Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13423584.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Johnny_the_Homicidal_Maniac
  Relationship:
      Edgar_Vargas/Jimmy_"Mmy"
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, First
      Time, Chastity_Device, Yes_Really, Rimming, trash_king_Jimmy, Dead_Dove:
      Do_Not_Eat, Fluff_and_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-20 Words: 8178
****** What Sexy Fucking Nightmare Did You Walk Out of ******
by DesdemonaKaylose
Summary
     I wish I could tell you what you're getting into, but honestly I
     don't know what to do other than point up at the tags
Notes
     I guess after finishing one high school au I must have got a taste
     for it. I wasn't going to publish it, actually, but more than one
     person wanted to read it so here we go. please validate my choice to
     utterly drag myself for your entertainment.
Jimmy knows of  Edgar, he guesses. Or like, everyone in their year knows the
Vargas family because of that one time they picketed the school production of
Hamletbecause speaking to ghosts is necromancy and necromancers are supposed to
be put to death by the community according to, fuck, some bible verse, he
guesses. He mostly remembers that Edgar just stood there looking totally
mortified during the whole thing. They have American History together. Edgar
comes in to every class with cans of redbull from the gas station across the
road even though Jimmy is ninety percent sure Mormons or whatthefuckever the
Vargases are don't have a high opinion of caffeine. So yeah, Jimmy knows of
him. At least enough to pull back one of the ears of his headphones when Edgar
stops beside his seat on the bus and asks, "Is this seat taken?"
Jimmy looks him up and down. It's a fair drive to the national park where his
stupid class is spending the day cataloguing salamanders, and it's a pretty
full bus, and he guesses he'd rather ride with a known quantity like Edgar than
some of the other freaks in this grade. He pushes his backpack out of the seat
and kicks it out of the way.
"Thanks," Edgar says, and settles in pretty easy.
Jimmy considers him for a long moment, the music pumping in his ears
temporarily forgotten. Edgar's dressed in a white linen shirt and khakis and
basically looks like a cartoon off the poster for homeschooled robo boys.
"I can't believe your family let you come on this thing," Jimmy says. "They
don't chain you up in the dog house when you're done putting in hours at
school?"
Edgar gives him a sour twitch of the eyebrows. "If you don't want me to bring
up your trailer park trash home life," he says mildly, "don't bring up mine?"
"What would you know about my homelife?" Jimmy says, narrowing his eyes.
Edgar rests his head against the seat and starts ticking off fingers. "Your
lunch most days of the week consists of aerosol cheese whip. At least twice I
have seen you drinking gin out of a plastic water bottle during history. You
own one pair of jeans and I can tell because when you don't wear underwear I
can see the bottom of your asscheek through the hole in the seat of your
pants."
Jimmy stares at him, dumbfounded. "Have you been looking at my ass?" he says.
Edgar blinks, twice, sitting perfectly still. "I've said too much," he
observes, and then takes a four second long gulp of redbull from the can in his
hand.
 
 
 
Edgar shares his travel-size bag of tiny cookies with Jimmy, which goes a long
way in Jimmy's book. Edgar wants to know what he's listening to. Instead of
just telling him, which he could do, Jimmy pulls off his headphones and puts
them over Edgar's ears, and watches the light show of expressions on his face
as he goes from 1. startled by the loudness, to 2. getting the hang of it, to
3. delighted by the few lyrics he can make out. It's a little bit--he doesn’t
know what--well, Jimmy likes the CD himself obviously, but he's never been
responsible for making another person's face do that.Also the song that's
playing is about eighty percent the lead singer begging the devil to fuck him
in a way that’s only partly ironic, so uh,
Anyway.
By the time they get to the park, Jimmy has decided that the Vargases are doing
a really shitty job of running their cult because Edgar is way too smart for
any of them and in one bus ride he’s already decided he absolutely loves
HELLSLUTS UNCUT. On the bus, with the headphones firmly in place, he shouts, "I
love when the singer sounds like he's vomiting into the microphone!" like the
rest of the class isn't several decibels quieter than what he's listening to.
It's a good ride.
The chaperones sort them out into groups as they're filing down off the bus,
and Jimmy knows this game, he knows that they won't put people together who
walk out at the same time because school groups with friends in them cause
trouble. So he watches Edgar go, in his weirdly alluring khakis, and after a
sufficient count Jimmy grabs his bag and disembarks. It totally works. He's
hacked the system, he's a goddamn genius.
Riverside, Edgar rolls up his pants and slides into the water while Jimmy
perches up on a rock in the middle of the stream. The rest of their group
wanders downstream to fuck around with a big lizard and never comes back, so
Jimmy just sits there, monologuing absently about movies he's seen and people
he hates, while Edgar meticulously jars tiny salamander after tiny salamander.
His glasses keep slipping down his nose, until finally he gives up and pulls
them off. The lenses are sprayed with little dots of river water. He considers
them for a second, and then offers them to Jimmy.
"Hold these for me, please," he says.
Jimmy takes them and unfolds them in his hand, and then, because the dots are
kind of bothering him, licks the lenses. When he looks up, Edgar is staring at
him.
"Did you just do that?" Edgar says.
"Do what?" Jimmy says.
"Okay," Edgar says, "new plan. I'm putting those on the grass and far away from
you." He sloshes over to Jimmy's rock and reaches for them, but Jimmy gets a
foot in his chest and pushes him back.
"Hey, come on," Jimmy says, "chill, it's just a little spit. You breathe all
over them when you're cleaning them, what's the difference?"
