Infinity Smashed: Better Than Space
Jul. 29th, 2013 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeBetter Than Space
Prompt: “Who?”
Summary: Raige still doesn’t know who or what he wants. NSFW.
Notes: Takes place not long after ‘Good Boys Go to Heaven.’ Won the reader request poll regarding my big anon donation, plus spurred by two reprehensibly rapey goons on the Internet. Out of spite, I swore that I would write the most consent-tastic porn in the history of ever. Instead, you get this. Chavela Vargas, by the way, is—was—a fantastic Mexican ranchera singer, known for living hard and dressing in men's clothes. You should check her out.
Raige has had trouble sleeping early for as long as he can remember. These days, he can usually play music in his head and finger chords against his chest until he falls asleep. Strauss and Schubert, mostly, songs he’s known for years, melodies as familiar as his own heartbeat. He can imagine the keys under his hands, the music in his ears, and usually, it puts him out like a light.
Tonight, though, he can’t focus on the music. His mind itches and his body burns for the sound and feeling of something else. Unfortunately, he’s not sure what. Or who.
On the one hand, there’s M.D., all sharp, bony angles, clashing colors, and feisty words. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing half the time, he knows that now, but somehow she slaps something together and makes it work anyway. She’s a gallon of trouble in a half-pint jar, but she can talk him into anything with that used-car salesman smile and, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” And she loves him; of that, Raige has no doubt… as her best friend.
That’s not the problem. Raige is okay with that. Sure, sometimes he wishes otherwise, but he’s liked people before, people who didn’t like him back, and it’s not the end of the world. He can deal with that.
No, she’s not the problem at all. Thomas is.
Well, no, that’s unfair. It’s not like Thomas has been anything but friendly. Very friendly. Arm around the shoulders, hands grazing neck, tug by the belt loop kind of friendly. Raige had chalked it up to Treehouse isolation and just being touchy-feely until Thomas had found out Raige hadn’t started kissing yet and suggested they practice. Turned out he was serious.
Liking one person, Raige can deal with. He could even deal with liking two people… if he could just decide which he liked more. At least then he could make his choice and get on with his life.
Whenever he closes his eyes and tries to focus on Brahms or Bach, all he can feel is Thomas’s skin under his hands, hear his voice purring in his ear. (“Fun? Told you I was good practice…”) No matter what music he starts with, within a few bars it’s turned into Etude in Thomas Major, and it’s not helping his sleep schedule one bit.
At the same time, he wants to play DDR with M.D. until they collapse or she breaks the machine, watch bad movies and swap pulpy paperbacks. He’s developing a thing for gloves he never even knew was possible, and this wouldn’t be so bad except god, does he need to feel this intensely about two people?
He’s almost relieved when he gets a message from Bobcat, bleary and fuzzy from being mostly asleep: She’s having a nightmare again. Would you?
“Sure,” Raige thinks back, and heads inside. He’s the night owl, so he has M.D. nightmare duty. Which is fine; he doesn’t mind. At the moment, he feels guilty for being relieved to have something real to focus on.
M.D. doesn’t have nightmares like people in the movies. She doesn’t thrash or moan or talk in her sleep, most of the time—and when she does, it has more to do with the quality of her rest than the calibre of the nightmare. When he comes to her room, she’s curled in her usual tight, tense little ball under the blankets, so rigid that if he didn’t know her, he would think she’s awake.
She has yet to wake up when called, but it’s always worth a shot. “Kid?”
Nothing.
Raige walks over and sits on the floor by her mattress pad. Sitting in front of her puts her in arm’s reach, but it also means she’ll see him the moment she wakes up, which is better in the long run.
He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey kid, it’s me.”
He doesn’t even see her sit up; she’s just suddenly upright, with her hands clenched in the front of his shirt. Her eyes are staring and uncomprehending.
Raige knows better than to move. He keeps his voice soft and soothing. “You were having a nightmare again. It’s okay, it’s over now. You’re in Treehouse with me. Everything’s okay.”
She doesn’t reply, just stares at him, breath coming rapid and shallow, face blank. This is the scary part, the split second before her operating system boots. For just a moment, before she wakes up entirely, she looks like someone else. Something else, almost.
But then the second passes, it’s over, and his best friend clicks back on again. She lets go of him. “God, Raige. Sorry. Did I…?”
“No, no, just grabbed me. Nothing bad. You okay?”
She seems to be seriously thinking the question over, looking all around the room as though to check it’s still there. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right. It’s okay.”
She doesn’t sound all right. She’s still breathing fast and hard, still looks like she’s been shoved full of coffee. She never tells him what her nightmares are about (she claims she doesn’t remember) but whatever they are, they’re adrenaline beasts, for a little while anyway. When she reaches back to push her hair out of her face, he sees sweat at her temple. He wants to rub her back, hug her, the way his mom used to do for him when he had nightmares, but he knows she doesn’t like people touching her, especially now.
“You really don’t have to do that, you know,” she tells him.
“Yeah I do.”
“One of these days, you’re really going to regret it.”
“Nah. You need some water or…?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” She rubs her eyes. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
Raige shakes his head ruefully. “No, still up.”
“Nocturnal weirdo.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, then sees his face and cocks her head. “Something on your mind?”
Raige grimaces. “Up for five seconds from a nightmare, and you can tell? Do you wake up that fast, or am I just that easy to read?”
She looks wry. “Both.” She shifts her weight back on her hands, and her tone softens. “Anything I can help with? You know, in the thirty seconds I have before my endorphins crash?”
Raige tugs at his forelock. “Aw, you just had a nightmare, you don’t…”
“Want to think about it for a second longer? Bingo. You just pulled me out of a bad dream; I owe you. Not that I’m known for my great advice, but…”
“No, actually, you might be able to help with this one.” After all, M.D. is never afraid to distribute sharp kicks in the pants when needed. It’s one of the reasons he likes her.
