RATING: NWS by any means.
SUMMARY: Dormitories get chilly when you leave the window open.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Coauthored with valmora, who wrote the part of Phineas. This is from way back when I was running Devon Society over on Yahoo! Groups... this is just about the only productive thing that ever came from that unsupervised fiasco.
DISCLAIMER: Characters remain the creative property of John Knowles.
Gene couldn't sleep. He lay awake on his cot as he often did these hot summer nights, letting the breeze drift in through the open window and stir his hair. He pushed his bangs back from his eyes, a brooding navy blue, and stared absently at the ceiling. He fancied he could hear Finny snoring across the room, but in actuality his roommate was very quiet tonight. Too quiet.
Gene pushed himself up from the bed, the thin sheets pooling around his naked torso as he stared across the room intently.
"Finny? You awake?"
Finny, lying in his bed on the other side of the small room, had to suppress a jerk at the shock of hearing Gene's voice, surprisingly sudden in the darkness, even though he had known his friend was awake. Smiled into the wall, and answered brightly, "Of course! I hope I didn't wake you, I'd hate for you to fall asleep in French or something else equally boring tomorrow."
He curled his hands in the bed sheets, feeling the night air cold on his neck, and wished he had thought to pull up a second cover, but knew that it would have been pointless. He would have thrown it off only a moment later, feeling hampered by the cloth restricting the air on his skin. "Did you need something?" he asked.
"Hardly." Gene shifted until he was sitting up, legs dangling over the side and his hands gripping the bed frame. He peered into the darkness, just making out the reclining silhouette of his roommate. His heart gave a funny little leap in his chest, but he ignored it. "Speaking of French, did you study?" he asked, already guessing the answer.
Finny kept the smile fixed as he rolled over in his bed to watch the play of shadows over the covers of Gene's bed. "Of course not. The day was bright, the sun was shining, and the schoolwork drudgery. Who gives a damn about the difference between the subjunctive and the present partick-thing?" In an attempt to keep his fingers from freezing, he slid one hand beneath his hip and rubbed the other one, slowly, down and then up his thigh, hoping the friction would keep him somewhat warm.
Gene didn't think to pull his eyes away, although his mind immediately leapt to a medley of things that all seemed very out of line. Mistaking the gesture for Phineas being in the act of something very different, Gene averted his eyes quickly, hips rising slightly up off his bed.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said honestly. "'Pass tense'? Finny, those are the basics! We learned them all first term!" The boy ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "And we have a quiz on subjunctives tomorrow, do you need help studying?" It was as if Gene already expected them to be up all night hitting the books. The boy made a move to go collect his French texts, before shivering and sitting back down quickly.
"Damn it, close the window," he snapped.
Finny nodded, sliding his feet off the bed and hissing as they touched the cold wooden floor before standing, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and slamming the window forcefully shut. "Don't worry about me," he said glibly, feeling Gene's gaze burning along his back. "It's very simple. If I have no clue what the sentence means, it's subjunctive."
More seriously, he continued, pulling a chair out from underneath the desk between their beds and dragging it right in front of Gene, where he sat, leaning forwards, "It's only one test. And if it has 'il est something que,' it's subjunctive." He felt the smile soften. "I'm not lost, I just don't care."
Slightly relieved, slightly perturbed, Gene stared at Finny's hands. They had always been relatively similar in size to his own... it just felt as if Phineas were much bigger than he were. Especially when it came to matters like school. When had 'not caring' become such an admirable trait?
"Finny, you know, I just worry. That's all," he admitted, before adding quickly. "Not that you have to worry, right? I mean, you're good at everything else. You don't even have to try as hard as the rest of us." The darker boy laughed bitterly, trying not to think about what sort of issues he was opening up. Not Finny's issues... his issues. The kind that he didn't suppose the other boy would like to hear.
"And my not trying shows," Finny answered, feeling the brightness in his voice slip away, wishing Gene would meet his gaze. "Gene, you're clever - cleverer than most, certainly more than me. Stop acting like you aren't. If I tried in French, I certainly wouldn't do much better than I'm doing now." His fingers were still cold, and he slid one between his pajama-clad thighs and the chair and the other one closed into a fist, the edges of his knuckles resting on top of his lap.
"I'm not," Gene said distractedly. "Give me those."
It was a matter of spontaneity, that's all. Gene pried Finny's knees apart and took his hands in his, cupping them in his own, which were surprisingly warm. He didn't like them between the other boy's legs, that's all. At least, that's what he was trying to convince himself.
He massaged the boy's hands with his thumbs cautiously, intent on his work, and still not looking at the boy. It was as if he were fascinated, or at least trying to appear so, looking for anything that might distract him from the other's relentless green eyes or a patch of bare skin. Gene had always chalked these feelings up to him idolizing Phineas, but now that he thought about it, it was almost borderline obsession. Despite his own feverish thoughts, Gene's grasp on the boy remained gentle, almost tentative, as he began to work up toward the wrists.
