"So?" Fang loomed over Chris's shoulder, looking at the screen of his phone. "Feel like a loser now?"
Chris didn't respond, staring at the proof in front of him. He lost. He lost the bet.
"1.7 million views. What was it you bet?" Fang nonchalantly asked. He damn well knew. He was just rubbing it in. "300? Pretty sure you said 300 views. And uh, hmm," he reached over Chris and scrolled down to the comment section of the video. "Man, I'd have to have a shit ton of burner accounts to fake that many comments. Hmmmmm, it's almost like you can go suck a big fat donkey dick, fuckin' jackass," he giggled. "So what kind of loser are you? The butthurt kind?" He slapped Chris on the butt as he rolled away and off the side of the bed.
Chris shut the screen off, setting it to the side and glaring at Fang over his shoulder. How the hell did his dumb band get that many views in such a short period of time!? It wasn't good! The quality of the video was mediocre at best!! The song was stupid! Why did people even click on it!? He was pissed. The trash of the internet picked today to rise against him out of spite. "I'm not doing anything weird."
Fang smirked, "I know. You're a vanilla bitch. I'll keep it basic, but you owe me a favor. That was the deal, loser." Fang bumped his eyebrows a couple times, tucking his thumbs into the band of his underwear.
Chris was already starting to turn green. No. He wasn't going to do anything like-
"Swap me clothes. I'm going to parade you around in my shoes so you know what it's like to be fuckin' famous," he sneered and snickered. "Consider it a gift," he jeered, turning away from the bed.
Chris sat up, ruffling his hair back in place, "Not happening."
"It is," Fang assured him. "Stop being a sore loser, dickhead." Fang swiped Chris's breeches from the floor and then his own ripped jeans. He tossed the jeans at Chris and started to step into the breeches, "Ohohooo, so where do I keep my junk in these things? Do I like...oh damn, these are kinda nice," Fang pulled them on up with a good yank - not totally dissimilar to his tight skinny jeans, really. Just a little more snug in some areas. And super stretchy… what a fascinating concept! And to no surprise to anyone, he immediately had to ask, "Does this make my ass look delicious or what?"
Chris ignored the question, flipping the covers off and getting out of bed too. Fang cut him off immediately, shoulder barging him out the way, grabbing his polo shirt. "Nope. Not yours." Fang pulled it on quickly, smirking proudly. "I mean, unless you're gonna come strip me down?" He opened up his arms freely, daring him to even try.
Chris's skin crawled, looking back at the jeans and the wadded up tank on the floor. His own dirty clothes - whatever. Fang's dirty clothes? Gross. Swapping clothes? Stupid. Stripping his own clothes off Fang? Not happening. He sighed and grabbed the jeans from the bed, "Fine. What are the terms? I'm not doing this all day."
Fang chuckled triumphantly, "Just back to your little pony show, is all~ Ya know, so I can get to my ride or whatever the hell," he laughed. "Look at me, all ready to whip your little horsie around." He popped the collar on the polo shirt, flipping his hair out of it.
"Oh, please," Chris insisted sarcastically while he pulled up the jeans, "Do go ahead and jump aboard. I get to watch you die, get rid of you, and get a good laugh all at the same time." Ugh, the pants were so loose and dumb looking with all the rips and zippers.
Fang giggled at the idea, grabbing a tall boot and pulling it on. "Damn, you have bigger feet than me? Didn't know you were the clown of the two of us, ya know, since," he gestured to his crotch like that was supposed to mean something…
Chris dragged on the nasty tank top that smelled like an ashtray and still felt cold to the touch from being damp with sweat the night before. Gross! "Your head is bigger than mine and that hasn't proved anything, if that's what you mean." He glanced down at the tank, taking the time to actually read it for once. 'Eat Shit and Die'. Chris failed to hold back a snort and a brief laugh.
"Yo, can I keep these? They're kinda cool-" Fang looked up, hearing the little laugh out of Chris. He grinned, "See? I'm cute like that. Look at you, badass bitch."
"I can think of a few people this would apply to," Chris smirked, staring over at Fang.
Fang snapped the top button on one boot and marched over to Chris, maintaining the eye contact. Little shit challenging him like that. He bumped his chest into Chris, reaching into the jeans pocket, rooting around for a little black pencil. "The feeling is mutual." He tipped Chris's chin up, "Hold still for your makeup, darling dearest bitch," he teased in a high pitched voice which cracked apart.