She lays back on her elbows and nods at him to go on.
“Just…” Raige sighs then buries his face in his hands. “This is stupid. Here you are, having nightmares—”
M.D. holds up one finger. “Raige, what’s my rule about comparing our problems?”
Raige rolls his eyes and drones, “Don’t.”
“Bingo!” She punches him lightly in the shoulder, aiming carefully since she’s not wearing her gloves. He tries not to stare at her hands; she might assume he’s judging the scars, when really, he just doesn’t get to see them often. “Come on. It helps get my mind off my subconscious having it out for me.”
Raige snorts. “Funny. I came up here to wake you up because it got my mind off my problems.”
“Well, there you go. You’re coming full circle. So?”
“It’s…” He pauses, trying to put the words in order in a useful way, without admitting too much. “What do you do when you’re not sure where you stand with someone?”
She looks at him sidelong. “Is this someone me?”
“No.”
“Because I was going to say, best friend, stand-up guy, nocturnal freak, no issues.”
“It’s not you.”
“All right.” He can tell she doesn’t quite believe him still, but her endorphin rush is starting to fade, and she doesn’t push it. “In such case, you talk to them. You know, like people do.”
“What if that’s…” terrifying, “awkward?”
She grins and throws out her arms. “Welcome to adolescence, milquetoast!”
“Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Oh come on, if it’s not me, then surely they can’t be worse! Look, it’s either talk, ditch the person, or just hang around like an abandoned pet rat, hoping they tell you all by themselves, which always takes half of forever. Just talk to them, let it hurt, and get it over with. That is my sage advice. Is it useful?”
“Yes, but…” Raige grimaces. “I guess I just hoped for something easier.”
She shrugs and stifles a yawn behind her hand. “Sorry. That’s what you get at ungodly o’clock.”
“Thanks, though. It is good advice, just… hard. Go back to sleep, okay? Dream nice stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sap.” But she’s already burrowing back into her blankets. Her adrenaline rushes leave as suddenly as they come, and she needs the rest.
Once her breathing has gone deep and even, Raige steels himself, walks out the door, and heads towards Thomas’s place. It’s still early spring in Treehouse, cool verging on cold, but his palms are sweating. He’s not assertive, and he knows it; it’s why he hangs around M.D., who’s pushy enough for the both of them. And hey, it’s late, and Thomas isn’t as big a night owl as he is. He’s probably asleep, and Raige is going to walk all the way for nothing, and it’s not that important anyway—
There’s a light in Thomas’s window.
For a moment, Raige halts in his tracks, fighting the urge to turn around and go straight back home. What is he going to say? He’s bad at this at the best of times; right now, he’s going to make a fool of himself, and Thomas is probably tired and headed to bed anyway, and—
“Hey.”
Raige spins. Thomas is standing behind him. He’s obviously come back from a bath; his shirt is slung over his shoulder and his hair’s still damp. Goose bumps are rising on his skin in the chill.
“What’s up, man?”
“Um.” Raige has seen Thomas shirtless before, but now it’s difficult to ignore. Unfortunately, looking him in the eye isn’t easy either, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “Sorry, you’re headed to bed.”
“Don’t worry about it, I work high-set. I can stay up.” He walks past Raige into his room. “Come on in.”
Thomas’s place is tiny, just one round room the size of Raige’s bathroom back home. With the cook space outdoors and the baths communal, it’s all Thomas needs. There’s a bed on the floor, a big trunk against the wall that also acts as a chair or table, some baskets, and that’s about it. A fire gives the place warmth and light. Thomas tugs the door shut, tosses another log on the fire, and sits cross-legged on the bed, where he looks at Raige expectantly.
Raige takes the trunk, which is tall enough that he doesn’t have to fold his knees up, and fidgets. He doesn’t know how M.D. just blazes into conversations the way she does. Sure, she’s about as subtle as a brick through the window, but at least she can talk. Raige feels like his tongue is frozen and he can’t keep eye contact, but he rubs his hands together and says, “Nothing. I just… can’t sleep is all.”
“No worries. We all know what an insomniac you are…”
“No. It’s not that.” The urge to run is only increasing, and he can feel his cheeks burn, but he manages to blurt out, “I can’t sleep because of you.”
Thomas doesn’t say anything, and after a couple seconds of staring at his hands, Raige finally risks a look up. Thomas has his head tilted, looking Raige over, but he’s smiling.
Finally, he says one word: “Good.”
His voice takes the edge off. It’s cheerful and easygoing, the way Thomas always is, but more importantly, it’s pleased. Raige buries his hand in his hair and laughs with relief.
“God. I was worried you’d changed your mind.”
“Man, if I had, I would’ve put my shirt on; you got any idea how cold it is out here this time of year? I don’t know how you go around in short sleeves all the time.”
“Antifreeze in my blood. Besides, M.D. stole my jacket.”
If Thomas is bothered hearing about M.D., he doesn’t let on. He just grabs a poker to give the fire a jab. In the firelight, his skin is all honey and amber, and Raige hastily looks away.
Thomas laughs. “Dude, it’s okay. You can look at me. I am hitting on you, so it’s kind of what I’m going for.”
Somehow, it still feels rude, even with open encouragement. Raige looks up. The fire casts Thomas in gold, and the reflections dance in his eyes, and Raige’s mouth goes dry. He quickly looks away again, hiding under his bangs, and Thomas chuckles.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”
Thomas grins and raises his hand like he’s offering an answer in class. “I can help with that!”
“What? No!” Raige feels his cheeks flame. “It’s… not that. I know what…” But that steers his thoughts in the wrong direction. “I’m just not using to think I have a choice!”
Thomas frowns. “What?”
