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barenjunges · 4 years

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lonely bottles - rule of threes

rule of threes 5191 words third person limited pov present tense content warnings under cut

“I feel like you’re the kind of guy who can make a party out of nothing,” Thomas says, which surprises Schuylar. He perks up. “So get to it.”

So Schuylar does.

content warnings: intense mentions of parental physical abuse, graphic sexual content and conversation including about bdsm, some trans male issues, offensive homophobic language (in a conversation about homophobia)

author’s notes: well, i wrote this off and on for a week after my cat passed away so it’s probably a little disjointed. and not edited/proofed well. i did catch a couple times i slipped into second person though so it should be okay. this piece definitely has mature themes, particularly in regards to sex and abuse. so proceed with caution! i think this is, again, pre-whump. but it’s definitely coming.

i’m hoping more writing will happen soon now that i’m sort of getting back to an okay place. i really, really miss my cat \: i’m getting kind of into schuylar as a character so i’m excited to write more of him in relation to henry and xavier and developing them as well. anyway... here it is!

The rule of threes applies to everything. Including shady boyfriends.

Not that Thomas is Schuylar’s boyfriend yet. Schuylar isn’t a virgin by any definition of the word, but he does tend to wait until he knows a person to hook up with them. He’s definitely had one-night-stands - it’s hard not to when one parties as much as he does - but he doesn’t really plan on doing that as much as it just happens. The funny thing is that he’s the most openly promiscuous of the group, but Xavier has a higher body count, he thinks. If anyone starts out the night looking for sex, it’s Xavier. Henry still hasn’t ever gotten his dick wet, but nothing makes Schuylar cringe quite like mocking virginity, so it’s not like he cares. Henry has said he’s just not interested and that’s enough for Schuylar. Not that it’s actually any of his business in the first place.

In any case, other people may say Schuylar sleeps around, but if he does, he doesn’t exactly enjoy it.

“This party is a little smaller than I was expecting,” he says to Thomas just four days after meeting him at a Starbucks. He was wearing some pretty baggy sweatpants then, but now he has on black jeans so tight they look painted on. It was hard to smash his packer in there.

“That’s a really nice way of saying boring,” Thomas says. Schuylar can’t help but laugh because he isn’t wrong.

“Stop it, he’s a good friend. It just happens now and then,” he says. “People just don’t show up. I do wonder where they all are, though. They can’t all be doing homework on a Saturday night.”

“Maybe there’s another party somewhere,” Thomas says. Schuylar sighs. He’s sitting on the arm of the couch while Thomas is on the cushion beside him, running his fingertips up and down Schuylar’s thigh. It’s sort of electrifying for him, not that guys haven’t been a lot more handsy before - but there’s something about Thomas that makes the hair on the back of Schuylar’s neck stand on end. It’s that Thomas is actually sexy and Schuylar is terrified of being boring. So boring that Thomas will lose interest. He’s not confident he can lock him down, make him his. Though God knows having a hot boyfriend would be fucking great.

“Maybe,” Schuylar says as he opens up his text messages. “I guess I can ask.”

It takes about twenty minutes, but Schuylar finally susses out that there is another party, and it’s at this host’s ex’s apartment on campus. Thomas makes his feelings clear - “We can do whatever you want but this is boring” - and Schuylar chooses to come clean and let the poor guy know. He’s obviously less than thrilled but he’s too nice of a guy to make anyone stay and that’s why Schuylar can’t bring himself to leave.

“He’s in need,” he says to Thomas. “I can’t just leave a friend in need.”

Thomas looks away for a moment and Schuylar wonders if he made a mistake. This friend - his name is Damien - means a lot to him. But does he even really care about Schuylar enough to appreciate him losing out on a guy like Thomas? But Thomas would be kind of a dick if he didn’t want to hang out again just because of this, right?

Does Schuylar care? Or is he just so horny for him that it’ll be a waste if he doesn’t even get to sleep with him?

But then Thomas smiles coyly and looks back at him out of the corner of his eye.

“So that’s the kind of guy you are?”

“Huh?”

“You’ll risk not getting laid for a friend?”

If he weren’t smiling right now, Schuylar would think he was angry. As it is, he smiles back.

“Bros before hoes,” he shrugs. Thomas finally looks him head on and grins wider.

“I’m a ho?”

“Yeah, but that’s a good thing,” Schuylar says, leaning into him. “‘Cuz I am, too.”

“I gotta respect a slut who puts his friends above getting a dick in his ass.”

Schuylar wavers. He did just call himself a ho, not to mention Thomas, but he meant it in more of a jovial, aren’t-we-all-young-and-horny way. Thomas says it in a way that comes off way more biting. Almost insulting. And fairly presumptuous that Schuylar is eager to put something up his ass so fast. But after a few seconds he convinces himself he’s overreacting; they’re having a suggestive conversation and Thomas is sexy as fuck so he’s probably used to twinks falling all over themselves to get to him. It’s not his fault he’s got an idea of how this is going to go.

“Yeah,” is all Schuylar says though, with a little laugh. He thinks a little harder. “Well. I.”

He doesn’t continue but Thomas hardly notices.

“I feel like you’re the kind of guy who can make a party out of nothing,” he says, which surprises Schuylar. He perks up. “So get to it.”

So Schuylar does. He immediately calls Xavier and Henry, both of whom told him they couldn’t come out tonight but Henry can take a break from studying and Xavier is just being lazy. Schuylar tells him to put on pants and get the fuck over and when he explains the whole situation - they both know Damien too and what’s more, hate his ex - they agree. Henry is the kind of guy content with his small group of close friends so he doesn’t have anyone else to bring but Schuylar makes Xavier promise to go through his address book (“Address book? Is it 1995?” he asks). Nevertheless, people start to trickle in and Schuylar supposes that’s more making a party rather than making one out of nothing, but what was he going to do? Dance in front of the TV for the six people who were present? He manages to gather a crowd of about thirty people in less than an hour.

He’s pathetically content that Thomas is impressed.

