SoundOfJazz 16:26 Hi! I found your story! Gibby says hello and that your story is filled with lies. Please don’t write about having sex because it’ll make us very uncomfortable. I love you!
ReturnOfTheGray 17:15: PyroStormIsBae, no.
1
Nicky, yes,” Seth Gray groaned, and Nick had never been prouder of himself in his entire life. Granted, he’d also never been more turned-on, and he couldn’t quite focus because all the blood had left his brain and traveled south, but still. Hearing his name come from Seth’s mouth in that way was apparently enough to fry all the remaining circuits in Nicholas Bell’s brain.
Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he shifted above Seth, who was lying on Nick’s bed. Seth’s glasses were crooked, his bow tie partially undone, his dark hair a mess of curls. His sweater was rucked-up, revealing a sliver of pale skin. Seth’s cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen since Nick had been attacking them for the last twenty minutes. Nick thought they’d gotten this making-out thing down pat.
However, a conundrum now presented itself: stop while they still could, or keep on going into the strange, unknown land of Putting Hands Under Clothes for a Nice Time. They had the house to themselves; it was Saturday and Dad was out to lunch with the Chief of Police Rodney Caplan and Officer Rookie to talk shop. Nick wasn’t necessarily supposed to know what shop meant, but he wasn’t stupid, no matter the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, given certain … actions he might’ve taken last year (or, to be honest, all the other years of his life). He’d seen the posts on social media calling for reform and defunding, people marching in the streets demanding change, and though he’d always been proud of his father, valid concerns were being raised, and rightly so. Dad didn’t talk much about it—at least, with Nick—and neither did Cap or the Rook, no matter how he asked. This frustrated Nick to no end.
Especially since he’d spent the morning with Dad, driving around in the new, unmarked SUV he had been given as part of his job as the lead in the newly formed Extraordinaries Division, listening to music on Nick’s phone he’d connected via Bluetooth when they ran errands. Talk about overkill. Nick treasured the time he had with his dad, but he was certainly capable of side-eyeing the fact that the seats were leather and heated, and for what? To keep Dad’s ass warm while he worked? Seemed like there were more important things to worry about.
Speaking of Dad.
He probably wouldn’t be back for hours, especially if they got a couple of beers into them. Seth had come over to help Nick with his homework (trigonometry again), and they’d promised to stay downstairs, Nick smiling innocently at his father, who had eyed them both up and down with a stern expression. Seth squeaked, as he was wont to do, his abilities to create fire out of nothing be damned.
And they had meant to only do homework. Honest. Nick wasn’t failing or anything, but he had a test coming up that he wasn’t quite ready for, and he wanted to get as much done as he could, seeing as how it was Valentine’s Day and homework was in no way romantic in the slightest. They had plans later with their friends—a double date of sorts—and he’d decided to be responsible. Mature, even.
The problem with that was, of course, Seth. Seth, whose brow had been furrowed as he’d looked down at the textbooks and papers spread out on the table. Seth, who’d been munching on pretzels while saying something about the sides and angles of triangles. Seth, who was quite possibly the hottest dude in existence, so much so that if Nick didn’t put his face on Seth’s face again in the next five minutes, he’d probably die.
“Hey,” he’d said, interrupting what he was sure was the most boring explanation of mathematics in the history of the world. “Can I show you something in my room?”
Seth had wiped the salt from his lips with the back of his hand. “What?”
Nick had leaned forward, chin in his hands. “It’s a surprise.”
“Surprise,” Seth had repeated. He’d sounded dubious, which, okay, yeah, sometimes Nick’s surprises, while well-intentioned, ended up exploding. Literally. But this was going to be a good surprise. With potentially good explosions.
(And since he was always and forever a prude, he’d flushed at his own audacity.)
But he wasn’t to be deterred. He’d stood from the table. “Come on. It won’t take long.” This wasn’t a lie. If it progressed further than it had before, it’d probably be over very quickly.
“Your dad said we couldn’t go upstairs while he wasn’t here,” Seth had reminded him, as he’d stood too.
This was true, yes. But when Nick had reminded Dad that a bedroom wasn’t necessary when it came to getting down to bidness (Nick’s words, which he’d immediately regretted), Dad said he was going to get plastic tarps to cover all the furniture so they didn’t leave boy stains. Nick, of course, had been sufficiently outraged.
Dad had made things worse by taking out an empty spritz bottle from underneath the sink, filling it with water, and saying if it worked on dogs in heat, it’d work on boys as well. And then he’d sprayed Nick in the face.
Nick loved his father more than anything, but he was convinced his sole reason for existing was to ensure Nick would remain a virgin for the rest of his life.
Which was fine with Nick, at least for now. Yes, he had a hot boyfriend who had superpowers and went by the name Pyro Storm, and yes, his body looked amazing when he was in chinos or his Extraordinary costume, and yes, Nick loved making out with said hot superhero boyfriend, but he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to take it to the next level.
It hadn’t helped that he’d done what he always did when he didn’t know something: he researched it exhaustively. And boy oh boy, was that a mistake. It was confusing being turned-on and also slightly horrified at the same time, especially when he’d come across an article titled “How to Be a Good Bottom” that involved detailed instructions and illustrations about things like the proper way to perform enemas to avoid any side effects, and wearing gloves for prepping so one’s fingernails didn’t cause damage to the interior of the anus.
And that didn’t even begin to cover the wide and terrifying world of being a modern queer man in the twenty-first century and all that came with it. Was he a twink? A twunk? A power top? A power bottom? A bear? An otter? (He didn’t have enough body hair for those last two, but he wasn’t ready to rule anything out yet.) Did the heter-oh-noes have to deal with this? If not, then it was homophobic in ways Nick couldn’t even begin to articulate. How dare straight people avoid these little boxes.
He kept on clicking, and it was about the time he was mired deep in an unintentional exploration of furry culture (people dressed up like wolves and goats and chickens and how awesome was that) that he realized he was probably in over his head.
He was sixteen years old, dammit. He didn’t need to be a power goat twunk. He had ADHD and a healthy libido, which didn’t really leave room for anything else.
Which was why the surprise Nick had for Seth was simply tackling him onto the bed and sticking his tongue down his throat. Seth, for his part, squawked, protested once through a mouthful of Nick, then gave up entirely when Nick bit down on the skin under his ear, which immediately turned him into putty.