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Eighteen and Up Night	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 1535 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Archie and Co. fandom or any of the characters in this story. This is a work of fanfiction and I am not getting paid to write it.

Chapter List
- 1-Eighteen and Up Night
- 1
Author’s Note: This contains m/m slash and some scenes of lemon and mature themes. This may or may not spawn a sequel. I wrote this story following some feedback from someone who asked me to “yaoify” all of the male characters of Riverdale High. A sketch might follow on my DeviantArt account, stay tuned.

The one night he decided to come out and let off some steam, he had to see her. The fates hated him, clearly.

Alan usually didn’t believe the hype about the clubs that offered an under 21 night on Fridays. He could just as happily order the Ultimate Fighting tournament on Pay-per-View and inhale an extra large pepperoni and sausage from Sal’s Pizzeria on Fifth. But he was restless.

He wasn’t the one who needed space, he reasoned. If Josie wanted to lie to him, that was one thing, but she was lying to herself if she thought he was supposed to roll over and believe Alex had nothing to do with it. Her “it’s not you, it’s me” speech rang patently false when the spoiled rich boy – the Pussycats’ so-called manager – began giving her rides to rehearsals and shows in his red convertible. Alan tried to pretend he wasn’t fishing for the scoop, but Valerie saw through him immediately.

“So much for needing space.”

“So much for taste,” Val tsked, patting him kindly. She nursed an abiding hatred for Alex and his sister, Alexandra for their continued micromanagement and interference in the group’s direction.

He wished he could bend Valerie’s ear now, but the music was throbbing at him from all directions, anyway. He could barely hear himself think.

It was worth the drive to Central City, though. The club was huge, noisy, and Alan easily got lost in the crowd.

The DJ spun track after track of techno music, which he could have happily done without, but it still made his blood pump a little faster. Alan sipped his Coke and people-watched, enjoying the girls walking by in skimpy clothes that some of them probably had to sneak out of the house. More covertly, his summer blue eyes followed the random guy, too; they held a different appeal, but pulled at him just as strongly.

He was just made that way. He knew it from the beginning, when the warm, tingling feeling that swept over him when he was in close contact to some of his friends, his boys, never went away even when he had his first crush on a girl. Summer camp was torture; Alan had to rush to the showers early enough to be alone every morning with his “daily affliction.” He shared a place by the campfire, blowing scalding puffs of burnt marshmallows and licking them from his fingers and stealing what contact that he could, the occasional bump or nudge. Headlocks. Noogies. It didn’t matter. Alan was just Alan. He was their favorite.

Alan lived for sports, and he excelled at them. Football, hockey, wrestling and lacrosse left him hard and toned, packing muscle onto his six-foot-two inch frame. But when he wasn’t on the field or in the gym, Alan was in his family’s den, practicing.

He treated his father’s Fender guitar lovingly, keeping it clean and well-tuned. Stiff calluses padded his fingertips, stroking the frets and picking out chords. Music moved him. He wasn’t a poetic person, so he’d never go into much detail what it was that playing did to him, the places within himself that it took him. It was satisfying, the flip side of his soul that his coaches and teammates didn’t own.

He fell in love the first time Josie James opened her mouth and belted out a gritty, throaty rendition of Fiona Apple’s “Criminal.” It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his favorite song; she owned it within the first few bars. She owned him soon after.

He’d approached her after the dance, hovering close by in the parking lot as she helped her bandmates, Valerie and Melody, pack up their speakers and drums. She was lithe and covered with a sheen of sweat. She’d pushed back her damp bangs from her forehead, making him notice more easily how luminous her green eyes were under the parking lights. They talked. He convinced her to take her guitar back out of the case for a minute. What she thought would be one more guy showing off whether they could play or not turned to quiet awe. She’d leaned in toward him, feeling what he was feeling, going to the same place. Unable to describe it.

He didn’t want to think about that tonight. She wanted space. Now they both had it, and he had free rein to share his however and with whomever he pleased. He beckoned to the bartender. The burly man looked impatient and poked him.

“Let me see your ID.”

“I just want another soda.”

“Okay.” He was pacified; at least it wasn’t another underage kid trying to lose the club their license with faking their way to getting beer. He refilled Alan’s same glass with cola and took his sweaty dollar bills.

A girl approached him and asked for a dance. He obliged, but he knew he looked distracted by the way her own eyes started darting around, looking for her friends. She thanked him politely and hurried off, leaving him on the floor. He drifted back against the mirror, content to be on the periphery. He saw her a few moments later, talking a mile a minute to her friends. They shot him telling glances that screamed What’s HIS problem? Alan was fine with it. He wasn’t in the mood for games or going through the motions. He wanted to get his money’s worth out of the cover charge and his earlier struggle to find parking. His night got off to a false start.

He went back to his drink at the bar. The music improved, finally. The deejay took mercy on him and played a few slow songs, presumably to push more drinks into dancer’s hands. Anything was a nice break from the throb of…well, noise. Techno just wasn’t music to him. There was no heart in it; he couldn’t reach for it with both hands or taste it.

Alan Mayberry wanted substance, something with some bite. Or someone.

Boredom he could live with, but the fates weren’t through kicking Alan M’s butt. They had one last laugh at his expense.

The deejay’s voice boomed over the din. “In a couple of minutes, I’ve got three smokin’ hot ladies who want to make you shake your tail feathers to their grooves! Make some noise if you want me to bring out Josie and the Pussycats!” The club erupted into cheers and whistles.

