Boundless students filtered in from the entrances, packing it full of bodies, though it wasn't as if their cafeteria was all that big to begin with. Looking in, the dull flicker of fluorescent lights above wasn't kind on the eyes, the school itself bearing the brunt of its age, progressively worse as the years carried on, though he couldn't he cared all that much, finding it somehow just a bit more inviting than the place he called home. Some would say that that was the worse part, the sickly green-white light, or the food, that bordered on inedible for the average student, most of it poorly put together slop for a fraction of the cost the school would have to pay for higher quality meals, and so, many opted out of getting the poisonous sludge, choosing instead to bring their own lunches or anything else that would satisfy their hunger.
But Dash couldn't say that he had that option, really.
He knew the rules well, so he made due with what he had, which wasn't much, he realized, ignoring the faint dizziness that bit at the edges of his vision, threatening to send him forward with a tired stumble before he could catch himself, throwing himself upright as he held a hand to his stomach, it grumbling loudly to the aroma permeating from the room, and he didn't hesitate to step forward into the opening, knowing that this might be his only opportunity to do so for a while, or at least, as far as he could tell it would be, trying his hardest to ignore that terrible pain that erupted along his abdomen at the thought, as if his stomach begged to be filled.
If Kwan were willing to do it for him, that is.
Steeling himself against the brush of cool air circulating, he entered the cafeteria, scanning the room for the four others in his party. After a moment, he felt the crumple of paper in his hand capture his attention, spreading it out to look at the words upon it (not having had the chance to look at it up until this point as he had tried his hardest to ignore it up, knowing full well what it said).
It soured his expression thinking about it, recalling the end of their class just a few moments prior.
That bell was just as irritating as he remembered it, but it seemed all the more relieving to the other students, all of whom stood from their chairs and the idle chatter began, the slamming of lockers and the faint aroma of food distantly making Dash salivate at the notion. Beside him, Kwan didn't move for a bit, but was look at something on his cellphone, looking as new and pristine as he always had as he seemed to be texting someone, nimble fingers soaring across the keyboard.
Tap, tap, he went, and with a well-meaning shrug, he bid the two of them adieu, and dashed out of the door.
No pun intended, of course.
Calling him to the front of the room was that nasally voice, but it didn't hold that warm cadence it did with most other students. Cold was the beckoning from what felt like miles in front but he, too, stood up anyway, closing the distance between them until he was stopped by Falluca, holding up his hand in a simple stopping gesture, no words to be said, standing there for those few, awkward, tense moments as the older man went to sit back at his desk, regarding the boy with a bored stare.
He hated when people looked at him like that.
"You do know why I have asked you to stay behind, don't you, Mr. Baxter?" Dash, admittedly, did know exactly why, looking at the stack of finely graded, printed sheets of the other students' work in comparison to his sloppy notebook paper, the contrast would have been comedic if it weren't so pitiful to see.
So pitiful that he felt his lips upturn into a sort of odd, disbelieving smile at his own lack of effort. How could he not? It was hilarious, in a weird way.
But the teacher in front of him didn't look so amused, his frown deepening as the boy's own smile fell.
'Wrong time, Dash.' He reminded himself sharply.
"Yeah, I, uh, guess I do. I'm assuming it has somethin' to do with that, right?" Pointing to the ragged sheets in his teacher's hands, the older man sighed before setting them upon the desk, the ugly shapes of red marker lining his eyes before he read what it said.
"Now, you see, Mr. Baxter, you've put me in a pretty tight spot here, you see. You can clearly see why I had to give you the grade that I did, right? I can't say that I was asking too much of you all when I gave you that assignment last year..." Trailing off, the man looked at him expectantly over the rim of his glasses, training his vision on the averted blues that wavered with no answer, the boy's lips pressing tighter together as any excuse he could have given died out on his tongue.
No, it wasn't too much to ask, was it?
For a moment, he trained his eyes about the classroom, skimming along various papers and posters, most bearing some version of a math-based pun, a tip or trick, or the like, with many going the head of the latter. Evenly spaced-out desks allowed the students a bit of foot room to lean into the aisle, but not much more than that. Turning back around, Falluca looked impatient, with what called him back being the indignant tap of his pen against the mottled but polished wood. It was angry at him, those small but piercing eyes making him feel tiny, unconsciously shrinking back as his eyes traveled anywhere but where the little pinpricks of green lied.
