DRABBLES PART 4: miscellaneous! (four ficlettes)
these are the leftover bits, that aren't quite porn or humor or angst. and are also maybe winklecest, or chris/dustin. w/e w/e
MISC ONE
pairing: mark/eduardo, cameron
notes: for the prompt of an outsider's POV on the relationship..
--
All he can do is be glad that it was him and not Tyler who caught Mark and Eduardo fucking back at Harvard.
Or Divya, Jesus Christ.
He knows them. They would have brought it up in the suit, just for blood, just to see Mark rattled.
Cameron thinks he lacks some sadism they both possess, and wonders if that makes him more or less of a Harvard gentleman. He doesn’t quite know what Harvard stands for anymore.
He’d been looking for Mark.
He didn’t tell Tyler, because Ty didn’t really want to talk to Mark. He wanted to assume that Mark was a little idea-stealing shithead.
The truth is, Cameron’s curious about thefacebook. He’s opened it a couple times when Divya and Tyler aren’t in the room. Clicked around a little bit. It’s pretty goddamn amazing, and even though it makes him furious, he can appreciate it objectively for what it is.
So, anyway, he went looking for Mark.
His scared-looking skinny Jewish roommate had told him that Mark was probably in Eduardo’s room, in Eliot, and had smiled at him like he was terrified Cameron was going to punch his teeth in.
He supposes it’s a legitimate concern.
The roommate told him the number, but he would have known anyway. On the whiteboard on the door, he reads-
“Eduardo- come down when you get the chance. MZ”
He grimaces, and puts a hand up to knock.
“Fuck,” he hears distinctly from inside, thin, reedy voice unmistakably Mark’s, and he stops with his fingers inches from the door.
“Mark-”
“Fuck, I, fuck-” and he groans. Cameron’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath while he leans closer.
“Shh, shh,” Eduardo is saying, laughing.
“Wardo-” and the sound is muffled for a second. “Shit.”
Someone gasps. Someone moans, low. There’s silence.
“I have a problem set, I should-” he hears Mark say after a while, and Cameron smirks to himself. He uses the excuse on Eduardo too. Poor kid.
Cameron waits for thirty seconds and knocks, hard.
Eduardo opens the door, shirt untucked and hair mussed.
“Yeah?”
“Is Mark here?” Cameron asks, and he sees a flash of someone behind him. Hears a muffled curse.
“Uh-” Eduardo shuts the door a bit behind him, “No, sorry.”
“That’s strange, because his roommate told me-”
“Yeah, well, he was, but he went to the lab.”
Eduardo grins fakely at him and shuts the door.
Interesting.
----------------------
MISC TWO
pairing: cameron/tyler
notes: for the prompt - sometimes he just doesn't know what to do with himself. he is so goddamn nervous around him.
----
They both take girls home. It's not out of the ordinary.
Tyler always makes them scream, though.
Cameron kisses them soft and sweet, and they always seem to enjoy it, but it's hard to… to, focus when Tyler's girl is moaning furiously, high in her throat, nearly sobbing, and the steady rhythm of Tyler's grunts rolls beneath it.
The nights when Cameron doesn't bring a girl home are harder.
He lies alone, and there's no way he can't listen, through the thin walls. Tyler sounds like him, but deeper, more uninhibited. He sounds like he's having more fun.
One night he jerks off to it, Tyler fucking some chick. She's more quiet than most, but he's louder, and Cameron arches off the bed, panting around his fist stuffed in his mouth, when Tyler growls and Cameron knows he's coming.
In the first semester of sophomore year, they're at a party.
"I heard the Fuck Truck's coming tonight," Tyler whispers to Cam, grinning wickedly, and Cameron smiles uneasily.
Cameron kisses a BU girl during strip poker, lets her straddle him in a chair, and she stretches lithely above him, spine a perfect curve.
He lifts his head, and Tyler's staring at him, eyes dark, and shit, Cameron's hard. He wants to go back, a minute ago, not hard versus hard, because usually the girls freak out, but this one must be different because she just grinds down harder and laughs. Ty arches an eyebrow at him and grins.
An hour later, they're together, in a room, with a bed: the girl, Cameron, and Tyler.
"So you're like, twins," she says, not too drunk, but drunk enough- spreads her legs on the bed, and Tyler kneels over her and kisses her.
Cameron's heard it so many times, but fucking Christ, he's never seen it. At least, not for a while.
He pauses, hand on the doorknob, because Tyler won this one, didn't he? He got this girl. It's time for Cameron to leave.
Except from behind Tyler's strong back, he hears her say, "I want you both."
Tyler laughs, deep in his throat. "Cam?" he asks without turning around, like he knows what Cameron's thinking, like he knows Cameron will do it, like he knows Cameron needs it.
This is the point where Cameron stops. Since birth, it's been that way. Tyler puts something in motion and Cameron stops it before it hurts someone.
But this time Cameron doesn't want to stop it.
He moves quick, to the bed, feeling strangely like Tyler, and Tyler moves off the girl, comes to him hungry and they're kissing.
His brother is urgent, hard- fierce in a way Cameron didn't know he needed. He forgets about the girl for a second, when Tyler bites down on his lip, but then she laughs deliriously, and Tyler pulls away, barely even breathing hard, eyes glossing over Cameron, not looking at him.
Cameron's wrecked.
"I'll go," he says, and the girl puts a hand on his cock, through his pants.
"Don't go," she hisses, squeezing him, and Tyler nods over her shoulder. "Don't go. I wanna fuck you."
He can't stop himself from picturing Tyler saying it. It won't ever happen, because it's not supposed to, but that doesn't stop him from imagining it.
Except Tyler is drunk, one hand slipping under the girl's skirt, fingers working fiercely, and her head falls back. She's groaning, and Tyler shoots him a look, filled with intent, licking his lips, and Cameron spreads his legs involuntarily.
He's supposed to be the responsible one. That's what keeps running through his head, as the girl shudders and moans.
"What do you want us to do?" Tyler asks, like they're some circus act, but fuck if it doesn't make Cameron take a shaky breath.
Why don't you-" she stops, eyes falling shut when Tyler does something with his fingers, "do this to him. See if he - likes it- God-"
Tyler laughs again.
"Get naked, brother," he says, grinning at Cam like it's some joke and Cameron fumbles out of his clothes because if it's a joke at least it's happening.
"I bet you haven't ever done that before, have you," the girl slurs, lying on her side on the bed, unabashedly naked, and Tyler puts his fingers in her mouth.
"Get 'em wet for me, baby," he says, and it should sound cheesy and porn-like but Cameron remembers they're going inside him, and when Tyler touches the first finger to the crease of his ass Cameron jerks.
"Hey, hey. Quiet. Shh."
Cameron bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and the girl gets on her knees and kisses him, wet and sweet and boozy, and it distracts him until Tyler works his finger inside and he's gasping into her mouth.
She pulls away and looks at him like she knows how fucked he is.
"It's okay," she says, surprisingly lucid, eyes clear. "One time."
"Why don't you get on your hands and knees," Tyler says smoothly, still with that wet finger pressing hard inside him, and he's not going to get on his hands and knees in front of some girl, but she lies down on her back and motions for him to move over her.
He's looking down at her face. She's staring back at him, and Tyler pushes two fingers hard, crooks them like he's done it before, and Cameron chokes.
"Shit. Shit."
Tyler rubs a hand over Cameron's back, pushes them in again, fingers stuttering when he finds the spot, an endless loop there and there and there, perfect, each twist a bracing shock to his body. He groans, breath coming out in harsh gasps, and keens when Tyler stops fucking around and just leaves his fingers there, rubbing the first knuckle of his middle finger again and again against it. Jerks, spastic, clenching hard around Tyler's fingers, like he's trying to swallow them.