“Shit,” Alan hissed under his breath.

He downed the soda, not caring that it burned his nose when he burped. If he was smart, he’d get the heck out of there. Alan started weaving his way through the crowd toward the side exit. He was nearly in the clear until he collided with a huge bass drum.

“Oopsie!” Melody’s voice was as shrill and annoying as he remembered it. Her blue eyes grew round. “Oh, Alan! Hi! I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Before he could even answer, she turned away from him and cupped her hand around her mouth. “Val! Look who’s here! It’s ALAN M.!”

“Geez…”

“I can’t believe this! Does Josie know you’re out here tonight? It’s so cool that you came!” She stared at him in confusion. “Where are you going? Why are you headed out the door?”

“I, uh-“

“We just got here. You can help us set up!” she announced, beaming.

He couldn’t be bothered. It was on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t their roadie anymore or fill-in guitarist, two of the perks they grew accustomed to when he was dating their lead singer.

But Melody was so childlike and gave him her best soulful, puppy dog look. Alan sighed and took her drum.

“Where do you want it?”

“C’mon!” She led the way, drawing plenty of gaping mouths and drool in her wake. Like Alan, Melody was wholesome and blonde, but her sex appeal was blatant. Her tops were always just a little too low-cut, her jeans just a little too snug. Her hips rocked when she walked, you couldn’t call it anything else. But despite her seeming cluelessness, she was a mean drummer and meant well.

So he indulged her, knowing and hating what was coming next. Valerie shot him a look as he approached their van and continued to unload equipment.

“Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ooookaaaayyy.”

“Melody asked me nicely.”

“She gave you the puppy dog look, huh?”

“I couldn’t look away.”

“Poor baby.”

They set everything up while more techno played at lower volume in the background. Alan continued to watch the door, curiosity mingling with dread. He chatted with Val as she removed the drape from her keyboard.

“Are you fine with this, Alan M?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no. I’m probably gonna bail.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I think I do.”

“You were here first. You came out to have a good time, so you should stay. Josie won’t mind.”

“Sure she won’t,” he huffed.

“It’s a free country,” Val shrugged. “Don’t be too quick to rush off. Save me a dance.” He rolled his eyes. She gave him a hearty thump on the back. His friendship with Val was platonic at best, she was like his sister.

He no sooner finished connecting the last cable to the speaker than a familiar voice stabbed into him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought I was helping out.” He met Josie’s green-gray eyes levelly and studied her.

She was still beautiful to him, but he resented her tone and posture. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts and she stared at him like he was intruding.

Josie was in her concert gear already. Her tiny orange halter top was leopard-printed and snug, leaving little to the imagination. Black denim capris hugged her hips. She wore her chin-length, bobbed red hair blown out and full, and she’d already topped it with the band’s trademark cat ear headband.

“No one told you to. You don’t have to.”

“Val said it was fine. I wanted to help her out. If you don’t have a problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Good.”

“That’s fine.” She gave him one last glance over her shoulder before carrying her guitar case to the bar, where she ordered a Sprite.

Alan M. took up another girl on her offer to dance. He put a little more effort into it but still wasn’t feeling it. She tried to engage him in conversation, and he kept his replies polite. This time he begged off, claiming to have to go to the men’s, but her eyes didn’t accuse him of being a loser.

There was already a long line of girls trailing from their rest room, but Alan had no problem going inside, shouldering his way around people who were just waiting for the pay phone.

He made a beeline toward the urinal. Alan heard voices coming from two stalls down and tried to ignore them, wanting to finish before he had to worry about a “neighbor.” He was nearly zipped when the sickening gurgle of someone losing it assailed him. Alan tasted bile in response; there was nothing nastier than listening to someone hurl.

“Man, what’d you drink?”

“C’mon, man, get off me, lea’ me ‘lone,” a voice slurred in response.

“Uh-uh. You don’t look right, ‘bro.” That was an understatement.

“You okay?” Alan inquired carefully. Another bout of barfing answered him. A level baritone rose above it.

“Don’t worry, man, we’re cool. Whoa…” Alan frowned at the sudden pause. “Ced? C’mon, Cedric, you okay?” Alan didn’t like the low, strangled moan or the hint of panic that crept into the speaker’s voice. “C’mon, Cedric, get up!”

“What’s going on?”

“Help me,” the voice begged him before the door snapped open, springing back against the stall wall. A tall, slim boy roughly Alan’s age glanced at him, panicked. “He doesn’t look good.”

“He looks like hell,” Alan agreed, scowling. He bent over his friend, only seeing the back of his curly, sandy hair sticking up over the edge of the toilet bowl. He was leaning limply over it, worrying them. “C’mon, now. What do you need?”

“Feel…like crap,” he muttered back. His breath was deep and heavy. Alan’s large hand was gentle on his shoulder.

“Water,” Alan told his friend. His voice brooked no nonsense.

“I’m on it.” Alan didn’t want to try to move him yet. His friend had said his name was Cedric.

Alan waited by his side, supporting him and cringing at the guttural sounds he continued to make. The smell was noxious; Alan flushed, clearing the bowl and thoughtfully moved the boy back from the rim to avoid backsplash. He resumed leaning over the edge.

“Here.” His companion handed him a dripping bottle of Fiji water, always overpriced when you got it from the bar. He unscrewed it and handed it to Alan. He helped him tug Cedric back to drink.

“Don’…wan’ anything else t’drink,” he complained as they pressed it to his lips.

