{chap8} Hate Crime NC-17
Hate Crime
Summary - Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.
Disclaimer - I don’t own Bones. I don’t even understand half the things the squints say.
Warning - boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ
A/N - I have to finish my AP French summer reading and all I can think about is fanfiction. xD
-
Chapter 8
Bobby Vogue was a good person. His mother taught him so. He played baseball. He made the grades. He set up the Christmas tree because his dad wasn’t around to do it anymore. Even though his mother’s the Jewish part of the family.
Seeing Gabe in the hall everyday, feeling that little shiver of guilt and arousal down his spine every time the guy looked at him, was like letting out a little fart. Nobody wanted to know. It was natural, it happened like everything else, but it should just stay in his pants, where it belonged. But it had to rear up every time Gabe said he was free after school.
So one minute, he was swapping saliva with Gabe, just to see what it felt like. The next-two months later, actually-he was listening to Gabe’s bottled up frustration coming crashing down on his ears. You think you can laugh about fags with your friends when you’re a fag yourself. Fuck you, Bobby. Quit giving me shit! No, fuck you! You’re out! I’m gonna make sure you’re out to everybody and it won’t be so funny any more.
Next minute, he came climbing out of the pool, spluttering and yelling. There was his half-brother Eric laughing his ass off, and those colleges buddies of his just a bit tweaked out of their minds. Maybe it’s the water in his ears. Or just his recent anger. So yeah, he’ll try some. Yeah, he’ll have a little beer too. Yeah, he’ll go on a midnight drive, what’s the safe BAC, 0.8, or something? 0.9?1 Next minute, they saw Gabriel Simmons strolling aimlessly around the school’s soccer fields.
Gabe shot insults right back in their faces. Right back at Bobby’s face. He was a tough kid. A bit too tough. The guys climbed out of the car and all Gabe did was keep calling out Bobby. Eric muttered something to his friends. They drove off somewhere. Gabe had got the condom, and they were alone.
It must’ve been the alcohol. Or the coke. Bobby was just going a bit too hard. Not that Gabe minded, but his moaning sound a bit too painful, so when Eric and the guys came back with the knife, they thought Bobby was on their side. Ohshit Gabe saw the blade in the moonlight. He made a run for it. The twine came in. That’ll hold him. He started hollering. Bobby’s eyes reddened as their stared at Gabe’s face, maniacal in his fear and anger. It was what he looked like when he’d been screaming at him. you’re a fag yourself
Shut the fu-Bobby wound up trying to yell. Gabe kept hollering. There were houses, just blocks away. They did everything to shut up him. Hits in the stomach wouldn’t do. And they hit him again. And again. Someone was spray painting the fence. One of them? Maybe. Eric couldn’t stand the look on the kid’s face anymore. He sliced off Gabriel Simmons’ face.
The next morning, Bobby’s mother woke up. Honey, you have a game at ten. He looked down. He didn’t remember much. All he saw was the condom on his drooping penis, with the blood dried to a crust.
-
“The kid had a 3.62 GPA, too,” Booth sighed.
Zack looked up skeptically, spoon still hanging from his mouth. “Is that supposed to be good?”
“It is!” Booth snapped, “For people who don’t have genius-level IQs. Just look at the school, you think a lot of students walk out of there going to Harvard?” He observed his beer bottle before taking a light swig. “Gabriel had a future going for him. It’s a shame he had to get murdered. Especially like that.”
“Why do you and Dr. Brennan always drink beer after finishing a case?” Zack eyed Booth’s beer. It seemed ominously different from his mac n’ cheese.
“It’s a celebration,” Booth shrugged. “You know. Some relaxation after our victory.”
“You didn’t want to work with me,” Zack pointed out. He was smiling in spite of himself, though he wasn’t sure why. “I didn’t think celebration would extend to me.”
“Eh, we worked out okay.” They did. Zack’s magical gay empathy reappeared midway through interrogating Gabriel Simmons. Booth was half-convinced that Bobby Vogue wouldn’t have confessed, had Zack not mentioned feeling isolation in high school, different sexual feelings, the moment of self-realization. “That little bowl of mac n’ cheese is weak, though. You need a beer to make this celebration real.”
