FNL Fic: These Fears They Fall Away (Tim/Jason. Adult)

[romancandles]

One way to pass the sadness of not having Heroes to watch on this night (you guys, are they available on iTunes? Could someone check for me (my internet is too shabby to)? I might write you something nice if you like my writing as a reward!) is to post fic.
ETA: Downloaded from iTunes! Thank you paradise_city!

Friday Night Lights
These Fears They Fall Away
Tim/Jason. It's enough to almost break them both. Rated A for Adult
Pre-pilot. Spoilers through mid-season.
Thank you to askmehow for beta work, although I'm not sure she wants her name on this one. Any remaining errors are mine.

These Fears They Fall Away
July

The hottest summer in recorded history, they say. Don’t go outside, stay indoors. Dangerous UV index, drought, crops failing, cattle dying. There’ve been brownouts all over the county, all over the state. The voice on the radio says through waves of static that the heat wave will break in a few days. It’s been saying that for weeks now.

Tim’s lived in Dillon all his life; he knows better.

Every surface in the house is sticky with the moist staleness that’s settled over the town like a second skin. The streets are still with the customary lethargy of midsummer; the only signs of life are from two dogs barking tiredly to each other, their cries lessening as the sun steadily climbs overhead. Already he can feel damp spots forming under his arms and at the small of his back, sweat pooling in the shallows of his neck and creases in his legs.

Milk drips from the spoon, splashing the few Cheerios left back to the edge of the bowl. The cereal is soggy already and the milk not quite cold enough to be satisfying. The fridge never quite closes; it leaks cold air like a sieve even when the power is working properly. Now on the fifth day of what seems like an almost regular cycle of power outages, everything is edging just a smidge to the side of lukewarm.

When he dips his head and his own neck cracks, he’s startled, jumping a bit and nearly overbalancing on the wooden stool. The jerking movement makes his stomach slosh uneasily, filled too early with milk and cereal when it craved waffles and cushy bread products. He licks the sweat off his upper lip, closing his eyes to concentrate on driving the away the headache. A steady pounding behind his eyelids makes him clench his jaw; he feels the humid pressure just a little bit more now.

The sharp snick rips through the silent room, echoes endless out of the open windows. It’s so cold against his hands that it almost burns his palms. The can leaves an icy ring on the counter when he picks it up. Even after one sip, he feels the pounding behind his eyes begin to subside. When he brings the can to rest against his temple, tiny droplets of cold condensation drip down the side of his cheek, mixing with the salt on his skin to form an icy tear.

Outside, an engine rattles by and shuts off. At midday, the sun is so strong that the asphalt on the road begins to melt, rooting tiny animals to the spot and catching the rubber of car tires and tennis shoes so that they make sickly ripping noises as they pull away. The barest hint of a breeze picks up outside; Tim doesn’t feel it but he can hear the leaves rustling outside and a single short note from the backyard windchime.

The stench of the warming milk threatens to bring his Cheerios back up the way they went. The heat combined with thick air bring his hangover back with full force. He’s torn between wanting to leave the house to go for a drive and wanting to crawl back into his own bed for the rest of the day. On the one hand, his truck’s air conditioning doesn’t work anymore-if it ever even did-and the shocks are completely shot, which he’s not sure his stomach could handle; on the other, even the tree in front of his room does little to ease the suffocating heat of the house, and his sheets are probably still damp from last night.

So he sits there, doing nothing.

And the minutes tick by.

The rapping on the door startles him, slicing through the silence like a knife. He mumbles an invitation that whoever it is can’t possibly hear, which is fortunate because the door opens before he’s even formulated the words. The dull pain in his neck strengthens when he turns to squint at the door; he rests a forearm on the counter because at this point he’s sure he might topple over any minute.

A half-smile ghosts across his face when he lights on the figure in the doorway but before he can say anything, something clicks to his right and another starts whirring above him. Down the hallway, a barely open door shuts with a slam as the electricity finally clicks on.

“And lo,” Tim intones, “the Almighty laid his hands upon the weary and a Miracle did occur.”

“What can I say?” Jason’s face is all brilliantly white teeth and heat-flushed cheeks. “Golden touch.” He holds up his hands, fingers spread wide. When he comes closer, Tim can see the dark spots on his tshirt.

“I bet.” He didn’t think he’d see Jason today.

Jason picks up the spoon, takes a bite of Cheerios. “Ugh. Warm.”

“Power’s been out all night.”

A raised eyebrow and a nod at the can. “Yet the Lone Star is ice cold.”

