I Bloody Dare You

Chapter 2

"Thomas, Thomas!”

Thomas’s eyelids fluttered open to see Brenda—still in only a tank top and short shorts—looking down at him, concern in her dark brown eyes. His stomach instantly lurched when he remembered his current attires; his boxers.

“Thank goodness,” she started. “I was worried you’d be out all day.”

“Looks like Tommy boy can’t handle a little action,” Thomas heard Newt say from the other bed. Cocking his head, he saw that the two shanks were still in a cuddling position; even while sitting up. Newt had wrapped both his arms around Minho’s torso, while the other leaned his head back onto the blond’s shoulder. Newt noticed him staring. “Surprised we actually did it?”

“More or less,” Thomas replied, turning back to Brenda. He had a perfect view of… something that made him blush. The brunette noticed and pulled back, then sat criss-cross apple sauce on the single sized bed.

“Can we stop now?” Minho complained. “This slinthead squeezed the life out of me last night.”

Minho let out a strangled as soon as the words left his mouth; Thomas figured Newt now had him in a bone-crushing hug.

“You know you liked it, shank,” Newt said.

Brenda groaned. “Don’t start this again.” Thomas nodded in agreement and then cleared his throat.

“So was this your dare?” he asked, ignoring the sounds of struggle in the next bed over.

“Yeah. They dared me to climb into your bed at night, undress you, and sleep with you until morning. Being the tough girl I am, I decided why the hell not? So here I am.”

Thomas put his head in his hands at the thought of being asleep while Brenda took his pants off. It was embarrassing beyond belief.

Minho and Newt’s fighting finally subsided and they calmed down. The room was silent for a moment before Minho said, “Let’s get some shuckin’ food; I’m starving.”

“Good that,” Thomas agreed, eager to get out of the awkward position he was in and dressed.

“Do we still have to be glued together?” Newt questioned, looking at Brenda.

“No, I think we’ve all seen enough of that.”


The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Thomas spent most of it roaming around the Berg; occasionally rummaging through opened packages or crates he found in some of the supply closets. Most of it was junk; but he did find a nifty hat that he liked.

He spent the time that he wasn’t looking around eating or lying on the couch in the sitting room when it wasn’t occupied by Newt or Minho. Brenda stayed in the cockpit with Jorge most of the time. He had tried to spend a little time in there with her, but felt like a third wheel to their conversation. Something about their time spent in Alaska together.

Sighing, Thomas had no idea what to do. It was a repeat of last night; except everyone was busy. So he lied around until dinner, feeling lazier than ever when he got up to go to the small kitchen and eating area within the Berg.

Brenda had already begun to cook. Minho was sitting at the table holding his knife and fork and staring expectantly at her as she fiddled with the microwave’s settings. Thomas figured it must have been rice tonight for Minho to get that excited about whatever she was cooking.

Newt strolled in after him, followed by Jorge. “Well, it looks like we’re all here, muchachos,” the Spaniard announced. Newt took a seat next to Minho and sighed, putting his head in his hands.

“Isn’t there anything to do on this bloody thing?” he complained.

“We could play—“

“I am not playing anymore of your buggin’ games, woman,” Newt interrupted, glaring at Brenda. The cook rolled her eyes and turned back to the food she was preparing, which Thomas now saw was leftovers from the night before. Great; more overcooked macaroni to choke down.

Then Jorge spoke up. “How about we play the blushing game?”

“Oh, that game,” Brenda responded.

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Thomas murmured.

“Yeah, what the shuckface said,” Minho agreed.

Newt nodded his head in agreement. “I’m bloody done with that kind of stuff,” he said.

“At least give it a try,” Jorge pleaded. The three boys shook their head as Brenda passed out the macaroni.

“I think we should play it. It’s fun,” she commented.

“Your idea of fun is making me sleep with and spoon a guy,” Minho fired.

The brunette chuckled. “That was pretty entertaining. At least you can say you’ve slept with someone now.” Minho was about to say something back when Newt interrupted him.

“Let’s not forget about you; after all, you bloody stripped Tommy down to his undies and crawled into bed with him last night,” he reminded her. Thomas and Brenda both blushed at the recent event, while Jorge’s face went from calm to rage.

"You did what?” he practically shouted.

Brenda threw her hands up in defense. “It was a dare!”

“Dare or not, that’s inappropriate!”

“Says the one that practices making out on a pillow!”

“How did you know about that?!”

