Memory
By: Immicolia
immicolia@h...
http://www.digitalcandy.net/~neb


Pairing: Warren/Andrew

Spoilers: Season 5. Set a few days after "I Was Made
To Love You"

Rating: NC-17 for stoned gay sex

Summary: Things done in vain attempts to forget.

Disclaimer: All characters within belong to LGJ (Lord
God Joss) and Co. I do this for kicks, not money.

Feedback: It is that by which I live, or at least my
Ego does.

This is Jess' fault. She wrote "Tucker's Brother".
There was a vauge mention of Warren/Andrew in there.
I... ran with it. Yes, it falls flat at the end but
I'm tired and I rushed to get this done due to certian
upcoming events....

-------------------------------------------------------------

Warren stares at the phone. Reaches for it,
hesitates, pulls his hand back. The same motions that
had been played out on and off for the past hour.
Nerve still not high enough to actually lift the
receiver and dial her number again. To offer the
olive branch one more time only to, more than likely,
be cracked over the head with it. Again.

Reach. Hesitate. Deep breath taken and his hand
closes over the receiver. Mind blank as he hits the
redial button. After all, it's not like he's been
calling anyone else during this time. Just her. To
plead. Beg. All but grovel and she still curses him
out and refuses to listen. Its disheartening really.
But he has to keep trying. There's this part of him
that refuses to quit. That can't let her get away.
That shred of a hopeless romantic that sprung to life
the instant he laid eyes on her.

It kills him to not have her. A tad obsessive, maybe.
But he can't help it. He wants her, needs her, back.
Misses her so much it's painful and just can't take
suffering like this anymore.

Two rings and the machine picks up. Warren muttering
a curse under his breath as he waits for the beep.
Somehow certain in his gut that she's there. That
she's screening calls. That she's gotten to the point
of avoiding talking to him now and the thought
infuriates him. "Trina, if you're there pick up."
The words leaving him in an angry rush. "I know
you're there. I need to talk to you. Pick up.
Please." There's a slight strain in his voice at the
"please" and he quickly clears his throat. Not
wanting her to hear him like that. "God. Katrina,
come on. I've said I'm sorry how many times now? Why
can't you just give me another...."

A sudden click as the receiver on the other end is
picked up and he's shocked into silence for a moment.
Long enough for Katrina to start. "All right, Warren,
that's it. I'm sick of this. Either you give it up,
move on, or I'm calling the cops. One more phone
call, one more appearance, one more gift. Anything.
If I see or hear from you at anytime outside of
classes you'll have the authorities to deal with.
Clear?"

"But- but...."

"Are we clear? I'm still recording this by the way.
Just so you can't run around saying that I didn't warn
you."

"Yea. But- but, Trina...."

"Good-bye, Warren."

Another click and its over. Just like that. And he's
tempted to hit redial one more time. To beg. To
plead. To just ask to be heard out. But her threat
keeps echoing in his mind. And he knows she'd go
through with it. Never, for as long as he's known
her, has Katrina ever gone back on her word. She does
what she says.

She'll do this if he tests her.

In a fit of frustration he slams the phone down.
Methodically starting to pitch things around the room.
Lost in a blind rage. Stopping just short of
smashing the latest robot project since destroying a
little toy being built for a bloodsucking fiend would
more than likely be hazardous to his health. Deep,
calming breaths taken and as quickly as it surfaced
the rage vanishes. Leaving him cold, empty.

Aching.

"Fuck this." Phone retrieved from where it landed on
the floor. A well-known number punched in. Maybe
even more familiar to him than Katrina's. He's
certainly known it longer. The answering "hello"
light and pleasant.

"Hi, Mrs. Wells. Is Andrew there?"

A moment of hesitation on the other end and Warren can
almost sense the confusion through the line. It's the
same every time. "Andrew? Why, I don't know. Let me
check." Silence as the phone is set down and Warren
settles back to wait. Wondering how long it'll take
this time for Andrew to be fetched to the phone. Once
it was a full five minutes, as if the woman got
distracted along the way.

It only takes a minute ten this time before he hears
that hesitant, edgy and entirely familiar "hello".
Answering with a surly, "hey" of his own.

"Warren?"

"Yea. You up to anything right now?"

"Um, no."

"Want to be up to something?"

Hesitation. Everything about Andrew was nervous
hesitation. As if he was continually afraid of saying
the wrong thing. "I, um, guess so."

