Various Drabbles (Slash/Femslash/Het/Gen) [Ranging from PG to R]

The Rave Kid (Slash)

A/N

SLASH. PG/PG-13 for mentions of drug use and things pertaining to the rave culture.

I'm taking requests.

Enjoy.

The Rave Kid

One thing Riley found out in the last year: he wasn't particularly fond of raves.

The blond wasn't exactly sure when the transition started, when his friends went from innocent, to drug addicted sexual deviants. One second they're laughing about TV shows and hanging out at malls, and the next they're all sneaking into clubs and taking hits of acid.

Well, he wasn't taking the hits, Riley was just observing.

But, it seemed they all took it upon themselves to change as drastically as possible, while the cranky seventeen year old had somehow missed the memo. Now everything was about losing minds and achieving orgasms on a daily basis. Neither of which Riley had any interest in, he liked his brain where it was, and as far as he was concerned: he was very much asexual.

So that became much more of a predicament than he ever thought something like that could be.

His friends were leaving him behind, him, who'd always been the sensible one, always been there for everybody when they needed advice. And for what? A couple hours of cheap thrills and a hang-over-from-hell the next morning. But what was he to do? These were his friends, his group; they were all he'd ever known. Granted, they weren't the most reliable people he'd ever known, lord knows he's cleaned up their vomit more times than he'd cared to admit, but that didn't make them any less what they were. They were familiar, things that he needed to hang onto.

If there was one thing he would never admit to obsessing over, it’s that he needed a constant, he needed at least something to stay the same, other wise—other wise...well, he doesn't really want to think about other wise.

And so he knows that he needs his friends. Even if they don't need him. They were growing apart but he was determined to damn well try and catch up.

That's when he—loosely—adopted the statement: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Riley clearly remembered the first time they dragged him to a rave. It was a small thing; some kid had slipped a flier in their hands during a hang out session in front of the mall one Thursday night. It was some colorful mess with pictures of dj's and kids dancing. The blond’s first thought was something along lines of: he'd rather strangle himself with his younger brother's fake telephone (equipped with fake telephone cord) while listening to Justin Beiber instead of attending some dinky rave where he'd surely fall perilously to date rape and/or some form of intoxication by night's end.

But his friends...his friends thought it was a great idea, raves were new and unexplored territory—they'd long since adapted an unhealthy obsession with thrills.

Ultimately, it was Riley's friend Lex that had pulled the trigger and convinced him to come, despite how many times he hummed 'Date-Rape' by Sublime. And, really, how could he refuse? He wasn't going to let yet another thing pull them apart. How bad could it be, anyways? Listen to a little shitty techno music, avoid being touched under all circumstances, an hour later they'd leave, friends doped up enough to think they'd stayed an extra six hours, everyone wins.

Yeah, that's what he thought until he actually went there.

After that, all preconceived notions disappeared.

On that first night, he had somehow managed to get his ass kicked. Full out punched in the face, pushed to the ground, and kicked in the stomach. His friends had meanwhile disappeared, even Lexi who'd left through the back door with some mystery guy ten minutes after arriving.