“You have a lot of friends,” he muses. Schuylar shakes his head.

“Some are Xavier’s friends and some are friends of friends.”

“How many of them do you know?”

“Most of them,” he shrugs. “But Xav is to thank for a good chunk of the people here.”

“You’re modest.” Thomas sounds almost angry. Like, legitimately… jealous? “Every single person here knows who you are.”

“Well, it’s not that many people anyway and I make friends easily. It’s not high school. The pool of people is bigger. You just plopped yourself down right next to me at a Starbucks.”

“So?”

“So,” Schuylar says dumbly, “if you did it, why wouldn’t other people?”

“Have they?”

“Well, no, I just mean you were willing to,” he says. “So it stands to reason others wou - all I’m saying is if you wanted to be my friend, can’t you see others would?”

“I didn’t want to be your friend,” he says with another smile. It makes Schuylar smile too, despite the fact that something deep in his chest is telling him to be wary. But that’s mostly a self-loathing thing. Nothing this good could ever happen to me.

Xavier smiles when he’s introduced, but Schuylar can tell he isn’t so sure about it either - and while Henry is usually pretty quiet, he certainly makes no effort now to seem happy to meet him.

“You just sat right down?” Henry asks. “For no reason?”

“Yep,” Thomas says.

“You didn’t feel the chaos that emanates from him?” Xavier asks him. His smile is still in place but it’s looking faker and faker.

“Oh, I felt it,” Thomas grins. He puts his hands around Schuylar’s hips and Schuylar feels embarrassed. It’s not weird when a stranger gropes him while dancing with his friends but this is a much more intimate touch. They’re just standing around talking; Thomas doesn’t need to touch him like this. “It’s pretty hard to miss it with him, huh?”

“Yep,” Henry says immediately.

“I like to think it wasn’t for no reason,” Schuylar says. “I think he sat down next to me because I’m gorgeous and very smart.”

“What were you wearing?” Xavier asks with a cocky, knowing grin. Schuylar kind of grins back.

“Sweatpants and a hoodie, so no, he didn’t know I was rich.”

“Exactly how rich are you?”

Schuylar grins for sure then, and even Henry gives a little smile. It’s always funny when people really learn what old money means. Thomas seems to understand.

“Really?” he asks. “I just came over because you were cute and I thought I could manipulate you into letting me help you study. I didn’t know I was finding a sugar daddy.”

“That’s because Schuylar is the rich one and still gives off sugar baby vibes,” Xavier says. “I don’t think he can actually be a sugar daddy.”

“He’s a trust fund baby,” Thomas says and Schuylar shakes his head. They sure do like talking about him like he isn’t in the room. “There’s a difference.”

“Well, I think we should all have a drink,” Schuylar says. “I’ll even get the good stuff from my car. You know, so my poor friends can partake.”

Henry is upper-middle class - not nearly as rich as Schuylar, but very well off - so really, Xavier is the only poor one, but Henry isn’t going to waste his money on alcohol. Schuylar knows that. And he also knows that if he’s the biggest douche he can be about it, Xavier won’t feel so bad about taking advantage of his money. So when he says it, Xavier actually grins wider and points at the door. Schuylar takes his leave of the situation and comes back with three bottles of Ciroc Coconut - not exactly expensive, but more money than any other college kid is spending on a bottle of flavored vodka - and immediately pours as many shots as he can before running out of cups. Then he starts using caps of other liquor bottles and suddenly everyone is doing a shot and Thomas looks impressed.

“I’d be disappointed,” he says to him later, “because you’re definitely the life of the party, which means getting laid tonight probably isn’t happening. But I kind of like watching you in action.”

Schuylar is drunk enough that all he registers is Thomas wants to fuck him, so he smiles and presses their foreheads together.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

So the first night they spent together was pretty eventful. Fun, even. Not that they really spent it together, since Schuylar passed out on the floor by the TV around four a.m. and Thomas never fell asleep at all. They do breakfast in the morning and Schuylar tells him he can kiss him goodbye if he wants, but then their first kiss will be in the parking lot of an IHOP while Schuylar is hungover and Thomas is exhausted.

“You think I care what our first kiss is like?”

Schuylar grins.

“Yeah, I do. But if you don’t, then go ahead and kiss me.”

He doesn’t. Schuylar goes home to find his parents are there. And they’re pissed the gate was unlocked. So Schuylar goes to bed that night with light welts on his back but whatever. Thomas gives a shit about him and he considers that an accomplishment. No one that hot has ever given a shit about him. Or, at least, Schuylar thinks he’s hot.

“He’s fine,” Xavier tells him. Schuylar rolls his eyes and looks at Henry who seems to contemplate it.

“He’s pretty handsome,” he confesses. “I mean, I’m not good at judging looks. But I think he’s handsome.”

“You think I’m cute,” Schuylar says. “Is he as cute as me?”

“You’re cute because I actually kind of like twinks,” Henry says. “Against my better judgment.”

“I’m only a twink physically,” Schuylar says pointedly. “I’m a trans twink, I can’t help that. I’m not a racist femboy.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Henry says. “But Thomas isn’t a twink. So I guess he’s pretty handsome but I may not be the best judge. I hope he’s not a racist.”

“It is an honor to be the most attractive twink in your opinion,” Schuylar says, grabbing his phone and opening his text messages. “You two are the only hot cis guys as far as I’m concerned.”

“And Thomas?” Xavier asks. Schuylar feels the disdain in his voice but doesn’t care. For how chill he is, Xavier’s always been a little judgmental and Schuylar thinks it’s more because he doesn’t trust anyone can make choices as good as his. But he’s a one-night-stand kind of guy, so he’s not exactly making many choices anyway.

“And Thomas,” Schuylar nods. “At least, I’m pretty sure he’s not a racist.” He starts to text him, asking if he’s free tomorrow night. “If he is, I’ll bail. I promise.”

“Better find out sooner rather than later,” Henry says, turning back to his homework. “It would suck if you found out someone was a bad person after you slept together.”

