Rhys slid down the smooth vinyl of the chair, his toes nearly poking off the edge. He tucked his chin to his chest, balancing the wet rim of the glass on his sternum. He was about to turn off his brain and tune out the world when a sudden, earthy sound of footsteps wormed around the distant honking din of the freeway.
The old wooden fence shuddered, but this time with purpose, promise, and Rhys suddenly sat up straight, straw falling from his lips.
Strong hands popped up over the edge of the fence, grasping the grey wood as a young man hoisted himself up and over it, legs kicking out sideways like he was a hero in an action movie. He landed with a thump Rhys could feel in his chest from all the way across the backyard, and he quickly set aside his drink, the glass nearly skidding off the frosted side table in his haste.
“Jack!” Rhys called, waving though there was no way Jack hadn’t seen him. The other man brought a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun but his smile already beamed, glowing bright as a roadside reflector.
Uhhh this is just kind of a meandering modern AU snippet that I randomly thought of when I was listening to a song….I’m not really sure where I was going with this or what kind of point I was trying to get across but….I might as well still post it
There’s a brief frotting sex scene and Rhys in a cute outfit? Bad boy Jack? Stuff like that…
The air smelled like cut grass and exhaust.
He picked at his shirt, fluttering the airy, light lavender fabric against his chest. Even something as billowy as the pastel top he had on couldn’t resist sticking to his slightly sweaty skin, but he liked the patterns of little mint giraffes and the way it hung off his shoulders, showing off the spot of skin he hoped someday to cover up with tattoos—once he had the money and freedom to do it.
He knew someone who had a tattoo, a little, notched design wrapped around his wrist, enticing in a way unlike the faded, vulgar designs he usually saw splashed on TV biker gangs and the punks hanging out at the strip mall by his house. It fascinated Rhys like an optical illusion, the exact pattern seeming to change every time he saw it.
If he ever got a tattoo under his parent’s roof, his mother would freak out and his dad would go along with glum disapproval, so that’d been plunked onto his list of things to do after he moved out.
But big plans—moving out, finding a place, graduating, jobs—all of that he neatly tucked in the back of his mind for the sake of today’s aim of rest and relaxation.
Rhys worked hard at college, he sat still in class and took notes in a steady, clean script with the favorite turquoise pen he kept in his bag alongside the neatly organized, colorfully tabbed binder and his books and occasionally a granola bar to help him through the afternoon classes that tended to drag on a little too long sometimes. The sugar and carbs kept him from looking out windows into the fluttering green of the sun through the myrtle tree leaves and focused on making his parent’s money worthwhile.
He liked school, and he liked working hard, but the breaks he got on the weekends were still a welcome relief. He liked getting most of his homework done on Friday night, leaving Sunday evening for future project planning and the snug little bit of time in between for himself. Some Fr-Rhys time.
(Hey, not all of his puns could be golden.)
This weekend, Fr-Rhys time was blessed with the first genuine sunny day after a long draught of muzzy clouds and smog. The sun still shimmered high in a slight haze but the sky was mostly clear with a couple wispy white clouds peeking out from the cypress trees sprouting behind the rear fence.
He pushed his sunglasses further up his nose as he shimmied against the vinyl straps of the lounge chair, the hem of his shirt rising up and exposing his pale belly as he stretched his arms back up and under his head. Faded Jordasche jeans lay loosely about his hips, bones flexing out slightly against his soft flesh. He felt like one of Vaughn’s pet lizard, stretching and sunning himself on a rock. Except sexier.
(A lot sexier.)
The glass of sparkling lemonade had partially melted, separating into a pink sunset capped with watery clouds. Rhys playfully licked the condensation from around the rim before he brought the straw to his lips, shaking a thin piece of paper off from where it’d stuck on the bottom. The loopy purple lettering had already bled from the condensation—Rhys had been toying actually following up and calling Stacy, but it was too late now, with all the numbers starting to run together.
Mom liked Stacy, she’d met her when Rhys had met her, last summer at orientation. Mom thought she was kind but spirited, ambitious but humble, pretty but not so pretty that she might get a wandering eye.
Rhys liked Stacy fine, but Stacy was kind of like sandwich bread. Tasty enough, versatile, easy to fall into the habit of eating, but Rhys could see himself getting bored of sandwiches every day for lunch real quick.
