Ficlet: In the Rain
Title: In the Rain
Author: Khirsah
Fandom: BSC. More specifically, this is Blue fanfic. (Fanfic of a fanfic! How meta of me.)
Pairing: Byron/Jeff
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For mizzmarvel, who has to put up with whiny!sick!Khirsah.
He felt as if he’d never manage to plan out all the details. Where he’d do it, when, what he’d be wearing, what he’d say after. He’d started testing mints two weeks in advance, finding something to fault in all of them. Too sweet. Too sour. Too...minty.
He wanted everything to be perfect for this. He didn’t want to make a single misstep. He was driving himself crazy with the details he couldn’t control and the anxious possibility of ones he hadn’t anticipated.
Finally, reluctantly, Byron Pike had to step back, stop planning and just hope that his luck fell through where he needed it. Roll the hard six. That’s what his brothers sometimes said. Whatever that meant, he was going to do it tonight.
He was going to roll the hard six, suck it up and kiss his best friend.
Byron carefully avoided deep puddles of rainwater as he walked the distance from his home to Jeff’s. The air smelled like ozone and freedom, summer just around the corner. A fine mist still settled in the air, enough to leave a bright layer of reflective light over his long-sleeved shirt (the cool one, the one Jeff liked) and, he was sure, his hair. He was tempted to retreat just long enough to find an umbrella, but that would be just another excuse to stay home and not make this happen. He was getting good at excuses-he’d filled up almost an entire year with them.
“The rain’s dashing,” he mumbled to himself, hands shoving into his pockets as he hurried. His sneakers made a sharp thwapping noise against the damp sidewalk and a passing car sent a spray of water across a neatly manicured lawn. “Gene Kelly.”
Or something. God, his brothers were right. He got gayer with every day.
This, though, this was going to be it. This was going to be the pinnacle of...of everything. Of his dawning realization that something was wired different in his head. Of the long, aching nights and sticky mornings that he couldn’t manage to shrug off the way the other two did. Of the quick, hot thrum of awareness that hit him every time he was near Jeff, every time he thought of him, every time his name was mentioned.
It had started... God, he could barely remember. At his house, he thought. Right after Jeff first got here, right before school started again. They’d all been playing-hanging out, if he wanted to be cool about it-in the yard, taking turns wrestling one another into submission and tying each other up with the garden hose. He’d been leaning against the house, panting from exertion after a particularly ferocious battle. Jeff had been standing not three feet away, shoeless and shirtless and unexpectedly beautiful.
He’d looked up just as Jeff had looked over, and the grin they’d shared had somehow kickstarted his heart, making it pound faster. His hands had begun to sweat. His mind, to reel.
And then the sudden, shocking spray of water hit them both-Jeff first, right between his shoulder blades, then Byron in the face. They’d ducked, howling, and found each other in the blinding spray of water. Wet skin against wet skin. Sliding, slippery, sticky and warm and intoxicatingly forbidden. Byron had gotten hard immediately, heat bubbling up and over as Jeff turned his face from the spray of the hose and laughed.
It had started there. And for an entire year, every time Byron took a shower, he couldn’t help but feel vaguely aroused.
So maybe the light fall of rain wasn’t a bad sign after all. Maybe they were just...meant for water. Maybe it was a sign.
Or maybe not, but he’d take it.
He drew in a deep breath, glancing around. He was almost there. He’d walked the entire way without lifting his head, but his feet knew the way. The sappy, hopelessly queer part of him kept wanting to add that his heart knew the way too, but he quashed that ruthlessly. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, determined to wring away the diamond-sparkles of moisture, but he was too afraid of messing up the perfectly casual ‘do. Instead he dropped his hands and smoothed the front of his shirt, tugging it as he headed up the drive.
It was empty, of course. Jeff’s mother and Marianne’s father were upstate, visiting Dawn. Jeff was alone and relaxed, reveling in Richard’s absence. An important part of his plan.
Byron coughed into his fist as he stood on the stoop, then spread his fingers and blew a breath into his hand, sniffing fast. Minty, but not too minty. Sweet, but not too sweet. He ran his palms down his front again, wiping away nervous sweat, then leaned into the bell.
It was shrill, making his pulse leap and race. His breath was coming very fast. Byron stepped back, anxiously waiting. Despite all the water around him, his mouth felt impossibly dry.
A long minute passed. Maybe two. He was just reaching out to ring the bell again when the door flew open. Jeff stood on the other side of the glass screen, eyes sleepy and hair a mess. He was enjoying his weekend alone, most likely, sleeping into the afternoon. He was shirtless-God, skin golden, just defined enough, with little curls of hair riding low along his belly-and his blue pajama pants were snug about his hipbones. He was...
He was...
Fuck. He was enough to make Byron’s brain go empty. He was enough to make him lose his mind.
“Byron?” Jeff asked, frowning slightly. “Did you call?”