"Trust me," Edgar says, with a grunt as he strains against the boot in his
chest, "there's a difference."
"Don't be a baby," Jimmy says.
Edgar stretches his fingers as he leans against Jimmy with his whole body. A
jolt goes through Jimmy as Edgar grabs his shoulder for balance and presses his
knee back against his body - his heart goes thump clang and suddenly he's
toppling over backwards, grabbing at Edgar for support. Edgar's too unbalanced
to support either of them though, and he comes toppling forward too. They crash
into the water in a heap, where it's just deep enough that Jimmy goes fully
under before he hits the bottom. He's pulled up almost immediately, Edgar
levering himself up off Jimmy's chest and pulling Jimmy up after him, so that
they're both soaked and gasping as the current pours on around them. Water
drips from Edgar’s chin onto Jimmy’s neck, plop plop, as he brushes Jimmy's
hair back off his forehead and out of his eyes. Those fingers leave fizzle-hot
stripes of hypersensitivity over his scalp where they push through his hair.
And Jimmy, who can get hard in a slight breeze, goes ragingly full inside his
shitty jeans.  
"Uh," he says.
Edgar leans in, reaches down past him, and wiggles his glasses out of Jimmy's
fist, miraculously unharmed. His chest bumps Jimmy's shoulder, all solid and
dark through the transparent sheet of his soaked linen.
"I'm not wearing any underwear," Jimmy says, because fuck? his brain?
"I know," Edgar says, and Jimmy remembers abruptly the whole thing about Edgar
looking at his jeans, and uuhhhhhh in for penny in for a benji.
"We should fuck," Jimmy says, mouth incongruously dry.
Edgar pauses. One of his knees is tucked under Jimmy's sprawled leg, and he
seems to be belatedly taking notice of the position they're in. "That's a very
bad idea," Edgar says, "for a multitude of reasons."
"That's not a no," Jimmy says quickly.
Edgar starts to untangle himself, but Jimmy grabs his arm and pulls him back
close before he can make any real progress. There's no way he's passing up this
opportunity, no way in hell, like, when's the next time he's gonna be able to
get a minute alone with someone who has looked at his ass? Maybe more than
once? Ignoring the urgent noises of protest Edgar is making, Jimmy gets a hand
between them and gropes for Edgar's cock, getting handfuls of slick fabric and
thigh meat until - what was that -
Edgar lets out a groan of absolute despair.
Jimmy pauses, and then pushes Edgar until he goes backwards into the river.
Jimmy mounts his legs and presses down on the crotch of the khakis until the
fabric is flush against the mechanism under it. It's unmistakably a tiny
padlock.
Edgar says, "Now hold on a minute-" but Jimmy is already tearing open the
zipper, forcing his fingers under the fabric to find hard plastic. He feels out
the enclosed shape of a cock, and pliable flesh underneath it closed up in a
ring of more plastic. As his fingertips knead Edgar's exposed balls, Edgar lets
out a noise so breathy and low that it sends shivers all the way down his
spine.
"What the fuck is this?" Jimmy demands. His fingers find a slit in the tip of
the casing, where he can feel the head of the cock peeking through.
Edgar's body arcs, his breath glitching. "Stop touching that," he says, but
hoarsely. "It's a chastity device."
" Whyyyy?" Jimmy says, drawing the word out uncertainly.
Edgar grabs his wrist hard, stopping him entirely. "My folks," he says, "it's
an abstinence thing. Like a purity ring, I guess?"
"So you can't," Jimmy says, "like, ever?"
Edgar lets out a hard sigh and slumps back into the water, saying, "They'll
probably give me the key when I get married, because of course I'm going to get
married, obviously, me being so very interested in girls and all."
Jimmy thinks he could almost cry at how sad that is, what a waste of good
healthy cock meat, honestly the Vargases should be arrested for this. Edgar
just looks resigned about it, staring up past Jimmy and at the cheery summer
sky.
"Fuuuuck," Jimmy says, "I really wanted to get my mouth around that."
Edgar goes just noticeably flushed under his coffee and cream skin, not dark
yet from summer sunshine. It's too much for Jimmy's poor weak heart, and also
his dick which definitely hasn't gotten the latest memo. He slumps against
Edgar, forehead thunking down on shoulder.
Edgar jumps a little but doesn't push him off.
"So have you ever gotten off?" Jimmy asks, into Edgar's wet shirt.
"Uhhh," Edgar says, "I guess I must have at some point. There was a whole
embarrassing debacle with some sheets, but my mother put that to a stop
rightaway. Honestly I haven't had much cause to miss it, except for-"
The particularly thick quality of the silence makes Jimmy's whole body
positively thrill with excitement. Oh god he's gonna find some way around this,
see if he doesn't, where there is a will there is a goddamn way. His free hand
is already sliding through the current, creeping its way towards the
inevitable. He palms himself in the secret hollow between Edgar's legs,
forehead against Edgar's shoulder, watching the flesh swollen against its cage
in between them.
"What--" Edgar says, "Are you fucking serious?"
Jimmy lets out a grinding moan, unabashed, cinching his free arm around Edgar's
back to pull him closer or stop him from leaving, either is good, both are
important. He can hear the tiny wet sound of Edgar's lips parting, maybe
licking his lips, he seems like the type to have those kinds of nervous habits.
His clothes stick to his body in dark wrinkles, sucking at Jimmy's hand as it
tightens over a shoulder blade.
