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perpetual_motionTitle: Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mikey Gets a Hangover [16/?]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Universe: Manhattan Prep High School AU
Pairing: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The morning after the night before, or what happened after Mikey basically humped Jack.
Disclaimer: Bullshit and lies. As always.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mikey Gets a Hangover [16/?]
By Perpetual Motion
“Mikey! Oh, Mikey!”
Ed’s voice is overly-cheerful and much too loud. Mike groans into his pillow and feels around for something to throw at the door. “Go away!” He tries to yell, but it comes out as more of a pained mutter.
Ed throws open Mike’s door, making it bounce off the wall with a hard thud. “You bastard!” He says cheerfully and throws himself onto Mike’s bed. “You owe me seven bucks!”
“Shut. Up.” Mike rolls over and growls when Ed takes away his pillow. “Go away.”
“Pay up!” Ed thumps Mike on the back and dodges the arm that tries to shove him off the bed. “You drank half my fucking booze!” Ed thumps Mike again. “Fourteen dollar bottle of whiskey, and you drank half the damned thing! Pay up!”
Mike finally connects with Ed and shoves him off the bed. “Go away. My head hurts.”
Ed barks out a laugh. “And you’re hungover!” He jumps to his feet and runs into the living room. “Lup! You owe me five!”
“Goddamnit!” Lupo yells.
Mike grumbles and pulls himself upright. His head swims and pounds, and Mike has to close his eyes and try not to vomit.
“Hey,” Lupo’s voice is a whisper as he walks into Mike’s room. “You okay?”
“My mouth tastes like fuzz.” Mike tries to lick his lips, and it doesn’t help. “And my head is killing me.”
“Yeah. It does that.” Lupo sits carefully on the bed and holds out a glass of water and aspirin. “Just chug the water.”
Mike does as instructed and has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting up the water. “Oh.”
”Yeah.” Lupo leans against the bed post. “First time I did it was after my first parents’ weekend. Mine didn’t show up, obviously, and Ed’s grandma came and acted like I was just as important as he was, and I knew she didn’t know me, and that made me feel even worse, so I didn’t go to dinner with them.”
“And you got drunk.”
Lupo shrugs meaninglessly. “Yeah.”
Mike rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty. He tries licking his lips again, and it works a little. “I got really stupid.”
“Dude, I can beat this. I know I can.”
“I, um…” Mike looks down at his blanket and presses his hands together.
“Spill it,” Lupo encourages with a very careful shove to Mike’s shoulder. “Fuck, between me and Ed, you’re probably tame.”
“I had sex with Mr. McCoy.” If Mike were in slightly less pain, he knows he’d get a laugh out of the way Lupo just gapes at him. In his current state it just makes him wince.
“Fuck.”
Mike closes his eyes. “Yeah.”
“I mean, seriously, Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
Mike’s saved from Lupo on repeat by his room phone ringing. He winces but reaches for it. “Hello?”
“Mike. It’s Alex Cabot.”
“Hi, Alex.” Mike clears his throat and tries to sound slightly less awful. “What’s going on?”
“It’s ten minutes after eleven. Practice started ten minutes ago. Where are you?”
It takes Mike a moment to realize what she’s talking about. “Shit. I’ll be there in a few. I, uh, I got a late start.”
“Okay. I’ll tell the others.” The line disconnects.
“Fuck,” Mike says as he tries to untangle himself from his blankets. “I have trial practice.”
Lupo’s eyes go wide. “You gonna be okay?”
Mike considers lying and pulling out some bravado, but his head hurts, and he knows Lupo genuinely cares. “I dunno, but I have to go. Mr. McCoy made me a team captain.”
“Shit.”
“Pretty much.” Mike tugs on his pants, hunts up socks, and slides on a mostly-clean shirt.
“Dude. Hair.”
Mike glances in the mirror. His face is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is standing up on one side. “Shit.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Better?”
Lupo squints. “Yeah. It’ll work.”
“I need my books.” Mike spins around and stops short as his stomach rolls. “Oh, man.”
“Yeah, it does that.” Lupo’s wincing in sympathy as Mike’s face goes even paler. “Deep breaths, man. And some fruit.”
“Okay.” Mike breathes carefully, and his stomach settles again. “God, I feel like shit.”
“You’re not looking much better.” Ed’s in the doorway, banana in one hand and Mike’s backpack in the other. “You’re really gonna go to a weekend practice when you feel like this?”
“At least it’s not swim practice.” Mike takes his backpack and the banana and gives Ed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Ed grins back at Mike. “Get lost. I’m gonna have sex with Lupo on your bed.”
“Gross.” Mike shakes his head and makes tracks. He gets to the mock trial room in just under three minutes, banana eaten and stomach mostly on his side. It starts rolling again when Mike lays down his backpack and looks at Mr. McCoy’s desk. Mr. Briscoe is sitting there, reviewing a stack of papers and looking completely comfortable.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. Brisoce says without looking up, “we were wondering where you were.”
