Penn - A Fighting Chance

In retrospect, Tazer's brilliant plan of walking to the bar tonight so he didn't have to worry about how much he drank or leaving his car overnight may not have been as well thought out as he'd hoped. It was something he did fairly often, and, living just off campus, it was certainly a short enough walk to all the on-campus bars. However, the trip seemed significantly longer tonight after getting in a fight behind the bar earlier this evening. Every stumbling, lurching step he took was accompanied by an explosion of sharp pains that radiated outward and layered on top of the dull throbbing that took place whether Tazer was moving or not, and his breathing was becoming labored with the exertion of pushing himself forward.

He was getting close though. He'd already made it to his street, a long row of squat, ranch-style rent houses staring at him accusingly while he shuffled forward. While the neighborhood catered to the college students that flooded the area, it had a reputation for being a little quieter and populated by the students more concerned with their GPA rather than partying. Tazer imagined that he could feel their judgment sliding over his skin like a physical weight even though he hadn't seen any of his neighbors outside tonight.

Slowly, Tazer made his way to the third house on the left and shuffled up the steps, grunting with the effort. His ribs ached with the exertion, and Tazer was forced to acknowledge that the damage to them tonight might be far worse than he wanted to admit; Coach was going to kill him if they were anything worse than bruised. Finally making it up the stairs, Tazer had to pause for a minute to catch his breath and try and will away the nausea and dizziness swirling through him. For several long minutes he stood there, arm curled round his middle and staring at the red door to his house. He remembered painting it only months after moving in because Owen had said it made their home more welcoming and inviting or some other shit he'd heard on HGTV. Tazer hadn't really thought it made that much difference in the curb appeal of the house or whatever, but he'd been too stuck on the way Owen had said "their home" without any hesitation at all to argue with him.

Smiling at the memory, Tazer felt some of the dizziness recede a little. Tazer was certain that the way his heart clenched every time he saw the freshly painted door and the potted plants lining the porch had only started happening once he acknowledged his feelings for Owen. His very one-sided, unrequited feelings.

Feelings he was beginning to suspect had led him to this point, standing on the porch of their rental house, aching and bleeding in several places, and only able to see out of one eye. He could hear Owen and his date inside, hear the low murmurs and the breathy giggles, knew what they meant and what was about to happen, and each sound was like a hot, burning stab to his chest. Usually, Tazer liked to think of himself as a pretty self-aware guy, but it honestly hadn't occurred to him until just this moment that maybe the reason that he'd been okay with getting the shit kicked out of him by four homophobic assholes when he'd gone out tonight looking for something and not knowing what, was that in the back of his mind he knew it would mean coming home and interrupting this. Even though this was far from the first time something like this had happened; it seemed denial was just as much of a bitch as unrequited feelings. Hating himself a little for doing this to Owen, hating that this was what he'd become, Tazer pushed his key into the lock and opened the door.

It was pretty dark in their living room, the only light coming from a floor lamp in the corner and the glow from the floodlight outside the window, but Tazer could still make out the two figures wrapped around each other on the couch. He was two steps inside before his presence was noticed, which seemed pretty quick to Tazer, and he hoped that meant that maybe Owen wasn't as into it as he sounded. Tazer certainly hoped that if he ever got Owen horizontal, he wouldn't notice anything short of a bomb dropping on their house while Tazer's hands were on him.

Owen gasped, less in arousal this time and more in surprise, and sat up on the couch, lifting his head above the back, searching for the source of his interruption in the dim light. Quickly, his look of startled unease morphed into anger as he registered just who had interrupted him. Again. "Taylor? Is that you?"

Tazer shuffled farther inside so he could make out the proceedings on the couch a little better. Even with only one eye and the darkness, he could easily tell that Owen was half-draped over his date with one hand under the hem of his shirt and the other braced on the cushion below him. Tazer's sadistic brain pointed out that they'd probably been rocking their hips together as they traded lazy kisses. All at once he felt just a little less guilty for interrupting.

But that was quickly tempered by a fresh wave of guilt for drinking in the sight of Owen like this. The darkness in the room was enough to prevent Tazer from seeing Owen in any great detail, but he could see enough. Owen's eyes looked darker than their usual light green. It could have just been a trick of the light, Tazer seeing shadows and nothing else, but coupled with the flush on Owen's skin that Tazer was just barely able to make out, Tazer was pretty sure it was from arousal. He looked just like he did in every fantasy Tazer had ever had about Owen, except for the fact that there was some other guy here, and in his fantasy, he'd been the one to make Owen look that way.

Owen's date -- Brad? Brian? Brandon? Tazer couldn't remember, and he really didn't give a fuck -- was still panting slightly and smirking despite being interrupted, and he made no move to pull his hands out of the back pockets of Owen's painted-on jeans, actually squeezing just a little to emphasize just where they were when he noticed Tazer looking.

Tazer's fingers clenched tightly into fists at the guy's smug and not-so-subtle claim of Owen, sending pain shooting up his forearm from his split and bleeding knuckles. He could feel the skin tearing wider and a little blood ooze out of the shredded flesh as he continued to dig his bloodless fingers into his palm hard enough to have them cramping in an attempt to try and restrain himself from breaking the guy's face. The pain helped ground him some, and he managed to choke out a response to Owen through clenched teeth. "Yeah."