would you ever walk with me on the surface of the violent sun Who: Bysshe & Jackie. What: FINALLY. When: Following the Spring Formal. Where: The school, Bysshe's car, some nameless street. Warnings: NSFW, teenage sex. Status: Gdoc, complete.
Bysshe woke, his cheek pressed to cold concrete. His brain felt foggy, his eyes unfocused; putting one hand to the ground, he pushed himself up, rising to a sitting position. The fedora that was part of his costume remained where it had fallen, and he used his other hand to wipe at the back of his mouth. He'd fallen asleep, was the best way to describe what had just happened; he rolled more firmly onto his ass, both hands passing over his face as he vaguely remembered a cigarette pressed between the fingers of one. And then he remembered Jackie.
The other boy was slumped against the wall, having slid down it when unconsciousness took him. Bysshe rolled to his knees, crawling over to the other boy, carefully plucking the cigarette from where it still hung between Jackie's lips. He put it out on the concrete, a hand settling on his shoulder.
"Jackie? Jackie, wake up." Only the slightest tinge of worry moved through his voice; instead he opted for control, for the idea that everything that had just passed through his mind had merely been a dream, and the fact that he actually felt scared was an alien thought that didn't apply to him.
It took a moment for Jackie to register his friend's touch. When he did, his eyes opened slowly, thick lashes fluttering as his gaze focused. "Bysshe?" His voice was a hoarse rasp. "Ez--" Bleary eyes looked over Bysshe's shoulder, but beyond them there was only darkness broken up by the occasional street lamp. A complicated knot of emotions settled low in his gut. Green eyes moved back to Bysshe. His slim hand shot up, grasping at Bysshe's forearm.
"I'm sorry, Bysshe. I'm sorry. I didn't…" Jackie leaned away from the wall. His fedora, pushed upward by his fall against the wall, fell back down to nearly cover his wide eyes. "What happened? Are you okay? You were stuck inside..."
"I wasn't," Bysshe replied. He climbed slowly to his feet, drawing the other boy up with him. He remembered the dream, despite his denial; stuck behind doors that wouldn't open, listening to Coop and Ezra siren-song Jackie away from him, no matter what he tried. And then there was the one about losing his mother all over again, with the added horror of watching Lyle kill Jackie. If asked why his grip on the other boy's arms and hand had tightened, it was only to make sure he was firmly on his own feet. He wasn't actually afraid that he might suddenly slip away from his grasp; no, he was only helping the other boy. Still, his fingers kneaded into the cloth of Jackie's outfit, and before he realized what he was doing, a hand slipped down to entwine with Jackie's, leading him toward his car.
Jackie followed without hesitation. Slowly the nightmares returned to him. He pressed a hand to his temple, but felt no bruise corresponding with the memories he had. There was no blood on his lips, none dripping from his ear; he was healthy and whole, down to his slightly dirty but otherwise unmarred white suit. He pushed his fedora back up, keeping his eyes on the narrow line of Bysshe's shoulders. His chest felt constricted, as though sharp claws had dug into his heart. He could not explain the sudden loneliness he felt, the almost debilitating need he felt to hold his friend, and be held in turn. In that moment he would have followed Bysshe anywhere at all. The pad of his thumb brushed over Bysshe's hand, as though to reassure himself the other boy was really there. Slim fingers squeezed him tight.
"Jesus," Jackie breathed. Tears stood in his eyes; he refused to let them fall. "I… what happened, Bysshe? That…"
"Makes no sense," he finished for the other boy, reaching the aged vehicle and unlocking the passenger side. He pulled the door open, all but putting Jackie into the car himself, and crossed to the driver's side. He felt well enough to drive; turning the car on, he backed out of the parking space and headed away from the school, glad to leave it in the rearview. Before he realized it, his hand was creeping across to Jackie's again, and silence reigned as they wandered the streets, moving from stoplight to stoplight. He swallowed, a question finally pressing to his tongue.
