Chapter Text
If you were a senior at Pandora Academy, it was mandatory that, on Saturdays, you got wasted. It was simply an accepted tradition that somebody would host a party, or strike a deal with a club, or break into somewhere, and everyone would attend, get high, plastered, and (if you were lucky) bang someone hot. For Rhys – with friends like August and Sasha, who seemed to live off of substances with a high alcohol content – he was forced to abide by this tradition even if he didn’t want to. God forbid it was ever anyone’s birthday; because then the parties were even louder, bigger, brighter. They did it big on Christmas, too, and Valentine’s Day seemed to be a good excuse to hook up with someone.
But, hey, he wasn’t complaining; especially on nights where nobody ended up in the ER. Those were good nights. Then again, the night August got dared to jump into a kiddie pool from a two-story window was a good night.
Not a good night for August, but a good night on the whole.
By now – halfway into his senior year – Rhys was used to hearing a knock on his window in the late evening. He’d open his curtains to find Fiona waiting on his garage roof, and she’d help him sneak out of his bedroom undetected; then, the two of them would hop into the back alley behind Rhys’ house to find August in his old pickup truck with Sasha and Vaughn in tow, and they’d drive off to wherever this week’s venue was.
Rhys would get back in the early hours of the morning, and he’d blame his grumpy, hungover tiredness on his teenage biology, which his parents mindlessly accepted, because they’d never take their smart little boy to be the partying type. Then again, neither would Vaughn’s parents.
However, this Saturday was special.
This Saturday was Halloween.
And, really, Rhys was excited. Fiona had caught word that some student – Angel, Fiona thought her name was – at school was planning a huge party, and that there’d be a lot of alcohol. The five friends had spent the majority of their Saturday planning their costumes (if you could describe ‘planning’ as ripping up old clothes and throwing buckets of fake blood at each other) – which, Rhys had to say, looked amazing. They’d decided to go as zombies; “classic, but cost effective”, as Vaughn had put it.
Besides, they had to dress up as something. It was Halloween.
That, and a costume was the cost of admission.
The five friends had piled into August’s van as they always did, fighting over the radio and the AC’s temperature, trying desperately to work their way through the intricate estate where their GPS told them the rich kid’s house was located.
When they finally arrived, the house – no, mansion – was absolutely packed to the brim with screaming, intoxicated teenagers. Blaring music was pouring through every window of the manor, and fluorescent, neon lights were shining into the dark evening sky. It didn’t look like a house party, it was more of a concert hall. People were shouting and singing along drunkenly to some undiscernible Halloween song and there were already a lot of empty bottles and cans on the sidewalk; and there didn’t seem to be any sort of system of getting in or out of the party. The large, cobbled drive was packed with abandoned vehicles, all looking very out-of-place next to the expensiveness of the regal manor-house. There were toilet paper rolls everywhere.
As August pulled the van up to a space on the opposite side of the road and the five of them clambered out, taking in the crazy bloodbath in front of them, Rhys seriously considered if he really wanted to go into that party.
Honestly, a warm bath, a mug of hot chocolate and a movie sounded just a little more tempting than passing out on some stranger’s yard and a self-induced hangover of the century tomorrow.
Of course, his friends had other plans.
“Jesus Christ, look at the state of this.” August said, crossing his arms as he led the group over to the house, stepping over a pile of glass bottles as he swerved through the sea of parked cars. “We all ready to get drunk off our asses?”
“I know I am!” Sasha screamed, bounding up to the mansion’s half-open door and kicking it open, shouting and pointing at the people who greeted her.
“How do we even get through all these kids to the booze?” Fiona said out-loud, addressing the whole group as they bundled into a tight corner in the doorway.
They always did this. ‘Action Plan’, as August called it – though Rhys never knew why it was necessary, they never stuck to it anyway.
“I say we split up, find as much as we can, and meet back up in…” Vaughn said loudly over the music, drifting off to crane his head around and look through the arched doorways, “that room. We might be able to push someone off a couch.”
“Sounds good. Then, we drink, and we dance. Maybe we should steal something expensive!” Sasha whispered excitedly, and Fiona started smirking at her.
“No,” Rhys said, trying his best to stop the group from ending up at the police station by the end of the night, “no, we are not stealing anything from this very valuable, probably very secure house.”
“Buzzkill.” Sasha shook her head, hands on her hips, and Fiona rolled her eyes.
“Well, you know he’s going to change his mind by the time he’s wasted,” Vaughn commented, adjusting his glasses, “he’ll probably talk us into stealing a chandelier.”
