Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/695082.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bully:_Scholarship_Edition
  Relationship:
      Gary_Smith/Pete_Kowalski
  Character:
      Gary_Smith, Petey_Kowalski
  Additional Tags:
      Hints_of_child_abuse, Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-22 Words: 3630
****** Thanks for Your Pity ******
by MotherGrim
Summary
     Gary doesn't need or want sympathy; just someone stable for a brief
     second.
Notes
     So uh, this is a thing. Briefly looked over. Hope you enjoy! :>
     Originally a christmas gift for a friend. <3
The nightmare always starts from where he'd ran out.
He runs, and oh dear god he runs so fast. His legs carry him at a speed that
cannot be matched by any adult; he runs without any direction or concept of the
future, he just sprints forever and ever until his limbs are burning with the
movement, threatening to abandon him as they start to shake. But Gary won’t let
them, and he never will. His destination is only four blocks away now, but when
exactly did he decide he was going there? He isn't sure, and he’s startled by
how easily his body falls into this habit, knowing there is only one safe haven
for him. His inner voice sneers, laughing loud, telling him to look behind, and
Gary fights his instincts so hard; he doesn’t want to chance even a single
glance. But his body has always done what it pleases, and he cranes his neck
over his shoulder. The vision in his right eye is obscured, something sticky
keeps getting in there. He wipes it away, and he’s surprised to realize it’s
warm. He blinks, trying to focus while sprinting as hard as he can, but the man
hasn't stopped chasing him, lumbering, fat and stupid.
Gary feels a retching pain take his stomach, and he runs faster now, because
his father is out to kill him. He knows it, and as if nature knows it as well,
all the shrubbery peels away because he's nearing the end of this road. All the
houses are generic and it makes him sick, aside from the one at the end of the
lane. He wishes briefly that he lived on this street, because here there’s
sanctuary, like a brilliantly shining cathedral with high archways and stone
doors, dimly flickering candles and incense, impenetrable to intruders.
Hopefully free of a hunchback.
All he needs to do is get there, yet the ground starts to crumble beneath his
feet, and the shards of concrete swallow into an endless black pit. Ivy wraps
about his neck, but slowly it changes into large, commanding digits, and Gary’s
legs give out from underneath him in protest of the work he has just subjected
them to; under the sheer weight of the fear that is blossoming in his abdomen.
He wrenches his eyes shut, and rams his elbow back as hard as he can, but
suddenly his father is gone, but his hands are still wrapped about Gary’s
throat.
When he opens his eyes again, he finds a ceiling. A familiar one and he sighs
partly out of relief, partly exhaustion. He scans the room; tries to get a grip
on the reality around him. Falling back asleep and into the dream again is not
something that sounds particularly appealing. The blinds are open slightly
beneath the lamp post outside, casting lines of light across his torso as he
sits up. He forgoes his blanket as he swings his legs around the side of his
bed, grasping the edge of his mattress to ground where the hell he is. Gary’s
focus shifts from one side of the room to the other, and just like clockwork,
his legs begin moving towards his dormitory door without his permission. He
pauses for a brief moment, listening for unwelcome voices in the hallway or any
movement at all, but a quick glance to the digital clock on his bedside table
reveals it’s only three in the morning. He sighs again, and turns the knob
quietly.
The door at the end of the hall still has light peering out from beneath it,
and Gary grins, it's like the final resting place at the end of a long trek.
There go his limbs again, pressing forward without so much as a word from his
brain.
“The door at the end of the dog days”, he whispers.
Gary pulls back his hand to knock; a rhythm only he and Petey know. It’s
childish, but it’s like a bridge leading into a place he feels is comfortable,
a secret and impenetrable password. He hears soft music pause while Petey
shuffles off his bed, and the light that shines through the door as it opens
draws a silhouette around Petey’s body. Gary holds a hand up over his eyes and
gives a small, nonchalant wave. But when Petey talks, it sends ripples of calm
down his spine, washing away everything he had just dreamed of.
“It’s three AM, man.” Petey says urgently, and Gary pushes his way past. He
squints until his eyes adjust to the light inside.
You were still awake anyway, don’t give me that bullshit.
He chooses not to say it. Giving Petey a foothold like that in the conversation
is not how Gary works.
He flops onto the bed, crossing his legs Indian style as he watches his
compadre inspect him, eyebrows knit together while concern tilts his expression
slightly to the left, which is a strange quirk that Gary noticed years ago.
Gary glances over to where Petey had obviously been sitting on his bed, and
there’s a book, marked by a dog-eared page. Gary wants to know what it is, but
refuses to pick it up 'cause he doesn't live like that; instead meets Petey’s
gaze with an inquisitive brow.
“What?” He says as he closes the door quietly. “It’s a good book.”
