Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chris Smith had been out of the army for only a few short months, lost and followed everywhere he went by a cloud of anger and what he would have called depression if he allowed himself to think about it for more than a minute. He had met up a few times with friends from high school, but struggled to connect with their stories about their wives, their kids, and their normal jobs where they and their coworkers basically never worried about getting shot. He had tried, pathetically, to reconnect with his father, then to bury his feelings in a sea of whiskey and fast women. 

His moment of clarity came, when he was woken from a drunken stupor by his next door neighbor’s ex husband, banging on her front door and screaming that he was going to kill her. Chris had stumbled out of his trailer, walked unsteadily up to whathisface, and picked him up by the collar like an unruly puppy. 

Chris barely understood the words coming out of his own mouth. “You think you’re big, huh? You think you're big? You're not a man, you're a worm!”

Whoeverthefuck whimpered and pissed himself even before Chris chucked him out of the yard like a defective boomerang. 

A thin, warbly voice came muffled from within the house, “Thanks Chris.”

“No problem, Diane. You keep that door locked for the next lil’ while, alright?”

“Alright!”

There was something about being useful – no, being violent – that calmed the painful buzz that lingered behind his eyes and crescendoed into a roar whenever he was left alone without a distraction. 

He started roaming the seedier parts of town late in the evening, putting himself in the way of trouble. On some level, he was looking for a way to help, and on another, a way to hurt others that was something other than purely destructive. 

His next fix came when he saw a group of men hassling a scrawny teenager downtown. When the biggest bully looked like he was going to wallop the poor kid, Chris grabbed his fist from behind and twisted until he felt something snap. Two of the others tried to rush him. He backhanded one into the street, where he stumbled and fell, and kneed the other in the dick, causing him to crumple to the ground. 

The kid stuttered a thank you, though Chris could barely hear him over the swearing and screaming. Through the windows of the diner across the street, staff and customers gawked and stared at the chaos, with the exception of a single employee, who hadn't paused from diligently wiping down a four top. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Screamed the man clutching his broken arm. 

“Peacemaker.” Chris replied, stepping over him before continuing down the street towards his parked car. 

Sometime during these first few months of watching the local criminal scene, he’s not sure exactly when, somebody started watching him.

At first it was just a shadow. A dark figure he would spot out of the corner of his eye, far in the distance, just for an instant. He could feel eyes on him like an itch, but he dismissed it as paranoia. 

A couple weeks after that last incident, Chris was sitting alone in a booth at that new diner with the kickass zoodles, drunk as a skunk, when he noticed a curly-haired busboy openly gawking at him. Eye-fucking him, maybe. He wasn't quite sure. Wishful thinking, probably. It had been a while, and the loneliness was like a sucking wound. 

Chris stared the guy down, daring him to drop his eyes, but he didn't. He stared back, grinning like a maniac. A note of uncertainty crept up Chris’ spine. He downed his drink, threw cash down on the table, and walked out into the night. He half expected to be followed. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn't. 

Chris typically didn't know the local cruising grounds around Evergreen, and he would have avoided them even if he had. He didn't want that kind of thing getting back to his father – and it seemed like everything that happened in Evergreen got back to his dad sooner or later. He had enjoyed greater flexibility in his choice of company while enlisted, even if he had to be on the down low thanks to army policy, and part of him missed it. 

A few days later, Chris went to a bar – not a bar in Evergreen, one in nearby Everett. He was less drunk tonight, just in case he needed to drive home later. He could potentially sleep the worst off in his car and head out in the wee hours of the morning. He watched the crowds. Waiting, but he wasn't sure yet for what. 

Chris spied on a distinguished looking older man with his arm around some pretty young thing in a corner booth. He watched eclectic sorts with wild and colorful hair filter in off the street. There were even a few patrons gamely trying to grind on the small dance floor. The pounding of the music was almost enough to drown out the intrusive voice in the back of his head hissing vitriol at every weirdo urbanite type you'd never see in the backwoods. 

Finally, as if by a sick twist of fate, Chris locked eyes with a familiar face. He'd know those curly locks and Dahmer glasses anywhere. Why the fuck is he here?

Chris could have maybe excused the weird busboy from Fennel Fields randomly showing up in a crowded bar a couple towns over, if it wasn't for the fact that the creep was again openly staring at him, no drink to be seen, not even turning away despite having clearly been made.

Chris jumped out of his seat and made a beeline for the door for the second time in one week. Outside, he ducked into the nearest alley, and when light footsteps followed close behind, he slammed the guy into the side of the building. 

“The fuck do you want?” Chris snarled. His stalker stared at him blankly, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. Inches away from his face, arm pressed up against his neck, pinning him against the wall, something finally clicked in Chris' alcohol and misery-addled brain. “...Thimble?”

A manic grin spread impossibly wide across Gut Chase’s annoying kid brother’s all-grown-up face. His voice came out in an excited wheeze. “You remember me! I was starting to worry you got shot in the head or that they removed part of your brain for a secret government supersoldier experiment-”

“If they shot me in the head I’d be dead.”

“Statistically, yes, the odds aren't great, but people survive getting shot way more often than you'd think-”

“Did you follow me here, Thimble?”

“Follow you? What? Nooooo. Why would I do something like that?” Thimble lied, badly as he used to when Chris last saw him, when he was fourteen? Twelve? How old is Thimble now, exactly? Chris was confident he wasn't old enough to legally patronize this bar, that's for damn sure. But Chris wasn't scared of Thimble of all people, so he gently relaxed his arm, allowing Thimble’s feet to touch the ground again. He didn't slide as far down as Chris expected him to. Kid was nearly six feet tall now. 

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you! You left so fast the other day, before I could get off my shift! I'm not allowed to talk to the customers, not even if I know them. I thought maybe you didn't want to talk to me. But you're here! You're back!”

A few people had peered down the alley to see what the commotion was about, but nobody would think it was at all odd to see a large, muscular man pinning a smaller man against the wall in an alleyway – not outside this particular bar, anyway. 

“Look, Thim- Adrian. I need you to do me a favor, okay?”

Adrian Chase’s face dropped into a strange, hungry expression. His pupils were massive. “A favor? Like a favor for a friend?”

“Y- yeah. A favor for a friend.”

Adrian’s eyes were sharp and intense in a way that gave Chris goosebumps. He looked at Chris like a bird of prey watching a mouse in the grass. “Anything. Ask me anything.”

“Don't tell anyone you saw me here.”

“Okay!” Adrian gave him a dorky smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Can you?” Chris was drawing an absolute blank on Adrian's age. 

“I could try.”

“I'd rather you didn't.” Chris pulled away, but Adrian grabbed his arm. 

“Don't go. Please. Do you want to throw knives?”

“...what?”

“I've got a whole bunch of targets and shit in the woods near my house. It's really cool!”

Chris stared, wondering how on earth his evening had turned out this way.

“Or I could, like, get some guns if you wanted.”

“No need, Thimble…” Chris gave a deep sigh and gave up on finding a hook up tonight. “I’d love to throw knives in the woods with you.”

“Really?” Adrian's smile could have lit up the Vegas strip during a brown out. 

“Don't make me change my mind.”

They took Adrian's old beater. The drive to Adrian's house (more precisely, Adrian's mom’s house) was thankfully short. At least it would be easy enough for Chris to fetch his car in the morning. 

Chris was aware, on some level, that Adrian was technically his stalker, but life as a very large, very dangerous man had not taught Chris to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, he knew Adrian. Had known him, anyway. Weird, but basically harmless. So Chris gave a mental shrug and followed Adrian into the woods.

Adrian's target range was, in fact, very cool, in a very teenage kind of way. He had multiple targets at different heights and distances as well as a couple folding chairs and some lamps and fairy lights strung overhead (for those late night knife-throwing sessions, apparently.) He even had a small boombox with a single burnt CD that unfortunately consisted of nothing but Celine Dion’s greatest hits. 

18 year old Christopher Smith would have thought it was pretty cool. (23 year old Christopher Smith still thought it was kinda cool.)

Adrian proudly brought out his extensive knife collection, while Chris cracked open a beer. He’d make his way through most of the case as the night went on, noticing but not quite caring that Adrian took a single can and never opened it. 

