Summary: from a prompt; "in a friendly bid to become more popular than kradam, they have an epic twitter conversation that turns into twitsex."
“Okay. How many do I have?”
“Are you sure? When’s the last time you refreshed?”
“Thirty seconds ago.”
“Well, refresh again.”
“One more time!”
Anoop casts a look of disbelief over his shoulder, but he knows it’s not worth the effort. They’ve been down this road many, many times before. Sighing, he punches the F5 key on his computer and waits as Matt’s Twitter reloads, his face once again taking over the computer screen, his latest Tweet (“Ran into John Mayer at a club last night… he complimented my fedora! Ha”) in the center of the page.
“Hm. Now you have one more,” he notes, mouse hovering over the number. Not surprising. It fluctuates all the time.
Matt purses his lips, like he’s trying to do the math in his head. And failing. “So that’s…”
“31,955,” Anoop reports dryly.
“And how many do you have?”
It doesn’t take long for him to navigate over to his own page. He’s been there so often the past week that it’s the first thing that pops up when he types a “T” into the address bar. He should be embarrassed about that, he thinks, but he’s not. It’s totally addicting.
Matt pouts a little at this information, which is more funny than pathetic. Somehow everything he does seems that way. “Aw, when did you pass me?” he complains, and Anoop wrenches his shoulders up in a careless shrug.
“This morning, I guess?”
“Lame.” Matt leans over Anoop’s desk chair for a better view of the computer, hovering just above his right shoulder. They’re practically touching. “Okay,” he says seriously. “Moment of truth. How many followers does Adam have?”
Anoop’s fingers glide over the keyboard, typing in his username—why the hell he chose therealGlambert, of all things, is totally beyond him—and hits enter, pulling up Adam’s very-rarely-used, only-updated-when-he’s-forced-to Twitter page.
When it finishes loading, in all of its purple glittery glory, he takes one glance at the number in the corner and winces.
“69,018,” he reads off, double-checking to make sure that’s correct.
Matt groans and drops his forehead against Anoop’s shoulder. “That’s almost twice as many as us,” he says, muffled against the cotton of Anoop’s UNC tshirt, and he doesn’t have the heart to point out that it’s more than twice as many, and by a good few thousand, too.
“Clearly we’re misusing Twitter,” Anoop muses, scrolling through Adam’s few Tweets. Not much substance, outside of “rumor control” and a few random tidbits for stalkers to glom onto. He sighs. “Let’s check out Kris’s. What’s his Twitter name, again?”
Matt’s head pops up. “KrisAllen4Real,” he recites effortlessly, both arms stretching over Anoop’s shoulders to type the letters himself. When he presses enter, he stays put, sort of leaning his weight into Anoop, totally relaxed and at ease. Anoop’s nose itches, but he doesn’t want to move to scratch it, doesn’t want to dismantle their current positions.
Kris’s page loads quickly, and there’s less content there than even Adam’s, but his is newer so he at least has an excuse. “36,101,” Anoop announces, and Matt brightens.
“That’s not that many more than us. We could beat that.”
It doesn’t seem likely, either of them beating Kris Allen at anything, but Anoop nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says, for Matt’s benefit. “Yeah, I bet we could. We just have to up the ante. We have to be wittier.”
“Pictures would help,” Matt throws in. “Every time I look at my replies, it’s always”—he adapts a high-pitched voice, here, that Anoop can only assume is a poor imitation of a fangirl—“Matt, will you post a picture of Kris? Matt, show us a picture of Adam! We wanna see Kradam!!” He drops the act and glowers, a little bit, lower lip in full-pout position. “Damn, I hate Kradam.”
Anoop has to bite back a grin. “We’re better than Kradam,” he agrees, teasingly. “We can absolutely take down Kradam.”
“Exactly! We’re—” Matt pauses, tilts his head to the side. “Anatt…?”
“Manoop, man.” Anoop places his hand over Matt’s in a faux gesture of sincerity. Matt laughs and doesn’t pull away. “We’re Manoop.”
It starts at breakfast.
They’ve both got their iPhones on hand, literally, chatting idly with Danny about the weekend. Danny’s in the middle of a story (something about Paula Abdul and a feather boa, they’ve mostly stopped paying attention) when Matt sends out the first tweet:
@AnoopDoggDesai says he can fit his entire fist in his mouth… gonna find out if it’s true after we eat. What do you think?
Anoop nearly chokes on his orange juice when his own phone buzzes, and Matt’s grinning wickedly at him from across the table. Danny breaks in his story to glance back and forth between them, a puzzled expression on his face. “Are you listening? Guys? I was getting to the good part—”
“Keep going, Danny,” Matt encourages, but Anoop’s too busy keying in letters to vocalize his assent.
Just proved @MGiraudOfficial wrong. Guess who’s buying lunch today? Cheesecake Factory at the Grove, 3:30. He’ll be in the pink hat.
“How about now?”
Anoop hesitates before displaying the screen of his iPhone, although it only takes a second. He’s kept it two clicks away all morning. “Only a few more since this morning. Kris is still gaining steadily. We really have to step up our game.”
“But how?” Matt says, looking a little disappointed.
“We could… start a harmless rumor? Kind of like the opposite of what Adam’s doing.”
A slow smirk spreads across Matt’s face. “I like it. Hey, I’ve even got an idea for the first one!”
