teen jesus and the jean teasers (flip + rhys)

flip jones.

i felt just right. the edges of my vision were beginning to blur, but only if i didn't focus. the sounds of the party faded, a backing track of shouting, laughter, the occasional broken glass, the thumping heartbeat of the music. i felt light; whatever i had been worried about earlier in the day was insignificant now, a piece of the unidentifiable background, a tomorrow problem. tonight, i had no problems. other than the problem right in front of me. i looked him; his pretty, smooth features. he looked like a challenge; just a little too good for his own good. 

"no," was his immediate response to my question. shit. this one is going to be harder than most. but then, impulsively, he turned to look at me. "wait..."

i waited, leaning against the brick wall, concentrating on providing the perfect amount of indifference. that was the key. "i'll take one." bingo. hooked in. i pass him one, keep my lighter in my pocket. 

he peers at me questioningly. i feel self-conscious. i'd almost blush, if i were that sort of guy. instead i meet his graze, raise an eyebrow. 

"you know me then? i'm bad with names. long week." i know him, but i don't know him. i see him around, in his silly little uniform, doing his oh-so-important work. he raided a party i was at once, i think. an underground thing. probably had rebel roots, i don't really remember, i was just there for a good time. once it stopped being a good time, i legged it pretty quick. i stay quiet, not keen to remind him of anything he may or may not already know about me. better to be a mysterious stranger in the dark. 

"rhys, by the way. and not a copper yet. close, though so be careful. might go full-tonto on your ass." he smirks. a threat, wrapped up in bravado. i can think of something else he can do to my--------- i laugh at him. i decide i like him. 

i lean forward, offering him the tip of my own lit cigarette to light his with, still holding it in my mouth. i talk through it, my words a little disjointed. 

"i'm flip," i grin up at him. "you don't get out much, rhys? you don't look at home at a party, if you don't mind my saying so." 

flip jones.

there is a moment after my question where i think i've lost him. he is a pig, after all, and perhaps my aspirations of a night of fun are lost on his kind. maybe he's just not capable of it. ma told me that everyone is different, and this is certainly an observation backed by my own experiences. i can let this one go if i have to. i disengage from his face for a moment, sweep a glance around the rest of the party, scope my other options. i've wasted a cigarette. 

"what if i did mind? what you gonna do?" at first my heart skips a single beat, interpreting his tone as a threat. i feel the hairs on my arms raising. i forgot just how some of these swine are. shoulda learned from experience and kept my distance. cocky bastard. but then he surprises me once again, mouth twisting into a smirk. 

he raises a bottle cloaked in a paper bag. i am impressed. i did not see this coming. my breathing returns to normal. i can't hide my smile. "where are you going anyway? i'm about one sentence away from ditching my plans." 

i laugh, hold my own bottle up in the air, a dramatic toast. the bottles clink, i tip my head back and swallow three big gulps of the stuff, demonstrating my intentions. "in that case, cheers," i say in a serious, ceremonial tone, "to fucking off your plans." 

"personally, my plans involved feeling like absolute shit tomorrow. care to join me?"

i shot him my best go-on-i-dare-you smile. 

flip jones.

mister keeper boy coughs and splutters and hacks up half a lung like he's never smoked before. usually i would find this off-putting, infantile, and somewhat embarrassing, but in the haze of the vodka i find it sweet. endearing, even. little virgin lungs, fluttering their little wings. i stifle a snort, not wanting to upset him. 

"fuck, that seemed more fun from a distance." 

i suck in a deep breath of cigarette, roll it around deep in my lungs, and blow a very wobbly smoke ring, showing off my experience. it's not fun, it's not about fun. it's about patching up the little ache inside you, having something to do with your hands when you're leaning against a brick wall at a party talking to a cute boy. it's a coping mechanism, not a real honest-to-god form of entertainment. smoking doesn't make anything good, it just makes everything slightly less shit. he'll learn this, if he spends much time around me. 

"you're a charmer, i'll give you that," rhys concedes. i'm giving it a good crack, so i'm glad to hear i haven't scared him off completely. he's so fresh he's almost green. 

then he does something that surprises me. he takes off across the street. my brain lags, assume he's suddenly decided to literally run away from me (which would be excessive, i wouldn't chase him) but then he twists into an alleyway, with confidence, and points at a ladder. it's part of the external cladding of the building, a little rusty but looks stable. he knew it was there. i wonder who he's been on the roof with before. 

"you first. if you fall, i might catch ya." 

i do as i am told without asking questions. one foot, then the next. i pull myself up easily - i was worried that the drink would make me unstable and prone to slipping, but the fresh night air hits my face like cold water, and i feel quite present. quite ready to keep drinking. 

when i reach the top i get my footing and then turn back. "your turn, then." i hold out my hand for him in case he wants some support on the last step. i wouldn't want him to drop his paper bag. we'll need that where we're going. 

"you spend a lot of time on rooftops with strange boys?" i ask, only half-joking.