Not only was Adrian freakishly accurate with his throwing knives, his collection inexplicably included a fucking katana. 

“Did you know that when samurai commit suicide, they usually have a buddy with a sword on stand by to cut their head off if they don't die fast enough?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, because they disembowel themselves, which is, like, super painful. You don't want your buddy to die crying like a bitch. So boom, just lop it off.”

“Samurai don't exist anymore, do they?”

“They don't?”

“I don't think so.”

“Huh.”

They spent several hours shooting the shit and throwing knives like bored kids, and for the first time in months, Chris felt something other than depressed or angry. He felt annoyed and just a little bit happy. Mostly annoyed, though. But it made him feel more like a person and less like an open wound. 

Chris was extremely tipsy by the time the sky started to lighten with the first weak rays of the sun peaking over the horizon. He threw a giggly Adrian over his shoulder and carried him back towards the road. “Come on, kid. You need to drive me home. Take responsibility for your actions.”

“My actions?”

“Kept me out all night! Got me innei- drunk. Like some kinna lush. Better get me back before daybreak or- or-.”

“You’ll turn into a pumpkin!”

“Massive fuckin’ pumpkin. Prize winning. County fair style shit.”

When the car stopped in front of his trailer, Adrian was nattering at him about getting some water in his system before going to sleep.

“You're not my real mom.” Chris replied, nonsensically. 

“But I'm your friend?”

“Sure thing, bud.” Chris leaned over and gave Adrian a tight hug. He sighed in Adrian's ear, “See you around.”

Chris stumbled inside and passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. 

///’v’\\\

Chris woke up at roughly three in the afternoon, which just so happened to be a great time to call Dorian Chase, who was probably just finishing his classes for the day. Chris sent Gut a short text, and his phone rang around half an hour later.

“Chris, hey. Sorry I still haven't seen you since you got back stateside. We need to get on that ASAP.”

“Don't worry about it, man. Just glad to know you're still not too good to take my calls.”

“Never. Unless I win the lottery, in which case you'll never hear from me again.”

They spent a good hour bantering and catching up and it felt more and more natural as the minutes passed. Chris tried to find a casual way to slip in his real reason for calling, and Gut, as if psychically, delivered him the perfect opening.

“You're back in Evergreen, right? I should swing by next time I visit mom.”

“Yeah, hey- your brother still lives around here, right?”

Gut snorted. “Honestly, I don't know if he's ever going to move out of mom's house.”

“How old is he now, anyway?”

“He's turning nineteen in a couple months. I guess he's still got time to get his act together.”

Chris felt intense relief, followed quickly by disgust at himself for being so relieved to find out that the teenage boy he spent several hours drinking alone with in a secluded area last night is, at least technically, a teenage man. 

“Why’re you asking about Adrian, anyway?”

“...saw him the other day. Saw him a few times, actually. Didn't recognize him at first. Not to narc, but I think he might have a fake ID. Spotted him at a bar last night.”

“Wow, good for him. My baby boy is all grown up.”

“He's gotten fucking tall.”

“Taller than his old man. For shame. Least he could do is slouch. I'm the man of the house, not him.”

Talking to Gut eased the knot of anxiety in Chris' chest. By the time they hung up, his mood was lifted almost to the point of neutral rather than miserable. He forewent his usual morning drink and headed down to the rec center gym, which had a discount for veterans. 

///’v’\\\

Forty miles away in his college dorm, Dorian “Gut” Chase hung up the phone and immediately switched from cheerfully catching up with an old friend to dialing his little brother in a barely contained panic. After getting only the answering machine three times in a row, he switched to calming breathing exercises, reminding himself that Adrian was probably at work and he hadn't even decided what he was going to say to him yet. 

Dorian had always worried on some level that Adrian exploring his sexuality was going to end with a story on the evening news. Adrian being uninterested in girls as a teenager had been a mixed blessing. His overt sexlessness somewhat neutralized that thing where he set off most women's fight or flight response. After determining that Adrian wasn't actively interested in pursuing them, chicks viewed him more as an object of pity than a potential threat. 

Dorian knew better though. Adrian might not be interested in general, but he could be deeply obsessive. As a teenager, Dorian had been aware, on some abstract level, that Chris Smith was Adrian's favorite of his friends. Chris wasn't exactly nice to Adrian, but he typically teased him rather than ignoring him outright like Dorian did. As an age gap sibling and a child of divorce, awkward little Adrian just wanted any attention he could get, for better or worse. 

Adrian, whatever else his failings as a companion to a pair of teenage boys, was both extremely attentive and concerningly gullible. When it was just the three of them, Chris would make a game of telling Adrian tall tales and bizarre fibs just to see what he would accept as truth. For Adrian, who struggled connecting with kids his own age, Chris was kind of the closest thing he’d had to a real friend. Adrian had even gotten kicked out of multiple tabletop role-playing circles for “making it weird” before finally managing to find one that stuck when he was sixteen. 

Dorian had mostly found it annoying, until he realized exactly how deep the obsession ran. When Adrian was thirteen, Dorian had got it into his head that Adrian must have stolen one of his games (GTA: San Andreas, specifically) and went through his bedroom to retrieve it. Instead of finding his game, Dorian had uncovered a small trove of items clearly stolen from Chris. A heavy ring, a pair of too-large leather gloves, an undershirt – clearly unwashed – and any number of other treasures, including newspaper clippings of articles that mentioned Chris and various notes in Chris' handwriting. None of the messages were even addressed to Adrian, with most being messages to Gut.

Dorian wasn't sure if Adrian's weird thing for Chris was even sexual, but he knew that this level of creepy could destroy what little social acceptance Adrian had. More importantly, it could have wrecked Dorian's social standing and made every conversation he had from then until graduation about his creepy fucking little brother. Dorian hesitated to tell his mom, who would have been rightly freaked out that Adrian had a shrine to a near-adult man. On the other hand, his dad had never hit a point where he was comfortable discussing his sexuality with either of his sons, despite having lived with his boyfriend for several years by that point. At worst, Dad would have just pretended it wasn't happening. At best, he'd just arrange more of those stupid therapy sessions that never seemed to actually fix anything about Adrian. 

Instead, it had been up to Dorian to give Adrian the Jail-Birds and the Bees: making it clear in no uncertain terms that this behaviour wasn't just bad, it was potentially criminal. Dorian's first instinct had been to throw the collection away, burn the evidence it had ever existed, but he eventually concluded that it would be easier to gain Adrian's cooperation if he let him keep most of his weird mementos and just got him to give up the items Chris was most likely to notice missing.

Adrian had initially sulked about Dorian going through his stuff, but he still listened while Dorian set down the ground rules. 

1. No telling anyone about his collection

2. No keeping valuable items

3. No clothes and especially no underwear (gross, Adrian)

Adrian had agreed to those rules and, as far as Dorian knew, dutifully followed them. But that didn't mean he stopped looking for other ways to be a little creep. Around six months later, the cops had picked Adrian up in the wee hours of the morning and brought him home out of concern for his well-being. Dorian had answered the door and pretended his heart wasn't pounding in his throat when the lead officer informed him that they had found Adrian after a neighbour reported seeing someone skulking around in the woods. Specifically, the woods not far from where Chris lived with his dad. Adrian had tried to act whatever his version of “normal” was, but Dorian noticed how Adrian didn't once meet his eyes from the moment he opened the door. 

“He's not in trouble, but you should keep a better eye on him. Hate for somebody to mistake him for a burglar.”

Dorian knew, deep down, that it definitely wasn't the first time. Adrian had just gotten sloppy enough to get caught. That incident led to rule #4, no following Chris around without him knowing. Honestly, Chris’ deployment could not have come fast enough.

Dorian’s phone rang at 5:01 on the dot. His clumsy thumb tried and failed to hit accept three times before the line connected. “What the fuck, Adrian?”

“You called me, man. What the fuck, yourself!”

“You’ve been following Chris again.”

“Chris?”

“Chris Smith? Ring a bell?”

“Maybe.”

“Don't bullshit me, Adrian. He just called me and said you've been following him.”

“He said that?”

“He said he'd been seeing you around a lot! Are you trying to tell me that’s an accident?”

“It's a small town. People run into each other.”

“At the bar? You don't even drink!”