"Jimmy this is a," Edgar's breath hitches, "a class trip, literally anyone
could walk through here--"
Jimmy moans again, pulling Edgar tight against him. He strains his hips forward
- it's not comfortable, but it doesn't need to be, he just wants to touch the
delicate skin under Edgar's cage with his dick, that is literally all he's
thinking about, he's not even sure why it's so important but god damn is it
important. The head of his cock nudges Edgar's balls, glans red and swollen,
sliding underneath and disappearing for spare seconds that absolutely are
giving him ideas about what else he'd like to do with this pretty, tragic,
unbelievable son of a bitch. He jerks his hand faster, almost frantic now.
"Oh my god," Edgar says, "you're going to come aren't you?"
He sounds scandalized but he also - Jimmy rolls his head against the shoulder
and manages a bleary look up into Edgar's flushed face, and yes, there is
definitely something there that Jimmy recognizes. Something frantic and animal.
Edgar swallows, dry mouth, throat bobbing.
"Hold on," he says, "don't just - you're in a river, you're gonna waste it."
Jimmy makes a distracted, confused noise. His fingers twist over the head of
his cock, silky smooth in the submerged current.
"Hold on hold on," Edgar is muttering, and then he's pulling Jimmy up into his
lap, just barely out of the water, so tight against his stomach that the upward
thrust of Jimmy's cock rucks up the fabric of his shirt. Jimmy's thighs are
split apart by Edgar's legs and he loves it , wherever this is going he is
ready for it.Edgar reaches down and worries the slit in the head with his
thumb, inexpert but relentless. Jimmy shudders, pushes up against Edgar's body,
and comes with a heavy pant. Edgar worries the flesh through the whole thing,
fingers going milky and slick with come. When Jimmy finally makes a protesting
noise at him, Edgar reluctantly pulls his hand away. He stares down at it, like
someone hypnotized, and then slowly lifts it to his mouth. He licks a sticky
stripe up from his palm.
"Gnnnnffuucknshit ," Jimmy says, incoherently but with a lot of feeling. "What
fucking sexy nightmare did you walk out of?"
“Sorry. I should have asked.” Edgar sucks his fingers like he doesn’t even
knowwhat he’s doing.
Jimmy does his best to not just straight up pass out from sensory overload.
 
 
 
It’s a beautiful day on a boring trip and Jimmy lasts a remarkable hour before
he tries anything else. Edgar’s got some kind of sixth sense for his bullshit
because he slaps Jimmy’s hand right out of the air mid-grab. All the chaperones
have taken turns shaking their heads at the wet clothes and the upended jar of
salamanders (mostly escaped in the tumble), as they dry out for the most part
in the sun. Some lady tries to give them a Fun Lecture About Ecology. Edgar
twists his roaming hand back so hard a tendon nearly snaps. When the bus loads
back up, they wordlessly take a seat next to each other.
The sun is going down outside the bus as they rumble back home, and Jimmy can
see some of the heads around them nodding off, cheeks smudged against the
window glass. It’s not like Jimmy isn’t capable of thinking deep soulful
thoughts about the color of the sunrise or the ephemerality of youth or the
meaning of life but, like, how’s he supposed to think about anything when Edgar
is sitting next to him like that! Existing! Like a guy who licked up Jimmy’s
come less than two hours ago like it was candy!
The bus grinds forward into twilight and Jimmy finally cannot take it anymore.
He gets a leg tucked under him and twists in his seat. He closes a hand over
Edgar’s knee.
“Don’t even thinkabout it,” Edgar warns him, staring ahead.
“Come oooon,” Jimmy whines, burying his nose in Edgar’s ear. He feels Edgar
stiffen more than he sees it.
“Not on your life,” Edgar says. His heartbeat pounding under his ears gives him
away though, Jimmy can feel it when he nuzzles in close.
“I just wanna touch it,” Jimmy whispers.
His hand is sliding up khaki and towards the horrible, magnetic, weirdly pretty
thing he can’t stop thinking about. Edgar seems to be wavering. For one thing,
he hasn’t removed Jimmy’s hand.
“If you touch yourself,” Edgar says, “you’re definitely going to make a scene
and you’ll get both of us in trouble.”
“So I won’t ,” Jimmy says, wheeling and dealing best as he can. “I just wanna
touch it, please, I can’t even do anything with it, you said so.”
Edgar’s fingers twitch against his leg. He does a surreptitious search for
adults, scanning the empty aisle. “Alright,” he says, “if it’ll keep you
occupied. I guess it can’t hurt much.”
Jimmy immediately dives for the cock cage, hand disappearing inside of
underwear. It’s so smooth and hard, like a toy, like something made in china
and packaged up in a blister pack. He rubs at the opening in it, and then on an
innocent impulse, digs his nail into the slit in the cock head. Edgar snaps
back against his seat, teeth buried in his bottom lip so hard the skin goes
white and then red. He turns a look of absolute murder on Jimmy.
“The fuck,” he says, “was that?”
Jimmy shrugs, already distracted by the next interesting thing. He fondles the
soft spots, kneading them softly again, tracing fingertips back over the
perineum as he burrows underneath Edgar. He feels like he’s burying himself in
something secret and guarded, something he’s not supposed to touch. Edgar
starts to fidget, hips twitching against the seat. His thighs flex and flex.
“I thought you said this didn’t do anything for you,” Jimmy says, squeezing a
little harder to see what it makes Edgar do. Edgar lifts up off the seat, just
a fraction, hand scrabbling at the armrest.
