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Cameron shut the door with the same ridiculous amount of care that he normally used, despite the fact that neither of his parents were home. One time, he swore that his mother heard him slam the door from all the way in Boston and returned home the next day just to shriek at him. He locked the door just in case she was on her way back at the moment. The house had been empty for an entire week and he still felt as if he couldn’t breathe without suffocating on the aura of repressed hatred.
He sighed, falling down onto his bed face first. This had been an amazing spring break; Cameron had managed to become even more tired of his company than he normally was. Briefly he considered inviting Ferris over. That was just a recipe for disaster he could see far off in the distance. One that would end with tears, or blood, or worse, stains on his mother’s new Persian carpet.
Not that Ferris was available anyway. Cameron’s answering machine had been conspicuously quiet as of late. Normally there would be at least three messages on his machine, demanding rides, or his time, or blood, or whatever Ferris had gotten into his head that he wanted from Cameron that week.
It was pretty lonely without them honestly.
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to deal with a reality where he actually missed Ferris Bueller harassing him. A reality where he actually missed that stupid nasal voice whining at him to do his bidding was not one worth living in. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating throwing himself off the roof. It was sort of his pastime.
It wasn’t that he hated Ferris. That clearly wasn’t true considering Ferris had been his best friend since elementary school. It was that on principle, Ferris was the most annoying person on the face of the earth. He bugged Cameron all the goddamn time; he never considered his feelings, he never stopped to think about what trouble his actions would cause for everyone else around him, and he treated Cameron like his own person chauffer, he—
Hadn’t called in almost a week.
To some it might seem strange that Cameron spent most of his time either complaining about Ferris, or being upset that he wasn’t there. Well it was, he freely admitted that (to exactly no one). Still, it was strange. For a moment Cameron considered calling him, but rejected that right off the bat. What would he do? Call up and say he was just confirming that Ferris was still alive, because he hadn’t pestered Cameron in the past six days?
He was probably at Sloane’s house, making out with her lazily in the pool, like always.
Another annoying thing about Ferris, the sheer lack of shame he had when it came to PDA. Anytime the three of them hung out, it was only a matter of time until Ferris would take Sloane by the hand, and grin arrogantly at Cameron as he lead her upstairs or downstairs or outside to have what Cameron was sure was very fantastic sex. On his birthday, Ferris had left Cameron alone in a pizzeria for an hour, after promising that they would only be gone ten minutes. He was pretty sure they had done it in his car.
Cameron couldn’t bring himself to blame Sloane at all. She was nice, and hot. It wasn’t her fault that her boyfriend was a sex maniac.
He had caught the two of them in the middle of it one time.
Ferris had invited (hah more like ordered) him over, and when he had gotten there, well. Neither of them had been wearing shirts, and from what Cameron saw before he snapped back to reality and furiously slammed the door, Ferris’s jeans had been unbuttoned, and Sloane’s skirt had been riding up a ways. She had been on top, breasts nearly spilling out of her bra, and when she noticed Cameron in the doorway she had ripped her hand out of Ferris’s pants, having the grace to look embarrassed.
In his bed, Cameron shifted still intensely uncomfortable with the memory.
Sloane bent over Ferris, smiling slightly as she moved her hand down into his open fly. The look on Ferris’s face, his smile as he leaned up to kiss her, his hand holding her head in place gently, fingers running through long brown strands. Ferris had decent muscles, despite never having done a hard day’s work in his life, and they were on full display. Sloane’s bare thighs. The noises. Ferris’s smile.
Getting an erection was always more trouble than it was worth in Cameron’s opinion. They were never decent minded erections, about things that you could reasonably expect teenage boy to be aroused by. It was with no anticipation whatsoever that Cameron unbuttoned his fly. He ended up removing his pants all together, as well as his shirt.
