Work Text:
“End stream, end stream, end stream-”
“Bye, guys!”
“Bye!”
As soon as Bad closed out of Twitch, Skeppy slid back into his chair and heaved a sigh of relief. It was nearly midnight, and they’d surpassed their original cutoff time of 30 minutes by an extra hour. Skeppy wasn’t quite sure exactly how he felt about what ensued, but he was still giggling, casting glances at his friend beside him doing the same.
All in all, things had gone well. The parkour was amusing, and griefing Munchy with Bad merely a few steps away was so much more enjoyable than it ever had been over Teamspeak. The wings were terrible, no surprise, and Bad was still a masochist for insisting they were critical to their meetup. Despite that, the guy was great—amazing, actually. It was amazing that he was here at all, sitting next to Skeppy, bickering with him, urging him to eat hot wings for his own sick kicks. He couldn’t believe it was actually real after waiting for so long.
If he was honest, “amazing” was the understatement of the century. Skeppy didn’t think it was possible to accurately describe how elated he was just to get to breathe the same air as his best friend.
Bad was giddy, and he turned to meet Skeppy’s eye as the webcam blinked off.
“That was fun!” he chirped, “I’d say it went pretty well, wouldn’t you?” His rockstar hair was strewn around his shoulders, and he went to swipe a few stray strands out of his face. It gave Skeppy a better view of his smile, which was easily bright enough to light up the room and then some.
Skeppy offered him a wide, lopsided grin in return and stretched, brushing a hand through his own hair. “Oh, yeah, yeah, for sure,” he said, just glad it was over. After months of not streaming, six hours of it in one sitting could only be described as nerve-wracking.
Bad nodded in response. “Man, this is so surreal. I’m glad we finally got to do this together.”
The look in his eyes was soft, and Skeppy felt himself shying away from its unwavering warmth.
He held his gaze just long enough to get out, “Me too, Bad,” before setting his sights on the monitor for something else to focus on.
“I can’t believe you made me wear this stupid shirt, though,” Bad said beside him, sounding slightly closer than he did a moment ago. He must’ve leaned in to watch Skeppy fiddle with the computer.
No big deal. Skeppy could totally be normal about it.
“Come on,” Skeppy deadpanned as he tilted his head, “it looks good on you.”
He made to tap the back of his hand against his friend’s shoulder, lifting his arm to deliver the playful blow, but froze in his tracks. Would that be weird?
That might be weird. He aborted the motion, reeling himself in before he made contact.
Thankfully, Bad didn’t seem to notice.
“Hmm, I do look pretty good…” Bad conceded, nudging his arm with an elbow, “I guess I could say the same to you, since you’re also getting to wear my gorgeous face.” He giggled again, just a short burst of sound this time, and Skeppy had to roll his eyes to stop his expression from melting into something too adoring. Before Bad could say anything else, Skeppy hummed like he was trying to growl—a habit he picked up from the man himself—and turned to motion grabbing Bad’s giggling face in his hands, overcome by mock annoyance.
The reaction was almost instant. Bad squealed and crumpled in his chair, arms raising to his ears as if Skeppy would actually do something like that. Admittedly. while it would be funny, he wasn’t sure he had the heart for it. Instead, he just chuckled and scooched back, showing some restraint for once by making sure Bad had a wide berth around him.
Bad looked up, perplexed. Clearly he expected some sort of push or prod, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the fact it never came. His arms lowered and he crossed them over his chest as soon as he realized he was out of danger. An unreadable expression settled on his face.
“Wow, Skeppy, you’re so frigid,” he said absently, “I expected you to be way more touchy.”
There was a tinge of surprise in his voice that Skeppy didn’t know what to make of. He settled for snorting and going to mess around with the tabs onscreen a little more, hoping it’d distract Bad from how he’d tensed up at the observation.
“Well, yeah, you told me you didn’t like that kinda stuff. I’m not actually gonna do anything you really don’t want me to,” he said, managing to sound significantly more calm and collected than he was beginning to feel. “I wouldn’t just grab you, obviously.”
Bad shifted into his personal space, closer than they’d been on camera aside from the hug. “So, what, you’re holding back?” he chided, tone playful; unserious, like he said these sorts of things all the time, which wasn’t technically untrue.
Still, what an interesting turn of phrase. Why did he have to say it like that ?
“Um, I guess,” Skeppy mumbled, feeling a little lightheaded all of a sudden.
Maybe the Smirnoff made Bad tipsier than he’d anticipated. He rested an elbow on the back of Skeppy’s chair and brought his free hand up to scratch lightly at his chin.
“Skeppy, you know you’re the exception, right?” he teased, “Obviously you can touch me. I mean, you’re not just anybody .” He made it sound like it was common knowledge, tone as matter-of-fact as it could be, and oh how silly was Skeppy to be so unaware of such an indisputable fact.
Skeppy rolled his eyes at the revelation and ex-ed out of everything he'd pulled up, intent on giving his best friend his undivided attention. He’d play Bad’s little game like usual, even if it was making him feel more unusual than he liked.
