supra_et_ultra | (no subject)

(no subject)

Jiang is aware that he's always been sort of on the outside of the group, of any group, at Aglionby. He doesn't come from an up-and-coming family, like most of the Vancouver kids. He isn't white, like the rest of Prokopenko and Kavinsky's miscreants. But he is vital. He is reliable. He is dedicated to these boys.

He is aware that, in more than just what he looks like or where he comes from, he's a little outside of the group. It comes in waves, in whispers. In a tiny scowl when Skov sneers something nasty, or Swan assures that his watching Jiang at soccer practice isn't a gay thing. Jiang never says anything about it. He isn't, so it doesn't matter.

But his eyes linger. He looks at boys as much as he looks at girls, and that's probably pretty dangerous for him to do. So he's quiet and doesn't say anything about it.

Tonight, they're getting high in Kavinsky's weird in-home theater. Kavinsky has taken over three seats all to himself. Skov's wandered off to hit on Kavinsky's mom. Jiang has no idea where Swan is. But Prokopenko is nearby, half glancing toward Kavinsky's ostensibly sleeping form as if no one will notice. Jiang does. He pinches his joint between his fingers and sits down, offering it to Proko as he exhales slowly.

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The way Skov and Swan talk, and sometimes Kavinsky, keeps Illya's mouth fucking shut. He isn't going to fucking risk a goddamn thing in this group, not when he's practically Kav's right hand man. It feels like it's always been that way, though if anyone asked he could never point to a moment.

Still, sometimes he looks at Kavinsky, at the sharpness of him, at the freckles on his skin, when he's pretty sure no one else is noticing him. He forces his eyes away when Jiang sits down; he accepts the peace offering a drag on the joint. And, feeling a little bold, he lets his head loll against Jiang's shoulder. What the fuck ever. It wouldn't be the first time Prokopenko draped over someone.

They lean in toward each other, and it's a comfortable, quiet moment that Jiang isn't entirely sure what to do with.

"What a drag," he mumbles, just for Proko's ear so near him. "Here I thought we were gonna do something tonight."

"We could do something," he says. "Fuck off somewhere else or something." Kavinsky was probably dead to the world now, and even if Proko is a little tempted to try something on him, he doesn't want to have a pissed off Bulgarian waking up and beating on him or something. And he doesn't want Skov walking back in.

Jiang's company isn't offensive, even comfortable. Might be better than hanging around here.

Jiang takes a drag, exhales, laughs a little as the smoke swarms around them fitfully.

"Good to know I'm a better option than fucking around here," he says, nudging Proko gently. "C'mon. Let's get out of this place."

Proko slides to his feet, grabbing Jiang's hand to haul him up, too. "Where are we going?" he asks as they leave the theater, dodging towards the nearest door outside. He doesn't want to run into Skov or Kavinsky's mom. He thinks sometimes she's as out of her mind on shit as they are.

Jiang laughs a little. He doesn't linger in the touch, though he really wants to. He yawns and stretches as they get outside, polishing off the joint and tossing it into the bushes.

"I dunno. Wanna walk or drive?"

"A drive," he answers. "Your car." Prokopenko doesn't know why he said until they're almost at the doors. He knows what he fucking wants, and maybe he can try. Maybe it won't end badly, and if it does then they go down in a fiery crash or something and he never has to deal with it.

Jiang juggles his key, unlocks the Supra, and slides in on the driver side. The car purrs to life, music pumping quietly with heavy bass.

They settle quickly. Jiang disregards his seatbelt, sinks deep in his seat. They zip away from the curb, and Jiang takes in Henrietta as they drive.

Prokopenko doesn't bother to try to talk over the music, the bass thudding comfortably through his bones. While Jiang looks at Henrietta, Proko looks at Jiang. He's a good looking guy, almost as good as Kavinsky. Or maybe just as good, only different. Does Jiang ever notice him looking, he wonders? He doesn't fucking dare with Skov or Swan, they're too edgy, too quick to snap.

Jiang, though. Jiang's not so bad. Proko slinks down in his seat a little more and tells himself not to be such a fucking pussy about this. It'll work or it won't, and if he needs to he's pretty sure he can hold his own. He lolls his head to look out the window as his hand slides over Jiang's thigh, firm enough that it's not a mistake.

Jiang drives on. Proko's hand is a weight on him, a warmth through the thin fabric of his jeans. He shifts his hand off the gear shift because they're not going to be changing gears for a while, and he covers Proko's hand.

