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starsthatshineTitle: It Doesn't Mean Anything Anyway
Pairing: Cook/Freddie
Rating: I'm gonna say R, just to be safe.
Summary: Pre-series. Something that never happened - or at least it didn’t mean anything.
Spoilers: 3x05 Freddie
Notes: My first Skins fic EVER! *nervously bites nails* Also, thank you sooooooooo much to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
x_xblackout for betaing this for me. Really, you're a pearl, thank you. I'm usually pretty crap when it comes to thanking my betas, but now I'm turning on a new leaf. Comments are much appreciated as well as constructive criticism.
Freddie doesn't exactly know where Cook's taken him, but what he does know is that he's not supposed to be there. Maybe it's the naked girls or the seemingly limitless flow of alcohol that's the tip off, but even though he's generally in favour of playing by the rules, he must admit that Cook might just have outdone himself this once.
"Fucking hell," Freddie says in admiration, looking around the place as though he's ended up in some sort of fairytale land, ignoring the fact that Cook's language usage might've rubbed off on him a little bit.
"I really must say that I've - I've never quite seen a place like this before," JJ remarks and the three musketeers take a moment to absorb the fact that they are actually there. In the land of the forbidden.
"I still can't believe that security guard let us through," Freddie says and JJ nods in agreement, but both of them know better than to doubt the powers of Cook's persuasion. Instead they are grateful because they know that no matter what they do, Cook will always have something up his sleeve. Maybe that's why all of them were friends: JJ was the brain, Freddie the glue and Cook the engine. Together, they were one pretty fucking awesome machine.
Cook takes on his favourite persona, the host, and shows his two best friends around and Freddie take turns between looking at the naked girls and Cook's expression; he really fucking loved it, being the host and everything. He got to be extravagant, worldly and exclusive. Even though Cook never talks about it, Freddie knows that there's something going on with him, underneath the surface. Or maybe Cook’s just as simple as he seems; you can never really know for sure.
The music streams out of the speakers and it seems as though the base passes through his entire body as he makes his way over to the bar and orders a drink. At first, he tries to straighten his back and seem as old as he possibly could, but as he soon realizes that they do not check ID’s, he relaxes.
Taking his vodka, Freddie sits down by the bar, noticing one of the strippers in the far back corner giving an old man a lap dance and a grin passes over his features. Sometimes it seemed like the whole world ran on sex. In a way it was quite admirable that a man of that age dared to go to a strip club, since it could just as well be the death of him; weak heart and all that.
Without Freddie realizing it, Cook sneaks up behind him and gives him a violent shove in the back and his hand lingers a little bit on Freddie's collar as he does so, tugging it slightly before letting it go. He leans in close, putting his lips against Freddie's ear and screams to deafen the music, which awakes Freddie from his musings.
"Fucking lovely, innit?" Cook shouts, and his hand naturally finds its way to Freddie's shoulder as he leans some of his body weight onto his best friend. Freddie glances over his shoulder at Cook, who seems to be acting like a child on Christmas Eve. He looks at all the girls as though they are the brightest lights he'd ever seen and Freddie admits for a tiny second that he looks charming doing it. But then again he had that dangerously damaged puppy thing going for him; Cook always knows what cards to play with the opposite sex and that is something that Freddie is a little bit envious of, even if he likes his life just the way it is. For the most part, anyway.
Freddie simply nods and Cook lets out a laugh of joy. He says something Freddie can’t catch and JJ soon comes up behind them, telling them a story, causing the three friends to buy each other drinks. Sometimes, Freddie thinks, life couldn't be better. With friends like his. Putting an end to his thoughts, Freddie takes his vodka and pours it down his throat in one sip. Around him, he can hear his friends - but mostly Cook - applaud him and he's quite certain that the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach isn't just because of the alcohol.
---
This is going to be fucking fantastic. Cook can feel it, pulsating inside of him. He's got that genetic sort of gift that enables him to see when a party or an adventure is going to be fucking fantastic, and this is definitely one of those moments. To be honest, being at a strip club wasn't all so fucking new to him, but now he had his mates along, which made it triple the fun. They were going to kick ass, going to fucking enjoy themselves. He wants to show them all a fucking dandy time because they're his friends and he loves them to bits.
