First Choice, a victorious fanfic

Disclaimer: Victorious is not owned by me, although my parakeet does own some shares in Nickelodeon.

I'm nobody's first choice.

I mean, I wasn't. When I was a kid. I try not to think about that time too much. I was a different person then. A crappier one.

No one picked me for their team, no one passed me the glue for craft time in class. No one even spoke to me, unless it was to call me some stupid name that stung. My head was shaved more often than not, and I was scrawny, even for a little kid. I was a freak, and I couldn't help it. My uncle was the only one that made me feel better. He understood me better than my own parents. Even now, they don't get me. They don't even try.

Then, when I was eight, he died. Osteosarcoma. It was slow and lingering and I got to see it all. Everyone called it bone cancer around me. They thought the real word was too big. But calling it that just made it too small, too insignificant. Like we were all just kids playing doctor, using play words and not real ones. I learned to act strong then, hunched by my uncle's hospital bed. I learned how to pretend I was okay, how to act like I didn't have any emotions at all. I missed a lot of school, but I really didn't mind. I preferred staying by my uncle's side to getting ignored in the playground anyway.

We moved after that. To Hollywood. My mom got some parts in a few commercials and a few small television shows. You might've seen her. She was a corpse on Law & Order about six years back. I started at a new school, but things were the same. I was even quieter, but at least I was getting faster, and my grades weren't half bad. There was a kid there though. A kid who was as scrawny as me, with a bushel of curly hair, and glasses that took up half his face. Robbie Shapiro.

He was just like me, but kids actually liked him. He was loud and funny and he always had all the coolest things. The newest trading cards, the best action figures. We got paired up in P.E. one day, and we just sort of... clicked. He made up for my silences, and I made him look good in games. He spread his modest modicum of popularity around me like a blanket, and for the first time since my uncle died, I felt warm. He invited me to his house, and let me play with all his toys, and showed me how to cheat at video games, and treated me like a brother. His voice was squeaky, but so was mine. We were kids. He was the first real friend I ever had, and maybe that let him mean too much to me.

Then we hit junior high, and puberty came somewhere along the way. I shot up like a weed, and Robbie trailed behind me, the flower that suffered from the parasite. I stole his sunlight. My shoulders got broader, and my hair grew out, and my voice dropped. My jeans started hanging off my waist, and my shirts started stretching across my chest. Girls started to look at me like I was something. The fact that I ignored them only seemed to encourage them, and for the first time, being apathetic about nearly everything was a good quality. I started calling Robbie 'Rob', while everyone else called him the same name he had as a kid. His voice didn't go low as mine, his body didn't fill out. He stayed lean and hunched and his glasses still covered half his face. He lost the popularity he had almost overnight. What was cool changed, and all of a sudden it was me protecting him. How could I not? He was the only one who was there when no one else was. He was my best friend. I still spent every waking minute at his house. It was a lot better than being at home. Even if Robbie was still a kid to everyone at school, he was a man to me.

The thing about Rob is... he's smart. More than people think. They see Rex and they write him off. They laugh when they see Rex insult him. But that's Rob's hand in Rex's back. It's Robbie's voice that says those things. Rex wasn't even Rex, to begin with. He was a joke, a parody of all the 'cool' kids, the ones who talked about girls nonstop, and talked in slang they didn't even understand. He turned on Rob just like they did. Even as he's calling Robbie a loser, it's Rob's fingers that are jerking his mouth open. Rob's always pulling the strings.

In public, he's shrinking. He stutters and he spits and he scares girls away effortlessly. But when we're alone, it's fingers that tug at my strings. It's me who stutters and shrinks. I'm just another cool puppet for Rob to manipulate, to parody. Part of me hates it, the way he plays me. Like he knows every note, every key. He understands me, and he's the only one that does. The afternoons at his house started getting longer, and it wasn't a girl my first kiss was with, it was him. It tasted like cherry Kool Aid and cucumber sandwiches, and it wasn't even something I thought to question. He was Rob, he was different, but so was I, and it felt nice. Rob's fingers tickled my spine, and we talked about comics after. It was normal, just... warmer and closer. It became some sort of semi-regular thing. Robbie'd kiss my neck, whisper my name, hands fluttering around my hips, and the guy I was outside, the cool, strong guy... would fall apart, and I'd be that scared, lonely kid again, putty in his hands.

