Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/74843.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Everwood
  Relationship:
      Bright_Abbott/Ephram_Brown
  Character:
      Bright_Abbott, Ephram_Brown
  Additional Tags:
      Rough_Sex, Biting, Hand_Job
  Series:
      Part 3 of Maroon_&_Gold
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-04-24 Words: 1023
****** Only ******
by allcanadiangirl_(andchimeras)
Summary
     "Oh," he says. Quiet. Perfect.
     A little surprised. Bright is a flash of absurd pride.
This time it's only Monday.
Only passing twice in the hall and the interminable loneliness of lunch. And
gym. And.
It's only Monday.
It's only Monday and Bright can't stand it.
And. Surprise. And it seems Ephram can't either, because it's only Monday and
Ephram has pushed him against the wall of the equipment room and Ephram's mouth
is all over. It's on Bright's, and then on Bright's neck, and he's pulling
Bright's hands, around his waist. Into his sweats. Pushing.
It's only Monday and Ephram is pushing his dick into Bright's hand.
And Bright gets it. He really does. He wants to. He wants to do this. He'd
just. He'd like to be able to get his tongue into Ephram's mouth or. Anything.
Because. He's got to have something for later. He's got to have something to
think about later. But.
If Ephram's into Monday and not being kissed properly, Bright. Bright can.
Ephram is pushing at his shirt, under it. Ephram is pulling at Bright's lips
with his own and slipping. Ephram is slipping his hand. His cold-looking, pale,
fragile.
His hand is. Trying to get past Bright's drawstring and Bright. Bright knows
this. He sees it. He wrenches his head away. His fingers sprawl over. Ephram is
very smooth and very wet.
Bright shakes his head. He tries to. He opens his mouth to say—
And Ephram's tongue is so there. Ephram's hand, his fingers over Bright's belly
button. Ephram turns his head, his lips go around Bright's jaw, up into the
dent under his ear.
"No," he says.
He breathes, his fingers still. And very very warm.
Ephram's fingers push lower, down, in, his fingers. Something. Bright moves his
lips, but he can't. He can't keep.
Ephram moves back, looks. Right at him.
"You too," he says.
Warm and flesh and. Ephram. His hand is around. And.
Bright has stopped moving, which can't be good for Ephram. He wills. He says,
"Move," to his own hand and Ephram smirks. Ephram squeezes him.
Hard.
Ephram leans forward, in. Comes back. Bright feels his mouth, his teeth over
skin. Bone. The tendon stretching from ear to shoulder.
It hurts. It hurts.
Dim. He moves his hand. His hand moves. It hurts and he runs his hand up.
Hurts. Down.
Ephram is moving his hand, he's. His fingers. It hurts somewhere higher, but
this is. Tighter than Bright's ever touched him, his thumb running. Pressing.
Hard.
Bright can feel Ephram's wrist sliding against his and he can feel pain, it
hurts, and he can feel his own distracted movements and. He wants to look down,
wants. To lean away from Ephram's evil, perfect, painful mouth and look down.
See. Ephram's hand. Disappearing under his t-shirt. The cross of their arms,
the junction, he wants to and it's just. Too. Fucking. Much.
Bright almost falls forward. He feels his teeth scrape Ephram's forehead, but
then it's there, an anchor. Just. Something to bite down on. So he doesn't
swallow his tongue.
Lips. Slide over. Around. Curve, a shell, he'd never thought of ears as shells,
but there. Ephram's ear is like a shell. And Bright is biting into it. Because.
It hurts. It hurts.
Ephram licks the place he just chewed and. Ephram's mouth relaxes on his
shoulder, and then it's gone.
"Oh," he says. Quiet. Perfect.
A little surprised. Bright is a flash of absurd pride.
Ephram breathes hard, cold over Bright's wet skin.
"Fuck," he says.
Ephram hunches into his hand, into. Him. Ephram leans into him and Bright, he's
forgotten, he's totally forgotten that Ephram's. Hand. Is in his pants. He's
not thinking about that. He's entirely focused. Perfectly. Exactly. On the flex
and roll of Ephram coming into his hand.
Until. Coughed up into his ear. A moan.
"You," he says. "You. Too."
And Ephram squeezes.
Hard.
Insistent.
Ephram's hand jerks a few times, just. The force of his own. But it's. It's
pretty much. That's about enough.
Shudder and his whole body shivers and Ephram's done, Ephram's looking at him,
he can see that, he feels so. Warm. Everywhere, all, there, Ephram.
Ephram.
He closes his eyes and. He thinks he probably yells or something. He just. He.
Ephram.
He leans away, against the wall, he swallows. He swallows hard.
His hips push one last time. He hopes. And it's like they push Ephram right
out, right back, Bright's hand snaps out, right away. Gone.
Ephram's hand is gone. And there's this. Hole. Like he took. Like Ephram took
his dick or something when he turned away. Maybe. Something's gone.
That's all Bright can feel.
Bright can't say anything. He's lost. Whatever. Speech. Sound. Air. He opens
his eyes and Ephram's hand is wrapped in the folds of his t-shirt.
"What a fucking mess," he says. "Jesus."
Bright touches his own hand to his own shirt, feeble, abstract, and he thinks
loosely that come is probably easier to wash out than blood.
Or. Ephram used to puke too. Only a few times though. Only. Maybe three times.
Bright looks down. Away. From Ephram's back, the back of his neck, the red of a
fading bruise on his neck, the red of his bitten ear. Bright looks. Down.
It is a fucking mess.
He pushes his fingers together, and he feels, somewhere, he still feels hollow.
Fuzzy. He wants to stain something permanently. Because. Bruises are swallowed
by new skin. Blood washes pink away.
Come dissolves and is. It's invisible. Sticky. But it feels invisible.
And.
He swallows hard.
He is trapped, he thinks, all he sees is a lake of come on the floor, on his
hand, and Ephram stands between him and the door.
So. He. He pushes with his clean. Clean. Clean hand. He pushes Ephram. Shoves
him out of the way.
And he leaves and he leaves and he finds. Not so far away. He finds a sink.
And he washes his hand.
He watches the water, he watches his skin turn red. It's cold. And he tries.
He. He tries not to think about how badly he wanted. To. To lick his fingers.
 
End.
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