Summer Spooktacular: Short Circuit

[bluezone]

From the very beginning, Aomine didn't like the withdrawn, insular, frequently absent yet faultless Tim Drake. The reasons at first were small and nebulous, mainly having to do with his own discomfort at the move to Gotham, the language barrier, the extremely shitty weather, and the even shittier basketball team that had nearly fallen over themselves in an effort to get him to join. He did, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he hated the city and he hated that the contract his parents - one Japanese, one Puerto Rican, both of them very skilled civil engineers - had signed would keep him here from the start of high school to all the way to its end. He got up surly and he went to bed surly and that meant that, at school, he was more than ready to find a reason to hate someone.

The first strike of Tim's: they were seated next to each other in nearly every class. It was plain bad luck that their subjects had so neatly lined up with one another.

The second strike: for whatever bizarre reason, Tim actually knew how to speak Japanese. That had put a quick end to Aomine's derisive comments to himself, especially when those flat, cool eyes would inevitably drift his way.

The third strike: his fucking attitude. His expression rarely changed and when it did, it was inevitably cold and unaffected, as if everything around him didn't matter, especially not the perpetually ill-tempered classmate that sat next to him.

The harassment was inevitable. A hard elbow or a knee as they passed each other, dropped books, spilled drinks, stolen lunches and supplies, nasty words spat in a language the teachers couldn't understand anyway, and a few confrontations where Aomine had tired to force a fight, despite better judgement and warnings. He was pent up, damn it, and if he was going to be stuck here, miserable and a thousand kilometers from all the shit that actually mattered to him, then somebody else, especially someone that just looked at him instead of fighting back, was going to be miserable, too. An outlet was an outlet, and everything else in his life actually benefitted from it, because with all his ire channeled toward Tim and Tim's expressionless face, his grades weren't so bad (shockingly) and his performance in games was as overwhelming as ever.

After three months, it was nearly routine, save for one thing: the absences.

Tim operated like any other sad loner with no friends, except there were days when he didn't show and nobody batted an eyelash. There were days when he left in the middle of class and nobody cared then, either. It drove Aomine fucking crazy. Why the hell could he just get away with it? Was it just his parent, or whatever? You couldn't live in Gotham and not know about Bruce Wayne, even if you made every effort not to pay attention, but it caused Aomine to bristle just the same, incised over an unfairness that didn't even technically apply to him.

That he would follow him one day was inevitable, too. The chosen day wasn't out of the ordinary; the afternoon was warm and breezy, pleasant with spring. There was still an hour of class, but a lie about using the restroom was all he needed to leave scant minutes after Tim had just gotten up and walked out.

He'd follow him, wherever he was going. He'd see it finally, whatever it was that he was doing.

Comments

[bluezone]

Aomine shuddered from one end of his body to the other when Tim drew his mouth away, every inch of his dick tingling and warm and oh so vulnerable in the cool night air. He couldn't yell at him, not this time; aftershocks were still rolling silently through his body, each one making his thoughts swim and his heart thud.

It had been good. Wait -

"You're...crazy. I'm...nnahhh, ah...," he began, and trailed off into a breathless gasp, his hips bouncing the slightest bit as pleasure darted along his nerves. With so much of his body slack and after Tim had been so diligent with his fingers, most of the pain had vanished. The press and slide of his fingers was strange, wholly unfamiliar, but it wasn't bad. Aomine had to bite his lip to stop another damning noise from escaping him when he felt himself suddenly very empty; he ached once he was gone, ached for the pressure and the thrill. "Hold...hold on, wait--"

Tim wasn't waiting. Aomine was treated to an up close view of his chest - pale, chiseled, seemingly perfect, those awful, bloody holes still covered by the rest of his suit - and then of his bare dick. It wasn't the first time he'd seen another boy's junk; locker rooms weren't exactly private. It was just the first time he'd seen a hard cock that wasn't his own, paler and flushed at the end, wet, and even with his mind hazed over and red thick on his face, Aomine abruptly realized where this was going. It was obvious enough; he was moving, being pulled and lifted, going from a vertical position to a mainly horizontal one, legs spread and ass up, his balls rolling up to rest against the base of his shaft and his slick, loose hole exposed for all the world - for Tim - to see. One last, shameful surge of embarrassment hit him, choked off most his protests, and his heart rocked wildly behind his ribs.