He sipped at his drink, watching as the fluid zoomed up around and around and around the coiled blue crazy straw he’d slipped into the glass. He’d picked up a pack of them at the grocery store and his mother had accidentally put a couple in the dishwasher, but this one had been spared such an indecent fate. Rhys smacked his lip, the bubbles tingling his throat all the way down.
The fence that walled in the lawn was old in parts and new in others, fresh wood bright and pink and coming to a stark halt almost halfway through the rear wall where it was met with greying slats just barely held together with rusty bars and screws. Dad had stated to get it replaced last summer but then mom’s heat shield had blew out and that had been put on hold.
It shuddered sometimes, from the breeze as it bounced off the backs of the cars clogging the freeway and swept down over the neighborhood, worn boards clattering against each other like a mouth of loose teeth.
The pool rippled, a placid blue island ringed by a reef of faded coral concrete and waves of clipped lawn. Rhys buried his nose below the rim of his glass to distract from the smell of cars that came with the wind.
He was draining his glass of lemonade quickly, wet ice cubes surfacing through the watery pink. There was more in the fridge but Rhys liked the warmth of the sun against his legs and his mom kept the AC on starting around March because she wanted to turn them all into icicles, apparently.
He lazily scanned the backyard through half-lidded eyes, wondering if he should take a nap and try to get some color on his legs. He’d been slapped with sunscreen and warnings about skin cancer ever since he was a little kid, but all the guys in the magazines Rhys kept under his mattress upstairs had brassy tone in their stomach and chest and legs and he traced them with his finger and imagined what it would be like for the firm hands grasping those stomachs and chests and legs to be all over him.
He slid down the smooth vinyl of the chair, his toes nearly poking off the edge. He tucked his chin to his chest, balancing the wet rim of the glass on his sternum. He was about to turn off his brain and tune out the world when a sudden, earthy sound of footsteps wormed around the distant honking din of the freeway.
The old wooden fence shuddered, but this time with purpose, promise, and Rhys suddenly sat up straight, straw falling from his lips.
Strong hands popped up over the edge of the fence, grasping the grey wood as a young man hoisted himself up and over it, legs kicking out sideways like he was a hero in an action movie. He landed with a thump Rhys could feel in his chest from all the way across the backyard, and he quickly set aside his drink, the glass nearly skidding off the frosted side table in his haste.
“Jack!” Rhys called, waving though there was no way Jack hadn’t seen him. The other man brought a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun but his smile already beamed, glowing bright as a roadside reflector.
Jack was dressed like a handyman who’d taken a short-cut home through a rock concert. His jeans were dusty blue like the sky above, plain T-shirt slightly smudged from where he’d brushed up against the fence in his vault over it. But he had a charcoal leather jacket slung lazily about his shoulders, hanging off one like he knew how much Rhys’ liked it, and his boots were chunky and heavy and stomped across the lawn with little care to how much his dad paid to keep it nice.
Rhys hopped up to meet him halfway but just as he’d steadied himself Jack was already there, arms sliding around Rhys and tugging him back into that comfortable orbit that lit him ablaze and stole his breath at the same time. Rhys squeaked as his feet suddenly left the ground, Jack’s strength hefting him up into the air and spinning him around until his backyard became a blur.
“A-Ah! Jack!”
The man had the sense to put him down before he got too dizzy, hands on his hips stopping the slight spinning as Jack nosed in closer, suddenly inches from Rhys’ face.
“You look good, buttercup.” Jack’s voice hummed in his ears as his vision steadied. Rhys pursed his lips, hands coming up to rest against Jack’s chest, his fingers gripping lightly against the man’s shirt to ground himself. It took a moment to re-orient himself, especially since Jack had planted him down facing the house, instead of out towards the yard like he’d been before.
“You too…all three of you…” he joked, leaning his swaying weight against Jack’s strong arms. Jack tutted, shaking his head.
“I guess cheating on me, with me, is acceptable.” Jack tilted his head to the side, his arms sliding tighter around Rhys’ hips, his fingers brushing against the fluttering cotton of Rhys’ shorts. He instinctively clenched his rear, heart thumping in his chest at their proximity. He and Jack had been friends for almost a year, dating for a few months now, and still Rhys got butterflies when the older boy held him close.
