Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/528098.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Adventures_in_Babysitting_(1987)
  Relationship:
      Daryl_Coopersmith/Brad_Anderson
  Character:
      Daryl_Coopersmith, Brad_Anderson, Sarah_Anderson
  Additional Tags:
      First_Love, Adolescent_Sexuality, Teen_Romance, Sexual_Experimentation,
      Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Underage_Sex, Awkward_Sexual_Situations, Friends_to
      Lovers, Angst_and_Humor
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-03 Chapters: 2/5 Words: 8338
****** So Far ******
by KissTheBoy7
Summary
     Brad/Daryl, post-Babysitting. There's more to Daryl than meets the
     eye, and after their adventures together that crazy night his
     relationship with his neighbor Brad begins to grow and change in some
     unexpected ways.
Notes
     Disclaimer:Adventures in Babysitting is not my movie. In fact, I
     rented it from Blockbuster. So there.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Brad turned away from the window with a sigh, reluctantly shutting the blinds
and thus shutting out the sight of his long-time crush, Chris Parker, and her
brand new boyfriend Dan. Tall, dark and handsome Dan. It was official- he
didn't have a chance in hell. Not that he really had before, not as a freshman
that she babysat, but at least he had clung to that one little shred of hope.
Until now.
He turned back to Sara and Daryl with a smile, only half-fake. He was happy for
her, he really was. At least she wasn't with that asshole Mike anymore. Sara
continued grinning in that childish way of hers, reminding him once again that
despite her occasional strokes of brilliance she was, in fact, a child. But it
still tugged at his heart.
Who wouldn't be sad, watching their first love walk away on the arm of a great
guy like that? He sighed, plopping back down on his bed, and pretended to
listen as Sara blabbered on and on about Thor and how one day she was sure she
would meet him again, and get her hat back.
Across the two beds, Daryl offered him an understanding sort of half-smile, and
for some reason it did make him feel a little bit better. Daryl… He was a sex
fiend, sure, his pervert next door neighbor, and before that night they'd never
been the best of friends, but tonight he'd proven himself. Standing up to Mike
like that in the way that he couldn't bring himself to was one of the bravest
things he'd ever seen. And it made him look on the depraved ginger boy with a
much larger sense of respect, not to mention some warm tingly feeling that
coiled in his stomach.
It was another few minutes until their parents came in, beckoning Sara to bed-
"It's past your bedtime, young lady!"- and left the two boys alone in their
single beds, just two feet apart. Brad laid back on his bed, arms behind his
head and eyes trained on the ceiling, lost in thoughts of Chris and their
entire crazy night and, strangely, of Daryl. The other boy sat quietly as well
for a few minutes before breaking the silence.
".. So, what are you gonna do now that Chris has a boyfriend?" he asked,
sounding genuinely curious and not as though he were just looking for a
conversation starter.
"Dunno," Brad replied, shrugging. He turned his head to look at his redheaded
friend, who was sitting cross-legged on the other bed looking at him intently
with those blue, blue eyes of his. "What d'you think I should do? There's
nothin' I can do, is there?"
"Probably not… I kind of like that Dan guy," the other boy admitted, lips
quirked in another lopsided smile. It was, dare Brad think it, cute. He thought
to himself that Daryl would probably have an easier time getting a date if he
weren't such a pervert right off the bat, because he definitely had the cute
factor going for him.
He frowned, shaking the thought out of his head. Cute? He didn't think Daryl
was cute. Daryl was- Daryl! And not to mention, he was a boy. And Brad was very
much a straight teenaged boy. Why else would he have spent the entire night
following Chris around like a lost puppy rather than safe at home watching his
sister? He LIKED Chris, with her curvy body and her long, curly eyelashes and
her permed blonde hair, and therefore he MUST be straight.
Having reaffirmed his sexuality, he turned his attention back to Daryl who was
still staring at him with those unnerving blue eyes of his. He blinked, trying
to recall his train of thought, but now all he could see was Daryl.
"… You okay?" there was a note of nervous concern in Daryl's voice, his
eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his friend uncertainly. "Your stitches
hurting you or something?"
"N-no, nothing, I just got distracted," he smoothed it over with a small laugh.
"Yeah, Dan was… Cool. He was a nice guy. Better than Mike."
"'So Cool'," Daryl mocked, his fingers making quotation marks in the air as he
rolled his eyes. "I can't believe she even dated that shithead."
"Neither can I…" Shaking his head, Brad returned his eyes to the ceiling. The
mixed feelings he was getting were starting to make him uncomfortable. Every
time he looked at his friend, he recalled that moment when the other boy had
seen him emerging from behind the curtain in the hospital and his eyes lit up,
sparks of cerulean, and he had rushed forward and pulled him into a rough
embrace.
"Don't you ever die on me, Brad!" he'd demanded when he pulled away, face
serious and tone reprimanding. Brad felt himself start to smile, mostly in
confusion.
Daryl was really that worried about him? Since when did Daryl ever really LIKE
him, anyways? They were friends, but never great ones. Never ones that would
cry over each other's death... Right? But now, Daryl's blue eyes sharp and his
lips trembling, looking like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he
realized- maybe they WERE and he'd just missed it.
