Disclaimer: Guys. We all know what McG did.

"Seriously, no."

"It never happened."

"He's right. Nonexistent. What—uh—whatever you guys think we—might—" Franklin paused, slamming his drink on the table. Christ, thought Tuck, he was good—he was unbelievably fantastic in the squeezing the truth out of some Russian mafia but so goddamn useless in protecting his own. He'd have thought he was a better actor.

Tuck scratched the back of his ear. "Nothing, mate. We—" he motioned between him and his partner (partner at work, silly, whoever gave Trish that idea?). "—were best friends. And that's about it."

One of the guys narrowed his eyes. Some daredevil act. They were fully aware of his and Franklin's real jobs now. There were no reasons to go all bitter on them, especially when they were about to bond as one family.

The Brit held back an internal sigh. He was at Franklin's bachelor party, after all. Sitting in the hot seat. His best man. What a position.

It was that time of night when the room started spinning a little faster, the flickers of those dimmed lights intensified a little more, the beats of the music throbbed the bar's walls a little harder, and alcohol fused in with the invitees' blood a little better for them to start snooping around the groom's back story.

Some were Franklin's relatives—those that he knew well showed up and left them alone, most of the time (after that time at Nana's, they…but wait. He shook his head. No. It didn't happen.). The guys from Lauren's side of the family…didn't.

And there he was, all suited up, sitting next to his best friend (best. friend. Because what else could he be? He's getting married, legally bonding himself to someone else (some lucky girl you were trying to woo at the same time as him, but that didn't matter), and you're moving in again with your wife. What are these thoughts? What funny feelings in his stomach when he first saw Franklin tonight in his damn fine new suit? (The guy was obsessed. And Tuck couldn't help playing along. Hey, he was just giving his opinion on whether his best friend looked good in new suits. What's wrong with that?) None! None.) in a bar he wouldn't be caught dead in. The new century crashed in on him when Franklin pulled him into the bar's entrance, and, God. He really should have gone out more often. He didn't give himself a chance after having become an eligible bachelor all these years. (What about those nights with Franklin? CHips marathons on the sofa? Guy nights! Those didn't count.)

Bollocks. He's just really happy Franklin's settling down. So happy he's recounting the past moments they've had together as partners (at work, damnit). So. Happy.


Complications rushed in when he was about to get a refill on his third drink. Some bastard—fine, cousin—from Lauren's side of the family managed to invoke some sort of a question-the-groom game. Tuck was on his other side of the table and the guys sat opposite of them, facing off, waiting for any secret, dark deed he'd done to spill from his lips.

At first he let them have it. And Tuck whistled. He knew it was out of character of him. But he was trying to fit in. To be nice. For Lauren. Aren't they the guys he's going to have to put up with every Thanksgiving and fucking Christmas from now on? If he's serious about marrying her, yes.

So he told them the basics. Embarrassing high school stories. First dates. His letter to the editor of a certain magazine asking for his first celebrity crush's phone number. (He heard she's married now. And he's taken. Obviously. Sad world.) Women he slept with. The real reason behind his transparent swimming pool décor. Then the inevitable (that he had been praying would not happen) happened.

One brunette guy clicked his fingers. "Those are interesting," he said, "Interesting, indeed, FDR." He leaned in closer, a finger pointed at Tuck (and Franklin knew what was coming next before the guy even opened his mouth). "But what about the best friend, huh? Anything else?"

Why the fuck would you need to know? went his subconscious.

Why did you agree to this game in the first place, stupid?

I was trying to be nice, I told you.

Now they're closing in. Dangerous territories. Certain things they don't need to know. They would fulfill their duties as groomsmen perfectly without these horrific stories. Trust me.


Pakistan. You knew what happened there.

His eyes focused on Tuck swirling his glass on the table, calmly waiting for him. He felt like it was the first time he had heard the bar's background music. The group crowding around him seemed to be grinning in anticipation.

Why are you bringing that up? That wasn't the story I was planning to tell!

What? Oops. Oh, sorry. It was that time when—

Carry on. Carry on.

The bastard was practically leering at him. Too many shots, brother, too many. You'd better go home for the night. "You were together since high school, you said? (Together! They were making up crap about Tuck and him without even hearing the full story. Wait. So there was a full story to tell? But he gave a curt nod anyway. Nice. Polite. Now he's down to plain civil. Next it'll be formal work tone—yeah, about as friendly as questioning a criminal.) Didn't you two—" another guy standing in the back tapped Tuck on the shoulder. "Experiment?"

Yes. Ye—and No.

No. We absolutely didn't.

Of course not.


The closet door slammed shut, and Franklin blinked, trying to adjust himself to the surrounding darkness. He slammed a fist against the wall. "To hell with high school," he muttered, "I'm never coming to these stupid parties again."

