![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schizoauthoress_libraryTitle: I Will Not Teach Others to Fly
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: set after "The Burns Cage" (Season 27, Episode 17), referencing "Marge Gets a Job" (Season 4, Episode 7)
Warnings: heavy petting, dream setting, consumption of mass quantities of alcohol
Prompt/Fill: none
Word Count: 2787
Summary: You know that dream where you're in bed and they fly in through the window? That dream changes for Mr. Smithers after the events of "The Burns Cage".
Note: I am the trash of the thing, and in this case, the thing is shipping Waylon/Julio.
This story is crossposted to Archive of Our Own
I Will Not Teach Others to Fly
The dream starts like it always does, with Waylon lying in bed alone, covers pulled up near his chin. The room is vaguely familiar, obviously in a house that is much nicer than his current apartment. The moon hangs impossibly low and large in the sky beyond the window, and he recognizes the dream now.
The double window glides open silently and the curtains flutter in the sudden wind. A slender shape passes over the moon, casting a shadow on Waylon's bed...
And Julio's eyes, crinkled with familiar laugh lines, meet his. Julio wriggles his spread out fingers and floats through the window.
"Waylon," he says, "are you calling me a fairy?"
Waylon stares.
(Later, he'll remember that question popped up on one of their earlier dates; that he'd sputtered a denial and Julio had laughed, claiming to only be teasing him.)
Then Julio is straddling his lap, fingers curled around the upper edge of the blanket. Waylon opens his mouth to say something, but Julio leans down and nuzzles his neck. Waylon yelps -- Julio's nose is unexpectedly cold.
"What...?"
"You try zooming around in high winds and not get a little chilly, mister." Julio squirms, and Waylon sort of stops paying attention to anything else for a second.
(Fantasy-Monty was never this mouthy. Then again, Julio's mouth is his best feature, in more ways than one.)
Waylon pushes the blanket down. Julio's fingers are stroking over his hair, and that warm, familiar laugh fills his ears. "You're so cute..."
"Is that the only reason you like me?" Waylon asks with a smile.
"I like you for lots of reasons," Julio responds. That was their private exchange of affection. He presses a little kiss to Waylon's mouth. "I could tell you about all of them if you want."
"Or you could get under the covers and I could warm you up."
That earns Waylon another kiss. "See? I also like you because you're smart."
Dream logic asserts itself, and skips ahead to both of them snuggled under the blankets, skin to skin. Waylon moves his hips against Julio's, as Julio makes those soft, happy little sounds he remembers. Julio's hands stroke up and down his back, and there's no real rush, just a slow build of sensation.
Maybe they're in Julio's condo now, because something like the brightly colored Borucan mask from Julio's bedroom is hanging on the wall over the headboard. Waylon trails kisses along Julio's neck. There's the faint scent of Julio's favorite cologne.
Julio pinches Waylon's butt and chuckles, then gives a little squeak as Waylon retaliates with a nip to the side of his neck.
"Be nice to me!" Julio protests when Waylon looks up, but he's still smiling.
A wave of longing sweeps over him, and Waylon wraps his arms tight around Julio. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What for?" Julio asks.
Waylon frowns. What for? He can't think of it suddenly. "Because I... I..."
****
He wakes in the dark, and remembers. Julio won't be coming around anymore, because Waylon had once again put Mr. Burns over his own happiness.
The apartment is hot, almost oppressively so, and Waylon pushes aside all his bedcovers. This is unfortunately familiar, waking up in the middle of the night to feel anxious about things that already happened, things he can't change. Maybe it was a mistake to break up with Julio. But was it really fair to pursue a relationship when he couldn't even promise a 'twenty percent commitment'?
He can still smell Julio's cologne, which he knows he has to be imagining, because he washed all his bedding after coming home from Cuba and it can't really be lingering after that.
His subconscious won't even let him have a decent sex dream.
Waylon turns over, and stares at his cell phone, innocuously charging on the bedside table. What time is it? He could call Julio.
He can't call Julio.
But he should. He should apologize. He hadn't before.
What was there to apologize for? He'd been honest. Surely that was better than leading Julio on, lying about how much he still thought about Mr. Burns?
But he'd just walked away while Julio pretended not to be crying. That wasn't honest, that was just cowardice.
Waylon groans and turns his back on the cell phone. He hates this. This is worse than any of his other breakups -- those relationships had been shorter, or he hadn't been as happy...
