Quinn the Temptress

Back and Forth

Quinn stared at the sky as he spun on the swingset, listening to the giggles from the seat next to him. He swore he could see them float into the air, up and up and up to the stars where they belonged. Where he some times thought Bert came from. He was no angel, but an alien? Quinn could believe that. The things Bert made him feel were certainly alien.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Quinn stopped what he was doing and fumbled around for it, vision more hazy than normal. The beer bottles and stubs of cigarettes mingled with stubs of definitely-not-cigarettes around their feet.
A message from Bert. Quinn glanced over at him, saw the naughty smile peeking out over the top of the phone. Quinn rolled his eyes, laughed, and decided to humour him. Fucking Bert, only he would text Quinn about his pubic hair when they're right next to each other.
It was peaceful that night. The streetlamps lining the road were so far away their light couldn't even touch the park. Only the moon saw them hiding away together.
Quinn's eyes protested the bright light of the screen, squinting at the clock. 3:27 a.m. Huh. He hadn't noticed the time pass.
Buzz. Another message. Quinn read it as Bert took a swig from his drink. Complaining about his beer... and yet he's still drinking it. Idiot.

"You can't take my swing." Quinn murmured at the message he received moments later.
"But my ass hurts, Quinny." Bert whined, kicking at the sand beneath the seat, and sending another text to accentuate his displeasure.

"I don't wanna move." Quinn said with a shrug, texting Bert back because apparently that's what they were doing now. Texting and talking about the exact same thing. Stupid. McCracken was stupid. Quinn liked that about him.

"Fine." Bert grew silent. They exchanged a few texts, and soon Bert was exchanging his beer for a place in Quinn's lap. It took some coordination not to make it awkward, but the scrawny little gymnast figured out how to settle himself without toppling anybody over. Quinn kept one hand on the chain and the other slid around Bert's middle.

"Quinny?" Murmured Bert into the darkness.

"Yeah?" Quinn whispered back.

"Your hands are cold as fuck. And check your phone." Bert was still texting, arms around Quinn's neck and phone held behind the blond boy's head.

"Asshole." Quinn grumbled, humouring him once more. Oh. His annoyance faded quickly. Now /that/ was the kind of message he wanted.
His hand slipped down and down, into Bert's pants. Seconds later Bert gasped, small and breathy, into Quinn's ear.

"Rabbit..." Quinn loved that nickname. "Rabbit, don't make me walk home hard."

Quinn had the same problem. A moment passed.
"Unless-"
"You wanna fuck first?"
Bert climbed off of him and started unbuckling his belt.