Fic: Let's wreck their precious, perfect town. (Used, Bert/Quinn, NC-17)

[sinsense]

Let's wreck their precious, perfect town
Used -- Bert/OFC, Bert/Quinn -- NC-17 -- 4100 words

Companion to As long as they don't see it. Much less piss involved this time, much more public sex. Title is from "What's Mine Is Yours," by Sleater-Kinney. "Back seat of a Volkswagen" reference is from Mall Rats. I've had this sitting around for a while; it's a bit odd, stylistically, because I was trying something. Due credit to a story by JF user onelittlesleep, I am a patient boy, for the original inspiration for this. It hasn't been beta-read; if you see errors, let me know.

one

They were both tweaking, sweating it out in the dark at the elementary school playground. Bert sat down on a swing. Becky slid in on top of him. She put her legs around his waist. Her skirt settled around them like a tablecloth. "We're a spider," she said. Bert laughed.

"Fucked up spider," he told her. She grinned.

Bert was hard. Of course he was hard. His skin was fucking singing, he had a girl sitting on top of him. He was hard. But he didn't expect her to reach down, open his jeans. He didn't expect her to pull out his dick.

"Someone could see," he said. Just so he could say he told her.

She tossed her hair back off her face. She said, "Who gives a fuck?" She didn't wait for an answer. She tucked her underwear to the side. She pulled herself up with the swing's chains. Bert grabbed his cock. She slid down a little. The head of Bert's dick pushed along her cunt before he got it lined up. He gave a short shove. Slid in.

"Shit," Bert choked out. "Fuck, your fucking cunt." She bared her teeth, rocked back. They barely moved. The chains squeaked. Bert shuddered like he'd taken a palm full of pills.

Bert came fast. Too fast. Becky had sneered at him, said something nasty.

and

Bert thinks about it later, sitting on the toilet lid and fucking up into his fist. He thinks about someone seeing them, and he fucking shoots all over himself. Every time.

two

It's not like Quinn's thing. Quinn pops a boner every time Bert brings up piss. He gets all stuttery and stupid about it.

Like when Bert was trying to get Quinn mad yesterday. Bert said, "I'm gonna use your mouth like a toilet." It hadn't worked. Quinn's hands had stalled out on his game controller. His breath had gone all funny. His character died on the screen. Quinn didn't bitch, though. He yanked Bert's shorts off, instead. He blew Bert right there in the living room.

The point is. The point is Bert doesn't bring up Quinn's promise to fuck outside because he forgets. Because it's not his thing the same way piss is Quinn's thing. It's not because Bert's a pussy.

"Face it, you pussed out," Quinn tells him.

"I'll puss you out," Bert says. He bites Quinn's shoulder as hard as he can. Quinn yelps.

Bert spits out his mouthful of Quinn's t-shirt when Quinn shoves him over on his back. "I forgot," Bert insists. He's giggling. He can't help himself. He tries to get his arms under Quinn's. He can't.

"You forgot, sure," Quinn says. He uses his height to grind Bert's cheek into the carpet. Bert tries to grab Quinn's nuts. Quinn squirms out of reach. Quinn pins Bert's hand to the floor.

Bert headbutts Quinn in the cheek, not too hard. Bert tells Quinn, "You're a bony little fuck. Nobody likes you."

"You like me," Quinn says. "You like that I'm gonna fuck you with people sitting all around us."

"I'd like to see you try," Bert says. His dick gets hard, stupid obvious. Quinn's smile gets bigger. "Bet you can't," Bert says.

"Bet I can," Quinn says. He grins at Bert like a loser. Quinn's lips and teeth are stained a weird gray-purple color from the Kool-Aid they've been drinking. His haircut sucks. He's still pretty hot.

"You're sort of hot, for a cockfarmer," Bert tells him. Quinn ducks down, presses his fake-grapey mouth against Bert's.

Quinn kisses like a kid. Kind of like he hasn't done it much. Quinn keeps his lips kind of tense. Careful, he's careful. Bert himself kisses like an excited dog, Bert knows he does. It makes it even funnier that Quinn's all precise.

