|
![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Remember When We Lost the Keys
{Nick/Tyson // hard R // 100% untrue & disclaimed}
They're parking. They're not even really dating yet (or wait, are they?) but they're in Nick's car in some lane a ways out of town and they were making out until the stick shift got in the way and they climbed into the back.
That was a while ago. Tyson can't tell how many minutes, he lost count, because he's wanted this since his balls dropped, and that was so long ago he feels like a whole different person. They kind of almost made out when Nick came home from college; there was this moment when Nick opened his mouth to say something ("I came back because --") but just stopped, and Tyson felt every inch of the distance in the air between them and for an entire second it seemed to crackle, but he thought he'd imagined it. (That didn't stop him jerking off for weeks thinking about what might have happened if he'd leaned in, though.) And then there had been that night they were drunk and sort of made out, only it was kind of sloppy and weird, and since then they sometimes made out when they got together to drink, but right now they're sober and they're parking and Tyson feels a little like he can't breathe.
"Ty," Nick exhales into his mouth, and he's shifting closer, and this kind of feels a whole lot different to all the other times. They keep it light, it's just always been making out for the sake of making out, but this time Nick's closer, he's licking into Tyson's mouth, he's inching a hand up under Tyson's shirt and splaying his palm over Tyson's waist, and Tyson thinks his pants might catch on fire soon.
He can't help groaning a little when Nick slides his hand up, circles the pad of his thumb over Tyson's nipple, fuck, and Tyson kisses him even harder, one hand bunching in his hair and the other sliding over his thigh. He can feel it through denim, thinks about getting Nick naked, making him pant like this, and suddenly he can see it right behind his eyelids, Nick totally naked and looking at him like he wants to lick him everywhere, biting his lip, and the image is so hot Tyson's cock jumps. He's already pretty hard.
"Ty," Nick repeats, and he moves, half straddling his lap. Tyson whimpers when Nick's thigh presses against his crotch, and Nick tilts his head back, breaking the kiss. "Fuck," he breathes, and then he looks at Tyson and his eyes are almost all pupil. "Fuck, Ty."
It hasn't been like this. They haven't done this. They've become the kind of best friends who make out sometimes, maybe, but there's something in Nick's voice and suddenly Tyson is sure of the one thing he hadn't known; they really are going to be more than that. Boyfriends, he thinks, and he almost says it. "Nick," he says instead, tilts up, kisses just under Nick's jaw. Nick groans and presses closer, and Tyson feels something -- he glances down.
Nick's hard.
"That is so fucking hot," he murmurs, resting his nose on Nick's neck and inhaling. "Smell really good."
"I do?" Nick still has a hand up Tyson's shirt, and circles his nipple again. Tyson hisses. "We talking, or making out?"
"Can I get you off?" He asks it in a rush, fighting not to blush but Nick's cheeks go kind of red and it's impossibly cute. "I mean, not if it'll get weird," he adds even quicker, "I don't want -- I just, I just really want to get you off." He wants so badly to move his hand, press it against Nick, and maybe Nick would hiss or moan or arch his neck, but it would be unfair. He has to give him a way out, because if this gets weird and ruins things Tyson will be so pissed off.
Nick moans and arches his neck anyway. "Okay, yeah, that's. Yeah. Can I suck you off first, though?"
Tyson really can't breathe for a moment. His entire body pauses, heart skipping a beat, lungs frozen in mid-inhale. He might choke. But then he swallows and he's breathing again and he wouldn't have the first clue how to even spell the noises he's making.
"Jesus, Ty." Nick licks his lips and Tyson can't think about those lips around him, Nick's mouth, he practically has a fetish about it already, and Nick wants to suck him off and he drops his head back against the seat. The ceiling doesn't hold the answer to coherence.
Then his vision is obscured and he realises Nick's trying to pull his shirt off, so he helps, and Nick moves his mouth in a line over Tyson's chest. Tyson's breath stutters. "Nnnghhhh," he manages, before Nick's unzipping Tyson's jeans and shuffling them down and Tyson is almost too embarrassed to look at his own cock, and this must be kind of weird for Nick, right?
Maybe it isn't, though, because Nick sort of nuzzles against it, breathing along the shaft, and so Tyson looks down and Nick's eyes flick up to his and Tyson - Tyson thinks he could jerk off for months over just the look in his eyes. Fuck. "You okay?" Nick asks, voice throaty, low. Tyson groans.
"Yeah, I - yeah. 'm okay. You?" His breathing's shallow and his cock jumps when Nick licks his lips again.
"Fuck yeah," Nick breathes, nuzzling his cheek against Tyson's cock again, closing his eyes softly like there's nothing he'd rather be doing, like they're on some comfortable bed all soft and springy, not concertinaed into the back seat of a car. Tyson lets the air out of his cheeks.
"You gonna --" He's about to say something like you gonna need a minute alone with my dick? but Nick cuts him off by sliding his tongue up the underside, and Tyson curls his hands into fists. "Shit," he hisses. He feels Nick smile against his skin, and then circle his tongue against the head, giving a flick. "Fuck," Tyson says, the sound echoing sharp.
Nick licks up the underside again, tracing a line until he reaches the head, circles, flicks. He does this one more time and then, just as Tyson is about to beg, Nick takes the tip into his mouth and sucks.
