-TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR: MILD VIOLENCE, NSFW CONTENT. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.-

The slam of a door, the brief flicker of a motion-detected light as it turns on in the empty classroom. No, you're not here for a private discussion with a teacher, or a quiet place to gossip. You're not even grabbing something from class.

What you are doing, of course, is no better. You'd needed someplace away from the teacher eye to continue a 'discussion' of sorts with Eridan, though you were sure that at one point or another you were going to rip his stupid fins off. You're not going to lie and say that you give two shits about the hemospectrum, but if he says one more goddamn thing about how you're scum because of what you bleed you are going to flip your shit clean off of the fucking griddle.

"I can't be seen back here with you. Everyone's probably wonderin' where I went. People could assume a lot of things about this, you know, and I'd rather not be even somewhat associated with your name. It'll sully my reputation as soon as we're mentioned in the same fuckin' sentence," he rattles, sitting on one of the desks like he owns the damn place.

"Sully your reputation, huh? You mean the fact that you're renowned school wide as the grade A douche of the year, no trophy necessary? Are you scared that being associated with me will kick your social status up a notch, or what," you say, taking a step towards him. If this asshole doesn't watch himself, these next few seconds are going to be very painful for him.

"Yeah, sully my fuckin' reputation. Stop spittin'. If your stupid teeth make it so you can't avoid that disgustin' speech impediment, at least look slightly away while you're doin' it so it doesn't get in my face. I might catch your disease."

You can't help but quirk a brow at that. "Disease?"

"Yeah, disease. No internal force would make anyone as shitty as you. It's gotta be somethin' viral," he says with this matter-of-fact tone about him.

That bastard. You're a pretty patient guy, but you're grinding your oversized freak teeth with every heinous syllable coming out of his mouth. What makes Eridan think he's got the right to mock you for something that you're not even capable of controlling? There's only one way you can think of to retaliate. Sticking your bifurcated tongue out, you blow the spittiest, wettest, loudest raspberry that's ever slipped past your lips right in his face.

"You fuckin' asshole! You're disgusting, you know that? Stop it, you goddamn FREAK!" he flails, falling back a little on the four desks grouped together.

You're not expecting the kick to the stomach, for sure.

You stand there for a second, clutching your abdomen, completely dazed. Did he really just...? Yeah. Yeah, he did, you realize; the blunt general pain in your middle area finally clicks. Before you can really think about what's going on, you've got the fucker pinned against the four desks with psionics, his hands on either side of his head and his legs dangling off of the edge at the knees.

"Let me GO, you fuckin' pissblood! You think just 'cause you'v-ve got some special glow-wy pow-wers you can take me ov-ver?! It's NOT FUCKIN' HAPPENIN'," he snarls, flopping his head this way and that while struggling under your hold.

"Heheh," you approach him so your knees are brushing, leaning down and getting right in his face, one hand on either side of his head but just barely avoiding touching his own hands. His breaths are shallow now, and without that false bravado he's got usually he looks almost timid, like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe a fish caught in the boat propeller? Okay, that comparison got away from you. "What's wrong, fishdick?"

"Get offa me! Yeah, I fuckin' get it, I'm bein' an asshole to you for technically no reason, but I'm not apologizin', so lay off, w-will you? Maybe I w-won't kick your ass if you let me go now-w." It's now that you start to notice a stutter slipping in. He's always had a way of drawing out some consonants and freezing up mid-sentence, but now that he's got nothing to hide behind it becomes blatantly clear. Huh. It's actually pretty funny, especially considering how badly he mocks you because you have a little trouble pronouncing a hard 's' while he's got this horrible stutter he has to keep in check. You wonder what else he's keeping private.

His eyes are forced shut, fins lowered in submission as he turns his head away from you. "Let me go, Sol. You're probably makin' my whole uniform reek just from your proximity."

Welp, there goes the intrigue. He's still an asshole, snapping like a cornered animal. What's he trying to do, exactly?

You lean forward just a little more so your breath is making the delicate skin of his purple-tinted fin flutter. He shivers under you, from what you can feel with the 'sixth sense' you get with your psionics holding him in place. You stick out your bifurcated tongue yet again. It'd be so easy now to move just a tad further down and lick that fin, just to feel the texture under your tongue.

Wait, what the fuck? Ew, that's the grossest thought you've ever had. If you didn't hate yourself before, you sure as hell hate yourself now. That niggling voice in the back of your mind that always produces the worst ideas really needs to die, you note.

It's like time froze, you with your tongue ghosting just a centimeter above Eridan's fragile fin and him trapped under you, unable to do anything aside from breathing heavily and spitting curses at you.

Of course, this odd moment between moments is bound to end at one point or another, and you acknowledge this with your piece de resistance, A.K.A blowing a raspberry straight into his sponge clot.

The sheer strength of the force he exerts trying to wriggle out of your grip is shocking, though you have no right to be so surprised by it. First off, he's a highblood with physical abilities which were always set at a higher bar than yours regardless of what you wanted to believe. Second off, the guy definitely works out plenty. You sometimes see him doing laps in the pool before school is even close to beginning, tearing through the water with a passion you've never seen on his face at any other time, even during history class which he claims to see as the most important subject in school.