Quinn breathes really loudly through his nose, too. And he pulls back every ten seconds or so to look at Bert's face, like it went somewhere or something. It's the most adorable fucking thing Bert has ever seen or felt. It makes Bert's dick get hard, harder.

Bert wiggles his legs until he gets them out from under Quinn. He folds them around Quinn's waist. "Nobody likes you," he says, the next time Quinn pulls back. "But I love you."

"Lucky me," Quinn says. His sarcasm totally fails. Bert grins up at Quinn. Quinn grins back.

and

"I've got a plan, okay?" Quinn tells him.

"Okay," Bert says, "you bony little fuck."

three

It's not like Bert's a slut for dick. Bert goes crazy for women. There are girls who won't even give Bert the time of fucking day, but he still wants to fuck them, so bad. Bert sees a pretty girl, he just wants to fist his hands in her tits, rub his tongue all over her, get her panting. Lick her cunt until she's sighing girl sex-sighs, oh oh ah oh ah yes ah ooh.

Guys, Bert can take or leave. Boys look stupid when they're coming. Twitching and jerking. Grunting urnh urnh urnh UGH. Their faces scrunched up. Pulling on Bert's hair, too hard.

Boys can be pretty good kissers, yeah. Kissing a boy, it's like spitting on Mormons. Spitting on the rules. That's pretty hot. But in general, in general Bert's not all gung-ho on cock.

But then Quinn.

Bert fell in love with Quinn pretty fucking fast. Like, two days. Two days after they met, not two days after they fucked around. It didn't take fucking for Bert to fall in love with Quinn. Bert doesn't blame himself. Quinn is the best human being in the whole fucking universe. And Quinn thinks that Bert is cool. That's all Bert needs.

So Bert had resigned himself to being stupid about Quinn. Early on, Bert told himself okay, it's okay. And after they fucked around, Bert resigned himself to being stupid about Quinn's dick.

So Bert wasn't surprised when he wanted a dick in his ass. Quinn's dick in his ass. Bert didn't think he'd be gagging for it inside of a week, sure. But he wasn't surprised. He let Quinn know pretty much the moment after he had the thought.

"You want to put your dick in my ass?"

"Mmf--" Quinn pulled his mouth off Bert's dick. Bert made an annoyed noise. He smacked the side of Quinn's head. "Fuck you," Quinn said. "What the fuck did you say?"

"Your dick," Bert said. "My ass. After you finish sucking me off. You dumb bitch."

"Eat shit," Quinn said. Then, "And okay. To the other thing."

"Whatever," Bert told him. "Get with the dick-sucking." But he maybe felt a little thrill.

and

So they've fucked, or whatever. It was kind of uncomfortable -- "Like the backseat of a Volkswagen?" "Shut the fuck up, nerd" -- but more fun than Bert expected. Quinn's expression when he started to push in was good. Nervous. Turned-on and stupid.

It almost made Bert bust his nut, before they even got to the real fucking. It's pathetic, maybe. It's still true.

four

When Quinn slides his hand down over Bert's side when they're spooning in bed that Friday, Bert squirms. Bert says, "You don't have homework tonight?"

"Nope."

"Assfucking?"

"Yup."

Bert giggles into his hand. Maybe nervous. Mostly happy. He gets his shorts unbuttoned, shoves them down with his underwear. He kicks them off the bed. "I showered," Bert tells Quinn, over his shoulder.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, my ass is pretty clean."

"Okay." Quinn kisses the back of Bert's neck. Quinn mumbles, "Hey, turn over." Bert turns over. He faces Quinn. Quinn pats at the inside of Bert's thigh. Bert lifts his leg, obedient, and puts it up over Quinn's hip. Quinn squirts a little bit of shitty CVS store-brand lube onto his finger. He reaches down between them. Bert giggles again. Quinn snickers.

Quinn's all cautious about this, like when he's kissing. He pushes his finger in a millimeter at a time. Bert runs his tongue along the insides of Quinn's lips. He reaches for Quinn's molars. He hums a song he heard at a show a week ago. He's waiting.