Zack contemplated this course of action. “I suppose I should.”
“Unless you think you can’t stomach it,” Booth grinned a little. “Might have to show some ID, too. I can’t be held responsible for letting an under-”
“I was above 21 years of age when I began working for the Jeffersonian, remember?” Zack corrected. “Will you buy the beer for me?”
“Oh come on, buy it yourself.” Zack shoved his empty wallet in Booth’s face. Booth leaned back a little to avoid getting too much leather in his nostrils. “Alright, alright, fine. A Bud Light for my friend, please? Thanks.”
“My strength and endurance are constantly underestimated,” Zack sighed a little at this.
“Strength from what? Lugging around your microscopes?” Booth gave Zack’s arm a light punch. He could admit that the muscles were harder than he expected later. Because someone was tapping on the window.
“That’s Clint,” Zack explained, waving back. Booth raised his eyebrows. He was disinclined to admit the man looked like him. Booth was the better-looking. Clint was just the one holding up a note card asking Zack if he wanted to watch a sci-fi movie with him at his house. “I think I should go.”
“Why?” Booth demanded. The beer hadn’t even come yet, damn it. “Hey, be rational. Look at the guy’s brow line, it’s not, you know…” he gestured to his own brow line as Zack watched with wary eyes.
“Rationally, I would enjoy the movie. And it’s very likely that it would be followed by sexual activi-”
“Rationally, I’m giving you the ride home.”
“Rationally, I wouldn’t need it.”
“Alright, I’m done with this.” Booth flashed his badge and made a curt motion, signaling for Clint to go away. If the look of resignation on the man’s face wasn’t enough, Zack was staring at him incredulously.
“I’m not sure why you did that,” He said.
Booth shrugged. He seemed to have gotten into the habit of acting oddly around Zack. “Your beer’s here. You wanted the real victory experience?”
-
“You get drunk too quickly,” Booth muttered, mostly to himself because the squint slumped in the passenger seat next to him merely stared straight ahead, eyelids fluttering. Booth had been to Hodgins’ house before. He was sure he would be able to find his way to the garage. “Zack! Zack, you with me? Which way do I turn for the garage? Zack!”
“Right,” Zack murmured. “If you’re going at a speed of ten miles per hour, you should get there in about ninety seconds.”
“…still can’t believe you actually exist.”
He wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that he maintained the 10 mph and counted the seconds in his head. He hit 90 just as the door came into the headlights’ view. It was completely insane, but actually quite impressive.
“Alright, out you go.”
But Zack didn’t move. He was staring at Booth-no gaping-with half-lidded eyes and a mouth that had long since gone slack-jawed. His eyes didn’t seem to be moving. But, yes, they were; growing rounder and wider until finally Zack’s eyes were at the level of intense scientific discovery. “…you’re the reason.”
“What?”
And then Zack slumped back again, this time with eyes shut in slumber. Booth fell face-forward into his hand. “Ah, shit.”
-
Carrying Zack up the stairs and into his bed wasn’t that hard, once he’d finally found the key out of his back pocket. It really shouldn’t have felt that weird. He’d searched people before. He’s gotten used to touching people in inappropriate areas by now. He didn’t realize there was more than one bedroom, so he dragged Zack into the nearest one and plopped him down.
Zack chose then to open his eyes. “I’m not very drunk,” He confessed solemnly. This was met with silence. Booth didn’t move. Zack took this as permission to continue. “I’m not very tired, either.”
Booth should’ve noticed it sooner. The tent gathering up at Zack’s crotch area. “…I-I…I’m not sure I can do that.”
“…Alright.” Really? Was it as simple as that? Booth couldn’t believe it. He still wasn’t budging. “You know, logically, if you can’t do it, you would’ve walked away right now.”
“Yeah…that’s what I’m doing,” Booth nodded, not really moving all that much. He gulped a little. Why was Zack just lying there, erection and all?
“If you could hurry, please,” Zack encouraged. “Because I would like to take care of this soon.”
Booth nodded slowly, eyes flickering back and forth between Zack’s strong stare and stubborn-looking groin. “I can’t…” He repeated, just for good measure.
“You already said you can’t.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t-” Where was all this suddenly coming from? Booth was at the doorway now. His hand at the door knob. “I can’t do it-damn it, I don’t even know what it is!”
