A/N: This story is rated M, and this chapter is why. Given the situation, I guess you could call it a spoiler - but this chapter carries a warning for noncon. If you can't handle noncon, skip out on this chapter. You'll pretty much get the rest just with this knowledge. I've never written from this kind of perspective on this situation, so sorry if it's inaccurate (I can safely say I've never raped anyone before and never plan to, so this is kind of foreign ground to me).

Enjoy.

The instant the awkward moments passed between us in the morning, I realized he knew, but it's not until he is retreating into the hallway do I realize the weight of my own actions.

So I make chase, with the entire class' eyes following me out the door.

I never liked English anyway.

Tearing after him is more of a task than I bargained for, on the account of him being out of the building and half way across the back field toward the woods before I manage to catch up. I'm mostly out of breath. Grabbing his hand, I have the intuition to restrain his other one as well as I back him against a tree, swallowing and standing with him chest to chest.

Violence breaks from him instantly and I manage to dodge a swift kick to the groin with some ballerina-like move.

"Kyle, listen. Listen to me."

"I'm not going to listen to you! You're a fucking CREEP Craig!"

Those words kind of sting a lot more when they come from someone else's mouth, and something in the back of my mind is pining. Something hurts.

"You're such a FREAK! I can't believe you! You blackmailed me into your fucking house so you could fucking - fucking MOLEST me in my sleep! You-"

"Kyle, look. I like you. Just listen to me-"

"No!" Kyle wrenches his arms from my grip at last, backing hard against the tree and shaking his head. "Fuck off. There's something wrong with you."

Like I don't know that. I stare at him and swallow. This is my only chance, really. This is the only shot I've got at maybe trying to convey my emotions into something more than stalkerism. I don't know how or where to explain myself, because there's no reason - but I need to show him how I feel. My resolve is to press our lips together and he goes slightly rigid, fingers curling angrily against my stomach.

He whips his face away, panting open-mouthed before growling something vicious. "Don't!"

I let my teeth graze his neck and he shudders, sinking the heels of his palms against me more violently. "Stop it!"

I ignore his words. The reaction before is enough to tell me he feels something. I move my lips to his ear and get a rise from his breath - and then a punch to the stomach has me doubling over. I grasp my stomach a bit and glance up to see that he hasn't moved. He's staring at me with what I can only read as some amount of horror.

"You're fucking nuts. You're a fucking rapist! Can you not hear me tell you to fucking stop?"

"I never raped anybody." I straighten up again, still with a hand to my torso and a balled fist. "Not yet."

My words take a few seconds for them to process in his head but it's a few seconds too late; my knuckles connect with the side of his skull and he hits the floor of the woods heavily, curling with his arms encasing his head, and I see nothing. My body is moving on it's own accord as I snare his arms with the belt of his book bag and stuff my sweater into his mouth, dragging him by the wrists deeper into the foliage.

He's struggling more violently and grabbing onto things with his legs, mostly because I can feel the tension of his body against branches and bushes more than actually watching. I'm still not seeing anything. A voice in the back of my head is telling me this is wrong, but a voice in the front of my mind doesn't seem to care.

He screams from behind my sweater at me, scrambling to get up as I drop him in a clearing by a fallen tree between a few bushes. His legs are flying and I just watch him a moment as he tires himself out, flipping over onto his stomach and struggling to stand with his arms still bound. I kick his legs out from under him and then let my foot land under his ribs instead, and he drops once more, over the log beside him as he wheezes through his nose.

Pulling the arms of my sweater behind his head, I take a shaky breath and sit on the small of his back in order to hold him down. I press my face into his hair and he whimpers, shoulders starting to shake as I slide my hands up his sides.

This is wrong.

"You're so pretty Kyle, like... it's unbelievable. You're really beautiful. Like, when you were sleeping, honestly... I could watch you forever."

I start to talk, mostly because the silence is scaring me. I don't know what I'm scared of - probably myself, as I undo his pants and pull them down around his ankles, maybe just to restrain his kicking. He's tired himself out, and he's begun to cry. I run both hands over his behind as he hangs over the log, breathing heavily.

"Since... since we're here, I guess I should tell you..."

My hands are trembling. I dig into his book bag and pull out the hand lotion my careful observations have told me he keeps in the back pocket. I treat one finger with it, and run it over his entrance. His flailing starts up again but it's mostly useless under my weight mixed with his binds.

"I do smell your hair every day. And - and only knew you liked that radio station b-because I know you play while you sleep sometimes."

My voice is shakier than my hands are. He arches up with a weak cry behind his gag as I slip a digit in. His aroma keeps my head in place, and I run my free hand over the horizon of his back comfortingly, even though I know in the back of my mind that's not helping. I'm being as gentle as I can be.

"I watch you all the time, because... well, I really like you, and I've liked you since forever. You're collected and shit and - and you're the kind of person I've wanted, because, well, I like things boring..."

I feel sick as I slip another finger in, and lean my face down against the back of his shoulder, feeling him tremble as hard as me. He's a virgin - I remember this from our discussion, somehow. I'm not thinking straight at all. This makes me more nauseous.

"I really, really - I just want you to know that I don't want to hurt you. I'm not a freak. I mean - I mean, I am but... really. I don't want to hurt you. So please just try to be calm..."

This is so wrong.

"I swear. I'm not going to hurt you."

He's silent, and staring, eyes fixed off of me and across our little clearing instead. At some point, I'm guessing I've hitched him up and slipped him back on my hardon. He feels amazing, and I guess it's to be expected. I run my hands down the front of his body uneasily, dipping my hand between his legs. He's half mast, but he's still silent. I think he's somewhere else.

I flip him onto his back in the woods, and his fingers twitch as I slide between his thighs, kissing the naked parts of his upper body, drinking in his taste and smell as I push back into him with more lubrication and start to move.

"I love you... I love you."

Everything about him is intoxicating, from the newly deadened glow of his eyes to the faint sun spots on his cheeks. I run my tongue over his lower lip, trying to imagine that he might respond, but he's for the most part blank. He finally tilts his head away from mine to the side, taking a ragged and panicked breath of a sob as a newly shed tear rolls over one perfect cheekbone. I don't watch it take it's path, instead moving my hands around the lines of his body as it shakes and twitches beneath me with my newfound pace. My head is reeling and I don't see much but white. My mouth begs for some kind of attention, and I loop my finger under the tie of my sweater, removing his gag to turn his head back toward me, tongue greedy for his flavour as it slips into his mouth.

For I moment I think he's responding, and if I can get harder, I am now. I realize a moment later that he's trying to say something past my mouth as I fuck him into the forest floor.

"Please." His strained whisper is background noise on my conscience. I try to press my lips on his harder to shut him up. I don't want to heard his words. "Please... Craig... stop."

I don't.