They touched, warm skin to warm skin, and he jumped. Tim moved, and he sucked in a ragged breath, his asshole twitching visibly. Then came the forward motion, the push -

Tim's dick was different from Tim's fingers. Bigger, fuller, velvety and hot, and while there was discomfort, a noticeable and memorable stretching, the painfulness was bearable, almost stimulating, and that was what finally got his lips parted again.

"Fuck, oh fu...ck..."

He moaned the words, voice heavy with arousal, both leftover and new, and a distinct distress, even as his ass accepted more and more of Tim's cock, giving instead of resisting. There could have been many reasons why it was so easy: all of Tim's hard work, his own exhaustion, the endorphins swimming in his blood, but the fact remained that he was losing his virginity one smooth, hot inch at a time.

[notlikeanyone]

It was an amazing view, and of course that had been Tim's intent in having the robotic tentacles move Aomine into that position; not only was it easier for him to penetrate him at this angle, not only would it feel better for both of them, but it was visually deeply pornographic. And that was something that Aomine had to be aware of, the lewdness of his body, so intensely exposed for Tim to see, the threat of public shame permeating this only relatively private rooftop. There was a part of him that found the mild humiliation of his bully to be satisfying, and beyond that, appealing on a level he shouldn't be able to experience, but it was Aomine's reaction to that humiliation that was most appealing. The way he choked on his protests, the heated, shameful flush burning through his skin, the way his heart pounded as his situation sank in... all of it was gratifying and oddly, perversely attractive.

All of it was because of him.

"You look good like this. Spread open for me, flushed and wanting..." It was just as blunt and honest as before, but edged with something approaching softness, almost warmth, a tone that was unfamiliar enough to sound alien as it came out of his mouth. That intonation was sincere, but it was also just as manipulative as the mild cocktail of drugs that he was slowly leaking in place of pre-come as he pressed into Aomine, one steady, inexorable inch at a time.

He kept pressing, pushing, until he was sunk into Aomine to the hilt, and then just - stayed there, letting him get used to the feeling of being filled. "You're so hot and tight, Aomine," he said it slowly, deliberately, with a slight note of surprise, and slid his hands around to grasp Aomine's ass as he spoke, squeezing and massaging firmly. "It's like you're sucking me in. You really were hungry for me, weren't you? Hungry to be filled, to feel this good."

As his hands were busy, one tentacle slid down to wrap around Aomine's cock instead, the cool metal coiling quickly around him and starting to squeeze and undulating, stroking him by applying pressure in just the right way. "To be this tight... is this your first time? You haven't even used your fingers on yourself, have you? And yet you like this so much... you like having me inside you so much, you're getting hard again already, aren't you?" He worked his hips in a slow circle, just grinding inside of Aomine, shifting his cock inside of him and making sure to rub against his prostate as much as possible in the process.

[bluezone]

"Don't - "

Aomine turned his head to the side and tried to close his eyes; he tried, one last time, to shut out the whole situation. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he wasn't supposed to be tied spread-eagle on a rooftop with another man filling him to the brim. He wasn't supposed to be shivering from head to foot, his face deeply flushed and his thighs twitching and flexing every time he so much as took a breath or squirmed in the slightest. He wasn't supposed to be able to feel every damn inch of him, a strange, hot, pressing weight, faintly painful but mainly good, even when they were just standing together like that, locked together. It was so good that it scared him.

"Say shit - "

He gulped in deep breaths of air, and fought against the tight, needy cry that trembled in his throat when coolness slid around his dick. He would've thought that he was too tired to even so much as feel anything out of his tingling, sensitive cock, but there it went again, throbbing hotly, sending stabs of pleasurable sensation down into his hips and through his body. He twisted the slightest bit, too exhausted to put up real resistance, but lustful, needy strength was coming from somewhere (from the chemicals that had by then entered his bloodstream, not that he could have known) and it was barely any time at all before he was on his way to another erection.

"Like that..."

But no matter what he said, or what he thought - I'm not, I wasn't, I don't, you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong - it felt like what Tim was saying was true. The mild discomfort was fading quickly, and was gone the instant Tim began to move, guiding him with pleasantly squeezing hands and pressing hips. That foreign weight stretched and shaped him, new and shocking, and his body jumped to feel that surge of increasingly familiar delight, his ass feeding pleasure to all the rest of him.

"Ah, ah, fuck, my...!" He bit down his words, or tried to, because they revealed too much.

They told the world that he did like it, that he was hard again already, that every little thing Tim did made his heart pound.