|
![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
We'll Be Standing Here (For the Next One Hundred Years)
{Nick/Tyson // hard R // 4,900 words // 100% untrue & disclaimed // for Shonna.}
There are actual fireworks the first time Tyson kisses Nick.
It’s the third week in June, and already Tyson is trying not to dread the end of the summer. The remaining band members drifted away last semester, so now it’s just him and Nick playing, and he’s even showed Nick some of his lyrics and they jammed out a melody. Nick fleshed it out some on the drums while Tyson played the bass notes he’s had stuck in his head since the words crashed in there. It sounds … well, not like a whole song, exactly, but definitely the basis for a solid song, one they can play at Mike’s when it’s finished.
The thing is, Nick has this summer and then he’s off to college. The thing is, Tyson can’t stop watching him as discreetly as possible and thinking about kissing him.
He’s come close. A lot of times, he’s come close. Usually when they’re drunk and Nick – who is an affectionate and giggly drunk, it’s so fucking cute – decides he really likes the shape of Tyson’s body and wants to cover it and tuck himself into the contours. Tyson instinctively pets him when he does this, and Nick beams up at him from his lap and Tyson shifts so that his boner won’t poke Nick in the ear or something. And sometimes they’ll be talking about any old random shit that probably wouldn’t make sense to them if they were sober but is perfect and clear and true with alcohol buzzing through their bloodstreams, and Tyson is petting Nick’s hair and Nick is nuzzling his belly and it’s just natural, the whole thing, all of it. So good, and so right, and Tyson always feels blissful when he has a cuddly Nick in his lap. Sometimes they end up with their heads near each other and that’s when it’s so close and Tyson’s insides flip and flop and generally have some impressive high jinks without him because he’s too busy staring at Nick’s mouth to form coherent thought or even really move much. But he always passes it off as just, y’know, being in an altered state of consciousness, and Nick never says anything or seems awkward at all. He just snuggles closer.
It happens a lot. So much so that whenever Tyson even smells beer or anything else alcoholic he gets a sense-memory buzzing in the pit of his belly and he can’t stop smiling. The same thing happened once when he found a shirt of Nick’s in his bedroom that Nick had somehow left there, and it had smelled so Nick-like that Tyson had caught his reflection in the mirror and realised he was beaming fit to crack his face in two.
Having a crush on your best friend is not, on the whole, the best possible outcome. Not when your best friend is another dude, in any case, because being kinda gay (though he’s not really sure yet, because he likes girls a lot, but some guys, fuck; especially Nick, Nick’s the hottest thing this side of the sun and it is so, so wrong, but the fact that Nick has a penis is a total fucking turn-on, so maybe he is kinda gay) is one thing, but letting on is entirely another. Best friend or no, that whole thing could go very, very wrong. Like, off the fucking charts wrong. Tyson isn’t sure how Nick would react; he knows how he thinks he’d react (sympathy, or maybe pity, and he would keep the secret and not say anything, would also try not to treat him any differently but it would be so fucking awkward and it would really fucking suck), he knows how he wants him to react (jumping Tyson’s bones would be preferable to anything else … in the world, basically), but he doesn’t know how he’ll actually react. Would react, that is. Because Tyson really does not want to tell Nick he thinks he’s incredible and would very much like to pound him against a wall. Or that he spends more time in class thinking about blowing Nick than whatever the subject he’s meant to be studying is. Or that he has crazily vivid dreams where Nick just shows up in the middle of the night, climbs in through Tyson’s window and takes his coat off to reveal that he’s naked underneath, and proceeds to make out with Tyson for what feels like hours and hours.
Tyson has taken to doing his own laundry.
