I. Boredom Reigns

"Seventeen without a purpose or direction/We don't owe anyone a fuckin' explanation!"

"AAAAAAAAH!"

Deryck Whibley bolted upright in bed, screaming and clapping his hands over his ears in an attempt to protect them from the sudden musical assault. Jolted abruptly from a very deep sleep, he wasn't entirely sure yet what was going on; all he knew was that SOMETHING was insanely loud, and he was fairly certain his ears were bleeding.

He lurched out of bed, stumbling from his room clad only in his boxers, hands still pressed to his ears to mute the music to a dim shriek. He now recognized the words, as well as Mark Hoppus' voice (funny, he'd never thought of it as 'piercing' before), but he still had no idea WHY "The Rock Show" was playing at 120 decibels in the middle of the night. Striding down the hall, he located Cone's room as the source of the music and kicked the bassist's door open.

Cone was dancing in the middle of his room, wearing only a white wife-beater and a pair of dark blue boxers. Actually, describing his movements as 'dancing' was being rather charitable, but Deryck had more important things on his mind than rating Cone's rhythmic abilities.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Jay McCaslin let out a girlish scream and spun around, nearly punching out his best friend in his surprise. "Jesus CHRIST, Biz, don't do that! You scared the fuck out of me!"

"I scared YOU??" Deryck spat through clenched teeth, still holding his head. "YOU aren't the one awoken from a sound sleep by Blink one eighty fucking two! Turn that fucking music DOWN!!"

Mildly startled by Deryck's vehemence, Cone smiled sheepishly and spun the dial on his stereo, reducing the thrumming, pounding music to a more manageable level. Deryck cautiously removed his hands from his ears, relieved when he realized that the throbbing pain in his head was gone. It was a lot easier to bitch Cone out when he could think straight.

"What the hell are you doing? It's-" The singer's eyes darted around the room, finally locating a clock amidst the overwhelming messiness. "2:00 in the morning! And where are Dave and Steve, anyway? Why the hell aren't they in here yelling at you?"

Con dropped his gaze to the floor, flustered by Deryck's anger. "They went to a club," he replied meekly, scuffing absently at the carpet with one sock-clad foot. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be asleep--"

"Asleep! You could have woken the fucking dead with that music!"

"--I was just bored," Cone finished petulantly, pouting and kicking at a pile of dirty clothing.

Deryck sighed, running a hand through his normally spiky hair. A combination of residual gel and an hour's sleep had molded the strands into an interesting, if chaotic, pattern. So far, Cone had thought it best not to say anything, but he was fighting a giggle.

"Can't you find something quiet to do?" Deryck implored him, rubbing at one brilliant blue eye with the palm of his hand. "It's late, and we have practice tomorrow."

"But there's nothing to do!" Cone wailed. He threw himself dramatically onto his bed, which, surprisingly, was the only surface in the room NOT piled with junk. Deryck flopped down beside him, laying back and flinging an arm over his face to block out the light.

"Why don't you read a book? Or watch a movie--quietly," he added, visions of 'Pearl Harbor' in surround-sound floating through his head. "Or--I don't know, for god's sake, go to sleep."

"But that's boring," Jay protested, staring up at the ceiling and trying to count the cracks. He only ever made it to five before he lost his place and had to start over.

"Well, you could...um...uhhhh..."

Rolling onto his side so that he could look at him, Cone raised a delicate blond brow at the vocalist, waiting for a suggestion.

"Well, fuck," Deryck sighed, defeated. "I don't know what to do either."

Cone frowned, then lifted a brow in thought. "Do we have anything to drink?" It took Deryck a moment's thought to remember. "No, not after last--was it last night? The night before. That party." Jay scowled, remembering, and chewed contemplatively on his thumbnail.

"D'you think Steve's got any weed or anything?"

The shorter boy shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno." He bit at his bottom lip, then grinned evilly. "Well, he's not home. Wanna go search his room?"

Jay giggled. It was far too feminine a sound for a 21 year old boy to make. "'Kay," he agreed, bouncing onto his feet and racing Deryck to the drummer's room.

***

"I found something!" Deryck exclaimed, holding his fist aloft. Cone immediately dropped the stack of clothes he was digging through back into a drawer and crawled over to his friend's side. Deryck opened his fist to reveal a small plastic bag, containing two tiny white pills.

"What is it?" Cone ask curiously, removing one of the pills from the bag and studying. Deryck fished out the other one and held it up to the lamp, revealing the faint pattern of a dollar sign engraved upon the pill's surface.

"Looks like E," the vocalist stated, shrugging at Cone's raised brow. "Hey, he's a big boy."

