Archive of Our Own

As Christmas of 1991 passes, Brian can’t say he feels any lighter with the truth. 

It’s more like extra baggage, a carryon, something that tugs his whole self down as though the gravitational force has decided to change just for him. Jupiter has pretty strong gravity, if those textbooks he hunched over are anything of substance. Galileo was sent out back in ‘89, Brian thinks it's supposed to arrive at the planet soon. A year or so, give or take. He’ll know more about Jupiter and its gravity then, and if what he feels now is anything comparable. 

“Christ,” He hears in front of him, “Hurry up, man.”

Oh, yeah. Neil. McCormick. That’s a thing now. He’s on the other side of the window they snuck through earlier, only now Neil is pulling him through while Brian’s body is locked up. 

There are keys jingling from the front door behind him, which is almost enough for him to get his legs to move. Almost, but not quite enough. It’s not the carolers, he’s sure. They’d left a while ago. The sound of the door opening echoes through the hall, there’s kids voices, a concerned mother, Brian can’t get himself to move. 

He’s heavy. Too heavy. How it would’ve been better if it were aliens. 

It’s the phantom sound of some extraterrestrial whirring that pushes him to make his way through the window completely. Brian falls on his left shoulder first, right at Neil’s tattered sneakers. The shock of the hard ground against his side is barely felt. When he sees blood splattered by his cheek, he’s aware from consistency alone that it isn’t from his shoulder. 

Brian swipes at his nose and wipes the blood on his pants, then he does it again as he steps up to his feet. It’s frantic, the way he rubs the skin between his nose and lips raw until he’s sure there’s nothing wet and thick settled there anymore. His hands now look more the mess than his own face should’ve, than how his shoulder probably feels. There’s this fog that clouds his physical nerves, enough so that he’s sure something will be felt in the morning, or whenever he wakes up next. Whenever some nightmare rips him out of slumber shaking, again. 

Neil looks at him unsurely, wavering and unsteady. He has his hand extended out like he’s about to comfort him, or something. Then, the backyard lights click on and Neil turns to run instead. Brian follows after him, tripping over the plastic building blocks on the way. He almost falls forward, but he catches himself on the corner of the house. 

He’d done that before, ten years ago, he remembers now. He fell straight onto his face and made his nose bleed for the first time. It hits him like drowning, just like it had minutes ago. A truck would’ve been easier, a quick hit and then it’s done. It’s like he can fill his lungs getting filled with saltwater, the burn in his chest grows and has been growing since he laid down on Neil’s lap. 

It’s kinda like playing tag, chasing after Neil like this. Like a game. All right, here are the rules. First, I-

“Where-” Brian coughs, swallowing down whatever's building in his throat, “Where are we goin’?” 

Neil looks back over his shoulder to meet Brian’s eyes. Though, he can’t really, not when they’re both running so unsteadily. It’s only when they’re a sizable distance away that he responds, palms to his knees as he pants. The adrenaline still kicks its shot in Brian’s chest, heart thudding and face buzzing. 

“Fuckin’- home. Go home, Brian,” Neil breathes, refusing to look back at him again, “Isn’t this what you wanted? Why you showed up at my house in the first place?” 

Brian’s lip trembles, he shrugs. He swears there’s still the flickering of the UFO light cascading down around them, he’d remembered it so clearly. 

Neil groans, shaking his head, “My bad, this wasn’t-” He huffs and whips his hand out in a frenzied gesture, “Perfect, for you. God, why’d you have to go digging, Lackey? Why’d you-” He looks over at Brian, shaking, they’re both shaking, “Fuck, man.” 

“S’rry,” Brian mumbles, then he clears his throat, “Sorry,” He means. 

Neil’s lip twitches, “Don’t say that. Don’t say you’re sorry.” 

He’s about to say okay, sorry before he catches himself. Right. Right. Instead, he settles on, “Is Eric g’nna be back?”

It’s a genuine question. They’d been given half an hour. Surely, that much has gone by now. 

Like he’d made it come into being, two lights turn the corner up the street and there’s Eric’s car. Neil rubs at his face, Brain does the same for the lingering specks of blood. 

He rubs at the liquid between his fingers as the car pulls up in front of them. Eric’s saying something concerned, the way he usually does whenever Neil’s concerned. Neil turns around the side to get in the passengers seat, Brian clicks the back doors latch. 

He catches only the end of Neil’s sentence before he hops in the seat, “...d’ve stuck with th’ aliens.”

“Yeah,” He mumbles. He should have. 

-

“Dude. Why are you at my house again?” 

Neil answers the door in a huff, yanking it open and narrowing his eyes at Brian. 

“I need help,” Brian admits, swallowing down any shame he might’ve built up every step of the way to the door. 

Neil laughs, “Obviously.” 