Not that you watch him.

That'd be creepy.

But you're digressing. He keeps writhing until you need to pull back to laugh at him in such a vulnerable state (and catch your breath, blowing raspberries is hard work), and even then he doesn't stop, his voice getting louder and more insistent as he realizes you could keep him here indefinitely.

"Come on, Sol, let me go! You'v-ve had your fun, you'v-ve pissed all ov-ver my dignity, and you'v-ve rev-veled in your ow-wn goddamn sadism. Now-w just..." He's panicking, that much is obvious. Now that you look at him, it's kind of pathetic how frantic he is. The poor bastard almost looks lost in a way, swallowing and gasping for air between frightened spastic episodes.

"Hey, calm down," you feel the words slip out of your lips before you can think about them, but as soon as you see his previously forced-shut eyes open and flame at you you realize you made the wrong decision.

"Calm dow-wn? ME, CALM DOW-WN?! I'LL CALM DOW-WN AS SOON AS YOU LET ME GO AN' LEAV-VE ME ALONE! Maybe I fuckin' need some time alone, an' you're bein' one HELL of a nuisance w-with it!" he screams, and if you weren't absolutely sure about the thickness of these walls you'd be worried a student (or worse, a teacher) would come in.

You shut his mouth for him, though he's still screaming. You can feel his tongue pressing hard against the back of his straight, razor-sharp teeth, but it's at least shut him up. You're almost starting to feel shitty now, leaving him like this. Then again, if you were to let him go, he'd probably do worse than kick you in the stomach.

"I'm keeping you down for a reason, asshole. You shouldn't have kicked me. You're fucking with the wrong guy here. I thought you knew better," you say in a scolding tone, wanting all this to just be over. Ugh, you're getting a headache.

You can't help but admire Eridan's persistence in spite of the fact that it's completely and utterly hopeless for him. However, you can't just let the shitlord get away scot-free. There's got to be some sort of retribution, especially considering you're still queasy and you can feel a nasty bruise already beginning to form. It turns out that he kicks hard.

That's when an idea strikes you. Eye for an eye, right? Plus, you're not even that strong, so it isn't going to hurt him too bad-

Wait, since when do you care about whether or not he hurts? You release the psionics on his face as you sock him in the stomach with your fist so you can hear him yelp in...

Was that a moan?

Oh shit, that was most certainly a moan. Well, more of a shout, actually, drawn out and guttural, but it's definitely not the noise you'd expect from someone getting punched in the gut. But here Eridan is, laying back on the desks with this expression of the utmost horror on his face.

"What the fuck was- Oh." You cut yourself off as you look even further down, noticing the massive wet spot soaking Eridan's gray uniform pants violet. Two things could have happened here. One, he pissed himself.

And two... Well, judging by the noise he made and the look on his mug now, two is what happened. He's breathing heavily, hips twitching a little on nothing almost desperately.

"Sol... Don't... Don't you fuckin dare speak of this to ANYONE," he sounds utterly mortified, his eyes wide as he tries to hide himself, though it's not really working seeing that he's held in place.

"Did I just... y'know..." You can't even start to fathom how you're supposed to phrase this. No fucking shit you just 'you know'. It's written all over Eridan's post-orgasmic face, all over the spasming of his fins even now as his body winds down, all over the heavy exhales passing his slightly parted lips, and most certainly all over the genetic material dyeing his pants a new color.

You just, y'know. Punched a guy and made him jizz his pants as a result.

Eridan's conflicted, obviously. On one hand, he's dealing with the afterglow, but on the other he's exposed himself completely to someone who hates his guts and would be happy to see him rot in hell.

"Let me go," is all he can say, and you actually comply this time. You can't even find it in yourself to be worried about how it's practically certain that he's going to beat you to death as soon as he can get his hands around your neck. You take a step back from the scene of your accidental crime, staring at the whiteboard to your left.

In the upper right corner, there's a bit of green marker that wasn't erased. You focus on that, offering Eridan just a little more dignity and opening yourself up to his attacks, should they come. You deserve them.

They don't come, though. Eridan stays lying there for ten long seconds, and you can hear his chest heaving with every breath in and out that he takes. Finally, though, you hear him sit up, readjust his glasses, run a hand through his violet-streaked hair. He sighs long and slow, though you're still staring at that errant green mark.

"So w-when're you plannin' on laughin'?" he asks, voice completely drained of all passion. It's almost like he's dried out, shriveled and cracked and waiting for the next blow. You've never heard anything that's made your pusher ache more.

You don't reply.

"W-well, come on. Eri got slugged and squirted ev-veryw-where. I'm ready w-when you are. W-wanna take a picture to show-w ev-veryone? 'M already a fuckin' joke, let's just solidify it w-while w-we're at it."

You swallow down your guilt, shaking your head a little. You're not sure if he's looking at you or not, but you aren't going to let him live through this humiliation. Even you aren't that cruel.

"ED."

"Sol."

"We have to get you cleaned up."

"No fuckin' shit."