It was funny how quickly Caleb had become one of the people in his life he spent most of his time with. He hadn’t had the energy to go to classes, finding it mostly spent with his passionate encounters shared with Caleb, curled up Rory or crying over Teddy. He groaned as the harsh morning light shone upon his face, turning within the steady arms that were wrapped around him, smiling as brown orbs fell upon an angelic, sleeping Caleb. Bash closed the distance between the two of them, gently capturing the other’s lips within his own. Frankly, he was grateful for the distraction that Caleb posed, briefly able to escape his own demons and focus on something else. He tightened his arms around the other’s waist, sighing contently as he bumped his nose against Caleb’s.
TO SAY THAT BASH HAD BEEN HURT AND TAKEN ABACK BY CALEB’S TERMINAL TEXT would be an understatement, though it was something he HID well, not even bothering to respond and honestly, just avoiding the other male all together. He wasn’t sure what their relationship had been, if you could even refer to it as such but it was about MORE than just the fucking. There had been SOME feelings there. Something more. Something real. At least from Bash’s end. Whatever it was probably for the best anyways still that knowledge did little to numb the stinging. He did a sharp intake when brown orbs fell upon that of Caleb, his grip upon his backpack straps tightening as he willed himself to walk the other way. Instead his feet had a mind of their own, gravitating toward the other and just awkwardly standing in front of him, toe to toe, blinking a couple of times, unable to fathom any words.
Her shitty Jansport backpack strap hanged loosely from her shoulders as she tightened the straps, jumping up each step to get to Caleb’s apartment. Today Juliet was in a particularly good mood. Her father went out of town for business so naturally, the raven haired female decided to raid through his things. Some of the shit she could sell so Gracie could go to school but the rest of the stuff she brought over to Caleb’s. Her chipped nails that were once painted dark black dug through her jean pocket as she fished out the key that Caleb had gotten her, using it to let herself in, though she always let herself in. Juliet practically bounced down on the couch as she opened up her backpack, “Gotcha something.” A grin appearing on her lips as she pulled out an old Plaubel Makina W67 film camera, putting it into the blonde’s frail hands, “Figured you might like it.” She extends herself on the couch and pulls out a pipe from her backpack, courtesy of her dad as well as she packs it with some sweet ol’ MJ.
Juliet was fuming and it had nothing to do with her body beaten raw from her father. Ever since her sister got accepted into a prestigious high school, the brunette starting dealing drugs in order to save up money to send her off. To free her from her father. An hour ago, her father found her stash of money and stole it. He pulled a gun on Juliet and shot her in the arm, threatening her that if she ever deceived him again, he wouldn’t miss. Without hesitation she heads over to Caleb’s, bursting through the door, not even caring about her bloody arm, too high on adrenaline,“I need that gun.”
The second that Salem had told her about the exchange that occurred between her two boys, she tended to the curly haired male’s wounds before making her way to Caleb’s. Juliet doesn’t even bother knocking, barging in and the second her eyes catch sight of the wounded blonde before her she’s glaring, “SERIOUSLY?” She’s shaking her head, fuming with anger as she steps toward him, “What the fuck is your problem, Caleb? You can’t act like a fucking jealous ex when you can’t even admit that you still want me.” Juliet shoves him into the wall, his stoic expression making her even angrier, wanting SOME sort of reaction from him. So before she knows what she’s doing, her fist is is cracking with his face. For a moment she is breathing heavily, just staring at him before sighing, her expression softening. She extends her hand gently to look at his wounds and curses under her breath, “God damn it, Caleb. Take your fucking clothes off. You’re getting into the bath and I’m cleaning up your wounds. And if you think this is up for discussion, you can bite me.”
prompt; caleb getting bones through pre-date jitters
The Nerves Series: Part Two
Part One
She'd been half-naked for an hour and twenty-seven minutes when Caleb finally arrived.
"JESUS HENRY CHRIST, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?!" She shrilled at him, hands flailing in front of her chest as he hurried into her bedroom, a worried look on his face as he scanned her for gushing wounds or knives sticking out of her heart or something equally deserving of the text she'd sent him. This text, for the record, had simply read 'MY FLAT, NOW, EMERGENCY, HURRY' because Bones was not known for taking the time to think things through, unless they involved picking which Pop-Tart flavour she was going to purchase.
Standing next to her bed, wearing a bra-and-panty set and a look of terror, Bones held up two dresses to her own scrawny body. "Which one, Caleb? WHICH ONE!?"
There was a precarious moment where Caleb nearly yelled "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?" at the top of his lungs and threw something large and expensive out of her windows. But, being a gentleman, he remembered himself just in time and gave a sigh. "How formal is the occasion, Clemence?" He sat himself down at her vanity and finished the glass of rum she'd poured herself, casually checking his pulse against his fine platinum watch as he tried to calm down.