Raige tries to resist the urge to drum on his thighs. “I mean, I figured the hard part would be getting someone to… you know. Be interested. And now there’s you, and you are, and you’re nice and funny and your voice is amazing and you know music and you’re…you’re really good-looking and—”
Thomas doesn’t even make a crack at that. He just sits and watches.
“—And I still can’t even decide who I want! What I want. I never thought this far ahead.” He sighs and cups his face in his hands. “And you seem to have it all figured out. How do you do it?”
Thomas sits up straight. “Hey.” His voice is gentle. “I’ve had a while to figure this out, you know? You haven’t. I just kinda threw myself at you and hoped for the best; I didn’t really think… dude, it’s okay to be clueless. Like, with girls you have movies and stuff telling you how to do it, but nobody gives you the other manual. Also, we’re in space, sorta, and nobody tells you jack about that.”
Raige chuckles into his hands. “When you put it that way, I really have to rethink my sense of priorities.”
“Just saying, dude. We’re surrounded by man-eating trees in a town run mostly by death beetles. I think it’s okay to feel a little out of your depth. I mean, I don’t know, maybe your school was way better than mine, but…”
“Unfortunately, they didn’t offer AP Outer Space and Social Skills.”
“Yeah, they never teach you the useful stuff. And you know what, that’s okay. It means we get to make it up. Do it however we want.” He shrugs, and says a little too casually, “So, like, if you wanted to stay the night, maybe figure out what you want, it’s cool. Long as you’re back in time for whatever job you’ve got tomorrow, and M.D. and Bobcat don’t worry about you, you can.”
The thought stops Raige cold. Thomas sees it and hastily adds, “And you know, if you want to go home and forget I ever mentioned it, that’s cool too. Like I said, this is just for fun, so no pressure or anything.”
He’s starting to look away from Raige as he talks, and his hands are getting a little agitated, and the epiphany hits like a thunderbolt: maybe Thomas isn’t entirely sure what he wants either. He’s just faking it better, because he’s Thomas and always acts like nothing can shake him.
Raige gets up.
“I mean, one of the reasons I like living here is because as long as nobody gets hurt, nobody cares what you do,” Thomas continues. “Like, they’re too busy keeping this whole place running to care about who’s sleeping with who. Long as I act like I can take care of myself, they assume I can…”
Thomas trails off when Raige comes over to the bed.
“I could stay the night?” He asks.
Thomas chuckles, a little breathlessly. “Dude, yes. You want to?”
Raige winces and spreads his hands. “I… I have no idea.”
It seems a lousy answer, but Thomas thinks it over and nods. “I’m cool with that.”
Raige sighs with relief. “Could we do… more of what we did before?”
Thomas grins. “Oh, hell yeah. C’mere.”
Thomas’s hand is warm and gentle on the back of Raige’s neck, but his mouth is a little rough, like he’s been waiting for this, wanting this, for a while. It’s a little scary, but also exhilarating.
Raige reaches forward, catches himself, and starts to ask, “Can I—”
Thomas pauses just long enough to say, “yes,” and he takes Raige’s hands and moves them to his sides.
Skin, muscle, yes, Raige can feel the strength and tension in Thomas’s back, his waist, his chest. Warm from the fire, but goose bumps are still rising on his back and stomach, and without thinking about it, Raige follows them with his hands, until—
Thomas jumps, blurting something in Spanish.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean—”
But Thomas grabs his hand, puts it back. “Yes!”
“Are you s—”
Pushing into him now. “Yes, I’m sure!”
His accent’s thickening, his eyes are dark and desperate, and when he kisses, it’s rough and frantic and oh god, that’s his tongue—
“Sorry, sorry.” Thomas sounds breathless. “Too fast?”
“Uh, n-no. That… more of that? Please?”
Thomas’s smile is white against the gold of him. “You’re better than space, you know that?” He says, and it’s the nerdiest thing anyone but M.D. has ever said to him, and possibly the best compliment either, but before Raige can think of something appropriate to say back, his head’s getting pulled down again and there’s only heat and wet and skin—
…And a growing kink in his neck. Being tall is not nearly as amazing as M.D. seems to think it would be.
“Um, here, hold on a second…”
But there’s not really a way to make up for the height difference. Thomas’s bed is a flat pad on the floor, and Treehouse doesn’t seem to believe in furniture with height. Sure, they could move to the trunk, but that’d feel a little silly and also take them away from the fire, and Thomas’s bed is way more comfortable.
Thomas catches him looking around. “What’s up?”
With a sheepish look, Raige reaches up and turns his head until his neck cracks.
“Oh! Right, man, sorry.” And Thomas does the same thing, the quick glance around for the furniture that doesn’t exist, then gives a long look at the bad. He gives Raige a questioning look.
“We don’t have to—I mean—”
It’s the first time Raige has ever heard Thomas stammer, and it makes him feel better that even Thomas can’t stay cool in all situations. And even though Thomas has left him an out, and Raige will probably use it, just the thought that he doesn’t have to makes him burn.
“Y-yes. That… that could be. Really. Yeah.”
Thomas gives Raige’s shirt a light tug and gives him another nonverbal inquiry.
Raige swallows and shakes his head. He’s not that confident in Thomas’s attraction to him yet. Thomas’s face betrays a moment of honest disappointment, but then he shrugs it off, grins, and yanks Raige down on the bed next to him.
There’s a little bit of squirming and rearranging as they try to get comfortable. Thomas moves closer to the fire, trying to give Raige space, but the bed really isn’t intended for two people, or someone as tall as Raige either.
“Aw, no…”
“Here, let me try… damn. Uh…”
For a moment, they lay there with Raige’s legs hanging off the edge. Thomas is frowning, staring down the mattress as though trying to finagle the 3D Tetris in his head.
