Brad and Elliott

ELLIOTT POV

As I pull my piece-of-shit car up to Brad’s apartment building I consider pinching myself. I cannot believe I’m picking Brad up for a date. Well, he isn’t exactly aware this is a date. But, I say it’s a date and my opinion is the only one of importance, so this is undoubtedly a date. I park my car in front of the building and walk up to the metal front door. I scan the list of names next to the buzzer buttons for Keith, take a deep breath, and push the button. I wait for him to buzz me up and after a few minutes of waiting my mind drifts to the possibility of him standing me up. I’m mentally freaking out when he opens the door beside me. I’m a little disappointed that I don’t get a chance to see his apartment, but I can’t help smiling nonetheless.

“Hi Brad.”

“Elliott.”

“It’s Eli. The show is at Smith Gallery. It’s about twenty minutes away,” I say as we’re walking to my car. I walk around to the driver’s side and when I look up, Brad is still about five feet from my car, staring at it with a look of disapproval.

“Are you coming?”

“Not in that piece of shit I’m not.” Yeah, I know my car’s a piece of shit, but he’s not getting off that easily.

“What? Why not?” I ask all wide-eyed innocence.

“That thing is a death trap, Eli. I’m not riding in that piece of shit.”

“Brad, it’s not that bad.” Hey, that rhymed.

“Eli, look at it. We’ll take my car.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You heard me. We’re taking my car. It’ll be fun. When was the last time you rode in a ’93 classic white Suzuki Sidekick? It’s like the Rolls Royce of shitty cars. Come on, get in.” I get into the car and wait for him. He opens the passenger side door and gingerly takes a seat. When he closes the door I begin my “starting the car ritual.” I start the engine, wait for five seconds, then stroke the dashboard softly and whisper lovingly “you can do it MotherFuckingPieceOfShit, you can do it MotherFuckingPieceOfShit.” As I’m repeating it for the third time, Brad bursts out laughing. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh.

“Wow, he has a sense of humor!” I exclaim in mock astonishment.

“Hey, I have a sense of humor!” He replies indignantly, picking up on my sarcasm. I roll my eyes and pull away from the curb.

I was telling Brad the truth when I said this show makes me nervous. It’s the first time my art is being displayed away from the whole school atmosphere. People are coming to buy my work and critics are coming to judge my talent. Brad being here helps a lot. I mean instead of spending the night worrying about everyone’s reactions to my work, I’ll be focusing on getting Brad into bed or at least agreeing to a second date.

************

Almost as soon as we walk in, the gallery manager scurries up to greet me.

“Elliott, I’m so glad you made it. And, who’s your boyfriend?” she asks motioning to Brad. She lives for gossip.

“I’m not his…” I don’t give him a chance to complete his sentence.

“This is Brad Keith.” I can feel Brad’s glare, but I choose to ignore it. He’s going to be my boyfriend sooner or later. There’s no use confusing the woman with extra titles.

I take his arm and drag him away from the manager before he says anything to deny our newfound relationship. I usher him to my section of the exhibit, partly to make sure that no one fucked up the hanging and partly because I’m really interested in Brad’s opinion of my work. I give him a few minutes to look everything over before asking for his impression.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s actually not bad.” I roll my eyes at the underhanded compliment.

“Not bad, eh?” He puts on a show – examining my work, putting hand to chin before giving his re-evaluation.

“Well, I guess its okay.”

“Okay? It’s fucking brilliant, Brad.” He does this cute kind of chuckle thing.

“It is better than the other shit on the walls.” He says, glancing around the gallery. I look around and I have to agree. “So, how long do we have to be here?”

“Well, I guess we can leave in a couple hours. I’m just here to mingle with the “important people.” He nods and looks around and I know he’s trying to figure out how he’ll entertain himself for the next two hours. “There’s a bar over there.” I say pointing to the far side of the room. He looks relieved and he starts walking to it before he remembers that I’m still here. He turns around.

“Do you want something?” I roll my eyes at his concern.

“No, I’m good. Help yourself.” Maybe you’ll get drunk enough to take advantage of. I smile and wave him off.

************

Two hours later I look toward the bar and see Brad in a corner with an older man, an extremely older man. And, just by observing their body language it’s obvious that this guy is hitting on him. Brad’s definitely sending “get away from me” vibes. When I make eye contact with him, his eyes silently plead for rescue. As soon as I make it to his side I’m enveloped in his arms. And for a moment I’m overwhelmed by the stench of alcohol.

“Hey, baby! Shnookums, this is Mr. Fields. Mr. Fields this is my boyfriend Eli.” He makes introductions, albeit somewhat slurred. He still has an arm around my waist and his hands are basically groping me, I’m guessing to make a point to Mr. Fields. Not that I’m complaining. After a few moments, the old man makes his excuses and leaves us to harass some other young gentleman.

“You ready to go?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure.” His arm is still around my waist as we walk to my car.

************

I pull up to his apartment building and come to the conclusion that he’s really too drunk to walk up to his own apartment. After struggling to get him out of the car, finding his keys, and walking up the stairs we make it to his front door. And I seriously cannot believe he’s this drunk; he’s still making a few fumbling attempts at groping me. Within a few minutes I manage to get the door open.

“Where’s your bedroom, Brad?”

“You wanna sleep with me, Eli?” he flirts. I steer him toward the back of the apartment and open the door to what I assume is his bedroom. I figure he should be fine once he sleeps it off. As I’m taking off his shirt to get him ready for bed, he begins fumbling with the zipper on his pants.

“Cool, you get undressed too, Eli.” After a few minutes, I finally get him situated in the bed, underneath the covers and it seems like he’s fallen asleep. But, as I’m moving away, he pulls my arm, effectively bringing my body down to his, “kiss me, Eli” he says before meeting my lips with his. I pull away to catch my breath and when I open my eyes I find him passed out.

Fuck.

I slip out of his bedroom and apartment and drive home, not quite as satisfied as I’d like to be.

_______________

AN: Paige, LaughingVoid, roxierose13 - I'm glad you're enjoying it. And thanks for the feedback. LaughingVoid - thanks for the constructive criticism. At that point, I was having a lot of trouble continuing in Elliott's POV. And, I know it can be confusing. I did add POV labels at the top of each chapter, hopefully that will help. And, thanks for the criticism because it was constructive.