"Yeah...yeah. I was just kinda surprised." He contemplated at the pill in his palm for a moment. "Think Steveo would be pissed if we, uh, borrowed it?" Deryck grinned and popped the tablet in his mouth.

II. Why What We Did, We Didn't

"Fuck..."

It was the only thing Jay McCaslin had said in the last five minutes, although he did make up for it slightly by repeating it about 10 times. Deryck was starting to get mildly annoyed; just enough to grumble inwardly about it but not quite enough to actually hit him. That would require movement, which didn't seem like a very appealing idea at all.

"Where...where am I?" Jay murmured, mostly to himself. He ran the tip of his tongue over parched lips, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was. He felt like he hadn't had a drink in days. If he didn't get water soon, he was certainly going to die. He felt a curious panic rise, but even that only coaxed him to open his eyes; he still wasn't quite ready to move.

The room was familiar, but it wasn't his own. Pale blue eyes skimmed the walls, noting the posters, the pictures, the notes--punk's not dead'-- scribbled on the walls. Definitely Deryck's room. Which brought him to his second question.

What the fuck had happened last night?

"Deryck...ungh, god, my fucking head. Deryck, dude, are you there?"

It took a moment for Deryck to find his voice. "Of course I'm here, dickwad, it's my fucking room." His voice sounded hoarse and low, like after a show. Cone frowned, turning his head experimentally and finding that it didn't hurt. Growing bold, he sat up; the world slid out of focus for a moment, then snapped back with a painful clarity. The hangover was different than he was used to; there was no nausea, just a raging headache and a feeling of abject misery that made his body seems ten times too heavy. Wearily he turned to look at Deryck, and the sight of his friend temporarily stopped his heart.

Deryck was naked.

Like, completely naked.

No shirt. No pants.

No boxers.

Just.

Naked.

"Dude," Cone breathed, whipping his head around faster than sensible and squeezing his eyes shut. Deryck mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, closer to Cone, one hand accidentally brushing the bassist's thigh. Cone leaped from the bed as if burned, which is when he made his second unfortunate discovery.

He was naked, too.

III. Under Your Skin

(Flashback: The night before.)

"Why does it feel the same to fall in love or break it up and/If young love is just a game then I must have missed the kick-off/Don't depend on me to ever follow through on/Anything but I'd go through hell for you."

"Der?"

"Mmmm?"

"This was a really good idea."

Deryck grinned over at his friend. He felt...content. Peaceful. Kind of horny. He stretched languorously, arching up from the bed and then falling back onto it with a happy little sigh. Next to him, Jay giggled. Deryck realized that he was starting to like the sound. He had always thought it was sort of girly before, but now it just sounded adorable.

"Your giggle is adorable," he blurted out exactly as he was thinking it. This elicited another giggle from his friend.

"Thanks," Jay murmured, rolling onto his side to face his bandmate. The bed was narrow, and the movement brought him up against Deryck, his chest pressing against the other boy's side. Jay's eyes fell closed in ecstasy as they touched, and distantly he heard Deryck moan.

"Fuck..." the vocalist muttered, sighing deeply. Jay could only nod in agreement. He'd never been so completely relaxed in his whole life. He felt like all the turmoil of his daily life had suddenly become clear. Everything was okay, everything was wonderful, actually, and the slow up-and-down rhythm of Deryck's breathing was hypnotizing. He wanted to reach out and lay his hand over the other boy's heart. The voice inside his head that normally stopped him was gone, so he did.

He marveled at the way he could feel Deryck's heartbeat through the palm of his hand. It was slightly faster than his own, like the melody laid over his lazy bass, the steady rhythms complementing each other. He brushed his fingertips in a slow circle over Deryck's heart and smiled as the other boy gasped in response. Every inch of his body seemed over-sensitized, the sensation of the cotton shirt under his fingers the most erotic experience he could remember. He found himself wondering what Deryck's skin would feel like under his hands...or his mouth...

"Fuck, Cone..." the shorter boy whimpered as Jay's hand slid underneath his t-shirt, caressing the smooth flesh at his waist. Fascinated by Deryck's reaction, Jay let his hand wander higher, stroking feather-light along Deryck's ribs, drawing more moans from the boy. Sitting up, he grabbed the singer's shirt in both hands, easing it slowly over his arms and tossing it to the floor. Deryck's eyes fluttered open as Jay's delicate fingers stroked his side, then the brilliant blue orbs rolled closed again as the bassist pressed his mouth unhesitatingly to the pulse in Deryck's throat. The guitarist's skin was feverish, almost alarmingly hot, but sweet, sweet under Jay's tongue as he licked at the delicate throat. Deryck was moaning loudly now with uninhibited pleasure, hands clutching at Jay's back, clinging to him desperately as sensations flooded his body faster than he could understand them.