"He said we're hangin' out, but...SHIT. WHAT THE FUCK DOES HANGIN' OUT MEAN!?" Her eyes were huge, not unlike the pictures of the pound-puppies that peeked from between the bars of their cages as Alanis Morrisette sang about angels and their respective angelic arms. "But what do you fuckin' wear to hang out? You wear dresses if you're hangin' out all exclusive-right?" She shook the dresses, trying to keep his attention on them. "The dip-hem that makes me look like fuckin' Baby Spice but with better legs, or the black one with the longer skirt but makes my tits fantastic with the see-through bits around the cleavage?"
Caleb was rubbing his temples, and refilling the glass with rum until it nearly overflowed. "Tits, naturally. Tits are for hanging out, legs are for dancing or guaranteed sexing."
She nodded, pulling the dress over hear head in a rush and scurrying into her closet.
"DO NOT WEAR BOOTS." Caleb called, suddenly imagining her pairing the stylish dress with a pair of violently red combat boots.
"BUT...WHAT...I'M...UGHHHH!!" She groaned, and tugged on a pair of simple green flats. "I look like a bloody nun!" Her face was in a mope, and she flailed her hands at him to get him away from her make-up chair, where she slumped and started dejectedly applying blush.
He left the glass, but took the entire bottle of rum. "You don't look like a nun. Nuns don't have hair like yours."
"I lost a bet, Caleb. Why ya gotta drag the joke out, man?"
"Alright, Ronald McDonald, I'll let it die."
"Call me that again, and I will not hesitate to shave your head the next time you're passed the fuck out, douche-face."
"But then I'd have to kill you, darling. No one threatens the coif and escapes unharmed. It's the law of the land."
She hmphed and awkwardly glared at her reflection as she drew eyeliner with a careful hand. "Y'could just be supportive of your nerve-wracked bro here, Caleb. M'about to pop a damned lung." She tossed her cigarette case over her shoulder, never imagining that Caleb could let it drop. "Light me up one before I get proper bitchy and anxious, will you?"
"Yes, yes, of course." The knowing smirk was still on Caleb's face, but he lit two cigarettes in his mouth, before passing one over to his darling, fretting Clemence. "Who's the charming gentleman caller, then?"
Bones glared at him in the mirror, then adopted an aloof expression as she swiped mascara onto long lashes. "You didn't tell me who your mystery date was, Mister." She turned to properly look at him, suspicion in her narrowed eyes. "And I'm still sort of reeling that your mystery date has a penis, let alone freakin' out about his name."
The handsome man shrugged. "Just because you've only seen me with women-"
She held up a finger, correcting him. "No, I've only seen their knickers that get scattered about like Christmas decorations."
"Just because you've only seen their knickers, then...doesn't mean I don't like or want different attention, Clemence. Do we need to actually...talk about it, or...?" There was a hesitance and perhaps a bit of discomfort in his expression.
"Pleaaaaaase, Caleb. I don't care about chromosomes, I care if you're happy, dumbass." Soft green eyeshadow was brushed over her lids, and slowly but surely, she began to resemble a quaint sort of loveliness. "But I ain't givin' a name if you ain't givin' one, so..."
If there hadn't been discomfort in Caleb's expression before, it was most definitely there now. "It's...complicated, pet. There's things that him and me still gotta get through, before we can go about heralding things from the street corners."
She spun, cocking her head with a concerned expression. "...is he a Roger, babe? S'that it?" There was no judgment in her voice. Nothing Caleb did or said could be wrong, and neither Hell nor hailstorm would stop Bones from backing him and his mysterious penis-having sweetheart one-hundred percent.
"Wha-NO. No, of course not, Clemence. God, what...just no."
His vehement denial didn't faze her; she simply shrugged. "Okay. You know I got your back, no matter what shit you get into. Just lemme know if ya need me." Her grin took on a mischievous air. "Especially for a threesome. I got ideas, man."
"Oh dear God." He let out a laugh, and it was obvious that he was relieved. "Just stand up, you trollop. Let me see you properly."
She hopped up, arms out to her sides as she gave him a spin. "You happy, Maestro? Do I look a proper little lady?" Embarrassment was flushing her face, vibrant beneath the false blush she'd already applied.
He rolled his eyes at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a noisy kiss on each cheek, which brought giggles from her by the dozens. "You look lovely, darling. Go out and...what was it you said, that morning?"
"Probably somethin' awesome."
"Yes, yes. Well then, awesome things to one and all. Go and hang out and do whatever it is you crazy young things get up to. Call me later, or maybe we'll meet for a drink, yes?" He grinned, escorting her towards her front door on his arm.
She laughed. "In case I pass out from exhaustion, how's about we just grab some waffles in the mornin' and I chew your ear off with details, yeah?" A breath was let out slowly, and she nodded. "You can chill around here, if ya want, babes. I'm grabbin' a cab, but y'know...play some Super Smash Bros. or smoke a spliff or somethin'. Don't much care. Just don't...do NOT...eat the frosted blueberry Pop-Tarts in the cabinet. They are off-limits."
"As always."
"Alright...wish me luck."
"You don't need it, you numpty."