Zack gave a slow shrug. “Engage in sexual intercourse,” He said softly. Booth froze. Wait. His hand was no longer on the door knob. “Brush genitalia. Encourage arousal. Mutual masturbation. Anal penetration.” It was as if, with each sentence Zack spoke, Booth came one step closer. Finally, when he was right in front of him, Zack looked up and said, “Sexual climax.”
“You’re drunk.” The words slipped out of Booth’s mouth breathlessly as his hands somehow threw Zack farther up the bed and beneath his own body.
“…I’m not. Neither are y-” And for once, Zack was at a loss for words. Booth stared down at the speech impairment, his knuckles rubbing gruffly at Zack’s erection. This was new. And actually quite useful. He usually had to get into the girl’s pants before pleasuring her properly.
“No, I’m definitely drunk.” Drunk enough to unbuckle his belt and kick his shoes off behind him. “You’re drunk, too. So take off your pants.”
Zack’s spine was already curling with pleasure. He didn’t see the correlation between drunkenness and nudity, but rationally, if he wanted what was sticking out from Booth’s underwear, he would have to remove his pants.
Booth’s hands were everywhere. Not really sensual, just dying in curiosity, as if he’d been itching to corner Zack for a long time. Wondering what Zack’s mop of hair felt like, his slender shoulders, his flat chest, what it was like to touch a man, really. They both seemed to be thrusting unconsciously, and when Booth leaned forward to see exactly what kind of different an Adam’s apple would make, their erections met full force. Yelp. Groan. Skin finally met lips. Yes, this was definitely happening.
“Zack…answer me…” He was talking between breaths, between thrusts. “How…safe is it…without a condom?” He should really know this. But the genius definitely knew. Zack’s voice caught in his throat. Maybe if he stopped rubbing their cocks together, he’d get an answer. But Zack’s legs were spreading, and this cock thing rather seemed to be the priority.
Blindly, Zack’s hand flew under his mattress, body accidentally bumping into Booth’s in a way that wasn’t entirely bad, and finally he fished out a small, square wrapper. Okay, not safe. Fine. Booth grabbed it. Tore off the wrapper. Stopped moving just long enough to uncoil the thing down his shaft. He could think about how insane he was later.
“Lube?” Booth suggested.
“Saliva,” Zack mumbled. “J-just spit on it.”
Booth held Zack’s legs up. It really did feel extraordinarily like his usual sex. And Zack’s position fit the woman’s quite cozily.2 “You really enjoy this?” He found himself asking.
“I enjoy having a forceful pressure exerted on my prostate, if that’s what you mean.” Zack looked at him as if it were obvious. Booth felt the blood pulse right down his shaft. How did that annoying voice sound so different with a little change in subject matter? “You look very strong. The increased surrounding pressure would pleasure you too-aghh.”
He didn’t mean to go in all at once. It was difficult. And almost painful, at first, but he began thrusting right away. And soon, it was fine. It got better. It got good enough to make Booth grip hard on the sheets on either side of Zack’s head. He missed the flowery scent and the breasts, he had to admit, but he couldn’t complain. Not when Zack’s legs were as good as any girl’s. When Zack began buckling down and thrusting in such a way that the head of his own penis head Booth’s naval, he lost it.
Harder. Had to go harder. Legs up. Hands keeping them there. Skin slapping skin. Booth had always been too afraid to pound anyone like this before, but if Zack was thrusting back and shaking helplessly and choking on his own moans…then it sure as hell wasn’t a problem. And the whimpering sounded this much better than his squint talk. Hitting him from this angle made him whine that incoherent call for more? He did it again. And again. And again.
One minute there was rhythm. Next, pure white.
Then, Booth remembered something vaguely about Zack cleaning up with a towel. They ended up sleeping together, side by side, not quite touching, though Booth’s fingertips were somehow in Zack’s hair in the morning.
-
A/N -
1 In my state it’s 0.08%. Just a head’s up. ^^
2 This does not insinuate that gay men are essentially women. Men are gay because they are men attracted to other men. This was just Booth’s way of processing the situation.
So…they fucked. Yayy! Third sex scene I’ve ever written. I believe I’m getting better.