'Julio made me happy.' Waylon thinks, then immediately corrects himself, 'No... it wasn't him exactly. It was that I could be somebody different. I could make mistakes, I could have an opinion, I didn't have to hurt anyone...'
"What the hell was I thinking?" Waylon laments.
Waylon's cell phone rings. The sound startles him, and he flails around to grab it, pulling it off the mini-USB end of the charger. He presses the green icon to answer the call without checking the name, and says, "Hello?"
"Hello, Waylon...." a familiar voice slurs over the connection.
"Julio?" Waylon gropes for his glasses, also on the bedside table. "Have you been drinking?"
"Oh yes, baby, I've been drinking a lot tonight!" Julio giggles. "And I've been thinking a lot, too... about what happened... in Havana!"
'Well, this is a new experience,' some detatched, sarcastic part of Waylon says in his head. 'Being drunk dialed by my ex-boyfriend on a weeknight.' Aloud, Waylon asks, "Oh, you have?"
"I have." Julio confirms, then takes a moment to giggle again, until he snorts. "You... were stupid to break up with me, and I have... half a mind... to come over there and show you what you're missing out on... an' you're missing out on it because you just had to go break my heart..."
A horrific vision of Julio's crappy little black hatchback wrapped around the support pole of a traffic signal flashes across Waylon's mind. "You're not driving anywhere!" Waylon snaps. "You'll end up breaking your head!"
"Oh, like you care..." Julio sneers.
"You stay where you are; I'm coming over!" Waylon hits the speakerphone icon and grabs a discarded pair of sweatpants from the floor, pulling the clothing on as quickly as he can without the risk of toppling over. "You hear me, Julio? I'm on my way over!" He yanks a t-shirt out of the dresser drawer and squirms into that as well.
"I hear you, I hear you..." Something, probably the bottle of alcohol, sloshes on his end of the call, and then Julio grumbles, "Bossy."
Ignoring that mild insult, Waylon asks, "You're at your condo, right?"
"Oh, yes... I am at the condo and I am drinking my way through my stash of whiskey. You better hurry if you want to have some, Waylon!"
Waylon supresses the urge to sigh. And then he remembers -- there is at least one bottle of 140-proof whiskey in Julio's collection. And if Julio is literally drinking his way through the bottles, there might be an emergency room trip and stomach pumping in their immediate future.
"Keep talking so I know you're not going anywhere," Waylon says, shrugging into his coat and grabbing his car keys, shoving his wallet into a pocket of the sweatpants. "You're on speaker. I'm going to the car right now."
"I still don't know what you see in that old man... you have to tell me sometime... maybe not tonight, though. The likelihood I vomit on your shoes is pretty high..."
****
Julio laughs drunkenly into the intercom, but buzzes Waylon inside the complex without real protest. He does hang up the phone after that, though. Waylon hurries to Julio's door, and knocks rapidly on it.
"I'm coming," Julio calls, "I promise I won't break my neck in the foyer!"
It's not funny, and Waylon fumes as Julio fumbles with the locks. The door swings in as it opens, and Waylon starts to say, "Julio--"
Before he can even start scolding, Julio grabs him by the wrist and pulls him inside.
Julio unbalances himself with that motion, and Waylon grabs him around the waist to steady him. Waylon gets a brief glimpse of a smirk on Julio's face. Then he's kissing Waylon, slightly off target and sloppy, tasting heavily of alcohol.
He pushes Julio away, to arms' length. "That is not why I came here."
"Sure, sure..." Julio grabs Waylon's hands, one at a time, and removes them from his arms. "You're just worried about me, right?" The question is definitely sarcastic, but he doesn't give Waylon a chance to respond before he walks to the living room.
Waylon sighs, locks the door, and follows.
He's relived to see that while Julio has finished off one of his regular black label bottles of Jack Daniels and is working his way through a second, the various 'barrel proof' bottles remain locked in the display cabinet beside the wet bar. Waylon watches as Julio flops onto the couch, in a sprawl that somehow still manages to look effortlessly elegant, and as Julio reaches for the bottle again, asks, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Julio pauses, shoots Waylon a defiant look, and drinks straight from the bottle -- draining the remainder in one go. He gasps in a breath, smirks at Waylon, and replies, "It's probably a shitty idea. I'm prone to those."
