Pairings:
JaimexBart

Summary:
Jaime is high as a kite after Bart manages to drag him away from his friends. Certain touching ensues as Jaime reveals his true feelings for the speedster...

Rating:
M for drug use and smut.

Multi-chapter?
No.

AN:
Thank you Crimsonberry255 for all the proof-reading and help! You're just the ultimate fanfiction companion :]

Don't be afraid to leave a comment! It gives me a little thrill when I see [New Review] in my emails :3

Jaime considered himself to be a pretty alright dude.

He wasn't top of the class, but he did enough to pass the year with relatively good grades. He saved people. He respected his elders. He didn't go to parties late at night. He didn't play people into the bedroom. He kept his sexual conquests between him and close friends.

He was a good guy.

It was his first time doing this kind of thing – besides, he'd only taken a few puffs (and, okay, maybe he'd had a beer as well) before good old Bart Allen showed up.

The look on his face had made Jaime's heart plummet, so much so that he'd choked, hurriedly shoving the joint towards his mates and turning away from the sadly disappointed expression his friend donned as he inhaled the night air.

Bart had seen it, though. Even if he hadn't, the smell was on Jaime's clothes and in his hair and on his breath. He was told that there was an emergency, and even though he could see the small tremor at the tips of Bart's fingers that only occurred when he was lying, the teen had left anyway, pulling on his jersey as he went, waving good-bye.

So now they were sitting in Barry's house, who was holidaying with Iris on a tropical island to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Barry was cool, so Bart didn't see him going nuts because someone under the influence was spending the night in his house – Iris, however, was another case entirely.

Jaime smirked.

"I cannot believe you've never watched The Lion King."

Bart bit his lip. "I can't believe you were doing drugs."

The feeling in the older teen's head wasn't dizzy, just chilled, and fuck did those chips taste good! He shoved two in his mouth, the crunch so loud it made his ears ring.

"It was my first time, Bart. Just this once-"

"You shouldn't be doing drugs, ever! Don't you know what they do to your head?"

A low groan rumbled in the bottom of Jaime's chest as he fell back against the cushions, the sides of his mouth twitching upward. "You're beginning to sound like the damned Scarab literally on my back, hermano..."

Bart tried to be serious, tried to get Jaime to look him in the eyes and be serious, too, as he yelled "For once, we agree on something! You're supposed to be a superhero, and what you were doing is illegal!"

That was the final straw, the effects of the marijuana momentarily taking a break as Jaime's jaw jutted. He sat up.

"Supposed to be?" His brows were dropped, drawn together in the mix between hurt and angry. "Don't you think after all the time I give up to risk my life putting away criminals who just keep coming back, all the friends I've nearly lost, all of the interfering this shit has done to my life, that I've proven myself to be a fucking hero?" he growled. "Why else would I do this, huh? I need to escape, and if a non-addictive, non-hallucinogen, easy drug is the way to do it then I'm willing to try it just the one time! Jeez, man, what happened to you? You used to be so carefree and fun!"

Jaime knew that Bart knew that putting something big and heart-felt out in the open was his way of riling up for an argument. However, iit simmered for a second and the silence seemed to be a sign of submission. He sank back down. The speedster was aware that Jaime wasn't properly high, just numbed. Nevertheless, he remained quiet as the boy polished off the bag of Doritos and moved onto his third one.

"Besides," he eventually added, "I'm nineteen, remember? I'm pretty sure that's old enough to make my own decisions about the substances I can choose to take."

Bart looked away so that the sadness wouldn't be physically visible to Jaime. Even though he was right, they were older now, Bart still thought of them both as the two kids who were relatively new to the Team, himself being the jokester and Jaime the voice of reason. It was them against the world no matter what, until the Hispanic teen grew up, leaving Bart behind, and there was no possible way for the boy to be caught up to by his friend.

Fastest kid alive or not.

"I don't suppose smoking pot would have much of an effect on you, huh?"

It surprised Bart that Jaime had settled into a soft smile so easily.

"Nah – metabolism, mitosis..."

Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind," Bart said hastily. "It's a speedster thing."

When Bart came back from the kitchen with hot chocolate and water, Jaime was on his feet. Music played from the large sound system.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Bart asked. "It's right down the hallway. If you're gonna throw up, though, I would recommend the kitchen sink. It's closer."