Raige’s turned on enough that his voice is trashed, but he clears his throat and tries to push past it. “Don’t worry, okay? This, uh. It happens to me a lot. At least my neck isn’t…”
“No, no, here, let’s try…”
But tucking Raige’s legs just tangles them with Thomas’s. Which doesn’t feel bad, really, not at all, but definitely nudges things a little further down the axis of sexual/not, and Thomas is obviously trying as hard as he can not to do that. He does an awkward shimmy, trying to give Raige room without actually falling off the bed and into the fireplace, but Raige can tell it’s a lost cause, and he pulls Thomas close.
“Here, don’t worry about it, we can—” He feels Thomas against his hip. “Oh. Uh.”
Thomas grimaces and starts to pull back with a, “It’s cool, you don’t have to—”
But Raige grabs the back of his belt, pulls him in closer. “It’s okay.” His mouth is dry, but he’s not sure whether it’s out of anxiety or excitement, so he says it again. “It’s okay.”
Thomas still seems to be holding back, reining himself in, which is reassuring, but part of Raige really doesn’t want him to. He wants—he wants—well, he’s still not sure what he wants or whether he’s ready for it, but he wants to be, so he rolls his hips into Thomas and says, “Please?”
Thomas makes a beautiful broken noise into his mouth and the restraint is gone, replaced with something frantic and hungry. The angle’s bad but neither of them care, and Raige finds a rhythm, working with the beat Thomas is moving to, and that’s when Thomas buries his face in Raige’s shoulder and starts talking. For all Raige knows of Spanish, it could be the phone book, but it sounds sweet and desperate and filthy, all a liquid run of syllables with barely a pause for breath.
Thomas tries to get Raige’s fly, but he’s not a drummer with unshakable hands, so there’s no way he can get it open without help and Raige isn’t stopping for anything short of Armageddon, so he gives up after a second. Raige figures that’ll be the end of it—Thomas’s hips are accelerating—but then Thomas grabs him through his jeans and fuck, Raige just wraps arms and legs around him and hangs on for dear life.
Thomas is rough and fast, grinding frantic against Raige’s hip, arms tight and desperate around Raige’s body, and he’s talking constantly, and then suddenly his rhythm hitches, once, twice, and he buries his face in Raige’s neck with a whimper. It’s gratifying, it’s good, it’s hot and—
--And he really wishes M.D. were here.
Goddamn it!
Thomas is still shivering through the afterburn, but he’s smiling, until he sees Raige’s face and then he immediately looks concerned. “Hey. Okay?”
“Um. I don’t know.” And then he bursts into tears, making him officially The Worst Virgin Ever.
Thomas looks alarmed—not that Raige can blame him. “Oh. Oh shit, man. Are you—can I—?”
This is stupid, this is humiliating, and Raige can’t even explain because his voice goes to pieces when he cries, so he hugs Thomas, because he doesn’t want Thomas to feel bad. It seems to work, because even if Thomas doesn’t know what to say, he still knows how to hug. His hands are still shaky, but he pets Raige’s back and tries to look like he’s cool, that this happens to him all the time. Somehow, it works, and Raige calms down in a minute or so.
“I am so sorry,” Raige says, right at the same time Thomas says, “Jeez, dude, sorry—” and for a moment there’s an awkward moment where each one tries to let the other talk, (“you,” “no, you,”) until Raige finally gets out, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t your fault.”
“I dunno, man…”
“I’m sorry. I guess… I hoped doing this, it’d prove I was ready, you know? I’d have everything figured out, but I don’t and ohgodfuckshitlordthisisn’tcomingoutright—”
Thomas looks crestfallen. “Hey you know, it’s cool, I—”
“It’s not you! I’m sorry, you must… I mean, I’m not sorry, I liked it. I just… I don’t think I’m ready and god damn it, I’m saying this all wrong—”
Thomas dips his head, and for a moment, Raige sees the disappointment in his eyes, but then he’s smiling, shrugging, acting like it’s fine, he’s been to space, he’s seen it all before. “Hey, like I said, if it’s not fun, don’t do it, right? Don’t worry about it, no big.” For a moment, the smile slips. “I’m glad you liked it, though. You sure you don’t want…” He casts a significant look down.
It takes Raige a moment to realize what he means, and then, “Oh! Um. That’s… that’s okay. Thanks.”
And he’s sure he’s said the wrong thing again, that that is harder for Thomas to hear than even the tears, but he’s slipped fully back into Cool Mode and doesn’t show it. “No worries. Just thought I’d offer.”
“I’ll get back to you, okay? When I’m… when I know what I’m doing and every word I say doesn’t make me want to take a vow of silence for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, sure.”
And Raige knows Thomas well enough to know he’s hurt, so he leans over to kiss him. “Thank you. You’re cooler than Chavela Vargas.”
At least it gets more of an honest smile to Thomas’s face. “Hey, you’re the one who did everything. You sure I can’t…?”
Raige sighs. His mind flashes sensory memories of Thomas’s skin, his eyes, his lips, his tongue. “I—I want to. And I think it’d be a bad idea. I’m sorry. Damn it, I like you and I want to be your friend. Is that even a possibility now, or have I just screwed it up forever?”
To Raige’s ears, it sounds like something from a bad movie, an attempt at a brush-off, but he really means it, and Thomas seems to get that. He relaxes, softens, and reaches to brush the tears off Raige’s cheeks.
“Dude, what’d I tell you? You know who Chavela Vargas is. You’re never getting rid of me now. No foul, okay? You’re still better than space.”
Raige still feels stupid and like he’s screwed everything up. He’s definitely not going to get to bed at a sane hour tonight, he still has no idea what or who he wants, and he has the feeling he’s not going to find out for a while. But Thomas is brushing the tears off his cheeks, and he’s still beautiful, and maybe M.D.’s right about adolescence. Maybe this is just one of those awkward, uncomfortable days. And maybe that’s okay.