"Do you... Do you have feelings for Ezra?" Immediately a tidal wave of doubt struck him; it was stupid, inane to think that Jackie would be his and his alone, that there were other things he needed to be concerned about, that the feelings of one boy should not outweigh the progress of his project. But the grip on Jackie's hand spoke to the quiet terror lurking underneath all of those other thoughts, the thing that had been born the day his mother died; the dark waters that seemed to promise that he was going to be alone in this world, no matter how hard he tried to work against such unseen forces.
Color flooded Jackie's face. "What? No. No." His hand drew white-knuckle tight around Bysshe's fingers. He turned his bright gaze to his friend's face, searching his expression. Some part of him believed he was being made fun of. The larger part remembered the dreams all too well. He shifted closer to Bysshe as best he could, though the center console kept them somewhat apart. "That… you're right. It makes no sense. I don't know if it was a dream or hallucination or what." The blush deepened. His eyes flicked from Bysshe to the road outside the windshield, then just as quickly back again. "Maybe somebody spiked the punch. Worse shit's happened. Doesn't molly make you horny? I mean… maybe that's all it was."
"Maybe," he echoed, unsure if he completely believed it. Jackie was always interested in that, and now Bysshe was wondering if he wasn't as special as he'd been led to believe. Still, he had no desire to kick the other boy out of the car in that instant; no, his mind was focused on other thoughts, and he needed something to dispel all the thoughts in his head. Something concrete, physical, something that he could latch on to and ignore all else that was going around and around in his mind.
He released his hand from Jackie's, putting both to the wheel at ten and two, and pulled the car onto a quiet suburban street where it was unlikely they'd be interrupted. Bringing the car to a stop next to a curb, he turned the engine off. He pulled his hands down from the wheel, slowly, as though catching his breath after running. Bysshe turned to Jackie, finding himself leaning toward the other boy as if drawn by a magnet. His eyes searched Jackie's face. "Are you sure? If you don't want to be here..."
"I do," Jackie said, cutting Bysshe's words off entirely. He reached out, wrapping his hand high around Bysshe's arm. "I do, I swear. I came here with you, I wanted to leave with you. You believe me, right?" His face showed more concern than arousal, a rarity for the boy. But the dreams lingered still, and Bysshe's uncertainty only deepened the wounds they'd made. He wanted to set Bysshe's fears to rest, but had no idea how to begin doing so. "Come on, Bysshe. Everything feels so fucked up, I just… I just wanna be here with you. I promise. Okay? How can I prove it to you?"
Bysshe wasn't sure. His own fears, coupled with the dreams, matched with Jackie's decisions and actions; Bysshe wanted to believe he had little to fear from either Coop or Ezra, but he knew that he'd done little himself to grab a deeper hold on Jackie before someone else could. He did not reply; instead, his gaze outlined Jackie's face in the dark, moving over the other boy's lashes, nose, the thick lips set above his chin. He reached out, drawing a line with his thumb over that swell, pushing through to the wet cavity of Jackie's mouth. His own was ajar, and he found himself breathing slightly harder, his face tinged with want. Then he pulled away, his thumb drawing a line of saliva over Jackie's lip.
"Get in the back seat."
Jackie's mouth felt suddenly dry. For a moment, no part of him moved. His lips remained parted as Bysshe had wanted; his hands were frozen in place, at his lap and on Bysshe's arm. Then awareness returned to him in a rush. He clambered over the center console, his skinny body sliding easily from front seat to back. He knew what he hoped Bysshe wanted, but there was no way to be sure. So he moved to sit quietly on the bench seat, his teeth pressed into his tongue to stop him saying something foolish. He scooted over toward the passenger's side door, leaving Bysshe more than enough room to join him, if he wished. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, uneasy, but desperately hopeful.
"Okay… um. Now what?"
Bysshe had to restrain himself from following Jackie into the backseat; he wanted nothing more than to join the other boy and play out all the thoughts parading around in his head, but he paused, one hand on the seat shoulder next to him. His leg was drawn up in a triangle on the seat, the heel of his shoe hitting the knee of his other shoulder.
