Disclaimer: no, they're not mine. All copyright material used solely for personal entertainment purposes. No infringement is intended. Batteries not included. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Subject to change without notice. Not suitable for children. Keep in a cool, dry place. For recreational use only. Some assembly required. Sanatised for your protection. All models over 18. Use in a well ventilated area. Contents may vary from advertised. Website: http://www.asstr.org/~Melissa

Pete/Berg, NC-17, alcohol.

A game of truth or dare and a few too many drinks leave the guys with a bit of a problem.

Volatile
By Melissa

Pete burst through the door, barely able to conceal his glee. "Berg? Berg, where are you? You are *not* going to believe this - "

Berg looked up from where he was sprawled on the couch. "What?"

Pete dumped his bag on the counter, and started to pull of his coat. "You remember that girl from college? Lisa Gellar?"

Berg shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Red hair, nice tits, kinda skinny?"

"Yeah, that's her," Pete said. "So, I bumped into her on the street today, and she's covered in like, gay pride stickers, little rainbows, all that stuff," he pulled the fridge door open and snagged a beer. "Anyway, so we're talking, and she asks me if I'm still in touch with Sharon, right? So I say, yeah, sure, I live in the same building. And then, she asks me - get this - if Sharon's *come out* yet!"

"Come out of what?" Berg asked blankly. "I - oh. *Oh.*" A wicked smile crept over his face.

"Exactly," Pete said. "And I'm like, that might hard, Sharon not being gay and all, and she says, 'Yeah she is, and *I* should know.' "

Berg raised his eyebrows.

"So I asked her what she meant by that, and she said she slept with Sharon in college!"

Berg leapt up off the couch. "Oh. My. God."

"I know! I know!"

"This is big, Pete. This is *huge* - "

"I know!"

Berg looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you, God."

Pete smirked. "You're welcome."

Berg took a deep breath. "All right then - details, my good man. Details!"

********************

"So, I said to her, look lady, you suck, okay?" Sharon reached unsteadily for another beer.

"And - what did this lady look like?" Berg asked, more sober than Sharon by about three beers. "Was she - attractive? Easy on the eye? Did she make you want to - "

"Berg," Pete said warningly, tossing him another beer.

Berg shut up and opened his beer.

Sharon gave him an odd look. "No. She was fat and ugly and mean, and she *sucked*."

"She - "

"*Berg*."

"But - "

"*No*, Berg," Pete said firmly, then added on a whim, "Bad boy. Bad Berg."

Berg narrowed his eyes. "You know - "

"Let's play truth or dare!" Sharon said, suddenly.

Pete and Berg both looked at her. "What?"

"Truth or dare. It's fun," she confided in a low voice.

Pete shrugged, trying to make it look casual. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."

Berg looked downright bored. "If you want to."

How perfect could you get? Sharon was setting *herself* up. Pete hid a grin. And they hadn't even had to do *anything.* Sharon was so obliging.

"Me first! Me first!" Sharon set her beer down on the coffee table, causing it to foam up to the rim. "Hmmmm - "

Pete hid a smile. Sharon was cute when she was drunk. Of course, Sharon was always cute -

Pete clamped down on that thought in a hurry. He'd had a thing for Sharon, once. Thought maybe she was The One. But in the end, their friendship had won out. Who knew what would have happened if they'd done more than kiss; maybe the wedding invitations would be welcoming everyone to the wedding of Sharon and Pete -

Or maybe they wouldn't even be on speaking terms.

Not worth the risk.

Pete smiled at Sharon, who was frowning.

"Sharon, honey," Berg drawled. "Are you going to come up with a question today? Because I've still got my Christmas shopping to do - "

"It's March," Sharon pointed out.

"I know," Berg said.

Sharon pouted. "Fine, whatever. So. What - "

"Truth or dare," Pete reminded her.

"What?"

"Truth or dare," he repeated patiently.

"What?"

"You've got to ask, 'truth or dare?' before you start."

Sharon sighed drunkenly. "*Fine*. Truth or dare?"

She seemed to be adressing the window. Pete and Berg exchanged glances.

"Uh, Sharon?" Berg said quizzically. "Who're you talking to?"

