Chapter Text
Maybe this wasn’t their worst plan, but it was definitely up there.
Matt had tried to sneak into the Rivoli’s kitchen from the back alley entrance, like he had a dozen times before. This time was minutely different from those others, of course, in motivation and execution, but it was supposed to end the same way their plans were always supposed to: a show at the Rivoli. Unfortunately, their big debut would have to wait yet again.
After being left to kick rocks in the alley while Matt had all the fun, Jay was startled by the kitchen door bursting open to let out a panicked Matt, darting around before his eyes landed on Jay. “Bird, Bird, he’s after us—“
“What!?” Matt was shaking him by the shoulders now with that crazed look in his eyes, the one he’d get when a plan had spun out of control. “What did you do—wait, us?”
“Oh, everyone knows we’re a package deal, come on now!” Jay watched his eyes land on the dumpster across the way as his stomach dropped. This couldn’t be happening. Surely not even Matt would think to do that?
Jay shook his head furiously, brow furrowed and mouth stammering out protests even as Matt tugged him closer to it. “Come on, Jay—Jaybird, please, he was right behind me, we need to hide—”
“No!” Jay shrieked, his hysteria rising to match Matt’s. “Let’s just run off, that’s never failed us before man, that’s not—that’s so unnecessary.”
Despite his protests, he allowed himself to be pulled up against the dumpster, reflexively propping Matt up as the shorter man scrambled and reached to lift himself up.
“You weren’t there!” Matt shouted back, almost certainly within earshot of their supposed pursuer. “He had this, like, giant hammer or club or some shit in one hand, and he was stomping towards me as I ran away, and—oh god.” Jay heard a muffled gag after Matt landed inside with a soft thud, before he quickly propped the lid open and beckoned Jay in. “Hurry!”
Glancing between the ominously ajar door, the long stretch of alleyway in either direction, and the darkness of the dumpster, Jay tried to weigh his options. He knew what he had to do, though. A small running-start and he was jumping to grab the rim of the dumpster, hoisting himself inside.
He always followed Matt.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a long fall—unthankfully, that meant a lot of trash was piled up inside. The angle of entry was awkward, though. Jay tumbled in ungracefully, landing face-first into Matt’s arms. They both let out a puff of air at the collision, their heads knocking together slightly before slotting together in a strange approximation of a hug.
Jay groaned from the double-whammy of the impact and the horrible, disgusting stench. “Matt, this was an awful—”
“Shh!” Matt’s hand (covered in garbage residue) clamped over Jay’s mouth. “At any moment, he’ll burst out looking for us,” he whisper-yelled. “Any moment!”
Jay wanted to argue, to get the fuck out of this literal garbage heap and leave Matt to his sick little games, but he took the path of least resistance—doesn’t he always?—and gave in. Shaking his head free, he tried to at least sit up and entangle himself from this gross cuddle pile, but gravity and the shifting tides of trash had other ideas. Jay slipped, sat up, turned, slipped again, as the slope of bulging trash bags around them sent him sliding back to the lowest point, where Matt laid, sprawled out as usual. As if this was one of their childhood pillow forts, and not a bed of rotten food.
After a short struggle, Jay gave up with a huff, hoping that they would just be out of there soon. All he had succeeded in was flipping himself over, now with his back pressed up against Matt instead of his face. That was better, right? He tried not to think about how it was almost like spooning, or, more importantly, how it would look if someone opened the lid. Peeked inside. Saw them covered in filth and holding each other, like two nasty little raccoons, the ones that dug through their trash when Matt bothered to take it out.
Matt let out a quiet wheeze beneath him, startling Jay from his thoughts. He shifted a little bit more, trying to take his weight off of his friend as much as possible. “Sorry,” Jay mumbled, casting an apologetic glance behind him. Only a sliver of light made it into the dumpster, and it failed to illuminate the expression on Matt’s face, indiscernible in the dark. He didn’t reply, didn’t move at all; Jay almost worried if he was okay, if it wasn’t for the push and pull of his breathing against his back.
Maybe it was the rest of the situation, the adrenaline of it all combined with the extreme sensory assault he was going through, but it took Jay far too long to realize that Matt’s hands were at his waist.
Holding him.
It was a strangely light touch for Matt, the guy who couldn’t go a day without grabbing, shaking, or pushing him, hands always finding their way to his shoulders or his back like they were magnetized to him. Now, Matt’s touch was soft, barely there, even as his fingers rested beneath his ridden-up blazer. Thankfully his shirt had stayed down in the struggle, but Matt’s palms felt burning hot above the thin cotton of his button-up, occasionally twitching or fidgeting but not moving away.