"He likes it a lot," the girl observes dreamily, and Cameron closes his eyes, nearly collapsing onto her.
Tyler breathes harsh against the small of Cameron's back, and reaches around him, takes his cock in hand, fingers still pressing inexorably at that spot, and Cameron comes apart, nearly sobbing. Tyler takes his hand out of him and chuckles.
He rolls off the girl, onto his back, and up- trying to regain control, still breathing hard, and he can feel the ghost of Ty's fingers in him- oh fuck his brother's fucking fingers and he cannot do this.
"Where're you going, Cam?" Tyler says, already taking his place over the girl, and Cameron can't look at him, can't speak, just pulls on his pants jerkily and leaves.
He hears the girl gasp breathily, and he slams the door hard behind him.
--------------------------
MISC THREE
pairing: cameron/tyler/divya sluttty ot3 ftw
notes: for the prompt about celebratory sex with this pairing. first fic i ever wrote in this fandom, actually. trolololol
---
“Can we just, for one fucking night, not talk about him?”
Tyler takes another gulp of scotch. Cameron’s silent in the corner, staring into his glass.
Divya rolls his eyes at Tyler. “Excuse me for being excited. You know we’re going to have to talk about him for a long fucking while.”
“That’s why we need one night. As a break. Jesus, Div.” It’s true Tyler needs a break, but it’s more for Cameron- he can tell Cam’s close to regretting his decision already.
Divya flops in a chair.
“Well goddamnit,” he says to no one. He’s a little drunk, Tyler can tell, his cheeks flushed. Tyler’s just pissed off. His muscles are tight, he can’t stop picturing the boat flashing inches before them, and he knows there are months of legal work ahead of them. He’s stressed. Divya mumbles something into his cup and Tyler fixes on him. Smirks to himself.
There is nothing quite like taking out stress on Divya.
He coughs pointedly, and Cameron looks up at him.
So does Divya.
“What?” he asks defensively.
“We have to go to the reception at the embassy,” Cameron says, more in response to Tyler than Divya, but he nods shortly at Tyler. They both know what they’re going to do, after. Divya- well, Divya will find out soon enough.
The reception is crowded. Tyler’s face hurts from smiling, and he gulps half of his drink right as it’s served- hands Divya another.
“Why do we have to be here?” Divya asks, taking the drink and nodding at him. “If someone says how close it was one more time, Jesus Christ, I might even hit someone.” He’s still tipsy, and Cameron puts a hand on the small of his back to steady him.
"People expect us to be here, Div," Tyler says, checking his Blackberry. He irritably deletes a message from the Harvard Environmental Group. Fucking tree-huggers.
"So how long do we have to stay?"
That comes, unexpectedly, from Cameron. Tyler looks at him sharply and he meets his eyes. There's want there, and Tyler knows he's thinking about Divya, who drinks, oblivious, between them.
"A half hour," Tyler says softly, and grins briefly. His brother mirrors it.
They walk back - the team hotel is only ten minutes away.
"So, when do you think we’ll file the case?" Divya asks as he scrolls on his Blackberry.
"I’m not sure," Tyler answers absentmindedly. He takes a deep breath of the chilly English air. It smells like rain.
"We’ll start thinking about it after midterms," Cameron adds, sounding equally distant.
"So, you won't even attempt to contact anyone before that? We should be more proactive in this, Jesus Christ. This is big."
"Thanks," Tyler says flatly. He looks at Cameron, but he's staring at the ground, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
They enter the elevator. God, Tyler can smell him, Divya, and he wants to tear him apart.
"I think we could go from the angle of intellectual property- I mean, yes, the Internet's uncharted territory in that respect, but the emails will be a key player-"
"Div."
He looks up.
"Can you shut up?" Cameron asks quietly.
"We should shut him up," Tyler says to himself, and Divya swallows audibly, like he's just realized it. Licks his lips. The elevator doors open.
Inside the twins’ room, Tyler sets on Divya like he's starving. Pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard. Cameron just walks calmly into the next room, trying to keep his breath even. He knows Tyler will deliver, and sure enough they follow, still mouthing at each other, Ty's hand halfway down the back of Divya's pressed trousers, and Divya making these little sounds like they're inside him already.
Cameron stops them with his hands, and they bump against his chest and he lets his palm linger on the slope of Divya's neck.
"Put him over the couch," he says dispassionately, getting hard. He doesn't even have to tell him, Divya goes, yanking his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning his fly, his movements jerky and desperate.
Tyler rubs one huge hand over the bumpy ridge of his spine, pushing the crisp shirt up.
"Do you want-" Tyler says to Cameron, panting.
"He's all yours, brother," Cameron says, smirking, and grabs a bottle of lube from the coffee table. He’d put it here while changing, anticipating this.
Tyler puts two fingers in at once, and Divya hisses through his teeth, then after a second, rocks back on them, jerking his hips up, mouth falling open. Tyler twists them, hard, and Div lets out a choked moan.
"He's a slut, isn't he," Cameron murmurs, sitting in the hotel desk chair to watch.
"Yeah," Tyler says, low in his throat, and Divya's head falls. He breathes deep through his nose when Ty gets inside him, exhales when he thrusts, groans when he pulls out only to push in again, hard.
"Likes it rough," Cameron says detachedly, and palms himself through his pants. "Just, begs for it, doesn't he, Ty," and he rubs harder, clenching the armrest of the chair with his other hand.
"He will," Tyler says, and pulls out. Divya sobs and punches the couch. "What do you say?"
"Fucking, c'mon, please, Christ, C-Cameron- Ty, please-"
Cameron laughs. "Can't even get our names right, so hungry for it."
Tyler grins at him over Divya's back and pushes back in.
"Cam- c'mon- fuck his mouth," Tyler chokes out a little later, when Cameron is halfway to orgasm, jacking himself hard, twisting on the upstroke. He closes his eyes for a second and clenches the armrest again til his knuckles go white. Divya's moaning low in his throat, pushing back on Tyler's cock, his own rubbing against the leather couch.
"Finish, and I'll- Ty, just come-”
Tyler does, on command, groaning brokenly, gasping, and pulls out, too quickly, smacks Div's ass. Div lets out a breath that sounds like a sob, and stays bent over the couch. Still hard.
"Yeah, don't get up just yet, baby," Tyler says comfortingly, zipping up his pants, and he pushes Divya off the couch and down near Cam's knees.
Divya reaches out and grabs his hips, pupils blown wide with lust. The chair squeaks closer on its wheels toward’s Divya mouth, and Divya takes him in, all the way in, and the sounds are just obscene- Tyler's watching dark-eyed from the couch, and Cameron puts his hand on the back of Divya's head and thrusts -
Divya groans around him, and takes hold of himself and the way he's so eager, it makes Cameron pull his hair just a bit too hard. Divya whines around Tyler’s cock as he comes onto the floor, and the vibration makes Cameron follow him, hard.
Divya leans back after a minute and gets the last of it on his cheek, and Cameron's lip curls as he lowers his hand and smears it with one thumb. Divya stares up at him for a second, blush spreading like he's just realized what he's doing, stumbles back, and up onto his feet, Tyler behind him in a second catching him, chuckling low in his throat.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and Divya pushes him away and zips up, hands shaky.
“The flight- tomorrow- I should-” he stammers uncharacteristically, catching his breath, cheeks pink, and Tyler grins.