“Yes you do,” Alan argued. He held his head up, giving his cheeks light slaps. “C’mon. Bottoms up.”

He managed a few sips and dribbled down the front of his shirt. His friend busied himself, dampening paper towels at the sink.

They wiped him off gingerly. His skin looked less gray now, more flushed now that he had some fluids.

“We’ve gotta get him out of here,” his friend suggested.

“Naw…m’fine, Jay…”

“Shut up!” he scoffed. “Get outta here! This isn’t fine.”

“What’d he drink?”

“He was fine with beer before. Then he mixed.”

“Leave me alone,” he slurred again. “You…were gonna get messed up, too, Jason.”

“All I did was get us a place to party.” Then he looked guiltily at Alan. “And I might’ve given a friend of ours the cash to buy us the keg.”

“Hard lemonade. Stoli. Rum…” Cedric’s voice trailed off. Alan realized in horror that was only a partial list of what Cedric had actually had to drink.

“Geez…”

“Don’ take me home, Jay.”

“Heck, no.”

“My folks’d kill me if I came home like this,” Alan agreed, even though he was still worried.

“My folks are out of town,” Jason told him, shrugging. “They have a wine cellar. No big deal if they don’t find anything missing.”

“So they had the other stuff you were drinking?”

“Uh-uh. Bought that, too.”

“Big spender.”

“If I can, then why not?” he shrugged. His voice was slightly haughty. Alan said nothing.

They supported Cedric out of the stall, grateful that no one else had walked in yet. They encouraged him to wash his face. Jason fished a small comb out of his wallet. Alan was amused to see it; obviously he felt strongly about his image.

Alan stole a glance at Jason in the mirror. He wasn’t bad looking, short, wavy auburn hair and hazel green eyes. His features were classic and even, and he had a dimple in his chin. Jason returned his look with a smirk.

“How I look?” Cedric inquired. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, despite efforts made to his hair or tucking his shirt back in.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Alan muttered, drawing back. His help wasn’t needed.

“Like hell,” Jason said bluntly. He didn’t sound like he had a problem with it. “Just make it out to the parking lot. Don’t look like there’s anything wrong with you, or we’ll get in trouble.”

“Sheesh,” Alan muttered again, shaking his head. That was all he was worried about?

Nevertheless, he followed them at a distance into the lot. They were heedless of him as two of Jason and Cedric’s other friends greeted them loudly, urging them into a plush looking Benz.

For the moment, they looked fine. Alan sighed. The rest of his night looked bleak. Josie was inside, and he didn’t have good company to pass the time.

He headed to his small red Toyota truck, noticing there was a slight chill in the air. He couldn’t wait to get home and watch his TV in his own room.

Alan no sooner turned the key in the lock when the blare of a horn startled him.

The Benz had circled the lot, skidding to a halt mere feet away from him. “C’mon!” Jason was behind the wheel, answering Alan’s silent question of who the car belonged to.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Come with us. After party. My place. I live in Pembroke.”

“That’s pretty far for me. I live in Riverdale.”

“That’s not that far! C’mon. We’re gonna watch a fight I bought,” he offered. “Dude…what’d you say your name was?”

“Alan.”

“Let’s go. It’ll be awesome.” Cedric was looking the worse for wear in the backseat. Jason’s other two friends were fiddling with the stereo deck and drinking cans of soda. Alan was thankful it wasn’t more alcohol.

“Where do you live?” he blurted out. He was still trying to talk himself out of it.

Part of him wanted to keep Jason talking. But his friends didn’t look much like Alan’s crowd.

“Just follow us. Take route seven, then the third exit on Elm Road.” He leaned over his friend in the passenger seat and reached into the glove box. “Here. This is my street address and cell number.” He scrawled it on a small slip of paper and poked his head out the window, giving Alan a better look at him as he handed it over. As Alan took it, he held on to the paper longer than he had to. “It’ll be cool. Stay for a while.”

“Want me to bring anything?” Jason shrugged.

“You don’t have to. But fine, bring what you want.” Alan hated showing up empty-handed.

“See you there.” They roared off, leaving Alan staring after them. He tuned in a station he liked and pulled out of the lot, following as closely as he could without speeding.

He was pensive on the way there. Why had he invited him over? Did Jason always just bring people home? What would his friends think of him?

He lived in Pembroke. Alan couldn’t remember seeing him in school before, but that didn’t mean anything. Riverdale was a large public high school, so there were plenty of people he couldn’t claim to have met. Alan ran in a small social circle as it was, despite playing sports. He liked the company of other musicians and artists, feeling like that was where he fit in best.

He stayed close behind them. Jason flashed his blinkers at him. Alan laughed.

They stopped at a convenience station where they got out and got a few dollars’ worth of gas. Alan watched them horsing around at the pump while he walked inside and picked out a bag of chips and some Gatorade.

A familiar voice by his elbow stopped him before he could take out his wallet. “I’ll get that.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I asked you over. Let me get it. I’m good for it, trust me.” Alan had a hard time staring agape as Jason pulled out a fifty dollar bill. The clerk frowned.

“No bills over a twenty.” Jason shrugged.

“I’m buying twenty dollars worth of gas, too.” The girl looked pacified as she rang them up and put the items in a paper bag.

Jason walked Alan back to his truck while his other friends waited in the car.

“This your truck or your parents’?”

“Mine, all mine. I work so I can give them money for the insurance.” Alan was proud of his little wreck of a truck. He put thick fleece covers over the shabby seats and, just for fun, hung a pair of black fuzzy dice from the rearview mirror.