What was he saying?
"N-no, sir...it wasn't too much-," Falluca stepped in on the next breath, voice still low, but with a sharpness that made Dash flinch.
He sounded just like...
No...
He was at school, not home.
Dad wasn't there.
"Then why, pray-tell, do I not have your assignment in my hand? Surely it wouldn't have been great, but something is definitely better than what you have given me, which is precisely nothing." He was right, Dash knew it to be so. The boy just nodded, still looking away, not realizing that Falluca had paused to give him time to speak. Clearing his throat was the indication though, the glasses-clad man squinting his eyes in exasperation for how dense he had been.
'He must think you're so stupid.'
'He wouldn't be off, would he?'
'You are pretty dumb.'
"U-uh, I...I don't know. I just didn't get the chance to...didn't...didn't...," What was he supposed to say?
Was there something specific he wanted him to say.
To do?
He couldn't think of anything in particular, deliberating as he scanned the floor tiles, looking for an answer, any answer at all.
Anything that would help him say the right thing.
Biting his lip harder than he had intended, he remained silent, still as he heard the much smaller man leave his desk, though he was walking away from him to close the blinds and shut the door, and just like that, like a light switch, Dash's mind clicked with an eerie realization as the man walked back to his desk, not appearing to notice still blue eyes, watching him, watching his every...move.
Oh, the boy couldn't help but think as another smile appeared on his face.
But it was crooked, bent and low on his face.
It looked wrong.
Distorted.
So that's what he wanted, he started in his mind, thoughts almost appearing to stick like glue as a rush of something cold danced along his spine, but it felt dull, flush along the distinct, growing fuzziness that washed away what should have been shame.
But it didn't matter, that shame.
This was too familiar, too...common, that is, the feeling that arose from his gut at the thought of it, yet all...too...natural.
For a split second, he considered his parents.
What they might say?
...
He could imagine it.
Maybe his Dad would be more upset that this would be an unpaid job.
His mom...she probably wouldn't care, would she?
...
But he could manage this.
This was necessary, after all.
Surely...surely they would be okay with it, right? It was better than telling them that he had missed an assignment, and so soon in the year, too.
Even if it wasn't Mom, Dad, or a client, he didn't think it made a difference, right?
He could make this right, he could fix this.
He was good at this.
'Are you gonna suck him off?'
'You should do that; maybe he'll fix your grade if you make him feel good.'
So it was okay, then...
Right?
Setting his bag upon the ground, it felt strange to have his body move on its own, feeling almost natural, unbuckling his belt and moving to unbutton his pants.
He could fix this.
He knew just what to do.
But Falluca's voice held him there, and he froze, looking up but not into his eyes.
"Now, I'm willing to help you, you know, if you'd be willing give something in return, a bit of effort on your part." The man began, but Dash wasn't listening.
If anything, he didn't need to.
Not when he knew what he wanted.
They were all the same.
All...the same.
Dash walked forward, pressing up against the older man, his hands traveling the length of his chest before settling on his groin, rubbing against it until he reached up to unsnap the clip holding his trousers up. Almost robotically, the boy knew just what to do, what got people off the fastest.
He was good at that, at least.
With his free hand, Dash reached into his own pants, stroking his own flesh until it began to swell, huffing out a gasp as he felt Falluca's arm brush against his chest, and for a moment, it looked as though the older man was following through, face obscured with an emotion he couldn't understand, or, at least from where Dash was, he wasn't looking at his teacher's face anyway, for someone compelled to keep his gaze pointedly away from his expression, a sickening ache settling in his chest at the thought of seeing what the older man's face would say.
It was easier just to ignore it, their faces.
He'd just gotten his own pants down around his thigh, and was preparing to turn around to present himself, throwing any and all feelings of shame and guilt away...
...all before he lost his balance, falling on his bottom for the second time that day.
The throbbing didn't last so long this time, but Dash couldn't help but look up at him, the flustered man distinctly not looking to him at all, turning away as he rushed to buckle up his own pants, Falluca's twisted with unbridled anger as he rushed back over to the desk, an expression, a feeling so tangible that Dash felt his body shudder with confusion and fear.
He couldn't understand.
HE COULDN'T UNDERSTAND AT ALL.
Wasn't he going to...?
Didn't he want him?