"I think we fucked the sense out of him," he says, still feeling that conspiratorial thrill with Cameron, that sense of ownership.
"Don't be mean," Cameron says lightly, standing up, and rubs his hand over Divya's shoulder. Divya shrugs away, and grabs his Blackberry and keys off of the table.
"Tomorrow, then," he says curtly, regaining composure, and flattens his hair with one hand. He still has a little come on his cheek.
"Night, Div," Tyler says, and the door slams hard behind him.
Tyler and Cameron look at each other.
“The maid will clean this up,” Cameron says, motioning at the couch.
Tyler nods and allows himself one last smirk of satisfaction.
They’re going to sue, and they’re going to fucking win.
-----------------------------
MISC FOUR
pairing: chris/dustin
notes: for the prompt that had a TFLN and this- Sexually confused!Dustin experimenting with openly gay!Chris.
a bit longer than the other drabbles but whateveeer
---
In freshman year, Chris is still trying to convince himself he likes girls. Yes, he had a girlfriend in high school- Lydia, a cross country runner with great legs- but they kissed twice. Each kiss lasted under fifteen seconds. Chris isn’t great at math, but even he can add (multiply?) it up: 2(<15) = maybe still gay.
Harvard is awesome, just like he imagined. Except there are a lot of cute, smart girls- and some of them have legs like Lydia, which, he realizes now, were really muscular and maybe that’s weird and semi-gay in itself but whatever, she still wore skirts. Anyway, the girls. One of them asks him out in the first month, and he kisses another one drunk at a party, her wet rubbery lips planted firmly on his for at least twenty seconds before he pulls away and pukes into a bush.
<20 seconds = not gay, maybe? What’s the time limit on straight kisses?
He meets Dustin the next night, at an AEPi mixer. He’s standing against the wall, not drinking, because he still has dry-mouth and a headache from last night. When he’d called home, his sister had made him promise that he’d be social and try to meet people and make friends with a future millionaire and bring him home to North Carolina for her. From the looks of the kids around him, he hadn’t exactly come to the right party, but whatever. At least he wasn’t moping in his room while his math-major roommate Skyped all his friends in China.
“I thought college parties were supposed to be awesome,” he hears from beside him. The boy next to him is about the same height, with brown hair and a black polo. He’s kind of cute. Not that Chris cares. Objectively, or, you know, to the girls at the party, he’s- well, whatever.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip from a red plastic cup. Sprite, but it looks kind of like vodka.
“Are you Jewish?”
“Uh, no,” Chris says, looking at the guy again. “Is that usually how you start conversations?”
“This is, uh, Alpha Epsilon Pi, or whatever, the Jewish frat, so I thought. I am. Jewish. It’s cool. Member of the tribe, yea-ahhh-” he trails off with a weak, unconvincing “gangsta” flip of his hand.
Chris looks a little closer, and oh- the guy is really really wasted. He hadn’t noticed before. Some drunk people are sneaky like that. They’re all quiet and self-contained until suddenly they’re throwing up on your shoes. He sidles away a step. He just got these shoes.
The guy hiccups and stares down at his feet. “Shit, I am really fucking drunk,” he mumbles to himself. Chris nods.
“You seem like it.”
“Sorry, man, I just-”
“It’s cool,” he says. “Where do you live?”
“What, are you gonna take advantage of me?” He leers jokingly at Chris, and shockingly, Chris blushes. Ugh.
“Funny,” he says dryly.
“I live in the Yard. Room two... fourteen. Yeah. Not fifteen. I remembered it was fourteen because it was the year I got braces. Which is uncool. I don’t know why I just told you that.” He trails off, and closes his eyes.
Chris waits for a second. Okay. Apparently the guy’s done talking.
“Well, maybe you should head back,” he says, but the boy doesn’t move.
“Okay. Fine. Fuck.”
He puts the kid’s arm over his shoulder and walks him back to the Yard. He keeps falling against Chris and mumbling, and Chris resolutely tries to ignore his sweet, boozy breath in his ear, the way his lips keep accidentally brushing against Chris’ neck. He gets goosebumps and pretends its from the late-night early-autumn chill.
“Dude.” Chris shakes the guy when they get back to the room. “Your keys. Where are your keys?”
No answer. Chris pounds on the door.
“‘Sup?” The guy’s roommate is like, 6 feet, built, and apparently prone to monosyllabic sentences.
“Um, your roommate -” Chris gestures to him. “He, uh, passed out at a party. I can’t find his keys.”
“Chill,” the roommate says, and accepts Chris’ awkwardly dumped offer of the boy’s limp body. “Peace.”
Chris nods as the door closes in his face. Huh. Sort of a weird night, but better than making out with some girl. Honestly, most things are.
---
Chris officially meets Dustin the next weekend, when Eduardo from his Spanish Lit class brings him to Mark’s (from multivariable calc class) room and Dustin (from Mark’s CS class) is there. Whoever woulda thunk a history major and a computer science major would be in the same room. Really warms your heart.
Anyway, Eduardo introduces him, and Dustin goes red when he sees Chris.
“Dude- oh, hey-”
“Oh, do you two know each other?”
“Not really. Chris,” Chris says, leaning down to shake the kid’s hand. He feels weirdly confident, almost giddy with it, because he saw the guy wasted and he seems kind of like an idiot anyway, not in a bad way, more in a lovable, comic-relief sort of way.
“Dustin,” the guy mumbles. Dustin mumbles. He’s Dustin now.
“And that’s Mark,” Eduardo says, gesturing to the guy at the computer. He doesn’t even look up.
“You wanna play?” Dustin says, offering Chris a controller, and Chris takes it gingerly. He didn’t have a video-game-thingy at home, and twice a year hour-long game sessions with his hick-ass cousins hasn’t taught him much.
“Sure.” He sits down on the couch, and slides toward Dustin accidentally. Remembers briefly the warmth of him, draped over his shoulder, and then pushes away at the same time Dustin does.
“Oh my God, you suck,” Dustin says as he kills Chris yet again. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I don’t even know, dude, but you have a hole in your body. Deal with that. Preeeetty big hole. Might wanna get that fixed up.”
Chris laughs.
“Wait, which button is the ammo change again?” he asks, and Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh and reaches over him to grab the controller, and wow, he is extremely close. And warm. And he fiddles with the controller while still hovering over Chris’ lap and he is extremely aware of the fact that they’re alone in a dark room. Eduardo and Mark went to get dinner, and Dustin’s hair is brushing Chris’ chin, and he straightens up finally with a “ha! I basically just took all game control away from you,” and Chris tries to ignore how he’s suddenly cold.
“You’re kicking me when I’m down? Harsh.”
“There’s no mercy in war, Chris. This is Call of Duty, not My Little Pony.”
“What! I’ve been trying to ride the pony for ten minutes now!”
Dustin shoots him a look and laughs. “You’re fucking weird, dude.”
Chris sticks out his tongue and Dustin grins, then stabs at the buttons and shoots Chris again.
“Oh my God, I give up,” Chris says, throwing the controller down, and Dustin does a brief but embarrassing victory dance that involves the lawnmower, the little-used Q-tip, and an obscene amount of shimmying.
“Uh-huh oh yeah uh-huh oh yeah,” he chants, while mock-punching Chris, and Chris will never admit that he squeals a little bit, hands in front of his face.
One punch lands on Chris’ shoulder, and Dustin stops, too close to Chris’ face, breathing at him, eyes fixed on his lips. Chris angles his chin up because it seems like the right thing to do, and Dustin nearly leans down but jerks away at the last second, and grabs the controller off the couch.