She glared at the window. "Pete."

"Oh," Pete said. "Wonderful."

Berg smirked.

"So?" Sharon prompted.

Pete shrugged. "Truth, I guess."

"Hmmmm," Sharon said, her eyes suddenly glinting with mischeif. "Sooooo, Pete..." She paused dramatically. "How often do you 'spank the monkey'? Three times a week? Four? Or - "

"*Sharon*," Pete protested over Berg's laughter. He could feel his face reddening.

"C'mon Pete," Sharon said, draping an arm over him. " 'Fess up."

"Yeah, Pete." Berg imitated Sharon's pose. " 'Fess up to Aunt Sharon and Uncle Runs-With-Scissors."

"I don't know," Pete said sullenly, remembering now why he hated the game. "Depends."

"On?" Berg prompted.

"That's two questions," Pete pointed out peevishly.

"No, that's an exsh- extensh- that's more of the first question," Sharon said. "So?"

"I don't know. Four, five, six, ten times?" he muttered. "Whatever."

"Whoo-hoo," Berg said, eyebrows raised. "Ten to whatever times a week. Didn't know you had it in you."

Pete glared.

"Okay, my turn," Berg said. "Sharon."

Sharon looked at him warily. "What?"

"Truth - or dare?"

"Truth," Sharon said confidently.

Pete sat back and tried to hide his grin.

"Sharon, remember Lisa Geller?" Berg asked. "That's not the question," he added hastily.

Sharon froze, her beer halfway to her lips.

"The question is - "

"Dare."

"What?"

"Dare."

Berg looked disgusted. "You can't switch in the middle of the question."

"I don't want to talk about Lisa Geller," Sharon said firmly. "Because, you know, when you get drunk, and you do stuff, it can get embarrassing later, and I *hate* being embarrassed, and getting drunk and doing dumb stuff is really stupid, and I never want Johnny to find out about that because he'll never stop asking me to talk about it and besides, what's wrong with it anyway? Stress release is a fine thing, and I say girl power is a great concept and girls can do anything. So there."

Pete and Berg exchanged glances.

"All right," Berg said, leaning back. "Dare, then."

"Dare," Sharon confirmed.

Berg headed for the kitchen.

"Berg?" Sharon asked, fidgiting.

"Patience," Berg called back.

Pete leaned over to see what Berg was doing. Mixing something in a glass, looked like ketchup, and - yep, in went some mustard. Half of Berg's beer. A little milk. Some orange juice. And finally, soya sauce.

Berg brought the glass in and deposited it in front of Sharon flamboyantly.

"And what do you think I'm going to do with this?" she asked, a brittle little smile on her face.

Berg smiled back. "What do *you* think?" he asked.

"No," Sharon said.

"Truth or dare," Pete reminded her helpfully.

She glared.

Pete glanced at Berg, who was innocently studying his nails.

"Fine!" Sharon said suddenly. "I'll do it. But I want my turn first! Berg, have I got the question for you - "

"You can't do that," Berg said.

"What?"

"You can't take your turn before the dare." Berg stretched out. "It's just not right."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Well, Sharon - " Berg began.

Without warning, Sharon grabbed the glass and downed the contents in a singe gulp.

Pete watched, fascinated, as she turned green and ran for the bathroom.

"Nicely done," he said offhandedly to Berg. "You know what would have been really cool? If you'd put a laxative in there too, so we'd *really* have a mess to clean up tomorrow."

Berg shrugged. "The price we pay for our entertainment. A couple more rounds and she'll be begging to tell us about the great lesbian sexcapade."

Sharon entered the room. "Thanks, Berg," she said, making no effort to hide her sarcasm. "Great fun."

Pete hid a smile.

"So, my turn." Sharon turned to Berg expectantly.

"*Dare*."

Sharon frowned. "No, say 'truth.'"

"Dare." Berg repeated firmly, suspicion etched on his brow.

"Fine, whatever," Sharon said.

Too easily, thought Pete.

"Let's see… I dare you to kiss Pete."

"*What*??" Pete and Berg said, simultanesouly.

"No way," Berg said. "Sharon - "

"I did your dare," she pointed out.

