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One Starry Night

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Marty couldn’t sleep. Not after the covers were thrown off and on a dozen times. Not after he tossed and turned around, sighing in annoyance. Not after he swore under his breath, cursing his damn teenage hormones.

Fuck, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Marty jumped up from his bed, ignoring the black dots that appeared, blurring his vision. He opened the window, breathing in the cool air, his skin on fire.

When did this start? His nights turning into a maddening routine of jerking off, then feeling a lot more aroused than he was before when he finally climaxed, trying to get rid of the haunting images flooding his brain. When did dating Jennifer become a stupid, difficult task he didn’t want to perform no more? When did he stopped liking girls and started liking... men?

He wasn’t gay, of course. And a set of tits could get him a long way. But lately, he noticed interest not only in girls, but in men too.

Or, better said, he started liking one particular man, with wild brown eyes and a low voice that fuelled most of Marty’s wet dreams?

Months ago it was different. Months ago he could visit his best friend in the garage without getting a hard on and excusing himself, heading straight to the bathroom to jerk off, while muffling his moans with a shirt he found on the floor.
Months ago his gaze wouldn’t linger on Doc’s lips, or his fingers. Months ago Marty would huddle himself on the couch and read comics or fool around with his guitar, not constantly watch the way Emmett sat at the table, the way he moved, or the way his eyes opened when a brilliant idea came to his mind.

He was screwed. He was so, so screwed and he would love to change, but every time Doc was near him, and Marty could smell the faint smell of aftershave, cotton and the other’s skin, he wanted to bury himself in the elder one’s neck, breath in his scent, while Doc would whisper sweet nothing sin his ear, or kiss him-

He gasped at the thought, clasping his mouth, reminded by the darkness that it was night and his family slept.

This wasn’t right, oh god, it wasn’t right at all. Doc was 65, he was 17 (granted, he would turn 18 in a few months, but that seemed irrelevant), they were friends, best friends even, and really, there was no way in hell Doc would ever look at him as something more or less than the son he never had.

Marty groaned silently, some gearwheels invisibly moving in his tired brain, puzzles of thoughts becoming one frantic need: he had to see Doc.

He dressed hastily, grabbed his skateboard and crept down the stairs.

As he reached the door he looked up to the stars, wondering what the hell he was doing. Damn it, he already came this far, he won’t go back now like some gutless creature. He was Marty McFly, for fuck’s sake.

So he threw his skateboard on the pavement, stepped on it and felt like he had wings in a second. The wind cooled his face but couldn’t calm him down. He fiddled with his fingers nervously, bit his lip, and muttered all curses that came to his mind.

As one wonderful man would say, Great Scott...

The night was quiet. He probably woke up some people with the sound of his wheels on the pavement. But Marty couldn’t bring himself to care about other people’s sleep. Right now, all he wanted was relief for the frustration he felt.

He soon reached the familiar garage and hopped off his skateboard. He heart was stuck in his throat, pounding insanely.

Marty counted the steps till he reached the door, wrapped his hand around the doorknob, and pulled it open, not surprised by it not being locked.

He was greeted by the usual mess of machines, shattered experiments, ruined bottles, clothes, maps, books, wires, and whatever the trashy garage else had in store for him.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Marty crept through the chaos, watching out for anything that could give away his presence, all while clutching his skateboard close to his chest, knuckles turning white.

The brunette stopped once, suddenly realizing he was holding his breath for far too long. He let out a shaky cough as his lungs and senses were filled with the smell of old books, iron, wood and... Doc.

Marty stepped through the garbage and eventually, he found Doc at his desk, the man too absorbed to realize that Marty stood a few feet behind him.

Marty tried to gain control over his breathing, failing miserably. His heart was pounding, it felt like his blood was boiling, almost burning off his skin. He stood there, gasping for air, because it was absurd what he had just done.

What was he expecting? That Doc would magically fall in love with him, even though he had been alone the past decades?

But as his gaze fell on Doc’s hands, fingers long and calloused, broad, square palms, some scars covering them from collecting glass too often, and currently fiddling with some tube and a little wire, Marty dropped his skateboard on the floor, ignoring the way Doc shrieked in panic, immediately turning around to face whoever the intruder may be.

He calmed down though, once his brown eyes met Marty’s blue ones.

“Oh, Marty, that’s just you.” Doc smiled relieved. “What are you doing here at such an late hour?”

The scientist turned back around, proceeding to clean the tube, seemingly not noticing the way the teen’s gaze kept falling down to his lips as he spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Marty said hoarsely, circling the desk to lean down on it, sticking his ass out in the air purposely.