The two settled into a heated argument, debating back and forth about how Jorge may or may not cuddle with said pillow at night. Thomas was just glad the conversation was turned from him. The last thing he wanted to do was get his sorry butt thrown out of the Berg just because he had accidentally slept with Brenda.

Newt looked very satisfied with himself at having started the fight. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Unfortunately, he leaned a little too far back and the chair slipped out from under him; sending a smirking blond to the ground.

“Ouch!” he hissed as he banged his head on the floor for the second night in the row. Minho immediately erupted into a fit of laughter until Newt grabbed one of his chair’s legs and yanked on it, sending the Runner out of his seat as well. The two sprawled on the floor and began to wrestle back and forth, trying to pin each other to the ground.

Thomas looked down at his untouched macaroni and uttered the stupidest words he ever remembered himself saying. “Why can’t I be a noodle?” He rapidly looked at his friends to see if anyone had heard, but everyone else was still busy with their own matters. He sat in the middle of the warzone, staring off into blank space until he’d had enough. “Everybody SHUT UP!” Thomas yelled.

Brenda and Jorge instantly looked away from each other and at him; their argument about how Jorge would be forever alone instantly forgotten. Newt and Minho looked up from where the black haired boy had managed to pin the other to the floor. Thomas took a deep breath.

“Let’s just play the stupid game,” he said. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was a demand for everybody to shut the hell up and get themselves together. They were on a mission to escape WICKED, for God’s sake. Couldn’t they remember that?

“Fine, Tommy, I’ll play the bloody game. But only if this shank—“ he pointed to Minho, still on top of him “—does too,” Newt finished.

Minho narrowed his eyes, and then smirked. “Okay, then. I hope you’re ready for your shuckin’ limbs to go numb, because all the blood in your body’s gonna be in your cheeks.”

“Oooh, shots have been fired,” Brenda whistled. Thomas sighed, hoping he had put a stop to the fighting for now. All of it gave him a headache as he picked silently at his food with his fork.

“Alright, then it’s settled, muchachos. I’ll explain how to play it after dinner,” Jorge said, taking a seat.

The rest of dinner, like most of the day, was unexciting. However, there was an unspoken anticipation in the air for the upcoming game. Thomas couldn’t help but admit he was curious to what he would have to do, and hoped it didn’t involve too much nudity. Shuddering at the thought of having to get naked in front of everyone, he let his imagination rest.

Finally, the time came. The five sat down in their respected spots—the same spots as the night before—and Jorge began the explanation on how to play.

“So you get a partner and say ‘I like you’ to each other until someone blushes. If no one does, then you keep going. Anything goes to make someone blush; just… don’t get too handsy,” he said, looking at Brenda.

“What are you looking at me for?” the brunette complained. “It’s those two you should be worried about.” She pointed to Newt and Minho.

Newt snorted. “Need I not remind you whose fault that is?”

Minho simply whistled and looked around innocently. “Shall we get started?” he said.

“We shall. Jorge, will you get the bottle?” Brenda nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen. Jorge complied and went to fetch the bottle.

“Why do we need a bottle?” Thomas questioned.

“The person that spins the bottle and the person that it lands on have to do it,” she explained.

“Why can’t we just choose our partner?” Minho asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Because, knowing you, you’d probably choose to do it with yourself.”

The Runner grinned and put his arms behind his head. “I bet you I’d make everyone else in the room blush before I made myself.” All three of the teenagers rolled their eyes at his lame joke. Jorge came back into the room a moment later, holding an empty bottle of what used to be orange juice.

“Alright, muchachos. Who wants to spin first?”

“I’ll go,” Thomas said, unsure why he was so eager to go. Jorge tossed the brunet the bottle without question. “Where do I spin it?”

“We need to all sit on the floor,” Brenda mentioned.

“Good that,” Minho replied. The group moved into a circle on the floor. Thomas placed the bottle in the middle of them and gave it a spin as soon as everyone was settled. Watching it with a hawk’s eyes, he looked up when he saw who it had landed on.

Minho grinned. “Looks like it’s up to us to start out, Thomas.” Thomas groaned and scooted closer to his friend—who was grinning like a madman.

Taking a deep breath, the brunet started. “I like you,” he said awkwardly. His friend’s grin never wavered.

“I like you too, Thomas. I’ve always liked you. You’re very special to me…” Minho dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I like you more than you could ever imagine,” Thomas countered. Suddenly, Minho was right up in his face.