“What I do under the influence of alcohol is not my fault.” Rhys argued, peeling a bit of itchy fake blood from his neck, shooting defensive looks at his friends as they eyed him incredulously. “Seriously!”
“Whatever you say, sweet-cheeks.” August offered, intent on moving the party along. “We should get moving. Find drinks, bring ‘em over there, we’ll get wasted, and then we’ll see if we wake up somewhere we recognise in the morning. Everyone understand?”
“Got it! You guys scout to the left, we’ll take the right.” Sasha beamed, grabbing Vaughn and Fiona’s hands and dragging them, shoving past people angrily when they dared to get in her way. Rhys let out a loud exhale, audible over the blaring music, feeling hot and sticky. It was an uncomfortable situation – Rhys had never been in a party this huge before.
August looked at Rhys knowingly.
“Eh, you’ll wanna be here when you’ve got some alcohol in ya.”
“You know me so well.” Rhys offered jokingly as they made their way over to a new room, tiptoeing around to look over peoples’ heads for signs of unopened drinks.
There was a case of… something on a table to the back of the room, and a large bottle of half-drunken cocktail. August made his way through the crowds much like Sasha did – barging through unapologetically – and Rhys followed him closely until they got to the table.
August threw Rhys the bottle, a brand which Rhys thankfully recognised as one of the nicer-tasting ones, before searching around in the case to bring out a beer. He opened it, chugging it down happily then scrunching up the can to throw it onto the floor.
“What’cha waiting for, Rhys? Bottle’s not gonna drink itself. C’mon,” the blond said, another can quickly replacing the first, “you’ll feel better for it.”
Rhys looked at the bottle, screwing it open and admiring the fruity scent that permeated the air.
’Oh, screw it.’ Rhys thought to himself, bringing the cocktail up to his lips and tipping his head back.
…
Everything was bright and loud and exciting. Rhys’ blood was pumping quickly, elatedly, as he shouted in conversation at some of his equally-drunk classmates, slurring his words and finding everything funny. He was sipping on a drink eagerly – though he wasn’t exactly sure where this drink had come from – and the music was a welcome loudness; it made everything more fun. The bright lights were still dancing across the walls and through the windows of a room that Rhys wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up in, but all he knew was that he was laughing, and there was a wonderful, fuzzy warmness enveloping his mind.
Of course, Rhys would describe his current state as tipsy. Every other person in the room would describe his current state as smashed, but that was beside the point.
It was a shame he’d lost August.
“Oh my God,” Rhys slurred, taking a step forward and grabbing onto the blue-haired girl – Maya, was it? – from his English class, “I love your hat.”
Rhys wasn’t even sure if this girl was wearing a hat.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, equally as slurred, gripping onto Rhys’ hands to steady herself as well, “you are lovely. You know what?” She asked, leaning in to Rhys so he could hear her.
“What?” He asked, suddenly incredibly interested in what the girl was about to tell him.
“You. Would love. Axton.”
Axton? That name sounded familiar; was he a jock? He remembered that name being chanted during the rare times his friends had decided to go to a football game. Maybe it just sounded familiar because Rhys was out of his mind by this point, and everything sounded familiar. Wait, Maya was a cheerleader, wasn’t she? Or something like that. Of course she’d know Axton.
“Axton! Axton!” She stared calling mindlessly around the room, stumbling about with her hands still connected to Rhys, until finally, the pair came across a tall, broad man who was holding a beer and chatting to (who Rhys assumed to be) the rest of the football team.
“There you are!” She said, smiling, bounding up to him, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. This,” she says, pulling Rhys into Axton’s line of sight and nearly shoving them together, “is…”
“Rhys.” Rhys said, looking up at the man in front of him, who smiled down at Rhys and offered a hand out to him, which Rhys accepted. God, he was already blushing. He’d have to thank the cheerleader girl for introducing them later.
Okay, so Axton was ticking a lot of Rhys’ boxes. Or at least, he was ticking a lot of drunk Rhys’ boxes.
Axton was muscular and well-built, and he had great hair. He was pretty hunky and powerful looking, but there was a nice gentleness to him that made him far more approachable than any stereotypical jock should be. The way he was smirking at Rhys made him melt a little, and when he touched Rhys’ hand to shake it, Rhys inebriated mind thought of far dirtier things that the man towering over him could be doing with his hands.
“What’s happening, cutie? You enjoying the party or what?” Axton asked him, not letting go of his hand even after the shake had finished, leaving Maya to trundle over to entertain the rest of the jocks.