Tyson's head drops back onto the seat again. Nick wraps one hand around the base of Tyson's cock, working his mouth down onto it slowly, so slowly, his other hand holding Tyson's hip down. Tyson tries really, really hard not to tilt up into Nick's mouth. He knows about gag reflexes, and he sure as fuck does not want this to end in Nick choking and not going down on him again, so he presses his hips into the seat and lets Nick set the pace. It's slower than the one Tyson wants, but Nick keeps pulling off to flick his tongue against the head again, and Tyson kind of really seriously likes that, so he's pretty okay with this speed.
He starts to notice a rhythm, after a while, as much as he can notice anything at all. Coherent, formed thought left him as soon as Nick kissed his chest, and all he can hear in his head is a long yell with no real words in it, just sound. All that's escaping are whimpers and moans he half swallows when Nick's tongue goes flat against him, mouth all around, wet and warm. He can feel Nick's other hand tracing patterns with his fingertips over Tyson's hip, his stomach, and the sensation is heightened because everything else feels foggy around him. He sort of sees it like a painting, that if he opens his eyes and looks down the parts of him Nick isn't touching would be watercolour, blurred, but where Nick's hands and mouth are the colours would be clear, rich; thick oil paint standing in swirls.
He feels a collection of heat, somewhere, and is suddenly aware of his hands, how one is in Nick's hair (and it feels soft and spikey all at once under his palm) and the other is gripping the seat-belt clip. Nick hums, all of Tyson's awareness narrows to the feel of the vibrations through him, Nick's mouth sucking, and he's almost taken by surprise when he comes.
Nick pulls off a little and twists his wrist. It shoots one last bolt of electricity through Tyson, sending his neck into an arch. He opens his eyes as he settles back. Nick is swallowing, carefully.
"Fuck," Tyson breathes.
Nick moves back upwards, practically undulating, and he pauses with his mouth inches from Tyson's. "You don't have to do that," he says, and his voice is shaking, "but - Ty, please -"
Tyson yanks him closer with both hands, one at the back of his head and one at his hip. Nick groans into his mouth, shifting until he's rocking against Tyson's hip. Tyson unzips Nick's jeans as fast as humanly possible. "When I blow you," he murmurs, Nick moaning in response, "I want to take my time, like you did. That was kind of amazing, Nicky." He pulls Nick's pants down a little way, palming a hand back up his thigh. Nick whimpers. "Don't think I have time right now," Tyson whispers, looking down. Nick's cock is sort of jumping, and Tyson licks his lips. "Fuck," he exhales, and wraps a hand around it.
"Oh fuck," Nick hisses, choking off the last syllable. He drops his head onto Tyson's shoulder, and Tyson had sounded way more confident than he actually feels, but Nick is shaking and Tyson shuts his eyes and thinks about the things he's wished for a long, long time Nick would do to him. He tries circling the pad of his thumb over the head of Nick's cock, and Nick makes a small choked sound, so Tyson does it again. He sets a rhythm, kind of fast. Wrist sprinting, he usually calls it, the kind of jerking off when you're not going to last long and every sensation is ten times louder so the friction feels almost intense; Nick tilts his hips and grips on to Tyson's arms and his forehead is still leaning on Tyson's shoulder so he can't see his face.
"Hey. Hey, hey Nick," he whispers, and Nick looks up. His mouth is open and his pupils are dilated to fuck and Tyson bites his lip. "Shit," he breathes, and he surges to catch Nick's mouth.
Nick kisses him back, hard enough to bruise, tongue lapping in. Tyson sucks on it, twisting his wrist and circling his thumb again, and Nick groans - and then he's coming, mouth slack and open, his top lip resting against Tyson's, and Nick's whole body is shuddering as thick spurts of come land on Tyson's stomach. It is the hottest thing Tyson has ever seen.
Nick slumps, kissing him listlessly, and falls back against his shoulder. He's breathing hard. Tyson holds his hand up and looks at it, head tilted to the side. "Huh," he says, and licks his palm.
Nick's eyes roll back. "Ty," he breathes, the tiniest of moans in it. "What are you," licks his lips.
"Seeing what you taste like. Practice." Tyson grins at him. "You taste good."
Nick rolls into him, until he's half covered. "Gonna kill me, aren't you?"
"I hope not." Tyson waits until Nick is watching again and then sucks one of his fingers, cheeks hollowing. Nick bites his lip. "Unless it's possible to die of having too many blowjobs."
Nick's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "I've never heard of anyone dying of that, Ty."
Tyson sucks the last of his fingers and swallows. "Just so long as we're not the first, that's alright then."
"What, you planning on sucking me to death?" The corners of Nick's mouth are quirking up.
"Maybe not to death," Tyson watches him thoughtfully. Fuck, he's pretty. "Maybe just until you can't walk."
Nick bites his lip again but says, "I need to walk, Ty. How else will I get places?"
"Don't worry, I'll carry you." Tyson says it heroically, because that's what he is, a hero. Nick snorts, which sort of ruins the nobility of the moment.
"You can't even carry your sister," and he's laughing. Asshole.
"I so can," Tyson protests. "And how about we don't mention any members of either of our families while our pants are down."
Nick's laughter has settled into a smile, and his eyes are lit up. Tyson's heart thumps, because Nick's looking at him like he always does, and maybe, just maybe, all the times Tyson smiled at Nick and thought Love me back, please, Nick was thinking the exact same thing back at him. Nick leans his forehead against Tyson's and shifts his smile a little lower. "I can live with that," he says, and Tyson closes the distance. After that, he's only aware of the soft push and press of their mouths, the feel of fingertips brushing over his skin, and the way Nick smells like sex but somehow more like summer after the rains, when everything's fresh and clean and everywhere sparkles with life.