Warning for boys doing some naughty things near the end and John says the f-word. Don't read it if this will offend you.
Illegal Education
Bobby often finds himself watching John's hands. They're constantly moving - flicking a lighter, picking at a loose thread on his t-shirt or just drumming erratic rhythms against the desk. He watches the long fingers, nails short and rough edged. Imagines what else they might do, pictures of nails scratching red lines over smooth flesh play in his mind and he watches.
xxx
Now Bobby watches John crouch beside their bedroom door, fingers easily maneuvering a thin piece of metal into the keyhole. It's only a short moment before there's a click of the lock opening and John smirks with self-satisfaction.
"And that is how it's done." He offers the piece of metal to Bobby, "Think you can handle it?" Bobby ignores the mocking implication that he can't and snatches the tool from John, who re-locks the door and moves aside.
xxx
After almost ten minutes of randomly jiggling the lock Bobby admits that this is harder than it looks. John made it seem so effortless, so simple but Bobby just can't seem to mimic him.
"Forget it, Drake." John says, shaking his head, getting up and moving towards his bed "I knew illegal activity and you wouldn't mesh."
"Hey," Bobby protests "I can do it, just give me a minute. And it's not illegal, this is our room."
"Okay fine." John crouches back down so he's kneeling right behind Bobby. "But hurry up." Rolling his eyes at John's usual impatience Bobby goes back to wiggling the whatever-John-called-it in the keyhole, trying not to be distracted by John's warm breath on the back of his neck.
xxx
"Christ, Bobby, even you can't possibly be this slow." John groans with exasperation as he finishes demonstrating the correct technique for the fourth time, the clicking of his lighter growing consistently more frantic with John's frustration.
"Well your teaching skills aren't exactly helping." Bobby mutters. It was true, John's idea of teaching seemed to consist only of saying things like 'lift the pins with the hook pick' without elaborating on how that was done or even where these pins where then getting pissed off when Bobby asked questions.
"I taught myself how to do this when I was twelve," John says, voice dripping superiority. Typical really, in Bobby's experience with him it's become clear that John loves any chance to show how bad ass he is. "It's not that fucking hard!"
"Yeah, you also discovered you could control fire when you were twelve." Bobby says, glaring him. "I think we can safely say that you weren't the average twelve year old."
John just shrugs. "Like that's got anything to do with it. You're just pissed because there's something I can do that you can't."
"What? I am not!" Bobby says in surprise.
"Uh huh, sure, Drake. No other reason you'd want me to teach you. When's a guy like you gonna need to pick a lock?"
"I just thought it'd be cool to know." Bobby protests, "You just automatically assume everything's about you!" Of course it is about John, but that still gives him no right to think it.
"Because it is." John replies simply, looking irritatingly smug, snapping the zippo shut for emphasis and Bobby resists the urge to jab him with the hook pick.
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"
"Well yeah, because it's true." Bobby just shakes his head and leans back against the door, stretching his legs out in front of him. John smirks as though Bobby's silence only confirms it.
Bobby's eyes move to John's hand, the lighter free one, tapping the shiny, silver pick against his knee and Bobby suddenly wants to grab it, to still John's ever moving hands just for a moment. Just to see what might happen. Sometimes Bobby finds himself thinking, worrying, that one day John will just disappear. How long can John stay in one place before he needs to move on? Fire is always on the move, flames grow and spread. If they don't they'll run out of tinder and the fire will burn out leaving nothing but dull, lifeless ashes. Bobby wonders whether John will burn out if he ever stops moving. Impulsively he reaches out, grabbing John's hand in his own, John's instinctively tries to jerk it away but Bobby holds tight.
"Show me again." Bobby says softly, moving their clasped hands to the lock. John doesn't say anything but he presses the pick into Bobby's hand and changes position so his is on top, his fingers stretching over Bobby's. Together they maneuver the pick into the keyhole, John guides Bobby's fingers, pushing forward, angling upwards. Bobby can feel John pressed up against his back, breath in Bobby's ear and this time he doesn't even try to ignore it. He focuses on it. John moves their hands again, just slightly to the right and the lock clicks open.
xxx
Later Bobby watches John's hand move slowly up and down his cock, squeezing just the right amount. He watches as the hand speeds up and then Bobby can't focus on anything but the pleasure building, he throws his head back, biting his lips to keep from crying out. When John's mouth replaces his hand Bobby can't hold back the moan and his nails dig in to the back of John's neck. John's tongue swirls around the head of his cock, hand rubbing swiftly up the shaft. Bobby buries his face in the pillow, teeth digging into cotton to muffle the scream he can't stop escaping his throat as he comes.
John crawls up beside him, grinning like the devil, before kissing Bobby hard and deep. Bobby thinks perhaps he should be grossed out by it but he finds himself oddly excited when he tastes himself on John's lips. Bobby captures both John's hands in his own and this time John doesn't react. The only way for fire to survive in one place, Bobby thinks, is if it has someone to fuel it, to stop it burning out. John's fingers intertwine with his and then they are still.