“Another game?” he says, voice a little rough, and Chris closes his eyes when he sees Dustin reach down and adjust himself in his jeans, surreptitiously.
“Yeah-” Chris says weakly, trying to think of legs and skirts and tits. “Yeah, sure.”
---
A year later, Chris has realized that the whole puking-after-kissing-girls thing is symptomatic of something else, namely the fact that he prefers boys. It’s cool, at Harvard- no one really gives a shit, and Mark and Chris barely blink when he brings home his first boyfriend/fuck buddy, and then his second and his third. Dustin moans a little about how he’s not getting any, and Mark just nods and waves from the computer, and it’s all nice and accepting and normal until the night Dustin walks in on him watching porn, and stays. They talk through it, mostly, laughing at the bad acting, but Chris looks at him sideways and sees Dustin lick his lips, eyes alert and interested, when the guy in the video goes to his knees.
Chris grins down at his lap. Interesting.
He doesn’t say anything, but the next day Dustin texts him-
i have a feeling that watching gay porn with you was the reason I was dancing in a hurricane of floating dicks in my dream last night.
Chris snorts, out loud, right in the middle of 20th Century Russian History. His best friend and eternal fag-hag Melissa elbows him, and he shows her the phone under his desk, still grinning.
Her mouth falls open and she laughs, silently and breathless. Chris settles back in the chair, taking a few half-hearted notes about the Bolshevik Revolution. It only takes two minutes of that for him to yank his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket again.
what kind of dance are we talking? was it manly? or was it, like, the macarena because i worry for you
His phone buzzes loud on his desk under his notebook a minute later, and Melissa shakes his head at him disbelievingly. The ninety year old professor doesn't even blink.
im confiding in you and you're making fun of me? harsh
Chris laughs.
we can get dinner tonight and ill make it up to you
thats kinda gay dude like a date?
oh it wont be half as gay as your tropical dick storm
whatever bro lets meet at seven and you're buying
They do meet at seven, and eat a normal dinner with normal food and normal beer and normal conversation about girls and CS and how obvious it is that Mark and Wardo are fucking, so how they end up in Chris' room, kissing close-mouthed and awkward and dry against the door, is anyone's guess.
Chris thinks maybe it's been coming for a while, like when Dustin speaks in monosyllables to the guys Chris takes home or talks a little too long about how he walked in on Mark and Wardo, and says how- how do you do that, Chris - with more interest than most supposedly completely straight guys.
"Shit-" Dustin says, pulling back, eyes wide and scared, and Chris rubs a hand over Dustin's crotch through his jeans, grins a little when Dustin exhales and starts to get hard.
"I'm not gay," Dustin says, and Chris nods comfortingly at him, and leans down to suck the spot beneath Dustin's ear. Dustin shivers.
"Your little dick tornado- did it- did it turn you on?" Chris murmurs, laughing against Dustin's neck.
"Fuck off," Dustin says, but he's grinning, and they're kissing again.
Dustin makes a little uncomfortable sound when Chris tries to get his tongue in his mouth, but Chris persists and Dustin eventually gasps his approval, licking tentatively at Chris' lips.
"Bed?" Chris murmurs, and Dustin lets Chris lead him there. Sprawls, legs open, on the bed, looking up in wonder when Chris peels off his shirt and kicks off his pants.
"Shit-" he says again, to the outline of Chris' cock in his briefs, and Chris laughs, straddles him, putting their mouths together again.
"You like that? Kissing?" Chris says a couple minutes later, when Dustin shudders and thrusts his hips up. He has goosebumps, and he bites his lip hard when Chris runs a light finger around his nipple under his t-shirt, again and again.
"You're supposed to be the gay-spert, you should know," Dustin says, cutting himself off with a sharp inhale when Chris pinches his nipple hard. "Fuck, Chris, that hurt."
"You're right," Chris says, and he pushes Dustin's shirt up with both hands. They get tangled in it for a second, but finally Dustin emerges, hair somehow more messy than before.
"Okay, so this doesn't really mean anything though, because like, I like you, dude, like, friend-like, right?"
"This means nothing at all," Chris says lightly, not quite sure if it's true or not, and bites at the muscle between neck and shoulder.
Chris gets on his knees. He's not a slut, not really, not like some of the gay guys at Harvard, but maybe he's wanted to blow Dustin since he caught him jacking off last semester, biting on his fist to keep quiet, fisting himself at his desk chair looking at porn.
"It's no big deal," Chris says, and unzips Dustin's jeans. "God, you're so fucking hard." He watches Dustin shudder, watches the precome bead at the tip of his cock. Girls are so boring. They never talk dirty.
"-oh fuck, Chris, oh fuck-"
"Yeah?" Chris says, pulling off.
"Asshole," Dustin gasps.
"You ever had this before?" Chris asks, and Dustin nods jerkily, swallowing.
"Who was she?"
Dustin narrows his eyes at him. "It was last year. Chris. Just."
"You can put your hand in my hair, if you want," Chris says, grinning, and Dustin does, cautiously. It's cute how nervous he is.
"You can move, if you want," he murmurs, putting his head down again. "Move your hips."
Dustin exhales shakily, and doesn't, so Chris just sucks at him hard until he's babbling and his hips are jerking helplessly, hand gripping at Chris' hair just a shade too tight.
"That's it-" Chris pants, and does it again. Dustin puts his other hand on Chris' bare shoulder, just holding him there.
"I'm gonna c-come," Dustin says, voice expressionless and tight and shaking just slightly, like it's out of some instruction manual he's read. How to Warn One's Best Friend and Current Sex Partner When One is About to Come.
"I would hope," Chris says, and hums, and Dustin comes.
"Fuck-" he groans, long and low, hand still in Chris' hair. Chris swallows, and licks him, slow, long licks on his thighs and the crease of his hips.
"That's what they- you're-they-"
"- did in the porn, I know," Chris finishes, lifting his head. Dustin exhales, eyes wide, face like a five year old's at Disneyland.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, when Chris stands up.
"What do you want to do?"
Dustin swallows, shrugs, but draws Chris towards him by the hips, puts his hand over the bulge in his underwear.
"You could just do that, if you want - fucking Christ, Dustin."
Dustin's pulling down his underwear, curiously, and Chris' knees nearly give out when he rubs a tentative thumb over the slit.
"I need to sit down- Jesus."
Dustin's focusing, all narrow eyes and tongue peeking out of his mouth, and Chris sometimes forgets that Dustin's actually sort of a genius. Mostly because he acts like such a fucking idiot all of the time.
"Just do it like you do yourself," Chris says, encouragingly, and Dustin twists his hand around and squeezes and fuck that's good.
"Feels weird."
"Feels so good, Dustin."
Dustin lets him sit down, and then goes back to work, and Chris comes fast, biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut. Dustin wipes his hand on his own t-shirt, wrinkling his nose.
"You okay?" Chris asks, pushing himself up on his elbows. Dustin nods and flops next to him, exhaling hard. Noses at his shoulder, mouth warm.
"How gay are your dreams going to be tonight?" Chris asks, and starts laughing, giddy and loose-limbed.
Dustin snorts.
"Seriously. Where can we go from Hurricane Penis? Maybe a cyclone? A typhoon?"
"Shut up," Dustin says, grinning, eyes closed.
"Eduardo could probably advise us on some more meteorological patterns for you to fill with dicks. El Niño, maybe?"
Dustin rolls over and kisses him to shut him up. Chris buries a hand in his hair and laughs.
"You're not exactly straight, are you," he says quiet against Dustin's lips.