"Julio, what even brought this on? It's Wednesday."
"I don't know..." Julio slurs the words together. "I'm lonely. Feeling old. Nobody wants me..."
"You hardly look old. You could probably pick up any guy you wanted," Waylon points out, but Julio cuts him off with a harsh laugh.
"Not that kind of lonely. Not that kind of wanting."
"I don't understand."
Julio tilts his head back so that he's looking up at the ceiling. "I don't want to be some guy's hot conquest. I don't want any more one-night stands."
Waylon sits down on the couch, gingerly, halfway expecting that Julio will shove him away. Or is that something Mr. Burns would do, and that's why he's expecting it? Waylon pushes away that questioning thought. "You were never that to me."
Julio levels a look at Waylon, as if searching for something. And then, before Waylon fully processes that he's moving, Julio has somehow gotten into Waylon's lap, and he's kissing Waylon all over again.
Waylon is still sort of keyed up from his earlier dream, and the parallels in situation have his body responding despite how much he wants to be the responsible ex-boyfriend who doesn't take advantage. Julio moans into his mouth, and for a few seconds Waylon's brain just fogs over with want as he kisses back, hard and needy.
Then Julio pulls back, gasping, "Please, Waylon!"
But he can't -- he knows they shouldn't, and that he won't be able to look at Julio again if Julio has second thoughts in the morning. Waylon puts his hands on Julio's chest, keeping Julio from going in for another kiss. "We can't, Julio. You're drunk."
"We've had drunk sex before," Julio argues. "It's not that bad."
"We were dating then."
"Oh, yeah." Julio goes still, and he looks like he might cry again. Waylon takes the chance to guide Julio gently off his lap and back to sitting on the couch. Julio turns away, and Waylon gets up to go into the kitchen.
He pulls a clean glass out of the still-open cupboard where Julio keeps the dishes and drinkware, then goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the filter pitcher. There's enough inside to fill the glass. Afterward, he refills the top reservoir from the tap, leaving the pitcher in the sink for now as he takes the water back to Julio.
"I like you, Waylon," Julio declares miserably when Waylon enters. Julio wipes at his eyes. "I don't want to like you anymore, but I do."
"Thank you, Julio." It's all Waylon can think to say. He holds out the glass. "Drink some water."
Julio sniffles, "Okay," takes the glass, and obeys. Waylon is glad. He'll do what he can to avert what would surely be a killer hangover. Julio passes back the now empty glass, and asks, "Do you like me?"
Waylon replies, voice strained, "I like you for lots of reasons."
Julio gives him a watery smile. "Just not enough."
'I was wrong' is on the tip of Waylon's tongue, but instead he says, "I'm sorry, Julio. I... still care about you. I don't know what I want these days."
Julio licks his lips and directs a very suggestive, significant look at Waylon -- or rather, a particular part of him. Waylon blushes and retreats to the kitchen.
He fills the water glass again and puts the filter pitcher back in the fridge. He makes a few adjustments before heading back into the living room -- only to stop short when he sees Julio.
Julio has managed to remove his shirt and is lounging... 'invitingly' on the couch. "Waylon..." he practically purrs.
And Waylon has to laugh. He sets the water glass down next to Julio's empty whiskey tumbler and leans over Julio, getting close enough that their noses nearly touch. Julio's breath hitches.
"You can't seduce me if I've seen it all before," Waylon informs him calmly, with a small smile.
"You want me."
"And you want a committed boyfriend," Waylon reminds Julio, voice gentle. He touches Julio's bare shoulder. "We established that I can't promise that."
Julio looks at him, eyes still bleary and a little bloodshot. "Waylon, was I a bad boyfriend?"
"No," Waylon says firmly. "Maybe I was--"
"You made me happy. The happiest since..." Julio trails off, looking embarrassed.
"Since Thad?" Waylon asks. When Julio nods, Waylon smiles. "He was a good man. I'm honored."
Mention of Thad -- Waylon's friend and Julio's deceased husband -- makes Julio subdued, melancholy. He reaches up and holds onto the hand Waylon is resting on his shoulder. "I should sleep."
"Probably best," Waylon agrees. "Drink another glass of water first. You know you're angling for a hangover in the morning. This will put a dent in it."