“That was a party hookup,” Xavier says, jogging Schuylar’s memory: he did once sleep with a guy who ended up being photographed at a homophobic protest. “And it happened after we slept together, he was just repressed. He had a lot of iss - it was once,” Xavier is stumbling over his words. “I for one feel sorry for the dude.”

“So sorry for the guy holding a ‘God hates fags’ sign,” Schuylar laughs. The thing is, he kind of does feel bad for the guy. But Xavier is so holier-than-thou sometimes, it’s nice to have one over him. “Anyway, I’m gonna have people over tomorrow so I can hook up with Thomas.”

They know that means they’re invited but even more so, they have to invite friends too, so the party can turn big enough for Schuylar to slip off to his room and have sex. With a day’s notice, Henry can ask the nerds from this Asian-American book club, who almost always accept invites to Schuylar’s place because no one there knows they’re fucking nerds so they actually have a chance to get laid too - and Schuylar, for all his faults, is an excellent wingman, so they like him too - and Xavier considers padding the guest list to be his contribution to parties as the resident poor, so pad it he does.

The thing is, they all know they can spend a night together, just the three of them, and be just as happy. But no one will ever say it because that would be admitting that they get along better than they pretend they do. They did only meet because they had such specific circumstances that precluded them from going home on time. But over the years, they realized they had a lot more in common, and that part is weird. They don’t like it and would prefer to continue thinking of themselves as friends of happenstance.

Schuylar would prefer to think of himself as the extremely privileged one, even though Henry and Xavier never let anyone give him shit for being trans - or bi - and he’s also never exactly had to pretend like being rich is really worth it when his parents would rather hit him than talk to him. There’s a lot he doesn’t have to worry about, but as far as he’s concerned, Henry and Xavier won’t ever have to worry about them either, because whatever he can fix with money, he does. He can’t stop racism or homophobia or domestic abuse. But if Henry needs a place to stay for the night he comes to Schuylar. If Xavier needs grocery money for the week - well, he doesn’t come to Schuylar exactly; he more lets it slip to Henry that his mom has credit card debt and Henry tells Schuylar, who writes a check that Xavier doesn’t accept at first and then pays back with interest.

And he’s always paid it back. He doesn’t have to. Schuylar’s dad owns two boats. Two-hundred dollars is nothing. But it pays for three weeks of groceries to Xavier, so Schuylar offers it up.

Though he’ll admit: there’s something kind of powerful about writing a check. Not because he feels he has power over the person he’s writing a check for, but because when he’s donating a hundred dollars to a domestic abuse charity or an environmental cause and putting it in his dad’s name, he feels like he has control, even for one second, over where his dad’s money goes. He loves donating to charities his dad hates - and his dad hates most charities - and getting leather to his skin is worth it.

At least, it is until his newest conquest sees it.

“Shit, what is that?”

Schuylar’s shirt is on the floor and his binder is hanging off the bedside table. He hasn’t had sex in a while and he’s only once had to worry about his partner seeing marks from his dad; he totally forgot that Thomas would feel them, let alone see them. He licks his lips, tries to catch his breath as the making out pauses and he considers his answer. He could tell the truth but it might spark a conversation - one he isn’t ready for. And if it doesn’t, he’d wonder why Thomas doesn’t care. So he could lie. Tell him he’s a masochist. But giving himself back welts seems really pathetic. And telling him he hooked up with someone else doesn’t feel like a good idea.

He’s just trying to not come across as desperate.

“Don’t piss off my dad,” he smiles, still breathing pretty hard. “You get the horns or whatever.”

“Seems more like you get the belt.”

“Yeah,” Schuylar nods, using his hands to cup Thomas’s face and go in for another kiss. He gets one, but not a long one.

“So your dad hits you with a belt?”

Schuylar’s had this conversation before in his head, but rarely out loud: yes, his dad hits him with a belt, but not randomly, whenever he pleases. Yes, the reasons he chooses are stupid sometimes and yeah, it hurts, yeah, it leaves marks. But they go away. The worst was when he left on the yacht overnight without telling them when he was 16, he didn’t stop for about ten minutes and the wraparound was intense. Schuylar can try to run but his dad will follow and he’d rather get it on his back and ass than anywhere else so he tries to just take it.

Also, that’s what a man does.

He doesn’t want to say all that to Thomas, though he’s already a little annoyed. He kind of just wants to get off. But it’s good Thomas is concerned. He should be.

“Only when I piss him off,” he says. “Horns.”

“What’d you do to piss him off here?”

Now is when Schuylar should lie. Leaving the gate unlocked definitely makes it sound like abuse.

“I stole the yacht.”

“You have a yacht?”

“I’m old money in New England, of course I have a yacht.”

“But your dad doesn’t like you on it?”

“Well, me and my brother have our own boats,” he says. “We can take those whenever. He was pissed I took his.”

“Why would you take his when you have your own?” he asks. Schuylar shrugs and smiles because he’s sure not telling him that he wanted to piss him off. He’s not even sure why he wants to piss him off sometimes. It’s just an urge. But Thomas gets it. “Sounds like you aren’t exactly one for self-preservation.”

“Guess not,” Schuylar says, eager to get back into things. He has this desire to prove to Thomas that he’s worth a round two. He’s so good in bed that Thomas should stick around, make him his boyfriend. But Thomas doesn’t seem overly concerned with that right now.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” He goes back in. Thomas pushes him away.

“Did it?”

Schuylar looks at him in frustration. He can’t really blame him. But he wants to.

“No, it was just a tickle,” he says sarcastically. “Are we gonna fuck?”

“You really are a slut.”

Schuylar sits back on his feets and sighs. It’s not like he hasn’t heard that before. He’s a little eager in bed. But shouldn’t Thomas be - grateful?

“You complaining?”

“Are you?” he asks. “It’s gonna hurt if I fuck you. On your back, it’s gonna chafe.”

“Then let’s do it doggy style.”

“I’ll run my nails down your back doggy style.”