Chris pushed his hand away a couple times, chuckling quietly, "Your clown makeup? Make sure I look good and stupid so it's accurate to your image."
"Oh, you don't need makeup for that, asshole," Fang chuckled with him while he got some good successful scribbles on Chris's eyes. "Now rub it in like you haven't showered in a week." He used his thumbs to help smear it, fighting with Chris bobbing left and right to avoid him.
Chris finally ducked away, shoving Fang back as he advanced again. He rubbed the back of his wrist over his eye, smearing the eyeliner even more but he doubted it all came off. "This is so dumb," he said but he was still smirking. Something about looking like an absolute idiot to mirror the absolute idiot was somewhat satisfying? Even funnier how it didn’t work the other way around. Fang looked like shanked someone for their clothes because none of it was working together on him.
"And you think your hot pants, leather boots, and fuck boy shirt aren't?" Fang gestured to himself, equally bemused. "I feel like I belong on a yacht with my boyfriend Fabio to tickle my asshole," he laughed!
"Just give me your dumb little girl shoes so I can watch my horse stomp your brains out," Chris hissed, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Cinderella," Fang exaggerated his sarcasm, "I figured you could summon your clown car with your looks and your dumb Sasquatch feet if you’re in that much of a hurry."
Chris shoved Fang out of the way, grabbing the dumb shoes and stuffed his feet into them. Cheap crap. He just left the laces open - they were tight enough as they were. He was making for the exit in a hurry. All he had to do was make it back to the show grounds and this deal was terminated. Back to his spare clothes and back to where Fang would fuck off.
Fang yanked the second boot on as fast as he could to join up with him! He bolted down the hotel hallway, shouting, "Yeehaw, pony boy! Lemme catch a ride with you!"
Chris knew it was coming! All he could do was prepare so he didn't rip his back in two or bash his knees into the ground. Fang couldn't be that heavy! They were the same height, roughly similar builds, he shouldn't- "Fuck!" Chris grunted, catching Fang's legs, staggering forward to catch himself from the force at which Fang hit him midair. "Why are- HOW are you so dense!?" Chris took a wider stance, grunting to hold his weight. Chris wasn't out of shape! He was pretty strong, all things considered! What was Fang's excuse!?
Fang felt himself laugh but like he wasn't quite there. He grabbed on a little tighter but there wasn't anything to grab- he tried a little harder. Shit, no, dammit, he at least wanted to get the last laugh. "Big dick energy…" he mumbled as he felt himself slip away from the dream. "Dammiiiiit," he sighed all while coming to the realization it was a dream. Hadn't had one of those in a long time. At least it was good while it lasted. That was a special treat.
He glanced over to his side, seeing Chris's back. He quietly and carefully reached over Chris and grabbed his phone from the nightstand and settled on his back. He opened up the YouTube video, making sure it was muted and looked at the view count.
184 views.
"..." Fang glared at it. "....fuck," he muttered quietly. He shifted, hearing an unmistakable snort and chuckle beside him. That asshole. How did he know? Did he check already too?
Chris held up middle finger while he was sure Fang could see it with the phone's screen illuminating the dark room. "Here, you can add this one as a charitable donation, loser."
Fang punched Chris between the shoulder blades and grabbed his wrist, "Lemme show you where I'm gonna stuff that-"
Chris jerked his arm free, snickering away. That dumbass really thought he'd win that bet? Hell no. "Sounds like you already did, butthurt baby."
"Bitch, c'mere and get humbled," Fang hefted himself up, grabbing Chris by the hips. What he didn't expect was Chris to retaliate so quickly. He turned over and shoved Fang back down by his shoulders, reminding him that he wasn't a flimsy pushover by any means.
Chris smirked, snatching Fang's phone and holding it for Fang to stare at. "I don't fuck with losers," Chris basted his hot words over Fang. They shared a cocky glare between the both of them until the screen faded to black again.
Fang huffed, elbowing Chris’s arm off his shoulders. He heard his phone land somewhere beside them on the pillows and felt the heavier pressure of Chris’s elbows on either side of him. He had a shit-eating grin, running his hand through Chris’s hair, feeling his lips brush against his.
“Liar.”
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