When Quinn finally shoves his finger in, Bert moans. Bert grinds down into Quinn's hand. "Yeah," Bert pants. Just in case Quinn didn't get it. Bert licks a stripe up Quinn's throat, over his chin. "Yeah. Should've started with two."

"Greedy," Quinn whispers. He pulls out the finger, adds more lube.

"I'm a bitch for your hand," Bert agrees. Quinn flushes red and laughs.

Quinn's faster with two. He pushes right in. It's good enough that Bert has to grip Quinn's shoulders. Bert arches into it, just a little bit. "Yeah," Bert says again. "Yeah. Give me another one."

But Quinn ignores him. He just moves his hand, pretty smooth, two fingers not enough. His eyes are on Bert's face.

Bert shudders. His skin prickles. "Give me another you, asshole," Bert repeats, a minute a decade later. Quinn pulls his fingers back out, adds more lube. "Your hand must smell like ass," Bert says.

Quinn pauses. He sniffs his fingers. "Not too bad."

"Gross," Bert says happily. "Gross gross."

Quinn pushes the tips of his fingers against Bert's asshole. "You sure you want more?" he says. Bert nods. He slides his arms around Quinn's neck, hitches his leg higher, digs his heel into Quinn's ass cheek.

"Give it to me," he says. "C'mon, give--" Quinn pushes harder. The sentence breaks off in Bert's throat. Bert tips his head back. He stares at the pictures taped to the wall at the head of Quinn's bed. "Fuck," he says. Quinn stops pushing. "I can feel my heartbeat in my ass," Bert tells him. Quinn laughs and kisses him.

They make out for a while. It's sharp. Weird. Quinn's fingers are barely moving inside him. Bert's heart is beating in his ass, but harder now, wild. Bert licks desperately at Quinn's mouth. Bert pulls Quinn close as he can.

Quinn finally moves his hand again. Bert pants. He nods.

Quinn curls his fingers up. He pokes something that makes Bert look up again, like it's connected by a string to the back of his head. "Fuck, Quinn," he says.

"I've got to stop," Quinn says miserably.

"What?"

Quinn pulls his fingers back. Bert scratches at Quinn's shoulders. He tries to shove his hips down. Quinn says, "The plan."

Bert just stares at Quinn as he gets up. Quinn's still wearing his shorts. His dick is practically poking up over the waistband. "You prick," Bert spits.

"Get your shorts back on," Quinn says. He's looking at Bert's dick.

"Are you-- Quinn."

"I promise I'll fuck you," Quinn tells him. "Get your shorts on." Bert gets up. He fumbles on his clothes again. Quinn leaves to wash his hands.

Bert wishes he had something to cut his embarrassment with. Meth. A line of coke. He can't remember if he finished his stash. He can't think straight.

and

"I promise," Quinn says. He stands in the doorway. Bert shoves on his shoes. He hasn't had time to check his stash.

"Okay," Bert says. "I'm gonna believe you."

Quinn's face is pinched. His dick is pushing out the front of his pants. Bert taps Quinn's boner with the back of his hand. Quinn's face pinches up more. "Get off me," he says.

"I'm believing you," Bert says. Taps Quinn's dick again, laughs in Quinn's face.

five

Bert reconsiders the wisdom of believing Quinn. "A football game," Bert says. There's lube dripping out of Bert's ass. Quinn is taking him to a fucking high school football game. Bert is going to leave.

"Wait," Quinn says. Bert hesitates. He's got one foot out of the open door. He knows the way home. He could be there in fifteen minutes. "Wait," Quinn repeats. Bert pulls his foot back in the car. He shuts the door. "Come here," Quinn says.

Bert climbs over the emergency brake. He straddles Quinn's lap. It makes his ass squish. Bert says, "I am leaking lube." Quinn laughs, showing all his teeth. Bert has to giggle.

"I promise there's a plan," Quinn tells him.

