(fic) Come Pick Me Up
Title: Come pick me up
Pairing: Boyd Devereaux / Kyle Wellwood
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, it is untrue
(Pre season bonding trip in the woods with a bonfire yay? Yay! Not what I expected when I started this.)
::
Boyd’s eyes flip open; he thinks he could still be a little drunk. He could be more than a little drunk - he could be fucking wasted.
He can remember leaving the bonfire; can remember walking into the wrong cabin. He can even remember stumbling out into the correct hallway eventually with arms pushing him in the right direction, and catcalls directing him the wrong way.
He left earlier than most of the people there. There’s a bit of the smell and atmosphere of outside in here. A little bit of smoke and a half serious fight about Canadian music floating around, but it’s pretty mellow all things considered. The party is pretty much staying outside by the fire, the fireflies, out by the lake, out by the notes of conversation.
Boyd could be a little more than wasted, he could be fucking plastered. He could also be defeated by the button on his jeans.
He fell asleep alone, he’s sure of it, fell asleep sprawled face down on the bed, the smell of smoke and the sound of fireflies popping in the air, if they make a sound, if it wasn’t sparks or something else. The breeze coming off the lake makes the curtains billow in the middle. Blew something other than the smell of burning wood in. Kyle’s lying on the bed next to him.
They kissed once by accident. Sort of kissed, sort of by accident. Kyle was laughing so hard it was like he was going to choke on his tongue, and Boyd was laughing at him so hard that he was shaking and making a hash of walking in a straight line.
So, so. So, he’d thrown an arm around Kyle’s shoulders at about the same time Kyle had turned to tell him something and their lips…. Almost touched. Kyle’s lips smeared across Boyd’s face, around his jaw line. Lips on skin is absolutely a kiss though. Anything you wouldn’t do in front of your grandmother? A kiss.
It’s the kind of thing they could have laughed off. If they had wanted to laugh it off.
“Can’t take that back.” Kyle finally says, his voice a little less the composed monotone it is when he’s delivering the punch line to a joke.
‘Well’, Boyd thinks. ‘Well no, can’t take that back at all.’
But, he’d definitely fallen asleep alone, he was certain of it, too accustomed to the rhythm of shuffling over to make room in his own bed, to accustomed to having half an ear open for the girls. There’s people still feeding the fire and the conversation outside and there is Kyle lying on the bed next to him, head resting on his elbow, elbow on the spare pillow.
He’s only a teeny bit away. And smells exactly like the bonfire and the Dears in concert. And the grass that Boyd sat on getting drunk. It smells so much like that, that Boyd feels drunk again.
Something’s likely going to happen that can’t be taken back. Something is going to happen anyway, because if Kyle is here that means he’s planned something. It’s usually something that he just assumes only he will like, and has for some reason decided that Boyd may as well come along for the ride as well.
Or it’s something that Kyle has randomly determined that Boyd will like more than anything. If only he knew it existed. It’s the kid of zeal, Boyd sometimes thinks, that convinces people to look for lost cities made of gold.
And even if it’s the search for the hole-in-the-wall playing prog-rock on ukuleles rather than the search for proof of Atlantis… Boyd hasn’t been anyone’s partner in crime since the summer he was eight and a boy cousin of the three girls next door moved in.
Kyle was kind of like Brian had been. A stream of ‘maybe we should’ and ‘come on you can see’ and ‘wouldn’t it be great to…? And ‘come on already.’
Much like being eight Boyd thinks there is a chance of Kyle and him eventually ending up explaining to someone why he’s made a dam in a stream. And why he and Brian aren’t wearing shirts.
It had been something about medieval warriors when he was eight, but now Boyd isn’t so sure that excuse would fly. It certainly wouldn’t true. Nowadays when he’s around Kyle Boyd is always checking to make sure the doors lock. Half planning on being half naked, some insane combination of ‘why not’ and ‘exhilaration’ thinking about the dam breaking down and the two of them white water rafting down the stream.
