REMINDER: This story is rated T for dubcon, derogatory language, and anti-Semitism. If this makes you uncomfortable please do not read. This is a fictitious story about fictitious characters. The actions depicted in the story DO NOT reflect who I am as a person.
Henry has been looking for him and Stan thought he was saving himself the trouble by slipping out the back a good half hour after the bell had sounded off. His plan was going fine until he rounded a corner and ran face first into Patrick Hockstetter. Before Stan had half a mind to run for his life, the older boy snatched the kippah off his head. Stan scrambled for a moment, clutching at the place his kippah once sat, and panicked.
Stan gaped at the bully towering over him as Patrick held his kippah just out of reach and dangled it in a mocking manner. It wasn't the first time Patrick or Belch or Henry had grabbed it off of him to either burn it or throw it away, but this time Patrick only seemed adamant on teasing him. Still, it didn't stop Stan from jumping up in a futile attempt to try and get it back.
"Give it back, Patrick!" Stan pleaded, curls bouncing as he jumped up and down.
"But you look so cute!" Patrick laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself at the expense of Stan's distress. "Aw, your cheeks are getting all red!"
Patrick held out his free hand and pressed it against Stan's forehead and the top of his head to keep him at arm's length. Stan begged and grappled with Patrick, nearly on the verge of tears as his face became ruddy and hot with fear. It only made Patrick cackle more with how desperate and pathetic Stan looked. Stan was always his favorite to torment. He was just too awkward and adorable, especially when he was distraught and begging.
"Why do you Jews wear this silly thing anyway? It doesn't even stay on your head," Patrick insulted ignorantly, regarding the small cap with an amused smirk.
"Please! My dad will kill me!" Stan cried and this, surprisingly, made Patrick relent a little.
"You really need it that bad?" Patrick inquired, sparing Stan for a moment to take in the pleasing sight of the Jewish boy's watery eyes and rosy cheeks.
"Y-yeah," Stan hiccuped, bottom lip quivering slightly.
"Tell ya what. I'll trade ya for it," Patrick told him with a sly smirk.
"What do you want?" Stan found himself asking without taking into account what Patrick might imply by that.
He didn't really care at this point. Patrick was giving him a chance to get his kippah back and Stan wasn't about to ignore that.
"Nothing you can't give me," Patrick said vaguely.
He reached out and cupped Stan's face in his hand, framing his chin perfectly as his thumb and fingers squeezed Stan's cheeks tenderly. Stan gazed up at him with wide, innocent eyes, nervous as to why Patrick was staring at him so funny. Patrick lived for moments like this. Stan was like a frightened animal, scared and confused by the looming presence of danger that was Patrick.
"You're not going to make me do something embarrassing are you?" Stan asked with a hint of dread.
"No, no, no! Of course not," Patrick tutted with a gentle tone that somehow sounded wrong coming from a person like him. "In fact, it's something you can give to me right now."
"What is it?" Stan pressed, swallowing nervously as Patrick shifted closer to him.
"I want you to give me a kiss," Patrick stated, letting go of Stan's face to play with the unruly curls atop the boy's head.
The boy's hair was soft despite looking like a mess that was perpetually pushed to one side. Patrick twirled the curls that acted as Stan's bangs with his long fingers, grinning like a shark when he saw the obvious confusion etched on the boy's features.
"But I don't have any chocolate on me," Stan said carefully, incredibly puzzled by Patrick's request.
"Not the Hershey candy, you nimrod," Patrick deadpanned with an irritated growl low in his throat. His mood shifted a little, teetering on the border of annoyance and patience. "I'm talking about first base."
"I knew that," Stan lied, feeling stupid at how naive he really was.
"You look like you don't even know what hugging is," Patrick snorted in disbelief.
"I do too," Stan argued.
"Then do it," Patrick challenged, backing Stan up into a wall. "Kiss me."
"You're just going to punch me if I try," Stan complained, stalling for time.
"Only one way to find out," Patrick taunted. He could see the uncertainty playing across Stan's face. Like he was having second thoughts. Patrick rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I'm not gonna trick you."
It was hard to tell if Patrick was being truthful or not. Any other given time and Stan would call his bluff, but the look in Patrick's eyes was impatient and feral in a way.
"Isn't…" Stan trailed off, mulling over the right words so as not to piss Patrick off even more. "Isn't that weird, though?"
"Is what weird?" Patrick questioned in a dangerously low tone as he bent down to get into Stan's face.
"Boys aren't supposed to kiss each other, right?" Stan posed in a question.
His voice cracked and it was painfully obvious how uncertain he sounded, but the comment didn't seem to anger Patrick. Although, Stan definitely noticed the shift in Patrick's posture at the insinuation. Patrick had a hand planted on the brick wall beside Stan's head, invading the boy's space until their noses were nearly touching. Stan is both in awe and scared shitless.
"Just because you're not supposed to, doesn't mean you can't," Patrick told him earnestly, brushing the curls out of Stan's face.
"Why would I want to?" Stan asked, sparing a careful glance down at his kippah in Patrick's hand.
"Because it's fun, duh. Why do people do anything?" Patrick scoffed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"My dad says-"
"Yeah, well, your daddy isn't here is he? And if you go home without this he'll kill you. Remember?" Patrick reiterated, holding up Stan's kippah. "Do you want your dumb hat back or not?"
"Promise you'll give it back?" Stan croaked.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Patrick murmured, drawing an X over his chest. Stan stared at him incredulously, like he was unconvinced. "I won't even tell Henry I ran into you. It'll be our little secret."