“Right.” Gary sneers, laying onto his back and stretching. He takes note of
Petey’s averted gaze as he climbs back onto the spot he was sitting in, trying
his best to avoid any brush with Gary’s bare skin. Petey crosses his legs
underneath him, and he watches Gary for a moment. Gary can’t decide whether he
likes it or not. “Stop staring at me, Pete. It's making me uncomfortable, I
might have to leave.” Gary says with a dismissive closing of his eyes, and he
can almost taste the irritated expression Petey's most definitely giving him.
“Whatever, Gary. You’re the one who showed up here, remember? What d’you want?”
Ballsy. Gary opens one eye as Petey picks up his book, turning to the page that
was marked. On an impulse, Gary snatches it from his hand, and tosses it in a
vague direction. He watches Petey’s brows furrow, but his friend says nothing.
“Don’t make such a serious face, Pete. Other guys don’t find wrinkles
attractive.”
Petey sighs, holding his hands up in frustration. “Gary, shut up.” He says,
leaning back against his headboard. “So you just came here to make fun—“
“Do you remember when we were little,” Gary interrupts, “And I got this scar?”
He taps his eyebrow, running his fingers along the mark. “Dude, you were like a
nurse, ‘Gary hold still or it could get infected!’" He mocks in a feminine
voice, "It was hilarious. You should have been in a skirt.”
There is a moment now, after Gary re-situates and closes his eyes, that he
holds his breath with a quiet, smothered hope that Petey will recognize it
isn't coming out of thin air. Pete's intelligent, observant. Gary grins with
ease, but every muscle in his body tenses as he waits for a response;
something, anything to show him that his subtle hints weren't missed. He
listens to his friend shift slightly, and he surprised to feel two fingers
tracing the scar with precise movements. Gary doesn't stop him right way, lets
it continue for just a moment, memory racing into his brain like it was fucking
yesterday: Petey’s fingers running over the gash with stinging antiseptic,
tears running down his face, and Gary’s cheek stained with blood. Petey’s
parents shouting in the background on the phone, Petey fumbling with tweezers
to pick the brown glass—
He snatches Petey’s fingers, and his eyes burst open. There’s danger in this
situation, something ominous beating down on both of them as their eyes
connect. Gary flashes a warning at Petey, but the smaller boy doesn't back
down, fingers caught.
It can’t go any further.
Gary wills Petey not to say another word, because he’s like a rattlesnake
coiled back to bite, and he’s uncertain with further antagonizing will result
in.
“Yeah, I remember.” Petey confirms, somewhat startled by the violence of Gary’s
reaction. “You didn't cry, even though there were three huge shards of glass
sticking out of your head. I thought you were freaking crazy.”
Gary can’t help the small twitch of a grin at Petey’s choice of words. However,
now Gary’s lost control of the conversation, and stirs panic like mud at the
bottom of a lake. He swallows as he releases Petey’s hand without so much as a
second thought. Gary sits up onto his elbows, Petey is still watching him. He
surprised to hear Petey take initiative again, and the boy speaks softly.
“Are you okay, Gary?” He asks, ruining the simplicity of the moment.
Gary is irritated now.
“You gonna cry if I’m not?” He asks with a pointed look. “You gonna put a band-
aid on it, mommy? Kiss it and make it better?”
Petey’s also irritated too; Gary can see it in his movements, but you don't
have to be a fucking genius to figure out Peter Kowalski's emotional state. He
jabs Gary in the side with his toes, seemingly playful, surprisingly painful.
“You’re such a jerk. Have you tried being grateful that you have someone who
actually asks if you’re okay?”
 
Like you're the only one.“You’re right, Petey. I never really thought about it
before. Thank you for being my own, personal homosexual.”
“Do you ever think that maybe you say that stuff to me because you’re a
homosexual?”
Gary laughs out loud, sitting up fully now. “Even if I was, I would still get
more girls than you, Pete. Oh wait, you wish you were one of those girls, don’t
you?” He moves to sit in his knees, riled by the growing tension of everything
that’s being said, and raises his eyebrows seductively.
“What? I never said anything like that!” Petey says with urgency, though his
voice is still kept low.
There’s a thickness that storms about in the air as things become slightly
serious, and Gary’s brain is yelling at him to turn back now, abandon all hope
and abort mission, but he presses on; he’s got a point to prove. “You don’t
have to say it. You can’t hide it at all, femeboy.”
Since when did his voice become such a quiet whisper?
Petey frowns deeply as his eyes narrow, challenging Gary for the first time
since they were kids. “I’m not the one hiding.”