“I think I love you,” the Runner whispered in his ear.

“Okay, you win!” Thomas announced, pushing his friend back. Minho laughed, the others joining in soon after.

“Oh man, Tommy, your face right now is priceless!” Newt hollered.

Thomas huffed and crossed his arms like a pouting child. “Fine then, let’s see you do it. Hope it lands on your boyfriend,” he spat. Newt’s eyes flashed a hint of annoyance but he accepted the challenge no less.

“Then give me the bloody thing.” The bottle was passed to the blond, who spun it without hesitation. Thomas held his breath as he watched who it landed on: Brenda. Something died in him the very second it landed on her and they both scooted forwards since they sat on the opposite side of the circle from each other.

The three audience members watched as Newt began. “I like you, Brenda.”

“You’re so sexy, Newt.”

“I think your figure is flawless.”

“I love the way your hair looks in the morning.”

“Your hips don’t lie.” He now had a determined look in his eyes.

“Neither do yours.” Brenda matched his glare.

Thomas felt a pang of jealousy hit his chest as he watched Newt say things to Brenda that he—hopefully—didn’t mean. Finally, though, the blond cracked after a particular comment about his nether regions.

“Okay!” Jorge said, cutting the two off. They both scooted back into their rightful places, Newt’s face tinged red. “Next.”

“You go,” Newt told Jorge. “I hope you land on her.” He pointed an accusing finger at Brenda, who shrugged.

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” The blond blew a piece of hair out of his face.

Jorge took the bottle and spun it. Thomas wasn’t in the least bit surprised when it landed on him. Looking the Spaniard directly in the eyes, he said, “I do things to Brenda that you wish I would do to you.”

Jorge took a deep breath and face palmed. The slightest hint of redness entered his cheeks, and Thomas had won.

“I didn’t know you were such a pedophile, Jorge,” Minho commented. Jorge abruptly threw the bottle at Minho, who caught it easily. “I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” The black haired boy grinned, and the man groaned.

Minho put the bottle on the ground and spun it as hard as he could. Around and around it went, until it finally stopped on the person it was looking for. Thomas knew this was going to be a long night.

Newt grinned and cracked his knuckles as if he had been expecting it. “Come at me, you bloody shank.”

“My pleasure.” Minho scooted so close to Newt he was practically in the other boy’s lap. He grabbed Newt’s hand and looked him straight in the eye, bringing their faces close together. “I’m in love with you, Newton.”

Newt sneered at the use of his full name. “I’m so head over heels for you, Minho, I can almost overlook your horrible morning breath. I want you to be my lover.”

“Want me to be? I already am.” Minho placed his head under Newt’s chin, then looked up at the older boy. Newt pulled him in for a hug.

“Your body is so warm. What’s it like on the inside?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“Oh my gosh,” Brenda whispered to no one. Thomas was too focused on the two to respond.

“I want you so badly.”

“I want you even more.”

“Maybe I should just take you here.”

“Maybe you should.”

Thomas could see the fiery determination in both of the boy’s eyes. After a couple more phrases were exchanged, Minho did the unspeakable. He grabbed Newt’s head and forced the blond’s lips to meet his own.

“Why did I suggest this…” Thomas heard Jorge utter beside Brenda.

Newt’s eyes opened wide with shock at first and then closed abruptly. The two fought for dominance in the kiss; it was so intense and passionate Thomas couldn't help but wonder if they had ever done it before.

“Neither of them are blushing yet,” Brenda said. “How is that even possible?”

“I have no clue,” Thomas answered. He honestly didn’t; he was blushing just looking at the show.

Newt had pinned Minho down to the ground now and was kissing—making out with— him harder than ever. He lifted Minho’s shirt, exposing his naval, and played with his belt loops on his pants. Minho moaned into the kiss. Thomas covered his eyes.

Finally, they came up for air. Thomas removed his hands from his face as he watched them both gasp; Minho’s shirt was now almost completely off.

“Am I going to have to undress you completely to make you blush?” Newt whispered seductively, just loud enough for the others to hear.

Minho pulled the other down on top of him, rolled over, and smirked. Now, Newt was the one pinned and left wriggling underneath him. Hastily, Minho took off his shirt and flung it in a random direction. And luckily for Thomas, he was sitting in the exact spot it landed. Flinging the fabric off of him, he wondered if they should put a stop to the game before it went too far.

Then, Minho forced his hands up Newt’s shirt and began to tickle him mercilessly. The blond squirmed and began to make noises that sounded like a dying hyena.