Just heard weird noises coming from Kris/Adam’s hotel room. @AnoopDoggDesai and I going to investigate… Stay tuned.
“You can’t say that!”
“Because it sounds like—you’re making it sound like they’re—you know.”
Matt scoffs. “Like that’s a bad thing? Don’t be so homophobic, Anoop.”
Anoop’s mouth practically drops open at that, because, wow, farthest thing from the truth ever. He doesn’t get flustered easily, but with an accusation like that, he can’t stop the blush from creeping up his neck. “I am not—” he begins, but Matt laughs, interrupts him easily.
“Noop. Chill. I’m kidding.” He looks at him for a long second, and then turns away, whipping out his iPhone and checking for updates. He smiles at the screen. “Trust me, man. I know you’re not.”
In the room. Stealthy. @MGiraudOfficial wearing ninja outfit. Don’t know where he obtained it. More to come.
“Thanks for that one.”
Anoop grins and collapses onto the couch, propping his feet up against the coffee table leisurely. “I thought it was a nice touch,” he offers, reaching for the remote. But he can’t really be bothered to actually change the channel; he’s not sure what they’re watching, but there are killer whales and unsuspecting divers—and really, can’t do much better than that.
“Whoa. We’ve both gotten at least 500 new followers already,” Matt comments, dropping into a chair across the room, one leg pulled underneath him. “And look at some of these replies…”
He goes to read them out loud, once again in that awful mocking voice. (Anoop stores the thought that he’ll have to teach Matt what an actual girl sounds like in the back of his brain, for a later date. They’ve got plenty of time on the road.)
“What are they doing in there?! I hope it’s naughty!” he recites, looking both partially disgusted and wholly overjoyed. And then he continues: “I like this one! I love MGiraudOfficial and AnoopDoggDesai so much right now! Oh, and look, it’s this one again: pics or it didn’t happen! Damnit, I can’t take pictures of every little thing that’s happening in my life!”
“Or not happening,” Anoop supplies, very logically. “Because you do realize this whole situation is fabricated, right?”
Matt rolls his eyes, goes back to his gadget. “Yes, Anoop. I do realize that. Thanks for the update.”
Who would have guessed Adam’s blankets are hot pink? @AnoopDoggDesai distracted by his eyeliner. On the lookout for Kris…
@MGiraudOfficial’s secret service training is really coming in handy right now. He sure is quick on his feet.
Found @KrisAllen4Real’s suitcase. To raid or not to raid? That is the question.
“Two thousand more,” Matt announces proudly, cracking up at the news. He abandons his chair and relocates to Anoop’s couch, plopping down so close that their sides are touching, leaning against him so they can both see, and his laughter is infectious; within seconds, Anoop’s whole body is shaking.
“This is perfect,” Matt says, his cheek pressed against Anoop’s shoulder in an accidental sort of way, though neither of them seem concerned enough to fix it. That sums up their entire relationship, basically. Accidental yet perfect.
“We’re technological geniuses,” Anoop agrees, and when he turns his head, he wonders how he could’ve ever missed the fact that Matt smells really, really good.
Matt pulls back, sort of slow motion—though whether or not it was intentional is unclear—and they lock eyes. “I think we can beat Kris,” he murmurs, and then suddenly he’s leaning in, closer, and closer, and his lips are ghosting across Anoop’s, so lightly.
Anoop smiles against Matt’s mouth. “I think we can beat Adam,” he says, and then he kisses him, hard.
@therealGlambert produces some strange noises. Just ask @MGiraudOfficial…
It’s a difficult task, unbuttoning a shirt with one hand. But he’s not exactly willing to ease his grip on his iPhone, either, not when his number of followers is growing by the minute. “A thousand more,” Matt says, pressing wet, hot kisses against Anoop’s collarbone.
“Good,” Anoop half-gasps, when Matt’s hand plunges down his pants, palms him through his boxers. He’s grappling at Matt’s shoulders, trying to push his vest over his arms without breaking stride. He licks his way across Matt’s jaw. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”
Matt pauses, wriggles Anoop’s jeans down, and he steps out of them easily, before shoving him backwards into the couch, mouths crashing together again. “What,” he says, a bit breathlessly, “torture Kris and Adam?”
Anoop grins and pulls him closer. “That,” he nods, “and this,” and this hips are bucking upwards, pressing himself into Matt’s willing hand.
Even though Matt’s never done this before—he’s thought about doing this before, certainly, more than once—it comes almost naturally, and he kisses his way down Anoop’s chest, swirls his tongue around the skin just above the waistband of his boxers, and then he’s inching them down, torturously slow, his breath warm against Anoop’s thighs.
Oh shoot. Phone is dying. Part two of this series coming in the near future. Don’t forget to follow me & MGiraudOfficial.
Danny’s still figuring it out, this Tweeting thing, but he’s been reading Matt and Anoop’s updates all day long, sort of transfixed. Were they really hiding out in Adam’s room? Were there really strange noises? He decides to investigate for himself and his feet lead him upstairs, wanting to join in on the game, iPhone in hand, keyboard at the ready.
One short glance into Adam’s room tells him it’s empty, and he continues his venture down the hall, towards Matt’s. He doesn’t bother knocking—they quit doing that sometime around the second week, familiarity fast and welcoming—and he opens his mouth to tell them he’s willing to be a conspirator in the Twitter adventure when he sees them. Together. On the couch.