Balls [5sos ot4]

hot balls

Luke's pov:

I shouldn't be here, but I am. I should be at home, but I'm not. I shouldn't be wasting my time with him. I should be spending it with them. I shouldn't be drunk on cheap alcohol and cheap lust. I should be drunk on their warmth and their love. I shouldn't be fucking with him, with anyone. I shouldn't be here... why am I here?

I need to leave. I'm leaving.

Turning away, I tell him I need to go. But he grabs my shoulder and I give in. He's warm, I like warm.

"Yeah?" He gives me a face--that cute one that whines for him, letting him get his way without even opening his mouth. But he does open his mouth. "Just one more drink, and then I'll let you go. Back to your boys. How does that sound?"

And I agree. But I make sure I correct him. Cal isn't my boy.

We head back toward the bar from our spot pressed to the wall. I'm going to need a shower. I'm pretty sure I was leaning on some... stuff. Shaking my head--which only makes me even dizzier--I walk toward him since he's already at the bar. He's ordering for me. When he senses my presence, he turns to me. "Hope you're not planning on driving," he says with a smirk.

The barista returns, sliding the drinks with a smirk. Why is everyone smirking? I take it. The glass is heavier than I expected. Sipping it, I cringe. Too strong.

"Dude, grow some balls. It's not even that strong," he laughs at me, chugging his drink. I cringe. We continue to talk, well... he continues to talk. I continue to drink and nod along, trying to finish it so I can go.

I don't need to grow balls, Ash is the one who needs balls. I have them already. Why would anyone even want balls anyway? They itch like a bitch. They suck. Balls. I laugh. He looks at me weird. Not my fault balls are funny.

"Luke? Are you even listening to me?" he asks, nudging my arm. I nod, sipping the disgusting drink.

"Yep. Fine."

He looks at me weirdly. He kind of looks like balls now that I think of it. At least he's hot balls. But Ash is hotter. And so is Mikey. But they don't look like balls. Cal is more cute. Cute balls. Except they're not balls. Am I cute balls?

I finish my drink with one last burning gulp. I blink a couple times. Everything's blurry. He looks at my empty glass with a sly smile. He's always smirking. It looks weird. Makes him look even more like balls.

"I know I said you could go... but I think it'd be best to go with me," he says, chuckling to himself. Should I? I shouldn't.

"Okay." Oh.

"Okay. Well wanna go now?"

"Okay." Shit.

He tells me to follow. I follow. And trip. And whine. But we get there. Eventually.

I follow him to a hotel. I don't know why we walked. I can barely walk sober. It's even more sad when I've got litres of alcohol flowing through my blood. I hate blood. I follow him into the elevator. I grab onto the thingy. He presses a button. And we move up. He has a smile on his face. He has a pretty face. But it's not as pretty as Andy Ballsack's. Or my babies. Oh, yeah. My babies. I look into his eyes and he looks back into mine. They're blurry. I wonder if mine are the same.

"What about my boys?"

"Thought Cal wasn't your boy?"

They're not.

So we go into his room and we have sex. He likes it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Dude," someone groans, shoving my shoulder. "You need to leave."

I mumble something, digging my head further into a pillow. This isn't my pillow. I don't know what I was trying to say but it earns me an even harder shove. I'm laying on the ground now. Everything's blurry. The boy--man--tells me to do something. I don't really hear it. I don't really listen, but I nod.

I need to leave. I need Cally.

Groaning, I stand up. Everything's blurry. I put on a shirt, I think it's mine. I slide on black skinny jeans. It's hard, the skinniness is being difficult. They must be mine. Or maybe they're Ashton's. Or did I borrow Mikey's? No, I borrowed his boxers. Am I wearing boxers?

The man throws something at me, screaming at me to hurry up. Someone's coming. I think it's his mother or something. Or maybe his father. He was talking about a daddy earlier. Or was I the one talking about--?

"Move, you ass."

The man sighs impatiently, shoving my--Calum's--Vans into my hands. He shoves me to his door. Or maybe it's his daddy's. I don't know but it's an ugly shade of red. Wait, no. I think that's maroon. He shoves me further into the hall of other ugly doors. Too much shoving.

I walk slowly, leaning slightly on the wall of the hotel hall. All the different colors mock me, mixing with each other. They aren't pretty. Colors are supposed to be pretty. They're ugly. I don't like ugly.

I like Mikey. I want Mikey. Where's my Mikey? I need to leave. I need Mikey.

I stop walking and just lean against an ugly green door. It looks kind of brown. Hopefully no one opens it. I look down at the clothes in my arms. Boxers and shoes. Why am I not wearing any boxers? Am I going to get a rash? I don't want a rash. Rashes itch. They hurt. I don't want to hurt. Ash is hurt. Am I going to hurt him even more if I whine about my rash? I shouldn't have gone to the club. I shouldn't have drunk that gross drink. At least the other drinks were kind of tasty.

Why am I here? I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here. I want Ashy. I want Mikey. I want Cally. I want love, I don't want sex. Sex is gross. He's gross, they aren't. I don't want sex. I don't need it. I don't like it. I want cuddles. I want warmth. I want them. They need to be here. No--I need to be there. I need to go, I need to leave. I need them.

Why am I crying? I shouldn't be crying. I need to grow some balls. Gulp that drink, gulp those sobs. I'm fine. Sex is natural. Everyone wants it. I shouldn't be upset about having sex. I should be upset about having it with someone who isn't them. Sniffling, I put down the shoes and stuff the boxers into my back pocket. My butt hurts.

The tears are blurring my vision even more. Everything's blurry. But I wipe them away and shove my feet into Cal's shoes. They're too big but my jeans are too tight. My head is too big, my chest is too tight. I need to breathe. I need them to breathe.

I leave, stumbling into the elevator. I'm going to throw up. I press a button. I hope it's the right one. The elevator isn't helping. It's making it worse. I need to get out. But I can't. I'm trapped. I need to get out. I need them to get out.

After a couple of minutes I get out. I'm not trapped. I was never trapped. I can go. I can leave. I need to leave. I want to leave. I'm going to cry again. I can't. I need to man up. We all need to man up. Why can't we man up? Why can't I?

"Fucking fuck up," I groan to myself, walking out of the tall doors of the hotel. The cold air hits my skin. I shiver. Wrapping my arms around myself, I start walking. And I cry again. Because I need them. But do they need me?

I get my answer when I finally get home and I see them. I see them through my damn tears and I see them smiling, holding each other in their sleep. And they take up the whole bed. No room for me. Because I need them.

But they don't need me.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N:

Hiiiii, I'm Carly and I'm cowriting this with me lovely friend, Ashy. We decided there's not enough queer 5sos fics, that are also ot4 so here we are. And it's even better now since we can enter this into the slash fanfic contest. Hopefully we finish this crap in time. Hope you enjoyed xx