Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he’d arrived at the apartment it had been eleven at night, pouring rain and thunder like the world was ending outside. He’d had a little too much to drink, a little too much to smoke, just barely starting to feel its effects, and with nowhere else to go he found himself knocking on the door of a complete stranger.

He’d known the stranger since they were in school. The stranger had been a driving force in his life for as long as they’d coexisted. The stranger knew him so well. The stranger knew every inch of his skin and knew exactly which touch he needed to forget the pain and thundering that came from outside.

The stranger’s name was Pico.

And even though he’d known Pico since they were kids, he was still a stranger.

“Bee,” Pico was gasping. A childhood nickname, one Bee himself had forgotten the origin of. Bee was on his knees, straddling Pico’s hips, the muscles in his abdomen straining and relaxing in time as he lifted himself up, then back down, up again mindlessly - though riding Pico never took much thought anyway. All he wanted and needed to focus on was the feeling of being stretched, filled, a void in his stomach temporarily forgotten about. 

When Bee had arrived they’d begun promptly, like they always had. As soon as the door had open Bee collapsed into Pico’s chest, breathing the familiar scent of the green hoodie Pico always wore, one Bee would give an arm to steal and forever be wrapped in that warm smell of cigarettes and coffee and sin. Today, Bee tasted metal in Pico’s mouth, finding a new piercing on his tongue when an embrace turned into their mouths meeting desperately. They both knew why Bee had arrived and after the first, tenth, hundredth time they’d done this, they’d found they were better off not wasting time with niceties. Barely a word that wasn’t related to sex had been exchanged between the pair for almost a year. 

A kiss at the door turned into Bee choking on Pico’s tongue, pinned on the couch, and later choking again on Pico’s dick. Bee still tasted salt now, on that same couch, all his skin exposed to the biting air and Pico’s scrutinizing gaze. A gaze that was rolled back into Pico’s head, the man who normally took control about to be knocked onto his ass by his third or fourth orgasm of the night. Bee didn’t care.

One hand holding him up as he leaned back and the other stroking himself frantically, Bee relaxed his jaw and moaned at the ceiling, a sound like his soul escaping his body cutting through the soft playlist of whatever Pico had put on before Bee stumbled through the door. Even Pico, normally strong silent, was unable to keep his mouth shut, crying out with every breath every time Bee slammed himself back down. For once Pico was in Bee’s position - the bottom, the sub, whatever word he preferred at the moment. Bee would’ve passed out by now, to Pico’s credit. But hopefully this one would be the last of the night, and...as terrible as it felt to admit it, Bee wanted it to hurt.

Maybe it was the alcohol and drugs but today, Bee felt sicker than usual. A wave of nausea overtook him every time Pico entered him again. He coughed, sputtered a bit, his strokes growing faster, every part of him feeling hot and sweaty and in complete agony. The heat was so intense he felt he might burn to ash at a moment’s notice. Where he’d once felt pleasure between his legs and up his ass now was just hurt, just illness, just repulson. Every muscle in his body tensed and clenched as his own orgasm slammed into him with the force of a train, his cum coating both his and Pico’s stomachs. 

Normally he would force his aching and sickly body to keep going, to bring Pico to a climax as well and yet for some goddamn reason, just like the piercing Bee had found out about by taste, today was different. He couldn’t keep going. He couldn’t.

He sat down on Pico’s dick for the last time and pitched forward, collapsing onto Pico’s chest and burying his face in his neck. He white-knuckled the fabric of the couch beneath them, trying to summon the strength to at least finish Pico off before he left them both in cold limbo, and yet…

Pico got the memo, relaxing more as the minutes passed. Bee allowed himself to be flipped over, nodding numbly when Pico made eye contact, silently asking permission. Bee lifted his legs up and wrapped them around Pico’s waist, letting him finish himself off.

I hate this.

I hate this so, so goddamn much.

What was different about today? Bee was usually so much better at this, a better sub. Eager to please. Where was the eagerness? What was wrong with him? 

As the reality began to close in that Pico was going to be upset, Bee came to a conclusion. That’s all he was, wasn’t it? A good sub. Pico’s sub. They weren’t even friends, just the so-called benefits. Whether or not Pico would even like Bee if they weren’t fucking was painfully clear to Bee, and when it finally hit him harder than his orgasm had, he almost couldn’t take it. Luckily for him, his moans sounded uncannily similar to his sobs.

Liquid fire filled that void as Pico finally came, draining as quickly as it had arrived, replaced again by numb emptiness. Another night, another fuck, and nothing had changed. Nothing would ever. Now was the part when Bee silently got up, got dressed again, pissing away yet another opportunity to take Pico’s favorite hoodie, and drove home alone, clenching his jaw because it was painful to sit. And tomorrow, or next week, or whenever the mood next struck Bee, they would do it all over again.

He laid there absolutely wallowing in his pain, letting it all sink in and saturate his very soul. A good sub. Not even Bee. Just a good sub.