"Come over then. I feel like forgetting some shit."
Phone hung up without another word. He doesn't care
how rude it is. He's not in the mood to be nice. To
anyone. Not even his friends. Quickly back to pacing
around the basement as he waits. Trying to decide on
what the hell to do, now that he isn't going to be
alone and brooding for the rest of the day. A small
grin touching his lips as he heads for his closet.

He'd been working on the bong discretely for two
semesters in shop class. Every so carefully designed.
Engineering perfection, he'd decided when he'd
finished the plans one weekend. Absolutely beautiful
now that it was done. Beautiful and all his. Weed
bought, with equal discretion, from Devon or one of
the other members of the Dingoes, who were always good
for supplying. Although god only knew where they got
it from. There were rumours that they grew it
themselves, or one of their relatives did. Nobody
really cared. The only thing that mattered was that
when you wanted some you could almost always get it
from one of those guys. Pathetic out-of-the-loop
loser or not. Devon wasn't even too big on actually
getting paid for it. There'd been rumours that he'd
occasionally exchanged sex for weed although Warren
had never been driven to that. And he didn't plan on
it either. Despite Devon's hints that Warren didn't
_have_ to pay top dollar. That maybe something could
be worked out. Like a blow-job in the bathroom Warren
had simply asked, unable to keep the cynicism out of
his tone and Devon had shrugged. Smiled. Eyes
teasing, appraising. Studying Warren's mouth an
entirely unnerving way.

Warren paid full price.

But now, now his beauty was done. Three feet of
engineering perfection tucked away in the very very
back his closet. Hidden behind an old bathrobe. Weed
bought, paid in full without resorting to selling
himself. Stashed in a small, locked box in the
bottom of his sock drawer. Everything ready and
waiting for a first session. And what better time
than now? When his parents are gone for the weekend
and he _wants_ to stop thinking for a while. Wants to
stop staring at the phone. Wants to stop wanting to
call her back. Logically, he knows that she isn't
going to phone him. She never will. The threat of
calling the police was the death knell and it's over
and that's that. But his heart still bleeds a little
every time he thinks about her. He still hurts. And
he humiliated himself over her. Grovelled for
forgiveness. Begged for a second chance. Nearly got
down on his knees. Would have if he had thought that
it would do any good.

Well no more. That's it. Warren Meers isn't going to
play bitchboy for one more second. Fuck her. Her
loss. And the more he thinks it the more it seems
almost believable.

Andrew clatters down the back set of stairs without
even bothering to knock. Giving that twitchy little
half-smile as Warren turns to face him. "So.... W-
what are we going to do, anyway?"

"I," Warren begins simply, heading for the dresser and
his stash. "Am going to work on forgetting a few
things. And you, are going to keep me company."

Andrew looks utterly bewildered until the bong comes
out. A grin splitting his face as he studies it.
"Oh! Cool. Where did you get that thing?"

"This, my friend, is a Meers original. Designed and
built by yours truly." Pausing in setting everything
up long enough to run a reverent hand along one side.
"And you get to help me with the test run."

"Wow." Unable to hide his exuberance Andrew finds
himself a comfortable spot on the floor. All but
squirming with impatience and Warren has to turn away
before some rude comment or another escapes him. Not
that Andrew would leave, but the kid would get that...
look on his face. The supreme wounded look. The
kicked puppy look. He'd seen it more than enough
times when his sarcasm had gotten the better of him.
He didn't feel like putting up with it today.

Reverent silence as the first hit is taken. Warren's
mind whirling, already starting to drift when Andrew
speaks up.

"Um, what are you trying to forget anyway?"

Under normal circumstances there would have been a
sarcastic answer. Or just flat out anger. But this
nice little buzz is curling through him already and
selfishly he takes another hoot before speaking. "My
girlfriend." Motioning for Andrew to take his turn as
he continues. "Ex-girlfriend I guess now. Bitch
won't listen to reason." Ignoring Andrew's coughing
as he inhales again. "Yea, she's a bitch." Words
expelled on a cloud of smoke. Warren's lungs, his
throat, already starting to burn pleasantly. Mind
starting to drift, and only a few minutes into the
session. This was going to be good. Beautiful first
run for a fucking piece of engineering perfection.
More than just a bong. The ultrabong. Okay, lame
name. He could probably come up with better, but his
mind isn't about to focus on something like that. Not
right now.

Andrew stays quiet. Takes his hoot. Holds it.
Coughs as always. Weak. Just weak and Warren has to
fight not to shake his head.

