Chapter Text
— A Study of the Tongue(s)
They never spoke to each other unless they had to. Sometimes, they’d find each other picking up Buck or Jill from school, or at the grocery store, or kicking rocks in the park. Strangetown was so small that it barely managed a population large enough to be considered a town — everything was singular.
There was one gas station, one grocery store, one bakery, one elementary school, one middle school, one high school.
Tank bets it’d be a bigger challenge to avoid Johnny than to just let their infrequent encounters run their course. It gives him peace of mind — somehow. Knowing he doesn’t have to be looking out for the green skinned freak how he used to. Anyway, any meeting of theirs was coincidental. Unintended. Unfortunate; even.
This however…This had been very intentional.
He’s by his desk, gazing out the window when he spots it. A basketball flung over their fence at the corner of his eye, smacking against one of the obstacle poles, then skidding to a stop right at the foot of another. Before Tank has the time to marvel at it, the tell-tale, ding-dong and immediate, call for “Tank!” from his father makes him focus on that matter, first.
He sighs, sets his pencil atop his notebook with much more force than needed, then walks down the stairs and takes a sharp turn to his front door.
Johnny Smith stands before him, a sheepish grin on his face. Just before Tank’s about to shut the door on him, Johnny reaches out, puts an arm between the door and the ledge, frantically
exclaiming, “Way-way-way-way-wait. Wait, okay?”
Begrudgingly, Tank does exactly that. He could slam the door, Johnny’s arm and all. Maybe disable a nerve or two. That’d surely hurt. Seriously.
What did Johnny think he was doing showing up to the Grunt residence with the General somewhere in his home?
“Make it quick,” Tank says, not opening the door any wider.
Johnny smiles again, lopsided and scheming.
“Listen, I uh. My basketball went over your fence. You mind if I go get it?”
That explains that , atleast, but not well.
“You live two houses over.” Tank deadpans.
“Yeah but—I was playing with Jill, ya see. And she’s quite small but, boy, she can hit well, yeah? She’s been playing with Buck, a lot, ya know. He’s real good too almost as—”
Johnny cuts himself off. Tank doesn’t know if it’s because he’s just realized he’s rambling, or because Tank gives him the most impatient expression he can muster, or because he’s closing up the door again and, yikes, that’s gotta hurt — but the execution never mattered, right? Just the result.
Smith shuts up.
“Can I just, go get it?”
Tank eyes him warily, twice, before sneering. “Get off my damn property, Smith.”
Johnny deflates, but obliges anyway.
“Wait, hold on can we—”
Tank shuts the door in his face. He lets out a long sigh, before beginning to walk towards the kitchen’s back door. The basketball’s easy to spot. He gives it two bounces, and finds it’s got good weight to it. Must be expensive. Huh. Maybe those recessive alien genes really did impact Jill, after all.
Johnny’s halfway down the sidewalk when Tank throws the ball back over the fence. It’s a shame it misses his head by an inch, but oh well.
Johnny runs after the ball, then turns around and offers a smile to Tank. “Hey!” He yells, running back over to the fence.
“Smith what are you—”
“Hey! Listen, why don’t I make it up to you?”
“Smith, you’ve got to go—I didn’t even—”
“No, no, wait. Here me out—”
“General Buzz is home.”
Johnny’s lips form an ‘o’ then he takes two steps away from the fence.
“Listen—see ya at school.” then he turns on his heel, and jogs away.
Tank sighs.
It’s later, on his bed, when he thinks it all through. There’s no way that wasn’t planned. Smith wants something from him. Tank leans his head against his pillow and clenches his eyes shut. He’ll just try to pay as little mind to it as possible.
— A Study of the Tongue(s)
Paying little mind to it is hard when Johnny’s practically been following him around all day. Tank’s seen him in the halls thrice, bumped into him in their gym class twice, and noticed him stealing glances all throughout lunch. He’d be less annoyed if the bastard just went up to him and asked him for whatever the hell he wants, but it almost seems like he keeps second guessing himself, or something stupid like that.
It’s afternoon now — maybe 4, maybe 5. Tank’s terrible with time despite his punctuality. He doesn’t have a watch and he never bothers to ask people for the time, so everything with him is an estimate. Anyway, he’s always the last one in the locker room. There’s no need to enter when it’s all jammed packed with jocks who take every opportunity to show off their muscles, and twinks who make themself as small as possible, and gays who don’t mind just fucking — fucking oogling at a guy’s chest when they feel like it.