“Nice,” Jason chuckled. Alan almost expected derision from him, but Jason’s look was simply pleased. “This’d be good for camping or ATVs.”

“Shut up,” Alan grinned. “You have one?”

“I have three.”

“Sweet.”

“I’ve got jet skis, too.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Then you haven’t lived.” The blare of his horn distracted Jason, making him look across the lot in annoyance.

“C’mon, Jay!” Cedric shouted hoarsely. Jason looked back impatiently, then gave Alan a sheepish smile.

“Gonna bail,” he said.

“That’s fine.”

But Jay walked back to his own car at a reluctant pace.

Alan followed Jason’s car through neighborhoods that grew more opulent the further they drove, and he started to feel intimidated. They drove through a winding cul-de-sac, and Jason parked in front of the biggest house on the block.

“Holy shit,” Alan breathed.

It was a McMansion. Like the others on the block, it was two stories, but the front yard was enormous, the kind that needed a riding mower and a regular gardener. A small fountain was the focal point of the landscaping, ringed by immaculate rosebushes of every color. The front entrance actually had Doric-style columns and a lion’s head door knocker. The garage beside it looked big enough to be a second house. Alan climbed out of his truck and locked it, staring in awe.

Jason’s friends had no problem with their surroundings, obviously feeling at home there. They hooted and bullshitted their way inside. Alan followed more slowly. They slammed the door shut before he even reached the front stoop. But when Alan reached for the knocker, the door was jerked open again. Jason grinned at him.

“Sorry. Come in, man. Take a load off!”

Jason took the bag from him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Whaddya think?”

“It’s…nice. Huge.”

“Yeah,” Jason grinned. “Not too shabby, huh?”

“Your folks aren’t home?”

“I told you, they’re outta town. Whole place to ourselves. I wanna show you the theater.”

“Theater?” Alan hated how lame his voice sounded to his own ears. He felt like a hick. But Jason was already taking the items out of the bag and laying them on the black marble kitchen counter. Alan’s mother could have fit two of her own kitchen into this room, which had a large island in the center and was tiled in black and white.

“Sweet, I’ve been in the mood for some all night,” Jason remarked, taking Alan’s Gatorade out of the sack and uncapping it. He took several long swallows before Alan could protest.

“Guess you can have it, then,” he muttered. Jason wiped a drip of the red drink from the corner of his mouth.

“Ooh…sorry. You probably wanted some, huh?” He held it out to him. “I don’t have cooties.” Alan flushed, then shook his head.

“It’s fine. You can have it. You bought it,” he added quietly. He picked up the bag of chips. “Wanna set these out?”

“Bowl in the cupboard.”

“Turn on the fight, Jay!” Alan recognized Cedric’s voice coming from down the hall.

“I’m gonna set it up before they tear up the place. It’s down the hall, to the left, then down the stairs.” Jason disappeared, leaving Alan alone with his thoughts. The Gatorade bottle was still on the counter.

He reached for it, taking a long, thirsty swallow, letting his mouth occupy the same rim Jason’s had.

The theater was exactly that. The room was designed in an arena style, almost like a college lecture hall, with ten tiers of seats. There was a set of circular sofas on the main floor, several yards back from the screen. Jason’s friends were already down there lounging, legs sprawled and drinking sodas. Alan’s nose itched as he picked up the scent of rum.

He descended with the bowl of chips.

“All right, I’ve got the munchies!” Cedric admitted, plunging his hand into the chips before Alan could even set them down. His friends followed suit.

“I’m Alan.”

“You don’t go to Pembroke?” one of the other boys accused.

“Uh-uh.”

They smirked, eyeing him up and down. Cedric said, “Take it easy, he’s cool.” His eyes seemed to tell him As long as what happened in the men’s doesn’t leave those stalls, we’re cool. Alan shrugged, helping himself to chips and a can of Coke, undoctored.

Jason came back down from the projector booth. “And we’ve got UFC, baby!”

Alan was sitting on the periphery, letting Jason’s friends take the seats in the center. Jason trotted down the steps and plunked himself down next to Alan, on the outer end of the couch.

“Move in a little,” he suggested. “So you can see.”

Alan felt a warm rash of tingles at the sudden brush of Jason’s leg against his. Obediently he shifted himself over. Jason closed the remaining space between them and helped himself to some chips. He nudged Alan with something cold; he looked down to see the half-finished bottle of Gatorade.

The next hour was unsettling. The fight was great on the huge plasma screen, Alan had no complaints. Yet he felt the scrutiny of Jason’s friends, along with the occasional bump or nudge that left him beet red. Alan was grateful that the room was relatively dark. He was close enough to smell his cologne and a hint of sweat, not to mention the soda on his breath. He felt a small thrill in his gut.

Why was he reacting like this?

He’d tagged along because he didn’t have anything else to do; in hindsight, it felt completely irresponsible, but it was a wild ride.

“Wanna rum and Coke?”

“I’m not really into it, dude.”

“Don’t like rum? Or hard alcohol? Wanna beer?”

“Nah. That’s okay.”

“Can I get you anything else, then? C’mon, we’ve got everything,” Jason nagged good-naturedly. He was almost like a kid trying to show off a new toy.

“Only if you’re getting yourself something.” Their exchange was interrupted by one of Jason’s friends.

“Where do ya want us to crash, Jay?”

“The blue room. It’s already ready.”

“I wanna sleep in Cheryl’s room,” Cedric scoffed. “Maybe she’ll let me borrow her teddy bear!”

