Simple Physics

Chapter 22 - Harmony: II


Rain beat out a tuneless percussion against the windowpanes, tip-tap-pitter-patter, like a tap dance that only nature herself knew the steps too, but on this night, her rhythm fell on deaf ears. Dash heard nothing over the beat of his heart.

He considered that maybe it wouldn't do to get his hopes up, or that really, this was simple and they'd done this a thousand times, and that was true – for just this, anyway – but it did nothing to still his renegade senses.

Lightning lit the room, briefly. One Mississippi, two

Thunder drum rolled.

Tucker's lips were cool – barely so, but still cool – a lingering reminder of where they'd come from (and by contrast, where they were now), and they opened under Dash's like petals under the light of dawn. And they kissed like that. Like there was no time limit: like they had all night, and all the next day, if they wanted it; like there was nothing to this but kissing.

Dash forgot the pinning nature of his position, his shackling hands loosening their grip to a lighter, distracted hold, and Tucker shifted under him, but it was a lazy, contented shift, his former anxiousness gone. When a hand tugged to slide free of his grasp, Dash let it go, and was rewarded shortly after with fingers catching at the nape of his neck, twining into his hair and holding, gently.

A tongue teased the valley between his lips, petitioning entrance – which Dash granted – and a soft, muted groan escaped him of its own accord when their mouths opened fully to each other. He didn't bother asking if Tucker's answering shiver was from cold. He knew better.

It became a game, then, of sorts, the kind that, ironically enough, reminded Dash of making out with cheerleaders back in freshman year (when some of them were still innocent), where the single center-piece question was: How far can I go?

Entirely uncertain what Tucker planned on letting him get away with, given the necessarily limiting nature of their situation, Dash decided to start small, lowering his recently emptied right hand to Tucker's waist and letting it hover for a moment before, with the air of dipping one's toe in to test the water, experimentally teasing up the cloth there, begging permission for further exploration. He took the short, wordless sound of approval and subtle lifting of Tucker's hips as a "go" and slid his hand fully under.

A jagged exhale broke between their lips, and Dash wrestled a groan as Tucker arched into his touch.

It always surprised him, on a semi-subconscious level, how fit Tucker was. Okay, no, sure he wasn't "built" in any traditional sense of the word. He was trim – almost gangly, but not quite – and wiry. But that trimness showcased lean, compact muscle that he hid under the baggy, unflattering clothes he favoured, and no, Tucker would not do well on a football team, but as a jockey? Or a sprinter? Why the heck not?

It was that muscle that Dash took the time to appreciate now: skimming his fingers over the flat expanse of Tucker's stomach, running them appraisingly over the understated dips and grooves of definition and feeling the muscles twitch receptively under his touch as he worked his way up. High on Tucker's chest – his shirt shoved far up, almost to shoulder level now – a pulse as wild as Dash's own beat against his palm, hard and fast, like they were getting away with something, and he supposed on some levels, they were; it still thrilled him to feel it.

Then, sheerly on accident, his hand happened over a pert nub of flesh – at attention from some combination of cold and stimulation – the brushing of which immediately incited a sharp, constrained jerk and an inhale abrupt enough to break a steady kiss.

Well, that was interesting.

Curiosity peaked, Dash drew his thumb back down, repeating his previous motion, but with purpose this time. And Tucker's cheeks radiated heat. He tilted his head to the side, shaking it back and forth and reaching down to push – weakly – at Dash's hand, as if to still it or shove it away. But his hips quivered up, seeking friction, the hand still pinned above his head twitching and tugging for freedom – which Dash denied, much to Tucker's apparent chagrin – and when Dash rocked his hips down, providing the grinding contact Tucker wanted, he found his attention monopolized by the site of Tucker's arching throat as he groaned, swallowing uselessly on any number of the most delicious of noises.


"Mm?" Dash was dizzy. He wanted—okay, well, he wanted a lot of things right about now, but if the power came back any time too soon and he had to take Tucker home and masturbate to take care of this later…

"Dash…" Tucker squirmed, his pinned hand tugging more insistently, "…let me…I want to…"

…well, it would be a severe let down, in any case.

This time, Dash let up, and Tucker's hand darted immediately down, catching Dash's waist first, teasing the edge of his shirt up and then sweeping unhesitatingly under. Dash felt himself swallow, one hundred and ten percent of his attention zeroed in on the path of Tucker's fingers as they slid in low along the plane of his stomach. In, in, in – they came to rest in the center, directly over the snap of his jeans – one quarter inch more and-

Click, click, click

Overhead, Dash's ceiling fan started a slow, quiet mechanical tap as it came to life. Behind them, the ventilation system in his bathroom purred out a low hum, and beside them, the nightlight by his bed sizzled for a brief moment before popping on, painting the carpet beneath it a soft yellow-pink.

Dash shut his eyes.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then:

"The power-"

"Yes," Tucker clipped, "I know…" It pleased Dash to note that he sounded at least as irritated as Dash felt. Then:

"I should-"

"Yes," Tucker cut in again, "I know…" and this time there was an edge of something else in there. Disappointment, sure. But of the sort that went beyond simple sexual frustration. "I know you should…" Tucker repeated, softer, and when Dash opened his eyes, Tucker had his head turned away, his lip tucked between his teeth.

He waited a moment before asking, "What are you thinking?" and Tucker turned his head back to face him. With the dim help of the nightlight, his eyes looked green again.

"It's…nothing," he said, shaking his head.

Dash waited.

"Just…before, I thought, maybe…if…well, obviously, if the power stayed out, then…" Abruptly, Tucker scrunched his eyes shut and huffed, frustrated. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. You can take me home. I just…I mean," Again, his pace slowed, "I want…or, well, really I don't want to…"

'…what? Stop? Go home? Explain things to your parents…?'