Gary’s in Petey's face now, taller, larger and more frightening than Petey had
ever seen before. Gary revels in this fact, the power in the opposite hands,
and he has to stop himself from reeling back out of the electricity it sends
surging through his veins. He stares Petey down, and says in a low, rough
voice, “Kiss it and make it better then.”
Like a thunderclap, they collide against one another. Petey presses his mouth
to Gary’s, wrapping his arms around Gary’s neck and he's startled as his hands
dive immediatly into Petey's shirt, shifting around to the soft skin of his
back. Within seconds, mouths have parted and tongues have slid in, an
unfamiliar weight that seems seductively inappropriate. Gary pushes Petey back
against the mattress with a precise force, calculated but chaotic, a trademark
of his, he likes to think. Petey gasps for air as they part, landing with
little gentleness against the matress. They’re clumsy together, fumbling about
with hands and egos. But dear god, Gary’s kissing Petey so hard, and Petey's
writhing wonderfully beneath him, it’s overwhelming, unreal, not perfect
because perfect is a stupid fucking word, there’s no word to describe it, just
colors and wisps.
Gary’s already half-hard in his boxer shorts, which he always thinks is
slightly funny, because it obscures the vertical stripes like an optical
illusion. A thought quickly replaced when he turns his attentions to Petey's
exposed bits of flesh. He wants to explore it, bite it, lick it, but there’s no
time, absolutely none in the world Gary lives in, doubt lurking and creeping
towards the surface. So he does the only thing he knows how to do, and it
crosses his mind that he’s never done it with anyone.
He briefly ponders, What does ‘it’ mean anyway? He knows the meaning, but such
a broad phrasing frustrates him, fuels a twitch in his fingers. His hands
themselves races across Petey’s body, caught between the smoothness there and
the rough feeling of his cotton pajamas; why couldn’t Petey be normal and just
sleep in boxers like every other sane male?
He finds himself inside the elastic band of Petey’s pajama trousers, but still
outside yet another old-folks layer; briefs.
Gary sounds a groan of frustration, loud and expressive. “God, what are you,”
He says between the staggered noises of their breathing, vaguely available
between sinking his tongue into Petey's mouth, “Ninety-six or something?” He
reaches around Petey’s ass, squeezing generously, and Petey’s response comes
out as a breathy jumble of words that may have, at one point been a retort.
There's a small, started recoil of his hips, too.
Gary doesn’t care-- well, he does, but the subtleties of that would be lost
even if they weren't in this situation right now.
He ventures beneath the second, virgin-ensuring wall of cotton; he’s startled
as Petey lets out a soft cry laced with traces of his name, but what really
catches him is how it affects his own body, sending tendrils of electric
vengeance through the entirety of him, surging down his torso to his dick. He
makes a noise of frustrated arousal, still unsure of what exactly to do. He ad-
libs, refuses to show Petey that he’s struggling because Scew Pete if he thinks
there's a chance of an upper hand on his end. Ha. Screw Pete.
Improvisation proves useful; he takes a hold of Petey’s cock, giving it an
experimental stroke from tip to base. Petey clutches him close with a strained
gasp and a grin of triumph eases onto Gary’s lips as he sucks at Petey's neck.
He gives it a go a few more times, and Petey seems like he’s having a harder
time keeping himself quiet after each greedy motion. Gary pauses, swiping at
Petey's prick with his thumb. Petey keens with surprising forte, and as much as
Gary wishes he could enjoy another small victory, the feeling is interrupted by
a thrum of heat through his own situation, which has yet to be addressed. He
has to pause to recollect what the actual hell he was doing a moment ago, but
Petey seems to notice through his loud haze.
Gary looks him in the eye as he shuffles out from underneath him, and Gary
could’ve sworn he reached out to stop him, but he finds that his own body is
starting to practice that infuriating disobedience again. Gary watches as Petey
stands with a slight wobble, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it
away. Gary watches it land on the earlier discarded book. He smirks in response
to his small sort of victory.
Petey says something, but Gary doesn’t hear it exactly. Yet apparently his body
does, because he’s scooting over to the edge of the mattress, watching Petey as
he moves, and Petey’s pajamas are suddenly much less unattractive to Gary as he
drinks in the sight of them clinging barely to the protrusions of Petey’s
hipbones, just under his navel. Taken aback by his own thinking, Gary laughs at
himself aloud.
In the midst of his thoughts, Gary had missed Petey kneeling down, popping the
plastic button on his boxers. He lets out a sharp groan as Petey’s hand snakes
inside. He searches for a moment to find his center as sensation unfurls
through his limbs, and Petey’s right hand emerges from the cotton, circled
around Gary’s dick with no remorse in his actions at all. Gary isn’t sure
whether he should be looking at Petey or Petey’s hand or his own fucking hard
on or anywhere else.
