Chapter Text
A walk down memory lane
Eric remembered that day so clearly, and it still made his stomach twist. It had been a random weekday. Brooks had come over to hang out in the basement like they had been doing since they became friends again. But this time, something was different-- Brooks didn’t make a move. No sneaky touches, no teasing smiles, no lingering stares that said exactly what was about to happen next.
It had been weeks of secret kissing, grinding against each other until they couldn’t think straight and the friction from jeans burned their skin, jerking each other off until their arms were sore, and rubbing cocks together so desperately it made Eric see stars. Every time had left him torn between euphoria and a storm of self-loathing. When Brooks wasn’t there, Eric tried so hard to convince himself it was disgusting, that Brooks was disgusting, that this wasn’t who he was. But when Brooks was there-- close, warm, looking at him with that stupid smile-- it was like all of that melted away.
Except that day.
Brooks just sat there, sprawled out on the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world, flipping through channels and laughing. Like nothing was going on. Like everything they’d done didn’t even matter.
Eric had tried to focus on the tv, but he could feel Brooks’s presence like a weight on his chest. His heart pounded every time Brooks shifted, every time his leg brushed Eric’s, every time he laughed.
It was driving Eric insane.
He’d spent the first hour waiting. Surely Brooks was just biding his time, right? He always made the first move, always leaned in with that smirk that made Eric want to punch him and pull him close all at once. But the longer they sat there, the more Eric’s anger built. What the fuck was Brooks doing? Why wasn’t he kissing him already? Why wasn’t he leaning in, grabbing him, touching him, anything?
Eric felt like he was about to explode. It bothered him so much that his chest ached with it.
Why wasn’t this faggot kissing him today?
The thought burned in his mind, a bitter echo of the internal war he fought every day. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. This was just Brooks’s fault. Brooks had somehow… tricked him into this.
Eric glanced at Brooks out of the corner of his eye. He looked so fucking relaxed. His stupid, perfect face. His stupid, perfect everything.
Eric couldn’t take it anymore.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What?”
“You’ve been sitting here all fucking day like-- like nothing’s going on. Like you’re just… here to hang out or some shit.”
Brooks blinked, his lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “I mean… isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been acting all… normal. Like we’re just friends. Like we haven’t been-- ” He cut himself off, his face flushing.
Brooks raised an eyebrow, and that damn smirk started to creep onto his face. “Like we haven’t been what, Eric?”
Eric’s cheeks burned, his heart pounding as he looked away. “You know what I mean.”
Brooks leaned back, his smirk widening as he studied Eric. “Oh, I see. You missed me kissing you.”
Eric’s head snapped toward him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Brooks chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. All you had to do was say something, you know.”
Eric glared at him. “I shouldn’t have to.”
“You’re so fucking stubborn. ”
And just like that, Brooks kissed him. Finally. And Eric hated how much it made his heart race, how much he leaned into it, how much he needed it.
Eric’s mind wandered deeper. He could still hear Brooks’s low hums against his skin, the way his lips lingered just long enough to make Eric’s breath hitch, his body betraying him even as he muttered a weak, “No.”
Eric hadn’t actually fought back. His words had no bite, and Brooks could tell. Brooks always could. He’d smiled against Eric’s neck, and tugged Eric’s shirt over his head. Eric had muttered something under his breath, maybe another half-hearted protest, but Brooks hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t hesitated. His mouth had pressed to Eric’s chest, kissing along his collarbone, and further.
Eric’s heart had been pounding so hard he thought it might give out entirely when Brooks reached his stomach. He remembered how Brooks had lingered there, his tongue darting out to taste his skin. Eric’s hands had fisted into the couch, his body trembling as he tried to hold still, to keep from giving himself away completely. But then Brooks’s breath had ghosted lower, over the waistband of Eric’s pants, and Eric had lost whatever composure he’d had left.
Brooks’s hands had been steady as they tugged Eric’s waistband down, just enough to free him. Eric remembered the way his cock had sprung out, flushed and glistening, the head leaking so much it almost embarrassed him. He’d glanced down, his chest tightening at the sight of Brooks staring at him with that intense gaze that made Eric feel like he was being stripped even further.
“Shit, Eric. You’re so fucking pretty.”
Eric had wanted to say something— anything but the words had stuck in his throat. His mind was spinning, his body on fire, and when Brooks’s breath finally brushed over the sensitive, throbbing head of his cock, Eric had almost lost it. He’d let out a strangled sound, his hips jerking involuntarily, and Brooks had smirked, that confident, maddening smirk that drove Eric wild.
And then Brooks had lowered his mouth, his lips wrapping around Eric’s cock for the first time. The warmth, the wetness, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of Brooks’s mouth sliding down his length-- it had been too much, too good. Eric’s head had fallen back against the couch, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe, to process what was happening.
