Hello Hello Hello, kiddies!

Disclaimer: *rolls up sleeves* Nothing up my sleeves, I own nothing!

Snitch/Skittery, just like I said. I don't like broken promises, and though I didn't promise, I still don't like disappointing people. Oh dear God, I'm becoming vulnerable! *Barfs*

The one isn't a side-fic to "Bursting the Figurative Bubble" or "Lucky". This one involves alcohol and depression, so it is modern day. Enjoy, duckies.

~Love on the Rocks~

After the first six glasses of scotch, it tasted like heaven. Well, to be more elaborate, it tasted like Heaven after the apocalypse. Skittery wondered how everyone else could be so happy while drinking; sure, he drank to escape depression, but it only made him more depressed. All the other people-four total-at the bar looked like all their troubles were melting away, like the ice in their drinks.

Skittery knew he was getting a pretty good buzz when he began making similes comparing drinks to life. Speaking of which, he had a new one: life is like drinking large quantities of alcohol; you never know when you'll die, pass out, be happy, or be sad. Skittery sure as hell wasn't happy, because if he could remember correctly, tonight he had gotten fired for no reason. Literally.

"Italicized" was a town hotspot that Skittery worked at on weekdays, a job he got thanks to his best friend and dorm mate Snitch. Snitch dated the manager-a pretty nice guy named Itey- and convinced him to give the unemployed Skittery a job. Skittery worked hard, sometimes until early morning hours, even if he was a bit late sometimes. It was that day that had been the first big problem. At five p.m., the afternoon shift began, and maybe for the first time ever, Skittery was on time. He had walking into the little club/diner in his mandatory clothes (which consisted of black pants and a red shirt, and a black tie) only to be faced with a stern glare from Itey.

Itey simply told him he was fired before handing him his last paycheck, and telling him good night. Well, Skittery may have been a slacker, but he wasn't stupid, so he took the hint. He had gone home, changed, showered, eaten a pickle, napped, and punched the annoying kid from the fraternity. An hour after being fired and beaten up by the annoying kid, he was in a bar next to Italicized. It was enough to depress a newly twenty-one year old enough to stay in a bar for the rest of his days.

On the bright side (Skittery figured there had to be one bright side of his octagon of depression), at least he was clean and fresh, and not wearing the kind of clothes that someone would want to mug you for. It was one of the win-lose situations...at least Skittery figured it was.

Drink seven went down smooth, and Skittery decided he had had enough. Laying just enough bills (he hoped) on the tacky blue plastic bar, he hopped off his bar stool and walked out the door. It must be said that it took two tries-after all, even though Skittery still felt fairly sober, that didn't mean the door would just stay in play. Translation: he ran into the wall because his vision was coming in doubles.

The best thing about his former job at Italicized was that it was so close to his school. Ergo the extremely brisk walk one block down to campus. It was simply beautiful.

Skittery considered himself to be a simple guy, just a photography major who loved ramen, alcohol, and secretly, his best friend. He was just a simple guy with a complicated life. Snitch made it easier though; he was supportive, cute, nice, cute, always willing to help with something, cute, and Skittery couldn't help but love him.

Naturally, since his life sucked, he has missed his chance with Snitch when he told him that he wasn't looking for a relationship. Then he and Snitch had gotten drunk and had sex. Things were completely normal between them, as long as the "inebriated intercourse incident" wasn't mentioned. The I.I.I. was a bit hard to ignore however, since Skittery had gotten dirty pictures. He was just glad Snitch had been consensual at the time.

Skittery stopped for a moment in front of Italicized, looking in the huge front window at the laughing people. Damn those happy people! 'No, I'm not bitter' he thought sarcastically. His eyes froze suddenly on the laughing face of his best friend, who had an arm slung around his not-so- nice-anymore lover. 'Stupid Itey. Stupid Italicized.'

With a deep breath, and an embarrassing sob, Skittery was off at a run. He was relieved to feel the wing whipping against his overheated skin. It only took him five minutes to run back to campus, and he had never been so glad of his spot on the track team back in high school...and maybe that was Snitch. Skittery was better at remembering when he wasn't buzzed. Never drunk. He had made himself not get drunk since the I.I.I., and was determined to leave that the last time he was actually drunk. He needed one good drunken memory, and god damn it, that was it.

On his way to his room, which he was fairly sure was the one with an ugly green door and a tacky gold number 115, he thought about that night. The way Snitch had smiled as they leaned in for a kiss, the way they undressed each other recklessly, without disconnecting their mouths. Ah, the joy of button down shirts...Skittery wished he could remember more. The sex itself was a blur; just the memory of Snitch calling his name as he pounded into him was clear. Even if he was drunk, it was the best damn night of his entire life.

He found the door, and dug out his key, anxious to get into the room and see that bed. The door flung open and ran past the old couch-he just needed to snuggle in the satin sheets and think about killing himself until Snitch came home to comfort him. It was the only plus to having depression. Snitch was way better than Zoloft, and he was cheaper.

Skittery snickered at his thoughts as he plunged headfirst into the black comforter. It was so soft...like Snitch.

