Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/946949.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      OMC/OMC
  Series:
      Part 2 of throw_up_your_fists,_throw_out_your_wits
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-29 Words: 4847
****** i want to be careless too ******
by youcouldmakealife
Summary
     “Nikita,” he says.
     “...is your name?” Luke says. He knows it is. All the girls say it
     dreamily because it’s exotic.
     “We room together, you call me,” Sidorchuk says.
     “Nikita,” Luke says, nose wrinkling. He’ll manage, he guesses.
     “Okay.”
Notes
     Thanks to Clo and my helpful tumblrites for looking this over!
     Title's a throwback to my own high school days, from Xiu Xiu's "Bunny
     Gamer". Xiu Xiu is basically now the soundtrack for this series so,
     you know. Pitch black and fucked up. Fun! (I was a precocious
     fourteen year old. I read Sartre. I was basically insufferable.)
     Warnings for this specific part in the endnotes.
See the end of the work for more notes
Luke’s sixteen when he makes to pro level. Okay, barely pro, paycheque more an
allowance that’ll maybe cover a movie and popcorn a week, but people are going
to be paying money to watch him play, he had to jump through about fifteen
hurdles to get in, and biggest of all, he’s leaving home to do it. Red Deer
isn’t all that exciting, even after Grande Prairie, but the Hitman had cut him
early, and his mom got all quiet and worried about him living in a big city
anyway. For months his parents did the long drive to Red Deer with him, hoop
after hoop, the two of them taking turns so someone can look after his
siblings. They took time off work and helped him find the stuff at the rest
stops that he could actually eat on his diet, and finally, finally he makes it,
cut after cut until there’s nothing left but a team to fall into, and they take
the drive one last time, both of them, leave his siblings with his aunt, who
ruffles his hair and wishes him luck.
They insist that they have to help him settle in, once they get into town, have
to meet his billet family, his mom hovering while he unpacked, constantly
asking if he’s forgotten anything. It was nice of them to take him, but he just
wants them to leave already, he’s sixteen, he’s practically an adult, he
doesn’t need them hovering.
They drive him to the arena before his first practice, and his dad helps him
get his bag from the trunk. “Thanks,” he says. “See you at Christmas?”
“We’re coming in with you,” his mom says.
“What?” Luke says. “No, come on.”
Her face goes hard, like it does right before every time she yells at him, all
‘Lucas Timothy Morris, we are your parents and you will respect us!’, but his
dad puts a hand on her arm, says “Liz, let him go, he needs to learn to be
independent.”
“Thank you,” Luke says, shouldering his bag and getting as far as the doors
before his dad yells, “We love you, champ!” from the car, just to fuck with
him.
Asshole.
There are a bunch of parents inside, even though Luke’s probably one of the
youngest. He doesn’t look it though, already 6’1” and totally parent free, so
he’s a little smug when he finds himself a spot in the dressing room beside a
guy who is trying to insist he does know how to tape his stick by himself,
thanks dad.
Luke smirks at his knees and not at the guy complaining only because he’s team,
and it’s a bad idea to piss team off.
He recognizes a few of the guys from try-outs, but a lot of them he doesn’t
know, guys who were clearly here before, greeting each other with backslaps and
shoulder claps, buddy-buddy, catching up on the offseason while Luke tightens
his laces and the kid beside him finally convinces his dad to go wait in the
stands instead of standing around a bunch of half-naked teenagers like a freak.
When they all get out there, it finally sinks in that this is his team, his
roster. He went through try-out after try-out for this, did every bullshit
drill and fitness test you could name, had to sit in a car with his parents and
his stuff for six hours straight while his mom tried not to cry, had to say
goodbye to Ben, who cried all over him, and Holly and Katie, who pretended they
were happy to get rid of him, the bullshitters. He did all that, and he’s far
away from home, (though not that far, he’s pretty sure he heard a dude talking
with a Russian accent), but he’s a Red Deer Rebel, and this is his team, and
it’s all totally worth it.
After skate his billet family picks him up, because his parents have started
the drive back to Grande Prairie. He hadn’t expected them to be gone, but it’s
fine--he’ll see them at Christmas and it’s not like he’s some momma’s boy.
