Fic: Tell Me

[nouveau_monday]

Title: Tell Me
Author: nouveau_monday
Pairing: Van/Jake (and why yes, thank you, I am going to hell)
Rating: R/NC-17 for language and desire, but no actual sex occurs in this piece.
Word Count: 3kish
Summary: Friends don't let friends drink and dial, except when they do, and then it pretty much rocks.
Spoilers: Umm ... RPS, so no, unless the fact that there seem to be a lot of candids with these two not quite sober.
Disclaimer: This is in no way true. Never was. Never will be. Jake and Van belong to themselves, not me. And this is all the fault of some people who suggested that we needed more RPS … especially with the story sucking so much right now.
Notes: Thank you so much to mightyten and ladysonsie for being great cheerleaders, Especially, elin_aurora who did edits and caught my stupid mistakes in the first half of this. Thanks also to sweetiejelly who offered this up as a hayloft prompt for the remix. It didn't get done in time, but I hope you like it.






Jake slammed a hand on his dresser, scattered pens, books, an empty can, and god knows what else across his bedroom as he reached for his phone. The Batman theme meant it was Van, but why the fuck was he calling at ass o'clock at night after they'd been out together most of the night anyway? "The fuck, Hansis? Can you not let me have my hangover in peace?" He laid back against his pillows, scratched at his stomach. "My head feels like someone's using it to keep time for a rave. My mouth sorta tastes like I was licking an ashtray." Where did he leave the water bottle and the aspirin? Somewhere smart, but where? "I don't even think this is the hangover yet, dude. I think I'm still boozed."

"Whatever, Jake. Just, just shut up a minute will you. Let me say this now, because I'll never fucking say it again."

Jake heard the slight slur in his friend's voice, recognizeds the tell-tale signs of Van Hansis, daytime's worst kept homo secret, filled with liquid courage. "Aww, hell. Look, I know you're gay. You've told me a million times. I've told you I don't care. You're the weird amnesiac drunk who can't ever remember this shit. In the morning, I'll come over with aspirin and water. I'll hold a cool, wet washcloth to your neck while you puke it out of your system. You'll nap. I'll read the paper. We'll get brunch. And things will be fine." Jake remembered that he placed the water bottle on the floor and the aspirin in a small paper cup next to it. In case he knocked things off his bedside table. Jake switched his cell to speaker and leaned over the bed. The pressure on his stomach had him feeling suspiciously vomitous. "You think you can sleep okay, or do you need me to stay up with you awhile? Because I think I'm gonna puke before I get my water down."

"Will you call me back?" His voice was small, scared, unlike his bravado from moments before.

"Yeah. Yeah, Van. I'll do that. Just gimme ten minutes or so to get cleaned up." Jake flipped his phone shut, hung up, and lurched to the bathroom to heave up minimal food and maximum alcohol. It was one of the more disgusting moments of his life. He remembered, too late, that he never liked drinking and that his co-stars always could drink him under the table. His knees hurt from rubbing against cheap tile. His throat hurt from puking his guts up. His face, he was sure, was splotchy. Jake could have looked in the mirror, but who would see him or care. He brushed his teeth, used mouthwash, rinsed and repeated. He felt mildly better as he crawled back into bed. All he wanted was sleep. Fuck. Gotta call Van back.

"Jake?" Van's voice held that same timidity from before.

"Who else calls you with the Ninja Turtle theme song? You okay?" Jake leaned back into his pillows, ready to listen to the drama of the week or discuss whatever comic book they were reading together.

"No. I thought, I thought that eventually I would be, but I'm not. And it's not going away. And I hate you a lot for that. Why don't you leave me alone? I know I was drunk. Man, I was trying to get drunk. And you kept just being there, all tall and, and, and tall. With your stupid blue eyes watching and your stupid big hands holding me up." His breath caught. "Look, I didn't ask for you to do that. I didn't ask for any of this. So can you just stop? Just stop before it kills me."

"What the fuck, Hansis?" Jake swapped his phone to speaker. "Stop what? I poured you into cab when I didn't think you would make it back to your apartment safely. I handed the driver a fifty and told him to make sure to wait until the light went on in your window. You want me to stop being considerate? Stop being your friend? Screw you. You should have said something before I wasted fifty bucks." He groped around for the TV remote, relieved it hadn't fallen too far away and hit the power button.

Van's voice broke. "Don't you get it, Jake? Why don't you understand? Are you too stupid to see what you do to me?"

"What I do to you? Apparently I watch you with my stupid blue eyes and I guess, I guess I touch you too much. That's what you just said. I didn't understand that you were trying to get drunk. I mean, it looked like that, but I didn't understand why. And now you're telling me it has to do with me? Something I did?" Jake rubbed at his stomach, tried to convince himself the sudden pain came from puking and not the blind fear of being caught. He switched channels blindly, prayed for Van to be drunker than he appeared. And how fucked up was that?