“Hey, we have our priorities straight.” Jason laughs, tilting the spoon to let milk dribble back into the bowl. “So what brings you over on this fine Texas morning?” Tim takes a sip of his beer.

“Was going for a run, wanted to see if you wanted to come.” Tim picks up his can, taps it gently on the counter to send a spray of condensation spinning outward. He squints at Jay through damp hair. “Kidding.” Jason leans one elbow on the counter. “Just bored.”

The cheerleading squad is away at the annual summer cheer camp. Tim makes a whipping motion with his hand. “It’s only been three days, Six. She’ll be back soon.” Jason’s answering push almost sends him flying off the barstool. “Bitch.”

“Surprised Tyra’s not lurking around.” Jason stares narrowly down at him. Tim’s head is pounding from the movement, from the heat, from the weight of Jason’s gaze on his face.

Tim laughs, short and harsh. “Don’t see her much these days.” Jason rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath. “Her fault, not mine.” He shrugs, twirling the spoon in the bowl. Tyra’s got three jobs this summer, waiting tables and working the phones for the Garrity’s dealership. Sometimes she comes over late, exhaustion from work making her unusually quiet and sweet, and they fuck and then fall asleep watching TV. She’s always gone when Tim wakes up in the morning.

Jason ducks his head, leans real close. “She just picks fights so she doesn’t have to feel guilty.” Jay’s always quick to defend Tim, especially when he doesn’t deserve it. Tim shrugs, lets it go. “So you guys are done?”

Tim stares into his milk. “Seems like we’re always done.” Let Jason think whatever he wants. He rubs his fingers against his temples; his brain feels like it’s about to break out of his skull.

The words hang between them, heavy in the thick air. “Your brother around?” A hot hand on his shoulder, touching his neck. He’s so sore.

Tim smiles, turns his head a little to glance at Jason. “No.”

“Huh. Well, uh-” Jason breaks off with a little laughter, trails his hand down Tim’s back. Tim doesn’t want to be the one to lean forward first, but he does because Jason never will. It’s half-kiss really because Jason’s grinning all the while, mouth almost out of reach. “Hey.” It’s a whisper against Tim’s mouth. “You know-”

Tim stands up, puts a hand on either side of Jason’s torso to pin him against the counter. “Don’t worry about it.” It doesn’t matter because Jason lets himself be kissed, kisses Tim back with one hand on his waist and the other propped on the counter. The newly cool air cycling through hits the side of his face, drying up the hangover sweats; he kisses Jay, laughs a little for being afraid that this-this thing between them was so fragile that it might break them both.

He’s so warm that it’s hard to breathe, the dull pounding still hasn’t subsided, is possibly made worse by moving his mouth on Jay’s jaw and neck. Standing makes him feel stiff and Jason’s fingers are too hot and heavy when he inches down Tim’s sweatpants and stretches out those long fingers on Tim’s hip. He breathes hard against Jason’s skin, closes his eyes.

“Buck up, Rig.” Jason’s breath is low on his ear. “Gonna look bad if you pass out on me.” Tim snorts and shoves against him, bringing a gasp of half pain and laughter when Jason’s spine bangs against the counter. Jason presses his mouth against Tim’s jaw, pushes Tim’s shorts down far enough to stick his hand inside. It’s hot and sticky, almost too hot, and Tim’s neck and chest are burning. He pushes into Jason’s hand even as Jay’s trying to hold him steady, creating a jerky uneven rhythm. He’s breathing ragged, stretching out his hand to touch Jason’s on the counter.

There’s nothing but heat and humidity and harsh breaths between them; Tim gives a low moan, bends his neck and presses his mouth against Jason’s neck. Jason’s not as efficient as Tyra; he hasn’t given as many handjobs from this angle, but he’s hard and sure and when he knocks his chin on the back of Tim’s skull he just swears and keeps going with Tim pushing faster against him. He’s just Jason. And that’s better, somehow.

He comes then, choking out some meaningless sound and Jason doesn’t stop; he keeps on with Tim jerking against him, riding the waves of orgasm as they wash over his hangover. He straightens up and pushes his face close to Jason’s leaving a gap of wet air between them. They hover there, breathing in and out against each other. When Jason removes his hand, it’s slick and sticky with sweat and come and he doesn’t even bother hiding the fact that he’s wiping it on Tim’s shirt. It’s quiet for a minute; Tim’s face is wet with sweat again.

Jason pushes him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps; he follows and catches Tim’s wrist. “Probably worse if Billy walks in.” He pulls Tim back, toward the bedroom with a grin. Tim follows because he always does.

But he grabs his beer first.

August

“Maybe it’ll finally cool off.”