Prompt: “Who?”
Summary: Raige still doesn’t know who or what he wants. NSFW.
Notes: Takes place not long after ‘Good Boys Go to Heaven.’ Won the reader request poll regarding my big anon donation, plus spurred by two reprehensibly rapey goons on the Internet. Out of spite, I swore that I would write the most consent-tastic porn in the history of ever. Instead, you get this. Chavela Vargas, by the way, is—was—a fantastic Mexican ranchera singer, known for living hard and dressing in men's clothes. You should check her out.
Raige has had trouble sleeping early for as long as he can remember. These days, he can usually play music in his head and finger chords against his chest until he falls asleep. Strauss and Schubert, mostly, songs he’s known for years, melodies as familiar as his own heartbeat. He can imagine the keys under his hands, the music in his ears, and usually, it puts him out like a light.
Tonight, though, he can’t focus on the music. His mind itches and his body burns for the sound and feeling of something else. Unfortunately, he’s not sure what. Or who.
On the one hand, there’s M.D., all sharp, bony angles, clashing colors, and feisty words. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing half the time, he knows that now, but somehow she slaps something together and makes it work anyway. She’s a gallon of trouble in a half-pint jar, but she can talk him into anything with that used-car salesman smile and, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” And she loves him; of that, Raige has no doubt… as her best friend.
That’s not the problem. Raige is okay with that. Sure, sometimes he wishes otherwise, but he’s liked people before, people who didn’t like him back, and it’s not the end of the world. He can deal with that.
No, she’s not the problem at all. Thomas is.
Well, no, that’s unfair. It’s not like Thomas has been anything but friendly. Very friendly. Arm around the shoulders, hands grazing neck, tug by the belt loop kind of friendly. Raige had chalked it up to Treehouse isolation and just being touchy-feely until Thomas had found out Raige hadn’t started kissing yet and suggested they practice. Turned out he was serious.
Liking one person, Raige can deal with. He could even deal with liking two people… if he could just decide which he liked more. At least then he could make his choice and get on with his life.
Whenever he closes his eyes and tries to focus on Brahms or Bach, all he can feel is Thomas’s skin under his hands, hear his voice purring in his ear. (“Fun? Told you I was good practice…”) No matter what music he starts with, within a few bars it’s turned into Etude in Thomas Major, and it’s not helping his sleep schedule one bit.
At the same time, he wants to play DDR with M.D. until they collapse or she breaks the machine, watch bad movies and swap pulpy paperbacks. He’s developing a thing for gloves he never even knew was possible, and this wouldn’t be so bad except god, does he need to feel this intensely about two people?
He’s almost relieved when he gets a message from Bobcat, bleary and fuzzy from being mostly asleep: She’s having a nightmare again. Would you?
“Sure,” Raige thinks back, and heads inside. He’s the night owl, so he has M.D. nightmare duty. Which is fine; he doesn’t mind. At the moment, he feels guilty for being relieved to have something real to focus on.
M.D. doesn’t have nightmares like people in the movies. She doesn’t thrash or moan or talk in her sleep, most of the time—and when she does, it has more to do with the quality of her rest than the calibre of the nightmare. When he comes to her room, she’s curled in her usual tight, tense little ball under the blankets, so rigid that if he didn’t know her, he would think she’s awake.
She has yet to wake up when called, but it’s always worth a shot. “Kid?”
Nothing.
Raige walks over and sits on the floor by her mattress pad. Sitting in front of her puts her in arm’s reach, but it also means she’ll see him the moment she wakes up, which is better in the long run.
He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey kid, it’s me.”
He doesn’t even see her sit up; she’s just suddenly upright, with her hands clenched in the front of his shirt. Her eyes are staring and uncomprehending.
Raige knows better than to move. He keeps his voice soft and soothing. “You were having a nightmare again. It’s okay, it’s over now. You’re in Treehouse with me. Everything’s okay.”
She doesn’t reply, just stares at him, breath coming rapid and shallow, face blank. This is the scary part, the split second before her operating system boots. For just a moment, before she wakes up entirely, she looks like someone else. Something else, almost.
But then the second passes, it’s over, and his best friend clicks back on again. She lets go of him. “God, Raige. Sorry. Did I…?”
“No, no, just grabbed me. Nothing bad. You okay?”
She seems to be seriously thinking the question over, looking all around the room as though to check it’s still there. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right. It’s okay.”
She doesn’t sound all right. She’s still breathing fast and hard, still looks like she’s been shoved full of coffee. She never tells him what her nightmares are about (she claims she doesn’t remember) but whatever they are, they’re adrenaline beasts, for a little while anyway. When she reaches back to push her hair out of her face, he sees sweat at her temple. He wants to rub her back, hug her, the way his mom used to do for him when he had nightmares, but he knows she doesn’t like people touching her, especially now.
“You really don’t have to do that, you know,” she tells him.
“Yeah I do.”
“One of these days, you’re really going to regret it.”
“Nah. You need some water or…?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” She rubs her eyes. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
Raige shakes his head ruefully. “No, still up.”
“Nocturnal weirdo.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, then sees his face and cocks her head. “Something on your mind?”
Raige grimaces. “Up for five seconds from a nightmare, and you can tell? Do you wake up that fast, or am I just that easy to read?”
She looks wry. “Both.” She shifts her weight back on her hands, and her tone softens. “Anything I can help with? You know, in the thirty seconds I have before my endorphins crash?”
Raige tugs at his forelock. “Aw, you just had a nightmare, you don’t…”
“Want to think about it for a second longer? Bingo. You just pulled me out of a bad dream; I owe you. Not that I’m known for my great advice, but…”
“No, actually, you might be able to help with this one.” After all, M.D. is never afraid to distribute sharp kicks in the pants when needed. It’s one of the reasons he likes her.