Dustin shrugs; he can feel it. "What gave it away?" he says, and kisses him again.
MISC ONE
pairing: mark/eduardo, cameron
notes: for the prompt of an outsider's POV on the relationship..
--
All he can do is be glad that it was him and not Tyler who caught Mark and Eduardo fucking back at Harvard.
Or Divya, Jesus Christ.
He knows them. They would have brought it up in the suit, just for blood, just to see Mark rattled.
Cameron thinks he lacks some sadism they both possess, and wonders if that makes him more or less of a Harvard gentleman. He doesn’t quite know what Harvard stands for anymore.
He’d been looking for Mark.
He didn’t tell Tyler, because Ty didn’t really want to talk to Mark. He wanted to assume that Mark was a little idea-stealing shithead.
The truth is, Cameron’s curious about thefacebook. He’s opened it a couple times when Divya and Tyler aren’t in the room. Clicked around a little bit. It’s pretty goddamn amazing, and even though it makes him furious, he can appreciate it objectively for what it is.
So, anyway, he went looking for Mark.
His scared-looking skinny Jewish roommate had told him that Mark was probably in Eduardo’s room, in Eliot, and had smiled at him like he was terrified Cameron was going to punch his teeth in.
He supposes it’s a legitimate concern.
The roommate told him the number, but he would have known anyway. On the whiteboard on the door, he reads-
“Eduardo- come down when you get the chance. MZ”
He grimaces, and puts a hand up to knock.
“Fuck,” he hears distinctly from inside, thin, reedy voice unmistakably Mark’s, and he stops with his fingers inches from the door.
“Mark-”
“Fuck, I, fuck-” and he groans. Cameron’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath while he leans closer.
“Shh, shh,” Eduardo is saying, laughing.
“Wardo-” and the sound is muffled for a second. “Shit.”
Someone gasps. Someone moans, low. There’s silence.
“I have a problem set, I should-” he hears Mark say after a while, and Cameron smirks to himself. He uses the excuse on Eduardo too. Poor kid.
Cameron waits for thirty seconds and knocks, hard.
Eduardo opens the door, shirt untucked and hair mussed.
“Yeah?”
“Is Mark here?” Cameron asks, and he sees a flash of someone behind him. Hears a muffled curse.
“Uh-” Eduardo shuts the door a bit behind him, “No, sorry.”
“That’s strange, because his roommate told me-”
“Yeah, well, he was, but he went to the lab.”
Eduardo grins fakely at him and shuts the door.
Interesting.
----------------------
MISC TWO
pairing: cameron/tyler
notes: for the prompt - sometimes he just doesn't know what to do with himself. he is so goddamn nervous around him.
----
They both take girls home. It's not out of the ordinary.
Tyler always makes them scream, though.
Cameron kisses them soft and sweet, and they always seem to enjoy it, but it's hard to… to, focus when Tyler's girl is moaning furiously, high in her throat, nearly sobbing, and the steady rhythm of Tyler's grunts rolls beneath it.
The nights when Cameron doesn't bring a girl home are harder.
He lies alone, and there's no way he can't listen, through the thin walls. Tyler sounds like him, but deeper, more uninhibited. He sounds like he's having more fun.
One night he jerks off to it, Tyler fucking some chick. She's more quiet than most, but he's louder, and Cameron arches off the bed, panting around his fist stuffed in his mouth, when Tyler growls and Cameron knows he's coming.
In the first semester of sophomore year, they're at a party.
"I heard the Fuck Truck's coming tonight," Tyler whispers to Cam, grinning wickedly, and Cameron smiles uneasily.
Cameron kisses a BU girl during strip poker, lets her straddle him in a chair, and she stretches lithely above him, spine a perfect curve.
He lifts his head, and Tyler's staring at him, eyes dark, and shit, Cameron's hard. He wants to go back, a minute ago, not hard versus hard, because usually the girls freak out, but this one must be different because she just grinds down harder and laughs. Ty arches an eyebrow at him and grins.
An hour later, they're together, in a room, with a bed: the girl, Cameron, and Tyler.
"So you're like, twins," she says, not too drunk, but drunk enough- spreads her legs on the bed, and Tyler kneels over her and kisses her.
Cameron's heard it so many times, but fucking Christ, he's never seen it. At least, not for a while.
He pauses, hand on the doorknob, because Tyler won this one, didn't he? He got this girl. It's time for Cameron to leave.
Except from behind Tyler's strong back, he hears her say, "I want you both."
Tyler laughs, deep in his throat. "Cam?" he asks without turning around, like he knows what Cameron's thinking, like he knows Cameron will do it, like he knows Cameron needs it.
This is the point where Cameron stops. Since birth, it's been that way. Tyler puts something in motion and Cameron stops it before it hurts someone.
But this time Cameron doesn't want to stop it.
He moves quick, to the bed, feeling strangely like Tyler, and Tyler moves off the girl, comes to him hungry and they're kissing.
His brother is urgent, hard- fierce in a way Cameron didn't know he needed. He forgets about the girl for a second, when Tyler bites down on his lip, but then she laughs deliriously, and Tyler pulls away, barely even breathing hard, eyes glossing over Cameron, not looking at him.
Cameron's wrecked.
"I'll go," he says, and the girl puts a hand on his cock, through his pants.
"Don't go," she hisses, squeezing him, and Tyler nods over her shoulder. "Don't go. I wanna fuck you."
He can't stop himself from picturing Tyler saying it. It won't ever happen, because it's not supposed to, but that doesn't stop him from imagining it.
Except Tyler is drunk, one hand slipping under the girl's skirt, fingers working fiercely, and her head falls back. She's groaning, and Tyler shoots him a look, filled with intent, licking his lips, and Cameron spreads his legs involuntarily.
He's supposed to be the responsible one. That's what keeps running through his head, as the girl shudders and moans.
"What do you want us to do?" Tyler asks, like they're some circus act, but fuck if it doesn't make Cameron take a shaky breath.
Why don't you-" she stops, eyes falling shut when Tyler does something with his fingers, "do this to him. See if he - likes it- God-"
Tyler laughs again.
"Get naked, brother," he says, grinning at Cam like it's some joke and Cameron fumbles out of his clothes because if it's a joke at least it's happening.
"I bet you haven't ever done that before, have you," the girl slurs, lying on her side on the bed, unabashedly naked, and Tyler puts his fingers in her mouth.
"Get 'em wet for me, baby," he says, and it should sound cheesy and porn-like but Cameron remembers they're going inside him, and when Tyler touches the first finger to the crease of his ass Cameron jerks.
"Hey, hey. Quiet. Shh."
Cameron bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and the girl gets on her knees and kisses him, wet and sweet and boozy, and it distracts him until Tyler works his finger inside and he's gasping into her mouth.
She pulls away and looks at him like she knows how fucked he is.
"It's okay," she says, surprisingly lucid, eyes clear. "One time."
"Why don't you get on your hands and knees," Tyler says smoothly, still with that wet finger pressing hard inside him, and he's not going to get on his hands and knees in front of some girl, but she lies down on her back and motions for him to move over her.
He's looking down at her face. She's staring back at him, and Tyler pushes two fingers hard, crooks them like he's done it before, and Cameron chokes.
"Shit. Shit."
Tyler rubs a hand over Cameron's back, pushes them in again, fingers stuttering when he finds the spot, an endless loop there and there and there, perfect, each twist a bracing shock to his body. He groans, breath coming out in harsh gasps, and keens when Tyler stops fucking around and just leaves his fingers there, rubbing the first knuckle of his middle finger again and again against it. Jerks, spastic, clenching hard around Tyler's fingers, like he's trying to swallow them.
