull.” Amélie agrees. “Jack is like a 9. He could do so much better.”
“Right?”
“Oh? What happened to being blinded by your unwavering straightness?”
Gabe took a giant bite of his burger and shrugged before swallowing. “So maybe the unwavering straightness...wavered...slightly. There may have been a dream. Or two. Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything!”
“You’re smiling and it’s freaking me out. Your face looks like it’s going to split in two.” Gabe wolfed down the rest of his food and avoided looking at Jack and his boyfriend. Comfortably full and the first one finished, he lies down on a towel to soak up some sun while everyone else talks and eats. He's just starting to doze off when he hears “fire in the hole!” and receives what feels like a cannonball in the gut.
“And another victory for Junkrat! Direct hit!” Fawkes is yelling as Gabe writhes in pain. He realizes now Fawkes spiked the volleyball on him while he was half asleep. The bastard’s lucky it didn’t hit him any lower.
“I am...going to murder you…” he swung for Fawkes’ legs, who leapt away for the ball, giggling like a maniac.
“Mako said he’ll play with us!” Fawkes cheered gleefully. “You’re going down, Gabe!”
Jack helps Gabe to his feet. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Gabe groans.
“Hi, Fine. I’m-”
Gabe stuck a finger in Jack’s face, who stuck his hands up in surrender. “Don’t fucking finish that, white boy,” he growled. “Guess you’re on our team then, yea, verga ?”
“To round out the team, I suppose.” God, Gabe hated the sound of his voice so much. He gave him a thumbs up in acknowledgement and moved to the net, taking a spot up close.
“No. You and Fawkes are banned from playing front. You’re going to rip the net.” Amélie shooed him towards the back while Gabe lifted his arms in protest.
“Carajo! You’re just mad we’re on top, but fine. We’ll still wipe the floor with you. Jack, up front, buddy.” He claps Jack on the back and pushes him forward. Jack’s boyfriend looks like he’s about to explode, and Gabe blows him a kiss, just to piss him off. The way Gabe sees it, that guy’s been been nipping at his ankles and squaring up for the past month so he might as well as bite. He lets his hand linger on Jack's shoulder before pulling away and it's a wonder his boyfriend doesn't kill him now. Gabe just found his favorite minigame.
He’s bodychecked Jack’s boyfriend like eight times and keeps “accidentally” running into him and Jack both, blaming his own competitiveness with false apologies. They’re losing by 3 points, but Gabe is actually willing to lose the game and let Fawkes gloat for the next couple days if it means he gets to exact his petty revenge. Jack is laughing and enjoying himself, which is distracting in it's own right, and he's completely unaware of the battle going on behind him. He’s basically playing by himself and Gabe is a little impressed he’s even scored points against his band.
“I’m calling it,” Amélie breathes. “We’ve been playing for hours. Just accept defeat so we can go home and shower before dinner and drinks?”
“First round on the losers?” Fawkes grins.
“Why the fuck do you only say that when you win, but if I say it, you suddenly ‘need to go to hospital, Gabe’ and ‘Gabe, you sprained my ankle we can’t go out!’ huh?”
Jack touches his back and speaks softly. “Hey, I’m gonna meet back up with you later?”
“What? The verga a sore loser and won’t help clean up?”
“He says it’s important. I’ll see you later.” His boyfriend is already in the parking lot, impatiently waiting for Jack. He looks really pissed off and Gabe feels a little guilty because he’s at least 50% at fault (again he’s going to say the other 50% is because the guy wanted to start shit for this long anyways). Gabe nods and Jack heads up the beach. Fawkes and Mako help Gabe pick up everything and carry it back to his car.
“Was I being too competitive?” Gabe asks.
“You? Competitive? No.” Amélie’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. Gabe glares at her and she rolls her eyes. “You may have been a little...aggressive…” she bites her lip. “Jack had a great time though. I’m sure he barely noticed.”
“Yeah…” Gabe slams his trunk a little too hard. “See you in an hour? I’m pretty sure I have a sand castle in my ass.”