Lying on top of his bed spread, Cameron stroked his cock idly, trying to bring to mind images of naked women. It never worked, but he usually attempted anyway, just in case maybe he woke up normal one day. Like always, his mind gravitated back towards that day, Sloane’s breasts, Sloane’s skirt and the hand underneath that skirt. The way she was rocking back and forth on Ferris’s lap. Cameron could feel his dick getting hard again, right on cue. Wrapping his first around the head, he pumped it hard, hoping to get this over with quick.
That fucking look on Ferris’s face.
It popped into Cameron’s head and wouldn’t go away, the look on his face when Sloane slid her hand into his jeans, the way his mouth had opened slightly, just enough for Cameron to catch a glimpse of that slight overbite. Unconsciously his hand slowed down, as he thought Ferris’s lips. Ferris’s smile, which was for once not mocking or secretive like they were when he smiled at Cameron most of the time. A genuine smile. Red lips.
Muscles.
Cameron was always deathly quiet when he jerked off, fear of his parents or really anyone seeing him saw to that. He had heard Ferris a little in that moment, sighing lightly. Cameron thumbed his head, running it down his shaft slowly. He wondered what Ferris sounded like in bed.
Was he quiet too, for the most part? Did he feel the need to talk, like he did in every other aspect of his life? They had been laughing a little, when Cameron had walked in, was it possible to even laugh during sex? It didn’t seem like a laughing matter, not that he would know.
Rubbing his cock rhythmically with his fingers, Cameron thought about where the two had been going before he had interrupted. He thought about Sloane Peterson and Ferris Bueller fucking, Sloane riding Ferris furiously, her bra long gone, breasts bouncing perfectly with every thrust. He thought about them orgasming--together naturally—the way she would moan loudly, the way he would laugh breathlessly, pulling her down for a long wet kiss.
It was the laugh that really stuck in Cameron’s mind. Eventually he stopped even bothering to put Sloane in the scene at all. It was just Ferris, alone in his room, naked. Stroking his cock as he moaned, squirming around, and Cameron was right beside him. Fisting his own cock, he imagined Ferris lying there, eyes closed and lashes falling over his cheeks as he touched himself.
Ferris opened his eyes; they were a dark warm brown.
“Cam,” he whispered, smiling enough that Cameron could see his slight overbite.
Cameron pumped his cock furiously, his other hand reaching down to stroke his balls. Ferris’s cock was red, in stark contrast to how pale white the skin on his thighs was. He stroked himself slowly, watching Cameron out of the corner of his eye, that genuine smile playing over his lips. Cameron moaned despite himself, to see Ferris look at him that way.
Then, Ferris was moving, leaning on his elbow to place a kiss on Cameron’s cheek, another one on his nose, and yet another on his eyelids each. Finally a kiss on his lips, and a tongue passing through them. Cameron had never been French kissed before and he blinked frantically, unsure what to do.
“Relax,” Ferris laughed, reading his mind like always.
There was a hand on his thigh, and Cameron’s eyes fluttered open, and he started to tell Ferris to stop, but there was still a warm mouth on his own and he couldn’t say anything, nothing at all. The hand moved up to his dick, and Cameron only caught a glimpse of his best friend’s hand wrapping around his cock before he—
Cameron squeezed his cock firmly, by this point using both of his hands, and he came with a surprised shout. It spurting up and over his stomach, and his hands, and the bedspread, and well, essentially everywhere making a mess. He felt disgusting. There were tears in the corner of his eyes. He blinked them away, irritated at the whole scenario.
The familiar shame washed over him, like a well-worn blanket. After a minute when his legs stopped shaking and the lump in his throat dissipated, he got to his feet. Bundling up the comforter, he took it across the house to the washing machine, for once uncaring about the idea of walking through his house naked. He threw it in.
He took a shower and washing himself as thoroughly as he could; turning the water up so high that by the time he got out his skin was red and numb. He got dressed, and tried not to think about anything else for the rest of the day. Ferris called the next day, demanding that Cameron come pick him up and take him to see a movie. His parents called (separately) to say that they would be gone (separately) for another week.
Life went on.