“Are you drunk right now?” he said flatly, mouth quirked in a fake disbelieving smile.
“What? No! I literally only had one drink,” Bad groaned.
To prove it, he leaned away to reach for his finished beer with his free hand, the other falling away from his face, leading his forearm to rest entirely along the top of Skeppy’s chair. He was acutely aware of it barely brushing his back while Bad held up the empty bottle to read the label.
“Er, there’s hardly anything in this, Skeppy,” he said unconvincingly.
“Oh really?” Skeppy drawled.
“Yeah.” He set the bottle back down, conveniently out of Skeppy’s line of sight.
“Whatever.”
Silence settled, and a stupid idea wormed its way into Skeppy’s head.
Did Bad really want him to be touchy? Like, actually?
“...Let’s just say you didn't drink anything, any other time,” Skeppy waved him off, “I could do stuff like…” he scooted over to rest stiffly against his friend’s side, “this?”
He begged his heart not to pound while Bad sat unphased as ever. “Yes, and you could also do that right now , duh. I'm not even buzzed,” He shrugged, gently jostling his friend as if to remind him they were, in fact, touching.
The pair were once again on the path to slightly more familiar back-and-forth territory, but Skeppy still couldn’t tell if Bad was just joking about this all being no big deal now so he could pull the rug out from under him later. That would be cruel, though—Bad was anything but cruel—which begged the question, what were they doing? What was he doing?
“Hmm…” Skeppy made a show of tapping his chin in thought. “How about…” He maneuvered his left arm out from where it was pinned between their bodies and propped it on Bad’s shoulder, then brought his right hand up to grip his elevated wrist, “this?”
“Yes, Skeppy, that’s fine.” Bad huffed out a short laugh and turned his head away, breaking eye contact.
Skeppy took the opportunity to catch his breath and admire his profile, which he hardly ever got to do. On the rare occasions he was blessed with a view of Bad’s face through a screen, he only ever got to see one angle.
Not that he would ever complain.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, chattering offhandedly while Bad scrolled through Twitter on his phone. Every time he’d turn to show Skeppy a picture or post, their faces would get that much closer, and Skeppy couldn't deny the way he reveled in it. As much as he liked it, though, the feeling that Bad was still just messing with him only continued to resurface.
Why would he be? the voice in his head groaned. He didn’t know, but ended up detangling from Bad anyway, moving to prop his elbows on his knees instead. He immediately missed the contact, but decided this was a perfect opportunity to push a little more, a little further than he typically might just to see how far Bad would go with his “elaborate ruse”.
Hunched over in his chair, Skeppy cocked his head so he could meet his friend’s gaze again and blinked innocently at him through long lashes. He let out a loud, exasperated sigh.
“You really duped me on that kiss, Bad. Got my hopes up.”
“Aww, actually?” Bad cooed, feigning innocence, but not even a second later, he dropped the teasing tone. When he next spoke, his voice was newly laced with what sounded like genuine curiosity.
“Did you think I was gonna give you a real one?”
Skeppy could see through it, of course. Bad was nothing if not an actor, and this was no different from how they’d bantered over the phone for the past however many years of their friendship.
Except it was entirely, undoubtedly different.
Skeppy willed the thought away and pressed on. “No, I didn’t think you actually would. I was surprised when you said that, though.”
He sat back up so they could be face-to-face, his expertly curated, open expression the spitting image of sincerity: soul-baring, wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the subtle raise of his brows… If Bad was going to put on this wacky little show for his captive audience of two, Skeppy intended to be the perfect co-star.
Bad nodded once. “Well, here, I’ll make it up to you for real,” he said earnestly, because how else would he say it?
Yeah, right. The last thing he needed was to actually hold out hope this time.
Skeppy couldn’t stop himself from talking, though, and continued with an overconfident “Ooh, really?” as he made a scene of scooting over in his chair and tilting his chin, ensuring Bad had an unobstructed view of his freshly-shaven cheek.
Not that he’d actually need it.
“Go ahead then,” he breathed out anyway, “since you shaved my hair.”
He closed his eyes.
“Make it up to me.”
Bad didn’t laugh or stutter; there were no I’m kidding! s or You know what? Nevermind s to be heard. Instead, his left hand found its way to the right side of Skeppy’s face, and his right moved from the back of the chair to cradle the back of his head.
Surely he’d chicken out. There was a Gotcha! coming, Skeppy knew. Bad had definitely figured he’d been the one to grief his server and this was how he’d troll him back. If there was any way his friend could knock him down a few pegs, this was it.
Strangely enough, the psychic blow never landed.
Instead, things began moving in slow motion as Bad gently pulled him closer and leaned in. If anything, Skeppy could commend his commitment to the bit in the same moment he felt his warm breath drift against his skin.