“That is notwhat I said,” Edgar breathes. He’s definitely grinding down into
Jimmy now, no two ways about it.
“Wow,” Jimmy says, watching the strain on Edgar’s throat as he bites down on
all the little noises he wants to make. Jimmy could do this all day. “This must
be torture for you, huh? Just getting more wound up with nowhere to go? Man, I
can’t imagine living like that.”
“You’re not helpingit,” Edgar says, through gritted teeth.
Jimmy kisses him. He can’t help it, Edgar looks so cute wriggling like that,
like something stuck and helpless on a hook, with his red lips and his
frantically working throat and his glasses slipping down his nose. Edgar lets
him, although it’s mostly just a matter of opening his mouth to let Jimmy do
what he wants with it. Jimmy is starting to breathe hard, dexterity reduced to
just grinding the heel of his hand up into whatever’s in reach, when the
screaming metal death trap they’re all riding on gives a horrible metallic
shout and abruptly gives out under them.
 
 
 
Actually everyone comes out of it just fine. The bus driver pulls them over
onto the side of the road and the brakes work just fine, and Edgar manages to
button himself up perfectly in the three seconds before the whole bus is on
their feet in a panic, and basically it’s just another boring cluster fuck.
After a couple minutes of chaos, the driver climbs back inside and announces
that they aren’t going anywhere until the tow service show up, and there’s only
one tow service in the county that can handle a bus of this size, so they had
better sit tight.
About fifteen minutes later, the chaperone with the short straw announces that
anyone whose parents can come get them should do so. They’re still an hour out
from the city, and anyone whose parents can’t come get them is going to have to
come with the chaperones over to the holiday inn a little way back up the road.
Jimmy glances at Edgar out the side of his eye.
While everyone who has a cell phone is dialing their parents, Jimmy hangs an
arm over the back of his seat and says, “What about you? You got a ride home?”
Edgar is frowning. “I’m not allowed to have a cell phone. I was supposed to
walk home from school when we got back. I’m not sure - of course they won’t
want me spending the night out in some strange place without supervision, but I
think my sister has the car tonight, and she works until 4 am--”
“Huuuuuh,” Jimmy says. The wheels in his head are turning. “What a
coincidence,” he says, “I’m not getting picked up either.”
“Oh no,” Edgar says, “no, definitely not--”
An hour and one cramped car ride later, Jimmy has maneuvered event in just such
a way that when their unlucky chaperone is handing them the keys to a tiny
hotel room in the middle of nowhere, it’s together. He hitches an arm around
Edgar’s shoulder and assures the teacher that they’ll just be the best of
friends, he knows it, and no sir there’s absolutely no reason to worry about
anyone getting into trouble. He’s sure the man is thinking about the incident a
month ago where Jimmy chased another student around the classroom with a pair
of scissors, and really all he’s got to do to waylay suspicion is clearly
demonstrate his lack of scissors. The teachers all have more on their minds, or
at least these ones do, the ones who got stuck with overnight babysitting. Like
convincing the clerk to give them rooms for the boys and girls on different
floors. Poor innocent fuckers.
Jimmy pulls the hotel room door closed behind him, locks it, and glances over
his shoulder.
Edgar, perched on the bed, says, “Good grief, are you about to monologue your
villainous plot at me?”
“Nooo,” Jimmy says. He turns around.
Edgar holds up a hand. “Again,” he says, “I just want to make it clear. This is
a very bad idea.”
“Right, like me fingering you on the bus was a bad idea. What can I say,” he
grins, “I’m full of ‘em.”
Edgar throws back his head like he’s begging god for patience. But he doesn’t
say anything else, which Jimmy takes as a good sign. There are two beds, sure,
with a night stand in between, but Jimmy ignores the second bed in favor of
ransacking the small bathroom for free goodies. They’ve got the standard hotel
fair, the tiny shampoo and the tiny soap, and more importantly they have just
the thing Jimmy is looking for. He comes back out with the tiny hand lotion and
crawls onto Edgar’s bed, dropping his prize in Edgar’s lap.
Edgar lifts it with two fingers, lifting his glasses to read the small print
better. “What in god’s name are you thinking right now?” he asks.
“I’m thinking you should take a shower,” Jimmy says, wiggling his eyebrows in
what he imagines is a very provocative manner.
Edgar scowls at him. “I think you should take a shower,” he retorts.
Jimmy waves him off. “I’ll go next, that stall’s too small for both of us. Love
the enthusiasm though,” he adds, giving Edgar’s thigh a squeeze as he climbs
back off the bed. He bends over his backpack on the floor and digs his wallet
free, a ratty bulky thing that will not fit in his jeans no matter how hard he
tries. It doesn’t usually matter because he rarely carries around more than a
handful of quarters for bus fare anyway, but today that’s just what he needs.
When he comes back up, wallet in hand, he does not miss how Edgar’s eyes were
zeroed in on his ass before immediately looking away.
Jimmy pauses with the door half closed behind him, shoots Edgar a grin, and
says, “Remember! Don’t dream it, be it!”
He can hear Edgar shouting at him through the door as he skips away, which
reminds him, volume control. While Jimmy has absolutely no problem subjecting
any and all bystanders to the full range of his vocal repertoire, he is not
about to get cockblocked by Mr. Mcdaniels the Algebra nerd for disturbing the
peace.
