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Let's Stay Together	By : mistressplant Category: S through Z > School of Rock Views: 11507 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own School of Rock, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Let's Stay Together
- 1
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own anything. I just like playing with them.
Let’s Stay Together

By: mistressplant
You had only come to his house to celebrate.
It is, after all, a news worth celebration and he is in fact the closest friend you have, both figuratively and literally. You jump in excitement that morning when you get the letter addressed to Katherine Anne Brown, that contains a bunch of different things, but the gist of which is “You got into Harvard”. And you flounce your way to his house, just two houses away from yours, still in your pyjamas and bunny slippers. It hasn’t occurred to you yet to ask why you are running to his house to tell him the good news instead of running back to your own to tell your parents, who are going to pay for your tuition by the way. But that isn’t really your concern at that moment, and all you could think about is that you got into Harvard and you have to tell the closest friend you have, both figuratively and literally.
So you go through his back door which you knew is always open at this time and you go straight to his room, and knock, or rather hit your fists stalwartly at his door. He opens it in yesterday’s pants, his eyes are red and his hair is sticking up in ways he didn’t plan but you ignore all that and tell him your good news. And he lights up, and despite the fact that he still has a horrible hangover, he manages to get his wits about him and he hugs you tightly. And you hear him say that he isn’t surprised at the very least, because he always knew you’d do it.
You disentangle yourself from him and say that you only wanted to tell him and now you’re going. But he grabs your wrist and tells you to come back this afternoon, for a proper celebration.
And you do, after all, you came to his house only to celebrate. This time you go through the front door, in proper black shoes and proper black clothes. And he still answers the door in yesterday’s pants.
He wraps hims ams around you once more, and he kisses your hair, something he always does, something that you should be quite used to by now but you never really got around to. He holds your hand and leads you to the living room where he’s set up dinner on the coffee table so you’d have to sit on the floor like in Japanese restaurants. He pulls you down to sit next to him and hands you a goblet filled with sparkling, yellow liquid. You sniff it automatically and he taps a finger on the bet between your eyes.
“Don’t worry. It’s just apple cider. It’s not alcoholic, I know you’re allergic,” he assures you. And you couldn’t even bear to imagine how you thought for a minute that he would give you something that could potentially harm you. After all he knows you, always, and he is your closest friend, both figuratively and literally.
You clink your glasses and he sips his drink, all the while looking at your face and you feel yourself gpinkpink. So you start talking about something else, as you usually do when you grow pink in his presence. And you end up blathering about how excited you are about going to Harvard, how it was, is, your childhood dream. And he listens to you intently all this while, as he always does and you ignore the fact that he is gazing at you as if his life depended on your every breath, as he always does. Because he is just the closest friend you have, both figuratively and literally.
And in the middle of your blathering about going away and getting an apartment in Boston, he cuts you off, which he only does when something is bothering him deeply, and asks, “What about the band?” but something in the way his mouth moved told you that he wasn’t going to say ‘band’ but something else, what it was you didn’t quite catch.
You look at him blankly and realize that you have never thought about that part. You tilt your head to the side and consider this for a moment before finally saying, “I suppose I’ll have to leave.” And his eyes are saddened and see see his face fall as if defeated. And you never see Freddy Jones defeated.
You lift his chin up with your fingers and look at his eyes. “You can find another bassist you know? A lot of people are dying to get into our band. And why shouldn’t they? We rock!”
But his expression does not changd yod you start to feel your own heart wrench and you know that is exactly what he’s feeling, because somehow your hearts are empathic towards one another. Because after all, h the the closest friend you have, both literally and figuratively.
“I can’t find another bassist, I can’t find another you,” he tells you and he doesn’t break your gaze. Your heart pounds loudly and for the first time in your life your gut experiences the word anxiety.
And he is looking at you once more as if his life depended on your every breath, but for the first time you didn’t look away. You realize that your hand is still touching his chin and they begin to tremble, but he steadies it with his own hand, and holds it close to his heart. A million thoughts swim in your head and you don’t know which one to think first so you just sit still and let him call all the shots.
And he kisses you, darting forward so quickly and suddenly as if he didn’t want to give you a chance to run away. But you don’t move and you sit still like a rag doll while he kissed you and licked your lips.