Jaime suddenly took one glass, chugged it, followed by both mugs' contents.

"Wow. Thirsty?"

"Dry mouth," Jaime replied, hands securing themselves to the wall on either side of Bart's head.

Bart swallowed. "Getting a bit close, darlin'," he laughed nervously, taking half a step back. The look on Jaime's face was the definition of relaxed, which was a stark contrast to the worry on Bart's. The breath that hit his nose smelt funny, and not ha-ha funny, as Jaime forced him to back up even more. "The tune's a bit of a stereotype, don't you think? Reggae and weed? Where'd you find the Bob Marley CD, anyway?"

Talking didn't seem to be of interest to Jaime. Jaime, who, at that moment, was leaning in, turning his head, mouth fitting snugly against Bart's.

It had only struck him that it was happening—that they were kissing—as Jaime pulled away.

"Your grandfather has a lot of music," he replied.

Bart finally found his voice, lost and nearly-forgotten under the copious amounts of hormones and shock. He said, "Your eyes are totally blood-shot."

Jaime sighed but smiled. "It's okay if you don't still feel the same way. God knows I didn't when you told me."

The memory of the conversation his friend was referring to came quickly, as did the rock in his gut that felt like he'd been punched in the face.

"Things have changed since then, like my feelings," Jaime added, "the ones for you, in particular."

Bart gulped.

"Vamos, hermano – decir algo! If you don't still want me like that then I'll blame it on the pot and we'll forget about it."

Being semi-high apparently made Jaime's accent thicker. Each word was brushed with a husky, exotic flick that made all of his vowels tight and beautiful.

This, and Jaime's tongue darting out to lick the corner of his own mouth, shot straight to the younger teen's cock.

"I still like you," Bart admitted, a tentativeness making him sound awkward and shy.

Jaime grinned. "Cool."

His hand fell from the wall, laying flat against Bart's lower back instead, his other resting on the side of the speedster's neck. Then Jaime changed his mind, fingers edging beneath the floppy ends of Bart's hair. It wasn't ginger like Wally's, nor an intense copper like Roy's – no. Bart's was a red-tinted bronze, so soft that Jaime had to restrain himself from tugging it, seeing what noises his friend would make if he yanked the locks back, head going with it, and devoured his throat in hungry kisses.

"Does this mean we can make out now?" he asked for the sake of manners.

Bart paused, nodded, his own hands reaching slim hips.

It started with Jaime seeming to be untouchable in his kissing method – whether that was normal or just because of the way he was that night, Bart didn't know. Meanwhile, the other young vigilante was hesitant, self-conscious, taking in the chocolaty, inhuman heat of Jaime's tongue, lips, and insides of his mouth. He reminded himself that it was okay that he'd only been kissed twice before this, even though he knew Jaime had far more smooches under his belt (sometimes literally). Because first of all, Jaime was enjoying the experience, if his satisfied grunt was anything to go by, and secondly, no-one their age was expected to be perfect at this, because they were still only teenagers.

Horny teenagers, Bart reminded himself with a sound he didn't allow to escape as Jaime turned them over, wedging his thigh tightly between Bart's. The two began grinding against each other, right as teeth got involved; Bart ran his down the other's neck, scratching an itch that was the sexual tension he'd felt for weeks.

The rubbing turned into full-on dry humping, and no matter how bad that sounded, Bart was enjoying it. This wasn't what he imagined fooling around with Jaime would be like—the relationship, romantic first kiss, and bed were all missing from the scene—but he was biting his lip against a moan as his boner thrummed impatiently.

Who was he to complain?

"Are you as turned on as I am?" Jaime asked. Although he was still smiling, his voice was a gruff whisper.

Bart didn't need to look down before answering, because the stiffened bulge pressing into his thigh was a twin to the one in his own pants.

"Yeah."

Then he was back against the wall, back to being dominated, back to being trapped between Jaime's firm legs. There was humming, a soft, wordless sing-along to Buffalo Soldier as a tan hand slipped between their bodies and fumbled with the button on Bart's shorts.

"Oh, wow. Okay. Um, don't you want to go somewhere else? I have a room here that Barry lets me use for when I-"

The warmth of Jaime's touch, previously rubbing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, dipping into his underwear—which had already been held open by his erection anyway—shut him right up. No, Jaime wasn't going to a bed. Yes, he was going to jerk Bart off right there, with no shame about getting into his pants in the Allens' living room.

