Inside Our Skin
summary: I never thought you'd be the strong one.
disclaimer: Victorious isn't mine bro.
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Something is wrong with him. They just know it.
He used to play with barbie dolls and walk around in his mother's heels and when his first zit popped up at thirteen he demanded to wear male makeup.
Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, he looks at Beck a little too long sometimes; gazes, gets a faraway look in his irises, like he's dreaming with his eyes open. Beck notices Robbie noticing him sometimes. Robbie pretends he doesn't, stares anyways.
Rex calls him sick.
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Beck calls him one night, asks him to come over.
When Robbie gets there, Beck pins him against the wall, kisses the shit out of his mouth.
"I saw you looking at me," is his explanation, "Figured I'd give you what you wanted for a night."
"Oh." Robbie moans into Beck's lips. Beck tenses, hesitation creeping in; he thinks about stopping, doesn't.
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"Aren't you supposed to be straight?" Robbie touches Beck's hand, feels his own skin prickle until Beck swats it away, averting his gaze to the floor, his socks, the ceiling.
"I am, dude."
"Then what…" Robbie doesn't finish his sentence. Beck is too busy trying to shut him the fuck up with his lips, crashing against Robbie's, eager for silence.
It burns, sears, hurts. Robbie bites Beck's lower lip, touches his belt with shaking fingers.
"Don't – don't do that," Beck says, "Fuck, man, don't touch me."
Robbie lets go. Beck pushes his hands above his head, straddles Robbie on the bed that's really not big enough for two people, starts to grind his hips against Robbie's then stops, jolting away from the ventriloquist like he's just touched fire. Scared as fuck, white as a ghost.
"Beck," Robbie tries, reaching for him, "Beck." He repeats his name carefully.
"Get out. Shit, get out." Beck points at the door, shaking, "Get the hell out."
Robbie stands, starts to leave.
"Don't tell anyone," Beck warns from his perch on his bed. When Robbie tries to meet his eyes, Beck ducks his head, hair falling in front of his face.
"I won't."
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"Beck, I miss you," Robbie admits three weeks later when Beck walks to his truck, parked beside Robbie's beat up car. Beck glares at him.
"I'm not interested in you." It's curt, and it stings. Robbie's heart beats wildly against his ribs.
"No, Beck, that's not what I meant. I just – I want things to be normal again."
"I'm not a fag like you, Robbie."
"You kissed me," Robbie spits, suddenly and desperately and irrationally angry, "You can't call me that when you started it!"
"I didn't start anything!" Beck punches Robbie's car, his fist dangerously close to his face. Robbie cowers, holding his hands in front of him because he's weak and a loser and a nerd. "I just – I – shit, I'm not gay, dude! Get it through your sick fucking head." Beck turns on his heel; Robbie grabs his shirt without thinking about it.
Beck spins, fist connecting with Robbie's jaw. Then they're a tangle of limbs on the ground, participating in a fight that Beck is winning until Robbie cries out, his glasses on the ground, crushed, his bottom lip bleeding, his right eye red and quickly blackening. Robbie breathes as much as he can with Beck sitting on top of him, unable to move, shaking and confused and hurt and oh God why?
"Robbie – Robbie, I'm so sorry. Robbie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Beck's words come out rushed and hard to understand; he leans down and kisses Robbie on the mouth. "I'm so sorry." He gets up, shaking, swallowing the sobs threatening to escape his lips.
He leaves Robbie in the parking lot.
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"Oh my God, what happened?" Cat asks when Robbie walks into school the next day with the bruises, the black eye, the cut lip.
"Fight," Robbie answers simply, bitterly, the scratches from the asphalt on his hands and arms and shoulders stinging with flashes of his memory.
Jade snorts, leans into Beck, eyebrow raised, "So how badly did you lose?"
Robbie makes eye contact with Beck for a split second before lowering his gaze, rubbing his eyes, murmuring, "Pretty badly."
Jade frowns, realizing she's struck something inside of Robbie a little too late. She starts to apologize – hah, Jade West, apologizing – but Robbie is gone before she opens her mouth. She turns to Beck, "You should talk to him. It's going to suck to see him mope around for the day."
Beck starts to shake his head, Jade grabs his arm, "At least don't let Vega talk to him first. God knows she'll fuck it all up even more."
So will I, Beck thinks, detaching himself from her. He walks in Robbie's direction. I caused it.
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"You're a fag," Robbie says when Beck opens the door to the boy's bathroom. For a split second, Beck thinks Robbie is talking to him; then realizes that Robbie is staring at the mirror with his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, speaking to his foggy reflection.
"Robbie?" Beck asks. His voice is soft, sweet like honey; it's outrageously inappropriate for this sort of setting. He knows Robbie feels that way by the way he clenches the ceramic. "Are you – are you okay?"
Robbie laughs, fighting tears.
"I'm perfect, thanks for asking."
Beck stands, awkwardly, debates whether or not to leave. Instead, he reaches for Robbie's shoulder and clutches his shirt in his hand, staring at the bruise over his eye.
"I'm so sorry." It comes out as a whisper, his voice hardly there, almost disappearing near the end of his sentence.
"Really?" Robbie asks humorlessly, closing his eyes, blinking back tears – don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, Robbie, don't cry. He hesitates. then, "I think you're gay."
Beck lowers his gaze, suddenly intrigued by the tiles on the floor.
"I shouldn't have hit you, man, I'm sorry," he murmurs, glancing at Robbie through the mirror. they lock eyes in the glass. Robbie puts his hand over Beck's.
"You don't have to be scared, Beck. I'm not going to tell anyone." Robbie swallows, slowly turns to face him, "I won't judge you. I know how you feel."
"I'm not…" Beck starts, but the words die in his throat. "It's wrong, Robbie." Beck's voice is a whisper, his eyes wide and afraid and vulnerable; Robbie feels fear rocket down into his stomach, suddenly weighing him down after he had finally convinced himself they could be free.
"It's not wrong," Robbie says, his throat suddenly dry, "But I guess we are."
"No, we're not," Beck answers, but it sounds almost like he's pleading. He touches Robbie's cheek, fingers travelling to his black eye, "We're not." His lip trembles, "Robbie, I'm so sorry."
(I'm not strong enough right now. I'm never going to be strong enough.)
"It's okay, Beck." Robbie halts; Beck kisses him, "It's okay."
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a/n: two stories in one day. (i need a life :'D). thanks for reading!