Julio makes a face, but he has to admit that Waylon has a point. Julio snags the glass from the table and drains it. After, Waylon offers his arm as a support so Julio can get to his feet. Julio accepts, still wavering slightly on his feet when upright. Waylon carefully navigates them to the bedroom, depositing Julio on the rumpled bed.
Julio pouts, but clearly doesn't expect to sway Waylon again when he asks, "Join me?"
Waylon chuckles, shaking his head, and says, "Not a good idea, handsome."
The compliment makes Julio smile back, a little goofily, and he burrows under the covers without another word. Waylon can't resist reaching out to smooth his hair, but is too aware of Julio's drunken state to excuse anything else.
****
Julio wakes up to a pounding headache -- admittedly less of one than he was expecting -- and... the smell of eggs and bacon. Last night is fuzzy in his memory. He thinks maybe he called someone in his contact list when he was nearly through a bottle of whiskey, wallowing in misery about --
"Good morning," Waylon greets, as he walks into the bedroom.
He has managed to find Julio's TV trays, and is holding one laden with a steaming plate and two tall glasses -- one with orange juice, the other with water. When Waylon moves closer, Julio sees that the plate has scrambled eggs, three slices of crispy bacon, and two slices of dry toast. Silverware and a pair of aspirin tablets sit on the tray next to the plate.
"Medicine first, Julio."
Julio stares. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I thought it would be rude to raid your pantry and refrigerator for my breakfast without making you some," Waylon answers, as he sets the TV tray on the bedside table. "And I knew you'd still have a headache this morning, because your dumb ass drank two bottles of Jack last night."
Julio raises an eyebrow. Before taking the aspirin, he comments, "You could have left."
"I could have," Waylon agrees. He offers no explanation for why he didn't. Once Julio is done washing the aspirin down, Waylon turns to leave. "I loaded your dishwasher. There should be enough room for those dishes."
"Hey," Julio says, about to get out of bed, "Waylon..."
"I need to get back to my place for a change of clothes before heading to work," Waylon calls back from the hall. "I really need to get going. Call me!" And then he's gone, already shutting the front door before Julio can formulate a response.
But. 'Call me,' he'd said. Julio smiles. It isn't a promise -- maybe Waylon can't do those -- but it's good to hear.
*-*-*-*-*
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: set after "The Burns Cage" (Season 27, Episode 17), referencing "Marge Gets a Job" (Season 4, Episode 7)
Warnings: heavy petting, dream setting, consumption of mass quantities of alcohol
Prompt/Fill: none
Word Count: 2787
Summary: You know that dream where you're in bed and they fly in through the window? That dream changes for Mr. Smithers after the events of "The Burns Cage".
Note: I am the trash of the thing, and in this case, the thing is shipping Waylon/Julio.
This story is crossposted to Archive of Our Own
I Will Not Teach Others to Fly
The dream starts like it always does, with Waylon lying in bed alone, covers pulled up near his chin. The room is vaguely familiar, obviously in a house that is much nicer than his current apartment. The moon hangs impossibly low and large in the sky beyond the window, and he recognizes the dream now.
The double window glides open silently and the curtains flutter in the sudden wind. A slender shape passes over the moon, casting a shadow on Waylon's bed...
And Julio's eyes, crinkled with familiar laugh lines, meet his. Julio wriggles his spread out fingers and floats through the window.
"Waylon," he says, "are you calling me a fairy?"
Waylon stares.
(Later, he'll remember that question popped up on one of their earlier dates; that he'd sputtered a denial and Julio had laughed, claiming to only be teasing him.)
Then Julio is straddling his lap, fingers curled around the upper edge of the blanket. Waylon opens his mouth to say something, but Julio leans down and nuzzles his neck. Waylon yelps -- Julio's nose is unexpectedly cold.
"What...?"
"You try zooming around in high winds and not get a little chilly, mister." Julio squirms, and Waylon sort of stops paying attention to anything else for a second.
(Fantasy-Monty was never this mouthy. Then again, Julio's mouth is his best feature, in more ways than one.)
Waylon pushes the blanket down. Julio's fingers are stroking over his hair, and that warm, familiar laugh fills his ears. "You're so cute..."
"Is that the only reason you like me?" Waylon asks with a smile.
"I like you for lots of reasons," Julio responds. That was their private exchange of affection. He presses a little kiss to Waylon's mouth. "I could tell you about all of them if you want."