This wasn't the Jaime Bart knew.

He still wasn't going to complain.

Bart was pink. His breathing, let alone his pulse, was a complete and utter mess. Denim slouched, pants rested well below his hips, Jaime tickling his throat with kisses and licks.

"Jaime- oh, fuck." Swallowing the request to let him remove his shirt, Bart went ahead and did it.

They both grinned, albeit Bart's was a little worn and flustered, and Jaime bit, chewed, tongued, and sucked on his earlobe. Bart wondered what Jaime thought of his chest, if it made his cock twitch like Bart's had the first time he'd seen Jaime topless. The latter's body was lean, the physique of a basketball player with the legs of a skateboarder, often hidden under skinny jeans and baggy jackets with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Bart, however, sported his grandfather's broad shoulders and mother's small waist. His thighs and calves weren't bigger than Tim's, but they were runner's legs and that was all he needed them to be.

"Heh. Do you want me to touch you here?"

The very tip of Jaime's finger's pad barely scraped Bart's nipple, but he shuddered all the same.

Bart nodded so fast it was a blur, the red on his cheeks like a traffic light, though Bart wanted anything but for Jaime to stop. So the older teen complied, pushing his thumb into Bart's lips, then his index finger, and dropped them, squeezed the perky nub of skin between the slippery surfaces. On the second contact, his pinched it harder, not to pull or twist it, bringing forth another moan.

The beautiful tightness in his body took this as encouragement. Bart thrust into Jaime's touch, nails clawing harder into the latter's back muscles as each quick stroke down his erection caused a new heat wave to travel right to his toes, which curled into the carpet.

Suddenly, the speedster's body faltered. It became apparent that this was a reaction to Jaime's mouth latching onto a nipple, along with the thumb of one hand swiping away dribbling precum, smearing it.

Jaime saw the half-lidded look on Bart's face. This, combined with the laboured way his lungs seemed to be working, reminded him of his own telltale signs of being close to the finish. He pressed his mouth to Bart's open one, sliding their tongues gently against each other. He knew there was no way in hell Bart would be able to keep to the pace if they went at it like the sexed-up rabbits they were earlier. These kisses continued across Bart's jaw, finding some sort of hotspot at the base of his neck, which made him groan heartily. Jaime pushed himself against Bart once again, offering his body as stability to ease the shivers, and felt hot breath on his shoulder.

Or were they vibrations?

Bart was loud. Even if he was by himself, he couldn't keep back the groans and cries, which was where his iPod and speakers came in handy. Bob Marley, however, playing on a volume not even high enough to smother his heavy, taut gasps, didn't stand a chance.

"God, Jaime, grab the tissues off the—oh, ngh—table-"

"I hope you're not too attached to this shirt."

It wasn't like he could tell Jaime that he loved it, that it was his favourite, because right then the brunette pressed up onto Bart's perineum, causing him to reactively come into the yellow fabric, Jaime's name tumbling from his lips in a sharp yelp.

He stood frozen for a moment, bar his chest inflating and falling; Jaime's restrained length prodded insistently into his thigh.

"Would it ruin the mood," Jaime began, still pinning Bart's body to the wall with his own, aware that he was the few things keeping his spent friend standing, "if I ate something? I'm so hungry."

It all came back to Bart, then – that Jaime's head was still full of pot, that otherwise they wouldn't be doing this, that he had just ejaculated far earlier than the average teenage boy and would definitely be copping shit for it later, that he wouldn't have even gone to find Jaime if Tim had just agreed to play Monopoly with him. Guilt replaced pleasure, uncertainty returned, and Bart guided Jaime back onto the sofa, pushing his softened, chubby dick back into his pants.

This wasn't what he'd wanted at all.

"As much as I'd like to give you the time to sit around and enjoy this, I think you need to sympathise with the lack of attention for my aroused... ness..." He thought over the last part and shrugged it off. "Are you going to sit down?"

"No," Bart said quietly. "Jaime, this wasn't what I wanted it to be like."

"I'm lost. Wanted what to be like? You said-"

"I know what I said!" he interjected, verging on yelling. "And when I said I liked you and asked if you wanted to be with me, I meant I wanted to take you out on a date – park, dinner, and a movie – and I wanted to kiss you on your doorstep and say good-night a minute before your curfew. I wanted this to be proper, like I read in books and stuff, and I can honestly say that you giving me a handjob against the wall in my grandfather's house doesn't quite line up with the criteria!"

