fanfiction: your subtlety strangles me [beck&robbie]
title: your subtlety strangles me
rating: T - implied sexual themes, cursing, boy/boy love.
pairing/characters: beck&robbie
notes: dude i need to stop writing beck&robbie. anyways, this story is also posted on fanfiction, but anysa forced me to post it here, too, so i hope you enjoy. and if you don't like slash, don't read this. simple as that.
disclaimer: victorious isn't mine
I.
It’s just for one night, he promises.
II.
One night ends up including that morning.
Robbie hoped (maybe even prayed for the first time since God knows when) that he could wake up, claim it was a dream, and forget it ever happened. But when his eyes open, the there’s a blurred vision of an actual person there, and for a minute, Robbie doesn’t know what to do.
He sits up quickly, the bed squeaking under his weight, and the figure moves, stretching its arms up overhead and turning its face towards him. Robbie knows who it is deep down, but his mind keeps rejecting the thought.
It never happened.
At least, that’s what he’d like to tell himself.
“What are you - ?” Robbie manages to get out, before the figure sits up and kisses him firmly on his lips, planting its hands on Robbie’s shoulders to keep himself upright. “Stop - please,” Robbie murmurs into the kiss, begrudgingly pushing the figure away with one hand and feeling around the nightstand for his glasses with the other. Even with blurred vision, Robbie sees the pout on the other person’s face, but he pretends not to notice and, with a fumbling hand, finds his glasses and crams them awkwardly on the bridge of his nose.
It’s when the vision comes into full focus that it hits him.
He totally had sex with a guy.
And not just any guy - he had sex with Beck Oliver. This is probably the sign of an oncoming apocalypse that nobody but Beck knows about. “Having sex with a dude” is probably right at the top of his Bucket List, right after “Having wild sex with Tori Vega” and right before “Having even wilder sex with Jade”. Which means the world is ending and Robbie is going to Hell.
“I thought you would leave,” Robbie mutters after a full minute of silence.
Beck shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “Well, I didn’t.”
Another moment of silence. It’s becoming a trend.
“Why the hell not?”
Beck seems taken aback by Robbie’s sudden change in tone, but he offers a challenging smile and raises his eyebrows. Robbie doesn’t think he likes that look on him.
“Maybe I wanted to witness your ridiculous reaction to what happened.”
“I think I would have rather reacted in private, thank you,” Robbie answers flatly, swinging the covers off of him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tries to stand, but instead lets out a groan of pain and flops back down onto the bed, a stinging in the back lower region of his body.
Beck’s grin is wild now.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, much too innocently. Robbie is torn between punching him in his pretty little face and doubling over in pain. His body chooses the latter for him.
“My. Ass. Hurts.” Robbie grumbles.
“Sorry to hear that,” Beck answers easily, getting out of the bed on the other side and gathering his clothes from around the room. Robbie watches him through narrowed eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head and stands in front of him in that and his boxers.
“You have obviously lost your mind,” Robbie concludes.
“Why?”
“You had sex with a guy - ”
“Yeah, and?”
Robbie lets out a deep breath. “I wasn’t finished. You had sex with a guy - with me - and you don’t even care.”
Beck gives him a strange look. “Should…I?” He asks, sounding strangely serious. Robbie doesn’t understand how any avidly self-proclaimed straight male (such as Beck) could make such a small deal about this while he, a self-proclaimed sexually frustrated male, thinks that the only explanation is the end of the world (and, seriously, he wants to see this “Bucket List” Beck has, because from his calculations, it’s pretty crazy).
Robbie doesn’t really know how to explain, so he gives the simplest answer he can think of: “Uh, yes?”
Beck dramatically puts the back of his hand to his forehead and wails, “Oh woe is me! I’ve had sex with a butt-virgin!”
Robbie gapes for half a second before he’s up, ignoring the pain in his behind, and throwing his hand over Beck’s loud mouth. Beck licks his palm and gives him an oddly sensual look that makes Robbie’s skin prickle with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. However embarrassing, Robbie removes his hand and instead tells him to shut up with actual words.
