?

Log in

No account? Create an account
June, otter

drownedinlight7


Write the Thing

I need to write more...


Previous Entry Share Flag Next Entry
RPM fic
June, otter
drownedinlight7
 Mason Truman had told him a million times that one day his big mouth was going to get him in trouble. Scott figured that today was that day. Because as soon as the words,

“He would probably sleep with me before he would sleep with you,” left his mouth, he felt that he was really proverbially fucked.

“Oh really?” Summer Lansdown stared him down with the kind of glare only your high school’s most popular girl could give you. It read something like, “My manicure is more expensive than your future college education, so fuck off.” “Care to make a bet out of that?”

“Not really,” Scott replied. “It’s just a fact, Foster is into dudes.” Dillon Foster was probably the biggest bag boy the school had seen in a long time. It was probably more rumor than truth, but the guy was pretty big into martial arts and was even titled.

“And how do you know this auspicious fact?” one of the other guys on the team asked.

“Do you know the meaning of auspicious?” Scott asked.

“It means you won’t have to get ass fucked to prove a point,” said one of the smarter guys on the team. “Seriously, how do you know?” Scott figured what the hell, it was spring, he was leaving to go to the Academy in a couple of months and there was nothing they could do to him. Especially since he had the most embarrassing pictures on each of them (let it be known that it paid to stay sober at parties).

“My god brother is Ziggy Grover.” Groans of disbelief spread around the table. “No, seriously, his dad and my dad roomed together at the Academy back in there day and well, that’s not really the point. The point is he’s dating Foster.”

“How can you be sure?” asked one of the girls on the squad.

“I’ve seen them together, you know out and around. It’s not like they would hide it or anything,” Scott said.

“Grover is in drama,” someone pointed out.

“Yeah, but Foster is a badass,” said one of the guys. “I mean, he’s not exactly going to go around telling people that he’s gay. Guys like that all have complexes and stuff.”

“And how would you know?” asked one of the girls. “Besides, he could just beat anyone up that questioned him.”

“People!” Summer called, getting everyone’s attention. “Okay, that is so not the point. The point is, Mr. Truman seems to think that he would have a better chance at seducing someone than I would, and we all know that that cannot be true.” No one said it, but in their heads, they were all calling Summer a slut. “Now, what I would like to know is if you care to prove that?”

“And why would I want to prove that?” Scott asked.

“Because I know you’ve had your eye on a very certain vehicle, and I would be perfectly willing to make a necessary contribution to help you obtain this vehicle,” Summer replied, smiling sweetly and batting her eye lashes. It was true; Scott had been saving for a car since he was ten years old. His father had given him his old SUV for a couple of grand, which had set Scott back on getting the car of his dreams. Well, that, and if he needed to, he was going to put the money towards college. But ever since he had been accepted into the Academy, he put all of his savings back toward buying that car, in cash, no debt acquired. He was so close; he could smell the engine burning fuel. “Especially since Daddy was thinking about cleaning out the garage, and I could see him swinging you a deal if you win.”

“What happens if I lose?” Scott asked.

“Prom,” Summer replied, looking at her nails. “Suit, tie, limo, corsage and you shave your head.” The guys on the team hissed as if someone had just nailed them in the balls. Everyone knew that was a shot to Scott’s pride, which had made it very clear that he did not want to attend Prom simply to attend Prom. Summer was the queen of doing things simply because an unwritten rule or tradition dictated you did them. The only unwritten rules Scott believed in were ribs and potato salad. But he thought he could risk his pride for a chance at something he really wanted.

“Deal,” he said, reaching across the table to shake Summer’s hand. She accepted, just as the bell for class rang.


Marcus would not stop laughing, so Scott made him do so with a very traditional method of throwing a football at him. Unfortunately, Marcus was also a quarterback and caught it.

“You know Daddy always said your mouth was going to get you in trouble,” Marcus told him. “So what, now you’re going to sleep with Ziggy’s boyfriend?”

“I don’t know…” Scott replied, tangling his fingers in his curls. “I think I’m going to tell Ziggy.”

“I think you are going to get one of Uncle Jak’s decorative swords thrust through your gut one way or the other,” Marcus retorted. “What makes you think that Ziggy will even want to speak to you, much less help you after you tell him that?”

“Well, Ziggy’s very understanding, and I don’t actually want to sleep with Foster, I just have to prove that I could get him to sleep with me more easily than he would sleep with Summer. So I just have to get him to admit it,” Scott explained. “And I think Ziggy’ll help me do that, even if he never wants to speak to me again afterwards. Besides, he wants me at his anti-prom just to prove that popular people do it too.”

“Have you ever thought about just letting this peter out?” Marcus asked. “I mean, what happens if he doesn’t sleep with either of you, which it sounds like he wouldn’t, and then the year ends and you all go off to college?”

