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It was after prom. Of course it was after prom. This was so typical it was kind of completely ridiculous. Stereo-typical, even.
Well, technically it wasn’t even after prom. Prom was still in full swing, they’d just left after about an hour of Dave’s completely unsubtle and conspicuous bemoaning of the entire ordeal. John was kind of miffed, to be perfectly honest; it felt like he’d rented the tux for nothing.
Well, technically, right now, at this very second, it felt like Dave was unzipping the front of his pants with his teeth.
John couldn’t say he was complaining about this turn of events, even if the little car-window-roller-thingy was digging into the small of his back. His fingers carded through Dave’s hair, turning the artful disorder into something a little more primal. John bit the inside of his cheek when he noticed glitter stuck in the pale gold strands under his fingers, stifling a laugh.
“Got something to say, princess?” Dave says, propping himself up on his elbows, staring up at John over the rims on the glasses he gave him. John nudges his shoulder with his knee, impatient.
“You look like a glittery little fairy.” He blushes. That sounded more lame than funny. Dave just snorts and turns back towards what he was doing; IE trying to undress his prom date in the back seat of his brother’s pick-up truck. His fingers wrap into the hem of John’s boxers when he hears a panicked noise and feels and hand on his shoulder.
“What if we get caught? I mean, we’re not exactly…well. We’re still in the school’s parking lot, you dumpass.” But it sounds a little halfhearted.
“Yeah, and I’ll ruin my suit. Now do you want to make this the most awesome prom night of your life or what?” Dave sounds amused, and taps his nails over John’s hips. He’d gotten a manicure for this occasion; a hot pink floral design that clashed horribly with the yellow plaid of his tux. He’d really gone all out. John had pointedly ignored the looks his dad had given Dave when he’d picked him up earlier that evening.
“…This is the only prom night of my life.”
“John.”
“What.”
“I’m taking off your boxers now.”
“Oh. Yeah okay.” And that was that.
There’s a lot of wriggling around as they attempt to undress one another, and they both slip off the seat at least once, briefly and suddenly dipping into the abyss of greasy fast-food napkins and empty paper cups. Conditions were less than ideal, obviously, this being the back seat of a car and all. It’s cramped and strange and they both have far too many elbows for this to really work as well as it seems to in the movies.
They both put in a good effort, though, and are rewarded for their perseverance towards their untoward goal when they finally, finally, managed to get comfortable. Sorta. Dave ends up situated between John’s legs, the toes of his shoes scuffing lightly at the window that was already beginning to become worryingly foggy. John decides it was best not to think about that now. Dave decides to start palming at John’s dick.
John knees him in the chin. “Ff- careful.” Dave lessens the pressure, and within moments John can feel himself getting hard, the pressure just enough to echo up through his tummy. John’s breath wavers when he inhales, and he is unsure what to do with his hands. Eventually he settles for Dave’s shoulders, patting him. Dave laughs, voice low and just barely shaky.
“This isn’t really the kind of situation where you give someone a pat on the back. Ain’t like you’re my dad and you’re giving me the old good son routine for doing well in the dicksuck Olympics. You need to get your situational pri-“ He cuts himself off, realizing he was rambling, stalling. It was something John’s noticed before. In the dim light straining in from the parking lot lights, he can just barely see that Dave’s entire face has gone pink. John smiles, and says in his best impression of the folks from Monty Python and The Holy Grail,
“Get on with it.” Daves makes a curt nod.
“Right.”
John rolls his hips up against the warm palm pressing against his erection, hands locking down on Dave’s shoulders. He accidentally slams his head against the window when the entirely different sensation of a tongue glides up his length. He glances back down at Dave, whose arms are curled around John’s thighs, and draws a sharp breath, feeling moist heat slowly surrounding his length. Dave sank down gradually; keeping his eyes locked on John’s, sunglasses having been shoved to the top of his head to make this easier on both of them.
