Smoke Signs

[A/N]: So, I went out on a limb here story/pairing wise. Please be open minded. Also it was a birthday present to myself, interesting fact, no? Enjoy!
Title: Smoke Signs
Pairing: (I should be shot) Chris/Forest (Again, I should be shot, I know!!)

He watched the swirl of smoke from the end of the cigarette like a man looking for smoke signs in the forest. Ringing sounds of cheering and poppers and clinking glasses filled with alcohol echoed in his brain. He took another rescue drag from his cigarette. Minute one of the New Year and his resolution was already broken. He stubbed the cigarette out with defiance, sipping at his champagne, wincing at the flavour.
“Happy New Year, you son of a bitch!” Chris turned at the hail, smiling at the alcohol reddened face of Forest. The man, who was technically older but looked a hell of a lot younger with his long, punk kid hair and tight jeans, seemed to notice the last of the smoke swirls leaving the end of the cigarette cinders. “Enjoy the last smoke of freedom?” He questioned, throwing a heavy arm around Chris’ shoulder. The stench of beer and champagne washed over Chris.
“I guess you could say that.”
Forest paused. “Guess? Huh. You don’t seem very merry, Chris.” He smiled, down-home accent thickening as he began to sing. “We wish you a happy, happy Christmas time and a merry blue-jean fucking NEW YEAR.” His rancorous song echoed off of Jill’s small back porch.
From across the street came an equally drunk “Fuck yeah”. Chris shook his head. Holidays in Raccoon always seemed to inspire drunken incidents. Or in this case bonding, drunk ass bonding. Next to him, Forest was still humming his inappropriate version of We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
“I don’t think those are the words, Forest.” Chris said, ducking his head under Forest’s arm. The Southern boy smiled.
“Shit naw. But they’re good enough to be.” He grinned. “Shit.” He snapped his fingers, sloshing champagne out of his thin glass at the movement. “That’s it. I should be a song writer. Who needs S.T.A.R.S.?” He smiled hugely as Chris gave a half-hearted laugh.
“That’s the answer, Forest. I’m sure.” Chris said humourlessly. Ripples on a lake only there because someone dropped a stone, not conscious or meaningful. Just inevitable. Inevitable.
Forest’s hand brushed his arm as the man laid his drink--now swallowed down, glass emptied--on the porch railing. “So…” he started awkwardly, eyes clearing a tiny bit as he focused on Chris, “how’re things with that Cheryl…Shirly…Charlotte?” He prattled off names, obviously trying and failing to remember the name of Chris’ latest girlfriend. The brunette sighed.
“Shannon.”
Forest smiled. “Yeah, that’s the one. Blondie, yeah? Big tits.” He held his hands out as an example, laughing as he did so. “God she’s…” he shook his head, trailed off. “Man you got it fucking lucky.” Chris nodded. Yeah, fucking lucky, especially since he and Shannon had broken up months earlier. He blamed Forest’s mistake on the man’s intake of alcohol and he didn’t bother to correct the Southern boy. The other man didn’t seem to notice Chris’ unease with the topic. “Hey, man,” he leaned in, “she a good fuck? ‘Cause I mean, yehaw, does she look like a good--and I mean good--motherfucking fuck.” Chris shrugged.
The brunette bit his lip, much more uncomfortable than he had been moments before. “Uh…Forest, you know that Shannon and I broke up last Halloween, right?” Forest’s eyes widened.
“Oh shit yeah…Gosh,” for a moment he almost sounded sober, “I plum forgot that…she moved away, yeah?”
Chris cringed. “Not…not exactly. She cheated on me…” He said, feeling much like the wind, trying to persuade the mountain to move. Forest, in the state that he was now at least, would not--could not--remember the complexities surrounding he and Shannon’s split. Forest seemed like he was trying though. He had pulled out a cigarette and was puffing it thoughtfully, eyes scanning the houses across the street. The first of the party-goers it seemed was heading home from house 465 across the way. Drunken giggles and sobering shushes could be heard in the quiet of the neighbourhood. That was how life worked, Chris reasoned, a moment of joy and noise and ecstasy which lasted for a shorter period than could truly be tasted. Happy mother fucking New Year.
“That sucks, dude.” Forest said, hand coming to rest on Chris’ forearm. It lay there for a second too long before withdrawing. Chris shivered slightly at the touch. He nearly slapped himself after the action.
