Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/74831.
  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:
      Fight_Sex, Bruises, Breathplay, Blood, Biting, Frottage
  Series:
      Part 1 of Maroon_&_Gold
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-03-03 Words: 653
****** Peer ******
by allcanadiangirl_(andchimeras)
Summary
     Peak County High basement, Thursday, three-thirty in the afternoon.
     Bright has blocked the exit, Ephram has dropped his fists. They are
     staring in the dim light, Ephram smirks.
     "Hit me," he says. "I know you want to."
Peak County High basement, Thursday, three-thirty in the afternoon. Bright has
blocked the exit, Ephram has dropped his fists. They are staring in the dim
light, Ephram smirks.
"Hit me," he says. "I know you want to."
There are five feet, and Bright makes them count, flexing his fingers, ready.
Ready. He's already hard.
He stands quite close, not that close, and looks straight into Ephram's defiant
eyes as he punches him in the jaw, left side.
Ephram comes back, still amused. "Come on," he says. "Kick my ass. Fucking
hick."
Bright smiles too, but he doesn't feel it—he feels the cartilage of Ephram's
nose give under his knuckles, he feels the split of the flesh inside. He feels
Ephram stagger a little this time, and he makes his move.
Pushing him against the concrete wall, forearm across his throat, feeling him
work for breath, swallowing. Bright presses closer, no reason other than it
feels good, is about to deliver a short jab to his right kidney when. Just that
much closer and. Ephram is hard too.
Ephram's eyes go wide, Bright's hold loosens enough for him to get his hands
up, shove back, but he doesn't. He doesn't. He stays tense on the wall, throat
working in the shadow.
"Get your fucking hands off me," Ephram says. Hoarse. Blood leaking from the
corner of his mouth, his nose.
Bright is. Confused. Doesn't know what to do—if he wants out, he could—but he
doesn't. Bright shakes his head, "No," crushes Ephram's throat again. Delivers
that kidney shot, choked exhalation hot against his ear. Panic in his eyes, he
tries to get air back. Into. His. Lungs.
Bright keeps punching, leans into him, pulls his hits a little but not too
much. Ephram's mouth is open, wide, open, eyes dark and open, it's easy to kiss
him. Tongue finds bitten cheek, bitten tongue, blood diluted by saliva. Copper-
tinged slick, warm, even his teeth are warm. Hard suction, something like
mouth-to-mouth, feel Ephram's nostrils flare against his cheek.
He starts to struggle, one hand wrapping hard around the arm at his throat, the
other clutches at Bright's shoulder, pulling him in. Bright's fist opens, open
over his ribs and hip, grabs him close. Too many layers to get much friction
going, but it's nice, it's going to get better, it's there, that. Ridge in
Ephram's jeans.
Ephram's teeth on his tongue, closing just enough to make him moan.
The shock of fingers suddenly against his stomach, shoving, nails scraping,
pulling at his jeans. Ephram makes a desperate noise down Bright's throat when
his hand is knocked away. Bright pushes harder from top to bottom, his thigh.
Hard between Ephram's knees, further up, he makes contact and Ephram.
The physics between their lips strained, breaking. Ephram pulls free, gasping,
he tries to speak.
His head knocks the wall, eyes squeeze shut. "Shit." His voice breaks.
Warmth around Bright's knee, Ephram's fists hit the concrete on either side. He
jerks forward, then back.
Bright removes his arm, falling back, stepping away as. Ephram slides down the
wall, lands on the floor with one knee bent, eyes closed. He doesn't touch his
neck, he never does, just takes long breaths for awhile, and then deeper ones
through his nose. He wipes a hand across his face, grimaces at the red and pink
smeared over his skin.
"Nothing like overkill," he says, rusty. Winces, prods at his side. "Fuck."
Bright doesn't know. What to do with his hands. He looks at his knuckles, the
barest bruises, he wonders why Ephram never hits him back—he wouldn't stop him.
He wants him to.
"You can go," Ephram says. Sounds almost fine. "I'm fine."
Yeah. He'd be gone by now, except. He thinks he should offer a ride home or
something. Bright shrugs, leaves.
In the stairwell, he licks Ephram's blood from the back of his hand.
 
End.
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