She lays back on her elbows and nods at him to go on.
“Just…” Raige sighs then buries his face in his hands. “This is stupid. Here you are, having nightmares—”
M.D. holds up one finger. “Raige, what’s my rule about comparing our problems?”
Raige rolls his eyes and drones, “Don’t.”
“Bingo!” She punches him lightly in the shoulder, aiming carefully since she’s not wearing her gloves. He tries not to stare at her hands; she might assume he’s judging the scars, when really, he just doesn’t get to see them often. “Come on. It helps get my mind off my subconscious having it out for me.”
Raige snorts. “Funny. I came up here to wake you up because it got my mind off my problems.”
“Well, there you go. You’re coming full circle. So?”
“It’s…” He pauses, trying to put the words in order in a useful way, without admitting too much. “What do you do when you’re not sure where you stand with someone?”
She looks at him sidelong. “Is this someone me?”
“No.”
“Because I was going to say, best friend, stand-up guy, nocturnal freak, no issues.”
“It’s not you.”
“All right.” He can tell she doesn’t quite believe him still, but her endorphin rush is starting to fade, and she doesn’t push it. “In such case, you talk to them. You know, like people do.”
“What if that’s…” terrifying, “awkward?”
She grins and throws out her arms. “Welcome to adolescence, milquetoast!”
“Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Oh come on, if it’s not me, then surely they can’t be worse! Look, it’s either talk, ditch the person, or just hang around like an abandoned pet rat, hoping they tell you all by themselves, which always takes half of forever. Just talk to them, let it hurt, and get it over with. That is my sage advice. Is it useful?”
“Yes, but…” Raige grimaces. “I guess I just hoped for something easier.”
She shrugs and stifles a yawn behind her hand. “Sorry. That’s what you get at ungodly o’clock.”
“Thanks, though. It is good advice, just… hard. Go back to sleep, okay? Dream nice stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sap.” But she’s already burrowing back into her blankets. Her adrenaline rushes leave as suddenly as they come, and she needs the rest.
Once her breathing has gone deep and even, Raige steels himself, walks out the door, and heads towards Thomas’s place. It’s still early spring in Treehouse, cool verging on cold, but his palms are sweating. He’s not assertive, and he knows it; it’s why he hangs around M.D., who’s pushy enough for the both of them. And hey, it’s late, and Thomas isn’t as big a night owl as he is. He’s probably asleep, and Raige is going to walk all the way for nothing, and it’s not that important anyway—
There’s a light in Thomas’s window.
For a moment, Raige halts in his tracks, fighting the urge to turn around and go straight back home. What is he going to say? He’s bad at this at the best of times; right now, he’s going to make a fool of himself, and Thomas is probably tired and headed to bed anyway, and—
“Hey.”
Raige spins. Thomas is standing behind him. He’s obviously come back from a bath; his shirt is slung over his shoulder and his hair’s still damp. Goose bumps are rising on his skin in the chill.
“What’s up, man?”
“Um.” Raige has seen Thomas shirtless before, but now it’s difficult to ignore. Unfortunately, looking him in the eye isn’t easy either, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “Sorry, you’re headed to bed.”
“Don’t worry about it, I work high-set. I can stay up.” He walks past Raige into his room. “Come on in.”
Thomas’s place is tiny, just one round room the size of Raige’s bathroom back home. With the cook space outdoors and the baths communal, it’s all Thomas needs. There’s a bed on the floor, a big trunk against the wall that also acts as a chair or table, some baskets, and that’s about it. A fire gives the place warmth and light. Thomas tugs the door shut, tosses another log on the fire, and sits cross-legged on the bed, where he looks at Raige expectantly.
Raige takes the trunk, which is tall enough that he doesn’t have to fold his knees up, and fidgets. He doesn’t know how M.D. just blazes into conversations the way she does. Sure, she’s about as subtle as a brick through the window, but at least she can talk. Raige feels like his tongue is frozen and he can’t keep eye contact, but he rubs his hands together and says, “Nothing. I just… can’t sleep is all.”
“No worries. We all know what an insomniac you are…”
“No. It’s not that.” The urge to run is only increasing, and he can feel his cheeks burn, but he manages to blurt out, “I can’t sleep because of you.”
Thomas doesn’t say anything, and after a couple seconds of staring at his hands, Raige finally risks a look up. Thomas has his head tilted, looking Raige over, but he’s smiling.
Finally, he says one word: “Good.”
His voice takes the edge off. It’s cheerful and easygoing, the way Thomas always is, but more importantly, it’s pleased. Raige buries his hand in his hair and laughs with relief.
“God. I was worried you’d changed your mind.”
“Man, if I had, I would’ve put my shirt on; you got any idea how cold it is out here this time of year? I don’t know how you go around in short sleeves all the time.”
“Antifreeze in my blood. Besides, M.D. stole my jacket.”
If Thomas is bothered hearing about M.D., he doesn’t let on. He just grabs a poker to give the fire a jab. In the firelight, his skin is all honey and amber, and Raige hastily looks away.
Thomas laughs. “Dude, it’s okay. You can look at me. I am hitting on you, so it’s kind of what I’m going for.”
Somehow, it still feels rude, even with open encouragement. Raige looks up. The fire casts Thomas in gold, and the reflections dance in his eyes, and Raige’s mouth goes dry. He quickly looks away again, hiding under his bangs, and Thomas chuckles.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”
Thomas grins and raises his hand like he’s offering an answer in class. “I can help with that!”
“What? No!” Raige feels his cheeks flame. “It’s… not that. I know what…” But that steers his thoughts in the wrong direction. “I’m just not using to think I have a choice!”
Thomas frowns. “What?”