“Totally,” Rhys agreed, staring forwards dreamily, “what ‘bout you?”
“I’m liking it a lot more now, Rhys.”
The suggestiveness in Axton’s tone was very clear, and the nice taste in Rhys’ mouth was gone, replaced with something bitter. He couldn’t blame the jock for flirting with him – for God’s sake, it was a party, and Rhys wasn’t rebuffing him at all – but he suddenly didn’t want it.
It felt a lot like it did at the start of the party. The music was too loud; the lights were too bright; the people were too obnoxious. How many hours had Rhys been at this party? How many drinks were in him?
God, this he was stupid. He had school on Monday.
Rhys spluttered in distress a little as Axton pulled him in closer with a tug of force, their hips touching. Rhys could feel the other man against him, and suddenly, in the fog of Rhys’ drunken mind, a huge red flag popped up.
“Say, you wanna…”
“Ah, no thank you!” Rhys said, wiggling out of Axton’s grip with a little more panic than he’d liked to show, and much to Rhys’ relief, Axton let go. “I’m super sorry! I’m so drunk, man, I’m so drunk and my mind is not in the right place for that.”
Axton looked disappointed for a second before touching Rhys comfortingly on the shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay, we’ve all been there. Want me to walk you to your car or something?”
Rhys shook his head and instantly regretted it. The high of dancing around and shouting had worn off spectacularly and now everything felt like a dull, painful burn that he wanted to get away from. His head ached, and his stomach was screaming at him. Somewhere amidst it all, Rhys felt guilty for being so dismissive of Axton. A lot of guys wouldn’t have been so kind.
“No, no, I’m alright, I’m just… out of it. I just, I…” Rhys rambled as he looked around desperately, relief washing over him as he saw a glass door leading out to the garden. “I’m gonna get some air.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come with?” Axton shouted over the music, but Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to muster up an answer.
He needed somewhere to puke his guts up, and he needed it now.
…
Rhys spent the next ten minutes breathing steadily, sat down on the cobbled steps outside, but he couldn’t throw up. There were too many people outside too, and he didn’t want anyone to see him like that, even if he had no clue who these people were.
Also, throwing up on somebody’s garden? Rhys had standards, and he would never let them drop that low. He needed to find a bathroom, but he suspected that most of them were very, very heavily occupied.
So, Rhys was sat, huddled up and breathing out into the cold night, looking up at the sky and willing the sickness he felt to go away. He thought that maybe drinking some more might take the edge off of it, but the thought of alcohol made him feel even sicker. He hadn’t even made his way to through to the kitchen yet – God knows where that is – so the likelihood of finding himself some tap water was off the table.
Rhys was then struck with the ingenious idea to go home, but he mentally kicked himself for getting his hopes up on that; all four of his friends would have to be willing to go home. If Rhys was being honest with himself, he knew that August had probably lost the car-key by now, anyway.
His options were looking pretty slim.
Rhys stood up with a huff, shakily, holding onto whatever he could as he tried to find balance on his own two feet, before heading back into the party to find a vacant toilet.
…
Walking around the house, Rhys noticed that there were less and less people the higher you went up. There were a good couple of floors to the sizable mansion he was in, and they were all lined with very cushy, expensive-looking carpets and furnishings. By the fourth floor he reached, Rhys was relieved to find that there was nearly nobody there, save for a grossly intoxicated couple making out next to a windowsill and a group of friends trying to enact a séance in somebody’s – presumably Angel’s – bedroom, but he didn’t interrupt.
There was a hallway on the floor Rhys had reached where there weren’t any Halloween decorations, and although part of Rhys felt that he was intruding in somebody’s home, he didn’t have any bad intentions – he was just going to throw up somewhere nice and quiet then leave. That wasn’t a crime, was it?
It probably was.
Either way, Rhys – being the very rational and smart person that he was in his current state of mind – chose a door down the silent hallway at random to go into and check for a bathroom. He opened the large door as quietly as he could, and stuck his head inside.
Oh God.
There was an adult in this room.
Rhys whipped his head around frantically, panicking as the figure in the room – who was sat at a desk, with much quieter music playing from a small speaker next to them as they were filing some paperwork – looked up from their seat to look at Rhys in disbelief.
“I am so-” Rhys started, before stopping mid-sentence as his eyes fell on the en suite bathroom, adjacent to the office’s door. The bathroom was open, and there was a toilet right there.
He couldn’t stop himself.