"He likes it a lot," the girl observes dreamily, and Cameron closes his eyes, nearly collapsing onto her.
Tyler breathes harsh against the small of Cameron's back, and reaches around him, takes his cock in hand, fingers still pressing inexorably at that spot, and Cameron comes apart, nearly sobbing. Tyler takes his hand out of him and chuckles.
He rolls off the girl, onto his back, and up- trying to regain control, still breathing hard, and he can feel the ghost of Ty's fingers in him- oh fuck his brother's fucking fingers and he cannot do this.
"Where're you going, Cam?" Tyler says, already taking his place over the girl, and Cameron can't look at him, can't speak, just pulls on his pants jerkily and leaves.
He hears the girl gasp breathily, and he slams the door hard behind him.
--------------------------
MISC THREE
pairing: cameron/tyler/divya sluttty ot3 ftw
notes: for the prompt about celebratory sex with this pairing. first fic i ever wrote in this fandom, actually. trolololol
---
“Can we just, for one fucking night, not talk about him?”
Tyler takes another gulp of scotch. Cameron’s silent in the corner, staring into his glass.
Divya rolls his eyes at Tyler. “Excuse me for being excited. You know we’re going to have to talk about him for a long fucking while.”
“That’s why we need one night. As a break. Jesus, Div.” It’s true Tyler needs a break, but it’s more for Cameron- he can tell Cam’s close to regretting his decision already.
Divya flops in a chair.
“Well goddamnit,” he says to no one. He’s a little drunk, Tyler can tell, his cheeks flushed. Tyler’s just pissed off. His muscles are tight, he can’t stop picturing the boat flashing inches before them, and he knows there are months of legal work ahead of them. He’s stressed. Divya mumbles something into his cup and Tyler fixes on him. Smirks to himself.
There is nothing quite like taking out stress on Divya.
He coughs pointedly, and Cameron looks up at him.
So does Divya.
“What?” he asks defensively.
“We have to go to the reception at the embassy,” Cameron says, more in response to Tyler than Divya, but he nods shortly at Tyler. They both know what they’re going to do, after. Divya- well, Divya will find out soon enough.
The reception is crowded. Tyler’s face hurts from smiling, and he gulps half of his drink right as it’s served- hands Divya another.
“Why do we have to be here?” Divya asks, taking the drink and nodding at him. “If someone says how close it was one more time, Jesus Christ, I might even hit someone.” He’s still tipsy, and Cameron puts a hand on the small of his back to steady him.
"People expect us to be here, Div," Tyler says, checking his Blackberry. He irritably deletes a message from the Harvard Environmental Group. Fucking tree-huggers.
"So how long do we have to stay?"
That comes, unexpectedly, from Cameron. Tyler looks at him sharply and he meets his eyes. There's want there, and Tyler knows he's thinking about Divya, who drinks, oblivious, between them.
"A half hour," Tyler says softly, and grins briefly. His brother mirrors it.
They walk back - the team hotel is only ten minutes away.
"So, when do you think we’ll file the case?" Divya asks as he scrolls on his Blackberry.
"I’m not sure," Tyler answers absentmindedly. He takes a deep breath of the chilly English air. It smells like rain.
"We’ll start thinking about it after midterms," Cameron adds, sounding equally distant.
"So, you won't even attempt to contact anyone before that? We should be more proactive in this, Jesus Christ. This is big."
"Thanks," Tyler says flatly. He looks at Cameron, but he's staring at the ground, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
They enter the elevator. God, Tyler can smell him, Divya, and he wants to tear him apart.
"I think we could go from the angle of intellectual property- I mean, yes, the Internet's uncharted territory in that respect, but the emails will be a key player-"
"Div."
He looks up.
"Can you shut up?" Cameron asks quietly.
"We should shut him up," Tyler says to himself, and Divya swallows audibly, like he's just realized it. Licks his lips. The elevator doors open.
Inside the twins’ room, Tyler sets on Divya like he's starving. Pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard. Cameron just walks calmly into the next room, trying to keep his breath even. He knows Tyler will deliver, and sure enough they follow, still mouthing at each other, Ty's hand halfway down the back of Divya's pressed trousers, and Divya making these little sounds like they're inside him already.
Cameron stops them with his hands, and they bump against his chest and he lets his palm linger on the slope of Divya's neck.
"Put him over the couch," he says dispassionately, getting hard. He doesn't even have to tell him, Divya goes, yanking his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning his fly, his movements jerky and desperate.
Tyler rubs one huge hand over the bumpy ridge of his spine, pushing the crisp shirt up.
"Do you want-" Tyler says to Cameron, panting.
"He's all yours, brother," Cameron says, smirking, and grabs a bottle of lube from the coffee table. He’d put it here while changing, anticipating this.
Tyler puts two fingers in at once, and Divya hisses through his teeth, then after a second, rocks back on them, jerking his hips up, mouth falling open. Tyler twists them, hard, and Div lets out a choked moan.
"He's a slut, isn't he," Cameron murmurs, sitting in the hotel desk chair to watch.
"Yeah," Tyler says, low in his throat, and Divya's head falls. He breathes deep through his nose when Ty gets inside him, exhales when he thrusts, groans when he pulls out only to push in again, hard.
"Likes it rough," Cameron says detachedly, and palms himself through his pants. "Just, begs for it, doesn't he, Ty," and he rubs harder, clenching the armrest of the chair with his other hand.
"He will," Tyler says, and pulls out. Divya sobs and punches the couch. "What do you say?"
"Fucking, c'mon, please, Christ, C-Cameron- Ty, please-"
Cameron laughs. "Can't even get our names right, so hungry for it."
Tyler grins at him over Divya's back and pushes back in.
"Cam- c'mon- fuck his mouth," Tyler chokes out a little later, when Cameron is halfway to orgasm, jacking himself hard, twisting on the upstroke. He closes his eyes for a second and clenches the armrest again til his knuckles go white. Divya's moaning low in his throat, pushing back on Tyler's cock, his own rubbing against the leather couch.
"Finish, and I'll- Ty, just come-”
Tyler does, on command, groaning brokenly, gasping, and pulls out, too quickly, smacks Div's ass. Div lets out a breath that sounds like a sob, and stays bent over the couch. Still hard.
"Yeah, don't get up just yet, baby," Tyler says comfortingly, zipping up his pants, and he pushes Divya off the couch and down near Cam's knees.
Divya reaches out and grabs his hips, pupils blown wide with lust. The chair squeaks closer on its wheels toward’s Divya mouth, and Divya takes him in, all the way in, and the sounds are just obscene- Tyler's watching dark-eyed from the couch, and Cameron puts his hand on the back of Divya's head and thrusts -
Divya groans around him, and takes hold of himself and the way he's so eager, it makes Cameron pull his hair just a bit too hard. Divya whines around Tyler’s cock as he comes onto the floor, and the vibration makes Cameron follow him, hard.
Divya leans back after a minute and gets the last of it on his cheek, and Cameron's lip curls as he lowers his hand and smears it with one thumb. Divya stares up at him for a second, blush spreading like he's just realized what he's doing, stumbles back, and up onto his feet, Tyler behind him in a second catching him, chuckling low in his throat.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and Divya pushes him away and zips up, hands shaky.
“The flight- tomorrow- I should-” he stammers uncharacteristically, catching his breath, cheeks pink, and Tyler grins.
"I think we fucked the sense out of him," he says, still feeling that conspiratorial thrill with Cameron, that sense of ownership.
