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After School Special
by Mars
it's all lies. especially for E.LD.
---
He should have known he needed help from the moment he was propositioned at the party.
***
"Candy?"
J.J. looked up as a little baggie was waved in front of his nose, half-full of what appeared to be innocent rock candy in a variety of pastel colors. He smiled brilliantly at the boy offering, as much because he'd been just thinking how much he wanted a hit as at the fact that the fellow was stunningly gorgeous.
"Hullo," he said. He hesitated, looking from the boy to the baggie. He had promised not to take any drugs from anyone other than L.L. before coming to this party. (L.L. was of the opinion, correctly, that J.J. would always want his chemical amusements, no matter what anyone tried to do to change his mind; so better that he be getting it from a friend watching out for him than any of his sleazy previous dealers.)
He meant the promise, he really did, and meant to keep it-- he always did. . . But his earlier high was already wearing off and Masato looked so hot and it was a party after all. How could he properly socialize and blend in if he didn't accept a little of the local hospitality? And if he couldn't have a little fun and break a few rules at a party of all places, then, really, life wouldn't be worth anything.
He stretched out one hand, grinning, greedy. "Sure, I'd love some, you know?"
The boy smiled back, teeth as even and white and perfect as a toothpaste model. He looked, J.J. thought, more like a J-Rock star than J.J. did, lean and catlike in laced up leather. J.J. felt modest next to him in what he liked to think of as his "space bunny" get up, silver shimmery pants like a second skin, clinging soft white top with the image of the playboy bunny in paler white satin across his chest.
The boy tipped the bag and shook out two rocks into J.J.'s hands. "I'm Masato." He took out a bit of candy for himself and saluted J.J. before popping it into his mouth. "Good party, eh?"
J.J. slipped the drug-laced sweets under his tongue and leaned back with a happy sigh as they began to dissolve. "S'alright," he said, cheerfully enough that he caused no offense.
"It's still early, yah," Masato agreed. "Good thing for this, eh?" He patted his front pocket, where he'd stashed the little baggie.
"Totally."
Minor guilt snuck up on him as the slow, easy buzz worked its way through his body. He rolled the bits of candy under his tongue and silently promised himself that this would be the last he'd accept for the evening. He looked over at Masato again, who was still not-so-subtly checking him out, and he smiled. He could find other perfectly fun distractions, after all.
He arched his eyebrows and gave Masato an inviting little smile. "You wanna dance?"
J.J. always had the best of intentions, but nothing ever seemed to quite work out the way he intended.
***
He was working his way through his fifth cosmopolitan (or was it sixth?) and partaking heartily of a joint being passed around before it occurred to him to feel mildly guilty again. This time it was easier to push aside, full to the gills with candy and liquor and pot and a dozen other uppers, downers, and the like.
Masato was keeping him under one arm and fed him a steady supply of sugar and x whenever he looked down. They spent hours on the makeshift dance floor until Masato complained about sore legs and dragged them off into a side room, where they collapsed together on a couch and were offered herbal refreshment. J.J. was still jumpy; he found the display in the middle of the room-- a pair of slings, currently empty, dangling from intimidating hooks in the ceiling-- both tempting and a bit-- just a bit-- terrifying.
"You ever been in one of those?" Masato teased, catching him looking. J.J. flushed three shades of red.
"Omigod, no. You?"
Masato grinned and leaned over. He put a piece of candy on his tongue and then pulled J.J. into a deep kiss. J.J. let himself be pushed back into the couch, kissing back as hungrily as he was given, eager for the hot taste of Masato's mouth as much as the sugar. The collapse of the space between them sent electricity through his skin, jumping and dancing.
He could barely remember sex before candy. He was sure it would be nowhere as good without being even slightly high. Everything felt so much more. He laughed, giddy, while Masato sucked on his throat, and he moaned, "Fuck me."
Somewhere around that point, he stopped remembering what happened.
***
When he came to himself again someone was indeed fucking him, but not Masato. He was tangled in something-- dangling; he briefly squirmed, trying to get out, but ascertained quickly that he was quite firmly fastened into whatever it was. He managed to look around, eyes focusing briefly on the glint of light off a wicked metal hook above him. Fuck, he was in the sling? The rocking motion was making him lightly queasy; still he smiled back at the man grunting and thrusting between his legs, and he said, because it was all the coherent thought he could manage: "Who are you?"
"Bill," the man grunted, still going at it with gusto. J.J. found this hysterically funny for no good reason, giggling without being able to stop.
"Bill," he said, when he finally managed to stop laughing, "Can you get me down?"
"Ngh," said Bill, thrusting harder. J.J. couldn't stop staring at the veins standing out over the man's temples.
Oh goody, he thought, he's going to come and his heart is going to explode and I'll be stuck here forever.
Then Bill hit a lovely spot and he was moaning himself, drug-hyped pleasure echoing in waves through him, and he gasped, "I'm gonna. . ."
But he never remembered coming or even Bill coming; he blacked out again.
***
The next time he had a moment of clarity, he was standing in the bathroom, laughing, forehead to the mirror. His cheeks were wet. He could taste revisited cosmopolitan on his tongue and decided they were definitely better going down than coming up.
He ran the water, splashed some on his face and washed his mouth out. He looked himself in the eye, very serious. "You've got to sober up," he told himself. "Act sober. If you go home like this everyone will know you broke your promise." Only he couldn't seem to focus quite enough to form words, so he just thought them as coherently as he could at himself. (Which was really something more akin to "omigod J.L. and L.L. and the guys so mad and god I'm so dumb why do I do this alright gotta look right focus stand up straight smile walk in a straight line right where am I?")
He thought he managed to meet his own eyes and straighten up for a moment, and decided that was good enough.
As he slid back down to the cold tile floor, he wondered where his pants were.
***
One foot. Two feet. Left. Right. Ichi. Ni.
He stumbled as he made it to Bambi, fingers barely catching the handle of her door. His knees stung when they jammed into the rocky ground, but he hardly noticed it.
Home, he thought. Just a few more steps. Home.
He tried to open the door, but his fingers slipped off, fumbling. The world did a circuit around him, and he worried about throwing up again. "Stay still!!" he shouted, wiping his mouth but not remembering being sick. "God just stay still I'm so sick."
Somebody had fingers in his elbow, helping him to his feet. "You alright, man?' Slurred words, a too-white smile. He remembered the name only not quite, M-- something or other. He nodded.
"Jus' gonna go home. Don' feel so good."
"You forgot these." Something was shoved into his arms, and then the helping hand was gone. He thought he should feel cold, but right now it was all he could do to feel anything but nauseated as he looked down to see what he'd been given.
"Hullo," he said. It was his pants, silver and clingy and space age. He laughed, seeing them. "I wonnered where you'd gotten to, y'know."
He tried to put them on again, and fell over onto his back, and then everything went spinning again and he just lay there cackling at it all.
***
He knew something wasn't right. His whole body felt so vibrate-y he thought he was going to shiver himself to death. Everything moved too slow and too fast all at once.
He was driving, but his hands didn't want to stay on the wheel. So he wasn't exactly surprised when he ran Bambi straight into the ugly statue that stood in front of their apartment building.
He tasted blood, but he didn't know whether to laugh or throw up.
Story of my life, he thought, before going down again.
***
He knew all along he needed help, but he never knew how to ask for it, and only ever rejected it, when it was offered.
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