rivers_bend

Title: The World is Not Enough
Pairing: Adam/Tommy (high school AU)
Words: 2800
Rating: NC17
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used here and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened.
A/N: Another high school AU (this means adolescent sexuality), but this one is a standalone story, unrelated to any of the other high school AUs I've written or am writing.(alternatively, I can't stop writing this, and it has now become World Verse) (what. I love HS AUs. shush) For blue_soaring (and day 15 of mmom)
Summary: Tommy is horny. And frustrated. And there's nowhere to go.



Even at a school with a big GSA, and a lesbian biology teacher, and a homecoming king who's also first chair violin in orchestra and not on the football team, life isn't perfect for the gay kid. Just for example, if you accidentally get a little carried away outside homeroom and Mr. Jacobi sees you trying to get your hand in your boyfriend's pants, you still get sent to the VP and get detention. No number of supportive school board members manage to make unlocked janitor's closets or eraser rooms or any of the other nifty hiding places you always see in high schools on TV appear. All the queer history month assemblies in the world aren't changing Tommy's mother's mind about him keeping his door closed when Adam comes over after school. Tommy is horny. And frustrated. And there's nowhere to go.

The only good thing about having geometry fourth period is that Adam has it third, and leaves him little cryptic notes on their desk (third from the back, right against the window). Sometimes they're song lyrics, sometimes little doodles, but today it says, North, home D, 5th, sub. If that's a song, it's not one Tommy's heard of. Ms. Eckhart tells them to open their books, and Tommy dutifully does, but then he tunes her out. Fifth probably means fifth period. Tommy has Spanish, which Adam has second, so he'd know if they have a sub. The sub they always get for Spanish lets a student take attendance, so chances are good Tommy won't be marked absent if he doesn't show. Which just leaves where he's supposed to go instead.

There's a Home Depot on the north side of town, but a) why on earth would Adam want to go there, and b) they'd never get there and back in time for sixth. There's a north parking lot, but nothing up there Tommy can think of might be referred to as home or D, much less both. There's North Star Diner a few blocks away, and they do awesome homefries, but the message doesn't say home F, and they're already planning to go there after school anyway.

"Mr. Ratliff?" From Ms. Eckhart's tone, it's not the first time she said his name. "Are you with us? Would you care to share your answer for number seven?"

He wouldn't care to at all, since he hasn't even looked at the problem. "Divide by the hypotenuse?" He says, though, because nothing makes Ms. Eckhart angrier than hearing "I don't know" from one of her students.

"We're on page fifty two, Mr. Ratliff. Do try to keep up." She watches with pinched lips as he flips to the right page, but then goes on to Lizzy, who sits in front of him. Lizzy says, "The field is twenty-one acres."

Lizzy is a genius. The north field has a baseball diamond, which means it has a home team dugout. The city had to re-route a storm drain up there, so it's half torn up, and not being used this year. The dugout bench is not Tommy's first choice of makeout spots, but the way it's situated you have to be practically inside it to see if anyone is in there, and oh my god is this class ever going to end.

Finally, after about three centuries, the bell rings, and Tommy shoves his books in his backpack and runs. He's the second person out the door, which is pretty impressive given there are six rows of desks between him and escape. He doesn't bother stopping at his locker, taking the short cut through C hall to the gym, and skirting the doors to the locker room to get to the north field path. He's half-way up the stairs when he hears second bell ring, and he jogs the rest of the way.

Adam isn't there when he gets there, but his fourth period class is right on the other side of campus; Tommy's not worried, he knows he figured out the clues. While he's waiting, he digs his phone out of its compartment deep in his pack and turns it on. The administrators can't search your bag if all they suspect you of having in there is a phone, but if they catch you with one, they can take it away for the day. Tommy doesn't like to risk it. No texts, no one doing anything exciting on Facebook, and then he hears the crunch of footsteps and whips around to see Adam. Dropping his phone through the maw of his pack, Tommy runs and flings himself at him.

"Hey!" Adam says, laughing, setting his feet so Tommy doesn't bowl them both over. "Good to see you, too." Tommy loves that Adam can take being jumped on and climbed on and generally treated like a jungle gym. Mostly because that's the kind of behavior that's expected of boys, and it won't get you detention if done in moderation, but also because it gives him a thrill that Adam's so much bigger than he is. Tommy's dad promises him he still has plenty of growing to do, but for now he can cling to Adam's chest like a baby lemur, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and Adam will kiss him for at least five minutes before he complains Tommy's too heavy and has to get down.