They get drunk the last Monday in June, after they play a few songs at Mike’s. People like to buy them drinks; there’s a few patrons of that bar who have taken Tyson rather under their wings, buying him drinks, talking to him about rock’n’roll lifestyles and crazy stories from the Oklahoma scene. It’s a little like he’s their pet tiny rock dude, and he is totally okay with being a pet tiny rock dude if it gets him drinks and stories and chances to glance over at Nick to see his face lighting up when anybody mentions a band he likes and what happened this one time they toured through the state. That’s kind of the best part, watching the way Nick’s face goes from interested listening (eyebrows slightly raised, eyes politely attentive, mouth open just a little) to delighted (eyes crinkling up, mouth breaking into a smile, spots of faint pink on his cheeks) in a matter of seconds. How his mouth stays in this elastic, stretched shape but slackens as he listens to the story, smile solidifying and drifting like the tide as the whole tale unfolds. Even if it’s one they’ve heard before.
This time, this one night, they get a few stories but most of the regulars aren’t there, or are busy having their own conversations and don’t want to play with the pets tonight, so Nick suggests they head somewhere and drink a while, and Tyson volunteers his back yard because everybody else will be in bed by now and as long as they keep quiet and in that one spot round the corner of the building they’ll be out of view. He doesn’t add that they’ll be out of view of everybody, that there is not a single angle from the street or the yard or anywhere else where you can see into that one little patch of grass. He thinks it, though.
It’s dark when they get there, but the kind of summer-dark where you can still see and they’re not drinking in pitch blackness. Nick’s winding around him even sooner than usual, so perhaps the dim light helps, lowering inhibitions in combination with the beer they’re drinking. Tyson doesn’t much care why, he just physically vibrates a little and hums a tune he heard Nick singing this afternoon, drifting the palm of one hand over Nick’s hair. Nick turns his head and nuzzles closer, his nose under Tyson’s ribcage.
It’s comfortable, and as long as Nick stays where he is and doesn’t move his torso four inches to the left, it will stay comfortable. Nick joins in the humming and taps out a beat on Tyson’s side with his fingertips.
Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life. Nick smiles up at him and says something, something about it being warm or maybe something about a worm, Tyson can’t tell because he’s trying to make out the shape of Nick’s features in the dark. He doesn’t say anything back, just smiles and nods and keeps humming. He changes the tune and sings I’ll believe when you don’t believe in anything softly, to make Nick smile. It works, and Nick cuddles closer and almost soundlessly continues the lyric, I’m gonna hold you till your hurt is gone, be the shoulder that you’re leaning on and Tyson thinks, if it all should end tonight I’ll know it was worth the fight. He doesn’t sing it. He just strokes his hand down Nick’s back, a hesitant, gentle movement.
Nick curls further into Tyson’s body and hums that particular hum that isn’t a tune, just the sound of contentment rushing past vocal chords. He’s shifted by now so that his head is on Tyson’s shoulder, their bodies curled around each other. Tyson’s back is against the wall, hard and cold, but Nick is soft and warm in his lap and Tyson can’t stop himself moving his hands over Nick’s back. Nick shifts against him.
For a moment – just a fleeting moment, so Tyson can’t be in any way sure about this – he feels something hard pressing against his hip. His heart stops, breath stilled in his throat, for what feels like an hour but is probably more like one and a half seconds. Nick doesn’t notice, he just keeps shifting, winding closer and closer around him, and then – fuck, Tyson definitely feels something.
Nick has a boner. He either hasn’t noticed it, or hasn’t noticed that it is now digging into Tyson’s side, but surely he’s going to notice that Tyson has gone completely still. Surely.
Nick hums something deep in his throat, but it sounds a little like a growl and Tyson’s pulse jumps. Nick’s mouth is close to his shirt, Nick nuzzling almost into his neck, and – and then, so lightly that Tyson really can’t be sure it has actually happened, he feels Nick’s mouth ghost against his skin.
He gets dizzy, needs more oxygen; his breathing has gone shallow, so he gulps air in and thinks, this is it. Kiss him. Do it, go on, do it now, he’s drunk and cuddly and fuck, he’s hard, and oh fuck am I digging into his ribs? I think I am. Fuck, he knows I’m hard too, fuck fuck, and he – I swear, he fucking kissed my fucking neck just then, do it, do it, kiss him. Kiss him. Come on Ritter, don’t be fucking chicken. Kiss the dude.