Raige tries to resist the urge to drum on his thighs. “I mean, I figured the hard part would be getting someone to… you know. Be interested. And now there’s you, and you are, and you’re nice and funny and your voice is amazing and you know music and you’re…you’re really good-looking and—”
Thomas doesn’t even make a crack at that. He just sits and watches.
“—And I still can’t even decide who I want! What I want. I never thought this far ahead.” He sighs and cups his face in his hands. “And you seem to have it all figured out. How do you do it?”
Thomas sits up straight. “Hey.” His voice is gentle. “I’ve had a while to figure this out, you know? You haven’t. I just kinda threw myself at you and hoped for the best; I didn’t really think… dude, it’s okay to be clueless. Like, with girls you have movies and stuff telling you how to do it, but nobody gives you the other manual. Also, we’re in space, sorta, and nobody tells you jack about that.”
Raige chuckles into his hands. “When you put it that way, I really have to rethink my sense of priorities.”
“Just saying, dude. We’re surrounded by man-eating trees in a town run mostly by death beetles. I think it’s okay to feel a little out of your depth. I mean, I don’t know, maybe your school was way better than mine, but…”
“Unfortunately, they didn’t offer AP Outer Space and Social Skills.”
“Yeah, they never teach you the useful stuff. And you know what, that’s okay. It means we get to make it up. Do it however we want.” He shrugs, and says a little too casually, “So, like, if you wanted to stay the night, maybe figure out what you want, it’s cool. Long as you’re back in time for whatever job you’ve got tomorrow, and M.D. and Bobcat don’t worry about you, you can.”
The thought stops Raige cold. Thomas sees it and hastily adds, “And you know, if you want to go home and forget I ever mentioned it, that’s cool too. Like I said, this is just for fun, so no pressure or anything.”
He’s starting to look away from Raige as he talks, and his hands are getting a little agitated, and the epiphany hits like a thunderbolt: maybe Thomas isn’t entirely sure what he wants either. He’s just faking it better, because he’s Thomas and always acts like nothing can shake him.
Raige gets up.
“I mean, one of the reasons I like living here is because as long as nobody gets hurt, nobody cares what you do,” Thomas continues. “Like, they’re too busy keeping this whole place running to care about who’s sleeping with who. Long as I act like I can take care of myself, they assume I can…”
Thomas trails off when Raige comes over to the bed.
“I could stay the night?” He asks.
Thomas chuckles, a little breathlessly. “Dude, yes. You want to?”
Raige winces and spreads his hands. “I… I have no idea.”
It seems a lousy answer, but Thomas thinks it over and nods. “I’m cool with that.”
Raige sighs with relief. “Could we do… more of what we did before?”
Thomas grins. “Oh, hell yeah. C’mere.”
Thomas’s hand is warm and gentle on the back of Raige’s neck, but his mouth is a little rough, like he’s been waiting for this, wanting this, for a while. It’s a little scary, but also exhilarating.
Raige reaches forward, catches himself, and starts to ask, “Can I—”
Thomas pauses just long enough to say, “yes,” and he takes Raige’s hands and moves them to his sides.
Skin, muscle, yes, Raige can feel the strength and tension in Thomas’s back, his waist, his chest. Warm from the fire, but goose bumps are still rising on his back and stomach, and without thinking about it, Raige follows them with his hands, until—
Thomas jumps, blurting something in Spanish.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean—”
But Thomas grabs his hand, puts it back. “Yes!”
“Are you s—”
Pushing into him now. “Yes, I’m sure!”
His accent’s thickening, his eyes are dark and desperate, and when he kisses, it’s rough and frantic and oh god, that’s his tongue—
“Sorry, sorry.” Thomas sounds breathless. “Too fast?”
“Uh, n-no. That… more of that? Please?”
Thomas’s smile is white against the gold of him. “You’re better than space, you know that?” He says, and it’s the nerdiest thing anyone but M.D. has ever said to him, and possibly the best compliment either, but before Raige can think of something appropriate to say back, his head’s getting pulled down again and there’s only heat and wet and skin—
…And a growing kink in his neck. Being tall is not nearly as amazing as M.D. seems to think it would be.
“Um, here, hold on a second…”
But there’s not really a way to make up for the height difference. Thomas’s bed is a flat pad on the floor, and Treehouse doesn’t seem to believe in furniture with height. Sure, they could move to the trunk, but that’d feel a little silly and also take them away from the fire, and Thomas’s bed is way more comfortable.
Thomas catches him looking around. “What’s up?”
With a sheepish look, Raige reaches up and turns his head until his neck cracks.
“Oh! Right, man, sorry.” And Thomas does the same thing, the quick glance around for the furniture that doesn’t exist, then gives a long look at the bad. He gives Raige a questioning look.
“We don’t have to—I mean—”
It’s the first time Raige has ever heard Thomas stammer, and it makes him feel better that even Thomas can’t stay cool in all situations. And even though Thomas has left him an out, and Raige will probably use it, just the thought that he doesn’t have to makes him burn.
“Y-yes. That… that could be. Really. Yeah.”
Thomas gives Raige’s shirt a light tug and gives him another nonverbal inquiry.
Raige swallows and shakes his head. He’s not that confident in Thomas’s attraction to him yet. Thomas’s face betrays a moment of honest disappointment, but then he shrugs it off, grins, and yanks Raige down on the bed next to him.
There’s a little bit of squirming and rearranging as they try to get comfortable. Thomas moves closer to the fire, trying to give Raige space, but the bed really isn’t intended for two people, or someone as tall as Raige either.
“Aw, no…”
“Here, let me try… damn. Uh…”
For a moment, they lay there with Raige’s legs hanging off the edge. Thomas is frowning, staring down the mattress as though trying to finagle the 3D Tetris in his head.