There’s no need for any of that when you can somewhat enjoy a school shower if no one’s there with you.
So, it’s nearly enough to send him into cardiac arrest after his shower that he finds Johnny Smith standing right outside of it, looking terribly out of place. Besides being fucking green, he’s also stupidly tall. 6 '5 or something, which is unfair as hell ‘cause Tank’s only 5 '9. It’s got to be alien genes, or something.
Anyway, he’s standing there, looking nervous for an instant, but that’s disregarded quickly with another one of those dumb smiles of his.
“Heyy! Tank, listen.” and he’s always doing that — telling you to listen , like your eyes didn’t already give him your undivided attention wherever he went. “Listen, so I want to say thanks for the other day. Ya know, that ball was a gift from my dad, yeah? He gets real mad when I lose the stuff he gives me.”
Tank walks over to his school bag and begins rummaging for his clothes. Loud, obnoxious, with too much force —
“So, anyway. I uh, wanted to make it up to ya. You know like — like, then I got to thinking. What do guys like? Like, actually want and stuff, not just... Not just money or something ‘cause, it’s cool and all, but once you use it once, it’s done for, ya know?”
When he finds his underwear, he wastes no time in slipping those on under his towel, followed by his shirt, followed by his shorts.
There’s a slight pause from Johnny while he’s dressing, but he continues quickly.
“Anyway, so like. Guys like girls, right? You like girls?”
There’s a beat of silence, like it was a damn open ended question or something. Like it was a topic sentence Tank had to oppose.
He looks up and gives Johnny an unimpressed expression. He goes on. “Well, yeah, ya do. But you know what girls are real bad at? Like, it seems like they’d be good at it, but they’re real bad at it? Well like — listen, yeah, we’ve known each other a good while. Our whole lives. Well, I mean. I’ve known you your whole life, but you’ve only known me for my whole life minus one, which is a lot, too.”
“Get to the point, Smith. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“I want to suck your cock.”
Tank drops his duffle bag. It falls with a comically loud tat . He suppresses a cringe. His laptop’s in there, for fuck’s sake. “Quit fooling around Johnny.”
“No, but ya see, I owe it to ya. That basketball–”
“Could have been replaced. Hey, how about you listen and leave me alone, huh?”
“Tank, c’mon. I won’t suck at it, promise. Well, I will. But not ‘cause I’m new to it, just cause I will literally be sucking–”
“You won’t be doing anything. Move out the door, you freak.”
“No, wait, would ya just listen?”
“I’m not interested.”
There’s a bit of an awkward shuffle as Tank tries to get past Johnny, but the other seems adamant of keeping him locked in place. Tank ends up getting frustrated and pushes the freak, who pushes back until they both stumble into the locker room again. They end up tripping over a bench.
“Tank, look,” Smith says after he catches his breath. “What would you lose?”
“My damn dignity? What ? What if my father finds out? He’d be more disturbed by the fact you’re a damn alien than anything else.”
Smith pauses for a brief second, then he regards Tank again. “Look, listen. I don’t kiss and tell, yeah? I swear. Hey, I mean it when I say girls can’t suck dick for shit. They don’t know how it feels like – Look, hey. Stop making that face. I promise, it won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
Tank’s eyebrow twitches. He can’t believe he’s really considering this – but Johnny’s right, yeah.
He’s got nothing to lose. No feelings attached, if it sucks, it sucks, if it doesn’t, it won’t.
“Fine.” Tank agrees. It’s not like he’s got to get Johnny off, too.
“Okay.”
“...”
“Great. So, uh. See ya. Like– my house? Today? Right now, like in the locker room? Saturday? Time, place, c’mon, yeah?”
“...Your house.”
“Today?”
“You’re that eager?”
The silence which overtakes them is long, dense, and dry. Smith seemed to be thinking it over but his response was still too quick. He shrugs, then says, “Yeah. Why not?”
– A Study of the Tongue(s)
That’s how Tank’s found himself on the edge of Johnny’s bed, pants down, as the other looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm on his knees in front of him.
“Smith, if you can’t–”
“No! I will, I will. Just. Got to. Think this through, yeah?”