Tyson swallows. His mouth has gone dry, so he swallows some more times and tries to get rid of the sandpaper-tongue feeling. His heart is pounding in his chest, his stomach has turned to ice cream, and most of the higher functions of his brain have shut down. Nick is nestled comfortably in his lap now, stroking lightly at Tyson’s side with a fingertip, and really, is this normal? It’s normal for them, but it occurs to Tyson suddenly that maybe he wouldn’t cuddle like this with anyone else. Not any of his guy friends; he tries to imagine getting drunk with any one of them and this sort of thing happening, and the thought almost makes him laugh aloud. This is definitely, exclusively a Nick-and-Tyson thing. But what if Nick does this with all of his guy friends?
Nick’s fingertips ghost over the curve of Tyson’s elbow and Tyson thinks, you know what, I don’t think he does. Which leaves this sort of touching – drunk touching, that only happens while under the influence, though they have no qualms about hugging or sitting pretty close on the couch when sober, and since Nick switched to playing guitar Tyson’s developed a habit of playing leaning up against him, or cupping Nick’s back with his body in the solos – as something that is a Nick-and-Tyson thing.
Tyson very much wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. And – and maybe Nick wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. And Tyson really should just fucking kiss him, because his pants are way too tight and uncomfortable, because Nick is warm and relaxed and happy, and no, fuck, he can’t, what if he’s reading this all wrong? He could be, it could just be a … maybe it’s a Nick-and-Tyson thing – okay, it definitely is, fine, so it is a Nick-and-Tyson thing, this touching, this physical ease, and okay, yeah, maybe Nick has wood, but there’s all sorts of reasons a guy could be sporting a coat hook. Maybe he has porn playing on a loop in his head, because it can’t just be Tyson that happens to, right? Although lately his brain-porn really hasn’t featured anyone but the dude currently curled around him, so the fact that it plays on a constant loop when Tyson is drunk might not necessarily be a drunk thing, it could just be because Nick’s there. But either way, maybe this whole touching thing is completely platonic. And if Tyson does it, if he shifts around a little until their mouths are level and darts in before Nick can say anything or stop him doing it, if he just kisses him, well. Fuck, even if it lasts two seconds before Nick jumps up and runs off into the night in horror, Tyson knows he’d keep those two seconds sealed in a perfect memory bubble next to every single make-out dream he’s ever had about Nick.
But if there’s any doubt, if there’s any possibility that he’s wrong, that Nick isn’t interested in him like that, if all this is totally just friendship and nothing more, then fuck. Tyson breathes in the scent of a warm and happy Nick and knows that he is entirely, completely, totally and utterly fucked because he’s already far too addicted to this to risk it.
So he doesn’t kiss Nick. Even when Nick looks at his watch and says it’s too late to go home, can he just crash here? Even when Tyson gets the blankets out but Nick shrugs and says why bother, it’ll just be more laundry, they can both sleep in Tyson’s bed, he’s going to fucking fall asleep on his feet; he lies down, and Tyson goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and make small incoherent noises into his arms. Nick is asleep by the time Tyson gets back into the room, and he looks so peaceful and so fucking pretty that Tyson wants to just stand here all night and watch him sleep. He makes himself get into the bed, and Nick is still just awake enough to scoot closer and give him a slack smile before drifting down deeper. Tyson tries to keep his heart rate down so that he can sleep, but he is hyper-aware of Nick’s breathing and the way he smells and feels through two layers of cloth.
Tyson wakes up early the next morning with Nick making soft noises in his ear. He looks over and sees that Nick is twitching slightly, his eyes flickering beneath the lids. He leans closer and whispers, Are you dreaming about me, Nicky? Nick smiles and stops twitching, like Tyson’s voice calmed whatever dream he’d been having. His features iron out to just peaceful again, and he breathes deeply.