“It's illegal! I'm underage!”

“So’s being in the bar!” 

(Adrian muttered something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Tells me not to tell anyone, then he tells DORIAN?”)

“You can't be doing this Adrian. There are rules.”

“He's my friend! You're just jealous he and I hung out last night. Just the two of us.”

That was too juvenile of an accusation for Dorian to acknowledge. “Just the two of you? For fuck’s sake, Adrian. Did you show him your knives?”

“Nooooo.”

“Adrian!”

“He said they were cool!”

“That's just what people say when a weird guy shows them his knives! They don't really mean it!”

“Chris did!”

“Are you sure? Are you dead sure, Adrian?”

“He did!”

Adrian was starting to sound genuinely upset. Dorian didn't actually want to make his sociopathic little brother cry over this, if only because his mom would give him hell regardless of why he did it. 

“Hey, Adrian, I'm sorry-”

“No, you're not!”

“Fine, I'm not, but I'm not trying to upset you, okay buddy?”

“Okay,” said Adrian sullenly. 

“I know Chris is your friend. He's my friend too.”

Adrian snorted, but Dorian refused to rise to bait. “He's my friend too, Adrian. And neither of us want him to be scared of you.”

“Why would he be scared of me? He could snap me in half like a twig.” Adrian seemed almost offended, like Dorian had shit on his favourite superhero. “He could kill me with his bare hands.”

“Scared, creeped out, doesn't matter. Are you sure you didn't give him the heebie jeebies?”

“He said the knives were cool and he did target practice with me. We hung out all night, and I drove him home!”

That sounded alright, but- “Did he tell you his address or did you already know it?”

“...”

“Adrian.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, he told you, or yes, you already knew?”

“...I already knew, but I made sure to ask anyway.”

“Fucking hell, Adrian.” Dorian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for that, at least.”

“You're welcome.”

“I’d hoped you'd stopped all this.”

Adrian is silent on the other end of the line. He probably doesn't even know what to say, this conversation already having taxed his limited ability to navigate interpersonal conflict. Dorian was frustrated, but he realized it was time for a softer approach. 

“I'm not mad, okay? I just- I need you to be careful.”

“...I am.”

“I care about you. I care about Chris. And you care about him too, right?”

Silence.

“I need you to say yes, Adrian. You care about Chris, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I care about Chris.”

“And you want him to like you?”

“I want him to like me.” 

“So you can't be creepy, okay?”

“...okay.” Adrian sounded small and tinny over the line, but Dorian needed to drive this through his brother's thick skull. 

“If you get caught jerking off outside his window-”

“I wouldn't do that!”

“How would I know? I have no idea what you get up to when I'm not watching! I just know it's a lot! And you're eighteen now, okay, so if you do something and you get caught-”

Adrian sighed exaggeratedly, “I'm going to jail. Nag, nag, nag.”

Dorian smiled, despite himself. “Can't blame me for worrying. Just don't do anything he doesn't want, okay? And be sure. No guessing.”

“I only want what he wants.”

“You don't know what he wants.”

“I'll figure it out. And then I'll want it.”

Dorian gave a wry laugh, “You exhaust the shit out of me sometimes, kid.”

“I'm not a kid. I'm a legal adult who can work and drive and go to JAIL.”

“You sure are. Now stop stalking men who can and will stomp you into jam. I’m not explaining that shit to mom.”

Chapter Text

Masturbation is a perfectly normal and healthy behavior. Adrian's doctor, therapist, and psychiatrist had all told him so when he was thirteen. Unfortunately, this hadn't answered his actual question, which was whether or not spiders masturbate. 

Adrian, however, was not one to ignore the professional opinion of three independent health experts. It was hard to find a consensus on what the appropriate frequency to masturbate was for ideal health, but he had eventually landed on three to four times a week during his fifteen minute morning shower, alternating days with washing his hair. 

His morning routine varied little most days: wake up at six, read a new fact from his bird-themed calendar, take a cocktail of mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics from his pill-themed calendar, grab a fresh towel from the hall closet, shower and perfunctory masturbation and/or hair washing session, followed by breakfast. Adrian had, however, significantly departed from his typical schedule a few weeks ago, the day he had spotted Chris Smith through the pane glass windows at work. His heart had leapt at seeing that familiar face, but his entire body had thrummed with confused excitement when he watched Chris break that guy’s arm. 

Adrian had masturbated during his usual evening shower and again the next morning, nevermind that it was a hair day. He even took longer than usual, his mind lingering on the shockingly loud pop as bone gave way under the torque placed on it by a single mighty arm twisting it far past its natural range of motion. He replayed the screaming in his head again and again. Thinking of how rough such a scream would be, torn from his own throat. Thinking of how satisfying it would be, to break a man's arm as easily as he would toss a recyclable bottle into its appropriate receptacle. He imagined one of those massive hands, clenched like a manacle around his own wrist, twisting and twisting until– Adrian came so hard his vision went black. When his sight came back online a split second later, he found himself leaning heavily against the shower wall, panting like he'd just run a marathon. 

Adrian didn't really have time for his usual morning routine after spending all night hanging out with Chris at the target range in the woods. He had dropped Chris off, taken the emergency pill stash from his glovebox, and driven to work, where he slept in his car for exactly forty-five minutes, before reporting for his opening shift. He slept through his lunch break and even snuck a few minutes of shut-eye while standing in the maintenance closet with his legs locked like a horse. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket near the end of his shift, which he ignored. It actually went off a few times in a row, indicating some urgency, but Adrian figured that if one of his parents was dead, they wouldn't be any more or less dead after he got off work. At 5:00 pm, he found several missed calls from Dorian, who was extremely ungrateful when Adrian called him back and a massive jealous bitch (gender neutral) to boot. 

As Dorian chewed him out, Adrian spotted a familiar mountain of a man walking down the street with a duffle bag over one shoulder and decided it was a good day to go to the gym, sleep deprivation be damned. 

The rec center gym was adequate, but not spectacular. Adrian didn't typically bother with it and only used his membership for the pool, seeing as he had his own weight training equipment in the basement at home. The real advantage of the gym’s one lonely squat rack was that it gave Adrian the perfect excuse to walk up to Chris and ask if he could “work in” and do his sets on the bar while Chris was resting. 

If Chris was upset to see him, he didn't show it. He even smiled, a little. “Sure thing, on one condition. Do you think you could shut the fuck up for the next hour? This is my meditation, got it?”

“I could try, I guess.” Adrian babbled. “But I didn't get a lot of sleep earlier, and I don't have the best self control when I'm tired. I didn't talk to the people at work because they suck, but you don't suck. You're great. I always want to talk to you.”

“Fuck’s sake. I suppose that's my fault anyway. Should have told me you had work in the morning.”

Part of Adrian expected further resistance. A bigger fight. Possibly a noogie or nipple cripple based on past experience. But Chris just turned back to the rack to start his next overhead set and didn't complain when Adrian set his water bottle down next to Chris’. 

There was something deeply satisfying about watching Chris casually lift double Adrian's body weight overhead as a warm up. He remembered Chris pinning him against the wall and felt giddy. These are thoughts that should probably stay tucked inside his head, but Adrian finds himself blurting out non-sequitur nonsense, despite his best intentions. “Gorillas have tiny dicks.”

Chris calmly finished his set, then turned to Adrian. “Excuse me?”

“Gorillas have the smallest penis to body size ratio of any mammal. One point one inch erect on average.”

“So I have a bigger dick than a gorilla?”

“Basically everybody does. Guys, anyway.”

“An inch, really? There are clits bigger than that.”

“It’s below the average length of a newborn human penis, apparently.”

Chris digested this information for a moment. “Wouldn't trust anybody who volunteered for that job. Measuring baby dicks.”

Aware of his own exhaustion, Adrian avoided the temptation to ego lift, staying well below the limit of his weight tolerance. His prudence was rewarded when Chris complimented his form on the squat.

“You've really filled out. Glad you kept it up.”

Chris had shown Adrian the basics of lifting after seeing him get pushed around by older kids when he was a skinny fourteen year old, just a few months before he left. 

“Look, people pick on you because they think they can get away with it. If it wasn't you, it'd be somebody else. But if you work on your body, you can make them think twice. Then you won't even have to fight.”