Tim lifts his head. “Are you serious?” Jason starts laughing. “No, are you really talking about the weather?” He pushes himself off of Jason and lands next to him on the bed.

“I was just thinking about it!” Jason’s protesting, shoving Tim, his hands skimming over Tim’s bare chest and arms.

“What, I wasn’t enough to keep you occupied?” Tim elbows him in the ribs, lying on his back to star up at his ceiling. When they were in sixth grade, Jason briefly thought he wanted to be an astronaut so he and Jason bought one of those Shapes of the Universe packages that came with a book about space and glow-in-the-dark stars. They spent an entire afternoon drawing marks on the ceiling with pencils to record the exact location of constellations in relation to each other. They used to be so bright that they kept him up at night. Over the years, some of them have fallen off, and others met a sad fate the first time Tim brought Tyra over here. Some of them are still tacked up in the corners though, mismatched stars and comets scattered across his ceiling. He hardly notices them anymore.

“That’s what Lyla always says.”

Tim stares hard at the ceiling. “Maybe you think too much.”

Jason laughs again. “I get that a lot.”

Outside it’s finally raining. Tim’s been hearing for weeks about the mythical rainstorm that’s going to drive away this stand of hot air that’s shown no intentions of moving since it arrived, but it’s not even September, so he’ll believe it when it sees it. It’s coming down hard; the world outside his windows is a blurry gray film. Jason said he could barely see getting over here; Tim hopes Billy gets stranded at work by a flash flood.

Jason’s bare shoulder is touching his. They’ve kicked most of the blankets to the floor, although Jay is stubbornly holding on to one sheet. It’s wrapped around his calves, getting in Tim’s way whenever he tries to move. Jay is taking up as much of Tim’s bed as he possibly can without shoving Tim off; his legs are sprawled open and his right arm is flung out across the empty side of the mattress. They’ve been lounging around for the better part of an hour. Jason showed up randomly, soaking wet from just running across the lawn; Tim took one look at his too-bright eyes and the familiar determined set to his mouth and kissed him right there on the doorstep with a stupid frozen smile on his face.

They played Mario Kart on Jason’s ancient Nintendo 64, donated to Tim when Jason upgraded to a Game Cube a few Christmases ago, before Jay got so sick of Tim’s crowing that he threw the controller at him and they wound up in Tim’s bed, half-naked and Jason pretending like he could actually pin Tim down. Tim has spent the afternoon pushing and prodding Jay to get him to forget about everything. Their drinks are sitting untouched on Tim’s desk, cold and sweating rivulets down the sides of the cans. The last few weeks have been good-ridiculously easy good with nothing but endless summer stretched out before them and days to fill bumming around Tim’s house or on the lake or late night cook-outs served with plenty of beer.

“Tim.”

“Six.” Tim pushes up on his elbow and lifts himself back over Jason, staring down at him thoughtfully. Jason looks back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a pause and they hold their positions until the wind changes outside and Tim breaks into a smile, lowering himself to Jason’s mouth. Jason makes a sound that might be a sigh or it might be laughter and gives a shrug against the mattress.

Summer’s winding down, the rain is proof enough of that. Tyra’s done working for Buddy Garrity is in two days, but Tim hasn’t told Jason that because he doesn’t really want to know when Lyla’s coming home.

This is easy for them, the pressure of Jason’s fingers on Tim’s neck, of Tim’s mouth on Jason’s skin, this is something they’re both good at together. It’s never about taking his time, the way it is with Tyra, it’s about getting as much as possible as quickly as possible. When Tim slides down Jason’s body, he roughly pushes down Jay’s underwear, breathes on Jay’s cock. Jason hisses when Tim takes it in his mouth, pushes up a little into his mouth. Tim doesn’t particularly like sucking cock-he has to breathe weirdly and he doesn’t like the way his jaw starts aching so quickly and how the ache stays with him for days-but it’s Jay and he’ll do it for Jay if that’s what he wants.

His mouth is wide and open around Jason’s dick; it’s all messy and wet on Tim’s mouth and chin. Above him, Jason sighs a little, puts his hand over Tim’s on his hip, then moves to Tim’s shoulder. Jason’s not a talker, which Tim’s thankful for. He just kind of lies there and makes little noises of encouragement when Tim’s doing something right. He’s not Tyra, of course, but it’s possible that he’s better than Lyla, because Jason always gets a little embarrassed after, says “Wow, that was fast,” with a blush on his face. He just sort of lies there after with half-lidded eyes, absently reaching out to brush his hand over Tim, whose jaw and cock ache. He finishes himself off because he’s never been patient.

“School’s starting soon.” Jason’s voice is light and easy.

