
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8038.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Baccano!
  Relationship:
      Luck_Gandor/Claire_Stanfield
  Character:
      Luck_Gandor, Claire_Stanfield
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-11-14 Words: 2040
****** Thy Distant Fire ******
by Laylah
Summary
     Luck is fourteen when he begins to worry that there is, in fact,
     something really wrong with him. The boys at school are all talking
     about girls, and Luck...Luck has nothing to add to the conversation.
Luck is fourteen when he begins to worry that there is, in fact, something
really wrong with him. The boys at school are all talking about girls -- and
getting thrashed when the nuns catch them at it, whenever Sister Mary Michael
comes around a corner faster than they expect and overhears somebody saying
something dirty. And Luck...Luck has nothing to add to the conversation. He
doesn't see what the big deal is, doesn't think he'd care even if he could get
his hand up some girl's blouse.
He can think of something he probably would care about, but he tries not to.
Most of the time he tries to just not think about anything at all, anyone at
all, when he can manage to steal five minutes alone at night -- not easy, with
three other boys in the house and only two bedrooms among the four of them. So
Luck hurries when the opportunity presents itself and doesn't let himself
linger on any of the images that come to mind, the ones with muscular shoulders
and quick smiles and no soft feminine curves anywhere.
Refusing to think about it doesn't even mean he's not thinking about it, which
is awful and seems unfair. He's pretty sure the nuns would tell him that's just
how temptation works, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Anything can
bring his...problem to mind after a while. Even poetry betrays him eventually,
when he's curled up with a collection of Poe and finds the one about turning
away from the beauty of the moon, preferring the evening star.
It doesn't even fit, not really, because the fire that Luck's been admiring
isn't distant at all, and he's sure the morning star would make more sense than
the evening one; he's had enough catechism to know it was the Morning Star's
pride that led to the Fall. But at that point he's practically rewriting the
thing, and he knows enough about his shortcomings to realize he's no poet.
The lines stick in his head for all that he knows they're ridiculous, that
pining over thy glory afar when the object of his fascination is sleeping in
the next bed, or calling this anything like joy to my heart, is painfully off
the mark. It's torment, the more so because Claire doesn't seem to have the
first clue he's doing it.
Why should he know, though? If Luck were normal, there wouldn't be anything to
worry about at all. If Luck were like any other boy -- but he's not, and
despite how much he tries not to he can't help sneaking glances, watching out
of the corner of his eye as Claire gets undressed for bed. His heart beats
faster at the curve of spine when Claire stretches, at the little trail of
fire-red hair that disappears beneath the waistband of Claire's sleeping pants.
Some nights he lies awake a good hour trying to convince his cock to stop being
hard.
He should have realized it would only be a matter of time.
"What's bothering you lately?" Claire asks one night -- direct as always. "You
used to be so happy, so easy to talk to. Now you're all quiet. If something's
bothering you, you can always talk to me. I'm your brother, after all." He
comes over and sits down on the edge of Luck's bed. "Or, I suppose, if it's a
problem with your brothers, I'm also not your brother. So you can still talk to
me."
Luck tries to laugh, tries not to pull away. He can feel Claire leaning against
his thigh. "It's not --" he can't imagine fighting with any of them seriously,
hopes he never has to. "It's nothing to do with Keith or Berga."
"Good," Claire says. "That's a lot better than the alternative. So what's
wrong?"
"If I tell you," Luck says -- realizing as he says it how much he wants to tell
someone, confess to someone, and he'd rather it were Claire than any priest
he's ever met -- "If I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone at all? Even
Keith? And -- and not to think less of me." He's asking a lot, but Claire acts
like he's capable of doing impossible things, so just difficult ones shouldn't
be so bad by comparison.
Claire frowns at him, and it looks more worried than angry, so that's good. "I
could never think less of you, Luck," he says. "I promise."
Now of course he has to say it, at least part of it, at least the beginning.
Luck takes a deep breath, looking off into the corner beyond Claire's shoulder.
"This year at school, it seems like -- all the boys are, are talking about
girls all of a sudden. You know how I mean." He licks his lips. "All the boys
but me."
"And that's what you're worried about?" Claire says. He grins. "Being a late
bloomer isn't the end of the world, you know. You'll get there."
"I'm not --" Luck protests, and glares. This is much more serious than Claire
realizes it is. "It's not like -- I mean, what if I never do? What if I -- what
if what I want right now," and saying it still sticks, still makes him
hesitate, "what if that doesn't go away?"
When he dares to look at Claire's face, Claire's watching him steadily, serious
as he gets, studying Luck's face. "What is it," he says, "that you want right
now?"
"To kiss you," Luck says before he can think better of it. He flinches a
little, because no matter what Claire said it's hard to imagine that he
wouldn't want to hit Luck for that.
Anyone but Claire probably would have. "Well, then," Claire says instead. Then
he kisses Luck on the mouth.
His lips are warm and soft, and he slips his tongue into Luck's mouth when Luck
makes a little surprised noise, and Luck gets hard so fast it makes him dizzy.