When the sentence stayed unfinished, Dash opted to take a guess. "What would you tell your parents?" he asked. "You know, if…well, like…if you, if we, umm…" Wow, this had never been this hard before. Shit. Come on, Dash, just take a deep breath… "If you, you know…" His heart slammed his ribcage, "…stayed here?" and Tucker's eyes immediately opened back up, anger and frustration gone completely, replaced a tentative, curios hope. Had he forgotten that Dash wanted this as much as he did? At least it stilled some of Dash's panic.

"I would tell them that it was late," Tucker said carefully, "and that the streets were slick with icy rain and fog…and that we decided we didn't think it would be safe, even with the street lights back on…" He paused for a moment, and then added, "…and I might tell them that you let me sleep in a guest bedroom, depending on how mortified they looked."

Dash let out a held breath as steadily as he could manage and smiled a moment after, chuckling. "Do you want to sleep in a guest bedroom?"

Tucker's glare was priceless. "If you even try-"

"Okay, okay, okay," Dash kissed him silent; the best method he'd come across to date, "you don't have to sleep in a guest bedroom…" He hesitated, "…unless of course you really want to, and then in that case obviously we have one and of course I'll let you-"

"Dash," Tucker cut him off solidly, putting a thumb to his lips and almost smiling, too, as he shook his head, meeting Dash's eyes dead on, "I don't want to sleep in a guest bedroom…okay?"

"Okay," Dash said softer, the movement of his lips brushing along Tucker's thumb – still in place on his mouth – and he kissed it; was Tucker blushing? "Then…" His heart pounded almost painfully in his chest, "…do you want to…you know, actually…"

Yeah, Tucker was definitely blushing.


"Not just…"

"No." Tucker shook his head, more decisive this time, and Dash swallowed despite his best intentions.

"Okay," he said.

"B-b-but," Tucker added unexpectedly, a moment before he leaned in, "if we're going to…you know, I want…umm…"

"Yes?" Dash asked, after a sustained pause, and Tucker took a breath, visibly gathering his wits.

"Can we…not…make this…like, you know, a…race to the finish?" he asked, unbearably tentative, and Dash wrestled with the tension in his throat, wondering how he could even ask that so hesitantly.

Instead of saying that aloud, however, he kissed Tucker's forehead, and then his temple, and then his cheek, and he said, "Relax…" quietly, not only in answer to the question, but also because Tucker was shaking again, barely perceptibly, and this time Dash was willing to bet it wasn't all cold or excitement – even if that was part of it. "We have all night," he said, and Tucker smiled through his nervousness.

"Yeah, umm…I guess we kina do, huh?" he said, his thumb at Dash's neck brushing down in an absently tender gesture as he spoke, and Dash nodded, eyes tracing the lines of light and shadow Tucker's glasses cast on his cheeks and lingering on the extra touch of darkness there that was his blush.

"Yeah," he reiterated at last, "we do."

And as quick as that, the whole game changed.

It wasn't about getting in what they could before he had to take Tucker home. It wasn't about getting off before they got caught, or getting away with something behind everyone's backs. In fact, it wasn't even about finally getting laid anymore – even though that part was, admittedly, rather exciting in and of itself – and upon thinking that, Dash realized he wasn't quite sure what it was about. Only that he was somehow simultaneously thrilled, and terrified – more so than he had ever been about the prospect of sex – and that no matter what, he didn't want to mess this up.

Fretting, though, he decided, wouldn't do either of them any good, in the long run, and he pushed the thoughts away as they rearranged themselves on the bed, moving to lie length-wise as opposed to perpendicularly. He wondered in passing – as their lips met again, slowly – if it were in the least bit possible that he was more nervous than Tucker. Probably not, he concluded eventually, trying to be fair, and yet…

He just wanted to do this right.

Maybe this was what it felt like to actually care about the person you were about to sleep with?

He decided that that, too, could wait til later – preferably much, much later – and in real time, he gave Tucker's shirt a meaningful tug that said "off" as clearly as any word and took the opportunity to follow suit as Tucker obliged. That earned him some degree of ogling, and, dropping the offensive material carelessly off the edge of the bed, he raised an eyebrow.


Tucker shook his head. "Noth…umm, nothing," he said, though his eyes sang a different tune, and Dash mmhmed disbelievingly, leaning in and dropping a kiss between Tucker's jaw and neck, relishing in the stutter of his pulse beneath his skin.

"Sure…" he said, and opened his mouth to lick the juncture, enticing a quick swallow, "I totally believe you…" and Tucker's attempt at a snort came off only half successful, its effect marred nicely as Dash travelled further down his neck.

"Al…right," Tucker conceded, propped back on his elbows now and palms flat on the comforter, "if you…must know…" Dash came to the base of Tucker's throat and dipped his tongue into the groove there, and Tucker's fingers bent against the sheets, making a soft scuffing sound as he drew a breath through his nose, "…it just…" It was nice, too, being able to go further down than that. "It always…I don't know, catches me off guard, how beau—mm…" He stalled, "…err, how…uhh, nevermind…" he finished awkwardly, obviously not as he originally intended, and when Dash looked up, he caught Tucker's guilty look the moment before he glanced away.

He observed the behaviour with puzzlement. "Were you gonna call me beautiful?"