"Why'd you leave it open so long?" he asked idly.
"I thought you were still too warm," Finny answered, eyes fixed on the sight of his hands wrapped in Gene's, the trails of warmth welcome on his fingers. "I didn't want to say anything. And thank you." He swallowed, shifting his thighs further apart on the chair to give Gene more space in his not-quite-massage, gaze flicking to Gene's assiduously bent head and then back to their entwined hands, forcing his breathing to even and licking suddenly-dry lips
Gene's tapered fingers stopped at the other boy's wrists. He glanced up then, hair sweeping his eyes. It was longer in the front than it should've been, but then again Devon had always been a little lenient on its policies. How could it not, with Finny around?
"Thank you... for what?" he asked, breath hitching as he watched Phineas's tongue dart out to wet his lips. It was obvious by the look on his face that he had forgotten why exactly he was servicing Finny's hands.
Gene's eyes were shockingly blue in the half-light of the moon, achingly so, and Finny was glad of the hair that obscured them. Without it, he would never have found the courage to look away, shirtless and cold and his lungs burning from the sudden need for air. "For warming me up a little," he answered, only keeping his voice from cracking by swallowing midsentence. "It's colder on the other side of the room." He tried not to notice the silver sheen on Gene's bare skin, the feel of touch shivery-light over the veins in his wrist.
Gene felt it then with surprising clarity, a sudden rush of assurance that he wasn't alone, which made the situation all the more awkward. He had never seen Phineas so vulnerable before, and since he was one to capitalize on the other boy's weakness, he leaned into him without thinking.
His legs straddled the boy's thighs as he rose, hovering in the gap between his bed and Finny's chair. His left hand lifted itself from Finny's lap to hover, poised, almost caressing the other's cheek. The darker boy ducked his head under, and then ever-so-slowly upward, eventually catching the other boy's mouth with his, right beneath his nose. He was in no state of mind to think at the moment, the impulse was too strong to quell, and something much more vastly unimportant than Finny's lips against his own was telling him that he might end up regretting what he was doing much later.
It was with surprise that Finny found himself with a lapful of shadow, the faint brush of Gene's lips barely different from the moments-ago feel of his fingers on his wrists, so shockingly abrupt that his lips parted briefly to request an explanation, a gesture that stopped mid-movement. He wasn't sure what Gene meant by it at first, wondering if perhaps his friend meant to warm him further - but this was not quite the method he had been anticipating, though it was successful.
The back of his thoughts mused on when the room had suddenly become scorching hot, heat rushing over his skin, through his limbs, pooling deep in his belly as his hands, seeking cold purchase on Gene's skin, flared over his ribs and traced the hollows between the bones.
"Mn," Gene offered intelligibly, shifting fully into the boy's lap. His lips parted as his tongue found the other's lips, wetting them himself this time (just like he'd always wanted). Had he always wanted this? He couldn't be sure.
Gene nipped and mouthed breathlessly, pulling away just as soon as he would duck back in. His eyes were shut gradually, dark lashes just barely grazing his cheeks in an expression of equal breathlessness. His hands found their way between them and rested on the outside of Finny's lean hips, stilling, before the right began to drag agonizingly across the other's thigh and closer to the focal point that he felt his own groin straining to reach. He craved any contact, the more closer and complete, the better.
"Finny," he whispered intimately into the other's mouth. "What are we doing?" Despite the sudden inquiry, he showed no signs of stopping.
Finny could feel his hands shaking on Gene's shoulders, that tongue slick against his own - he could not bear, that moment, to wonder where Gene had learned to kiss, the pleasure of it too sharp and sweet. "Gee," he said, throat closing around sarcasm, "I think we're kissing. Unless - unless it's more than that." He rolled his hips upwards, ankles curling around the legs of the chair and chest pressing into Gene's, their skin sticking from the faint sheen of sweat. "If you want it to be," he added, more as an afterthought, and marveled that he could remember so much. He would not remember subjunctives for French tomorrow, but he would remember the bright simplicity of kissing Gene forever, he knew it.
That was all the invitation Gene needed. Gasping at the friction Phineas was causing, and shaking almost as hard (if not harder) than the boy beneath him, Gene rode the other's upward thrust, hands cupping his face. His beautiful, handsome face. Gene shuddered, head falling down helplessly as their foreheads brushed, before taking matters further into his own hands.
Grasping Phineas around the waist he pulled the other toward him, kissing him again with more vigor, more ferocity. Gene allowed himself to fall back onto the bed with Phineas's weight on top of him, urging the other boy to take over.
"I do," he uttered, being incapable of much else. The right (or was it the left?) side of his brain had checked-out, leaving him with only the very basic motor skills necessary to maneuver his own body and a sudden, foreign neediness. It scared Gene, to feel this turned-on by his roommate, or by any member of the same sex as himself really. He wondered if it was the same for Finny.