“No, not like-” Brian pauses, looks over Neil’s shoulders to the hall behind him, “Is your mom home?”

“Nah, she works til 9 tonight,” Neil’s elbow holds itself on the doorframe, his eyes flick up and down over Brian’s body, “Why?” 

Brian shuffles his feet, he rocks side to side, “Can I, uh- come in?” 

Neil sighs, long and dramatic. “Ye-up,” He replies, moving to the side to make some space for him. 

Brian’s been here before, back when he’d first shown up at the doorstep. When Neil’s mother and Eric had coincidentally just returned from dropping Neil off at the bus stop for New York. When he’d just missed the chance to talk. Though, it hadn’t been all that bad, not seeing Neil for quite some time. Not only discovering that Eric had been attending the same public university as Brian, but he also decided to try and take the chance at a kind of friendship with the man. It was nice to talk to the guy for a while, especially with all that went down with Avalyn. To have a friend that didn’t want something from him, one that didn’t shove his hand into a cow’s gut all the way to the elbow, and goddamn it I did-

He never would’ve gotten drunk for the first time, too. He’d felt giddy, light. 

“It looks nice in here,” Brian makes up, “Like… organized.” 

Neil’s eyebrows scrunch, “Uh, it looks like shit.” Then, when the door is shut behind them and they’re both standing awkwardly in the hall, “So- what? You need ‘help’?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh- kay,” Neil drawls, “What do you need me for, then? Is it a…” He looks Brian up and down again, “...Sex thing? Because if it is-”

“No, I-” Brian starts to interrupt. 

“Because if it is,” Neil leans back against the wall, “You should know I usually charge for that.” 

There’s a lot of things Brian probably could say. Whether or not, “Usually?” Is one of those better responses is undecided. 

“Sometimes a guy just feels right,” Neil shrugs, “Can’t put a price on that, man.” 

“I guess.” 

Neil turns around, his eyes keep him pinned until he’s completely 180’d. When he walks down the rest of the hall, Brian follows absent-mindedly. The walls are chipping away with age, there’s framed photos hanging crookedly, off-balance and unstable- like they’d fall with a nudge. 

They end up in Neil’s bedroom, and it's not what Brian expected, but he’s not totally surprised either. Neil doesn’t say anything as he pulls his shirt over his head, Brian’s eyes catch on the rounded edges of his spine poking out. He also sees bruises- faded, though still there- lingering down his sides. Neil did say he got mugged on the way back, though Brian’s belief in that is dissipating by the minute. 

Brian still hovers, all out of place by the bed, as Neil gets to work on his jeans. His thin fingers poke the button through, his nails catch on the material, Brian never said he’d needed sex. It’s good that Neil came to that conclusion on his own, especially without any flak other than the supposed price. 

Because Brian really didn’t want to ask for it.

Once Neil makes himself completely bare, he avoids Brian’s eyes and lays back against the bed. His hands come to rest behind his head, leaving his arms extended out like the Triangulum Australe, the Three Patriarchs, made up of Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Trianguli Australis. He has a poster of it on his wall- had, a poster of it. He’d ripped it to shreds on that night, shoved it into the trash can as far deep as it could go so he’d never have to face it again. 

Neil doesn’t seem intent on doing anything but laying flat over the messy covers. His breaths come irregularly, the rise and fall of his chest, like he’s trying hard not to breathe too fast or too noticeable. 

“Neil…” Brian fiddles with his sleeve, “I don’t- uhm. I haven’t…”

Neil looks down past his own body to Brian, his eyes twitch in disbelief, as though the notion of Brian not fooling around is scandalous in of itself. He lifts himself up with his arms so that his shoulders dig up by his ears, a silent sigh along with the action. 

He makes an almost pouting face up at Brian, before leaning forward to bring his hands up to Brian’s belt. Neil gets the buckle undone and the strap pulled entirely out by the time Brian stops him, with trembling hands he smacks his fingertips over Neil’s nails. He doesn’t mean to be so aggressive with it, like he had with Avalyn, but the sensation of warmth over his crotch shoots something sharp into his throat. 

Neil pulls his head back, relaxes his shoulders, but his hands still hover over Brian’s pants. He has a faint smirk ghosting over his face, his undereyes catch the shadow so strangely at this angle, like the man hasn’t slept for days. Some of the illusion must be rooted in truth. 

“So,” Neil starts, “What do you want? What do you need ‘help’ with?” 

Brian pushes his glasses up with his pointer, his other hand also falls away from Neil’s. “I just,” He swallows like it will make this any less horrible, “I need you to show me.”

Neil bites his lip coyly, “Yeah? Show you what?” 

“What it was like. Back then.” 

Back then. He doesn’t need to explain it, because Neil already knows. Brian can see the subtle shifts, the curl in his lip, the twitch in his arms, the catch in his air. What Brian knows is that Neil won’t turn it down, by those exact same signs. 