Brooks had been slow at first, his tongue swirling around the head, lapping up the salty slickness that kept leaking out. The sight alone had been enough to make Eric tremble. Brooks’s eyes had flicked up to meet Eric’s, his lips stretched around him in a way that was both obscene and beautiful. Eric had felt his stomach tighten, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to grab Brooks by the hair and shove him down.
The sensations were unlike anything Eric had ever felt before. Brooks had taken his time, his mouth moving in slow strokes, his tongue pressing against the sensitive underside, his lips sliding down as far as he could go before pulling back with a soft, wet sound that made Eric’s toes curl. Each time he pulled back, his tongue would flick over the tip, teasing the slit until Eric was a trembling mess, his hips bucking.
“Fuck, Brooks,” Eric had gasped, his voice cracking as his hands finally moved to Brooks’s hair, gripping tightly. “I can’t-- shit, I’m gonna-- ”
Brooks hadn’t stopped. If anything, he’d doubled down, his head bobbing faster, his hands gripping Eric’s thighs to hold him steady. The loud wet sounds of Brooks’s mouth, the heat and pressure and slick slide, had sent Eric spiraling. He’d glanced down again, his vision blurring slightly, and the sight of Brooks between his legs, lips stretched, cheeks hollowed, his cock disappearing into that perfect mouth– it had been too much.
Eric remembered the way his whole body had tensed, his breath hitching as the tension inside him snapped. His hips had jerked forward, his hands gripping Brooks’s hair tightly as he came harder than he ever had in his life. The first spurt had been so forceful it made Brooks choke slightly, but he didn’t pull back. He took it all, swallowing around Eric, his throat working in a way that made Eric groan loudly, his body trembling as wave after wave crashed over him.
When it was over, Eric had collapsed back against the couch, his chest heaving, his heart racing as he tried to catch his breath. Brooks had finally pulled back, his lips red and swollen, his chin glistening. He’d smirked up at Eric, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Eric’s breath hitched as the memory took another turn. He could still feel the ache in his chest, the way it had hollowed him out as soon as Brooks had walked out the door. The room had felt unbearably quiet, and he’d just stood there, staring at the spot where Brooks had been, his hands trembling at his sides.
Eric had collapsed onto the floor, his back against the edge of his bed, and let the tears fall. He hated crying, he hated how weak it made him feel– but he couldn’t stop. The tears came fast, soaking his cheeks, dripping down onto his shirt. His chest had felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room, and he’d clutched at his ribs as if that would somehow ease the pain.
The shame was unbearable. He hated himself for letting Brooks touch him like that.
He’d tried to block it out, but it had been impossible. It was burned into his mind– the sight of Brooks, the way he’d taken his time, the feeling of his mouth, his tongue, the way his fingers had gripped Eric’s hips to hold him still. Eric could still hear the soft, wet sounds, the way his own breaths had turned into gasps, how he’d gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.
And then the aftermath. Brooks had looked so smug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it was no big deal, while Eric had just lain there, his chest heaving, his mind racing. He’d felt exposed, vulnerable, and more confused.
When Brooks had left, casually tossing a “See you tomorrow” over his shoulder, Eric had felt like he was going to explode. He’d wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything to get rid of the twisting, unbearable mess of emotions.
By the time he’d dragged himself into bed, his head was pounding, and his eyes were swollen. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, couldn’t stop hating himself for letting it happen.
That night, Eric had thought about ending it all. He’d imagined what it would be like to hang himself. No more confusion, no more shame, no more Brooks. It had been tempting. He’d clutched his pillow tightly, tears streaming down his face as he whispered to himself, “You’re not gay. You’re not. You’re not.”
He’d driven to school the next day, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers went numb, the thought flickering in the back of his mind– If I ran him over, maybe I’d feel better. He’d hated himself for thinking it, but he’d hated Brooks even more for making him feel like this. For making him want him. For making him crave something that felt so wrong.
But when he’d dragged himself to school, his resolve started to crumble. He’d sat in class, staring at his notebook, trying to force himself to think about anything other than Brooks. But then his eyes had wandered– completely against his will, and there he was.
Brooks.
He’d been sitting a few rows ahead, his head tilted slightly as he jotted something down in his notebook. He looked so casual, so normal, and Eric hated him for it.
Eric’s stomach had twisted painfully as he stared, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the whole class could hear it.
Oh god, maybe the whole class knows.
He’d wanted to look away, to stop himself, but he couldn’t. And then Brooks had turned, and smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile– just a small, knowing curve of his lips. But it had been enough to make Eric’s entire body shiver. Goosebumps had erupted along his arms, and he’d felt like his chest was caving in all over again.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does he have to look at me like that?
All he’d been able to think about for the rest of the class, was how badly he wanted to grab Brooks, to shove him into an empty classroom the second the bell rang, to kiss him until he forgot every horrible thought.