“Shut up!” Robbie says.
“Make me.” Beck sticks out his tongue like a three-year-old and Robbie thinks he’s about to explode. Like, spontaneously combust or something. Because the world is ending, you know. That’s the only reason Beck Oliver would have sex with a guy and then be totally cool with it, because Beck Oliver doesn’t usually partake in gay activities as such.
And neither does Robbie.
In fact, Robbie doesn’t usually partake in any activities as such.
Which makes him wonder how it got so out of hand in the first place, because there’s a big difference between a four-second kiss with Beck when they were twelve, and having sex with Beck in Robbie’s bed at age eighteen, three months shy of high school graduation. And then waking up together the next morning.
And then kissing him again.
Oh my God, Beck has lost his mind. Robbie should call the Navy. He’ll just sneak out of the room when Beck’s not looking, head downstairs, and call the Navy, because that’s just what you do when crazy shit like this goes down.
A hand waves in front of his face and Robbie’s eyes immediately return to Beck; he slaps the hand out of the way, and Beck gives him a fake-hurt expression then smiles, annoyingly easily. Robbie wants to knock that smile off of Beck’s face, but the only thing his mind can comprehend is kissing and feeling and tasting and Robbie really doesn’t want to get back into that, so he refrains from anything too rash and sighs, instead.
“I can’t stand you,” he mutters, but they both notice it’s not an I hate you, so at least Beck has that going for him (on the off-chance that the world doesn’t explode in a matter of moments, of course).
“Oh well.” Beck winks and steps forward, uncomfortably close to Robbie’s face, only to reach past him, bare skin brushing, to pick up the pair of jeans at the end of Robbie’s bed. He steps back so he can put them on. Robbie averts his gaze and looks at his bare feet, feeling a little odd just standing in his boxers, lanky and awkward, in front of Beck who appears to have some sort of magnificent body sculpted by the Greek gods.
Not that Robbie’s looking.
Robbie decides it’s high time he’s checked the clock, so his gaze travels to the red numbers, blinking and forever three minutes behind, that reads 8:45 a.m. Which means it’s actually 8:48 a.m., but who cares? Not Robbie, surely not.
He plops back onto the bed without looking and just kind of sits there until Beck plops down behind him and holds out his fist.
“Are we cool?” He asks, and it seems like such a weird question. Robbie grimaces and puts his face in his hands. Beck wavers, lowering his hand and then putting it uncomfortably on Robbie’s shoulder. Robbie tenses and Beck removes it. “Robbie?”
“How can we be cool?” Robbie finally manages, his voice low, “We - you - I don’t know how to handle this, Beck. I already lost my first kiss to a guy, but my virginity?” Robbie’s voice quakes with oncoming tears, “That’s kind of pathetic. And totally gay. Dude, what if this makes me gay? I’m totally straight. I - I think, sort of…” He trails off.
Then, with new vigor, “That’s not the point I’m trying to make.” He sounds frustrated.
“Look, Robbie…” Beck sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” Robbie repeats, snorting, “Am I going to lose everything to you? What next, you’re going to sleep with my girlfriend before I do?”
“Robbie,” Beck starts out unsurely then becomes snarky, “You don’t even have a girlfriend.”
“You probably already stole her!” Robbie cries, throwing up his arms in frustration.
“Dude, you and I both know I’ve been with Jade exclusively for - well,” Beck wavers at Robbie’s glare, “So we broke up…”
“And you decided to sleep with a guy to fix it?”
“I’ve always kind of wanted to sleep with you, Robbie.”
…Welp.
The world is going to self-destruct in three, two, one.
When it doesn’t end, Robbie is forced to answer.
So he says, “Who or what don’t you want to sleep with?”
Beck looks offended. Then flatly replies, “Trina.”
Robbie kind of snickers and kind of gags at the same time, then straightens and looks at Beck through the lens of his glasses.