Maybe he and Daryl meant more to each other than either of them had
acknowledged before.
"Okay? I… won't?" he agreed, and the relief in Daryl's expression had been
downright palpable. And with that, their moment was over.
But now he recalled it, the picture in his mind crystal clear, and that weird
tingly feeling returned. The same one he'd gotten when Daryl showed up and made
a puffer fish face against his glass door, grinning at him, or when their hands
had brushed as he handed over the Playboy, or especially when their lips had
been just a few inches away from each other's and for a moment everything had
slowed down, became him and Daryl, and-
Damn it, he needed to stop thinking like that. God only knew that Daryl was
enough of a pervert for both of them. He didn't need to add his own weird
sexually-charged thoughts to the mix.
If he was queer, he'd know by now, right? He was sixteen. And while he wasn't
as obvious about it as. say, Daryl, he DID enjoy those Playboy centerfolds…
After a couple of moments of comfortable silence, the bedsprings of the other
bed creaked as Daryl got up and padded over to his bed, sitting beside him and
making the mattress dip. He dug in his jacket and pulled out the magazine,
grinning and opening it to the centerfold that looked so disturbingly like
their babysitter.
"Here. I figure you should have it. Since, you know, she's got herself a hot
boyfriend now, and you have needs." The way he said it, with a smirk and his
already deep voice lowering suggestively, made Brad blush to the roots of his
hair.
"Wait- hot? You think he's hot?" He frowned, and suddenly it wasn't him
squirming anymore but the other boy.
"Well-… I guess- Brad? Can I tell you a secret?" Biting his lip, the redheaded
boy scooted closer, looking a lot less cocky than he had only a minute before.
Slowly nodding, Brad watched him curiously, heart beating erratically.
The redheaded boy seemed to steel himself for a moment, shoulders tensing, and
took a deep breath before he leaned in and whispered into Brad's ear, "I think-
I think I might- swing both ways."
Brad jerked back, brown eyes widening comically in surprise. "Swing- what do
you MEAN?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low. His parents and Sara were
all probably asleep by now, and he definitely wasn't about to wake them up
during this conversation. His mind was racing. What did Daryl mean by that? Was
it what he thought he meant? Because if so…
Fidgeting, Daryl averted his blue eyes awkwardly and muttered, "Like both, you
know. I mean… Girls and guys. I think I like both. I've never told anyone that
before." He looked back up, guardedly hopeful, and Brad just nodded.
Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with this information. So
Daryl liked guys. Why was he telling Brad about this? Sure, maybe they'd come
out on the other end of this night as better friends, but were they really at
THIS point already? Telling each other their deepest secrets? This was
progressing way, way too fast and all of a sudden Brad felt overwhelmed.
Then again… Did he really want to just step on Daryl's feelings by telling him
that he really, really did not need to know that he was queer?
Plastering on a reassuring smile, he gave the other boy a quick nod as if
approving this. "Yeah?" he asked, and he wondered if his voice really sounded
that strange or if he was just overthinking it. "You don't say. Cool."
Daryl's relief seemed to fill the room, and the wide grin that stretched across
his face wasn't even the half of it. He, glanced back at the mattress, then
back to Brad, and his eyes flickered back and forth for a few moments before he
managed to stammer out, "R-really, you don't… care or anything? You don't think
it's weird? Because you can call me a faggot and kick me out if you want, I get
it-"
"I'm not going to kick you out!" Brad had to be incredulous at that, his
eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "Why would I do that?"
"Well, if you thought I was gonna like molest you in your sleep or something…"
"C'mon, Daryl, you've slept over before and nothing like that happened. And I
mean, you're… you. I'm having trouble even imagining you… to guys…" Making a
lewd hand gesture to mime masturbation, Brad wrinkled his nose slightly
distastefully, trying to rid his brain of the sudden and rather disturbing
images of his friend with his hand down his pants that seemed to have taken
root.
Daryl went five shades redder, spluttering and leaning away. "I- I don't! I
mean… I do… But- That-" He couldn't seem to form any complete phrases, let
alone sentences, and he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on
them, staring down at the comforter in a rare moment of insecurity. "I- I'm
sorry, I should- I'll shut up now."
Although this sounded like a perfectly great plan to Brad, who was struggling
to contain that tingly feeling that was now spreading from his stomach up his
abdomen and through all of his limbs, and down below the waist, he couldn't
justify letting Daryl look so miserable. "You can keep talking, if you want…"
he offered hesitantly.
"No, I'll make an ass out of myself," he laughed, although he didn't sound very
amused by this at all. "Don't listen to me. I'm just babbling nonsense. It's
all shit. I'm just tired. S'been a long day, you know?"
Nodding silently, Brad didn't put up anymore resistance, and one slight awkward
pause later they returned to poring over the centerfold together, Daryl
pointing out all of the little details he'd noticed while studying the picture.
Despite himself, Brad felt himself sneaking glances at the other boy out of the
corner of his eye every once in a while.
How could Daryl like guys? The very suggestion was ludicrous, and if he'd heard
it from anyone else he would have written it off in a heartbeat. No one in
their school was, well… that way. At least as far as he knew. Then again, who
would really advertise it? Maybe the chicks were allowed to get drunk at
parties, be all over each other- it was hot when CHICKS did that kind of thing.