It had bust twice with him and Brian; Boyd was a better hockey player than an architect, even then. ‘Come on already’. Brian could talk Boyd into anything because Boyd was always into causing mayhem, he could just never think of anything to do by himself.
But helping build things? Boyd could always be depended upon to do that.
It’s on the tip of Boyd’s tongue to ask what Kyle wants to ‘come on and go’, get up to, this time, but Kyle’s hand is on the tip of Boyd’s tongue. His palm dry, and smelling like grass, and growing moist from Boyd’s breath is right over Boyd’s mouth.
He’s never for a second ever bought the notion that people can communicate without words. Not even with his wife, but Boyd has a pretty clear idea of what Kyle is after when he quirks his eyebrows. And so what if he’s wrong, the worst that could happen is that he’ll get punched rather than kissed. ‘Come on, already.’ He tries to say with his own eyes.
But he ends up just grinning against Kyle’s hand. So this is an idea so stupid that it can’t even be discussed, or an idea so good that Boyd is going to follow on anyway. He shrugs his shoulders without moving his head, without moving Kyle’s hand, tries to say without saying, ‘sure why not Kyle?’
It’s what he always says to Kyle, like it’s no skin off his nose already half out of his chair and following, ‘sure why not?’ And Kyle waiting until Boyd is past him to say ‘well, come on already.’
Kyle closes his eyes a long slow blink like he’s going to fall asleep, and, oh, fair enough. So he got it wrong why Kyle is here. Boyd shifts restlessly thinking, he lost his key, doesn’t want to wake up the guy he’s rooming with, but Kyle edges closer and keeps opening his eyes.
He’s still quiet and that’s the odd bit, because if Kyle doesn’t exactly talk the place down, he normally outlines his genius plans within the first few seconds as well. Even if it’s just fucking off from a golf retreat to go see Stars playing down in Sudbury or something.
‘Boyd you’ll be sober driver’ he says, but he doesn’t drink. He lets Matt sweet talk his way into the ‘field trip’, even lets Matt bring one of the goalies along with them. He’ll drive as well. Both ways, knowing the directions already, getting the names of the songs wrong. It’s not that he hates music, or hate clubs. But he doesn’t care the same way Boyd does.
“What’s the point if you don’t get lost in the music?” Boyd asked him once. And Kyle just shrugged back.
“I won’t get lost. Mapquest.”
Boyd had been about two beers over being able to make sense of that comment.
As far as Boyd can tell the only reason he suggests they go is because he knows Boyd likes the music. He wonders if it makes him a bad friend for never really asking. Kyle’ll let him talk about any kind of band, even ask questions in the right places. It’s the road trips afterwards that he seems more interested in anyway.
They’ll drop Matt and whomever off, and Kyle will turn to Boyd. ‘It’s your car.’ He normally starts with. ‘What would it take you to, oh, I don’t know. Take a moonlight stroll around an unsafe area?’
And Boyd gets that this was the point of the exercise. “An evening amble.” He slurred the last word a bit. “Just the thing before bed.”
As if Boyd needed work to to be convinced to wander around an abandoned quarry. He wondered where the fuck Kyle even found these places.
“But why?” He would say, not really trying to talk Kyle out of it.
“Wrong question Boyd, come on already.” Even though Boyd has already ducked under the boards with their yellow ‘danger’ signs that would do a poor job of keeping toddlers out.
There’s a certain rhythm to them. Most things slow down when it gets colder, come to a dead stop in frost, but it was summer that pulled them to a halt.
Now it’s a season of turning leaves again, and Boyd could almost believe they are the only two people alive, but that’s not right. It’s that they are the only two people here, in this room, and if the distance between them and everyone else in the world is growing bigger, then it feels like the distance between the two of them is growing smaller relatively speaking, and - and - they are so close anyway.
Generally once Boyd has been talked into going where ever Kyle wants him to go, once they are wherever they needed to be, Kyle will go quiet.