Jaime's eyes were wide, their whites still stained pink, pupils dilated, and it was strange to see him so shocked and unlaxed for the first time all evening.

"Mierda."

"Yeah." Bart lowered himself onto the couch. "Mierda."

No conversation followed, and Bart, agitated by the mocking sound of Bob Marley, turned down the music. Even with the gentle sound of the song currently playing it was too quiet.

"I'm sorry, man." Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. "I didn't know all that romance stuff was so important to you. ¿Por qué soy tan estúpido?" He groaned the last part to himself, face falling into his palms.

Bart sighed. "You're not stupid, I am. I shouldn't have gone along with this."

The silence that was hot on the heels of those words wasn't a comfortable one for Bart.

Jaime, meanwhile, was thinking.

"We could still do all that, you know," Jaime offered, albeit tentatively. "Well, maybe not the first kiss part, but I'm free on Saturday. If you pay for dinner, I'll pay for the movie – popcorn included."

"Why, Jaime, are you asking me out on a date?" Bart joked. He tossed it back and forth in his head, deciding easily. "Sounds good."

"Until then, how's about we just... go slowly?" Jaime offered.

This one took a few more seconds to process and conclude, but Bart licked his lips and straddled Jaime. The tented form had receded, which gave Bart a sense of relief – he wouldn't have to worry about Jaime blueballing their evening.

Jaime smiled, and it was soft, which created an air of calmness between them. This time, when they leant in, it was gentle, slow, weaving in the experimental exploration they'd skipped earlier. It was trial-and-error, like learning to ride a bike. Not that Bart had ever ridden a bike. Still, from what information the expression gave, he guessed it would mean that it wasn't a technique you could forget. He kept that in mind to keep another erection at bay, juggling this with wonderings of whether he was biting too much, pacing it out alright, leaving enough time between each smooch to regain the air lost whilst their mouths were moving against each other.

Despite what people thought—and a lot of people didn't think a lot of Bart—the boy could slow it down when he wanted to, and he definitely wanted to right then. His body ached for him to take advantage of every moment he was spending flush against Jaime's chest, arms embracing him in something that was less of a hug and more of way to evenly distribute his weight without crushing Jaime.

Lips swollen and tingling, the younger planted large, sloppy kisses over Jaime's chin, down the tendon in his neck that became prominent with each exhale, into the dip of his collarbone. Jaime hummed. Bart's toes buzzed with excitement in response, because Jaime liked it.

Panting on Bart's neck, a groan was drawn from his throat as his earlobe got tickled by Bart's tongue, then rolled between the boy's teeth. It was an odd sensation – a burning unlike fire, and it was making his jeans too tight to bear.

Bart drew back along Jaime's wonderful cheekbone and their mouths met again, Bart's like honey to Jaime's chalky lips. Hardly creating enough saliva for the both of them, Bart pulled away.

"Dry mouth?"

Jaime nodded.

Disentangling was a surprisingly easy task. Bart was amazed, because the heat smothered between them was like a hot—nearly sweaty—glue. Somewhere between Jaime hearing the tap running and Bart being at his side the speakers had fallen silent.

"I got you a bigger glass this time," Bart told him.

Jaime grinned. "Proud?"

"Infinitely."

Bart bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fixated on the bobbing of Jaime's Adam's apple. He found himself leaning in, unable to shake his gaze from the thick, long, brown lashes that drooped low over Jaime's eyes as he swished the water around his mouth. On anyone else, it could have been feminine, but the word "gorgeous" was the only word that came to Bart's mind as he nuzzled into the curve of his neck.

There was a slight choking, two splutters, and Bart darted back.

"I'm sorry!"

Coughing, Jaime shook his head. "Just—kuhn—one minute – I need cool-off time."

"Cool off? I didn't think it was..." Then he realised, saw, what Jaime meant. "Oh. Right. Cool-off time."

They both nodded. Jaime took another sip.

Jaime thought of a number of things – things that no-one, under any circumstances, should have to think of. His grandmother on the toilet. His grandfather on the toilet. Both of them in the shower.

Ugh.

Maybe that was too far.

