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You Ring My Bell

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It’s not like Bodhi doesn’t have a ride home from school. It’s just that Bodhi… doesn’t have a ride home from school. His mom had a surprise meeting, and when she had texted him in the middle of third period, asking if he would be ok to get home on his own, he had said that of course he was, just so he wouldn’t worry her. So here he was, at 5 PM, locked out with no way to get home.

It’s sub-zero, Bodhi thinks. He doesn’t really know. He’d take out his phone and check, but that would involve removing his hand from his pocket. There’s no way he can walk the hour home, he’d probably freeze to death. There was a coffee shop about 15 minutes away, so he could stay there until his mom was finished and could come get him. As long as she was done by 8, which was when the coffee shop closed.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it, he decided, and readied himself to step out from the relative shelter of the entrance to the school.

“Hey, Bodhi!”

Bodhi turns. Two figures emerge from the wind and take shelter with him, unwinding scarves and taking off caps so he can see their faces. It’s Chirrut Imwe, he realizes, and Baze Malbus. He gulps.

It’s not that he’s scared of Chirrut and Baze, not necessarily. Sure they’re seniors, but he’s a junior, so that’s not a big deal. And Chirrut’s pretty nice, from what he’s heard. Baze is… less nice, but that’s not what makes him nervous. It’s the energy they have, this seemingly effortless cool, even though Chirrut is blind and Baze’s hair is way too long, and none of them hang out with any of the so-called popular kids. He sees them in the hall, sometimes, joking around with each other, or in the courtyard when it’s warm, quietly eating together. He was afraid to even get near them. They had some sort of forcefield around them, untouchable.

“Do you have a ride home?” Chirrut asks, concerned.

“I mean not… really,” says Bodhi, shrugging. “I was just gonna walk to the coffee shop down the road.”

“What, in this weather?” asks Chirrut. Baze is standing in the background, his arms across his chest, looking unimpressed. With what, Bodhi doesn’t know. Maybe with the whole world.

“I’d be okay,” says Bodhi. “My mom would come pick me up.” Immediately he flushes. My mom will pick me up, he must sound like such a kid to these two guys, who obviously have their own car and own reasons for staying around school late. Probably, like, smoking cigarettes while staring off into the distance club. Not aviation club with Mr. Erso.

“No, come on, we’re driving you home,” says Chirrut, putting his hat back on. “We’re driving him home,” he says to Baze, turning to walk towards the parking lot. Baze hums, looks Bodhi up and down, and abruptly takes his own scarf off and wraps it once, twice, three times around Bodhi’s neck. He hums again, this time possibly in satisfaction, and turns to follow Chirrut. Bodhi takes a moment to smell the scarf, breathing in wool and weed and a little bit of something spicy, like maybe Baze wears cologne. Bodhi doesn’t know any guys their age who wear cologne.

“You coming?” Chirrut throws over his shoulder, and without even looking, Bodhi can tell he’s grinning.

“Coming!” Bodhi says, and hurries over, joining Baze and Chirrut as they walk across the parking lot.

At the far end of the lot, they come to a beat up Jeep. Chirrut hops into the back, motioning for Bodhi to get into the front seat. Bodhi swallows, and does. As he gets up, Baze swings himself into the drivers seat, causing the entire car to rock with his weight and strength. Bodhi gasps, just slightly, and hopes no one notices.

Even though they’re shielded from the wind inside, it’s still not that much warmer in the car. Baze turns the key and the car starts itself with a stutter, immediately blasting ice-cold air from the vents onto Bodhi’s face. He gasps, again, this time much louder.

“Sorry,” Baze says, turning the air off. “Engine’s a piece of shit, so the heat takes a while to turn on.”

“I know what we could do to make it warm it here,” Chirrut says, a crooked grin on his face. Bodhi gets the feeling that he really wants to find out how Chirrut is going to make it warm in here, as much as he’s nervous about it.

“Chirrut,” Baze says, warningly. Chirrut just grins, and reaches over Bodhi to get to the glove compartment. He’s all pressed up against Bodhi, his neck and side pressed right up against Bodhi’s face. He just smells clean, like laundry detergent, and, again, a little bit like weed.