Still, when he gets back he spends an hour responding to an email Holly sent,
asking if there were any cute guys on his team. Answer being how should he know
(there were a couple, not that he was looking too hard), and that they wouldn’t
date a fourteen year old girl anyway (that part’s probably true at least. He
hopes.).
He answers a bunch of questions about practice at dinner, doesn’t have to fake
enthusiasm, because it genuinely is exciting, but after dinner he heads up to
his temporary room, completely bagged. School starts in a week, and he doesn’t
know how he’s going to juggle it, school and hockey, if just practice makes him
this tired.
It’s not too bad when he gets into it, a bunch of practice while the coaches
get their undivided attention, and Luke gets to know a few of his teammates,
Nowell, the kid who really can’t tape his stick without his daddy’s help,
Waters, who has an accent so thick no one can understand him half the time, who
knew Saskatchewan was a whole other planet? A few others, but most of the guys
are older and kind of sneer at the sixteen year olds, like they’re better just
because they’ve played hockey a year or two longer, just because some of them
aren’t in high school anymore.
When school starts, Luke’s in a bunch of classes with Nowell, who sticks to him
like a burr that Luke’s going to have to shake off, a couple with Waters.
Weirdly, a few with Sidorchuk, who’s eighteen but in eleventh grade classes for
everything except math. It makes sense, the guy’s only been in Canada for a
couple years, and even though Luke understands his accent better than Waters’
weirdo Saskatchewan-ese, his English sucks. He’s already been drafted, third
round to the Penguins, but Luke guesses wanting someone to mature before
playing is extra important when they haven’t graduated high school yet.
Luke’s beside him in English, and he tries to help him out as much as he can,
because every time he does Sidorchuk smiles at him, small but there, and it
makes sense to get in with the older guys, and Sidorchuk has this weird
popularity, is foreign enough to interest everyone, especially the girls, who
cluster around him, all ‘are you Russian? That’s amazing. Oh, Belarus? I love
Belarus’, as if they could even point to it on a map. Luke can’t either, but at
least he doesn’t pretend that he knows the difference.
Luke has to deal with weeks of utter boredom and a few hockey practices, just
like home except for the fact he lives with strangers and Ben isn’t following
him around everywhere he goes, but then the season’s gearing up to start and it
all suddenly feels worth it, fast. They start easy, a game in Edmonton they’ll
just turn around and head home after, but it’s an actual trip. Coach Houston
tells them they have five minutes to think up their roommate picks for the
entire season, and it’s Luke’s worst nightmare all at once, all the older guys
grabbing each other’s arms like they’re preparing to get married, and Nowell
looking around for Luke. Luke feels like ducking, but instead, when he sees
Sidorchuk, he walks over, totally willing to face rejection if that means he
doesn’t have to deal with Nowell on trips. He probably still has a blankie.
Sidorchuk raises an eyebrow when Luke comes over. “Hey,” Luke says. “You want
to room with me?” and waits, trying not to fidget while Sidorchuk stays silent
and he can practically feel Nowell breathing down his neck.
Finally, Sidorchuk shrugs and says, “Okay,” and Luke tries not to look too
visibly relieved and probably fails at it because Sidorchuk laughs at him a
little meanly.
The sudden need for room arrangements is clear when Houston tells them that
they’re stuck sitting on the bus like that too, so Luke settles in beside
Sidorchuk, who claims window, tries to make himself comfortable when they’ve
put 400 pounds into an enclosed space. He keeps knocking elbows with Sidorchuk
whenever he moves, mumbles apologies, elbows him again, keeps apologizing.
Maybe he should have roomed with Nowell, at least Nowell doesn’t take up so
much space.
At the end of a two hour ride, Sidorchuk grabs his elbow.
“Nikita,” he says.
“...is your name?” Luke says. He knows it is. All the girls say it dreamily
because it’s exotic.
“We room together, you call me,” Sidorchuk says.
“Nikita,” Luke says, nose wrinkling. He’ll manage, he guesses. “Okay.”
“Good,” Nikita says, and then lets go of Luke’s elbow, finally. Luke keeps
finding himself rubbing it while they get dressed, a little sore, like he got
under Luke’s skin.
*
They lose their first game by a pretty embarrassing margin, any chemistry they
managed during practice completely evaporating once they all realised there
were people watching them, thousands of them, all cheering against them.