“Cheryl?” Alan asked.

“Fuck off, Ced!” He amended it to Alan, “My twin sister. She’s staying at a friend’s. She goes to Riverdale, too.”

“I know her?”

“Cheryl Blossom,” Jason shrugged. “She got bored at the academy. Mom and Dad let her go to Riverdale.”

“With the rest of the townies,” Cedric sneered. Jason scowled. Alan felt uncomfortable.

“I haven’t met her. I know who she is, though. She’s cute. Seems cool.”

“She’s a brat,” Jason argued, but he looked pleased. Alan was relieved, since he agreed with him. From what he’d seen of Cheryl in action, she was a brat.

They watched a few minutes of the next fight. Jason got up suddenly and tugged on Alan’s sleeve.

“Help me get some stuff together for everybody to crash.”

“That’s fine,” Alan said quickly. “Then I’ll bail, it’s no big deal. This was cool.”

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed. “No one said you had to bail.” They made their way upstairs. Cedric and his friends were already looking drowsy and nodding off.

Jason led Alan up another flight of stairs. “I’ll give you a tour.”

“I can’t believe you live here.”

“It’s my parents’ second house.” Alan’s mind was boggled.

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. It’s my parents’ money. I just like to help spend it once in a while.”

“I just think you’re pretty lucky.”

“So no theater in your house, then, huh?”

“Just a twenty-one inch screen hanging up in the corner of my room that gets fifty channels on regular cable. I bought it with my Christmas money. Does that count?” Jason grinned. Alan liked his grin.

“Party at Alan’s house,” he hooted.

“Hey, I park my truck in the garage next to my yacht.”

“I believe you.” Each room that they walked past was more impressive than the next. They had a music room. A den. Three guest rooms. The master bedroom, which was huge. A sewing and craft room with a full-size dress dummy and huge swing-arm machine that Alan’s mother would have drooled over.

Cheryl’s room. It was an explosion of pink and white. Alan wanted to gag. It was nothing like Josie’s room at all, cluttered, with music magazines and rock posters everywhere.

They finally came to a linen closet. Alan helped Jason carry down some sleeping bags and blankets to the blue room, which had an enormous king-sized bed. The room was decorated in Prussian blue and had a large window overlooking the back yard.

“This is nice.”

“It’s all right. You haven’t seen my room.”

Alan’s gut dipped and he felt an uncomfortable tightening between his legs.

Jason was coming on to him?

He could be reading the signals wrong. Or just taking too much away from casual things he said or inadvertent ways he touched him…right?

They set the items on the bed and headed back downstairs.

“Ced looked about ready to pass out,” Jason remarked.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“He threw up for a while before you got there. There’s nothing left. He’ll be fine.”

“Does he do that all the time?”

“Once in a while?”

Alan cleared his throat. “Do you?”

“What? Like to party? Sure. Why not?”

“I dunno…” Alan’s voice trailed off. “Just kinda risky, if anyone gets sick or hurts themselves at your house, bro.”

“Have you ever gotten drunk?”

“Nah.”

“Not curious?”

“Kinda. Not in the mood, I guess. I can have a pretty good time without getting drunk. I like to do different things.”

“Clubs?”

“Tonight wasn’t a great night for me, but yeah. Sometimes.”

“Not great? What happened?”

“Saw someone I didn’t need to see.”

“Ex?”

“She was the lead singer for tonight’s act.” Jason looked surprised.

“Josie James? You’re kidding.”

“Uh-uh. We used to hang out.” It was a patent lie. He was still in love with her.

“How do you rate?” They were back in the kitchen. Jason talked to him over his shoulder as he dug in the refrigerator. He poured two glasses of plain fruit punch, handing Alan one. Alan gulped it gratefully. Now, he was enjoying himself. Jason’s friends made him uneasy.

“I like music. And I didn’t have to ‘rate.’ She’s cool. Her friend Val is one of my best friends, too.”

“Someone come between you two?”

“She needed ‘space.’”

“What was his name?”

“Alex Cabot.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding. Alex is a tool. I hate that guy! My parents play bridge with his. Cheryl and I used to kick their asses whenever they came over to our house when we were kids. Alexandra was a tattletale.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Alan muttered.

“They acted like it was such a big deal that they were twins. Who cares? Cheryl and I are, too, but we don’t care.”

“What’s it like?”

“You’re kidding, right? That’s the least important thing about me, dude. We’re not even identical.”

“Obviously.” But they were both very good-looking. Alan wasn’t about to say as much. Jason had his sister’s profile, a very straight nose and slightly high forehead. They were both redheads, but Jason’s was a deeper shade of chestnut, not like his sister’s titian. And where Cheryl had the pale, creamy fairness typical of that hair color, Jason’s complexion was even and golden, not a freckle in sight. “I don’t meet many twins, so it’s cool to me. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Sometimes I wish I did.”

“Nah. Now I envy you,” Jason pointed out. “Sometimes she’s okay, but sometimes Cher’s got a stick up her butt.”

“I just wonder what it would’ve been like growing up with someone else to hang out with.”

“Grossly overrated.”

“You gonna let ‘em know that we put the stuff upstairs?”

“Gimme a sec. Sit tight.”

“I wanted to get back on the road pretty soon, before it gets too late,” Alan explained.

“Why?”

“Well…you’re having friends over, I didn’t-“

“So why can’t I have you over? What’s one more?”