She huffed, shrugged, and disappeared out the door and down the steps. The cab she'd called was idling just down the block, and in she popped.
They were barely out of Neverland when Caleb texted her.
Good luck, darling. Knock his socks off.
The smile that was suddenly on her face was second to none, and she was suddenly more confident...though she would have been more comfortable in some combat boots.
Bones sat up and immediately banged her head on the bottom of his bed.
"MOTHERFUCKER!!" She opened one eye, groaning irritably and realizing that she had managed to fall asleep beside Caleb's bed once again. No idea why she still managed to do that every time she slept over, years after he'd been in the hospital and she'd all but been his bloody shadow, but there it was.
When she glanced about the room, ignoring the woozy feeling of being piss-drunk a few hours before, she saw nice slacks and a crisp green shirt laid out in perfect order on Caleb's bed. She blinked, thoroughly bewildered. Why was he dressing up nice to spend the day drinking Mimosas, eating French toast, and watching The Producers on repeat? That wasn't the hangover tradition she knew. Fuck if she could even be bothered to put on pants during their hangover-days, let alone things that had to be ironed.
"Caleb...what the balls, bro?" She managed to amble onto her feet and follow the Caleb-type noises into the bathroom where he was shaving. "You're shavin'? Did I miss somethin'?" She leaned against the doorframe, watching the lather disappear behind a safety razor.
He didn't speak for a while, which probably had to do with the sharp object near his top lip, but at long last, he did. "Got a date."
Her eyes narrowed. "...a date."
"Yes, Clemence. A date." He didn't look at her, because there was still that aforementioned sharp object near his facial features...or maybe because he knew that nothing good ever ensued when Bones' tone switched so suddenly.
"You have a date...on a hangover day?" With the shock and disdain in her voice, it might have been that he'd said he was setting fire to everything she loved, or missing Christmas and her birthday and 4/20, all at once. "This is a fuckin' holy day, Caleb." Her angry expression always managed to resemble a pout, no matter how furious she got; it was frustrating and adorable and did absolutely nothing to back her argument.
Caleb rinsed his face, at least managing to look galled. "Darling, it isn't like we're never going to have another hangover day, alright? It's...a relatively important occasion, if you don't mind."
"She had better be the scientifically-created genetic-splicin' of Heidi Klum and Scarlett Johanssen that puts out before you even get to the restaurant, or I'm writin' you outta my will. That'll mean you can say good-bye to the 70 year-old scotch, dude." She was hurt at the idea of their tradition being ignored, but her natural curiosity was sparking itself to a flame.
He leveled her with a look she knew very well, and a dark brow arched. "He...is different. I have different...goals." He finished toweling off his face, and that was when Bones noticed the tremor in them. A smile burst across her face, along with disbelief.
"Oh shit...are you nervous?" The smile was in her voice, but he ignored her.
He glared and moved past her to tug an undershirt over his head, somehow not mussing his perfectly-coiffed hair...the bastard.
"Oh my God, you are...I'm goin' to make some calls, I don't think this is ever goin' to happen again. This shit is...oh my God, does the RAF have a phone number? They can keep you guys under surveillance for my own sick pleasure!" She was nearly floating off the damn floor, following him and flailing her arms.
"You're hilarious, Clemence." He was shrugging into his clothes, obviously irritated with her, and she recanted...though the smirk didn't leave her lips.
Her hands fretted over him, righting his collar and smoothing the lapels of his blazer. He'd put on cufflinks, and she recognized that they were the ones she'd nicked for him from a multimillionaire in London and then had monogrammed. "Sorry, darlin' dearest Caleb of mine." She watched him fondly as he tweaked her handiwork, a frown between his brows. "S'all gonna be fine. You'll knock his socks off with all that charm and debonaire smilin' you do."
He nodded, checking his reflection with obvious paranoia.
"Oi." She stood behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You're handsome, you're charmin', you're hilarious, you're cultured, you're fancy, and one FINE and dapper motherfucker. You got it?"
His eyes rolled, but a smile came to his face. "I got it, Clemence."
"Well, good." She yawned, then got a glimpse of herself in the mirror for the first time since she'd taken the last shot of the absinthe sometime around dawn. "Jeeeeesus Christ!! WHAT IS MY HAIR DOIN' RIGHT NOW?! GET YOUR FUCKIN' LIFE TOGETHER, UGHHHH!!" The carrot-red strands were apparently immune to gravity's pull, and stuck up in a thousand different directions. If they'd turned into snakes and started hissing, she'd have been less than surprised.
He laughed and kissed her cheek. "I'm off. I'll stop by yours when it's all said and done, maybe."
"Word. Go have fun and be dashin', you posh bastard." She blew him a kiss as she watched him head out the door, then flopped herself back onto his bed and took a deep breath.
Different, he'd said...what the bloody hell could different mean? And Caleb had said 'he' right? Well, then. That one had come out of left field, what with the random knickers she still accidentally found around his flat...but different? Hm. That was going to eat at her.
