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Maroon & Gold	By : allcanadiangirl Category: 1 through F > Everwood Views: 7279 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Everwood, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Peer
- 2-Bond
- 3-Only
- 4-Down
- 5-Nice
- 1
- 2
- 3
a key for every door | bond
it's: bond
by: bj
in sum: you know that, he says.
label: bright. bright/ephram.
rating: nc17.
sissies: ha. no spoilers.
legalities: don't own, don't sue.
i say: carefully planned interlude with noncon possibilities. second in the maroon & gold series. aka "the story of sixteen million titles."
muse: "prove to you" by chevelle. "there's no bond between some men." it's fun to take a song about baseball and make a story like this.
you say: all comments appreciated, answered, and archived. allcanadiangirl@lycos.com.

bond

He's waiting in the doorway between two banks of lockers, he's been waiting for a long time. He'd followed Ephram from geometry to the library after class, watched him sit down with science homework, checked out the new Sports Illustrated, and come here. He's been waiting for a while.

Maybe. He's scared he got the locker number wrong. He should be in the next hallway or on the next floor. He should pai paid more attention, he should have listened, he hears. Ephram says goodbye to someone, "See you tomorrow," he says, and he hears the metallic bang of a locker opening, and he knows he's right where he's supposed to be.

Bright reaches behind, opens the maintenance closet door. He moves flush with the corner of the lockers, just out of sight, ready. Ready.

Blood knocks through him. He hears movement, rustling, he hears Ephram talking to himself, scoffing to himself, "Yeah, right," he says clearly, the locker snaps shut. Bright feels like one big pulse. He's ready. He's so still, it's perfect, he's not shaking at all.

He sees. He sees Ephram's shadow bobbing on the floor, the wax-shiny linoleum floor, he sees. Ephram.

One second, let him get past the opening, ste step. Out behind him.

One hand. Shove the backpack from his arm, unneeded weight and weapon. Grab his shoulder. One hand around his neck, up. Over his mouth.

And then pull.

It's really easy.

Ephram's reflexes are slower than he'd thought. He doesn't kick until they're nearly in the closet, he doesn't bite at all. Bright can feel his breath harsh, condensing between his fingers. Ephram is pulling, though, at Bright's arms, trying to jab his elbows back into Bright's ribs.

Bright fits his arm across Ephram's throat and squeezes. He kicks the door shut, Ephram's backpack a dark abandoned shape in the hallway, it casts a long shadow.

He pulls up on Ephram's face, deep breaths expanding Ephram's windpipe against his arm, leans close to his ear, doesn't know what to say. He hadn't figured he'd get this far. Ephram moves slower as Bright breathes on his ear, his jaw, his neck. Trying to think of something. Bright backs against a cabinet, pulls Ephram hard against him.

He decides he doesn't need to say anything. He licks the back of Ephram's ear and they both go still.

Ephram's teeth graze his fingers, Ephram is a blaze of struggle. Arms, legs, he stamps Bright's left foot, knocks him a good one in the shin. Bright clamps in, holds him down, together.

He's got him so tight at the neck he couldn't yell if he wanted to, so Bright lets that go. Ephram is reaching back, trying to get at his face.

This is where Bright stopped planning and started dreaming, so he's moving. He's moving. Totally independent of Ephram spitting his hard-earned breath, clawing his fingers into Bright's arm, smacking his oxygen-deprived fist at the side of Bright's head. He's moving through that. Above it.

Bright flattens his hand over the fly of Ephram's jeans. Ephram bucks his hips, something like no makes it through. Bright can feel that he's hard, he runs his fingers around it.

He'd known it would be like this.

He squeezes Ephram's throat, Ephram's hard-on. He tugs at the button until it pops, shoves the zipper down with the side of his hand as he. He's diving in.

To warm. Firm, he pulls Ephram's dick through the fly of his boxers and into the world. Bright closes his eyes, squeezes everything again. Ephram gasps, sounds like yes, Ephram's hand opens, he curls his fingers around Bright's ear and holds on.

Blood thuds in his body, in his hand, he feels Ephram throbbing all over. Ephram pushes forward against Bright's arm and Bright chokes it up again, runs his thumb over Ephram's jaw. Ephram does that forward and back thing, it's hot against Bright's hard-on, Bright keeps pulling, pushing.

He holds on to ethinthing.

Then, warmth, noise dies between Ephram's chest and Bright's arm, strangled. Bright closes his teeth over the curve of Ephram's ear, lets go without drawing blood.

His arm is loose, Ephram makes a frustrated, tired noise. Somehow satisfied.

And he looks over Ephram's shoulder, down Ephram's torso at his hand. It's a mess, but at least it's not in Ephram's pants this time. Ephram is sagging, head back, breathing hard. Bright slaps his palm against Ephram's stomach, his t-shirt, wipes the back and the front of his hand across the green. Runs the warm waistband of Ephram's boxers between his fingers.

Clean enough.

Bright lets Ephram go, lets him crumple on the floor between his legs. He steps over Ephram.

He opens the closet door, goes out into the hallway. He looks down at Ephram's backpack. He'd planned to leave it, or kick it roughly in the general direction of the closet. He picks it up. He leans back into the closet and tosses it at Ephram's feet.

Ephram looks up, eyes wide in his angry way, hands on the button of his jeans. "You're fucking crazy, you know that," he says. Barely audible.

Bright shrugs. Ephram's probably right, doesn't matter. Doesn't care.

Ephram shakes his head, pulls his backpack across the floor. "See you tomorrow," he says.

Bright leaves. He leaves the door open.

End.
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