“D…Do you want some lemonade?” Rhys stuttered dumbly, mind grasping at the first thing he could see over Jack’s shoulders. The man’s smile quirked as he squeezed Rhys’ hips, pulling him close.
“Mmm, why would I want lemonade from a cup,” Jack breathed, inching so close Rhys couldn’t see him without going cross-eyed, “when I can have it right from your lips?”
Jack tasted a little like tobacco, a little like soda, and a lot like that salty, sandpapery sensation Rhys felt when Jack stuck his tongue a little too far into his mouth. But he welcomed it, like he always did, as Jack pulled back only after he drew one throaty moan of the young man.
Rhys followed his lips as Jack tugged away only to be halted by a finger against his mouth, which quickly fell into a playful pout. Jack snickered at the sight, fingertip pushing slightly between Rhys’ warm, slack lips. He quickly started to suck, his tongue pushing up against Jack’s fingers as his eyes fluttered half shut. Jack’s finger tasted saltier than his tongue, with a hint of grit that would be gross from anyone else.
A glistening trail of saliva drooped between his lips and Jack’s finger as he pulled it from Rhys’ mouth, snickering as he wiped his hand on his jeans.
“Jeez, kiddo, you don’t take it down a notch or so I’m gonna end up railing you right on the lawn chair.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Only if your dick gets caught in the slats,” Jack teased, his hands rubbing up and down Rhys’ sides as he rucked up the boy’s top. Rhys’ pout teetered into a smile as Jack’s fingers lightly tickled against his smooth skin, his chest hitching gently in a small laugh.
“My dick wouldn’t be the only thing getting caught if we fucked in the backyard…” Rhys shivered as Jack’s hands stroked sensually up underneath his shirt, broad hands cupping his shoulder blades. “If the neighbors hear moaning, they’re gonna investigate…”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’m not really into strangers getting a look at this.” Jack wiggled his ass.
Rhys snickered.
“I’m the only one who gets to.”
“Damn right, babydoll.”
Rhys’ slid his hands up and over Jack’s shoulders, fingers slipping up into the messy crop of his hair. He’d been dying to touch it ever since he’d seen it crest all wild and carefree up over his fence. Jack’s hair felt like what he would imagine a movie star’s to feel like, except Jack didn’t use any product or fancy pampering. It was effortlessly charming just like the rest of him. He didn’t have to try to win Rhys’ heart like so many others did.
“I can’t believe you cut through Mrs. Andersen’s lawn again,” Rhys murmured as his fingers fluffed up Jack’s locks, “if she sees you she’s going to really invest in that attack dog.”
“Please, old bat can’t see three feet in front of her. I could stand in her violets and flip her the bird and she’d just think it was an aggressive breeze.”
“Oh my god, I’d love to see that. I haven’t quite forgiven her for taking the frisbee I threw over there…I was only a kid.” Rhys snorted. “My mom said it was a good lesson, can you believe it?”
“What lesson? That people are jerks? I coulda taught you that, babe.” Jack sits down abruptly on the lawnchair, hands taking Rhys with him. The young man’s knees bend and he finds himself suddenly straddling Jack’s lap. He tucked his chin down until his eyes were more level with Jack’s own—he had a long torso but Rhys was long all over, something they had to negotiate whenever they wanted to slot together like this. But it wasn’t that much of a stretch to reach Jack’s lips, even with this mismatch.
“I…I didn’t even ask why you came…” Rhys blushed after a brief kiss. Jack’s fingers rubbed idly over Rhys’ warm skin, feeling the little bulge of flesh that rolled out over his waistband despite his slimness.
“Do I need a reason to see my little Rhysie?”
“Guess not…but how did you know my parents wouldn’t be here?”
“I know everything, pumpkin-butt.”
Rhys laughed and rolled his eyes. Jack’s rapid-fire pet-names never stopped taking him by surprise.
“Is that a new one you’re trying out?”
“You like it?”
“I don’t think I have a pumpkin butt…”
“Weeeeell you’re a little softer…” Before Rhys could react Jack’s hands dropped below his waistband, sliding against the curve of his rear and give it a firm squeeze in each cheek. Rhys jumped as Jack’s fingers stroked dangerously close to his crack, but the snug fit of his jeans kept Jack’s hands in place. Squeezing his butt as if it were a ripe fruit.
