Merry Christmas MacCrae (EDITED)

This is a little fic that I'm dedicating to the Christmas Holidays, to all the people who have read Fat Kid Rules The World, by K.L. Going, and to slash-lovers everywhere.

I own nothing.
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I sift through the rows and rows of supposedly 'chic' clothing, seeing nothing but stark whites and polished grays, a few blacks and subtle blues mixed in. There was nothing eye-catching here. Feeling like you're stuck in a DKNY desert is just a teensy bit creepy, especially when you know nothing in there will ever fit you. I finally get past that section, but wind up in the most boring shoe department I have ever seen. Black, White, Brown. I shift quickly back around that section, and find myself in a menagerie of ties.

I can just picture the headline: FAT KID LOST IN DEPARTMENT STORE.

I don't even know why I'm here. Well, I do, but I don't know why I picked this particular place to do my Christmas shopping. Especially since there's only one person left on the list, and I know he would never want anything from this "Fucking Garbage Dump of Airbrushed Chicks and Unreal Standards of Perfection".

You see, I got everyone else. Dayle and Dad both went nuts over the new cd, so I sent them each a copy, signed by everyone. I couldn't believe it when I overheard Dayle telling his friends that I was his cool big brother. It was the only present I needed. I got the other members of Rage/Tectonic some new equipment, because I knew their old stuff was taking a beating from the concerts and the fans. I gave Ollie a music book made for drums, so that he could write his own stuff, and I even packed in a set of glow-in-the-dark drumsticks because I know he's easily amused. Freddy, our agent, got a pair of striped socks (as a joke, but also because I didn't know what else to get him).

So, really, everyone was taken care of except Curt. What do you give your skinny-ass best friend who just won his third MTV Music Award? Rage/Tectonic's following has already reached Europe, and I don't doubt Curt gets at least three times the fan-mail I get (and that's saying something, considering I think I became like an idol to obese teenagers everywhere). There's no doubt that these fans probably sent him more stuff than your average Santa Clause could carry.

He's my best friend. Really, I think the feeling's mutual. We're past the time when I would idolize him for his 'Legend Status'. We past that point the minute I saw him in that hospital bed. There was no more stupid games to play. He played them all. I beat them all. There was nothing left for him to hide from me, and I knew it. That's when I knew Curt let me in. There was really no other choice.

I moved past the tie menagerie and into an aisle of kitchenware. Yeah, just what Curt needs. I'm sure he'd be thrilled if I bought him a blender. I'm sure he'd just kiss me. I'm sure he'd just jump on top of me and-

I bypassed the kitchenware aisle and headed around the corner. Those thoughts seem to be invading my mind all too frequently. Too frequently for my liking, anyway. They've been appearing out of nowhere. I really couldn't stop them. It's crazy, because I'm straight, and Curt's straight, and we both like girls, so that means we're straight.

But... lately, straight thoughts are becoming less and less frequent.

I step into the electronics aisle and look around. This place could be helpful. I search for a cd or DVD aisle, and come out empty-handed. This store really is useless. I see one of those electronic scales on the other side of the aisle, and wrinkle my nose. Those things kill me. I take off my shoes and step on it.

152 pounds.

Half my original weight (what I weighed before Rage/Tectonic), but still. I'm huge, blubbery, fat. Even if I did like Curt, he'd cringe and run his skinny ass off until he was far away. Too far away for me to find him. The thought nearly kills me, Curt gone, just like that. Leaving me alone, without anyone to tell me looks don't matter. But of course they do. Curt is a sex god on earth, and I'm all blubbery and pale and nothing. No wonder the drums get stuck behind everyone else in the band.

It's just in case the drummer looks like me.

Headline: FAT KID CRIES IN THE MIDDLE OF MACEY'S.


(())



So, I got a call from Chicago on my cell-phone, and I knew it was Ollie, but I said "Fuck this shit" and didn't answer, 'cause I knew he'd just be giving me heat on what to do about Christmas with the T-Man. I think Chicago's where he gets his pot, because he's always a little wild when he goes down there with his family.

He knows I'm hot for Troy. In the most serious sense of the word. I told him so, because he thought I was on pills again. I'm thinking maybe I should be, since I haven't had it bad for a guy in ages. Yeah, back when I had nowhere, I used to turn tricks for a little cash, but nothing hit me like this. I never wanted to like this. And the fact that he knows nothing... Damn, there's nothing I want more than to teach him a few things.

He doesn't see it. He hides himself, trying to make believe there's no chance for him. Girls scream for him all over the place. Not just the fat ones, but the hot ones that I know he sees as an impossible dream. He just refuses to hear it. He hates himself that much, I guess.

