That's the last time I drink cough syrup

Being sick is not very Hollywood. At least, not being sick in the real world; as in snot running out your nose, explosive sneezing, killer sore throat that makes your voice hoarse, and a fever that creates the image of your entire body on fire.

That was exactly how Trent felt right now, lying on the couch in the boys dorm with a wet cloth on his forehead. The cloth had once been cold, but after a few moments on his roasting forehead, it kinda warmed up. He could even swear he saw steam rising off his head.

This being Bullworth, nobody seemed to feel very sorry for Trent. They came and went from the room, ignoring his pitiful plight, or in the case of some brave little nerds, taunted him mercilessly in nerd language. Oh, they would pay. Every last nerd would pay for what these nerds were saying. As soon as he was able to see straight without coughing and sniffling.

Why did he insist on walking out in the snow without a jacket? What the hell was he thinking? Oh yeah, that his arms were stunning and much too handsome to hide behind a coat? Maybe he should rethink his stance a little bit.

Lying on the couch, moaning and groaning between coughs and sneezes, Trent saw someone coming towards him with a cautious step. It was the little gay kid in the pink shirt, Pete. What the hell could he want with him? Trent sat up on his elbows, blinking hazily at the little geek, his damp rag falling uselessly into his lap. He slapped it halfway across the room, irritated.

"What do you want, dillweed?"

The boy stopped well out of arm's reach. He studied Trent from afar, his expression making it plain that he was starting to rethink this kindness. But he ended up not being completely heartless; he extended a purple object in his hands. Trent blinked and looked at it, scrutinizing it with a furrowed brow.

"What's that?"

"It's cough syrup," Pete said patiently. He took a step forward, still holding the purple bottle out to Trent. "Please, just take it." He glanced at the door anxiously. Trent's eyes also darted towards the door. There was nobody there. Ah, he got it now. Pete must have been told not to help the arrogant bully. Either that or somebody poisoned the bottle. At this point, the lure of relief was too much; if it was poisoned, he was going to die—or get a hell of a lot sicker—because he didn't care. He leaned forward and snatched the bottle from Pete, opening it eagerly. He sniffed at its contents warily.

"Smells like ass," he said distractedly. Pete opened his mouth, as if he wished to say something more, but he closed it again, turning slowly around.

"You're welcome," Pete muttered to himself as he left Trent to his own devices.

Trent gave the bottle one more whiff; it smelled like grape flavored medicine to him. If there was any sort of poison in there, it was that stuff you couldn't detect, like… Well, Trent didn't know crap about poisons, but he thought there must be some kinds that you couldn't smell. After his second sniff, Trent shrugged. Then he tipped his head back and downed most of the bottle.

Ugh, it tasted terrible. And it left a nasty coating in his mouth that made him want to gag. Rolling his tongue around and smacking his lips, he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he set the bottle down on the table in front of him. Maybe it really was poison. How could something formed in order to make you feel better make you feel so much worse? He kinda felt… nauseous. Trent sat up straight and his head spun. He smiled as he sank into the couch, resting his head against the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. It felt kind of good. Like being buzzed.

Trent continued to stare up, eyes half-closed. That stain kinda looked like a star. And that one over there looked like a T, as in Trent, and that one there looked like… Trent stared, unable to believe his eyes.

"Kirby?" He said thickly. The slender jock was frowning down at his friend, hands in his letterman jacket. "Izzat you?"

"I heard you were sick." Kirby looked down at him skeptically. "But you seem more…" Kirby stopped talking when Trent reached out a hand to slowly trace the line of his jaw, gazing up at him dreamily. "Wh-what are you doing?" He wanted to move away, but he couldn't stop watching Trent's half-drugged gaze, not to mention his legs suddenly didn't want to work.

"I'm handsome, right?" Trent's voice sounded as far away as his gaze, so Kirby didn't think it would hurt to respond honestly. He swallowed around a dry lump in his throat.

"Um, yes."

Trent smiled, which turned Kirby's insides to goo and his cheeks bright red. Was this really happening? Maybe he should leave. Somehow, this didn't seem right. He started to pull away, but Trent reached out and grabbed his arm. Kirby looked down at his hand.

"Trent," he started in a warning tone, but he didn't get much out before Trent crawled up the back of the sofa, pouting.

"Where you going, Kirby?"

"Ah, I dunno, class maybe?" His voice came out higher than he liked, and he was pulling at his collar. He was feeling kinda hot now, he hoped he wasn't catching whatever Trent had. His eyes skidded past Trent's pouting face and lit upon the mostly empty bottle of cough syrup on the table. His dark eyes widened. "Is that… cough syrup?"

Trent glanced at it and waved it off dismissively.

"Yeah. So?"