"I don't...I don't understand. I didn't do the assignment, so I just thought...I though that you wanted to-," Slamming the papers upon the desk, Falluca took a deep breath, sighing before he spoke.
"Michael, I assure you, whatever it is that you've cooked up in that head of yours, I am not interested in the slightest. I'm not sure I want to assume what you're implying, what I think you meant, but I am sure that I would like you to collect yourself. Understand that what you just tried to pull is immensely, and I mean, immensely, inappropriate!" Adjusting his glasses, he continued, voice lower, and from he could tell, Dash himself scrambling to button up his pants as he listened, face burning with such embarrassment that his head began to throb, stomach gurgling with such an unsettled twinge that its contents, however sparse, threatened to spill from his mouth.
How could he so stupid?
"Now, this can be filed under sexual harassment, as I'm sure you're aware. Let this be the first and last time you even think of attempting something like that ever again, do you understand, Michael?" Taking a shallow breath, he opened up the first drawer to his left, removing from it a small, pink slip and scrawling with handwriting he couldn't make out. It was thrust at him before he could finish his thought, not that he could remember what it was, slid across the desk with a heavy, but his mind was attempting to catch up from what he'd said earlier.
Sexual...harassment? That...that didn't make any sense.
That wasn't what...he didn't...
No, that didn't make sense at all, the boy thought with confusion, wringing his hands as the thought stunned him in place, rooted like solid wood before the desk. It didn't make sense, it couldn't make sense; he was just doing he was supposed to.
What he wanted him to do.
Wasn't it Falluca that made it private, that told him to stay behind after class...so...what else could he have wanted? What else was he supposed to do but follow through, right?
That's...that's what his Dad said, anyway, that you always give yourself to others...right?
That it was his job, his responsibility, an obligation.
That's what he was supposed to do.
There was nothing wrong with it, the boy stood to reason, though something he couldn't place lingered, that same feeling that arose when the two students walked into the bathroom with him.
Something...disgust.
Fear.
Dread.
...
...
...
No.
This wasn't the same as that, no, not at all.
Not one bit.
He...he wasn't like that, like...them.
No.
Not at all.
He...he was just doing his job.
This...this was necessary.
Yeah! It was just a job!
Falluca shouldn't even be that upset, he couldn't help but think. Next time he should be more clear what it is that he wants; how was he supposed to know?
"Here, take this. You'll be serving your detention elsewhere in the school. Whatever discussion we were going to have regarding your grades and the means in which you could make it up are null now. At the very least, you could stand to control yourself, Mr. Baxter." At no point did Falluca look at him, instead turning his attention to another stack of ungraded sheets in his possession.
Using the same hand that held his slip, he made an effort towards the door, he was stopped once more, but this time, he didn't even looking behind him.
Not when he knew how he would be looking at him.
"And by the way, perhaps you would do well to remove your hand from your trousers. It looks...distasteful."
If he could have died right there, he was sure he definitely would have. Snatching his hand from his pants, the teen stared at his palm, slick with sweat and pre-cum that dripped from between his fingers. For a moment, his hand traveled to his shirt, mentally noting he probably wouldn't smell too bad if he did wipe it away right then and there.
'Yeah, it shouldn't matter too much.'
'It's not as if you smelled good anyway.'
It seemed as though the older man had some sort of foresight, stopping him just short of doing so, though he couldn't, for the life of him, understand why it would matter if he did or not. It wasn't as if this shirt was clean or anything.
And neither was he.
"Oh, for the love of- please, Mr. Baxter, refrain from doing whatever it is you were about to. Please, go wash your hands." Planting his fingers to his bridge, he looked thoroughly tired, waving him away before rushing to the door to open it for him, watching Dash's dirty hand warily as if avoiding the plague.
Leaving without a word, Dash hadn't seen the large shape in front of him, shaped very distinctly formed to be a human, his rushing ears and pounding heart stripping away his focus. Looking up a bit, Lancer was standing there, Falluca was still holding open the door, and only then, looking over his shoulder at the awkward cough (not to mention that his pants were unsnapped and his hair was in a tizzy; it was exactly how it looked) that broke the silence between them. It didn't take much to notice the former cupping a hand over his belt, sweeping back his hair with a shaky grip, though a few strands still stuck out like the bristles of a used brush. Lancer didn't seem to notice though, or at least he pretended not to, leaning forward to clap a hand over Falluca's shoulder in jest.
