#calumcest

“Hey.”

“Any idea what we’re doing for dinner?” Calum asks. “Luke doesn’t know and Ashton doesn’t care.”

“Pizza,” Michael says immediately. “Please? Pizza, please? Movie night with pizza? Did I mention pizza?” 

“I’m in,” Calum says. He smiles a little. “I was kinda hoping you’d say that, actually.”

“You know me,” Michael says cheekily, offering up his face. Calum, struggling to lean across the table, kisses his cheek. “I’ll order.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, too,” Calum says, reaching up to brush Michael’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re the best.”

“I am,” Michael agrees solemnly. “The best. I agree. Well said.”

“Although Luke did let me play Oasis the whole drive home from work today,” Calum says thoughtfully.

Michael pulls a face. “Hey! If I worked with you, I’d let you play Oasis on the drive home.”

“Yeah, but you don’t.”

“Yes, but it’s the thought.”

“For Luke it was the action,” Calum says. “I don’t know, Mikey. You might have to battle Luke for top spot.”

Michael doesn’t really have a comeback for this. Frankly, most of the time he also thinks Luke is the best. He’s pretty evenly divided, actually, thinking his three boys are the best. 

“We can share,” says Michael. “Luke is small.”

Calum laughs. “I’d feel bad leaving out Ashton.”

“Ah, he’s a big boy. He can take it.”

“Boyfriend of the year, you are.”

“I’m ordering the pizza, aren’t I?” Michael holds up his phone like evidence, even though the screen is still dark. The real reason he’s the one ordering is because he’s the only person with the number of the pizza place saved to his contacts. According to Luke, this is “on brand” for him. If that means Michael’s brand is having access to pizza delivery anywhere, then he’s absolutely okay with that.

“I’ll have to run the numbers again,” Calum says lightly. He pushes his chair out. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Please do.”

“Hey!”

“Joking, love you,” Michael says quickly, offering Calum a smile. Calum narrows his eyes, but after a moment he shrugs it off.

“Okay. Love you too.”

He sweeps past Michael through to the bathroom, and Michael unlocks his phone to scroll through his contacts.

-

The doorbell rings. 

“Dinner!” Michael shouts. He makes for the front door and pulls it open. “Hey. Thanks so much. Have a good night.”

“You too,” says the delivery guy, already turning away to return to his car and probably deliver more pizzas. That, Michael thinks, is his dream job. Driving around for hours, transporting pizza from hot ovens to eager hands and hosting one-man-concerts in his car. Not to mention that working for a pizza place must come with pizza-related perks. Free pizza, for example. Not for the first time, Michael wonders if their pizza place is seeking drivers. Also not for the first time, he pushes the thought aside.

“Dinner!” Ashton hollers, sliding into the living room on his socks. He’s shirtless in joggers for no reason Michael can identify. Sometimes Ashton is just like that. None of them are complaining, because, well. Obviously. “I love dinner!”

“Someone say dinner?” Calum appears in the room. “I love dinner.”

“Fuck’s sake, just get married already,” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

Ashton giggles and turns to Calum. “Same brain.”

“We are the wisest,” Calum says, nodding like this is an established fact. A careening force rams into him at full speed and he staggers forward, barely catching himself. “Motherfucker, Luke.”

“I heard talk of pizza,” Luke says, tucking his chin over Calum’s shoulder and hugging Calum from behind. “I’m starving. Gimme gimme.”

“We’re all starving. No hogging the pizza,” Calum informs him, angling his head to lean back onto Luke’s shoulder. They’re cute, Michael thinks. Maybe Luke should be best boyfriend for today. Or maybe Calum, if Michael’s honest. Everyone seems to generally concur that something about Calum today is extremely distracting.

The smell of pizza, however, is equally distracting. Possibly more so. Another day, Michael may need to reexamine his priorities.

“We all know Mikey’s gonna hog the pizza,” Luke grumbles.

“That’s okay, I got two,” Michael says. “One for me, one for the rest of you.”

Ashton takes the pizza out of Michael’s hands. “Sharing is caring, you arse.” 

“I did this for you!”