Tucker's look intensified, like a child, caught saying the wrong thing, and he shook his head. "I…didn't, umm…I figured you wouldn't like that word…" he mumbled at last, softer, and Dash huffed, "…and anyway, you don't really seem to like it too much when I compliment how you look, so-"

"I didn't say I didn't like that word…" Dash cut him off without raising his voice a decibel above Tucker's soft mutter, and if nothing else, it got him his boyfriend's attention, "…and I never said I don't like the compliments-"

"But last time-"

"You remember what happened last time?" he asked, and then, without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Last time, I objected to you not letting me compliment you back, and you looked at me like I was a dumbass for wanting to…"

Tucker sank an inch; Dash imagined that if he were a turtle, this would be the equivalent of shrinking back into his shell. Great start, this. "Lots of people avoid compliments…"

"Yes, right, lots of people…you know who've I've known to turn back compliments?" Dash asked. "Probably every single one of my girlfriends," he stated point blank. "You wanna know what the difference is?" Tucker opened his mouth. "They don't mean it," Dash said before he got a word in. "When you tell a beautiful girl that her eyes glow brighter and more beautifully than a cloudless sky of stars and that you'd drag down the moon for her if you could, she'll giggle and blush, and she might say 'Oh, don't be silly, I'm not that special…' but you know what else? She's lying through her teeth. She knows she's gorgeous. She knows she has you wrapped around her finger, and she wants you to tell her more. But you…" Dash shook his head, helplessly lost. "You don't even…if I even tried…"

Tucker tilted his head, an odd, curious smile tugging on his lips. "You think my eyes glow brighter and more beautifully than a cloudless sky of stars?" he asked, and Dash blinked up, startled.

"I love your eyes," he said, blurting it heedlessly in that first second as if it were the most obvious and natural answer in the world. Then, cued in partially by Tucker's verging on slack-jawed expression, the nature of his admittance hit in full, and heat flooded into Dash's cheeks. "B-but, that…that wasn't what I—I di-"

Tucker closed his mouth over the words, and – startled into momentary inaction – Dash actually watched Tucker kiss him for the first few seconds: watched black lashes drop to paint feathery crescents on his cheeks, watched him reach up and brush his chin before settling in the nook between his neck and shoulder. And then…

Then Dash's eyelids felt weighted, begging to drop, and he gave in, kissing back until Tucker withdrew just enough to say, "Okay…it's okay, I get it…" and Dash opened his eyes again to find warmth, humour, and the barest spark of something else undefinable lingering in Tucker's eyes. "You think I'm sexy, I understand…"

Dash dropped his forehead to Tucker's.

"Yeah, babe," he grumbled, "I think you're sexy…that was the whole point behind everything I just…" but when Tucker's soft, bubbling snicker sent warm air tickling over his lips, Dash shut his eyes in defeat, "…said…" and decided that yes, in fact, it was completely impossible to stay frustrated with this boy for more than a few, brief seconds. He sighed. "One day," he muttered quietly, and made it a vow, "I'm going to prove to you, whether you like it or not, that I love…" Tucker blinked, Dash's heart tripped on a beat, distracting him, and for a moment, he forgot what he was going to say, "…umm…" He frowned, "…everything…" The words came slower, and clumsier than he intended, "…about the way you…are…"


What the fuck did that mean?

It certainly wasn't what he meant to say. He still wasn't sure what he meant to say. Appearance. That's what they had been talking about. Yeah? Yeah. So…he loved everything about the way Tucker looked? Yeah, that must've been what he'd wanted to say. It made sense…right? Under Tucker's startled, suddenly calculating gaze, Dash shifted anxiously.


"I just meant," Dash jumped back in, adamant, "that I don't like you putting yourself down. I like you." Good, much better, he thought. Like was a good word; a safe word. He could deal with like. "And I…I just don't want you different…okay?"

Something in Tucker relaxed.

"Okay," he said, back to smiling, though the curiosity stubbornly lingered, "I'll work on keeping that in mind…" and Dash breathed easier.

"Good," he grunted, and leaned over to the side, rearranging enough so he could open and reach into the drawer in his bedside dresser.

Something had been very, very narrowly avoided, Dash knew, and Tucker was far too clever not to have noticed, but he appeared willing to let it go for now, and that was all the permission Dash needed to shove the concept as far into the back reaches of his mind as it would go, and return instead to the more immediate task at hand: making Tucker forget his nerves.

In his experience with breaching new sexual barriers, it generally helped to stick with familiar things for as long as possible, reviewing the bases, so to speak, so that by the time they finally worked around to the home run, it felt more like one more baby step down a well-trodden path rather than a daunting leap into uncharted territory.

It was that mindset that guided him down Tucker's body: tracing his lips over each of the areas only his fingers had tread earlier, mentally cataloguing what actions in which places produced what sorts of results, and gauging the relative effectiveness of butterfly kisses vs. open-mouthed kisses vs. taste-testing licks.

He found that butterfly kisses produced short, sharp inhales and the shifting of fingers in the sheets. Open-mouthed kisses earned deeper, headier breaths, along with the occasional swallow. And licking produced squirming, sometimes with whining. Unable to choose, Dash opted for the easiest route and mixed in all three.

By the time he made it to Tucker's midsection, his boyfriend was in an all but constant state of breathlessness, writhing ceaselessly against his restraining hold – in the form of a pinning hand taking up residence on Tucker's right hip – and keeping his eyes stubbornly shut.


Then, Dash drew his tongue in an experimental loop around Tucker's navel, and was suddenly very grateful to have him pinned down, lest he be butted in the head by the immediate, startled jerk – and subsequent yelp – that followed.

When he glanced up, Tucker had clapped a hand over his mouth, and on seeing Dash look, he shook his head rapidly.

"Don-don't do…wh-what are you…doing?" he asked, drawing his hand away just enough to speak clearly, and Dash raised his eyebrows.

"Mmm…kissing your stomach?" he replied, and Tucker huffed, distracted.

"No, not…not…" He shook his head again. "Dash," That part almost sounded like a whine, "belly buttons are…nasty…you shou-shouldn—nnhh…"

And of course, the sentence never made it, breaking off in lei Dash dipping his tongue down into the aforementioned crevice, observing with great interest as Tucker's hand flew back over his mouth, barely muffling a low, broken groan and eyelids drooping heavily to half-mast in the process. Emboldened, Dash drew out, and then dipped back in – in, out, in, out, in, curl – Tucker's hips quivered under his palm, eyes dropping fully shut as he panted into his palm, and Dash thought, 'Well, this is useful…'

Who knew? Tucker had a sensitive bellybutton of all places.

Satisfied with his discovery, Dash gave a last, complimentary suckle to the abused area – which earned him a weak mewl – before taking mercy and withdrawing completely, smirking outright as he turned his attention lower still.

