Cliffton Fanfiction -- Ride (One-shot)
Apparently, it's tradition that I write Cliffton fanfiction after doing NaNo. Who knew? This idea was spawned by a conversation Sarah and I were having this morning about random head-canons, and how Devin, at one point, might have owned a motorcycle. It resulted in borderline Wes/Devin fluff. Enjoy. xD
It’s been hours since Devin’s been home. I know he said that he was going to see a few friends from the Splinternet, but it’s lonely here and I don’t really have much to do but watch chick vids all day. But I don’t want to stop him from seeing his friends, either. I could call him, but he’d probably just get annoyed with me for bugging him.
It’s okay, though, because he should be back soon. It’s getting late and I should make dinner, and just as I push myself off the couch and make my way towards the kitchen, there’s this loud, rumbling noise coming from outside. The neighborhood’s usually kinda quiet, not at all like it was back in the Dorms where it was loud and there were parties every other night and just constant noise. It’s one of the reasons Devin said he wanted to leave, “It’s too fucking loud,” he said, voice gruff and eyes downcast like he’s trying to hide something.
But Devin’s my best friend. He’d never hide anything from me, never! And when that rumbling sound gets louder, approaching the house, I stop and glance at the security system. It’s beeping, like it usually does whenever someone’s approaching the house. And I can see someone coming down the street on a motorcycle, and --
Is that Devin? That can’t be Devin, he’d never go and buy something like that -- except when the security system disarms all on its own, it has to be Devin, and as he pulls into the driveway, I can see his long, pretty hair blowing behind him, and --
I’m out the door before I can stop myself, eyes wide and breath catching in my throat at how he straddles the bike, long and lean legs unwrapping themselves from around it as his feet touch back on the ground. He looks at me, and I can’t see his face through his helmet, but as he slides it off his head, I can feel my mouth drop open. His hair fans out around his face, strands of it loose and hiding his amber eyes, and he’s so beautiful I just can’t look away.
“Dude! I didn’t know you could ride a bike!” I gasp, clasping my hands together and bounding over to him. And it’s not just him that’s beautiful, the motorcycle itself is a work of art. It has to be brand new, with the way its black paint sparkles with bits of silver strewn throughout. Normally Devin doesn’t like flashy things -- he says they call too much attention to himself, but as he climbs off the bike all I can see is how much it suits him. And all I can think about is how my heart beats a little bit faster as he looks at me, eyebrow raised and one hand resting against the seat.
“‘Course I can ride a bike,” he grunts, hands already working furiously to pull his loose hair back behind his head. He can’t stand it when it’s in his face.
“Dude, that’s awesome! Can I ride it with you? D’you have one of those sexy leather jackets? I know you had one before, but I haven’t seen it in a while and I think it would look amazing on you, especially as you rode the bike, and --”
“Wes.” Devin’s cheeks are a faint pink, and he grumbles something under his breath as he runs his slender hands over his hair, checking for bumps to fix. “Slow down, dude. Can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Where’d you get it?” I ask, turning my attention back to the bike in question. As much as I want to touch it, I keep my hands to myself. I know Devin doesn’t always like to be touched, and I can’t imagine he’d like me touching the bike, either, since it’s all shiny, like it had been recently waxed.
Devin’s cheeks darken again and he looks away from me, cradling his helmet in the crook of his arm. He scuffs his feet on the pavement, avoiding my eyes. “I -- it doesn’t fucking matter, okay?” he says after a while, clenching his jaw. “Was a gift. Helped out a friend with something big -- this is how he repaid me.”
I nod, turning my attention back to the bike. “Can I touch it?” I breathe.
Devin laughs. “Sure, dude,” he says. His shoulders relax a little and he walks towards me, those incandescent eyes of his lock onto mine. “Can even ride it with me, if you want,” he continues, sounding almost hesitant. “Don’t got a sidecar or anything, but the seat’s big enough for the both of us...”
I grin at him and throw my arms around him, giving him the tightest hug I can imagine. He lets out an indignant squeak, his whole body tensing under my arms and for a moment. “Wes -- can’t breathe --”
“Oops! Sorry, dude, I just got a little carried away,” I say, laughing nervously as I move away from him. His face is so pretty when it’s all flushed like that -- it just makes his eyes stand out even more and I can’t believe he’s going to let me ride his bike with him and -- “Can we ride it now?” I ask, clasping my hands together and holding them in front of me.
