Fic: Edges (Suicide Kings, Brett/Avery, NC17)
I can't sleep. And since I can't sleep and I'm tired of wiling away my sleepless hours watching Iron Chef, I figured what the hell, I'll open Word. Then Hell froze over and I actually finished something I started a few months ago. It will probably only be of interest to duckduck, seeing as she was the one who requested it and all, but I'm okay with that.
Title: Edges
Fandom: Suicide Kings
Pairing: Brett/Avery
Rating: NC17
Summary: duckduck asked for fumbling first times and Avery taking the lead. I hope this delivers.
Author's note: I hate how bad I've been at fulfilling requests for...oh, the past six months, so this is a small attempt to remedy that. Also, I've been listening to Gasping For Airtime on my commute and it's been making me think of Brett and Avery. I can only imagine Jay Mohr's face if he knew that.
He's been thinking about it for weeks. Imagining, planning, trying to work up the courage to go through with it, and he's starting to think he's going crazy. He's obsessed, and he knows if he doesn't get it over with he'll never think about anything else. He'll obsess until he fails out of school, and wouldn't his father love that.
So he has to go through with it, but it's taken him almost a week just to find the right time. Which is the whole problem with living in a dorm full of other guys, because there may not be any parents around to care what he's doing, but there's no such thing as privacy when his friends all live right down the hall. In the same room, and if Ira hadn't been summoned home for his cousin's Bar Mitzvah Avery might have just locked him out of the room for the weekend.
There would have been way too many questions later, though, and anyway he couldn't have concentrated with Ira whining at them through the door. The thought makes him laugh, high and a little hysterical and even though he's expecting it, the knock on his door makes him jump.
Brett doesn't wait for Avery to answer; he never does, he just pushes the door open the way he always does and lets himself in. Only this time he doesn't scan the room for Ira, doesn't bite back whatever sarcastic comment he's come up with to drive Ira out of the room long enough to get him a little time alone with Avery. And it's never enough time, but now…now they've got all night, and Avery's not sure if he's going to have a heart attack or throw up on his shoes.
He doesn't give himself time to chicken out. He doesn't even give himself time to lock the door - he knows he should, but he's pretty sure if he does he'll lose his nerve - before he's pulling Brett forward, fingers clenched hard around the front of his shirt and pulling him close.
"What the fuck…" Brett says, but that's as far as he gets before Avery's kissing him.
Nobody knows about them. At least Avery's pretty sure no one knows, but he's always figured it was only a matter of time before someone caught on. And there's a part of him that doesn't really care if the rest of the guys figure it out, but this…this is just between him and Brett.
The kiss is hard, teeth clashing and it takes them a few seconds to find the right angle, but Avery doesn't care about finesse. He doesn't care about anything except the way Brett's hand is fisted in his hair and the little tremble in his stomach when Avery reaches for his zipper.
And this is all new, because there have been kisses and even the occasional hand job when they can find a few minutes alone, but usually he's content to let Brett take the lead. It's always been enough to be around Brett, to hang out with him and wait for the moment when Brett reached for him. It's always been enough to know that Brett was his, that Brett wanted him enough to risk someone seeing the brush of fingers across his arm or a frenzied, unexpected kiss in the locker room after everyone else was gone.
That's been enough for the last few months, but lately…lately all Avery's been thinking about is this. About skin on skin and hands in his hair, about wrapping his mouth around Brett and hearing his name murmured when Brett comes. He's even read about it, stolen magazines from his father and his friends and studied pictures and even those stupid fantasies guys write into the editor just so he won't be completely clueless when he finds himself on his knees for the first time.
Not that any of that helped in the end, because he's still terrified and he has no idea what he's doing when he finally - finally - manages to get Brett's zipper open and pushes his pants down for the first time. And it's not the first time he's seen Brett naked, because they've shared a locker room and a dorm shower since they were kids. But it's the first time it's been like this, the first time he's been able to look without worrying about who's going to catch him.