Rhys threw himself into the office and through the bathroom, dropping to his knees over the toilet and emptying his guts into it painfully loudly. Rhys could barely make out as the man at the desk spoke, scraping his chair against the floor and marching his way over to the bathroom.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” The man said, throwing the door open with a lot more force than was necessary as he looked down at Rhys, who was feeling very, very awkward.
Rhys said nothing as he finished and stood up, closing the lid and flushing the toilet, his face painted a vibrant red in humiliation. He felt a little better for getting some of the excess alcohol out of his system, but now he just wanted more, because the embarrassment was crippling.
When he turned around fully to look at the man, his expression softened and turned into something more mocking.
“What’s wrong, cupcake?” The man said teasingly as he looked Rhys up and down. “Can’t handle your liquor? Kids these days.”
Rhys was half expecting the man to punch him and throw him out of the office, but instead, the man picked up a towel from the side of the sink and ran it under the faucet for a while. After wringing it, he offered it over to Rhys, who took it and wiped his face before resting it on his forehead to cool himself down. Through the mist of mortification and drunkenness, Rhys managed to make eye-contact with the man.
Damn.
The man had heterochromatic eyes, much like Rhys’ own; but his were shockingly blue and green, unlike Rhys’ blue and brown ones. His face was sculpted and unmistakably handsome, and he had a witty, charming aura about him that made Rhys feel strangely comfortable. His eyebrows were arched as he looked at Rhys, and the devilish smirk he was wearing suited him well, but his attractiveness didn’t do much for Rhys’ embarrassment.
Rhys looked down from the man’s face, and saw that they were about the same height, but the man was much broader than Rhys was; his shoulders were strong, and the jacket he was wearing carved out his masculine frame nicely.
The more rational side of Rhys pleaded with him to act sensibly – to tell the man that he was unbelievably sorry that he’d just thrown up in a toilet that looked to be worth much more than all of Rhys’ belongings combined – but the alcohol left in Rhys told him to start flirting; or get the guy’s number, or do something with him.
The man made the first move anyway.
“You okay there, princess? You’re not gonna faint on me, are ya?” He asked, and Rhys was left to battle with himself internally on how to approach the situation he’d been faced with.
“I’m sorry, mister.” Rhys replied, slurring as little as he could, “I got really carried away.”
“I can see that.”
There was a silence, and Rhys offered the man his towel back. The man motioned to a laundry basket, which Rhys haphazardly threw the towel at. Rhys stumbled a bit, and the man caught him with a hand on Rhys’ arm, steadying him. Rhys couldn’t help the blush that surfaced on his face as the man held on a little longer than was needed.
“You sure you’re not gonna faint on me, kitten?”
“I’m sure.” He smiled at the man, slightly apologetically.
The man didn’t take his arm away.
Instead, he started rubbing tiny circles into Rhys’ elbow, and Rhys’ blush grew. The man kept looking Rhys up and down, checking him out, but the younger man didn’t mind the attention.
“You alright now, then, babe? You wanna get back to the party?”
Rhys shook his head unhappily. He definitely didn’t want to go back downstairs any time soon.
“Fair enough. You in Angel’s year?”
“Mm-hm. You’re her… dad?”
“Yep. Jack to you, though.”
“Jack.” Rhys repeated, rolling the man’s name around on his tongue, drawing out the syllables, his mind struggling to process the information. “It’s uh, it’s Rhys.”
“Eh,” Jack said, thinking out loud, “I guess you can stay and keep me company if you want, babe.”
Rhys smiled, happy that Jack wasn’t going to kick him out. He didn’t particularly know what he was doing at that moment – half-flirting with his classmate’s father – but there was something really nice about the quietness that Jack offered, especially as Jack led him out of the bathroom and plopped him down on a leather couch next to his desk.
“Stay here until you stop feeling sick. Don’t want a pretty little thing like you getting himself into trouble, now do we?” Jack asked him as he sauntered back over to his paperwork.
Rhys couldn’t help but instantly stand up from his seat and follow Jack over, standing closely to the older man as he sat down in his chair and looked at Rhys amusedly.
A strange sensation washed over Rhys as his sickness was replaced with something else. Fuck it, Rhys thought to himself as he pressed a leg between Jack’s own, bending down.
“Oh, wow.” Jack laughed as Rhys bent down clumsily and threw his arms around the older man’s neck, nearly falling into his lap. “Guess they don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, huh, kid?”
Rhys grumbled at himself, because he was really bad at being sexy, but he really wanted to mess around with this guy. Vaughn always said he had a hot-dad thing.