Devin bites his lip for a moment, looking between me and the bike before sighing. “Yeah,” he answers. “Just -- let me get on it first, ‘kay?”
I nod, watching as Devin approaches the bike and swings his leg over it. Every little move he does is so graceful, and he seems so confident as he settles in the seat. He then pats the seat behind him, and I’m gonna die, because if I ride behind him I’m going to have to wrap my arms around him in order to stay on the bike, and --
“Wes,” he says, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You getting on or what?”
“Yeah, dude,” I answer, and I follow in his footsteps, swinging my leg over the side of the bike and finding a place to rest my feet. He tenses when I wrap my arms around him, hugging myself close to him, but he doesn’t say anything and instead starts it up, leaning forward a bit after he fastens his helmet, and I know I should have one and I think he’s even thinking it, too, as he glances back at me and frowns a little to himself.
“We need to get you a helmet,” he mutters, as if he’s read my mind. He then turns back around, hands on the handles and he gets the bike going. My stomach does a weird little flip as the two of us then barrel on down the road, the wind blowing in our hair and he’s so warm compared to the wind whipping up around us.
I don’t know how long we ride around for, but my stomach grumbles once we pull back into the driveway. At some point, my grip on him had relaxed a little, but my hands are still on his waist as he straightens himself out and lowers the kick-stand. He turns to look at me, a wide grin on his face. “Had fun, huh?” he asks, sounding breathless.
“Yeah, dude! That was awesome!” I sound equally breathless, and my hands still haven’t moved from his hips. And he doesn’t even seem to notice -- doesn’t do anything to shrug away from me or tell me to let go, and I think I’m gonna die, because he leans back against me a little bit and just stays there, in my arms.
“We should go inside,” he says after a moment, breaking the spell and pushing away from me. He climbs off the bike and slips off his helmet yet again, shaking his head and brushing his loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “Fucking starving,” he continues, looking right at me. “Hungry?”
“Y-Yeah,” I stammer, clamoring off the bike as well. I can’t stop thinking about the feel of him in my arms, how it felt to press against him like that, for him to accept it.
Makes me wonder if he feels it, too.
It’s been hours since Devin’s been home. I know he said that he was going to see a few friends from the Splinternet, but it’s lonely here and I don’t really have much to do but watch chick vids all day. But I don’t want to stop him from seeing his friends, either. I could call him, but he’d probably just get annoyed with me for bugging him.
It’s okay, though, because he should be back soon. It’s getting late and I should make dinner, and just as I push myself off the couch and make my way towards the kitchen, there’s this loud, rumbling noise coming from outside. The neighborhood’s usually kinda quiet, not at all like it was back in the Dorms where it was loud and there were parties every other night and just constant noise. It’s one of the reasons Devin said he wanted to leave, “It’s too fucking loud,” he said, voice gruff and eyes downcast like he’s trying to hide something.
But Devin’s my best friend. He’d never hide anything from me, never! And when that rumbling sound gets louder, approaching the house, I stop and glance at the security system. It’s beeping, like it usually does whenever someone’s approaching the house. And I can see someone coming down the street on a motorcycle, and --
Is that Devin? That can’t be Devin, he’d never go and buy something like that -- except when the security system disarms all on its own, it has to be Devin, and as he pulls into the driveway, I can see his long, pretty hair blowing behind him, and --
I’m out the door before I can stop myself, eyes wide and breath catching in my throat at how he straddles the bike, long and lean legs unwrapping themselves from around it as his feet touch back on the ground. He looks at me, and I can’t see his face through his helmet, but as he slides it off his head, I can feel my mouth drop open. His hair fans out around his face, strands of it loose and hiding his amber eyes, and he’s so beautiful I just can’t look away.
“Dude! I didn’t know you could ride a bike!” I gasp, clasping my hands together and bounding over to him. And it’s not just him that’s beautiful, the motorcycle itself is a work of art. It has to be brand new, with the way its black paint sparkles with bits of silver strewn throughout. Normally Devin doesn’t like flashy things -- he says they call too much attention to himself, but as he climbs off the bike all I can see is how much it suits him. And all I can think about is how my heart beats a little bit faster as he looks at me, eyebrow raised and one hand resting against the seat.