“Is this pepperoni?” Ashton sniffs the air. “Definitely yes.”

“Other one’s half cheese, half veggie,” Michael says, taking the box of pepperoni back but leaving the other box in Ashton’s arms. “Luke, you and I are on this one.”

“Fuck yes,” Luke says fervently. “You read my fucking mind.”

Like Michael hasn’t ordered pizza for them all dozens of times. He knows the general preferences.

Case in point: “You got veggie?” Ashton says, prying open the box. “Hey, Mikey, have I told you I love you today?”

“You have not,” Michael says, even though he probably has. “So let’s hear it.”

“Hold on a sec,” Ashton says, stepping over discarded shoes and someone’s jumper — probably Michael’s — to set the pizza down on the coffee table. Immediately, Calum makes a beeline for the box, leaping over the back of the couch and reaching to open it before he’s fully settled. Michael grins at the move before Ashton reappears in front of him, redirecting his attention.

“Well,” Ashton says seriously, putting both hands on Michael’s shoulders, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

Michael stifles a laugh. “Yeah, go on.”

“Don’t freak out,” Ashton says, “but I think I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “Ashton, I don’t know what to say. This is kind of awkward. I don’t actually feel the same.”

Ashton’s jaw drops in mock-offence. “What the fuck? I thought we had something.”

“We did, we did! But you eat veggie pizza, and I’m more of a pepperoni kind of guy, so…”

“Wow,” Ashton says, appalled. “So this is how it ends.”

Michael smirks. “Guess so,” he says, and tugs Ashton into a kiss. It’s laughable how quickly Ashton relents, melting into it like ice cream on a sunny day, sweet by all standards. When Michael pulls back he grins. “Kidding, by the way. I love you too.” 

“You’re on thin ice,” Ashton says, very unconvincingly, considering he’s smiling like a kid on Christmas. “Thin ice, Clifford.”

“I got you veggie pizza.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating a guy who doesn’t like vegetables,” Ashton says, shaking his head.

Michael scoffs. “I’m dating two vegetarians! Imagine how I feel.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke, the other resident carnivore, chimes in from his position on the sofa.

“Objectively, one of these things is worse than the other,” Calum points out as Ashton and Michael traipse over to the couch. “At least we eat healthy.”

“I respect your dietary choices,” Michael says. “Respect mine.” He wedges himself between Luke and Calum and Ashton takes a seat at Calum’s left. The TV is already on, set to play a DVD of their choosing, although it seems to have been abandoned for the moment in favour of pizza. Calum is happily munching away at a cheesy slice, Luke on one with pepperoni.

“What are we watching?” Ashton asks, reaching over Calum to pull a slice of veggie out of the pizza. It’d be civil to eat with plates, but the four of them are well past civil. 

“Whose turn is it to choose?” Calum asks. He’s already almost done with his slice. That boy can fucking eat. Not one to be outdone, Michael takes a big bite out of his own slice. 

“Oh my God,” he manages through his mouthful. “Oh my fucking God, I love pizza. This was such a good idea.”

“Agreed,” Luke says, hooking his foot around Michael’s ankle and briefly leaning into him. Michael hums as a feeling of bliss settles like a blanket cape over his shoulders, a gentle hug of happiness. This is the life. Four boys crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on one couch, not because there’s not enough room but because to be anything short of pressed together would leave too much space between any of them. God, Michael loves his life. Weird boyfriends and diverse pizza tastes and uncivil eating habits and all. He wouldn’t want it any other way with anyone else.

A minor argument between Ashton and Luke resolves into the decision that Luke will pick the movie, which of course means they’re watching High School Musical 3, though Michael can’t complain. Everyone knows the third movie is the best. Also, Michael suspects Luke just doesn’t want to pick a movie everyone will groan at. Ever the peacekeeper, that one.

As Luke goes to put the movie in and Ashton rises to grab a shirt from his room, Calum leans against Michael’s other side, reaching for his face and then pulling back at the last second.

“Greasy fingers,” he says apologetically. 

“The true homewrecker,” Michael deadpans. “Grease.”