Houston is livid on the way back, yelled at them in the dressing room, and when
they trudged onto the bus, and now is sitting up front with his arms crossed,
pretending they all don’t exist. The bus was loud on the way to the game, but
it’s quiet, the night dark around them, most of the lights off, except for a
few guys reading. No one’s talking much, in case Houston decides to yell at
them for that. Luke just goes for his IPod, Nikita staring out the window,
hands clenched, beside him, and then after a couple minutes, nudges Nikita’s
shoulder and offers him an earbud. He shakes his head, but he loosens up, a
little, and Luke shuts his eyes, falls asleep to Nickelback.
A week later they have a quick jump to Calgary and then a much longer trip to
Prince Albert, and he’d be nervous about it, about playing after that fuck-up,
but his English teacher springs an essay on him and he’s too busy scrambling to
catch up on reading Brave New World to worry about anything. He hasn’t managed
by Saturday morning, when they’re piling onto the bus, but Nikita’s got it out
too, a little bit further than Luke, but definitely not much, and after a more
narrow loss to Calgary, they both manage to finish it on the bus to Prince
Albert, stumbling out of the bus to catch a couple hours of sleep in actual
beds so that they can maybe win a game.
Nikita faceplants on the far bed, and Luke’s too tired to argue for it, just
sets an alarm, toes off his shoes, and then sleeps until the alarm’s screaming
at them and they have to get up to put some carbs in themselves.
They do win that night, and actually get to sleep in beds. Luke honestly has no
idea whether Houston would have bundled them into the bus if they hadn’t. Dude
scares him a little. They have to roll out at six in the morning, and once game
adrenaline disappears, Luke can barely keep his eyes open, so the second he
gets to the room he’s passing out, waking briefly when Nikita comes in awhile
later, changing in the dark, the sound of his belt buckle loud in the silent
room, then he’s drifting right back to sleep.
Nikita’s alarm goes off at five-thirty, and Luke groans, puts his head under
his pillow while Nikita mutters something in Russian (okay, not Russian,
whatever language they speak in Belarus. Is that Russian? He doesn’t know, it
sounds Russian), and slaps at his phone until it stops making noise, stumbles
out of bed. Luke removes the pillow over his face, watches him move through the
room in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else, the bare line of his back lit
up when he turns on the bathroom light and disappearing when he shuts the door.
Luke groans and puts his pillow back over his face, hating himself a little,
and when the shower starts he gets a hand down his own boxers, jerks himself
fast and rough, on a deadline, and doesn’t think of Nikita’s ass in his briefs.
Whatever.
*
After the first few embarrassing losses, they actually manage a decent streak,
some close wins, close losses, a couple blowouts either way. They're in Regina
for one of them, a 6-1 win they kicked ass and took names in. Waters has some
family from there, a cousin in high school, and after the game he mentions that
there's a house party not too far away. It's a Saturday night and all they've
got tomorrow is the trip home, one that doesn't even roll out until ten, so
most of the guys are into the idea, getting pumped about it. There's no way
Houston doesn't hear them talk about it, but he's in a really good mood after
the win, and kind of broadly hints that curfew isn't going to be as big a deal
as it usually is. It's a long weekend anyway, they'll have the trip to sleep
off their hangovers and then Monday to get their homework done.
They go back to the hotel, everyone running back and forth, trying to find
something to wear, suddenly acting like Luke’s sisters, swapping clothes and
asking if they look good. The guys who brought hair gel are suddenly the team
heroes, Nowell's room crowded with guys in front of the mirror, fixing their
hair.
Luke changes into a t-shirt, sweats, because he doesn't have anything else.
Nikita's on his bed, flipping through channels. “You coming?” Luke asks.
Nikita shrugs.
“Dude, you have to come,” Luke says. “Girls love you, you'll totally get us all
play.”
Luke may not like girls in the way it seems like he's supposed to, but they
always look nice and taste good, like whatever sticky lipgloss they're wearing,
and he'd rather make out with a girl than jerk it alone in his hotel room
thinking about his roommate's ass. That's pretty pathetic.
Nikita rolls his eyes. “And I carry you back?” he asks.
“C’mon,” Luke says. “I bet I could keep up with you.”