They don't last nearly that long today, though, because Tommy's no sooner got himself securely attached than Adam's carrying him toward the dugout, hands cupping Tommy's ass, fingers right up under the heat of his balls, and oh, god, someday they are going to find somewhere that they can get naked and Adam's fingers are going to be there for real, up in Tommy's crack, and maybe--

"You okay?" Adam interrupts.

Tommy nods, teeth nipping at Adam's neck, nose butting up under his jaw sucking in Adam's scent, because, yeah. Breathing. Good idea. "Just thinking about you getting me naked," Tommy says, and Adam squeezes so hard Tommy worries for a second he's gonna break something.

"You can't just say stuff like that."

Tommy wriggles happily, making Adam fling a hand out to grab the dugout's frame. Tommy's legs are strong, though, and he has a good grip on Adam's waist, so he's in no danger of falling.

"Tryin' to fucking kill us both," Adam mutters.

But Tommy can hear him smiling. "You love it," he says.

Adam peels him off and plunks him down on the bench. Planning to climb in his lap, Tommy waits for Adam to sit down too, but instead Adam pushes him until he's lying down, and climbs between his thighs. "Oh," Tommy says, and grabs Adam's ass, pulling him closer.

Unlike the dugout at the town field where Tommy played little league one year--which struggled to hold even his tiny, seven-year-old, non-existent ass--this bench is wider than his shoulders, though he does have to drop one leg off the edge to make room for Adam's knees. He regrets making the room though, because that gives Adam enough balance to resist his tugging and stay hovering over him. "C'mon," Tommy complains. "Need you on me now. Fucking teasing me."

"Looking at you," Adam says. "'S a difference." He is looking, too, hands propped either side of Tommy's ribs holding him up enough he can look down their bodies to where Tommy's tenting out his jeans. "Love how you get hard for me."

"You can love it with your hand, y'know," Tommy points out. It's embarrassing sometimes when Adam stares at him like he's some kind of miracle and not just Tommy Joe. Easier when Adam's kissing him and Tommy doesn't feel on display.

Grabbing Adam's biceps, Tommy pulls himself up enough to make that happen. Luckily, Adam's as much a sucker for kisses as Tommy is, and that finally gets him lowering his weight onto Tommy's chest. And, more importantly, his dick. It's still pretty new, this having someone to rub up against, and Tommy's a little overenthusiastic at first, bangs their hipbones together painfully, but it hurts a lot less than having Adam's stomach and the edge of his dick to grind on feels good, so it barely slows him down. If Adam's trying to complain, he's not bothering to take his tongue out of Tommy's mouth to do it, so Tommy chooses to take the noises he's making as encouragement.

He finally finds a rhythm that feels like it might make him come if it doesn't stop, which of course means that's just what Adam does.

"What, why?" Tommy moans as Adam rolls to the side, squeezing between Tommy's hip and the back of the dugout. But then Adam's stroking up Tommy's thigh, nudging Tommy's nuts with his fingertips, stroking along his dick with his knuckles, and oh god, oh god, maybe Tommy's finally gonna get an actual hand job. Best day ever.

The feel of Adam's fingers on his fly sends Tommy surging up to Adam's mouth again, needing the distraction of teeth and tongues so he doesn't just nut before Adam even gets inside. It backfires though when Adam stops working at his buttons, his hand just settling hot and heavy over Tommy's junk as he grips Tommy's hair, tilts his head back and does his best to lick Tommy's tonsils.

"Unngg," Tommy says, trying to rub on Adam's hand, remind him that there's more going on here than kissing--amazing as that is. But Adam's leg is draped over Tommy's thigh, and Tommy can't get enough contact with the ground to get the leverage he needs to overcome Adam's weight. Then he remembers he has hands too, and he gets one down to join Adam's, get it moving.

Adam's fucking evil though, and as soon as he realizes Tommy's trying to get something more than what he's giving, he gives even less. His hand disappears to light on Tommy's inseam, and he stops kissing, using his mouth to smirk at Tommy's pout instead. Then Tommy realizes that leaves all his buttons uncovered, and he can open his own damn fly. He's not as quick with his left hand as he would be with his right, but a fucking desperate boner is a pretty good motivator, and by the time Adam realizes what he's doing, Tommy's got his hand in his briefs, shoving the waistband down with his wrist as he hauls his junk out the top.

