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it's what I like to do.
tears4therandom wrote in that70sfanfic
Title - No Secrets (Part II of the Evolution Trilogy)
Author - Noah Colum
Pairing - Eric/Kelso, Hyde/Eric. I know, I'm whoring him out. Bear with me.
Rating - PG-13 (Whole series NC-17)
Warnings - Slash, Classic Rock. Graphic sex found in other segments.
Disclaimer - Characters property of Fox. Lyrics property of Columbia and Sony.
Summary - I'd give my very sanity to feel you the way Kelso has.

[x-posted in sundry locations]

I know what you did with him.

I know what that record means to the two of you, and what you do every time you say you're going to listen to it. I can't figure out how you've kept it hidden from Jackie and Donna. I'd think they'd be more perceptive.

Of course, it's to my credit that I've let you think you're in the clear. Fez has too, of course, but it's more out of some weird respect for Kelso.

I know you, though. I've always known about you. I even hinted at it, fairly regularly. I never would have guessed you'd come out to him and not me. I mean, Christ, Forman, I've been your best friend since grade school. And I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want more than that.

The closest time I felt to you was the night you came back from seeing Car Wash with Buddy. I told you that you were irresistible, and I meant it. You will probably never know how jealous of Buddy I became, and that's my fault for being silent.

The night after that, you asked me to go upstairs, to talk.

"Buddy kissed me," you said. I nodded, waiting for you to continue.

And continue you did. "And I -- I think I kind of liked it."

Your forehead wrinkled, your brown eyes almost in tears. I had never wanted to take you in my arms more than that moment. As it was, it took all I had to just sit still and listen. I wanted you to come to terms with yourself, but I wanted even more than that to hurt buddy for hurting you. "That's no big deal, Forman," I said, maintaining the Zen.

You collapsed backwards onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, your arms lying beside you and your legs stretched out across Kitty's rug. "No, Hyde, it is a big deal." You lay there, almost in a trance. "I got kissed by a guy. I mean, I got kissed. By a guy."

I shrugged, curious beneath it all. "Was it good?"

You turned to look at me, snapping quickly and almost curling around yourself slightly. "What kind of question is that?"

I repeated it for you. "Was. It. Good."

Your eyes went wide. "How could you even ask me -- Yeah, it was." You looked almost relieved, and I felt my heart jump. You were so close to confessing what I knew all along.

"But I'm not, you know. I'm really not gay." And just like that, you dashed my hopes and I knew I'd have to wait at least a little bit longer. "I mean, I don't have to tell you that, right, man? You know better than anybody."

Yes, I know. I know about the dreams you had for weeks after, I know about the way you used to draw him on your history notes and then later turn him into Stormtroopers or some other dumb shit like that. I know just how much you looked forward to Chem labs with him.

Yeah, Forman. I read your journals. You really shouldn't keep them for three years.

Which is how I found out about Journey. Rather, it's how I found out that you and Kelso had sex while Steve Perry sang in the background. I pulled out the record, you know, to see what made it so special for you two. I came to the conclusion it wasn’t the album.

You’re gay, Eric Forman. But it doesn’t bother me.

Because so am I.

You know what? I’ve been in love with you since nearly the day we met. I would give just about anything to feel your lips on mine. I’d give my very sanity to feel you the way Kelso has.

So I’m trying.

I dim the lights in the basement. I’m kind of new at this, so hold on while I try my best not to lose my head.

You ask me what I’m doing, and I respond by turning on the stereo. It’s Journey, of course. Evolution, the same album you thought you had hidden behind your bookcase. But I’ve got the arm set to track six, Sweet and Simple. The piano slinks out of the speakers alongside Steve’s sleek tenor voice, and your eyes widen.

You know that I know what you know. I smile coolly, trying to soothe your heart which is, I’m sure, beating fast.

I slide my sunglasses off, taking your chin into my hand, bringing your lips to mine. I am sure you can feel my heart, it must be hiding just behind my throat and screaming for mercy. I slip my tongue between your lips, feeling my knees give slightly. I feel your hands around my hips, and I want to scream, I want to jump and dance and sing, for chrissakes. I am kissing you and you are holding me and there isn’t one thing more I could ask for.

I sense that you agree, I can taste your consent. I hold you close, letting the glasses clatter to the ground, slipping my hands behind your head, tracing your hair as I feel you feeling me. I want more of you, but I want to take it slowly. You know that I could give you so much more than he could. I could give you anything you want. I would love you if you would take me.

I want you to want me, Forman. I want you to want me more than you wanted Kelso. I want you to want me differently than you wanted Kelso.

I want you to love me, Eric Forman. I want you to take me into your arms and hold me the way you are at this moment.

But this will do for now.