Jack brought his face right up close to Rhys’, breath sneering across his lips.
“Puuuuumpkin buuuutt.”
“Yeah? You wanna um…carve it?”
“C…Carve it? Babe—“
“Yeah, I know, you started it though.” Rhys puffed, messing up Jack’s hair even more in revenge for the teasing. Too bad that just made him look even more roguish.
(Jack could probably get beat half to a pulp and dragged through the dump and still pull it off.)
Their touches grew more hungry as the sun continued its arch over the roof of the house, the shadows of the awning long stretched over their intertwined bodies, already covering up half of the pool. Rhys broke a kiss with a gasp and a turn of the chin, noting the shift in time, and wasn’t that the distant slide of a glass door?
“Mmm, Jack, I ‘unno—“
“Easy, babydoll, don’t worry,” Jack cooed into his ear, his breath feathering the flighty little hairs curled around the shell, “I’ve got you.”
Full-on sex in the open air still seemed too chancy, but Rhys couldn’t resist letting Jack at least kiss and grope and rub and press him down against the lounge chair, the warm vinyl bending and dipping underneath their combined weight as Jack braced his elbows on either side of Rhys’ head, his fingers absently combing through the ends of Rhys’ fanning hair as he kissed the boy free of his sense.
Rhys panted in between kisses, his shirt already nearly rucked up to his chest as his belly curved upwards, craving more friction against pink, sensitive skin. Despite the heat, his nipples had grown pert and prickly, and the rub of his soft shirt against them wasn’t helping. He wanted Jack to touch them, pinch them until they were purple, but Jack was busying himself with his favorite part of Rhys’ body—at least above the waist.
Rhys instinctively shrunk his neck towards his shoulders as Jack bit along the side of his throat, the sharp twinge and the vague threat to his oxygen sending trembling through his body.
“Jack—nngh—“
“Shh, I gotta put something pretty on you in case we go out anywhere,” Jack purred, his voice licking up the bruise on Rhys’ neck just behind his tongue.
Rhys clapped his hand to his neck as soon as Jack pulled back far enough, his frown deepening at the warm saliva that touched his palm.
“My parent’s are going to see, you know, and then you’ll be busted.”
“Just tell ‘em it’s mosquitoes.”
Rhys lifted his palm from his neck and peered down at it, as if the bruises could come off into his hand like ink.
“That’s…a big mosquito.”
Jack chuffed and nose his hand out of the way, planting his lips back on the warm, wet spot and leaving Rhys to instead grope his shoulders for purchase as Jack’s hips started to grind down.
Neither made any move to open their pants, content with the knowledge this was only a taste of what was to come. Rhys could feel the needy throb of Jack’s bulge as it rubbed down against his own. It thrilled him, that little reminder that Jack found him just as hot as he found Jack, that Jack needed him enough to cut through their cranky neighbor’s yard and risk the possibility of Rhys’ parents being home.
They had both lucked out, though. Rhys’ father had been working weekends lately, and he’d be out at least until the sun was starting to set. And Rhys’ mother had driven all the way out to Pomona for the spiritual health expo she’d been planning for the past couple weeks. Knowing her and her gossip and penchant for long conversations about nothing, like a engine running on endless gas, she’d be out late into the evening.
Rhys’ lips throbbed from pink to red at Jack bit at them, tugging out the lower lobe. He let go, and it slapped back against his teeth. Rhys shivered.
(Jack made him so painfully aware of his own flesh, its weight and heft in his big hands.)
He gasped as Jack’s crotch scraped roughly against his own, their stiff flies grinding together. The sun had begun to fall in the sky, drifting towards the edge of the canvas awning jutting out from the back of the house. Shadows grew longer, crawling over the terra-cotta patio and towards the edge of the lawn. Jack’s face darkened in the shadow but not his smile. His smile stayed winking and bright even as he dug his teeth into his lower lip, those canines that always seemed longer than normal, like a dog’s, slight wet from his lusty panting.