He glances at Freddie, who is sitting by the bar, sulking. Well, not really, but being philosophical. It seemed to be fucking impossible to make him stop, even though he'd asked him. Thoughts have no place in fun. Fun was letting yourself fucking go. Realizing that it was a pretty fucking philosophical thing to think, Cook leans in to tell Freddie that, but instead he freezes and realizes that he's forgotten what he was going to say. So, instead of being all fucking Plato, Cook instead shouts in the latest piece of news in store for his fucking lovely friends.
"Wait ‘til you see the end of it!" he says excitedly, and feels the grin stretch from side to side. He felt like the fucking king of the world.
---
Cook isn't exactly sure how much he's had, but it doesn't really fucking matter. All he knows is that he's experiencing that fucking fantastic disconnected feeling again and he loves it.
Now, he sits beside Freddie in their shed, his back leaning against the sofa as they both sit on the floor, drinking a bunch of bottles and some of Freddie’s dad's vodka. There is something about Freddie's family and vodka. It is fucking everywhere. Grinning, Cook tells Freddie this and as they laugh, Cook leans against his best mate, feeling his side brush Freddie's arm and he turns to him, putting his hand on Freddie's neck and pats him.
"Fucking good work today, mate," he says, looking after something new to drink. His own bottle now empty.
Freddie grins and it seems like the smile is all over him; fucking grinning prat. Sneaky bastard.
"It's not like it's so much work," Freddie says lazily, feeling a bit fatigued by the alcohol, and leans against Cook, putting his head on his shoulder and for a moment, Cook feels like he can climb fucking Everest. Today had been a fucking great night.
They sit like that for a while; Cook drinking the last of the bottles and Freddie half asleep on his shoulder, and they listen to fucking crappy music. Realizing that he still had some goods left, Cook searched his pockets and fished up two spliffs. Fucking score.
"Look here, Freddie," he says gently, shaking him. He can't fall asleep now. He'd miss the best fucking part.
When Freddie stirs to life, he lifts his head a little, glancing at his best mate with sleep, half-closed eyes.
Cook waves the two spliffs in front of his face. "Spliffs. So fucking wake up or you won't get any." Reluctantly, Freddie resigns his residence on Cook's shoulder and tries to sit up.
"Cheers," he says, picking up a lighter from his back pocket. Cook notices an old cut on Freddie's chin and wonders if it hurts. Again, pulling himself from his musings, he hands Freddie a spliff and he lights it. Cook watches intently as Freddie takes a blow of the forbidden fruit they've both come to love, and he watches the smoke fly out of Freddie's mouth and out into the air. Fucking fantastic. Without a word, Cook snatches the spliff from Freddie's grip, their fingers briefly brushing, before the other can protest. It was a fucking tradition. Good friends never smoke alone, or something.
He takes a drag and wonders briefly if the spliff smells like Freddie. After about a second, he decides that it doesn't. Freddie smells like vanilla. The spliff smells like soap.
Freddie snorts beside him and a sheepish grin appears across his face. "You're a fucking mess," he says, and Cook knows that it's actually meant as a compliment. Freddie puts his head back on Cook's shoulder, but doesn't close his eyes, just stares straight ahead. His new spliff just sits in his hand, barely touched. Cook doesn’t comment on him wasting some good shit and instead thinks of something else.
For a minute, Cook thinks back to Freddie's sister. They were sort of similar in a way, she and Freddie, but so totally different. She'd been fit, but not really what he'd expected. He'd just expected something... different. Fuck if Freddie ever found out, he'd castrate him. JJ knew, but he had promised not to tell.
"I love you to bits, man," he says suddenly, trying to ease his guilt over it all. It'd been a fucked up thing, shagging Karen, even if she had been all willing. Freddie would fucking hate him, but they were bro’s. Two peas in a fucking pod. He needs Freddie to forgive him, even if he doesn’t know what for.
Freddie nods and adjusts himself to more conveniently lean on Cook's shoulder.
Struck by a flash of curiosity, most certainly brought on by the drugs, Cook decides to dance with danger a little bit. Leaning in, closing the gap between him and Freddie, Cook knows that he's crossing a line. A big fucking line that he would never dare to cross otherwise, but now he is drunk, high and guilty over Karen and so many other things that he will die before telling him; some secrets were best that Freddie never knew. And Karen was the least of them.