Not in a reserved way, or not to make distance, they are already pretty close, there is no one else around. It’s just, what can there be left to say. Both there, both seeing the same things, both walking on the same ground. There isn’t anything else.
So it’s nothing that Kyle stays quiet, blinking slow and edging closer, slow as eyelashes, his mouth on the back of his own hand, almost, breath smoothing out to the same timing as Boyd’s. And if Kyle’s hand wasn’t there between them, damp from Boyd’s breath, they’d be kissing.
“This is probably a bad idea”, Kyle says, dropping his hand, and it’s ok, close as they are talking it isn’t kissing.
“Yeah.” Boyd says, and it’s not an answer to the question that Kyle asked, it’s an answer to all the questions swimming around in the tiny space between them. It’s the same answer he always gives.
“Come on already.”
Boyd knows how close they are, and how the bed is going to shift when he moves even closer. It makes him think about before, when Kyle had said ‘come look at the view or the lake from here’ and Boyd hadn’t even cared, hadn’t even realized it was a hike up.
‘So come on already.’ Kyle had said and Boyd had just shrugged and walked on ahead of him.
‘That fucking view’. Kyle had crowed, proud like he’d made it himself. They were standing right on the edge of the hill, watching the lake and the sunset bloody behind it, and the rest of the team moving round getting fire wood. They will likely get it for not being there. Some kind of team fine, or being forced into barman’s duty.
Boyd thinks that his bed is almost exactly like being there on the edge of the hill, with that view. Not really private but they can’t be seen. Terrifying, exhilarating and maybe too close to the edge.
Boyd could ask what the fuck the going on, worry about falling, but he just pushes Kyle’s hand out of the way and slides his hand in Kyle’s hair. Just slants his mouth onto Kyle’s and fucking god.
It’s too much as a kiss, stupid and crazy but it’s like driving back home at night, with the music up high on a slick road. The desire to push the speed a little bit, until it gets past safe into stupid, past stupid into all consuming. Boyd doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to feel anything but Kyle’s teeth and tongue. Kyle’s teeth playing with his lip making stubborn urgent noises until Boyd opens his mouth.
And yeah he kissed first he should be doing something other than tugging Kyle’s hair and feeling his own skin twitch to feel more of Kyle’s.
A sudden pinch on his nipple goes straight to his dick, and that’s it, Boyd can move, can pull Kyle down, but Kyle stubbornly refuses to move. Keep lying with his weight on Boyd’s arm, folding his fingers over Boyd’s until Boyd’s hand is twisted tight in his hair.
Kyle kisses Boyd like he does everything else. Expectant and obvious. Like he could even be capable of keeping Boyd here is Boyd didn’t want to be, if Boyd could even think of anywhere else to go at this point. As if he needs to keep Boyd here.
Because Jesus, Kyle is touching him, letting go of his hand to feel out the shape of his cock under the covers. Boyd would beg a bit, he thinks, if Kyle’s tongue weren’t in his mouth. If Kyle didn’t always ask for permission.
‘So, you’re not planning anything else tonight are you?’ He’d ask, hopeful and obvious, not even saying what the scheme he planned was.
‘Yeah.’ Boyd thinks. Because who would have fucking guessed Kyle would kiss like this. Open and dirty. Boyd just, lets him. Lays back, makes his body as soft as he can, as welcoming as he can. He wants Kyle to climb onto him, make his way inside him, and touch him again since one of his hands has vanished. Boyd shuffles a little bit in frustration, nudging Kyle with his shoulder to remind him that he, Boyd, is bigger and stronger and can shift Kyle around if he wants to.
But when Kyle touches him it’s to slide his hand under Boyd’s boxers and wrap his fingers around Boyd’s cock, his hand slick and impossibly wet. He planned this, and Boyd’s body goes rigid with shock for a second. ‘Hey so, let’s see that band that you like, take your car, you can drive.’
So slick and slippery and easy. Makes Boyd want. Just want, to fuck Kyle’s hand, let Kyle make his way into him, open him up from the inside out.