He barely noticed those light, pale fingers feather against his leg until they started drawing pictures on his inner thigh. The faint pink tinge on his cheeks bled out into his whole being as Bart barely brushed his package.

"I could, you know – if you want me to," Bart murmured. "I know what it's like and that sure doesn't look comfortable."

Jaime put on his thinking face. "Going slowly..." he finally answered.

"Maybe I can whack you off slowly?"

Even if he'd wanted to, Jaime couldn't resist that classic Allen grin on his face. The lack of noise was quickly filled with the wet sounds of their mouths parting and rejoining. Jaime's tongue was what turned it messy, seeking out the bit behind Bart's top teeth that was practically built out of nerve-endings. Jaime wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that he was beginning to get used to being on his back with someone else's knee on either side of his hips. Usually it was the other way around.

He was a top, after all.

The jingle and clank as his belt became undone took his mind off of it.

Without thinking, Jaime rolled his hips up against Bart's open palm.

"Do you know how many old guys would kill for a boner like that?"

Jaime groaned for a number of reasons; "Mood-killer."

"They say humour is the sexiest thing in a man."

"You're sixteen," Jaime grumbled. "Hardly a man..."

He couldn't help it – they just sort-of tripped over his tongue and fell out too loud for his ears. "What about you?"

Jaime paused, eyelids fluttering. "I... What?"

"Have you ever... you know... put the snake in the cave, shagged, lost the V-card, done the deed, let the sergeant into the squad-car, put out..." He was laughing away the anxiety and, though high, he wasn't fooling Jaime. He sighed. "Are you a virgin, Jaime?"

Their hesitance put the whole point of them being back on the sofa in the somewhat compromising position half a step back.

"No."

"Oh. Anyone I've met?"

Jaime shook his head. "She dumped me soon after I got the Scarab, saying I'd become paranoid, kept disappearing all the time, talked to myself – a good thing, really, because stuff had just gotten way too complicated. But before that, we did it. On our six-month anniversary, too, and then again in the morning. I don't sleep around, though – those are the only two times I've actually had sex with someone."

The hard-on in Bart's hand, covered only by Jaime's boxer-shorts, was still hot and stiff.

"Does... Does that bother you, hermano?"

Bart shook his head. Honestly, it didn't – she got there first but that didn't make any difference to now. "Not at all, although I have a few problems with being called hermano. Do you really think brothers would do this?"

To punctuate his words, Bart's hands gripped onto the silk fabric and pulled them over, careful not to catch Jaime's cock on the waistband. He returned the chuckle with one of his own, then looked down Jaime's body and stared.

"That's not..." Jaime seemed to have misunderstood. "It'll get bigger."

Bart smirked. "It's fine – you... you're great." He'd wanted to say perfect. Nerves were getting the better of him.

Jaime hesitated, but smiled and dropped back, sighing blissfully; Bart's fingernails dragged softly down his stomach until they found the neat little nest of wiry hair.

"Manscaping?" Bart snorted. "Sad."

"You know what – the next time you suck a dick where the hair is in full bloom, come back and tell me how much fun it is to get pubes stuck between your teeth. It's not half as sexy as you'd think."

All these things he was only discovering now, with Jaime's cock in his hand, made him three times more eager—some may say desperate—to please. Every ounce of effort, hours of watching porn, tip he'd read online, were all being applied at the one time to persuade Jaime that he was good, that he deserved him and everything that came with it.

"Where did you find the time to put a shirt on?" Jaime mumbled.

"While I was turning off the Bob Marley."

A hand gravitated towards Bart's shoulder, which made him pause. Upon resuming, Bart felt the touch sweep down the neckline and form a tight grip on the front, but he kept his eyes stuck to Jaime's face despite it.

"You're really cute when you're flustered," Jaime told him, then cringed. "That sounded much better in my head."

"So I'm not cute unless I'm giving you some form of sexual gratification?" joked Bart.

Jaime shook his head; "I've always thought you were cute." His other hand cupped Bart's face then, and he sat up.

It still made Bart uncomfortable when he got hit with the smell of weed on Jaime, but he knew that Jaime didn't lie, even if it was to get a handy from someone. Bart remembered when they had spent the night in his room at the Cave because Jaime was totally hammered, and he hadn't uttered a word that wasn't truthful then.

