Un Aspetto di Controllo
It is raining and Wendell is walking home. Wendell does not normally walk home, mainly because he lives on the opposite side of town from the high school. He is walking home today because he missed the bus, owing to the fact that his biology teacher wanted to discuss the relationship between Ryan Merritt's latest test, a fraternal twin of the answer key, despite Ryan being a C student, and the mysterious disappearance (and return) of said answer key only two days before the test. Wendell had of course professed his innocence, but both of them knew that there was no way Ryan could have turned into Einstein overnight.
"Bastard," Wendell mutters under his breath. He pulls the collar of his coat up around his neck and adjusts his headphones. Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff" fills his ears, and he mouths the words to himself, settling into a long-paced walk.
About ten minutes later, Wendell's made it as far as elementary school when he's jolted out of his trance by a less-than-gentle tap on the shoulder. He looks down, sees shoes way nicer than anything in Everwood's solitary Payless, and resists an urge to hit something. Instead he presses the stop button on his Discman in order to hear what Ephram is saying.
" - hear me? Do you have it?" Something about the sound of Ephram's voice - its slightly impatient tone, its vaguely whiney pitch - grates on Wendell's normally steel nerves.
He exhales through his teeth, and brings his gaze up to Ephram's nose, refusing to look him in the eyes. "No, it's late, because of . I don't know why it's late, but it is, so suck it up, cupcake. I'll get it to you when I have it." He doesn't mean to snap, or to sound defensive, but he apparently does, given Ephram's reaction.
"Jesus, fine. I was just asking."
Wendell turns away and starts walking across the parking lot. He's got at least another half-hour ahead of him. "Yeah, well, don't. You'll know when I get it, so until then, fuck off."
"Fuck you, too!" The words echo in Wendell's mind, even when he turns his music back on. He can't decide which pisses him off more: the fact that Ephram had the nerve to bug him about his stupid comic outside of school, or the fact that his dick is beginning to heartily agree with Ephram's parting shot and is supplying his brain with matching mental images.
Snarling, he drops his bookbag and rests his Discman beside it, then runs after Ephram, who's halfway across the playground by now. A shove to the shoulders knocks the other boy off his balance, but he catches himself on the ladder of the monkey bars.
"What the fuck?" Ephram is more surprised than angry. "Wendell, Jesus -"
Wendell grabs the collar of Ephram's coat and shoves him backwards. "I am so sick of your shit, Brown!" he growls. "Wendell, can you get me this comic? Wendell, Amy doesn't love me! Wendell, why don't I have any friends?" His tone is high, mocking. He pushes Ephram into the ladder of a tall, metal slide and presses against him, the hardness in his jeans unmistakable.
"You know what, Brown?" Wendell's voice is quiet, low. Around them, the rain intensifies, soaking their clothes. Wendell's face is so close to Ephram's that he can practically taste Ephram's exhaled breath, shallow as it is. "Fuck you."
Wendell kisses to bruise, to punish, his hand behind Ephram's head refusing to allow the kiss to be broken. Ephram tries to push him away, but stiffens when Wendell worms his other hand between their bodies and - more importantly - between Ephram's legs. He spends several moments searching for a zipper, then curses when he realizes that Ephram is wearing button- fly jeans and a belt.
He pulls away, gaining the use of his other hand, and makes quick work of the belt. The fly takes him a little longer, but proves to be more than worth it. Whether willingly or not, Ephram's cock is very eager for the kind of attention Wendell is about to give it. Wendell's hand wriggles past the elastic waistband of the boxers, fumbling a little before grasping Ephram's cock firmly, eliciting a gasp.
"What are you doing? It's broad day-" Any further protesting is silenced effectively by a gentle squeeze to his rapidly hardening member.
Neither boy is quite sure who is more surprised when Ephram begins to reciprocate Wendell's next kiss. His lips part willingly, teeth accidentally scraping against Wendell's tongue, and he thrusts his hips against the other boy. Anger transforming into something even more carnal, Wendell rubs his thumb over the tip of Ephram's cock. Ephram whimpers and pushes his hips forward again.
