Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5900.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Luke_Campbell/Lyle_Bennet
  Character:
      Luke_Campbell, Lyle_Bennet
  Additional Tags:
      Dom/sub, Porn, Non-Penetrative_Sex, Romance
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-08-16 Words: 3402
****** By The Dashboard Light ******
by perdiccas
Summary
     Now, it feels like Lyle has an ability of his own, a power over Luke
     that scares him, and gets him so hard he can scarcely think.
Notes
     Luke is 17; Lyle is 16.
It's dark but early when Lyle parks the car. Luke's been talking non-stop since
they pulled out of the drive, but Lyle's tuned him out, his attention caught
instead by the way Luke nervously wipes his palms on the thighs of his new
jeans, twists his fingers in the hem of that fancy, dark olive t-shirt Lyle's
mom bought him to wear for when the raggedy things he owns aren't good enough.
Lyle thinks it's cute that Luke's dressed up, thinks it's cute that Luke's
unsure, because this is a date and Lyle doesn't think that Luke does dating.
By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they bypass the mall, skipping the movie
they'd told his parents they were going to see, because they'd end up here in
this unlit stretch of woods eventually anyway. Lyle shuts off the engine,
pulled over under a tree; there are a few other cars dotted here and there, far
enough away that Lyle can pretend that they're alone.
"Backseat," he says and it cuts through Luke's babble like a knife,
interrupting him mid-sentence, mid-word even, and it should feel rude, but it
doesn't. Luke gives him this grateful smile, darts out the door and circles to
the back as Lyle takes a deep breath to calm his own shaking hands, because
when they're like this, when they're alone, Luke listens to him like no one
else ever has before, his body thrumming taut with an eagerness to obey.
And, Lyle's never understood why abilities are such a big deal. He thinks they
make you a freak and get you in trouble; he doesn't get why Luke and Claire
seem so quietly proud of something they have to hide, but now, it feels like he
has an ability of his own, a power over Luke that scares him, and gets him so
hard he can scarcely think. It's his own secret super power that no one else
can see, and when he looks in the rear view mirror, sees Luke sitting there,
legs splayed wide in jeans tenting for Lyle, he thinks he finally understands
how things can go too far, how Luke could kill a man with those microwaves that
erupt from his palms, and how someone like Sylar could come into being.
He crawls between the seats, practically falls into Luke's lap, laughing with
him as he bumps his head on the ceiling of the car. Their mouths are a breath
apart, Lyle's fingers twisting in Luke's hair as Luke holds him tight by the
hips, pulling him close until their groins rub together, dicks already half-
hard with anticipation.
"Lyle, I…" Luke stutters but Lyle kisses the words away, groaning, "You look so
hot," into his mouth.
Luke's head falls back, he rolls his eyes, and mutters, "No."
"Yes," Lyle insists, kissing him harder and hungrier, grinding up against him
as he spits, "So fucking hot."
Luke shakes his head, tries to demur, say, "No," again, but Lyle's biting at
his lips, won't let him get a word in edgewise until his chin tilts up, Adam's
apple bobbing as he swallows, the pale column of his throat stretched and
exposed.
"You too," Luke finally concedes, as Lyle pushes his t-shirt up, soft, pale
belly as bare to him as the line of his throat. Lyle drags his nails through
the fine hair below Luke's navel, scratches at the quivering skin below, not
hard enough to leave a mark, but rough enough to sting. And there's something
dark and dangerous, winding hot and tense in Lyle's core, something that makes
his dick get harder with every whimpered sigh he makes Luke make.
He tugs at Luke's hair, groaning as Luke's head falls willingly back further,
'though the angle, by now, has to hurt, and he nips his way under Luke's chin,
down that pale skin that bruises purple where Lyle's been. And when he presses
his open mouth to Luke's pulse point, teeth biting into his delicate throat
just deep enough to threaten, Luke makes this tiny sound of fear, but stretches
his neck yet further, submitting to it all. But Lyle doesn't give in to his
confusing desire to hurt, although Luke would let him; he presses his tongue to
Luke's skin, feels the hot, warm pulse of blood in his veins and sucks a tender
kiss there instead.
In a frantic, breathless rush, Luke blurts, "I love you."
And then, it doesn't matter that Luke's three months older, that he's taller
and broader, sucked, fucked and been fucked while Lyle's so much a virgin that
his first kiss with Luke was his first kiss ever. In that moment, Luke's voice
sounds so strained, it's as if he's in pain and Lyle wants to fold himself
around him, and keep Luke safe.