But guys into other guys? They'd get their asses kicked in three seconds flat.
Soon enough it was past midnight, and Brad's mom peeked her head in. "Lights
out, boys," she told them with a smile, but her voice left no room for
argument. They grumbled a little, stashing the Playboy away before she could
see, but complied and stripped down to their boxers, slipping under their
respective covers and murmuring goodnights as she flicked the light switch
down, the room going dark. The door closed softly as she exited, and the two
boys were left alone.
For some reason, Brad felt the invisible tension between them tighten in the
darkness. His thoughts were murky and odd and he was ashamed for thinking them,
but with Daryl's even breathing a mere two feet away he couldn't help it. He
thought about Daryl, about his confession and the way, just for a moment, he'd
looked so vulnerable. He thought of how much he must have trusted him, to tell
him something so personal and probably scary.
He tossed and turned for what seemed like forever before drifting off, gnawing
at his lip in utter confusion at the thoughts swirling around in his brain.
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
Daryl Coopersmith never thought he would tell anyone about his internal
conflict, but after the night they'd had, he'd come to a decision.
He never let it show, but he was lonely. There was no other word for it. Daryl
acted cocky, acted like he was perfectly fine, but when his parents were never
home long enough to even reprimand him for the dirty magazines he left
blatantly open around the house and his sister was off to college and he'd
never been particularly good at making friends… Well, it didn't leave him with
a whole lot of human companionship. Just a cat that liked to twine around his
legs as he walked around the empty house and a next door neighbor who had no
idea.
He hadn't been kidding when he said that he would tell his parents about Chris
taking Brad and Sara to the city. If he was perfectly honest, it wasn't just
the sense of adventure that he wanted; he wanted to go to make sure Brad was
safe. Lately he'd been coming over more and more often, just showing up at the
back door with a joke or a magazine to show him, just an excuse to see the
person who had become his closest friend.
If he didn't have Brad, who did he have?
Now, lying in bed in the dark listening to the other boy's breathing even out
as he drifts off, Daryl fidgets and twists his fingers together anxiously. He
can't help but feel like Brad is nervous around him now that he knows. What if
he was never comfortable with him ever again? He wouldn't blame him. He had
been completely out of line.
It was just… Sometimes it weighed on him. That he wasn't normal, that he had to
keep this secret or risk getting pummeled, that no one could know how perverted
he REALLY was. It made him feel even more isolated.
If he was going to tell anyone, it had to be Brad. So he had. But now he was
starting to regret it.
Until…
Unable to sleep, Daryl contented himself with laying under the covers and
shifting around uncomfortably. Minutes ticked by slowly and he couldn't stop
himself from watching the red numbers on Brad's digital clock placed on the
nightstand between their beds, groaning internally at the way each second
lasted an eternity. He should be tired. It had been a long day, he hadn't been
lying, and he had homework that he had to not do when he went home the next
day, and and and-
There wasn't a real reason that he was still awake. He had no way to justify
it. But he was, and it didn't look like he was getting to sleep anytime in the
near future.
And then, he heard the strangest noise. It was quiet, a hitched breath barely
audible, but he froze and strained his ears to hear it again. Was that-?
Cautiously, Daryl glanced over to the other bed to the lump of Brad's sleeping
form under the covers. He hadn't moved since the last time he'd looked, but his
head had turned and his mouth was parted slightly, eyes still closed. Daryl
couldn't help staring. He'd told himself over and over that Brad probably
didn't even realize that he was his best friend, let alone that he was having
really not okay thoughts about him at random times of day, popping up without
warning.
Waking up with the usual morning wood, rolling over and thinking of Brad,
wondering if he was waking up the same way at the same moment in the house next
door. In the shower, beating off to some Playboy centerfold that would
sometimes flash to a picture of Brad's grinning face in his mind, Brad's lips
on his. At night, lying in bed unable to sleep trying to figure the mess in his
head out. Trying to convince himself that what he was feeling wasn't a growing
crush on the boy next door.
And damn it, this was not okay. He needed to stop. He needed to tear his eyes
away, plug his ears, stop thinking of Brad period.
But that was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do.
Brad's breathing grew more erratic, and there was the muffled sound of the
covers being shifted, a barely perceptible movement around where Brad's waist
would be. His lips parted a little more, a soft moan escaping, more like a
whimper than anything. Daryl felt the blood in his body go to war with himself,
fighting on whether to shoot north to his reddening cheeks or south to his
rapidly hardening erection.
"You gotta be shittin' me," he mumbled to himself, squirming with
embarrassment. Brad was having a wet dream and he was in the room. Fuck. Fuck,
fuck, this was so, so wrong. His mind flooded with images of what was going on
beneath the covers, and he had to jerk his head to the side to stop staring
blatantly at his friend as he panted and thrust into his hand in his sleep,
probably dreaming of Chris or some other pretty girl with giant tits that
they'd seen that night.
Time wasn't passing any more quickly, and the seconds were torturous; finally,
he couldn't stand it anymore and he disentangled himself from the sheets,
rolling out of bed and padding across the floor- hardwood cold against his
feet- to nudge his friend's arm.