The smell maybe should have warned him about what Chirrut was going to pull out of the glove compartment, but he still was surprised when Chirrut sat back and held up a joint and a lighter.

“We’re not hot-boxing the fucking Jeep, Chirrut,” says Baze, rolling his eyes.

“Why not?” asks Chirrut, flicking the lighter on and off.

“Not with the kid in here.”

At this, Bodhi sits up and pays attention. “I’m not a kid,” he says.

“So, you wanna hot-box the car?” Chirrut asks, still smiling.

Baze lays a heavy hand on Bodhi’s shoulder. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” he says. “And I’ll be good to drive either way.”

Bodhi looks between Baze’s heavy gaze and Chirrut’s smile. “I want to,” he says, and Chirrut crows, lighting up the joint.

It’s not that Bodhi has never smoked weed. He does get out of the house, sometimes. It’s just clear, as Chirrut exhales smoothly through his nose, that Bodhi certainly does not smoke weed as much as the other people in this car.

Please don’t let me cough, he thinks. Please, God, don’t let me cough.

He manages a shaky inhale and exhale and, miraculously, doesn’t cough as he hands the joint to Baze.

They smoke it to the dregs in silence, and finally Baze blows out smoke one last time and kills the stub in the ashtray.

“It’s warmer, isn’t it?” asks Chirrut, smugly. Baze’s only response is to start the air, immediately blasting hot, hot air into Bodhi’s face. Whether or not smoking made the car warmer, he’s happy now for the heat.

He can feel the high, as Baze pulls out of the parking lot and on to the main road. His head floats, but his body feels heavy, good. He licks his lips once, then does it again. Flexes his hands, just to watch them move. He lets out a long sigh.

“Feeling good?” Baze asks.

Bodhi hums in response, watching the sun set behind the pine trees. God, he’s so high. He giggles.

“Oh yeah, he’s feeling good,” he hears Chirrut say.

They pull up, eventually, to a nice two-story house, painted light blue. It’s very much not Bodhi’s house.

“This isn’t my house,” he says.

“Oh shit,” Baze says, and drops his forehead to the steering wheel. His shoulders begin to shake, and Bodhi realizes he’s laughing.

“Did you just bring us to your house?” asks Chirrut.

“Yeah,” Baze sighs. “Yeah, I did.”

“We were supposed to drop Bodhi off!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Chirrut sighs fondly. “Do you want to come in, Bodhi?” he asks. “We could just watch TV or something, Baze could take you home later.”

Bodhi notices that Chirrut makes no mention of Baze driving him home later.

“Yeah,” says Bodhi, even though he has a paper due in a few days that he really meant to get an outline started for. He’s high already, it wasn’t like he was going to be working anyway.

“Great,” Chirrut says, and slides out of the car.

“Wait for me,” Bodhi says. “Ice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Chirrut, shifting from foot to foot in the cold. Baze crosses around to his side, and Chirrut takes Bazes arm, lets Baze walk him across the driveway and up the front steps, steering him around patches of black ice while Bodhi hurries behind. Baze unlocks the door, and all three of them sigh as they get inside, to the warmth of the house.

“C’mon,” Baze says, and the three of them head up two flights up stairs, up to the attic. This is, Bodhi realizes, Baze’s room, taking in the futon on the floor, the small couch in front of an old television. Baze and Chirrut move towards the couch, and Bodhi finds himself squished in the middle. It’s not until Baze has the television on, and is searching for a channel, that Bodhi looks over at Chirrut and realizes.

“You’re blind,” Bodhi says, stupidly.

“Baze tells me what’s going on,” Chirrut says, simply, as Baze settles on a rerun of some old sitcom.

Bodhi finds himself drifting. Chirrut is on one side, smelling clean and comforting, and Baze is a heavy weight against his other side, filling his nose again with the spicy scent of the cologne when Bodhi turns his head that way. Baze’s voice rumbles in the background, under the canned, tinny laughter as one episode bleeds into another. At one point, a joint gets rolled and sent around.