His hands come up without him even really thinking about it, and he's holding
onto Claire's shoulders, and that feels even better than he imagined it would.
"Well?" Claire says when he pulls away, too soon. "Did it go away?"
"No," Luck says, because now he wants to do it again, and since Claire isn't
really pulling away he leans up to claim a second kiss, and Claire lets him.
When Claire bites his lower lip, gentle, teasing, Luck feels himself shiver all
over, and he's damned, isn't he, but he doesn't think he can help it. He
clings, curls his fingers tight in the thin fabric of Claire's undershirt and
arches up toward the kiss.
Claire shifts, stretches out on top of him, pinning Luck to the bed, and it
feels -- it feels so good when he knows it shouldn't. If nothing else he should
worry about someone else having the upper hand, only it's Claire, and he
doesn't mind at all. His hips are rocking without him even thinking about it,
pushing up toward Claire's heat. The blanket's in the way, too much fabric
between them, and Luck pushes at it, trying to shove it down, and that doesn't
work so well, but then Claire rolls off him, and grins.
"Need me out of the way for that, don't you?" he says, and squirms under the
covers himself, with Luck, and when his hand slides up under Luck's shirt, the
callused warmth of his palm makes Luck shiver breathlessly. "You want this
really badly, don't you? You should have told me."
"I thought," Luck tries to explain, "I was afraid you would, oh God," and he
can't even get the words out, because Claire's hand just slides right down into
his shorts and takes hold of his cock, and all he can do is push into that
touch. "Claire," he says. "Claire."
"Sshh," Claire says, leaning in close against his side. "Don't want anyone else
to hear, do you?" And then he presses his lips to Luck's for another kiss, like
he wants to swallow up any sound that Luck makes. It's so very much what Luck
wanted, so quickly, so easily -- he should have known Claire wouldn't stop to
think on it, wouldn't worry about whether they should. And oh, it feels good,
Claire pressing close against him along the full length of his body, lean and
strong, tongue twining with his and hand working steadily on his cock -- Luck
wants to savor this, draw it out and pay attention to every detail, but his
body won't cooperate, won't hold back, and he barely has the presence of mind
to pull his shirt up out of the way before he's arching and shuddering and
trying not to moan too loudly into Claire's mouth as he comes.
Claire pulls back enough to look him in the eyes, smiling like he's proud of
himself. Luck smiles back. He feels dizzy, thrilled like he's gotten away with
something amazing, like when they were children stealing peppermint sticks from
the penny candy store. "Claire," he says.
"That's a good start, isn't it?" Claire says. He skins out of his shirt, shifts
his weight so he's pinning Luck to the bed, like he doesn't even care about the
mess getting on him, too. "But everyone likes to be touched. That doesn't
really prove so much, I don't think." His hips are moving, pushing slowly.
That's his cock hard through his shorts, rubbing against Luck's hip bone.
"Here." Claire takes Luck's hand and pushes it down between them. "The real
question is, do you like this part?"
Luck pushes down the waistband of Claire's shorts. "Yes," he whispers. The hair
at the base of Claire's cock is wiry under his fingers, and the skin of it is
suede soft -- but it's so stiff, beneath that softness. Luck curls his fingers
around it, Claire's cock, hard for him, God, and he barely has to stroke, even,
because Claire's already thrusting into his hand. "Yes," Luck says again. He
wants to admit it, feels like it's an act of defiance, a secret worth sharing.
"I like this part." He stretches up to kiss Claire's throat, tasting soap and
salt. Claire's weight on top of him is solid, not quite enough to be crushing.
When Claire's cock slides against his fingers he can feel a smear of sticky
wetness there, and Luck bites his lip. He wants, ah --
"You're going to make me come," Claire murmurs, breath warm against his ear,
fierce. "I'm going to come all over you, Luck. Is that what you want?"
"Oh God, Claire," Luck says. He hadn't even had time to completely soften yet,
and Claire saying that makes his cock throb with wanting it all over again.
"Yes," Luck says. It should worry him how much he wants to say that to Claire,
how easily he'd say it even if Claire asked more than this. "I do, I want you
to. Want you to come."
"On you," Claire supplies. His teeth graze Luck's earlobe.
Luck nods. "On me," he says. His face feels hot but he's getting hard again,
too.
Claire hums, low and pleased, and rocks hard into Luck's hand and then his come
is splattering over Luck's knuckles and his stomach and his cock. Luck tries
not to moan at that, but he's never liked the idea of getting dirty so much.
He's barely let go when Claire sits back on his heels, looking down at the mess
they've made. His eyes linger on Luck's cock. "Looks like you've figured out
what you want," he says.
"It does," Luck says. If there's poetry about the way he feels when Claire
looks at him like that, he's never read any. "And that's okay with you?"
"I want to know all kinds of things," Claire says. "Try all kinds of things."
He rests his hands on his thighs, his expression smug and challenging. "This
time you do it yourself, and I'll watch you. If I can see how you like it, I
bet I can do it better next time."
"Next time?" Luck says. He can't help returning Claire's smile. "I'm going to
hold you to that."
Claire just grins. "You'd better."
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