It had been so long since someone had touched him. Yeah, Shannon and he had only broken up two months before but even before the actual break-up they had stopped having sex. And there had been girls at bars, pretty little things who would coo when Chris would tell them about his job and gasp, and swoon at his muscles but he couldn’t ever make himself want those girls. He couldn’t take the risk. Their tricks were the undertow in the ocean that could drag a man to his death. The smoke signs coming from the end of Forest’s cigarette though, the hieroglyphs of the studs on his jeans, these things however read safety. Chris blinked away again.
“I can’t fucking drive.” Forest was laughing, stubbing his cigarette out with defiance. “That would be it, shit yeah. Forest Speyer, best S.T.A.R.S operative to ever grace the scene, pulled over for a DUI.” He laughed again, a deep and even sound. “Be fucking hilarious.”
“Until they revoked your badge.” Chris stated dryly. His eyes were glued on Forest’s dead cigarette, reflexively he reached to his pocket where he normally kept a pack; his hand came away sadly empty. He looked up to Forest with a small, insincere smile. “I can give you a ride if you need.”
Forest smiled back, mouth curling wide, sincere. “That’s what I was fishing for.” He tossed his arm around Chris’ shoulder, leaning heavily onto the brunette. The smell of alcohol and smoke washed over Chris, drenching him in nostalgia. Chris stiffened, uncomfortable for several reasons at once, but he relaxed quickly. “We should go soon.” Forest’s breath was warm on Chris’ ear as he whispered--though, in his drunken state, Forest’s whisper was more of a yell. His expression as he pulled away was unreadable; Chris’ stomach flopped at the look.
“Yeah…yeah, okay.”
“I mean Jill said we should all be out by one anyway. Bitch wants to get to cleaning before she has to go to bed or some such shit…” Forest was mumbling as the two moved through the apartment. “Rebecca, happy merry New Year!” The newest member of S.T.A.R.S. looked up from her seat on the couch, eyes strangely glassy. She was too young to drink, Chris reminded himself, it was probably just sleep eating her up. Forest waved goodbye to a few more sleepy and drunk officers, yelling out his greeting to those who looked passed out. Chris shook his head.
Forest, for all the years that the two had known one another, was always the big kid. Always quick with the joke or the smile or the hug…And usually it didn’t bother Chris in the least, but when the Southern man was drunk, his loud personality was amplified. The rest of the walk to the car was done in silence. It wasn’t until Chris pulled the passenger door open that Forest spoke.
“You aren’t drunk, are you?” Something in his tone was sad, something mysterious. Chris shook his head. “Didn’t think so.” Forest hopped in the car, pulling the door shut with him. Chris frowned, trying to interpret the tone of Forest’s words as he moved around to the driver’s side of the car.
The drive from Jill’s apartment to Forest’s small flat was uneventful. The men didn’t speak, easy silence filled the car. They were friends, had been forever, there was no awkwardness between the two of them. It was as Chris eased his car into a parking spot outside of Forest’s building that the awkwardness began.
“So, you and Sherry--“
“Shannon.” Chris filled in automatically.
“Yeah, her.” He paused. “You and her, I never saw it. I mean she was hot, fucking triple X but not…not for you.” He watched Chris like a hawk, face pinching, like trying to read something from a distance. “You’re still like eaten up by this split, aren’t you?” Forest looked at Chris, face set with some determined expression. Determined of what, Chris could not know.
“Of course not.” He lied, hand sifting through his hair. Unconsciously he searched his pockets for cigarettes. It was habits he found he performed when he was nervous.
Forest grinned. “Liar.” He reached into his own pocket and produced a single, badly bent cigarette. Forest tipped it toward Chris. “I think we can work out your problems,” he was sounding frighteningly sober, it made Chris’ insides squirm, “want a cigarette? Merry motherfucking Halloween, right?” He smiled, proving that he was indeed very not sober, despite what his tone hinted at. Chris took the cigarette, watching as Forest pulled the car door open. “Coming up for a drink?” It was a tradition. Anytime they hooked rides together, Chris and Forest always shared a drink.
“Yeah.” He followed Forest out of the car and up to the front door if the flat. “Hey, Forest, I need a light.” He held the bent cigarette out. Having left both his lighter and all his old cigarettes in the trashcan outside of Jill’s apartment, Chris’ argument was very well founded. Forest smiled waving his hand in Chris’ direction.