“Baze,” says Chirrut, reaching an arm behind Bodhi to poke Baze in the shoulder. “Do you want to…?” He gestures with the joint. Baze grins.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, and they both lean forward and over Bodhi, and then they’re kissing, but there’s smoke coming out from between their mouths, and Bodhi has heard of this, shotgunning, but he didn’t think it involved that much tongue. It really seems like they’re just kissing, now, the two of them still leaned over him. They break apart with a soft, slick noise, and Bodhi swallows, loud and uncovered by the television.

“You wanna?” asks Baze, seriously, looking into Bodhi’s face, and Bodhi doesn’t know what he’s asking, if he’s asking if Bodhi wants to shotgun, or kiss one of them, or both of them, or maybe do more, but whatever Baze is asking, Bodhi knows his answer.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I do.”

“Cool,” says Chirrut, and doesn’t even use the weed as an excuse, just leans in kisses Bodhi hard, wrapping his hands in Bodhi’s hair and tugging, just a little, so that Bodhi leans into Chirrut, bracing himself over him against the side of the couch. Their legs are a mess, all tangled into one another, but Bodhi doesn’t mind, barely even notices, because Chirrut kisses him so hard their teeth clack together.

“Hey, hey,” says Baze, laying a gentling hand on Chirrut, then Bodhi. “Come on,” he says, and lifts Bodhi under the armpits like a rag doll, Baze lifting him up so Bodhi straddles Baze’s lap backwards, back up against his chest.

“Yeah,” sighs Baze, and wraps his arms around Bodhi. Bodhi flushes, he can feel himself getting hot at the pure animal strength surrounding him, Baze’s breath hot against his neck as he strokes warm hands up and down Bodhi’s front, gentling him like a skittish horse. Baze’s hand goes under Bodhi’s shirt and Bodhi whines and wriggles, then gasps when he feels the bulge of Baze’s hard cock under his ass.

“Is he hard?” asks Chirrut. He’s staring slightly in their direction, but Bodhi can tell that he’s listening hard, almost hungrily.

“He’s asking you,” Baze says, in his ear. Bodhi nods, his mouth open as he squirms, and Baze squeezes him tight, so tight, keeping him still. “He can’t hear you nod,” Baze says. “Say it.”

Bodhi licks his lips once, then again. “Baze is—he’s hard. He’s, um, he’s really hard.”

“Yeah, fuck,” says Chirrut, and falls to the ground on his knees in front of them. “Fuck, you make us both so hard.” Chirrut captures Bodhi’s open mouth again in a kiss, and even though Bodhi is sandwiched between them, the sensation of having Baze hard underneath him, Chirrut’s mouth open below him, makes Bodhi feel powerful. He only breaks the kiss when Baze fingers at the bottom of his shirt, a silent question. Bodhi raises his arms up above his head, and Baze carefully peels his shirt off, letting Bodhi rest back against Baze’s own bare chest.

Bodhi remembers feeling cold at one point today, but now he’s so, so warm.

“Can, I, um,” Chirrut asks, shifting impatiently on his knees, “can I blow you?”

“What?” Bodhi asks, shocked. He’d gotten his dick sucked once, the summer before at engineering camp, but he and the girl had gotten walked in on by one of their counselors, and even before that happened, Bodhi wasn’t very close to coming anyway. He gets the feeling getting his dick sucked by Chirrut is going to be a whole different story.

“He loves to suck cock,” says Baze in his ear, grasping Bodhi’s cock over his jeans. Bodhi gasps.

“I’m blind,” says Chirrut, shrugging, “the taste is stronger. So can I?”

“Yeah,” Bodhi says, breathless. “Yeah, of course.”

Chirrut grins, the same grin he gave when Bodhi got in the car, when he pulled out the joint, right before they kissed. Bodhi was associating that grin with some very, very good things happening.

Chirrut wrestles with the front of Bodhi’s pants, getting them open by feel alone. Bodhi barely has time to feel Chirrut’s hands on him before Chirrut licks a long stripe up Bodhi’s cock and sucks the head of Bodhi’s dick into his mouth. Bodhi exhales short and hard, and spreads his legs even farther apart.

