Tired
[A/N: Here's some food for thought: could someone kill themselves by locking themselves in a garage with a Hybrid? I think they could, it would just take a very, very long time. It would essentially be starving themselves to death…
This chapter delves a little more into the horrible life of everybody's favorite hermit. He just can't catch a break…]
"Kowaski!" The English teacher was shouting at Peter, but he only vaguely recognized it.
He hadn't been able to sleep properly for about a week. The nights he had spent in Gary's room did nothing for his restlessness, one interrupted by violence, the other by Gary kicking him to the floor. Apparently, there was nothing that the sadist hated more than waking next to with someone else, though Pete always rested unbelievably well in his presence. It was confusing, the way his torturer made him feel somehow safe.
When the slurred voice prodded at his ears, Peter realized that he had been sleeping. It wasn't uncommon for him to doze off during class, and because he was intelligent enough to turn in his work without strenuous coaxing, most of the teachers turned a blind eye. Mr. Galloway must have been in a bad mood, and had chosen to pick on him.
"Yeah?" The slender male slurred out, sounding just as drunk as the teacher who was sipping from a coffee mug that fooled no one.
"How do you- how do you spell 'extract'?" The teacher tried, staring at the teen with intensity he couldn't take seriously.
"Why don't you shove it, teach?" Peter glanced around the room, wondering exactly who had spoken, or rather, where the sound had come from.
The instructor staggered backwards and turned with sloppy motions, moving so that he was no longer looming over Pete. There Gary was, leaning on Mr. Galloway's desk with one arm, a bottle of liquor hanging vicariously from his other hand. He had this grin on his face that made Peter's head light; pure, unadulterated joy, coupled only by a hint of evil behind the mask he held up so perfectly.
"Give that back!" The teacher shouted briskly, and Gary faux-dropped the bottle, catching it with an amused laugh.
The class was in uproar. Everybody knew about their English teacher's drinking problem, but the only people with the authority to point it out never showed up to class. Everybody but Jimmy, that was, but he was watched like a hawk. Peter immediately stood from his seat and left the chaos of balled-up papers and shouting, slipping out unnoticed by everyone but Gary, who had probably shown up to the said classroom to meet with him.
Gary was the last person Peter wanted to see. After their failed discussion, the broken promise, and Pete actually managing to avoid him for a while, the dainty male resolved to forget the whole ordeal. That was impossible, of course, but if he stuffed those thoughts deeply enough into his subconscious, everything would be perfectly alright.
He hurried down the hallway, walking towards his locker, which was about as secure as having his things in the open, but he didn't have much valuable property left anyways. When he made it to the battered metal, he pressed his forehead against it, then smashed his head forward, proclaiming unhappily at the pain. He was utterly muddled, incapable of rational thought, torn between right and wrong.
The solution was so easy; just stop. Become invisible, disappear, but that wasn't happening. There was the problem of his libido, too, which was insistent and bitterly stubborn when it came to Gary. He hated him, loved him, hated that he loved him. Without realizing it, he hit his head against the locker again, whimpering. His legs became weak and he crumpled to the floor, wrapped into a ball of shivering weakness.
There was a tug on the back of his sweater, then he was yanked upwards, shoved roughly into the locker. His attacker was completely silent, slipping his hand into Pete's back pockets and coming up empty. The dainty male was totally still, hands on either side of him, complacent. If this person was searching his pockets, he wouldn't protest; not like he had anything of value.
The hand stuffed into his front pocket on the left side, the other moving from its place on the back of Peter's neck to yank on his arm, twisting it painfully. He grunted, arching away to try and relax the grip, which was tearing on his shoulder blade, but it was to no avail. His other empty pocket was yanked out of his pants, white fabric puffing up against khakis, and there was a roar of frustration behind him.
"Where the fuck is it!?" The stranger asked, and something in Peter's stomach dropped when he realized it wasn't Gary who was almost-molesting him.
"Where is what?" He replied, sounding apathetic, mostly because of exhaustion.
"Don't you play dumb, you little shit! I know you have it!" His arm was wrenched a little higher and Peter coughed to hide the stabbing pain.
There was a hand on the back of his head, and his face was shoved into the locker in front of him, making his vision go blurry and his knees buckle. He managed to stand when the pain in his arm yanked him from the haze of sleep that was threatening to take over. There was warm copper in his mouth, and he opened his eyes to see a splotchy smear of red on his locker. He probably had a nose bleed.
"I'm serious, I don't know what you're talking about." There was something so pitiful and tired in his voice.
"You should listen to the little faggot." That delicious voice rang through Peter's damaged head like church bells, and he smiled, his worry faded.
"What's it to you?" This person was confronting Gary, and the pain in Pete's arm melted away. With nothing to hold him up, he flopped to the ground, gently massaging his shoulder.
"What are you missing? Perhaps I can help you look for it." The sadist's tone was silky smooth, and Peter knew that could only mean rage.
"Well, I heard this little punk- Ack!" Pete rolled onto his side weakly, just in time to see Gary land a well-aimed kick to his attacker's groin.
