1 – Glad You Came

The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts

Is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came

There were some classes that should be irrevocably stricken from today's curriculum, he groused internally. Take, for example, this combined health and careers class. Who the hell even thought of combining two subjects that couldn't be more different if they tried. Unless you planned to be a doctor, a nurse or a freaking social worker, how did these two subjects even cross paths? The school district's administration was enough to boggle the most intelligent mind.

Lost in his ruminations, Travis wasn't entirely paying attention to his self-absorbed teacher discussing the evils of bad nutrition to the class. After all, he ate, he ran, he was healthy. Who needed nutrition? Not to mention the fact that Alejandro Rejas was an absolute bore. B-O-R-E. But that was a moot point at this juncture. With a glance over his right shoulder, he searched for the clock that hung on the back wall. His eyes had just focused on the time when the door to the classroom opened.

And in entered the most intriguing boy looking a little bit lost and more than a little out of place.

Blonde hair stood up in little flounces running the length of his forehead, framing a pair of the clearest blue eyes. Cut short in the back, shaved almost to the skin, it didn't even think about touching the collar of his formal button-up. Travis momentarily wondered if he'd just moved from Antarctica, considering just how pale the boy was – and there's just no way you could legit spend any time in California and be that white – when the teacher spotted the newcomer by the entrance.

"Well, come in and close the door, for the love of Pete," he said, waving the newbie up towards his desk. "New or transferring from another class?"

Nodding, the blonde approached the teacher's desk, pink admittance slip in hand. "Yes, sir, I'm new." He moved in a deliberate and methodical manner, gauging each step before he took it. Cautious, but aware.

Mr. Rejas took the slip of paper from him, opened his attendance book, and scribbled. "Wesley Mitchell," he muttered. "I assume you're a junior as well?"

"No, sir," he corrected, "sophomore. My old school… well, did things differently, I suppose."

Rejas grunted, acknowledging and condemning in one vocal maneuver. Blondie, as Travis was coming to think of him, glanced around the room, taking note of the exits, he assumed, or maybe simply trying to scope the seat farthest away from anyone. He'd find out soon enough. "Wesley or Wes?"

"Excuse me?"

Rejas deflated audibly, irritation plain on his face. "Do you prefer Wesley or something else?"

Oh. "Uh, well, Wes is fine, I guess…"

"Wonderful." The instructor's voice said it was anything but, however.

Travis watched the exchange with feigned indifference. He'd always thought of Rejas as being a bit of a prick, the way he was treating the new kid only serving to cement that notion for Travis. The boy, however, was fine, that much was obvious. Lean, long legs – runner's legs, he thought – tight ass. He was a bit scrawny, but that wasn't anything a burger or two couldn't fix after long, languorous bouts of afternoon sex. A lascivious grin spread slowly across his face. Despite being a touch on the thin side, he had large hands, strong, and nimble, too, he bet. Travis had a few suggestions on exactly how he could use those manly hands, if he were asked. One square jaw, a broad nose, and a bottom lip that begged to be bitten rounded out the tempting package before him. Oooh, and look at that dimple when he smiles…

"Marks?"

Ripped harshly out of his soon-to-be X-rated daydreams, Travis scowled at his teacher, catching the gaze of the new kid in the process. A faint tinge of pink rose in the blonde's cheeks the moment their gazes met. Could he know what I was just thinking? Nah, probably not. "Yeah?"

It was obvious that Rejas had been trying to gain Travis' attention for at least a few minutes and wasn't happy about having to repeat himself. He was brusque on his best day, but today, he was plain agitated. "Get your crap off that empty desk beside you so Mitchell can sit and we can get back to our discussion." Because the pitfalls of a poor diet was certainly on everyone's list of things to learn today.

"Yes, sir," he mocked, tugging his backpack off the desktop in question. His gaze held steady on the new kid as he made his way around their fellow students and slid into the freshly emptied seat. He was sure to be an enigma, of that much, Travis was certain. Quiet, withdrawn, passive. But that flicker of inquisitiveness in his eyes gave Travis hope that there was some life in there. Some spirit.