“Well,” Schuylar blinks. “Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“I just will,” he says. “I won’t think about it. Plus, I think I’m a sadist.”

Schuylar wouldn’t consider himself a masochist. And not even really a sub. He’s a bottom because he likes cock in his ass and pussy, but he’s kind of aggressive himself. Unless someone as hot as Thomas is exerting dominance first.

“You wanna tie me up and make me cry?”

“Just making you cry is enough.”

Schuylar stares at him until he grins.

“I’m just kidding,” he says. “I’m not gonna make you cry. I just think I like seeing guys like you in pain.”

“Guys like me?”

“Hot twinks who look pretty when they cry,” he says. “Do you cry when your dad hits you?”

It feels like a dangerous question but Schuylar isn’t sure why. It’s a fair question. It’s sensible. But the context is off. The timing is questionable.

“Sometimes,” he says, mostly because he’s so thrown off that he can’t come up with a lie. Thomas nods at him and runs one hand down his back. He winces.

“Maybe one day I’ll see it,” he says softly, his nails digging in for one second, pulling a hiss from the tip of Schuylar’s teeth. Thomas smiles. “But we’d have to have a whole conversation about that, if you even want to. Can’t just run into something like that without a conversation.”

It sounds so reasonable. And right. And good. Thomas sounds like a good guy. But Schuylar feels a little off after that and suggests they wait until his back is healed - so Thomas can be as rough as he wants.

“Passionate,” he corrects, grabbing Schuylar’s binder and handing it back to him. Schuylar takes it with a smirk. “I get passionate. Not rough.”

“What if I want you to get rough?”

“Then you’re a slut and a masochist.”

“I don’t think I’m either.”

“Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do.”

He’s pretty sure he knows himself fairly well, but he could be discovering a side he didn’t know existed. They go back down to the party in Schuylar’s own house and Xavier raises an eyebrow. Henry seems to pick up on the fact too that that would have been an awfully fast fuck for a first time, so Schuylar shakes his head at them, indicating that he’ll tell them later.

He never does.

The third time he and Thomas hang out is when it finally happens, but not before things get the slightest bit uncomfortable. Actually, Schuylar would have waited until a fourth “date” but it’s not like his dad saw them fucking or anything.

They’re on Schuylar’s couch, eating takeout from a seafood place that Schuylar loves but put on nice dishes so it felt a little more romantic. He wasn’t going to try to cook - he doesn’t really know how because no one ever taught him and he always had the money to order in - but he wanted things to resemble pleasant and date-like. He got a shrimp salad so he wouldn’t feel too full for sex but Thomas is putting away a second lobster tail and only has a few bites of his steak and potatoes left. Schuylar’s actually impressed - and so is Thomas, by Schuylar’s reckless display of wealth.

“It’s all my parents,” he grins. “I can’t wait to get my trust fund so I can just have a nice little house off a lake and not deal with too many people.”

“And your boat?”

“That’s why I’ll be on a lake. One day I’m sailing away from here for good so I’ll need it.”

“You’re leaving?”

“One day,” he says. “Unless someone convinces me to stay.”

“Oh,” Thomas singsongs. “You expect me to do that?”

“We’ll see,” Schuylar shrugs. “Depends on how good you are in bed.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna dump me if I don’t satisfy?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, unable to keep a smirk off his face. “I think I can manage.”

“What’s that mean?”

Thomas looks at him dangerously.

“What’s the biggest you’ve ever taken?”

“What?”

“What,” he says slower, “is the largest size cock you’ve ever had inside of you?”

Schuylar raises his eyebrows. Is he implying he has a big dick? Schuylar’s never really cared much about size. He’s never really measured the stuff that’s gone inside him but he supposes he has a pretty big dildo under his bed.

“Depends,” he says. “Do you mean ass or pussy?”

“Whichever you want.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I can handle it.”

“You ever looked down while getting fucked and seen it bulging out your stomach?”

“Is that real?” he asks. “I thought that was a 3D porn thing.”

“I’ve been having this fantasy,” Thomas says quietly, “where your hands are tied behind your back. You’re naked with a collar around your neck. And you’re sitting on my cock, crying about how big it is. And y-”

“Schuylar?”

He jumps out of his skin when his dad’s voice comes from the doorway. He didn’t hear him come home - which isn’t surprising since they’re in the sitting room as far from the garage as possible. It’s Schuylar’s date spot because there’s a fridge full of alcohol and a TV; plus he can easily move things into his bedroom whenever he wants.

The thing is, his dad has kind of picked up on that. So he knows he’s trying to get laid right now - especially if he heard what Thomas was saying. And Thomas seems a little freaked too, but he quickly stands up and with his fancy watch and big arms in his Polo, he does look like a good guy to bring home to one’s parents. Not that Schuylar’s have ever given any shits who he dates.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Schuylar says, grabbing his chest. His dad stands in the doorway, tall and intimidating without even trying. Not that Schuylar’s intimidated. He just knows he looks scary.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just thought I’d maybe walk around my own house.”

“Do you need something?”

“No,” he says, turning to leave. “I just saw your car in the garage and wondered where you were.”

“In my room,” Schuylar mutters. “Big surprise.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He just exits gracelessly, leaving Thomas standing there like a dumbass as Schuylar takes another bite of his salad.

“Oh, thanks for introducing us,” Thomas says. Schuylar rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t care,” he tells him. “It’s not you. He only cared about my high school boyfriend when we’d been together for a year and even then it was mostly because his mom went to prison.”

“What?”

“My high school boyfriend moved in with me for a year because his dad died years ago and his mom got sent to prison for armed robbery. But he was a super senior so he was already eighteen and legally allowed to live on his own. He’d had his stuff here for two weeks before my mom and dad said hi.”

“Were you a boy at that point?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I only started T a little over two years ago but I was already using he and him. I was ten when I started transitioning non-physically.”

“Ten?” he asks incredulously. “And your parents were okay with it?”