“Stop it! Unfair!” Newt gasped between laughs.

Minho turned to Jorge, still tickling the boy beneath him. “This is fair, right?”

“Considering you two just made out, I’d say yes.”

Minho turned back to Newt, a sly smile on his face. “See? It’s fair.”

"Slim it, shuckface!” he replied.

Newt eventually managed to roll Minho back over so that he was on top again. Not wasting a minute, he lifted the boy’s shirt again (there seemed to be a lot of shirt lifting, Thomas noticed) and put his head to it. Then he dragged his tongue along Minho’s abs.

Minho stopped struggling and completely stilled as Newt’s tongue began to trail lower. Finally, Thomas thought, it’s over. Minho was blushing furiously now.

“Stop it, slinthead!” he practically pleaded. Newt lifted his head immediately and smirked at Minho’s red face.

“Looks like I win.” Getting off his friend, he casually sat back in his spot like he hadn’t just made out with a guy and licked his body sensually. Minho sat up, grabbed his shirt from its spot on the ground, and put it with a pouting look on his face. A silence then enveloped the group. Thomas, Brenda, and Jorge looked awkwardly between Newt and Minho. Out of nowhere, Brenda began to clap.

It started out slowly before amounting into a full applause, and she stood up. “Out of everything I’ve seen, you guys have topped it. Congratulations,” she stated. “Now, if you would excuse me, I think I’m going to wash my eyes out with bleach. And I think I might just drink some, too.” With that, she left.

Newt and Minho looked at each other and burst into laughter. “Did you see the look on her face?” Minho whooped.

"Bloody priceless! Just like Tommy’s face earlier!” The two erupted into more laughter, slapping each other on the back.

“Well, I better get back to piloting,” Jorge spoke. “Have fun, you three.” Just like the night before, the Spaniard rushed out of the room to avoid having to deal with the two howling Gladers.

Thomas watched as the two’s laughter died down, silently wondering if WICKED could perhaps still be watching them and had seen the show along with them. Well, if they were, at least they were probably as scarred as he was.

“I’m going to get some water, I can still bloody taste you in my mouth,” Newt announced, shooting Minho a glare before leaving the room.

Once he was gone, Minho spoke up. “Don’t you ever tell anyone that my first kiss was a dude or I’ll have your shuck neck so fast you won’t even know what happened.”

“Good that,” Thomas replied. It’s not like he had anyone he could tell, anyways. Well, maybe Teresa, but there’d be no point.

Newt came back a moment later, downing a glass of ice water. “That’s better,” he said, plopping down on the couch. Thomas climbed back into his own seat and watched as Minho did the same. He couldn’t see how they managed to make out and then make nothing out of it the next minute.

"Why’d you guys kiss so suddenly? I’m sure one of you would have blushed eventually,” Thomas stated blandly.

They exchanged a look. “So that they’d never ask us to play another shuckin’ game for as long as we lived,” Minho answered simply. Newt nodded in agreement.

“Well, I’m sure you achieved your purpose then.”

“So Jorge went to pilot, Brenda went to die in a hole, now what?” Newt questioned, finishing off his water. Thomas shrugged.

“We sit here and contemplate what we’re doing with our lives, that’s what,” Minho replied.

Thomas stood. “I don’t know about you slintheads, but I’m going to shower. I think both of you need one, too.”

Newt and Minho shared another look, which was starting to creep Thomas out. “Okay, Tommy,” Newt responded. “Have fun.”

“...Thanks,” he said suspiciously, “I will.”


Stepping into the hot water was pure bliss. It soothed every part of Thomas and almost, almost cleansed his mind of what had happened. He stood in the rushing water appreciatively for a moment longer before picking up the bottle of shampoo and getting a generous amount. The others could complain all they wanted, but he was going to use however much shampoo he desired, damn it.

The minute he lathered it on his head and began to rub it around, Thomas knew something was off. His hair wouldn’t budge with the shampoo in it, and it felt like his hands were stuck to his head. In fact, they were stuck to his head. It was impossible to pry them loose without attempting to rip out his own hair.

“What the…” he murmured. Taking a closer look at the shampoo bottle, he turned it around as best he could with his elbows. Taped to the back was a soggy piece of paper with small, crappy handwriting on it.

To Tommy:

We hope you enjoy this new shampoo.

With love, The Glue.

“NEWT! MINHO! YOU SHANKS ARE DEAD!”


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