Nikita laughs in his face, but he gets up, finally, riffles through his bag and
ending up with stuff way better than Luke has on, a polo shirt and dark wash
jeans that make his ass look incredible, not that Luke’s looking. He’s just
noting. He should get himself a pair of those.
Everyone’s congregated outside the hotel like the least subtle curfew breakers
ever, all dependent because Waters and Gardiner are the only guys that know
Regina at all. They pool their cash, get enough cabs to take them to a
sprawling house with basically nothing surrounding it, music so loud they can
hear the bass before they even get out of the cab. Luke sticks close to Waters,
who gets greeted by his cousin in slightly more understandable Saskatchewan-
ese, and then leads them to the drinks, jackpot.
Luke grabs a beer for himself, then a second for Nikita, weaves his way through
a pretty impressive crowd until he finds Nikita near the front doors.
“Molson,” Nikita says, lip curling.
“What,” Luke says. “Too good for our beer?”
“Is there vodka?” Nikita asks. He has to press close, yell practically into
Luke’s ear.
“Chicks drink vodka, dude,” Luke says.
“Not shots,” Nikita argues, heading back where Luke came from, and Luke
follows, because Nikita’s a pretty quiet guy, and if he wants to do shots, then
Luke really wants to be there to witness the hilarity. He wonders if Nikita is
a touchy drunk.
Following turns out to be a bad idea, because when Nikita does locate vodka and
shot glasses after some effort, he turns on Luke, makes him do a shot with him,
and then when Luke’s still coughing, feeling like he just drank rubbing
alcohol, who does this shit?, Nikita’s already forcing another one on him. He
leaves Luke alone after the third, lets him go back to his Molson, but that’s
enough to get Luke’s head buzzing. He doesn’t actually drink a lot, he doesn’t
have many chances to, and he’s always got practice in the mornings, it seems
like. When he does drink, it’s beer, and he knows he can handle his beer, he’s
a big guy, but the shots are going straight to his head.
After finishing his beer he nurses another, watches a couple of the guys strike
out pretty spectacularly, watches Nikita convince a girl with huge tits and a
really low cut top to do shots with him. She’s totally into him, leaning into
his space so he can get a better look down her shirt, and Luke dimly wonders if
she’d come back with them, if Luke would have to try to sleep through Nikita
fucking her, through her sucking his cock, or maybe he'd have to bunk with
Nowell, jesus. He blinks a few more times, longer each time, until Nikita's
shaking his shoulder, smirking. The girl's nowhere to be seen, and Luke doesn't
know if he's relieved or not.
“You drunk,” Nikita says, and Luke doesn't know if that's a question or an
observation, but he's pretty sure he is. Some drinker he is.
“No way,” he says, “just tired,” because seriously, Nikita's had at least twice
as much as he has and the only sign is the fact that his cheeks are a little
flushed.
“Hotel?” Nikita asks.
“What about the chick?” Luke asks. “You totally had her in the bag.”
Nikita rolls his eyes. “Hotel,” he repeats, and gives Luke a hand up when Luke
doesn't immediately stand.
They're probably the first two leaving, a bunch of the guys spread through the
place, and Luke doesn't want to meet anyone's eyes, doesn't want them to
realise he's such a lightweight that Nikita's practically being his chaperone,
calling a cab and waiting on the porch with him among the smokers and the
couple attached at the lips.
Luke drowses a little on the way to the hotel, and Nikita ends up paying the
cabbie despite Luke's protests, hauls him up. It's barely past one, and Luke
shucks his clothes with his face red, convinced Nikita to come out with him in
the first place, then couldn't even handle his own shit.
“Sorry,” he mumbles to the wall.
“Not everyone handle vodka,” Nikita says placidly, and when Luke looks over,
he's down to his boxer briefs on his bed, remote in hand. “Movie?” he suggests.
“Schwarzenegger.”
Sure enough, Terminator's on, and Luke goes to sit on the edge of Nikita's bed
because his is too far for a good view, the TV tiny. He sits up straight at
first, so aware of Nikita beside him, but Nikita doesn't move, and eventually
he slumps a little, genuine exhaustion catching up with him along with the
booze.
Nikita gets up to turn the main lights out during a commercial break, then
there's just the TV illuminating the room, Nikita's face washed out in blue. He
should look terrible, and he kind of does, but Luke still wants to suck him
off. He doesn't know what that says about him.