They kissed, and the fist Bart had made around Jaime's length loosened, so he kneaded the base instead. It was an easier task, especially with the extra tongue in his mouth to concentrate on. To say the least Jaime enjoyed the attention there. This was confirmed by a low moan in the back of his throat – more blood pooled in his loins like bees to honey, making him forget what it was to be any softer than rock-hard.

Coaxing him to once again lie down on the sofa, Bart pressed both on Jaime's lips and chest. A light "Oof" blew out of Jaime's mouth as he dropped the last couple of inches. Hair sticking up at weird angles, cheeks flushed with the red-dusted tone of arousal, taking slow, easy breaths to calm the erratic beats of his heart, Jaime was a mess. Bart had never thought anyone could look this alluring.

He leaned in, this time pressing sloppy smooches past the popsicle-pink marks and yanking the hem of Jaime's shirt up to his ribs. In saying that he was alluring, Bart had overlooked how equally vulnerable Jaime was, especially to pleasure – even breathing on his stomach—on his abs—made Jaime arch his back to get more of anything Bart could possibly offer.

But Bart didn't offer – he went with his gut, barely hearing the catch in Jaime's windpipe as his mouth met with the sensitive skin on the shaft. Listening to the groan elicited by this made him smile in pride as he hovered over the tip, licking his lips. He'd experimented by himself with his fingers, seeing how wide he'd have to open his mouth to avoid any dental-related accidents, and now was time to put this to the test.

Here goes nothing, he thought nervously before slowly sliding Jaime's member as deep as he could get it without gagging. Thankfully Jaime's dick wasn't any wider than average.

Bart wrapped his hand around what his mouth had left uncovered, making sure it bobbed at the same time as his head, while the other clutched denim. The first few were cautious, slow movements, yet even they could draw low, silent gasps from Jaime.

Jaime's fingers trailed across Bart's cheekbone before they sleeked back the mass of hair that had fallen in front of his face. The Hispanic wasn't able to see most of the time, but when he did he preferred to get a view of the lovely face of his crush, not a ginger mop curtained over his crotch.

"Slow down," he advised gently. "Let me see you work it."

The last part was a teasing smirk, not that Bart cared. The silky underside of his tongue swept a slick circle around the tip, and Jaime whimpered with his jaw slack, urging him on with a soft pleading of the boy's name. Bart averted his eyes from Jaime's half-lidded ones and opened wide.

To Jaime, Bart was innocent. Even with all the horrors, the pain, the endless days of lugging things around because some asswipe with the Scarab thought he was the shit, he was fun, loving, honest, pure.

Was that what made this quite probably the best blowjob he'd ever had? Because Bart was someone innocent, someone he'd truly desired for such a lengthy amount of time? The girl he'd told Bart about was nice and all, however their relationship was more a kiss-here, date-there one that had gone from Base Two to Base Four in a sloppy, urgent manner that had escalated so quickly he was dizzy. Two years later, when Bart had confessed to him, it had been just a little too much for Jaime, who was then in his final year of schooling, dating a boy who was dealing with mental-health problems, and really not in the mood for drama. Nevertheless, he'd let his friend down gently, telling him that he just wasn't in the right place to dump Sam and begin seeing Bart instead.

The reality of what he'd done really hit a week afterwards. He'd broken Bart's heart – Bart, who had avoided him using the one thing every speedster did best, and refused to meet his eye. The only times they'd talked for the next month had been on missions.

When it all came to a head one horrible afternoon, with Sam holding it together relatively well as Jaime broke his heart, too, there had been terrible yet relieved vibe in the air. The first thing he'd wanted to do was tell Bart.

But Bart had been out.

On a date.

"It didn't work out," M'gann had been told by the boy himself when she mentioned it. Jaime had just so happened to be around, the news sending his heart soaring.

And now he was lucky enough to be getting sucked off by the object of his affection, who was taking a break, jerking his fist while he caught his breath.

Timidly stooping lower, Bart moved his upper body at an awkward angle for access to Jaime's balls. They weren't pretty, and Bart could see the stubble from where Jaime had shaved rather than trimmed in an effort to tidy up his nether regions, so he closed his eyes and scooped one into the wet heat.

