That bastard.

He just had to dress like that, didn't he. The son of a bitch. Who did he think he was? Black skinny jeans with rips across his thighs, showing off tantalizing strips of his pale skin? Even from here, he could see the green detailing in the stitches. No one in the school wore as much green as that guy. His eyes were green, he had green tips on his hair, he wore the same green high top converse almost every day. But Alfred could handle the jeans and the shoes, and the hair. The eyes got to him a little but he'd never admit that. What he had trouble with was the fact that, since boys weren't subject to the same strict dress code rules as the girls, the ass got away with wearing an almost skimpy vest top underneath a fishnet shirt. Long-sleeved, with cuffs on the end and holes for his thumbs so they wouldn't ride up. The mesh stretched over his narrow shoulders in an even more torturous way than the rips in his jeans did. Black over more green—no surprise there. And peeking out from under the green fabric, still noticeable under the fishnet, was the top of a tattoo that Alfred desperately wanted to see. He had no idea what it was, but damn he was curious. Maybe it went all the way down his spine—that'd be fucking sexy.

As he watched, the green-clad teen leaned forward in his chair and tucked his feet under his chair, ankles crossed. Alfred could tell he was chewing on his lower lip as he focused on the teacher. No, not his lip, he was playing with one of those god damn lip rings. Snakebites. He shouldn't have been allowed to wear them in school, but none of the teachers gave a shit anymore, so he wore them like he was born to do it. He had silver hoops going all the way around one ear, shiny and bright against his hair. Alfred wanted to bite them and tug as he shoved the other boy's shirt up to see what that tattoo was.

Fuming and rigid in his chair, he gripped his pencil so tightly the wood creaked; it would snap if he squeezed too much harder. He didn't care, though, and he didn't care about the lecture that was going on, either. School didn't really matter to him at the moment, not when that damn punk was being so…ugh.

If we weren't at school right now…

Alfred liked to think he would teach the other student a lesson. Shove him against a wall and show him who was boss. Claim him. Mark him all over so the little asshole would learn how to behave, so he'd never let anyone else touch him ever again. In his head, he bent his tormentor to his will and kept him for his own. But that was only in his head because Alfred knew he would never actually do it, no matter how badly he wanted to. He had a reputation to keep, after all, and they were in completely different social circles. He, Alfred Jones, star athlete of the school, couldn't be seen getting involved with some punk, especially not one with such a promiscuous reputation.

No, he couldn't have him, and that was the most frustrating part.

X

Heh.

Arthur knew he was being watched. He could feel eyes on him and he had a pretty good idea of who those eyes belonged to. It was almost too much fun to pretend to pay attention. This class was easy and he was too smart for it, so he never really listened. His grades were still high, despite his reputation as a troublemaker.

Eat your heart out, Jones.

Yeah, it was definitely that obnoxious jock who was watching him. He tongued his right lip ring just a little more—the athlete was sure to see it—and held back a grin. Teasing the other student was his favorite pastime. He knew he drove Jones crazy and he didn't feel even the smallest bit of guilt. Why should he? It wasn't like he was doing it on purpose. Not at first, at least, and he never did anything too out of the ordinary to catch the other blond's attention. He was just…inviting. But in a challenging way. He couldn't make things too easy for Mister High and Mighty Athlete. That wouldn't have been any fun at all, and Arthur was all about having fun.

The bell rang suddenly, signaling the end of class, and Arthur began to gather his things. His textbook had only been open for appearances' sake, and he hadn't written a thing in his notebook—the college-ruled pages held little other than doodles and lyrics.

"Hey, Art," a voice called out to him almost as soon as he was out the classroom door, and the teen turned to see another student walking towards him. The other was tall and thin, with white hair and red eyes and a grin to match his ego.

"Hey." Arthur waited for the taller male to reach him then continued on his way to his locker to put away his books for his next class.

"What time are we meeting for practice tonight?" Gil leaned one shoulder against the locker beside Arthur's and looked down at the blond.

"Six. Concert's at eight—I want to run through the show at least once." He stacked his books on the lower shelf and closed his locker door with a quiet slam.

"Cool. See you at six."

"See ya."

The two turned their separate ways and Arthur began the rather long trek to his next class—P.E. It was his last class of the day and he had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, he hated P.E. Being forced to run circles with a bunch of sweaty idiots while the teacher blew his whistle as loud as possible wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Athletics had never been his thing.

But, as he walked into the locker room and headed towards his locker in the back corner where he could change away from the eyes of the other boys, he couldn't help but spot the one thing that made this class bearable.

Jones was already at his locker and changing, and while Arthur didn't dare linger and look, he appreciated the physical traits of one of the school's best athletes. He might not have the highest opinion of him, but there was no denying the other blond was attractive.