Jack teased Rhys’ arousal, like the moon pulling the ebb and flow of the ocean. One hand had dug properly into Rhys’ hair, tilting his head to the side but not far enough that Rhys couldn’t keep Jack in his sight. He felt a slight stitch in his neck at the stretch Jack held it at but he let him, let Jack ground him with the hand in his hair and the other that had drifted to his wrist and laced their fingers together.
Eventually, Jack pulled away and left them both to catch their breath. He turned onto his side as he put his arm around Rhys and cuddled him, the breeze warming their already heated bodies.
An embarrassing little wet spot now spread across the crotch of Rhys’ shorts. Undoubtedly it would dry all uncomfortable against his skin if he didn’t try to clean it off soon, but he didn’t want to get up and stop snuggling Jack.
The sudden sound of the landline phone from inside faded into the muzzy background noise as Jack rested his head on Rhys’ chest, weighing down his breathing as he slowly wound down from the high of coming.
The sun had long gone over the roof, leaving the backyard floating in smoggy amber. Jack traces his finger in a small circle around Rhys’ chest, dragging the loose fabric of his shirt with it. A new ring glinted on his hand, drawing Rhys’ sleepy eye from looking skyward. Jack had a penchant for random accessories that seemed to change each time they saw each other, as if he was testing Rhys to spot the differences. This ring was silver, inlaid with what looked like a band of wood and sporting a bright blue gem that wasn’t either obviously fake or real.
The little light refracting off the ring glowed on Jack’s lips, which were curled up in a smirk that gave Rhys shivers.
Jack had two types of smile. One, was the full-toothed grin he’d been mostly sporting since he’d first hopped over the fence. The other was smaller—the smirk, the one he wore right now, which seemed to quirk up only one side of his lips as if it was too scared or smart to spread to the rest of his face.
Rhys wasn’t sure whether he trusted Jack’s smirk or his smile more, but both looked good on him. The young man brushed his hands through Jack’s hair, feeling the sweat from the sex drying on his roots. Somehow, it felt even softer now than it had before. Rhys couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
(Jack was everything. He was smart and good-looking and perfect and whenever Rhys was with him he felt like they could do anything together.)
“Hey.” Rhys broke the silence. “Would you ever want to go to college?”
Jack snorted as he fluttered his eyes, raising his head and leaning his chin on Rhys’ chest as he looked at him.
“College? I’m not exactly the type, I think.”
“But you’re smart.” He waved a finger as Jack opened his mouth to protest. “No. You are smart. You know things they don’t even teach me in class…”
“Yeah, but if I was gonna go to college, I wouldn’t go to your fancy-pants school.”
Rhys’ hand stroked down the back of Jack’s head, coming to rest on his neck.
“It’s not that fancy. I mean, I live at home for a reason. Mom swore she could smell black mold when we took the dorm tour…”
“No offense, Rhysie, but your mom is a bit of a nut,” Jack scrunched his lips and blew the hair up off his forehead in a carefree, sexy way that distracted Rhys from the slight against his mom. It wasn’t like Jack wasn’t kind of right anyway. His mom watched daytime-TV psychics and put plastic on most of the furniture and for a couple months had banned complex carbs from dinnertime until a week of Rhys bringing home a box of donuts in protest had put a halt to that.
“Mmm, she’s not that bad…at least I can eat bacon again…”
“Babe, if you were really that meat deprived, you know you can always just call me—“
“You’re so weird,” Rhys chuckled softly as Jack slid up the chair and chased his lips with a kiss.
“I prefer freaky,” Jack murmured, his voice still simmering with lust though he’d just rubbed one out against Rhys. He licked his lips, chin tilting to the side.
“You still taste like lemonade, kiddo. Jeez, you really do drink that stuff like water…”
“It’s not a bad taste, though? I put lots of sugar in.”
“Shoot, you’re already sweet enough…”
“Fine, what should my lips taste like?”
Jack taps his own in thought.
“Lips like that should taste like…red wine. Black truffle. Filet mignon. Creme brûlée.”
He brought his face teasingly close, breath blasting across Rhys’ like smoke.
“Come.”
“O-ooh.” A filthy jitter wiggled through Rhys’ torso. “Sounds like you have quite the evening planned, hm?”