“I, uh, didn’t know, um, where you wanted me to stay, I didn’t bring anything to wear-“

“Don’t worry about clothes.” Jason’s eyes traveled over him. “I’ve got plenty.” Alan’s cheeks felt hot; beneath his light blue shirt, his nipples pebbled. “And I’ve got plenty of room.”

“The other guys…won’t have a problem? Listen, I know I don’t hang out with your crowd, Jay…”

“I hang out with whoever I want. Whenever. So whaddya think, Alan?” He lingered close, leaning in and murmuring in his ear, “Come and hang out.” His breath felt warm at Alan’s neck. He shivered. Jason’s smile was wicked, even sinful as he drew back.

He spoke without thinking. “O-okay.”

“Be right back.” Jason turned and headed back into the theater. Alan’s legs felt like jelly.

Jason retrieved a large, complex remote for the screen and tucked it into Cedric’s limp hand. “Dude, I’m goin’ up. Stuff’s in the blue room.”

“S’fine,” he murmured back, giving Jason a drunken smile. Their other two friends were asleep, mouths agape. Jason shook his head.

“G’night.”

“Where’s the townie sleepin’?” Cedric asked blearily.

“Upstairs. Don’t worry about it. G’night.” Jason turned on his heel and headed back up, none too eager to disclose the rest of the sleeping arrangements.

Alan squelched the flutter he felt as Jason emerged from the theater. “C’mon. Let’s finish the tour.” Jason turned off the overhead kitchen light and left on a night light over the counter. Alan’s heart pounded as he followed Jason upstairs.

It was dark, and his eyes hadn’t adjusted yet to the light from below. He nearly jumped in surprise as Jason reached back to take his hand. His fingers were dry but hot; Alan wondered if he felt his pulse jump with that contact.

They went back down the long corridor, past the master bedroom, past the sewing room, turning right around a corner Alan didn’t see before. Jason opened the door and stood aside.

“Wow.”

“It’s not much,” he shrugged, gesturing Alan forward with a light press against the small of his back.

“Wow,” Alan repeated, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“You already said that.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alan moved slowly about the room, afraid to touch anything. The room was surprisingly neat, everything in its place. He had a large computer desk and hutch and a stereo system that made Alan drool. The widescreen TV across from his bed wasn’t as big as the one in the theater, but it was nothing to sneeze at.

And the bed…queen-sized. The duvet was dark green and looked invitingly soft. Alan suddenly heard the click and whirr of the heating vents coming on, and he felt almost too warm, his collar too snug. His hands must have reflected his thoughts; he toyed with his top button.

Jason’s voice spoke to him from just over his shoulder. “Too hot?” Alan felt a small thrill at the slide of Jason’s fingertips over his forearm, moving up to cover Alan’s hand.

“A little.”

“A lot. You don’t need this on. It’s nice and warm in here. Or I can make it as warm as you want.”

“I bet,” Alan murmured hoarsely as Jason gently pried his hand away from his collar. He resumed the task, facing him now and unfastening the top button. Then the next. Then the next. Alan’s breathing quickened.

“You’re too hot,” Jason whispered, tugging the tails of Alan’s shirt from his jeans, “aren’t you?”

Alan’s mouth went dry. “Aren’t you?” Jason repeated, slowly closing the gap. His warm breath steamed the corner of Alan’s mouth, and Alan couldn’t stop staring down at his lips, stained a deep pink from the fruit punch, firm, tempting… Alan nodded.

“Yeah,” he murmured. It was all he could manage, all he wanted to bother with once talking lost its appeal. He had better uses for Jason’s mouth, the first of which was letting it shut him up. The first stroke of his lips made him moan despite himself, moving over Alan’s and raising his temperature a few degrees. They brushed over his again, then again, molding to his and coaxing him to open for him. Jason caught Alan’s lower lip between his teeth and suckled it, rumbling in approval at his taste. Alan’s waistband was fisted in his hands as his tongue swept inside his mouth, invading him.

Alan found people who always got what they wanted intimidating at best, insufferable at worst. But they didn’t taste like Jason Blossom. They didn’t feel lean and hard and have a down of smooth hair running along forearms muscular from playing tennis and baseball, or smell like expensive aftershave that tickled his nostrils. His own male, natural scent beneath it was what really tempted him.

For Alan, what you saw was what you got. Jason ran his fingers through the back of his coarse blond waves, marvelously thick to clutch. He smelled like shampoo and deodorant spray, and tasted like a remnant of Gatorade and potato chips. Unspoiled, unaccessorized, undecorated, and if Jason had anything to do with it, undressed. Cool air kissed Alan’s bare arms as his shirt hit the floor. Beneath his undershirt, his nipples were still stiff and sensitive, begging to be touched. Jason’s fingers crept beneath the hem and slid over his heated flesh. Alan found himself pressed back against the edge of the desk. Jason slanted his mouth over his, wanting to dominate him. Alan was frantic for him to…what?

What next?

“Geez,” he muttered.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“This was what you meant by staying over, right?”

“You need me to spell it out? I think you’re sexy.” He stared at him. “I thought we were making a pretty good start.” He took Alan’s hand and turned it, making him cup his hardness. Alan groaned at the stiffness of his bulge and how generous it felt in his palm. “You’ve done this before, right?”

“Yeah. I have…it’s not something I just announce on the loud speaker at school.”