“Uh, Matt?” he whispered, trying to keep the trepidation out of his voice, like talking to a spooked animal. “What are you—”
At that moment, the sound of the door slamming into the brick wall of the alley cut through the silence, startling them both with a jolt.
Matt was now gripping him, fingers digging into his sides uncomfortably tight as he squirmed and panicked beneath him. Jay opened his mouth to say something, to chide him for his panic, for getting them into another stupid, stupid situation, when the lid above cracked open.
Followed by a full bag of trash tumbling on top of them.
They were both still, silent as little doormice, as the lid dropped shut again, listening to the loud, thudding footsteps recede, the door to the Rivoli slamming closed once again.
After a moment of silence, Jay flailed, shoving the leaking bag of trash—fuck, this is awful—off of him, scrambling for purchase to lift himself out of this shit. Matt was definitely catching a few stray elbows and knees, but he deserved it, the rotten bastard. Finally finding his footing, he pushed open the lid, pulling himself out as Matt uneasily followed behind him.
“What the fuck, Matt!” Jay hissed, even as he held out his arms to help him down. “The trash guy? That’s who was ‘out to get us?’”
Matt at least had the sense to look sheepish as he scrambled to the ground, avoiding Jay’s eye even as he, against his better judgment, brushed off loose pieces of food from his jacket and hair. “I didn’t—” he started, mouth opening and closing in that fish-like way it always did, eyes trained to the ground. “It was—it looked different in there, Bird, you gotta trust me!”
Jay sighed, looking up at the sky, wishing it would just open up and take him right then and there.
“Whatever, man,” Jay mumbled, giving him a last pat on the shoulder before turning around. “It’s done now. Let’s just get home and get cleaned up.”
Matt was unusually quiet on the walk home, trudging along wordlessly behind Jay as they made the short trek back to the house. Maybe he’s feeling ashamed for once, Jay thought, although that would be a first. If a failed bank robbery wasn’t enough to dull his perpetual enthusiasm, then how could a little garbage mishap do it? Still, the lingering stench that followed them, drawing withering looks and wrinkled noses from the passersby on the street, was a pretty effective punishment. One that was unfortunately also aimed at Jay, but, to be fair, he was complicit in Matt’s plan—wasn’t he always? He might bitch and moan and throw a fit, chastising him to hell and back after the fact, but Jay was always there. Right behind Matt, following behind him into the dirt and filth. No matter how much he protested, he was undeniably complicit. If he was honest with himself, willingly complicit. Deep down.
As Jay finally turned the key in the front door, cracking it open, Matt re-emerged from his quiet funk, shoving past him in a rush to get through the door. “Dibs on the shower,” he spat out, stomping up the stairs and tracking grime across the floor.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Jay called from the entryway, left in the dust as he heard the telltale sound of the bathroom door slamming shut. “You’re getting shit everywhere!” Even after the walk home, dark shoeprints trailed behind Matt’s path. He could see it now, how that argument would pan out: Jay nagging Matt to clean up his mess, Matt fighting back until he finally half-assed the job, leaving Jay to still clean up after him. It was pathetic on both their parts, Jay’s even moreso.
With a sigh, Jay closed the door behind him, shucking off his shoes and soiled clothes on the doormat before padding to the kitchen for a trash bag to shove them in. He doubted the stench could be washed out of their clothes, that sour smell of rotten meat juices and fermented waste. A smell that’s definitely permeating their shared bathroom right now, fuck.
Left without anything else to do, Jay plodded up the stairs, trash bag in hand, sliding down the wall across from the bathroom to rest while Matt cleaned up. Even in his boxers, he didn’t want to leave any more of a mess to clean up afterwards, picturing the struggle of deep-cleaning their (already musty) couch of the lingering trash residue he still felt on his skin. He shut his eyes, knocking his head back against the wall as he tried to imagine nice, quiet things. Peaceful meadows, a secluded clearing in a forest, a waterfall that sprayed in the same rhythm as the showerhead behind the door. The places he normally went in his mind when Matt’s antics came to a head.
Jay almost dozed off there, before a sudden noise pulled him from his dreaming. Had Matt just called his name? He opened his mouth, about to call back out to him, ask if he was okay, when a high-pitched, stuttering moan trickled out from behind the door.
Oh.
Goosebumps prickled along his bare limbs, his heart rate suddenly quickening. Of course, they had both overheard one another in the past—hard not to, living under the same roof for so long, but never anything like that. Maybe Jay had misheard, maybe Matt had said… Hey! Or something. Something other than his name. He braced himself to get up and leave, because he had to get out of there before he heard anything else, before remembering the creaky steps that laid between him and his escape. Steps that, as he knew personally, were loudly audible from the shower. Fuck.
