Summary: But in dreams... Bryce can get Chuck as close as he wants.
Author's Note: This is for a prompt at comment_fic. It was supposed to be pre-slash... Uh. :p Obviously I fail at that.
He doesn't drink often. He doesn't have a drinking problem. Sometimes his problems seem smaller, the solutions seem clearer, when he isn't sober... so he indulges. But nothing's ever come of that but a few wet dreams, a black eye and a couple of nasty hangovers. Bryce never lets himself get so messed up that he's liable to hurt someone. And dreams are as far as the lusty side of his drunken self has ever gotten to running amok.
This is only part self-control, Bryce knows, and part fact that the guy Bryce lusts after is completely unavailable to Bryce, sexually.
Bryce has known, since the second he saw him, that he's attracted to his best friend Chuck. He knew that Chuck was straight by the end of their first conversation... And he also knew that, even if Chuck wasn't, Bryce could never go there with him. Chuck is the nicest, least affected human being that Bryce has ever met. He could never forgive himself if he changed that by drawing Chuck in too close.
In dreams, though... In dreams, Bryce can draw Chuck as close as wants. He can imagine pulling Chuck's body tight against his own, beneath his own.
"B- Bryce..." He can imagine Chuck breathing his name and he can press Chuck's name into the curve of Chuck's long throat with wet kisses and gentle bites.
Bryce has started imagining it more and more often since he began training. Chuck's inate goodness becoming more and more like the grail at the end of an epic quest... That thing a knight yearns for the most, and can never touch because he's done such terrible things to protect it.
"Bryce?" Bryce can imagine the feel of Chuck's hands on his back, pressing at his naked shoulders...
"You taste so fucking good..." Bryce can tell his dream Chuck. His dreams are so vivid sometimes- He can hear Chuck's breathy response as if it's real. "Holy shit..." Bryce rolls his hips, grinding the hardness between his legs on the sharp curve of Chuck's hip... against the soft but firm plane of Chuck's stomach as they writhe. "Bryce-"
Bryce tries to imagine what Chuck would do if Bryce licked- Bryce drags his tongue along the curve of Chuck's jaw, along the shell of his ear.
"Son of a-" Chuck chokes out, and bucks beneath him. Bryce chuckles.
"Like that, Chuck?" Bryce asks, and Chuck just shudders.
"Oh my god!"
Vivid? This may the most realistic drunken fantasy Bryce has ever had...
"Bryce, man... You- Fuck! That's-" Chuck stutters and stops, and Bryce groans. Bryce didn't even know he had the imagination to conjure up Chuck's voice - saying a word like fuck - and saying it so hot, so low and thready... "Hell yeah..." he murmurs into Chuck's skin, palming the front of Chuck's pajama pants again, reveling in the feel of dream Chuck's dick, warm and convincing, and hardening beneath his touch. "Yeah, Chuck."
"Bryce... Come on, man, oh! Bryce, please-"
Bryce can only imagine that his dream Chuck is asking for one thing... But thrusting down on Chuck, one hand trapped between them and the other snuck down the back of Chuck's pajama pants, angled uncomfotably between Chuck and Chuck's mattress... is probably the best that Bryce can do in his state of inebriation.
Which kind of pisses Bryce off. It's his dream... You'd think he'd dream himself sober enough to achieve a little follow through.
"I'm trying," he tells dream Chuck.
"You're- Bryce!" Dream Chuck squeaks, "That's not what I- Oh god... Look, I'm trying to be- Stop that! -be a good guy here. I don't want you to hate me when-"
"'Could never hate you, Chuck," Bryce swears. And because this is a dream... and there are no consequences in dreams, Bryce just lets himself say it. "Love you, Chuck."
It's quiet. Quiet for how long - Bryce won't know. He's dozed off... for real this time... when Chuck whispers back, voice thick and so confused, "I love you too, man... I love you too."
Bryce wakes up the next morning and immediately knows that something is different. He's in a bed that isn't his bed; his face is pressed into the wrong color of sheets. There's a body wedged, half under and half not under his own.
Bryce groans... In a completely different way than he vaguely remembers groaning last night. He hooked up with someone... He got so messed up that he let himself hook up with someone, who knows who- And there's little doubt who Bryce was thinking of when he did. What name his mystery hook-up heard breathed in the heat of-
The chest pressed to Bryce's ear rumbles, and just as Bryce realizes he knows the scent of the man he's strewn across - and his heart stops - the man in question speaks.
"Oh, ah, good... You're awake. Bryce. Excellent," Chuck says, in a small, strange voice. "Think you could... well, could you get your hand out of the back of my pants now buddy?"