His family could be part of it. I'm not sure, but the dude's father seems a little harsh. He's told me about his brother, major issues there. In my opinion, Screw Them. On second thought, screw me, and forget about them. Yeah, I'm crazy for the dude. Just a little confused as to how one goes about, uh, wooing him, per se. Especially since he's too busy beating the shit out of himself to even catch on.

We'll be at the penthouse for Christmas, just me and Troy. Everybody else is going to visit family. Troy wanted to keep me company. The penthouse the band keeps in L.A. is my pride and joy. First home I bought myself. Decorated by yours truly, too, and I must admit, I didn't do too shitty.

Just to make my earlier point, I gave Troy's room some personality. I plastered his walls with posters of himself, the band, famous drummers, and a few eclectic original pieces of artwork made with chip bags and candy wrappers. Literally. There is no wall left. But, at least you know its Troy's room.

I turned off my cell as soon as Ollie quit calling. He can just go fuck himself. If I don't know what I'm going to do about the situation with T, he sure doesn't. He's just calling to laugh his ass off at me. Flopping down on the couch, I turned on the new plasma screen and flipped through the channels. Damn, eight-hundred channels and there's nothing on at two-thirty worth watching.

I find the Soap-Opera channel and decide to watch, so I can cut up the corny acting and predictable plots with Troy later. Some chick with blonde hair answers the phone to find that her lover is in a coma. A dude with a mustache found his long-lost brother. Some kid finds his mom in bed with her boss. All of them, completely flawless. Fuck them. They look good, but look at the lives they live, the people they play. Not to mention, I'm sure at least half of those actors are in the same boat I was a while ago.

Yeah, I guess I can admit it now. I did screw myself over pretty bad. If Troy and his family hadn't been there, I'd probably still be stuck in that damn subway, or going from place to place. The pills really were fucking me up. I didn't know how bad they were.

I snapped out of my daze as I heard the door open. I was Troy, I knew. Troy and a bunch of shopping bags. He really got in to the whole Christmas thing. It was fucking adorable, really.

"Hey." He looked tired. And pissed. And I guess I was right, because he flopped down on the couch beside me and let out a huge, frustrated sigh.

"Hey," I said, sitting up to get a look at him, as well as the bags. "What's the matter with you?"

"I got lost..." He sighed. Then he turned to look at me with a twinkle of ironic humor in his eye. "In a department store."

I grinned, then burst out laughing. It was too good. Priceless, even. Troy Billings, lost in a department store? To good to be true.

He glared at me, jokingly, of course. "Damn Christmas. Damn it to Hell."

That was too much. I was gone. Laughing like a fuckhead with no intention of stopping anytime soon. It was too good. Not just the situation, but the fact that it was Troy. Just... Troy. He was good like that. He could make me laugh like that.

I remembered our "Fat Kid's Revenge" jam session. That was great, a priceless moment. The moment I knew this was the coolest dude I would ever meet. I think that's when I started to feel that certain feeling. The one I'd never admit to. The one that the stubborn, cowardly, bitch side of me kept shoving away. But now I was sure. This was it, Troy was it. Troy didn't know it, he better not know it anyway, but he had me wrapped around his finger.

Okay, I hope you know, I'll kick your ass if that ever gets around. I mean it. You're dead.


(())



Curt's on the floor, laughing like a deranged hyena. Sometimes I wonder if I should try to keep him away from sugar. Oh, yeah, me, the fat kid, keeping someone else away from sugar. I'm such a hypocrite. I can't even keep myself away from Mars Bars long enough to drop a couple of pounds.

I drop the bags on the floor and start rifling through them. This, of course, makes Curt stop laughing and scoot over. He's got this insatiable curiosity for Christmas presents, or anything else that comes in a prettily wrapped box. So, with an undoubtedly evil smirk, I slid the bag away from him and moved over.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, trying to get past me to the bag. Being fat sometimes has its advantages, however, because Curt couldn't get between me and the coffee-table, which I watch him boisterously curse, as his foot gets caught under a leg.

"Fucking Coffee Table! What the fuck did I buy this fuckin' thing for, anyway?! Piece 'a shit!!" He kicks the table with all the fiery rage signature of the rock-star persona.

"Um, because it was cool-looking?" I offered, holding back laughter.

"Oh yeah, that's right." He jumped back onto the couch, then over it to get around to the other side. I grabbed the bags and moved them back in front of me.

"You're evil." he states, jumping over the couch, a little too close to me. I move over to keep myself from becoming fat goo, and also to keep the bags away from him. If I'm honest with myself, I might be gay. But I tell myself that I don't like guys, except for Curt. That's my excuse. Curt's unbelievably sexy, so he's a good exception.