It's the first time he's run his fingers over Brett's stomach, the first time he's felt the moan building low in Brett's diaphragm before it escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against Avery's mouth and when he slides his hand a little lower Brett's hand tightens almost painfully in his hair. He pulls back to look at Avery, face flushed and eyes dark and Avery can tell he's going to start asking questions. Like what the fuck Avery thinks he's doing, what's gotten into him and why he didn't run any of this by Brett before he started tearing Brett's clothes off.
Brett's always got a thousand dumb questions, because he likes to be in control. He likes to be the one with the plan, but for once Avery doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to explain himself to Brett - can't, because if he tries to tell Brett what he wants there's no way he'll go through with it - so instead he just presses their lips together again.
"What…" Brett mumbles against his mouth, but Avery just shakes his head and pulls away.
"Don't," he murmurs, not quite meeting Brett's gaze as he tries to drop to his knees with some amount of grace. "Just…shut up, would you?"
And for a few seconds Brett does. Maybe he's too stunned to speak, or maybe he's just waiting to see if Avery's actually going to go through with it. Either way, he stops talking, and when Avery wraps a hand around his cock he even tries to stifle his groan. He's biting down hard on his lip, like maybe he's afraid if he says anything else Avery's going to stop. But he's only human, and when Avery leans forward and runs his tongue tentatively along the tip of Brett's cock he can't hold back a strangled "Jesus".
That gives Avery the courage to look up, cheeks flushed with fear and embarrassment and the fierce determination he's spent the entire day working up. Brett's face is just as flushed, eyes half closed and lips parted and that's the encouragement Avery needs to try again. Surer this time, lips wrapped around the head of Brett's cock and sliding down until he's sure he can't go any farther without gagging. He pulls back, pausing just for a second before he does it again, and the moan that gets him makes his own cock twitch.
He tries to remember all his research, tries to picture what to do with his tongue and where to put his hands. It's a lot harder than it sounded when he was reading about it, but he's pretty sure it doesn't matter whether he gets it exactly right, because Brett's talking again.
"Fuck, Avery," he chokes out, hand sliding back into Avery's hair and suddenly Avery wishes he'd taken the time to get the rest of Brett's clothes off. His jacket's long gone, probably peeled off the second he got back to his room, but he's still wearing a shirt and his tie's hanging loose around his neck, silk hitting the top of Avery's head every time he moves a certain way. And later he'll think about how ridiculous they must look, but for now he can't focus on anything except his mouth and his tongue and the sound of Brett's voice murmuring barely coherent encouragement.
"Jesus," he whispers again, then, "harder," then a sharp gasp and a reflexive tightening of the hand in his hair. "Fuck, Avery. Watch your teeth," Brett gasps.
Avery pulls off far enough to mumble an apology, but either Brett doesn't hear or he doesn't care, because he's pulling Avery forward again. And he's already got too many things to think about, but he tries to remember what the magazines said about keeping his lips over his teeth so he won't cause any actual damage.
It's a lot wetter than he expected; they didn't say anything about drool in the magazines he read, but Brett doesn't seem to care so Avery keeps going. He has a feeling he should be using his tongue more, but he's never been all that coordinated and it's all he can do to move his hand in time with his lips. Besides, Brett's still moaning and babbling less coherently by the second, which means he's getting close. Which means he's enjoying himself enough that maybe he'll want to do this again, and that's all Avery really cares about.
His jaw hurts a little already and he's not sure how long it's been, has no idea if he's supposed to swallow or what and maybe he should have thought about that before he started. Mostly he was busy trying to talk himself into going through with it, though, jerking off to the image of Brett coming with Avery's mouth still wrapped around his cock and taking more cold showers than he ever thought he'd need.
There's drool running down the side of his chin and his knees are starting to ache. He's not sure if either of those things are normal, if it means he should have planned this a little better or maybe just gotten Brett on his bed before he started pulling off clothes, but it's not like he can change it now. Besides, his own cock's throbbing and without even thinking about it he reaches down to squeeze himself through his uniform pants.
