AN: This is a little one-shot based on an RP I'm currently in. Benny, the main character, is the name vkdemon and I gave to the beatboxing Warbler, if that wasn't incredibly clear from his earlier appearances in my other fics. Fic. Not sure.
Anyway. This thing says it's 1660 words, before the AN. And I challenged myself to write the full thing without dialogue. So have fun with that.
Mildly pornographic, but not really graphic so...I mean, if you're looking for porn, this isn't really...that.
Okay yeah. Gonna stop rambling now.
One last thing that I forgot to add: This was betaed by LeoChris, as per usual as of late, and I am so thankful that I actually went back and edited this just for him.
It had all started with a stupid mistake at the ice skating rink. And what a cliché that was—people fell in love or something when they went ice skating. Really—what did he expect when he suggested ice skating? That all four of them would be skating together? Of course it didn't happen like that. The lovebirds were off on their own, sharing a cookie or something, so of course he should have seen it coming, should have seen the norm—being left alone with Nick. Except this time they weren't playing video games side by side and having deep intellectual conversations. This time they were just skating around and laughing (okay, Benny had been laughing—he'd been annoying Nick by tackling him to the ground as often as was humanly possible), and it had been his mistake. They'd both fallen and...well, he'd kissed Nick like an idiot. He still wasn't sure if he'd count it as the best or worst mistake of his life.
Because it was nearing two months later and they'd been spending nearly all their time alone doing vastly inappropriate things that friends shouldn't do together—because that was what they were: friends. For all their talking, they'd never talked about a relationship, or very much about their feelings, or really anything to do with the fact that they were messing around. He wasn't sure what to call their relationship anymore, because their friendship had evolved, but he wasn't sure into what.
And they'd done nearly everything. From simple kisses to exchanging blowjobs. The only thing they hadn't done was what amateurs called "real" sex, what counted as going all the way—and he wasn't sure he wanted to go that far. Ever. With what they'd already done, he felt like he was getting in too deep. Any further and he'd never be able to turn back. Already, Nick had made him feel things stronger than he'd felt with any girl. He could feel that thing, that emotion, that had entered his body without his realization, and it crawled into his very bones and shook him down to his soul, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy every time he so much as thought about Nick. He wasn't sure how much stronger that feeling could get—he might explode with that much emotion inside of him. As it were, at this point he could still change his mind; he could still turn back; he could still end whatever it was between them without completely destroying himself.
And even though he was addicted to Nick's lips, soft and warm and always tasting faintly of chocolate; and his hands, fingers fitting perfectly into the spaces between Benny's, his skin soft and silky like a girl's, like he hadn't done rough skin-splitting work for summer jobs or chores as a child, which, as a young actor, he hadn't; and his voice, whether he was singing or talking or moaning or swearing at the television, which was pure music to Benny, and he drank in every sound out of Nick, like it was deep red wine, he knew he would have to end it, soon, before it was too late and he could never turn back.
He stood in front of Nick's door, trying to figure out how exactly to drop his decision on him, and stood there for a few minutes just trying to get his thoughts together. Nick opened the door before he had a chance to work up the courage to knock. Nick had his lips on Benny's before he had a chance to get two words out. He followed Nick into the room, dragged by those lean arms around his neck, his own hands going to Nick's waist, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot. He heard Nick murmur something about the lovebirds being out all day—it didn't matter, he came here for a reason. They fell on the bed, tangled up in each other, lips locked to eternity, bodies pressed as close as they could possibly get, moving against each other, from their chests to their hips to their constantly moving legs, creating hot friction between them, electricity coursing through both of them. Benny told himself he wouldn't let it go any further than that.
He told himself again when all their clothes had been removed. He came here for a reason; he came here to end this thing between them. Who cared if their cocks were sliding against each other and he was once again committing Nick's voice, wrecked and incoherent and full of passion, to memory? After all, it would probably—no, definitely—be the last time; he might as well enjoy it while it lasted, because after today he would never get to do it again, never feel Nick's body curved against his again, never feel that delicious soul-eating feeling again. It was a good last time, he thought.