---
At first Freddie doesn't react, but then as Cook's face draws closer, he opens his eyes, and even though he's surprised to see his friend so close, he doesn't ask what he's doing. Instead, he merely sits there, leaning against Cook's shoulder, watching Cook watching him. The shoulder he's been using as a pillow is pulled away from underneath him and he would've staggered if Cook hadn't caught his face and drawn him in for a kiss. At first, Freddie thinks it's nothing more than one of Cook's overfriendly statements of friendship, one of those extravagant gestures that he did in order to ensure loyalty and friendship. It didn’t mean anything.
But then Cook's rough lips press harder against his own and Freddie opens his eyes, now wide-awake. It's almost as though he can feel the emotion in it, pressing against him and he doesn't know why, but he suddenly it feels as though he's hurting. Cook continues to press, not really letting go or catching air.
It didn't mean anything.
Cook shifts and without letting go of the grip he has over Freddie's lips, Cook moves closer, moving on all fours like a predator closing in on its prey. Finally, a small gap is created between them and they both come out for air. Their eyes meet in a moment of contemplation, but all that runs through Freddie's head is ’this doesn't mean anything’. It wasn't anything serious. It wasn't really anything at all, really. It was just fooling around.
Cook attacks Freddie again, but this time Freddie is prepared and greets him, and the two boys fall to the floor, not really sure of what they're doing. At first, it just seems like a tangled mess, the two of the boys rubbing against each other and pulling and tugging in whatever they can get their hands on, but soon the game turns rough. Cook's touches become like punches and a mild sensation of pain flows through Freddie’s brain and he's no longer sure if they're fighting or doing something else. All he knows is that soon they are both wrestling, fighting to get the upper hand and they punch each other a couple of times; Cook fighting for his sanity and Freddie claims it’s self-defence. But they never stop kissing.
Because it really doesn't mean anything anyway, so there's no harm done, Freddie argues, and to him, that makes sense.
They grunt, moan and wrestle, hearing nothing besides the sound of their breaths mingling together in a dysfunctional symphony that follows no rhythm or rule.
Freddie wants to say 'fucking hell', but it just comes out as 'fuck' and it feels as though he's going on autopilot, as though he's slipping out of his own body and letting something else take over because this isn't him. This isn't what he does. At least, not normally. They jerk off together, but this very hands-on approach to sexual gratification feels very different. He's not sure how different, but he's pretty sure that he doesn't want it to stop.
It doesn't mean anything anyway.
---
Even though all of this had started with him wanting to tell Freddie how fucking fantastic he was, it soon became a lot more. Cook is suddenly flooded with all of these contradictory feelings; one minute, he is just on the verge of saying aloud what he is already thinking, and the next, he's overcome by this unexplainable anger that he can’t seem to control. He wants to hurt Freddie. Leave an imprint somewhere. Just to see how much he could take. His lips soon begin to feel raw, but he doesn’t care. He doesn't really know what he's doing, but soon he begins to reach for Freddie's belt and he figures that, fuck it, it can't be that different from shagging a girl. But as their shirts fly over their heads and buckles become undone, Cook glances at Freddie's lean chest and he realizes that, fuck, everything's totally different.
This is his best mate, his best friend in the whole wide world and they're kissing and fuck... this is Freddie. Even though the realisation of this is scary, it's not enough to make him stop. After all, everyone knows that after a couple of beers he goes on automatic. He thinks about Karen for about a second and just somehow, instinctively, knows that this is going to be better; this was just what he had been missing.
It wasn't perfect. Shit, it was sloppy and messy and all of those fucking things. It was ungraceful, rough and clumsy, because they had both been partying too hard, but fuck it.
They don't speak, instead, Cook just silently begins to press himself harder against Freddie, feeling his friend's hard on through his briefs, and then they stop a minute to catch their breaths. Cook can feel Freddie's heavy, warm breath against his ear, urging him to continue, but he’s not all sure if he's breathing himself. It feels like he's holding his breath for something to happen and, yet, it's not like that at all. Then, as they both lie still, Freddie rests his head on Cook’s chest, closing his eyes to fall asleep. Cook stares for a minute and then tries to poke his mate to life, which turns out to be about as easy as raising the dead. Laughing lightly to himself, he sees an irony to it all, and as he surrenders to the fact that his friend could not be woken, Cook sneaks in a hand between them and down his pants to finish the job that Freddie started.
Cook fucking laughs and then kisses his best-mate-in-the-whole-world’s forehead and then pauses, observing the resting form, and softly plants a last kiss on Freddie's lips before falling asleep himself.