Byron was usually too polite not to call before showing up. He was usually too polite to do a lot of things. He reached out to fumble with the screen, pulling it open with an alarming creak. Shocking that Richard hadn’t already seen to that. “Hey,” he said breathlessly, losing all his carefully planned words. None of them seemed to matter. Not in the face of rumpled hair and sleepy eyes and a wide expanse of golden skin. His body nearly thrummed, front heating as if Jeff somehow cast it off like a sun. Maybe he did. Maybe he was a sun and Byron was a moon, reflecting it back with a yearning devotion that skated dangerously close to love. “Hey,” he said again.
“Byron, what-“ Jeff began, but he was cut off by the sudden, soft press of Byron’s mouth.
He hadn’t meant to do it this way. He’d had a plan-a finely tuned plan-and nowhere in the plan was he to press up against Jeff in the open threshold of his parents’ house, in view of the entire neighborhood. Nowhere in the plan was he to slide his mouth against Jeff’s, again and again, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw.
Byron could feel Jeff’s pulse against his fingertips, shuddering to a stop before beginning to race. He tasted a bit cottony from sleep, tongue sluggish as Byron slipped his own inside, seeking heat. If Jeff was the sun, he wanted to feel it. He wanted to taste it. He slid his free arm around his trim waist, cool fingers moving down Jeff’s spine. The illicit thrill of it made his toes curl, but it was Jeff’s low moan that made him ache. Their tongues tangled together, twining in a slippery battle. Byron could feel the goose flesh rising along Jeff’s skin, could feel that even greater heat forming down below, pressed briefly along his thigh. He could feel, God, everything as their tongues tangled and stroked, as he explored Jeff's mouth, as he learned enough to fuel his fantasies for weeks.
Then Byron pulled away with a shaky breath, knocking into the glass screen. It scraped the backs of his calves, painful through his jeans, but he ignored it. He was too firmly caught by Jeff’s wide, dilated eyes.
“Hey,” Byron said again, clearing his throat. He felt as if he’d swallowed a lit sparkler. He could feel it burning in his chest and all the way out to his fingertips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Not what he meant to say, either, but it would do. Less was more, right? Byron reasoned with himself as he stepped back again and let the screen swing shut. Jeff was standing there, framed by the metal and looking dazed. Dazed and aroused, hair standing up in spikes as if lightning had struck and he wasn’t sure yet what to do.
Byron knew the feeling.
He headed down the walkway toward the sidewalk. It was raining harder now, fine mist turning into heavy drops. Byron looked up, eyes squinted, and imagined he was standing in the spray of a hose, hands reaching out to brush slick, warm skin as he huddled over and laughed.
He felt eyes on him. He began to grin, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling back to the Pike home, this time boldly striding through any rain puddle he passed.
Gene Kelly had nothing on him.
Author: Khirsah
Fandom: BSC. More specifically, this is Blue fanfic. (Fanfic of a fanfic! How meta of me.)
Pairing: Byron/Jeff
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For mizzmarvel, who has to put up with whiny!sick!Khirsah.
He felt as if he’d never manage to plan out all the details. Where he’d do it, when, what he’d be wearing, what he’d say after. He’d started testing mints two weeks in advance, finding something to fault in all of them. Too sweet. Too sour. Too...minty.
He wanted everything to be perfect for this. He didn’t want to make a single misstep. He was driving himself crazy with the details he couldn’t control and the anxious possibility of ones he hadn’t anticipated.
Finally, reluctantly, Byron Pike had to step back, stop planning and just hope that his luck fell through where he needed it. Roll the hard six. That’s what his brothers sometimes said. Whatever that meant, he was going to do it tonight.
He was going to roll the hard six, suck it up and kiss his best friend.
Byron carefully avoided deep puddles of rainwater as he walked the distance from his home to Jeff’s. The air smelled like ozone and freedom, summer just around the corner. A fine mist still settled in the air, enough to leave a bright layer of reflective light over his long-sleeved shirt (the cool one, the one Jeff liked) and, he was sure, his hair. He was tempted to retreat just long enough to find an umbrella, but that would be just another excuse to stay home and not make this happen. He was getting good at excuses-he’d filled up almost an entire year with them.
“The rain’s dashing,” he mumbled to himself, hands shoving into his pockets as he hurried. His sneakers made a sharp thwapping noise against the damp sidewalk and a passing car sent a spray of water across a neatly manicured lawn. “Gene Kelly.”
Or something. God, his brothers were right. He got gayer with every day.
This, though, this was going to be it. This was going to be the pinnacle of...of everything. Of his dawning realization that something was wired different in his head. Of the long, aching nights and sticky mornings that he couldn’t manage to shrug off the way the other two did. Of the quick, hot thrum of awareness that hit him every time he was near Jeff, every time he thought of him, every time his name was mentioned.
It had started... God, he could barely remember. At his house, he thought. Right after Jeff first got here, right before school started again. They’d all been playing-hanging out, if he wanted to be cool about it-in the yard, taking turns wrestling one another into submission and tying each other up with the garden hose. He’d been leaning against the house, panting from exertion after a particularly ferocious battle. Jeff had been standing not three feet away, shoeless and shirtless and unexpectedly beautiful.
He’d looked up just as Jeff had looked over, and the grin they’d shared had somehow kickstarted his heart, making it pound faster. His hands had begun to sweat. His mind, to reel.
