Just a Game Ch. 02

Pete woke up alone, and the apartment smelled amazing--something delicious was cooking. He tottered unsteadily to his feet and looked down at himself. He was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a furious hard-on. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, stuffing himself awkwardly into the fabric tent before trudging to the kitchen. Dean was standing at the stove naked but for his glasses, cooking pancakes and bacon.

"Morning, Sunshine," Dean said when he noticed his roommate in the doorway. His eyes travelled downward to the bulge in Pete's boxers, and he smiled. "Good sleep?"

"Yep," Pete replied with a small smirk. His dreams had been a practically orgiastic panorama of nonstop sex. He looked between Dean and the stove, and his smirk disappeared. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Instantly Dean was stunned, his jaw hanging open as he wondered how to take the comment. For a moment he looked terrified.

"Cooking bacon in the buff?" Pete continued. "You're really asking for it."

Dean let out a long, shaking breath and laughed with relief. "Dammit, Pete--I thought you were talking about last night."

Last Night. In Pete's head, it was in capital letters. Last Night had been something else.

"I won't burn myself," Dean continued. "I put the bacon on the rear burner to keep some distance between the grease splatters and my magnificent flesh. Besides, if I did have an accident and horribly disfigure myself with burning hot bacon fat, I'd at least smell delicious for a while."

At the opposite counter, with his back to Dean, Pete started up a pot of coffee. He smiled absently at Dean's comments, but he had a lot on his mind. "So. Last night. How about that?" he finally forced out, needing some kind of context for their impromptu mutual masturbation session.

Dean stacked four finished pancakes onto a plate and spooned more batter into the hot pan. "Good times?"

Pete stared at the coffee pot as it began to fill at a slow trickle. "Well... you've got some skills, I'll give you that." He chuckled briefly.

Dean grinned. "Was it all you dreamed it could be?"

"Ha. What makes you think I ever dreamed of that?"

"Pff, you wanted me. You were so asking for it!"

Pete turned around, brow furrowed. He stared at the back of Dean's head, unsure if he was still joking around. "How the hell was I asking for it?"

"You were all like, 'Heyyy, c'mere!'" Dean said in an exaggeratedly sultry voice, miming a beckoning finger.

"What?!" Pete sputtered. "You're delusional! I actually didn't say a goddamn thing, if you'll recall--I was pointing at the goddamn lube bottle. I wanted to borrow your lube!"

Dean froze. For a moment he was mortified. "Why didn't you SAY so?" he hollered, turning finally to glare at him.

Pete raised his arms helplessly. "I dunno, I didn't think it was that confusing a gesture--it's not like I did this!" He made a jerking motion near his crotch.

"Shit," Dean sighed, turning back to the pancakes and flipping them. At last he burst into laughter, setting down his spatula and lowering his forehead into his hands. "I seriously thought you wanted to blow me or something."

"Oh, in your dreams, gayboy!" Pete groaned, getting a pair of mugs out of the cupboard.

"Hey--that was not gay!" Dean protested. His amusement left very suddenly, and he shot his roommate an annoyed glare. "Come on, you're kind of a sports guy. Don't a lot of dudes do circle jerks and shit in locker rooms?"

"Uhh--no!" Pete replied, scowling. "Maybe in the porn universe. Not in mine! Besides, you just said you thought I wanted to blow you, and you happily climbed aboard. Not gay? Sure, dude. Sure."

"Getting off is getting off--I wasn't in the mood to be picky!"

"You sure were in some kind of mood, Dean--going out of your way to show off your boner for me! You were totally gunning for it!"

"I was just goofing off! You peed on me, dammit! What about that?"

"You peed on me first!"

"You held my fucking hand!"

"You CUDDLED me--AND you told me I was all sexy and shit!"

"No I didn't--I just said you weren't fat! If you think that's a come-on, you sure are desperate!"

Pete clenched his jaw for several tense moments. Then he burst out, "PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON--faggot!"

Dean flinched. Pete cringed inwardly. He had no idea why that had come out of his mouth. For the first time since Pete had known him, Dean actually looked self-conscious. His cheeks flushed. He turned off the stove, and fled. A moment later, Pete heard the bedroom door slam. He moped, pacing back and forth in the kitchen for a while. It was very quiet, and Dean didn't return.

Pete checked the pancakes and bacon. They were pretty much done. He filled a plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat at the table alone save for the cats, which tried persistently to get at his bacon until he dumped some kibble into their bowl in an effort to distract them from his own breakfast.