Finny, half-surprised, pushed himself off Gene briefly, away from the warmth of the kiss and now almost lost, to murmur, "Are you oh-kay? Are you hurt, Gene?" He blinked, waiting for a reply, shoulders tense from the effort of holding himself up, and slid a knee between Gene's legs to balance himself and relieve the pressure. Even through the haze behind his eyes, the lingering heat and the ache that screamed at him to touch Gene, to have Gene touch him in the most intimate of ways, he was concerned.
"I'm... fine." His chest rose and fell with each labored breath, and Gene felt funny and exposed without a shirt and with Phineas looming over him. The thought of what was to come sent tiny thrills of excitement shooting through his body, causing his thighs to clenched unconsciously around Finny's leg between his knees. Gene's head fell back as he fought to even his breathes, exposing the pale column of his throat. Slowly (easy does it) he arched his hips up off the bed, climbing Finny's leg, with one hand rested erotically on his abdomen.
Do something... anything, he wanted to plead, but didn't, already afraid that the other was having second thoughts.
Finny couldn't help the shiver of anticipation that lanced through him at the sight of Gene's throat, a lance of white-hot heat that pushed him against Gene and made the spark of their lips meeting linger at every point they touched. He pushed Gene down gently to the bed, the fingertips of one hand brushing the back of Gene's wrist and then lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants to trace aimless lines in the inner hollows of his hips.
"I've never -" he admitted, the words swallowed into a kiss, eyes raising to meet Gene's. "You'll have to tell me what's good."
Gene shifted and made a breathless sort of noise, turning his head to the side as his fingers clenched in the bed sheets.
"That... feels good," he said in a strangled whisper. He had no time to think about the implications of Finny's words (he had never what? Had sex? Been with a guy? But that would mean -) The other boy's hand brushed his thigh, and more, and Gene made a choked noise between his teeth, throwing his head back again, eyes closed and face contorted as if it were almost painful for him to relinquish this much control. He couldn't help it, though. With a moan, he finally succumbed and reached for Finny, pulling the boy to him and kissing him feverishly, rolling his hips into the other's hand in a questing, almost elegant fashion. He had never done this before, either, but he trusted the other boy enough to show him the way.
There was a strange haze in his thoughts in that kiss, a period of time that only moments later he could not recall occurring, and when he woke to reality, Finny's hands had pushed Gene's pajama pants low around his thighs and his hand wrapped around him. He was stretched along the length of Gene's body now, riding the arch and slide of Gene's body and aching for touch himself, desperate and wondering suddenly if perhaps this was a dream.
Dream or not, it was too good to abandon because of doubt.
Phineas's pajamas quickly followed suit, without Gene actually remembering dispersing with them himself. In too much of a sweet agony to take in the sights before him, Gene groped blindly for Phineas, intent on returning the favor, even as his hips ground into the other's hand. Gene gasped at the friction, trying rather admirably not to moan, because he had a sinking feeling that once he opened his throat he would never be able to stop. What if someone found them like this?
His hand finally cupped what it had been searching for, and all thoughts of being found out were fleeting. Gene began to slide shaking fingers back and forth, barely able to multitask as most of his attention was divided between Phineas's hard body against his and the other boy's hand on his own length. Not to be outdone, Gene began to pick up the pace, hand jerking the other boy in time to his own thrusts.
"God," he choked brokenly, unable to manage anything else to let Finny know how he was feeling, or even how he had always felt. He trusted the other boy would understand.
"Ssh," a whisper, spoken against Gene's lips. "Ssh." Too far gone to remember why sound would be bad, only that it was, and to be unnerved by the quiet creaking of the bedsprings, Finny's breath came in pants and his movements were rough, but with an athletic grace.
The look on Gene's face - and watching him, feeling him, bodies pressed, heated, together - was overwhelming, and the tension drained out of him in a rush that left him shaking, his limbs molten.
He kept his hand where it was, now intent on the arch of Gene's back and the quick, shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Phineas's hand finished him off. With a muted cry that he muffled into the other boy's shoulder, Gene came, wrapping his arm around the other's neck. His body lay limp on the mattress, still shaking and in a tangle of sweaty sheets. He pulled the blond down with him.
"Finny," he whispered, quaking in the aftermath of releasing so much tension. "I can't believe we haven't done this before now." His breaths slowed, now stirring the other's hair as the breeze through the window had... was it only moments before? Gene couldn't believe it had been.
Finny truly meant to answer, but the warmth of being wrapped around the heat of Gene's body and smelling him was comforting, and although he managed to kick two blankets out from beneath their legs and pull them up to keep Gene warm, it was only postponing what he knew would come next.
He meant to say something, but he was asleep before he could.
Gene couldn't help the smile that crept across his face, stretching taut his bruised lips as the other wrapped him tenderly in the sheets they had so fitfully discarded. He buried his head in his best friend's chest, reveling in the feel of Phineas's ribcage rising and falling. With their future sleeping arrangements in mind, it looked as if they'd both be staying warm from now on.
Nowadays I'm a lot better than this, by the way. I hope.
And this is garth for the record. hay guyz