"Or you could get under the covers and I could warm you up."
That earns Waylon another kiss. "See? I also like you because you're smart."
Dream logic asserts itself, and skips ahead to both of them snuggled under the blankets, skin to skin. Waylon moves his hips against Julio's, as Julio makes those soft, happy little sounds he remembers. Julio's hands stroke up and down his back, and there's no real rush, just a slow build of sensation.
Maybe they're in Julio's condo now, because something like the brightly colored Borucan mask from Julio's bedroom is hanging on the wall over the headboard. Waylon trails kisses along Julio's neck. There's the faint scent of Julio's favorite cologne.
Julio pinches Waylon's butt and chuckles, then gives a little squeak as Waylon retaliates with a nip to the side of his neck.
"Be nice to me!" Julio protests when Waylon looks up, but he's still smiling.
A wave of longing sweeps over him, and Waylon wraps his arms tight around Julio. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What for?" Julio asks.
Waylon frowns. What for? He can't think of it suddenly. "Because I... I..."
****
He wakes in the dark, and remembers. Julio won't be coming around anymore, because Waylon had once again put Mr. Burns over his own happiness.
The apartment is hot, almost oppressively so, and Waylon pushes aside all his bedcovers. This is unfortunately familiar, waking up in the middle of the night to feel anxious about things that already happened, things he can't change. Maybe it was a mistake to break up with Julio. But was it really fair to pursue a relationship when he couldn't even promise a 'twenty percent commitment'?
He can still smell Julio's cologne, which he knows he has to be imagining, because he washed all his bedding after coming home from Cuba and it can't really be lingering after that.
His subconscious won't even let him have a decent sex dream.
Waylon turns over, and stares at his cell phone, innocuously charging on the bedside table. What time is it? He could call Julio.
He can't call Julio.
But he should. He should apologize. He hadn't before.
What was there to apologize for? He'd been honest. Surely that was better than leading Julio on, lying about how much he still thought about Mr. Burns?
But he'd just walked away while Julio pretended not to be crying. That wasn't honest, that was just cowardice.
Waylon groans and turns his back on the cell phone. He hates this. This is worse than any of his other breakups -- those relationships had been shorter, or he hadn't been as happy...
'Julio made me happy.' Waylon thinks, then immediately corrects himself, 'No... it wasn't him exactly. It was that I could be somebody different. I could make mistakes, I could have an opinion, I didn't have to hurt anyone...'
"What the hell was I thinking?" Waylon laments.
Waylon's cell phone rings. The sound startles him, and he flails around to grab it, pulling it off the mini-USB end of the charger. He presses the green icon to answer the call without checking the name, and says, "Hello?"
"Hello, Waylon...." a familiar voice slurs over the connection.
"Julio?" Waylon gropes for his glasses, also on the bedside table. "Have you been drinking?"
"Oh yes, baby, I've been drinking a lot tonight!" Julio giggles. "And I've been thinking a lot, too... about what happened... in Havana!"
'Well, this is a new experience,' some detatched, sarcastic part of Waylon says in his head. 'Being drunk dialed by my ex-boyfriend on a weeknight.' Aloud, Waylon asks, "Oh, you have?"
"I have." Julio confirms, then takes a moment to giggle again, until he snorts. "You... were stupid to break up with me, and I have... half a mind... to come over there and show you what you're missing out on... an' you're missing out on it because you just had to go break my heart..."
A horrific vision of Julio's crappy little black hatchback wrapped around the support pole of a traffic signal flashes across Waylon's mind. "You're not driving anywhere!" Waylon snaps. "You'll end up breaking your head!"
"Oh, like you care..." Julio sneers.
"You stay where you are; I'm coming over!" Waylon hits the speakerphone icon and grabs a discarded pair of sweatpants from the floor, pulling the clothing on as quickly as he can without the risk of toppling over. "You hear me, Julio? I'm on my way over!" He yanks a t-shirt out of the dresser drawer and squirms into that as well.
"I hear you, I hear you..." Something, probably the bottle of alcohol, sloshes on his end of the call, and then Julio grumbles, "Bossy."
Ignoring that mild insult, Waylon asks, "You're at your condo, right?"
"Oh, yes... I am at the condo and I am drinking my way through my stash of whiskey. You better hurry if you want to have some, Waylon!"