That wipes the smirk right off Adam's face, replaces it with a sort of awed wonder.

"Gnnugh," Adam says.

Tommy thinks that pretty much sums it up. Except, "Gonna stare all day or get your fucking hand on my dick?" Tommy adds. Because seriously. Opportunity is hard to find around here.

"How are you even..." Adam trails off, but since he seems to be giving up speaking in favor of touching, Tommy's not complaining.

He's tentative at first, fingertips just brushing Tommy's belly, down low, just above his dick, then lower still, playing with the hair there, gripping just a little, giving it a tug. Tommy wonders if that's something Adam does, pulling his pubes while he jerks himself, wonders if there's a way he can get in Adam's pants from this angle, try it out, see if he likes it, but then Adam's wrapping his hand huge and hot around Tommy's prick, and Tommy's lucky to figure out how to hold onto the edge of the bench, never mind work a zipper. He's making do with the air already in his lungs, because every time he tries to breathe, all that happens is his stomach flips and his hips jerk.

"God, Tommy," Adam breathes. "Your fucking dick. Look at it."

Tommy can't look at it, because he would like his first hand job to last more than thirty-three seconds, and if he looks, that is so not gonna happen. He's got his eyes screwed shut, his fingers twisted so tight in the back of Adam's shirt that he's going to have red marks for ages, and he's still just barely holding on. When he whimpers like a fucking puppy, Adam speeds up, friction dry and too much, but so so good.

Then he stops, leaving Tommy straining upwards against the restricting weight of Adam's leg, but before Tommy can figure out how to form actual words to protest, his hand comes back, spit-wet and perfect.

Orgasm jackknifes Tommy off the bench to bury his face in Adam's neck, mouthing wet and sloppy over Adam's collar bone as he tries not to shout. Adam doesn't stop jerking him until he's shaking against Adam's chest, batting weakly at his wrist.

"Wanna do that every day," Adam says, flicking jizz onto the ground and smearing the rest on Tommy's ribs. "You are so fucking hot, my god."

Adam's view of which of them is the hot one seems a little skewed, but Tommy nods anyway, ready to agree to anything at all right now. He'd love to explain how he's gonna return the favor, any second, once he has feeling back in his fingers, but his jaw just works silently, fighting and losing against the grin taking over his face.

"So hot," Adam says again, and then he's tangling his come-smeared hand in Tommy's hair and kissing him like he wants to crawl inside Tommy's mouth.

When Adam lets go so he can go back to staring and grinning down at Tommy like a fool, Tommy tries the speaking thing again, this time managing a breathy, "I-- yeah."

"Definitely yeah," Adam agrees. "Yeah and wow. And three weeks til Mom starts her new job and won't be home til 5:30. Every night."

That's good. And amazing. And Tommy is so not waiting three weeks to do this again. Whatever. They'll figure it out.

"Can I?" he says, waving vaguely in the direction of Adam's dick. Adam blushes, which-- he just rubbed jizz in Tommy's hair without a second thought, what the hell is he blushing for?

"I, um," he says. "Sort of already?" He does a little squirmy thing that tightens his arms around Tommy and pulls him closer so all Tommy can see is his neck and the edge of his ear. It still takes a second for Tommy to get it.

"Dude, are you kidding? Jerking me off made you cream your shorts?" Tommy sounds delighted. Tommy is delighted. Not that Tommy doesn't want to get his hands on Adam's junk, because oh my god he does, but Adam fucking nutted himself touching Tommy's dick. That's awesome. "That's fucking awesome!" he adds, in case that was somehow unclear.

Adam releases him enough to look him in the face. "I think we should skip PE," he says.

Tommy thinks about going into the locker room, stripping off his shirt to reveal dried come on his chest with Adam standing next to him in jizz-soaked shorts. "Good plan." Totally worth detention.

The GSA is awesome, and the school board is supportive, but Tommy doesn't really want to share his first ever hand job with sixth period boys PE. Besides. They're fifteen. If they stick around a little longer, Adam will totally be ready to go again, and Tommy can be on the giving end of his second ever hand job.

"We're still getting homefries after school, though," Tommy insists. He slides a hand around Adam's waist, dips into the top of his jeans. "I plan to work up an appetite."

"I might," Adam says, "if you're very good, even let you buy me a milk shake."

Tommy loves milkshakes. Good thing he plans to be as good as possible.