Your mind keeps telling you that he is your closest friend, both figuratively and literally. And he’s kissing you. And he’s very good at it. And it’s so very difficult to connect these thoughts. He’s still kissing you despite the fact that you haven’t attempted to kiss him back or make any sort of movement other than breathing, for that matter.
He kisses up your jaw and whispers to your ear, “Just tell me to stop and I will.” And his voice sounds so wanting. And you realize that you have the same yearning in your h tha that you recognize in his voice.
So you turn your head and kiss him back and you practically kick yourself for missing out on this for the last few moments. Your lips mold together and your tongue touches the remnants of apple cider on his lips; now you’re certain that they weren’t in fact alcoholic though they still make you heady. His hands are on your face and he opens your mouth with his tongue and you readily let him in. A thought in your head screams that he is your closest friend, both figuratively and literally, but not this close, but his tongue is dancing a sweet and yet ferocious dance with yours and it makes you forget about all your thoughts.
And as you kiss, his hands travel down to your shoulders, gently massaging them as if to calm you. He lets one hand glide down to your left breast and he squeezes gently, though with enough force to make you shiver.
“Freddy Jones is holding my boob, Freddy Jones is holding my boob,” your head keeps repeating like a mantra. It was an idea that you once thought would make you run out of the streets screaming bloody murder but now only gave you goosebumps, and a need for more of his touch.
You tentatively break away from him, his mouth darting forward trying to follow yours before he realizes that you’ve stopped kissing him. He looks at you, his eyes a mass of worries and you can feel he fears that you want this to stop. But you he hhe him with a caress of your hand through his hair and again he looks at you as if his life depends on your every breath.
Your faces are so close that the next thinu’reu’re about to say need not be spoken because he could hear it from your breaths. “Your bedroom?”
He smiles, not smirks, smiles, something he rarely does, something he only does in your presence, like a secret he gave to you. He stands up and pulls you up with him but you know his house too well to be led there so you go first, up the steady steps under your rickety feet, because even if you wanted him so badly you still think that he is your closest friend, both figuratively and literally.
You enter his room first, for the first time ever without having to knock. Because though you are friends and he’s so used to you coming over all the time, his bedroom is his and it wouldn’t be right to just come in. You step on the surprisingly clean floor and the soft carpet absorbs your weight and somehow your inhibition. And so you hold onto the hems of your shirt and pull it over your head leaving you in just your jeans and your yellow and blue-starred bra.
You turn to face Freddy and he has a shocked expression on his face and you almost laugh because seeing him shocked like this really is quite funny. Though the part where he stares at your breasts as if considering them isn’t quite so. You breathe deeply and you wonder if it’s just you or are your breasts heaving up and down exaggeratedly. And at that moment you wish your breasts were bigger, a thought that has *never* crossed your mind, because you’ve always been content with your own body and because it never really mattered what the previous guys you’ve dated thought of it. But somehow with him it does and you don’t know whether to feel wretched that you care so much or nervous that he might not like what he sees.
But he resolves all your qualms when he walks closer to you. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your skin touching his skin, igniting a flame within you. He kisses you deeply, plunging his tongue in your mouth, exploring it to your delight. His mouth demands yours so much that it bruises you, but you don’t mind because the feel of his moist lips on you makes up for it. You can feel his arousal poking your stomach. He lightly kisses down your neck, paying special attention to the pulse running at the base of your throat before he pulls his head up, touching his forehead to yours, his breath and yours mixing a sweet and amorous smell.
He gathers you up in his arms and lays you on his bed with such delicate manner as if he is afraid he might break you. He kisses you once more and you’re surprised to feel that you miss kissing him, already. And as he kisses you, his body gradually covers your length and you instinctively move your legs apart and let him settle between them. He lifts his head a few inches away from yours, his eyes study your face and despite the low light that his lamp gives off you could see his face rly,rly, and he’s brimming with ebullience.
“I’ve never looked at you like this before,” he tells you.
“Like what?” you ask.
“With you looking back.”
He lowers his head and kisses you tenderly, without any expectations, stroking your lips as gently as he’d played those cymbals that first day you unwittingly became the School of Rock. That same fateful day you spoke your first words to each other. He told you that your bass playing sucks and you told him that his face sucks harder and somehow you both knew instantly that you’d make great friends.