"Who the hell thinks shit like that?" Skittery cried out, his voice coming out muffled. Too bad no one was around to hear it.
For a while, all Skittery could hear was his own heavy breathing from his spot nestled in his little nest of blankets. They smelled like the detergent Snitch always insisted on buying when he did the shopping excursions. For some reason, whenever Skittery did the shopping, he could never find it. It was some kind of magical Snitch treat!

What wasn't a treat was when the front and only door slammed loudly. "Skitts," a voice called, slightly out of breath, "you in here?" It sounded like Snitch, but it could have very well been the alcohol.

Skittery also chalked it up to the alcohol when what should have been gentle footsteps came out sounding like thunder. "I'm swearing off alcohol," he muttered into his bed.

The voice that came from the doorway sounded like a dangerous mixture between anger and amusement when it said, "That's what you say every time you drink, Skitter-bug."
Walking into Skittery's room always took Snitch's breath away, no matter how often he was in there. The four walls were on big collage of black and white photos, some the works of Skittery, and some from years before his best friend ever became interested in photography. The back wall, where Skittery's bed was situated, was covered in pictures of Snitch himself, dating back to twenty years ago all the way to present day. The wall to the left was covered in pictures of just Skittery, most of them recent, because Skittery thought he looked goofy as a child, and awkward in his teen years.

On the right wall, Skittery had done one of his projects (he had the whole class come to critique it, and had gotten an A+) that featured a blown up picture of a girls legs in fishnet stockings with a star shaped hole in them and high heels walking down the city sidewalk, that took up a fourth of the wall. Various pictures of stars took up the other three fourths of the wall. Not actors and singers, but the astronomical stars. Some were pictures of the night sky, some were plastic stars hanging from a doorway captured in mid swing, some were glitter stars Skittery took pictures of at prom, and the last and best part was a blown up photo of a hand palm up. Skittery had spent hours working at it with a knife, carving stars into his skin and letting the blood flow freely, and a shooting star on the dimple where his hand met his wrist, shooting towards the vein.
Once he had finished, he had painstakingly set up his camera on a tri-pod and situated his hand just right to shoot the photo. He named the finished wall "walking towards death." It was perfect.

Snitch turned in place to see his favorite wall, the one cluttered with pictures featuring him and Skittery and no one else. The largest picture was over the doorway, the one of Skittery kissing a napping Snitch at age six. It was Snitch's favorite, the one that showed how simple but strong their love was. Snitch's second favorite picture was the one that Skittery had taken last Christmas, when he had set the camera on five minutes, hidden in a large box, and waiting for his room mate to open it. It was perfect. Snitch was laughing, and Skittery was looking at him like HE was the present. The other pictures were great too, though. There were some dating back to when the boys were two. Fortunately for the point of the collage, both of them came from families that loved black and white photography.

Suddenly he realized why he was in there in the first place. "Skitts, I broke up with Itey." He was surprised he could keep his voice so even.

Skittery's head shot up from some unidentifiable spot in the bed and he looked a Snitch in utter surprise. If he had been expecting anything in particular coming from Snitch's mouth that was not it! "Don't mess with me, Snitchy, I'm having a shitty night as is."

Snitch wasn't having it. "Skitts, I'm serious. He told me he fired you."

"That's no reason to quite, Snitchy-poo," the quickly sobering boy cooed.

"Yeah, but he told me why he fired you."

Now Skittery was interested in the conversation. So secretly evil Itey really was evil! Where did all of the animosity come from, he wondered to himself. It most certainly wasn't there that morning, before he was fired. Oh yes, he had been fired.
"That's funny," he muttered, "because I sure as hell didn't get an explanation."

The other young man was baffled. Itey had told him that he had given Skittery a full explanation! Bastard..."Skitts?"


"He knows we slept together."

"I'm sober now!" And he was. Skittery jumped off the bed and stared incredulously at his best friend, dorm mate, and secret love. "How the hell would he know about that? I barely know about that! And why should it matter, that happened before you went out! Twenty-two days and nine hours before you two hooked up!"

Snitch took a tentative step backwards, staring at Skittery warily. "I...there was a lewd picture beneath my bed, and Itey decided that beneath my bed was the new Itey-world."

Skittery had a million questions about it, but only had one. "So the dumb ass fires me to keep us apart, despite the fact that WE ARE DORM MATES AND BEST FRIENDS?"
Not that the alcohol had left his system, he was beginning to realized things. One was that his now single best friend looked delectable in his red silk shirt and leather pants. Another thing he noticed was that now they were both unemployed. From experience, Skittery knew to let Snitch figure it out on his own, or else he would accuse Skittery of being condescending.

Afraid Skittery would see the way his eyes were watering, Snitch turned away and looked at the wall. The picture of Skittery kissing him was becoming blurry, but it only got worse. Soon an all-out bawl-fest was going on, his shoulders shaking like an earthquake was going on.
"I don't know what he was thinking, Skitts, I-" his breath hitched, and a sob escaped his throat, "I just know that it wasn't fair of him. He shouldn't have tried to keep me all to himself. I hate that." Two warm arms wrapped around his quaking shoulders, and he waited for the depressing words of wisdom that were sure to come. With Skittery, it was only a matter of time.

