Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The early morning sky is splattered with clouds, and leaves lightly layer the ground with shades of rogue and sepia. A fairly large building is in the near distance, contrasting its uninteresting grey concrete structure with the vividness of the trees and sky surrounding it. Andrew wonders about this scenery as he stands on the sidewalk in front of his new school. He clutches his schedule anxiously, watching the file of students into the main doors. He debates whether he should enter, whether he’s ready to graduate his naivety and join the society of which he could have only dreamed of a few years ago.

Things will be better this time around though, he knows it. He’s older, smarter, more mature than his days back in middle school. He’ll waste no time catching As in his music electives and fine-tuning his piano skills to a T, by the time he’s a senior-

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

Andrew jumps at the interruption of his thoughts, looking rearwardly to catch a glimpse of the man behind him, and oh wow. He was certainly a man, a tall and lookful brunet. He leans down slightly to give Andrew an amused look, his elliptical half-moon glasses sitting perfectly atop his nose.

“I- uh..”

Andrew is suffocating on his words before they’ve even started, but the tall handsome guy keeps himself collected with ease.

“The tardy bell is 10 minutes away, take your time.” The man teases, his smile growing ever so slightly.

“Sorry, I’m-”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Andrew laughs awkwardly, his voice cracking somewhat.

“I can help you get to your homeroom,” the taller one offers. “I know the freshmen are given a map of the school, but it’s not all that helpful.”

“That, would be great. Thank- Thank you.”

The taller man smiles sympathetically at Andrew, and steps forward to clear the distance between them. “Let’s go, then. Mind giving me your schedule?”

Andrew quickly hands him the paper, which he holds closer to his face and nods at.

“Oh, I know where that is. C’mon.”

He leads Andrew into the building quickly, glancing at the room numbers as they pass crowds of students chattering about the start of the school year and their happenings over the summer. Of course, this was quite overwhelming to Andrew, who’d never even seen the interior of the high school. He stares at the fuzzy fluorescent lights above him and the yellowing ceiling; this place is definitely a bit old.

The two arrive at Andrew’s homeroom, and the taller one gives Andrew’s shoulder a pat.

“Alright, we’re here, need anything else before I head off?” he asks.

Andrew really wants to ask his name. That would be fantastic, just something to call him. Despite this thought, nerves get the best of him. He couldn’t possibly ask a random person who just showed him his homeroom class who they are. It isn’t even like they’re going to see each other again.

Andrew shakes his head, and the man hands him his schedule back. He gives a little wave and strides off, leaving Andrew to fend for himself.

Homeroom and first period is a blur, and so is second and third. Andrew is trying to memorize his schedule, but all he can think about was the lookful man that he had talked to. He hopes he sees him again, he hopes to God.

Fourth period is a mixed choir class, so students from every grade amassed in the spacious classroom. Risers towering four levels were placed in the middle of the room, with a grand piano some feet in front of them. Some people were sitting, others standing to chatter with their friends about the same-old, same-old. Andrew sat down in a secluded-looking space on the top riser, and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, in came the choir teacher, as if on cue. He wasn’t too tall, probably having a couple inches on Andrew but not much more. He’s dressed in a soft jade-colored dress shirt and bronze pants. His shoes are black and shiny, not unlike polished rubber. He claps twice loudly, and everyone seems to settle down immediately.

“Morning everyone!” He chimes. “My name is Mr. Anderson, and I’d like to start the period by congratulating our seniors for this year. Guys, come up!”

Only 4 or 5 people move to stand at the front of the room, and Andrew cranes his neck to catch a glance at them:

Three girls, two blonde and one dark brunette, and two guys, one-

HOLY SHIT!

Andrew’s eyes go wide as he recognizes the dashingly man who showed him to his homeroom class up at the front. Cheers ring out from the other students and he catches an “I love you, Rob!!” from some other male student. It was quite amusing, actually, to see so much praise for these people. Andrew doesn’t stand up, but he claps, for the older one.

