I glowered at him across the classroom. He looked like such a douchebag with his hair stuck up and his ripped-off sleeves and his washed out blue jeans and that stupid smugass smirk on his face.
Why did he have to be fucking attractive?
I wasn't above admitting that I liked guys – hell, I'd hooked up a few times, even – but this asshole.
This asshole.
He thought he was such hot shit. He thought everyone wanted a piece of him. He thought he was better than everyone else. He was just so goddamn cocky, thought he could have anything he wanted.
And I hated that I was giving into that. I hated him, actually.
I didn't like anything about him. He was a dick, always had been a dick, always will be a dick. We had nothing in common, we didn't even play the same video games.
But the way he carried himself, the way he talked, the way his eyes looked down on you, like he could break you, fuck, I wanted him to throw me up against a wall and—
Shit.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and looked away from him. The middle of class was not the time to pop one.
I heard him snicker and I scowled. He'd caught me staring.
…again.
I flipped him off without turning around and pretended to be taking notes.
…
I could tell he knew. I could see it in the way he sized me up, the way he smirked when he saw me in the hallways, the not-so-casual "hey"s.
It was driving me fucking crazy, and I hated him even more for it.
It'd been weeks since he started paying attention to me. I tried ignoring him, but apparently he didn't like that.
I was running late for class one afternoon, and conveniently, so was he.
He'd swiftly leaned against the locker beside me, trapping me between him and the door of my locker. My blood rushed with how close he was. God, he smelled good. What a dick.
"What the hell do you want, Broflovski?" I asked, ignoring him and continuing to dig for my books.
He shifted a fraction closer, but I noticed, and I knew he knew I noticed.
"You," he said. I was glad my face was buried in my locker so he couldn't see the surprise it showed.
I quickly gathered myself – play it cool, Craig, fuck, play it cool – and stood out of my locker to look up at him. He was only about two inches taller than me, but it was enough to make me ache.
"What was that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He brought up a hand and cupped my cheek with it, ran it back slowly to toy with my hat, and let it slide down my neck where he caressed his thumb along my jaw. "You heard me," he said.
I tried to keep glaring at him, but my stance didn't have much of an effect as I let him toss my books back into my locker and shut it. As I let him drag me down the hallway by the front of my hoodie and stuff me in a closet.
Normally, I would have been be the one in control, the one calling all the shots, but fucking hell I'd never wanted someone to dominate me as much as I wanted him to. I wanted him to tear me apart.
He pushed me up against the door and I could've moaned just from the feeling of his chest pressed against mine, his face that close to my neck.
I arched my back into him and let my head fall to the side, fingers clutching to the front of his tshirt. My breathing was already coming at a small struggle and I cursed myself for it.
"What a little bitch," he chuckled, before attaching himself to my neck. I tried to be pissed, but it only served to turn me on more.
"Fuck you," I breathed. "The only reason I haven't kicked you ass yet is because I'd be stupid to turn down free sex."
"Okay," he said, biting down into my skin, and a small whimper escaped me. He rolled the flesh between his teeth before laving it with his tongue and sucking on it.
It didn't quite register that he'd left me several hickies, but I didn't quite care. It felt damn good, I wasn't about to tell him to stop.
I could feel his hands pushing my shirt up, warm and flush against my skin. A shiver ran up my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder how serious he was and how far he was planning on going.
God, I wanted him to fuck me so hard.
He thrust his hips against mine and I could feel that he was hard. I shuddered and grappled to get his shirt off. He let me, and I dropped in on the ground in time for him to tear mine away from me.
He kissed down my neck, my throat, down my chest, manipulated my skin with his teeth as he worked my jeans open. His warm hand felt cold on my cock and it made me hiss. He stroked me slowly, loosely, teasing me. I knew he was waiting for me to ask for more, but the defiant part of me didn't want to.
Unfortunately, my body didn't agree and I found myself bucking into his hand, thrusting shallowly against his body. I could hear his stupid fucking condescending sexy snickering. I was frustrated and turned on and angry and turned on.
I scratched my nails down his chest, hoping I made him bleed. "Are you going to fuck me or just be a fucking tease?" I asked, gasping near the end as he bit down on one of the tendons in my neck. It hurt, but I loved it.
"Hmm," he hummed, tightening his hand around my cock, regrettable making me moan. "I think I'll fuck you," he said, pulling his hand from my pants. "Turn around," he said, his voice dropping. It sounded predatory, and I couldn't help but to silently do as he said. I'd have to smack myself later for turning to such putty for him.
He pushed my pants and my boxers down my thighs as I braced myself against the door. I heard a bottle pop but I was too far gone to rip on him for being gay enough to carry lube with him. It was probably a good thing, anyway.
I felt him press cold fingers to my ass and that was all the warning I had before one was inside me. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to keep myself from making any sound as me worked me open.
"Goddamn, Tucker, you're delicious inside," he said. It made my insides throb, his words piercing through me and making my head fuzzy. I pushed back against him as he worked from one to two, to three fingers, barely able to keep from crying out as he abused my sweet spot.
It wasn't long before he was pulling them out, and I did whine at his absence. I was aching all over, near trembling by the time he grabbed a hold of my hips. I rebraced myself against the door and he pushed inside.
He filled me completely and my back arched dangerously as I pressed my hips harder against his. I wanted all of him, deeper, more. I wanted him to move.
"Fucking move," I ground out, fingers digging into the wooden door with my strain.
He scoffed and I had to squeeze my eyes shut as he slowly pulled back. It felt like forever, but then he slammed back in, and my knees went weak. He quickly built up a hard pace, and my body relied solely on him and the door to keep my standing.
My vision nearly left me as I rocked back against him, feeling him strike deep in me, his teeth back in my neck, nails in my hips. It was all too much, and I had to struggle to keep myself from coming too soon.
I was about to give in when I felt him pick up faster, losing his rhythm. He hit my hot spot hard, several times in a row, and that was all it took for me to come all over the door. He came a few seconds later, thankfully pulling out first. The last thing I needed was to walk around the rest of the day with come leaking out of my ass.
That thought was actually kind of… no, I didn't need to think about it.
I leaned against the door with him slumped against my back, the both of us breathing heavily. I felt fuzzy all over, a little sore, but all together awesome.
"Not bad, Tucker," he said, his breath hot in the crook of my neck. He stood up straighter and redid his pants. "We'll have to do this again sometime."
I scoffed at that and pulled my own jeans back up, although slowly. I was probably going to just go home and take a shower instead of finishing the school day. I could feel the ache settling into my bones.
"Yeah, sure," I said, trying not to sound too interested. He handed me my shirt and my hoodie and we finished dressing in silence.
"Later, loser," he said, walking the opposite way down the hallway. I just rolled my eyes and flipped him off. I really wanted that shower.