How kids’ minds works, but you weren’t kids now. And if by some mental disease that makes you stupid for a moment, you weren’t sure of that, the next thing Freddy does makes you certain. He distracts you for a while as he adorns your nose, eyelids, ears and cheeks with butterfly soft kisses. He slowly slips a hand between the two of you, his drumstick calloused hands brushing your stomach and it makes you intake a breath or two. And then his hand edges inside your jeans and in your panties, resting to play with the soft brown curls underneath it.
“Freddy,” you groan into his mouth, saying his name as if it were an erotic game.
And the sound of your groan makes his finger slide down to the already slick folds of your vulva. He moves around as if he’d always known what makes you moan…and what makes you moan harder. He finds your clit as easily as he would find his favorite Ramones record, and he rubs it with his index finger as you make more and more incoherent noises. His middle finger slides inside you and you begin to shake as that pulsating pleasure starts to climb up your spine.
Still, somehow, your mind is trying to make out that it’s Freddy Jones’ hands inside your jeans. The same Freddy Jones who would flip up your skirt on Friday afternoons at the playgrounds back in fifth grade, the naughty boy who’d snatch your English homework and run around the classroom screaming “I am a golden god!”, that same boy who made faces at you during band practice while you played your bass and as he drummed away. And you wonder when it was that this boy who teased and taunted became a boy who teased and taunted, pleasurably.

“Katie, what are you thinking?” he asks as he pulls out his hand from inside your pants, his fingers glistening with you.
You lay there still rather restless and you’re using every bit of restraint left in your body not to grab his hand and have it finish what it started. “We’re about to have sex, Freddy.”
He gives you a lopsided grin and he knows exactly what you mean. “Life’s full of surprises.”
He moves his mouth against your lips and kisses down to your neck. His hand moves to your back, and he expertly unhooks the clasp of your bra, removes it and drops it to the floor. He proceeds to unbutton your jeans and pulls it down along with your panties. The cold air hits your hot skin, your nipples getting even harder and you turn pink again in his presence. He kneels up and looks at your entirety, drinking in the sight of your naked body.
And for some reason you feel shy and you flinch and your hands attempt to shield yourserom rom his view.
“What’re you g?” g?” he says with a chuckle.
“It’s just weird. Don’t you find it weird that I’m naked in your bed?” you ask him.
“No, I find it wonderful that you’re naked in my bed,” he tells you straight as he traces a finger from your chin down to your left breast. He pushes his finger against one pink, taut nipple, playing with it as gently and curiously as you would tune your bass. He lowers his head, giving the pebble a tentative lick, before he takes your breast into his mouth. Your eyes flutter and your hands play with his hair as he suckles urgently on your breast while his hand cradles the other. He moves his head up, leaving a circular wet mark around the areola and settles his mouth on your other breast, his tongue licking and pushing your nipple.
You feel the anticipation growing between your legs and he seems to read your mind as he makes his way down to your stomach and darts a tongue in your navel. He kisses around your pelvis while his hands push your legs farther apart and his head settles between you. You could feel his breath, a cold wind against your hot centre. His tongue dives in, licking around the lips of your opening, massaging your clit, his hands gripping the insides of your thigh. Your back arches and you move forward to his mouth wanting him to explore every single crevice. You know you’re close, so very close and your thighs begin to shake, and your pants go faster and heavier. And the wave hits you, hard and wonderful and somehow you’ve never had it this good and you don’t know if it’s because of something Freddy’s doing or because of Freddy.
You open your eyes and Freddy is beside you, wiping your juices from his mouth with the back of his hand and you oddly find this act sexy. He runs his hands through your hair and smiles at you, as if the sight of you coming satisfied him too.
“That was wonderful,” you tell him.
He tilts his head to the side and says, “I know a trick or two.” And he says that both modestly and cockily, something only he could do.
You reach over and briefly touch your lips to his, not wanting to taste yourself. You kiss his neck suckling on that spot under his ear and it leaves a mark. Your hands travel down to his waist and you begin to unbuckle his belt and his pants. Soon he is left only in his boxers and you can see his erection straining against the black silk.
Your smile teases him as you gently pat the bulge with your hand anen cen caress it with light feather touches. Your finger trails circles around his erection and he suddenly grabs your hand by tristrist.