Jay felt suddenly exposed, sitting there in his boxers like a creep—but he wasn’t the one doing anything wrong! Matt was the one in there, doing… that, just like he had been the one feeling him up in the dumpster, and, wait, is that what this was about? The walk of shame home had driven that from Jay’s mind, but now it was back at the forefront, looming like a cloud.
“Jay, please–”
That time it was unmistakable. Matt was behind that door, in their shower, calling out Jay’s name like that between little muffled noises, working himself up. The image of it crept into his mind unwillingly: Matt leaning his head against the shower wall, one hand held loosely over his panting mouth as the other stroked over his length, faster and faster, the noises echoing above the constant hum of the showerhead, and—god, why did Jay feel like the pervert now? He was the one who should be scandalized!
Despite himself, the heat that coiled in the pit of his stomach was undeniable. It was disgusting, he should be disgusted, but… Jay pulled his knees up closer to his chest, trying to hide the half-chub he knew was tenting his underwear. Tried to picture scenic vistas again, even as the sounds behind the door peaked into a muffled cry, forcing images of Matt finishing into his shaky palm into his head. Even while he tried to imagine anything else—turning to the repulsive now, dead rats splattered on the sidewalk, car crashes, the juicy give of wet trash beneath him—his thoughts kept circling back to that image, that sound.
Shortly after, the water turned off and Matt’s typical frenetic movements echoed through the now silent space, with Jay’s heavy heartbeat thumping beneath it all. Jay tried to compose himself, only had a moment before Matt was throwing open the door, steam pouring out of the room.
“Oh!” Matt’s face fell before it contorted itself back into his typical, shit-eating grin. “Birdy! You’re, uh, here.” He laughed, filling the silence between them, although it was tinged with the nervous tilt he got when he was sneaking around. Sneaking!
“Yeah, I, uh…” Jay trailed off, distracted by the water dripping off Matt’s blond hair, falling down his shirtless torso—god, he really has gotten buff, huh—towards the towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips, before yanking his eyes up at the ceiling. “I heard the water shut off, so I was waiting–”
“You heard?” There was that laugh again, Matt’s voice cracking slightly at the end.
“Yeah… Yeah! You know, I was just in the other room, waiting, and, like. You can hear the shower from there.” Jay swallowed hard, willing his face into a soft, goofy smile even as his heart tried to crawl its way out of his throat. “The water’s pretty loud!”
Jay was objectively a terrible liar, could never fool anyone else even as a kid, but Matt was an expert at believing what he wanted to believe. Always had been.
Matt’s features softened, laughing along, more comfortable this time, making a comical “duh” motion with his free hand. His eyes flicked down to the bag of clothes on the floor, eyebrows raising. “Oh, what’s the trash bag for? Haven’t we seen enough of those for one day, eh, Jay?”
Jay suppressed a shiver at the use of his name, pulled his focus back to his perpetual annoyance at Matt’s antics. “It’s for your clothes,” he bit back, remembering what brought them to this fucked up situation in the first place. “Come on. They’re ruined, we’re just gonna toss them—”
“Not the hat!” Matt butted in, sounding genuinely panicked. “I’ll get another jacket, and, well–I don’t wanna tailor another pair of jeans to my tastes, but I will, but the hat! You know I can’t get another hat! Remember what happened last time?”
Jay ran a hand over his face—winced at the reminder that he hadn’t washed them since he got home—and sighed. “Sure, yeah, of course MJ, but you’ve gotta wash it. Okay?”
Matt smiled down at him, the weird funk from earlier totally gone from his demeanor—wonder what drove that away?--and gathered up his clothes, sans-hat, to stuff into the waiting bag. “That’s a deal, Bird. Now go clean up. You reek!” He leaned down to ruffle a hand through Jay’s hair, as Jay tried to ignore where that hand had likely just been. Deep breaths.
Only after Matt’s footsteps receding down the stairs did Jay steel himself to stand up, plodding into the still-hazy bathroom. Heat still thrummed under his skin, in a way that disgusted him, that only grew after he shucked his boxers and stepped under the scalding water, standing where Matt had been only minutes before, touching himself and calling his name. Jay, please—
He didn’t want to stoop to Matt’s level, always told himself that he was above that, even as his best friend tugged him down in the dirt time after time. You are the company you keep, after all, and Matt’s company made him guilty by association, ever since they were kids stealing from cookie jars and busting out windows. And maybe it wasn’t fair that Matt had all the fun, right? That he was able to languish in his hedonism, leaving Jay to pick up the pieces, smooth things over, make excuses to–sometimes literally–clean their hands.
Maybe he deserved to play in the dirt, too.
That’s what Jay told himself as he wrapped his hand around his already leaking cock, jerking himself off silently with his teeth biting down around the meat of his hand, coming embarrassingly quickly with the thought of Matt’s keening voice echoing in his thoughts.