Another hit. Held in until his lungs ache and burn
and his eyes water and his head spins, then exhaled.
"Just a fucking bitch." But I love her. The last
unsaid. Always unsaid. But all the same still there.
Seething in him like the smoke he keeps dragging into
his lungs. And just as dizzying. Bitch. But I love
her.

"I- I guess she had her reasons," Andrew mumbles.
His voice raw from coughing and Warren squints through
the smoke. Mouth open as if to disagree the moment he
comes up with a suitable argument.

"There was no reason. She _so_ overreacted. April
was... gone! I still don't know how the fuck she
managed to recharge herself and come looking for me.
I shoulda just turned her off. And... and that bitch
should have realized. I _love_ her. So much. And it
hurts." Inhale. Deep. Lungs stretched to the
breaking point. The aching point. Dizzying soreness
and numbness. Good sensations. Better than the
heartache. The queasiness in his stomach. Eyes
watering from the smoke as opposed to the prickle of
tears caused by her and, yes. It's better. So much
better like this. To numb himself body and mind and
pretend that Katrina doesn't exist. Never existed.
"I wanna forget. I gotta forget."

He senses Andrew's nod more than sees it. Vision
blurred. Everything blurred. Like being wrapped in
cotton and it's nice. Because cotton's safe and warm
and cushioning. A comfort. Precisely what he needs.
And he can wrap himself in this soft cocoon of smoke
and forget. Forget all about high school and
isolation and loneliness. Forget about getting drunk
in front of the TV one night when Weird Science had
been on. The vague memories of proclaiming, "I could
do that!" to no one other than the flickering images
on the screen. Drawing up plans while inebriated.
Plans that actually made a lot more sense than they
should have. The start of a summer's worth of work
that resulted in April. And if he had known, god if
only he had known that the following fall he'd meet
Katrina he never would have bothered.

Katrina, so witty and sarcastic and so much a
complement to him. And his throat closes off just as
he tries to inhale. Causing him to choke. Cough.
Nearly vomit as fluid starts to work its way back up
his throat. Forced back down as he wheezes and he's
vaguely aware of Andrew's hand on his back. Cautious.
Stroking over his spine then gently patting before
the movement is repeated. Stroke. Pat. Over and
over until Warren catches his breath.

"Okay?" Andrew's voice is miles away and Warren
forces himself to nod in reply. Not looking up.
Comfortable in that partially doubled over position.
Focusing on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Forget. Her. Fuck. Her. Don't need. Her. Don't
want. Her. Everything's. Fine. One last shuddering
sigh let out before Warren glances up. Looks into
Andrew's concerned and slightly reddened eyes.

"S'okay. Went down funny, that's all."

"You're sure?"

"Yea." He's vaguely aware of Andrew's hand still on
his back. Still going through that same motion.
Stroke. Pat. Over and over again and he bets Andrew
isn't even aware that he's doing it. Not anymore.
But it's nice and Warren's not about to tell him to
stop. Not quite yet. Lids drooping as he studies
Andrew's face. Pale, almost vampiric pale skin. Too
much time spent inside. Just like Warren. Hiding
inside. From the light, from society, just unable to
fit quite right so stay isolated. After all,
attempting to reach out just doesn't seem to work.
Reach for the sun, get burned. Warren's still hurting
from his attempt. And Andrew's just so pale, so...
cool looking. Soothing. Like a balm for the burn.
The hurt.

Warren's hand moves of its own accord. Touches
Andrew's cheek. Warm. But still soothing. And he
doesn't hear Andrew murmur his name. Doesn't feel the
gentle touch on his back stop. There's just soft pale
skin under his fingertips and Andrew's shocked eyes.
Parted lips. So... tempting.

Every movement seems detached from the last. Each
isolated in and of itself. Lazy smile. Lean forward.
Kiss. Pull back. Pull Andrew with him. Pull Andrew
into his lap. Kiss again. Kiss deep. Tongue delving
between pliant lips. Into an unresisting mouth.
Taste. Moan. Hear Andrew moan. Snapshot fragments.
Fuzzy around the edges. Unreal. And if Warren tries
he can almost pretend that he isn't even doing this.
That Andrew's squirming body isn't in his lap. Cute
little ass rubbing against his groin in an all too
enticing manner while they exchange sloppy, probing
kisses. Warren's hands clumsily tugging at Andrew's
clothing. Trying to touch all the pale, pale skin
that he knows is underneath. Every movement slow and
hazy, yet urgent. Needy. He wants. He wants. He
needs.