“I told a particularly cool teacher to call me a boy one day and he called my parents so they had to come home from a trip and start taking it seriously,” Schuylar grins. “They didn’t really care, they just decided to go along with it because if they fought it there was even more therapy and shit involved. Also I think they always wanted two sons, so.”

“You have a brother?”

“Older.”

“Does your dad hit him too?”

Not as much, Schuylar realized. But not at all anymore, since he’s moved out.

“When he lived here,” Schuylar shrugs. “Anyway, you wanna go to my room?”

“Are you asking me to fuck you?”

“God, yes.”

“Ass? Or -?”

“Does pussy freak you out?”

“No.”

“I’m good for anal, anyway.”

“Like, clean?”

“Yeah.”

Thomas takes a deep breath and grabs Schuylar’s collar, pulling him easily to his feet. Schuylar grins.

“Get ready then, ‘cuz you look good as hell tonight and I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your name.”

So that’s how Schuylar finally sleeps with Thomas - it’s on his third attempt, after he doesn’t introduce him to his dad and it’s kind of sweet until Thomas asks if his parents can hear. Schuylar tells him no, his dad probably told his mom they were in his date room so they're probably on the east wing of the house now, which means they’re so far away Schuylar could start a fire here and it would take about half an hour for them to know. Thomas asks if he’s sure and Schuylar nods, then screams because Thomas digs his nails into his hips, thrusts in really hard, and leans down to leave a giant hickey on his collar bone.

Schuylar has always had a hard time differentiating between what’s a lot and what’s too much. He likes a lot. He likes being breathless, blissed out, unable to form coherent thoughts. But that’s not always how he feels post-sex and he knows that, as his high school boyfriend once put it, “everything down there kind of takes a beating during sex.”

Thomas kind of does a number on him. The one coherent thought he’s able to form is, “Fuck.”

He’s got an inkling. He’s got that formation of a thought, that basic nagging, this isn’t good. But then he considers the fact that this was their first time and Thomas is sexier than anyone he’s ever known. He did say he liked it rough; it’s just that Thomas assured him he was passionate. If that was passion, what’s rough? And what’s he going to do to get Schuylar to cry?

And, yes - his cock was kind of enormous.

“You okay?”

Schuylar is able to nod but that’s about it. For some reason, all he can think about is Xavier and Henry.

“Did I go too hard?”

“No,” Schuylar breathes. “Not at all.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because that was nothing compared to what I wanted to do to you,” he says. Schuylar swallows down hard. “I held back.”

Schuylar has that inkling. And the worst part is that Thomas is giving him an out. Thomas is warning him.

“Think you can handle that?”

Schuylar just isn’t heeding it.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes. I can handle that.”

#lb by bj #whump #original fiction #original writing #lb3 #lb rule of threes

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barenjunges · 4 years

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i’ve been working on my theme and pages here to distract myself from everything, so now everything here looks how i want it to but i have no recent writing to post to it /:

i told myself i wouldn’t write this week anyway but i ended up really not writing because i just can’t focus, i keep thinking about my cat /: but i’m going to try to get back into things next week so hopefully i’ll have something to post. not sure why i’m worried since no one talks to me here but if we’re mutuals, just know that i’m rooting for you and have been reading your posts! happy writing everyone 💖

#venti journals #venti talks to the void

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barenjunges · 4 years

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the only world building that matters: what is your character’s favorite animal crossing villager?

#venti talks to the void #ventis wr advice

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barenjunges · 4 years

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going to make even more new ocs for this blog. the past 36 hours have been the hardest of my entire life and that is not hyperbole. this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. and i feel guilty going back to writing but that’s illogical and creating stuff is what helps me process things. but i’m trying to decide on a procedure for it; last time i just shuffled my music and picked a line from a random song. so who knows what i’ll do this time!

#venti talks to the void #venti journals

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barenjunges · 4 years

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warning for animal death-

i originally was taking a break from writing this week but then thought i might work on stuff for this blog after all. then this morning i lost my cat very suddenly and it was quite severe and intense. and i am just. i’m inconsolable. but i’m done with the shock crying and more into depressed/sad crying. and it got me to thinking about how we use art to grieve but at what point is it acceptable to stop thinking about the grief and start creating again? but isn’t art what relieves that grief? so i was just thinking about that and thought journaling here would maybe help even though no one really knows me here.

anyway, if you are reading this and have a donut, please take a bite in his honor because the dude went pretty batty for donuts

#venti talks to the void #venti journals

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barenjunges · 4 years

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lonely bottles - infamous

infamous 2289 words third person limited pov present tense content warnings under cut

It’s what he sees before he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and that moment of twilight before he drifts off is his favorite time of day - he loves that sleepy feeling, and knowing that his worries can wait until tomorrow.

content warnings: mentions of physical parental abuse, trans male issues

author’s notes: this is, like, pre-whump. the whump is upcoming. whumpcoming. um, i’m still creating with these ocs on the fly so you’re definitely witnessing something chaotic here. i make stuff up as i go along which is really unlike my usual style, so i’m going to screw up, it’s an inevitability, but i do have a page of notes to refer back to so hopefully it’ll be few and far between. anyway, this is pretty tame but i’m expecting these two to get pretty unhealthy later on so if that’ll bother you, steer clear!

ETA- my formatting isn’t transferring over correctly. i’ll. have to fix that.

The reason this particular meetcute is so important to Schuylar is because they usually happen when he’s wasted, late on a Thursday night, in a stranger’s home. He’s always sort of been the type to read his horoscope, hoping it’ll give him some hint as to when he’ll find his soulmate. He knows 20 is young technically, but these days it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and he’s starting to worry it’ll never happen. He’s worried he won’t find the love of his life while he’s sweaty and moving his hips erratically, as is his form of “dancing.” He won’t be making vows on his wedding day to the person who found him hunched over a toilet or letting his head sway while seated on a couch. He’ll never sweep anyone away - or be swept away himself - knowing they introduced themselves to each other twice, once at eleven p.m., and once at eleven a.m. the next morning because they couldn’t remember doing it the night before.

Yeah. This is not that.