“No one will pick on me?”

“No one.”

“Not even Dorian?”

“...Not even Dorian.”

They sat in the tiny sauna room after their work out. Just the two of them and the tiniest, oldest old man Adrian has ever seen. He wasn't even aware that men that tiny and old even existed before today. 

“Hey Chris, do your balls-”

“Get all loose and droopy when they're hot? Yeah dude, everybody's do.”

“...How do you know that's what I was going to ask?”

“I mean, did you have a different question about my balls? How many sauna-related ball questions could you even think of?”

“Probably a few more if you gave me a minute.”

“Or you could just keep them to yourself.”

“Why do you think they do that? It's like I have three times as much scrotum in June as I do in December. Putting my underwear on in the summer is like trying to pack a tent back into the bag it came in.”

Chris snorted. “If you ever get lost at sea on a hot day, you could use it as a sail.”

“If I get shipwrecked, I'll make sure to bring lots and lots of sunscreen. For my scrote-sail.”

In the change room, Adrian politely turned away from Chris and watched him using the wall of mirrors by the sinks instead. Dude was hung. It took all of Adrian’s willpower not to tell Chris he could probably do porn. Instead, he offered to drive Chris back to his car in Everett. 

“It won’t kill me to take the bus.”

“But I could take you.”

“You look half dead, Adrian. Go home.”

“I can take you. I can.”

Chris sighed. “I've just had enough Adrian for today, okay? I need some fucking space. Do me a favor and get some sleep.”

It was a no, but it was a no two hours after Adrian expected it, so he still chalked it up as a win.

Adrian went home, ignored his mom asking where he'd been for two days, and went directly to bed. Despite the exhaustion, he struggled to get to sleep. He was just too jacked up by the events of the last 24 hours. He considered masturbating again.

Using porn was obviously unethical, but Adrian still kept a folder of stimulating material on the computer in his bedroom – videos of sports accidents, cars getting hit by trains, natural disasters, that sort of thing. Adrian labeled the folder “GAY SEX” to make sure his mom wouldn't look at it. 

He had “acquired” the security footage of Chris beating up those three guys from work. It was low quality and grainy, but it was beautiful. No matter how fuzzy those pixels, there's no one else it could be than Christopher Smith, which is why Adrian had “accidentally” erased all the footage from that week after downloading the four minutes he cared about. There was no soundtrack to the recording, sadly, but the crack of bone was loud and indelible in his memory. 

Still, he was too tired for his imagination to do the heavy lifting, so instead Adrian took off his shirt, pulled down his pants, and put on his compilation of news reels from the crash of Hindenburg. 

Chapter Text

Chris' good mood didn't last. It never did, these days. He was sitting in his car outside his father's house, trying not to cry and mostly succeeding. The only family he had left in the world fucking hated him. Sure, Auggie Smith hated most of humanity in general, but he also very much hated Chris in specific.

Eventually, Chris pulled himself together, wiped away the condensation on the driver's side window that had formed from his hyperventilating, and started the ignition. He pulled out of the driveway and made it halfway down the street when he spotted a young black woman with a cell phone standing at the end of an identical driveway for a home with a For Sale sign. 

The thought took a full four seconds to buffer, at which point, he muttered “Oh fuck,” and quickly pulled over. 

Chris tried to open the door, failed, unlocked the door, and climbed out of the car. He approached the young woman, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. He waved and gave her a tight smile. “Uh, hi! Are you new around here?”

“Yeah. Why?” She seemed guarded. Probably because a large, adult white man who had clearly been crying very, very recently was trying to talk to her. Fuck. Damn it. Fuckfuckfuck. 

“Sorry, I'm Chris. Chris Smith.” He held a sweaty hand out, which she cautiously shook. 

“Leota.”

“Is… is that a first name or a last name?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fair enough. Look, are you moving in here?”

The young woman shrugged. “I don't know, honestly. Depends what my mom thinks. We're just here for an open house.”

“Oh, good. Do you think you could tell your mom that this isn't a great neighborhood?”

Leota squinted at him, “Are you… trying to scare us away from living here?”

“No! I mean, not exactly. Look, I grew up a few doors down from here and the neighbors are- they’re awful, okay?”

“Like… mowing the lawn at five in the morning awful? Or racist awful?”

Chris hesitated. “There was an old guy a few doors down who always mowed at six every Saturday, but I'm pretty sure he's dead now.”

“So racist awful.”

“Yeah. Not all of them, but enough of them.”

“How racist, exactly? Do they do blackface for Halloween or something?”

“Less blackface, more white hoods.”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Afraid so.”

“So… what are you doing here?

“Oh. I was- I was just visiting my dad.”

“...Is he racist?”

“Very.”

“How racist?”

“He’s, like, The Racist around here.”

“White hood racist?”

Chris flinched. “Yes.”

“Then why are you visiting him?”

Chris didn't really know how to answer the question. He just stared at Leota, who wasn't angry, not really, but clearly expected him to have an answer. “I- I don't know.”

She glanced over her shoulder towards the house, then looked back at Chris and his red-rimmed eyes. “Is he nice to you?”

Chris' entire body deflated with a sigh. “No.”

“O-kaaay… let me get this straight. Your dad is so mean you’d warn a stranger not to move in next door, but you come here and what… let him treat you like shit?”

Chris stared at her, baffled. She stared back, her skepticism etched across her face. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

“...You can just not come back here. You know that, right? If it's not a good place for me to be, it's probably not a good place for you, either.”

Chris had no idea what to say to that either. He turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

“Thanks for the warning, I guess?”

///’v’\\\

Adrian had been giving Chris space for the past few days. That didn't mean Adrian had stopped following him around, but he hadn't approached him since the other day at the gym. Chris still saw him at the grocery store, at the DMV, and at a barbecue thrown by yet another high school friend. One of the other guests, Daryl Meeks, had walked up to him and asked where Gut was. When Chris said Gut wasn't there as far as he knew, Daryl just said, “Oh… I just assumed he was because I saw his brother Alan.”

“Adrian?”

“Is that his name?”

Sure enough, Adrian Chase was standing on the other side of the park, having what looked like an extremely agitated conversation with a bunch of elementary age children.

It's possible, but not terribly plausible that Andy Madison had invited Adrian, given that they absolutely hated one another last time Chris checked. Far more likely was that Adrian was here because Chris was here. Adrian wasn't even subtle about it, smiling and waving every time he caught Chris glancing in his direction. 

Chris studiously ignored Adrian, spending the better part of two hours being asked variations of the same three broad questions by people he used to know, whose lives he no longer had any space in. (“How long has it been?” “You were in the army, right?” “Any plans for the summer?”) 

Chris didn't have plans for the summer. He barely had plans for tomorrow. He dealt with the repeat reminder that he didn't belong here anymore (if he ever did) with a constant stream of cheap beer, quickly approaching a level of drunk that just wasn't acceptable at a casual all-ages midday get-together.

As he became more relaxed, he became louder, more boisterous, more like his old self. People were laughing at his jokes, smiling at his stories. He stopped noticing when his friend’s wives rolled their eyes at him, and those awkward, dorky smiles Adrian kept shooting him started to be inviting rather than annoying. 

Deep down Chris knew: none of these fucking people wanted to talk to him for himself. They were just talking to talk. He could have been anybody. Adrian wanted to talk to him.  

Chris knew he was on the border of doing or saying something wildly inappropriate, so he moved farther and farther away from the heart of the party and closer to Adrian. He couldn't possibly offend Adrian. Adrian wouldn't judge him, not really. And Adrian had listened when Chris said he needed space. Not very well, but he'd tried his best, hadn't he? He always tried. He just struggled, was all. He couldn't help it, really. 

When Chris leant against the fence next to Adrian, Adrian smiled at him like the sun coming out from behind a mountain. Adrian didn't say anything, but his eyes were basically bulging with the effort not to blurt something stupid.

“What’s up with the Unabomber glasses?” Said Chris, who honestly hadn't considered what he would actually talk about once he got over here. 

“What?”

“Your serial killer glasses. They're very Ted Kaczynski chiq.” Chris wiggled his fingers in a way that would have felt unacceptably effeminate if he wasn't hammered. 