He needs to forget.

Lose himself in Andrew's body. Lose himself. Lose
his mind. Lose his memory. Who cares that Andrew's a
boy. Andrew's a body. Andrew's a willing body. Or
at least Andrew feels like a willing body. Whimpering
and begging without words to be touched. Used.
Abused. Taken and thoroughly fucked.

"Warren...." The name a hungry whisper against his
ear.

Yes. Taken. And somehow Andrew's on his back and
Warren's looming over him although he doesn't remember
the shift in position. Doesn't care either. Pushing
up Andrew's shirt. Unbuttoning jeans. Impulsively
leaning down, running his tongue over the soft, milky
perfection of Andrew's abdomen. Tasting the salty
sweetness of skin that quivers slightly under his
touch.

"Warren...." Andrew's voice. So hoarse. Raw. From
the smoke and the coughing and the lust. All of it.
"What- what are we doing?"

The question causes Warren to hesitate. Breath coming
in hot little pants against Andrew's stomach as he
tries to wrap his mind around the question. "I...
we're...." A deep breath taken. Pulling the scent of
Andrew's body into his lungs along with more of the
smoke still lingering in the air. The combination
dizzying him even more than he already was if it was
possible. "I don't know about you. But I'm
forgetting." Another teasing lick. Tongue dipping
into Andrew's navel for a brief moment, drawing a
shuddering sigh. Hands back to fumbling with
clothing. Pealing away denim and cotton until
Andrew's lying there naked. Exposed. Body all sharp
angles and milky skin dusted with the occasional
freckle. And he wants that body. Because it's not
Katrina. It's the farthest thing from Katrina. Pale,
scrawny, twitchy, shy, boy. You don't get much
farther away than that.

Katrina had tan lines. Just slight ones. She didn't
go out and bake herself under the sun, but she didn't
hide from it either. And there had been the vaguest
pale outline of a swimsuit marking her skin. Warren
had traced it with his tongue once. And just as
quickly as the memory strikes him he drives it from
his mind. Crushing his lips against Andrew's. Intent
on exorcising all thoughts of Katrina from his memory.

Will not think about her. Not tonight. Not again.
If he keeps doing it he's going to drive himself
insane. "I want...." The words leaving his lips
without even thinking and Andrew stares up at him.
Eyes hazy.

"Yea?"

"I want. God, I just want to forget her." With a
moan Warren buries his face against Andrew's neck.
Vaguely aware of hands running along his back.
Sliding up under his shirt as his teeth and lips find
a muscle beneath the skin to nip and nuzzle at.

"You know what I want?" Andrew's question is so
sudden that Warren pauses. Glancing up into that
open, yet wary face.

"What?"

"I- I want you to be naked too."

Warren laughs. Unable to help himself. Maybe it's
the weed. Maybe it's the tone of Andrew's voice.
Maybe it's the fact that never in a million years
would he have _ever_ thought he'd be in the middle of
hot and heavy foreplay with Andrew Wells. But he
starts giggling and he can't stop. Sitting up again
in an attempt to catch his breath. Only regaining
control when he sees the wounded look in Andrew's
eyes. The kicked puppy look. So easily hurt.
Katrina would have smacked him for his trouble if he'd
ever dared to laugh in the middle of something like
this. No matter how good the reason was.

And he's not going to think about her.

"I'm sorry." The words a whisper. "It wasn't at you.
It was...." A pause as Warren grasps for some sort
of an explanation. Snickering again as he shakes his
head. "God, I'm wrecked. That's all there is to it.
So...." A wicked grin touches his lips as he looks
down. "You want me naked, huh? Guess that's fair."
Without thinking Warren strips off his shirt. Vaguely
aware of Andrew's quick intake of breath and a pair of
hands reverently sliding up his torso. Fingers
threading through the hair on his chest. The
sensation driving forward another memory. The same
motions. Except long, delicate fingers tipped with
short nails, glossy with clear polish. If anything
Katrina always was moderate when it came to makeup and
things. Not that she _needed_ to do anything to make
herself look good....

With a moan the thought is shoved aside and he grabs
Andrew's wrists. Guides those hands back to his
waist. To the button on his jeans. Mind spinning.
There's a couple condoms in the bedside table. He'd
been planning on fooling around with Katrina after
all, before the whole April thing had blown up in his
face. He knows there's lube in there somewhere too.
Or maybe he'd chucked it under the bed the last time
he tossed the last issue of Hustler under there.
Either way it's all there. He's prepared for this if
he wants to do it. Actually prepared.