“Hey, I like Grease.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Calum smiles, and Michael struggles to come up with a single thing more beautiful in the world. “Thanks for getting us pizza. I love you.” 

Michael quirks his lips. “That’s a bit cheesy.”

Calum rolls his eyes with impressive force. “Seriously? I’m being cute.”

“And I’m being hilarious,” Michael returns. He captures Calum’s mouth with his own, delighted to find that he can taste the faintest trace of Calum’s last slice on his lips. Calum hums softly until Michael pulls away. 

“One day you won’t be able to kiss your bad jokes better,” he says. He, too, is smiling. Michael doesn’t think that day will come anytime soon. 

“Whatever you say,” he says airily, licking his lips. “But until then, just know…you’ll always have a pizza my heart.”

Luke mutters something irritated and points to two seats next to each other. “We’re here,” he says. “Just sit down and shut up.”

“If all you wanted was for me to sit down and shut up, why the fuck did you make me come?”

“Because,” Luke says, looking like he’s about to whine. He better fucking not. If anyone’s going to whine, it will be Calum, because it is six in the morning. He scans the room, which looks roughly like he’d imagine an auction room to look like. Unsurprisingly, this quickly becomes boring, and when Luke sits down, Calum leans on Luke’s shoulder, yawning.

“So how do you win?” he asks. He’s a good friend, and Luke’s clearly excited. Calum can pretend to be excited, too, for twenty seconds.

“You don’t win,” Luke says. “The auction guy calls out a number, and people raise their hands, and then he keeps calling out numbers until only one person’s got their hand up.”

“Hm,” Calum says, because he doesn’t care. “How much are you spending on this, again?”

“Enough,” Luke says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You drag me out of bed at six in the morning and now you won’t even tell me how much of a bad life decision you’re making,” Calum grumbles. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Luke doesn’t dignify this with an answer, just pats his hair and opens up Twitter on his phone.

Calum zones out for awhile after that. He registers the auction starting (mostly because Luke’s put his phone away), and from the angle his head is at, he can just see the front, where they’re displaying each item as it’s auctioned off. Time passes. Calum tries not to flat-out fall asleep, because it would be rude, but he’s really tired and has only gotten about four hours of sleep, and his head hurts. He tries to train his eyes solely on the front, to laser focus on whatever item’s being auctioned. Somebody’s socks, maybe? Some concert tickets? They put up a photo of someone, and Calum squints. He doesn’t recognize the guy, but he must be famous, because his picture’s up there. It’s a shame; the guy in the photo is hot, hot enough that it breaks through Calum’s sleep-deprived haze.

He rubs his hand against his forehead, trying to massage away some of the ache that’s building up. Fuck Luke for dragging him out to this, honestly. As he rakes a hand through his unkempt hair, he vaguely registers somebody going, “SOLD to the gentlemen in the Rolling Stones shirt!”

I’m wearing a Rolling Stones shirt, Calum thinks distantly, and then Luke’s shaking him. “Calum, what the fuck?”

“What?” Calum whispers.

“You — you just bid $2000 on a date with Michael Clifford.”

Calum blinks, a lot, and picks his head up off Luke’s shoulder. “Who the fuck is Michael Clifford?”

Luke points, and Calum looks up at the podium, and of course Michael Clifford is the super hot guy in the photo.

“I can’t have won that,” Calum says. “I don’t have two thousand dollars.”

“Well, you did,” Luke says, sounding like he’s moments from tearing his hair out because of Calum. “So you’ll just have to back out after the auction.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t have two thousand dollars,” Calum says, beginning to panic. “Luke, what the fuck? I don’t even have two hundred dollars.”

“Okay, relax,” Luke says. “You’ll just tell the auctioneer after. You can forfeit the item to the next highest bidder.”

Calum is tempted to ask how the fuck do you know so much about auctions, but instead he says, “This is your fault for fucking dragging me here.”

Luke shushes him. Apparently the Green Day thing he’d come for is next up. Luke’s a terrible friend and an absolute menace to society.