"I love you," he pleads again with aching desperation, and for all Luke likes
to play at being badass, Lyle thinks he loves too easily. He's given away his
heart so many times to so many people who haven't deserved him, cruel people,
dangerous people, people like his deadbeat dad and Sylar, who've only left him
bruised and broken. And now, it feels as if he's offering Lyle that last
remaining shattered piece, and Lyle wants so badly that he's terrified he'll
hold too tight or push too far, be so overwhelmed by that fierce constricting
heat and tightness in his chest that he'll clumsily destroy this delicate thing
Luke's trusted to him.
Lyle presses his palm above Luke's left nipple, splays his fingers over that
narrow, hairless chest, and in a slow, deliberate voice, he promises, "I love
you too."
And with his words, it's as if something has broken deep inside him, too,
because he's curling into Luke as needily as Luke's arching up into him and
their kiss is a clashing, tearing, mash of lips and teeth. Frenetic hands grope
everywhere; Lyle can feel Luke clawing at his back, grabbing at his hips and
ass and upper thighs. He slides his hands up Luke's chest, pushing that fancy
t-shirt higher until it's bunched tightly under Luke's arms, a dusting of dark
chestnut hair just peeking out from under the fabric. He braces himself on
Luke's shoulders, leans in closer as his thumbs notch to the dips of Luke's
clavicles, and he grinds his dick to Luke's dick.
In the too-small space of the car, Lyle's heavy breathing echoes like the
soundtrack to a cheap porno. Luke's head tips back with a tortured groan of
pleasure, wet, kiss-reddened lips parted so sweetly that Lyle wants to ram his
cock deep down Luke's throat and fuck that pretty mouth until it's stained a
slick, sticky white. And in the glass of the car's rear window, Lyle can see
his own eyes reflected back, so dark with lust they look as pitch black as the
starless night around them.
He ducks his head, nose crushed to Luke's firm chest, lips latching the puffy
rose-pink of his left nipple, lapping with the flat of his tongue over the
hardened point; Luke whimpers at the most tender kiss, keens when Lyle's teeth
skid over his sensitive skin. Beneath Lyle, he squirms and bucks, wriggles out
of his t-shirt so feverishly that Lyle's hands slide down his chest, over the
flexing muscle of his soft stomach and pin his hips to the seat below to hold
him still. Then, Lyle's fingers curl under the waistband of his neatly pressed
jeans, drag along the ticklish, fluttering flesh of his lower belly until both
hands frame Luke's fly, the tips of his thumbs teasing at the denim-covered
outline of his cock.
Lyle looks up at Luke, licks his lips at the flushed skin of his chest and
neck, at the redness of his cheeks and his mussed hair. They kiss again, as
careful as before was frenzied, Lyle's tongue slipping lovingly between Luke's
lips. Low, low in his gut, at the base of his cock, and behind his sac, Lyle
can feel a throbbing sense of anticipation that's growing, blue balls but
sweeter, a need that's being held back, but with the promise of relief so close
that he can taste it in the chlorine-tart scent of Luke's arousal.
And though his body is quaking with the strain, Lyle holds Luke's gaze as he
presses the pad of his thumb to the flat copper round of the button his jeans
and asks, "Okay?"
Luke's chin tilts and he parts his mouth to beg another kiss; Lyle sucks that
pouting bottom lip between his gently and into his skin, Luke murmurs, "Yeah."
Lyle leaves his forehead pressed to Luke's, their lips so close that they're
breathing in each other's gasping pants, and through his downturned lashes,
Lyle watches his own fingers fumble to pop the button on Luke's fly. He tugs
Luke's zipper down; the backs of his knuckles feel burning hot where they brush
against Luke's erection, straining the thin cotton of his boxers. And though
he's made Luke come before, rubbing up against him, an eager thigh pressed up
and firm between his legs until there's wetness that stains the front of both
their jeans, this is new and this is different, and he doesn't want to rush it.
He hooks a finger in the waistband of those ratty boxers, tugs out until Luke's
cock springs up, straining tight to his belly; Luke's sigh of relief mirrors
Lyle's hungry groan. Lyle shifts his weight, digs his knees into the seat on
either side of Luke's lap, lifting his ass enough for Luke to shuffle his
clothes down to his knees. Then, he's sitting again, his denim-clad thighs in a
protective arc that frames Luke's groin, and between their bodies, the shadows
are coal-black and thick like oil, too deep for Lyle to see through. So, he
twists at an awkward angle and reaches out, aiming for the overhead light, but
as he leans back, Luke catches his wrist desperately and yanks him close again.
"Lyle," he cries, voice so uncertain, it strips Lyle raw to hear it.