God that is fucking stupid, stupid and exhilarating. Kyle climbing over his thighs, slippery hands and schemes, the tip of Boyd’s cock visible through Kyle’s fingers.
Just like that, with his boxers only shoved half off his hips Boyd frees his hands to grab Kyle’s hips, shove the pants he’s wearing down, their cocks rubbing together just enough light if he cared to look to see them glossy and glassy and friction. Boyd could be suffocating, Kyle stretching up enough to rest his forehead against Boyd’s and oh… He’s sweating and has his eyes closed. Boyd watches Kyle’s tongue, the tip out flicking over the middle of his top lip, concentrating like he’s going to be tested on this later.
Paying attention like this is important. It hits Boyd like a bolt, a burnt sizzle of feeling up his spine, that there isn’t enough air and he’s going to suffocate and Kyle won’t even notice he’s so fucking gone, his lips pressed tight, one hand on Boyd’s shoulder the other, fuck fuck, he’s not so gone, his hand closing around both their cocks.
His hands are still smeared with the gel, whatever it was, and Kyle strokes them both. It’s over for Boyd then, the rush coming up from his toes, down his arms, through his hips jerking into Kyle’s hands.
It’s almost enough to breathe. The world is sliding in under the sounds of the sheets rusting as Kyle stills, and comes as well landing with no grace on Boyd’s chest. Noise they should have noticed before; the conversation by the lake, the cars wheels on the road that Boyd shouldn’t be able to hear, some kid convincing his summer best friend to sneak out of the open window.
Kyle’s sifting, making the kind of sounds tired kids do when what the rally want is to crawl into the most comfortable place they can find and sleep like the dead. Boyd slides his hand down Kyle’s back, leans up a little bit, ignoring Kyle’s dead weight to reach for the blanket, pull it over them, tug at least part of Kyle’s sweats over his bare skin.
“Go to sleep.” Kyle slurs out, not shifting.
“Yeah, so go on, then.” Boyd replies. “Go on and sleep already.”
Pairing: Boyd Devereaux / Kyle Wellwood
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, it is untrue
(Pre season bonding trip in the woods with a bonfire yay? Yay! Not what I expected when I started this.)
::
Boyd’s eyes flip open; he thinks he could still be a little drunk. He could be more than a little drunk - he could be fucking wasted.
He can remember leaving the bonfire; can remember walking into the wrong cabin. He can even remember stumbling out into the correct hallway eventually with arms pushing him in the right direction, and catcalls directing him the wrong way.
He left earlier than most of the people there. There’s a bit of the smell and atmosphere of outside in here. A little bit of smoke and a half serious fight about Canadian music floating around, but it’s pretty mellow all things considered. The party is pretty much staying outside by the fire, the fireflies, out by the lake, out by the notes of conversation.
Boyd could be a little more than wasted, he could be fucking plastered. He could also be defeated by the button on his jeans.
He fell asleep alone, he’s sure of it, fell asleep sprawled face down on the bed, the smell of smoke and the sound of fireflies popping in the air, if they make a sound, if it wasn’t sparks or something else. The breeze coming off the lake makes the curtains billow in the middle. Blew something other than the smell of burning wood in. Kyle’s lying on the bed next to him.
They kissed once by accident. Sort of kissed, sort of by accident. Kyle was laughing so hard it was like he was going to choke on his tongue, and Boyd was laughing at him so hard that he was shaking and making a hash of walking in a straight line.
So, so. So, he’d thrown an arm around Kyle’s shoulders at about the same time Kyle had turned to tell him something and their lips…. Almost touched. Kyle’s lips smeared across Boyd’s face, around his jaw line. Lips on skin is absolutely a kiss though. Anything you wouldn’t do in front of your grandmother? A kiss.
It’s the kind of thing they could have laughed off. If they had wanted to laugh it off.
“Can’t take that back.” Kyle finally says, his voice a little less the composed monotone it is when he’s delivering the punch line to a joke.