“Don’t tease me like that,” he tells you breathily, his face so close to yours and you can see his eyes darken.
You lick your lips and nod at him. He licks his lips as well and lets go of your hand. You reach for the elastic bands of his boxers and pull it back revealing his long, pink and slender cock to you. You smile slightly, quite happy that he is well-endowed because no matter how many times they say it, size still does matter in some cases. You wrap your hands around him with a confidence that startled you and by the way he jerked at your touch, him as well. He feels so hot in your hand; you swear the heat could almost singe you. You nip the tip of his head softly before taking him into your mouth, feeling the pre-cum in your tongue.
He moans your name in a way you’ve heard before, in a dream somewhere that you can’t quite remember but is all too familiar. His body lies rigid and his hands still on his side as your tongue licks his penis and your hands massage his balls, and you can tell that he’s trying so very hard not to thrust into your mouth or grab your hair and you have a feeling he knows you wouldn’t like that.
Suddenly he sits up, pulling your face away from his cock.
Your eyebrows furrow worryingly. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he proclaims rather dramatically, which might make you question if this person you’re giving head to is indeed Freddy, but then he smirks at you and continues, “at least not the first time.”
He pushes you down, your feet now facing the headboard. He turns his back to you, reaching over to his night table and pulls out a packet of condom from a box. And somewhere in your head, a little girl wonders what the hell it’s doing there and just how many girls he has serviced with his box of condoms.
He looks back and sees the expression on your face and you realize that you really are quite readable, or maybe just to him.
“I’ve never brought any girl to this bed. We both know that you’re not my first, and I’m pretty sure I’m not your first either. But we’re the first, here,” he explains to you so poignantly as he smoothes away the sweaty strand of hair from your face.
You give him a smile that lets him know you understand. He opens the bag carefully and slips on the condom on his still hardened cock. He positions himself between your legs, right in front of you entrance. But before he pushes in, he gives you a look, his eyes glazing over your face as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. And it didn’t mystify you because you’re doing the exact same thing. Because you both know that the moment he enters you, you’ll be looking at each other differently. And you want to see Freddy Jones, the boy who flipped your skirt up in the playground back in fifth grade, perhaps for the last time.
“Goodbye, little Katie,” he says with an almost sad sigh.
“Goodbye, little Freddy,” you say in return.
He pushes inside you, and your body widens to accommodate him. His thrusts begin languorously as you bask in the sensation of his every movement inside of you. His strokes become faster and deeper with every moment passing by. Your legs fall farther apart, wanting to take in more of him. He bends towards you, his hands pushing on the linen on either side of your head. You feel your sweat mix with his as your chests rub against each other and he breathes apple cider breath on your ear.
His movements are gradually slowing and he thrusts in you non-rhythmically and you know he’s coming. He screams out your name, not your nickname, your name “Katherine” and it sounds beautiful on his mouth. Your legs wrap themselves around his waist as you watch his eyes flutter and spasmic contortions running through his body as he empties himself inside of you.
He is still half unconscious when you push him back; flipping both your still connected bodies over, landing you on the top. You sit back, your butt on his thighs and you hands on his knees and you start to ride him until you feel the shivers climb down to your thighs once more. Freddy watches you this whole while and he reaches between you, sliding and rubbing his index and middle fingers against your clit. You throw your head back, and scream his name for how many times, you can’t ever remember, until you collapse on him, your hands holding on to his shoulder, the sweat on your forehead dripping to his ears, your softened breasts resting against his chest.
You take a long moment to catch both your breaths before you extricate yourself from him. The shivers still linger on both your bodies. You pull up the blankets, suddenly feeling the cold air in the room. He wraps an arm around you and place your head on the nook of his shoulder, your hand draped around his neck.
And as you lie there it occurs to you again what you just did and what it meant. And your heart beats faster because you’re afraid; what if it’s just a goodbye fuck? And you realize that you’re scared because you didn’t want it to be. And that thought, the thought of wanting something more, from Freddy, the closest friend you have, both figuratively and literally, scares you even more.
He fondles your shoulder and tilts your chin up until your eyes meet. And he knows what you’re thinking.
“You know, Boston isn’t so far away,” he tells you.
And you smile, because he is your closest fri bot both figuratively and literally. Always.
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Let's Stay Together