After all that commotion, Mr. Anderson addresses each by name:

“Sophie, Lottie, you two will be in charge of helping the soprano and second soprano sections…” The two blondes squeal at each other and jump up in down in unison at this.

“Juno, you’ll be helping the altos…” The Juno girl nods at the teacher, her expression not showing a hint of surprise or enthusiasm. Her eyes glowed though, with a sheen like sunlight through a bubble or onto an iridescent handbag.

“… And Rob and Ross, you’ll be helping with the tenor and barry parts!” Anderson announces, and the aforementioned Rob and Ross high five each other. Andrew enjoys the overly enthused face of the taller guy and his friend. He wasn’t exactly sure which was named Rob and which was Ross, though.

After that clamor, Andrew catches the taller man’s eye and he hops up on the risers next to him.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” He tells him.

Andrew tries to breathe properly, but surrounded by so many still chattering people, it feels like he’s being smothered.

“Hey—” He chokes out, beaming.

“Y’know, I never got your name, what is it?” the other one asks.

“I’m… Andrew.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Andrew,” he says, holding out his hand for the younger one to take.

As Andrew reaches out to feel their hands connect, he continues: ”My name’s Rob.”

Andrew sits cross-legged on a chair in Rob’s porch, while the older one stands over the railing, cigarette in hand. Andrew gazes at the rails Rob places his arm on so subtly, the chipped white paint peeling off to reveal old, rotting wood. Several small burns, assumedly from previous smokes, remain scattered on the top and side, giving that selection of rail the appearance of some fucked-up birch log. Rob’s glasses are sitting atop the railing to his left, carelessly half-folded. Andrew studies his eyes, the way he’s zoning out and taking slow, methodical drags. Does the golden late afternoon sun intrigue him as much as it does Andrew?

There’s an old maple tree in Rob’s front yard. Its roots poke in and out of the ground sporadically, like the legs of a larger spider scuttle along rough patches of grass. The roots transform into brittle bark that snakes up the tree into its thick and sturdy branches which house deficient foliage, loosened by the autumn chill.

“Will your parents come by tonight?” asks Andrew, eyeing Rob’s blank stare.

The taller one turns around to face him and shrugs, tilting his head to one side. “Probably not. Are you planning to stay the night?”

“My dad said I could, so yeah.”

“Very well, then.” Rob nods and turns away again.

Andrew unfolds his legs to stand up, huffing slightly. He steps over to Rob’s right and leans both of his elbows on the porch railing. It annoys him quite a bit that the other one doesn’t seem to want to be any closer to him. Rob doesn’t move a muscle, but he senses Andrew’s presence.

“Do you want to take a hit?” He asks, switching the cigarette effortlessly from his left to his right hand, offering it to Andrew.

“I don’t… I’ve never smoked before..” he replies, leaning away from the thing.

“You should try. Takes the edge off of things,” Rob smiles down at him, eyes half-lidded.

So many PSAs Andrew’s watched over the dangers of smoking and lung disease, addiction and such. He wasn’t sure if he should accept. If he did, it would be essentially a death sentence— he can’t do that, can he?

“Hah, I can’t-”

“Come on Andrew,” Rob interrupts. “It isn’t going to kill you to know what it’s like.” His expression is teasing, but his tone was far from playful. Andrew realizes that in order to get closer to this individual, he would have to take the cigarette, so he does. He’s not quite sure what to do with it as Rob glowers down on him, so he just holds it between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Do… Do you even know how to smoke?” Rob chuckles. Andrew shakes his head in response, ashamed over the matter.

“I-”

“Shhh,” Rob cuts him off again, and takes the cigarette out of his hand, fingers brushing against fingers.

“Here, let me show you how,” he whispers, placing the cigarette near Andrew’s lip. The younger one takes it in reluctantly, absorbing the initial feeling of having something in his mouth that had been in Rob’s less than a minute ago. His calloused, rather sizable hand makes contact with Andrew’s jawline, softly cupping his face in one hand. The sensation of being felt by someone who captured his heart so quickly crammed Andrew with butterflies and overwhelming nausea. This is so embarrassing, he thinks, blinking hard once.