“Summer’s tricky, okay? She will somehow, in some way get Dillon Foster to sleep with her,” Scott said. “Which is why I have to do the right thing and tell them about it to at least warn them or something…Plus, I really need to return some of his stuff.”

“Yeah, the stuff that you’ve been meaning to return for over a year now?” Marcus asked.

“Shut up, it’s been less than a year,” Scott said, grabbing a box labeled, “Ziggy’s stuff,” and his jacket. “If Mom and Dad ask, I went over to Ziggy’s.”

“And what should I say you are ill with when they ask why?” Marcus said. Scott cursed under his breath, but the laughter still followed him out of the house.


Scott noted that there were several other cars outside of the Grover residence when he arrived, and seeing as the Grovers lived out in the middle of the woods and had no neighbors for miles and miles around he figured this could not be a coincidence, and therefore, it was probably going to be really hard to get into the house. But he still walked up to the door with the box of Ziggy’s stuff in hand and rang the bell. A tall, gangly (though less gangly than he had been freshman year) brown haired guy Scott recognized as Deus Haddock, Ziggy’s right hand man, answered the door. A slightly surlier youth from Dillon’s group stood off to the side.

“Yeah?” Deus asked.

“I need to return some of Ziggy’s stuff.” Deus gripped the box to take it from Scott’s hands, but Scott gripped tighter, adding, “And I need to talk to him about something important.”

“How important?” Deus asked.

“Important enough that I braved all of his friends, followers, and boyfriend to say it,” Scott retorted. The two boys at the door looked at each other, backing off and opening the door to let him in.

Ziggy sat in the living room with many others from his rag tag group of outcasts, band mates and drama groupies. They had pushed away a good deal of the furniture and were playing poker on Ziggy’s displaced dining room table. Ziggy was seated half on the arm of a recliner, and half in Dillon’s lap. Ziggy looked up and grinned at him; the kind of grin that Scott hoped meant he wasn’t in too much trouble.

“So, you’ve got something to say, huh?” Ziggy asked.

“I’m in deep shit,” Scott confessed.

“What kind of shit?”

“The kind involving Summer Lansdown.”

“Oh, so the flower, scent free kind. This shit would not happen to involve sleeping with my boyfriend, would it?”

“Yes, actually it would.” Several people groaned and Scott watched as they pulled free their wallets or purses and began throwing bills at Ziggy.

“They thought you wouldn’t be so honorable,” Ziggy explained, counting up the bills and then splitting the pile in half and offering him a cut. It had been a rule between them for a long time that when one bet on another, you offered to split. Scott waved his hand.

“Keep it. I let my mouth run away with me and made a really stupid bet. But I wanted to warn you, and I sorta found a loophole—”

“What kind of loophole?” one of the group members asked.

“The kind that doesn’t involve sex?” Scott replied. Everyone groaned again and threw more money at Ziggy. “Wow, I really seem like a total ass, don’t I?”

“I tried to explain that you just don’t know when to stop talking sometimes, a trait you obviously picked up from my family,” Ziggy said, “but they keep thinking that football makes you evil.”

“No popularity just makes you kind of stupid sometimes,” Scott replied. “Most football players, to my knowledge, do not have triple six carved into their foreheads.”

“All right, Mr. Truman, you have earned yourself a seat, due to a trusty Omen reference, sit down and plead your case,” Ziggy commanded. Everyone scooted around to make room, so Scott figured he did not have much of a choice. He was dealt into a hand of poker, as one of Dillon’s groupies spoke up,

“So I have to know, what is sex with Dillon worth?”

“An s14,” Scott replied.

“Do it Dillon!” one of the guys egged on. “The guy just wants a car!” Dillon turned toward him.

“What did Lansdown want?”

“A night at prom,” Scott replied. Everyone groaned, and there were several who banged their heads against the table.

“Wait, wait a moment, I thought we already had you reserved for anti-prom,” one of the girls said. “How could you bet that you would give up something you had already promised?”

“Because I know that Dillon is gay and short of breaking the law, Summer was not going to get the chance to sleep with him,” Scott replied with a shrug. “And my mouth just ran away with me.”

“Well that settles it, then,” Ziggy said. “Dillon, my love, you are simply going to have to sleep with Scott. I can’t see two ways around it.”

“I could just tell the popular people that I would rather sleep with Scott, and not touch Lansdown with a ten foot pole,” Dillon pointed out.

“They wouldn’t believe you,” one of the others pointed out. “They would want proof.”

“And what are we supposed to give them? Video?” Dillon asked. “Besides, Truman, do you want to sleep with me?”

“No, not really,” Scott replied.

“You see? The guy rates, at most a one on the Kinsey scale. I seriously doubt he could actually perform without passing out or something equally horrible, especially with two other guys.” Scott nodded along, but then started.

“Wait a second, two?” Scott asked. “Why would I be sleeping with two guys?”

“Because, silly, Dillon wouldn’t cheat on me,” Ziggy explained. “We would have to have a threesome. Or I would have to watch you.”