The bully – someone Pete recognized but couldn't name – crumpled to his knees, only to have a knee meet his face, landing him on his back with a groan. Gary was grinning above him with a familiar glint in his dark eyes, and Pete had seen enough. He stood shakily from where he was, dizzy from the abuse his head had suffered, and shuffled in the other direction.
He could hear a conversation of threats and apologies behind him, but he had made his way to the staircase before anything terrible happened to the person who had been caught damaging Gary's property. Violence made Pete weary, and he was weak on a good day.
There were heavy footsteps behind him on the stairs, and his knuckles turned white as they grabbed onto the railing for dear life. Gary's scent was just in his reach, and he had to hold back the urge to lean into it. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, glancing at it to see the damage and frowning sadly. The crimson liquid was wet, and had drizzled down the front of his shirt. Wonderful.
"You okay?" Gary asked, but they both knew he didn't really care.
"Just tired." Pete replied, and his voice reflected the truth.
"You might have a concussion. You shouldn't be alone for at least 24 hours; just to be sure you don't die in your sleep." There was something sinister in Gary's words, and a shiver ran down Peter's spine.
Like Gary would ever consider playing nurse, or Peter would trust him to. The thought of needles would have probably given him unpleasant ideas, and all Pete wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep for the rest of his life. Uninterrupted by sexual deviants, preferably.
"Go away, Gary." He snapped when he was at the large front entrance of the school, and he tried his best to look fierce when he glared up at the taller male.
Gary pressed his hand almost lovingly against his face, brushing a finger over lips that puckered for him unconsciously. He smirked, victorious, at the little action that was – for all intents and purposes – an invitation. He pulled his now-bloodied hand away from the battered teen and opened the door with a sharp shove, beckoning his companion forward.
"Let's get you to bed, now." He totally ignored the demand, pushing on the small of Peter's back when he hesitated to go first.
The walk back to the dorm was uncomfortable. Even Gary could barely stand the tension, obviously stemming from Peter's anger, perhaps enhanced by his sleep deprivation. He looked terrible; circles under his eyes, body wracked with the occasional fit of shivers. He had gotten to the point where his thought processes stopped making sense, and he held tightly onto any emotion that gave him any bit of clarity. He hated Gary, that was an undisputable fact, and no amount of hormones could change that fact.
Not even if he was making an expression that made Peter want to curl into himself, or the occasional brush of a perfectly chiseled arm against his shoulder. He would hate him, he would deny him, and he would – above all – refuse the lust that was flooding his own body at the thought of returning to his room with the sadist he had luscious dreams about.
The minute he was at his door, Peter turned towards his companion, who was grinning sheepishly, but had a very wolf-like glint in his eyes. He turned the knob, refusing to break the gaze, and opened his mouth to speak.
"Leave." He said, and though it sounded sure, it was really the only thing he could get out.
It was World War III in Peter's brain. He had the desperate desire for sleep that hadn't left him for a rather long time, a twisting in his gut that wanted to flee away from the predator standing before him, and an ache in a much less innocent place that wanted to ravish Gary. The best thing for him to do was to be curt, short, and aggressive with his desire to be alone, only the desire was slowly fading.
"No." Gary's reply mirrored the attempt at intimidation, only he was much more practiced.
"Yes. Out." Peter whined as he was being walked backwards.
Gary was moving closer to him, and Pete was moving away. They were in his room, the natural light casting an unpleasant glow from the angle of the sun adding to Peter's discomfort. The back of his knees hit his bed, and Gary slammed the door behind them, not bothering to lock it. The younger male fell with a yelp onto the mattress, looking away from the dangerously enticing orbs that were stabbing into him.
"I have to make you all better, Petey. Whether you like it or not." Gary purred with the tone he knew would strike the dainty male.
Gary leaned over him, one knee pressing against Pete's groin, hands supporting himself on either side of the smaller teen's head. He breathed tantalizingly on Peter's neck, nipping softly at his Adam's apple, making the boy under him shiver and huff. He pushed uselessly on Gary's chest, but he was so tired, his arms refusing to work for him, and the throbbing in his pants didn't help either.
It was so warm, pleasant, his head spinning when Gary rubbed the top of his thigh against his growing arousal. He resigned, dropping his hands back to the mattress and letting the older teen push his shirt upwards and attack his chest with his teeth. The knee was replaced with an aggressive hand, Pete panting weakly at the stimulation, a rough tongue flicking over a nipple. His hands, which were shaking and powerless, tugged at chestnut hair.
"Gary, stop." He tried, but his hips were gently pressing into his hand, the arousal obvious through khakis.
"Oh, hush. You love it." The other male replied easily, moving so that his face was hovering over Peter's.
"No. Stop, please." His voice sounded pleading and tired. So, so tired.
Gary kissed him, Pete locking his mouth closed but wanting more than anything to return the affection with slow fervor. Gary didn't kiss him often; it was a kind, loving action, something that had only since been initiated by the smaller of the two. The kisses - gentle, fleeting pecks - were a tactic for trying to get him to open up, and Peter was failing to hold his own.