Silence on the line was betrayed only by the soft intake of breath.

"Van? You still there?" More hushed silence. "Van? Hey, Hansis? Shit, are you sick? Did you puke? Do you have water? Aspirin? What do you need?"

"You're such an idiot, Jake. Don't you get it?" His voice sounded sober, or at least less drunk. "You, Silbermann. I need you."

"Oh. Well, shit."

"Yeah. Look, I should go. Tomorrow we can both say I was drunk and got confused. Thought I was Luke or something. Don't worry about it. We can even skip brunch if you want. Night."

"No, wait!" Jake paused. He didn't hear anything. His phone's screen lit up to inform him the call had been disconnected. Fuck. He didn't need *69, just the first number on his speed dial, barely waited for the click that indicated Van picked up. "Hell, I'm screwing this up. Don't hang up! You're not drunk and I'm mostly sober. You can't just lay something like this on me and then hang up. That's fucking rude is what it is. Really rude, and that's not your style."

"Whatever." God, Van's voice was desolate, flat. Van without affect was like, well, Jake didn't have any clever metaphors at that moment, but it sucked. He knew that much. "I have to sleep. I told you I could forget this."

"But you didn't ask me if I could." Jake rubbed at his eyes and then at his solar plexus. "You didn't give me time to say it's not just you. Didn't give me time to say why do you think I get even more hands-on when I've had some alcohol. Especially didn't give me time to tell you I've been waiting for you to say that for six months."

"Don't fuck with me. You of all people. Just don't."

"Stop it." Jake's head hurt. His mouth was dry and something possibly had curled up in there and died all over again. His body hurt everywhere from puking. And his dick. Fuck. His dick had a mind of its own. "I'm not fucking with you. You of all people. God, you don't even know. You're an idiot. A blind idiot, Van. Don't you see it? Feel it?

Don't you know that we kiss on set and I could pound railroad spikes with my dick? Didn't you notice that the directors yell cut and I never do. I never do because that means letting go of you, untangling your hair from my fingers, taking my hands off your jaw, emptying my nose of the scent of your cologne. I didn't know anyone used CK-one anymore but dykes, and fuck if I don't get hard every time I get anywhere near Caddy Shack. It's fucking embarrassing. I shouldn't be springing wood like some horny teenager who just figured out what his dick is for." Jake waited for a response, got none, and clapped his palm to his forehead. "Too much? Did I? Shit, did I freak you out? I can take it back. Maybe you are too drunk? Maybe it was too much of a chick moment." He wipes his palms on his sheets.

"Maybe it was too much of a remember how you're straight moment? You remember that part. I don't know what kind of weird character transference you're experiencing, but me, Van, I'm the gay one. Remember? You, Jake, you're the heterosexual."

Jake winced. He'd been around, knew how shitty it had been for his friends when straight guys wanted to experiment with them. But this was different. It was. If he had wanted to experiment he would have gone to Vancouver and asked Jensen Ackles for tips on acting for the soaps. "And my want to lay you across my bed and suck you dry means what exactly?"

Van sputtered. "You want to what exactly?"

"I hate you."

"You always offer hummers to guys you hate?" He giggled. "I really am still boozed, aren't I. Because that sentence is just wrong, man. Let me ask a better one. You in the habit of offering head to random men, Jake?"

Jake slipped his hands underneath the elastic of his boxers, skimmed his palm over his dick. "Not random men, Van. Never actually offered that before. Just you."

"Oh. Well, shit."

"I said that already."

"Tell me?" Van's voice became breathy, some weird low version of Marilyn Monroe talking to JFK. Much better than the lack of tone earlier.

"Tell you what?"

"What you would do. How you want me." Jake heard the noise of Van swallowing, a noise that could have been the shift of clothes. "Please. Tell me."

Jake yanked his hand away from himself. He blinked at the bright of his light, waited for his eyes to adjust so he could find the lube inside the bedside table drawer. "Well, umm, shit. Really?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." What should have been annoying became incredibly arousing as Jake imagined exactly what he wanted to show Van.

"So you're on your bed. Lying on your back. Kinda propped on your elbows. And you're staring at me."

"What am I wearing?"

"Jeans? You've got jeans on, faded, those ones with the holes at both knees and the belt loop wearing. Fuck you look great in those. Just want to throw you over the nearest couch and fuck you blind." He poured the glossy liquid into his palm, slicked it over the head and down his shaft. The cool temperature against his heated skin made him shiver. "I'm standing near your legs, and I lean over to unbutton and unzip you. God, and you let me. I can see hair, and then your dick. You're starting to get hard and, fuck, you aren't wearing underwear." He closed his eyes, thought back to various scenes. "You never do. Doesn't that get uncomfortable?"

"Mood killer, Silbermann. God. And no! Way more uncomfortable than your stupid boxers. Underwear just creates lines, and lines are tacky. Now can we shut up about my dressing habits and get back to the part where you've started undressing me?"