And then the sudden, shocking spray of water hit them both-Jeff first, right between his shoulder blades, then Byron in the face. They’d ducked, howling, and found each other in the blinding spray of water. Wet skin against wet skin. Sliding, slippery, sticky and warm and intoxicatingly forbidden. Byron had gotten hard immediately, heat bubbling up and over as Jeff turned his face from the spray of the hose and laughed.
It had started there. And for an entire year, every time Byron took a shower, he couldn’t help but feel vaguely aroused.
So maybe the light fall of rain wasn’t a bad sign after all. Maybe they were just...meant for water. Maybe it was a sign.
Or maybe not, but he’d take it.
He drew in a deep breath, glancing around. He was almost there. He’d walked the entire way without lifting his head, but his feet knew the way. The sappy, hopelessly queer part of him kept wanting to add that his heart knew the way too, but he quashed that ruthlessly. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, determined to wring away the diamond-sparkles of moisture, but he was too afraid of messing up the perfectly casual ‘do. Instead he dropped his hands and smoothed the front of his shirt, tugging it as he headed up the drive.
It was empty, of course. Jeff’s mother and Marianne’s father were upstate, visiting Dawn. Jeff was alone and relaxed, reveling in Richard’s absence. An important part of his plan.
Byron coughed into his fist as he stood on the stoop, then spread his fingers and blew a breath into his hand, sniffing fast. Minty, but not too minty. Sweet, but not too sweet. He ran his palms down his front again, wiping away nervous sweat, then leaned into the bell.
It was shrill, making his pulse leap and race. His breath was coming very fast. Byron stepped back, anxiously waiting. Despite all the water around him, his mouth felt impossibly dry.
A long minute passed. Maybe two. He was just reaching out to ring the bell again when the door flew open. Jeff stood on the other side of the glass screen, eyes sleepy and hair a mess. He was enjoying his weekend alone, most likely, sleeping into the afternoon. He was shirtless-God, skin golden, just defined enough, with little curls of hair riding low along his belly-and his blue pajama pants were snug about his hipbones. He was...
He was...
Fuck. He was enough to make Byron’s brain go empty. He was enough to make him lose his mind.
“Byron?” Jeff asked, frowning slightly. “Did you call?”
Byron was usually too polite not to call before showing up. He was usually too polite to do a lot of things. He reached out to fumble with the screen, pulling it open with an alarming creak. Shocking that Richard hadn’t already seen to that. “Hey,” he said breathlessly, losing all his carefully planned words. None of them seemed to matter. Not in the face of rumpled hair and sleepy eyes and a wide expanse of golden skin. His body nearly thrummed, front heating as if Jeff somehow cast it off like a sun. Maybe he did. Maybe he was a sun and Byron was a moon, reflecting it back with a yearning devotion that skated dangerously close to love. “Hey,” he said again.
“Byron, what-“ Jeff began, but he was cut off by the sudden, soft press of Byron’s mouth.
He hadn’t meant to do it this way. He’d had a plan-a finely tuned plan-and nowhere in the plan was he to press up against Jeff in the open threshold of his parents’ house, in view of the entire neighborhood. Nowhere in the plan was he to slide his mouth against Jeff’s, again and again, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw.
Byron could feel Jeff’s pulse against his fingertips, shuddering to a stop before beginning to race. He tasted a bit cottony from sleep, tongue sluggish as Byron slipped his own inside, seeking heat. If Jeff was the sun, he wanted to feel it. He wanted to taste it. He slid his free arm around his trim waist, cool fingers moving down Jeff’s spine. The illicit thrill of it made his toes curl, but it was Jeff’s low moan that made him ache. Their tongues tangled together, twining in a slippery battle. Byron could feel the goose flesh rising along Jeff’s skin, could feel that even greater heat forming down below, pressed briefly along his thigh. He could feel, God, everything as their tongues tangled and stroked, as he explored Jeff's mouth, as he learned enough to fuel his fantasies for weeks.
Then Byron pulled away with a shaky breath, knocking into the glass screen. It scraped the backs of his calves, painful through his jeans, but he ignored it. He was too firmly caught by Jeff’s wide, dilated eyes.
“Hey,” Byron said again, clearing his throat. He felt as if he’d swallowed a lit sparkler. He could feel it burning in his chest and all the way out to his fingertips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Not what he meant to say, either, but it would do. Less was more, right? Byron reasoned with himself as he stepped back again and let the screen swing shut. Jeff was standing there, framed by the metal and looking dazed. Dazed and aroused, hair standing up in spikes as if lightning had struck and he wasn’t sure yet what to do.
Byron knew the feeling.
He headed down the walkway toward the sidewalk. It was raining harder now, fine mist turning into heavy drops. Byron looked up, eyes squinted, and imagined he was standing in the spray of a hose, hands reaching out to brush slick, warm skin as he huddled over and laughed.
He felt eyes on him. He began to grin, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling back to the Pike home, this time boldly striding through any rain puddle he passed.
Gene Kelly had nothing on him.