Waylon supresses the urge to sigh. And then he remembers -- there is at least one bottle of 140-proof whiskey in Julio's collection. And if Julio is literally drinking his way through the bottles, there might be an emergency room trip and stomach pumping in their immediate future.
"Keep talking so I know you're not going anywhere," Waylon says, shrugging into his coat and grabbing his car keys, shoving his wallet into a pocket of the sweatpants. "You're on speaker. I'm going to the car right now."
"I still don't know what you see in that old man... you have to tell me sometime... maybe not tonight, though. The likelihood I vomit on your shoes is pretty high..."
****
Julio laughs drunkenly into the intercom, but buzzes Waylon inside the complex without real protest. He does hang up the phone after that, though. Waylon hurries to Julio's door, and knocks rapidly on it.
"I'm coming," Julio calls, "I promise I won't break my neck in the foyer!"
It's not funny, and Waylon fumes as Julio fumbles with the locks. The door swings in as it opens, and Waylon starts to say, "Julio--"
Before he can even start scolding, Julio grabs him by the wrist and pulls him inside.
Julio unbalances himself with that motion, and Waylon grabs him around the waist to steady him. Waylon gets a brief glimpse of a smirk on Julio's face. Then he's kissing Waylon, slightly off target and sloppy, tasting heavily of alcohol.
He pushes Julio away, to arms' length. "That is not why I came here."
"Sure, sure..." Julio grabs Waylon's hands, one at a time, and removes them from his arms. "You're just worried about me, right?" The question is definitely sarcastic, but he doesn't give Waylon a chance to respond before he walks to the living room.
Waylon sighs, locks the door, and follows.
He's relived to see that while Julio has finished off one of his regular black label bottles of Jack Daniels and is working his way through a second, the various 'barrel proof' bottles remain locked in the display cabinet beside the wet bar. Waylon watches as Julio flops onto the couch, in a sprawl that somehow still manages to look effortlessly elegant, and as Julio reaches for the bottle again, asks, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Julio pauses, shoots Waylon a defiant look, and drinks straight from the bottle -- draining the remainder in one go. He gasps in a breath, smirks at Waylon, and replies, "It's probably a shitty idea. I'm prone to those."
"Julio, what even brought this on? It's Wednesday."
"I don't know..." Julio slurs the words together. "I'm lonely. Feeling old. Nobody wants me..."
"You hardly look old. You could probably pick up any guy you wanted," Waylon points out, but Julio cuts him off with a harsh laugh.
"Not that kind of lonely. Not that kind of wanting."
"I don't understand."
Julio tilts his head back so that he's looking up at the ceiling. "I don't want to be some guy's hot conquest. I don't want any more one-night stands."
Waylon sits down on the couch, gingerly, halfway expecting that Julio will shove him away. Or is that something Mr. Burns would do, and that's why he's expecting it? Waylon pushes away that questioning thought. "You were never that to me."
Julio levels a look at Waylon, as if searching for something. And then, before Waylon fully processes that he's moving, Julio has somehow gotten into Waylon's lap, and he's kissing Waylon all over again.
Waylon is still sort of keyed up from his earlier dream, and the parallels in situation have his body responding despite how much he wants to be the responsible ex-boyfriend who doesn't take advantage. Julio moans into his mouth, and for a few seconds Waylon's brain just fogs over with want as he kisses back, hard and needy.
Then Julio pulls back, gasping, "Please, Waylon!"
But he can't -- he knows they shouldn't, and that he won't be able to look at Julio again if Julio has second thoughts in the morning. Waylon puts his hands on Julio's chest, keeping Julio from going in for another kiss. "We can't, Julio. You're drunk."
"We've had drunk sex before," Julio argues. "It's not that bad."
"We were dating then."
"Oh, yeah." Julio goes still, and he looks like he might cry again. Waylon takes the chance to guide Julio gently off his lap and back to sitting on the couch. Julio turns away, and Waylon gets up to go into the kitchen.
He pulls a clean glass out of the still-open cupboard where Julio keeps the dishes and drinkware, then goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the filter pitcher. There's enough inside to fill the glass. Afterward, he refills the top reservoir from the tap, leaving the pitcher in the sink for now as he takes the water back to Julio.
"I like you, Waylon," Julio declares miserably when Waylon enters. Julio wipes at his eyes. "I don't want to like you anymore, but I do."
