Because I was suddenly bitten in the ass by the urge to write
I put in couple of entries to Porn Battle IX. Go figure. This is the first of two. It's set in the world of the movie Fanboys. If you haven't seen it you really should, it's frickin' hilarious.
Fanboys, Eric/Linus, lightsaber, regret
Disclaimer - I do not own the characters or media that these stories use. I am just a poor, aspiring librarian.
There is nothing here for me now
Eric has never been good at dealing with confrontation. Confrontation with an abstract concept is worse. Grief is something that for the most part happens to other people. Usually, at least in the worlds he’s spent his life living in, it has some great cosmic purpose. Spiderman would not be half the hero he is without the deaths of Uncle Ben and Gwen Stacy to remind of why he fights. Luke Skywalker can only go on to reinvigorate the Jedi because Vader was willing to sacrifice himself for his son.
This has no purpose what so ever. Linus is in the ground and Eric is so drunk he can barely see. Hutch, Windows, and Zoë are apparently having a debate about whether to move him or leave him lay, but Eric can’t bring himself to care much what the verdict is. He’s busy avoiding confrontation the best way he can.
He’s remembering.
He’s remembering three days after they get back from Skywalker Ranch, and how Linus’ self-satisfied smile had yet to fade. How it would never quite fade. How after his father had finished tearing a strip off his ass, of approximately the same length as a cruiser, Eric had gathered his supplies and gone to crash on Linus’ floor. How Linus had grinned at him, and nodded approvingly when Eric had told him about the plans to start drawing again. How they’d gotten slightly buzzed, and mainlined all three films, and laughed, and had another massive screaming match over Luke and Leia and whether she was really just trying to make Han jealous, and how Linus’ mom had had to pound on the door and tell them both to shut up, and Eric had felt more like Linus’ best friend than he had for nearly three years.
How Linus had gotten a sparkle in his eyes, and leaned forward. How he’d cupped a hand around the back of Eric’s neck and said very seriously, “If you freak out about this Bottler, we are done. I mean it,” and kissed him. How his lips had tasted like caffeine, and sugar, and something Eric couldn’t quite place. How they’d been soft and firm, and how Linus’ breath had smelled like beef jerky and chocolate.
How Eric had tried very hard not to freak out, failed rather miserably, gone to Windows and Hutch for utterly useless advice that used lightsabers for demonstration, and of how Zoë had smacked him in the side of the head and told him “nut the fuck up already, Bottler”.
Of how it had taken a truly magnificent level of flattery to get Linus’ mom to let him in the house, and of how Linus had been lying on his bed waiting to be totally unimpressed by whatever Eric had to offer.
Eric had climbed on the bed, cupped Linus’ face in both hands, and kissed him as well as he knew how.
Then they’d both learned that blowjobs are really kind of awkward and uncomfortable the first time, but friction and heat work real well in pinch.
God bless the fucking Internet.
The good stuff took a few weeks of planning, and blushing, and truly embarrassing trips to the pharmacy, but it had been worth it. Eric remembers running his fingers over Linus’ hole, remembers working him open slowly, one finger after another. How Linus had bucked up onto his fingers and Eric had had to stop and get a handle on himself because Jesus Christ that was hot. Of how Linus had started grabbing at his back and shoulders saying, “now, Bottler, it’s not like I can do this forever”, and how Eric had had to put his head against Linus’ hip because he was shaking with horror and laughter, and he was still fucking hard.
Eric remembers with perfect clarity every moment of that first time. How Linus’ had been tighter, hotter than any pussy could hope to be. How Linus had shut his eyes, and bit his lip, and how he’d kept making small, half-choked noises. How when Eric had stopped Linus’ eyes had snapped open, and he’d meet Eric’s dead on and said, “If you don’t move right now, I will kill you, I swear to God.” How he’d gasped as Eric’s hips had snapped forward over and over. How Linus’ hips had jerked under his hands to meet thrust for thrust, and how he’d looked when Eric’s hand had grabbed hold of dick and begun working it in a rough rhythm, that lacked grace but made up for it in enthusiasm.
How Linus had looked as he’d come.
There’s a crash from nearby, loud enough to make Eric resurface from his haze of memory and booze. Hutch is on the ground and Zoë has him in a very capable wristlock. Windows looks torn between sniggering and wincing in sympathy.