This is a Starbucks, on campus, while he’s doing homework. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, worrying the straw of his iced coffee and staring at a notebook page full of notes he can’t make anything of. He wrote these. They should make sense to him. But there’s something about Etruscan architecture that evades him. He can’t wrap his head around the concepts he’s supposed to have absorbed. The exam isn’t for another two weeks but that’s why he’s making flash cards now, not that he’s actually crafted one yet. His stack of index cards are sitting next to him and he’s about to start swiping through the photos on his phone that he took of the slides his 68-year-old professor showed to the class. She doesn’t allow computers during lecture so he can’t search for these images while actually taking notes. He has to sneak his phone out every few minutes to take a picture and then match them to his notes.

It’s an absolutely ludicrous system. But he hates feeling overwhelmed right before a test. And flashcards are helping him in the other classes - though they’re easier to make, given that he can just copy an image of fucking Starry Night and paste it right into his notes when his professors let him type them - so he’s determined to make them for this class, too.

Anyway. That’s when he meets Thomas.

Thomas is large. Pretty tall and very muscular, like he goes to the gym regularly, which is something that would do Schuylar some good. Xavier and Henry have an open invitation for him when they go but he’s too lazy and that’s all there is to it. But Thomas clearly enjoys himself to some protein shakes. He’s very tan-skinned and wearing a bright blue Polo when he approaches, which is a good thing because if he’d been covering up just how big his arms are, Schuylar might’ve brushed him off. Then again, the first thing he does is smile, and anyone who wasn’t already done in by those arms definitely would have folded from that smile.

He’s that kind of cis guy that makes Schuylar madly envious; he wishes so badly sometimes he’d been born with that body. Not because Thomas is sexy - which he is - but because he’s Schuylar’s definition of man. So Schuylar was doomed from the beginning. Not only does he want Thomas’s body, but he wants Thomas’s body, and that’s a dangerous combination.

He gives Schuylar a simple, “Hi,” and Schuylar doesn’t really move. His lips open up, dropping his straw back into its cup, but he’s sort of blinded by the handsomeness and sits there like a lump, staring. Thomas doesn’t seem to realize Schuylar is so enraptured.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says. “I just noticed you were struggling with your homework.”

Schuylar, weirdly, hasn’t referred to his studying as “homework” for two years now. He feels like he’s back in high school, though that isn’t really a good thing.

“No,” he says finally, sitting up straight and pulling his hoodie down. He was sort of slouching, nearly drooling over his laptop and didn’t notice. “I mean - I’m doing fine.”

“I didn’t mean to be a weirdo,” he says. “I’m Thomas.” So that’s when he actually learns his name. “I’m a tutor. So I’m sort of trained to spot these things and just wanted to offer to help. But if you don’t need it, I’ll leave you alone.”

By this point, Schuylar has realized exactly how hot Thomas is and scrambles desperately to get him to stick around.

“Actually,” he says, putting his hand on the table awkwardly, “I know what I’m doing but I am having some trouble. Just scatterbrained right now.”

That’s when Schuylar has to remind himself that Thomas probably isn’t gay, and if he’s straight, he’s reading him as female. Neither of which are ideal, but there’s really no in between. Most of the time he passes, but every now and then -

But Thomas takes a seat next to him and cuts off that train of thought.

“What have you got?”

So that’s how Schuylar meets Thomas. That’s how Schuylar’s most infamous meetcute goes down. In the record books, it’ll say, “Location: Starbucks, Time: Tuesday evening, Wearing: stained hoodie and baggy sweatpants.” He wasn’t expecting it; he really thought he’d meet his soulmate at a college party and it would be magical when their eyes met, celestial when they brushed each other’s bands. But no, it was at a four-by-four table in a major coffee shop chain - that’s how he meets him.

That’s how Schuylar meets the man who ruins his life.

xxx

He’s incredibly helpful. He doesn’t know art history specifically but he’s great at streamlining the flashcard making process and has amazing handwriting, too. Schuylar tells him to write them all because it’s far more legible than his own and Thomas pulls a calligraphy pen out of his bag and writes Schuylar’s name on an index card, sliding it over to him with a childlike grin. Schuylar hands it back.

“That’s spelled wrong.”

“No way!” Thomas exclaims. “I was so excited.”

“It’s okay,” Schuylar tells him. “My family is old money. They spell it weird.”

“Alright,” he says, crumpling up the failed index card and grabbing another. “How do you spell it.”

“S-C-H-U-Y-L-A-R.”

Thomas looks down at the index card, then up at Schuylar.

“And it’s pronounced Sky-ler?”

“It’s old money,” he repeats with a smile. “Dutch. Like, first settlers. The pilgrims who killed Native Americans. For some reason my family is confused why I’m not very proud of that.”

“You a rich boy?”

Schuylar’s heart skips a beat. He reads him as male, so that’s good, but unless he’s bisexual, this still won’t work out. Not that Thomas wants anything but to help him out with schoolwork. Schuylar pretty much thinks about three things: studying, sex, and alcohol.

“Yep,” he nods. “And that,” he says, pointing at the discarded card, “is spelled wrong.”

Thomas grabs a normal pen and uncrumples the index card.

“Spell it again.”

Schuylar does, and this time Thomas writes it down in regular ink first. Then he studies it for a moment and Schuylar sits in silence as he tries again. When he presents it to him, Schuylar smiles demurely.

“So where’d you learn calligraphy?”

“I know a lot of things,” he says. “I was one of those kids who were so smart I got bored in school and had to start teaching myself other things.”

“And you chose calligraphy?”

“Well, I’d already learned three languages,” he says. “I was getting bored of linguistics.”

“So you chose art.”

“Looks like you’re into art yourself,” he says, pointing at the laptop screen. Schuylar looks at it for a moment and then sighs.

“Yeah, I’m an art major,” he says. “Not very good, though. I just pass classes because I work hard and they feel bad for me but I don’t have the… capacity to be a tortured artist. Some of these kids… they never do the homework but then they make these amazing paintings in forty minutes and explain them and it’s like, how are humans capable of this?”

