FicWad

It was entirely Ed’s idea. There was a foot of snow on the ground, Tom’s car was being tempermental, and we were not invited to this Christmas party. But, hey, fuck it. Free booze. It was an after party for some charity Wossy was organising. Ed had asked him on Twitter when it was happening, but was never actually invited. Which made me nervous, as crashing parties tends to do. But, at some point between getting out of the car and walking through the decorated doors, I decided to have as much fun as humanly possible and not give a fuck. Consequences be damned. This decision turned out to be pretty benefitial, as I soon found out every metrosexual boy in the room had decided the same thing. And Jonothan Ross had a LOT of metrosexual friends, most of which had a special place in their hearts for musicians. I had my pick of the lot, really. I could see that Ed wasn’t so sure about his decision, upon realizing that the only single women were middle aged and divorced. He was knocking back eggnog faster than I was. Secretly, guiltily, I hoped he’d choose tonight to realize his wavering sexuality. I often entertained that particular fantasy. But the thing is, Ed doesn’t dance. He hates it. I on the other hand, am the connoisseur of drunken party dance. They were playing a fantastic Daft Punk mix, which made me feel like a cyborg and a prostitute at the same time. The DJ somehow mixed jingle bells in, which coincided with the eggnog beautifully. I was soon lost in dancing, the flashing red and green lights putting me in a trance. Then I saw him. He was about my height, perhaps a bit taller. He was thin, much the way I was thin. Not muscular, but not frail. He was wearing a black and red santa hat over dark brown hair, which fell lightly around his stubbly chin. His shirt said “The Doctor is in.” and had a TARDIS on it. I stopped dancing and walked in his direction, alcohol swimming in my stomach, comfortingly warming my body. I feel it would be too cliche to even mention what I did next, but I can’t really leave it out, can I? “Hi, I’m Tom,” I said upon approaching him, leaning my arm against a wall lazily and using my other hand to sweep my bangs out of my face. “Hi Tom,” he muttered, barely glancing at me. He was scrolling on his iPhone, obviously engrossed. I watched him, not regretting coming over here at all. “You know, you’re standing under the mistletoe,” I said, a smirk growing on my face. His eyes flicked upward in what could have been curiosity or an eye-roll. It was too dark to tell. “Well,” he sighed. “Isn’t that just special?” “I think so,” I said, letting go of the wall and stepping closer. “Whats your name?” “Ben,” he said, eying me uncertainly. “Ben Cook. You look familiar.” “I’m right famous on the Internet,” I said passively. “Music, YouTube, what have you.” “Well, I’ve never heard of you,” he said, looking back down at his phone. “And you’ve clearly never heard of me, else you’d have said something.” I placed a hand over the phones screen and leaned in close. “Then we’re even,” I said quietly. “So you want to know what my favourite thing about Christmas is?” “What,” he said, his eyes quickly betraying lust. “Mistletoe,” and I kissed him. Vaguely I heard his phone clatter to the floor as his arms wrapped around my neck. I slithered my hands around the small of his back and pulled him closer.

« all I have so far. Happy now, Tom?!?!