Not surprisingly, Tucker was already doing an impressive job of filling out his oversized boxers, and when Dash drew an assessing thumb down the length of his jeans zip, the trapped package beneath twitched appreciatively at the long-denied attention, and Tucker's hips – probably all of their own accord – pushed eagerly up into his exploring touch. Tucker's head sank into the pillows.

Dash kissed the skin just above the waistline of Tucker's pants, flat between his belly and the top snap of his jeans, and shifted from simply teasing with his fingers, to cupping the prominent bulge beneath them outright. Tucker's answering groan sent a fresh, ample supply of blood to his own neglected cock, but he continued to ignore it for the time being, appreciating instead the way Tucker's legs readily spread farther at his slightest coaxing, rocking into his palm and urging him on.

Finally, fed up of even his own teasing, Dash briefly entertained the notion of instructing Tucker to simply rid himself of his pants and undergarments altogether and have it be done with. Then, though – with some degree of reluctance – he considered that allowing his boyfriend to keep his clothes (and in doing so maintain at least some theoretical level of "decency") for as long as possible would probably help keep his nerves to a minimum.

It took only a second for Tucker's comfort to win out over practicality, and Dash opened Tucker's jeans himself. At his urging, Tucker lifted his hips, too, giving him the room to pull his pants and boxers alike down to somewhere around mid-thigh area: low enough to give access, but still "on" so that Tucker wouldn't be the lone, completely naked body on the bed.

It wasn't ideal, but Dash had worked around worse. In any case, the sound Tucker made upon Dash's fingers closing around and giving a first, sure stroke to his bare erection more than made up for any technical awkwardness.

Oh, and fuck traditional standards of beauty; Tucker looked hot like this – one hand fisted above his head, tightly buried in the pillows, the other in the sheets, and legs knocked as far apart as his pants allowed, the rest of him naked down to his thighs – and right then, he was for no one but Dash. It was with that in mind that Dash dipped his head, guiding Tucker's cock to his lips and then drawing his tongue up the length of it. He moved up in slow, exploratory laps, tasting and curling his tongue experimentally around it as he went, relishing in the way Tucker's entire body quivered as one when he moaned.

When he reached the top, he gave one quick, darting lick that lapped over the tip, and then finally dropped down, taking in as much as comfortably fit in his mouth – and then a little more. Tucker buried his groan in his palm. If not for his otherwise occupied mouth, Dash would have suggested that he make all the noise he damn well pleased. It wasn't as if there was anyone else in the house to disturb, and noise was sexy. Even the muffled sounds Tucker failed to cover went directly to Dash's now achingly unattended cock, already quite adamantly fighting a losing battle with his jeans (making him consider that maybe he should have stripped before this started).

Retrospect, he thought, shutting his eyes and suckling around his mouthful. Then, when gently clinging, barely urging fingers tangled in his hair, the soft pads of Tucker's skin brushing at his scalp, just short of stroking, and sending a tingling shiver of awareness straight through him, Dash groaned himself, sparking a brief tensing of said fingers, and he thought: 'Okay, yeah, never wearing jeans to bed again when there's the possibility of an extended hard-on…'

About there, he let his own hands start to roam, taking advantage of Tucker's distracted state to slide a free hand down, over the bare expanse of his thigh, and in, tracing wandering, curious patterns across whatever blank slate of his skin he could reach. He moved with a purpose, though, and by the time Tucker's breath started to shorten, growing more erratic with every inhale, Dash's hands were already low, teasing in and smoothing over his bared ass in intervals. Thus, when his fingers finally brushed over his tailbone and down, venturing just far enough to graze Tucker's-

"F-fuck, Dash, I'm-"

Immediately, Dash withdrew, circling the base of Tucker's erection to stall his release, and earning him a very impassioned, keening protest, not at all helped when he sat up, making it quite obvious he didn't plan on finishing anything now.


"Shhh…" Dash whispered in spite of Tucker's most stubborn objections, leaning in and holding his boyfriend wilfully still through all his attempted squirming. "Not yet," he said, and caught Tucker's doleful pout in an amused kiss before sitting back up. "C'mon…" He tapped Tucker's already impressively dishevelled jeans, "…these gotta go," and he noted with some degree of self-satisfaction that there wasn't an iota nervousness and/or hesitance involved in Tucker's method of complying, namely: chucking off his clothes as if he'd contracted a violent allergic aversion to all things denim and polyester over the course of the past two seconds.

Tucker was naked before Dash got his zip undone.

Dash snickered.

Tucker huffed.

Dash slowed his hands-

"Oh for-" Tucker started, exasperated, but just before he scrambled forward, Dash laughed aloud and shed the last of his clothes. When his boyfriend stilled, lips pursed, Dash grinned.

"Aww, come on," he teased, crawling forward. "You're supposed to be the sweet, shy, nervous-"

There was a soft fffwp sound as Tucker's back hit the sheets again, head sinking into the pillows as he scoffed. Then, glancing up a moment later, he tilted his head. "Oh, wait, you were serious?"

Dash rolled his eyes. "Mm…maybe not," he admitted, softer, but as he leaned in, dropping a kiss to Tucker's forehead, silence settled like a thin gauze, the titter of raindrops filling in over the lull in their talking and giving room for weighted realities to sink in, and for the first time since the initial 'Do you want to actually…?' and 'Yes' Dash's heart gave a hard, trepid thump.

It was the first time they had ever been completely naked in each other's presence.

They were really, really doing this.

He didn't mean to swallow. He wasn't that worried, he just-

Fingers brushed his chest, barely grazing at first before splaying slowly out to a full, flat palm that settled over his heart, unmoving, and "You're right…" Tucker said softly, "I am the one who's supposed to be nervous…"

Dash exhaled, though it felt something more like breathing out his heartbeat. "You're…not—?"