“Inhale…” Rob murmurs, eyes focused on the shorter one’s face as he takes a breath in through the cigarette. The feeling was both warm and unpleasant, gross and suffocating, further nauseating. In a panic to expel this strange suffocation, Andrew pulls back and chokes out a cough, taking in full breaths of air and coughing again, over and over. Rob startles at this and rests his hand on Andrew’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Hey, breathe…” He articulates softly as the other one leans over and sputters. “…It’s gonna be alright, just take deep breaths...”

This consolation seems to work on Andrew, as he sighs, straightens his posture, and glances up at the other. He’s still panting, but not with as much panic.

“I know, the first time is always gross. I should’ve warned you about that,” Rob tells him, squeezing his shoulder before parting his own hand and resting it back by his side.

“No, it’s okay, it just surprised me…” Andrew responds, offering an uneasy smile. Irrespective of his mouth, Andrew’s eyes speak to Rob:

Please do that again, please touch me again, touch me, touch me.

Such a pleading look, and Rob’s rendered oblivious. He takes a drag of his cigarette and a glance outside the porch again.

“It’s getting a bit late. Do you mind coming inside?” he asks Andrew, who nods, thus signaling him to open the screen door to let both of them in. Andrew takes in his immediate surroundings:

The very start of Rob’s house is a narrow entryway with a low ceiling and old yellow walls. A few plainly black umbrellas sit in a vase by the front of the door, and vibrant drawings haphazardly taped to the wall further down juxtapose the stuffy flavor of the place. Rob closes the door behind them and moves past Andrew, leading the way to a living room. The space houses a medium-sized flatscreen TV mounted to the wall, and a maroon couch that appears both dusty and plush, one you would sink into easily. Mostly empty bookshelves line the walls, decorative things placed on them becoming more apparent when Rob turns on the incandescent light bulbs that give warmth to the room.

“It isn’t much, I know,” Rob admits, looking back at Andrew.

“I like it.”

“Really?” Rob smiles softly. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Well, I do. It’s quaint and cozy-looking,” Andrew tells him.

“You have a point there. The couch is a very nice place to get comfortable, if you want to do that sometime.”

If you want to… do that… sometime??

Andrew isn’t sure whether Rob is insinuating anything by this, but he doesn’t ask. If Rob wants to touch him in any way, he’d let him do it eagerly, without hesitation.

Unsurprisingly, Andrew had been unquestioning of this 18-year-old’s interest in him. That is, until he finds himself on Rob’s lap. On top of Rob’s lap, facing him, straddling his waist as he smokes on that old red couch, some unimportant movie playing in the background.

“Andrew…” Rob mumbles, putting out his cigarette on the couch and letting it fall in between the cushions. Shameful. Shameful, shameful, shameful. “You’re such a good boy, you know that?”

Andrew nods. He nods because sitting here feels new and good and sensual, and Rob’s stare is piercing and it feels so good to feel like an adult. Rob’s hands reach around him to lean forward and to snake his hands under Andrew’s shirt and up his back. Fingertips cool to the touch surprise the younger one, hitching his breath.

“Feel that?” Rob mutters, to which Andrew replies, “Mmhmm.”

“Lean down, would you?”

Andrew tenses, unsure of his intentions. Rob passes him a disconcerted look.

“You trust me… Right, Andrew?” His hands stop caressing the other’s back, just resting there as his hands adjust further to the warmth radiating off Andrew.

“I trust you.”

“Then come here,” Rob asserts, pushing Andrew into his mouth without a further thought.

Andrew’s been kissed before. On the cheek or the top of his head by his father, a carefully placed embrace by a girl who liked him in elementary school. He’d never been really kissed though, with as much force or fervor as Rob is kissing him right now. So much careful pressure applied against his lips, almost overwhelming, suffocating him as Rob snakes his hand up further to hold Andrew’s head against his. Finally, Rob pulls back, and he’s gasping, laughing, and Andrew understands why people need to pull back for air when they kiss like this.

They kind of just gaze at each other after this, Rob affectionately and Andrew astonishedly.