“I knew there was something about you. I can’t explain how, but I knew.” He manipulated Alan’s fingers around his cock, molding them to himself until Alan found the rhythm he needed himself. “Man, that feels good, don’t stop.” His kisses were hungry, hot and wet. Alan tugged open Jason’s belt, respectful of the soft leather as he carefully tugged it out through the loops of his khakis and dropped it on the floor. He was less patient than Jason had been with his shirt, only undoing Jason’s top button before jerking the entire garment over his head, leaving him delightfully bare.

“Bed,” Alan stammered. They slowly dragged and urged each other away from the desk. Alan fell to the bed first, backing down onto it. His lips teased Jason’s taut abdomen, steaming his navel.

“Shit!” he hissed as Alan tugged open the snap at his waist with his teeth. He reached inside the flap traced his bulge through his cotton briefs, dragging his mouth over it, lightly grazing it with his teeth. “Mother…fucker…” Alan chuckled at the profanity and took pity on him, releasing his engorged flesh from the confines of his briefs. It jutted forward, turgid, pulsing and thick. Alan explored its smoothness and traced the veins with his thumb.

“Nice,” he whispered as he breathed over the head. Jason’s hips jerked forward as Alan took his first taste. He lapped at him, the tip of his tongue swiveling around the crest, stroking the contours and dipping into the tiny cleft. Alan pulled Jason’s slacks down around his knees, giving himself more room to work and to touch him, skimming his palms down his hairy thighs. The muscles in Jason’s ass jumped as he cupped one cheek, molding it and testing its firmness. It had been a long time since Alan had a male partner, and he was going to enjoy the night in full. Every minute. Jason groaned, still clutching handfuls of his hair and kneading his shoulder, drowning in the sensations he was giving him.

“I want you,” he whispered. “God, Alan, I want you so bad.”

“You have me,” he murmured, moaning into his flesh. His fingertips combed through the thatch of dark brown hair surrounding his cock and he cradled his balls in his palm.

Alan couldn’t remember when he lost his pants or briefs, when either of them kicked off their shoes. His mind went numb and deliciously blank once Jason’s body covered his, skin on skin wherever they touched. Their cocks buffeted and slid against each other as Jason thrust against Alan, drinking from his mouth. Alan’s hands stroked and kneaded him, traveling down the length of his lean back and counting each vertebrae. And his ass…Alan felt an intense admiration, even worship, of his ass.

Alan was bereft at the loss of his mouth until Jason blazed a trail down his throat, licking a figure-eight around his collarbones, then lapping and suckling each nipple. Alan was bucking and straining up into his mouth, wanting so much more, but Jason was in control.

“Take it easy,” Jason soothed. Alan moaned in desperation.

“Please.”

“Easy,” he scolded, nipping his stomach with his teeth. Alan obeyed, closing his eyes and savoring the path of his tongue, swirling over his flesh and descending where he needed it most.

Jason was greedy, inhaling him, suckling him, drawing every nerve in Alan’s body down into the head of his cock. His balls were drawn up in a hard, tight knot between his legs and Jason’s hands were driving him crazy, stroking over him, exploring every plane, contour and crevice. It was gooooooood.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“You trust me? I’ll make you feel good, if you let me.” He swirled him in his mouth, short strokes, long strokes, bobbing his head over him, swallowing him all the way down to his curls.

“I’ll let you do anything you want. Please, Jay,” he begged, “please, please, please…”

Jason could have said something smug, but he didn’t. He responded with decadent caresses, sculpting Alan like supple clay in his hands. Alan’s head was thrown back against the thick pillow, eyes closed in ecstasy. Jason tasted salty precum welling up in the tip of his cock, lapping at it as he stroked himself.

“I’ve got something. In that drawer.” Alan stirred from his haze and reached for the side table. The small bottle was right where he said it would be, and he gave it to him with a trembling hand. Jason bent Alan’s leg, drawing it up for a better view of his crevice. He uncapped the cream and squirted some over his fingers. He gently probed the soft, warm little pucker inside, pressing his way in and kneading the sheathe of muscle. Alan moaned with need. Jason bowed his lips to his erection and sucked him in time with the thrust of his hand.

“Jay, oh God, Jay, please, Jay, please,” he chanted, knotting the corners of the pillows beneath his head. He felt incredible. Jason sighed in contentment around him, savoring how he tasted and felt. His night in topped his night out by a longshot. Jason’s two fingers twisted and dipped inside him, stretching him. Alan craved him. Craved him.

“Please, Jay,” he begged.

“I hear you. Don’t worry, I hear you.” He sat up and knelt between his legs, spreading them and bending both his knees. The boy lying before him enticed him, his boyish, unassuming, blond good looks were appealing to Jason in a way that he admitted he always found attractive. He nursed a crush on Cheryl’s friend, Betty Cooper, but she hardly gave him the time of day. But Betty wasn’t saying his name in a husky, needy voice, spreading her legs wide for him and thrusting up her ass to be explored and filled. “C’mon, Alan. I want you. I want you…” he said, desperate. Jason slicked more of the lubricant over his aching, swollen erection, and he exhaled a loud gasp as Alan reached down and ringed him in his fist.

“Let me put you in,” Alan offered, jerking him and rubbing his head against the edge of his hole. He breathed deeply, exhaling every time he urged Jason into himself, centimeter by centimeter until his head completely breached him. Jason mastered the urge to shove himself all the way in, but Alan’s tightness was pulling on him, sucking at him, milking him, and it was perfect. Alan rocked his hips slowly, pushing himself up onto Jason’s stiffness, mastering the brief discomfort and cramp of his muscles squeezing around Jason’s girth. The burn faded, replaced by the smooth slide of Jason’s cock inside him, in and out, building up a rhythm.