Tyson thinks desperately, I love you. He looks up at the ceiling; Nick is asleep, definitely asleep, and when Tyson risks a glance he sees that Nick is hard again. Fuck, he thinks, and shoves his pants down his thighs. He jerks off slowly, carefully, breathing as evenly as possible and keeping on the alert for signs of Nick waking up. It doesn’t take long, with the smell of Nick next to him, the contact from where Nick’s arm is touching him just a little, and Tyson shifts his hips, imagining Nick sliding into his ass and fucking him hard, the way Nick would look at him, the sounds he’d make, the way he’d lean down and bite at Tyson’s neck and moan fuck, Ty against the skin. Tyson comes as silently as he possibly can, aching to yell out Nick’s name, struggling to stop himself arching up into his hand, into his imaginary Nick’s body curve. He squeezes his eyes shut as the aftershocks ebb away, and listens to Nick’s breathing. He can’t help a sudden rush of fear, that maybe Nick heard that somehow, maybe he woke up and saw and Tyson was too caught up in it to notice, but no, Nick is still definitely asleep, so Tyson wipes his hand on his pants and gets out of bed to drop them into the laundry basket.
He turns around after doing so, and Nick’s eyes are open. Tyson thankfully is at least wearing underwear, and Nick looks pretty sleepy still. His lips are stuck together when he tries to speak, and Tyson desperately strangles the thoughts about how he could help unstick those lips. He just mutters something about the bathroom and dashes out.
Nick asks if he can take a shower, and Tyson says of course, yeah, and heads downstairs to locate some breakfast and take his mind off the fact that Nick is currently naked and wet and in his bathroom. Then it occurs to him that Nick keeps a spare set of clothes at Tyson’s house sometimes and maybe that also isn’t what best friends usually do. Then again, maybe it is.
Nick emerges into the kitchen smelling of freshly-washed hair and Tyson’s vanilla soap, and Tyson quickly inhales his spoonful of cereal to keep from thinking thoughts involving eating Nick up and the obvious innuendo contained therein. They spend most of the day watching videos when it gets too hot to just lie in the grass outside looking at the clouds and singing snatches of songs to each other. They’re building a FrankenSong, and they’ve got most of the chorus pieced together now. Tyson heard a few lines of a bridge last week that would work in nifty ways juxtaposed with it, so he sings those at Nick, and Nick punches a fist straight up into the air and sings it back to him.
Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life, butted up against Nick in the grass, because no matter how sober they get there’s always touching, and just doing nothing much. He knows that if nothing happens with Nick, if this really is all platonic, that he’ll have to get over it and date someone else, but this is okay for now. Nick’s going to college in the fall, anyway, and there’ll be lots of girls there and Nick will forget all about him so, really, Tyson only has this summer. He just hopes it’s enough.
Nick points out a cloud shaped like a pair of breasts and Tyson laughs, thinking, please don’t let the summer end.
His mom invites Nick over for the fourth of July, because Nick’s family are going to some firework display at his cousin’s and Nick always gets so bored at the family cookouts that he usually sneaks over to Tyson’s when he knows they’re going on, and Tyson’s mom knows this, because Tyson’s mom is kind of awesome sometimes. Nick’s folks say it’s okay for him to come, and Randy comes home with some impressive-looking fireworks, and he asks Nick and Tyson to man the grill while he sets them up. Bailey hides behind Randy’s legs when they start going off, and covers her ears for most of the bangs.
Tyson leads Nick off to that one spot around the side, where they cuddled a week ago, and they sit on the grass and eat hot dogs and have a really great view of the fireworks. Nick has ketchup on his chin and Tyson reaches over to get it with a napkin; Nick’s eyes just crinkle up and he says thanks, takes another bite of his hot dog, and before Tyson knows what he’s doing he’s leaning close and brushing his mouth against Nick’s.