"Shit, are you kidding?" Tucker bounced back, only half-aghast through his smile, and though tremulous, Dash's next laugh came easier. "C'mon, seriously, though…one of us has to at least pretend like we're all calm, cool, and collected here…" And then, in a confidential whisper, "And if you panic, Dash, I swear to everything I'll fall to pieces…"

Dash, cheeks warm, bent his head forward, leaning in till their foreheads touched, and "Okay," he conceded, abashed, "you're right, sorry, I just…" He took another breath, filling his lungs through his nose. Tucker smelled like rain. Before he lost his nerve, he blurted: "I'm just scared I'll hurt you, is all…I've never…it's just…what if I mess up? Or what if I do something wrong? Or…I mean…you've never done this before, how do you know…like, what if you actually don't like it? Or-"

A finger touched his lips, and "Dash…" was gentle, almost amused.

"Hm?" was breathy, still nervous despite his best intentions.

"You know that thing where I ramble and go on and on and on about something even when I don't need to?" Tucker asked, and Dash blinked.

"Yeah, sure. You do that all the time. Why?"

Tucker smiled. "You know you're doing that, right?"

Dash blushed. "Oh."

"Do you need me to, umm…" Here, finally, Tucker showed signs of trepidation again – his brow furrowing ever so slightly and eyes darting briefly away, "…like…roll ov—?"

"Nah," Dash shook his head before Tucker even finished, reeling confidence back in in the face of Tucker's hesitance, "just, umm…stay just like you are," he said, bending to place a single, quick kiss on Tucker's lips. When he returned to more or less his previous position, though, Tucker raised an eyebrow. Dash snorted. "Don't give me that look…I totally have a plan…"

"Oh, uh-huh," Tucker started, "and what exactly is this-s—sssnmm…" His words died off in the face of silencing lick to his recently-abandoned nether-parts – still impressively attentive, Dash noted – and Dash chuckled.

"Hmm, what was that?" he asked, and there was a scuffling of cloth as Tucker shook his head.

"Y…mm…never, uhh…mind," he said definitively, and Dash grinned.

He did have a plan.

It just happened to require Tucker's distraction, which would have been much more difficult to attain had he let him cum the first time around.

It was also amazing how much easier things got without clothes binding his boyfriend's legs half shut.

So, without further ado, he shrugged, mumbling a compliant, "If you say so…" and took Tucker back into his mouth unforgivably quickly the next second. Luckily, the cap to the lube unscrewed easily enough single-handedly, and Tucker's hitched mewl handily covered Dash's first grunt at 'Well, damn this shit's cold…'

Maybe they could invest in heat-on-contact lube. That could have some interesting results.

He nudged Tucker's leg. Just a bit…there; Tucker took the hint, spreading without resistance, and Dash shifted his weight and position just enough to bring his hand in, and-

Tucker's fingers fisted instantly at the first touch, and Dash stilled, waiting. Only when Tucker released his breath – and his grip – waving him distractedly on, did Dash continue: running his thumb experimentally back and forth over the tight ring of muscle, every now and then applying just enough pressure to test its resistance, but never breaching. He kept this up as Tucker's tension gradually eased, and then longer still until his legs just started to shake, his initial nerves melting in the face of rising sexual frustration and body starting to rock barely perceptibly back towards Dash's fingers instead of away, impatient for some follow through.

Only at the first, muted whine of "Dash…" though, did Dash spare his boyfriend a glance, and Tucker swallowed as he watched, "…please, just-"

Dash obliged, finally breaching, and – fuck Tucker was tight – Tucker's eyes, open a second before, fluttered back shut with panted groan, his body tensing rebelliously against the intrusion, fighting it on instinct. So Dash waited. He returned the majority of his attention to Tucker's cock, using his spare hand and his mouth in tandem to draw back Tucker's focus once more. Very little at first, and then gradually more obviously, he started to move the finger inside of Tucker in time with the strokes to his erection, and bit by bit, it worked. Tucker adjusted – first relaxing, slowly, and stretching – and then, at long last, starting to participate again.

When Tucker's toes were curling in the sheets, his back in a near-permanent arch and body rocking back on his hand with each stroke, Dash added a second digit – which met less resistance, surprisingly enough, than the first – and at the same point after that, he added a third.

"Fuck," Tucker panted, fingers closing in the pillow over his head, "Dash…"

Dash, hmm?ed nondescriptly, earning a keening groan at the vibrations caused, and he smirked around his mouthful. When he curled his fingers, though, apparently he hit something right (and managed to catch Tucker completely off-guard) because-


But the warning came too late, Tucker's body already jerking with a natural spasm, and Dash drew back, surprised, but not fast enough to avoid getting a quick taste of something hot, wet, and salty. Tucker whined guiltily in the sheets.

"S-sorry," he started immediately, "I didn't mea-mmn—nnn…" His words fell off, lashes flitting back shut as Dash used his spare hand to guide his still-sensitized body the rest of the way through his release. Only when the spasms stopped completely, Tucker's agile body going soft and malleable in his hands, did Dash lay off, and Tucker watched him through half-lidded eyes, finally at a loss for words.

After scarcely a second's worth of debate, Dash took the opportunity to lean down – muttering a decisive, "Shh," when Tucker opened his mouth to object – and drew his tongue lethargically through the semi-translucent stain on Tucker's stomach. He could have sworn, despite the near impossibility of picking it up on dark skin even at close range that Tucker's blush still made itself visible.

Honestly, Dash wasn't the type to hold romanticized illusions about the awesome "taste" of sex fluids. That said, it really wasn't that objectionable, either, and Tucker's expression made the venture more than worthwhile. When he withdrew his fingers, Tucker shivered, eyes almost falling shut, but then following him as he moved up once more, repositioning until he hovered at eye level.