Gary leans back onto his elbows, a gesture so that he could see everything at
the same time, because there’s something he likes about the quirks and ticks in
Petey’s expressions during the length of these events. He feigns expectancy as
he glances towards Petey; it’s not like Gary doesn't know what’s about to
happen, but Gary isn't confident enough to be sure, so he pretends he is, and
lets Petey take what he would from his manufactured expressions. And Petey does
as Gary debated he would, leaning down and taking him with a patient test, and
Gary throws his head back, all motivations lost. The warmth of Petey’s mouth is
deep, glorious, and Gary is certain that Petey will think he doesn't notice the
subtle detail of his tongue running along the bottom vein. Oh but he notices;
he notices so hard that the sheets are twisted up in his fists, and for the
record they were tucked in pretty tightly because Petey is perpetually a senior
citizen who makes sure his sheets are washed and folded an--.
Petey looks up at Gary with eyes wide but somehow sinister, and Gary delights
in the small bit of darkness he catches in Petey as it flickers across his
face. Again, however, he has no time to dwell on it as Petey sucks him in only
halfway. It’s experimental, not completely confident because Petey’s obviously
gauging his reactions. He sucks slow and torturous hard, and Gary slides down
onto his back because his arms can't support him anymore. He doesn't want it to
be so soon; it'll end the contact, it'll end this honesty Gary doesn't have the
strength to use. But he beats his sentimentality to death because screw that
noise, he focuses instead on Petey’s tongue lapping at him like he's some kind
of delicious drink.
Gary musters the strength to sit back up, and chance a glance at Petey. Petey’s
eyes are closed softly with long lashes splayed against his cheek, and he’s
taken to stroking himself as well as sucking Gary. The sight itself sends a
ripple of pleasure through Gary, but he chokes it for a struggling moment. Yet
there is a detail, something Gary notices that destroys his self-control
completely. The drag of Petey’s left handed knuckles up and down his own
erection matches in almost perfect metronome the rhythm of his tongue along
Gary's.
The world stops. It may as well have ended right there, on that ledge. At least
he would have died happy.
Heat washes him away like a white rapid, and he turns his head sideways as far
as he can to muffle his groan in the blankets askew on Petey’s once pristine
bed. Petey pulls back, with a soft choke, wiping his mouth with a pained
expression and a gasp. Gary dodges the guilt in the back of his mind skillfully
as usual; instead he observes Petey hasn't gotten off yet. In the most selfless
act he may ever manage to muster, Gary reaches down, wrapping his arms around
Petey’s waist and tugging him up onto his lap. He's not surprised it's easy.
Petey gasps in surprise, and Gary rolls his hips up against Petey, sliding his
hands onto Petey’s cock. With a single swipe of his thumb over Petey’s prick
just like before, Petey comes with his head pressed into the crook of Gary’s
neck, a feminine moan escaping in hot breaths over Gary’s slightly sticky skin,
and Gary doesn't mind it. For a minuscule flicker of time, he actually enjoys
the feeling.
They fall back against the bed together, tangled in a heap. Gary could expand
on it like he was always taking the piss. He could tease Petey about it right
this second, and in that it could be dealt with, a frantic explanation of
practical joke.
A foggy voice prompts him not to, not for Petey’s sake, but for his own.
For a moment, Gary likes what’s going on. They’re both silent and nothing needs
made clear or discussed or some bullshit; had it been raining outside the
entire time? He doesn't know, like he cares anyway. Petey is breathing heavy
like he’s fallen asleep, but Gary feels the flit of his lashes brushing against
him each time he blinks.
Both still clothed, aside from Petey’s discarded, hideous pajama shirt. A
detail Gary admires as an achievement.
“Gary?”
Gary tenses.
Not yet.
“We... we should talk about this. I mean, I’ll always here if you need to talk
no matter--”
Gary sits up briskly. Petey is startled and barely catches himself as he slides
off Gary. Gary untangles himself from Petey, hopping off the mattress as he
tucks himself back into his shorts. He stretches loudly to show his disinterest
in wherever Petey had hoped to go with those words, turning to look at Petey
with a wolfish grin, something bitter catching in his throat.
Petey is sitting on the shuffled blankets, watching Gary in all his pretty
confusion, and Gary feels a slight remorse for the allies he'll eventually
eliminate, including his best friend.
Idiot.
Gary’s more than irritated. With a slight bow, he clasps his hands behind
himself and backs toward the door. He takes a moment to listen for action in
the hallway just as he had before. When he finds it surprisingly silent, he
turns the knob with one hand, back still turned to it
“Thanks for your pity, Pete. You’re too kind.” He says, and he backs out the
doorway, closing it quickly behind him, leaving all those nasty emotions where
they belong, with the ever emotional Petey.
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