‘Well’, Boyd thinks. ‘Well no, can’t take that back at all.’
But, he’d definitely fallen asleep alone, he was certain of it, too accustomed to the rhythm of shuffling over to make room in his own bed, to accustomed to having half an ear open for the girls. There’s people still feeding the fire and the conversation outside and there is Kyle lying on the bed next to him, head resting on his elbow, elbow on the spare pillow.
He’s only a teeny bit away. And smells exactly like the bonfire and the Dears in concert. And the grass that Boyd sat on getting drunk. It smells so much like that, that Boyd feels drunk again.
Something’s likely going to happen that can’t be taken back. Something is going to happen anyway, because if Kyle is here that means he’s planned something. It’s usually something that he just assumes only he will like, and has for some reason decided that Boyd may as well come along for the ride as well.
Or it’s something that Kyle has randomly determined that Boyd will like more than anything. If only he knew it existed. It’s the kid of zeal, Boyd sometimes thinks, that convinces people to look for lost cities made of gold.
And even if it’s the search for the hole-in-the-wall playing prog-rock on ukuleles rather than the search for proof of Atlantis… Boyd hasn’t been anyone’s partner in crime since the summer he was eight and a boy cousin of the three girls next door moved in.
Kyle was kind of like Brian had been. A stream of ‘maybe we should’ and ‘come on you can see’ and ‘wouldn’t it be great to…? And ‘come on already.’
Much like being eight Boyd thinks there is a chance of Kyle and him eventually ending up explaining to someone why he’s made a dam in a stream. And why he and Brian aren’t wearing shirts.
It had been something about medieval warriors when he was eight, but now Boyd isn’t so sure that excuse would fly. It certainly wouldn’t true. Nowadays when he’s around Kyle Boyd is always checking to make sure the doors lock. Half planning on being half naked, some insane combination of ‘why not’ and ‘exhilaration’ thinking about the dam breaking down and the two of them white water rafting down the stream.
It had bust twice with him and Brian; Boyd was a better hockey player than an architect, even then. ‘Come on already’. Brian could talk Boyd into anything because Boyd was always into causing mayhem, he could just never think of anything to do by himself.
But helping build things? Boyd could always be depended upon to do that.
It’s on the tip of Boyd’s tongue to ask what Kyle wants to ‘come on and go’, get up to, this time, but Kyle’s hand is on the tip of Boyd’s tongue. His palm dry, and smelling like grass, and growing moist from Boyd’s breath is right over Boyd’s mouth.
He’s never for a second ever bought the notion that people can communicate without words. Not even with his wife, but Boyd has a pretty clear idea of what Kyle is after when he quirks his eyebrows. And so what if he’s wrong, the worst that could happen is that he’ll get punched rather than kissed. ‘Come on, already.’ He tries to say with his own eyes.
But he ends up just grinning against Kyle’s hand. So this is an idea so stupid that it can’t even be discussed, or an idea so good that Boyd is going to follow on anyway. He shrugs his shoulders without moving his head, without moving Kyle’s hand, tries to say without saying, ‘sure why not Kyle?’
It’s what he always says to Kyle, like it’s no skin off his nose already half out of his chair and following, ‘sure why not?’ And Kyle waiting until Boyd is past him to say ‘well, come on already.’
Kyle closes his eyes a long slow blink like he’s going to fall asleep, and, oh, fair enough. So he got it wrong why Kyle is here. Boyd shifts restlessly thinking, he lost his key, doesn’t want to wake up the guy he’s rooming with, but Kyle edges closer and keeps opening his eyes.
He’s still quiet and that’s the odd bit, because if Kyle doesn’t exactly talk the place down, he normally outlines his genius plans within the first few seconds as well. Even if it’s just fucking off from a golf retreat to go see Stars playing down in Sudbury or something.