“Ted Kaczynski wasn't a serial killer,” Adrian scowled. “He was a politically motivated bomber. It's a completely different M.O.” 

“Thimble, I don't give a shit about the Unabomber.”

“Maybe you should. He had a very interesting manifesto!” 

“Maybe I'll read it if you tell me why you picked that style of glasses.”

“Promise?”

Chris offered Adrian his pinky finger. Adrian stared at him solemnly, gauging his sincerity, then hooked his own pinky around Chris' and shook it. He cleared his throat. “The wire frames are much thinner and stronger than plastic. This configuration maximizes durability while minimizing blind spots. I need to be ready. In case of an ambush.”

It was the stupidest thing Chris had ever heard, but right now, he loved it. “Better not mess with you, eh Thimble?” Chris ruffled his hair fondly. 

“My body is a deadly weapon.” Said Adrian, absolutely deadpan. 

Andy Madison walked up, “Hey, Chris! Sorry I didn't say hello when you got here! So many people to catch up with! Oh, hi, uh… Adrian?

Chris gave Andy a big, fake grin. “No worries, Andy. Adrian's just here to pick me up.”

“I am?”

“We're going to another party after this.”

“Uh, yeah! Just the two of us, and not you!”

They left shortly after and wound up at a dive bar in another neighboring town. (Adrian had asked why, but Chris only replied “Don't fuck where you eat” and cracked open another beer in the passenger seat of Adrian's car.)

“So, do you have a fake ID, or…?”

Adrian glanced around the bar, then confided, “If you dress nerdy enough, people just assume you're following the rules and don't watch you as closely.” He shrugged. “I never order anything and no one ever asks.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of breaking the rules, when you don't even get to do the fun part.”

“I'm having fun.”

“That's because they had the blueprints upside down when they wired your brain.” It wasn't the nicest thing to say but Adrian didn't seem to care. Hard to be offended when he didn't worry about being normal to begin with. “What do you do for fun, usually?”

“I hang out with you.”

Chris snorts, “And what did you do when I was gone?”

“...I had a DnD group?”

“That's fun. I assume. Why 'had?'"

“We only had one girl and all of the other guys had a crush on her? And now they're fighting about it, even though she isn't interested in any of them. She has a college boyfriend. We haven't met since February.”

“Sucks, dude.” Chris slapped Adrian's back. “You ever had a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No?” 

“You probably could, you know. Either or. Both. You're a good looking guy.” More than good looking. Adrian was handsome in a way that would have made him very popular if he wasn't so off-putting. As is, Chris doubted that no one had been interested. Adrian just had the double whammy of being socially awkward and dumb as a bag of rocks. 

“...I don't want to date Sarah. I just told you, she has a boyfriend.”

“There are women other than Sarah. You should tell the other guys in your DnD group that and maybe they'll stop ruining your Saturdays.”

“DnD night is Wednesday.”

 “Who gives a fuck?” Said Chris conversationally. “You can do better than Sarah. Or if not better, just as well. If a chick turns you down, move on. Nobody likes dating desperate.”

Adrian nodded along to this information like it was wisdom from a venerated elder. He almost looked ready to pull out a pen and start taking notes. 

“What if you can't?”

“Can't what?”

“Move on. What if she's too special. There's no one like her?”

“No such thing,” Chris scoffed. Then, more soberly (while still being extremely drunk) he said. “Nobody is really one of a kind. Some people are going to be more special to you than others, but you still need to know when to let it go. A lost cause is a lost cause, and most women aren't going to change their minds.”

“You're one of a kind.”

“I'm not a chick, Adrian.”

“You're better.”

“That's misogynistic. And gay.”

“That's homophobic.”

“Why do we call it homophobia, anyway? Like arachnophobia. I'm not scared of gay people. I've never had a drag queen hide in the corner of my shower.”

“I love spiders.”

Chris’ inept attempt at giving Adrian dating advice is interrupted by a familiar voice yelling over the music. “Chris Smith? Is that you?”

He turned to see Candy (short for Candice) a goth chick he used to hook up with back in the day. She looked vastly different than he remembered: natural hair colour, far fewer facial piercings, and sensible office attire. “Candy!”

“Long time no see, sugartits.” Candy lent in close to whisper in his ear. “Look, I'll save the preamble. I'm here on a date, but this guy will not shut up about day trading. If he says “buy low” one more fucking time, I'm gonna fucking kill myself, but I was still hoping to get my box eaten tonight, and I seem to remember you being really good at that.” She peered around his shoulder. “Oh, and bring your little friend if he's down.”

Chris glanced back at Adrian, who was gamely chasing the straw in his water around with just his mouth in a manner reminiscent of a dog trying to catch its own tail. 

The soberest part of Chris’ brain wondered if a devil’s three-way might be too spicy of an introduction into sex for a dorky teenager who's probably never made it to first base. The far drunker, far louder part of his brain thought, “Kid deserves to get his dick wet.”

Chris lent over to Adrian and said, “Hey, my friend Candy here wants to know if you and I wanna go over to her place.”

Adrian stared at Chris blankly, then glanced over at Candy, who waved and gave him a saucy wink. “Okay.”

Adrian was the clear winner in any contest of sobriety, so they took his car with Chris and Candy sloppily making out in the back seat (stopping only briefly when Adrian pouted that he wasn't going to drive unless they buckled their seat belts.)

At Candy's apartment, Chris had her pressed up against the wall, her shirt yanked up and to the side so he could lick her nipple before Adrian even closed the door. 

Candy pushed him towards the bedroom and beckoned Adrian to follow. Chris had his head fully up Candy's skirt before it registered that Adrian was watching, but not really participating. Chris untangled himself from the fabric and looked over at Adrian, who was standing stock still and looking a little shell shocked against the doorframe. 

Chris wondered if Adrian had ever gone down on a woman, then mentally shrugged. Probably not. No better time to learn than now. Chris reached over and grabbed Adrian's wrist. “C’mere. I'll show you.” 

Adrian followed easily, looking perplexed and a little stunned. Looking for guidance, Chris thought. “Just watch me, okay?” 

Adrian nodded, eyes wide and a little crazy. 

Chris fondled Candy's smooth legs, laid wet sloppy kisses along her thighs, and mouthed at her labia through her panties. He slid them down her legs and then tucked them into Adrian's front shirt pocket. Candy giggled. Chris gave her a few long, lazy licks, as Adrian pulled the underwear back out (“Oh. Um. Sorry, I'm not allowed to keep these,”) and threw them in the hamper. 

Chris gave Candy's clit a few gentle laps, then sealed his lips around it and sucked in a way that made her claw his scalp and hump his mouth. When she loosened her grip enough that he wasn't worried about losing an ear, he turned back to Adrian. “Clit’s the most sensitive part, just like the dick for guys, but you don't want to ignore anything, really. It's all important. Start gentle to feel out what she likes and pay attention to how she reacts. Got it?”

Adrian nodded, but didn't do anything else. 

“What are you waiting for? Your turn.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Sorry Candy, he’s new.”

“On the job training! Aw, you two are sweet.”

Adrian moved forward uncertainly, softly kissing Candy's knee, then moving slowly upwards, the tip of his nose dragging along her thigh. He gave her clit a butterfly-soft, closed-mouth kiss, then started primly licking it. The politest, most orderly oral sex Chris had ever seen. ‘The kind of cunnilingus you could introduce to mom and dad,’ Chris thought drunkenly. Chris rubbed Adrian's shoulders and whispered “Good boy, that's it” in his ear. 

Having decided his apprentice was now fully up to speed, Chris angled his head in and gave Candy far more vigorous, sloppier licks. Obviously, there isn't a ton of room to maneuver when you're going down on a chick, so he was catching Adrian's tongue (and the side of his face) as well, but Chris had always been more about enthusiasm than precision when it came to giving head. Candy is moaning breathily above them, while Adrian is shivering like an Italian Greyhound where he's pressed up against Chris' side. 

After Adrian's glasses poked Chris in the face a few times, Adrian took them off and handed them to Candy, (“Sorry, could you put these somewhere safe? Thanks,”) before returning to his assigned task with renewed dedication. When Candy came, it was with Adrian sucking hard on her clit while Chris stroked his back and hissed encouragement in his ear.

“Fuuuuuuuck. Get him up here.”