The boundaries kept being pushed further and further, and each time he passed a line he had to tell himself not to go any further, to stop there. And each time the pleasure won out over the logic. And then, before he even had a chance to think it through, his fingers were inside of Nick, moving smooth and slow and gentle, and he'd set this as the firm boundary. This was as far as he would go. No more after this.
But then Nick was moaning again, and whining, and writhing beneath him, his breath harsh, his hands pressed to Benny's chest, fingers splayed wide, and he begged in his deep lustful voice, please, he moaned, to please fuck him. He needed it, needed him. How could he possibly say no to that? How could he, when Nick had such control over him, held an invisible string that he didn't even realize he held? So he pushed the boundary once more, swearing to himself that this would be the first and last time it would ever happen.
They moved together, slow and languid, keeping pace with each other perfectly, like the gears of a clock, working together, constant movements, consistent mechanical harmony. Except this wasn't mechanical at all. It was pure emotion, their eyes locked as they moved, Nick staring deeply, his eyes swirling like vast galaxies. Benny felt like Nick could see into him, see his soul, deteriorating under siege of that feeling, exponentially increased under their current activity, the feeling moving from his heart to his fingertips, and looking into Nick's eyes, he thought maybe he could feel it too. Maybe he had a name for it. Maybe he knew its name and wasn't terrified to utter it.
They both climaxed, and it was only a little shocking that they finished at the same moment, Nick's head falling back to reveal his long, smooth neck, slender and breathtaking and perfect like a swan's, his nails digging into Benny's back, the sounds out of him beautiful enough to paint a picture with. He leaned in and presses soft kisses to his neck, breathing words of joy and admiration against his skin, heat radiating off both their bodies, heavy and tired out.
Nick fell asleep with his head on Benny's chest, curled up against his side, their bare skin pressed together. His arm was around Nick's waist, and his opposite hand stroked slowly through Nick's hair, and he just lay there, awake, whispering sweet nothings that meant everything to him, trying to push away his feelings and just think about everything.
He had never experienced sex like that. Of course, he'd never had sex with a guy before this had happened, but...even so. Never with anyone else had the movements been so slow and gentle, deliberately so. Nor had he ever kept so much eye contact, or felt so strongly about anyone. Nick had fallen asleep in his arms. A jolt went through him. They hadn't had sex. They hadn't had sex at all. They'd made love. And they both knew it, Benny was sure; even if he was just realizing it, Nick must have known. Nick always figured things out before him. And now, he couldn't even feel his own soul anymore. That feeling had eaten it away completely, and spread itself from his head to his toes, to the very tips of his fingers. All he could feel was that monster inside of him, thrashing and clawing and trying to force its way out. And suddenly he knew what it was.
It was Love.
The very thought terrified him.
He knew at that moment he was in too deep. Even if he wanted to turn back, there was no way he could possibly escape now. He was all in, whether he wanted it or not. He bit his lip and looked down at Nick's face. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, his forehead smooth and unworried, his mouth relaxed, lips almost upturned in a smile. That was the face of a man in love. How must his own face look? How obvious must he be to his peers? How much would they care that he was completely in love with one of his best friends?
Maybe he was in too deep, he thought, but at the very least he could postpone the inevitable. He set a new limit for himself. A hard limit that he would not pass, no matter what. He would not get into a relationship with Nick. This was absolutely the farthest he would go. There was no way he would put Nick through that, put himself through that. And even though the day hadn't gone how he'd planned—he hadn't ended things like he'd planned—he thought maybe he'd do that tomorrow, when he could feel his soul again. He glanced at Nick's face again.
Maybe next week.
Maybe next month.
He kissed the top of Nick's head and breathed a soft I love you into his hair.
The sleepy smile that slid across Nick's face was worth the world.