"If it feels good and it doesn't hurt me," Dash asserted, "don't apologize," and Tucker, eyes dark but attentive beneath him, nodded mutely, "and-" but the rest of that never made it, Tucker drawing a gentle, tentative thumb on along an aimless path down his cheek, and Dash wondered silently how, after all that had just transpired, such a simple, innocently tender gesture could still send heat rushing to his cheeks and stall up the air in his throat. Instead of dwelling on it, he allowed Tucker's clasping fingers to draw him forward, and sank greedily into the kiss offered.

Dash realized he was only vaguely aware of Tucker's left hand as it fumbled about around his waist, notably more focussed on his right hand – as it tangled in his hair – and his tongue – as it tangled in his mouth. At least, until that second hand wrapped around his-

"Mmnngh," Dash grunted breathlessly into Tucker's open mouth, his hips twitching forward in surprised appreciation—because, well, fuck, he hadn't really been touched all night, had he?—and his fingers closed in the sheets to either side of Tucker's shoulders, his eyes shutting as he rocked into the caress. "Fuck, Tucker…"

Tucker shifted, legs moving out, edging a little wider to either side and emphasizing that oh, right, they didn't have to settle for just this, this time.

Just Tucker's long fingers drawing slow, coaxing strokes up his cock, Tucker's hot tongue dipping back into his mouth as he bent his hips up, skirting it along the roof of his mouth as he circled his thumb over the head of Dash's cock, and-

'Focus,' Dash thought stubbornly, groaning in spite of himself at the practiced ministrations and exercising a substantial amount of self-control just to break himself off of Tucker's mouth. "We need…" he started breathlessly. "I mean, I need…" He blinked, because he was sure he'd grabbed-

Tucker held up a hand between them, a small square of plastic trapped between two fingers, as he asked, "This little doohickey?" and Dash's face warmed.

"I…yes, that," he said. "How…?"

"I'm ninja, every now and then," Tucker explained casually, his tone neutral and unassuming, and for a long moment, Dash stared. Then, unable to help it, he snickered, soft and understated but there nonetheless as he shook his head, and he leaned in.

"You," he assessed, dropping a kiss to Tucker's nose as he retrieved the snitched package from his fingers, "are ridiculous…" and Tucker's grin, despite all, was baldly cheeky.

"Maybe so," he consented agreeably, "but you love it."

Dash was ninety-nine percent sure – given his open smile and the warm manner in which he said it – that it wasn't a carefully designed ploy to make his heart hurl itself at the wall of his chest, but-

Dash dipped his head, hiding it for a moment against the curve of Tucker's neck and shoulder to avoid betraying himself.


"Yes," Dash was proud of himself for not swallowing around the word or croaking it ridiculously, "I do…" he admitted, and he kissed Tucker's open mouth before it said anything else to make him act a fool.

Then, all else aside, it was really only a matter of how exactly they were going to do this.

Tucker's next question reflected that sentiment. "So…now do you need me to…?" He made a meaningful turning motion with his head, his cheeks gorgeously dark, and it was strange, Dash thought as debate gripped him. It made sense, of course; it would be simpler, less awkward, and with girls, he had always preferred it if he could get them on all fours – so he could appreciate a nice ass and an androgynous back, instead of bouncing breasts and a painted face – but in this case…

His heart beat a powerful, anticipatory rhythm in his throat as he shook his head. "No, I think…" He drew a quick breath, "…like this should be fine," he said, and the brief flicker of relief and subtle softening in the set of Tucker's expression immediately solidified his choice.

There was no "Okay," or "Are you ready?" the both of those being understood as Tucker nodded, and his patterned breathing barely tripped on a half beat before he schooled it back in line as Dash brought himself into position, his fingers at Dash's neck clutching only the slightest bit tighter in self-preparation.

When Dash first breached him, Tucker didn't whimper, or moan, or cry. He clung. As Dash's mind went dizzy with sensation, spiralling in perhaps a thousand different directions at once, he still somehow rallied the will to keep his eyes open, to watch as Tucker bit his lip and held his breath, screwed his eyes hard shut behind his glasses and drew his body up taut as a bowstring, and-

Dash's eyes fluttered low, weighted, a broken pant escaping his lips like a long-caged bird rushing for freedom, as he lost his pace halfway in.

Because fuck if Tucker wasn't tighter than a corset.

Dash buried a muted groan against the curve of Tucker's neck and shoulder, and Tucker's successive exhale stirred the hairs at the back of his neck, slim fingers digging not-quite-uncomfortably into his shoulder.

"Tucker…" Dash breathed the name, turning his head to where his nose nudged the lobe of Tucker's ear, his lips brushing scant fractions of an inch from his neck, "…you've got…to-"

"R-mmm…r-relax," Tucker panted in turn, nodding, but not opening his eyes. "Yeah, I…know, I jus-"

Dash kissed his neck, a soft, open kiss that felt the pulse of movement as Tucker swallowed in turn, and he moved up, to the corner of his jaw. When he closed his teeth gently over the free skin of Tucker's earlobe, his boyfriend shivered, and Tucker tilted his head the next second, catching Dash's wandering mouth in a tangled kiss. That time, Dash's lips swallowed the vibrations of Tucker's moan as he resumed movement, and two shallow groans mingled indistinguishably when he buried himself completely.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck…'

Tucker gave a small, keening pant. "Shit, Dash…"

"Mm?" Dash swallowed hard, dizzily trying to gain focus, because if Tucker didn't loosen up just a little, this was all going to be over way too soon. "Yeah?"


Dash shook his head, "No, I…can't," fully aware that the words came out coarse and breathless and frankly not giving a damn, because Tucker's body was nothing but heat and pressure – lean and tight and encompassing all around him – his breaths short puffs of warm, humid air that skated over Dash's like teasing dancers, and his heartbeat powerful enough in his chest to feel between their twined bodies.

Apparently catching his drift, the corner of Tucker's lip curved – just barely at first, and then bigger, blooming until it verged on something far closer to a grin than anything else, and-

Damn him for that look.

Dash kissed him, masking the cheeky smugness and adorable everything else and serving to distract both Tucker and himself, and the next moment, with about as much control as he could ever hope for at this point reigned back in, he proceeded to move.

