Tora (torakowalski) wrote,
Tora
torakowalski

Fic: Hear Airwaves Say Snow Day (Bob/Brian, NC-17)

Happy New Year everyone! And Happy Bob Bryar's birthday. (I'm cheating on that second one since it's been 1st January for 44 minutes here, but it's still Bob's birthday where he is!)

This little ficlet is something I started a while ago as part of something harborshore and I were bouncing back and forth, but this part (hopefully!) stands on its own. Because she's awesome, harborshore also found it for me when I managed to completely lose it. (In short, having a Vee is excellent; I recommend it.)

Basically, all you need to know is that Bob and Brian are in high school and... actually, that's all you need to know. They're in high school and this is the story of the first time they make out. :D? Also, it fills the snow day square on my hs_bingo card.

Title: Hear Airwaves Say Snow Day
Pairing: Bob Bryar/Brian Schechter
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2200
Warnings: none (consensual sex between seventeen-year-olds)

Also on AO3.

Hear Airwaves Say Snow Day

When Bob gets to school, wipers beating triple time against the snow falling in massive, clumpy flakes, he finds the parking lot empty of cars and Brian Schechter sitting on the wall, swinging one leg back and forth, idle like he isn’t turning into a human snowman in front of Bob’s eyes.

“The fuck?” Bob asks, leaning out of his window and shivering when snow slides off the top of his car and down the back of his jacket.

“Hey, Bryar.” Brian hops down from the wall, still casual like, and makes a show of checking his watch. “Nice of you to get here before the next millennium.”

Bob flips him off. He know he’s late but there’s snow up to his knees everywhere and he thinks he made pretty good time considering. He sticks his hand out the window, about to open the door from the outside (it always sticks when he tries to open it from inside) but Brian wades over to him, kicking up snow as he goes, and puts out his hand, stopping him.

“Snow day,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the school building. Now that Bob’s paying attention, it does look pretty dark and closed.

“Fuck’s sake,” Bob mutters. He could have stayed in bed if he’d known that. “You couldn’t have text me to let me know?”

Brian leans into Bob’s open window, putting his hands on top of the rolled down windowpane. “Cheer up, dude,” he says, “There’s way more fun things we can do.”

Somehow, the way he says that makes it sound dirty. But then everything Brian says lately, Bob hears as dirty. Ever since that kiss two weeks ago that Bob isn’t even sure Brian remembers, every time Brian opens his mouth, Bob thinks about sex.

“You want to build a snowman, Schechter?” Bob asks, pursing his lips. “I’ll find you some kindergarteners to help out.”

“Haha,” Brian says. He flicks snow at Bob and Bob swears at him, shifting back quick.

“Not inside the car, Brian, come on,” Bob complains, smearing snow around on his steering wheel, not managing to clear it up, just getting everything wetter.

“Sorry,” Brian says, not sounding sorry. He kicks Bob’s car door gently, his shoe making a quiet, muffled thud. “C’mon. I waited for you. Let’s do something.”

“Yeah,” Bob says slowly, “Why did you wait for me?”

Brian shrugs. The strip of his face that Bob can see between the turned up collar of his coat and the tugged down edge of his hat is flushed pink. It’s probably from the cold but Bob thinks that he might also be blushing. Bob’s been making Brian blush lately, totally without meaning to, just by saying shit that last year wouldn’t have had any effect on him.

“Shut up,” is all Brian eventually says and then he’s pushing off the side of the car, walking around and letting himself in through the passenger door. He sits sideways in the passenger seat, door still open, kicking snow off his motorcycle boots for a while before swinging around and pulling the door closed.

Bob quirks and eyebrow at him. “Ready?” he asks, dryly.

Brian flips him off. “Fuck off, I was doing my best not to drip all over your car. See if I make any effort next time.”

Bob grins, can’t help himself. “Where to, then?” he asks. He’s got an unexpected day off school; he’s totally easy about how they fill it.