“And you’re not like that?”

“Nah,” Schuylar says. “I’m just trying to graduate. I need something to do before my trust fund kicks in.”

“Oh,” Thomas says slyly, “never gonna work a day in your life, huh?”

“No, I am,” he frowns. “I just don’t know what I wanna do yet.”

“So art is just your stalling tactic?”

“I’d like to be good at art,” he shrugs. “I’m hoping I can just be a docent or something.”

“Let me see something.”

“What?”

“Let me see your art.”

“I don’t have any. My portfolio’s at home.”

“You don’t have any photos?”

“Ugh, fine,” Schuylar says, drawing a grin from Thomas. He goes to his desktop then to a folder buried deep within the confines of his hard drive. He’s been really into textiles lately but he doesn’t have much to show for it, so he just searches for his best work. A painting from sophomore year. “Here.”

Thomas leans in.

“Oh, shit,” he says. He studies it for a few moments. It’s just a still life. A corner of his room he sees from his bed, when he’s laying in the middle of it, clutching his back, crying. The blurriness just seems stylistic to everyone else - even his professor. But Xavier understood on a visceral level and it only took Henry a few moments to gather what it was, too. And when it clicked for him, he winced as if he belt had struck his back instead.

“It’s just a still life.”

That’s what Schuylar tells people. It’s just a still life. And people believe him because what else are they supposed to think? In his afterword, he wrote that it’s what he sees before he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and that moment of twilight before he drifts off is his favorite time of day - he loves that sleepy feeling, and knowing that his worries can wait until tomorrow. “Very relatable,” his professor had said. He’d beamed at the praise until he remembered it was a lie.

“It’s good though,” Thomas says. “Stylistically, but also in terms of… space. You probably do really good realism.”

“I mostly focus on color,” Schuylar shrugs. “I took a test once that said I see color better than ninety percent of the population.”

“How do they measure that?”

“They give you four squares and you have to pick the color that’s not like the other. Then they give you six squares and the colors are a little bit more similar and you do the same thing. You do it until you can’t tell the different color anymore.”

“How many boxes did you get to?”

“A hundred and forty.”

“What?!” Thomas exclaims. “And I was gonna brag about being one level away from Mensa.”

“What?” you say. “Isn’t Mensa like, the top two percent of the population?”

“Yeah, I’m in the top ten of people who have taken the test.”

“Jesus, that’s way more impressive than fucking knowing the difference between lavender and lilac.”

“Well, I’m color blind,” Thomas says. “I think I’d prefer to see color than be a genius.”

Schuylar doesn’t say anything but when he thinks about it, he does too.

Thomas helps him finish his flashcards and then writes his number down on one. Schuylar takes it shyly and stares at it for a few moments. Most straight guys get weirded out when he tells them he identifies as male. A lot of gay guys are disappointed when he says he has a pussy. So there’s really no good way to do this, and Schuylar has never been one for tact.

“Are you giving me your number to call for tutoring?” he asks. “Or is this a social index card?”

“Social,” he says. Which is nice, but now comes the hard part. “You can even think of it as a flirting index card if you want. But if you don’t, that’s okay, too.”

Schuylar smiles. God, this always sucks so much.

“Are you gay?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says. “You’re straight?”

“I’m bi,” he tells him, “but… I’m trans.”

Thomas doesn’t respond, but he certainly seems put out. .

“So… I mean, we can still hang out. But if you want, you know… dick.”

“Oh, wait,” Thomas says. “You’re a trans… guy.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay,” he nods. “Sorry. I thought you meant you were a chick.”

“I’m - I am a chick. Under my clothes.”

“I know, I mean… you’re a dude though, yeah?”

“I identify as one.”

“Then you’re a dude,” Thomas smiles. It’s so warm and Schuylar’s face heats up. “I’m pretty exclusively into guys.”

“So it’s okay that I have a pussy?”

Thomas laughs.

“It’s not my place to say your body isn’t okay.”

“But you’re still interested?”

“Yeah.”

“So this is still a flirting index card?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “It’s the last flash card in your deck. Here.”

He takes it back. He uncaps his pen and writes something on the other side, then slides it over to you once more. It says, “The phone number of the most handsome guy I’ve ever met,” and Schuylar rolls his eyes, but his big, doofy grin betrays him.

“Study it,” he says. “If you don’t want to text me, you don’t have to. But I’ll be disappointed.”

Schuylar puts it with the rest of his flashcards before wrapping a rubber band around them.

“I’ll text you.”

When Thomas smiles, it’s like looking into the sun - it makes Schuylar feel warm now, but man, is it gonna hurt later.

#lonelybottles #writeblr #original fiction #original writing #whump #lb2 #lb infamous #lb by bj

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barenjunges · 4 years

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at the risk of talking to a void, i’m trying to occupy my time and have been thinking: creative advice is so good because it’s basically just people helping other people be more comfortable putting something very personal out there and i think my biggest piece of advice is learn how to differentiate the help and critique that actually strengthens your work from the stuff that doesn’t really do much for you.

in the beginning, you’ll want and need lots of advice but once you get a little more comfortable you start to see what makes your writing very specifically you, so don’t let anyone try to critique away your unique voice because that’s special. basically i’m saying my advice is be critical of advice. critique criticism.

#venti talks to the void #ventis wr advice

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barenjunges · 4 years

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lonely bottles - rager

rager 1235 words third person limited pov present tense content warnings under cut

“You really think you can have a rager on your yacht and your parents won’t ever find out? You take pictures of everything.”

“I don’t post them anywhere,” Schuylar says. “Not that they would see, at least.”

content warnings: alcohol/alcohol abuse, mentions of physical abuse, trans male issues

author’s notes: hey! my first piece for these new ocs! i’m gonna develop them as we go along basically, i wanted some ocs i use on this blog Only, so here they are. let’s see what happens with them. this is not proofed, a lot of stuff here will probably have a few typos.

“I call it a rager.”

“That makes it sound lamer.”

“How?”