Summary - Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.
Disclaimer - I don’t own Bones. I don’t even understand half the things the squints say.
Warning - boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ
A/N - I have to finish my AP French summer reading and all I can think about is fanfiction. xD
-
Chapter 8
Bobby Vogue was a good person. His mother taught him so. He played baseball. He made the grades. He set up the Christmas tree because his dad wasn’t around to do it anymore. Even though his mother’s the Jewish part of the family.
Seeing Gabe in the hall everyday, feeling that little shiver of guilt and arousal down his spine every time the guy looked at him, was like letting out a little fart. Nobody wanted to know. It was natural, it happened like everything else, but it should just stay in his pants, where it belonged. But it had to rear up every time Gabe said he was free after school.
So one minute, he was swapping saliva with Gabe, just to see what it felt like. The next-two months later, actually-he was listening to Gabe’s bottled up frustration coming crashing down on his ears. You think you can laugh about fags with your friends when you’re a fag yourself. Fuck you, Bobby. Quit giving me shit! No, fuck you! You’re out! I’m gonna make sure you’re out to everybody and it won’t be so funny any more.
Next minute, he came climbing out of the pool, spluttering and yelling. There was his half-brother Eric laughing his ass off, and those colleges buddies of his just a bit tweaked out of their minds. Maybe it’s the water in his ears. Or just his recent anger. So yeah, he’ll try some. Yeah, he’ll have a little beer too. Yeah, he’ll go on a midnight drive, what’s the safe BAC, 0.8, or something? 0.9?1 Next minute, they saw Gabriel Simmons strolling aimlessly around the school’s soccer fields.
Gabe shot insults right back in their faces. Right back at Bobby’s face. He was a tough kid. A bit too tough. The guys climbed out of the car and all Gabe did was keep calling out Bobby. Eric muttered something to his friends. They drove off somewhere. Gabe had got the condom, and they were alone.
It must’ve been the alcohol. Or the coke. Bobby was just going a bit too hard. Not that Gabe minded, but his moaning sound a bit too painful, so when Eric and the guys came back with the knife, they thought Bobby was on their side. Ohshit Gabe saw the blade in the moonlight. He made a run for it. The twine came in. That’ll hold him. He started hollering. Bobby’s eyes reddened as their stared at Gabe’s face, maniacal in his fear and anger. It was what he looked like when he’d been screaming at him. you’re a fag yourself
Shut the fu-Bobby wound up trying to yell. Gabe kept hollering. There were houses, just blocks away. They did everything to shut up him. Hits in the stomach wouldn’t do. And they hit him again. And again. Someone was spray painting the fence. One of them? Maybe. Eric couldn’t stand the look on the kid’s face anymore. He sliced off Gabriel Simmons’ face.
The next morning, Bobby’s mother woke up. Honey, you have a game at ten. He looked down. He didn’t remember much. All he saw was the condom on his drooping penis, with the blood dried to a crust.
-
“The kid had a 3.62 GPA, too,” Booth sighed.
Zack looked up skeptically, spoon still hanging from his mouth. “Is that supposed to be good?”
“It is!” Booth snapped, “For people who don’t have genius-level IQs. Just look at the school, you think a lot of students walk out of there going to Harvard?” He observed his beer bottle before taking a light swig. “Gabriel had a future going for him. It’s a shame he had to get murdered. Especially like that.”
“Why do you and Dr. Brennan always drink beer after finishing a case?” Zack eyed Booth’s beer. It seemed ominously different from his mac n’ cheese.
“It’s a celebration,” Booth shrugged. “You know. Some relaxation after our victory.”
“You didn’t want to work with me,” Zack pointed out. He was smiling in spite of himself, though he wasn’t sure why. “I didn’t think celebration would extend to me.”
“Eh, we worked out okay.” They did. Zack’s magical gay empathy reappeared midway through interrogating Gabriel Simmons. Booth was half-convinced that Bobby Vogue wouldn’t have confessed, had Zack not mentioned feeling isolation in high school, different sexual feelings, the moment of self-realization. “That little bowl of mac n’ cheese is weak, though. You need a beer to make this celebration real.”
Zack contemplated this course of action. “I suppose I should.”