Then in high school, Jade came along, and stole the breath from my lungs. She treated me like the guy everyone thought I was, and she acted like that didn't really mean a thing to her. I fell in love, as stupid as it sounds. As uncool as that is. But Rob's fingers still pulled my strings, still yanked my mouth open and spoke the words he wanted to hear. If Jade ignored what everyone sees me as, then Rob did too. But instead of seeing me as who I am now, Rob still treats me like that little boy he helped. Maybe he's right to. Maybe Jade just treats me like who she wishes I was.

Either way, when Rob's fingers pluck at the button to my jeans, I don't push him away. All I offer is a flimsy excuse. "Jade's expecting me."

"She'll have to wait." Rob smiles at me, thumb and forefinger tugging my zip down. "She's used to waiting, Beck."

I rub the back of my head, fingers twisting in the black locks. "Yeah, I guess."

Robbie frowns, hands falling away from my jeans. "What, you don't want to?"

I roll my shoulders in a shrug, head bowing. "It's not that. It's just..."

"It's Jade, right? You like her better than me?" Robbie's mouth twists as he crosses to his bed, slumping down. "Makes sense. Everyone who's anyone prefers Jade over me. She's popular."

"Rob, you know I'm not like that. I'm not one of them."

"Okay." He says flatly, fingers plucking at the cotton cover of his Galaxy Wars bedspread.

"I'm not. Rob, it's me. This just... doesn't feel right."

Robbie tilts his head, lips pursing. "Doesn't it? It felt right last month, didn't it? When we fixed up that car. Or does it only feel right when there are girls panting over you? Is that why you're here? To stop yourself going to other girls?"

"I'm here because I want to be."

A faint smile curls Robbie's lips. "I remember when we were kids, and I lent you Garthor the Invincible. He was the destroyer of universes, but you gave him a kid and a wife. You made him into an ordinary guy, even though his head was a flaming horned skull." Robbie stands, a hand reaching out for me. "I don't want you to be just a villain, Beck. You look like one, you talk like one, you've got henchmen. I want you to be that little boy who didn't think like everyone else did. The one that stuck by me through everything, just like I stuck with him."

A muscle in my jaw leaps. "I'm still that guy, Rob. I am." I'm still that little boy that had nothing else. I'm still that kid who didn't fit in until Rob came along, and took the time to peer into me.

"Then prove it." Rob's thin fingers pluck his glasses off, sitting them gently on his bedside table. I swallow hard, fingertips brushing his cheek as he turns back, before my lips dart forward to meet his. He still tastes like Kool Aid. I stopped drinking it years ago, but it's a taste I can't forget.

Robbie's hand is quick to reach into my pants, to fondle and stroke over my boxer briefs, fingers nimble. The same fingers that effortlessly pound out combos in Mortal Kombat, and led to so many of my character's fatalities all those years ago. Until he showed me how to do it right.

I grunt as Robbie's full lips brush my neck in a light kiss. "Get on the bed." He whispers. When we're alone, Rex disappears, but he's not gone. Part of him is in Robbie. Together they're two sides of coin... but apart? Rob's a coin stuck in a crack, caught between sides, neither one nor the other. He takes on a sliver of that confidence Rex has, even if it's only confidence towards me. He knows how much I owe him. He remembers who I was.

I lower myself onto the bed, Robbie tugging my jeans down, until they're off completely. A tongue runs out over his lips, eyes tracing over me. I don't know how much he can actually see without his glasses, but it's enough to make him happy. Even if he says he likes the boy I was better, he doesn't seem to mind what I've become.