“You can fuck his face,” says Baze, reaching to cup a hand around the back of Chirrut’s mouth. “It’s okay, he likes it.”

“I don’t think I can,” says Bodhi. He’s pretty sure the second he moves at all, he’s going to come, and it’s going to be very embarrassing for all of them but especially him.

“It’s okay,” says Baze. “I can do it for you,” and he pushes Chirrut’s head all the way down and holds it so Bodhi can feel the softness at the back of Chirrut’s mouth, feel the way Chirrut swallows against him, chokes a little bit, tears up.

“I can’t,” Bodhi says, gasping, “I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m gonna come,” and Baze hushes him.

“It’s okay,” he says again, and pulls Chirrut off of Bodhi’s cock, holds his face by his chin while he jerks Bodhi off fast, but still gentle. It’s only when Chirrut closes his eyes and opens his mouth, ready, that Bodhi lets out and unsteady groan and comes, painting Chirrut’s face with his come. Chirrut licks his lips and closes his mouth, swallowing the come he catches with his tongue.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, and Bodhi thinks he’s talking to him when Baze lets out a long moan.

“Yeah, please,” Baze says, and Bodhi loses track of things for a while, until he’s sitting on the couch, alone, Baze kneeling in front of Chirrut, bracing himself on the couch between Bodhi’s legs. Chirrut reaches into the couch cushions and pulls out a bottle of lube, pulls down Baze’s jeans just enough, and pushes two fingers into him right at the start. Baze makes eye contact with Bodhi, and the far away look in his eyes makes Bodhi lean down and kiss him.

It’s a shock when Bodhi realizes he hasn’t kissed Baze yet, but Baze is, as always, gentle and sweet, almost shy in the sweeps of his tongue. Bodhi swallows up all his noises, but pulls away when Baze gasps sharply, looking down to watch Chirrut slowly sink into Baze. He’s never seen it, not in real life, not outside of porn, and the sight is enough to make Bodhi grab on to his cock again. Chirrut still has Bodhi’s come on his face, drying now, as he starts to move inside Baze, hard short thrusts that go right over Baze’s prostate, if the short sharp moans Baze is giving out are any indication.

“He’s such a fucking cockslut,” says Chirrut, grinning. “Big guy like him, you’d think he’s a total top, but he just loves a cock in his ass, don’t you Baze? He goes all soft, Bodhi, just look at him, tell me how he looks,” and Bodhi looks, takes his cock in hand and looks at the blissed out expression on Baze’s face.

“He looks good,” Bodhi says. “Really good.”

Bodhi can feel it, building in his stomach, tightening his balls again, but it’s still almost a surprise when he shoots, this time on Baze’s face, into his open mouth. Baze moans loud, and tugs on his cock hard, spills into his hand and onto the floor. After a few thrusts, Chirrut turns blind eyes up to the ceiling and comes, then folds forward over Baze, kissing over his shoulders and the back of his neck. It’s tender, and answers any lingering questions Bodhi has about their relationship.

“Why were you guys at school so late?” he asks, and only realizes afterwards he messed up the moment. But it’s okay, it seems, because Baze just grins.

“Tell him, Chirrut,” Baze says.

“I teach kids karate in the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school,” Chirrut says.

“Kids?” Bodhi asks, but as soon as he asks he can see it, Chirrut patiently showing boys and girls how to fight.

“Elementary school students,” says Baze. “It’s adorable. I stay to watch.”

“Oh, that’s really nice,” says Bodhi.

“We can be nice, every once in a while, says Chirrut. And then Chirrut grins, and Bodhi feels like he can see the future, like he can see the rest of this year, and maybe even longer, stretching out in front of him, with Baze’s steady hands on one side and Chirrut’s crooked smile on the other, and the smells of spice and laundry detergent fill his nose.

“Do you want to smoke another joint?” Chirrut asks. Baze laughs.

“Yes,” Bodhi says. “Yes, I do.”