Tucker's body shuddered around him, his mouth going mutely slack for long moment – weak and open against their kiss – before abruptly resuscitating itself, and returning with sudden relish. As their pants mingled openly, Tucker's fingers taking up residence in his hair as if they both might topple over some imposing precipice otherwise and Dash's mind blurring until the world consisted of some tangled smear of titillating heat and euphoria, he decided that, fuck yes, he could get used to this.

He wondered, as one groan sank intermittently into another and his fingers dug almost violently into the pillows in order to keep up the near torturous pace necessary to allow Tucker time to adjust, if it could possibly be only that he hadn't had this for that long – so long that he had forgotten that it could feel this good, so long that the details had faded to the extent that this just seemed leap years beyond anything he'd tried before – or if, perhaps, it really did have something to do with this being Tucker beneath him – Tucker, who he'd seen in so many lights, now, who's laugh could make his day and smile could turn his insides to jelly – and Dash decided, to be fair, it was probably a little of both – with humbling emphasis on the fact that this was Tucker, and that it wouldn't be right, were it anyone else.

Gradually, Tucker adjusted, allowing for more, faster, with less resistance. When he started stroking his fingers along Dash's neck roughly in time with his thrusts, subtly moving to start rocking back on them, Dash took that as permission enough to pick up the pace. His executive decision met positive results.

"Fuck…" Tucker's back arched with the pant, his feet scuffing in the sheets, "Dash…" and oh, yeah, he knew how to make Dash's name sound sexy.

Dash lifted his head, making a study Tucker's ream of expressions as he drew out, slowly, gauging the way his lips parted and his eyebrows drew together, the way the slower pace enticed a soft, whining moan, and then-

"Mmmnph…" Tucker jerked his own hand immediately over his mouth when Dash drove back in, keening into the makeshift muzzle of his palm as his body bucked into the onslaught – because apparently Dash hit something right, if that reaction meant anything – and Dash made a low, huffing sound, stooping to nudge away at the hand.

"Off," he grunted, kissing Tucker's open mouth the instant it was made available before backing up again and adding, as he met Tucker's eyes, "I want to hear all the sounds you make…" When Tucker's lips clapped shut, gorgeous green eyes wide, Dash chuckled, pressing another kiss to his blush. "You're adorable, y'know that?"

"Mm…" Tucker's lashes dipped as Dash resumed movement, taking his time. "Y-yeah, well…if you want…that noise, you'll have…to…" Pant, "…uhh-mm…fuck…"

"Got that covered…"

"D-dammit, Dash! Y—nngh…" Tucker arched again, but biting his lip wasn't half as effective as muffling with his palm, and his choked, wanting moan thrilled Dash's senses, "…fuck yes, please…like that again…" Scrawling a quick, mental note, Dash did his best to comply.

He found that, as it did with girls, varying his pace and angle, even just slightly, garnered plenty of satisfactory results. It was hitting there (reliably) that provided the true challenge, but at least he got better at it as things went along. Before long, the scattered mutters of curses of various stripes degraded altogether into unintelligible grunts and heaving – on the both of their parts – but Dash still managed to retain enough awareness to harness Tucker's wayward hand when it started to inch southward – much to Tucker's distress.

"Dash…" Tucker fought the grip on his wrist with bleary persistence, "…let me…" He wriggled, "…I want…" and it was pretty obvious what he wanted, his trapped erection brushing against Dash's stomach every now and then when he arched, but otherwise receiving little to no real attention, but Dash, already decided, shook his head.

"Here, I've got an…idea," he said, guiding Tucker's hand out and away. He placed it on Tucker's knee, urging him to hold it up and out some, towards his chest but to the side. "There, hold it…like that," he instructed, earning himself a soft, huffed whine.

"But…" Tucker started to object, "…this is…em…b-barrass-ss…in—nnghmm…ahh-uhh…Dash…" As Dash's hand took up the job Tucker's was headed for, circling Tucker's weeping cock and providing steady, goading strokes tailor-made to drive his boyfriend insane (as this was something he'd had a lot of practice with, so far) Tucker's problems with the situation naturally disappeared rather rapidly, and Dash's own body reacted more than favourably to the resulting sight, his eyes drinking in the show as Tucker's head dug back into the pillows again, partially dislodging his glasses, and his Adam's apple bobbed desperately to swallow down the moans that still crawled their way out of his throat anyway. He did his job, too, though, holding himself spread and open, his fingers digging into his knee even as his breathing took on an even less regular, more rapid and hitched quality.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…fuck…ing…hell, shit…Dash…" Tucker squirmed as he cursed, rocking into Dash's hand and onto his cock in an erotic teeter-totter. When Dash slowed his hand, Tucker practically yelped, keening and tossing his head desperately, "No, no, no…Dash, please, I'm so…so…" and Dash swallowed hard, almost having to stop altogether in order to avoid losing it himself in that moment, his body already wound up tight as a vice.

He reigned it in, though, and kept moving, making, "What d'you want?" a low, almost growled question, but Tucker was too far gone to object.

"I…want…" His glasses were going to fall off any second now, "…want to…mmngh…" Dash leaned in, dipping down so that the last words were a small, panted whisper against his lips, "…wannacumplease…" and Dash smirked, triumphant as he caught Tucker's lower lip with his teeth, whetting it and then suckling as he skimmed his thumb over the head of Tucker's cock, treasuring his boyfriend's shaking moan.

"Good job," he praised, releasing Tucker's mouth just enough to speak. "You're beautiful like this…" Up close, he could hear every hitch and every pant, "…and I love it…"


As Tucker's body arched and his breath caught and held, Dash buried the last words against the curve of his neck, "Come for me, baby…" and Tucker jerked, freezing up with a broken whine before doing just that, spilling for the second time that night into Dash's hand and between their stomachs.