"That was different," Berg said. "I - "

"What, you want truth?" Sharon asked.

Berg exchanged a glance with Pete. "Um, yeah. Truth."

"Tell Pete about Robert Goulet."

Berg looked at her warily. "Well, Robert is a man of many talents, first and foremost being his singing abilities. I first heard - "

"Tell Pete about what you did with Robert Goulet," Sharon interrupted.

Berg's eyes widened. "I, uh - I have no idea what you're talking about -"

"Uh huh. Sure. Let's just say I have my sources," she said smugly. "Now - ?"

Berg squirmed. "Pete, d'you mind?"

"Mind what?" Pete asked cautiously.

"If I - " Berg gestured vaguely.

Pete was struck dumb. What the -

Before he could finish the thought, Berg was suddenly in his personal space, and Pete felt a brief brush of soft lips against his -

And then it was over, and Berg was back where he was.

Pete blinked.

"Oh, puh-lease," Sharon was saying. "That wasn't a real kiss. I want a *real* kiss. Now!"

With a martyred look on his face, Berg moved close to Pete. "Sorry," he muttered, moving in to kiss Pete gently.

Pete closed his eyes reflexively, wondering exactly when it was that the world had gone mad.

Before he could complete the thought, Berg's tongue traced a gentle outline on his lower lip, and Pete moved helplessly into the kiss, one hand on the couch for support, the other burying itself in Berg's hair.

Berg was kissing him - with *tongue*??

And it seemed to go on forever. Pete felt like he was melting into Berg's warm strength, and as Berg drew back, Pete became aware that he was hard. His eyes dropped involuntarily to Berg's crotch.

Huh.

They were *both* hard.

"Happy?" Berg asked Sharon, but his usual cockiness had desserted him. He looked - shell shocked.

"Hell, yes," Sharon said, unsteadily. "Um -"

There was a loud knock-knock on the door, and before anyone could say anything, Johnny entered.

"Hey," he said, taking in the atmosphere of the room with a frown. "Who died?"

"Um," Sharon rose unsteadily to her feet. "Honey, we're going home now. 'Kay?"

"But - "

"Now," Sharon said, employing The Tone. "We're going home now. Bye, guys."

Johnny put a supportive arm around Sharon. "So, what exactly was going on in -

The door swung shut.

Pete stared at the carpet.

" 'Nother beer?" Berg asked casually.

"Yeah," Pete said. "Definitely."

********************

Consciousness came back to Pete slowly. His senses reported in disjointedly, one by one.

His head hurt. His mouth tasted funny. He was *not* in bed.

What the fuck - ?

Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open - and closed them instantly.

Oh no. He wasn't lying on -

Yes. Yes, he was.

He was sprawled half on and half off the couch, with his face resting on an extremely sensitive portion of Berg's anatomy.

And just to make matters even worse, he'd obviously been drooling in his sleep, because there was a faint damp patch where he had drooled on the front of Berg's jeans, and -

It had *better* be drool.

Carefully, Pete pulled himself upright, making sure all his parts were still in working order.

Berg stirred. "Pete?"

"Yeah," Pete said, rubbing at the stiffness in his neck.

"Did we get really drunk and pass out?"

"I think so," Pete said. "It's all a bit vague, actually."

"Oh," Berg said. Then, after a minute, "Did I kiss you?"

Pete looked up, wishing his head would stop thudding. "Um. Well - " He shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. I guess."

"Oh."

They sat in silence.

"Is that why we got drunk?"

Pete shrugged again. "I guess."

"You don't think that's - I don't know - a little *telling*?" Berg pressed.

"What do you mean?" Pete said warily.

"You know. That we felt like we had to get drunk. To deal with it. I mean, that's not too healthy, right?"

Pete ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Does it matter?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled himself to his feet and went to the fridge. "We got drunk, now we're sober. All we have to do is wait out the hangovers."

"I don't get hungover," Berg said absently. "Just lucky, I guess."

Pete glared at him as he poured himself an orange juice. "Gee. How nice for you."

"Why do you think it bothered us so much?"

Pete tried hard not to sigh. "Does it really matter?"

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Pete choked on his orange juice. "I - what?"