Weirdly, Brian goes quiet. (Weird, because Brian always has at least ten ideas for shit they could be doing at any one time. Bob thinks he’d be exhausted if his brain ran as fast as Brian’s.)

“Schechter?” Bob prompts.

“Yeah,” Brian says slowly. He stares out the window, watching the snow fall. “My mom’s at work. You want to come over, maybe?”

“Sure?” Bob asks, not sure why that was the idea that made Brian go all quiet and broody when he’s the dude who thought it was an awesome idea to try to skate down the fucking Cloud Gate in Millennium Park one time and had no problem suggesting that to Bob.

“Cool,” Brian says and reaches over, turning Bob’s stereo way up even though he’s usually the first to enforce the driver chooses the music rule.

It hits Bob about half way back to Brian's house why Brian might be acting twitchy about Bob coming home with him. To his empty house. In the middle of the day. Two weeks after they accidentally kissed and Bob cupped Brian through his pants and Brian laughed and said, not here dude, wait until we have some privacy.

Bob has to force himself not to slam on the brakes in the middle of the highway. With how slow they’re moving in the snow, probably no one would notice. Bob’s hands feel suddenly sweaty so he wipes them on his pant legs.

"Hands on the wheel, Bryar," Brian says, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Yeah," Bob says, impressed by how dry and sarcastic he manages to sound when his stomach is suddenly in knots.  "That's totally the plan, Schechter. I'm an assassin from the future hired to kill you."

Brian laughs; it's soft and amused and Bob doesn't mean to look over at him, but when he does he sees that Brian's smiling.

“Are we-? Am I coming home with you for-?” He can’t say it. If they were talking about him maybe fucking anyone else, he’d probably be able to say it. But this is Brian who’s been pretty much front and centre of Bob’s life since he strolled into Bob’s homeroom at the beginning of Sophomore year, all cocky new kid over-confidence.

"Eyes on the road," is the only answer Brian gives, but quieter this time so it sort of is an answer after all.

"I don't even know where I'm going," Bob grumps even though he does. "Why do you have to live a million miles from anywhere?"

"Yeah, you do," Brian says.  "Turn here."

Brian's house doesn't look any different from the last time Bob gave him a ride home, which, of course it doesn't.  Bob wishes it did though; he feels different. Or rather, he feels exactly the same – about Brian, about everything – but now it's a lot more real.

He follows Brian out of the car and up to the front door without either of them saying a word about it. 

"Mom's at work," Brian tells him -- Bob doesn’t point out that he’s already told him that -- shrugging off his coat and heading up the stairs.  He stops a few steps up and looks down at Bob.  "Bryar?"

"Yeah."  Bob's heart pounds in his throat. "Coming."

Brian's room looks like he moved in yesterday rather than nearly two years ago.  The walls are bare except for one torn Detroit Lions poster and it looks like he's been living out of the cardboard boxes piled up in front of the dresser.

Brian sits on the bed, kicking his shoes across the room.  His hands drop to the hem of his shirt and Bob gets the feeling that he's waiting for some kind of a sign from Bob.  Bob toes out of his Vans, leaving them lined up in front of the door and apparently that's the sign Brian was waiting for because his shirt goes the way off his shoes. 

Bob sucks in a breath.  He knew Brian had tattoos, he just hadn't known how high they came up his arms or about the star on his shoulder.  "Brian," he says and fuck, he doesn't know what to say after that.

Brian doesn't hold out a hand or anything cliché like that.  He grins, bright and evil, and jerks his head.  Bob is kneeling beside him on the bed before he knows he's moving.

He puts his hand on Brian's shoulder, tracing the point of the lowest star with the side of his thumb nail.

Brian swallows hard and looks up at Bob from under his eyelashes.  He licks his lips and before Bob can lean down to kiss him, Brian is tilting his head up to kiss Bob. 

It's nothing like the kiss in the music room; there's no need for them to hold anything back, there's no chance of anyone seeing and Bob has Brian down on his back, framed by the dark comforter in the space of seven kisses.  Bob can't stop touching Brian's tattoos which wouldn't be a problem except Brian is tugging at Bob's clothes in a totally distracting way.

