People will see. There's no way people won't see.
Knowing your luck, a teacher would be out on a nighttime stroll; disregarding chaperone duties for just long enough to bust you and the asswipe boy leading you out of the gym, his hand tight around your wrist.
You can't complain—people would hear, and though you aren't too keen on sneaking away from Homecoming to do god-knows-what, you dislike the idea of someone hearing about it even more.
So you wait until the musty September air assails your face and the creaky metal doors shut behind you before you hiss,
"Dave, what—"
"Sh."
"Dave—"
"Shh."
He hauls you around a corner, and he gently shoves you between two trees in a small cluster. You stumble backwards into a tiny clearing, about 3 feet by 3 feet. A vent whirs softly near your head, and a dark window is directly above you.
Dave appears from between the trees, spins you around, and presses his mouth against your own. You are used to his lips by now—the first kisses you shared were sloppy and not very pleasant. Now you know how to open your mouth with his, how to breathe, how to move your tongue alongside the one currently in your mouth. You sigh, and you forget for a moment that this isn't his bedroom, this is your fucking school oh my God what are you doing—
You break away. "Dave, I don't know about this…"
His shades gleam in the blue light from the night sky. His face, as usual, is unreadable. He scratches the back of his neck.
"Sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable we can stop." And as he says that he looks disappointed and gosh you hate it when he looks disappointed like that.
"No, we can… we can stay."
A smirk creeps onto his face, and you have the feeling that he has more planed than just sloppy makeouts.
He grabs your hips, digging his thumbs in he way he knows you like, and he presses you against the brick wall, his mouth meeting yours again. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your glasses fog up.
He presses harder against you, and you can feel something poking at your thigh. Knowing that he matches the tightness in your pants makes this slightly less embarrassing. Slightly.
You're in public what are you doing someone could see
Someone could see
Someone could see. Someone could easily walk around the corner, hear the soft moans that the two of you are making, and peek through the brushy trees. It would be so, so easy. You easily picture some stranger, leaning against a crack in the branches, with a hand shoved down their pants or skirt—
Whoa. You're getting way ahead of yourself. But Dave chooses this moment to grind his crotch against yours, and it sends that familiar electricity buzzing in your stomach, in your ribcage, up your sides. His thumbs press harder, and you hear yourself moan through your teeth into his mouth.
The stranger who could-possibly-easily be watching you must be enjoying the show. This makes your heart pound faster.
Then you picture what the stranger might be seeing—you and Dave, with your shirts un-tucked and your ties loosened, his hands at your hips and your fingers through his hair, both red in this face and panting.
The thought makes you gulp, and the buzz grows stronger and hotter. You feel the tickling in your abdomen and you know it won't take long to finish.
Dave pulls his mouth away from yours, and reattaches it to your neck, sucking hard. The buzzing clenches your stomach and you are done, you are over the edge, and you are coughing quiet expletives as Dave kisses and licks and sucks at your exposed neck, your head tilted back to give him a wider canvas. Soon you hear him shudder and you know he is done two.
The two of you stand, him leaning against you and you against the wall, waiting for your breath to slow. You stand in silence for a few minutes.
Then you speak.
"Well, we can't go back inside looking like this." You motion to his crotch and then your own, and to your disheveled clothing.
"Homecoming was boring as hell anyway," he shrugs.
And so, the rest of the dance is spent running around the school grounds, laughing and tackling one another, and you are blissfully unaware of the fact that you will have a couple of hickeys to cover up the next morning.