Not Keeping Track

~300 words :: Scott Pilgrim :: Scott/Wallace :: 1/8/11
It’s not like Wallace is keeping track or anything, but this is the twenty-third time he’s woken up like this, and that’s a few too many to call a coincidence even for Scott Pilgrim.


Wallace blinks awake, eyes gummy, mouth dry. He could really use a piss and a glass of water, but there’s an arm tight around his chest and a leg hooked over his thigh and–hello–a hard-on pressed right up against his ass.

Still half-asleep, he wriggles around until he’s facing the other way, and it’s only when he’s got his hand down the guy’s shorts that he remembers he didn’t bring anyone home last night. Scott makes a needy little noise, though, and pushes into Wallace’s hand, and fuck, not this again.

It’s not like Wallace is keeping track or anything, but this is the twenty-third time he’s woken up like this, and that’s a few too many to call a coincidence even for Scott Pilgrim.

Scott whimpers again, and this time he says Wallace and come on, and who is Wallace to resist?

He’s hard himself now, and he shoves his underpants down and Scott’s, too, and gets his hand around their dicks. Scott is kind of the worst kisser ever and he really needs to brush his teeth–they both do–but Wallace doesn’t really mind.

Scott comes first like he always does, scratching Wallace’s back with a ragged nail and moaning into his mouth. Wallace would like to do this when it’s not pitch dark some time, see what Scott’s stupid face looks like when he comes, but he knows better than to think it’ll ever happen. By the time he gets himself off, hand slick with Scott’s jizz, Scott’s already pulling away, making sleepy noises that are so obviously fake Wallace would laugh if he could catch his breath.

It’s not long before Scott really is asleep, though, sprawled out on his back and snoring, taking up more than his share of the bed. Wallace wipes his hand off on Scott’s t-shirt and gets up to go take that piss.

They won’t talk about it in the morning. They never do.