He ate very slowly; Dean still did not return. He sighed, barely able to finish his breakfast even though the pancakes were perfect and the bacon was deliciously crispy. He remembered how he'd been afraid he'd crossed the line when he'd peed all over Dean--well, now he certainly had gone too far. Way, way too far. Probably there would be no more games.

Pete knew it was on him to fix this. He wasn't great at talking about serious things, and he got the feeling Dean was a bit more sensitive than his goofball exterior suggested. This wasn't going to be easy.

He stood at the bedroom door and hesitated. Well, he'd have to go in either way--his morning wood was long gone, and he needed pants. Taking a breath, Pete turned the knob and pushed the door open. Dean sat on his bed, fully dressed and fiddling with his phone. He looked up and smiled brightly.

"What's up?"

Pete cocked his head. "Hey... you okay?"

"Of course." He turned his attention back to his phone.

Pete frowned. He stepped over and sat down next to him. "I, uh... fed the cats."

"Cool, thanks!"

"Well... thanks for making breakfast. It was good."

"Glad to hear it."

Pete took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Dean... I'm sorry."

Dean laughed, but it was obviously forced. "I need to go eat and head to work."

Pete watched him leave and followed after, watching him curiously from a distance. He wandered back and forth aimlessly as Dean finished getting ready for work. Finally Dean disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it. That was unusual. Pete listened at the door. He was peeing--just peeing. Dean locking the door just to pee? Pete knew for sure now he had screwed things up badly.

When Dean had gone, Pete felt miserable. He knew he wouldn't make much progress on his job hunt, so he distracted himself with TV and video games, and later went for a long walk. On his way back he stopped at the pub on the corner to have a drink or two, and stayed longer than he'd expected. He also had more than one or two drinks.

When he got home, Dean was not alone. At first Pete had a sickening, momentary terror that he was drunker than he'd thought and had walked into the wrong apartment. In the living room he saw what appeared to be a guy and girl he didn't know, but he realized quickly that the 'guy' was a girl in a tuxedo--a moment later, he recognized her as one of Dean's D&D friends. The 'girl' was Dean, and he was dressed in a tiny Japanese schoolgirl style dress and shiny, thigh-high red boots. They both looked over at him with only a passing shadow of embarrassment.

"There you are!" Dean said cheerfully as he stuffed two round sponges down the front of his dress.

"What... the actual... fuck?" Pete demanded.

"We're finishing our costumes for the con this weekend," Dean replied. "Didn't I tell you about the anime convention?"

"Nnnnnope. Even if you did, this is still pretty 'WTF', man."

"It's a crossplay," the girl in the tux chuckled. "We were going to do this cosplay the traditional way, but since I'm taller than Dean..."

"Con nerds love crossplays!" Dean added, grinning. "All gender-bendy and shit. Wait--you need to get the full effect. It's nothing without the wig. Missy, put on the rest of your stuff!"

Pete watched in morbid fascination as Dean put on a brilliantly yellow wig done up in ridiculously long pigtail things, and Missy donned a black cape lined with red followed by a white masquerade-style mask and a top hat. She struck a dramatic pose, billowing out her cape, and Dean stood with his feet wide apart, smiling and flashing a peace sign.

"Hello-o!" Dean exclaimed when Pete said nothing after a few sustained moments. "Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask?" He said this in a tone one might use to tell another the sky is blue.

Eyebrows up, Pete nodded slowly and backed away a few paces before turning to escape down the hall.

"Your roommate thinks we're freaks!" he heard Missy stay in a loud stage whisper.

"Don't mind him," Dean replied. "He's kind of a dudebro, but he's okay."

Pete shut himself in the bedroom until he heard Missy leave, and then waited a few minutes before emerging. He looked around the apartment and eventually found Dean in the bathroom. He was still in the dress, though the wig was gone, his glasses were off, and he was glaring at himself in the mirror. When he stepped closer, Pete noticed he was wearing makeup.

"Ohhhh god..." Pete groaned.

Dean glanced back at him in the mirror and made a kissy face. "Am I confusing your penis yet?"

Pete cringed. "Would you wash that shit off and get changed already?"

"I am confusing your penis, aren't I?" Dean laughed. "A short skirt and a little lipstick--that's all it takes, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Pete grumbled, standing at the toilet to pee.

Dean sighed and grabbed a washcloth to start removing the makeup. "Hey... could I ask you a favour? I know I push your buttons, but it's all in fun. Maybe you could be... not quite as much of an asshole...?"