"God, Bizzy...you taste...so...good..." Jay was having trouble catching his breath, but it didn't really bother him. Nothing mattered except for the hands on his waist, his mouth on Deryck's body. The air was growing hot and thick around him, pressing against his skin like a palpable thing. He drew back slightly and heard Deryck's groan of displeasure, but quickly swallowed it as he pressed his mouth to soft, yielding lips. They remained frozen like that for a moment, simply enjoying the contact, then Deryck's mouth slid open and Jay felt the delicate touch of the other boy's tongue upon his lips. With a sigh Cone let his mouth fall open, drawing Deryck's tongue inside for a slow, burning kiss. Gradually the kiss grew deeper and more insistent as their tongues swirled and slid wetly against each other. Never breaking the embrace, Jay threw one knee over Bizzy's legs so that he was straddling him. Deryck gasped into his mouth as the change in position brought their groins into close contact. He could feel Jay hard and ready against him, and suddenly there was too much space between them, and both boys were tearing at their clothes, passion making their clever fingers clumsy but still effective. Then they were naked, every inch of their bodies pressed together, and it was bliss.

Jay's hands reached up to tangle in soft blond hair, holding Deryck's head in place as he plundered his mouth. Deryck's hands grasped at Cone's narrow waist as, slowly at first but in an ever increasing rhythm, he rocked his hips up against the boy above him. Jay whispered something incoherent and thrust his hips down in response, moaning as their groins ground together. He could feel a warm knot building in his stomach, the shakiness sweeping through arms and legs that told him orgasm was approaching. He thrust his hips down savagely as he came, groaning Deryck's name, barely aware of the boy beneath him sobbing out his own climax. A wave of light-headedness overcame him, painting the world in darkening shades of grey, and then he slept.

IV. A Denial

(End flashback. Return to the next morning.)

After a few moments of silent wonderment Cone's brain finally kicked in and he dove back onto the bed, grabbing the sheet in both hands and tugging until it came free of the mattress. Hastily wrapping the thin material around his waist, he felt slightly more in control.until he remembered that Deryck was still naked. That observation once again propelled him from the bed, to stand in the middle of the room, sheets clutched to his hips in white-knuckled hands.

"Deryck," Cone whispered fervently, trying to wake the other boy without actually having to touch him. Deryck, however, slept on peacefully, completely oblivious.

"Deryck!" Cone tried again, his voice cracking a little with desperation. This time Deryck's eyes fluttered open and he stretched, yawning hugely, grumbling quietly to himself in that peculiar language that comes to you when you are half awake and still half asleep. He balled his hands into fists and knuckled the sleep from his eyes, then turned to look at Cone, curious as to why his friend had awoken him so very early on a Sunday morning.

Dark blue eyes met pale crystal ones. They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity, locked in a frozen tableau, until slowly Deryck sat up in bed.

"Okay..." he said quietly, eyes still riveted on Cone's. "We must have had a really long night. I think I remember dancing, or something. Ecstasy increases your body temperature, and it was already a warm evening, so we got really hot and decided to take off our clothes. It was really late, and we were both tired. You must not have made it back to your room, so we just fell asleep."

Throughout this explanation Deryck never broke eye contact. Jay listened silently, his heart sinking with each measured word. He rearranged the sheet around his waist, and paused as the thin fabric clung to his stomach. Reaching under the sheet, he felt the cool stickiness on his skin. He withdrew his hand timidly, turning a wide-eyed stare upon his friend.

"Deryck..." he whispered uncertainly, panic rising.

"That's what happened," Deryck repeated firmly. The hard look in his eyes dared Cone to disagree.

He didn't. He fled.

V. Find the Words to Make It All Right

Jay didn't leave his room for the rest of the day. When Dave and Steve asked about him, Deryck just shrugged and made a quip about PMS. He didn't want to talk about it. Didn't even want to THINK about it. He'd been running his little 'speech' through his mind all day, and he'd almost managed to convince himself it was the truth.

Almost.

***

Monday rolled around. Jay still hadn't left his room. Now Deryck was starting to worry. Cone had looked pretty upset when he left...*that* morning. But he'd get over it, right? It wasn't like it was Deryck's fault, anyway. They'd both been high as the fucking moon, he couldn't be held responsible for anything that had happened, or anything that Jay THOUGHT had happened. It was just one of those things that you did 'cause you were fucked up and you both forgot it and never ever talked about it. Why couldn't Jay understand that?