Dave curls his tongue against the shaft of John’s dick, feeling the head nudge uncomfortably against the back of his mouth with every impassioned, impatient wriggle of John’s hips. He’s really flying by the seat of his ass here. It’s not like he’s ever done this before. Dave’s eyes glass over with tears when the nudging become more persistent and he really would really rather stay down here, watching the sea-swell of John’s chest, the color rising in his cheeks as he got his dick sucked. Well, most of it was being sucked anyway. He didn’t look like he particularly cared. He actually looked like he was having the time of his life, and Dave wished he could say the same, the friction from the car seat could be considered anything but relieving.
John tastes hot and heavy on Dave’s tongue, that is, until his movements become a little too spastic and Dave’s gag reflex is triggered.
They both start at the sound of Dave choking; John’s head slaps loudly against the glass yet again, and Dave pulls off of him with a wet pop, a trail of saliva and precum glistening between his lips and the swollen head of John’s cock. They’re both flushed with red, panting and gasping for air.
John laughs first, and the sound is so delicious Dave just has to have a taste. He pushes up until his lips meet John’s-
Ear..
“Wow dude, gross, no!” It takes Dave a few moments to realize why his boyfriend is refusing to kiss him. Then it hits him like a bat striking the final goal of the soccer bowl. He chokes out a curt laugh, which spills into a shared fit of nervous laughter. Dave rests his forehead on John’s shoulder and listens to their pulses. The cheap material of the windowsill fabric scratches his forehead with polyfiber vengeance.
He can still feel his unattended erection pressing into John’s stomach, and a rather telling hardness nudges back at him. John clears his throat. Dave speaks.
“So should I feel free to continue or should I take you trying to choke me to death as a hint.” John snorts.
“Keep going you airhead.” He rolls his hips experimentally against Dave, humping him like, well, a teenager.
“As you wish.” Dave hoists himself up, using the ledge where the window meets the seat for leverage, lining his body up with John’s. It’s unsteady, but it’ll have to do. He’s not sure how much longer this’ll last anyway. He’s embarrassingly hard just from listening to John. Dave finally manages to line them both up, feeling a whisper of hot skin against his dick. He begins to rut into empty space for a moment, glancing down at John.
“Any time you want.” He says. John looks confused, dazed almost, for a moment, before jackknifing into action.
“Oh! Oh. Yeah.” He reaches between them, one hand grasping cumbersomely around both of their dicks, the other scrabbling to find purchase on the inside of the car door. Dave groans in his ear, all hot breath and humidity, and it is impossibly hot. John notices again how fogged the windows are, but is having a hard time caring, what with the close press of Dave’s chest, and the sweet, sweet, friction in his hand. At first it’s slow, and they almost find a semblance of a pattern, cussing softly at the air, and gradually their bonds slip and their movements become sloppy. John arches almost painfully into Dave, and he’s close, so close. He reaches for something to hold onto, something to anchor him, noticing how frantic Dave’s getting, maybe he can hold on a smidge longer.
John finally finds a grip on the door, and pushes back against Dave, the slick, warm, feeling of his cock sliding against his own almost too much.
And then he’s weightless, falling back into space.
John emits a pride-crushingly high-pitched scream, and so does Dave, and then they meet the parking lot pavement, a cruel 3 feet away.
Turns out the door wasn’t locked.
By the time either of them realizes what’s happened, they’re not much more than a tangle of limbs on the pavement. John is clutching the back of his head, murmuring “What the fuck,” Over and over. Dave is in a similar situation, waving around his freshly skinned palms.
“I cannot fucking believe-“ Dave stops, glancing around, between the rows of cars.
“Cannot fucking believe what? That we’re probably the dumbest morons to ever dumb?” John retorts, checking himself for any other injuries.
“I was gonna say that prom’s over, but yours works too.” John freezes, a look of terror boiling over the look of mortified annoyance he’d been wearing before. He can hear it now, footsteps, laughter, cars starting. They’re surrounded by people. Neither of them are wearing any clothes. Why the hell had he insisted they both be completely naked?
Without a word they both scramble back into the truck, any amorous stirrings long since abandoned.
Dave breaks at least 11 traffic laws getting them out of there, but neither of them care, adrenaline high and sex muddled.
They spend the rest of the evening sprawled out on Strider’s couch, dabbing each other with peroxide over a pineapple pizza and Pretty In Pink.
Later they both recall it as a successful prom night.
Later they both also recall it going entirely differently.