"Sex. With me. Do you want to?" Berg was sitting on the couch and starting intently at Pete.

Pete smiled. "Oh, I get it. Very funny, Berg."

Berg frowned. "Pete - "

"No, no, wait - " Pete waved his glass theatrically. "Berg, take me - I'm yours!"

"Pete, I'm - "

"Geez, you know you actually had me going for a minute there? You're good, I'll give you that." Pete chucked softly as he rinsed his glass. "Sex, with you. Yeah, right."

"You know, sex is like air; it's not important unless you're not getting any," Berg said.

Pete looked at him blankly.

"I'm serious. Why shouldn't we have sex?"

"I - " Pete frowned. Was Berg actually serious? "Berg, I saw your lips moving, but I don't have a clue what you just said."

"Yes, you do." Berg had his I-am-stubborn-and-persistant face on.

Pete shook his head. "Sometimes I wish life had subtitles."

"So, do you?"

"Wish life had subtitles?"

"No, the sex part."

Pete laughed nervously. "No. Why are you doing this? It's really beginning to get old."

Berg just looked at him. "You know, Pete, I'm not sure I believe you."

"Believe what?" Pete said cautiously.

"In fact, if I was more cynical, I might even say that your 'no' was as suspicious as a nun doing sit ups in a cucumber field."

Pete ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips. "Berg -"

"I think I want to have sex," Berg said bluntly.

"You want - "

"- to have sex. With you."

" - with me?" Pete couldn't keep the sudden nervousness out of his voice.

"Yes," Berg said simply. "I think you're attractive, and we're both unattached, and I want to have sex." He looked pointedly at Pete's crotch. "And I think you do, too. So it would pretty much be a sensible arrangement, don't you think?"

Pete followed Berg's gaze and flushed. "Berg, I - "

There was a knock at the door.

"Um, we should probably get that," Pete said.

Wordlessly, Berg crossed the room and opened the door.

Ashley peered in. "Is Sharon here?"

"No," Berg said. "Why would Sharon be here? She has a home. Unlike some people."

Ashley ignored him. "She called me. She said some very odd things about you two."

"What do you mean, odd?" Pete asked, forcing a smile.

"Odd. Weird. Unusual. Anomalous. *Odd*." She offered her patented smile.

"Oh, well that clears that up then," Berg said. "Now, it's a shame you have to hurry off, but - "

Ashley raised an eyebrow as she saw the multitude of beer bottles scattered around the couch. "Oh, Pete, trying to get the dog drunk again? It won't work, you know. She's still too choosy."

"Oh, Ashley. You just haven't been the same since that house fell on your sister, have you?" Pete said.

Ashley narrowed her eyes. "If you see Sharon, tell her I'm looking for her."

Berg swung the door closed. "Sure, fine, whatever."

There was a brief silence.

"Aren't you late for your shift?" Pete said finally.

Berg looked at the clock. "Huh." He picked up the phone and dialled.

"Calling in sick?" Pete asked, disapointed.

"No, I've run out of sick days. I'm calling in dead," Berg said.

"Oh." Pete nodded to himself. Oh well, if all else fails, running away was always an option. He grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

"Hey, Pete - "

Pete closed the door and headed out into the cold.

********************

Pete opened the door reluctantly. He hadn't really wanted to come home. With his luck, Berg would still be going on about the whole sex thing, and he really didn't want to deal with that right now. It was just Berg, being Berg. As he usually was. It didn't actually mean anything, but it still made Pete feel, well, a little uncomfortable.

Which was perfectly reasonable, and in no way, shape, or form, meant that he was gay or homophobic or whatever.

After all, who would feel comfortable when their best friend asks them if they want to do it? Madonna, maybe, but that'd be about it.

Pete stepped though the door.

Berg was sitting on the couch, watching something on TV, and eating pizza. "Hey, Pete."

"Berg," Pete acknowledged warily.

"You've been gone a while," Berg observed.

"Yeah, well, things to do, you know," Pete said vaguely.

Berg nodded.

Pete relaxed slightly. Looked like he might be off the hook.

"So, how about a pizza and a fuck?" Berg held out the pizza box.

Pete gave Berg his best withering stare.

"What, don't you like pizza?" Berg asked innocently.