“Unless you think you can’t stomach it,” Booth grinned a little. “Might have to show some ID, too. I can’t be held responsible for letting an under-”
“I was above 21 years of age when I began working for the Jeffersonian, remember?” Zack corrected. “Will you buy the beer for me?”
“Oh come on, buy it yourself.” Zack shoved his empty wallet in Booth’s face. Booth leaned back a little to avoid getting too much leather in his nostrils. “Alright, alright, fine. A Bud Light for my friend, please? Thanks.”
“My strength and endurance are constantly underestimated,” Zack sighed a little at this.
“Strength from what? Lugging around your microscopes?” Booth gave Zack’s arm a light punch. He could admit that the muscles were harder than he expected later. Because someone was tapping on the window.
“That’s Clint,” Zack explained, waving back. Booth raised his eyebrows. He was disinclined to admit the man looked like him. Booth was the better-looking. Clint was just the one holding up a note card asking Zack if he wanted to watch a sci-fi movie with him at his house. “I think I should go.”
“Why?” Booth demanded. The beer hadn’t even come yet, damn it. “Hey, be rational. Look at the guy’s brow line, it’s not, you know…” he gestured to his own brow line as Zack watched with wary eyes.
“Rationally, I would enjoy the movie. And it’s very likely that it would be followed by sexual activi-”
“Rationally, I’m giving you the ride home.”
“Rationally, I wouldn’t need it.”
“Alright, I’m done with this.” Booth flashed his badge and made a curt motion, signaling for Clint to go away. If the look of resignation on the man’s face wasn’t enough, Zack was staring at him incredulously.
“I’m not sure why you did that,” He said.
Booth shrugged. He seemed to have gotten into the habit of acting oddly around Zack. “Your beer’s here. You wanted the real victory experience?”
-
“You get drunk too quickly,” Booth muttered, mostly to himself because the squint slumped in the passenger seat next to him merely stared straight ahead, eyelids fluttering. Booth had been to Hodgins’ house before. He was sure he would be able to find his way to the garage. “Zack! Zack, you with me? Which way do I turn for the garage? Zack!”
“Right,” Zack murmured. “If you’re going at a speed of ten miles per hour, you should get there in about ninety seconds.”
“…still can’t believe you actually exist.”
He wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that he maintained the 10 mph and counted the seconds in his head. He hit 90 just as the door came into the headlights’ view. It was completely insane, but actually quite impressive.
“Alright, out you go.”
But Zack didn’t move. He was staring at Booth-no gaping-with half-lidded eyes and a mouth that had long since gone slack-jawed. His eyes didn’t seem to be moving. But, yes, they were; growing rounder and wider until finally Zack’s eyes were at the level of intense scientific discovery. “…you’re the reason.”
“What?”
And then Zack slumped back again, this time with eyes shut in slumber. Booth fell face-forward into his hand. “Ah, shit.”
-
Carrying Zack up the stairs and into his bed wasn’t that hard, once he’d finally found the key out of his back pocket. It really shouldn’t have felt that weird. He’d searched people before. He’s gotten used to touching people in inappropriate areas by now. He didn’t realize there was more than one bedroom, so he dragged Zack into the nearest one and plopped him down.
Zack chose then to open his eyes. “I’m not very drunk,” He confessed solemnly. This was met with silence. Booth didn’t move. Zack took this as permission to continue. “I’m not very tired, either.”
Booth should’ve noticed it sooner. The tent gathering up at Zack’s crotch area. “…I-I…I’m not sure I can do that.”
“…Alright.” Really? Was it as simple as that? Booth couldn’t believe it. He still wasn’t budging. “You know, logically, if you can’t do it, you would’ve walked away right now.”
“Yeah…that’s what I’m doing,” Booth nodded, not really moving all that much. He gulped a little. Why was Zack just lying there, erection and all?
“If you could hurry, please,” Zack encouraged. “Because I would like to take care of this soon.”
Booth nodded slowly, eyes flickering back and forth between Zack’s strong stare and stubborn-looking groin. “I can’t…” He repeated, just for good measure.
“You already said you can’t.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t-” Where was all this suddenly coming from? Booth was at the doorway now. His hand at the door knob. “I can’t do it-damn it, I don’t even know what it is!”