Raige’s turned on enough that his voice is trashed, but he clears his throat and tries to push past it. “Don’t worry, okay? This, uh. It happens to me a lot. At least my neck isn’t…”
“No, no, here, let’s try…”
But tucking Raige’s legs just tangles them with Thomas’s. Which doesn’t feel bad, really, not at all, but definitely nudges things a little further down the axis of sexual/not, and Thomas is obviously trying as hard as he can not to do that. He does an awkward shimmy, trying to give Raige room without actually falling off the bed and into the fireplace, but Raige can tell it’s a lost cause, and he pulls Thomas close.
“Here, don’t worry about it, we can—” He feels Thomas against his hip. “Oh. Uh.”
Thomas grimaces and starts to pull back with a, “It’s cool, you don’t have to—”
But Raige grabs the back of his belt, pulls him in closer. “It’s okay.” His mouth is dry, but he’s not sure whether it’s out of anxiety or excitement, so he says it again. “It’s okay.”
Thomas still seems to be holding back, reining himself in, which is reassuring, but part of Raige really doesn’t want him to. He wants—he wants—well, he’s still not sure what he wants or whether he’s ready for it, but he wants to be, so he rolls his hips into Thomas and says, “Please?”
Thomas makes a beautiful broken noise into his mouth and the restraint is gone, replaced with something frantic and hungry. The angle’s bad but neither of them care, and Raige finds a rhythm, working with the beat Thomas is moving to, and that’s when Thomas buries his face in Raige’s shoulder and starts talking. For all Raige knows of Spanish, it could be the phone book, but it sounds sweet and desperate and filthy, all a liquid run of syllables with barely a pause for breath.
Thomas tries to get Raige’s fly, but he’s not a drummer with unshakable hands, so there’s no way he can get it open without help and Raige isn’t stopping for anything short of Armageddon, so he gives up after a second. Raige figures that’ll be the end of it—Thomas’s hips are accelerating—but then Thomas grabs him through his jeans and fuck, Raige just wraps arms and legs around him and hangs on for dear life.
Thomas is rough and fast, grinding frantic against Raige’s hip, arms tight and desperate around Raige’s body, and he’s talking constantly, and then suddenly his rhythm hitches, once, twice, and he buries his face in Raige’s neck with a whimper. It’s gratifying, it’s good, it’s hot and—
--And he really wishes M.D. were here.
Goddamn it!
Thomas is still shivering through the afterburn, but he’s smiling, until he sees Raige’s face and then he immediately looks concerned. “Hey. Okay?”
“Um. I don’t know.” And then he bursts into tears, making him officially The Worst Virgin Ever.
Thomas looks alarmed—not that Raige can blame him. “Oh. Oh shit, man. Are you—can I—?”
This is stupid, this is humiliating, and Raige can’t even explain because his voice goes to pieces when he cries, so he hugs Thomas, because he doesn’t want Thomas to feel bad. It seems to work, because even if Thomas doesn’t know what to say, he still knows how to hug. His hands are still shaky, but he pets Raige’s back and tries to look like he’s cool, that this happens to him all the time. Somehow, it works, and Raige calms down in a minute or so.
“I am so sorry,” Raige says, right at the same time Thomas says, “Jeez, dude, sorry—” and for a moment there’s an awkward moment where each one tries to let the other talk, (“you,” “no, you,”) until Raige finally gets out, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t your fault.”
“I dunno, man…”
“I’m sorry. I guess… I hoped doing this, it’d prove I was ready, you know? I’d have everything figured out, but I don’t and ohgodfuckshitlordthisisn’tcomingoutright—”
Thomas looks crestfallen. “Hey you know, it’s cool, I—”
“It’s not you! I’m sorry, you must… I mean, I’m not sorry, I liked it. I just… I don’t think I’m ready and god damn it, I’m saying this all wrong—”
Thomas dips his head, and for a moment, Raige sees the disappointment in his eyes, but then he’s smiling, shrugging, acting like it’s fine, he’s been to space, he’s seen it all before. “Hey, like I said, if it’s not fun, don’t do it, right? Don’t worry about it, no big.” For a moment, the smile slips. “I’m glad you liked it, though. You sure you don’t want…” He casts a significant look down.
It takes Raige a moment to realize what he means, and then, “Oh! Um. That’s… that’s okay. Thanks.”
And he’s sure he’s said the wrong thing again, that that is harder for Thomas to hear than even the tears, but he’s slipped fully back into Cool Mode and doesn’t show it. “No worries. Just thought I’d offer.”
“I’ll get back to you, okay? When I’m… when I know what I’m doing and every word I say doesn’t make me want to take a vow of silence for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, sure.”
And Raige knows Thomas well enough to know he’s hurt, so he leans over to kiss him. “Thank you. You’re cooler than Chavela Vargas.”
At least it gets more of an honest smile to Thomas’s face. “Hey, you’re the one who did everything. You sure I can’t…?”
Raige sighs. His mind flashes sensory memories of Thomas’s skin, his eyes, his lips, his tongue. “I—I want to. And I think it’d be a bad idea. I’m sorry. Damn it, I like you and I want to be your friend. Is that even a possibility now, or have I just screwed it up forever?”
To Raige’s ears, it sounds like something from a bad movie, an attempt at a brush-off, but he really means it, and Thomas seems to get that. He relaxes, softens, and reaches to brush the tears off Raige’s cheeks.
“Dude, what’d I tell you? You know who Chavela Vargas is. You’re never getting rid of me now. No foul, okay? You’re still better than space.”
Raige still feels stupid and like he’s screwed everything up. He’s definitely not going to get to bed at a sane hour tonight, he still has no idea what or who he wants, and he has the feeling he’s not going to find out for a while. But Thomas is brushing the tears off his cheeks, and he’s still beautiful, and maybe M.D.’s right about adolescence. Maybe this is just one of those awkward, uncomfortable days. And maybe that’s okay.