Andrew's hands are tentative as they undo the button
on his jeans. Trembling as the zipper slides down.
Hesitantly touching Warren through his underwear and
drawing out another hoarse moan. Warren barely
capable of panting the word, "bed."

"What?"

"Bed. We should get in bed. I need. I can't just
fuck you like this."

A nod of agreement and Warren stands on shaky legs.
Nearly falling back down as his head spins. Catching
himself with the edge of a nearby table he pauses.
Waiting for the room to stop moving and Andrew to
stand as well. "Andrew?"

"I can't get up."

Another entirely inappropriate giggle nearly forces
its way out of Warren's throat. Somehow choked back
down as he leans down and attempts to heave Andrew to
his feet without falling down as well. The pair of
them ultimately using the table for support as
Andrew's hands work on tugging down Warren's pants.

"What the hell are you?..."

"I told you, I want you naked."

Another laugh at the absolute insanity of the
situation before Warren moves to help. Quickly
skinning off his pants and guiding Andrew towards the
bed. The pair of them landing in a heap. Touching
and fondling and gasping and there's absolutely
nothing beyond the moment. Just a tangle of limbs and
sweat and harsh breathing. And Warren doesn't
remember fumbling around for the condom until Andrew
is helping him slide it over his shaft. Another one
of those phantom memories trying to make itself known,
shoved away much easier this time. No more thoughts
of her. Just Andrew. Hand not trembling anymore. No
more wariness. No more twitchiness. Just need.

"Warren?"

"Yea."

"I want. It. You. Now."

More fumbling, for the lube this time, and he tries
not to remember when he'd asked Trina if she wanted to
try anal sex and the shocked look on her face and the
slap on the back of the head he'd ended up getting not
to mention being cut off for three weeks. No, 'cause
_so_ not the time to think about that. Andrew's hand
sliding over his cock. Now there's a much better
thought to focus on. Leaning over that angular body
and the resistance as he tries to work a finger
inside. Andrew's whole body tensing up in reaction
and Warren starts murmuring soothing words in an
attempt to get the other boy to relax. Not quite sure
of what he says. A litany of senseless words. "Shh.
Relax. Relax. It's okay. I'll be careful." A
second finger added and Andrew lets out strangled
little noise that could be either pleasure or pain.
Warren isn't quite sure which. And at the moment his
dick is saying, "I don't care which it is. Fuck him!"

Yes. Fucking him. Now. No more playing. Just what
he needs.

And it's. So. Tight. Mindblowingly tight. The
sudden heat and friction and the pleasure that results
so intense that he nearly blacks out. Guttural moan
escaping his lips. Mingling with Andrew's cry and he
has to pause. Feel that heat. Feel himself being
squeezed so tightly by Andrew's body that if he moves
he knows he's going to explode. Breath coming in
little gasps.

Slowly, tentatively, Warren moves. Just slightly.
Entire body trembling on the edge of losing it like
its his first time.

First time. First time. With April. Thank god she
had just been a robot or else it would have been
embarrassing.

But this. THIS. Andrew moaning now. Starting to
squirm against Warren's body of his own accord and
it's just. So. Damn. Good. Teeth sinking into his
lower lip until blood flows and even then he keeps
biting. Using the pain to stay under control. Make
it last. Just make it last because it's just that
great. And Andrew. Andrew needs to feel it. Needs
to feel him. Driving deep. Deeper. Nothing but
sweat and heat and Andrew's voice in his ears and it's
just. Perfect. Andrew's whole body tensing and
clenching down on him as come strikes his stomach and
it's just. Too. Much.

His eyes squeeze shut as he loses his mind.

And doesn't think of her once.

Warren doesn't know how long it takes for sensation to
return to his limbs. But Andrew's still in a stupor.
Not even moving as he detaches himself. Sweaty.
Sticky. Sated.

Mildly disturbed. Maybe a little dirty.

_This_ is what he stoops to so he can forget? Getting
high and fucking _Andrew_ of all people. A groan as
he rubs his forehead. Not wanting to look but unable
to help himself. Heart clenching a little as he
studies Andrew's sleeping form. So damn vulnerable.

No. God. He doesn't want to think about this now.
No more than he wanted to think about Katrina before.
Something else on the list of things to blot out of
his memory and not talk about ever.

A perfectly safe way to forget certain events ever
happened. Now _that's_ something he should work on
building.

Until then he's going to have to do it the hard way.

~end~