We stand there and I am unaware of anything around us except the music which envelops us, which surrounds us like fog as we explore each other in ways I’ve frankly always wanted. I feel myself dissolve into you, I feel myself letting go of my mask, releasing the Zen into the air, watching it fly away, carried on Steve Perry’s voice. This is, indeed, sweet as sugar.

It’s what I like to do, Steve says, and I’m absolutely with him on this. There isn’t much I’d rather do than hold you as you hold me, and touch your hair and face and shoulders and feel you touching my waist and hips and back. I am surprised by how delicate you are, amazed by the thought that if I am not careful I may break you.

You are precious to me, Eric Forman. You know that I would sooner die than see you hurt. I would easily give my life before I could let you suffer. I am telling this to you, with my lips and arms and hands and tongue. And, in the same manner, you are telling me that you know, that you’ve always known.

Thank you for this, Eric Forman. Thank you for letting this be, for letting me be, letting us be, for being content with simply being. Your very existence is the reason I bother to continue mine.

The track winds down and your lips leave mine. My mouth begs to return to yours, my lips feel naked and alone without yours pressed against them. I reach down, lift the arm off the record, switch it off. The snap of the lever breaks us out of the moment.

You look at me, put a hand behind your head, stretching, your forehead crinkling as always. There’s confusion behind your eyes, tempered with a drop of discomfort. “Hyde, um…” You’re lost for words, and I’m falling even more in love with you. “What was that?”

I sigh, looking away. “Something I meant to do a long time ago.”

You take my hand, and I’m surprised by how soft your hands are, and amazed that I’ve never noticed. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” I’ve immediately created a lie out of habit. I discard it a moment later, because I’m through lying to you. I don’t ever want to lie to you again. “I read your journal, Forman.” No secrets this time.

I feel your hand slip away. “You what?” You’re shocked. You have every right.

I try to cover myself. I don’t want you angry at me. “We never talk anymore, and…” I scramble for words. “I miss knowing what’s on your mind.”

You’re defensive, you feel violated and I understand. It’s my fault. “What do you care? You never cared in the first place.” You’re nonplussed. “How could you do that to me?”

I take a breath, and turn and kiss you again, quickly. “For that.” I take your hand again. “I feel ungrounded, Forman. I don’t have much of a life, you know. Without you talking to me, I’m almost listless..”

Your voice is soft. “What are you saying?” It’s not an accusation, but a genuine question.

I look into your eyes. I see my face reflecting in those receptive brown orbs, and I feel the urge to put my sunglasses back on, to hide behind their familiar polarized buffer from the things I’ve dreamed about and been afraid to say.

I suppress the urge and carry on. “I’m saying I love you, Eric.” I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’ve always loved you.”

You’re surprised again. “What did you call me?” My hopes fall slightly; you always focus on the least important details.

I revert to sarcasm, slightly wounded. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

You smile, shaking your head. You take my hand again, wonder glowing in your face. “What I meant to say is that I love you too, Steven.” You touch my cheek and I revel in the warmth of your skin against mine. Once again I feel my knees protest, but I manage to remain standing. I bring your hand closer to my face, feeling you feeling me.

And then your hand is gone, retreating to your pocket. I look at you and you look at me. Your lips part and words emerge, hanging in the air until I’m able to comprehend them.

“I’ve got to go upstairs.” I finally nod in agreement as the words reach me.

And then you’re gone. The room is instantly colder. I take my shirt off, throwing it in the corner, and step out of my jeans, leaving them in a pile where I removed them. I settle down into the cot, sliding under the covers and closing my eyes as I turn off the lamp.

I hear a knock at the door of the basement, and cautious steps down the stairs. “You awake?”

It’s you. My heart leaps and I sit up, switching the lamp back on. I try to stay cool. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You’re holding a pillow, wearing only your pajama bottoms. “Uh, can I sleep down here with you tonight?”

I frown, scratching my head. “ I dunno, man.” I shrug. “I don’t want us to do anything tonight, you know?” I don’t know how to say what I mean. “I don’t want us to be about that.”

You shrug back, smiling. “I didn’t come down here for that.” You sit down next to me, putting your hand on my shoulder. “I came down here to fall asleep with you.”

You’ve captured my heart once again. I put an arm around your shoulders, small and bare, and I draw you into me. “Stick with me, kid.” I smile and kiss you on the cheek, and we slide beneath the covers together.

Together. We are together. Those three words bounce around in my head. I hold you close, and I feel you shift around.

You rest your head on my chest, slipping your arms around my waist.

You are close to me. I am close to you. I stroke your hair, staying awake as you fulfill the dreams I’d given up on. I trace your spine gently as your breathing slows. I hear you sigh, and it’s a sigh of contented sleep.

And then you murmur something. I almost miss it. “Goodnight, Steven. I love you.”

I smile, listening to your breathing, trailing fingers up and down your spine, enjoying the feelings of your arms around my waist. “Goodnight, Eric. I love you too.”

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Mmm, Hyde/Eric. Lovely.

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