Zack gave a slow shrug. “Engage in sexual intercourse,” He said softly. Booth froze. Wait. His hand was no longer on the door knob. “Brush genitalia. Encourage arousal. Mutual masturbation. Anal penetration.” It was as if, with each sentence Zack spoke, Booth came one step closer. Finally, when he was right in front of him, Zack looked up and said, “Sexual climax.”
“You’re drunk.” The words slipped out of Booth’s mouth breathlessly as his hands somehow threw Zack farther up the bed and beneath his own body.
“…I’m not. Neither are y-” And for once, Zack was at a loss for words. Booth stared down at the speech impairment, his knuckles rubbing gruffly at Zack’s erection. This was new. And actually quite useful. He usually had to get into the girl’s pants before pleasuring her properly.
“No, I’m definitely drunk.” Drunk enough to unbuckle his belt and kick his shoes off behind him. “You’re drunk, too. So take off your pants.”
Zack’s spine was already curling with pleasure. He didn’t see the correlation between drunkenness and nudity, but rationally, if he wanted what was sticking out from Booth’s underwear, he would have to remove his pants.
Booth’s hands were everywhere. Not really sensual, just dying in curiosity, as if he’d been itching to corner Zack for a long time. Wondering what Zack’s mop of hair felt like, his slender shoulders, his flat chest, what it was like to touch a man, really. They both seemed to be thrusting unconsciously, and when Booth leaned forward to see exactly what kind of different an Adam’s apple would make, their erections met full force. Yelp. Groan. Skin finally met lips. Yes, this was definitely happening.
“Zack…answer me…” He was talking between breaths, between thrusts. “How…safe is it…without a condom?” He should really know this. But the genius definitely knew. Zack’s voice caught in his throat. Maybe if he stopped rubbing their cocks together, he’d get an answer. But Zack’s legs were spreading, and this cock thing rather seemed to be the priority.
Blindly, Zack’s hand flew under his mattress, body accidentally bumping into Booth’s in a way that wasn’t entirely bad, and finally he fished out a small, square wrapper. Okay, not safe. Fine. Booth grabbed it. Tore off the wrapper. Stopped moving just long enough to uncoil the thing down his shaft. He could think about how insane he was later.
“Lube?” Booth suggested.
“Saliva,” Zack mumbled. “J-just spit on it.”
Booth held Zack’s legs up. It really did feel extraordinarily like his usual sex. And Zack’s position fit the woman’s quite cozily.2 “You really enjoy this?” He found himself asking.
“I enjoy having a forceful pressure exerted on my prostate, if that’s what you mean.” Zack looked at him as if it were obvious. Booth felt the blood pulse right down his shaft. How did that annoying voice sound so different with a little change in subject matter? “You look very strong. The increased surrounding pressure would pleasure you too-aghh.”
He didn’t mean to go in all at once. It was difficult. And almost painful, at first, but he began thrusting right away. And soon, it was fine. It got better. It got good enough to make Booth grip hard on the sheets on either side of Zack’s head. He missed the flowery scent and the breasts, he had to admit, but he couldn’t complain. Not when Zack’s legs were as good as any girl’s. When Zack began buckling down and thrusting in such a way that the head of his own penis head Booth’s naval, he lost it.
Harder. Had to go harder. Legs up. Hands keeping them there. Skin slapping skin. Booth had always been too afraid to pound anyone like this before, but if Zack was thrusting back and shaking helplessly and choking on his own moans…then it sure as hell wasn’t a problem. And the whimpering sounded this much better than his squint talk. Hitting him from this angle made him whine that incoherent call for more? He did it again. And again. And again.
One minute there was rhythm. Next, pure white.
Then, Booth remembered something vaguely about Zack cleaning up with a towel. They ended up sleeping together, side by side, not quite touching, though Booth’s fingertips were somehow in Zack’s hair in the morning.
-
A/N -
1 In my state it’s 0.08%. Just a head’s up. ^^
2 This does not insinuate that gay men are essentially women. Men are gay because they are men attracted to other men. This was just Booth’s way of processing the situation.
So…they fucked. Yayy! Third sex scene I’ve ever written. I believe I’m getting better.