Neil tightens his grip on the loops of Brian’s jeans and tugs him forward. The yank pulls him over Neil’s side, landing on the bed near the pillows. The rough jostling makes his pants scrape against his hips, rough, gritty, like something that’s been digging at his brain for a decade. 

Neil tugs him closer so that just his waist juts out. Brian tries to kick his shoes off, more so for the sake of manners than a need to undress, but Neil stops him. He grabs just under the knee of Brian’s left leg and pushes it away from his right. 

When Brian looks up at him, confused, Neil only explains, “Who do you think undressed you?” Then, he adds, “‘Back then’,” In a way that’s supposed to be mocking, but just sounds painful. 

Brian understands, swallows, and nods. He fixes his glasses as Neil tugs his sneakers off, still so uncovered in comparison to Brian’s still remaining layers. 

He gets to Brian’s coat next, crawling up over him to gently pull at the lapels. “You didn’t wear a jacket because it was summer,” He says like reporting, pulling it down and off of Brian’s body, “It was a real fuckin’ hot one, do you remember?” 

“Yeah.” He does, he remembers sitting outside on his own, waiting for a UFO to return to him, to give him some solid proof it was real. He remembers eventually returning back inside, sweating despite barely even moving, taking a quick, quiet, cold shower and hoping his father wouldn’t notice. 

“It was raining that night,” Neil continues, tossing the coat off of the side of the bed, “We were soaked before anything’d even happened.” He chuckles under his breath, like it’s just so funny. It doesn’t sound like he finds it to be anything but agony, but Neil’s doing a good job at covering it up. 

“I remember,” Brian croaks, staring through Neil’s eyes. 

He grabs Brian’s hand and brings it so his palm rests just over his chest, right where it filters into his neck. The skin there is warm and clammy, he can feel the beat of Neil’s heart, fast like a rabbit’s. “He undressed me first. Always me first, so I could ease you into it.” 

Brian’s pointer digs into his jugular, feeling through the give as he presses harder. The only resistance his finger faces are the breaths that expand his throat. Neil lets him keep his hand there while he slips his own under Brian’s shirt. 

It’s just touching, there’s nothing inherently sexual about anything they’re doing yet, save for the way Neil is wholly exposed below the waist. But, Brian hasn’t been paying attention to that, only to the way skin feels close to him, the touch he gives and the one he gets. 

Neil’s hand retracts and joins his other at the buttons of Brian’s shirt. Brian doesn’t watch, so he doesn’t know exactly how Neil does it, but it feels stable enough. The times between each button are consistent and even, a slight rush between the 4th and 5th, but that could be blamed on impatience. 

The slight chill of the air makes the blond hairs on his chest bristle as his shirt is pulled aside. He squirms his arms around to assist in Neil’s removal of it, for it then to be tossed in the same direction of his coat. Neil splays his palms unto Brian’s chest, tracing the smooth surface with his rough skin all the way down to his waist. 

“I took your shirt off first, only then it wasn’t a button up, was it?” He asks, not expecting an answer, “It was a Little League uniform. Covered in dirt from all those times you fucked up an easy play, right?” 

“Mhm,” Brian mumbles, focusing on keeping his heart rate steady. 

“But he helped me with your pants,” Neil recalls, unlatching the button and pulling down the zipper, “My hands were too small, too weak. I could never get it right on my own.” He explains as he goes, pulling down Brian’s pants down to his knees, then moving back to take them totally off. Once again, they’re thrown to the side. 

Something pulls at his memory, something seems wrong. 

“This is… out of order,” Brian admits. Here are the rules-

Neil tilts his head, “How?”

“You kissed me before you took my clothes off,” Brian swallows, “Both of you.” 

Neil shakes his head, purses his lips, “Right, how could I forget the rules? First, I kiss you.”

He leans down and hesitates, not for very long, but more than a second and thus enough to notice when so close together. Neil’s mouth is rough against his, dry lips and an invading tongue almost immediately upon contact. He digs his way in, like biting, with teeth. Brian feels himself get caught in it, so much so that when Neil pulls away, Brian tries to follow. 

“...Then you kiss me back,” Neil adds, looming over him. Waiting. 

It’s a bit difficult from this angle, to push up his head and seek back that awaiting mouth. He still manages, though clumsy and strained. It’s longer than the one before, and much easier once Brian eases his head back down to the pillows and Neil follows after instead of giving up. Like this, wet and stressed, Brian can feel a pair of eyes on him from across the room, just like he had before. He wonders if Neil feels the same sensation. 

When they break apart again, a line of split lingering in the inch of space between, Neil says, “Then it’s his turn. But he was more difficult, bigger than you. It was hard to get your mouths to fit together, for his tongue to feel right.” So, making do, Neil kisses him again. Only this time, he wedges his thumb in and uses it to pull Brian’s jaw down. It makes it accommodating for extra space that doesn’t need to be filled. 