Which was when Pico gently brushed Bee’s blue hair out of his face and coaxed him to a sit by his shoulders, and then laid back and wrapped his arms around Bee, holding him close against his chest. His breath passed over Bee’s ear as he whispered, “Are you ok?” 

And then it was all over.

A tear slipped out of one of Bee’s eyes, and then another, and then another, until suddenly his prior sobs had taken form, tears spilling down his face while Bee was too stunned to even react. Pico felt his shoulders shake as his sobs escaped his mouth, breath quickening and straining as he turned his face into Pico’s skin. He fought back those sobs like his life depended on it, until he felt Pico’s hands stroking up and down his back, a sweet, tender kiss pressed into his forehead. 

Bee didn’t know how long he sobbed. It was his ugliest moment, covered in sweat, tears and cum, and yet when he felt like an open wound simply by existing, today was still different. As disgusting as it made him feel, Bee couldn’t stop crying, expelling years of bottled-up pain, sorrow, anger at himself and everyone in his life.

He was cheating on his girlfriend. He’d been sleeping with multiple people even before he tried to commit himself to her, seeking to fill a void he hadn’t really realized existed until today. He was an awful boyfriend, an awful sub, an awful friend...an awful person. He must’ve been. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bee blurted through his messy cries. “This...this, whatever we are. I can’t do it anymore. With you or with anyone, I just can’t. How am I supposed to keep fucking you when I don’t...I don’t even feel like I know you at all?”

Pico stiffened, but only at the very last part, and yet Bee was still afraid, wanting to recoil from his touch. But then another kiss came to his forehead, Pico’s touch remained as soft as his voice when he spoke.

“...I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I...I’ve been wondering how you ok you were really with all this shit, and yet I said nothing.” God, it felt so good when Pico stroked his hair like that…“I didn’t want to drive you away. Wasn’t fair of me to expect you to say something that heavy if you felt it, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Bee sniffed pathetically before he spoke, mouth sticking to itself. “I don’t need to just fuck more,” Bee mumbled, halfway to himself. “I need...I want love, Pico. God, I wish someone loved me. Not even my girlfriend really loves me, I-I’m sure of it-”

“Shhh.” Pico cut him off. “That...that isn’t true. I know it doesn’t feel like it, I can’t just fix it with a few words.” He was rambling a bit, pausing between his words, unsure of what to say. “I can’t...I can’t really fix it at all, but, I mean. Shit.” Another kiss, then his voice turning warmer than anything Bee had ever heard out of him. “If...if you wanted love, Bee, you could’ve just said. I’m willing. I’m so willing. And I can’t fix you but I can...help it hurt less until you can find a way to fix yourself, I guess.”

“...what am I gonna tell Gigi-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pico said firmly. “I’ll talk to her. We both will, but, we’ll work something out with her. It’ll be ok.”

It was then that Pico finally pulled away, looking down at the both of him - and man, despite the tooth gap or acne scars or whatever Pico didn’t like about his face, he had such a beautiful smile, a wonderful laugh. “Look at us, we’re a mess. Let’s...let’s go shower, sound good?”

Inviting him to a shower? Bee opened his mouth to say no, before calmly backing up and releasing a breath. The thought had crossed his mind a number of times in Bee’s fantasies. Pico was usually pretty good about aftercare, but once again, something about today just felt...different.

Bee wanted to fall asleep. Pico was astonishingly hardy, being able to remain mostly awake while Bee was nodding off, exhausted by sex and sobs. The rest of the night was particularly blurry, the cool water and cool tile of Pico’s shower against his skin, Pico’s hands rubbing soap across his body, through his hair, the pair of them just sitting for awhile in the shower, holding one another. It was...nice. Nicer than anything Bee thought he deserved, but for once in his life, that doubt wasn’t darkening his enjoyment of the moment. 

Cool turned into cold as Bee sat on Pico’s carpeted bedroom, wrapped in a towel. His vision was double, it had been for awhile, but briefly focused when Pico appeared in front of him yet again, wearing a white t-shirt and basketball shorts. He handed Bee his boxers and a green mass of cloth, which Bee realized a second later was that beloved hoodie. He almost cried when he pulled it on over his head and breathed in that familiar, wonderful scent. 

When his face emerged from the fabric he was met by Pico’s lips - no tongue, no bite, just his soft, warm lips, and Bee sat stunned for a second, relishing just the sweet feeling of being kissed for the sake of kissing for once in his life. It was so nice. 

Still pressed into Bee, Pico murmured, his eyes half closed, “Is it too soon to say I love you?”

Bee made a childish “nuh-uh” noise of negation. “I don’t think so.”

“...I love you, Bee.”

“I love you too.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll go on a real date. Sound good?”

“Talk to Gigi first.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow…”

As Bee’s eyes drifted shut and Pico wrapped his arms around him, coaxing him to stand and stumble to bed, he smiled when he heard Pico laugh. “Tomorrow, baby. Goodnight.”

He went to sleep warm and safe, and when tomorrow did come, everything was different.