“Well, I have homemade burgers and my brother’s lager, which is almost as good.” Jack’s smirk curled. “I can definitely make good on that last bit, though.”
Jack made Rhys think of someplace beyond the little backyard and two-story house and the commute connecting it to campus, and as the promise hung in the air Rhys immediately wanted to go out and see it. He squirmed in his place, suddenly antsy. Jack propped his torso up, puzzling at Rhys as the other man sat up straight, Jack suddenly finding himself laying in his lap.
“Can we go? I wanna go soon. Please can you take me?” Rhys petted his fingers insistently along Jack’s cheek until he swatted him away, rolling over until he was laying face-up in Rhys’ lap instead of sideways.
“Jeez, one moment we’re relaxing and being all cute together, next you’re pawing at me like you need to go out and take a whizz—“
Jack thoughtfully picked at the hem of Rhys’ shirt, little goosebumps tickling up Rhys’ spine as he felt Jack’s warm breath ghost against his belly.
“Do you have an alibi, sugar?” Jack glanced up, underneath eyelashes that were a touch longer than most boys and made him look like some kind of elegant exotic animal. He rubbed the thin fabric of Rhys’ shirt together between two fingers.
“If my parents get on my case when I get back, I’ll just tell them I went to the movies with Vaughn.” Rhys was a smooth liar when it came to his mom and dad.
Jack helped him to his feet once he got too fidgety to be comfortable to lay on. Rhys grimaced and pressed his thigh together at the feeling of cum drying in his shorts, and Jack laughed at him as he adjusted his own crotch.
“You should change your shorts before you go, babe. Keep the length, though—it’d be a crime to hide those legs with what I’ve got planned for you.” Jack waved a newly procured pair of sunglasses down at Rhys’ bare thighs before pulling open the sliding glass door like this was his own house. Rhys followed on his heels, as if still worried Jack might leave without him.
“What about—“
“Just get changed, baby, and I’ll be out front.” Jack stopped him with a kiss, before slipping on his sunglasses and cutting through the kitchen and leaving Rhys alone as the slam of the front door filled the space.
As soon as Rhys got upstairs he tossed his shorts in his laundry basket so he’d be able to wash them himself later, forgoing the soiled pair for a sleek, tight leather number that clung even closer around his hips and wedged between his butt cheeks. He kept his shirt on—Jack had been cuddling, petting it so much that it smelled like him when Rhys pulled the fabric up to his nose.
He left his jackets hanging in the closet, figuring if it got cold later he could just ask Jack for his. As he lingered on that thought for a fond moment, he found he preferred that to any of the clothes currently in his wardrobe.
Rhys thumped back down the stairs, skipping over the last one, shadows slatted from the half-drawn blinds flickering over his legs as he ran towards the foyer, the frosted windows glowing with sunlight.
There was something scandalous about exiting through the front door of his house on the heels of his secret lover, brazenly crossing over the threshold of taste and discretion. Rhys tossed his forearm across his forehead as he gazed out over the dry creeping patches of musty brown dotting the front lawn, over the grey asphalt where Jack’s bright yellow car was parked, slick paint and shiny hubcaps gleaming like a second sun.
Jack stood, hands in pockets, head tilted up slightly as if he was looking at something hanging above the roof of his’ house, but just as Rhys turned to follow his gaze Jack noticed him and met his eyes with his smile.
“There’s daddy’s baby boy.”
(Usually, Rhys would tell him off, say that Jack was only a few years older than him so he had a lot of nerve calling himself “daddy.”)
But he smiled and laughed and tucked his hand before his hand as he stood on the last step of the front porch, his toes wiggling in his sandals at the edge like he was a boat about to cast off from the dock. Jack shifted, his heavy boot resting next to Rhys’ foot as he propped himself up on same step. His eyes tipped up above his sunglasses, eyebrow raising.
“Do you have everything you need? Phone, keys, wallet?”
Rhys looked plainly at his shorts, realizing a split second later they didn’t have pockets. He glanced behind him, into the dim insides of the house.
“No…”
Jack’s smile grew impossibly broader, bright as the hazy, shimmering sun hanging high above them. He pulled one hand from his pocket, reaching out to daintily take Rhys’ like he were the lead actor in a play, ready to take his lover downstage.
“Good.”
TheSpaceCoyote 