“Drive safe. Text me?”
“Will do.”
As soon as Gabe gets home, he peels off his swimsuit and hops in the shower. There was so much sand in places Gabe forgot even existed that he probably could make a sandcastle. He wraps a towel around his waist and walks into the living room to grab his laundry. He almost screams and loses his towel when he sees Jack on the couch.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gabe yells. “Fucking gave me a heart attack.” He’s actually holding his chest with one hand and gripping the arm of the couch for balance as he tries to catch his breath before he notices how deflated Jack looks. “What’s wrong, niño ?”
“We broke up,” Jack sighed, throwing an arm over his face.
“He was a dick anyways,” Gabe tried to sound empathetic. He really just hoped he didn’t sound too happy.
“I guess.” Jack sighed again.
Gabe sucked his teeth. “Oh, don’t give him the satisfaction of being upset. I’ll get you a puppy. It’ll hump you less and smell better.” Jack didn’t even look slightly amused. “Come on. Other fish in the sea and all that. You’re a catch, Jack.” He puts a hesitant hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Besides, who dumps someone after a great day at the beach? Biggest mistake of his life.”
“He didn’t dump me, I dumped him.” Well that was right out of left field .
“Why? You two practically had sex on the beach.”
“I like someone else.” Jack crosses his arms. “I’m pretty sure he likes me back, so I called it off. He’s kind of a dick, and he’s grumpy like all the time. He’s been really bad at hiding how jealous he is of my boyfriend. Plus he’s competitive as hell and wouldn’t stop grabbing my ass all day. I kinda liked it though.” He flashes a grin at Gabe, who just crinkles up his nose. “Plus I’m pretty sure it’s on his bucket list to get fucked on my Captain America bedsheets.”
“Correction: his dream is to fuck you on your Captain America bedsheets. Like 100 times at least.”
Jack glances at the clock. “We could knock it down to 99 before we meet your band for drinks.”
They don’t leave the apartment, hell they don’t even leave Jack’s room, way too wrapped up in each other to even think about anything going on outside. Jack tastes better than alcohol anyways, and Gabe knows he’s not going to regret anything about tonight. He’s pretty sure his legs wouldn’t work even if he wanted to move, but a night-and many more to come hopefully-with Jack was so worth it. The least he can do is text Amélie and the others to let them know he’s not coming out tonight. It’s a little over three hours late, but in his defense, he was very preoccupied by a very gorgeous and needy blond. His phone vibrates and as it turns out, Amélie has been trying to reach him since they left the beach.
Did you make it home okay? -A
Where are you? -A
Junkrat is demanding drink money from you. I hope you know it’s your fault he dies of alcohol poisoning. -A
Where the fuck are you? -A
Okay, I’m actually worried you died. Please respond. -A
Gabriel Reyes, I swear to god if you don’t pick up your phone.
Pick.
Up.
Your.
PHONE.
If you don’t respond in the next five minutes, I’m coming over.
You better hope for your sake you were fucking murdered.
He’s almost touched she cares so much. Plus it's cute she was so worried she stopped signing her texts. He's a little peeved Fawkes deals with his disappearance by drinking him into debt, but everyone copes in different ways he supposes. The last text was sent about 30 minutes ago.
“Fuck,” Gabe says out loud as he hears the sounds of three people scramble in through the front door of his apartment. Jack jolts up, but he’s still too blissed out to be any help. The door slams open and Amélie is glancing between Jack and Gabe, murder shining in her eyes.
“Explain.”
“Remember how I thought I was being homophobic for hating Jack’s boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend.” Jack corrects.
Gabe rubs the back of his neck. “Turns out I’m fine with Jack kissing guys as long as I’m the guy he’s kissing.”
“Hate to break it to you, but smells like you did way more than kissing there, mate.” Fawkes laughs. Jack pulls the blankets over his head and Gabe is throwing every available pillow at his band until they slam the door closed.