"Thanks," Blondie muttered, instantly wary of the predatory grin on his neighbor's face, uncertain of what it might mean.

"Don't mention it, Buttercup." Travis made a show of appraising the newcomer one last time, long and lingering. Eyes, mouth, hands, hips, feet, eyes. Oh yeah, quite the package.

"If you're quite through ogling the new kid, Marks, I'd like to continue." Wes flushed an immediate and attractive shade of pink at their teacher's abrupt words.

"If you must continue, Mr. Rejas, then I suppose I'm finished," Travis snarked back, unconcerned with the consequences of both blatantly gawking at a fellow student – they considered that sexual harassment these days – and unashamedly belittling his teacher. The eyeful he'd gotten was worth an hour's worth of detention. It'd certainly given him enough material to daydream through at least one day's detention.

This Mitchell kid was a little more preppy than he usually went for – Oxford button up, pressed khaki pants, and loafers for cryin' out loud – but he was intriguing, enticing. In a word, he wasn't like anyone else in this craptacular school. He was an odd duck, different, and that piqued Travis' interest in a big way. And his libido, too.

There wasn't anything Travis loved more than a challenge. And this Wes Mitchell was going to be just that.

Wes was concerned. What kind of school had his parents enrolled him in this time? His second period neighbor looked like he was ready to have him for dinner. What if all the students here were as disrespectful as this Marks character? How would he manage to fit in?

Truth was, he knew he'd never fit in. He hadn't yet, and this school wouldn't be any different from the others. He was always too something – too new, too smart, too strange – to ever quite find his niche. It had bothered him at first, but soon, he came to relish the fact that no one wanted to be friends. Made it that much easier when the time came to leave again, because it inevitably always did.

Noticing that he was the only one without a text book, he sighed inwardly, wondering if he should stop the already irritated teacher and ask for his own or if he should try and look at someone else's. The harsh glare Rejas had given the class for tittering a moment ago forced his hand. He couldn't risk an altercation this early in the day. A quick glance around confirmed his worst fear – the only one available to share was the one person he wanted nothing to do with – Travis Marks.

As if sensing Wes' despair, the dark-skinned hunk of a jerk turned his annoying smile his way. "Need something, Blondie?"

Wes shook his head, but he knew he needed to keep up, he was already two weeks behind everyone else due to this insane move. "Can we share," he inquired quietly, waving a hand at the other boy's book.

That grin, that I'm-going-to-chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out smirk, creased his face again. "Oh, you'd better believe we're gonna share."

"Marks, is there a problem over there?" Rejas was not in the mood, it was obvious, but Travis couldn't count all the damns he didn't give.

"No, man, no problems here. Just sharin' my book with Blondie." The ever-present smirk turned saccharine sweet.

"Wes," he begged under his breath. "Please, it's Wes."

"I know your name," he whispered back, once the teacher had turned away from them again. "I just like Blondie so much better. Hmm, or maybe Buttercup. Yes, I like that, too. Buttercup. Fragile, delicate little yellow flowers. Fitting."

God, kill me now, Wes begged, but he knew resistance was futile, those blue-grey eyes had sucker punched him, hard. He would be assimilated. Drawn in and eaten alive. Like it or not.

He was terrified that he just might like it.

Mitchell bolted from his desk approximately four and a half seconds after Rejas had stopped lecturing and passed out their daily homework assignment. It was obvious that Travis' brand of teasing humor was not the boy's style at all. Every time Travis had leaned into him, gotten closer, he'd immediately put more space between them. He was relatively certain it was due only to Blondie's insecurity at being the new boy because, who could resist all this? Seriously.

Ripping a piece of paper out of his binder, Travis quickly scratched a few words onto it before folding it neatly. Glancing around to secure Wes' position, he bent over towards his own backpack. Finding New Boy's messenger bag gaping open, he withdrew the first book he saw just far enough to slip the note in between the pages. Smirking, he nudged the book back inside, rearranging it to look as close to how it had before he invaded it.

Knowing that Mitchell was not going to be easily wooed, Travis figured he had to start somewhere, and this was as good as any. Now, with his first move made, all he could do was sit back and wait. And watch.

Let the games begin, he thought giddily.