Bert kisses him. He's a sucker for this pretty bitch. "Okay," Bert whispers.

Quinn buys their tickets. He buys Bert a big soda and a popcorn. Bert would rather he not give the cheerleaders running the food stand any money. Quinn insists.

Quinn hands Bert some Airheads from his backpack. Bert gives Quinn a look. Quinn isn't looking back. Bert shrugs. He tears into the first Airhead, drops the wrapper on the bleacher beside him.

Bert ignores the stares he gets from kids he used to know. He ignores the paranoid feeling that lube is soaking into the seat of his shorts. He manages to watch the first half with something like interest. He's rooting for the away team. "Beat these sluts!" Bert yells. Someone hisses at him. Bert crams a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He shouts happily when the other team gains a yard. Tiny bits of popcorn fly onto the people in front of him. It's almost fun.

Halftime comes. Bert stands up. Quinn puts his hand on Bert's knee. Bert sits back down.

Quinn makes Bert wait until the break is almost over. People are starting to file back onto the bleachers. "C'mon," Quinn says then. "Let's go." Bert tucks the soda and the popcorn in the crook of his arm. He leaves the Airheads wrappers on the seat.

Quinn swings his backpack in front of him, digs around in the big pocket, while they're walking. Bert almost puts his hand on Quinn's lower back to keep him balanced. Bert remembers where they are. He snatches his hand back, shoves it in his pocket. He looks around. No one's there, though. They're all in the bleachers.

Quinn leads him underneath the seats. They're back under where they were sitting before. Bert can see the wrappers on the seat.

Quinn's got a couple of blankets in his hands. He hands one to Bert to hold. He shakes the other out on the ground. "Lie down?" he asks.

Bert puts down the soda and the popcorn. He sits gingerly on the edge of the blanket. His ass is still squishing. Quinn takes the other blanket. He shakes it out over Bert. He picks up the edge, joins Bert underneath it.

"So this was the plan," Bert says.

Quinn is blushing. He nods. He's rubbing the edge of the top blanket. Nervous.

"And what. Now we fuck?"

"Yeah?" Quinn says. His voice rises at the end of the word. "Or whatever, we don't have to."

"No," Bert agrees. They sit there for a minute or so.

The game starts back up. People are overhead, filling in the spot Bert and Quinn left. The metal bleachers groan, squeak. Bert's so hard he's chafing. Pathetic. It feels good.

"Open your pants," Bert says.

"What?"

"We're fucking. Open your pants." Bert already has his shorts halfway off. He stops to take off his shoes, throw them to the side. Gets back to taking off his shorts. Bert has to wiggle so his ass won't hang out from under the blanket. He gets his shorts and his underwear off. He wads them up, puts them under his head.

Quinn's still fumbling with his fly. Bert reaches over and helps him. They get the zipper down. Quinn asks, "You're not pissed?"

Quinn's got his lip in between his teeth. His eyes are big and wide. The neck of his t-shirt is stretched out. Quinn's elbows are bigger than the rest of his arms. The light that filters down under the bleachers is dim. It makes Quinn's skin look like milk. Milk with veins in it, Quinn in it. Not precisely like milk, then.

Bert would carve open his guts to give Quinn a warm place to sleep.

Quinn coughs. Bert snaps back into focus.

"I'm not pissed," Bert says. He pulls Quinn until he's half on top of him. He digs in Quinn's pocket, finds a condom. "No one's ever done this for me," he tells Quinn.

"No one's ever fucking peed on me," Quinn whispers. His cheeks are red. "You're not, like, a weirdo or anything."

"Neither are you," Bert says. His voice wobbles. He says, "Quit fucking stalling and fuck me. Ugly dumbass. Nobody likes you."

"Fuck off," Quinn says.

Quinn leans up on one elbow, gets his hand on his cock to jerk himself. Bert rips open the condom with his teeth. He growls when he gets it open. Quinn laughs. He helps Bert roll on the condom. His fingers are steady.