Pete clenched his jaw and thought about telling him to be not quite as much of a crossdressing freak, but he was already disgusted by his own assholery. He concentrated on peeing for a little while before looking up at Dean, who was watching him closely. He had only partially scrubbed away the makeup--his lips were still shining pink, and the black lines around his eyes were sloppily smudged. Dean's eyes flicked from Pete's dick up to his face, and he gave an awkward half-smile.

"I'm kinda drunk," Pete blurted out, needing to fill the silence with something.

"Was that an apology?"

Pete shook his head. "I'm sorry I've been an asshole. That was an apology."

"Did you mean it?"

He'd finished peeing, but his dick was still hanging free. "Yeah. I think so. I mean... I wish I could rewind time and... not be an asshole. If that means anything."

Dean smiled. "Sure. Thanks."

"So, you sleeping with that girl? Or trying to?"

Dean scoffed. "No way. Just friends."

Pete took a step toward him and grabbed one of his fake boobs. "This really is pretty weird."

Dean thrust his chest out and looked proud, though his half-made-up face was still a mess. "You like it."

Pete glared at him, and grabbed the other boob. "You really need to finish washing your face. You look like a prostitute that's been crying all night."

Dean laughed and put his glasses back on, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Nah, this lipstick isn't slutty enough. Enjoying my boobs, huh, Peter?"

"What can I say? Tits are tits."

"Except when they're sponges." Dean laughed again. "Your dick is still out."

"You wearing anything under that skirt?"

"Underwear. Wow, you sure are drunk, aren't you?"

"Take 'em off."

"What...?"

"Take off your underwear."

All trace of laughter disappeared from Dean's face. He reached up under his skirt and yanked on his underpants, letting them drop around his ankles before kicking them away with those shiny red boots. He looked down at Pete's dick again and his eyes widened at how suddenly it had swelled.

"Pete... you still want me to get changed...?"

"Nope." Pete walked a semi-circle around Dean, ending up behind him. "Bend over a little."

Dean leaned over the sink, sticking his ass out. Pete peeked beneath the skirt and shivered at the sight of Dean's shapely cheeks. He stepped closer and placed a hand on his bare thigh, sliding it up slowly until he was cupping Dean's ass.

"Oh--!" Dean breathed.

Pete did the same with his other hand until he had gripped both cheeks. He squeezed and massaged them, and looked over Dean's shoulder to see his face in the mirror. Behind his glasses his eyes were very wide and moist.

"Pete...."

Pete slid his hands around and found Dean's cock, which was also rapidly hardening. Dean whimpered.

"You sure you're not gay?" Pete asked.

"Ummm... maybe a little...? You?"

"I'm... hmmm... drunk. And... curious."

"And horny?"

"Yeah, really horny."

Dean pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him. "Pete... do you like me?"

Pete looked down at his skirt and continued to work his hands up under it. "You look weirdly hot in drag..."

"Stop it!" Dean exclaimed, pushing his hands away and brushing past him, hurrying into the bedroom. His walk in the heeled boots was unconsciously effeminate.

Pete's heart pounded. What had just happened...? He stood there in the bathroom for a few moments before finally tucking his dick away and doing up his pants. He went after Dean, and by the time he'd reached the bedroom, Dean had already changed the costume for pyjama pants and a baggy t-shirt. He was climbing into bed.

"I'm... sorry," Pete stammered, standing in the doorway. "I... I thought...."

"It's okay," Dean mumbled, setting his glasses on his nightstand. "I know I've been giving you mixed signals. Let's talk when you're not drunk. This is probably confusing enough sober."

Pete shed his pants and climbed into bed. After a few minutes he whispered, "You've still got makeup on."

Dean sighed. "Whatever."

"Does that shit wash out if you get it on pillows?"

Dean sighed again and switched his lamp on. He grabbed a tissue from a box next to the lamp, spat on it, and started rubbing at his eyes. "Better?" he asked, looking across at Pete.

"No, it's all over the place. Here." Pete got up and stepped over to him, taking the tissue. He perched on the edge of Dean's bed and started working at all the black smudges.

"Ow," Dean mumbled.

"Sorry." Pete continued more gently until the black was more or less gone, and then grabbed a second tissue for the lipstick. "Um... did you want to...?"

Dean bashfully took the tissue, licked his lips, and started cleaning off his mouth. "Did I get it all?"

Pete smirked and rubbed at a pink smudge just beneath his lower lip with his thumb. "You're a hot mess, Sailor."

Abruptly Dean dropped his head onto Pete's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his middle. Pete was startled but hugged him back as Dean breathed warmly against his neck.