"Don't be mean," Cameron says lightly, standing up, and rubs his hand over Divya's shoulder. Divya shrugs away, and grabs his Blackberry and keys off of the table.
"Tomorrow, then," he says curtly, regaining composure, and flattens his hair with one hand. He still has a little come on his cheek.
"Night, Div," Tyler says, and the door slams hard behind him.
Tyler and Cameron look at each other.
“The maid will clean this up,” Cameron says, motioning at the couch.
Tyler nods and allows himself one last smirk of satisfaction.
They’re going to sue, and they’re going to fucking win.
-----------------------------
MISC FOUR
pairing: chris/dustin
notes: for the prompt that had a TFLN and this- Sexually confused!Dustin experimenting with openly gay!Chris.
a bit longer than the other drabbles but whateveeer
---
In freshman year, Chris is still trying to convince himself he likes girls. Yes, he had a girlfriend in high school- Lydia, a cross country runner with great legs- but they kissed twice. Each kiss lasted under fifteen seconds. Chris isn’t great at math, but even he can add (multiply?) it up: 2(<15) = maybe still gay.
Harvard is awesome, just like he imagined. Except there are a lot of cute, smart girls- and some of them have legs like Lydia, which, he realizes now, were really muscular and maybe that’s weird and semi-gay in itself but whatever, she still wore skirts. Anyway, the girls. One of them asks him out in the first month, and he kisses another one drunk at a party, her wet rubbery lips planted firmly on his for at least twenty seconds before he pulls away and pukes into a bush.
<20 seconds = not gay, maybe? What’s the time limit on straight kisses?
He meets Dustin the next night, at an AEPi mixer. He’s standing against the wall, not drinking, because he still has dry-mouth and a headache from last night. When he’d called home, his sister had made him promise that he’d be social and try to meet people and make friends with a future millionaire and bring him home to North Carolina for her. From the looks of the kids around him, he hadn’t exactly come to the right party, but whatever. At least he wasn’t moping in his room while his math-major roommate Skyped all his friends in China.
“I thought college parties were supposed to be awesome,” he hears from beside him. The boy next to him is about the same height, with brown hair and a black polo. He’s kind of cute. Not that Chris cares. Objectively, or, you know, to the girls at the party, he’s- well, whatever.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip from a red plastic cup. Sprite, but it looks kind of like vodka.
“Are you Jewish?”
“Uh, no,” Chris says, looking at the guy again. “Is that usually how you start conversations?”
“This is, uh, Alpha Epsilon Pi, or whatever, the Jewish frat, so I thought. I am. Jewish. It’s cool. Member of the tribe, yea-ahhh-” he trails off with a weak, unconvincing “gangsta” flip of his hand.
Chris looks a little closer, and oh- the guy is really really wasted. He hadn’t noticed before. Some drunk people are sneaky like that. They’re all quiet and self-contained until suddenly they’re throwing up on your shoes. He sidles away a step. He just got these shoes.
The guy hiccups and stares down at his feet. “Shit, I am really fucking drunk,” he mumbles to himself. Chris nods.
“You seem like it.”
“Sorry, man, I just-”
“It’s cool,” he says. “Where do you live?”
“What, are you gonna take advantage of me?” He leers jokingly at Chris, and shockingly, Chris blushes. Ugh.
“Funny,” he says dryly.
“I live in the Yard. Room two... fourteen. Yeah. Not fifteen. I remembered it was fourteen because it was the year I got braces. Which is uncool. I don’t know why I just told you that.” He trails off, and closes his eyes.
Chris waits for a second. Okay. Apparently the guy’s done talking.
“Well, maybe you should head back,” he says, but the boy doesn’t move.
“Okay. Fine. Fuck.”
He puts the kid’s arm over his shoulder and walks him back to the Yard. He keeps falling against Chris and mumbling, and Chris resolutely tries to ignore his sweet, boozy breath in his ear, the way his lips keep accidentally brushing against Chris’ neck. He gets goosebumps and pretends its from the late-night early-autumn chill.
“Dude.” Chris shakes the guy when they get back to the room. “Your keys. Where are your keys?”
No answer. Chris pounds on the door.
“‘Sup?” The guy’s roommate is like, 6 feet, built, and apparently prone to monosyllabic sentences.
“Um, your roommate -” Chris gestures to him. “He, uh, passed out at a party. I can’t find his keys.”
“Chill,” the roommate says, and accepts Chris’ awkwardly dumped offer of the boy’s limp body. “Peace.”
Chris nods as the door closes in his face. Huh. Sort of a weird night, but better than making out with some girl. Honestly, most things are.
---
Chris officially meets Dustin the next weekend, when Eduardo from his Spanish Lit class brings him to Mark’s (from multivariable calc class) room and Dustin (from Mark’s CS class) is there. Whoever woulda thunk a history major and a computer science major would be in the same room. Really warms your heart.
Anyway, Eduardo introduces him, and Dustin goes red when he sees Chris.
“Dude- oh, hey-”
“Oh, do you two know each other?”
“Not really. Chris,” Chris says, leaning down to shake the kid’s hand. He feels weirdly confident, almost giddy with it, because he saw the guy wasted and he seems kind of like an idiot anyway, not in a bad way, more in a lovable, comic-relief sort of way.
“Dustin,” the guy mumbles. Dustin mumbles. He’s Dustin now.
“And that’s Mark,” Eduardo says, gesturing to the guy at the computer. He doesn’t even look up.
“You wanna play?” Dustin says, offering Chris a controller, and Chris takes it gingerly. He didn’t have a video-game-thingy at home, and twice a year hour-long game sessions with his hick-ass cousins hasn’t taught him much.
“Sure.” He sits down on the couch, and slides toward Dustin accidentally. Remembers briefly the warmth of him, draped over his shoulder, and then pushes away at the same time Dustin does.
“Oh my God, you suck,” Dustin says as he kills Chris yet again. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I don’t even know, dude, but you have a hole in your body. Deal with that. Preeeetty big hole. Might wanna get that fixed up.”
Chris laughs.
“Wait, which button is the ammo change again?” he asks, and Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh and reaches over him to grab the controller, and wow, he is extremely close. And warm. And he fiddles with the controller while still hovering over Chris’ lap and he is extremely aware of the fact that they’re alone in a dark room. Eduardo and Mark went to get dinner, and Dustin’s hair is brushing Chris’ chin, and he straightens up finally with a “ha! I basically just took all game control away from you,” and Chris tries to ignore how he’s suddenly cold.
“You’re kicking me when I’m down? Harsh.”
“There’s no mercy in war, Chris. This is Call of Duty, not My Little Pony.”
“What! I’ve been trying to ride the pony for ten minutes now!”
Dustin shoots him a look and laughs. “You’re fucking weird, dude.”
Chris sticks out his tongue and Dustin grins, then stabs at the buttons and shoots Chris again.
“Oh my God, I give up,” Chris says, throwing the controller down, and Dustin does a brief but embarrassing victory dance that involves the lawnmower, the little-used Q-tip, and an obscene amount of shimmying.
“Uh-huh oh yeah uh-huh oh yeah,” he chants, while mock-punching Chris, and Chris will never admit that he squeals a little bit, hands in front of his face.
One punch lands on Chris’ shoulder, and Dustin stops, too close to Chris’ face, breathing at him, eyes fixed on his lips. Chris angles his chin up because it seems like the right thing to do, and Dustin nearly leans down but jerks away at the last second, and grabs the controller off the couch.