When he changed, Arthur kept his side to the rest of the room. He didn't want anyone getting too clear of a view of his chest or back, so he was quick to strip off his two shirts and replace them with the loose vest top he wore for this class. Gym shorts that he hated replaced his skinny jeans, and a pair of plain tennis shoes took over for his converse. These new clothes hung around his frame, obviously too big for him, and he knew he looked ridiculous. Baggy clothing just didn't suit him, and certainly not baggy sportswear. And he had to take out all of his piercings, which left him feeling a bit naked and boring.

His mood deteriorated significantly by his attire, Arthur left the locker room along with everyone else and filed into the gym. They had to wait along one set of folded bleachers for the girls to finish changing, and idle chit-chat took place during those few minutes. Arthur placed himself next to the only person in this class that he actually talked to—a tall brunet with dark green eyes—and they both leaned against the bleachers.

"What torture is he putting us through today?" he asked, not loudly enough for anyone else to hear but enough so that his companion would understand his question.

Lifting an arm, the brunet pointed to where thing mats covered a large portion of the gym floor. "Wrestling."

"Great." Arthur couldn't help the sarcasm that weighed down his voice.

Once the girls finally arrived, the P.E. instructor sent them on a five-lap warm up jog. Arthur's companion was in the front of the group, his long legs and athletic body putting him right next to Jones. The two were just short of friends, having athletics in common. Arthur, meanwhile, kept towards the back. It wasn't that he was slow or out of shape, he was just lazy and he didn't see the point in trying really hard in a class he didn't want to be in.

Five laps went by slowly, the class stretching out around almost half of the gym. If they'd had to go much farther, the leaders would have lapped the lagers, and that would have put Jones right in Arthur's vicinity, just where he didn't want him. Not while he was wearing these ugly clothes.

"Today we begin the wrestling portion of class," the instructor announced while the students spaced themselves out on one half of the gym floor and stretched. "You'll be put into pairs to practice the moves and holds. Tomorrow we'll do single-round matches and rotate so everyone faces everyone. The pairs for today are Jones and Kirkland, Carriedo and—"

Arthur didn't listen to the rest of the names being called. He was too busy trying to understand that he'd been paired with Jones. Why? Why the hell would their P.E. instructor think they were a good match for wrestling? They were physical opposites! He was short and skinny and Jones was tall and muscular! The jock was going to kick his ass! He didn't stand a chance!

Green eyes glancing sideways, he spotted the other blond looking at him with just as much shock and confusion and apprehension as he knew was on his own face. They'd never been paired together before. Never. They'd barely said so much as a word to each other.

And now he's going to be pinning me down on a mat for everyone to see.

Embarrassing, but…also a little exciting. He knew Jones was attracted to him and he would have to be an idiot not to be attracted right back, but he'd never meant to act on it. Even though the thought of having those arms wrapped around him, holding him tight against that chest, was enough to make his pulse race. Jones was sexy and there was no denying that. Wrestling him really wouldn't be that bad. Mostly, it would be an awful sort of tease.

With the rest of the class, Arthur moved to the section of the gym where the mats were set up and warily squared off with his partner. He sort of expected Jones to say he'd take it easy, but the taller blond didn't say a word. They just stood there, sizing each other up. Damn, the bastard looked good in his gym clothes. This sort of outfit suited him. A cutoff to display his arms, shorts that stopped just above his knees. He had the calves of a god. Not that Arthur looked.

"Shoes off!"

Right, no shoes on the mats. They were all going to have their sweaty feet out for each other to smell.

Arthur kicked his shoes off along with everyone else and removed his socks as an afterthought. Bare feet would give a better grip. He stepped up onto the mat and waited as Jones did the same, also shoeless and sockless and—why the bloody hell was that bastard shirtless?

The taller blond noticed his staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Doing his best to look mildly disgusted instead of impressed, Arthur crossed his arms. "You'll sweat on me."

"That's going to happen either way."

"This way is stickier."

"We have to shower after this anyway what's the difference?"

"The difference is I'll have your jock sweat all over my body."

A smirk lifted one side of the bespectacled blond's mouth. "Is that a bad thing?"

For the first time, Arthur didn't have a comeback. This was the most they'd ever spoken to each other and of course he'd known there was some amount of attraction between them but that was blatant flirting and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He wouldn't exactly mind what Jones was suggesting but people didn't flirt with him first. He always made the first move. Always. He was Arthur Kirkland and he was in a punk rock band and no one hit on him first.

Don't back down from that.

With the most deadpan look he could manage, Arthur shrugged. "Depends."

Both boys stepped into the center of the mat just like everyone else was doing, but there was a certain amount of tension between them that didn't exist with the other pairs.

From his superior height, Jones gave an amused grin as he looked down at the shorter blond. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on what I leave all over your body."

The amusement became surprised and maybe a little impressed. "I guess we'll have to see."

"I guess."