He triumphantly watched the Doc raise his eyes questioningly, allowing his gaze to move up and down Marty’s body for a millisecond, but quickly looking back at the tube in his hand.

Doc cleared his throat.

“Oh, that’s a shame, Marty. Have you tried your mom’s pills,” he asked politely, trying to look at the brunette as little as possible.

Marty bit back a grin, fully aware of the blush that tainted Doc’s cheeks.

“I don’t think those pills could help me,” He said, and leaned into Doc's personal space, surprised at his actions himself. “In fact, I don’t think any pills could help me.”

Doc looked up at him in genuine surprise.

“Is that so? Well, what possibly could help you then,” Doc asked, his scientific nature taking over him, the need to solve Marty’s problem already placed on his mental to-do list.

His brown eyes widened even further when Marty suddenly pushed himself off the desk, moving closer to him.

“I think the only thing that could help me,” Marty licked his dry lips, mentally high fiving himself as he noticed Doc watch him do so, shamelessly. “Is you.”

There was a short silence, in which the only sound hearable were the countless clocks ticking, and their breath.

“Me?” Doc sounded genuinely surprised at Marty’s words. “But... How?”

The teen breathed deeply, before stepping even closer to the scientist.

“You know, Doc, you have a really nice big bed, don’t you? I’m pretty sure that I would sleep a lot better there.”

Marty saw the blush on his friend’s face deepen.

“And I’m also pretty sure hat I would sleep even better with you in that bed, helping me with my dreams, you know, putting those hands to good use.”

A tomato would be proud to see Doc’s face right now.

“You know what dreams I have? Want me to tell you?”

A weak 'n-no... yes' escaped Doc’s mouth, satisfying Marty.

“I have dreams of you undressing me, the way you’d unwrap a package of chemicals you’ve been waiting for, ripping my clothes off, kissing me, making me feel all the years of your pent up sexual frustration, your need to fuck, but you pushed it down, because your work mattered more at the time, didn’t it? Doc, you’re a scientist, you know how important sex is, yet you hurt yourself on purpose, fuck, Doc, are you a pervert, do you get off of pain?”

Doc’s eyes were the sized of the wheels of the DeLorean.

“M-Marty, you don’t know what you’re talking about..”

“Oh, Doc,” Marty placed his hands on either sides of Doc’s face, letting his thumb brush Doc’s bottom lip. “I think, I do. I think, I fucking do.”

He crushed his lips on Doc’s, nearly losing balance and his common sense. Doc’s lips were incredibly soft, dry and hot, like he kissed a boiling kettle.

Eventually he pulled away, the need for air winning over the need for Doc. He felt Doc’s hands on his waist, his amber eyes now darker than Marty has ever seen them.

He got pulled into Doc’s lap, so he was straddling him, and before Marty could react, Doc pulled him into another kiss, one hand tangled in Marty’s lock’s painfully, using it as and chance to tug on them, till Marty gasped in pain and Doc could slip his tongue into Marty’s mouth.
Marty didn’t know where the hell Doc learned to kiss this way, but he sure as fuck wasn’t protesting. He let his hips grind into Doc’s, allowing his erection some relief.

Doc pulled away at that action, his lips shimmering with their shared spit. Marty panted heavily, not once breaking his gaze with Doc's.

Then he crushed their lips together once again, all teethe and tongue, breathing each other’s names, tasting the forbidden fruit. For Marty it tasted like mint and coffee, for Doc like Pepsi and bubblegum.

Either way, Marty’s head spinned, hips grinding against Doc out of control, afraid he might cream his pants right there only from kissing.

“Doc,” Marty gasped into Docs mouth, drawing out the 'o' in a high pitched, girlish moan. “Doc, please fuck me.”

Doc groaned, eyes closed as Marty humped his groin.

“No, Marty, let’s stop it while we can, you know it’s wrong.” Doc tried to let go or Marty, but this only made the teen cling harder to his body.

“How’s that wrong, Doc? Seems pretty right to me.”

Marty had found Doc’s groin, unzipping his pants, but suddenly his wrists were grabbed by Doc’s strong hands, moving them away.

“Marty, this is wrong, I’m old enough to be your grandfather!” Doc said sternly, and licked his lips, causing Marty to buck his hips into Doc's once again. “And besides,” Doc tilted his head to the side. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Marty groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, Doc, I’m not a child anymore, I know damn well what I want. And I’ve wanted this for months, Doc, I’ve wanted you for months!”

He broke free from Doc’s hands, kissing Doc once again, making the other man groan.