"Take your jacket off," he instructed. "Make me want to come back there."
He willed himself not to freeze again. He shrugged out of the white jacket with a quirk of his shoulders he had seen so many times before: a confident motion, the movement of someone who knew, rather than hoped, that he was wanted. He drew his lower lip between his teeth and carefully unbuttoned the white vest beneath. This, too, he slid from his slim shoulders, letting them both fall to pool in the floorboard. His hands moved to the cuffs of his dress shirt, undoing them before moving to the buttons of the shirt itself. If his hands shook, the darkness hid it; if his lip trembled, his teeth held it firmly in place.
That little bite. Amid everything Jackie was doing -- his hands, the way he was removing his clothes, the subtle shift of muscles beneath skin beneath cloth -- that bite was the worst. Bysshe had to school his face to apathy even as one hand reached down to caress his own groin; he kept the movements minimal so Jackie didn't become overly confident.
"Your pants, too," he continued, glad that his voice didn't break. His eyes remained just as steady as those words, watching Jackie writhe out of his clothes in the backseat of the car that his stepfather owned. In those moments, the rest of the world melted away, and there was nothing else beyond the boy in the rearview.
How Jackie managed to hold that gaze, even he could not have said. But he did, not daring to blink as his hands unfastened the clasp of his pants. His thumbs hooked into his waistband. His hips rose from the seat, heels pressing into the floorboards as he shucked pants and boxers in one stuttering motion. He wriggled out of them as he lowered himself back down to the seat, naked and flushing from his chest to the roots of his hair. He toed off socks and shoes, feeling foolish to be clad in nothing but those. Then he cleared his throat, his tongue passing over the small mark he had left in his own lower lip.
Bysshe's eyes had gone down and then back up Jackie's nude form, taking in every curve and hard angle of bone beneath skin. He could name all those little pieces, but what was more, he wanted to feel that soft and warm flesh beneath his hands. The palm on his groin rubbed harder, and the apathetic mask on his face broke a little.
"Touch yourself," he said, his voice lower in volume than before. "Tell me what you think about when you do it."
"Bysshe please..." Jackie's plaintive look was reflected in the rearview. His eyes remained on Bysshe's, though their anxious darting revealed the subtle shifting of Bysshe's shoulder. It gave him courage of a kind to know that this little game was affecting its instigator as well as its victim. Still watching the other boy, Jackie wrapped his hand tight around himself. His blush had entirely consumed his face; his cheeks burned as he grasped himself, nervous sweat slicking his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut. His head lolled against the headrest, his hand moving in slow, tight strokes.
His voice was raw and rough; it cracked when he managed to speak. "I… I liked you on top of me. In your room, and at Mike's…" His hand turned on his length, the pad of his thumb passing over the tender flesh of his head. His breath caught in his throat. "Your hands on me. On my bruises..."
A slightly muffled groan worked its way through Bysshe's throat, and he could no longer contain himself. He moved over the seats, crashing into Jackie like a car wreck, his mouth on the other boy's as his hands went to his torso. His arousal strained against his pants, but Bysshe contented himself with handfuls of Jackie's flushed skin, enjoying the way the supple flesh moved beneath his fingers. There were no more bruises for him to toy with, but he knew he could make new ones; sharp little teeth moved over Jackie's lips, biting, moving down his jaw toward his throat as his legs remained sprawled on either side of Jackie's lap.
Jackie moaned as Bysshe moved over him. Thoughtlessly he pressed his pelvis up toward Bysshe's, his hand still tight around his own cock, though it had ceased moving to better feel Bysshe's motions. His hand turned between them, quickly finding Bysshe's arousal through his clothes. A thousand demands danced on the tip of his tongue. He gave voice to none of them. Instead, groaning low and loud, he tipped his head back beneath Bysshe's teeth, offering more of his throat.