Jaime groaned long, lazy sounds, sometimes in Spanish. While Bart wasn't one-hundred percent fluent, he understood the basics – "good", "that's nice", "faster", and "slower" he could translate. Most of them were slurred, whispers, hushed murmurs following a gasp or two. Bart never thought it would be so easy to orally pleasure someone—his girl friends made it out to be harder than surviving Slender—and he definitely didn't think he would be able to get Jaime making little closed-mouth whines. The guy's voice had deepened considerably by the time puberty came to an end, reminding Bart of a Mexican Chris Hemsworth, so it would have very nearly made him giggle had he not been so turned on.

"I'm... I'm going to come," Jaime warned him in something that was not much louder than a breath.

Using his speed to catch a glance of Jaime before ducking back down, Bart almost exploded with a contortion of joy and pride as Jaime made a face that looked like he was about to sneeze, then total bliss. Bart took this as his cue to form his lips around the head, narrowly missing the first few squirts. The rest was released inside, but Bart couldn't find the will to swallow and it dribbled down his lower lip instead.

Jaime looked at him, panting, and grinned.

"I'm sorry," Bart murmured, hurriedly wiping the semen from his chin with the back of his hand.

Grabbing some Kleenex off of the coffee table, Jaime sat himself upright and dragged a tissue across Bart's fingers, then wadded it up and dabbed at the liquid he'd missed. As he did this, he laughed softly; "It's okay, you did good. You did amazing."

He smiled contently and closed the space—tried to—between them. Bart stopped what would have been the start of post-coital cuddles with hands on Jaime's chest, averting his gaze.

"Are you sure?" he asked shakily. "Not to be crude or anything, but I just had your man-juices in there-"

Jaime was way past "sure", proven as he successfully pressed their lips together, even probing his tongue to slip underneath Bart's and coax it into action. As Bart's eyelids slid shut, Jaime smothered the side of his neck in the heat instead, whispering things that Bart didn't understand.

"I need to change my pants," he suddenly blurted. The wall to his left had become very fascinating, sight fixated on the cream-white as Jaime lifted his head from Bart's shoulder.

"You..."

Bart nodded quickly, focusing on zipping Jaime back up as the latter marvelled on how quiet Bart got when he was put in a position that involved sex.

"Were you tossing off?"

"No," he muttered.

Then the boy was gone in a mini-tornado of the papers from the table and a coaster that hit the carpet with a thud. Jaime sniggered, fumbling with his belt as he too got to his feet and headed into Bart's room. He leaned against the doorway with that handsome grin on his face, the dimples his mother had passed onto him not yet apparent to Bart, who was carefully navigating toilet paper around the head of his flaccid penis.

"You really blew a load, didn't you?"

"Shut up," he spat, throwing a tennis ball from the floor. It was followed by a shy half-smile when Jaime caught it, though. The balled-up wad landed perfectly in the bin. "Now I have cum-stains in my underwear."

Jaime picked a pair of boxer-shorts from the drawer, held them open at Bart's feet, and pulled them to his hips. He pressed a quick peck to Bart's neck, his cheek, his forehead.

"I remember when you were shoulder-height," he commented.

Bart rolled his eyes. "Where are you sleeping?"

"That bed sure looks comfy."

"What happened to taking it slow?"

Jaime laughed like it was so obvious that the answer should have been dangling from Bart's eyelashes.

"What?" Bart demanded, keeping his firm gaze on Jaime even as he fell back onto the bed.

"We've practically been dating for months, Bart, we just weren't kissing."

Eyes flicking between Jaime's amber-speckled irises, Bart considered it. They went to the park a few times (a week), they bought each other ice cream (and sometimes shirts), they borrowed each other's things (like jerseys), and went to dinner (McDonald's) with just the two of them and no-one else, eating McNuggets under the stars.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Jaime shrugged off his warm layer, then his jeans. Bart froze.

"Don't look at me like that," Jaime hissed. "I'm just getting into make-shift pyjamas."

"Oh. I thought..."

"...that I was going to jump your bones? Don't flatter yourself."

"You suck," Bart grumbled, crawling under the duvet.

A teasing grin spread on Jaime's mocha-toned skin. "You wish." He kissed Bart's spine.

"If that's your way of asking for me to take care of your morning wood, forget it. I may have just let you jerk me off, given you head-"

"-came again-"

"-and let you into my bed, but I'm just not a morning guy."

"Fair enough."

Bart yawned in a high-pitched manner, pulling the covers tightly against their bodies.

"Good night," Jaime whispered.

"Dulces sueños," smiled Bart.