Jimmy comes back with two (2) individually wrapped lubricated condoms, which is
all he had the quarters to afford. Jimmy has absolutely been barebacked before
but, like, he kind of doesn’t want to put Edgar through that experience? Not
that Jimmy regrets it, or anything, but.  Like maybe he can do better? For
Edgar?
Edgar, who stalks out of the shower in a cheap hotel towel that doesn’t quite
circle his body, hands cinching the ends together over his hip like a kind of
loincloth from one of those video games Jimmy can’t play but loves to look at.
He’s mostly dried himself off, except for a missed drop that runs slowly down
his thigh. Jimmy can’t look away from it.
“Well?” Edgar says, not quite pulling off that dismissive expression without
his glasses to help him figure out where Jimmy is sitting.
Jimmy is up before he knows he’s done it, moving quickly across the carpet
towards Edgar, whose eyes widen as his vision comes clearer. Jimmy reaches down
and runs his fingers up the trail of water, until they disappear under the
towel. Edgar lets him, shivers, looks away. God damn he’s perfect, big hands
and skinny wrists, delicate collarbones, the bob of his adam’s apple as he
swallows. Jimmy can find something attractive in just about anyone but Edgar is
perfect, absolutely made for him, made to satisfy every dumb animal hunger,
every urge.
Jimmy pushes him back against the sink counter, burying his face in the crook
of Edgar’s neck. There’s a sharp intake sound, like Edgar is sucking in a
breath through his clenched teeth. Oh fuck, Jimmy is gonna die if he doesn’t
get in closer like yesterday.
“Hop up,” Jimmy says, with an enthusiastic slap to Edgar’s thigh. Edgar jumps.
“Beg pardon?” Edgar says, rubbing faintly at the place Jimmy hit. Jimmy rolls
his eyes and pats the countertop sharply.
“Drop the towel, hop up.”
Edgar squints at him. “You said you were going to take a shower,” he points
out.
“Yeah, I know, I’m gonna,” Jimmy says impatiently. “Right now I gotta get my
mouth on you or I’m super gonna lose it.”
Edgar’s mouth pops open in an O for a beat before he gets with the program. It
takes him a second to commit to dropping the towel, but at last he seems to
reach the conclusion that he can’t lever himself up with one hand anyway, and
he makes quick work of messily folding it up before obliging. There’s a pale
freckle on his hip. He settles on top of the counter and then, after a second
of thought, spreads his knees against the edge. The effect is heart-stopping.
Inside his thighs there are faint little pink lines, like scars but not the
kinds of scars Jimmy expects to see hidden on the bodies of people he fucks.
They’re something entirely different, although what he doesn’t know. When Edgar
drags his hands nervously over himself, the color disappears.
There’s the telltale plastic glint between his thighs, and more importantly,
the straining skin cinched underneath. Jimmy plants his elbows on the counter
and dives into the hot soap-smelling burrow there, sucking what he can reach of
Edgar’s balls into his mouth. Edgar’s hands slam into the counter with an ear-
ringing slap. Jimmy tongues plastic and flesh and Edgar twitches like he’s
seizing, heels drumming the wooden cabinet under him. Jimmy sucks harder,
drawing a noise out of Edgar that sounds more like pain than anything else, but
all Edgar does is twist a hand into Jimmy’s hair and hold him in place.
“Fuck,” Edgar breathes. “I don’t know what you’re - getting out of this -”
Jimmy pulls away just enough to say, “Wanna see you squirm,” and then licks a
hot stripe up the shiny skin. Edgar’s hand in his hair tightens, nails digging
into his scalp, and then abruptly withdraws. He looks down at his hand.
“Okay, you’re taking a shower now,” Edgar says, rubbing his fingers together
with an expression of pure consternation. “I can feel what’s got to be days
worth of gel still in your hair.”
Jimmy makes an irritated noise but does stand back up. He surreptitiously feels
his scalp. It’s not thatbad, most of it hasn’t even melded itself together yet.
But whatever, he knew he was gonna have to make some kind of effort if he was
gonna sleep with a fussy guy like he can tell Edgar is. He’s already committed
to it.
Jimmy gets through his shower so fast that the hot water heater almost doesn’t
have time to give out on him, which is lucky, because he does not need small-
dick-ice-water syndrome putting a damper on this extremely smooth seduction.
The doorknob drips with condensation.  Jimmy throws the bathroom door open, not
bothering with a towel and still about fifty percent wet. Edgar looks up,
startled. He’s got his glasses back on.
“You bought condoms?” Edgar says, holding up one of the little squares.
 “That’s presumptuous.”
Jimmy shrugs. He swings over to the bed and hangs himself over Edgar’s
shoulder, tugging the square out of his grip. “Like you don’t wanna try it,”
Jimmy says. “You’re practically drooling for it.”
Edgar makes a noncommittal noise. Jimmy grins.
“You don’t just wanna get fucked , man,” he says, “you wanna get railed.”
“Uh huh,” Edgar says, almost convincingly unimpressed except for the way his
hips shift minutely on the bedspread. “And you’re the expert in this, then?”
“You bet your ass I am,” Jimmy says, because he’s definitely fucked more dudes
than Edgar has, even if that’s not many. He wraps his hand around Edgar’s
throat, nosing at his ear. He likes this. Holding somebody in his hand. Knowing
what they want.
In these situations, normally Jimmy looks for encouragement in the swell of a
dick, but with Edgar he’s got to look for other things - the goosebumps down
his arms, the hitch of his breathing, the way he holds himself very still in
the hopes that Jimmy will press in closer, like a patient holding themselves
open for inspection. He bites the shell of Edgar’s ear, more a warning not to
move than anything else. Edgar gives in like he was waiting for it, palms open,
unresisting.