The auction continues, and Calum keeps his hands tensely folded in his lap, terrified to even move in case this poor excuse for an auctioneer randomly decides to make his life hell again. He spends about an hour trying to work up the nerve to tell the man that he hadn’t intended to bid, he hadn’t even wanted to come to this, and he hasn’t got two thousand dollars anyway, so thanks but no thanks, you can give this particular victory to someone else.

But every time he does, his eyes land on the photo of the alleged Michael Clifford. Calum’s not, like, a shallow guy, but there is something to be said for a man that attractive. Namely that if you get a chance to go on a date with him, even if it costs two thousand dollars, you’d have to be not only stupid but fucking blind to turn it down.

You don’t have two thousand dollars, he firmly reminds himself. And you don’t know this Michael chump at all. He might be a total asshole.

(If someone that hot is an asshole, Calum will lose all faith in humanity, but whatever. It’s fine.)

He manages to steel his resolve enough to turn down the date, but when the auction ends everything is all hustle and bustle. Apparently Luke’s won his thing, which is cool for him. Calum goes up to the line with the auction winners and prepares to tell the lady (assistant?) that there’s been a mistake, but the lady just hands him a piece of paper and says, “Next.”

“No, sorry, there’s —” Calum says, trying to return the paper, and the lady gives him a chilling stare.

“Next,” she repeats. Luke looks desperately between Calum and the lady and then takes what she’s handing him and hurries them off.

“Luke,” Calum hisses.

“Okay, I know, but did you see her face? It’s fine. You can just email the auction company.”

“Just because you’re afraid of social confrontation,” Calum gripes, but it’s far too late. They’re already outside the building. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” Luke says. “Calm down, Cal. Literally just send them an email. They’ll figure out you don’t have two thousand dollars soon enough anyway.”

Calum stares down at the paper in his hand, which has all the details on how to contact this Michael Clifford figure. It’s fine. He can email the auction company, and everything will be fine.

-

Everything is not fine. Calum typed michael clifford into his browser three hours ago, and now he’s fucked. Utterly, irreparably fucked.

He shouldn’t have checked. He shouldn’t have even bothered. If he’d operated under the assumption that Michael Clifford was a jackass who wasn’t worth a second of Calum’s time, much less a cent of his money, everything would have worked out wonderfully. Calum could have sent the email to the auctioneers, subject line: GRAVE MISTAKE, and sorted it out.

Instead he’s an hour deep into Michael Clifford interviews on YouTube, and he’s listened to the man’s entire discography (two albums and an EP). Calum has gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, but there’s no two ways about it: Michael Clifford is dead sexy and that’s not even the best thing about him. How can someone be this witty and charming and beautiful and sort of awkward and gorgeous all at once and not, like, spontaneously combust?

It doesn’t help that he’s been steadily drinking tequila for the last two hours, also.

(He will easily blame the tequila for what he does next.)

He’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers. A total and complete fucking dumbass. Calum’s a lot of things, but he knows when God is giving him a chance. This is a miracle. An opportunity, Luke had called it. Calum’s not stupid, okay? He’s not.

TO: [email protected] 

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: I won something with your guy

Hello,

I’m the winner of the charity auction date thing? With Michael Clifford? So that’s exciting. Write back with the details, I guess.

Calum Hood

-

Calum doesn’t tell Luke when he wakes up, mostly because for a couple hours he himself can’t believe he’s done it, and Luke will just voice every terrible thing Calum is thinking, beginning and ending with you don’t have, have never had, and will probably never have $2000. And Calum already knows that. He knows, okay?

But when he gets a response email, he can’t help but be excited, a little bit. If he’s going to go down (and he definitely is, for this), he may as well go down on a date with a man who looks like a fierce cuddler and a sex god rolled in one.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Re: I won something with your guy

Hello,

Michael will be in Sydney this weekend. Attached is his availability. Please reply at earliest convenience regarding which time suits you best.

Congratulations,

Michael Clifford's Management (Hi Or Hey Records)

Calum has no plans, ever, and would also easily cancel anything to speak with the absolute treasure that is Michael Clifford, so he replies that any time works for him. He hopes Michael himself isn't as stiff and formal as his management's emails, but Calum's coming off an interview binge, so he wouldn't believe that anyway. He's aware of the disparity between what the public sees of a celebrity and who the celebrity actually is, but a public persona has to be based on something.

