#curtrod

“Don’t make it weird…fuckin’ weirdo,” Curt mutters, his usual playful bite nowhere to be found as Rod tentatively cups his cheek. The pads of his fingers are calloused, but his hands are softer than Curt had initially imagined. The soft felt of the couch beneath his palms doesn’t do much to distract him from how fast his heart is racing, but it’s at least something to grip onto as he braces for the inevitable. 

Curt’s breath is warm against Rod's lips, the look in his eyes as nervous as it is curious. Seeing that he’s not the only one nervous is relieving, and with a deep breath, he closes the distance between the two of them.

It’s awkward at first — the coolness of Curt’s rings flush against Rod's chest, the warmth of Rod's hand radiating through the side of Curt’s shirt. But, like with all things, the two fall into a rhythm, albeit teetering on the line of grounding familiarity and uncomfortable uncertainty.

Curt makes a move to pull away, only to be caught off guard by Rod's almost insistent chasing of his lips. His grip on Curt’s waist tightens ever so slightly as his thumb hooks into the Rod balanced at his hip; whatever lingering hesitation is wisped away with the soft sound that escapes Rod's lips.

Now, Curt has seen Rod pining aimlessly over Wyndolyn, but he never thought any of that affection directed towards him. And he damn sure never thought he’d be this inclined to return it tenfold.

In truth, Rod is terrified. Terrified of what will happen when Curt pulls away, tells him he’s uncomfortable, forces them back into that stifling, cyclical back-and-forth that they’ve grown accustomed to. Is it selfish to want to be held by the man he’s spent his entire adolescence clinging onto? To be able to let go without the fear that he won’t reciprocate?

Is Curt only doing this to appease Rod? He knows the guy’s a pushover, but come on, that can’t be the only reason. He hopes it isn’t the only reason.

His worries fade ever so slightly as Curt seems to melt into the feeling, mirroring the position of Rod's hand on his cheek and gently tugging him just a bit closer. 

Curt’s still trying to wrap his head around why they’re doing this now, why they haven’t done this sooner, what happens when the moment passes and they’re left in the aftermath. But the peach fuzz tickling his top lip reminds him that despite whatever happens when this is done, Rod's still his best friend.

His best friend whose actions are causing his own repressed feelings to bubble to the surface. 

His very attractive best friend that pulls the most embarrassing noise from the back of his throat as he licks into his mouth, but his best friend nonetheless.

Rod was torn between quitting while he’s ahead or giving into his own selfishness, but all inhibiting factors went out of the window when Curt moaned into his mouth, the hand that was resting on the side of his face now tangled into his locs. Rod is hesitant as shifts to straddle his friend, but the weight of Curt’s arms draped over his shoulders makes him think that maybe Curt has wanted this for a while, too.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, his hand slipping beneath the black cloth covering Curt’s torso. He hums in approval, but Rod's uncertainty gets the best of him as he pulls away, worried that he’ll regret it before they’ve even started.

Warmth pools in the pit of Rod's stomach at the sight beneath him — pupils blown wide and lips parted with each heated breath that falls between them. Rod swallows, not sure if it’s the nerves, the desire, or something else entirely that’s causing him to freeze up like this.

He clears his throat, praying the anxiety in his chest doesn’t make his voice break.

“We can stop if—”

“No.”

Rod blinks. 

He didn’t expect Curt to answer with such…certainty, let alone with that much speed.

“First time for everything, right?” Rod laughs softly at his words, shaking his head fondly as some of the tension in his body eases.

“You’re so fucking corny, you know that?” 

Curt sucks his teeth, the playful, familiar jab making him roll his eyes.

“You know what? Man, fuck you, neverm—”

Usually, he’d have been quicker with a comeback, one that easily matched Rod's in wit and burn. But he’s learned rather quickly that Rod is really, really good at getting him to shut the fuck up.

The room is almost silent, save for the gentle rustling of cloth, the occasional sounds of their rods and rings clanging against each other, and something that neither will ever admit to unless it were behind closed doors.

Curt is touchy, his fingers threading through Rod's hair and between his drapes as he yearns to feel the warmth of Rod's skin against his own. He shucks his drapes off, wincing as it clangs to the floor and making a mental note to apologize to Florence and Celia…he’d rather not be on the mayor and her secretary’s shit list.

Rod's movements are nowhere near as delicate as he peels back the blues and blacks clinging to the Curt’s arms and torso. Huffs of laughter and annoyed swears fill the space between them as he fumbles to unhook the fabric of Curt’s top from its rings, a quiet reverence lacing his expression as his less-than-nimble fingers trace along his friend’s soft skin.

He’s seen Curt topless countless times before, and Rod's everyday wear leaves him half-topless for the whole house to see. But the soft intimacy, the growing intensity of the moment is enough to make both question if they’ll be ready to address the tension once the dust settles.

As difficult as it was earlier, kissing Curt in the present seems to put Rod's mind at ease, swallowing each sigh and moan with his lips and tongue as his hands find purchase on Curt’s waist. He’s hesitant to push forward, though his fingers curl with the urge to dip beneath the bright, pale white that contrasts his gorgeous dark skin.

He short circuits as a shaky hand guides his own to Curt’s front, coupled with an equally as shaky exhale from the man beneath him. Rod pulls away, searching his friend’s gaze for some semblance of hesitance, uncertainty, but all he really can make out is a mix of nerves and desire.