"My, I do hope you two were okay in there; I heard the commotion a few doors down so I came to make sure everything was okay...," His tone was well-meaning, warm, even, framed by an earnest smile that one would rarely see on the face of the older man. It should have worked to quell his nerves, to soften the desperate patter of the muscle in his chest that worked to keep him upright, and in some ways, it did, the teen noticing the way that his shoulders relaxed despite their close proximity. If anything, Lancer was shrewd, but overall they always got along well.
So why did his skin crawl under his gaze?
It felt just like when Dad looked at him...and when Mom did, too...
"No, no, we're fine. We were just having a rather...heated discussion about an assignment that was due. Nothing to be alarmed for." Even Dash could tell that the crooked smile on Falluca's lips took a lot to keep up, much the same way he did.
His stomach still twisted with disgust at himself.
"Oh, is that so? Well, perhaps I was mistaken...though," Lancer locked onto the loose pink slip in the teen's hands.
"...it looks as though you've already seen some trouble, and so soon in the year, too." He was right.
Completely right.
Despite not having said anything, Falluca nodding agreeably, his beady eyes firmly set on the other, only occasionally flickering to Dash, as if to ask "Why are you still here?".
That was a wonderful question.
"I-I'm sorry...I just...I need to go to the bathroom. May I please go, sir?"
'Wow, spoken like the little bitch that you are.'
'I'm not a bitch. I'm...I'm not-' He wasn't sure just who he was trying to assure; himself, or the voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I completely forgot about lunch because of my rambling. Would you like for me to walk you?"
Everything in this seemed strange, at least to the stable mind, one that would acknowledge the signs, the tone of his voice. In some way, Dash could feel this himself, a firm hand on his shoulder lingering for just too long, the look in the older man's eyes half-lidded and strange under the blinding light of the hallway's lamps, flickering imperceptibly fast but it was disorienting. If anything, Falluca could probably see it too, or maybe he couldn't through the impatient tap of his finger on the knobs.
Oh, right. He must not be able to stand being near him.
He couldn't really blame him.
Flashing a grin, though it didn't feel nearly as bright as it usually did, the teen agreed to it, lowering his dirty hand just in case he touched anything.
It didn't occur to him that he could have walked himself, that he was more than capable of doing so.
That it was just a bit strange that a teacher wanted to walk him there at all.
Perhaps he knew this, but didn't want to anger him.
The two of them made their way to the closest restroom, just around the corner from Falluca's room, and upon entry, he surveyed the pristine, tiled room, dropping his bag upon the ground and placing the slip onto the sink as he went towards the urinal, realizing that he needed to use the bathroom. Four lined the back wall, most clean though some sport the odd nick from age and use, though Dash was aware of the rowdiness of the boys here when breaks arose, having spent a great deal of time here when he found a reason to get out of class.
Standing in the furthest one, his pants were unzipped to reveal his still hardened member, throbbing with each and every touch he made to it. Sucking in his teeth much louder than he intended to, trying to stifle the moan that bubbled past his teeth.
This wasn't going to work.
There was no way he was going to get through the day like...this.
"Dash, are you doing alright? I heard you and I wasn't sure if you wanted me to come in or not. Need a bit of help?" Footsteps clicked and clacked on the tiled floor a bit away, Dash froze, keeping his head down as the sounds ceased, cocking his eye over to the man at the entrance who'd leaned onto the wall.
"I'm...I'm good!" God, why was this happening?
If only he could have just...
"Are you sure? I could come over there to help out, if you need me to. I don't mind." The footsteps edged closer, almost painfully slowly, though time appeared to rush with it, barreling down upon him.
'Look at you. Honestly, you should just let him fuck you; maybe then you could get rid of this little...problem...'
'You just can't help yourself, can you? You little slut.'
He was trying, he really was, he remarked to the voices who only laughed in return.
'Can't you guys help me? Come on, please?' The teen wondered desperately, writhing as his flesh begged to be touched.
...
...
Nothing.
It always seemed as though, in his mind with a bitter click of his tongue, that despite taking up so many of his thoughts, his feelings, his emotions, all they seemed to give back was agitation and strife. Though frankly, he realized with odd clarity, it was beginning to get a bit hard to tell whether it was his own thoughts or the voices speaking to him at times.
Yet, strangely enough, that didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have.