They never speak about it the next day. Or any other day for that matter. They never talk about it at all. But that’s okay, because it didn’t really mean anything anyway.
The End
Feedback is the food which my soul feasts upon. Also, this is my first Skins fic so any type of feedback would be greatly appreciated. :D
Pairing: Cook/Freddie
Rating: I'm gonna say R, just to be safe.
Summary: Pre-series. Something that never happened - or at least it didn’t mean anything.
Spoilers: 3x05 Freddie
Notes: My first Skins fic EVER! *nervously bites nails* Also, thank you sooooooooo much to
x_xblackout for betaing this for me. Really, you're a pearl, thank you. Freddie doesn't exactly know where Cook's taken him, but what he does know is that he's not supposed to be there. Maybe it's the naked girls or the seemingly limitless flow of alcohol that's the tip off, but even though he's generally in favour of playing by the rules, he must admit that Cook might just have outdone himself this once.
"Fucking hell," Freddie says in admiration, looking around the place as though he's ended up in some sort of fairytale land, ignoring the fact that Cook's language usage might've rubbed off on him a little bit.
"I really must say that I've - I've never quite seen a place like this before," JJ remarks and the three musketeers take a moment to absorb the fact that they are actually there. In the land of the forbidden.
"I still can't believe that security guard let us through," Freddie says and JJ nods in agreement, but both of them know better than to doubt the powers of Cook's persuasion. Instead they are grateful because they know that no matter what they do, Cook will always have something up his sleeve. Maybe that's why all of them were friends: JJ was the brain, Freddie the glue and Cook the engine. Together, they were one pretty fucking awesome machine.
Cook takes on his favourite persona, the host, and shows his two best friends around and Freddie take turns between looking at the naked girls and Cook's expression; he really fucking loved it, being the host and everything. He got to be extravagant, worldly and exclusive. Even though Cook never talks about it, Freddie knows that there's something going on with him, underneath the surface. Or maybe Cook’s just as simple as he seems; you can never really know for sure.
The music streams out of the speakers and it seems as though the base passes through his entire body as he makes his way over to the bar and orders a drink. At first, he tries to straighten his back and seem as old as he possibly could, but as he soon realizes that they do not check ID’s, he relaxes.
Taking his vodka, Freddie sits down by the bar, noticing one of the strippers in the far back corner giving an old man a lap dance and a grin passes over his features. Sometimes it seemed like the whole world ran on sex. In a way it was quite admirable that a man of that age dared to go to a strip club, since it could just as well be the death of him; weak heart and all that.
Without Freddie realizing it, Cook sneaks up behind him and gives him a violent shove in the back and his hand lingers a little bit on Freddie's collar as he does so, tugging it slightly before letting it go. He leans in close, putting his lips against Freddie's ear and screams to deafen the music, which awakes Freddie from his musings.
"Fucking lovely, innit?" Cook shouts, and his hand naturally finds its way to Freddie's shoulder as he leans some of his body weight onto his best friend. Freddie glances over his shoulder at Cook, who seems to be acting like a child on Christmas Eve. He looks at all the girls as though they are the brightest lights he'd ever seen and Freddie admits for a tiny second that he looks charming doing it. But then again he had that dangerously damaged puppy thing going for him; Cook always knows what cards to play with the opposite sex and that is something that Freddie is a little bit envious of, even if he likes his life just the way it is. For the most part, anyway.
Freddie simply nods and Cook lets out a laugh of joy. He says something Freddie can’t catch and JJ soon comes up behind them, telling them a story, causing the three friends to buy each other drinks. Sometimes, Freddie thinks, life couldn't be better. With friends like his. Putting an end to his thoughts, Freddie takes his vodka and pours it down his throat in one sip. Around him, he can hear his friends - but mostly Cook - applaud him and he's quite certain that the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach isn't just because of the alcohol.
---
This is going to be fucking fantastic. Cook can feel it, pulsating inside of him. He's got that genetic sort of gift that enables him to see when a party or an adventure is going to be fucking fantastic, and this is definitely one of those moments. To be honest, being at a strip club wasn't all so fucking new to him, but now he had his mates along, which made it triple the fun. They were going to kick ass, going to fucking enjoy themselves. He wants to show them all a fucking dandy time because they're his friends and he loves them to bits.
