errantechoes | (no subject)

(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.

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He hands the jello shot to Daniel. He's not even sure what the fuck they had in Britain, so he makes sure the older man can see him squeeze the clear plastic in the cups and scoop the jello out with his tongue before pitching it across the crowd. It his one of the ping wearing pledges right square in the eye, and then detaches himself from Daniel.

It's just long enough to clap someone else on the back--equally good looking, incredibly Italian, and slightly neater dressed than anyone else--and murmur a few things. He's up close so he can be heard through the music, bodies close as they talk. It only lasts for a split second before they break away from each other and the other guy disappears for a second. Teddy motions for Daniel to follow him, and they go towards a big steel keg on a stool.

"So--welcome to Delta Psi. The best fraternity, with the best president." His arms spread open. Ta-da! It's me.

Daniel watched Teddy with a keen interest that had very little to do with the shot itself. He'd forgotten he was supposed to be following that example at first, his head momentarily flooded with ideas inspired by that sweep of the other's tongue. Ideas that he shoved aside as hard as he could with a shake of his head, disgust following in their wake. It didn't help that Teddy was immediately pressed up against another guy and Daniel felt an irritating spike of jealousy. So he distracted himself from it by consuming the jello in his hand, just as Teddy had shown him.

By the time he joins Teddy by the keg, he's calmed a bit. Enough so that he's able to look suitably impressed when the other makes his proclamation. "No way," he scoffs, "All of this--" he motions to the party in general around them, "Is YOURS?"

Teddy can't tell if he's joking or not, but honestly? He's too drunk and too high and too happy to care. It's Teddy's default mode, especially on the weekend. Especially in front of someone older and hotter and--

Wait, what?

Fuck, how drunk was he?

He blinks rapidly few times before actually throwing the other a wink. In a joke way, of course, because he's not gay, and he's laughing at something Pete says that he's not paying attention to as he nods.

"Yeah, bro." There, he's been upgraded, and Teddy's already pulling his shirt off as the DJ--Garf, really--announces the start of a keg stand tournament given by the president of Dela Psi himself, Teddy 'motherfucking' Sanders, and yes, he is single, much to the delight of a few cheering women.

He grips the side of the keg, Scoonie and a rather terrified looking pledge (the one Teddy had smacked with the empty cup earlier) help him get upside down so Teddy's essentially doing a hand stand over the keg.

All it takes is the Italian one--Pete--to undo the nozzle and Teddy begins to chug the cheap beer, the entire audience counting down.

It's around 20 seconds when Teddy jerks his hand to hit the pledge straight in the stomach as the sign to be let go, and the frat boy, bounding up towards Daniel with delight in his eyes and a red face, smacks him clear across the chest.

"Your turn, your turn." He's panting and covered in cheap and sticky beer. "C'mon, c'mon, I'll--" A light sway. "--I'll give you hand, bro."

...Definitely drunker.

Daniel was a bit too pre-occupied with Teddy shedding his shirt to pick up on the announcement right away. "Whoa, hey, a tournament?!" But the other was already being helped up to his position before he'd found the proper gears in his partially drunk head.

There was no hiding the appreciation on his face as he watched how it was done. It had nothing to do with the guy's well toned physique or how well he held himself up, or how he handled that nozzle. He's not quite shaken that when Teddy finally approaches him, all sticky and shirtless. He actually jerks back in surprise at first, but settles after a moment. He slings his arm around Teddy's shoulders. "Now that's not really fair! To you, I mean. You should've warned me it was gonna be a contest, mate. I've got an unfair advantage on you!"

"I'd like to see you beat me, old man." He hasn't separated, but there's something different in Teddy's eyes as he refuses to break eye contact with Daniel.

Teddy's mentally pacing, mentally squaring Daniel up. A challenge is something Teddy knows--Teddy has to be good at. Never back down. Never surrender. Never, ever lose a bet. Never lose, period. He's competitive, at the very least, and maybe he takes this a bit too far because he's just chugged 20 seconds worth of cheap beer and the adderall has just kicked in.

"You think you can try?" Lips brush over his lips, leaning forward--too forward--and crooking his brows. "Let's make it a bet." There's already a bigger crowd forming, and Teddy's hiding a grin. "Big words for a little man--we'll make it a bet."

Daniel may have been a little inebriated, but not near enough for that level of closeness to ever be okay. He froze the moment he felt Teddy's breath on his lips, an unnecessary level of terror registering on his face as his heart struggled to remember how to beat. It was only when the idea of a bet was introduced that he was able to move. He slammed both hands against Teddy's chest, shoving himself back.

"What the hell?!" he shouted, his anger flaring suddenly. And almost immediately fading to something a bit more acceptable. Mostly due to the gathering crowd. He couldn't let them see what exactly he'd been reacting to. "You couldn't handle that! What could possibly bet that'd be worth it to me?"

Teddy's too pumped up on booze, red bull, and god knows what else. He mistakes the shove and the panic for someone scared, not angry, and while he doesn't move forward again his smirk says it all. "I dunno, name it. Let's see... He trails off, glancing around. "If you beat that time doing a keg stand, on your first go, then I'll be your pledge for the rest of the party."

"His pledge name was Tigger," Scoonie whispers loudly. Teddy ignores him.

"If I win, then vice versa."

And there's that panic again. His gaze darts to the pledges he can pick out in the crowd, in their pink shirts. He manages to cover it, looking more confused than scared. The idea of being essentially a slave if he couldn't make good on his claims terrified him--mostly for that deep-down thrill that shot through him.

"I wouldn't know the first thing to do with a pledge!" He scoffed, "So how's that worth anything to me, mate? Tell you what," He quickly cast around for something that would be demeaning to such a confident kid. Especially in front of his friends. "When I beat your arse, you've gotta get a drink with me. Tomorrow night. In a dress. I'll bring flowers." He winked at Teddy, it was obviously just for the frat boy's humiliation.

"Better be roses, old man. Not that it matters." He puckers his lips into a kiss, teasing. "You're going down."

Challenge accepted.

Mostly because that's the problem with Teddy--he can't say no, especially not when he's threatened. His masculinity, his desire to be on top and in control. His need to be validated. Fuck this guy.

He whistles, sharp and loud, and just like that all eyes are on him once more. "This old man seems to think the American tradition of the Keg Stand can be lost to England. If this fucker beats 20 and hits 25 seconds, you will see a show. Ladies and gentlemen of Delta Psi?"

Resounding cheers, and Teddy's smirk just rises. "Take off your shirt," He instructs, since he's out of his own, but then quickly reassures him--and himself. "You're gonna get beer all over it."

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."

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One last tag from my phone

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