Bysshe's hips thrust forward at Jackie's touch; his mouth moved down to Jackie's throat, finding a tender spot where he could feel the other boy's pulse and ringing it with his teeth. He sucked hard, tonguing the flesh he wounded. Suddenly, his clothes felt stifling; he pulled back enough to mutter against Jackie's neck.
"Take my clothes off," he said, before putting his lips again to the bruise he was carefully tending.
With quick, greedy motions Jackie moved to comply. Shaking fingers fumbled with Bysshe's fly; he left it undone, then pressed his hands flat to Bysshe's belly. His touch slid upward, fingertips brushing peaked nipples, raising from Bysshe's body only to wrap around the coat's lapels and pull it free from him. It was an ungainly motion that tangled fabric around arms for a time, but soon the coat joined Jackie's on the floor. He was quicker with vest and shirt, though he thought he heard one small button pop. He did not look for it, instead tugging these obstacles away from Bysshe's narrow chest. He threw these aside, and his hands moved back to hard hip bones, shoving downward at pants and underwear. Every breath came shallow and quick; embarrassment and unabashed need warred on his face. But his hands returned to Bysshe's length without hesitation, stroking him with small, tentative motions. Bysshe shuddered beneath the touch, his teeth biting down harder on Jackie's neck to nearly draw blood.
Bysshe moved to press his mouth to Jackie's again, hands cupping either side of the boy's face as he sat down further into Jackie's lap. Now that they'd gotten this far, he wasn't sure what to do next. The kissing, the touching, it all felt good, but he knew Jackie would want more. A hand went to Jackie's wrist, the one attached to the hand currently stroking him, unhappily making him stop so he could shift to the seat next to the other boy. Then he pulled Jackie's hand toward his arousal, his own going to Jackie's as his mouth caught at the other boy's; teeth nibbled lips for a moment before engulfing him completely.
Jackie leaned into his kiss, his mouth pressed to Bysshe's nearly hard enough to bruise. The mark at his throat stung; he could still feel the pressure of Bysshe's teeth there, a realization that sent a fresh shudder down his spine. He found Bysshe's rhythm and matched it with his own rough, hungry strokes. His hips rose, pressing him into the circle of Bysshe's hand.
"God, that feels good," he said, every word a warm breath breaking on Bysshe's parted lips. His hand turned between Bysshe's legs, long fingers drawing tight as he moved up his friend's length again. He forced himself to slow, wanting to prolong this pleasure as best he could. Already he wanted more; but if this was to be all he could have for now, he would gladly take it.
Bysshe was torn between pushing himself harder and faster into Jackie's hand, pressing his back against the seat to give the other boy more access, and his own work on Jackie's arousal. He didn't ask if the boy wanted faster or slower, tighter or looser; instead, he merely kept touching him, pulling him closer with his other hand. The memory of their broken tryst beneath the football field bleachers came to mind, and his hand slipped down over Jackie's side to the young man's hip.
"Get on my lap," he murmured against his mouth, never pulling away for longer than necessary.
Jackie kept close to Bysshe's hands as he moved, unwilling to part from that long-desired, oft-interrupted touch. He straddled Bysshe, his hips rocking as he settled down onto his thighs. His hard length brushed against Bysshe's own; a quiet whimper broke free of him, a wordless plea for more.
He looked down between them, studying the shape of them entwined together. His hand slipped beneath Bysshe's, curling loosely around both their bodies. He stroked them, slow at first, then quickening, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers moved across them both.
Bysshe made a small cry, hips jerking up toward that overwhelming touch. His forehead touched Jackie's, eyes half-lidded as he struggled to keep his movements slow and languid, prolonging the experience. He felt too close, that he would come too soon and then it would be over. That word hung too heavy over his mind; hands moved over Jackie's back, fingers sliding down over his spine, the ribs he could feel beneath the skin. He looked up, meeting Jackie's eyes with his gaze as his hands ventured further down, cupping the other boy's backside, fingers flitting over ass cheeks with care and hesitance as he waited to see how Jackie would react.