“But you’re perfectly fine with sleeping with me,” Robbie says, trying to understand. Because, obviously, the normal Beck would not be saying this. This is obviously some sort of Beck robot sent from Planet X to make his life miserable and even more confusing than it should be. Oh, and to destroy the world while he’s at it, which is welcomed at just about any time now.
“Well, think about it - I wasn’t just your first kiss; you were mine.” Beck says carefully, never breaking eye-contact with his friend (with or without benefits, depending on your viewpoint), “I think everybody wants to go further with the person they kissed first.”
“Nope, can’t remember feeling anything like that for you,” Robbie answers, surprising himself with the upright honesty of that statement.
“Well,” Beck says, pressing his lips together, “You didn’t seem to mind too much when you were moaning my name last night.”
He watches Robbie’s face drain of color, smirks, and then continues, “Look, you were my first kiss. I wanted to see what I was missing out on. Simple as that.”
“So you used me as some sort of gay experimentation project. Thank you,” Robbie says sarcastically.
“I enjoyed myself.” Beck shrugs and Robbie wants to throttle him. He’s Beck Oliver. He’s not supposed to say that having sex with a dude was fun; he’s supposed to be disgusted with himself and wallow in guilt and self-pity until he dies, or until he decides to kill himself. Then Robbie is supposed to go to his funeral and continue keeping their sexual activities a secret, all the while mourning the loss of his best friend and knowing that it’s his fault.
Or maybe he should just scratch that last part and leave it at Beck dying, because it wouldn’t be all that enjoyable for Robbie to be miserable and alone the rest of his life.
Or maybe the world can just, you know, go ahead and explode. Right now, please.
“I didn’t.” Robbie says after a minute, his voice cracking.
“Yes you did. You do remember last night, don’t you?” Beck asks.
No, Robbie’s mind just keeps conveniently rejecting those memories, thank you for bringing them up again. It’s such a pity he’d forgotten.
“Of course I remember,” Robbie hisses, his cheeks red.
“Then you remember asking for me to,” Beck’s voice lowers an octave, “Stop teasing and hurry up. And you remember me leaving that hickey,” Beck trails his finger along Robbie’s collarbone and Robbie watches in morbid fascination, “And you probably remember having the best orgasm of your life, right?”
Anytime, apocalypse.
“Fuck you,” Robbie says, nearly choking on his own words.
“No, it happened the other way around.” Beck smirks and Robbie’s expression fades into a grimace.
“I don’t think I can…deal with this,” Robbie repeats, burying his fingers in his hair and glaring at the carpet.
Beck softens and lets out a deep breath.
“We should just pretend it never happened, then,” he murmurs, and for a moment, Robbie’s mind jumps back six years, seeing Beck at twelve years old, pressuring him into a kiss, “If you’d like.”
“But it did happen,” Robbie says, closing his eyes and groaning in frustration. They sit in an awkward silence, and then Robbie mutters, “How am I supposed to pretend it never happened…? A kiss is one thing, Beck; sex is something totally different. At least, for me it is.” Robbie lifts his head up to glare at the other male, who’s probably so easygoing because sex is a normal thing for him.
“I know,” Beck says.
“No, you don’t,” Robbie answers harshly, his eyes flicking towards Beck’s face before returning to the same spot on the carpet, “I - I lost my virginity to you.”
“You keep making the same points,” Beck murmurs, somewhat quietly.
Robbie groans.
“I don’t know what else to say. This sucks.”
“Blows,” Beck corrects.
“I hate you. And your intentionally provocative statements.”
“No you don’t.” Beck grins and Robbie rolls his eyes.
“I do,” Robbie insists, but they both know he’s lying, which is stupid, because Robbie should hate him for doing this to him.
So Robbie is quite aware of one thing, at least.
He is most likely gay for Beck Oliver.
And if the world could just blow up before Robbie has time to sort out his feelings or act upon this notion, it would be much appreciated. But even as Robbie counts down seconds in his head, the world doesn’t end, even if now would be a lovely time for it to.
III.
That morning ends up including the next night.
Then there is a mutual decision that they will never speak of it again.
P.S. The world does not explode.