“You shit-head. New Year’s resolution, remember?” He slipped the key into the lock, pushing the door open at the same time. Chris’ feet took him the journey from the front door to the door of Forest’s apartment without him telling them too. Seven stairs, two flights, flat 3A. The key, lock process repeated; another inevitable wave, ripple from the ocean, from the stone, from the moon. As the door clicked shut, Chris had the sinking feeling that everything had been leading to what happened.
Forest’s teeth grinding against his lip, pulling it haphazardly. Forest’s hands tangled in his hair, fingers kneading the short strands. The taste of alcohol and smoke and need; the combined flavours threatened to overwhelm Chris, wash him away. He didn’t respond right away, his body was too shocked to do much of anything--he was getting kissed by his best friend, scratch that his best MALE friend
And he was liking it--
Chris thought he might die from the wrongness in that thought. Part of his brain--a very small part, since a majority of the blood running through his system was rushing a good bit lower--was wondering what had sparked this reaction from Forest. Surely he couldn’t be considered the guilty party in this interaction, Forest was the antagonist. Chris, sober, level-headed Chris, was not willing to take any responsibility for the situation that he had found himself in; that was until his tongue slinked out to lap at Forest’s lips. Things went downhill from there. It was another ripple effect, the bolder rolling down the mountain but for the wind’s asking. Where his head had been above water before, he was now caught in the undertow, unable to do anything but return the feelings.
He found himself pushed back against the wall, shoulders braced, head resting on the cool metal. He found strong hands pressed into his ass, pulling on the cloth to bring him closer. The lips balanced so easily on his quirked up into a grin. “So…did you still want that drink?” Forest’s question wasn’t heard so much as felt, as he spoke against Chris’ mouth.
“Shit naw.” He imitated without meaning to, but Forest didn’t seem to notice.
There wasn’t any more talking after that, just Forest’s drunken murmuring as pushed himself against his friend and Chris’ deep, even breathing. Their pants and boxers were discarded as the two clambered over toward the living room where Forest’s couch waited--Forest often referred to the damn thing as his faggot perch since, in his opinion, the pattern looked like something a gay man would like; Chris never thought that that name would actually put to use--though it took Forest a second to slide his studded jeans over his boots. They hit the couch; Chris with his winter jacket dropped, his shirt mostly unbuttoned, jeans off, boxers off, one sneaker missing completely. Forest was similarly outfitted, though he had managed to kick off both of his shoes.
Part of Chris was really happy that when they landed, Forest ended up on top. It meant again, that anything that happened would not be his fault. Another small part of him protested. He was a man damn it, a man, he shouldn’t be on the bottom; he should flip Forest over, take him, show him, prove that he was worth the balls God had given him. The thoughts were banished by Forest’s first lazy roll of his hips. The rockslide, ripples started again. There wasn’t any stopping it.
Nothing about the two men hastily pushing against one another, worried more about their own completion than about their partners, could be considered graceful. Nothing about the way that Chris bit into Forest’s shoulder--right next to the tattoo that the Southern man had gotten after his eighteenth birthday--could ever be called pretty. They weren’t porn stars, they were S.T.A.R.S, they were men. So when Forest stiffened above Chris and the still-lingering stench of New Year’s liquor poured over him, it wasn’t a cinematic moment for the dazed brunette, it was a realisation.
He was on Forest’s couch, in Forest’s apartment, pinned under a drunk Forest when he himself was very not drunk, and the very drunk Forest was crying out and arching his back and the only thing that could follow that action was for the man to…
Warm, sticky wetness shot itself onto Chris’ tone belly. Cum, another man’s cum, it wasn’t something he’d ever had the desire to touch before. The thought was fleeting however under the weight of his own pending release. He pushed against Forest’s softening cock, groaned as it provided little friction, then switched tactics and snaked his hand down to help finish himself off. The lightning was his muscles snapping taunt and the wave of warmth through his lower body. The thunder was the electric rush that left his muscles tingling as he cried out his release.
Then all that was left was the smell of booze and the lingering scent of cigarettes.
**************************************************************
Back to work at the S.T.A.R.S office, things were awkward between Forest and Chris and everyone was noticing.
“I think you should just apologise,” this time it was Joseph, hands leaning on Chris’ desk. Chris pointedly looked only at those hands, “I mean, it’s obvious you two had a fight. The only way to mend a fight is to apologise. I mean it isn’t like you fucked,” and if Joseph had stopped there Chris may have died, “his girlfriend or anything, right?” He smiled, always the kidder, always the good-guy. “So just try it.”