Maybe he should talk to him. Explain. But on the other hand, Deryck probably wasn't his favorite person just now. No, he'd better give him another day, let him think it over some more. It would be okay. It had to be.

***

Tuesday morning. He *definitely* had to talk to him. Deryck waited until Dave went out shopping and Steve was in the shower before he confronted Cone. Summoning all of his courage, he rapped his fist loudly against the bassist's door.

No reply.

He knocked again. "Cone?" he called, loud enough so that his friend would hear but softly enough so that Steve wouldn't. "Cone? It's Bizzy. We need to talk."

Silence.

"Cone!" he shouted, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Cone, open the goddamned door. This is getting ridiculous." Nothing. Deryck felt panic surge inside of him, and he slammed his open palm against the door.

"Jay McCaslin, I swear to god, if you don't open this door in the next five seconds I'm going to break it down and then I'm going to kick your skinny fucking ass."

He heard a faint rustle, then a click as the lock was flipped. "As if you could..." Jay's soft voice murmured as he eased open the door just enough to let Deryck in. Deryck caught a glimpse of him in the flash of light from the hall: he looked tired and drawn, hair messy, eyes circled with deep shadows. Then Jay pressed the door closed and the room was once more smothered in darkness.

Deryck stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. After a few minutes he could make out Jay's slight form sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Deryck picked his way across the obstacle course of Cone's floor and sank onto the bed beside his friend. They sat like that, both unwilling to initiate the conversation, until finally Jay's thin whisper broke the silence.

"What the fuck do you want?"

VI. Get Over It

Deryck flinched at the question, shocked by the venom in the quiet tone. He pushed a weary hand through his freshly spiked hair, searching for the words that would turn back time and restore everything to the way it had been.

"Cone," he began softly, then paused. The other boy was tense and silent at his side, hanging on his words. "I don't know why you're so mad at me..."

"Take a fucking guess," the bassist snarled. Deryck winced, stung by the words.

"I don't know what you think happened last night, but--"

Cone rounded on him, rage and disbelief apparent in his expression. "You fucking know, Bizzy, it's not that fucking hard to guess! How the hell could you say something like that--after--"

"Nothing happened!" Deryck yelled back, his voice rising with panic. He struggled to push away the memories that were slowly seeping back. "We got fucked up." Warm body curled around his own. "We fell asleep." Warm mouth on his lips, neck, chest...lower... "Nothing fucking happened." Another's name on his tongue, gasped out almost silently, shaking and crying and melting... "Got it?"

He turned his head to see Cone staring at him with stunned amazement. The hurt was obvious, shining brightly in the other boy's eyes. "Deryck..." he murmured softly, voice shaky with confusion. "How can you say that? How can you forget..."

"Because it didn't mean anything." His voice was low, but firm, his gaze unwavering. "If we hadn't been high, it never would have happened. It will never happen again. Ever. Do you understand?"

Jay felt tears building in his eyes, and he let them fall. "But I love you..." he whispered brokenly.

Deryck stood, walking to the door. "Get over it," he replied quietly. And then he was gone.

VII. But I Can't Be What You Need

The only positive effect of the talk was that Jay finally came out of his room and rejoined the outside world. It wasn't a significant improvement.

Dave and Steve could see instantly that something was wrong between their two bandmates, but didn't know how to fix it. Dave tried talking to Cone, but gave up after his attempts were repeatedly met with stony resistance. Deryck made it very clear to everyone that there was nothing to discuss, and if they wanted to stay in one piece they would mind their own business. So the household continued on as if nothing had happened, the tension thick enough to choke.

Cone got through each day by studiously avoiding Deryck and immersing himself in his music. He threw himself into every practice, playing with a passion and intensity that astounded his bandmates. At one practice Dave had messed up a chord and everyone had halted except for Cone, who continued to play without seeming to even notice. When he finished the song and opened his eyes the others were all staring at him with surprised admiration, even Deryck. He'd met the vocalist's gaze briefly and then quickly looked away, afraid to see the coldness that might be shining in those icy blue eyes.

For two weeks he lived, breathed and slept music. When he wasn't playing his fingers bloody at practice he was laying on his bed listening to Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails with the volume turned all the way up. After the fourth repetition of 'Where Did You Sleep Last Night' Dave threatened to break the CD. He knew Cone was depressed and he felt bad for him, but if he had to listen to Kurt Cobain scream out that last stanza one more time he was going to lose his fucking mind.