His own pants are quick to come off, followed by his bright red Apathy Coalitionshirt. I can see his ribs outlined with every breath, arms like twigs. He's still the same boy he always was. That's why I'm still with him. He never changed, when everyone else did. He's still himself, when I'm never sure who anyone else really is. He jumps his eyebrows at me, climbing onto the bed, a hand swiping his curly dark hair out of his face. Rob's chest is warm and fragile as it presses against mine, his breath streaming against my neck as he exhales.

"You need to shave." His index finger strokes my jaw, before slipping down to trace my neck.

"Yeah. I know." I swallow hard as Rob's hand slips inside my underwear, so effortlessly. He treats my body like it's his, except I've never seen him be this comfortable in his own skin. His fingers circle around me, stroking along the length of me. His hands are just as feminine as Jade's, just as fine and delicate. But he uses them with so much more confidence. It's not exploratory fumbling, it's precise. He knows what he wants, and that becomes what I want. He was always right when we were kids, and he told me what movies to watch, what books to read. He always knew me better than I knew myself.

"That feel good?" His fingers tighten, pumping harder, and I let out a groan that's almost painful. "Turn around." His voice is ragged, more like the Robbie I know at school. But he's not nervous. This is the Robbie who stutters over the newest collector's edition, over a rare mint condition comic. This is the Robbie who wants something, but it always seems to be the same thing with me.

I roll onto my stomach, Rob shifting behind me, the bed swaying as he climbs off. I stare at the bright bedspread, Galaxy Wars emblazoned across it, spattered with stars. My knees sink into the soft mattress, hands planted in Nug Nug and Admiral Mackar's faces.

I can hear Robbie moving behind me, breath panting between his teeth. I don't jump when his fingers hook into the hem of my underwear, dragging them down until I spring free, descent halted my knees. I hear a cap pop open, and I wait for the familiar cold goo to be slathered over me. There was a time, before we were men, but not quite kids, when I could spend hours lying with Robbie, when the most we'd ever do were light caresses through our jeans, followed by clumsy kisses, and then long conversations. That was always enough for me. But Rob wanted more. He wanted everything he was sure Jade was getting. He's jealous, I know he is. I wince, trying not to buck forward, the cap snapping shut again, tucked away behind a Spiderman lunchbox. Rob can't get girls, but he has me. But Jade has a part of me he can never get. It should be enough that he has the rest. In fact, it was around the time I started dating Jade, when her name started to infect our conversations that Rob stopped talking, and fooling around wasn't enough for him anymore.

Robbie's hand plants itself on my lower back, slipping to my hips and tugging me back. And then it's hot hardness prodding at me, joined by his fingers, rubbing and twisting. He pushes against me, a soft grunt escaping, a hand tight on my hips. My teeth sink into my lower lip, shoulderblades flexing and pushing against each other as I try to ignore the pain, eyes shut tight. My breath rushes out as he fills me, heat from his thighs searing as they brush the backs of mine. "You okay?"

I nod, dark hair bobbing in front of my eyes. "Yeah." I pant, shoulders relaxing.

"More lube?" Rob answers his own question, easing out of me, the sound of the lunchbox clanking against a shelf behind me. I let out a long breath, hanging my head. Rob says these things like they're nothing. Like what we do is normal. What I let him do. Maybe this is normal to him. He treats this the same way as watching a movie, or picking out a game to play. He always managed to persuade me what to watch then, as well. He always gets what he wants with me, because he's so sure of who he is that he manages to talk me into who I am.

I wince at the coldness again, teeth gritting. It's easier when Rob slides in this time, the motion smooth and unhindered. He starts up a slow rhythm, a breathy moan escaping on each thrust, almost a sigh. I squeeze my eyes shut, stomach flexed tight, body swaying as Rob pushes against me, a crawling pleasurable pain in me. My teeth slice apart my breath, jaw muscles tight, spittle spotting my lips with every forced breath. He moves faster, hands on my hips, moving me into him as he thrusts forward, building the friction, and starting a fluttering fire in me; a flame trembling in the wind, unsteady.