"Hey," he hissed, fighting off the flush on his cheeks. He hoped that it wasn't
too noticeable in the dark. "Hey. Brad. Wake up, dude, are you- are you having
a nightmare or somethin'?"
If that was a nightmare, it must have been a really, really pleasant one. But
to his great relief, Brad closed his mouth and stopped moving, eyebrows
furrowing for a moment before his eyes slowly blinked open. He peered up at
Daryl blearily.
"Wha..?" the brunet slurred, sitting up on his elbows and letting the blankets
fall down his chest. He seemed to realize in that moment that his hand was down
his pants and abruptly blushed a shade of red that made the redhead almost wish
that the lights were on so he could appreciate it in its full glory. He
extracted too obviously, trying too hard to be subtle and looked up at his
friend slightly more alertly. "S'goin' on?"
"Nothing… you just sounded like you were…" he trailed off, scratching the back
of his head awkwardly. A dangerous idea had taken root and he was struggling
not to let his impulsive nature get the best of him. "I don't know. I thought
you were having a bad dream. Sorry…"
"O-oh. Yeah… Bad dream…" Brad said lamely. His mind whirred as he processed the
images that, twenty seconds ago, had been making his skin too hot and his cock
twitch in his hand. They should have been of Chris. Chris who he'd been
crushing on for almost a year now. But they weren't, and the person who had
been in her place was not who he would have expected.
Daryl's lips twitched up despite himself into a half-smirk, and before he could
stop himself he'd climbed into Brad's bed with him, causing the other boy to
edge away in alarm. "D-Daryl, what are you-"
"Relax. I was just having a bad dream myself," he grinned, kneeling on the bed
beside him and looking down. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Why was he
such an idiot? This wasn't going to end well and then he'd end up alone without
even Brad to keep him sane. "Just wanted to help…"
"Help? With what?" Brad squeaked. The knowing way Daryl was looking at him had
him nervous. He looked like heknew all of the sick, perverted fantasies Brad
had been cooking up in his sleep. The thought made ice travel down his spine,
paralyzing fear.
"Didn'tcha ever hear of two guys helping each other out?" he asked, arching one
reddish eyebrow. Brad shook his head, biting his lip. He figured that it was
only natural that Daryl knew these obscure things before he did; Daryl always
seemed to know more. Like how women had something called a clitoris that was
just like the head of their dicks, and how the whole 'sixty-nine' thing worked.
Maybe it should bother him more what Daryl was implying, what he could see
coming, but his still erect dick was screaming for attention and he didn't have
many options other than to stay put and see how this played out.
"Well, think about it." As he talked, the other boy pushed the covers down
Brad's body, stripping his protection away and leaving him near naked and
vulnerable. The brunet sat up, cross-legged, hunching over his lap in
embarrassment and not quite meeting Daryl's eyes with a nervous smile. "Think
about it," he repeated, scooting closer to him, so close that their knees were
touching. "Getting off is fine, but it feels better when someone else does it
for you, right?"
"Y-yeah I guess that makes sense…" Brad stammered, licking his lips. The way
Daryl was looking at him, a mixture of amusement and hesitant lust, probably
shouldn't turn him on. But he had to trust him. Daryl knew everything there was
to know about sex, and if he said this was okay then it must be. "So…"
"It's just two guys helping each other out," the other boy explained, sounding
matter of fact, and Brad nodded again in agreement. Then Daryl's hand rested on
his knee, creeping upward, and those piercing blue eyes were on him daring him
to follow his lead- and he did.
It was awkward at first. The only sound in the room was their matching pants
and nervous breathing, and his own heartbeat in his ears. The moment that
Daryl's hand touched his cock through the thin material of his boxers he
thought he would die, and he couldn't hold back a light moan, wrapping his own
hand around Daryl's own thick, throbbing appendage, drawing a similar noise
from the other boy. Neither of them had ever been touched like this before;
their experiences were purely self-exploratory ones. This was an entirely new
feeling, someone else's hand doing the job they'd done themselves for so long,
and it was just slightly exhilarating.
Brad tried not to think about Daryl. He really did. He closed his eyes, panting
and making those pathetic little whimpering noises that he'd have to apologize
for later, and he tried desperately to imagine it was Chris. But Daryl's hand
was too large, too rough to be hers, and his deep groans were definitely not
comparable to the higher-pitched female type.
Daryl had given up on not imagining Brad the moment he'd climbed into that bed.
Fuck. He was queer and he had it bad for his best friend. But this didn't have
to be the end of the world… After all, this was beneficial for both of them.
They both got off, they both got their first hand job- it couldn't go wrong.
And, God, he wouldn't give up the feeling of Brad's tentative strokes on his
cock, palm warm and eyes shut tightly , for anything in the world. He stared at
him the entire time, even as their movements became more jerky and erratic,
hands sliding along each other's lengths, and then Brad's thighs began to
tense-
Stringy white bursts of cum shot over his hand and wrist, hot and wet, and the
desperate sound of Brad's groan brought him over the edge. Daryl came with
Brad's name silently spilling from his lips, mouthing it because he knew that
if he put a voice to it he would never live it down.