“That was good, huh?” the older one murmurs.

Andrew nods in agreement. “That was good.”

Chapter Text

“You’ve really never had anyone kiss you like that?”

11:50 pm, the clock on Rob’s side table displays.

“No.”

“I’m delighted to be your first.”

Andrew leans his head against a pillow as Rob spoons him in his bed. No moonlight nor artificial light leaks through his window; only the dim glower of Rob’s digital clock he could see, and that barely. Rob’s head rests only a few inches from the back of Andrew’s, just so he could feel the warmth of the older one’s breath through his hair and down his neck. It was soothing, almost sedative, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement from that first kiss. To Andrew’s dismay, they spent their time afterwards idle, only rising from the couch to move to the bed; apart from a fleeting, unsatisfactory kiss from Rob before they relaxed into the position they’re in now.

“Do you love me?” the younger one questions softly.

Rob takes a moment to reply, sensing the naivety of this question and considering how to answer it. “Of course I love you,” he decides.

“… Really?” Andrew seems unsure of the reciprocation.

“I promise, sweetheart, I’ll always be there for you,” Rob reassures the younger, squeezing his waist for emphasis. Promise is a nice word, and so is sweetheart, therefore it feels authentic.

Andrew felt at the time, somehow, this is what love is meant to be like. Rob holding him so comfortingly, carefully producing friction against his back and sides, just so. He’d find eventually, that love can stretch far past the possibilities of nonchalant cuddling.

Andrew sits atop a lawn chair on the balcony of his apartment, admiring the setting sun in all its glory. It happens to be the last warm night of the summer, so he’d better spend it wisely. He always wonders how clouds manage to look surreal as they do, regardless of how messily they’re painted across the sky. Lightly brushed against the dusty pink and orange of the late evening were a few spots of navy blue clouds, leftovers from the partly sunny day before. The orange on the horizon shifts to yellow, then to pink, then to blue and purple as Andrew raises his head up. Just beyond his field of view were glittery beginnings of the night sky, early stars taking their place in the heavens.

As Andrew lets his mind wander, he thinks about school. This past session was a drag, as per usual. Rob didn’t talk to him as much as he would’ve enjoyed during choir, and this bothered him to no end. His mind kept wandering to that night the day before last, when he’d fallen asleep in Rob’s arms and woke up in the same position. Rob drove him to school that morning in his old, janky car with worn leather seats and a defective ABS. It was really the best time he’d had in years.

“See you later,” he told Andrew, at the same place they had met. Rob passed him a light kiss on the nose, and off he went, leaving Andrew alone again. Through first, second, third period, all he could do was replay the night in his head. Taking his thoughts captive were Rob’s eyes, the particular way he smiles at Andrew, his hair and his dimples and his glasses… Andrew leans his head against the lawn chair’s back and sighs. Someday, he wishes, I’ll get Rob all to myself.

“Hey, bud, whatcha doin’ out here?”

Andrew’s head shoots up. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, and the night was fully upon them, stars glimmering in the pitch-black sky. “Enjoying the breeze,” he answers quickly.

His dad chuckles, throaty and cheerful. “At the stroke of midnight?”

“I must’ve taken an unplanned nap,” Andrew notes, matching his father’s tone.

He laughs again, fully entering the balcony and sliding the door behind him.

Andrew’s dad is tall and sturdy, not too lean and not too beefy. His five o’ clock shadow captures his jawline in just the right manner, and the way his jet-black hair swings around his neck confirms his formerly held Great Haircut. A man almost deprived of his physical glory, and still thriving. He’s wearing a shirt vertically striped light blue and white, and matching pants. He’s also barefoot, but Andrew knows that’s often so.

“How was your night with that Rob you texted me about?” he asks.

“Good,” Andrew answers, not too keen on revealing the nature of their relationship to his own father.

“That’s nice. You thinking about seeing him again?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s exciting. I’m glad you’re opening up to people, kiddo.”

“I’m not opening up to people. He’s just lucky.”