***

Deryck wasn't faring much better. Despite the fact that he had resolved to put the entire incident behind him, he was having problems forgetting what had happened. He found himself laying awake late at night with the fight playing over and over again in his mind. He couldn't seem to shake the image of Jay's face as he'd walked out the door; the hurt and confusion shining in those clear blue eyes was like a stab to his heart. No one should make Jay cry; it was something fundamentally wrong, like kicking a puppy or pushing an old lady down the stairs. He'd thought he'd made the right decision, but now he couldn't be sure. He was miserable, Cone was miserable, he was pretty sure Steve and Dave were miserable too. How did everything get so fucked up?

Cone loved him. Deryck tried to hold onto the idea rather than willing it automatically to the back of his mind. It was...weird, to say the very least. Uncomfortable. He'd never felt like that towards his friend, or anyone else, for that matter. Deryck just wasn't one to fall in love easily, he kept his emotions too closely guarded. While he supposed he loved Cone in a true-friend sense of the word, he just couldn't see himself being IN love with him.

Sex, though. Sex was obviously something he could do, because, well, they had. He winced at the thought, forcing himself to accept the fact that it really had happened. True, he was higher than the moon at the time, but it had still happened. From the morning's evidence he'd obviously enjoyed it. That left the disturbing question of whether or not he was gay.

Of course not, he thought stubbornly. Just because one guy has sex with another guy doesn't mean they're gay. It's physical. It's anatomy. I mean, I wouldn't mind shoving my tongue down his throat again, but I don't want to go on a date with him or anything...

Whoa. Where did THAT thought come from?

Deryck closed his eyes, trying to sort out his thoughts. On the one hand, he loved Jay...like a friend. He cared about his happiness. Jay wasn't happy, and it was, at least partially, Deryck's fault. That made him feel bad. On the other hand, Jay wanted Deryck to love him in return. He wasn't sure he could. While he had, admittedly, enjoyed the sex, it was a purely physical act. So where did that leave him?

He could fuck Jay, but he couldn't tell him that he wanted to be with him. The question was, was that enough?

Only one way to find out.

VIII. Show Me How

Jay was dreaming. In the dream Deryck was kissing him tenderly, whispering things that the real Deryck never would, telling him how much he loved him, how wrong he had been and how he needed him in his life...

Pale blue eyes flew open to meet startled crystal ones. Both boys stared, unable to speak even if they could form a coherent thought. Cone became very aware of Deryck's legs straddling his waist and his friend's warm breath against his lips. If they stayed in this position for much longer Cone was going to embarrass himself. The thought of yet another humiliating encounter with his bandmate prodded Cone into speaking.

"Was there something you wanted? Or is this another weird little game where you wake me up in the middle of the night and stare at me?"

Deryck gazed silently at him. Cone shifted nervously under his friend's stare, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Suddenly Deryck lowered his head to press his lips firmly against Jay's. Shocked by the other boy's inexplicable behavior, Jay was too dazed to protest. Then he felt the touch of a wet tongue on his lips and rational thought came rushing back. He grabbed his bandmate's shoulders and pushed with all his force, sending Deryck tumbling backwards to land with a *thump!* on the far end of the bed.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing??" Jay McCaslin shouted to hide the tears that threatened to spill. Deryck sat up slowly, staring at his friend with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"I thought that was what you wanted," he replied quietly. He thought Cone would be happy. Had he perhaps changed his mind?

"For you to, what--rape me in my fucking sleep?" Deryck opened his mouth to protest, but Cone continued before he could speak. "Why are you doing this? Is it funny to you or something? Stupid fucking Cone, he's in love with his best friend, let's see how we can torment him. Is that it?" Stunned, Deryck simply gaped at him. "Fucking answer me!"

"How could you think that?" Deryck's wounded tone was enough to cut through Jay's rising anger. "I just wanted to make you happy. You've been so miserable, and I know it's all my fault, and I don't know what to do about it. I thought maybe if--if we did it again--you'd be happy." Deryck's gaze dropped to his hands.

It was Cone's turn to stare. Deryck...had wanted to sleep with him...just to make him happy? His mind spun with the implications. Part of him wanted so badly to take whatever was offered, but a larger part knew that in the end it wouldn't be enough.

"Deryck..." Cone paused, collecting his thoughts. "I love you. You know that. And I want you so badly... But I want you to love me, too. I *need* that."

"I don't know if I can." Deryck's whisper was thin and frightened. Cone wanted to wrap his arms around his friend, but he forced himself to resist. "I don't know how."

He lifted dazzling blue eyes to his friend, tears spilling down his face. "Can you show me?"

This time Jay allowed himself to draw Deryck into his arms. He smiled into the shorter boy's hair as he felt his hug tentatively returned.

"I'm sure as hell going to try."

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