errantechoes | (no subject)

Who: Teddy and Daniel
What: Daniel crashes a frat party
Warnings: A pair of homophobic dicks who refuse to admit they're both in the closet

Usually Daniel kept to the bars downtown. He slipped into the gay bars like some sort of tourist, playing at an arrogant sort of curiosity about why on earth a man would ever want to do anything with another man. That is, until he ended up leaving with some guy, usually barely old enough to drink, and end up in some dark alcove. He'd always leave before things went too far. But tonight, he ended up being dragged along to some big frat party. He acted like there was no way that was his thing. But it wasn't long before he stopped caring about those who dragged him along and was simply enjoying himself. A drink in one hand, he leaned close to the guy he'd been checking out for the last half hour--not that he'd ever admit to that, of course. "If there'd been parties like this back home, college would have been a FAR better experience." His accent placed as being fresh out of England. Manchester, to be exact.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Twenty five seconds was nothing. But this kid had no idea what Daniel did for a living. The logistics seemed about the same. It required upper body strength and being able to hold one's breath for an extended period of time. Both of which were daily parts of his job. There wish the tricky aspect of the whole drinking thing, but that couldn't be that difficult, right?

"Doubt that's the only reason," he muttered to someone nearby after the excuse Teddy gave about the shirt. But Daniel stepped forward, peeling his teeshirt off. As he stepped up to join Teddy, he announced, "Whose ready to see your fearless leader in a dress?!"

The mutter earned a laugh from Garf, though the guy was pretty high and would probably laugh if someone even looked at him. Teddy definitely didn't hear it, far too focused on amping up the crowd.

The truth was that Teddy lived for this shit. It was the only way he really knew how to be comfortable, how to feel alive. It's why he was the best party planner in California, and (in his opinion) the best frat president in the fucking world. Did England even have fraternities? Did it matter? The guy was old. Not way old in a gross way, just older than the rest. His neighbour's age. Probably all partied out no matter how big a game he talked.

Teddy sees it all the time--alum, mostly, but sometimes the stragglers trying to relive glory days or prove their young. There was a guy having a midlife crisis that came around, and Teddy purposely made sure to pass the literal peace pipe to him for a few rounds, feathers and pakaloco and all before kindly telling him to never come back again. Never let it be said that Theodore R Sanders wasn't a kind and generous host.

This guy, though... He was way more fun. Still missing something, still unable to let something go, but fun. Didn't look half-bad with his shirt off, either. Strong shoulders. Probably make a decent football player. American football, though.

But why the fuck did he care? There was a challenge and this was a party and no matter who won (it would obviously be Teddy, though, because come on) there would be shots and maybe shrooms but just generally a good fucking time. The crowd was interested, too, and he was vaguely aware of Pete taking bets before the two lifted Daniel up on the keg, Teddy flagged them to go, and the whole backyard began to chant loudly as the beer flowed.

Daniel balled up his shirt and threw it over his shoulder as if he didn't care where it ended up. His attention was focused intently on Teddy. This was a challenge, and Daniel wasn't going to back down from it. He had something to prove, even if it was to a stoned and drunk upstart who thought a frat house was his castle. For a moment, Daniel just planted his hands on his hips, back straight, sizing Teddy up. No flexing, no posturing. Just letting his chest and shoulders speak for themselves. A man who knew exactly what he was putting on display.

He made sure to swallow any reservations or hesitations he had about this situation. Holding his breath was one thing. Not breathing while chugging beer was another. But he got himself inverted above the keg with the assistance of the boys. He had no doubt that there were some gawkers who expected him to face plant the moment they flipped him. But his hands and arms were steady. None of that trembling from strain.

Those first few seconds were disorienting. But once he got his bearings on the necessary process, it wasn't terribly difficult. Soon, he was aware of numbers being shouted. The seconds passing as they approached Teddy's mark of 20. And Daniel became aware of a complication he hadn't anticipated: stomach capacity. And upside down wasn't helping matters. His head was swimming with the effort. Just five more seconds. He didn't care if he puked the moment it was over. Just hold out.

4 more seconds.

3 more.

2 more.

1.

The moment he heard a wild shout of "25!" he tapped out. Any longer and his arms would give out and that would just be undignified.

"Holy fuck."

That's it. That's all that was said when Daniel was lowered. Pete, with his heavy lashes and sleepy smile, glances over at Scoonie who actually said it, and then over at Teddy.

Teddy's face is absolutely unreadable. He's staring, taking in the other, taking in the look on Daniel's face. It's...

It's hot. Daniel Coltrane is hot and it's not fair. He's got a body that won't quit and Teddy's not gay, but if he was, he'd probably jerk off to that later. Something highly attractive about the way some of the alcohol is still on his chin.

There's another part, though, cutting deep and clawing at him like a dog gnaws on a bone. Not only did he loose in front of his own people but he lost to an older man and a fucking Brit. There's tenseness in his jaw, his shoulders square a little bit as he stares the other down, blue eyes staring at blue.

Silence still reigns over the backyard. Teddy, hand moving to his own jaw, rubs at it as he knowingly rakes his gaze across Daniel. Sizing him up--an alpha male eyeing the competition. The competition that had won.

"Teddy?" Pete asks. There's a brief hint of worry.

Teddy turns sharply to address the crowd and throws both of his hands up. "Let's throw this guy a fucking PARTY!" He shouts, and the crowd immediately cheers wildly and goes back into party mode. It doesn't mean Teddy's happy, but he's a man. He may not fucking like it, but he has to respect it. Even if he's going to be purposely looking for a fight later. Probably with Daniel.

"Beginner's fucking luck," He manages, but extends a hand.

A grin settled on Daniel's face, a sharp shark's grin for a man who knew just how much he'd won. He could see the jealousy and resentment on Teddy's face. He could practically smell it. And it delight him. Not in any sort of physical capacity. Oh no. This was strictly alpha male dominance, and nothing else. He'd proven he was better. Plain and simple. While shirtless and now sticky with spilled beer. Better than this adonis of a college boy.

He took Teddy's hand in a firm, nearly crushing grip, before dragging him closer. He gripped that hand against his chest, forcing him to be close. Just to prove his dominance in that social sort of way that had no implications outside of that.

"Didn't I tell you?" He said, his head cocked slightly. "I'm a diver. Got a bit of practice with holding my breath." As if that's all it was. He patted Teddy on the cheek so hard it was nearly a slap. "Nothing to do with luck."