The instructor's whistle sounded at that moment but Arthur and Alfred didn't look away from each other. They hadn't broken eye contact in over a minute and they were both starting to feel the effects. Alfred's earlier thoughts about marking the smaller male were resurfacing and he was starting to look forward to wrestling him.

Not the sort of wrestling I had in mind.

But it would have to do, and as the instructor guided them through a few basic moves, he let himself press a little closer to the green-eyed blond, gripped him a little tighter than was necessary.

"You'll bruise me," Arthur commented off-handedly.

"That's the idea."

Rolling his eyes, he shifted in the larger student's hold and froze suddenly.

Are you fucking joking? He's hard from this?

There was no mistaking it. Jones had a boner and it was being pressed rather firmly against Arthur's ass as he was held against the mat.

With a breathless chuckle, he turned his head far enough to see the blue-eyed blond's face. "Excited just from this? Wow."

Alfred gave an almost imperceptible buck. "Shut up."

"Oooh, someone's got a temper. What's the matter, your girlfriend won't help you out with Jones Junior?"

Growling, Alfred roughly shoved the Brit down onto the mat and pinned his arm behind his back. "I told you to shut up."

"I would but your dick's still poking me."

Another growl and the taller blond pressed closer, making sure Arthur could feel every bit of his anatomy. "If we weren't in school, your ass'd be mine."

Arthur used his free arm to push, forcing himself back against Alfred to rub just slightly. "Is that a promise, love?" His accent broke through more than normal, making his tone more teasing than it would have been.

"Yeah." Alfred's voice was strained.

"All right, break it up! Jones, get off him. The real matches aren't until tomorrow."

Rougher than necessary, Alfred pushed himself off the green-eyed student and stood. "Sorry."

Standing and straightening his clothes, Arthur gave the taller blond a sidelong glance and a knowing look.

"What?" Alfred all but snapped, and Arthur grinned smugly.

"I knew you wanted me." Before Alfred could say anything else, Arthur moved to stand just in front of him again. "I'll make you a deal, Jones," he whispered, looking up at the athlete through his bangs. "You come to my concert tonight, and I'll let you put more than your sweat all over me."

For a moment, Alfred was left speechless, then he cleared his throat and lifted his chin. "When and where is this concert of yours?"

Arthur grinned—today was turning out much better than expected.

X

He'd never been so out of his element in his life. Of course he'd known Arthur wasn't the only punk in the world, but being surrounded by them wasn't something he'd ever expected to experience. Yet there he was, dressed in jeans and a plain back tshirt, standing in a dark, grassy area with a stage set up in front of some trees. Large speakers stood to either side of the stage, and a rack full of lights sat waiting. Voices sounded from every direction and Alfred hoped he didn't look too out of place. He was just there to see Arthur perform so he could finally make the little fucker shut his damn mouth. Or open it and keep it open…both. Both would be good.

If it had been up to him, he would have skipped this concert nonsense. He hadn't even known Arthur was in a band until earlier today and he wasn't sure he was going to enjoy this type of music. Mostly, he listened to rock, not punk. But he was willing to put up with it. It couldn't be that bad, and it would be worth it. After the concert, Arthur would finally be his.

No strings attached. No one's gonna know.

This couldn't get back to school. If people knew he was screwing the biggest punk in the area, his entire reputation would be thrown off track. He was going to do this just once, just to get Arthur and his stupid lip rings and his damn eyes out of his system. One night would be enough—it was just a crush, anyway. Just an infatuation. He, Alfred F. Jones, had too many options to settle for a troublemaker like Arthur. This was for fun because that smaller blond had offered. A concert in exchange for a good fuck? No way was he going to pass this up.

Suddenly, a guitar thrum blasted from the speakers and the people around Alfred screamed and cheered, almost making him flinch.

"Ladies and Gents!" a familiar voice shouted over the fading note. "We welcome you to our concert tonight! We're gonna play a few of your favorites and a couple new ones you might recognize! Now, please, let me hear you scream for Firebite!"

Light flooded the stage as the concert's attendants did just as they'd been told, screaming and throwing their fists into the air. Four figures stood out on the stage, each with an arm raised in welcome. The surge of energy their appearance caused swept over Alfred and he found himself cheering along with the rest of them despite having never heard of Firebite before this moment. He wasn't quite close enough to the stage to make out the band members' faces, but he still knew which one was Arthur. The green-eyed blond was second from the right, a guitar slung low across his waist, and probably grinning like a madman. Alfred couldn't wait to get his hands on him when all of this was over, but for the moment he was enjoying the energy and enthusiasm that the crowd was giving off, and as the band members lowered their hands and he watched them rearrange themselves for the first song, he decided he didn't really mind having to wait until after the concert. Watching Arthur perform might just make this whole night a hell of a lot more exciting, and that was saying something.