“Yeah.” Tim makes a face into the pillow, feels Jason turn over next to him.

“And Lyla’s coming home.”

“That’s gonna make things awkward.”

Jason doesn’t laugh. “Tim. We-not during school. Football’s gonna start and-everything’s starting soon.” Tim flips over on to his back, carefully doesn’t look at Jason. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jason drop his head into the sheets. “Everyone’s going to be watching us. Tim.” Jason reaches over to-something. Shove him off the bed maybe. He stops before his hand touches Tim. “Smash is gonna be watching us.”

Tim snorts, coughs a little and rubs his jaw. “Smash ain’t watchin’ anybody but himself.” Jason’s silent. “He didn’t see anything, Jay.”

Jason rubs his face. “I know and-It’s not about what he saw.” Tim pictures Jay’s ashen face when they heard Smash’s voice calling out. “It’s about… we can’t just lie-to Lyla? I can’t do that to her. That’s not fair.”

Tim thinks of Tyra coming over a few weeks ago with a slice of chocolate cake left over from Buddy Garrity’s birthday party. He turned his head when she tried to kiss him but he ate the cake. “Oh, yeah, real fair, Street.”

“You knew this was comin’.” Street restlessly rolls his shoulders. He still looks flushed. Tim stretches his aching jaw. “You can’t just avoid it forever, man.” Street lies there, waiting, mostly naked and wrapped partly in Tim’s stained sheets. Jay stares down and then looks up suddenly, like there was a snap Tim missed. “Maybe… maybe after.” Jason’s eyes are wide and honest, like he’s never told a lie in his life. “After the season, we can.”

“Next year.”

“Yeah,” Jason sits up, eyes lit. “Just wait a little-I mean, we can figure something out. Just-I’m just asking for this season, Tim.” He sounds caught and Tim knows he’s thinking of his parents and Lyla and everyone he’s ever made a promise to because Jason’s not like Tim, he doesn’t just do things for himself. “After, we can, you know, run away or something.” And even though he laughs then, a half stutter slicing over the words, he believes it; he thinks he can have it all.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jason’s wary but half-hopeful, the way Tim feels when Jay first shows up.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Street makes a coughs out a small breath and Tim catches him rolling his eyes. “You don’t want it to matter.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes. They burn suddenly. “I don’t want anything.” Not even Jason’s promises.

“Nothing.”

“Nope.”

Jason gets up, jaw set and determined the way it was earlier. “Then I guess I should go.”

“All right.”

He doesn’t watch Jason pull on his still-wet clothes. He doesn’t watch anything at all. Jay’s just pissed and angry, with his wounded do-gooder attitude. He says Tim’s name one more time but Tim just listens to the rain pounding outside. Jason’s all stony silence, he leaves Tim lying there on the bed with a short, unreturned goodbye.

Tim doesn’t wince when the front door slams shut, even though Jason’s not watching. He moves to his desk and sits down to stare out the window while he drinks his beer. Jason’s coke is almost untouched.

When Billy comes home later, he’s still sitting there, watching steam rise up from the ground.

September

The beer is faded gold and flat. Even after a few, his mouth still twists at the first sip of every new bottle.

The cookout started late, after the sun had finally dipped below the horizon leaving just the buzz of sweltering heat behind. Reyes and Dolia are in charge of the burgers-they’ve been snappishly handing out food all night but now they’re just standing around, mostly empty beers in hand, taking turns throwing the dying coals into the trashcan. They’re both well aware of Tyra watching from the shadows with that sly little smile she gets.

Smash is watching Tyra too, more meditatively than anything else. He’s sitting on a truck’s hood with his elbows on his knees like he’s going to pounce any minute.

“Thought I told you to stay away from my girl, Williams.” He doesn’t bother keeping his voice down and Tyra casts a look backward. In the glow of the dying embers, her hair lights up into a gold crown around her slow smile. When Tim smiles at her, he’s not lying about anything.

“Just lookin’, Rig.” Smash is drunk enough that, for the first time in weeks, his shoulders stay loose at Tim’s approach. He’s got that easy grin, watching Tyra stroll across the yard with a cheerful wave to a group of people sitting in the shadows of the back stoop like she has no idea they’re watching. Tim tips his head back, looks up at the sky. She’s a better performer than he is.

“I didn’t say you could look.” He leans against the hood. It’s been dark for hours but the hood is still warm to the touch.

