Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Language:
English
Collections:
Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
Stats:
Published:
2020-11-05
Words:
577
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
2
Kudos:
5
Hits:
878

My Anti-Drug

Summary:

Disclaimer: Not at all mine.

Work Text:

My Anti-Drug
by Anne Marsh

I let the phone ring. And ring. And ring. When the machine picked up, I hung up, got my change back, and dialed again. Finally, he picked up.

"Matt, I gotta have it." I said, before he could get any coherent words out.

"Woah! Hey, hey-- hey! Who is this, how do you know my name, where did you get this number, and-- and--"

"It's me, idiot." I groaned, letting my head 'thunk' gently against the payphone. "I got the number from you, probably the same way I got your name."

"It's three in the morning."

"Yeah."

"Why do you want to have sex with me?"

"What?" Well, *that* stopped me.

"I mean, I'm not an unattractive guy, but--"

"Matt, I don't want to have sex with you. What even gave you that idea?"

"Um, your three AM 'I gotta have it' phone call."

Another groan, another thunk against the payphone which is probably crawling with all kinds of disease, oh, ew...

"Drugs, Matty, I was referring to drugs. You're supposed to tell me I don't need them. That's how this works."

"Wait-- so I'm your anti-drug?"

"No, ballet is my anti-drug, but the studio's closed. Just shut up and tell me I don't need it."

"Which do you want me to do, exactly? And why are you up at three in the morning?"

"I'm up because I-- really, really want... waffles. And to do a line of coke off a stripper's backside. And I can't sleep."

"Well, now I can't sleep. And if I find out you've been doing coke off of strippers, I will kill you. I will wring your neck and kill you."

"Thanks."

"So you don't want to have sex with me?"

"Matty!"

"What? It's an honest question!"

"Well, it shouldn't be! No, I don't. Although at this point, if you let me do a line of coke off your backside, you could probably have me. Seven times. Then you'd-- You know what, it's late."

"Yeah."

"Actually, it's early."

"I'm not going to get back to sleep, am I?" He sighed.

"Sorry."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know. Outside an IHOP. Why?"

"Come over. I'm really not going to get back to sleep before I have to get up."

"I'm really sorry."

"Bring me some waffles, that sounds really good."

"Yeah." I said, hanging up. I spent a long moment standing by the phone-- trying to forget how crawling with disease it probably was, and that my head had touched it, and is that gum? And I really wouldn't need blow to want to have sex with him-- though it would definitely help if I was going for seven times in a night-- but he really doesn't need to know that, so... waffles.

When I got there, he opened the door, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and too-big socks, bleary-eyed and bed-headed.

"Come in." He said, voice early-morning rough.

"Brought you waffles." I replied lamely.

"Mmm, waffles. My anti-drug."

"Thanks." I whispered, so low he maybe couldn't hear me. But after a beat, he turned and smiled at me.

"Anytime." He said, and when the genuine *feeling* got to be too sappy, he pulled a face and added, "Except three in the morning."

And things were good.

end