Problem is, he’s been ‘thinking it through’ for the past five minutes. Tank doubts they’ll ever get started. He’s about to suggest canceling, or leaving this for another day, but he’s surprised to find two green hands curl up under the hem of his boxers and begin pulling them down. Tank lifts his hips to help with removing them, leaving him exposed not too long after. He’s got his shirt on – it’s only really his lower half, but it’s a bit unnerving nonetheless.
Johnny, to Tank’s relief, isn’t stuck in a staring match with Tank’s flaccid penis like he was with his bulge. Tank had noticed a faint look of surprise on the other’s face, like he was expecting something different, but he didn't make any comments.
When Johnny finally reaches out, his grip is loose. He holds Tank’s cock like it were something dirty you really didn’t
want
to touch; with three fingers and a light scowl.
“Smith,” Tank begins. He would have rather not wasted his time coming here.
“If you don’t want to do it, don’t even try.”
Johnny’s hand doesn't move. His eyebrows furrow even further. He turns Tank’s cock around in his hand, looking lost.
“ Smi –”
“‘Fucks sake, just give me a second, Tank.” The words themselves are harsh but the tone isn’t. They’re said slowly, a whisper under Johnny’s breath.
Tank leans back on his arms and drawls out a long sigh. “Haven’t you done this before?” he mumbles toward the ceiling.
Johnny pauses. “His…looked different.”
“I mean to yourself , dumbass. You’ve never jerked off?”
The silence is long again, but he can feel Johnny begin to curl the rest of his fingers around his cock. “Mine looks different.”
The imagery of a green cock fills his mind a second. He frowns in distaste, but the thought is swayed away since he knows that’s not what Johnny meant.
“It’s the same shit, Smith.” He’s actually not sure about that, he’s never paid any mind to if someone’s cock was circumcised or not, but if they didn’t start in the next minute Tank desperately wants to up and leave.
“...Okay.” His penis is released from the loose grip. Curiously, Tank sits up again to watch as Johnny looks through a drawer. He comes back out a purple bottle of what Tank presumes to be lube.
He squirts the clear liquid onto his hands, rubs them together, then grips Tank’s cock firmly. Johnny manages one downward stroke before he pauses. Tank is about to groan, and not for the reasons he thought he would before coming here, but Johnny’s buffering doesn’t last long. His hand continues to work Tank up, but after a minute, it’s clear he isn’t filling out.
“Close your eyes or something,” Johnny offers. Tank does not oblige. Johnny’s eyes flick up to Tank’s and frowns. “Hey, you got to work with me here. Think of boobs or something.”
Tank tries, albeit for a second, but Johnny’s hand on his dick is distracting and his strokes feel more like mellow pets. It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Tank to sport a half chub, but when he does, it nearly goes away at Johnny’s chuckle.
“There he is,” he mumbles, then rubs his thumb over Tank’s head. Tank suppresses a noise at the back of his throat at the sensation. His hips jerk up anyway. Johnny, seeming thrilled by this, wraps his hand around the tip of Tank’s head once more and squeezes before pulling away.
The absence of his hand didn't feel long. He leans in after and licks the head, repeating the action a couple more times while his left hand strokes the underside of Tank’s cock. Fuck.
Johnny’s tongue felt strange, but Tank isn’t sure if he was just imagining it. It was light, dainty. It didn’t carry lots of weight to it, and there seemed to be a slit on it, too. Johnny’s tongue traveled down from Tank’s tip, to about half way, until he pulled off.
Then, he properly places the cock into his mouth. He slides it between his lips, given a tentative suck, and flicks his tongue around again. It’s not… Great. But it’s better. Tank sighs lowly, allowing Johnny to take his time exploring all the suckling and licking. It seems his experience is coming back to him, or maybe he’s growing more confident, because there’s mother energy to it now. Johnny takes his cock in deeper, his light, dainty tongue never stopping its licks and turns around his cock.
“Mmm…good.” Tank drawls, mouth hanging open just slightly. He jolts when Johnny’s cold fingers brush against his balls, but it’s not unwelcome after a while of getting used to. He hears the freak chuckle or something, which would almost set off the mood if his cock wasn’t in that mouth and if that didn’t send a pleasant tingle down his cock.
They continued like that, about ten minutes longer, Johnny growing cockier and sloppier as time went on — until Tank felt his toes curl in his socks.
“Hey,” He calls out, voice raspy and low. It appears Johnny didn’t hear him over the slurping.