“Sorry, I had a late start.”
Mr. Briscoe gives Mike a once-over. “I see.”
Mike unpacks his notebook and trial manual and sits at his table. He opens his manual and tries to review compelling closing arguments, but his eyes keep straying to Mr. Briscoe sitting at Jack’s desk. Mike wonders how to approach the question. There was no good way to ask without looking like a brown noser, but everyone already thought he was one. It wasn’t like he was going to lose any respect from anyone else in the room. “Mr. Briscoe?”
“Yes, Mr. Cutter?”
“Where’s Mr. McCoy?” Mike hears someone in the back of the room snicker, but he ignores it.
”He’s not here, Mr. Cutter. That’s all you need to worry about.”
Mike doesn’t have an answer for that. Claiming that he has more to worry about than anyone else in the room means that he’ll have to explain himself, and Mike’s not sure he can. At least, not without making things into an even bigger mess. He tries to concentrate on his work, but it all feels flat somehow. He’s got a closing argument already planned, and he knows it’s good. His opening could probably use some work, but it doesn’t hold any interest either.
“Mr. Cutter, a moment,” Mr. Briscoe says when everyone files out for lunch at one.
“Yes, sir?” Mike puts his book and notebook into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder.
“Mr. McCoy spoke very highly of you before he left. Said you were his star student. I didn’t see you using your time like a star student.”
Mike shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the way Mr. Briscoe is watching him, like maybe he knows something that he shouldn’t. “I had a bad night,” he finally says because it seems like Mr. Briscoe is waiting for an answer.
”Get over it.” It’s not said unkindly, but there is a certain amount of world-weariness tied up with it. “I refuse to believe any student here has ever had as bad a night as I’ve had before.”
There’s no way to argue the point without causing a lot of questions. Mike hefts his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll get it together.”
“See that you do.”
Mike can’t throw off the way Mr. Briscoe says it, like he’s already disappointed because Mike should know better than to wallow. He crosses campus with his attention on his feet. One foot in one of the other, his mother always says to him; it’s how things get done.
Mike pauses outside the cafeteria to take a breath and try to push down the stone that’s pressing onto his stomach. When he closes his eyes, he sees Jack against the desk with his shoulders slumped. He remembers curling against Jack. He remembers Jack’s fingers stroking his shoulder for just a second.
“This sucks,” Mike mutters to himself as he throws open the door to the cafeteria.
Part Seventeen
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Universe: Manhattan Prep High School AU
Pairing: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The morning after the night before, or what happened after Mikey basically humped Jack.
Disclaimer: Bullshit and lies. As always.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mikey Gets a Hangover [16/?]
By Perpetual Motion
“Mikey! Oh, Mikey!”
Ed’s voice is overly-cheerful and much too loud. Mike groans into his pillow and feels around for something to throw at the door. “Go away!” He tries to yell, but it comes out as more of a pained mutter.
Ed throws open Mike’s door, making it bounce off the wall with a hard thud. “You bastard!” He says cheerfully and throws himself onto Mike’s bed. “You owe me seven bucks!”
“Shut. Up.” Mike rolls over and growls when Ed takes away his pillow. “Go away.”
“Pay up!” Ed thumps Mike on the back and dodges the arm that tries to shove him off the bed. “You drank half my fucking booze!” Ed thumps Mike again. “Fourteen dollar bottle of whiskey, and you drank half the damned thing! Pay up!”
Mike finally connects with Ed and shoves him off the bed. “Go away. My head hurts.”
Ed barks out a laugh. “And you’re hungover!” He jumps to his feet and runs into the living room. “Lup! You owe me five!”
“Goddamnit!” Lupo yells.
Mike grumbles and pulls himself upright. His head swims and pounds, and Mike has to close his eyes and try not to vomit.
“Hey,” Lupo’s voice is a whisper as he walks into Mike’s room. “You okay?”
“My mouth tastes like fuzz.” Mike tries to lick his lips, and it doesn’t help. “And my head is killing me.”
“Yeah. It does that.” Lupo sits carefully on the bed and holds out a glass of water and aspirin. “Just chug the water.”
Mike does as instructed and has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting up the water. “Oh.”
”Yeah.” Lupo leans against the bed post. “First time I did it was after my first parents’ weekend. Mine didn’t show up, obviously, and Ed’s grandma came and acted like I was just as important as he was, and I knew she didn’t know me, and that made me feel even worse, so I didn’t go to dinner with them.”
“And you got drunk.”
Lupo shrugs meaninglessly. “Yeah.”
Mike rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty. He tries licking his lips again, and it works a little. “I got really stupid.”
“Dude, I can beat this. I know I can.”
“I, um…” Mike looks down at his blanket and presses his hands together.
“Spill it,” Lupo encourages with a very careful shove to Mike’s shoulder. “Fuck, between me and Ed, you’re probably tame.”