"You like that?" Wendell whispers throatily against his neck, nipping the skin to punctuate his words. He feels a strange sense of power start to fill him, and he runs his fingers up the underside of Ephram's cock.
"Yesssss," Ephram hisses in reply. "Fuck, yessss. Dear God, don't stop!" For a few moments, Wendell doesn't. They establish a rhythm of thrusting, hands and hips and lips and tongues, rain sinking into every pore. Just as Ephram is about to climax, Wendell gets an idea. He pulls completely away, not allowing any contact.
Ephram moans, the sound tight and strangled. Wendell grins. "D'you want it?"
Eyes widen. "Fuck, yes," Ephram whispers. His skin is pale, his cheeks flushed. Water is dripping off of his hair and into his eyes.
Wendell continues to grin, unzipping his jeans and touching himself through his boxers. "Louder. Say, 'Fuck me Wendell."
Ephram repeats the words a little louder than before, blushing and hoping no one is around to hear him. Wendell shakes his head. "Louder."
"Fuck me, Wendell!" Ephram yells, his voice cracking on the last word. Wendell drops to his knees, enveloping Ephram's cock with warm, moist lips. Ephram grips the hand railing of the ladder, feeling his knees start to give way. His eyes clench shut when Wendell tries to take in as much as he can without gagging. He comes with an incoherent shout, and having nothing else to do, Wendell swallows, making a face at the salty taste.
The rain slows; Wendell unceremoniously finishes himself off while Ephram watches, dazed. He knows he won't notice a little bit of extra dampness in his jeans, considering they've been good and soaked for at least five minutes. He kneels to retie a shoelace and hears a voice above him ask what he's doing.
"Going home, Brown. Some of us have better things to do than hang out on the playground," Wendell explains condescendingly, as though he's speaking to a small child.
Ephram isn't deterred. "When I, uh, pick up the comic, d'you want me to pay in cash, or ." He trails off awkwardly.
At the mention of the comic, Wendell feels the anger begin to rise in him again, but he pushes it down, too tired to sustain the emotion. "Y'know what, Brown? Consider it paid."
He walks away from Ephram, picks up his bag, and sets out for home, sneakers squelching the entire way.
It is raining and Wendell is walking home. Wendell does not normally walk home, mainly because he lives on the opposite side of town from the high school. He is walking home today because he missed the bus, owing to the fact that his biology teacher wanted to discuss the relationship between Ryan Merritt's latest test, a fraternal twin of the answer key, despite Ryan being a C student, and the mysterious disappearance (and return) of said answer key only two days before the test. Wendell had of course professed his innocence, but both of them knew that there was no way Ryan could have turned into Einstein overnight.
"Bastard," Wendell mutters under his breath. He pulls the collar of his coat up around his neck and adjusts his headphones. Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff" fills his ears, and he mouths the words to himself, settling into a long-paced walk.
About ten minutes later, Wendell's made it as far as elementary school when he's jolted out of his trance by a less-than-gentle tap on the shoulder. He looks down, sees shoes way nicer than anything in Everwood's solitary Payless, and resists an urge to hit something. Instead he presses the stop button on his Discman in order to hear what Ephram is saying.
" - hear me? Do you have it?" Something about the sound of Ephram's voice - its slightly impatient tone, its vaguely whiney pitch - grates on Wendell's normally steel nerves.
He exhales through his teeth, and brings his gaze up to Ephram's nose, refusing to look him in the eyes. "No, it's late, because of . I don't know why it's late, but it is, so suck it up, cupcake. I'll get it to you when I have it." He doesn't mean to snap, or to sound defensive, but he apparently does, given Ephram's reaction.
"Jesus, fine. I was just asking."
Wendell turns away and starts walking across the parking lot. He's got at least another half-hour ahead of him. "Yeah, well, don't. You'll know when I get it, so until then, fuck off."
"Fuck you, too!" The words echo in Wendell's mind, even when he turns his music back on. He can't decide which pisses him off more: the fact that Ephram had the nerve to bug him about his stupid comic outside of school, or the fact that his dick is beginning to heartily agree with Ephram's parting shot and is supplying his brain with matching mental images.