"Berg - "

"Oh, for god's sake, Pete, relax. I'm not going to jump you." Berg tossed the pizza box aside and reached for the remote.

"Oh," Pete said.

"Unless you want me to."

"Berg, will you leave it alone?" Pete snapped irritably. "You're making me feel uncomfortable and weird, and I don't like feeling like that around you, okay?"

Berg muted the TV and stood wordlessly.

"Okay?" Pete asked again.

"What if I'm feeling weird around you?" Berg asked softly.

"Wh-what?" Pete stammered, caught off guard by Berg's tone.

"What if I really do want to have sex, and what if you want it, too?"

"I don't - "

"Yes, you do." There was certainty in Berg's voice. "Sometimes I think I know you better that you know yourself, and I think you want this."

"No, I don't - "

Berg held up a hand. "Okay - "

"Berg, you're seriously creeping me out here - "

Berg nodded slowly. "I won't press, all right? But it's out there."

"Berg - "

Berg shook his head. "Nothing else said, all right?"

Pete nodded. "All right."

"Watch the game?"

Pete shrugged. "Um, yeah. Okay."

********************

Someone was playing someone else. Football.

Pete had been watching the game for twenty minutes, and that was all he knew.

He wasn't attracted to Berg - he was a guy, after all, and Pete was straight, hell Berg was straight too, just yanking his chain - but ever since Berg had said the things he said, nothing felt the same.

There was a good ten inches of empty couch space between them, but Pete felt like he could feel Berg's body heat. He was hyper-aware of the way that Berg was sitting, of every movement he made.

This couldn't be good.

Pete tried not to fidgit.

"Touchdown!"

Pete jumped.

Berg clapped a hand on Pete's knee. "All right!"

"Touchdown," Pete said feebly, trying to ignore the bolt of heat shooting from Berg's hand directly to his groin.

Berg turned back to the game, but left his had on Pete's knee. Casually, like it was an oversight. Like he forgot he put it there.

Pete wanted to say something. "Get your hand off my knee," or, "Will you quit with the mindfuck, already?" But nothing was coming out.

He settled for trying to ignore the hand. Berg would move it soon.

Unfortunately, Berg did just that. Small stroking movements, nowhere near Pete's groin, but sending shocks of arousal to his cock just the same.

Pete started to breathe a little faster. Now would be a good time to get up, walk away, tell him to get his hand off me, tell him to quit it.

He did nothing.

Berg drew delicate circles on Pete's knee, and let his arm drop slightly, so that his forearm was brushing against Pete's cock with every movement.

Pete's head fell back against the sofa and he thrust up helplessly, trying to prolong the contact. "Berg - "

Berg suddenly withdrew his hand, leaving Pete bereft.

"Wh -? "

"Oh, I'm sorry, Pete," Berg said, innocently. "I said I wouldn't press, and I'm so sorry. It won't happen again." He looked at Pete, a challenge in his eyes.

Pete swallowed, his mouth dry. "Uh, okay, I - I should be going to bed, anyway."

Berg shrugged, seemingly indifferent, eyes on the TV.

Without meaning to, Pete found his eyes on Berg's groin.

Well, at least he wasn't the only one feeling frustrated about now.

********************

Pete lay in bed, hands resolutely locked behind his head.

It was crazy. The whole goddamn thing was crazy. Him and Berg - it would never work. How could it? Even assuming he was interested - which he wasn't - Berg was a ladies man and always would be.

Besides, he couldn't imagine being with Berg. Not - like that. Flowers and romantic dinners and hand holding. It just didn't fit.

Okay, so he was hard. So what? The pope would be hard. It didn't mean anything.

Sex… sex was just sex. Fun, but meaningless unless there was something more. At least the possibility that that person was The One.

And besides which, all other objections aside, he wasn't gay. He Was Not Gay. Mayhe he'd have it tattooed to his forehead.

Backwards, so he'd see it every time he looked in the mirror.

And hell, since when did Berg start playing for the other team, anyway? Because no one could keep up a joke so intense this long. Could they?

Of course, if anyone could, it would be Berg.

Jesus.