Plus, Michael plays Fifa, so he can't be that bad.

He resolutely does not text Luke, and instead spends the day under his duvet, watching more interviews of Michael Clifford and listening to his music on repeat. It's kind of like studying, except the test is a date with a really hot famous bloke. But fuck if Calum's not going to ace it.

-

They decide on Friday night, because that's the universally accepted prime date night, or something, so on Friday night at 7pm, Calum is shifting nervously on his feet and waiting by his door. A car will pick him up, apparently. He just has to sit and wait.

(He's still deliberately not thinking about how this will cost him two thousand dollars. Which he doesn't have.)

Calum's phone buzzes with an email. It's from Michael Clifford's management, but all it says is, I'm outside :D. Tonally, Calum is pretty sure that one wasn't sent by the management.

He takes a deep breath and leaves his house.

The car out front is not a limo, like Calum would have expected. It's a nice Tesla, though, still clearly too expensive for Calum's street and gleaming in the little remaining daylight. Calum makes for it, feeling nervous and excited and mostly just terrified that this is the worst idea he's ever had.

He pulls open the passenger door and slides into the car.

"Hi," says Michael Clifford. Calum fights not to lose his breath. He's prettier in person, so much so that Calum can't actually believe the injustice that pictures and videos do to him. "Calum?"

Oh, that's Calum's name. "Hi, yeah," Calum says. "I'm Calum." He holds out the paper given to him at the auction, just like the management email had instructed him to do.

Michael takes it, looking sheepish. "Cool," he says. Calum can't feel any of his limbs. "Um, get in, I suppose? I know we didn't really decide where we're going, but I figured I'd let you choose."

Calum thinks about everything he's learned about Michael over the past two and a half days of intense studying. Then he checks it against his own appetite. "Pizza?"

Michael's face splits with relief. "Oh, thank fucking God. I've been craving pizza for like a week."

Calum grins in what he hopes is a charming and not-at-all-creepy way. And then he feels creepy anyway.

“So, uh,” Michael continues. “Tell me about yourself.”

Calum drums his fingers against his thigh. “About myself? Okay. Sure. My name’s Calum Hood, I’m on a football scholarship at uni — when I’m at school — and I like long walks on the beach.”

“Oh, we won’t get along,” Michael says. “I hate long walks on the beach. Bad start, Calum.”

“What? How can you hate walking on the beach?”

“The sand,” Michael says defensively. “It gets everywhere, it’s horrible.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “Anakin.”

“I know you did not just call me Anakin.”

“The sand,” Calum mimics. “It’s horrible.”

“I’ll stop this car.” 

“I think you’re contractually not allowed to,” Calum says. “Tell me about you, now.”

Michael looks pleased. Calum tries not to stare. “Alright,” Michael says, smiling crookedly. “Name’s Michael, and I like video games, and I like watching films in the darkness and I hate the beach.”

“Wow,” Calum says. He suddenly thinks that watching films in the darkness wouldn’t be too bad, with the right company. “You’re a right charmer, you are.”

“I’m an introvert,” Michael protests. “Don’t judge me.”

“You’re an introvert? Who auctioned off a date?”

“It wasn’t up to me,” Michael says. He sounds like he’s trying not to be bitter about it, and failing. “It was, like, my management and the auction company conspired against me. But it’s for charity, anyway.” He shoots a look at Calum. “Actually, I think it could’ve gone much worse.”

Calum feels terribly, all of a sudden. He’s lying to Michael, sitting here pretending like he actively chose to come on this auction-mandated date. 

“So, not to be, like, self-obsessed, but I have to ask,” Michael says. “Do you like the new record?”

“Yes,” Calum says immediately, which is true, at least. “Yes, I love it. I’ve listened to it a million times.” In the last three days.

Michael grins happily. “Really?”

Calum nods. “Uh. Yeah. Really.” He wavers, mouth dry. Michael looks delighted, and Calum would be an asshole to let him sit there feeling oblivious about Calum’s whole situation. He sighs. "Um, for the record, I feel like you should know that — well. This is a misunderstanding, kind of."