Snarling, he drops his bookbag and rests his Discman beside it, then runs after Ephram, who's halfway across the playground by now. A shove to the shoulders knocks the other boy off his balance, but he catches himself on the ladder of the monkey bars.
"What the fuck?" Ephram is more surprised than angry. "Wendell, Jesus -"
Wendell grabs the collar of Ephram's coat and shoves him backwards. "I am so sick of your shit, Brown!" he growls. "Wendell, can you get me this comic? Wendell, Amy doesn't love me! Wendell, why don't I have any friends?" His tone is high, mocking. He pushes Ephram into the ladder of a tall, metal slide and presses against him, the hardness in his jeans unmistakable.
"You know what, Brown?" Wendell's voice is quiet, low. Around them, the rain intensifies, soaking their clothes. Wendell's face is so close to Ephram's that he can practically taste Ephram's exhaled breath, shallow as it is. "Fuck you."
Wendell kisses to bruise, to punish, his hand behind Ephram's head refusing to allow the kiss to be broken. Ephram tries to push him away, but stiffens when Wendell worms his other hand between their bodies and - more importantly - between Ephram's legs. He spends several moments searching for a zipper, then curses when he realizes that Ephram is wearing button- fly jeans and a belt.
He pulls away, gaining the use of his other hand, and makes quick work of the belt. The fly takes him a little longer, but proves to be more than worth it. Whether willingly or not, Ephram's cock is very eager for the kind of attention Wendell is about to give it. Wendell's hand wriggles past the elastic waistband of the boxers, fumbling a little before grasping Ephram's cock firmly, eliciting a gasp.
"What are you doing? It's broad day-" Any further protesting is silenced effectively by a gentle squeeze to his rapidly hardening member.
Neither boy is quite sure who is more surprised when Ephram begins to reciprocate Wendell's next kiss. His lips part willingly, teeth accidentally scraping against Wendell's tongue, and he thrusts his hips against the other boy. Anger transforming into something even more carnal, Wendell rubs his thumb over the tip of Ephram's cock. Ephram whimpers and pushes his hips forward again.
"You like that?" Wendell whispers throatily against his neck, nipping the skin to punctuate his words. He feels a strange sense of power start to fill him, and he runs his fingers up the underside of Ephram's cock.
"Yesssss," Ephram hisses in reply. "Fuck, yessss. Dear God, don't stop!" For a few moments, Wendell doesn't. They establish a rhythm of thrusting, hands and hips and lips and tongues, rain sinking into every pore. Just as Ephram is about to climax, Wendell gets an idea. He pulls completely away, not allowing any contact.
Ephram moans, the sound tight and strangled. Wendell grins. "D'you want it?"
Eyes widen. "Fuck, yes," Ephram whispers. His skin is pale, his cheeks flushed. Water is dripping off of his hair and into his eyes.
Wendell continues to grin, unzipping his jeans and touching himself through his boxers. "Louder. Say, 'Fuck me Wendell."
Ephram repeats the words a little louder than before, blushing and hoping no one is around to hear him. Wendell shakes his head. "Louder."
"Fuck me, Wendell!" Ephram yells, his voice cracking on the last word. Wendell drops to his knees, enveloping Ephram's cock with warm, moist lips. Ephram grips the hand railing of the ladder, feeling his knees start to give way. His eyes clench shut when Wendell tries to take in as much as he can without gagging. He comes with an incoherent shout, and having nothing else to do, Wendell swallows, making a face at the salty taste.
The rain slows; Wendell unceremoniously finishes himself off while Ephram watches, dazed. He knows he won't notice a little bit of extra dampness in his jeans, considering they've been good and soaked for at least five minutes. He kneels to retie a shoelace and hears a voice above him ask what he's doing.
"Going home, Brown. Some of us have better things to do than hang out on the playground," Wendell explains condescendingly, as though he's speaking to a small child.
Ephram isn't deterred. "When I, uh, pick up the comic, d'you want me to pay in cash, or ." He trails off awkwardly.
At the mention of the comic, Wendell feels the anger begin to rise in him again, but he pushes it down, too tired to sustain the emotion. "Y'know what, Brown? Consider it paid."
He walks away from Ephram, picks up his bag, and sets out for home, sneakers squelching the entire way.