"Okay," Stan squeaked with a small and meek voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll kiss you," Stan concurred, looking at his kippah then back up to the taller boy. Stan swallowed and mustered up all the courage he could and stared Patrick down. "I'll kiss you."
"Then what are you waiting for?" Patrick said, unmoving from where he was.
Stan took this as his cue to deliver on his end of the bargain, but nerves got the better of him and he paused for a brief moment. Patrick was still in his face, breath creeping down his neck, and smirking as his eyes gleamed with excitement. Stan stood up on the tips of his toes and gave Patrick a peck on the lips, blushing even from the slightest bit of contact.
"What was that?" Patrick laughed, almost amused.
"A kiss?" Stan offered weakly.
"You been practising on your daddy?" Patrick mocked. He cupped Stan's face like he had before and leaned in. "This is how you kiss someone."
Without giving Stan a moment to comprehend what was about to happen, Patrick Hockstetter planted his lips firmly over Stan's. Stan stumbled forward slightly, being swept away in a kiss that is ultimately both parts bruising and breathtaking. Stan brought his hands up and pushed against Patrick's chest in a futile attempt to distance himself, but his legs give out and he crumbled into the taller boy instead.
The act of kissing itself left Stan feeling lightheaded and swooning into Patrick for support. Patrick caught Stan with an arm around his waist and held him tightly against his body as he deepened the kiss. Stan gasped, unknowingly granting Patrick access to his mouth, and clutched at the taller boy's shirt. He made a mmph sound as he embraced the feeling of Patrick moving his mouth against his and rolled with the punches.
One of Patrick's hands found its way to the back of his head to keep him in place. The sensation of Patrick's tongue brushing against his was jarring at first, seeing as how he's never kissed anyone before, but despite Patrick depriving him of air it was surprisingly very nice for lack of a better word. It left a weird queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind he would associate with guilt for lying to his father, but this was somehow different.
It wasn't exactly guilt he was experiencing as Patrick sucked the life out of him, but rather the overwhelming sensation of hot shame and embarrassment. Embarrassed because he could feel his shorts tightening and shame because of that, as well as thinking about what his father would say to him if he could see him now. Sucking face with the local psychopath Patrick Hockstetter. He would never live it down if the guys saw him either.
Kissing Patrick felt wrong for plenty of reasons, like the aforementioned ones, but at the same time it excited him though he couldn't really say why. Patrick was holding him tight and laying sloppy kisses against Stan's mouth. One of Patrick's knobby knees slid in between Stan's thighs and rubbed into the smaller boy's groin. Stan squirmed slightly, the action marginally uncomfortable, but his body was responding nonetheless much to Stan's confusion.
Stan never really thought about girls, let alone boys, and he never indulged in acts that Richie has no doubt explained to him in graphic detail. He had more important things to worry about like memorizing passages that will one day make him a man. But then there was Patrick Hockstetter, who had stolen the kippah right off his head and held it for ransom. A ransom that Stan, apparently, had no problem with paying.
At one point, Stan swore he could feel Patrick's hand creeping down the small of his back, but he was so dizzy from the messy kissing and lack of oxygen that Stan didn't know for sure. He was also too embarrassed to acknowledge whether or not Patrick could feel the compromising boner trapped in his shorts, but it didn't seem to matter.
Patrick let go of him and pried his lips from Stan's just as the Jewish boy was beginning to embrace this new feeling of hot shame washing over him. The loss of Patrick's embrace left him reeling and weak in knees. The neglected arousal in his pants throbbed incessantly and his skin itched in the places Patrick had touched him. Patrick smirked down at him, taking in the wonderful sight of Stan's red cheeks and shiny saliva slick lips. He also noticed the pathetic little tent in Stan's shorts and it made him laugh a little.
"You have a roll of pennies in your pants, Uris?" Patrick teased. "Or did they just chop too much off when they circumcised you?"
The jab prompted Stan to cover his groin with both of his hands and hang his head down as he was ridiculed. Somehow Patrick's mean words didn't faze him as much as they should've because all he could think about was having the older boy's tongue in his mouth. He still didn't know what to feel about the whole situation. Patrick was an insensitive creep and he's hurt him and the other guys plenty of times. Yet, in his time of dire need, Stan's body had betrayed him.
"I'm sorry," Stan apologized, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. It was just the first natural response he could muster.
"What for? That shit is hilarious!" Patrick hooted, slapping his knee to let out a side splitting laugh. He clutched at his stomach as he doubled over in exaggerated laughter. "It's actually almost cute in a sad, pathetic way."
"Can I have my kippah back, please?" Stan asked in a quiet, meek voice that was thick with embarrassment. "You promised."
"This stupid thing?" Patrick remarked, holding up the floppy, circular cap with a judging look. He held it out towards Stan, but pulled away just as the boy was about to take it. "This stays between us. If you tell a single soul what happened I'll burn this dumb thing while it's still on your head, you get me?"
"Yes," Stan agreed without hesitation.
"Good. Now get lost before I change my mind and string you up on the flagpole naked so everyone can see your little baby dick," Patrick dismissed crudely, throwing the kippah in Stan's face, making the boy scramble to catch it.
"Thank you," Stan gushed, avoiding eye contact with Patrick at all costs before taking this as his cue to run off.
Stan ran as far away and as fast as he could, leaving the school and Patrick Hockstetter in the dust. He was in such a hurry to get home that he didn't even realize he'd forgotten his bike. He just let his feet carry him all the way home as he clutched his kippah to his chest, hoping that he wouldn't run into Henry Bowers on the way. Running away from a person like Henry was just postponing the inevitable. He would catch up to him sooner or later and then it would be over. He couldn't, however, run away from the way Patrick had made him feel.
And that was probably the scariest thing of all.