A Series Of One-Shots [REQUESTS OPEN]

The Wrong Number

Original work - 2020

boyxboy, 18+ (aka absolute filth ahead)

Really enjoyed writing this one. Re-jig of 'The Beach'

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Luca doesn't do family gatherings.

It's just a fact of life. Bees pollinate plants, interstate 84 was a nightmare at all hours of the day, and Luca Carmelo currently has a headache the size of New York state.

All facts.

Regardless, there are always going to be exceptions to the rule and his baby sister's birthday is one of those things. Ash will never forgive him if he misses it. Even if he has promised her a weekend in New York to really mark her eighteenth birthday.

No one has ever said that Luca is a good influence. There's a six year age difference between them on account of having different fathers, but despite that - they're close.

Ash still agreed to that weekend, but asserted that he had to show up for the family party to help her deal with intrusive family members who still call her Andrew.

Ash is more than capable of standing up for herself, but it doesn't help to have someone fight her corner - something that Luca will always happily do. And if he derives a little bit of pleasure from downright insulting said family members, then that's his business.

Ash doesn't exactly approve of that, always being the more diplomatic sibling. But she doesn't exactly stop him either.

So there he is, stuck in traffic on 84 - nursing his headache with a large cup of coffee (transported in a reusable cup decorated with eggplants, courtesy of Ash) and his windows rolled down.

This is what he gets for clubbing the night before. But when his friend, Michael, texted him about a new club on 6th opening up - who was Luca to decline?

An idiot. He hates his past self with a vengeance.

He didn't even bring someone home with him to justify the late night. Then again, it wasn't as though he didn't have options. But none of them were right.

Luca isn't voice to verbalize exactly why that was, but it definitely has something to do with the stranger he'd gone home with a month prior.

Benji.

A gorgeous blonde haired, five foot seven, hot as hell asshole who never called Luca after the night they spent together.

Luca had work the following morning, so scribbled out his name on a scrap of paper and left it on Benji's bedside locker as the man slept onwards (Luca can still see the halo of blonde curls on his pillow, the dark hickeys that Luca had left on his neck) with the hopes of it going further.

On top of being the best damn sex Luca had had in his twenty-four years, Benji was sharp as a whip and a great conversationalist. Hell, if they had spent the entire night talking instead of fucking - Luca wouldn't have complained.

But Benji never called, and Luca isn't pining.

He isn't.

And he definitely didn't go back to Angels (a mediocre club at best) in the hopes of seeing him again. He didn't.

Luca promises himself that after this weekend, he'll go out again. Find another pretty guy to take home and fuck Benji out of his system. He lives in New York city, there's plenty of short blonds to go around.

Because apparently Luca now has a type. He's pathetic.

The drive to his mother's house in Cape Cod takes just under three hours, and his phone has buzzed enough in his pocket that Luca knows Ash is starting to get worried that he won't show.