Vaughn was always right.
But at this moment in time, Rhys really didn’t care. He was drunk, horny, and in the lap of some strong, mysterious stranger. It felt great.
Rhys leaned forward to plant a very lazy, sloppy kiss on the older man, running his hands through Jack’s hair, and Jack settled his hands on the back of Rhys’ thighs with a strong, protective grip. That felt great, too.
The two men broke their messy kiss for air, and Rhys started panting, throwing his hands on Jack’s chest to unbutton his shirt. Rhys’ vision was blurry and his mind wasn’t prepared for the complexity of shirt buttons, but Jack was patient as he revelled, watching the kid eagerly try and tear his shirt off of him.
They continued like that for a while; Rhys clumsily trying his best to act sophisticated and provocative as Jack sat there smugly, enjoying the attention Rhys was giving him, praising everything he did right with a smile and some sweet words or a slightly more suggestive touch.
Rhys bent into Jack willingly as he told him to, and Jack couldn’t supress the laugh that arose within him when the kid started beaming proudly after he finally managed to get Jack’s shirt off. Everything was messy and uncoordinated, but the two of them were enjoying it anyway.
“You’re a nice little distraction from paperwork, aren’t you, kiddo?” Jack smirked up at Rhys, who was currently trying his best to take his own shirt off. Rhys pulled the piece of clothing over his head and scowled, throwing it down onto the floor beside Jack’s chair.
“Don’t call me kiddo.”
Jack was going to laugh, but his reaction was cut off by a familiar buzz. He looked over to his desk, but it wasn’t his phone that was ringing. Peering over the younger man’s shoulder, Jack saw Rhys’ phone light up from behind the material of his trousers.
“Either your ass comes with a vibrate function, or someone’s calling you, babe.”
“Huh?” Rhys said, picking himself up from Jack’s chest to look at the older man confusedly. Jack reached around him to put his hand in Rhys’ back pocket, bringing Rhys’ phone up to wave it in his face.
Rhys looked at his phone with contempt. The caller ID showed that Fiona was calling him.
Fuck you, Fiona.
The younger man sighed at his friend’s bad timing and took the cell from Jack’s hand, getting off his lap to sit on the edge of the desk as he put his phone to his ear.
“Goddamn it, Rhys!” She shouted over the party’s music at him angrily, and Rhys could hear her pant as if she was running, “where are you?!”
Rhys looked at Jack for answers, and Jack offered him a shrug.
“…Toilet?”
“Well, get your ass to the van now.” She said sharply. “I just got a tip that some neighbour’s called the cops. We gotta get out of here.”
There was a pause as she opened a door, and the music got quieter.
“August and Sash are waiting at the van, and I got Vaughn with me. Hurry your ass up.” There was a click, and the call ended.
Rhys sat there speechlessly as he brought the phone slowly down from his ear. Jack leaned over from his chair to touch Rhys’ knee, giving him a wink.
“Well, that was fun while it lasted,” the older man said casually, “but you should probably go and catch your ride before it takes off without you.”
“Yeah…” Rhys agreed, begrudgingly. The younger slid off of the desk slowly, not wanting to leave, knocking a pen off of it as he did so. Rhys bent down to catch it, and an ingenious idea came to him.
Rhys grabbed Jack’s forearm and clicked the pen open, writing across Jack’s skin as quickly as he could before putting the pen back on the table and walking quickly to the door. He waved bashfully at Jack, who waved amusedly in reply, looking over the set of numbers that Rhys had drawn into his skin.
…
Rhys ran down the stairs and past the sea of drunk teenagers, who were somehow still partying madly. He made his way to the front door in the most efficient way he could remember, stumbling through the labyrinth of rooms in the mansion, before he finally made his way outside, walking quickly across the half-passed-out stragglers and abandoned cars.
When he finally reached the van, August had honked his horn at Rhys and they’d waved him over, ushering him to get into the car so they could drive home.
“Okay, okay,” Rhys said, settling into the middle seat of the back row between Vaughn and Fiona, “I’m here. Sorry for the holdup.”
“It’s cool, no big,” August said, starting up the ignition.
“Uh, Rhys?” Vaughn asked, tapping him on the arm.
“Yeah, bro?” Rhys replied, drawing his seatbelt over his chest and settling the best he could into the tiny space his friends had left for him. Silence washed over the van like a wave, and Rhys looked up to see all of his friends staring at him suspiciously.
Vaughn was the first to break the silence.
“…Where’s your shirt?”