"I just don't know what to make of you sometimes," Pete sighed.

"Same to you," Dean murmured, squeezing him. "We'll talk soon. Just not tonight. Soon."

When Dean let go of him, Pete retreated back to his bed and crawled under the covers. His mind was clogged with confusion, worries, and lust, but instead of lying awake, the intoxicating effects of the several drinks in his system took over, and he dropped quickly into a deep sleep.

He had more dreams about Dean--intensely sexual dreams, some of which centered around him dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl. When he woke up, he was horny and deeply frustrated that he was continuing to fixate on his roommate. He berated his subconscious, telling himself that he could at least have dreamed of a female version of Dean, but even when he dreamed of him in that little skirt, there had been a cock underneath, a cock he hungered for. And there hadn't been a single tit in his dreams--not even a fake one.

"Fuck," he huffed, palming his aching erection beneath his blanket. He had a bad hangover headache, but his arousal was stronger. He glanced over at Dean's bed, found it empty, and kicked his blanket off to pump his shaft freely and furiously. The exquisitely dreamy glow of morning wood had his body charged with sexual heat from head to toe, and it only took a few minutes for him to shoot his load. It spurted up halfway to the ceiling and splattered all over him.

"Fuuuck," Pete breathed again, relaxing for a few minutes and squeezing his eyes shut as his headache gradually intensified. Eventually he wrestled his shirt off, used it to clean up the rest of the splatters, and wrapped himself in his blanket to cover his nakedness before shuffling out of the bedroom.

"Dean?"

He received no answer, but there was a pleasant smell of coffee overlaying some lingering breakfast aromas. In the kitchen he found a half a pot keeping warm in the coffee maker, and stuck to the counter in front of it was a neon green Post-It note that read, "DRINK ME" in bold black Sharpie lines. On the stove was a large skillet with a lid over it; a similar note read, "EAT ME". When he lifted the lid he found scrambled eggs, ham, and, hash browns, long ago gone cold but still very appetizing.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Pete mumbled. He glanced at the microwave clock and realized it was after eleven. Dean must have gone to work hours ago. Collecting the two Post-Its, he stuck them to the inside of a cupboard door, feeling an inexplicable need to keep them.

After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, Pete nuked the contents of the skillet and poured himself a large mug of coffee, which he used to swallow a few Advil. He liberally doused his eggs and potatoes with ketchup and wolfed down his brunch. It hit the spot perfectly. It occurred to him that Dean had made generous, delicious breakfasts for the past two days in a row. It wasn't usual for him--they tended to do breakfasts separately, and normally it was just cereal or toast. This was a welcome change, and his hangover was quite a bit dulled by the time he'd finished eating. He took out his phone and texted Dean:

[Thx for breakfast om nom nom]

After barely a minute, Dean texted back: [No problem. Hung over?]

[A bit, not so bad now, coffee food drugs etc]

[I hear meth is great for hangovers. ;)]

Pete smirked. [Advil loser!]

[<3]

Pete cocked an eyebrow at the little heart. He wasn't sure how to interpret it, so instead he turned it into a joke: [Is that an ass?]

[Uh sure... mooned u lol.]

Pete burst into laughter and texted back: [<3 now were even lol]

[(_Y_) There's a better ass lololol!]

Pete chuckled and his thumbs moved quickly: [ROFL yeah looks like urs]

[Mine's way sexier and u know it.]

Pete licked his lips. [( o Y o ) *insert porno music*]

[Tits... clever. One-track mind much?]

[Hey.... Dean?]

[??]

[8=====D~~~]

[OMG and jizz lol... I just snorted and ppl are staring at me... I gotta get back to work jackass.]

Pete swallowed and almost put his phone away, but changed his mind and started a new text: [Dean are we ok? I know I got weird yesterday I'm sorry]

[Talk later srsly, txting sux for convos like this ok?]

[K]

[Be home in a few hours, gotta pack for con, leaving after dinner.]

[K]

Pete buckled down to job hunting, and despite his intense hatred for this chore and the mild but persistent lingering hangover symptoms, managed to submit a few applications by the time Dean got home. He stood up from his computer, immediately nervous and edgy. He heard Dean kick off his shoes and enter the bedroom. After a moment Pete followed him inside. Dean was pulling a large duffel bag out of the closet.

"Hey," Pete said.

"Hey!" Dean smiled and then turned his attention to packing. He pulled socks and underwear out of drawers and tossed them into the bag, then started shuffling through his collection of geeky t-shirts to find the ones he wanted to wear on his convention weekend.