Still twitching and bodies thrumming with adrenaline from their jerk off
session, the boys stared at each other for a moment, hands covered in the
evidence of their deed. Brad bit his lip and averted his eyes, reaching behind
him to wipe his sticky hand on the side of the bed, eyes flickering from
Daryl's face to his hand nervously. That same anxious smile graced his lips and
Daryl felt his heart skip a beat.
God, he was cute.
The words hit him and he winced.
God, he was a fag.
He didn't have a lot of time to analyze this, though, before he was wiping his
own hand off and wordlessly climbing back out of bed, stumbling a little
unsteadily back to his bed and collapsing into it. "G'night, Brad," he murmured
contently, the exhaustion of the night's events finally catching up to him, and
within minutes the welcome blackness had descended over his mind.
"Good night, Daryl…" Brad dazedly watched as his friend, nonchalant as ever,
fell asleep and began to snore. As if nothing had happened. As if nothing
earth-shatteringly important had happened and changed the dynamic of their
friendship for good, forever, because oh God they'd just jerked each other off
and there was no going back-
Wait. No. Hadn't Daryl said something about other guys doing this? Hadn't he?
So… this was normal, right? He wasn't just weird and having dirty thoughts
about his next door neighbor.
Deciding that he was definitely overthinking things, Brad followed Daryl's
example again and succumbed to his fatigue.
He could think about it tomorrow.
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
The morning sprung up on them both without much warning. It went like this;
Brad's mother and Sara barging in, shaking them awake, the little girl's
squeaky voice irritating Brad in a way that nothing else could, and a few
bleary minutes later they were sitting up and pulling on their clothes, ready
for another day.
"G'morning," Daryl said conversationally. He looked no different than usual;
same goofy expression, same lopsided smile and bright red hair, same relaxed
posture and outline of his Playboy tucked under his jacket as he pulled his
shoes on. "Any good dreams? Like.. of Chriiiis?" His voice was teasing,
suggestive. Brad stared at him for a moment.
"… No?" he replied, confused. He wondered for a moment if Daryl even remembered
what had transpired the night before. How could he be so casual? Wasn't he just
as freaked out by the entire thing as Brad was? "Um… you?"
Their conversation over breakfast was just the same, their normal pattern-
girls and video games- and then Daryl was leaving, waving goodbye as he walked
out the back door and hopped the fence over into his own yard. Brad watched him
go from the doorway, slumping against it, bemused.
Daryl sure was a nutcase. He'd been too afraid to ask him if he remembered;
something told him that he should avoid that potentially awkward situation. And
now he might never know.
Brad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, then grimaced as he realized which
one it was.
Ugh. Gross.
Shaking his head, he changed his mind. This was going to drive him insane.
He'd have to ask him about it tomorrow.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Disclaimer: Adventures in Babysitting is NOT mine. Scouts' honor.
     (who am I kidding, I'm not a scout...) But seriously.
Monday morning brought the same vaguely shameful sense of confusion, and Brad
didn't like it one bit. He'd spent the entire day before trying to puzzle it
out- but how was he supposed to explain that, even to himself? He was fifteen
and his friend- who barely hours before had outed himself to him- had jerked
him off. And he'd returned the favor.
To be honest, Brad had no idea why.
He was a little apprehensive as he approached the bus stop, bag slung over one
shoulder, and his feet dragged on the pavement. Dread pooled in his gut at the
thought of actually doing this, actually broaching a topic that, once out
there, might never be stuffed away in the closet in the back of his head ever
again. For sure, Daryl's mind-closet was already wide open- it had been
hisidea, after all, and he was the one who was bi. Not Brad.
Well… Maybe Brad…
No! Stop thinking like that! Looking up, Brad offered a nervous smile to the
redhead standing beside him at the bus stop. Daryl seemed distracted and
nervous, and not in the way Brad was. He shifted slightly from foot to foot,
knuckles squeezed tight around the strap of his bag over one shoulder.
Actually, if he really thought about it, Daryl looked like this an awful lot of
the time when he was waiting at the bus stop. The only time he was ever really
relaxed seemed to be…
At Brad's house.
Frowning at that, Brad opened his mouth to speak and very quickly shut it again
when his neighbor gave him a questioning look. Shit, he wasn't ready for this.
Why did he think this would be a good idea, anyways? Asking another guy about
this kind of thing. Yeah, right. Only girls talked about feelings like that
with each other, girls and couples. And they were neither.
The thought of being in a couple with Daryl made him cringe, and he was glad
when the bus finally pulled up to the stop and disrupted the carefully crafted
silence between them. It was starting to get awkward.
Still, when Daryl- as usual- trudged to the back seat of the bus and left him
to sit in the front, he had no choice but to notice the hangdog loneliness on
his face.
But Daryl wasn't lonely. He had a big house and a cat, a billion Playboys and
allowance and probably other friends that Brad just didn't know about.
Daryl wasn't lonely- was he?
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
"Hey Coopersmith, how's your boyfriend?"
"Yeah, how's fag number two doin', huh? Spend the night at his place this
weekend? Finally gottim' into bed, huh, Dar-Bear?"