"How much did you drink?" Kirby asked incredulously as he came around the couch to inspect the bottle. It seemed like a fairly new bottle, but Kirby couldn't tell for sure how old it was. Trent grabbed him roughly around the shoulders, leaning close enough for Kirby to smell his breath. It reeked of pseudo-grape flavor. Grape had always been Kirby's favorite flavor.

"Iunno, like… half the bottle, maybe?" Trent smiled up at him, a loopy half smile.

"Jesus Christ, you might as well be drunk!" Kirby accused. He attempted to escape Trent's hold on him, but Trent edged closer, putting more of his weight on Kirby. If he moved now, Trent might hit the ground. He was already swaying dangerously. Kirby eyed the table and gauged the difference. His gaze flit back to Trent, and then he carefully leaned over to place the bottle back on the table. Trent leaned on him even more and Kirby had trouble straightening up again.

"Trent, get a hold of yourself!" Kirby growled, shoving Trent back onto the couch with all his strength. Trent didn't seem to mind, in fact his eyes were shining when he looked up at Kirby.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" he asked, his own tone distinctly flirtatious. Kirby gulped. They were only friends! He wasn't into this kind of thing!

"No!" Kirby shouted, standing up indignantly. "I only wanted to help you!"

"Sssettle down, there, hot stuff," Trent grinned, waving a drunken hand to gesture Kirby back to him. "It'ss just a question. Nothing to get so worked up about."

Trent closed his eyes. Everything kept swimming in and out of focus. He could feel Kirby taking a seat beside him again. He peeked through one eye and saw Kirby sitting with a distraught look on his face. Jeez, some people.

"Why you gotta be in denial?" Trent asked softly. Kirby turned his head to look at Trent; his expression said he'd rather not talk about it. Trent placed a hand on Kirby's thigh. Kirby's breath hitched and he might have tried to move away—for good this time—but Trent crawled over him, pinning him against the intersection of couch arm and couch back. He used his knee to part Kirby's, and his other hand snaked up and under Kirby's shirt. Kirby trembled under the touch, drawing in a quivering breath. He started to say something in a breathy undertone, but Trent didn't catch it. He lightly kissed Kirby's earlobe.

"Didn't hear you…" he whispered. His fingertips explored Kirby's navel, traveling upwards, yearning for more.

Kirby placed his hands on Trent's chest, fully intending on shoving him away. But Trent was doing something interesting to his neck now, and instead of shoving, Kirby's hands twisted in the cloth of Trent's shirt. A low moan escaped his lips and he could feel a smile form on Trent's lips, pressed against the hollow of his neck. Trent's hands abandoned Kirby's chest; they dipped lower and he was tugging on Kirby's waistline, searching blindly for the button.

"Wait…" Kirby batted his hands away. "What're you doing? What do you think I am…?" Kirby's words were cut off as Trent's mouth covered his, and he couldn't even think coherent thoughts, let alone form coherent sentences. He should have minded when Trent's tongue demanded entry, but he succumbed easily. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so easy if Trent hadn't rubbed up against him, making his entire body heat up in desire and he let out a shameless little gasp.

Triumphant, Trent enjoyed his victory by kissing Kirby forcefully, and was rewarded yet again, for Kirby kissed him back, though his kiss was much softer than Trent's. He seemed hesitant, afraid, and it gave Trent little thrills of pleasure down his spine. He was confident when he was around Kirby, but he had to admit, he'd never before been this confident. He was just thinking it was time to try to make his move on Kirby's pants—again, when he was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Breaking off the kiss in a hurry, he pushed Kirby back, trying to hold back the urge to vomit. The sound of Kirby trying to get his breath under control made him want to look up, but as soon as he did, his head swam with colors and the room spun around violently. He could no longer keep the urge at bay.

Trent turned his head and vomited all over the floor. He thought it was amazing; he'd never heard of purple barf before. He was about to make a comment on that very subject when he heard a tiny sobbing noise.

"I can't believe I fell for it!"

Trent looked up in time to see Kirby standing up—making sure to avoid the puddle on the floor—and Trent attempted to stop him, but he hand met with air as Kirby sidestepped him. His face was contorted with anger and hurt and Trent tried to explain himself—surely the jock remembered he was jacked up on cough syrup and wasn't feeling well in the first place?—but Kirby wasn't having it. He flounced out of the room, crying that he should never have trusted a bully in the first place, and by the way, his shoes were ugly! Trent heard the door of the dorm slamming and he winced. Great, so now he'd have a headache to go along with everything else…

He slid down into the couch, pressing his face against the smelly old fabric.

"That's the last time I drink cough syrup…"

A/N: I wrote this originally for the Bully BL LJ community; the challenge was to take a one-liner heard in the game and center a story around it. Look out for my other ones; I'm working on more.