Too Fast Too Furious Times at Ridgemont High pt 9

=Interlude: Final Exam=

So. He did it. Just reached out and kissed Brian. 'Cause if they kept talking, he might go all chicken shit again, or they might talk all around the subject and that would solve nothing. Dom needed to know. Was that afternoon in Brian's room a one-off, or did Brian really dig him?

Brian just melted into him. It was everything Dom had ever hoped for. The hot wetness of Brian's mouth, the --ohgod-- longed for taste of Brian O'Conner. He reached across with his other hand, pivoting as much as he could in the seat, and, finding the bottom of Brian's sweatshirt, Dom worked his hand up and under both sweatshirt and pajama top, touching the body he had dreamed about, beat off just thinking about, more times than he cared to count. Brian didn't stop him, just unbuckled his seat belt and leaned in, reaching across and running his hand up and down Dom's thigh, causing Dom's dick to jerk wildly in response.

Finally, hands under each other's clothes about as far as the cramped confines of the front seats would let them, Dom forced himself to stop kissing and said, "Back seat."

"Yeah," Brian groaned huskily, his lips lush and kiss swollen, his blue eyes gone all pupil, looking so hot and fuckable that Dom had to stop himself from groaning because he wanted it so bad.

And like they had the same mind, they opened the doors and, ratcheting the front seats as far forward as they would go, all but dived into the backseat, slamming the doors before the cold could really get them.

With a noise like a growl, Dom pulled Brian's body tightly to him. Too tight, because Brian grunted a bit, and Dom reluctantly made himself ease off. He was finally getting what he had longed for all semester and the thought of letting go, getting less Brian, just felt so wrong.

Lightly, hand shaking with nerves, Dom brushed his hand down the front of Brian's pajama bottoms as they kissed, fingers dancing across the hot hardness barely contained by the soft flannel. Brian responded by gasping and shoving his hips into Dom's touch. A moment later, Brian's hand found the front of Dom's jeans and stroked him in reply.

The part of Dom's brain that could still think shouted and screamed and danced and sang, delighted that it was finally happening: that he would finally touch and be touched all the ways he had dreamed of since he was old enough to know what sex was, that he had this wonderful and hot guy all eager for him; that denim wasn't nearly as thick as it seemed; that Brian tasted every bit as good as he smelled; that being in love felt so good it was a wonder his heart didn't burst.

Dom shifted back in the seat and popped the buttons on his fly, guiding Brian's hand where he wanted it --needed it -- to go. He couldn't contain the shudder when Brian's warm, strong hand finally made contact with bare flesh. With a shaking hand, Dom reached for the flap on Brian's pajamas, so jittery that he actually needed an assist to get Brian's cock out.

His mind began to fry as Brian's fingers matched his movement for movement, stroke for stroke. Dom had no words to describe the sensation of having a hand not his own on cock, fingers slip sliding, with no idea of where they would go next, or what new thing, new sensation they would cause. And, well, Brian's dick was just so hot in his hand and Dom could feel it throb slightly in time with Brian's pulse, almost like it was Brian's beating heart he cradled and caressed, and how mindblowingly incredible such a simple thing was, a hand on a dick, to cause these almost magical feelings, eye blurring waves of goodness to crash through a body.

Faster and faster, hands stroked and kisses took on a desperate, devouring quality, and Dom finally tore his mouth from Brian's, kissed and nipped his way down Brian's jaw line, to that place where neck met face, sucking, tasting, vibing on the way that Brian groaned and twitched in response, the way his cock spasmed and gave a little spurt of pre-come, laughing a bit on the inside that Brian's entire vocabulary could be reduced to an endless stream of ohgods, like thats, and oh Doms.

But Dom didn't have long to laugh, because a few strokes later his own breath left his body in an endless hitching groan and he barely had time to gasp out an "Oh Jesus! Brian!" as the orgasm slammed into him and the world exploded in a technicolor cascade.

Dom came to sagged bonelessly against Brian, eyes closed, breath coming in shuddery gasps, nostrils filled with the scent of Brian and sweat and sex, his hand full of sticky, cooling come. And ... oh shit. No Kleenex.

He straightened up a bit, struggling for a touch of control over his over his bliss slack body, and Brian just had this incredibly goofy-happy grin on his face, and they both started giggling as Brian held up his own sticky, come-covered hand.

"I guess we really didn't think this through," Brian said.

"Um, no, I guess not." Dom laughed back.

In the end they resorted to using Brian's sweatshirt. Dom promised to crank the heat so he wouldn't freeze on the way home.

Pulling Brian back into his arms, Dom leaned back as much as he could and wished he never had to move again. He drank in the smells of their bodies, the smell of sweat, and skin, and come, and wondered how anybody could ever describe a room as reeking of sex. How could anybody think these ... primal ... smells were bad? Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Dom grabbed every ounce of courage he could find and choked out, "I love you Brian. I think I've been in love with you since I've seen you. And you were such a nice guy, a guy who deserved to have Mia, and that just made me love you more, fucked up as it is."

"I don't quite know what to say," Brian replied. Then he pulled away and said in a solemn voice, "I'm just glad you're not going to beat the shit out of me."

Dom carded his fingers through Brian's hair. "Never that, Brian, never that," he murmured, kissing his temple.