“Great Scott, Marty,” Doc said, lust gleaming in his eyes like a feverish starlight. “Stop me, while you can...”

He raked his hand’s down the teens body, feeling the lean muscles and hard nipples, thumbing them lightly, biting his bottom lips hard enough to break the skin and draw blood.

“Come on, Doc,” Marty gasped in frustration, trying to push himself closer to Doc, to feel the other’s rushed heartbeat. “Fuck me already, don’t waste time, please.”

“Marty, are you sure?” Doc leaned in, breathing hotly into the crook of Marty’s neck, his fingers on Marty’s neck, holding him closer.

“Fuck, yes I am Doc.” Marty’s whiny moans resembled the moans of the actresses in the XXX-movies, he sometimes watched when his family wasn’t home.

Doc took a deep breath, then said, demanding, dominant, the way Marty hasn’t ever heard his friend speak, “Bedroom. Now.”

Marty slowly stood up, lips linked with Doc’s not pulling away for one second, lips pressed against each other turning into a sloppy make-out session, at the end of which Doc eventually lifted him up with ease and brought them to the messy unmade bed.

He threw Marty down, the soft cotton sheets catching Marty like a welcoming embrace, the intoxicating smell of his Doc absolutely everywhere.

The teen watched with a lust-crazed gaze the way Doc, almost predatory, placed a knee between his thighs, and nearly crushed Marty with his weight, fingers tangling in Marty’s soft brown curls once again.

Marty couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was aching for contact, pressed painfully into the hard zipper of his jeans.

As if his prayers were heard, almost immediately Doc’s hands slid down his body, ripping the zipper open, freeing Marty from the prison he was in.

The brunette couldn’t help but moan into scientist's mouth, thrusting his hips into the warm hand, already oozing pre-cum onto his flat stomach.

Doc carefully wrapped his hand around Marty’s pulsating cock, the vein on the underside already throbbing visibly. He jerked Marty off in fast, short strokes.

The blue eyed teenager beneath him sobbed in pleasure, arching his back and throwing his head to the side, eyes clenched shut.

Never, not once, while fantasising about him having sex with Doc, Marty thought it could be that way. He felt like he was going crazy, the feeling of a strong, hot hand, no, Doc's strong, hot hand wrapped around his member jerking him off just right, would feel this intense.

“Hold up, Doc,” he gasped, trying to push himself up on his elbows, not ready to come just yet. “D-Doc, if you keep it u-up, I'll- oh my god, FUCK!”

Marty saw for a short moment his load shooting up, splattering all over his shirt, Doc not once stopping the ministrations he did, moving his wrist in heaven-like, circular movements.

The brunette slumped down onto the bed, panting heavily. His hair was stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat running down his cheek onto his neck, his legs wide open, limp dick still in Doc’s hand, and his red shirt ruined with his own cum, as well as the bedsheets.

He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to speak, all he wanted was to continue enjoy this bliss he was in, a weird feeling of satisfaction, he hasn’t felt in a long time, flooding his senses.

Doc watched the little scene, sitting up on the bed, his mind going crazy, as his eyes run from one thing to another.

The teen’s blue eyes, half closed, pupils still dilated, as if he just did some heavy drugs, lean chest moving up and down, trying to gain breath control, hard nipples, visible through the ruined shirt, splatters of come on his bedsheets, fuck, the teen even got some on his cheek.

Marty felt something on his cheek, lingering for a short moment.

“Hm?” His eyes widened when he saw two of Doc’s fingers in front of his nose, smeared in an all too familiar, sticky, whitish fluid. “Wha-“

“Come on, be a good kid, Marty, open your mouth.”

Before Marty could think, the fingers were already in his mouth, playing with his tongue, making him taste himself.

It disturbed him for a moment, it really, truly did. But next moment, his teenage brain decided it was incredible hot, and made him suck and lick at
Doc’s fingers like a little kitten.

“That’s it, good boy, yes, good boy, aren’t you,” Doc asked, his fingers still stuck in the teens throat.

Marty blushed at the words, his already red cheeks turning crimson. He tried to answer Doc, but only made himself gag in the end, so he settled down on nodding vigorously, allowing Doc to rummage through his mouth like it was one of his drawers.

Eventually, Doc slowly pulled out with a loud 'pop', allowing the teen’s head to fall back down onto the mattress, all closed eyes and open mouth, still rocking the waves of pleasure.

That didn't last for long, though.

Right when Marty started to drift off into a peaceful slumber, Doc leaned down and whispered right into Marty’s ear, “Ready for round two, future boy?”