There’s a soft press of lips just under his cheekbone, not nearly light enough to be brushed off as a figment of his imagination. The exaggerated Mwah Bad tacks onto the end doesn’t soothe him in the slightest. Quite the opposite, actually. Bad might as well have struck a match and set his nerves alight—might as well have dunked him in gasoline and lit him on fire.
Bad stood up and clapped him on the shoulder with a satisfied “There we go,” as if a teeny tiny kiss was actually nothing more than just that.
Unfathomable.
“Wh- Bad?!” Skeppy coughed out, eyebrows shooting to his hairline.
“Hmm?”
Skeppy turned away while grunting out a clipped “Nothing,” not trusting himself to formulate an actual sentence. He felt his face heat up and his heart shudder uncomfortably in his chest, and with a loud roll of his eyes, he lept out of his chair after Bad and brought a sleeve-covered hand to his temple.
Bad started scooping up the assorted trash littered on and around his desk, busying himself with cleaning. “Look, I really am sorry about shaving your hair. It’ll grow back fast!” he whined, as if that was the most pressing matter at the moment; as if that was on Skeppy’s mind at all.
Skeppy sighed in lieu of a real response and bent down to start picking up some of the cards still strewn all over the floor. His mind felt mushy.
“Skeppy… it’s not that bad,” Bad muttered as he made his way into Skeppy’s space again.
He stood back up with his handful of cards, and before he could even process the renewed proximity, Bad went a step further and gingerly ran his fingers against the bald spot he created.
Skeppy leaned back as a reflex, effectively looking as though he’d chased Bad’s touch.
He hoped and prayed he hadn’t noticed, reached back with his free arm to find the spot that Bad was brushing, and nudged his fingers away.
Hours, days, months, years of knowing each other and expecting Bad to be the frigid one left Skeppy wholly unprepared for the reality he found himself in now.
…
They puttered around a little longer, and Skeppy had forced himself to sideline what happened not even half an hour earlier in favor of drifting back into more comfortable, less earth-shattering interaction. He was grateful when he started stifling yawns and blinking sleep from his eyes, a part of him relieved that today was finally coming to an end.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bad,” Skeppy finally said, standing on the Airbnb's welcome mat.
“Aww, okay. See ya,” Bad sighed. He made a frustratingly adorable expression between a pout and a smirk and held his arms open for another hug before Skeppy got the chance to slip out the front door.
As much as Skeppy liked to think he was the one humoring Bad, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone—especially not himself—with the way he practically jumped at the offer. But, falling into Bad’s arms for the umpteenth time since they met up was only getting easier, thankfully. It felt natural, like they were built to embrace.
Before Skeppy could stomp that sappy thought out himself, Bad did it for him by slamming him back into reality with the light brush of a hand over his shirt sleeve.
There was no way that Bad had ever experienced an ounce of shame before in his life with the way he unabashedly squeezed Skeppy’s bicep before pulling away. He managed to make things even wilder somehow, clearly unable to resist flashing his eyes and mouthing a Wow while his hand lingered just a little longer than necessary on his upper arm.
God, “wow” was right.
They said their final goodbyes, and as soon as Bad was back inside and out of sight, Skeppy scrunched up his face like he was in pain and booked it to his car.
What the hell was that, he thought, the final events of the night replaying in his mind. He unlocked the driver's side door and slid into his seat, immediately pulling down the sun visor to check if his face was actually as red as it felt.
Of course it was.
He dragged a hand roughly from his forehead to his chin and groaned. What the hell .
With jittery fingers, he brushed his knuckles over the spot on his cheek Bad had kissed, feeling as if it’d happened ages ago at that point. If he thought hard enough, though, he was sure he could convince himself that he smelled the ghost of Bad’s coffee breath still haunting his skin.
How crazy was it that he had to grimace to stop himself from smiling?
Skeppy inhaled sharply, and didn’t even try to prevent the shrill giggle in his throat from tumbling past his lips and into the deafening silence around him. All it took was a day around his best friend for him to start to lose it. He’d get Bad back for that. That would be funny, wouldn’t it? Repay his- his cute little… prank with one of his own.
Prank, prank, prank , he repeated in his head, hoping it’d make him truly believe this was all in good platonic-bro fun.
The idea alone was ridiculous—when had their friendship ever been platonic-bro-like? Probably never, if he had to guess. -And when had he started viewing Bad as more than just a platonic bro? Just a friend- just his best friend?
He couldn’t bear to let his thoughts wander towards an answer.
He jammed the key in the ignition and twisted, and the engine rumbled to life. After shifting gears, he pushed against the passenger seat headrest with one hand and gripped the steering wheel with the other. It was quick work to back out onto the road and start for his (excruciatingly) empty apartment. He swore under his breath.
What was he supposed to do tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that? How was he supposed to be within arms reach of Bad and behave the way he did when they were hundreds of miles apart?
He flicked on his blinker at a stop sign and listened to it click.
In the privacy of his car, what point was there in pretending like that kiss wasn’t exactly what he’d always wanted?