"You like what you're hearing?" Jake bit his lip, asked the next question lodged on the tip of his tongue. "Are you, well, you know?"

"Jerking off? Can't even say it? Lame! And no, not yet."

"Lame? Look, Hansis, I don't have to continue. I don't have to tell you about getting your jeans off your skin and bending forward to suck at the head of your dick. I don't need to tell you about running my thumbs over your hipbones while my hands grab your sides. I won't tell you about tugging you down lower on the bed, so your legs rest on my shoulders. I won't describe your head thrown back and me wanting to bite your throat so badly I can practically taste the alcohol and nicotine on your skin."

"Shit." Van whispered. "More."

"Thought you said it was lame?"

"Fuck, Jake. Just. Keep. Talking."

And who would say no to Van fucking Hansis moaning your name? Only an idiot. Jake knew he wasn't an idiot. He jacked at his dick, reveled in the conflict of his body's needs and his verbal skills. "Okay, well, umm, in my mind you always taste good. Salty, I guess, but sexy. Like your mouth on set. I can't explain it, but it just, oh god." His dick twitched in his fist. "Sweet, salty, perfect. Better than chocolate covered pretzels. And, well, because you do taste good, I keep licking, sucking. I might not know what I'm doing exactly, but it seems to be working. You tug at my hair, which, well, okay, shit, it's just, I like it."

"You like it?"

Jake couldn't believe what he admitted. He'd blame the alcohol if he weren't so turned on. "I really do. And you don't hold me there, just, you pull a little. And I swallow lower, hollow my cheeks like you showed me when you demonstrated blow jobs on those cherry popsicles, you remember? I jerked off for weeks after every time I walked by a Slurpee machine or the frozen foods department, you ass. But I don't know, I kinda hoped maybe you showed me for a reason? That maybe you were trying to give me a hint about what you wanted?"

"And maybe I did. Never thought you'd take notes."

"Well I did, and apparently they pay off, because in my fantasy I am terrific at this. And I can deep throat you like you did that popsicle. Maybe the doctors broke my gag reflex when they took out my tonsils?"

Van laughed. "Remind me to send them a thank you card."

"Now, are you? I am. And I'm so close. Telling you this. Shit. I never thought. And I just want to be there right now. Want to blow you so good, then roll you over and lick my way inside you." He tightened his grip, twisted his wrist at the upstroke for extra friction. "I watched this clip on Xtube. I want to try that with you. Fuck, Van, want to try everything with you. Tell me you're almost there."

"God, I am. I am. Keep talking. Tell me."

"Gonna lube you up, tongue you, open you wide. We should use rubbers, but we never do. You need me in you, and shit, I need to be there." He cupped the head of his dick, thumbed right under the crown. "And you let me. You let me inside you, let me fuck you until we're both swearing and laughing and crying all at the same time. You want to jerk off, but I don't let you. Grab your wrists in one hand." He chewed on his lip, tried to slow himself down. "Lube my other hand and jack you myself. You're all flushed and sweaty, and you aren't sure whether to shove yourself into my hand, or onto my dick. But we find a rhythm. Oh god. And it's so damned good. Shit, you there yet, man? And I must be doing something right because you are screaming my name, clutching at my shoulders, scratching my back." He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly as possible.

"Jake, Jake, Jake." Van moaned low, almost a whisper, but the whimper after was enough.

"Now, shit, right now." Jake moved faster, slicker, added lube and swore to heaven, hell, Van and anyone else who might listen as his spine damn near came out his dick with the force of his orgasm. He couldn't feel his toes properly. The world spun one too many revolutions for his alcohol addled brain. "Maybe going to be sick again."

"That's hot." Van laughed, couldn't stop. "But I get it. Drink some water and stare at one point on the ceiling. It always helps me."

He tried. It wasn't bad advice all told, except for the awkward pause it created. "So, umm, I've never done anything like that before."

"Really?"

"Kinda obvious, I thought." Jake shoved at the self-incrimination in his stomach.

"Not to me. You were, man, that was amazing. Never thought getting boozed enough to tell you I love you would lead to this." Van sighed.

Jake pictured Van lying on his pillows, blankets curled up around him. He'd look so peaceful sleeping, so cute like he always -. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"No!"

"You did!" Jake pushed at his pulse point, tried to will himself calmer.

"Didn't."

"You did, you big jerk. And you better have meant it because I fucking love you too. Have for months."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Hell, did he just confess? Oh god, what if Van really was drunk and talking out his ass? What if Van meant he loved him like a friend? What if -

"Hey, Jake?"

"Yeah, Van."

"I know you usually come over in the morning, but umm, if you came over now we could maybe see how well fantasy matches up with reality? And, umm, do breakfast in bed in the morning?"

"Just let me get clothes on."

"Hey Jake, you don't need your boxers."