Luke realises he must be staring when Nikita turns to face him, brow furrowed.
“Sorry for cockblocking you,” Luke blurts.
Nikita looks confused. Guess that hasn't made it into his English vocabulary.
“That girl,” Luke says. “She would have fucked you.”
Nikita shrugs, like that doesn't matter. It probably doesn't matter to him,
he's got girls all over him all the time. Luke has no idea what he gets up to
when he's not at school or playing hockey, maybe he's got a girlfriend. It's
not like he tells anyone anything.
Nikita goes back to the movie once the break’s over, and Luke tries not to look
at him completely obviously, probably fails. He’s in crowded locker rooms with
naked guys all the time, but it’s different, sharing a bed with a guy in briefs
and nothing else, only a foot between them. Nikita's fit, has the kind of
muscle definition that Luke tries to get but can't, Luke's body broad, all
utility, while Nikita's got the kind of six pack that girls giggle over. Actual
pecs, and nipples dark brown, big, for a guy. Luke's spent a lot of time
thinking about his ass, but like this he can't keep his eyes off his cock, the
shape of it in his briefs, just enough for Luke to store in his spank bank for
later. He's either a shower or he's big, and Luke's never even kissed a guy,
but he wants it in his mouth so badly he's practically salivating.
He's not subtle, shit, he's not subtle at all, so when he takes his eyes off
Nikita's cock, which is plumping up a little, he accidentally meets Nikita's
eyes. Nikita looks at him, and then pointedly down at where Luke's half hard in
his boxers, fuck.
“I should go to sleep,” Luke stutters out, and sits up properly.
“You 'cockblock' me,” Nikita says slowly, like he's trying the term out,
deciding whether or not he likes it.
“I said I was sorry,” Luke says defensively.
“Make it up to me?” Nikita says, still slow, the way he always is when he wants
to make sure he's saying something perfectly.
Luke swallows, looks down at where Nikita's up to half mast, stretching the
fabric of his briefs.
He doesn't know if this is some huge language barrier. Maybe he's asking for
something else, like for Luke to do his English homework, or to find him some
girl in Red Deer, or to stay the fuck away from him, since he's clearly a
faggot.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, voice a little husky, like he's been
downing shots all night.
Nikita looks at Luke's mouth, then down at his own cock, and when Luke's breath
stops, suddenly unsure, caught, he says, “Suck my cock.”
That sentence definitely isn't from a language barrier. Luke's pretty sure it
can only mean one thing.
“Seriously?” Luke asks, in case this is some trick or something, some way to
make sure he's not gay, like if he says yes they'll all bully him off the team.
Nikita doesn't seem like the type, never joins in the stupid ribbing that
happens in the locker room, the cries of 'no homo!', but Luke isn't going to
risk his career just because he wants to suck cock. Even that pales in
comparison to hockey.
Nikita doesn't say anything, just raises his hips, tugging his briefs down over
his cock, and—okay, he's not just a shower, that's good to know. He's still
only half hard, but he's clearly packing, plump and thick, curving up a little.
Luke's hands are practically itching, and Nikita shows no sign he's pulling an
elaborate fakeout, just looks like a guy who's waiting half impatiently for a
blowjob from a sure thing (if Luke had cleavage he would have been flashing it
all night). When Nikita sighs, reaching to pull his briefs back up, Luke
catches his wrist before he can stop himself, letting go when Nikita pulls his
hand back, and only going far enough to get his fist around the base of
Nikita's cock, skin thin and hot under his palm.
“Tell me if I screw up,” Luke says, dimly aware his voice was shaking but not
caring, not enough at least, the vodka still burning him up, his cock throbbing
in pace with his heartbeat, already painfully hard just from the thought of
getting his mouth around Nikita's cock.
He shifts down the bed, letting go of Nikita's cock just long enough to get
onto his elbows, making himself as comfortable as he possibly can when his cock
is pressed into the mattress and he's got a dick right in his face. He gets his
hand back around him, a little hesitant as he's pulling his foreskin back,
something he's never had to deal with, before he tentatively touches his tongue
to the head of Nikita's cock.