Shrinking further into the seat, Daryl struggled to breathe. His claustrophobia
hadn't improved in all the years that he'd forced himself to sit in the back of
the bus with these assholes- in fact, it had probably gotten worse. But still,
he refused to move. His ass was parked on this green leather seat and there
wasn't a person there who was willing to physically remove it.
They could tease him all they wanted. It was his seat and he'd sit there
whenever he damn well pleased, whether they liked him or not.
"How was he, huh? How was he in the sack? You can tell us, can't he? Yeah,
we're your buddies. You can tell us."
"Ooooh, Coopersmith's blushing guys- musta been good. Hey, faggot, why don't
you tell us about what you and your butt buddy do? Yeah, we're super
interested, aren't we?"
He swallowed hard, the tears building at the corners of his eyes stinging
shamefully, but still he stayed silent and wished to himself that Brad would
sit with him. It was sort of stupid of him not to have asked- the curly-haired
boy would probably say yes, think nothing of it. But damn it, Daryl had his
pride! Getting beat up by that Mike jerk hadn't snuffed it out completely. If
anything it had only made him resist harder, even in peaceful protest like
this, just sitting woodenly and enduring the abuse.
The sneering boy nearest him gave his shoulder a "playful" punch to the
shoulder and he winced, automatically rubbing at what was probably going to be
an enormous bruise by fourth period. "Why so quiet, Dar-Bear, huh?"
"Leave me alone," he heard himself mumble, barely even audible, but it was a
reaction and that was what they wanted. The three boys surrounding him leered,
grins widening, and he had a brief moment of panic wondering what they would do
to him now.
Stupid, stupid! He should have kept his stupid mouth shut-
All at once the bus lurched to a stop in front of the school and he heaved a
sigh of relief, unable to contain it, and hastily scrambled to his feet. Book
bag slung over his shoulder he pushed through into the aisle and nearly ran
down it before anyone else could stand, veins full of adrenaline and pulse
accelerating. Behind him, the bullies jeered and taunted him, but he could
hardly hear them over his own breathing.
The minute the doors opened he was out, stumbling onto the sidewalk and towards
the school building. Sweet relief threatened to overcome him in an enormous
wave, crashing down on him as he drew closer to safety- the teachers had to at
least protect him from physical violence, right?
A gaggle of girls, clad in violent shades of pink and purple and smelling like
they'd bathed in the choking scent of their perfume, took a large detour around
him with their noses in the air haughtily. Right. He was the school pervert-
not the school punching bag. Not to them, anyways. And he ought to keep up the
act for their sake. Daryl briefly wondered how many people had any inkling
whatsoever that he was being bullied at all.
Probably none. No one really cared about the school pervert. They just made
jokes about him, about him and the supposed peephole he had in the girl's
locker room, about him and the various girls who claimed he'd hit on them.
And in the corner of his eye, someone would be sneering and shaking a fist in
his direction tauntingly, a hidden threat that only he, apparently, could see.
He just hoped that none of those boys would actually show up to gym today, or
he was toast.
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
Praising his good fortune, Daryl watched from the shadowy corner of the locker
room as the last of the changing boys filed out into the gym, letting the door
slam behind him with a thunk. None of his tormentors were present today,
although they hardly ever were, and it was difficult enough to make it to class
on time when he had to change with the other boys, let alone them.
Still twitchy, rubbing the bruise that he had correctly predicted on his
shoulder, Daryl cautiously crept out into the open and scurried across the tile
to his gym locker. He couldn't help continually glancing over his shoulder as
he dialed his combination.
Sometimes it seemed as though one of them was always lurking behind him, ready
to humiliate him or hurt him or make him wish he was dead.
God, but he wished Brad was in his gym class…
Biting down hard on his lip, the redhead shook that thought out of his head. He
really needed to stop thinking like that. So Brad had let him touch him once…
Half-asleep and in the middle of a wet dream, he probably would have let anyone
touch him. Even a boy, even Daryl with his lecherous grin and persuasive words.
He wondered if he'd actually convinced Brad of anything with his claims.
"Lots of guys do it."
Yeah, right. Lots of guys like him, who don't want to admit to their pals that
they're queer as a three dollar bill.
Brad didn't even know… He should do the right thing and tell him. But that
would require bringing up the whole awkward situation all over again, and Daryl
wasn't prepared to do that. Especially since he wasn't even entirely certain
that Brad remembered the incident at all. Or maybe… maybe he'd liked it too,
and was afraid to say something? Daryl supposed it was possible that Brad was
as much of a closet fairy as he was- except there was Chris. Damn it. There was
always SOMETHING to prove him wrong, wreck his fantasies…
As he pulled a tank top over his head, the scrawny boy stared into the mirror
in intense concentration, scrutinizing his own skinny body. What had Brad seen
in him that had made him agree, if he had, on the off chance, been lucid? He
was pale and too-thin, no muscle to be seen on him. He didn't look enough like
a girl to be mistaken for one by any means, but he wasn't a very handsome male
specimen either. Why HAD Brad agreed to that farce?