He glances at Freddie, who is sitting by the bar, sulking. Well, not really, but being philosophical. It seemed to be fucking impossible to make him stop, even though he'd asked him. Thoughts have no place in fun. Fun was letting yourself fucking go. Realizing that it was a pretty fucking philosophical thing to think, Cook leans in to tell Freddie that, but instead he freezes and realizes that he's forgotten what he was going to say. So, instead of being all fucking Plato, Cook instead shouts in the latest piece of news in store for his fucking lovely friends.
"Wait ‘til you see the end of it!" he says excitedly, and feels the grin stretch from side to side. He felt like the fucking king of the world.
---
Cook isn't exactly sure how much he's had, but it doesn't really fucking matter. All he knows is that he's experiencing that fucking fantastic disconnected feeling again and he loves it.
Now, he sits beside Freddie in their shed, his back leaning against the sofa as they both sit on the floor, drinking a bunch of bottles and some of Freddie’s dad's vodka. There is something about Freddie's family and vodka. It is fucking everywhere. Grinning, Cook tells Freddie this and as they laugh, Cook leans against his best mate, feeling his side brush Freddie's arm and he turns to him, putting his hand on Freddie's neck and pats him.
"Fucking good work today, mate," he says, looking after something new to drink. His own bottle now empty.
Freddie grins and it seems like the smile is all over him; fucking grinning prat. Sneaky bastard.
"It's not like it's so much work," Freddie says lazily, feeling a bit fatigued by the alcohol, and leans against Cook, putting his head on his shoulder and for a moment, Cook feels like he can climb fucking Everest. Today had been a fucking great night.
They sit like that for a while; Cook drinking the last of the bottles and Freddie half asleep on his shoulder, and they listen to fucking crappy music. Realizing that he still had some goods left, Cook searched his pockets and fished up two spliffs. Fucking score.
"Look here, Freddie," he says gently, shaking him. He can't fall asleep now. He'd miss the best fucking part.
When Freddie stirs to life, he lifts his head a little, glancing at his best mate with sleep, half-closed eyes.
Cook waves the two spliffs in front of his face. "Spliffs. So fucking wake up or you won't get any." Reluctantly, Freddie resigns his residence on Cook's shoulder and tries to sit up.
"Cheers," he says, picking up a lighter from his back pocket. Cook notices an old cut on Freddie's chin and wonders if it hurts. Again, pulling himself from his musings, he hands Freddie a spliff and he lights it. Cook watches intently as Freddie takes a blow of the forbidden fruit they've both come to love, and he watches the smoke fly out of Freddie's mouth and out into the air. Fucking fantastic. Without a word, Cook snatches the spliff from Freddie's grip, their fingers briefly brushing, before the other can protest. It was a fucking tradition. Good friends never smoke alone, or something.
He takes a drag and wonders briefly if the spliff smells like Freddie. After about a second, he decides that it doesn't. Freddie smells like vanilla. The spliff smells like soap.
Freddie snorts beside him and a sheepish grin appears across his face. "You're a fucking mess," he says, and Cook knows that it's actually meant as a compliment. Freddie puts his head back on Cook's shoulder, but doesn't close his eyes, just stares straight ahead. His new spliff just sits in his hand, barely touched. Cook doesn’t comment on him wasting some good shit and instead thinks of something else.
For a minute, Cook thinks back to Freddie's sister. They were sort of similar in a way, she and Freddie, but so totally different. She'd been fit, but not really what he'd expected. He'd just expected something... different. Fuck if Freddie ever found out, he'd castrate him. JJ knew, but he had promised not to tell.
"I love you to bits, man," he says suddenly, trying to ease his guilt over it all. It'd been a fucked up thing, shagging Karen, even if she had been all willing. Freddie would fucking hate him, but they were bro’s. Two peas in a fucking pod. He needs Freddie to forgive him, even if he doesn’t know what for.
Freddie nods and adjusts himself to more conveniently lean on Cook's shoulder.
Struck by a flash of curiosity, most certainly brought on by the drugs, Cook decides to dance with danger a little bit. Leaning in, closing the gap between him and Freddie, Cook knows that he's crossing a line. A big fucking line that he would never dare to cross otherwise, but now he is drunk, high and guilty over Karen and so many other things that he will die before telling him; some secrets were best that Freddie never knew. And Karen was the least of them.