"I'm here." Lyle swivels his hand in Luke's grasp so that he can circle his
fingers 'round Luke's wrist, too, pressing them together palm to palm, and it's
holding hands but more secure, clutching, clinging, holding fast enough to
hurt.
"I wanna see you," Lyle begs. Luke's breath is warm on his neck, and Lyle
shivers at the nip of teeth on the lobe of his ear.
"Yes," Luke pants.
Two searching fingers find the tiny switch, the dull yellow light flickering
on; Luke has his eyes scrunched shut, 'though the light's not bright enough to
blind him, and Lyle swallows down the plaintive sounds he's making. He peppers
butterfly kisses around Luke's mouth, lips brushing over the swell of his
cheeks, tongue darting into the cleft of his chin, laughing softly and pulling
away as Luke turns his head blindly and tries to catch his mouth with his. And
then, Luke's laughing shyly, too, and his eyelids flutter open, deep brown eyes
wary as Lyle peers keenly into the newly bright space between them. Lyle
squeezes Luke's wrist where he still holds it, squeezing until Luke squeezes
back and in between the reassuring kisses they trade, Lyle says, "I love you,"
just as surely as he had before, shushing Luke as shudders against him.
He sucks in a breath as he stares, sees those scars he doesn't like to linger
on because they make him angry. Looks down lower, hands following the path of
his gaze until his fingertips are drawing restless patterns in Luke's auburn
pubic hair. And Lyle thinks the sight of Luke's cock, first time seen after so
many nights felt, shouldn't make it so hard to breathe or so impossible to
think. It's not so different from his own, thicker maybe, about as long, the
tip glossy with pre-come, already, where Lyle's only gets that slick when he's
moments from coming. And suddenly, Lyle wants to touch so badly that it feels
that every second he's not, he's dying a thousand little deaths inside. He
curls a hand around Luke's shaft, presses his thumb to that so familiar vein
and strokes.
And the only sounds he hears are his own groans and whines and whimpers. Luke's
stomach is tense and his body is rigid; Lyle twists his fist carefully around
Luke's tip, slippery-slick pre-come easing the way, but Luke only sighs a
barely there puff of breath. And the quiet's too quiet, because Luke's never
still, never silent. Lyle's touch stutters and he loses his rhythm, chews the
inside of his cheek as he glances up in trepidation.
Luke's eyes are fever bright and his jaw is clenching; he looks so turned on,
Lyle thinks he's afraid to even breathe.
"Don't stop." He circles his hand around Lyle's, fingers interlacing with his
on his cock and they pump his dick together. "S'good."
Lyle closes his fist a little tighter, pulls a little firmer, following the
pace that Luke is setting, and the sound Luke makes, now, is more like a moan,
his hips inching off the leather seat to piston his dick harder through Lyle's
fist. Lyle improvises a little, traces spirals on that spot just below the
head, teases Luke with feather-light touches there before rubbing hard. Luke
gasps and keens, clutches painfully to Lyle's hip to drag him nearer, gulping
down great heaving breaths as he pants Lyle's name.
"Yeah," Lyle groans, leans in close, presses sloppy open-mouth kisses up along
Luke's jaw. He nuzzles his lips against Luke's ear, hoarsely whispers, "I think
about you when I touch myself like this."
"Fuck!" Luke spits through gritted teeth, fingers tangling tighter with Lyle's,
trying to speed them up, ass slapping on the leather of the seats as he fucks
their hands. "Fuckfuckfuck!"
"Fucking, yeah. Fucking you, fucking your mouth," Lyle babbles and he hardly
knows what he's saying, an endless stream of filthy words, voice thick and
coarse, as he hisses into Luke's ear every fantasy he's ever come to, late at
night. "Wanna put my dick inside your mouth so badly. Want you to suck it."
Luke's swearing and grunting and panting, "Yes," and writhing against Lyle so
wildly that the backs of their knuckles are pressing against the bulge in
Lyle's jeans, and it feels so good, it's starting to hurt. Luke leans forward,
bites at his collarbone through his shirt, teeth blunted by the cotton that's
soaking through with his spit and Lyle wants a moment to rip off his clothes,
so that they're skin to skin and Luke can leave a bruise, mark Lyle his, but
Luke's so close, it seems to cruel to stop.
So, he closes his fist tighter, so tight that Luke's eyes roll back and he
knows that Luke's fighting on that knife-edge of saying, "Stop!" and screaming,
"More!" because it hurts but hurts so good when Lyle does this to himself. He
yanks his hand up sharply, presses his mouth to Luke's; Luke so far gone he
doesn't seem capable of kissing back. Lyle fucks his tongue in and out of that
pretty, pliant mouth, fucks it hard like he wants to do with his cock. And when
he jacks Luke hard and tight and so rough, the slide between their skin feels
like burning, Luke thrusts aggressively, groans around Lyle's tongue and comes
in hot, thick spurts that splatter over his chest all the way up to his chin.