"Hey Sunshine," Travis called, spotting Wes hurriedly making his way down the hall. "Wait up."

Wes pretended not to hear, focusing on moving forward and getting to his next class. He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked up into the most amazing eyes. "What now? Did you not get enough jabs in at me in class?" He moved to the side of the hall, trying not to get trampled while Marks hit him with whatever he hadn't had time to give him earlier. Wes steeled himself for the worst. He'd hoped that it would be more than half a day before the bullying began, but he supposed he wasn't going to be as lucky this time.

Travis cocked his head, studying the blonde. "I wasn't being mean, man, I was just teasing. It's my way of being friendly." He held both hands out, palms up, in a conceding gesture.

"You might want to rethink your approach," Wes muttered darkly. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I didn't get to properly introduce myself, so here I am. Travis Marks."

He stuck out a large hand in a peace offering. Wes stared at his long fingers, thought about piano keys and things that really shouldn't occur to him at this time of the morning, and hesitantly shook. "Wes Mitchell."

"So I heard. Where'd you transfer in from? Someplace without sun?" The thought occurred to him that he could always be a vampire, too. Travis wondered if he sparkled in the sunlight. He'd have to follow him outside and see.

Wes smiled despite himself. Travis had a jaunty way about him, a smooth gait and an easy manner that immediately made you feel like family. If you had the kind of family that insulted and teased each other nonstop, maybe. Those stunning blue eyes caught you and held you captive if you were foolish enough to look directly into them. And he had been that foolish. So very foolish, it seemed.

"Not quite, but close. The east coast, actually. There is sun there, or so it's been rumored." Not that he'd ever had a chance to see much of it while he was there.

Travis barked out a laugh. "Well, welcome to California, baby, you'll be tan in no time."

Wes doubted it. He was a bit too fair-skinned he'd found out. So much so that even the mention of sun caused his skin to redden. Travis seemed so excited by the prospect that he couldn't deny it. Especially when that boy smiled like he was right now. All swollen lips and white teeth. The kind of smile that made you hungry for… things.

"Maybe," he hedged.

"Where you headed now? Math? Choir?" The parking lot for a quickie?

"Choir? Really?" He pulled a face, mock disgust written all over it.

Travis shrugged, still smiling. "You never know," he teased.

"No, definitely not choir I'm…" he struggled to dig his schedule out of his pocket and glanced at it quickly. "I'm headed to English I guess."

"Awesome, I'm headed that way, too. C'mon."

Travis stepped into the flow of students moving down the hall, leaving Wes glued where he stood. Shoving his schedule back into his pocket, he dodged a pair of cheerleaders, trying to catch Travis' disappearing form. Picking his way through the stream of students, he got to take in all that was Travis Marks. Long, muscular legs that led up to a perfectly round backside. Narrow waist that segued into broad football-player shoulders. Chocolate colored hair shaved close to his head. Coffee and cream skin. The total package was enough to stop Wes' rabbiting heart in his chest.

A flash of blue eyes met his across the hall. "Are ya comin' or not, Buttercup? Cause if you are, you'd better hurry up." He tapped his non-existant watch.

"Yeah, I'm coming, Marks. Just keep your pants on." Or not, the choice is yours.

"Is that a challenge, baby, or are you just teasing me?"

Again with that smile, it was enough to make your knees give way. "It's just an expression, Travis for the love of… oh, just shut it, would you?" He could tell that even simple conversation with this Marks individual was going to be an adventure.

Wes reached Travis' side and was rewarded with a meaty arm slung across his shoulders. Warmth enveloped him and attacked his senses. "Oh, I could shut it, but where's the fun in that?"

Praying that Travis couldn't feel the racing of his heart, Wes admitted to himself, in a very tiny, quiet voice, that there absolutely wasn't any fun in it at all. Travis had a big mouth, but he also had a quick wit, the kind of wit that would test Wes and keep him on his toes. Seeing as he was a masochist at heart this thing, whatever this thing was, that was blooming between them was only going to prove that to excess. If he was smart, he'd surrender now.

But if there was one thing Wes knew about himself, it was that he wasn't ever very smart when he needed to be.