Well, boss’ orders. Chris hauled Adrian up by his shirt and pushed him onto the bed. His curly hair was wild and mussed. His cheeks were flushed and his chin wet. His brow was slightly furrowed, possibly out of confusion or maybe because he just couldn't see, but he was also smiling like a lunatic. “Hey, hey, Chris-” Chris pushed him back onto the bed, where Candy started unbuttoning his shirt. Adrian couldn't help but finish his thought, “What's the difference between cunnilingus and a gorilla blowjob?”

“About half an inch,” Said Chris, affectionately, appreciating the cackle his answer elicited from Adrian. “Now shut the fuck up.”

Chris stripped off his own shirt and jeans, only to look up and find that Adrian is watching him intensely (or perhaps again just trying to squint hard enough to actually see him properly) despite the fact that a beautiful woman is currently massaging his dick through his pants. “Focus, dude.”

“Sorry.” 

The position they settle on is Adrian sitting against the headboard, Candy sucking him off, while Chris fucks her from behind. (“Oh, so you’ll wear a condom, but not your seatbelt?” “Shut the fuck up about the seat belt, Adrian.” “Oooooh, daddy and daddy are fighting.”)

The first push inside was a relief. Foreplay as well as extra lubricant was always a necessity for even the most basic of hookups for Chris. People fetishize a massive dick, but they don't really think through the logistics. At least it didn't cause too many day-to-day problems like the back pain and wardrobe issues that women with huge boobs had to deal with. 

Cunnilingus was probably a wise opener for this particular bit of strange, anyway, if only because it had given them a chance to get Candy fully hot and bothered before she found out that Adrian was incapable of shutting up when his mouth wasn't busy and just got regular bothered. As it was, Adrian was doing his damnedest to distract the woman giving him his first ever blowjob. 

“You can feel all that, right? Sorry, I know your mouth is full, but he's huge. It doesn't hurt at all?”

“No sweetheart, you got me nice and wet first.”

“But he's massive!”

“He's a big boy, for sure. Mmm.” Candy arched her back into Chris' next thrust. Adrian whimpered. 

As much as the constant color commentary was annoying, it was at least flattering and mostly on topic. Chris didn't think he could handle fun facts about bats right now, hard as a rock, thrusting in and out of a hot and willing body, listening to a sweet harmony of tenor and alto moans. Chris was a very large man (a big, big boy,) so he was careful to keep himself propped up with at least one hand on the bed. A hand that Adrian kept trying to fucking grab, no matter how many times Chris swatted him away. Candy pulled off of Adrian's dick again, “C'mon Chris, baby, let him hold your hand.”

“Sorry,” Chris muttered. Adrian grabbed his hand again and squeezed hard. Poor guy was shaking like a leaf. He wasn't really talking anymore, but he was still babbling. A lot of Oh's and Ah's and pleasepleaseplease’s. He whimpered like a kicked dog and squeezed Chris’ hand particularly hard when he came, tight to a point that bordered on pain. Candy tried to soothe him, but he kept shifting away and whining, “Too soft! Too soft! Eugh!”

Chris flipped Candy around so he could kiss her and enjoy the pressure of her legs around him. She clawed at his back as he reentered, but there was still a hand petting his hair. 

No longer distracted by getting his dick sucked, Adrian had retrieved his stupid backwoods murderer glasses and regained his vocabulary. He had taken Chris' example and was whispering a completely unnecessary stream of encouragement and compliments into Chris' ear. “You're so big. You're just so big and strong. What do you eat? Thank you so much for hanging out with me today. This has been the best day ever. You're like my best friend. Can I be your best friend too? Can we do sex again tomorrow? You don't have to answer right now. I know sometimes you need space. Your muscles look even bigger when you're naked.”

The neverending verbal diarrhoea was an unwelcome reminder that Adrian was eighteen and, worse, his buddy's mentally ill kid brother. Even through the haze of a good dozen beers that managed to make him feel like a shitty fucking human being. But being complimented was one of Chris' favorite pastimes and he was only capable of being so mad at a guy who stared at him like he was the second coming of Christ and talked about how big his muscles were like he was going to literally die if he tried to stop himself. 

Even if Chris wasn't as mad as he possibly could be, he was still very, very mad. He punctuated his thrusts with furious hissing. “Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“I just- you really are the best. Let's hang out forever.”

“What are you on, baby boy?”

“Uh, nothing. Drugs are ILLEGAL!”

“Shut up! You're so fucking stupid! Shut! Up!”

He'd normally never get this angry in front of a lay, but Candy was just laughing her ass off while getting railed. It should have been humiliating, but Chris hadn't felt this good in months. He was furious, but there was no fear or sadness behind it, just pure old fashioned indignation. 

“You could break my arm if you wanted, right?”

“I’m going to break your neck in a second.”

It had been nowhere near long enough for Adrian to regain his stamina, even with an 18 year old’s refractory period, but Adrian still responded to the threat by giving his half-flaccid dick a few strokes and moaning. Chris felt like he was losing his mind. 

“Don’t be mad, okay? I just like you so much. And your friend. She's really nice.”

Candy laughed breathlessly while Chris fumed. They weren't arguing about anything really, but it still felt like she was somehow taking Adrian's side. 

Candy raked her nails across Chris' scalp. “Please baby, I can't reach him from here. Give him a kiss for me?”

Chris was a bit of a people pleaser deep down – particularly towards whoever he had his dick in at any given moment. He turned towards Adrian and attacked his mouth. That was really the only way to put it. Chris didn't so much kiss Adrian as he bit the lower half of his face. Adrian responded by cooing and licking Chris’ teeth. In turn, Chris reeled back and spat on Adrian's face, eliciting a displeased squeal. 

Candy, inexplicably, chose that moment to come for a second time. Maybe Adrian wasn't the only one in need of serious fucking therapy. Adrian ranted at Chris about how disgusting he was and how he’d better hope he didn't get demoted as Adrian's best friend. Being yelled at and called repulsive hit Chris’ fucked up psyche just right in that moment and he came like a freight train. It was the kind of orgasm that took you out at the knees.

Chris thankfully managed to collapse beside rather than on top of either of his bed mates. His last conscious memory before alcohol and exhaustion knocked him out was Adrian fucking babbling, “It's okay. I thought about it, and I forgive you. You can apologize later," and a soft, sweet peck against the corner of his mouth.  

Chapter Text

Chris woke up slowly the next morning. His brain felt fuzzy and his muscles ached. Probably hungover. He also felt warm, relaxed, and exhausted. Fucked-out. It took his memory of the night before a second to boot up… Oh yes, Candy. 

And Adrian Fucking Chase.

Chris was suddenly very, very awake. Tense dread rotted out the languid post-sex warmth as the night before came crashing back in. Getting drunk at the barbecue. His abortive attempt to bond with Adrian in an acceptably brotherly manner. Chris thinking with his dick yet again and inviting little Adrian to a mother-fucking menage-a-trois with the only open bisexual he knew from highschool. 

Chris could feel the weight of another body warping the mattress beside him. He could hear the faint, relaxed breathing of another person in the room with him. He prayed that it was Candy and knew damn well it wasn't. He considered playing dead, but there was no point, was there? The little freak could out-wait the rapture. 

Chris opened his eyes, only to see a plaster wall liberally spotted with dried flowers hung in picture frames. He turned his head, slowly so as to not worsen the queasiness. Even knowing what he would see, Chris still jumped at Adrian sitting behind him. Watching. Unblinking. “Fuck!”

Adrian broke into a huge grin. “Hey buddy! Good morning! You slept forever! Want some breakfast?” Adrian was, inexplicably, fully dressed in a completely different outfit from the day before. His hair was neat and, Chris suspected, his teeth recently brushed. “Candy had to go to work. She says to lock the door and put the key through the mail slot when we leave.”

Adrian's words felt distant. Like they were coming at Chris through a foot of water. The room spun slowly, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to stave off nausea. 

“Are you hungover?” Adrian asked softly and ran a firm hand down Chris' back. It made him feel strangely like a sick kid getting comforted by his mom – something he wasn't sure he’d ever experienced first hand. Well, that was how it felt until Adrian's hand dipped down and possessively cupped his hip. A wave of anxiety hit Chris right in the solar plexus and he dry-heaved loudly. 