"You're a bad influence." I state, taking out Ollie's present, already wrapped in red paper. Curt's eyes follow my hand, I swear, like a cat who smells food.

"That's Ollie's." he says, seeing the obvious shape of drumsticks. I nod, going into the bag to get out another present, Freddy's striped socks. They weren't wrapped.

Curt burst out laughing. "Who gets those?"

"Freddy," I say mutely. "I figure he'll have to wear them out of courtesy at least once, and we'll get something to laugh at." I grin at him, and I know he's imagining old Freddy in those socks, because he's laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

I reach in, and pull out Curt's gift. It's in a little box, and I had it wrapped in green paper and tied with gold ribbon. I saw it, and I knew it was for him. I knew it was perfect. Yeah, I know it sounds corny, but I wanted him to have the perfect gift. And I knew this would make him laugh. So, that was it, I grabbed it.

Curt watched that box like a hawk. "Who gets that?" He asked, dumbly.

"You," I stated nonchalantly. "But you have to wait until Christmas."

I just barely survive his attempt to snag the box, but I hold on to it for dear life. I stand, and hold it tight in my hands. He jumps up and attempts to tackle me to get the box. I go to dodge, but I'm not fast enough. He has me on the floor, carpet scratching my face. Much to my embarrassment, he sits on top of me, grabs the present, and unwraps it. Very, very, slowly.

Headline: FAT KID CRAWLS INTO HOLE AND DIES.

(())



Now, don't get me wrong, I love teasing T-Man. And sitting on top of him is very nice, if you know what I mean. But, when in that position, it's damn hard to hide a boner. And I definitely wouldn't want to scare him off. Not now, anyway.

But, I'm curious to know exactly what T got me, and I feel like playing with him a little, so I unwrap to little green box as slowly as I possibly can, and open it. A little glint of silver catches my eye, and I dig through tissue-paper to find it. Finally, I pull out a long chain, with a set of dog-tags at the end. Turning one over, I read.

If I ever die of a heart attack, I hope it will be from playing my stereo too loud.

A grin splits my face, and I look down at T to find him watching me intently, the tiniest bit of color decorating his cheeks. I stand up, slowly, not really wanting to. He stands as well. I put on the dog-tags and grin wickedly. This has to be the coolest thing I have ever worn. I think Troy knows that, too.

I can't help it. I feel like I have to. I wrap my arms around him in a hug. He seems way stunned, and, yeah, he should be. I'm not the touchy-feely type. But I couldn't just throw him down and jump him, so I'd say this was the closest thing I could get right then.

"Merry Christmas, MacCrae." I heard him mumble into my neck, just under my ear. His warmth was comforting, and I didn't feel like letting go. Suddenly, we're damn close, and we've been hugging just too long. I opened my eyes (when the fuck did I close them?) to see Troy looking me straight in the eye, grinning happily. He was so fucking cute. He always was. Even when he was the Big T. I remembered those days.
Suddenly, it felt like I was about to lose my mind. Troy… He always was the sane one. I don't think I would've gotten so far without him. There's no other drummer I'd rather have. I would rather be back with my step-dad than see T leave my life. I could take my step-dad. Losing Troy, no fucking way. The thought makes me crumble, like my stomach is turning to salt. But he's looking at me now, and grinning 'cause he knows I can't help but fucking love the gift he gave me. And He knows I can't help but love him for it. Or maybe he doesn't know. Fuck it. So fucking close, why the hell wasn't he closer?

I got there first. I put my hand behind his neck, and slammed my lips to his. It was slow, hard, I couldn't believe I wanted him so bad. Once again, he was shocked. I don't think he had any idea, which makes me confident in my acting abilities, but no less scared. As in, I admit it, I was scared shitless.

And then he started kissing back. Which is fucking insane, especially considering he's straight, but who's complaining?

His arms were around me now, one around my waist, one around my neck. Fuck, it was electric. I felt his fingers through my hair. I snaked my hand under his shirt. It was cold, causing him to gasp. I hate to say it, but that gasp made me lose it completely. It felt like an acid trip times ten. Jesus, it was hot enough to burn. Our tongues moved with one another as though they understood each other.

Finally, I had to pull away for air. I watched T's eyes flutter open, and grinned wickedly. His lips were swollen, and probably bruised. His hair was fucked up. He was flushed like he'd just been fucked. Of course, this made me wonder what he really looked like just after he'd been fucked. All in all, he looked too innocent to be part of the music business.

Then, he grabbed me, and kissed me again.

Fuck, maybe I am a bad influence.


(())



Headline: FAT KID HAS NO IDEA WHAT HE'S DOING.

I'm confused. Curt just kissed me. Really hard, with tongue. I think I might've died for about two seconds there. It was hot. Not just hot, probably some kind of sin. Not that it matters. Because I just kissed Curt back, and he seems to be thoroughly enjoying it.