“You sure?” his voice is soft, and a part of him wants Curt to say no, saving both of them the potential fallout of a broken friendship.

“Yeah…yeah,” Curt’s voice soft, his tone warm as ever.

Rod lets out a soft breath, and while it fails to relieve the nerves brimming in his chest, the feeling of Curt’s lips against his does a better job than any of his futile attempts.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know why he feels as hesitant as he does, but the soft moan that spills from Curt’s plush lips is enough to give him the confidence boost he needs to unhook the rod around his waist and slip a warm hand beneath his slacks.

The lack of experience between them is palpable, but with the way Curt arches into Rod's touch, the way his fingers tangle into his hair, you wouldn’t be able to tell. Rod's lips trail down his jaw, his breath warm against Curt’s neck as he palms him through his boxers.

Rod groans softly as Curt’s grip on his locs tightens with each press of his hand to Curt’s groin. He exhales shakily as he helps Curt shuck off his boxers, resting a tentative hand on his thigh. 

To be fair, this won’t be the first time they’ve seen each other naked. They’ve known each other for too long to not be comfortable in their most vulnerable of states.

But the trust that comes with baring yourself in a setting like this isn’t something that either of them ever saw coming, and the weight of the situation hangs thick between them. They care about each other too much to not acknowledge it, if not verbally than at least in thought.

“You’re staring.”

“So, what, I’m not allowed to look now?” The banter is comfortable. A crutch. Rod ignores his reservations and brings his hand from Curt’s thigh to his cock, swallowing as it twitches in his hold. He glances up, nearly missing the look of unadulterated arousal on Curt’s face before he masks it.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything! you’re the one that made a face.”

“But you looked at—” Rod swipes his thumb along Curt’s slit, watching the way his long lashes flutter as his breathing stutters for a split second. 

He isn’t sure if he’s more smug or turned on by his expression, but Curt’s reaction only encourages him further. He leans down to capture Curt’s lips in another, more passionate kiss, drinking in every sound that slips from Curt’s lips. He moves his hand in rhythmic, languid strokes, feeling Curt’s cock brush against his abdomen as he ruts into his hand.

“Good?” he murmurs, feeling his own pants tighten as he looks takes in the sight of Curt nodding, his lips parted as his breath wafts across Rod's lips. He’s torn from his thoughts, however, when Curt hooks a trembling hand beneath the elastic of his waistband.

“You don’t have you if you don’t…I’m fine just doing this,” Rod breathes out, his own insecurity trying to rear its ugly head and ruin the moment he never even thought he’d get to have.

“But I want to. if you want me to,” Curt meets his gaze briefly before Rod's eyes follow the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“A-alright, then,” Rod admittedly does most of the work given their position, but he’s back on top of Curt in a matter of moments, biting the inside of his cheek as his best friend takes in the sights.

“Why are you staring at—?”

“—We’re not doing this shit again,” that pulls a soft laugh from Rod, a sound that’s always been able to make Curt smile. He leans up to kiss Rod again, one that helps him relax as his free hand trails from Rod's waist to his front. 

“Can I touch you?” he can feel Rod's hesitation, almost moving his hand away entirely before he nods. Curt’s eyes meet his, and to save the man from any more embarrassment, he kisses him again, slowly, as his hand dips below Rod's navel. He moans softly against Curt’s lips, kissing him deeper in a failed attempt to stifle the noise.

In any other scenario, Rod would bask in the attention without hesitation. He can’t help but to want to make Curt feel as good as he does, stroking him in time with Curt’s hand against his own cock.

Where Rod is lacking in volume, Curt makes up for it tenfold. Where Rod is lacking in confidence, Curt coaxes him through soft affirmations and heavy breaths, picking up the pace of his hand as Rod finds it harder and harder to kiss back.

He almost surpasses Curt’s loudness as his movements grow sloppier, struggling to fully focus on anything other than how warm and soft and warm Curt’s hand is and how fucking good it feels when their cocks brush against each other, how his head spins at the glide of their hands on each others’ cocks, slick with an embarrassing amount of precum.

Rod feels Curt buck up into his hand as a soft whine threatens to escape from the back of his throat, his grip in his locs tightening as he accidentally bites Rod's bottom lip, hard. 

“Fuck— shit—” Rod's voice chokes off into a broken moan as his hips stutter, painting Curt’s hand, stomach, and cock in thick ropes of white as his chest heaves. The sight is more than enough for Curt to follow suit, spilling into Rod's now motionless hand. 

The air between them is quiet, heavy breathing filling the empty space as they meet each others’ eyes. 

____

The clarity in the aftermath isn’t what either of them expected. No awkwardness, or shying away from affection. Normal back-and-forth banter and bullshit with the occasional night of intimacy sprinkled in between.

Even with the human in the picture now, they don’t feel any need to define what they are. They’re not necessarily together, but they’re not not together, either. They’re just them. Inseparable as ever, even as their partner drifts off on Rod's chest with Curt’s hand lethargically running up and down their back.

“Tired?” Curt shakes his head, though his shut eyes and slow movements tell a different story.

“It’s late.”

“Mhm.”

“Go to sleep.” 

“Inaminit.”

“Can both of you shut the fuck up?” Says a muffled, groggy voice, Rod's chest shaking with silent laughter.

“I’d shut up if he went the fuck to sleep.”

“I’m not that tired—”