Brian squirms, makes a noise that causes Neil to pull back, whimpering puppy sound that Coach always loved. They both know, it doesn’t need to be touched on anymore than it’s already been. 

Neil crawls backwards so that his arms cushion Brian’s hips. His hands peel at the top of Brian’s boxers and tug, slowly exposing more and more until there’s nothing left to reveal. The last article of clothing is tossed over the edge, surely into a messy pile.

“He’d sucked you off,” Neil whispers, breath teasing at Brian’s thigh, “Remember how he did it? How much ground he could cover?” 

Neil doesn’t seem the least bit disappointed in Brian’s total lack of physical arousal, the limp appendage versus Neil’s open, firm and bobbing with every motion. He still mouths at the sensitive skin, he still cradles the underside of it and eases the flesh into his mouth. It’s warm, and it’s a lot. Brian jolts and his legs stick out, but Neil holds them down and continues further. The only reason blood starts to rush south is from the standard wetness and heat, not to undermine Neil’s sure years-built skill. When he begins to fill out is when Neil pulls back, smirking as he rubs up and down, “My mouth had been too small before, only he could go all the way. Guess I just needed a few more years, huh?” 

Brian grimaces as he continues, hands moving all across his body and lips gaining back up his throat and face. 

“I whispered in your ear, I asked you, ‘Is it fun? Are you having fun?’” Neil’s free hand presses against the other side of Brian’s face, turns it over so they’re cheek to cheek, warm body to warm body. He bites at Brian’s jaw, “I tried to get you to tell him, but you didn’t. You didn’t say anything, did you? Your eyes were closed and you were barely even payin’ attention.”

Brian mumbles something, his eyes closed just like they were before.

“Were you having fun, Brian? Did you like it?”

Brian squirms again, more of a reflex, an instinct. It comes out breathy, weak and shaky, “No.” 

Neil pulls away and moves to straddle him, no longer leaning over his side. “Then, the five dollar game. I know you remember that part.”

He winces, the five dollars was mine if I could ram-

“Yeah, you do,” Neil sighs and shifts so that their crotches meet, Brian jumps again, “But he’s not here tonight, so we can’t do that. This is close enough, I think.” 

Neil scoops them both up into his palms and wastes not a second in creating a janky pace. It’s a little too dry in the important places and a little too wet in others, nothing about it feels right, correct, healthy. Neil’s question, “How does it make you feel now?” Leads to such being verbalized. 

“Bad,” Brian keens, hips arching up despite his answer, “Filthy. Wrong. Extraterrestrial.” 

“Ain’t that the ten-dollar word,” Neil pants. He traces his fingers across Brian’s cheek, just like the aliens- the coach, had done. 

Brian feels the familiar throbbing sensation in his nose and sniffles, hoping it's a false alarm or that it’ll just go away, though those are ridiculous wishes. He should’ve known this would happen, there’s no way it wouldn’t have. He hopes Neil doesn’t take notice, at least, as he swipes at the blood pooling over his mouth. It trails down his cheek and touches Neil’s thumb, the motions slow. 

For the first time tonight, Neil fully halts. His hand, though still holding them together, loses its grip and motion, loosening. “Do you- should we stop?”

“No!” Brian snaps, wiping the side of his fist across the blood again, more aggressively, “No, don’t stop. Please, don’t. I need to-” He sniffles, some of the blood sticks to his nose, “I need to see this through.” 

Neil looks down to him, pitying, or as much as Neil McCormick could pity. He nods silently, breathing in deep before looking back between them, resuming the previous pace. 

It’s not sweet or beautiful or life-changing when Brian does eventually let go in Neil’s hold, instead, the friction hurts and the shame never sets in afterwards because it was always there. It’s a release in the sense that they’re done, that it’s over, as if he didn’t not-ask for it in the first place. 

Neil, who had finished much earlier, rolls off of him and falls to the side. They’re shoulder to shoulder like this, both breathing heavy. Brian’s started crying at some point, and he’d only realized it wasn’t just more blood when Neil had winced and wiped the moisture from his undereyes. 

Eventually, he falls asleep. And eventually, he wakes up. Neil is prominently not next to him, nor is he even in the room, probably not even in the house. Brian wipes at his face, finding a mix of blood and tears mixing on his palm when he finally lets himself look. He wipes it on his leg and turns to the side, trying to find the alarm clock. Instead, something else there, something else is left for him.

On the nightstand is a crumpled five dollar bill, a speck of blood and something sticky that he could probably name at another time are stained into it. There’s no note, nothing along with the money, but Brian still collects it as he puts his clothes back on in a rush. 

Because they don’t need to talk about it, because they never will.