So either his best friend was putting a hardcore mindfuck on him, or trying to actually fuck him.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

Pete pulled the pillow over his head to muffle his groan.

********************

3.27am. Pete sighed and pushed the covers back. Looked like he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

Why did Berg have to make everything so complicated?

How was it even possible that they'd been friends for so long, and Pete had no idea, *none*, that Berg did guys? Assuming that he actually did. Do guys, that was. Because deep down, Pete still felt certain that this had to be a joke. All he had to do was wait out the punchline.

He needed a drink.

Actually, he needed several drinks, but then that was how this whole mess started in the first place. God only knew what would happen if -

He clamped down on that thought ruthlessly. One drink, no harm.

He opened his bedroom door as quietly as possible. No way did he want to wake up Berg. Not until he knew how he was going to deal with this.

"Can't sleep?"

Pete jumped. Shit. Looked like Berg was still on the couch, old reruns of I Love Lucy playing quietly on the TV.

"No, I just - " Pete cleared his throat. "Just wanted some water."

"Hmm," Berg said, noncommittally.

Pete turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. Pulling a glass out of the cupboard, he said, as casually as he could, "so, got any plans for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Berg said from close behind him. "Planning to spend it in bed."

"Oh," Pete said, suddenly nervous. "Well. Sure. Sleeping." His hands shook as he filled the glass.

Suddenly Berg was behind him - right behind him, fully in his personal space - and reaching over him to turn the tap off. "Not if I can help it," he said softly.

Pete turned. "Berg, I - "

Berg cut him off with a sudden kiss.

Pete froze, horrified and turned on in equal measure. Jesus, what the hell - and why did it have to feel so good? He wasn't gay, but there was no way, no way anyone could *not* kiss Berg back, not when he was -

"Pete," Berg was murmuring against his mouth, "just relax, please, just go with it." He ran a hand through Pete's hair. "It'll be good, I promise - "

Pete pulled back violently. "Berg, Jesus, I - " I what? I liked it? I thought we were friends? I want you never to do that again? What was it exactly that he wanted to say?

Berg was doing his best to invade Pete's personal space again. "Pete. If you obey all the rules, you miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" Pete's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Shit, Berg, since when are you gay? And since when are you interested in me? And if you really are interested in me, how can you justify risking a friendship over sex - "

Berg was shaking his head. "You talk too much. But to answer your questions, one, I'm not gay. Two, I've always been interested when it comes to sex. And three, there's nothing at risk that we don't put at risk." He sighed. "It's just a bit of fun between two guys who know each other better than anyone else, that's all. We still see girls, we still go on dates. But when it doesn't work out - there's some tension release waiting at home."

Pete stared wordlessly. It was like some pod creature had replaced Berg. He opened his mouth to protest again, but before he could come up with anything coherent, Berg was kissing him again.

Oh shit, and he was hard. They were both hard. Oh, god. Berg's hands were moving over his body, cupping his ass, pulling their bodies in close.

Finally Pete gave up. Berg was a force of nature. There was no arguing. He pushed back against Berg and was rewarded with an approving sound.

Before he knew it, his hips had taken over and were thrusting against Berg, grinding their erections together. Berg let out a strangled moan.

Pete suddenly felt close - far, far too close - to release. He had to stop, they had to slow down or it would all be over before he even got his pants off. "Berg, we need to - I, I'm going to - "

Berg pulled away slightly, his face flushed and his pupils dialated. "Yeah, yeah, I - me too."

They stood there for a second.

"Should we - " Pete hesitated. "Um, maybe go to bed? Your bed, or, or my bed, I guess it doesn't really matter - "

Berg grabbed his hand. "Couch."

"Couch," Pete said, uncertainly.

Suddenly Berg was all over him again, and somehow they ended up on the couch.

Pete felt Berg's hands at his zipper, and smiled. "Couch."

**

There was just one thing he had to ask. It seemed just a little too suspicious. Sharon and her, "you guys should kiss" dare. It was like the plot of a bad porn. "Berg, was Sharon in on this?"

Berg stopped hunting for his t-shirt for a moment, and smiled enigmatically. "The complete lack of evidence is the surest sign that the conspiracy is working."

"Huh."

THE END

 
 
 
   
 

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