“I had sex with Mr. McCoy.” If Mike were in slightly less pain, he knows he’d get a laugh out of the way Lupo just gapes at him. In his current state it just makes him wince.
“Fuck.”
Mike closes his eyes. “Yeah.”
“I mean, seriously, Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
Mike’s saved from Lupo on repeat by his room phone ringing. He winces but reaches for it. “Hello?”
“Mike. It’s Alex Cabot.”
“Hi, Alex.” Mike clears his throat and tries to sound slightly less awful. “What’s going on?”
“It’s ten minutes after eleven. Practice started ten minutes ago. Where are you?”
It takes Mike a moment to realize what she’s talking about. “Shit. I’ll be there in a few. I, uh, I got a late start.”
“Okay. I’ll tell the others.” The line disconnects.
“Fuck,” Mike says as he tries to untangle himself from his blankets. “I have trial practice.”
Lupo’s eyes go wide. “You gonna be okay?”
Mike considers lying and pulling out some bravado, but his head hurts, and he knows Lupo genuinely cares. “I dunno, but I have to go. Mr. McCoy made me a team captain.”
“Shit.”
“Pretty much.” Mike tugs on his pants, hunts up socks, and slides on a mostly-clean shirt.
“Dude. Hair.”
Mike glances in the mirror. His face is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is standing up on one side. “Shit.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Better?”
Lupo squints. “Yeah. It’ll work.”
“I need my books.” Mike spins around and stops short as his stomach rolls. “Oh, man.”
“Yeah, it does that.” Lupo’s wincing in sympathy as Mike’s face goes even paler. “Deep breaths, man. And some fruit.”
“Okay.” Mike breathes carefully, and his stomach settles again. “God, I feel like shit.”
“You’re not looking much better.” Ed’s in the doorway, banana in one hand and Mike’s backpack in the other. “You’re really gonna go to a weekend practice when you feel like this?”
“At least it’s not swim practice.” Mike takes his backpack and the banana and gives Ed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Ed grins back at Mike. “Get lost. I’m gonna have sex with Lupo on your bed.”
“Gross.” Mike shakes his head and makes tracks. He gets to the mock trial room in just under three minutes, banana eaten and stomach mostly on his side. It starts rolling again when Mike lays down his backpack and looks at Mr. McCoy’s desk. Mr. Briscoe is sitting there, reviewing a stack of papers and looking completely comfortable.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. Brisoce says without looking up, “we were wondering where you were.”
“Sorry, I had a late start.”
Mr. Briscoe gives Mike a once-over. “I see.”
Mike unpacks his notebook and trial manual and sits at his table. He opens his manual and tries to review compelling closing arguments, but his eyes keep straying to Mr. Briscoe sitting at Jack’s desk. Mike wonders how to approach the question. There was no good way to ask without looking like a brown noser, but everyone already thought he was one. It wasn’t like he was going to lose any respect from anyone else in the room. “Mr. Briscoe?”
“Yes, Mr. Cutter?”
“Where’s Mr. McCoy?” Mike hears someone in the back of the room snicker, but he ignores it.
”He’s not here, Mr. Cutter. That’s all you need to worry about.”
Mike doesn’t have an answer for that. Claiming that he has more to worry about than anyone else in the room means that he’ll have to explain himself, and Mike’s not sure he can. At least, not without making things into an even bigger mess. He tries to concentrate on his work, but it all feels flat somehow. He’s got a closing argument already planned, and he knows it’s good. His opening could probably use some work, but it doesn’t hold any interest either.
“Mr. Cutter, a moment,” Mr. Briscoe says when everyone files out for lunch at one.
“Yes, sir?” Mike puts his book and notebook into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder.
“Mr. McCoy spoke very highly of you before he left. Said you were his star student. I didn’t see you using your time like a star student.”
Mike shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the way Mr. Briscoe is watching him, like maybe he knows something that he shouldn’t. “I had a bad night,” he finally says because it seems like Mr. Briscoe is waiting for an answer.
”Get over it.” It’s not said unkindly, but there is a certain amount of world-weariness tied up with it. “I refuse to believe any student here has ever had as bad a night as I’ve had before.”
There’s no way to argue the point without causing a lot of questions. Mike hefts his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll get it together.”
“See that you do.”
Mike can’t throw off the way Mr. Briscoe says it, like he’s already disappointed because Mike should know better than to wallow. He crosses campus with his attention on his feet. One foot in one of the other, his mother always says to him; it’s how things get done.
Mike pauses outside the cafeteria to take a breath and try to push down the stone that’s pressing onto his stomach. When he closes his eyes, he sees Jack against the desk with his shoulders slumped. He remembers curling against Jack. He remembers Jack’s fingers stroking his shoulder for just a second.
“This sucks,” Mike mutters to himself as he throws open the door to the cafeteria.
Part Seventeen