The other boy answered with a ragged groan. He kissed Bysshe again, his hand sliding over them both. Then he pressed his knees into the seat on either side of Bysshe, lifting himself up against him. With one hand he grasped Bysshe's cock; the other tightly gripped his bare shoulder, steadying his trembling shape. He tried to speak, but no words came. So instead he merely guided Bysshe to his tight entrance, his thighs shaking as he held himself still above his length, an unvoiced question in his bright eyes.
That was more than enough to give Bysshe the permission he sought; his hands slid back up Jackie's backside, then down again in a teasing manner, his free hand pulling one cheek to the side as he came back upon that tender area. A finger teased at the other boy's entrance, sliding over and under, pressing in. Bysshe pulled his hand back for a moment, spitting on his palm, then spread his saliva over Jackie's hole, his fingers working at him again as Bysshe's hips pumped upward into Jackie's touch.
"Fuck, slow... slow down. You're gonna make me come," he muttered against Jackie's mouth. He pressed a kiss to Jackie's mouth again, suddenly pressing harder with his forefinger and starting to dip a digit inside the other boy.
Jackie's hand stilled altogether. The tremors in his thighs grew more pronounced, anticipation and some small degree of disbelief flooding his limbs. After all this time, all this flirting and false bravado and constant pursuit of anything like intimacy, he could scarcely believe he was finally getting his chance. That was enough impetus for him to ignore -- for now -- the small pain of Bysshe's finger pressing into him. He silenced himself by deepening the kiss, his tongue shoving roughly over his partner's. He wanted more, and his body made it clear; his hips rocked, pushing him farther down onto Bysshe's hand.
Bysshe responded accordingly; he pushed up, his eyes watching reactions play out over Jackie's face. His hips stopped, his whole form quiet to watch Jackie's response as his finger pushed into that tight space between his legs. He could barely imagine what it would feel like to put his cock there, but one step at a time; his head swam, and he withdrew for a moment, barely giving Jackie time to breathe before he pushed in again, this time further, stretching the other boy.
A sharply indrawn breath punctuated the motion; Jackie wriggled, his discomfort easily eclipsed by his burgeoning need. His hand fell to Bysshe's length again, then just as quickly lifted away. Torn between impatience and a desire to draw this out, he could not decide where to place his hands, what to touch, how to move. He groaned, frustrated beyond all reason. At last he settled his hands back on Bysshe's shoulders, going still as Bysshe's hands worked him.
"God, Bysshe… how…" His hips ground down again. He winced, but did not curb the motion. "How's that feel so good?"
He had no clue, and would not voice as much; but where one finger was acceptable, he was curious about pushing the limit.
"What about this?" He pulled back, then started to press two fingers, the going as slow as it had been the first time. Bysshe rubbed Jackie's entrance for a moment, gently easing his fingers in with a hesitance that spoke more to his lack of experience than any unwillingness to be where he was in that moment. This time, Jackie could not hold back a small cry.
"I…" His face pressed close to Bysshe's, their foreheads flush once more. "It's too dry." Color burned on his face, embarrassment written on every inch of exposed skin. "Get them wet again." He opened his eyes with no small amount of effort, finding Bysshe's close to his own. He should not have demanded; such things were not his place. "Or I can."
"You should." Bysshe traced his fingers, using his nails, from the curve of Jackie's backside, up his back, over his neck to the boy's lips. Fingertips brushed the soft skin there, Bysshe's eyes linking with Jackie's as he waited for the boy to comply. In any other moment he might have found something to chastise Jackie's impertinence with, but for now, he only wanted to stay within the moment.
Jackie's lips slowly parted; his tongue flicked out over his fingers tasting himself on warm flesh as he drew Bysshe's fingers into his mouth. A dark thrill cut through him. His low moan vibrated through Bysshe's skin; his eyes fell closed as he sucked long, thin fingers. The flat of his tongue dragged beneath Bysshe's fingers as, after a time, he released him. Heavy-lidded eyes watched Bysshe's face, rapt and curious, as he raised himself above his partner's lap again. Bysshe found his own mouth half open before he snapped back, remembering what he'd been aiming to do. He almost wanted to push his fingers back into that cavity, to see where else that mouth would feel good, but he tended to Jackie first, as unspokenly promised.