Just silence apart from the closing gap between the two, resonating as deafening footfalls in the lonely bathroom the two just happened to share.
"I can't...I can't let him see me like this. I've already messed up enough for today, but what am I supposed to do?"
What could he do?
There was really only one option, wasn't there?
Eying the loose garments around his thighs, a slight of hand, caught through careful fingers, brought his underwear and pants back up, and into them, he shoved his throbbing member, shuddering at the barely kept moan that tumbled past his lips, hoping against hope that it hadn't fallen onto his teacher's ears.
Rushing to zip his trousers, it was just as Lancer had happened behind him, wide smile upon his face that he'd went to flush the urinal, peering behind and up his shoulder at the large form of his teacher who'd, through this, appeared to be looking for something.
Returning the grin, Dash spoke, wincing at a sudden crack in his voice, but again, Lancer hadn't appeared to notice.
"Ah, uh, hey, Teach. Sorry, the urinal wouldn't, you know, flush. Didn't mean to make ya wait or anythin'." Closing his eyes with a modest rub of the back of his head, Dash tried his best to ignore the crushing sensation down below, but more Lancer, standing behind him, but not having moved.
Those green eyes never ceased their movement, never stopped looking, but not before landing on the teen to regard him for a moment. It was several intense moments later when he spoke, grin returning.
"Ah, yes. That must have been it. I take everything was okay otherwise?" Nodding, Dash squirmed again.
This wasn't exactly what he would call okay.
But he deserved it, didn't he? This...discomfort, as his pants seemed to hug him too tightly, choking his delicate appendage with no hope of being relieved.
It seemed only fitting, right?
After what he had tried.
He should be glad he was getting punished; it was the least that he could do.
"Well, in that case...I suppose we should go. Though, there is just one last thing...," Leaning forward to whisper into the boy's early, the sudden image of his father appeared, harsh purrs and bites to his sensitive lobe making him involuntarily chew on his lip, despite its darkened color from before.
"Perhaps you should be a bit more careful about how loud you carry out your affairs. Be glad that it was only me that was walking by when you two had your little...talk." Backing away, he left the boy with a firm pat on the shoulder before leaving the bathroom, the bathroom left with nothing more than the listless drip of the sink faucet and the panicked breathing of the youth, leaning on the urinal for support.
'He knows, he knows!'
'What will you do? You can't tell anyone else about this, you know? You could be in big trouble if you do...'
"What if he says something? This is all your fault!'
Just five minutes.
Just five minutes without them chiming in.
He needed to think.
Just five minutes.
Just a little time.
Please just shut up.
Shut up.
Shut Up.
SHUT UP!
There was the distinct warmth of something dripping down his wrists, splattering through the noises of the sounds between his ears was the one thing that called him back, wavering at the sight of his nails digging into his skin. Fresh buds of crimson bubbled to the surface, deep, coursing lines drawn by hand crisscrossed along his forearm in a marriage of inflamed anger. It stung, it burned, moving it sending deep jitters along the rest of his arm, though it was nothing that he couldn't handle.
Nothing that he hadn't done before.
It would stop, eventually, though he looked worriedly at the sleeves of his jacket, eying the old, brown stains that joined in odd splotches here and there.
If someone hadn't known, they'd think they were coffee stains, maybe dirt..or mud.
Better to let them think that then the alternative.
The voices were saying something, he thought, looking towards the ceiling only to realize that he had sunken to the ground at some point, nestled by the urinal in the corner.
Distantly, this reminded him of a memory, an occasion years ago that forebear the same result, the stench of pennies in his nose so familiar that he ought to believe that he had been there all along.
But he wasn't.
He was here, bent over a urinal in the bathroom of his school, though it felt largely the same.
The voices were yelling at him, saying those mean things, he guessed, the weariness in his eyes making him want to fall asleep and not mind the cacophony of noise between his ears.
'Would that be so bad? If I could sleep, just like this?' Distant chatter from a lunch room a great distance away called him from his lethargic musings.
'I forgot it was lunchtime.' It was sort of comedic hearing his stomach grumble a reminder to him, the pitiless ache of hunger pulling him to stand.
It only took a few paper towels to ease the bleeding, though some had gotten on his pants, sprinkling water on them a bit, but not really trying to rub out the stain.
Gathering his things, Dash didn't notice the speckles of blood left smeared where he had been sitting, having forgotten all about washing his hands.