Adrian squeaked and shot off the bed. “Bucket! I'll get a bucket.”

Chris didn't end up needing the bucket, but he still hung his head over it while he drank a glass of water and ate a couple stale saltines from an open package Adrian found in the cupboard. Adrian kept stroking his back, and Chris, queasy and more than a little ashamed of himself, didn't tell him to stop. Adrian was babbling, as usual, but Chris just tuned it out. 

They wound up at a rundown diner – the kind of place frequented primarily by the extremely elderly and drug addicts, i.e., people who had nothing better to do than eat overcooked eggs, greasy home fries, and questionable sausage at 11am. The only other options Chris had were to hang out alone in Candy's tiny apartment with Adrian or to run away, and Adrian knew where he fucking lived. 

Chris had experienced some pretty awkward mornings after in his life, but this one was made both better and worse by the fact that Adrian didn't seem to understand how incredibly awkward it was. A normal lover would notice Chris' closed off body language and inability to meet their eye and correctly diagnose his shame. At best, they'd storm off or kick him out. At worst, they'd start a screaming row. Adrian, however, had chalked up any odd behavior on Chris' part to him feeling sick, and Chris was embarrassingly grateful for this unearned bit of grace. 

A cowardly part of him hoped to run out the clock on any confrontation, but another part was chomping at the bit to rip the bandaid off and just get it over with. That part got significantly quieter when he saw the size of the knife that came with Adrian's breakfast. The likelihood of Adrian skewering him to the wall of a diner like a prized butterfly was low, but it wasn't zero. Worse, any public blowout carried the risk of all of this making its way down the grapevine to people in Evergreen. 

Chris picked his moment when Adrian was happily scarfing down the pancakes, sausage, and potatoes that he had demanded all come on separate plates. “What are you going to tell your mom about where you were last night?”

“My mom?” Asked Adrian, mouth still full of pancake. He swallowed and rolled his eyes. “Ugh, she's such a busy body. I'll just tell her it's none of her fucking business.”

“Come on, man. She's your mom.”

“Yeah, and she's always on my dick, which I'm pretty sure is incest.”

Chris fought the urge to tell Adrian off. He didn't actually want Adrian telling her what he’d been up to. Adrian's mother was extremely protective of her baby boy, at least when he wasn't being picked on by her actual favorite son, Gut. Speaking of which. “Are you going to tell Gut?”

“Dorian?” Adrian made a strange face. Chris couldn't tell if he was confused, angry, or just thinking. “Why Dorian?”

“Well-”

“Do you have sex with Dorian?”

Chris just about choked on his own spit. “No, no. Absolutely not.”

“Not ever?”

“Never.”

“But you do with me.”

“No, Adrian-”

“You do with me. We did just yesterday. But you don't with Dorian. Do you have sex with your other friends? Or just me and Candy?”

“Don't say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“I did not have sex with you. You and I had sex with Candy.” 

Adrian stared at him like he was the crazy one. “What's the difference?”

“It's different, okay-”

“Which one of us is your best friend?”

“What?”

“Between me and Candy. Which one of us is your best friend?”

“What? I barely know Candy-”

“Me then?” Adrian gave him a dorky grin and shoveled more pancake into his own mouth. 

“Yeah, I guess.” It felt like he and Adrian were having two completely different conversations, and Chris had no idea how to get them back on track. Adrian was smiling, though, and kicking his feet under the table like a happy little kid. It was nice, almost. Shame Chris had to ruin it. “Look, what happened last night was a one time thing, okay?”

Adrian's brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

“It shouldn't have happened to begin with-”

“Did I do something wrong? Am I bad at sex?”

Holy fuck. This is why Chris didn't do virgins. He was gonna give this kid a complex. “No, you did fine. I mean, you could learn to shut the fuck up once in a while, but you didn't do anything, you know, wrong-wrong.”

“I can do better. I'll show you.” Adrian tried to grab Chris' hand again, and he snatched it away.

“Stop, Adrian!” 

“I thought you had fun. I did.” Adrian didn't even seem angry, just lost. “I tried my best.”

“You didn't do anything wrong, okay? I just- I shouldn't have invited you.”

Adrian stared at him with that familiar scowl that meant a thought was loading. Then suddenly his expression cleared. “Oh, I get it. You need space.”

“What? No-”

“It's okay. I get it. I can go away for a few days. Do you want me to drop you off first?”

Adrian 100% did not ‘get it.’ But fine. Fuck it. Chris was done arguing with him for now. “Sure.”

Adrian smiled again, though not as brightly as earlier, and he tried coaxing Chris into eating some of his food. Chris ate a sausage just to shut him up. 

The drive back was filled with one-sided babble that Chris mostly didn't catch as he drifted off in the passenger seat of Adrian's car. He bolted with a flat “bye” the moment the car came to a full stop. He'd slept too much already today, but that wouldn't stop him from lying in bed and dissociating for a few hours. 

His phone buzzed with a text. 

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]

🧜‍♂️

Chris gave a heavy sigh and saved the contact under “Thimble.”

Chapter Text

Leota Waller didn't hate Evergreen. She just didn't love it, either. She had gone to a nearby high school for her final year, which at least meant she had a few friends in the area. She sent out a mass text letting people know she'd be in town for the foreseeable future. Unsurprisingly, the first person to respond had been Adrian Chase.

Leota first really noticed Adrian during a shared History class when he gave an enthusiastic and extremely graphic presentation on John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry. Later in the same class, he seemed confused as to who George Washington was, and Leota had decided then and there that his brain must be studied for science. 

Adrian said that he already had plans for the day, but that she was welcome to come along if she wanted. If she had tried to guess what ‘plans’ meant, she never would have guessed ‘following the weird crying guy with the racist dad around town while he does errands.’ She wasn’t surprised really, given that Adrian had always been insane on main, but she still would not have guessed. 

They're sitting in Adrian's car in the grocery store parking lot across from the laundromat. Adrian brought a massive pair of binoculars as well as a smaller set that he handed to Leota. He also brought snacks and told her to help herself. It's sweet, in a fucked up kind of way. Adrian was trying to include her in his hobbies, even the really, really messed up ones. 

Leota had always kind of assumed that “Chris from the army” was Adrian's imaginary friend or something, given the absurd hero worship and machismo of his stories. Now she was convinced that the guy was real, but she wasn't totally sure that they were actually friends. She was half worried that she might have to report Adrian to the police. 

Chris Smith wasn't up to anything particularly interesting on this particular Monday afternoon. He’d left his trailer, picked up a case of beer from the liquor store, and now he was at the gym. Adrian, however, had spent the last hour or so watching Smith intently through his binoculars and scribbling notes, while also catching her up to date with the drama in his DnD group. 

“You're not going to leave me for a woman who isn't even interested, right?”

“I mean, I am a lesbian, Adrian.”

“Yeah, but like, you've got standards. If you leave me for a woman who worships the ground you walk on and gives great head – fair enough – but you wouldn't abandon our friendship for some random tiefling warlock main who doesn't care if you live or die.”

“Probably not, no.” Leota munched a handful of caramel corn and peered through her own binoculars. Damn, this Chris guy was big. And crazy strong. At least if Adrian was going to stalk somebody, it was somebody who could beat his ass if he went too far. But that only made her more worried on Adrian's behalf. “You know this is stalking, right? Following him around all day without him knowing?”

“It's okay. He knows. I let him see me every once in a while. Sometimes he waves.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Probably not today, though. I think he needs some space.” Adrian squinted and took down another unreadable series of notes. Leota couldn't tell if it was in code or if his hand writing was just completely illegible. 

Leota decided to change the subject. “So… what else have you been up to?”

Adrian perked up and actually brought down his binoculars, “Oh actually, something really cool happened the other day, and I have a question for you.”

“One thing at a time, if you can.”

“Okay, but they're kind of related. I had my first kiss?”

“Wow, congrats!”

“Thanks, and I need to know whether or not I'm still a virgin."

“Well, you're definitely still a virgin if all you did was kiss.”

“Of course, right. I also did cunnilingus and got a blowjob.”

“Damn, Adrian! Right after your first kiss?”

Adrian's eyebrows met in confusion. “The cunnilingus and blowjob came first, actually.”