“That,” Smash points a finger at Tim’s chest, “is why this is such a great country.” Tim almost knocks him off the hood, but he knows Tyra’s watching closely. “I can look whenever I want.” Tim’s sure he could take Williams down if he needed to, but Smash’s retaliation would be worse. He thinks of the way he’s avoided Jay these few weeks, practically pushed Lyla in his face whenever they’ve talked. Far, far worse. Smash sits up straighter suddenly, turns his shark’s grin full force onto Tim. “’sides,” he says more quietly, “you don’t want her anyway.”

“You just want her to piss me off.”

“Her legs ain’t bad neither.”

Tim shakes his head and tosses more shitty warm beer back. “I want her enough.”

When Smash turns to look at him, Tim looks away and of course he ends up staring where Jason and Lyla are sprawled together on one of the lawn chairs. Lyla’s drinking a coke and she’s still got her summer tan. Jason says something and she looks away from Jason with a quiet laugh. She catches him staring and raises a hand in a wave.

Tim doesn’t wave back, but Smash moves next to him. Lyla’s expression doesn’t falter at all; she smiles more widely and leans up to press a kiss to Jay’s face. Behind them, Reyes’s bonfire burps a dust of sparks and they’re both highlighted in red and gold, like something from a catalogue. He looks back a Tyra and finds her watching Jason and Lyla with narrowed eyes. Sometimes he almost loves her enough to break.

“She knows.” Smash has an almost-blank wise expression. Tim sits up straight at the words and Smash holds up his hands. “I didn’t tell her, man. You think I’d sell Street out?” Tyra stretches out, all arching back and leg, and Smash whistles. “She figured out on her own. She knows things.”

“She doesn’t know anything.” She doesn’t look at them, but she smiles, more happy than Tim’s made her look in ages. He looks away. It doesn’t take much. “She just wants what Lyla has.”

Smash grins. “Well, all the girls want Street.” This time Tim really does hit him, pushes him off the truck and he goes stumbling forward a few steps.

“Careful, people’re going to think you’ve got a problem.” He waves the bottle in front of Smash.

“You plannin’ on sobering up for tomorrow? Or you just gonna stumble through it?” Smash is still smiling, his easy tone hiding that he knows exactly why Tim’s been just this side of sober the last few weeks.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin my golden streak. Soon I’ll be in the record books.” Tim smiles up at the stars and throws the bottle onto the concrete. It explodes loudly, sending tiny shards of class all over the driveway. He hears Lyla call him an idiot and he pushes off the hood of the car. “It’s just a game.”

“Boy, do not make me come over there.” But Smash doesn’t sound very threatening, he’s still laughing behind Tim in the darkness.

“Ladies.” One of Lyla’s friends scoots real fast when he approaches, vacating the chair across from Lyla and Jason. Jason smiles at him, a real smile because Jason never lies about anything.

“Tim. What the hell were you doing over there?” Lyla’s all laughter and good cheer.

“Smash and I were having a… discussion.” Lyla looks up at Jason with a question written all over her face and Tim tries to think what it would be like to never have a secret. Jason doesn’t say anything, he just presses his cheek against Lyla’s hair.

He settles back into his chair and Lyla sits back and closes her eyes, her head tilted up to the sky. Jason just looks at Tim with-something. Tim doesn’t know. He’s never been very good at reading people. He thinks about the vague hangover he’s had for weeks and Smash sitting on the hood of the car, secrets kept tight within him.

Jason moves a little, wraps one arm around Lyla without even thinking about it. He’s still watching Tim, biting his lip. Tim thinks of Jason kissing Lyla when he fucks Tyra in the Appleby’s parking lot. Tyra’s still on the back porch, leaning against side of the house with that suspicious bitter look on her face. He smiles at her and she smiles back, easy and a little happier and pushes off the wall to saunter slowly over.

He looks back at Jason, lit up in the firelight, looking exactly like the boy everyone wants except for his worried, foreign expression. They stare at each other. He thinks of after and later, thinks of waiting a season, and wanting Tyra not to look so wounded anymore.

Jason’s head is bent against Lyla’s hair, but he’s still watching Tim. Tim smiles at him, a smile he hasn’t felt in ages, and Jason gets it just like that. Tim’s nod isn’t a truce, it’s a concession, and Jason’s eyes glitter. Out here, it’s easy to be happy, to believe it’ll all work out in the end. Tim raises his drink and looks up at the stars. It’s so perfectly still that he feels like he can see the flames reflecting off the top of the world, like God is right up there.

He sits forward, pours his remaining drink onto the dry grass. “Okay,” he says, twirling the bottle in his fingers, “here’s how I figure it’s gonna work.”

He makes a promise and a toast and they all shine in the perfect light of Jay’s smile.

The next day, the world turns over and none of it matters anyway.

end.

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