His fingers did not trace a path back down the boy's body; there was no undue need to waste the moisture given so freely. Bysshe pressed fingers once more to Jackie's tight entrance, this time doing so firmly and with purpose. As he did so, he leaned forward, catching the other boy's mouth with his own as if he might find one last taste of where his fingers were exploring.
Jackie opened his mouth to him, his tongue slipping above and below Bysshe's own. He writhed again, dimly uncomfortable and still wanting more. His arms circled his partner, lifting his back from the seat to press him ever closer. Every sound he made was more plea than pain, though both seemed inextricably intertwined. As Bysshe's fingers moved deeper, Jackie broke their kiss, gasping for breath as he pushed down to meet him.
"Fuck."
Bysshe swallowed down the other boy's sounds, his movements never pausing. Jackie was unbelievably tight, and he couldn't even imagine being inside him. But he wanted to.
His fingers reached as far as they could go, so he withdrew, then inserted again; this time faster, pushing harder by increments. He wanted Jackie wide and ready, his impatience making his movements harsher. "We could do that," he said. "Say yes if you want me inside you." He punctuated the not-question with another firm push. "You're going to have to steal us some lube."
"Yes," Jackie gasped. From beneath lowered lids and thick lashes his eyes found Bysshe's and held them; he bit his lip, but another cry slipped free all the same. "Fuck, yes, anything." Again he whimpered, but he did not pull away. He pressed himself flush to Bysshe, basking in the feel of bare skin on bare skin. This was hardly how he had imagined his first time might have gone, but now that he was so close, he had no regrets at all. Only hunger, and greed, and an inexplicable longing for this blissful pain. His nails cut into Bysshe's shoulders; those on his right broke skin and drew blood. "Please."
Bysshe's shoulders jumped, rose into that cruel touch; he slowly withdrew his fingers, his hand going to his own arousal. His other hand slid toward Jackie's ass, bringing him down and pressing his groin flush to Bysshe's lower stomach as he guided his tip toward the other boy's entrance.
He paused, wetting his hand again, lubricating his cock before pressing to that tight hole, pushing up. As he made slow progress, his mind instantly spun with the close-fitting feeling of Jackie's flesh around him. Drawn out, low-spoken expletives dropped from his lips as he kept going, but his eyes were on Jackie's face all the while, measuring and weighing.
Jackie's near full-body flush had deepened. With nails and fingertips he dug into Bysshe's shoulders. The sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a ragged, desperate gasp. He trembled as he felt himself stretched and filled, his body straining beneath this new sensation. His thighs fitted close to Bysshe's, his knees pressed against the curve of Bysshe's backside. He buried his face against Bysshe's neck, swollen lips fitted to the column of his throat; it served to muffle his cries well enough, as pain at last, at least for a moment, subsumed his pleasure.
"Oh my God..."
Bysshe's head was pressed back against the seat, eyes closed, the intense feeling of being consumed warping his mind. Hands on Jackie's hips pressed down with the other boy's movements, fingers bruising his backside. His mouth fell open, jaw working at the air as he pressed in; fingers came back to his mouth, wetting skin to be applied to his shaft again so he could press deeper, further, faster where possible, though he let Jackie set the pace for this encounter, not wishing to overwhelm him and drive him away entirely. Then Jackie's thighs met his, and the other boy was sitting fully on his lap; Bysshe turned, nuzzling his face into the other boy's as a hand slid up Jackie's spine to cup his nape.