"What?" Bob asks at last, reluctantly pulling his mouth away from Brian's neck.  He maybe glares some.

Brian looks him straight in the eye.  "Take your shirt off," he says.  It's the straightforward way he says it that makes Bob flush hot and sit up to peel his t-shirt off in one quick movement.  The other times (two times, okay one and a half) Bob's been in this kind of a position, the other guy has made a production out of getting their clothes off, all aren't you hot? and wouldn't you be more comfortable without your pants?  Brian just asks.

"Fuck, Bob," Brian says when Bob is naked from the waist up.  He rubs his palms up over Bob's chest then down across his belly.  Bob watches Brian's hands for a minute, dark against Bob's pale skin, then he grabs Brian’s arms and pulls him up into another kiss. 

Brian laughs out a breath into Bob's mouth and kisses him back hard, licks his way into Bob's mouth then out again, dragging Bob's tongue into his mouth and sucking on it when Bob tries to lick his teeth. 

They fall back into the bed again, Brian on top this time.  His hips fit just right between Bob's thighs and he groans when Bob drags his hands down his back, fitting his fingers into Brian's back pockets.  Brian pushes his ass back into Bob's hands and Bob's hips automatically follow Brian's.  Their erections slide together and it doesn't matter that there's two layers of jeans and (presumably) two layers of underwear between them; it's so good that Bob nearly bites through his tongue trying not to moan or come or do anything else humiliating.

"Do you maybe want to-?" Brian's fingers play with Bob's zipper but don't lower it.  It's the first time Brian's sounded, not exactly unsure, but hesitant maybe.

"Yeah," Bob says, "Yeah, I do."  And then Bob's zipper is down and Brian's hand is in his pants, moulding around Bob's cloth-covered hard-on and Bob digs his fingers into Brian's ass through his pockets trying not to come.  Brian's hand is awkward, clumsy from the angle and maybe from lack of experience.  Bob doesn't know.  He'd ask, but he can't speak, can't do anything but tip his head back and drag in air while Brian jerks him off. 

The rhythm is wrong, a quarter beat off, but it doesn't matter because it's Brian and way too soon Bob is arching up, coming off the bed, coming in his boxers.

Bob keeps his eyes screwed closed as he's coming down, but he's aware enough to know that Brian is waiting, his head pressed against Bob's shoulder, his sticky fingers splayed over Bob's belly and just his pinkie still brushing Bob's groin.

"Give me a second," Bob says and drags his eyes open.  "I'll do you."

Brian's face is flushed pink and he nods, mouth screwed up into a tense line.  "That'd be really good," he says thickly.  His breath is coming in harsh, fast pants and Bob literally only has time to get two fingers curled around the head of Brian's cock before Brian is coming across Bob's palm.

Brian laughs when he's caught his breath, pushing himself off Bob and landing on his back on the bed, their thighs and shoulders pressed together.  "Fuck, our stamina is awesome," he says, deadpan.

Bob elbows him lightly.  "Hey, mine was better than yours."  He isn't sure when or where the nerves went and he knows he was nervous on the drive over here and walking up the stairs to Brian's bedroom but he's been totally calm ever since.  This is right, this thing between them, he's sure of it.

"Whatever," Brian tells him; he sounds as though he's falling asleep.  Bob rolls onto his side and sees that Brian's eyes are closed, dark eyelashes fanning shadows onto sex-blushed cheeks.  The dark stains of the tattoos on his shoulders stand out starkly under his flush.  "Bryar, you better not be watching me sleep.  That shit is creepy."

"Yeah, I'm not," Bob tells him.  He closes his eyes to make it true.  Listening to Brian fall asleep, the soft, contented sighs he makes, that's different, not creepy at all.

/End
Tags: au, bob/brian, fic, hs_bingo, nc-17, the-bobest-of-them-all
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