Brett comes first, tensing and pulling away unexpectedly and so harshly that at first Avery thinks he did something wrong. Then Brett reaches down and strokes once, then again before he comes on his hand and his shirt and the floor and Avery's shoulder, and that's all it takes to make Avery come in his pants. In his pants like some…well, some teenager, and the fact that he is a teenager doesn't really make him feel any better.
The weirdest part is that Brett's the one who's standing there half-naked, but Avery feels like it's him who's been stripped bare. He feels see-through, like any second now Brett's going to look at him and see right through him. See everything Avery's thinking, how much he's been obsessing about this and how much he wants Brett to like it - how much he needs Brett to like it - and laugh right in his face.
For awhile neither of them says anything. Avery's still on his knees, even though they're really aching now, because if he stands up he's going to draw attention to the fact that he's still in the room, and he's not sure he's ready for Brett to remember he's there. But he can't just kneel there forever, and anyway he knows it's only a matter of time before Brett starts talking again.
It takes a little longer than he expects, but way too soon he hears Brett move. Well. It's more like a stagger, like he doesn't quite trust his legs and he only manages a few steps before he throws himself down on Avery's bed to stare at the ceiling. "Jesus," he says, knees bent and feet pressed against Avery's mattress and that's how Avery should have done this. "Give a guy a little warning before you pull something like that."
Avery's not really sure how to take that. He's not sure what to say, and he's even less sure what to do. What he really wants is to get up and walk over to his bed, stretch out next to Brett and kiss him until he forgets what they were talking about. Instead he leans back on his heels and clears his throat, staring at the floor next to the bed and hoping to God his voice doesn't crack. "So…it was okay, then?"
"Jesus, Avery," Brett mutters, and now he just sounds exasperated. "Would you get your ass over here?"
And that's all the encouragement he needs to push himself off the floor, crossing the room in a few short strides and letting Brett pull him down gracelessly onto the bed. Brett lets out a muffled grunt of pain and Avery's pretty sure he managed to jab his elbow into Brett's ribs when he landed, but his murmured apology is swallowed by Brett's mouth when he presses their lips together for a hard kiss.
There might even be more embarrassing questions later. He's pretty sure there will be - it is Brett, after all - but when Brett's hand pushes up under his shirt to slide against his chest, he doesn't really care.
Title: Edges
Fandom: Suicide Kings
Pairing: Brett/Avery
Rating: NC17
Summary: duckduck asked for fumbling first times and Avery taking the lead. I hope this delivers.
Author's note: I hate how bad I've been at fulfilling requests for...oh, the past six months, so this is a small attempt to remedy that. Also, I've been listening to Gasping For Airtime on my commute and it's been making me think of Brett and Avery. I can only imagine Jay Mohr's face if he knew that.
He's been thinking about it for weeks. Imagining, planning, trying to work up the courage to go through with it, and he's starting to think he's going crazy. He's obsessed, and he knows if he doesn't get it over with he'll never think about anything else. He'll obsess until he fails out of school, and wouldn't his father love that.
So he has to go through with it, but it's taken him almost a week just to find the right time. Which is the whole problem with living in a dorm full of other guys, because there may not be any parents around to care what he's doing, but there's no such thing as privacy when his friends all live right down the hall. In the same room, and if Ira hadn't been summoned home for his cousin's Bar Mitzvah Avery might have just locked him out of the room for the weekend.
There would have been way too many questions later, though, and anyway he couldn't have concentrated with Ira whining at them through the door. The thought makes him laugh, high and a little hysterical and even though he's expecting it, the knock on his door makes him jump.
Brett doesn't wait for Avery to answer; he never does, he just pushes the door open the way he always does and lets himself in. Only this time he doesn't scan the room for Ira, doesn't bite back whatever sarcastic comment he's come up with to drive Ira out of the room long enough to get him a little time alone with Avery. And it's never enough time, but now…now they've got all night, and Avery's not sure if he's going to have a heart attack or throw up on his shoes.
He doesn't give himself time to chicken out. He doesn't even give himself time to lock the door - he knows he should, but he's pretty sure if he does he'll lose his nerve - before he's pulling Brett forward, fingers clenched hard around the front of his shirt and pulling him close.