"I know you do, Snitchy. You hate it when people don't treat you equally, you hate it when guys wear there shirts tucked in, you hate it when you get that weird tan line around you eyes even when you haven't worn glasses, and you hate the smell of cigarettes but love the way they taste." He lips were touching Snitch's neck, teasing softly over the skin as he continued to speak. "You love steal stuff, you love to dance in the dark, you love art more than any kid I've ever met, you love to suck your thumb when you sleep, and you love to stand on bridges and throw stuff at people below."

All was quiet, until, "and I love you, Skittery."

Skittery let out a nervous laugh and let go of Snitch completely, making to escape the room. "I'm kind of thirsty, how about you?"

"Isaac...please don't do that...." he was still crying, and he knew it. And he didn't even care.

It tore at Skittery's heartstrings when Snitch called him Isaac. They had made up names for each other at the age of six. It was only in dire emergencies that they called each other by their given names.

"Snitchy, this isn't a good time. You need to sit down, and think about things, just clear out your mind."

His darling Snitchy-poo wasn't having it, and made it known. He was damn near hysteric, Skittery noted. "You love me too, Skitts, you told me when we had sex! That was only six months ago. You said it...I-I swear!"

If the bartender had told Skittery that Snitch would declare his love for him tonight, he would have thrown his drink at the man in spite. Depending on the amount of drink, he might have kissed the man, and ran into the street only to be hit by a car. Irony was a dangerous thing when the Skitts man was involved. It was also a very normal thing-cruel irony, that is.

Skittery peered around Snitches body, to see what his eyes were focused on. It was that picture of the two of them eating ice cream and laughing at what seemed to be some outrageous joke. Of the seventy-some photographs on that wall alone, it had to be one of his favorites. The way the gooey substance was dribbling down Snitch's chin, and Skittery's mouth open wide in laughter, holding up ice cream covered fingers.
"I never could remember why we were laughing so hard." He whispered to his friend. 'Just a friend' he told himself bitterly.

"It was your eleventh birthday, Skitter-bug. You had ice creams all over you, your hands, shirt, pants-all cause you had insisted we eat from cones, cause they were cool. I was fussing over it, trying to clean you off. That's when your mom came in and said 'Oh dear, you're so cute, Snitch, he's like your little wife!' We started laughing hysterically, and I still had ice cream in my mouth. And as usual, your mom had the camera on hand. It was a good day, until I realized we never really could get married..."

Skittery wished his memory wasn't so bad. Sure he mostly blamed it on the alcohol, but it wasn't a valid excuse. The only thing he ever really remembered was Snitch's birthday and the last time he took a shower. The doctor had assured him it wasn't Alzheimer's, but Skittery had his doubts...

Just as he was going to give Snitch a little lecture, he realized how utterly stupid he was being. Snitch said he loved him, and Snitch was most obviously gay, and he said it in that 'I want to kiss you' way, and by god, that was the way Skittery would take it! Since the age of fourteen, when Snitch was thirteen, he had wanted Snitch. Not always in a sexual way, it was more of a 'I love you more than a best friend should' way. Lucky was the only word to describe the fact that they had both turned out gay.
'I mean, how many best friend does THAT happen too?' Skittery thought excitedly, until he registered that his not-so-secret love was still crying.

Snitch couldn't help but look away from the picture when gentle hands held his face lightly, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. A pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, not sure if it had happened. Didn't Skittery turn him down?

"Skitts," he whispered, touching his now moist lips, "why did you just kiss me?"

"Because depression doesn't look good on you, Snitchy-poo, that gorgeous face was made for smiles only." He grinned at his own corny remark, encouraged when Snitch chuckled. "After all, we can't BOTH have depression, I'm not a cheerer-upper kind of person, and you know that."

The other boy looked met Skittery's eyes, and they stared at each other for a while, and Snitch whispered, "Yeah, I know that." And then they were kissing again.

Seven glasses of Scotch had gone down the drain, and Skittery was almost disappointed that he wasn't even buzzed anymore. Snitch had mentioned once that Skittery had a drinking problem, but they were drunk, and eighteen. No one had a drinking problem at eighteen...he just liked it a lot. It wasn't a problem though!

Scotch didn't seem as important when a Snitch was connected to you via mouth. Skittery had missed that feeling, that 'everything is perfect' feeling you got when, well, everything was perfect. And everything was perfect.

Skittery pulled away from the other boy only to whisper, "I love you" before kissing him again. Seven Scotch's and losing his job was all it took to make life perfect. Well, Snitch was all it really took, but the seven Scotch's and losing his job helped move it along nicely.
'Okay!' he thought, 'I admit; only the losing of the job moved this along. The Scotch was a bonus.'

And besides the depression, he lived happily ever after.

~The end~

That was it. The Skittery/Snitch. Sorry for the lack of action, I'm still working on that. Sex seems like it would be a lot easier to write, damn it. Uh, well, leave me a review telling me what you think. It's what your conscience would want.