“Another game?” he says, voice a little rough, and Chris closes his eyes when he sees Dustin reach down and adjust himself in his jeans, surreptitiously.
“Yeah-” Chris says weakly, trying to think of legs and skirts and tits. “Yeah, sure.”
---
A year later, Chris has realized that the whole puking-after-kissing-girls thing is symptomatic of something else, namely the fact that he prefers boys. It’s cool, at Harvard- no one really gives a shit, and Mark and Chris barely blink when he brings home his first boyfriend/fuck buddy, and then his second and his third. Dustin moans a little about how he’s not getting any, and Mark just nods and waves from the computer, and it’s all nice and accepting and normal until the night Dustin walks in on him watching porn, and stays. They talk through it, mostly, laughing at the bad acting, but Chris looks at him sideways and sees Dustin lick his lips, eyes alert and interested, when the guy in the video goes to his knees.
Chris grins down at his lap. Interesting.
He doesn’t say anything, but the next day Dustin texts him-
i have a feeling that watching gay porn with you was the reason I was dancing in a hurricane of floating dicks in my dream last night.
Chris snorts, out loud, right in the middle of 20th Century Russian History. His best friend and eternal fag-hag Melissa elbows him, and he shows her the phone under his desk, still grinning.
Her mouth falls open and she laughs, silently and breathless. Chris settles back in the chair, taking a few half-hearted notes about the Bolshevik Revolution. It only takes two minutes of that for him to yank his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket again.
what kind of dance are we talking? was it manly? or was it, like, the macarena because i worry for you
His phone buzzes loud on his desk under his notebook a minute later, and Melissa shakes his head at him disbelievingly. The ninety year old professor doesn't even blink.
im confiding in you and you're making fun of me? harsh
Chris laughs.
we can get dinner tonight and ill make it up to you
thats kinda gay dude like a date?
oh it wont be half as gay as your tropical dick storm
whatever bro lets meet at seven and you're buying
They do meet at seven, and eat a normal dinner with normal food and normal beer and normal conversation about girls and CS and how obvious it is that Mark and Wardo are fucking, so how they end up in Chris' room, kissing close-mouthed and awkward and dry against the door, is anyone's guess.
Chris thinks maybe it's been coming for a while, like when Dustin speaks in monosyllables to the guys Chris takes home or talks a little too long about how he walked in on Mark and Wardo, and says how- how do you do that, Chris - with more interest than most supposedly completely straight guys.
"Shit-" Dustin says, pulling back, eyes wide and scared, and Chris rubs a hand over Dustin's crotch through his jeans, grins a little when Dustin exhales and starts to get hard.
"I'm not gay," Dustin says, and Chris nods comfortingly at him, and leans down to suck the spot beneath Dustin's ear. Dustin shivers.
"Your little dick tornado- did it- did it turn you on?" Chris murmurs, laughing against Dustin's neck.
"Fuck off," Dustin says, but he's grinning, and they're kissing again.
Dustin makes a little uncomfortable sound when Chris tries to get his tongue in his mouth, but Chris persists and Dustin eventually gasps his approval, licking tentatively at Chris' lips.
"Bed?" Chris murmurs, and Dustin lets Chris lead him there. Sprawls, legs open, on the bed, looking up in wonder when Chris peels off his shirt and kicks off his pants.
"Shit-" he says again, to the outline of Chris' cock in his briefs, and Chris laughs, straddles him, putting their mouths together again.
"You like that? Kissing?" Chris says a couple minutes later, when Dustin shudders and thrusts his hips up. He has goosebumps, and he bites his lip hard when Chris runs a light finger around his nipple under his t-shirt, again and again.
"You're supposed to be the gay-spert, you should know," Dustin says, cutting himself off with a sharp inhale when Chris pinches his nipple hard. "Fuck, Chris, that hurt."
"You're right," Chris says, and he pushes Dustin's shirt up with both hands. They get tangled in it for a second, but finally Dustin emerges, hair somehow more messy than before.
"Okay, so this doesn't really mean anything though, because like, I like you, dude, like, friend-like, right?"
"This means nothing at all," Chris says lightly, not quite sure if it's true or not, and bites at the muscle between neck and shoulder.
Chris gets on his knees. He's not a slut, not really, not like some of the gay guys at Harvard, but maybe he's wanted to blow Dustin since he caught him jacking off last semester, biting on his fist to keep quiet, fisting himself at his desk chair looking at porn.
"It's no big deal," Chris says, and unzips Dustin's jeans. "God, you're so fucking hard." He watches Dustin shudder, watches the precome bead at the tip of his cock. Girls are so boring. They never talk dirty.
"-oh fuck, Chris, oh fuck-"
"Yeah?" Chris says, pulling off.
"Asshole," Dustin gasps.
"You ever had this before?" Chris asks, and Dustin nods jerkily, swallowing.
"Who was she?"
Dustin narrows his eyes at him. "It was last year. Chris. Just."
"You can put your hand in my hair, if you want," Chris says, grinning, and Dustin does, cautiously. It's cute how nervous he is.
"You can move, if you want," he murmurs, putting his head down again. "Move your hips."
Dustin exhales shakily, and doesn't, so Chris just sucks at him hard until he's babbling and his hips are jerking helplessly, hand gripping at Chris' hair just a shade too tight.
"That's it-" Chris pants, and does it again. Dustin puts his other hand on Chris' bare shoulder, just holding him there.
"I'm gonna c-come," Dustin says, voice expressionless and tight and shaking just slightly, like it's out of some instruction manual he's read. How to Warn One's Best Friend and Current Sex Partner When One is About to Come.
"I would hope," Chris says, and hums, and Dustin comes.
"Fuck-" he groans, long and low, hand still in Chris' hair. Chris swallows, and licks him, slow, long licks on his thighs and the crease of his hips.
"That's what they- you're-they-"
"- did in the porn, I know," Chris finishes, lifting his head. Dustin exhales, eyes wide, face like a five year old's at Disneyland.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, when Chris stands up.
"What do you want to do?"
Dustin swallows, shrugs, but draws Chris towards him by the hips, puts his hand over the bulge in his underwear.
"You could just do that, if you want - fucking Christ, Dustin."
Dustin's pulling down his underwear, curiously, and Chris' knees nearly give out when he rubs a tentative thumb over the slit.
"I need to sit down- Jesus."
Dustin's focusing, all narrow eyes and tongue peeking out of his mouth, and Chris sometimes forgets that Dustin's actually sort of a genius. Mostly because he acts like such a fucking idiot all of the time.
"Just do it like you do yourself," Chris says, encouragingly, and Dustin twists his hand around and squeezes and fuck that's good.
"Feels weird."
"Feels so good, Dustin."
Dustin lets him sit down, and then goes back to work, and Chris comes fast, biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut. Dustin wipes his hand on his own t-shirt, wrinkling his nose.
"You okay?" Chris asks, pushing himself up on his elbows. Dustin nods and flops next to him, exhaling hard. Noses at his shoulder, mouth warm.
"How gay are your dreams going to be tonight?" Chris asks, and starts laughing, giddy and loose-limbed.
Dustin snorts.
"Seriously. Where can we go from Hurricane Penis? Maybe a cyclone? A typhoon?"
"Shut up," Dustin says, grinning, eyes closed.
"Eduardo could probably advise us on some more meteorological patterns for you to fill with dicks. El Niño, maybe?"
Dustin rolls over and kisses him to shut him up. Chris buries a hand in his hair and laughs.
"You're not exactly straight, are you," he says quiet against Dustin's lips.
Dustin shrugs; he can feel it. "What gave it away?" he says, and kisses him again.