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Crazy In Love
by Nicola
Rating: PG-13
Love was so very different from what he thought it would be.
Love should definitely feel a lot more like the world-class blowjob Gemma Maxwell had given him the week after the ski trip. It should feel like the first time he saw Beyonce's Crazy in Love video. Or like when Christy Tyler finally let him touch her boobs in 9th grade.
But this—this sucked.
Ephram was seriously pissing him off right now. He was doing that screwed-up-frown facial expression that ordinarily Bright would have told him made him look like one of Snow White's dwarves. And why not? Did people who were in love tell their . . . lover that they looked like an ugly fairytale character?
The Bold and the Beautiful, which Bright had always privately considered a pretty good guide to relationships, didn't deal with anything like this. Crappyass good-for-nothing show.
"I can't believe that you're doing this, Bright! This is so— so you to try and dump this on me!" Ephram exploded, and Bright had to admit he looked less like a dwarf now. Maybe something higher up on the fairytale scale . . . like a munchkin.
"Oh boo hoo, little man! I take it all back, okay? I don't love you — and I'm damn sure I don't even like you right now."
Ephram's eyes bulged very wide, and Bright could almost see the unspoken antagonism sparking off him in tiny flares that made Bright's head pound. Ephram swept away from him and began stomping around the apartment as if he were looking for something.
"What are you doing?" Bright said, feeling increasingly more baffled than angry.
"I'm taking my iPod," he said, seizing it from between the sofa cushions.
"Oh right," Bright retorted sarcastically, "because I wanted to dump you, but keep all your craptastic music! I mean The Postal Service? What kind of a fucking dumb name for a band is that?!"
Ephram spluttered visibly, and Bright felt sure he was going to launch into a fervent defence of The fucking Postal Service. Instead, he let the iPod fall back onto the sofa and folded his arms across his chest belligerently. "First you tell me love me, and next you act like we're breaking up." He paused and frowned. "We're . . . friends, Bright. Just . . . friends," he finished lamely.
Bright rolled his eyes, and let his tongue slip out of the side of his mouth at Ephram's extreme stupidity. "Right. We're friends. Friends who fuck and don't see other friends."
Ephram didn't say anything (he was still frowning, although more faintly now), and Bright felt oddly deflated. Ephram slumped down onto the sofa, and warily Bright took a seat at the other end.
"The way I loved Madison, and . . . Amy," Ephram said, rubbing his eyes wearily, "that was . . . really easy. Even when it was hard, it was easy. I got it. Like, wow! This is what it's all about. All through the highs, and especially the lows, I knew it. Love." He smiled, and it looked like hard work to Bright.
"And with me?" Bright asked, feeling his throat contract.
"With you I don't know." Ephram shrugged, and the shrug turned into slow movement as he crawled closer. His hands halted at the seam of Bright's jeans. "I know we have fun."
Fun. Right, thought Bright. Like that was even a word in Ephram's vocabulary.
"I know this is," Ephram continued, leaning closer, ". . . unpredictable." His warm breath on Bright's neck transformed into a slippery kiss as he felt the tickling trace of the tip of a tongue. His hands were moving again, smoothing the fabric of Bright's jeans over his thigh. Ephram's tongue wound closer to Bright's ear, and he laughed softly, so that it was the merest sensation against his earlobe. "I know that I can give you a better blowjob that Gemma Maxwell did the week after the ski trip."
Ephram rolled away suddenly, his expression serious. "I don't know if this is love," he said, his eyes flickering over Bright's face as he considered it. "But it feels pretty good."
July 2004
Note: For becca, who requested Bright/Ephram and the line, love was so very different from what he thought it would be.
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