Jimmy drops the condom on the bedspread and pushes his hand down between
Edgar’s legs, thumbing circles over the skin until he can almost hear a whimper
in Edgar’s voice. It’s so delicate here, and the fact that some of it is
squeezed tight inside of protective plastic is only making it more obvious that
it needs protecting. Poor chaste little Edgar. Too bad nobody can protect
everything, huh? There’s a weak spot in any kind of armor, if you want to find
it bad enough…
Jimmy retreats across the bed, letting his touch linger over Edgar’s hip and
the small of his back as he pulls away. The line of Edgar’s back is so pretty,
broad shoulders dipping down into a thin waist, gangly in a way that Jimmy just
can’t stop being hot for. Give it up, give it up, give it up for me--
Edgar twitches. He glances just barely over his shoulder, trying to be cool,
not quite successfully hiding the heaviness of his breathing. “I’m sorry, is
that it?” he says.
Jimmy points to the space between them. “Face down,” he says. “Ass up.”
“You could say please, you know,” Edgar replies.
Jimmy just palms his dick, pushing up into his own hand, rolling his shoulders
in a way that he knows at least one other person liked. His knees slide apart.
Edgar isn’t even pretending anymore - his whole body is twisted towards Jimmy,
his pupils blown black as he leans closer and closer. “Well,” he croaks, “if
you say so.”
The stiff sheets bunch and fold as Edgar pulls his legs up on the mattress and
- two quick steadying breaths - he settles himself down on his elbows and
knees. That is it. That is the best thing Jimmy has ever seen, the slope curve
of Edgar’s bare back, the shadow of Edgar’s dick hanging between his legs, the
upward push of his arched ass. That looks good enough to eat.
“Holy fuck ,” Jimmy says, “this is some centerfold shit, what have youbeen
reading?”
Edgar rests his cheek on his folded arms, and Jimmy can’t see his expression
but his voice sounds pretty snarky when he says, “Are you going to keep asking
me stupid questions?”
“Yes,” Jimmy says, and then he dives in for a mouthful. Edgar may be skinny,
but when Jimmy bites down into it the flesh is firm and hot, plenty enough to
get a mouth full of. Edgar lets out a sound like a squeak, jumping at the bite,
but Jimmy’s already got a guiding hand around the other boy’s device, holding
him in place. He gives a warning squeeze.
Jimmy loves sucking dick, that’s just his thing, alright, he loves the way
someone’s thighs cage his head when he goes down on them, he loves the smell of
skin and hormones and sweat, the choke and gag as he strains to swallow it all
as far as it can go, the whole thing. If he could suck Edgar’s dick, he’d
already be split open on it. As it stands, he’ll take what he can get. Jimmy
mouths down into the cleft of Edgar’s ass and licks at it, circles the center
with his tongue, sucks the rim of it. He breathes in the lavender soap-smelling
skin. Edgar makes an overwhelmed throaty noise, Ggnnnn, thighs flexing randomly
like he’s glitching out. Jimmy’s never done this before, but it seems to be
going well!
There’s a thump as Edgar’s head hits the mattress, and then his fingers are
digging white bloodless prints into his own thighs, and Jimmy suddenly has a
pretty good idea where those pink marks came from.
He forces his tongue in, because it seems like something that he should do, and
Edgar gives a violent shudder. Hah. No matter where Edgar goes, after this,
he’ll never forget that Jimmy was the first one to have his tongue in his ass.
When Jimmy pulls back, wiping spit off his lips, even then he can’t keep his
hands off for long. He hooks his thumb inside of Edgar and holds him there for
a moment, just taking him in.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Edgar mumbles, face still buried in cotton,
although he takes a second to get his hands back under him again.
“I’m pretty great,” Jimmy agrees. The cheap hotel hand lotion is cold as he
squeezes out a coin sized dollop of it, rolling it between his fingers. You
can’t use it for everything, he’s heard some horror stories about what happens
if you really use hand lotion as lube - who knows if they’re true - but it
still makes the first part easier.
He starts working in a finger, pushing at the hot press of Edgar’s insides.
It’s not as difficult as he expected it to be. You know, he’s starting to
suspect Edgar is not nearly as prim and proper as he comes off.
“Fuck,” Jimmy says, as Edgar’s body submits to a second finger. “Look how easy
you are, Vargas. You must really want it.”
Edgar makes an irritated noise. “Who taught you anatomy, Hugh Hefner? I’m
trying to make this easier on both of us.”
“You do this to yourself, don’t you?” Jimmy says, dipping down closer as he
fingerfucks the hell out of Edgar. “You horny little bitch.”
“None of your,” Edgar gasps, “business, if I do.”
“All locked up in your stupid little-” Jimmy bears down, “-cage, bent over like
a slut, fingering yourself, god I’d love to hear the sounds you make--”
Edgar swears.
Jimmy’s dick grinds over the back of Edgar’s ass as he pumps in and out with
his fingers, he’s pressed up tight against Edgar, his other hand splayed across
the boy’s belly, squeezing up at the unprotected softness there. He loves the
way Edgar responds to him. He could do this forever, just breathing over
Edgar’s shoulder, feeling his body shudder and jolt at each stretch and thrust.
It kind of surprises him, how much he loves this, how close he wants to be.