He slides it up, slow, a bit higher. No rush. He doesn't want to rush and risk this going sideways. It's better like this.

Proko exhales something like relief when Jiang's hand covers his, urges it higher. Heat throbs through him in answer and he looks away from the window, down at their hands. There's no rush, but he wants it.

He twists in his seat so he can get at Jiang's button and fly easier, and maybe he's staring as his hand disappears inside to feel Jiang's cock through whatever he's got on. It doesn't matter, because maybe there's no rush but soon enough Proko's guiding Jiang's dick out so he can see it, so he can stroke it, without denim and cotton getting in his way.

Jiang sighs out a breath as Proko touches him. He's only ever done with with girls, and once at a club in DC. Proko's hand is better than that. He put his hand back on the shift, and let Proko stroke him, slow, satisfying.

Of course Jiang has a nice cock. Prokopenko stifles a little sound and after a few lazy strokes of his hand, he leans over, guiding it right into his mouth. He stays low, careful not to completely block the gear shift or anything, but soon enough all his focus narrows to the way Jiang's dick fills his mouth. He moans, bobs his head slowly at first, trying to get accustomed to their angle. He can make it work.

"Shit," Jiang laughs, the car swerving just a little at the first touch of Proko's mouth.

Alright. Maybe he wasn't expecting that to happen.

He slows down to a lower gear, considers pulling over. Proko's mouth is slick-wet and hot as sin, and Jiang struggles to keep his eyes on the road.

Proko pops his mouth off, laughs. "Don't get us fucking killed okay? Can't do it anymore if we're dead."

Then he sinks back down as far as he can in their position; he chokes a little bit but it's fucking good. His own cock is suddenly so hard it hurts, because this is okay. Proko manages to find a rhythm, bobbing his head more steadily with his hand wrapped around the base, touching what he can't get in his mouth just then.

"Shit," Jiang breathes again, more strained and broken than the first laugh. He doesn't know how many times Proko has done this, or where he learned, but he's good at it.

And Jiang has always been easy about it.

"Fuck, Proko," he grits. "You're gonna make me come, fucker."

He moans around Jiang's cock - permission, a dare, whatever - and hopes it's really fucking clear that's what he wants. He fucking wants Jiang to come, impressed that it might be so quick; he wants to taste him.

Proko's other hand braces against Jiang's knee, holding tight as he goes down as far as he can, trying to stay down through the brief gag.

"Oh, fuck," Jiang groans. There's another little swerve. The transmission growls as they build up too much speed. He barely manages to ease back down, arching hips up to fuck into Proko's mouth as he comes.

Prokopenko backs off just enough to avoid making a total, drooling mess as Jiang comes. When he's sure Jiang's got nothing left he pops off of him, wiping around his mouth to make sure he's not wasting anything.

"Shit," he laughs, voice raw as he sprawls back in his seat.

Jiang breathes out, shaking a little bit. His cock is still hanging out of his jeans, and he does absolutely nothing about it for a second.

He glances over at Proko, and laughs.

"Just like that, huh?" He smiles. "Should I park...?"

"Just like that," he answers, pushing his fingers through his hair. Then Proko drops his hand, squeezing himself through his jeans. "Can you get it up again?"

Jiang tracks Proko's hand with a hunger that he doesn't bother to control. He nods, licking his lips.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can--shit." He laughs again, shaking his head, and turning to head toward the public high school. He knows the parking lot is largely unlit this time of night.

"Good, I want it," he says as Jiang settles on a direction. It's such a nice fucking cock, he's not giving that up if he doesn't have to. He tries not to fidget too hard, tries not to touch himself too much because if he does he's afraid he'll just give in and finish himself off or something. But he's fucking excited. He adjusts himself, maybe loosens his jeans a little bit to try and ease the pressure.

The school parking lot is, as expected, abandoned. Jiang parks far from the buildings and any street lamps, and turns the engine off, but leaves the car running, bass pulsing around them.

He leans toward Proko, just for a second, but stops, a breath away. His eyes scan over Proko. He looks away, into the backseat.

"Think we'll both fit?"

Proko closes the little bit of space between them and licks Jiang's lips. Not quite a kiss but a tease. He looks at the back seat. "One way to find out, right? We'll make it work."

He pushes Jiang so he can climb back first, making sure to get the hell out of the way so Jiang can move without hitting him anywhere really inconvenient.

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