He doesn't know what he was expecting, he's tasted his own come enough, curious
about it, but all he tastes is skin, salt sweat, soap. He'd tried not to watch
Nikita in the showers that night, hair plastered to his face and body sleek
when it's wet, and now he's got his mouth around him, can taste the soap from
that shower, when Nikita had been five feet away from him, his hand on his
cock.
“Luke,” Nikita says, strained, and Luke doesn't know if that's encouragement to
actual do something or scolding because he isn't, but he takes the hint
regardless, exploratory, finding the spots that tip him over the edge usually,
exploiting them. The spot under the head of his cock doesn't seem to do much
for Nikita, but when Luke tongues over his slit his hand comes down, curled
around Luke's head because Luke doesn't have enough hair to pull. When Luke
finally takes him deeper, he keeps his hand there, not pushing, exactly, just a
weight on the back of Luke's head, holding him on his cock, keeping him there.
Luke finds it so hot he can barely stand it, Nikita's hand heavy on the back of
his head, the weight of his cock against Luke's tongue, the taste of him, the
smell. Luke feels like he’s drowning in him, so it’s good that Nikita only
lasts a few minutes, hips nudging up towards the end, Luke gagging a little
around him, unable to pull back because of the pressure on his head. He has
tears in his eyes, his cock almost chafed from trying to hump the mattress
under him, when Nikita comes without warning, bitter, and holds Luke’s head
down until he's swallowed it, letting go when even the flat edge of Luke's
tongue makes him jerk, oversensitized. Luke sits up, slow, wipes the back of
his mouth, the bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Nikita's red faced, flushed.
Objectively he looks a little ridiculous, panting, open-mouthed, but it's all
Luke can do not to rub up against his thigh, come on his ridiculous stomach.
Nikita must take pity on him, on what Luke is sure must be a pretty
pathetically horny face, because he tugs Luke up, gets a hand into his boxers,
a hand around his cock. It's too dry, too rough, almost more painful than it is
good, but it's a hand around his cock and Luke's sixteen, so it doesn't take
long before he comes, teeth in Nikita's shoulder so he doesn't make noise.
When he pulls back belatedly, having caught his breath with his face pressed
against Nikita's skin he sees the perfect imprint of his teeth. “Sorry,” he
says, sort of sheepish.
Nikita waves a hand dismissively, then, seemingly realising that he's still got
Luke's come on his hand, wipes it off on the sheets, wrinkling his nose.
“Gross,” Luke says.
Nikita snorts, pulls his briefs back up. Luke's going to have to change his
boxers. Shit, Luke hopes he actually has a change of boxers.
“So that was,” Luke starts, and Nikita looks at him expectantly, but he
honestly has no idea how to end that sentence. It'd be bad enough with an
English speaker, but with Nikita, he can't even be sure whatever he says will
be understood. Not that he knows what to say. Like, what, 'that was cool, I'm
totally up to suck you off whenever you want.'? Fuck.
“We should get some sleep,” Luke says finally, sort of lamely, and Nikita nods
but then still keeps looking at him. Luke’s confused until he realises he’s
just sitting there on Nikita’s bed like an idiot, so he scrambles off it, gets
into his own bed, tugging off his boxers and wiping himself off with them under
the covers, suddenly kind of shy about it, which is stupid because he had
Nikita’s cock in his mouth like, five minutes ago, but now it’s just weird.
He drops his boxers on the far side of the bed, closes his eyes when the room
goes dark. The TV had been on the whole time, muted, but still, that strikes
Luke as so ridiculous, that for all he knows Nikita had been watching TV while
Luke was sucking him off. He has to suppress a slightly hysterical giggle.
“Goodnight,” Nikita says from across the room, the first words he’s said since
‘suck my cock’, unless you count Luke’s name. That’s ridiculous too, but it
doesn’t really make Luke want to laugh.
“Night,” he says, voice gone hoarse, the taste of Nikita lingering in his
mouth, and he wouldn’t have expected it, but he falls asleep in no time at all.
*
Okay, so once Luke was as naive as Ben is now.
He’s not proud of it.
End Notes
     This part contains underage sex (but not legally? Legal age of
     consent is sixteen in Canada, and I believe was actually fourteen at
     the time this was set, so it'd all be on the up and up even if there
     wasn't only a two year age difference), homophobic language, and
     impaired consent due to alcohol consumption.
     Still have a tumblr! Still won't let you guys forget it!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!