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Writen for both ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xoverau's 'variations on a plot theme' challenge and the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
petitte_soeur 'time restrictions' exercise, because the two cross-fertilized in my mind.
As always, comments of any sort are welcomed ;)
"Jesus Clark!" Seb shoved the younger boy immediately backwards, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper. "What the fuck?"
David Clark, relative new boy and darling of the drama department, didn't say anything for a long second, just stood there, leaning against the back of the sixth form lockers with his fingers touching his lips.
Seb scrubbed the back of his hand across his own mouth, curling his lip.
"Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was that?"
"A kiss." David didn’t move his hand, but his lips were almost obscene, red and curved into a half smile behind them.
"David!" Seb's voice was a desperate hiss as he closed the distance between them, clamping a bony hand over David's mouth. "Shut. Up. Some fucker's going to hear you, you prick. Jesus. I've got band practise in ten minutes, and – Eww fuck!"
He jerked his hand back as though David had bitten him, or perhaps used etching acid on his tongue. His glare would have made it abundantly clear to any passing audience that David's self-composed smile was successfully infuriating the older boy. The burning blush of his cheeks indicated that the desperate glance Seb threw over his shoulder was to make quite sure there was no such audience.
"You didn't seem to mind my tongue yesterday." David's dry comment was at least quieter.
"Shut. Up. You idiot." Seb hissed. "That was different ok – We were in your parent's fucking house– not in school where my band mates could walk past at any moment. Jesus. Morton would skin me alive if he thought I was a fucking poof! I'm in Abscond Necrophile for fuck's sake. Do you have any idea what that means?"
"Well, if you will call that music, I suppose…"
"Oh piss off – Not everything's Mariah Carey and show tunes. Some of us have some fucking taste, and I'm not chucking that in for anything, let alone some hom-lord freak who doesn't know when to keep his fucking hands to himself."
"So just because your so called friends are homophobic idiots…"
"They're my friends Clark, and don't you dare say one word more. Just get the fuck out of my sight before they see you and ask what you're doing here."
Seb checked over his shoulder again, down the long galley of lockers towards the corridor before reaching to shove David towards his exit. The younger boy wrapped his hand over Seb's on his shoulder and didn't move.
"Why should I, Sebie? I'm not the one trying to hide, am I?"
"Will you keep your fucking voice down!" Seb growled, and David licked his lips.
"Look, David, please? Just – go. I just can't do this. Not here. Not now. The guys would kill me if they knew – probably kick the shit out of you too, for that matter. You know that." If it was dangerously close to whispered begging Seb was careful not to let on that he cared. David's long fingers stroked over Seb's knuckles, calm for a moment.
"You ever think that maybe your friends suck?"
Seb's arm stiffened and all the momentary relaxation was gone.
"Jesus David! Last summer I was kicking around Belmont and working at the fucking cheese factory. This year I'm going over the Holland and play at festivals with bands I practically worship, and it's because of Morton and the others, ok? They're - – they're my friends. I like them. They like me. It's a good fucking deal. This is just how it's got to be, so please, for the love of God, will you get out of here?"
David sighed and when he spoke his voice was cold, harsh, nothing like the controlled urbane front of a few moments ago. Bitter words trailing behind him as he walked away.
"Fine. You want me gone, I'm gone, but Jesus Sebs, would you just accept that it’s a choice that you're making? Your fucking choice."
*****
Seb was still standing in the lee of the lockers three minutes later when the steady clatter of steel wheels on concrete announced the arrival of Morton and his beloved drum kit. He made quite sure that his eyes were dry and his face none the worse for wear before hauling his bass out of his locker and slamming the door with a satisfying crash.
"Hey Mort – you need a hand?"
A set of keys glittered through the air, and Seb caught them with the ease of practise.
"Get the door fucker – lets get started."
xoverau's 'variations on a plot theme' challenge and the petitte_soeur 'time restrictions' exercise, because the two cross-fertilized in my mind. As always, comments of any sort are welcomed ;)
"Jesus Clark!" Seb shoved the younger boy immediately backwards, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper. "What the fuck?"
David Clark, relative new boy and darling of the drama department, didn't say anything for a long second, just stood there, leaning against the back of the sixth form lockers with his fingers touching his lips.
Seb scrubbed the back of his hand across his own mouth, curling his lip.
"Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was that?"
"A kiss." David didn’t move his hand, but his lips were almost obscene, red and curved into a half smile behind them.
"David!" Seb's voice was a desperate hiss as he closed the distance between them, clamping a bony hand over David's mouth. "Shut. Up. Some fucker's going to hear you, you prick. Jesus. I've got band practise in ten minutes, and – Eww fuck!"
He jerked his hand back as though David had bitten him, or perhaps used etching acid on his tongue. His glare would have made it abundantly clear to any passing audience that David's self-composed smile was successfully infuriating the older boy. The burning blush of his cheeks indicated that the desperate glance Seb threw over his shoulder was to make quite sure there was no such audience.
"You didn't seem to mind my tongue yesterday." David's dry comment was at least quieter.
"Shut. Up. You idiot." Seb hissed. "That was different ok – We were in your parent's fucking house– not in school where my band mates could walk past at any moment. Jesus. Morton would skin me alive if he thought I was a fucking poof! I'm in Abscond Necrophile for fuck's sake. Do you have any idea what that means?"
"Well, if you will call that music, I suppose…"
"Oh piss off – Not everything's Mariah Carey and show tunes. Some of us have some fucking taste, and I'm not chucking that in for anything, let alone some hom-lord freak who doesn't know when to keep his fucking hands to himself."
"So just because your so called friends are homophobic idiots…"
"They're my friends Clark, and don't you dare say one word more. Just get the fuck out of my sight before they see you and ask what you're doing here."
Seb checked over his shoulder again, down the long galley of lockers towards the corridor before reaching to shove David towards his exit. The younger boy wrapped his hand over Seb's on his shoulder and didn't move.
"Why should I, Sebie? I'm not the one trying to hide, am I?"
"Will you keep your fucking voice down!" Seb growled, and David licked his lips.
"Look, David, please? Just – go. I just can't do this. Not here. Not now. The guys would kill me if they knew – probably kick the shit out of you too, for that matter. You know that." If it was dangerously close to whispered begging Seb was careful not to let on that he cared. David's long fingers stroked over Seb's knuckles, calm for a moment.
"You ever think that maybe your friends suck?"
Seb's arm stiffened and all the momentary relaxation was gone.
"Jesus David! Last summer I was kicking around Belmont and working at the fucking cheese factory. This year I'm going over the Holland and play at festivals with bands I practically worship, and it's because of Morton and the others, ok? They're - – they're my friends. I like them. They like me. It's a good fucking deal. This is just how it's got to be, so please, for the love of God, will you get out of here?"
David sighed and when he spoke his voice was cold, harsh, nothing like the controlled urbane front of a few moments ago. Bitter words trailing behind him as he walked away.
"Fine. You want me gone, I'm gone, but Jesus Sebs, would you just accept that it’s a choice that you're making? Your fucking choice."
*****
Seb was still standing in the lee of the lockers three minutes later when the steady clatter of steel wheels on concrete announced the arrival of Morton and his beloved drum kit. He made quite sure that his eyes were dry and his face none the worse for wear before hauling his bass out of his locker and slamming the door with a satisfying crash.
"Hey Mort – you need a hand?"
A set of keys glittered through the air, and Seb caught them with the ease of practise.
"Get the door fucker – lets get started."
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