And then, Luke's laughing softly, like he always does when he comes down, and
his forehead is lolling on Lyle's shoulder. Lyle strokes him down, keeps
fondling his softening dick until Luke squeals, yelping and laughing harder,
swatting his hand away. Lyle's laughing too, breathless with pent up
excitement, his thumb smearing through the semen that's cooling under Luke's
chin.
"Fuck, dude," Luke pants when he can speak again, looking at him with something
like awe.
He takes Lyle's sticky hand, brings it to his mouth, and Lyle doesn't know why
his cock fucking jumps when Luke starts to lick him clean, because that's
Luke's own spunk he's lapping up and there's a part of him that thinks it's
gross, a bigger part that seems to think the grossness of it maybe makes it
hotter.
Then, Luke's jaw goes slack and Lyle's spit slick fingers fall from his lips.
He stares at Lyle intently, all laughter gone, and growls, "Do it."
"What? No, wait…" Lyle says, because his mind is reeling and if it's possible
for him to get harder, he has. But a fantasy is just a fantasy and he doesn't
really want to hurt Luke, hates the people who have, or maybe he does, and that
scares him, because Luke's hauling him up by the hips and Lyle's letting him,
contorting his body painfully in the too small backseat so Luke can tear his
fly open, yank his dick out through the gap.
And when Luke looks up at him, one hand curled loosely around his cock, plump,
wet lips close enough that Lyle can feel his breath on his too-hot skin, and
murmurs, "S'okay. Do it," Lyle twists his fingers roughly in Luke's hair and
shoves his head down between his legs.
Then, Luke's mouth is sliding down his dick, hot and wet and so fucking tight
as he sucks, that Lyle feels hollow inside, and though he doesn't mean to, his
hips snap forward, hard enough that Luke groans, swallows roughly to keep from
gagging as Lyle's fingers pull and yank his hair without conscious thought.
"Sorry!" Lyle moans, tries to pull back because Luke's nose is crushed to his
pelvic crest and his chin must be catching on the open metal teeth of his fly.
His own throat aches in sympathy, but Luke only cups his ass, forces him
nearer, deeper into his mouth. Spit dribbles wetly from the corners of Luke's
lips and when he swallows, his tongue presses up firm to Lyle's dick, massaging
it as his throat contracts around the tip.
And Lyle's fucking his mouth as gently as he can, nails raking over his scalp
to ground him as his hips twitch and he draws back, thrusts in, over and over
and over, until his thighs are quaking and his whole body aches with the need
to come. Luke swallows again and again, hums something Lyle can't quite hear
because vibrations are rumbling through his dick and then, his own hoarse
shouts as he comes are the only sounds he can hear.
He collapses into Luke's lap, completely spent, bruising and bumping his hips
and elbows on every part of the car as he tries to move his boneless limbs.
Luke's there to hold him steady, face flushed, lips looking raw and painful,
chin glistening with spit and come he didn't quite gulp down. But he's grinning
too, licking his lips like the Cheshire Cat, and Lyle doesn't think he
understands that or what they've done. He wraps his arms weakly around Luke's
neck, whimpers, "Sorry. I'm so sorry," burying his face in the soft, warm skin
of Luke's neck.
They're still mostly dressed, soiled clothes twisting around them, Lyle's now-
flaccid cock hanging out of his jeans; Luke twists them 'round, lies them down,
arms and legs intertwined. The backseat is too narrow for this, too short, but
they cling to each other and make it work. Luke shushes him with those red-raw
lips pressed to his ear. "S'okay," he promises fitfully. "S'okay. S'good."
But Lyle doesn't think it is. He wails, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't," Luke insists, but when Lyle runs his thumb over Luke's bruised
bottom lip, he winces, conceding, "A little. But I wanted it."
Lyle wants to ask, "How?" How, after all that's Luke's been through, all the
silvery-white scars that criss-cross his skin, all the times that he's been
kicked when he's down, how can he want more pain, but Luke's kissing him
gently, mumbling, "It's okay," as he tucks Lyle's dick away, zips him and
straightens his shirt.
"Everything's okay," he says, drawing back to pull his own t-shirt on once
more, and then he's covering Lyle's body with his, a safe, warm weight that
Lyle pulls closer.
In his ear, Luke murmurs, "I love you," and Lyle thinks that maybe, everything
is okay, after all.
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