Edgar makes a noise through his teeth. “Alright,” he says, “alright, I want it,
come on, you can do it.”
Jimmy’s cock throbs, holy shit, and he is totally ready to cut the foreplay
shit, what was he thinking there. With his hands only a little shaky, he rips
open the condom and gets it on, slick and a little strange under his fingers.
Edgar is breathing heavily under him, up on his hands now, his stretched hole
all pink and twitching. If it wasn’t for the whole lotion thing, Jimmy would
take another lick of it. Instead, he lines himself up and pushes in, inch by
inch.
This is the part that he has to be careful with. He’s been with someone who
wasn’t careful before and while it was, more or less, fine eventually, it’s
another thing he doesn’t really want to do to Edgar. He wants Edgar to think
about him in the dark of his room, to remember this and ache for it. In a week
he wants Edgar horny and stupid with desire, pants around his thighs in
whatever room they can find unlocked, he wants to fuck Edgar in every bathroom
in the school.
Jimmy bottoms out, curling forward over Edgar. Oh fuck that is hot, that is
hotter than he thought it would be. Is this what other guys feel when they fuck
Jimmy?
Edgar is muttering something, head hung forward as he gasps for air, something
that sounds like a wet, “Give it to me give it to me give it--”
Jimmy fucking gives it to him.
Edgar collapses back onto his elbows, giving up the fight to keep up. He rocks
back into Jimmy like he’s trying to get it in deeper, even though Jimmy is
relentless, not an inch of mercy. He must be really goddamn worked up, every
breath out of his mouth is a little moan, a choked little sound. His body drags
at Jimmy. Did he want this before Jimmy even hit on him? Did he want this a
week ago, a month ago, watching Jimmy’s ass on the way out of history class,
all frustrated with his white knuckled grip on his pencil like he’s clutching
the bedsheets now?
“Oh fuck,” Edgar says, voice coming out a little wet, “what was that?”
Jimmy’s pace stutters. “You mean your G-spot?” he says.
“That’s,” Edgar says, “is that not a myth?”
Jimmy stares down at him, open mouthed. “I can’t fucking believe this, are you
kidding me.” He grabs Edgar’s hips and pushes them back up into the arch of a
moment before, trying to find that angle again. “Do you not fucking know where
your prostate is?”
“How would I know that?” Edgar snaps. “We had two days of sex ed and half of
that was about the names of tubes--oh fuck, holy Mary.”
It’s hard to feel the difference, condom and all, but the jolt that goes
through Edgar’s thighs makes him pretty sure he’s got it now. He grabs Edgar by
the hips and slams into him, hard enough that Edgar starts to slide across the
sheets, digging the heels of his hands into the bed to hold himself in place.
Edgar is sweating now, shoulders straining, working under his skin like strange
wings.
“I’m,” he says, “I feel--”
Something hot and dizzying hits Jimmy like a fist; his stomach flips, his heart
thumps. “Oh my god,” he says, “can you come from this? Can you come like this?”
“I, I don’t--” Edgar almost sounds like he’s shivering, “--I’ve never tried--”
Jimmy thinks of Edgar fucking himself in the dark of his room, fingers twisting
inside himself but never deep enough, endlessly edging until he can’t take it
anymore and he falls into his pillows, nails clawing at his thighs, desperate
for some kind of relief. How hard for it would he have been, how ready for it
if - if someone like Jimmy had climbed in his window one of those nights,
maybe, if someone like Jimmy had seen the shine of his trembling body against
the dark, the clawing fingers buried in his thighs -
Edgar’s breaths are coming like hiccups now. He grinds back onto Jimmy, trying
to make every thrust a little faster, a little deeper.
“Don’t come,” Edgar says, “don’t, inside me.”
“What?” Jimmy says. “I’m wearing a fucking condom, what--”
“I know, that’s--” Edgar lets out a weak little sound and starts over. “I liked
it, before, when you let me--I want you to let me--”
The meaning of that plows through Jimmy like a truck, how the fuck is he
supposed not come when Edgar is telling him he wants to suck his cock or worse,
not suck his cock, Jimmy has to literally reach under himself and twist the
skin of his own balls to keep from losing it, which hurts like a bitch, by the
way. Algebra is just not gonna cut it tonight. When he’s sure he’s got it under
control, he lets go again.
“Okay,” he says, “okay. You just hold still.”
When Edgar comes it’s like he’s been hit with a taser, body twitching under
Jimmy’s abuse, knees sliding apart as if he could open himself up any more to
the punishment. He breathes hard, taking in air like he’s been choked. His
insides twitch around Jimmy, who keeps on fucking him right through it, until
his body finally gives the telltale slump. Jimmy grabs hold of him and rolls
him over with a heave.
Edgar’s cock lies between his thighs, still as swollen and pinned in its vice
as ever. Jimmy rolls the flesh between his fingers as Edgar catches his breath,
and a single drop of pale cum beads at the cockhead. Jimmy’s own dick gives an
interested throb.
“You still want it?” he says, already peeling the condom off.
“Yes,” Edgar says. He licks his dry lips.
This is the longest Jimmy has ever waited to get what he wants, but it’s
absolutely worth it just to see how hungry for it Edgar still is, after
everything. Jimmy spreads his knees over Edgar’s mouth and lowers himself,
hands flat against the mattress. He watches the wall, unable to do anything
else, as the soft warm pressure of Edgar’s mouth closes around the head of his
dick.