"Thank you, Julio." It's all Waylon can think to say. He holds out the glass. "Drink some water."
Julio sniffles, "Okay," takes the glass, and obeys. Waylon is glad. He'll do what he can to avert what would surely be a killer hangover. Julio passes back the now empty glass, and asks, "Do you like me?"
Waylon replies, voice strained, "I like you for lots of reasons."
Julio gives him a watery smile. "Just not enough."
'I was wrong' is on the tip of Waylon's tongue, but instead he says, "I'm sorry, Julio. I... still care about you. I don't know what I want these days."
Julio licks his lips and directs a very suggestive, significant look at Waylon -- or rather, a particular part of him. Waylon blushes and retreats to the kitchen.
He fills the water glass again and puts the filter pitcher back in the fridge. He makes a few adjustments before heading back into the living room -- only to stop short when he sees Julio.
Julio has managed to remove his shirt and is lounging... 'invitingly' on the couch. "Waylon..." he practically purrs.
And Waylon has to laugh. He sets the water glass down next to Julio's empty whiskey tumbler and leans over Julio, getting close enough that their noses nearly touch. Julio's breath hitches.
"You can't seduce me if I've seen it all before," Waylon informs him calmly, with a small smile.
"You want me."
"And you want a committed boyfriend," Waylon reminds Julio, voice gentle. He touches Julio's bare shoulder. "We established that I can't promise that."
Julio looks at him, eyes still bleary and a little bloodshot. "Waylon, was I a bad boyfriend?"
"No," Waylon says firmly. "Maybe I was--"
"You made me happy. The happiest since..." Julio trails off, looking embarrassed.
"Since Thad?" Waylon asks. When Julio nods, Waylon smiles. "He was a good man. I'm honored."
Mention of Thad -- Waylon's friend and Julio's deceased husband -- makes Julio subdued, melancholy. He reaches up and holds onto the hand Waylon is resting on his shoulder. "I should sleep."
"Probably best," Waylon agrees. "Drink another glass of water first. You know you're angling for a hangover in the morning. This will put a dent in it."
Julio makes a face, but he has to admit that Waylon has a point. Julio snags the glass from the table and drains it. After, Waylon offers his arm as a support so Julio can get to his feet. Julio accepts, still wavering slightly on his feet when upright. Waylon carefully navigates them to the bedroom, depositing Julio on the rumpled bed.
Julio pouts, but clearly doesn't expect to sway Waylon again when he asks, "Join me?"
Waylon chuckles, shaking his head, and says, "Not a good idea, handsome."
The compliment makes Julio smile back, a little goofily, and he burrows under the covers without another word. Waylon can't resist reaching out to smooth his hair, but is too aware of Julio's drunken state to excuse anything else.
****
Julio wakes up to a pounding headache -- admittedly less of one than he was expecting -- and... the smell of eggs and bacon. Last night is fuzzy in his memory. He thinks maybe he called someone in his contact list when he was nearly through a bottle of whiskey, wallowing in misery about --
"Good morning," Waylon greets, as he walks into the bedroom.
He has managed to find Julio's TV trays, and is holding one laden with a steaming plate and two tall glasses -- one with orange juice, the other with water. When Waylon moves closer, Julio sees that the plate has scrambled eggs, three slices of crispy bacon, and two slices of dry toast. Silverware and a pair of aspirin tablets sit on the tray next to the plate.
"Medicine first, Julio."
Julio stares. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I thought it would be rude to raid your pantry and refrigerator for my breakfast without making you some," Waylon answers, as he sets the TV tray on the bedside table. "And I knew you'd still have a headache this morning, because your dumb ass drank two bottles of Jack last night."
Julio raises an eyebrow. Before taking the aspirin, he comments, "You could have left."
"I could have," Waylon agrees. He offers no explanation for why he didn't. Once Julio is done washing the aspirin down, Waylon turns to leave. "I loaded your dishwasher. There should be enough room for those dishes."
"Hey," Julio says, about to get out of bed, "Waylon..."
"I need to get back to my place for a change of clothes before heading to work," Waylon calls back from the hall. "I really need to get going. Call me!" And then he's gone, already shutting the front door before Julio can formulate a response.
But. 'Call me,' he'd said. Julio smiles. It isn't a promise -- maybe Waylon can't do those -- but it's good to hear.
*-*-*-*-*