Bert pulls his knees up when Quinn moves over him. The blanket falls around them. Quinn's skin is pink from the light through the blanket. Quinn braces himself with one hand by Bert's side. He reaches down with the other to push himself into Bert.

"Man," Quinn says. Bert laughs. "If I have to get caught fucking someone, it had better be you."

He starts to push in on the last word. Bert makes loud noise. He claws at Quinn's forearms. He tilts his hips up. Quinn puts his hand down on the ground next to Bert.

"You think," Bert grits out. Quinn pushes in further. "You think we could get caught?"

"Sure," Quinn says. The bleachers squeak, rattle above them. Like they're taking a cue from Quinn. Like the world takes a cue from Quinn. "Someone comes down to smoke a cigarette, maybe," Quinn says, "Or you make a noise at the wrong time."

Bert's breath is loud in his throat. There's a touchdown. People stand up to cheer. If Bert looks up, he can see the underside of their chins, the cuffs of their jeans. Quinn rolls his hips. Bert opens his mouth. He makes a noise.

There's a tiny slice of dark sky visible. The edge of one of the halogen lights that make the football field artificially bright. Quinn's dick slips out of Bert's ass. He has to line himself back up, push in again. The people sit back down. The sky's gone.

"You okay?" Quinn says.

Bert nods furiously. His throat clicks when he tries to swallow. His eyes are tearing up. He opens his mouth. He makes another noise. He has to try again. "Fuck," Bert gets out. He digs his fingers into the flesh of Quinn's arm. Quinn's hot against him. Inside him. The condom is sticky-smooth. The backs of Bert's knees are sweating where they're folded up. Quinn's face is scared, turned on. And something else, something Bert can't read.

"Fuck," Bert repeats. He tilts his hips up more. It gives Quinn a spot to push at that makes Bert's eyes blur. The crowd hoots above them. Quinn tries to get his hand on Bert's cock. Bert slaps his hand off. He says, "Your rhythm sucks when you're distracted."

"Fucker," Quinn says. He pushes Bert's knees up further. His dick slips out again. Bert crosses his ankles around Quinn's neck. When Quinn pushes back in, it folds Bert in half. Quinn grunts, rungh.

"Yeah," Bert says. Quinn's nailing that spot again. "Fuck yeah."

"Bert," Quinn says desperately, "Bert."

"Yeah," Bert agrees. Quinn buries his face, in between Bert's shoulder and leg. Quinn jerks. His hips snap in hard.

Quinn makes the same stupid noises when he comes as any other guy. One of his hands squeezes Bert's hip too tightly. Bert's face presses between the side of his own leg and Quinn's sweaty chest. It's quiet. Dark, warm, damp. Bert closes his eyes.

Quinn pushes himself up. Bert opens his eyes. Bert squeezes his legs, tries to pull Quinn back down again. "One sec," Quinn says. He pulls out of Bert's ass. Bert's knees bend around Quinn's shoulders. Bert kicks Quinn in the back. "Fuck off," Quinn tells him. "I said one sec."

Quinn pulls off the condom. Makes a face. Flings it at one of the pillars of the bleachers.

"Did I say I was done?" Bert asks. He shifts his ankles back around Quinn's neck. Quinn laughs, shakes his head. "Nobody told you to take your dick out of my ass," Bert says.

"Sorry," Quinn says. He grins. He's kind of dopey after he comes. At least he's easygoing. Quinn swipes one hand up the crack of Bert's ass. He pushes a couple of his fingers in. Easy as that.

Bert gasps. He puts his hand on his dick. Quinn says, "Yeah. Jerk yourself, c'mon." Like Bert needs the instruction.

"Shut up," Bert says.

Quinn spits on Bert's dick. Bert's hand slides a little easier. Bert tips his head back, twists his hand on his dick. He moans.

"Shit," Quinn whispers. His fingers stop. Bert lifts his head to cuss him out, beg him to keep going, something. Quinn shoves the side of his other hand between Bert's teeth. Bert bites down. Quinn doesn't yank his hand away. Quinn falls on his elbow next to Bert's side.