Not that it hadn't felt good, and he shouldn't be complaining when he can still
feel the phantom grip of Brad's hand on his dick when he shifts and rubs up
against his jeans, shuddering. Not that it wasn't the best experience by far of
his young life…
There was a loud noise that made him jump, squeaking in an embarrassing manner,
and he rethought his earlier claim. Okay. So maybe he could be mistaken for a
girl, in the dark and with that sort of noise emanating from his throat…
Feeling rather depressed at the thought that Brad's sleepy mind had bent him
into the opposite gender, Daryl hurried to pull his shorts on and slammed his
gym locker shut with a clang. Whoever had reentered the locker room wasn't
going to get any peeks at him if he had his say.
As he dashed for the back exit to the field outside, changing his mind
spontaneously- who really needed to go to gym more than once in a month,
anyways?- Daryl tried in vain to banish the disheartening thoughts from his
head.
Brad was his friend and nothing more. There was no room to be rocking the boat
with his queer ideas and a crush that he couldn't explain.
He was just going to have to live with that.
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
RIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!
"Shit!" Daryl leapt to his feet, snapping out of his daydream, and winced at
the soreness of his backside. Sitting on the ground for an hour plus was never
very comfortable, but he hadn't had the good sense to take anything with him
for entertainment or something to sit on. He slammed his shoulder into the door
behind him madly, expecting it to swing open and let him inside, but instead
there was a crack and he howled in pain, clutching at his wounded shoulder.
The fuck? Since when was this door one way? Groaning at his own bad luck he
pounded on it in the hopes that someone would hear him and come open it. Three
minutes passed and now his fist was sore, too… Nope. Just his luck. Damn this
day to hell…
Giving up, he rounded the corner of the school and spotted to his dismay the
same bullies from the disaster on the bus that morning boarding his afternoon
bus, all snickering at something or other- probably another victim of theirs,
currently sticking half out of one of the dumpsters behind the school. Well, it
was official. There was no way he was getting on the bus. He'd just have to
walk home.
Cursing himself for being such a frigging idiot, he rubbed his arms morosely
and began the long trek down the road. Halfway down the street, there was the
sound of pounding feet behind him and he cringed, expecting to be hit- and
instead received a friendly clap on his non-bruised shoulder.
"Hey! Where're you goin'?" Brad asked, smiling in confusion as he fell into
step beside his redheaded friend. Daryl tried not to sag too obviously in
relief, mustering a weak smile and holding his arms out as if presenting
himself.
"Locked myself out of the locker room. Too lazy to go back in and get my shit…
I figured I might as well walk home," he shrugged, hoping that Brad wouldn't
question his logic. Thankfully, the other boy just nodded in acceptance and
turned his eyes back to the sidewalk, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.
"You're a doofus. You know?" His chuckle was infectious and Daryl found his
mood lightening, the sudden dangerous urge to hug his friend rising up and
battling with his common sense and manly pride in his chest. They, of course,
won- two against one was a piece of cake and he thanked God for that, only
dreading the day that he lost one of the two and had to gamble on how quickly
he would reveal to Brad just how much he liked him.
"Yeah, but a sexy doofus." He waggled his eyebrows in the typical Daryl-like
fashion and wondered where in the hell he conjured all of this fake confidence.
If he could make everyone else believe that he was a self-assured young man,
why couldn't he make himself?
Brad snorted. "Sure you are, Dar, sure… Hey, do you wanna hang out? Since I'm
walkin' with ya already and all."
Perking up, the ginger nodded enthusiastically, unable to stop a grin from
spreading across his face and his heart from pounding in his chest.
Automatically, he felt a vague stirring in his pants and shifted awkwardly
doing his best to ignore it as memories of the other night flooded his mind
again.
What exactly does "hanging out" entail?
Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Coopersmith…
I hope it's the no-clothes kind.
Groaning at the workings of his own mind, he nevertheless managed to keep a
straight face and nod. "Yeah, sounds cool… Parents aren't home this week." They
never are. "And I don't really have homework." Not that I was planning on doing
it anyways, with you around. "We could play Scrabble or somethin'."
Now that's got to be the geekiest thing you've ever suggested.He winced,
ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, expecting the other boy to make a
sarcastic comment or even accuse him for the night before- it had to be coming
at some point, right?
It must have been his lucky day, because Brad disregarded this entirely and
just continued nodding, staring at the ground with a slight smile. "Yeah, sure.
Sure."
Daryl felt himself relax into a grin, letting out the breath he'd been holding.
Perhaps there was hope for their friendship after all.
As long as he could keep his hands to himself.
BDBDBDBDBDBDBD
"Boobies!"
Successful, Daryl crowed and raised his arms over his head in triumph, grinning
manically as his friend just rolled his eyes. They sat in the cool dimness of
his bedroom on beanbag chairs, a Scrabble board laid out on the wooden floor
between them. The redhead had made it his own personal challenge to spell out
as many vulgar words as he possibly could, and so far he was doing well.
"Eleven points," Brad muttered, trying desperately not to smile. There was an
anxious coiling in his gut telling him to "just get it over with!" but so far,
it had been two hours and he still couldn't make himself bring up the topic.
"Hey Daryl, are you a fag?"