Michael briefly shoots him a puzzled look before bringing his eyes back to the road. "What is?"

"Well, ah, me, being here." Calum rubs the back of his neck. "I won this by accident. I don't have two thousand dollars — yet, I mean, I promise I'll pay, I just...I honestly didn't know who you were until about three days ago."

Michael snorts, clearly amused. He laughs  "That's great," he says. "Did you look me up?"

"Yes," Calum says. "A bit." He pauses, embarrassed. "Okay, a lot. There's a lot of information about you on the internet, if you were wondering. And I'm sure most of it isn't true, but I didn't want to, like, offend you? But I meant it about the album, it’s really really good, exactly the kind of music I love, and — yeah. So."

Michael still looks amused when Calum finishes word-vomiting all over him. Small mercies. "I'm glad," he says, looking sidelong at Calum for a moment. "Well, I'm sorry you ended up on a date you can't afford with a guy you don't care about."

"No, no," Calum says. "I could have forfeited it, I think? But, well." Whatever, Michael probably gets this all the time, and after all this is a date, so what the fuck does he have to lose? "I thought you were hot, and I was pretty drunk, so I figured, fuck it."

Michael snorts another laugh. "Really," he says. "Well, that's pretty lucky for me."

Calum frowns. "Lucky?"

"Yeah, I mean." Michael gestures. "Sorry if this is forward, but you're pretty good-looking yourself."

Calum has absolutely no idea what to say to that. "Um, thank you? That's — is this, like, scripted? Are there things you have to say to me in some contract? Because I promise not to be offended if you just don't say them."

"There's no contract," Michael says, with an easy smile. "I just think you're kinda hot. Is that allowed?"

"Allowed?" Calum repeats, incredulous. "No, it's not allowed. You need to be checked for delusion. You can't call me hot when I'm in a car with you."

"Well, I am," Michael says. "It's done. Deal with it."

"I want the record to reflect that that compliment was nonconsensual," Calum says. You're kinda hot you're kinda hot you're kinda hot you're kinda hot, his mind sings.

"Should I take it back?" Michael asks, arching a brow. He looks like a fucking sculpture. Calum finally understands why museums exist.

"No," he says. "I took a voice note of you saying it, and I'm going to sell it on eBay. For two thousand dollars. Which I will then use to pay for this date."

Michael shakes his head and pulls into a parking lot. "How about this: you pay for the pizza, and I'll pay the two thousand dollars?"

Calum's heart stops, maybe. He's pretty sure he's supposed to have a heartbeat, but he can't locate it in his body. "What? No."

"Why not?" Michael turns to him in the passenger seat. "I'm having a good time, and a gentleman ought to pay for his date's meal, or some bullshit like that, right? So if you buy me pizza, I'll pay off the auction, and then I can ask you on a real date, and I'll buy you pizza, and we'll be even."

Calum stares, unable to process any of that. "I don't think that math checks out," he says. "What do you mean, a real date?"

Michael chuckles, and sounds a little shy. "One where neither of us is financially obliged to attend. You know. Like a normal one."

"Oh," is what Calum eloquently comes up with. "Uh, you want to do that with me?"

Michael shrugs. "Yes? You kept me smiling for the whole drive, and you called me hot. I'm very insecure, so that's important. Plus, as previously mentioned, you're also hot, so I think we'd make a very attractive pair."

"Maybe I'll say no," Calum says, blood roaring in his ears because there is literally no way this is happening, this is not his real life. This is a dream and he's very witty in his dreams. "Don't push your luck, Clifford."

Michael laughs. "Touché."

"That was a joke," Calum says. "Just like yours was a joke."

"I wasn't joking," Michael says. "But you can say no. We're both still on this date, we may as well enjoy it."

"Pizza," Calum helpfully remembers.

Michael nods in agreement. "Pizza."

"Ask me again at the end of our auction-mandated charity date," Calum says. "If you're charming enough, I might just let you take me out again."

"Challenge accepted." Michael gets out of the car, and so does Calum, and he gives himself another this isn't real life, for good luck, before coming around the car. Michael holds out an arm, and Calum takes it.