Eric snorts, and closes his eyes again.
Behind his eyes Linus grins at him, and Eric grins right back.
Fanboys, Eric/Linus, lightsaber, regret
Disclaimer - I do not own the characters or media that these stories use. I am just a poor, aspiring librarian.
There is nothing here for me now
Eric has never been good at dealing with confrontation. Confrontation with an abstract concept is worse. Grief is something that for the most part happens to other people. Usually, at least in the worlds he’s spent his life living in, it has some great cosmic purpose. Spiderman would not be half the hero he is without the deaths of Uncle Ben and Gwen Stacy to remind of why he fights. Luke Skywalker can only go on to reinvigorate the Jedi because Vader was willing to sacrifice himself for his son.
This has no purpose what so ever. Linus is in the ground and Eric is so drunk he can barely see. Hutch, Windows, and Zoë are apparently having a debate about whether to move him or leave him lay, but Eric can’t bring himself to care much what the verdict is. He’s busy avoiding confrontation the best way he can.
He’s remembering.
He’s remembering three days after they get back from Skywalker Ranch, and how Linus’ self-satisfied smile had yet to fade. How it would never quite fade. How after his father had finished tearing a strip off his ass, of approximately the same length as a cruiser, Eric had gathered his supplies and gone to crash on Linus’ floor. How Linus had grinned at him, and nodded approvingly when Eric had told him about the plans to start drawing again. How they’d gotten slightly buzzed, and mainlined all three films, and laughed, and had another massive screaming match over Luke and Leia and whether she was really just trying to make Han jealous, and how Linus’ mom had had to pound on the door and tell them both to shut up, and Eric had felt more like Linus’ best friend than he had for nearly three years.
How Linus had gotten a sparkle in his eyes, and leaned forward. How he’d cupped a hand around the back of Eric’s neck and said very seriously, “If you freak out about this Bottler, we are done. I mean it,” and kissed him. How his lips had tasted like caffeine, and sugar, and something Eric couldn’t quite place. How they’d been soft and firm, and how Linus’ breath had smelled like beef jerky and chocolate.
How Eric had tried very hard not to freak out, failed rather miserably, gone to Windows and Hutch for utterly useless advice that used lightsabers for demonstration, and of how Zoë had smacked him in the side of the head and told him “nut the fuck up already, Bottler”.
Of how it had taken a truly magnificent level of flattery to get Linus’ mom to let him in the house, and of how Linus had been lying on his bed waiting to be totally unimpressed by whatever Eric had to offer.
Eric had climbed on the bed, cupped Linus’ face in both hands, and kissed him as well as he knew how.
Then they’d both learned that blowjobs are really kind of awkward and uncomfortable the first time, but friction and heat work real well in pinch.
God bless the fucking Internet.
The good stuff took a few weeks of planning, and blushing, and truly embarrassing trips to the pharmacy, but it had been worth it. Eric remembers running his fingers over Linus’ hole, remembers working him open slowly, one finger after another. How Linus had bucked up onto his fingers and Eric had had to stop and get a handle on himself because Jesus Christ that was hot. Of how Linus had started grabbing at his back and shoulders saying, “now, Bottler, it’s not like I can do this forever”, and how Eric had had to put his head against Linus’ hip because he was shaking with horror and laughter, and he was still fucking hard.
Eric remembers with perfect clarity every moment of that first time. How Linus’ had been tighter, hotter than any pussy could hope to be. How Linus had shut his eyes, and bit his lip, and how he’d kept making small, half-choked noises. How when Eric had stopped Linus’ eyes had snapped open, and he’d meet Eric’s dead on and said, “If you don’t move right now, I will kill you, I swear to God.” How he’d gasped as Eric’s hips had snapped forward over and over. How Linus’ hips had jerked under his hands to meet thrust for thrust, and how he’d looked when Eric’s hand had grabbed hold of dick and begun working it in a rough rhythm, that lacked grace but made up for it in enthusiasm.
How Linus had looked as he’d come.
There’s a crash from nearby, loud enough to make Eric resurface from his haze of memory and booze. Hutch is on the ground and Zoë has him in a very capable wristlock. Windows looks torn between sniggering and wincing in sympathy.
Eric snorts, and closes his eyes again.
Behind his eyes Linus grins at him, and Eric grins right back.