‘Boyd you’ll be sober driver’ he says, but he doesn’t drink. He lets Matt sweet talk his way into the ‘field trip’, even lets Matt bring one of the goalies along with them. He’ll drive as well. Both ways, knowing the directions already, getting the names of the songs wrong. It’s not that he hates music, or hate clubs. But he doesn’t care the same way Boyd does.
“What’s the point if you don’t get lost in the music?” Boyd asked him once. And Kyle just shrugged back.
“I won’t get lost. Mapquest.”
Boyd had been about two beers over being able to make sense of that comment.
As far as Boyd can tell the only reason he suggests they go is because he knows Boyd likes the music. He wonders if it makes him a bad friend for never really asking. Kyle’ll let him talk about any kind of band, even ask questions in the right places. It’s the road trips afterwards that he seems more interested in anyway.
They’ll drop Matt and whomever off, and Kyle will turn to Boyd. ‘It’s your car.’ He normally starts with. ‘What would it take you to, oh, I don’t know. Take a moonlight stroll around an unsafe area?’
And Boyd gets that this was the point of the exercise. “An evening amble.” He slurred the last word a bit. “Just the thing before bed.”
As if Boyd needed work to to be convinced to wander around an abandoned quarry. He wondered where the fuck Kyle even found these places.
“But why?” He would say, not really trying to talk Kyle out of it.
“Wrong question Boyd, come on already.” Even though Boyd has already ducked under the boards with their yellow ‘danger’ signs that would do a poor job of keeping toddlers out.
There’s a certain rhythm to them. Most things slow down when it gets colder, come to a dead stop in frost, but it was summer that pulled them to a halt.
Now it’s a season of turning leaves again, and Boyd could almost believe they are the only two people alive, but that’s not right. It’s that they are the only two people here, in this room, and if the distance between them and everyone else in the world is growing bigger, then it feels like the distance between the two of them is growing smaller relatively speaking, and - and - they are so close anyway.
Generally once Boyd has been talked into going where ever Kyle wants him to go, once they are wherever they needed to be, Kyle will go quiet.
Not in a reserved way, or not to make distance, they are already pretty close, there is no one else around. It’s just, what can there be left to say. Both there, both seeing the same things, both walking on the same ground. There isn’t anything else.
So it’s nothing that Kyle stays quiet, blinking slow and edging closer, slow as eyelashes, his mouth on the back of his own hand, almost, breath smoothing out to the same timing as Boyd’s. And if Kyle’s hand wasn’t there between them, damp from Boyd’s breath, they’d be kissing.
“This is probably a bad idea”, Kyle says, dropping his hand, and it’s ok, close as they are talking it isn’t kissing.
“Yeah.” Boyd says, and it’s not an answer to the question that Kyle asked, it’s an answer to all the questions swimming around in the tiny space between them. It’s the same answer he always gives.
“Come on already.”
Boyd knows how close they are, and how the bed is going to shift when he moves even closer. It makes him think about before, when Kyle had said ‘come look at the view or the lake from here’ and Boyd hadn’t even cared, hadn’t even realized it was a hike up.
‘So come on already.’ Kyle had said and Boyd had just shrugged and walked on ahead of him.
‘That fucking view’. Kyle had crowed, proud like he’d made it himself. They were standing right on the edge of the hill, watching the lake and the sunset bloody behind it, and the rest of the team moving round getting fire wood. They will likely get it for not being there. Some kind of team fine, or being forced into barman’s duty.
Boyd thinks that his bed is almost exactly like being there on the edge of the hill, with that view. Not really private but they can’t be seen. Terrifying, exhilarating and maybe too close to the edge.
Boyd could ask what the fuck the going on, worry about falling, but he just pushes Kyle’s hand out of the way and slides his hand in Kyle’s hair. Just slants his mouth onto Kyle’s and fucking god.
It’s too much as a kiss, stupid and crazy but it’s like driving back home at night, with the music up high on a slick road. The desire to push the speed a little bit, until it gets past safe into stupid, past stupid into all consuming. Boyd doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to feel anything but Kyle’s teeth and tongue. Kyle’s teeth playing with his lip making stubborn urgent noises until Boyd opens his mouth.