Andrew’s dad shakes his head in dismay. “Right, then. Get to your bed, please, you have to wake up early tomorrow.”

His son sighs and stands up, dusting himself off.

“Night, dad,” he mutters as he slides open the door and trails back into the apartment. When he reaches his room, he flops onto the bed and shuts his eyes, almost immediately falling into stupor, yet again.

“I’m really trying.”

A promise, he mumbles, driven nearly to tears. Andrew knows he’s not good at sex, but he’s trying. He’s trying because he loves Rob, and Rob loves him, and this is what it feels like.

Actually, it feels more like what he imagines death feels like. Painful and bittersweet, because he knows this is a moment that can’t last. Awkward, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing, as if the glistening slobber on Rob’s dick doesn’t display that perfectly.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Rob eggs him on, not quite aggressive, but enough for Andrew to convince himself to take in the older’s length again.

I am not going to gag, I’m not going to gag, I’m not going to gag.

He gags, practically regurgitating Rob’s dick as he pulls back.

“How pathetic do you have to be to try three times to give me a blowjob and fail all three times?” he questions, a strained look painting his face. Rob peers down as Andrew plants his face on the soft fabric of the bed. The younger one chokes out a sob.

From the perspective of Rob, the situation was embarrassingly sexy. The plain idea of Andrew trying to fit his cock in his mouth and just failing made it harder, and it likewise became harder to contain his arousal.

“Here, I have an idea,” he tells Andrew, who lifts his head up from its depression curiously.

“I want you to try your very best, and I’ll help you this time,” he murmurs, curling his lips into a small smile, which he made an effort to look genuine. Andrew makes a noise of acknowledgement to this, unsure of how this ‘helping’ is going to play out.

Rob cups Andrew’s face in his hands, and guides his dick back into the younger’s mouth. Andrew begins to suckle on it again, as Rob places his hands behind the boy’s head.

When he inevitably can’t take the itching at the back of his neck and begins to gag, Andrew’s head is held there helplessly. When he squirms in discomfort, it remains in place thanks to Rob. He opens his own mouth in an attempt to express his discomfort, but he feels saliva drip over his bottom lip and he can’t talk anyways, so he closes it again, defeated.

Despite Andrew’s incapability to get him off, Rob practically beams down at the boy as he lets small grunts emerge from his mouth.

“Come on, keep going…” He murmurs, pushing Andrew’s face further into his crotch and letting his leg grace his shoulder. Andrew whines in response, struggling harder to pull back yet again, and yet again failing.

This cycle repeats itself until Rob cums, quite weakly and without warning. Nonetheless, Andrew chokes, and is released from Rob’s grip. He pants heavily on the floor, spit dribbling out of his mouth and tears forming at the corners of his eyes, as he hacks up a mixture of Rob’s cum and his own mucus.

“I’m gonna vomit,” he moans ashamedly, squirming up to the trash can sitting beside Rob’s bed.

Rob is simply an onlooker, putting his dick back into his pants as Andrew spills his insides into the container, taking in a copious portion of air every time he heaves, till he’s unable to throw up again. He looks upwards to Rob after this occurrence, who mutters, “Take your time.”

Nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the cause of Andrew’s vomiting spell.

“You told me… You told me…” he breathes, fully formed tears now running down his face. “You told me this would be great…”

Rob frowns. “You’re a beginner, Andrew, I can’t stress this enough. You don’t know what you’re doing, so of course it’s not going to be great.”

Andrew doesn’t have much to say in response, so he lets out a strained sob. “My throat hurts.”

The elder one has to fight the urge to call him pathetic again as he glowers at Andrew. He sighs, leaning downwards to place his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Come up here, and we can go to sleep. Okay?”

Rob’s eyes meet Andrew’s and he nods, standing up shakily and letting himself melt into Rob’s embrace, letting Rob snake his hands under his shirt and up his back, offering one last kiss which Andrew accepts eagerly. Rob lulls him to sleep with back rubs and soft murmurs of endearment, letting him forget about this pain and embarrassment for the time being.

The digital clock on Rob’s side table reads 12:03.