Nick has bits of hot dog on his lips, and his tongue is just snaking out to pull them in when Tyson’s lips come into contact with it. They both jump, springing apart, and Tyson feels his face go hot; Nick just chews his mouthful of hot dog, swallows, and says uh, his voice slightly hoarse. Hesitant.
Fuck, Tyson thinks, and leans in again. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, or why on earth he thinks it’s a good idea, but he kisses Nick again, and this time he keeps his mouth pressed there for five seconds.
On the fifth second, Nick makes a sound and kisses him back.
Tyson almost pulls away, but Nick is kissing him back so he stays there, quivering, heart thumping like crazy and just hoping he won’t breathe wrong and break the spell. Nick moves closer, and Tyson feels the tip of Nick’s tongue against his lips for the second time; but this time, he opens his mouth just a little, and Nick eases his tongue inside.
That’s the point at which Tyson groans. He hears fireworks going off in the sky above, sees flashes of light on his eyelids, but Nick is kissing him deeper and harder, one hand cupping the back of Tyson’s head, and it’s all Tyson can do to remember how to breathe. He knows he’s making noises, that he sounds desperate and wanting, but fuck, he can’t help it, he can’t stop. Nick tastes like hot dogs and lemonade and something, something that he can’t define but that makes him think of nights curled up around each other talking about nothing, and he guesses it’s the taste of Nick. He wants to catch it on his tongue, tries to, gentle quest into Nick’s mouth. He feels the vibrations as Nick moans, at the exact moment a firework explodes with a loud bang.
They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, and it’s like every single make-out dream he’s had, only this is so much fucking better because he’s not going to wake up from this, this is real and Nick wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing as much as Tyson wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. He runs his hands over Nick’s back, shape and feel he knows so well, and Nick shifts closer and moans a little, and it’s so hot Tyson could die when he does that, so he touches Nick again in every place that makes him squirm or groan. Nick pants into his mouth and Tyson thinks he might come any fucking second from this.
When they finally break for air, Nick moans softly, Fuck, and rearranges his shirt over his lap. Tyson holds still so as not to knock him over and hump his fucking leg, and when the danger passes he just nods and breathes hard and says, So, uh, do you – and Nick yanks him closer by the shirt and crushes their mouths back together; a desperate movement, a charged movement, and Tyson gently pushes him down onto his back on the grass and settles on top of him. Nick groans, Yes, fuck, Ty, and Tyson grinds down onto him and fuck, it really shouldn’t feel this good through two pairs of jeans, but it fucking does. Nick arches and pulls Tyson into another kiss, one hand going to the back of his head and cupping, flexing, running through his hair. Nick’s hips are shifting, his thighs moving apart until Tyson is lying between his legs, and Tyson undulates his hips. Nick groans into his mouth. Tyson tries not to die.
Suddenly the fireworks stop and a voice calls through the air. Tyson jumps up off Nick, but thankfully his mom doesn’t round the corner until they’re both sitting up again, inches and inches of distance between their bodies. Tyson’s mom says Bailey’s had enough and they’re going inside, and if Nick wants a ride home he’d better go soon, before it gets dark. She adds that if he wants to stay over that’s also fine, and there will be waffles in the morning. Tyson sneaks a look at Nick, whose hair is a mess and has blades of grass stuck to it in places, like they’ve been wrestling, and no matter how hard he tries not to he still blushes.
Nick smiles innocently up at her and says he can’t pass up the offer of waffles, and she laughs and says she’ll get the spare blankets out. Tyson hears Randy packing up the grill and the remains of the fireworks, and he asks if it’s okay if they stay out here a while, and his mom says of course it is.
When she’s gone and everybody’s back in the house, Tyson turns to Nick and he says, Nick, let’s make the summer not end, and Nick gets it, he nods and he swallows and he beckons Tyson closer and he says, Wanna make out some more. It’s a statement not a question, but Tyson still nods in answer, and maybe it was kind of a question because Nick’s face breaks into this beam and he leans closer and this time he kisses Tyson slow, sets this languid pace that the only word for is delicious, and Tyson thinks it, over and over, delicious delicious fucking delicious.