"What the fuck…" Brett says, but that's as far as he gets before Avery's kissing him.
Nobody knows about them. At least Avery's pretty sure no one knows, but he's always figured it was only a matter of time before someone caught on. And there's a part of him that doesn't really care if the rest of the guys figure it out, but this…this is just between him and Brett.
The kiss is hard, teeth clashing and it takes them a few seconds to find the right angle, but Avery doesn't care about finesse. He doesn't care about anything except the way Brett's hand is fisted in his hair and the little tremble in his stomach when Avery reaches for his zipper.
And this is all new, because there have been kisses and even the occasional hand job when they can find a few minutes alone, but usually he's content to let Brett take the lead. It's always been enough to be around Brett, to hang out with him and wait for the moment when Brett reached for him. It's always been enough to know that Brett was his, that Brett wanted him enough to risk someone seeing the brush of fingers across his arm or a frenzied, unexpected kiss in the locker room after everyone else was gone.
That's been enough for the last few months, but lately…lately all Avery's been thinking about is this. About skin on skin and hands in his hair, about wrapping his mouth around Brett and hearing his name murmured when Brett comes. He's even read about it, stolen magazines from his father and his friends and studied pictures and even those stupid fantasies guys write into the editor just so he won't be completely clueless when he finds himself on his knees for the first time.
Not that any of that helped in the end, because he's still terrified and he has no idea what he's doing when he finally - finally - manages to get Brett's zipper open and pushes his pants down for the first time. And it's not the first time he's seen Brett naked, because they've shared a locker room and a dorm shower since they were kids. But it's the first time it's been like this, the first time he's been able to look without worrying about who's going to catch him.
It's the first time he's run his fingers over Brett's stomach, the first time he's felt the moan building low in Brett's diaphragm before it escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against Avery's mouth and when he slides his hand a little lower Brett's hand tightens almost painfully in his hair. He pulls back to look at Avery, face flushed and eyes dark and Avery can tell he's going to start asking questions. Like what the fuck Avery thinks he's doing, what's gotten into him and why he didn't run any of this by Brett before he started tearing Brett's clothes off.
Brett's always got a thousand dumb questions, because he likes to be in control. He likes to be the one with the plan, but for once Avery doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to explain himself to Brett - can't, because if he tries to tell Brett what he wants there's no way he'll go through with it - so instead he just presses their lips together again.
"What…" Brett mumbles against his mouth, but Avery just shakes his head and pulls away.
"Don't," he murmurs, not quite meeting Brett's gaze as he tries to drop to his knees with some amount of grace. "Just…shut up, would you?"
And for a few seconds Brett does. Maybe he's too stunned to speak, or maybe he's just waiting to see if Avery's actually going to go through with it. Either way, he stops talking, and when Avery wraps a hand around his cock he even tries to stifle his groan. He's biting down hard on his lip, like maybe he's afraid if he says anything else Avery's going to stop. But he's only human, and when Avery leans forward and runs his tongue tentatively along the tip of Brett's cock he can't hold back a strangled "Jesus".
That gives Avery the courage to look up, cheeks flushed with fear and embarrassment and the fierce determination he's spent the entire day working up. Brett's face is just as flushed, eyes half closed and lips parted and that's the encouragement Avery needs to try again. Surer this time, lips wrapped around the head of Brett's cock and sliding down until he's sure he can't go any farther without gagging. He pulls back, pausing just for a second before he does it again, and the moan that gets him makes his own cock twitch.
He tries to remember all his research, tries to picture what to do with his tongue and where to put his hands. It's a lot harder than it sounded when he was reading about it, but he's pretty sure it doesn't matter whether he gets it exactly right, because Brett's talking again.
"Fuck, Avery," he chokes out, hand sliding back into Avery's hair and suddenly Avery wishes he'd taken the time to get the rest of Brett's clothes off. His jacket's long gone, probably peeled off the second he got back to his room, but he's still wearing a shirt and his tie's hanging loose around his neck, silk hitting the top of Avery's head every time he moves a certain way. And later he'll think about how ridiculous they must look, but for now he can't focus on anything except his mouth and his tongue and the sound of Brett's voice murmuring barely coherent encouragement.