Dash milked him, fucking him slowly as he spiralled down from that initial high, observing closely as he crumbled into something soft and satiated and entirely meek and willing in his arms. And then, it was entirely Dash's game.

He had all the time in the world to draw things out, savour it, as Tucker drew gentle, lazy circles along his neck. And yet, release was an epic temptress, and Tucker's kiss, when he took it, was sweet, and tender, and rallying, and after their mouths drew apart, as Tucker's lashes flicked easily, lazily upwards to reveal an unspoken, intimate contentment in those warm green eyes, something else – achingly familiar now – stirred in Dash's gut. It tightened, in his chest and his throat, like butterflies and an invisible noose at the same time, too much to whisper as his body wound up for release, but maybe just enough to at least acknowledge, finally, just this once.

So, despite his best intentions, when his forehead fell to Tucker's and his breath caught in his throat, his heart tossing itself wildly against the confines of its bodily cage, he gave in, and let it through, confessing a desperate mental, 'I love you…' in the half second before he toppled over that invisible precipice, losing himself in Tucker's body.

His forearms shook to hold him as the aftershocks wore down, but all Dash could hear was his heartbeat, slamming like a war drum as if he'd said the words aloud, dancing to a thrilled, panicked, terrified rhythm, and all he could think was when had this happened? Why—how? And what-

Tucker caught his mouth, gently, oblivious, but it didn't matter. Dash took what solace he could get, surrendering to the kiss, devoting himself to it as his mind raced, because…

Dash knew better than anyone that sex did not equal love. He couldn't possibly have just suddenly "fallen in love" with Tucker simply because they'd finally gone and done it. It didn't make sense. Maybe he'd said he did here or there, but in reality he'd never felt anything more than a mild, passing interest in any of his previous girlfriends, let alone actually cared about any of them, and yet…

There was no way this was anything else. Now that he'd let the thought through once, it was all he could think, filling him and bubbling up and straining at the seams until it was all he could do not to say it, out loud and over and over again at that.

But he couldn't do that either. Surely, he couldn't do that…right? Not now, not so suddenly, out of the blue, without any…any…

Unknowingly, Tucker soothed him through the initial panic, kissing him until his heart no longer hurt (so much) in his throat, holding him until he could at least draw breath, and realistically, as Tucker's fingers carded lazily through his hair and their heartbeats slowed down together, Dash knew he hadn't "suddenly" fallen in love at all.

He'd been in love with Tucker.

Before the sex. Before the panicked call that had gotten all this started. Fuck, before he'd asked Tucker out (Kwan had been right?), which, of course, begged the question again: when had this happened?

As they finally drew apart, making quick work of the minor necessary cleaning processes, Dash turned that question over and over again, feeding it back and forth through his mind as he watched Tucker stretch and yawn and resituate himself when they made it back to the bed. But no amount of thinking bore fruit. As far as he could tell, there was no "when;" it had just happened, somewhere along the line, and there was no way in hell he could back out of it now, even if he wanted to.

Maybe the when didn't even matter.

It occurred to him, then, that maybe he actually ought to say something, and when they settled together under the sheets, Tucker on his stomach and Dash on his side to his right, resting a lazy hand in the small of his boyfriend's back, the concept became viciously tempting all over again. He wanted to reach out, run a thumb over Tucker's cheek, say anything, but…

Tucker yawned widely, nuzzling deeper into the pillow for a brief second before cocking his head, just enough to toss Dash a one-eyed glance; he'd taken his glasses off for sleep, and he looked ridiculously cute, half buried in the pillow and owl-eyed without his specs. "Are you alri-"

"I'm fine," Dash said, perhaps too quickly, and then, blushing, he leaned in, brushing a feather light kiss over Tucker's forehead to make up for it. Without moving completely back out, he re-emphasized, "I'm great…" and gave in to the desire to brush his finger over Tucker's cheek, prizing the subtle swell of heat there.

"That's good. We should, you know…do this more often," Tucker suggested abashedly, telling half the sentence to the pillow, but Dash made it out just fine and smiled.

"Yeah, I think so," he agreed.

"How long do we have?"

Dash blinked, confused.

"Like, I mean…I assume your parents aren't home right now, right?" Tucker asked, and realization dawned.

"Oh, yeah, umm…" Dash shut his eyes, thinking, "…noonish, or…something, you know." When he opened them again, Tucker was nodding around the beginnings of another yawn.

"Mmkay, good, we should be…" There went the yawn, "…fine."

"Yeah," he agreed, and 'Now,' he thought. Just say it: 'I love you, goodnight.' Or, hell: 'Goodnight, I love you.' Either worked. Either would be fine. Just say one. It would be easy. It would be quick. It would make sense. But…Tucker hadn't said anything.

'Maybe he's shy?'

Maybe he didn't feel the same.

'No,' Dash instantly negated that, 'he obviously feels something.' Okay, sure, maybe not the same. Maybe not as much. But something. Dash wasn't that dumb, orIf I can't even convince him I think he looks adorable…how am I supposed to convince him I've fallen in love with him?' that insecure. But then, the bigger, realer fear: '

'What if he doesn't believe me…?' To think that Tucker might think, even for a second, that he'd make such a confession just to humour him…

"G'night," Tucker murmured softly, sleepily, and Dash's heart warmed and knotted as one.

"Night," he returned as quietly, and pecked Tucker's cheek one last time before succumbing to the sheets. 'Later,' he thought. Later, he'd say something. Later, when Tucker trusted him more. Later, when they were both more secure about their relationship. Later, when there wouldn't be any question…

Dash fell asleep on his side, his head on his pillow and his hand on Tucker's back, cradling in his heart a fragile, infantile emotion that he'd never before harboured for anyone. He would wake with Tucker tucked snugly against his chest, his arm draped possessively over the smaller boy's waist and their fingers loosely tangled at chest level, pink sunshine fighting its way through his blinds. 


Chapter 21 ~~~~~~~~ Back to Dash/Tucker ~~~~~~~~               

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