He shuts his eyes and prays silently that fall never comes.
Fall comes.
Nick leaves.
He calls Tyson nearly every day, a voice down a telephone line. Tyson gets drunk just for the sense-memories; the old ones of Nick curled around him, cuddly and warm, and the new ones of Nick making out with him for hours and hours, tasting of beer, touching him everywhere until they’re both whimpering and end up jerking each other off, or sometimes they’ll go down on each other. Those are his favourite times, when he looks up the expanse of Nick’s chest and sees the look on his face, eyes closed, lips wet and parted, breathing hard. Tyson’s getting good at blowjobs, at knowing exactly where and how and when to apply pressure, and he masters timing Nick’s orgasm to the second just before college begins.
Their attempts at phone sex are a universal disaster, but that doesn’t stop Tyson jerking off to the sound of Nick’s voice, trying to keep his breathing even but Nick can always tell, whispers Fuck, Ty, starts jerking off too. They just breathe at each other, hitches and stifled moans and Tyson learns to listen for how close Nick is, groans and growls to tip him over the edge, and the sound of Nick coming is like liquid heat at the base of his spine.
Then one day, Nick doesn’t call, and Tyson figures, well, he’ll call tomorrow. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t call the next day, and Tyson tries not to think about all the girls Nick’s been meeting, all the partying he’s been doing without him. Nick will call tomorrow. Tyson, meanwhile, has homework, so he grabs a ball and heads outside to procrastinate.
The ball has barely bounced back into his hand four times before he hears somebody approaching from behind. Everyone else is out, so he tenses, ready to turn around – but then the somebody puts their hands over his eyes and says, Surprise.
The hands smell like Nick. The voice is Nick’s. Tyson whirls a one-eighty and there, the sun lighting up his rumpled hair and a smile playing across his mouth, is Nick.
Tyson grabs him, babbles You’re really real? Really really? and Nick laughs and says Yes, really really and pulls him closer. He touches their noses together and says, See?, and Tyson closes his eyes and kisses him.
He leads Nick inside, stopping to grab the cookie jar from the kitchen, and heads up to his room. The door closed, the jar set on his desk, he walks Nick backwards over to the bed and gently lays him on it, Nick smiling that little soft smile. Tyson takes Nick’s clothes off a piece at a time, whispering words into his skin as he goes, and Nick curves up to meet his mouth, groaning quietly. Tyson presses kisses to every inch of Nick’s skin he can reach, and then he sucks him in and Nick hisses and Tyson hums and it feels so fucking good to be giving him a blowjob again. He makes it last, taking Nick close to the brink and pulling him back so many times Nick starts making high-pitched whimpering sounds at the back of his throat. Tyson groans, sucks just so, and Nick comes with a long low yell.
He whispers You’re incredible, fuck, Ty as Tyson crawls up his body again, grinning triumphantly. Nick kisses him hard and reaches into his pants, wriggles down the bed to pull them off, and Tyson feels Nick’s mouth, wet and warm and fucking perfect, and he tries not to come right away. Nick can make it last too, and he does, Tyson shaking and emitting broken moans by the time he finally comes. Nick flops down next to him, and Tyson asks if he’s hungry. Nick shakes his head and Tyson says, okay, and leaves the cookie jar alone.
He asks how long Nick’s here for, has to, just so he knows, but Nick says he’s not going back, he dropped out of college. Tyson stares at him and asks, Why?
Nick replies, I came to make the summer not end, and Tyson just catches his mouth and kisses promises into it.
He wakes up later, the room dark, Nick still naked and sprawled across him, and he just listens to his breathing for a while. Nick’s eyes flutter open and he murmurs, What?, and Tyson just shakes his head, Nothing. Was watching you sleep. Nick smiles at him, curls up closer and warmer, breathes, Okay, and Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life.