"Jesus," he whispers again, then, "harder," then a sharp gasp and a reflexive tightening of the hand in his hair. "Fuck, Avery. Watch your teeth," Brett gasps.
Avery pulls off far enough to mumble an apology, but either Brett doesn't hear or he doesn't care, because he's pulling Avery forward again. And he's already got too many things to think about, but he tries to remember what the magazines said about keeping his lips over his teeth so he won't cause any actual damage.
It's a lot wetter than he expected; they didn't say anything about drool in the magazines he read, but Brett doesn't seem to care so Avery keeps going. He has a feeling he should be using his tongue more, but he's never been all that coordinated and it's all he can do to move his hand in time with his lips. Besides, Brett's still moaning and babbling less coherently by the second, which means he's getting close. Which means he's enjoying himself enough that maybe he'll want to do this again, and that's all Avery really cares about.
His jaw hurts a little already and he's not sure how long it's been, has no idea if he's supposed to swallow or what and maybe he should have thought about that before he started. Mostly he was busy trying to talk himself into going through with it, though, jerking off to the image of Brett coming with Avery's mouth still wrapped around his cock and taking more cold showers than he ever thought he'd need.
There's drool running down the side of his chin and his knees are starting to ache. He's not sure if either of those things are normal, if it means he should have planned this a little better or maybe just gotten Brett on his bed before he started pulling off clothes, but it's not like he can change it now. Besides, his own cock's throbbing and without even thinking about it he reaches down to squeeze himself through his uniform pants.
Brett comes first, tensing and pulling away unexpectedly and so harshly that at first Avery thinks he did something wrong. Then Brett reaches down and strokes once, then again before he comes on his hand and his shirt and the floor and Avery's shoulder, and that's all it takes to make Avery come in his pants. In his pants like some…well, some teenager, and the fact that he is a teenager doesn't really make him feel any better.
The weirdest part is that Brett's the one who's standing there half-naked, but Avery feels like it's him who's been stripped bare. He feels see-through, like any second now Brett's going to look at him and see right through him. See everything Avery's thinking, how much he's been obsessing about this and how much he wants Brett to like it - how much he needs Brett to like it - and laugh right in his face.
For awhile neither of them says anything. Avery's still on his knees, even though they're really aching now, because if he stands up he's going to draw attention to the fact that he's still in the room, and he's not sure he's ready for Brett to remember he's there. But he can't just kneel there forever, and anyway he knows it's only a matter of time before Brett starts talking again.
It takes a little longer than he expects, but way too soon he hears Brett move. Well. It's more like a stagger, like he doesn't quite trust his legs and he only manages a few steps before he throws himself down on Avery's bed to stare at the ceiling. "Jesus," he says, knees bent and feet pressed against Avery's mattress and that's how Avery should have done this. "Give a guy a little warning before you pull something like that."
Avery's not really sure how to take that. He's not sure what to say, and he's even less sure what to do. What he really wants is to get up and walk over to his bed, stretch out next to Brett and kiss him until he forgets what they were talking about. Instead he leans back on his heels and clears his throat, staring at the floor next to the bed and hoping to God his voice doesn't crack. "So…it was okay, then?"
"Jesus, Avery," Brett mutters, and now he just sounds exasperated. "Would you get your ass over here?"
And that's all the encouragement he needs to push himself off the floor, crossing the room in a few short strides and letting Brett pull him down gracelessly onto the bed. Brett lets out a muffled grunt of pain and Avery's pretty sure he managed to jab his elbow into Brett's ribs when he landed, but his murmured apology is swallowed by Brett's mouth when he presses their lips together for a hard kiss.
There might even be more embarrassing questions later. He's pretty sure there will be - it is Brett, after all - but when Brett's hand pushes up under his shirt to slide against his chest, he doesn't really care.