“Jesus,” Jason hissed. “Alan…aw, man, Alan…feels…good…”

“Fuck me,” Alan whispered. “Fuck me, please.” The words weren’t in his day to day vocabulary, he only kept them on his “special occasion” list. But there was nothing else to say. Jason felt incredible pumping into him, and Alan didn’t want it to end.

Jason rutted and pistoned into the athletic, perfect body beneath him, wanting to own it, to dominate him. His fingers dug into Alan’s thighs, gripping him, stroking his weeping cock as it swelled in his hand.

“Yes,” Jason hissed. “Yesssyesyesyesohshitshitshit…hnnnngggghh…” He spasmed and jerked as he began to empty himself in long, slick spurts, filling Alan’s crease. His eyes snapped open wide, full of awe and surprise, focused wholly on Alan. “Fuck,” he rasped. His body still jerked with aftershocks as Alan instinctively squeezed around him.

They lay limply together for a while, and Alan caressed Jason’s back. Jason was breathing hard and raggedly, and he felt deliciously spent.

“Sorry,” he gasped. Alan gave him a squeeze.

“I’m all right.” It was a lie. His erection was still unrelieved between them.

“Liar,” Jason said.

Alan felt helpless and frustrated. Jason felt so good lying against him, and he knew he was exhausted. Alan’s own eyes drooped, but it was going to be hard to think straight, let alone drop off, in his present condition.

Jason lifted his head and peered down at him, propping himself up. He tugged a lock of Alan’s hair and frowned. “So whaddya want me to do about it?”

“I, uh…”

“You wanna get off?” Alan’s laugh was embarrassed.

“Yeah! I’m not gonna sleep like this!”

“But you are gonna still stay over, right?” Alan’s eyes softened.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Jason’s body rippled against his briefly, rubbing the firm knob of flesh between them. Alan groaned. “Then I’m gonna try again. I’m tired. I can’t sleep with you lying awake next to me.” Jason’s motivations were selfish, but his mouth was velvety and slick once he eased himself back down and enveloped Alan. Alan lolled in bliss as Jason took him back to his peak.

“Jay,” he whimpered. “Oh, God.” He twisted and writhed, straining up into his mouth, and Alan felt himself releasing a drop at a time, desperate…needing…

The contractions of his muscles came faster and faster, pressure squeezed and built up in his balls until pleasure exploded from every nerve in his body. Alan’s seed gushed into Jason’s mouth, dribbling loose when he didn’t catch it all; Alan felt warm droplets leak onto his sac and inner thighs. Jason almost choked on the mouthful of earthy, musky-tasting fluids coating his tongue; Alan was surprised when he heard him swallow, and again when he felt the brush of cool, soft cotton swabbing over him to dry him the rest of the way off. Jason chucked his briefs into a nearby hamper and then moved around his suite. It took some effort for Alan to turn down the covers when he didn’t want to move. Jason pushed a pair of clean boxers into his hand and tossed Alan his undershirt.

He crossed the room once he was dressed and locked them in.

“I don’t want the guys to come barging in first thing in the morning.”

“What’ll they think if they find me here?”

“They won’t.” You can come down after I do, if you want. Or you can set an alarm. It’s up to you.”

Alan didn’t expect such a blunt answer to his question. “Do they know that-“

“I don’t talk about it with them, okay?”

“Fine. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not just that…” Jason’s back was turned to Alan as he lay on his side, staring into the darkness. Alan was under the covers, hand resting on Jason’s hip. Jason reached down and squeezed his fingers.

“What, then?”

“It’s…nothing.”

“You can’t tell me?”

“It’s nothing, Alan,” he insisted. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll leave whenever I wake up,” Alan told him. “And they don’t have to see me go.”

Jason had lied, too; he felt asleep with Alan’s solid, warm presence at his back, even though Alan was wide awake, and stayed that way for a long time.

After sleeping fitfully and with some difficulty, Alan finally eased himself from bed at six AM. He collected his clothes and crept out of the room, easing into the bathroom they’d passed in the hall. He was determined that Jason’s friends would find him alone in his bed, however they decided to surprise him in the morning. He had to bail.

Alan left the house through the back door, catching sight of his disheveled appearance in the microwave’s reflective surface. He looked like hell and was tired and sore. He climbed into his truck and drove home with questions burning in his mind.

Jason woke up several hours later with a case of dry mouth and a headache.

“Wake up, lazy ass!” Cedric yelled, tackling him WWE-style.

“GAAAHH!” His friends sniggered from the doorway, eating bowls of cereal. It was on the tip of his tongue to scold them for bringing food upstairs. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

“Waited for you to wake up, dude. C’mon, let’s go watch the game, it’s on already.”

“Geez.” Jason felt like hell. His muscles were still sore and he craved a shower.

“C’mon.”

“Gimme a minute.”

“Where’s the big guy?” Jason scrubbed sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I don’t know,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Gone,” he flared. “He left last night. He had to drive back to Riverdale, I guess.” Cedric snorted.

“A townie. I knew it. I swear, man, you and your sister. I don’t know why you bring that trash home.”

“Let me shower,” Jason snapped.

“Hurry up,” Cedric shrugged. The boys left. Jason sat in his empty room and stared down at the other side of the bed. He waited for their footsteps to retreat.

Then Jason picked up Alan’s pillow and bowed his head, breathing in the last remnant of his scent. It smelled like his shampoo.

FIN.
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Eighteen and Up Night