Then he pulled back, shifting out of Jackie an inch and a half, then moving back in, slowly. The sensation sent his mind spiraling, and before he could stop himself, an orgasm wracked through his body, his cock spending itself inside Jackie. Burning embarrassment lit Bysshe's cheeks, and he quickly sought to cover his error by taking Jackie's member with his other hand. He wet his palm with more spit, and then started to stroke Jackie with quick, semi-forceful movements.
Jackie drew a short, sharp breath. With Bysshe gone still inside him, he could almost begin to relax; each stroke of Bysshe's hand on him helped that markedly along. His gaze was dark with lust when he looked to Bysshe again, drinking in the rare flush that colored his cheeks, glad beyond measure that he had brought that look on. Bysshe tugged at him again, and Jackie's hips rocked in answer, impaling himself deeper on Bysshe's erection. His fingers gripped Bysshe's shoulders, fingertips slipping in small droplets of blood.
"Oh fuck, Bysshe…" Jackie kissed him, a frantic press of lips and teeth and roving tongue; Bysshe took that caress without complaint, never slowing his ministrations. Jackie shuddered, his hips snapping, his body drawing tighter still around Bysshe's softening cock, making the other boy whimper into his mouth. He did not want this moment to end, but all at once it did, culminating in a blinding, spine-bowing flash. He cried out, a wordless exclamation as he spilled himself over Bysshe's hand. Finally, Bysshe's hand slowed, though he did not release the other boy just yet -- he pressed more kisses on Jackie's mouth, keeping them both wrapped tight around the other as they both settled back into the warm afterglow. It was short, and fumbling, but parts of Bysshe could see why Jackie was so enraptured and obsessed with this.
He caught Jackie's lower lip between his teeth, pulling it taut for a moment. Then he released it, and lifted Jackie's hips enough to pull himself free (that was another odd sensation), his cock covered in cum and a small amount of blood to match the marks Jackie had left on his shoulders. He wrapped both arms around the other boy's back, having no intention of letting him move away just yet.
"I suppose that made the dance worth it," he murmured, unsure of what else to say.
It was more than enough for Jackie. He fell to rest against Bysshe, one sticky, sweat-slick chest to another. Too tired and sore to give any real response, he made a soft, wordless sound of agreement. He settled comfortably into Bysshe's lap, his arms tight around his partner.
"Thanks," Jackie said, when at last words returned. He lifted his head enough to look at Bysshe, studying his expression, trying desperately to read the mood and body language of his typically stoic friend. Bysshe busied himself by running one hand up and down Jackie's back, perfectly content in that moment. It was almost enough to forget everything else, his crappy stepfather, how numb his life felt, his mother...
"When do you have to be home?" As though a curfew genuinely meant anything, and surely parents would expect their children to be out late tonight, if they came home at all. Lyle gave him a curfew of 11, though Bysshe had no intention of abiding by it.
"Like midnight." Jackie shrugged. "They won't care." It was true of his parents; his siblings would care, and they would read on his face why he'd been out as late as he had. It was a price he was willing to pay. "What… did you have something in mind?"
"Not really," Bysshe replied, the admission a surprise to him as much as it might have been to Jackie. He pushed the boy down onto the seat, rolling on top of him. Hips spread the other boy's legs wide, and Bysshe pressed his still half-hard erection to Jackie's own member, the feeling making him shiver. His mouth found Jackie's again, content to be laid atop him, touching him, tasting him. Hands went to Jackie's sides, and his hips pressed down, sussing out what felt good and what just felt awkward.
In the relatively cramped quarters of the back seat, Jackie wrapped his long legs around Bysshe's waist. His hips rocked forward, sliding their bodies together again. He felt slick and satisfied, the evidence of their shared pleasure trickling down to the upholstery below. "Then I have a couple ideas," he said, his broad grin returning as he leaned up and kissed Bysshe again. He winced as his slight wriggling below his partner caused in him a fresh spark of pain.
Bysshe was all ears -- and hands, and mouth, more than eager to do nothing for the rest of the night except explore the other boy's body and see how he might be able to make it sing in as many ways as possible. At least, this time, there was zero chance of being interrupted.