---
At first Freddie doesn't react, but then as Cook's face draws closer, he opens his eyes, and even though he's surprised to see his friend so close, he doesn't ask what he's doing. Instead, he merely sits there, leaning against Cook's shoulder, watching Cook watching him. The shoulder he's been using as a pillow is pulled away from underneath him and he would've staggered if Cook hadn't caught his face and drawn him in for a kiss. At first, Freddie thinks it's nothing more than one of Cook's overfriendly statements of friendship, one of those extravagant gestures that he did in order to ensure loyalty and friendship. It didn’t mean anything.
But then Cook's rough lips press harder against his own and Freddie opens his eyes, now wide-awake. It's almost as though he can feel the emotion in it, pressing against him and he doesn't know why, but he suddenly it feels as though he's hurting. Cook continues to press, not really letting go or catching air.
It didn't mean anything.
Cook shifts and without letting go of the grip he has over Freddie's lips, Cook moves closer, moving on all fours like a predator closing in on its prey. Finally, a small gap is created between them and they both come out for air. Their eyes meet in a moment of contemplation, but all that runs through Freddie's head is ’this doesn't mean anything’. It wasn't anything serious. It wasn't really anything at all, really. It was just fooling around.
Cook attacks Freddie again, but this time Freddie is prepared and greets him, and the two boys fall to the floor, not really sure of what they're doing. At first, it just seems like a tangled mess, the two of the boys rubbing against each other and pulling and tugging in whatever they can get their hands on, but soon the game turns rough. Cook's touches become like punches and a mild sensation of pain flows through Freddie’s brain and he's no longer sure if they're fighting or doing something else. All he knows is that soon they are both wrestling, fighting to get the upper hand and they punch each other a couple of times; Cook fighting for his sanity and Freddie claims it’s self-defence. But they never stop kissing.
Because it really doesn't mean anything anyway, so there's no harm done, Freddie argues, and to him, that makes sense.
They grunt, moan and wrestle, hearing nothing besides the sound of their breaths mingling together in a dysfunctional symphony that follows no rhythm or rule.
Freddie wants to say 'fucking hell', but it just comes out as 'fuck' and it feels as though he's going on autopilot, as though he's slipping out of his own body and letting something else take over because this isn't him. This isn't what he does. At least, not normally. They jerk off together, but this very hands-on approach to sexual gratification feels very different. He's not sure how different, but he's pretty sure that he doesn't want it to stop.
It doesn't mean anything anyway.
---
Even though all of this had started with him wanting to tell Freddie how fucking fantastic he was, it soon became a lot more. Cook is suddenly flooded with all of these contradictory feelings; one minute, he is just on the verge of saying aloud what he is already thinking, and the next, he's overcome by this unexplainable anger that he can’t seem to control. He wants to hurt Freddie. Leave an imprint somewhere. Just to see how much he could take. His lips soon begin to feel raw, but he doesn’t care. He doesn't really know what he's doing, but soon he begins to reach for Freddie's belt and he figures that, fuck it, it can't be that different from shagging a girl. But as their shirts fly over their heads and buckles become undone, Cook glances at Freddie's lean chest and he realizes that, fuck, everything's totally different.
This is his best mate, his best friend in the whole wide world and they're kissing and fuck... this is Freddie. Even though the realisation of this is scary, it's not enough to make him stop. After all, everyone knows that after a couple of beers he goes on automatic. He thinks about Karen for about a second and just somehow, instinctively, knows that this is going to be better; this was just what he had been missing.
It wasn't perfect. Shit, it was sloppy and messy and all of those fucking things. It was ungraceful, rough and clumsy, because they had both been partying too hard, but fuck it.
They don't speak, instead, Cook just silently begins to press himself harder against Freddie, feeling his friend's hard on through his briefs, and then they stop a minute to catch their breaths. Cook can feel Freddie's heavy, warm breath against his ear, urging him to continue, but he’s not all sure if he's breathing himself. It feels like he's holding his breath for something to happen and, yet, it's not like that at all. Then, as they both lie still, Freddie rests his head on Cook’s chest, closing his eyes to fall asleep. Cook stares for a minute and then tries to poke his mate to life, which turns out to be about as easy as raising the dead. Laughing lightly to himself, he sees an irony to it all, and as he surrenders to the fact that his friend could not be woken, Cook sneaks in a hand between them and down his pants to finish the job that Freddie started.
Cook fucking laughs and then kisses his best-mate-in-the-whole-world’s forehead and then pauses, observing the resting form, and softly plants a last kiss on Freddie's lips before falling asleep himself.