"Guy right there," Quinn says in Bert's ear. Bert looks over, taking Quinn's hand with him. He sees a security guard standing by the bleachers. The guard is facing the field. He's smoking.

"Fuck," Bert says. Quinn's hand is in his mouth. The word doesn't come out right. Quinn still understands. He pushes his fingers forward again. Bert can feel his ass stretching around the second knuckles, then slipping closed around them. Like Jimmy putting his fist in his mouth in second grade, big around the fist, closing down around the wrist. But hotter. Bert fucking hated Jimmy. He loves Quinn. Loves Quinn's hand.

Bert grunts. Most of the grunt wheezes out through Bert's nose. He gets snot on Quinn's hand. Quinn doesn't take it away. The guard is still there, smoking. Quinn is digging into Bert. He pulls his fingers back. He digs in again.

The guard turns, sucks one last drag. Takes the cigarette, forefinger thumb, throws it in the bushes. Bert bites down on Quinn's hand. The security guard pauses, like he sees something under the bleachers.

"Bet he sees you," Quinn whispers. His breath is hot. Bert almost whines. His hips are going, twitch slam writhe. He's rubbing off on Quinn's stomach, his own curled hand, his shirt.

The guard ducks his head. He peers under the bleachers. "He's going to come over here," Quinn says. "Going to see you with my fingers up your ass."

Slut, Bert thinks. That's what the security guard would think. Bert's drooling around Quinn's hand. Biting it. Bert's grunting in his throat. His ankles are around Quinn's shoulders. Quinn's hand is in his ass. The blanket is slipping down around them. Bert's socks are still on. Bert thinks, slut. Bert squeezes down on Quinn's hand. Bert's mouth and ass clench down together. His fingers go tight around his dickhead. He snorts, wheezes breath through his nose. He comes.

"Yeah," Quinn says, quiet. "Fuck, yeah." Bert shakes. His hips twitch. He comes in big spurts. Come on his hand, his shirt, his belly, his nuts, Quinn's belly, Quinn's shirt. It takes a long time. It's scary.

When he's done, Bert opens his teeth. Quinn takes his hand out of Bert's mouth. "Fuck," Quinn says. He pulls his fingers out of Bert's ass.

"Fuck," Bert repeats. He feels like his ass is going to invert. It doesn't. Bert farts, and his ass doesn't fall out. Quinn laughs at the fart. Bert can only grin, can't get the energy to laugh.

"Look," Quinn says. Bert glances over at the security guard, but he isn't there any more. Probably didn't see them. Quinn wants Bert to look at his hand, instead. Bert's teeth left marks in it, semi-circle of purple-red. One tooth-mark is bleeding.

Bert says, "Dude."

"Awesome," Quinn says. "I think the guard thought you were a girl," he adds. It startles Bert into laughing. He didn't think he had the energy. Laughing makes him fart. They lie there laughing for a while.

Quinn pushes himself up after they quiet down. He throws Bert his shoes, starts getting himself dressed. Bert pulls his shorts and underwear out from under his head. He puts them on. It feels good to put on underwear, like it'll hold everything in.

They wave to the guard on their way out. The guard waves back, distracted. They fall out laughing.

On the way home, Bert leans on Quinn. Quinn drives one-handed so he can put his arm around Bert's shoulder. Like he doesn't care who sees. Bert is a sucker pathetic slut. Bert is happy. The streetlights slide over the window. "Ain't no woman," Quinn sings. "Like the one I got." He squeezes Bert's shoulder.

and

Bert runs his finger down the slope of Quinn's big ugly nose. Quinn frowns in his sleep. His forehead creases and relaxes. Bert giggles. Quinn slits open one eye. "Shut up," Quinn grumbles, barely coherent. Quinn throws his leg over Bert. "Sleeptime."

"That's what you think," Bert whispers. He puts his head back down on the pillow and curls his hands in between their chests. It's perfect here, dark warm quiet damp. Bert closes his eyes. He hums.

----------------------

As always, feedback and criticism are very welcome, either here or at sinsense at yahoo dot com.