“Like you’re trying too hard.” Xavier lifts his hand to his forehead as if he’s checking for a temperature. “Like, it sounds, like… you’re not a cool enough person yourself to say the word ‘rager.’”

“Why not?” Schuylar demands. He’s indignant. He throws great parties. “It was a fuckin’ rager!”

“It was pretty crowded,” Henry admits softly. “More than usual.”

“‘Cuz it was a fuckin’ rager,” Schuylar says, nodding along to his words. “Next one’s gonna be on the yacht.”

“You love tempting fate,” Xavier tells him as he stands up. Schuylar scans the room and remembers the one bad thing about a rager: cleaning up the next morning. Well, he doesn’t remember it. He always knew it. He was just ignoring it. Xavier and Henry probably won’t stick around to help. Actually, Henry might, but Schuylar will get annoyed by his helpfulness and tell him to leave.

“What’s that mean?” he asks. “Not the phrase. What do you mean?”

“Won’t your parents kill you if you take the yacht out again?”

“Yeah, if they find out.”

“You really think you can have a rager on your yacht and they won’t ever find out? You take pictures of everything.”

“I don’t post them anywhere,” Schuylar says. “Not that they would see, at least.”

“Your dad would beat the shit out of you and your brother and then your brother would beat you up too,” Xavier says. Schuylar grimaces, not at the thought that Xavier’s brought up, but at the fact that Xavier is right about everything all the time. Then again, he only really knows because his dad would do the same. “And then I’d beat you up.”

“Why?”

“For fun.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Schuylar says. Xavier yawns.

“I’ve gotta go anyway,” he says. “I’ve got shit to do.”

“Like what?”

“Sibling shit.”

“Oh,” Schuylar says. “Babysitting.”

“They’ll be old enough soon,” he says, heading to the bedroom door. “Won’t have to do it anymore.”

“Bye,” Henry says as he stands up, too. Xavier offers a wave and then exits, leaving Schuylar with his other best friend. Not that he’d call either of them best friends; they’re more just the friends he knows best. “I can help clean if you want.”

Schuylar groans.

“You can go.”

He just doesn’t have the energy for Henry right now. He isn’t meek - but he isn’t just chill the way Xavier is, either. Xavier is relaxed and unbothered. Henry is kind of anxious and quiet. But he isn’t submissive. If he was a doormat, Schuylar probably wouldn’t like him at all.

“Bye, then.”

So now Schuylar’s alone, which means he can finally take his binder off - he knows he shouldn’t have slept in it, but he didn’t fall asleep so much as he passed out - and clean the house up. His parents won’t be home for another few days so he has some time, but the house is huge and he’ll have to do a full sweep to make sure there’s no evidence anywhere. His brother might help later, or he might never come home, either. Schuylar is never sure with him. He decides to grab a few trash bags and get started.

His family is old money and he’s set to inherit a lot of it in five years and the only stipulation is that he graduate college, which shouldn’t be a problem. He’s ahead of schedule actually, and one privilege among his many, is that he gets to major in whatever he wants. So while he watches Henry and Xavier suffer through computer science - Henry to please his parents and Xavier to support his mom - he goes through art classes that they swear are actually harder than what they’re doing. But Schuylar has watched them do their homework. When they’re making new programs, they’re literally speaking a different language. C++? Whatever.

The thing is, Schuylar knows his parents can’t wait to give him the money. Once he and his brother are gone, they don’t have to come home at all - they can just go their separate ways for “work” and Schuylar doesn’t have to know about it. He’ll be in his own house. All alone.

Unless he finds someone to share it with. Not Henry or Xavier. Especially Xavier.

They met in first grade as latchkey kids, the only people in the class who needed somewhere to go after school. They had different teachers during the day but after three p.m. they’d come together and paste macaroni on construction paper or whatever fucking craft the teacher watching them that day had them do. Some teachers were better about it than others. A couple really didn’t want to be there. For the most part, it was fine.

Somehow the tradition just stuck. They never discussed it. They just kept hanging out in the afternoons, even well into high school, after Xavier had to start going home to babysit his younger siblings. But for an hour, they’d just sit in the parking lot and do homework together. No one set it up. It just happened. It was natural.

No one mentioned college, either. They just ended up in the same place. Which isn’t exactly fate, because Xavier is poor as shit and Schuylar should’ve been in an Ivy League school, along with his brother. But he doesn’t really believe in wasting money, no matter how much he has, so he chose a four-year university with a good art program and it just happened to be the one Henry and Xavier applied to as well. So, actually, maybe it is fate? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t know what fate is, really.

Maybe fate is having parents shitty enough that you have to go somewhere after school with the other kids with shitty parents.

Not that their parents are shitty, except maybe Xavier’s dad, but he’s gone a lot. That’s part of what makes him shitty. His mom is an angel. Henry’s parents are alright, but they’re kind of overbearing and they don’t like Schuylar. They wanted Henry to be a doctor, like them, but Henry rejected it. Schuylar actually respects him a lot for that, because he hears that’s hard for Asian Americans, but apparently his family came from China a long time ago and he’s like, third or fourth generation. Schuylar is a white-bread rich kid, but he understands old money. In any case, Schuylar’s parents are shitty but he doesn’t want to complain too much. It’s not like he sees them that much, anyway.

“Fuckin’ rager,” he says to himself as he picks a bra off a lamp shade. It’s not his. It’s lacy and real, and he only owns sports bras at this point. He first told his parents he thought he was the wrong gender when he was nine and they didn’t give a shit - which sounds bad, but it was a blessing in disguise. He started transitioning at eighteen and when he changed his name, they just went along with it. For as shitty as they are, at least they aren’t transphobic. Neither is his brother, but he can’t say the same for homophobia. If he ends up with a dude, there’s going to be hell to pay.

Which is too bad. Because he leans towards dudes.

He throws the bra in the trash bag and keeps going. Fuckin’ rager.

#lonelybottles #whump #writeblr #original fiction #original writing #lb rager #lb1 #lb by bj

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