It had been only three days since the New Year and Chris was three and a half packs through breaking his resolution. It had been only three days and every member of S.T.A.R.S, Alpha and Bravo--minus Rebecca, Enrico and Forest himself--had come to give Chris advice on mending his friendship. There wasn’t any mending needed. They were still friends; it was just weird to out with a guy for a beer and vividly remember the way he pulled your hair as he came, or the rosy colour of his cock, or the stickiness of his cum which you wiped off yourself afterwards. It was too weird. And Chris and Forest had similar methods for dealing with weird. Avoidance.
But such a tactic could only work for so long.
“Hey, Chris could you come here for a second.” Forest’s face was bright red and he was fidgeting horribly. Chris glanced over to Forest’s abandoned desk where Jill, Barry, Chicken Shit Brad, Joseph and Edward were seated all looking rather proud of themselves.
Chris heaved a sigh, fished a cigarette from his desk drawer to his pocket and followed his best friend outside. “The others force you into this?” Forest nodded. “Look it isn--“
“I can’t really remember shit about what--“ They were speaking at once over one another. Chris stopped, Forest stopped.
“A big--“
“Happened--“ A smile and a nervous laugh. Chris ran a hand through his short hair and lit the cigarette. “I thought you were quitting. New Year’s resolution.” The smoke signs were telling Chris a story but he couldn’t look at it. He glanced over to Forest with a smug grin.
“I thought I had too.”
“Well, I thought it was a damn good resolution too. Shit, ‘bout the only thing I remember about the night.” He swallowed. “I mean can you remember shit?”
Chris hadn’t been drunk. He remembered everything. Every sight and sound and feel. “No…I mean little bits here and there.” He crushed the cigarette under his boot. “Like driving drunk,” deeper into the lie that they both knew was a lie, “that was fucking dumb.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” And they stood in the cold and the wind. Chris wished desperately for another cigarette.
“I,” Forest cleared his throat, shifting his hands around in his jacket pockets, “I…You uh, you came back to my apartment though.” He was trying to bring it up. Oh God, he was trying to start that conversation, that conversation they’d avoided almost four days successfully. “I sorta remember that.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Drinks. Upstairs for the drinks.” Chris smiled lamely. Forest smiled back. This was the epitome of everything he had ever dreaded but never dreamed could happen.
“Yeah and,” Forest sniffed, “I think we may have,” he looked up, met Chris’ gaze, “done more than drink…” He smiled again, mouth curling very similar to when he’d been drunk.
A knot formed in Chris’ stomach. “Yeah…I think.”
“And I just wanted you to know that,” the Southern man took a deep breath, steadying himself on the police station wall, “I don’t want it to effect our friendship in anyway. I know neither of us swing like that and that it was all just the alcohol and what I remember I didn’t hate but you’re straight and I’m straight and we were both just drunk right.” His words came out in a rush, like the rivers that flowed through the Arkley Mountains. Chris took a minute to dissect the dialogue. “I just wanna be best friends again.” Forest ran his hand through his quasi-mullet, pulling on the long stands that seemed out of place. “Ya’know?”
Chris nodded, he knew and he too wanted to go back to the non-awkwardness of before New Years but at the same time. He hadn’t been drunk at all. He knew that, Forest knew that. It sort of hurt him that Forest would chock it up to such a lame reason when he knew…
“Yeah, Forest, let’s just forget it.” Chris smiled big and sincere and hurt. “Who needs the complications any way, right?” Forest seemed at ease with that response, his muscles relaxed visibly.
“Shit yeah. Just forget it.” He sniffed again, moving uncomfortably in his winter coat--Forest had always been more of a summer guy, Chris recalled--then smiled. “We should be getting back inside. I think Enrico was talking about Alpha gettin’ the new captain today, wasn’t he?”
Chris shrugged. New captain, old captain, didn’t fucking matter to him. One shattered friendship, he could hardly imagine any new captain would be able to fill that void. He didn’t know how wrong he was.
And the ripples on the lake began again.

Fin

[A/N]: I wrote this in about two hours and I think it shows. I couldn't get the wonderful drunk sex I had in mind to flow onto the paper err Microsoft Word template.I also tried to make it fit in with my other story (shameless plug) You were a Landscape in my Dream (shameless plug end). Hope it worked and tell me what you think. Oh and Happy Birthday to me!