“‘Course I can ride a bike,” he grunts, hands already working furiously to pull his loose hair back behind his head. He can’t stand it when it’s in his face.
“Dude, that’s awesome! Can I ride it with you? D’you have one of those sexy leather jackets? I know you had one before, but I haven’t seen it in a while and I think it would look amazing on you, especially as you rode the bike, and --”
“Wes.” Devin’s cheeks are a faint pink, and he grumbles something under his breath as he runs his slender hands over his hair, checking for bumps to fix. “Slow down, dude. Can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Where’d you get it?” I ask, turning my attention back to the bike in question. As much as I want to touch it, I keep my hands to myself. I know Devin doesn’t always like to be touched, and I can’t imagine he’d like me touching the bike, either, since it’s all shiny, like it had been recently waxed.
Devin’s cheeks darken again and he looks away from me, cradling his helmet in the crook of his arm. He scuffs his feet on the pavement, avoiding my eyes. “I -- it doesn’t fucking matter, okay?” he says after a while, clenching his jaw. “Was a gift. Helped out a friend with something big -- this is how he repaid me.”
I nod, turning my attention back to the bike. “Can I touch it?” I breathe.
Devin laughs. “Sure, dude,” he says. His shoulders relax a little and he walks towards me, those incandescent eyes of his lock onto mine. “Can even ride it with me, if you want,” he continues, sounding almost hesitant. “Don’t got a sidecar or anything, but the seat’s big enough for the both of us...”
I grin at him and throw my arms around him, giving him the tightest hug I can imagine. He lets out an indignant squeak, his whole body tensing under my arms and for a moment. “Wes -- can’t breathe --”
“Oops! Sorry, dude, I just got a little carried away,” I say, laughing nervously as I move away from him. His face is so pretty when it’s all flushed like that -- it just makes his eyes stand out even more and I can’t believe he’s going to let me ride his bike with him and -- “Can we ride it now?” I ask, clasping my hands together and holding them in front of me.
Devin bites his lip for a moment, looking between me and the bike before sighing. “Yeah,” he answers. “Just -- let me get on it first, ‘kay?”
I nod, watching as Devin approaches the bike and swings his leg over it. Every little move he does is so graceful, and he seems so confident as he settles in the seat. He then pats the seat behind him, and I’m gonna die, because if I ride behind him I’m going to have to wrap my arms around him in order to stay on the bike, and --
“Wes,” he says, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You getting on or what?”
“Yeah, dude,” I answer, and I follow in his footsteps, swinging my leg over the side of the bike and finding a place to rest my feet. He tenses when I wrap my arms around him, hugging myself close to him, but he doesn’t say anything and instead starts it up, leaning forward a bit after he fastens his helmet, and I know I should have one and I think he’s even thinking it, too, as he glances back at me and frowns a little to himself.
“We need to get you a helmet,” he mutters, as if he’s read my mind. He then turns back around, hands on the handles and he gets the bike going. My stomach does a weird little flip as the two of us then barrel on down the road, the wind blowing in our hair and he’s so warm compared to the wind whipping up around us.
I don’t know how long we ride around for, but my stomach grumbles once we pull back into the driveway. At some point, my grip on him had relaxed a little, but my hands are still on his waist as he straightens himself out and lowers the kick-stand. He turns to look at me, a wide grin on his face. “Had fun, huh?” he asks, sounding breathless.
“Yeah, dude! That was awesome!” I sound equally breathless, and my hands still haven’t moved from his hips. And he doesn’t even seem to notice -- doesn’t do anything to shrug away from me or tell me to let go, and I think I’m gonna die, because he leans back against me a little bit and just stays there, in my arms.
“We should go inside,” he says after a moment, breaking the spell and pushing away from me. He climbs off the bike and slips off his helmet yet again, shaking his head and brushing his loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “Fucking starving,” he continues, looking right at me. “Hungry?”
“Y-Yeah,” I stammer, clamoring off the bike as well. I can’t stop thinking about the feel of him in my arms, how it felt to press against him like that, for him to accept it.
Makes me wonder if he feels it, too.