They never speak about it the next day. Or any other day for that matter. They never talk about it at all. But that’s okay, because it didn’t really mean anything anyway.
The End
Feedback is the food which my soul feasts upon. Also, this is my first Skins fic so any type of feedback would be greatly appreciated. :D
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 03:56 pm (UTC)It wasn't perfect. Shit, it was sloppy and messy and all of those fucking things. It was ungraceful, rough and clumsy, because they had both been partying too hard, but fuck it.
that's so very them... awesome job on this- it's brilliant :)
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 04:37 pm (UTC)Fantastic. Your characterizations are really spot on. Totally believable : )
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 05:37 pm (UTC)You made me read slash and I'm glad you did because this is what they'd be like. Totally what they'd be like.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 07:49 pm (UTC)Hehe. You don't read slash otherwise? If not, you totally should. It's great when it's done right (but I guess that's the case with most stories). I'm so thrilled you like it :D I tried to keep it as in character as I could and not make it so... 'omg you're the love of my life'-ish which I think is always a pit you risk falling into. But I'm glad you liked it :D Really :D Thanks so much for commenting :D :D
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 09:31 pm (UTC)Fic just appeals to me more when there's boobs involved. xD
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 09:37 pm (UTC)Personally, I rarely read femslash. I don't really know why. I don't know if it's because I haven't found any ships that I think are appealing (at least none that I can recall right now, the exception being maybe Gwen/Morgana that I think I could read if I found a good fic) or something else. I think it's the former though. I remember reading a few Faith/Buffy way back. And a lot of other Buffyverse femslash.
Hehe. Personally I'm all about my boys :P Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually a gay man born in a woman's body :P hehe
Btw, I saw in your profile that your location is Glasgow. Really? :D 'Cause I'm totally contemplating uni there. :P If St Andrews and Edinburgh reject me.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-21 09:52 pm (UTC)Yes I have a total older man fetish. Also an ASH fetish. I admit it.
GLASGOW IS FAR SUPERIOR. WE HAVE BETTER SHOPPING AND ENTERTAINMENT, (SLIGHTLY) CHEAPER ACCOMODATION AND IT'S STILL A HUGELY PRESTIGIOUS UNI.
Seriously. If I were to get a free pass to any uni in Scotland I'd pick Glasgow. St. Andrews and Edinburgh look good on a CV but Glasgow has all the life experience you could ever hope to gain.
I love my city so much. <3
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Date: 2009-02-21 09:56 pm (UTC)*nods* That's great to hear. So you would say that Glasgow is pretty levelled with St Andrews and Edinburgh? I'm really curious to know because I should start making decisions soon (even if St Andrews and Edinburgh haven't been in touch yet - evil people) and I'm really curious to know everything there is to know. :D Do you know anything in particular about the reputation of their English programme? I'm going to study English (Lit). Have you/Are you going to uni?
It seems like a pretty great place to live, the very little I know of it.
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Date: 2009-02-21 10:15 pm (UTC)I haven't been to uni yet. I'm planning to study nursing eventually but want to wait until I'm ready to get back into intense learning. I enjoy my job too much to quit. xD
Socially, Glasgow is definitely the superior location. St Andrews is a seaside town and is pretty much full of students and the elderly. Edinburgh is a pretty city but is notoriously unfriendly.
Glasgow is large, vibrant and very very friendly. If rather cold and rainy most of the year!
You've made me realise that I still need to do an About Me post. Perhaps tonight!
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Date: 2009-02-22 01:32 am (UTC)Hehe. I've never made an About Me post, which is sort of weird since I have a bunch of friends and poor souls who try to get down the basics who haven't been on my flist since the beginning... Maybe I should do one too? :P
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Date: 2009-02-22 01:53 am (UTC)I doubt there will be much you're looking for that both Glasgow and Edinburgh wont have on offer. They are both huge, busy cities with lots to do.
It is so hard to try and be unbiased when it comes to talking about Glasgow. I just love it soso much. xD
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Date: 2009-02-21 05:45 pm (UTC)Your characterization was quite good, very believable.
Brilliant work, darling! ♥
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Date: 2009-02-21 07:52 pm (UTC)Thank you sooo much :D And thanks a million for commenting, I really appreciate it :D :D
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Date: 2009-02-24 04:15 am (UTC)I love it!
I suck at fic feedback other than to express adoration for thinks I like...