With one calloused hand, Gary explored the all-to-supple chest that was exposed to him, darting out his tongue to wiggle it past tight lips. Peter wasn't strong enough to resist the wet, prodding muscle and opened his mouth to let Gary in. The fingers that were laced through dark hair tightened, pulling him forward and locking their mouths together. He was groaning and bucking against a forceful hand, panting through his nose, and Gary had taken to rubbing himself against Pete's calf.
The two males ground against each other roughly, Gary yanking away from the sloppy, needy kiss to smirk down at him sadistically. He pulled away from him, weak fingers slipping out from dark hair. Peter blinked slowly, showing only mild discomfort and overpowering sleepiness.
"You still want me to go?" He asked, both of his hands planted on Peter's knees, parting his thighs.
"Do whatever you want…" The other male replied bitterly, and Gary frowned.
"What's wrong with you? You usually put up a fight." The sadist stared down quizzically, eyebrows knotted.
"I'm tired." Peter said blandly, managing to ignore the pain in his lower abdomen, protesting the denial.
"Go to sleep, then. I don't need you lucid to take what I want." The words made the breath leave Peter's chest, and he whimpered gently when his pants were yanked past his hips.
"Just a warning, I'm going in dry…" Gary couldn't help the glee in his tone, and Peter couldn't help his muted dread.
His underwear was tugged down, the clothing tossed away. Gary was rubbing his prominent arousal against Pete, who pressed back without realizing it, throbbing. There was a sick grin on the older male's face, and his zipped clicked slowly downwards.
"Don't, please don't…" Peter pleaded, too weak to fight him off, too heated to care.
"You had your chance, useless little bitch." And he was in him.
The pain was thrilling. Pete cried out, the noise choked and small, hand scratching against Gary's front. There was fabric in the way, and he wanted to dig his nails into scarred skin, leave his own marks, but his mind had stopped working. He was pressing down against every excruciating thrust, Gary hitting against his prostate, the pain adding to the euphoria. He must have been some kind of masochist; nobody reacted to being torn apart from the inside out like he was.
Gary was grunting with every thrust. The friction was delicious, and he couldn't help but love the pained, battered expression on Pete's face. It was contorted; mouth hanging open, eyes clamped shut, tears struggling out of their confines. Gary shoved forward roughly, a cry leaving Peter's mouth, unhinged and shameless.
"All I get is… Fuck… Dead fish Petey." His words were separated by relentless, merciless thrusts, his nails digging into the younger male's thighs.
The abuse was escalating. It was as though Gary really had been holding back, like their previous rendezvous had been preparing him for the real sadist, the person grunting gently above him. The worst part of it was that Peter loved every second of it. The burning pain struck him in waves of twisted euphoria, the forcefulness - totally void of any bit of compassion - made the struggling teen throb with thrill. He found himself close much faster than either of them guessed and was soon climaxing against Gary's clothed chest, but he wanted more.
Gary slowed down, letting the other boy fall from his indescribable high, but there were legs wrapped around his hips and he was shoved forward. The older male groaned with pleasure, returning to his previous rhythm and falling forward. His chin was pressed against the nape of Peter's neck, breathing raggedly into his ear and attempting to speak, but was suddenly at Peter's whims. There was a hand that had found its strength and was yanking at Gary's hair, leading their mouths together. When their teeth clashed, both groaned, Gary's nerves reverberating from the force.
Gary had sped up his movements, and Pete was using the legs that were wrapped around his waist to lift himself into the thrusts. When the scarred teen's tongue slipped past lips that were puffy from harsh kissing, he bit down hard enough to send shocked elation through Gary, and he practically melted. Pulling away from the kiss, Peter led the sadist's head a bit higher, fingers still tangled in dark locks, until his teeth dug into the tender skin of a scarred throat, Gary shoving into him and holding it for a moment. He then wracked both of their bodies, the bed protesting loudly at the force, with a series of untamed motions, Peter finding himself in rapture again and the older boy releasing inside him.
There was a moment of strenuous breathing, Peter limp on his back with a heaving sadist on top of him, just as spent. He stood on shaking legs and admired his handiwork with a tired smirk, walking to the door and leaning against it for support. He readjusted his clothing and smoothed out his messy hair before looking the beautiful sight over again and staring down at himself. With a satisfied chuckle, he pulled the now-dirty sweater vest he was wearing over his head, throwing it at the mostly-naked male. It hit Peter's knee, then crumpled to the floor.
"Think of it as a parting gift." Gary slurred out before leaving, but Pete was too tired to be angry.
After so long without proper rest, the dainty male pulled the sheet from where it had been neatly tucked, lazily covering his bare form, and fell into a proper rest without so much as a position change. Gary did the same, landing face-first on his own bed and dozing into warm darkness. It was the middle of the day, and he still had plotting to do, but his body was refusing to listen to his mind's demands and went out on him completely.