He heard a soft chuckle. From the sounds of clanks against some brooms, Tuck wasn't that far away. "Funny," the Brit said, "I thought you've been getting all the invites, Mr. Homecoming King?"

He rolled his eyes. Tuck couldn't see that in the dark, but well. It was tenth grade. His eyes were his prized assets. Those baby blues girls go insane for. And he was just trying to nail that brunette girl he's been after for ages, the queen of some band of some sort. Her figure was fine. Her wardrobe could use a little change, but if that was her style, he didn't mind. When he'd heard from a source that she was coming to this party, he decided to make an appearance.

"I do," he admitted, "But this has got to be a mistake."

He thought he saw a faint outline of a smile. "I think the guys are joshing around," Tuck offered, "Me being the new student and all."

Had they been outside, Franklin was pretty sure his finger pointing at himself would have made a little more of an impact. "I'm supposed to be in here with Danielle."

"Oh." The good old whistle again. That sound never did seem to leave his ears throughout their friendship. "You mean that punk girl there?"

"Do I detect a hint of amusement in your tone?"

"No," (cough) "Just that you can't pick your partner in a spin-the-bottle-game."

"I get it," he said, kicking dust on the floor, "You're laughing at the possibilities of me with her."

"Of all the girls, bloody hell," a real laugh this time, "You could have any of them."

"And I did," he ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't like 'em."

(Tuck seemed to be silent for a while after his short declaration. Part exaggeration, to be honest.)

"But you have a crush on a girl like Danielle."

"What do you mean, a girl like Danielle?"

"The other type of girls?" his accent was annoying him by the minute. "The ones who aren't interested in you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "There are those, huh?"

"Just because you're popular—"

"—oh, is this about my status?"

"—some people might have issues with that."

"But that just doesn't make sense! Who hates popularity?"


He scoffed. "No, she doesn't."

"Yes, she does."

"No, she doesn't."

"I'm sorry, I thought I was talking to the President of the Student Body."

"You are, and you were saying something I failed to catch. Or grasp. Because it's just so loud in here."

"Right. Girls like that don't go for you, mate."

"I'm not your mate. We've just met."

"Oh, nice to meet you, I'm Tuck Hansen, if you haven't heard."

There was an awkward pause, before he started the conversation up again. Fuck. How could it only have been two minutes?

"You're shitting me. Who doesn't go for this?"

"This what?"

"Me. Helpless baby blue eyes, hello?"

"Simple. She's one of those independent types. Surviving high school fine without any remote connection to the main island. Of which you are the king."

"You're saying she's just not interested."


"Even if I send her flowers, chocolates, those stuff, or ask her out?"


"Even if I stalk her?"

"You won't."

"Even if I sneak up behind her and do this—"

Before Tuck could make up another smartass reply, he felt the other boy's hands on his shoulders, spinning him from his side.


"No drunken shenanigans?" the guy went on. Franklin tapped his leather shoes impatiently. This party was getting dull. Usually he enjoyed being the center of attention, but not this. "No crazy night outs?"

No stolen kisses. That much he was guilty of.


He wasn't thinking.

That was how it happened.

It could have been the alcohol or his pent up frustration at the way the night had turned on him. He swore he would never, ever in his life attempted such an act when his lips touched the Brit's. Tuck was a little startled, caught unaware, but then he responded. And the overwhelming taste shut his senses down.

Tangled hands. Lips. Tongues. Hardly breathing.

He didn't half know what his body was doing, but it was delicious.

Tuck was pressed up against him in a random closet, hands splayed all over the place. He was sure the people from outside could have heard the slam of their bodies against the wall. And he didn't much care.

There was a knock on the door. They detached clumsily, Franklin wiping his lips with the back of his hand.


"Don't." Tuck said. "You were good."

"Wasn't I?" he couldn't help it. Lights were already streaming in from the opening doors, as they stepped out to the crowd. "It was. Just. One time, though."

"Never happened."


"Tell you what."


"I'll introduce you to Danielle."

"You're kidding."

A shrug. "She'll have missed a great kisser."

He wiggled his eyebrow. "You didn't have to test it for yourself first."

"She's in my English class," Tuck replied simply. "And besides, you started it."

Yeah. Apparently they were still standing there talking to one another, chit-chats, as Nana would call it, after they had left the closet.

Weird, huh?

He shot Tuck a look. "I don't know what you're talking about."


A/N: I don't know what just happened! UGH. I'm supposed to be busy, damn. And here I sit, cranking out a story about these two gorgeous men.

Huh. Can't wait to get off this week off, though. Been boring. My brain's melting.

As you can probably tell from my too many mentions, I am in love with Chris Pine's eyes. Way too much.

Anyway. Fun movie. X).

Thank you ever so much for stopping by, reading, and/or reviewing,

All my loves.

Your ever humble fanfic writer :)