Title: The Transitive Property of Attraction

Author: concupiscence66

Fandom: Sweet

Pairing: Pete Sweet/Stitch, Stitch/OMC

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: explicit sex, dub-con (intoxicated, manipulated), angst, substance abuse/drug use, language, violence

Summary: Henry's name is not Stitch, and he did not name his kiosk Sweet Music after Pete Sweet. Pete Sweet named himself after Henry's kiosk.

Henry Dulcy is just a regular guy who'd like to go on the occasional date and occasionally feel good about himself. Somehow, this desire has led to him having a completely useless friend and sidekick. He can handle the dancing and the matching shirts, but when Pete starts dating an imaginary girl (not even one he imagined up himself), Henry begins to question some of his decisions.

Henry wants a real life. And a real life boyfriend.

Author's note: Yes, I wrote a 21,000 word fanfic for a ten minute short. Thanks so much to Bluestocking79 for the beta and endless support and encouragement. Let me extend that comment about support and encouragement to everyone who reads and encourages my insanity!

I'm writing this before I see the artwork by karneol_vision, but I feel safe it saying it will be genius!

xxx

Henry Dulcy needed someone to help out at the kiosk. That night. He wasn't as picky in his interviewing process as he should have been.

"My name is Pete. Pete Sweet!" the boy announced with excitement.

"It says Pete McDougall on your paperwork."

"Yeah, that's my name, but everyone calls me Pete Sweet," the boy explained. Henry wondered if the paperwork was even real. Pete was meant to be twenty-two, but he looked and acted like a teenager.

"That parka is well cool," Pete observed, pulling at the oversized coat Henry had inherited from a former lover named Charles. It was a green monstrosity with a fur-lined hood, but it was warm.

Pete had no experience and the vacant eyes of a mental patient, but he was charming and enthusiastic. He was also fit and had piercing eyes that moved from blue to green or maybe gray, depending on how he tilted his face. He would bring the girls in, and probably a few boys. He didn't seem bright enough to steal.

"Can you start tonight?" Henry asked, wondering if he was making a terrible mistake.

"Wot?" Pete barked in astonishment. "Me first job!"

Pete danced as Henry tried to teach him how to use the register. It all felt like a huge mistake, but Henry was going on his first date since Charles had decided to go back to girls. He needed someone to watch the kiosk.

xxx

"So I was thinkin' this could be my dance," Pete announced, before beginning to flail his arms around wildly.

"Hilarious," Henry snarled. "If I laugh any harder, I'll get a stitch in my side."

Pete never stopped talking, and it was always bollocks.

"A wot?" Pete asked, as though he'd never heard something so ludicrous.

"A stitch."

Pete's face remained blank.

"A stitch in my side—you must be familiar with this expression," Henry snapped.

Pete looked hurt for a moment before his face suddenly brightened.

"You're a stitch," Pete said in a teasing tone, moving in far too close for Henry's comfort.

"That makes no sense at all," Henry sighed.

"You make no sense at all," Pete replied, "and you're a stitch. Stitch."

"Don't call me a stitch," Henry said. "It's childish."

"All right," Pete said with a dazzling smile. "Stitch."

xxx

"All right, Stitch?" Dave said with a smile.

"Don't call me Stitch. My name is Henry."

"But you like to be called Stitch."

"No, I like to be called Henry. That lunatic I hired at the kiosk calls me Stitch. Because he's a lunatic," Henry explained as patiently as he could.

"Remember when I used to work with you?" Dave mused. "Those were good days. Why did I stop working there?"

"You kept getting high and either abandoning the kiosk or just giving things away, so I fired you."

Dave laughed, clearly fondly remembering the good old days. "That's right! I was a mess back then. You know who is dead responsible? My sister Poppy. You should hire her."

"That would be your imaginary sister?" Henry asked, his patience wearing thin. He'd known Dave since primary school and couldn't quite steel his heart to the drug-addled eccentric. They had too much history. When people asked if he'd ever 'tried girls', Stitch included Poppy in the list of his heterosexual adventures. Giving Poppy a feel-up under the influence of psychedelics had certainly been more sexually informative than the year at university he'd spent dating a lesbian. They had both been deeply in the closet, not quite ready to admit the truth even to themselves. For a year, their parents were happy, while Henry learned a surprising amount about football and large dogs.

"That's right," Dave sighed. "I forget sometimes, you know? She's such an important part of my life."

Poppy was an important part of the lives of all Dave's friends. It wasn't everyone who had an imaginary person as part of their social circle. It was a great icebreaker at parties. He'd mentioned Poppy to Pete, in a desperate effort to stop the boy from talking more about New Wave. Pete's eyes had widened with fascination. He was as barmy as Dave, even when he was dead sober, and he couldn't handle liquor at all. One lager, and he was stumbling. He would take a cigarette when offered, but would inevitably cough until tears were rolling down his cheeks while insisting it was "smooth." Henry shuddered to imagine the boy on drugs. His pet theory was that Pete's mother had done tons and tons of drugs while pregnant, resulting in a son who wanted to be introduced to someone's imaginary sister.

Pete was entirely too interested in Poppy. He was a lunatic, but he was endearing, and Henry worried about him in spite of himself. When he asked Pete what kind of girls he liked, he'd said he liked them tall, thin and brunette. Henry had then said Poppy was short, stocky, and ginger, just to keep Pete from getting obsessed.

It hadn't worked.

Talking to Dave could be a chore, but he did always have some amazing drugs on hand. Once Henry got the conversation steered away from Poppy and on to poppers, the night took a turn for the better.

xxx

Henry was lying on the ground outside the club with his feet on the wall, waiting to once again have control over his limbs. They'd gone a bit rogue on him inside the club. He was never a good dancer, but he didn't normally hit himself in the face with his own fist. There was part of his brain that thought that if he laid off the poppers, he'd be more likely to be able to stand up, but that was the boring part of his brain. Another sniff, and he wondered why he'd ever wanted to get off the ground in the first place. He had such a good view of where the stars would be if there wasn't so much light pollution.

"All right, Stitch?"

Henry jumped a foot, not easy or advisable when lying on your back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Henry barked, clutching at his spasming spine.

"I was walking by and saw you out here having a little lie down," Pete explained, as terminally sunshiny as ever. "I just wanted to say hi. Make sure you didn't need to go to hospital."

There was a halo of light around Pete's head, and his eyes were blindingly blue. He looked like an angel. It might have been the poppers, but Henry suddenly thought that Pete was a divine gift. He'd been sent to help Henry with something. It couldn't be the kiosk, because Pete was rubbish at working, so there had to be another reason their paths had crossed.

When Henry reached out to touch Pete's shining face, the boy suddenly went shy, but didn't pull away. He just sat still and let Henry stroke his lovely, boney face. He wasn't traditionally attractive—his face was all strange angles and weird pointy bits—but it all came together to make a truly lovely visage.

"I'm fine," Henry said, not sounding terribly convincing to himself. "I've just been doing poppers for... hours. I think. I have no idea what time it is."

"Oh, poppers. Yeah," Pete said, clearly having no idea of what he spoke. "They'll make you feel like that."

Henry pulled the bottle out of his pocket. "Just take a quick sniff of the fumes."

Pete obliged. When security kicked them out of the alley because they were apparently a fire hazard, they leaned on each other as they staggered through the streets of London, trying to remember where either of them lived. Henry was pretty sure one hit of poppers shouldn't have affected Pete so strongly, but then, Pete was obviously brain damaged to begin with. Damaged and lovely and just the right height to lean on when too pissed and high to walk straight.