He chose to do this now, because he knew I was going to see Jade. Every twinge as I sit down will be a reminder of him. That it's Rob who knows me better, who understands me more than Jade ever could. Part of me wants to be angry at that, but I've spent so long being apathetic that it's hard to work up any kind of strong emotion any more. And he's right, he does know me more. He knows me down to my bones, down to the crescent shaped scar on the back of my head, that's invisible now. It's been a long time since I wore stubble on my skull. Rob's always known who I am and what I want, and he's told me what those things are time and time again.

Robbie's hand slips on my hip, an unsteady sound pouring from his lips, his body almost hunched over mine, stomach trembling. His fingers bruise my waist, and I let out a shuddering breath as his thrusts grow unsteady, hard and irregular, pounding into me. "Ungh, Beck-" He almost whimpers, grip loosening, his hips slowing, punctuated by a few last hard thrusts that spark the flame inside me, send it flaring. His breath is ragged, skin beaded with sweat as he crawls beside me, flopping onto his back. For a minute or two, there's nothing but the sound of our breathing, Robbie's fingers tiptoeing along my shoulder absentmindedly.

The silence is broken by my phone, harsh tones chirping through the room. I raise my head, glancing over Rob to the bedside table, phone buzzing against the wood, screen lit up. "It's Jade." I say quietly, glancing at Rob as he swipes a hand across the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead.

"Don't answer it. She probably just wants you to get her coffee or something."

"You're probably right." I shift my shoulders, forearms resting on the bed.

"Just stay here for a little longer, Beck. We'll watch that new Superdudes cartoon I've been telling you about." Robbie props his head up on an elbow, dark eyes playing over my face. "We can order a pizza or something. I'll pay."

The message tone on my phone sounds, punctuating Robbie's sentence.

I ease myself off the bed, tugging my underwear up. "I can't, Rob. I made plans."

"With her?" Robbie pushes himself upright. "You know you'll have more fun with me. I'll let you win in Mortal Kombat."

I shrug, jeans in my hand. "I know I'd have more fun here, but... I can't. She's my girlfriend, Rob."

"Yeah. I guess she is." Robbie turns onto his side, knees pulled up. "If you wanna clean up before you go, you know where the bathroom is. I've got homework to do anyway."

I sling my jeans over my shoulder, leaning down and giving Robbie's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure."

I wash my hands in Robbie's bathroom, eyes ringed dark as I watch myself in the mirror, face almost pale against my black hair. I like it long like this. I like having the choice. As I clean up, it occurs to me that it's not me who needs Robbie anymore. I have other friends, I have a girlfriend. I'm not the friendless loser I was, back before I moved to Hollywood. What set me apart then helps me to blend in now. I'm not alone, but Robbie is. He went from some amount of popularity, to being nothing. To being laughed at by girls and ignored by boys. He was all I had back then, and I'm all he has now. He's my best friend, but he's terrified that'll change. He keeps me the scared little boy I was, because that's the kid he knows, that's the kid who followed him around like a forlorn puppy.

What he doesn't realise is that he doesn't need to do that. Robbie hasn't changed. I loved him then, and I love him now. It's me who's changed, I just don't know into what. I don't need Robbie anymore, but I want him. Just not the way he wants. Not in some desperate attempt to keep me close to him, to make me his. To stop me leaving like everyone else did.

If there's one thing my uncle taught me, in a hoarse voice in his hospital bed, bony hand in mine; it's to hold onto the things that make you happy. To forget what everyone else thinks, and do what feels right. Being with Rob doesn't make me the cool guy, and it doesn't make me the loser I was back then. It makes me Robbie's, and that's what I'll always be.

I was nobody's first choice. Until Rob picked me.

A/N: I thought to myself, 'authorlady, what fic would be really hard for you to do?'

But unfortunately, writing a love story between a chicken and a long dead mummy is frowned upon, and also surprisingly tragic and sexual.

So I wrote this instead.

Reviews are appreciated, because I tried really hard to do something I'm not sure of, but I used a lot of words to do it, and some of them were big, so that's gotta mean something, right?