“H-hey. I’m…I’m gonna come.” He says, though its all drawled out, slow, lazy, words sticking to each other just a bit.
Johnny hums, apparently not getting the memo, so Tank begrudgingly reaches out to attempt to pull his dick out between Johnny’s lips. There’s a “ errrmph” of refusal, and Tank considers maybe he wasn’t getting the memo.
“Mm, not my fault…” He pauses to involuntarily jerk his hips into the freaks mouth. “If you — ah, mm. Regret.”
His broken sentences only seem to spur the alien on, and soon, Tank is gripping the bedsheets of Johnny’s mattress, and he’s probably coming now, inside the freak’s ridiculously warm, tight mouth.
It takes a minute to calm down after coming, and a minute longer to pull his cock out himself. It looks like he hadn’t done so himself, the greedy bastard looks like he wants to suck Tank’s cock again from where he was kneeled before him. Perhaps it was wistful thinking. Perhaps he was just being polite.
Tank’s rushing to tuck his cock back in his pants, certainly not prepared for the green alien to huff out, “taa daaah” with his breath alone. He was showing Tank his come. Tank — he knows that. He knows he’s supposed to look at the come and think it’s hot or some shit, maybe an incentive to do this again. He knows he’s supposed to feel some type of way about how the freak’s mouth is watering, drying out, just to show him his come, but instead, his eyes are fixated on Johnny’s tongue.
It’s black.
Dark black, forked with a slit down the middle. And it looks thin, too. As thin as it felt. It reminds Tank of a snake’s tongue — but not quite. It wasn’t round enough to be a snake’s tongue.
He wonders what it’d feel like between his fingers. Something like cardstock, maybe, if it were soft.
Johnny furrows his eyebrows after a prolonged moment of no response and reaches for a tissue on his bedside table to swipe the come off with.
“So, how was it?” Johnny asks while Tank finishes putting his pants up and buckling his belt.
“A girl’s better. A human girl, I should specify.” He doesn’t feel like complimenting Johnny too much.
Johnny appears to deflate, but he beams a large smile anyway and forces a strained chuckle. “Really. Why?”
Your tongue.
He thinks, eyes naturally drifting to the alien’s mouth. Then he thinks about it, really thinks about the past hour. There was a lock that sucked, few that didn’t.
“You hesitate too much. What, you think you’d choke on it or something?”
Johnny’s shoulders drop. “Not yet, at least. Not today — hey, listen. How about we do this again some other time? Something a little different, maybe?”
Tank wasn’t expecting that. “Again? What’s in it for you?”
The smile doesn’t leave Tank’s face completely, but it morphs into something small and embarrassed. “Well. You know. I’m graduating this year.”
Tank hums, resisting the urge to shift on his feet. He feels out of place in Johnny’s room. Part of him wants to leave mid conversation.
“Mhmm.” He says, not catching what Johnny’s saying, but curious as to why he’s doing this.
“…And I’m going to college in like, a couple months. And I was thinking — yanno, practice…would be nice.”
Huh. Maybe Tank should’ve caught it when Johnny had said he’d done this before, with another boy, nonetheless, but he didn’t think the boy was so downright flitty. He seems open about it too, perhaps too much. That can’t end well for him. Maybe he’s going to one of those real liberal colleges, out in the city where everyone’s a queer and butthurt.
“So. You’re telling me you’re planning on being a slut in college?” What happened to going to get a degree? Learning? Working hard for a better life?
The smile doesn’t quite yet leave, but it gets even dimmer. “Well. I won’t deny anything.”
There’s a silence again, and Tank wants to leave again, but he can’t deny he’s intrigued and — “So, if we do do this again, I don’t have to do nothing extra for you, right?”
Johnny beams up again. Does this guy never get upset or something? Sure, they don’t squabble as much, but Tank remembers him much more defensive, closed off, before.
“Nothing. You know, consent and all. Never do nothing you don’t want to either.”
“And no one’ll find out?”
Tank had considered this little invitation to be a ruse already. But, it wasn’t exactly like Tank would be the one getting made fun of too, if word really did get around (though he’d likely be getting disowned. Not particularly because Johnny was a boy).
“Not even the birds.”
Tank hums, before he straightens his posture and offers a firm nod. “Alright. I suppose we can…continue doing this, Smith.”
Tank’s sure he won’t regret that.