Edgar’s no pornstar, he’s not a deepthroating champ like Jimmy or anything, how
could he be? He sucks at the head, running his tongue over the slit, like he
doesn’t give a fuck what Jimmy gets out of it. His hands knead the soft inside
of Jimmy’s thighs, nails digging in like he’s trying to leave those same little
pink marks. There’s a little wet noise as he pops off and gives the underside
an exploratory lick. He sucks, and Jimmy trembles, and it’s so quiet now he
must be able to hear Jimmy’s heart going like it’s about to give, pleasure and
something almost fear running imaginary fingers down the bumps of his spine -
he can’t see Edgar’s face like this and somehow it makes him feel like all at
once he’s at Edgar’s mercy, vulnerable to things more than teeth -
Edgar bumps him, just lightly, with his teeth, and Jimmy comes like he’s been
kicked, jerking forward against Edgar and the mattress, pouring himself onto
Edgar’s tongue. He can feel the tip of the tongue, rough with tastebuds, flick
over him, and the soft brush of lips, and then the tingle of suction as Edgar
drags the last of it out of him. He slumps.
“That,” he says, “is so goddamn weird.”
Edgar pulls him off by the hips and wipes the overflow off his lips with his
fingers. “What,” he says, “did I do it wrong?”
“You can’t really suck dick the wrong way, unless you, like, bite it off or
whatever.” Jimmy snorts and scoots back so he’s sitting over Edgar’s chest,
slowly going soft against his body. “I mean I’ve sucked a fuck ton of dicks in
my life and I still don’t really like the taste of cum.”
“Oh,” Edgar says, frowning. “I don’t either really, I don’t think? Not much
basis for comparison but. Anyway.”
“How come you’re so thirsty for it?”
Edgar looks off at a corner of the ceiling, absently settling his hands around
Jimmy’s ass. “I might have a bit of a fixation,” he says, looking a little
embarrassed about it. “You always want what you can’t have, you know.”
Jimmy wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh,” he says, “you can have it, Vargas. You can
have as much as you can take.”
Edgar makes a snorting noise that sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. The
light from the lamp timer abruptly clicks off, leaving them alone in the yellow
dimness of the bathroom’s overhead. Edgar reaches around Jimmy and fixes his
glasses, which have miraculously not broken after all the beating they’ve taken
tonight. Or maybe not. Edgar frowns at them and pulls them off, inspecting one
of the little clear taps.
“Fuck,” he says, without much feeling. “So much for these.”
He sets them down on the bed beside his head and pushes at Jimmy’s chest until
Jimmy finally rolls off. When he sits up, naked and frowning in the rucked mess
of sheets, holding his glasses up for a closer look, the half light from the
bathroom lights him up like one of those big shiny paintings they won’t let you
touch in an art museum. Even the way his eyebrows pull together, the creases in
his forehead, all of it - Jimmy suddenly understands how it is that people want
to pay ten dollars to walk around in a big boring building and look at things.
“Forget it,” Edgar sighs, and sets his glasses on the side table. “I’m too
tired.”
Jimmy sits uneasily on the edge of the bed, not sure now what happens next.
None of the guys he fucks ever let him sleep over, even if they’re in a room
with a bed, and he doesn’t want to sound like an absolute pussy pushing the
point, not like the last time he made the mistake of asking. Not an experience
he wants to repeat. He should get up, but he doesn’t want to get up.
Edgar looks up. Edgar looks at him. For a moment there’s silence, and the
silence is so loud that Jimmy’s ears ring.
“Guess I’ll crash over there,” Jimmy says, wishing for the first time he wasn’t
so totally naked - wishing he had a sheet or a shirt or something. His soft
cock brushes the bedspread as he slides back.
Edgar rests his hands on his folded legs, almost formal. “You don’t have to do
that,” he says. “This one’s only a double but it’s probably big enough for both
of us.”
Jimmy freezes. “Yeah?” he says, playing it cool like.
“Yeah.” Edgar shrugs. He pulls back the sheets from the one corner where they
haven’t been totally screwed up and holds them open, like it’s nothing. “I’m
already sleeping in my own sweat and all, yours isn’t gonna do me much worse.”
Carefully, Jimmy takes the corner of sheet from Edgar. He slides into them half
holding his breath, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to fall asleep with his
heart going like this, post-coital or no. Edgar tucks himself in afterward,
mouth moving in a silent little yawn, eyes scrunching half-closed. Jimmy
watches his cheek sink into the pillow.
“We didn’t use the second condom,” Edgar says. He rubs his eyelid with his
middle finger. “That was overkill.”
“It’s for next time,” Jimmy says. He feels small. Still, he knows he did good.
There’s no way Edgar won’t want to do this again.
Edgar makes a noise that’s hard to interpret, a kind of mmph. There are little
tiny marks where his glasses sat on his nose. He reaches out and absently runs
a hand over the soft side of Jimmy’s undercut, like petting a cat, and then
pauses. His fingers linger over Jimmy, warm and uncertain. Jimmy holds his
breath.  
“Do you want to kiss me?” Edgar asks.
Jimmy swallows, dry mouthed. “Yeah,” he says.
“Oh good,” Edgar sighs. “It would have been extremely embarrassing if you said
no.”
The ceiling gives a soft creak. Edgar leans in, shifting the pillow under his
cheek, and presses his lips to Jimmy’s. He still tastes slightly of cum, but
Jimmy barely notices. His heart is going so fast. This is the first time anyone
has ever asked to kiss him.
He's really gonna have to brush up on his lock-picking skills.
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