And yeah he kissed first he should be doing something other than tugging Kyle’s hair and feeling his own skin twitch to feel more of Kyle’s.
A sudden pinch on his nipple goes straight to his dick, and that’s it, Boyd can move, can pull Kyle down, but Kyle stubbornly refuses to move. Keep lying with his weight on Boyd’s arm, folding his fingers over Boyd’s until Boyd’s hand is twisted tight in his hair.
Kyle kisses Boyd like he does everything else. Expectant and obvious. Like he could even be capable of keeping Boyd here is Boyd didn’t want to be, if Boyd could even think of anywhere else to go at this point. As if he needs to keep Boyd here.
Because Jesus, Kyle is touching him, letting go of his hand to feel out the shape of his cock under the covers. Boyd would beg a bit, he thinks, if Kyle’s tongue weren’t in his mouth. If Kyle didn’t always ask for permission.
‘So, you’re not planning anything else tonight are you?’ He’d ask, hopeful and obvious, not even saying what the scheme he planned was.
‘Yeah.’ Boyd thinks. Because who would have fucking guessed Kyle would kiss like this. Open and dirty. Boyd just, lets him. Lays back, makes his body as soft as he can, as welcoming as he can. He wants Kyle to climb onto him, make his way inside him, and touch him again since one of his hands has vanished. Boyd shuffles a little bit in frustration, nudging Kyle with his shoulder to remind him that he, Boyd, is bigger and stronger and can shift Kyle around if he wants to.
But when Kyle touches him it’s to slide his hand under Boyd’s boxers and wrap his fingers around Boyd’s cock, his hand slick and impossibly wet. He planned this, and Boyd’s body goes rigid with shock for a second. ‘Hey so, let’s see that band that you like, take your car, you can drive.’
So slick and slippery and easy. Makes Boyd want. Just want, to fuck Kyle’s hand, let Kyle make his way into him, open him up from the inside out.
God that is fucking stupid, stupid and exhilarating. Kyle climbing over his thighs, slippery hands and schemes, the tip of Boyd’s cock visible through Kyle’s fingers.
Just like that, with his boxers only shoved half off his hips Boyd frees his hands to grab Kyle’s hips, shove the pants he’s wearing down, their cocks rubbing together just enough light if he cared to look to see them glossy and glassy and friction. Boyd could be suffocating, Kyle stretching up enough to rest his forehead against Boyd’s and oh… He’s sweating and has his eyes closed. Boyd watches Kyle’s tongue, the tip out flicking over the middle of his top lip, concentrating like he’s going to be tested on this later.
Paying attention like this is important. It hits Boyd like a bolt, a burnt sizzle of feeling up his spine, that there isn’t enough air and he’s going to suffocate and Kyle won’t even notice he’s so fucking gone, his lips pressed tight, one hand on Boyd’s shoulder the other, fuck fuck, he’s not so gone, his hand closing around both their cocks.
His hands are still smeared with the gel, whatever it was, and Kyle strokes them both. It’s over for Boyd then, the rush coming up from his toes, down his arms, through his hips jerking into Kyle’s hands.
It’s almost enough to breathe. The world is sliding in under the sounds of the sheets rusting as Kyle stills, and comes as well landing with no grace on Boyd’s chest. Noise they should have noticed before; the conversation by the lake, the cars wheels on the road that Boyd shouldn’t be able to hear, some kid convincing his summer best friend to sneak out of the open window.
Kyle’s sifting, making the kind of sounds tired kids do when what the rally want is to crawl into the most comfortable place they can find and sleep like the dead. Boyd slides his hand down Kyle’s back, leans up a little bit, ignoring Kyle’s dead weight to reach for the blanket, pull it over them, tug at least part of Kyle’s sweats over his bare skin.
“Go to sleep.” Kyle slurs out, not shifting.
“Yeah, so go on, then.” Boyd replies. “Go on and sleep already.”