Leota was baffled. Leave it to Adrian to front load a hangout with dumb friend drama when he had a genuinely juicy story about his previously non-existent sex life waiting in the wings. 

Adrian stormed ahead without acknowledging that Leota was gaping at him. “Dorian says you need to put your penis in a vagina to lose your virginity, but he's stupid, obviously, and I figured you might have a different perspective, as a lesbian.”

“Your brother's a fucking caveman, but part of the problem is that virginity isn't… real, you know? It's just an arbitrary cultural line between ‘fooling around’ and ‘having sex.’ What matters is whether or not what you did felt like sex to you.”

“Oh, okay.” Adrian frowned thoughtfully. “In that case, then I'm not a virgin anymore.”

Leota couldn't quite read his expression, so she decided to probe further. “And… are you happy with that?”

Adrian gave a shy little grin. “Yeah.”

“Well, I'm glad I could help you work that out.” But she couldn't help but be curious. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but who's the lucky lady? Do I know her?”

Adrian's face crumpled in bewilderment, but cleared just as quickly. “Oh yeah! Chris!” He gestured with his binoculars towards the gym. 

“CHRIS?”

“Yeah-”

“THAT CHRIS?”

“Oh, and Candy, too. But I don't think you know her.”

Leota wasn't fully certain she hadn't had a stroke and this conversation was nothing more than the hallucination of a dying mind. “You lost your virginity in a THREEWAY?”

“Yeah! And it was awesome. Chris showed me how to do cunnilingus, and then Candy sucked me off while Chris and I held hands, and then he kissed me while they fucked.”

“What the FUCK, Adrian!”

“...Why are you yelling?”

“Why the fuck wouldn't I be yelling? I thought you were asexual!”

“I can't tell, honestly. I did really like the blowjob. It felt like she was gonna suck my brain out through my dick-"

“TMI! TMI!”

“Well, I'm sorry! I'm just trying to acknowledge the accomplishments of women!”

“Who the hell is Candy, anyway?”

“Chris' friend. From highschool, I think?”

“And he invited you to a three-way with her?”

“Yeah, duh. I'm his best friend.”

Leota just stared at Adrian, at a complete loss with this conversation. Adrian had always been a weird, dorky guy. He was also a sweetheart, but the idea of inviting him to a three-way seemed like a recipe for extreme social humiliation for everyone else involved. 

Adrian took this lull in her side of the discussion as an invitation to barge onwards. “Maybe you’ll be able to help me with this, too. Chris said it was just a one time thing, and he doesn't want to do sex with me again. But he also said I didn't do anything wrong. I don't get it.”

Leota was on firmer ground with this. A friend with boy troubles. Absolutely insane boy troubles, but boy troubles nonetheless. “I don't really know him, Adrian. Maybe it's because he's what? Ten years older than you?”

“Four and a half.”

“Whatever. You said he’s your brother's high school friend, right? Maybe he feels weird about knowing you from when you were a kid.”

“But I'm not a kid. I'm an adult. I'm a MAN.”

“That might be part of the problem, too. He's a pretty masculine guy, right?”

Adrian nodded enthusiastically. 

“Macho dudes aren't always super comfortable with gay stuff, even if they do it behind closed doors.”

Adrian just looked confused. Leota searched for another way to explain. “Okay, so I wasn't sure it was the same guy at first, but I'm pretty sure I ran into Chris the other day-”

“He's great, right?”

“Focus, Adrian. Anyway, you know how my mom is looking for a house, right? Well, we were near his old house, and I think he was trying to tell me that his dad is in the Klan? That might have something to do with it.”

“What? Why?”

“People like that don't really like gay people, as a rule.”

“Racists also hate gay people?” Asked Adrian, incredulous. 

“Usually, yeah.” 

Adrian shook his head. “This goes even deeper than I thought. Do you think that's why Chris said he doesn't want to do sex with me anymore? Because his racist dad is gonna be all bigoted about it?”

“I mean, I really don't know him, Adrian. Maybe.”

“You could, though. Chris would love you.”

“That's good, but would I like him?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't you? Chris is awesome. Don't get any ideas, though. He's MY best friend.”

“Are you sure it's not dangerous for you, though? Dating or having sex or whatever with a guy whose dad is in the Klan?”

“I guess so. It doesn't have to be, though. It can be a secret. You won't tell, right?”

“I won't. But I'm not sure that'll be enough.” Leota looked through the binoculars again and watched Chris Smith deadlift what seemed like an insane amount of weight. “Sheesh.”

“Hot, right?”

“Not for me, friend. Not for me.”

///’v’\\\

Chris was angry. He was angry at the world. He was angry at the VA. Most of all he was angry at himself. 

He had been assigned a new therapist – nice girl, but clearly inexperienced, straight out of training. Over the course of several sessions, she had tried, by the book, to get him to open up about his time in the army or possibly his childhood. He had played along, responding to all her questions, trying to be honest and straightforward the best he could. 

He wasn't exactly sure what had gone wrong during today's session, but something had just set him off, and he wound up ranting in an uncontrollable and extremely profane rage until he ran out of steam, fifteen minutes past the scheduled end of his session. The therapist had sat in the corner the entire time, shaky and pale, eyes round as saucers. She didn't even try to stop him when he ran out of her office. 

As he sat in his car in the parking lot, not crying but not doing anything else either, his phone buzzed. A picture of a squirrel and a dog emoji from Thimble. Adrian had been texting him steadily the last few days. First it was a photo of a neighborhood cat. Then an inane question about air travel, quickly followed by an insane diatribe about littering. Chris had woken up late the next day to a total of 18 messages – including a picture of a large hunting knife and a crow eating unidentifiable road kill. Chris had left them all on read. 

All of the messages – even the more disturbing examples – demonstrated a strange degree of guileless innocence. Why did Adrian send him pictures of dead animals and knives? Well, because Adrian thought they were cool, so probably Chris would too. 

Chris knew that he was wildly unequipped to be the friend that Adrian desperately wanted. He was angry, mean, and a real pig at the best of times. He could barely stand Adrian when he was sober and couldn't control himself around him when he was drunk. The best thing he could do for both of them was to stay away, but then Adrian followed the squirrel with a picture of an eagle in flight and the words, “Reminded me of you,” and it chipped away at his resolve.

‘Squirt’s just more tolerable in small doses, is all.’ Chris thought. In a moment of weakness, he sent Adrian a picture he took of an acupuncturist/herbal medicine shop he had passed called “Dr. Kwak’s.” Adrian immediately blew up his phone with a series of laughing emojis and mermaids. ‘Fuck you, asshole. Stop encouraging him.’ 

Chris glanced back at the therapy office. He probably needed a new therapist, again. But she would almost certainly put in the paperwork on his behalf. Nothing to be done on his end. Chris decided he might as well go drink about it and started the engine. 

At home, Chris started on a bottle of whiskey, steadily becoming more and more buzzed. 

Chris considered calling Gut again, but looking for comfort from a guy whose little brother he was actively contemplating fucking made him feel sick. What would he even say? ‘Hey bud, recently used a live model demonstration to teach Thimble the finer points of cunnilingus, and man, he took to it like a champ. Honestly, I'm thinking he might be down to try dick next.’ Or perhaps, ‘Remember all the time we spent naked in the locker room together as teenagers? Well, not only did I jerk it to the thought of you, now that your psycho kid brother is all grown up, turns out I have a type!’

His phone buzzed. 

THIMBLE

You still like video games, right? We should go to the arcade! 🕹️👾

Arcades are just casinos for children. 

How the fuck did you get this number?

THIMBLE

Candy gave me her phone to put in my contact.

It took a moment to figure out what Adrian was saying. More importantly, what he wasn't saying. Adrian had probably used his access to Candy's phone to find Chris' contact information and send it to himself. Surprisingly clever, given that – last time Chris checked – she had him saved as “Donkey Dick Booty Call.”

THIMBLE

I have an Xbox. You could come over. 🎮🤟

Absolutely fucking not.

THIMBLE 

Or I could come over there…?🤔

Chris sent a picture of him flipping off the camera. Adrian responded with a selfie of himself smiling and giving a ‘peace’ sign.

Chris turned his phone off and kept drinking.