Yeah, that was going to go over GREAT. And it wouldn't help if he asked if he
thought that Brad was a fag, either, because what if he said yes? There was a
large part of Brad that wanted to throw up just thinking about it. No, he was
straight. As an arrow. He was just a healthy teenaged boy who wanted to try
things and get off and- and-
Chris. The thought of soft, pretty, oh-so-female Chris gave him a warm feeling
of security, quelling his nerves. She always did.
After all, if he was so in love with Chris, there was no way that he could be
queer.
"Boo-ya! I'm kicking your ass," Daryl boasted, smirking up at him with those
bright blue eyes, and Brad had to think again as his stomach lurched
pleasantly. He was leaning into his personal space, as per usual, too close for
comfort and not even seeming to realize it. "You suck at this game."
"I never said I was good at it," he chuckled nervously, checking his watch. He
had half an hour before his mom would start calling for dinner and- well, if
any moment was the one, wasn't it this one?
They were alone, they were relaxed… It was still fresh in his mind. Daryl's
hand wrapped around him, the velvety feeling of his friend's dick in his hand
making him shudder…
He had to do it now, before he lost his nerve.
"Hey, um- Dar?" he asked nervously, looking up from beneath his dark lashes at
the paler boy still laughing at the wooden letters he was rearranging on the
board. Daryl looked up curiously, flushing when he realized how close their
lips were and backing slightly away even though all of his instincts were
screaming for him to lean closer, show Brad how he felt. "Can I ask ya
somethin'?"
"Sure, old buddy old pal," he replied, trying to keep the apprehension out of
his voice as he pulled his attention away from the game and curled his knees to
his chest, hugging them as if they could protect him from his friend's next
words. "What's goin' on?"
"Well…" Brad had trouble forming the words, glancing away in embarrassment and
looking for anything he could use to distract him from his nerves. Daryl's room
was surprisingly blank- he rarely ever ventured into his neighbor's house, but
he'd always figured Daryl to be the foldout-posters-on-the-walls type. No such
luck. There weren't any breasts on the wall to help him gather the courage to
ask, voice higher than he was proud of, "W-what happened? The other night?"
Daryl, predictably, stiffened. "What do you mean?" His voice was low, guarded
and more serious than Brad had ever heard it. He wondered if he had gone too
far, scrambling to cover up his mistake, nearly choking on his embarrassment.
"I- I mean- I'm sorry! I just was wondering- you know, nevermind, it's not
important man." Clamping his mouth shut he seemed to shrink into himself, face
a fiery shade of red as he stared at the grains in the wood of the floor,
wishing he could just melt into a puddle.
There was a pause and he was afraid that Daryl would ask him to leave, or tell
him he didn't want anything to do with him if he was going around accusing
people of being fags- or worse, deny the night ever happened. Instead, the
other boy spoke up meekly. "Um. I think that was just- I mean- we were just
helpin' each other out… S'called mutual masturbation," he added, sounding just
as embarrassed as Brad felt.
The curly-haired boy felt a rush of relief. So he wasn't the only one who was
nervous about this? The fact that Daryl hadn't yet pushed him and demanded he
leave his house was so encouraging he could have hugged him.
But then, then that would make it homo and he didn't think they wanted to deal
with that right that moment…
"O-oh. I was just wondering…" the next question bubbled to the surface before
he could stop it, barely audible. "I was just wondering… If we could do that
again… just cause- I dunno- for th-the sake of research and all…"
"For science?" Daryl cracked a grin, starting to feel himself relax as well.
Damn if Brad couldn't always put his fears to rest. Giddy, he reached out a
hand and rested it on his friend's thigh, trying not to feel nervous as the
muscles jumped under his palm. "Yeah, yeah it's probably good… s'long as we
don't have girlfriends to do it, yaknow?"
Brad gulped, eyes wide and dark as he nodded and shifted closer, hardly daring
to believe this was happening again- and in broad daylight! His mother was
going to kill him! He followed Daryl's example shakily, fingers crawling up his
thigh to toy with his zipper and the redhead already looked ready to moan, face
scrunched up slightly, breath hitching.
"Right… Everyone does it," he laughed anxiously, focusing on the task at hand-
literally. "It's just an experiment."
"Gotta make sure the results the first time weren't a fluke…"
Conversation ceased as the two of them carefully managed to get their pants
around their ankles, grasping at each other through their boxers. Daryl's heard
was in his throat as he felt Brad grip the base of his rock-hard erection
firmly, hand warm and slightly sweaty around him. At the first tug, he looked
up and met those chocolate eyes, which seemed to be searching his for
something, anything, that would confirm that this was okay.
He gulped as they began, skin on skin, room rapidly heating up with their
rising body temperatures and the heat of their breath, coming in short,
desperate pants.
Eyes locked, Daryl had a sinking feeling in his chest, hoping that it didn't
show on his face as he pumped and thrust his hips forward.
Brad was going along with this now… but what about when he figured out that he
was in love with him? He'd be out the window and sprinting home in two seconds
flat.
God, but he was fucked.
Even as he came, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, chest heaving with the force of
his breath as he silently mouthed Brad's name, the words haunted him.
"What happened? The other night?"
A lot more than you think, Braddy boy.
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