calling up rebellion [brance]

chapter ten: the bedroom window and its problems

BRUCE WAS SAT on his bed, vance leaning against the mattress as he sat on the floor, he's knees tucked into his chest. His parents weren't home, they'd decided to go out to celebrate Bruce's baseball game win. It was slightly strange they'd go at all when Bruce denied, but he knew they just wanted a nice restaurant dinner. They were waiting for that excuse, Bruce didn't mind though, he had the house all to himself. Oh, and Vance.

They were quietly chatting, vance looking up at Bruce who sat cross legged behind him on the bed. Bruce had his hands in vance's hair, massaging his scalp. He hadn't exactly asked, and Vance hadn't exactly gotten mad, so he didn't stop. "I honestly don't think my mom would care," Vance let his head fall backwards to face Bruce, causing Bruce's hands to fall from his hair. "She's not really into caring about all that shit."

Bruce tilted his head, they were facing eachother. Vance's head resting on the bed mattress as Bruce looked down at him, "just tells us how different our families are," Bruce chuckled, "I don't exactly know what my parents would think of it, they'd probably just hate the fact it was Vance Hopper."

Vance felt a pinch of guiltiness, just a pinch. Because before he could say anything, Bruce had his hands on his face and was kissing all over it. Tracing the faint touch of freckles that littered Vance's pale skin, he was laughing slightly as he did so. Vance just closed his eyes, a smile pulling on his lips.

"Bruce-" Vance chuckled, being muffled with Bruce pecking his lips, "Bruce, I'm not going anywhere calm down!" Vance pushed jokingly at Bruce's forehead, to stop him from covering his face in kisses.

"Just to be sure," Bruce placed one last kiss on his lips, slightly longer than the previous pecks, and then pulling away. Smiling that grin he seemed to carry a lot, it was upside down for Vance though. Staring at eachother for a little longer before Vance lifted his head up - nearly butting into Bruce's forehead - and swivelled on his knees to face the brown haired boy.

"Bruce," Vance brushed some of Bruce's hair behind his hair, "why would I ever go somewhere?" He clambered onto the bed, pushing bruce over and falling on top of him. Bruce had his hands by his head, Vance interlocked his hands with Bruce's. "The only way I'd go anywhere was if it was with out!" He knew it sounded cheesy, but he didn't exactly care. Before leaning in for a kiss, but of course, this perfect day had to be ruined by the front door unlocking and the faint sound of footsteps on the tiled floor.

"Shit," Vance muttered under his breath, falling from on top of Bruce and giving him a cautious glance. Which he received back from Bruce.

"Shit indeed," Bruce agreed, quickly pulling himself from the bed as Vance's eyes trailed to follow him. He was checking the window, to see if anybody was outside. Maybe Vance could climb onto the overhang that covered their porch and then jump onto the tall fence that lined the porch - the fence was tall enough that he wouldn't break his ankle.

The only struggle was managing to get onto the overhanging roof by the porch, he couldn't jump, or climb along any pipe, there was nothing he could use to get to the roof. Vance was stuck inside Bruce's bedroom with no way out because his parents were downstairs. They were doomed, utterly fucked.

"Nothing?" Vance said, as if to ask if he'd found a way for Vance to exit without his parents noticing. It was only a matter of time before they came upstairs to check up on Bruce, and it would be random. They'd randomly burst through the door without a knock or a warning.

"Nothing."

"Shit, what are we meant to do then?" Vance asked, he was now getting panicky. Not for his sake, but for Bruce's. He was worried for Bruce's parents reaction at seeing the most notorious boy in school sat on his bed. They'd probably drag Bruce away and start spouting how Vance would infect him with his "evilness." I mean, Bruce did imply his parents didn't exactly like him.