I pulled back and looked at him, stealing his signature wicked smirk. I kissed his jaw lightly, before moving to the juncture between his neck and jaw-line. I kissed him there, then lightly laved my tongue over it. He gasped, just loud enough for me to hear, and moved his neck to the side so I would have better access. I kissed down his neck, and when I got to the point where it met his shoulder, I sucked. Hard. Hard enough to leave red. He tasted perfect. Addictive, like one of those little Tasty Cakes I used to sneak into my room.

By this time, I didn't care how crazy I was being. How fast my dad would kill me, how fast Dayle would go back to throwing insults at me, I just didn't care. Curt's hands were on my back, under my shirt, and I could feel we were both breathing heavier. I wanted to taste more of him. He was just something I needed, like a drug.

Somehow, I really don't care how, we were back on the couch. I pulled his shirt off and handed it to him, giving him a grin. He looked like he wanted to laugh, his eyes sparkling that way they did when he was really crazy, but instead, he wrapped it around my neck and pulled me against him for another mind-blowing kiss.
I ran my hands up his chest, and felt his body lean into my touch. It felt good to have that kind of control for once. I pushed him down onto the couch and felt his body react just how I wanted it to. Meaning, something got nice and stiff.

I leaned down and moved my lips and tongue over his collarbone. He was breathing real heavy by this time, and his grip on me was tightening. I leaned over to envelope a dark nipple in my mouth. I think he nearly jumped. It was nice to make him lose a little composure. I laved my tongue over it like an ice-cream cone, flicking the tip of my tongue over the hard nub after each full circle. By this time, I think Curt was having trouble comprehending what was going on. I released the nipple from my mouth and blew cool air over it, feeling gratified with the shiver that went up Curt's spine. The other nipple got the same treatment.

Now, I still wasn't sure what I was doing, but I was pretty sure of what felt good. And I wanted Curt to feel really good. So, I did something I never thought I'd do. And, considering I'm friends with Curt MacCrae, that's saying something.


(())



I was still recovering from his nipple-teasing, when I felt it. Hot, wet, and fuck, all around me. His tongue was working its way around, licking away precum and laving around the head. I moaned, faintly, all thoughts shattered. I think, somehow, my fingers wove their way through his hair. His teeth lightly graze the tip, and that was the only warning I had. He took me all the way into his mouth.

At that point, the only thoughts in my mind were: Troy. Mouth. Hot. Wet. Holy. Fuck.

His tongue was sweeping all around me. I moaned so loud I thought I broke windows. Then he started to suck, and damn. I was gone. My eyes rolled back in my head and I couldn't breathe. He sucked slow, moving me in that heat so damn teasingly. Damn Natural… I thought, vaguely remembering my very first blowjob, when I had to deal with a damn gag reflex. Apparently, Troy didn't have one. My nails were digging into his skull, I knew it. Then, he picked up speed, sucking harder. Jesus, I couldn't move. I think I screamed.

A low growl hit me from the back of his throat, he obviously didn't like my nails digging so hard. But fuck! The feeling of that growl went from my dick, all the way up my spine. He growled again, and I swear, I woke everybody in the city.

"Christ, Troy…"

I guess he felt me tense, because he got up quickly and kissed me. His hand wrapped around my dick, and I came as we kissed.

How good was he? I think I spoke in tongues.

He was grinning at me as I came out of my sex-induced euphoria. Smiling and tapping out beats on my stomach. I was too lost to speak at first. He was tapping out an old Led Zeppelin song, I could hear it. I got my voice back, and stared at him.

"Where the fuck did you learn that?!" I tried to shout, but it came out hoarse, breathy, kinda like I just had sex. Go figure.

"Ollie." he stated nonchalantly.

… The HELL?!

I nearly jumped out from under him to go to Chicago and kick the older drummer's sorry ass. Just for looking at T-Man. I'd do a helluva lot more for everything else. He'd never see the fucking light of day.

"What?!" I really did shout this time. Fuck, Ollie was gonna die.

"Yeah, he's teaching me Led Zeppelin stuff now, can you believe it? How very retro of him." he grinned at me, still tapping out the Zeppelin beat. Finally, I caught on, and sent him a glare to wither a rosebush.

"You know exactly what I meant." I growled, running my hands up his shirt possessively. I gripped the fabric and pulled him down, wrapping my arms around him and kissing lightly down his neck.

He smirked and stopped tapping. "You can't prove it."

I smirked. "Maybe I can't, but I can sure as fuck show my gratitude. Merry Christmas, T-Man." I whispered into his ear, as I pulled his shirt off and threw it over his head. It's gonna be a real good Christmas.