we ain't into that gay shit

    Zak hummed along to a random song on the radio – that popular Imagine Dragons song that was everywhere – and made some cookies. With fall break having officially started that day at school Zak had almost two weeks to hang around the house and do as he pleased. He’d already celebrated the end of this week’s finals with a quick hook-up. The beauty of being in a mid-sized town was that he could get on Grindr without too much fuss. There were rarely any gay guys that showed their faces on the app and anyone looking to do any sort of damaging entrapment probably had to work too hard to make the effort worth it and thus Zak had felt safe when he chatted up a new face. He’d climbed into a heated car, heart beating like galloping horses in his ribcage, and let a handsome man take advantage of his mouth.

    The boy wasn’t completely a virgin but because the other men on the app were flakes or were all talk, Zak had sparse experience, and getting off like that had been the first time something he’d done on the app felt like real sex. He’d orgasmed in his jeans and wore it home proudly, feeling like a new man. He’d even jerked off to the memory of it after he showered and had gone to school the next day floating through the halls. Everyone assumed it was because he was cementing the feeling of the last winter break he’d have at that school as a senior but they’d never know the truth. That blissful feeling had bolstered Zak onward through the evening and with endless time looming on the horizon and the world at his whim, he’d bounced to the door with a spry step, knowing his brother and whatever friend he’d made would be on the other side.

    The color drained from his face. His breath froze in his lungs. It was him. Zak would know that face anywhere. They didn’t get as many gorgeous guys around town as this and even if they had Zak would never forget the features of the first man to ever fuck his face. His throat constricted and Zak swallowed at just the memory of that piercing.

    “I’m…Zak…” he said, looking stupidly down at his hand. His big brother came through and Zak couldn’t even give him a hug like he’d planned. Zak finally remembered himself and grabbed one of the bags that had been left on the stoop. He couldn’t tell if it had been Dalton’s or his brother’s but Zak followed behind them. Dalton acted like he didn’t even see Zak was there at all. It was fine in the moment when Zak was still mentally catching up but he hoped their time around each other wouldn’t be anywhere near this awkward or tense. It would ruin every last second of Zak’s break and he didn’t want that. Though, the younger male was already somewhat hard in his dark wash jeans as he trailed behind the two. This was the man who’d owned him last night and cum down his throat. His body was painfully aware of that fact.

    He leaned in the doorframe to the room where his brother and Dalton were staying. Right across the hall from Zak’s own room. “Hey, how come mom didn’t put you two in like…the office, or something?” The attic space on the third floor was lovingly called the office but was an expansive space that housed some lush couches, a big screen, and a little corner dedicated to a desk and some dusty books. It hardly got used save for big sports games or random hangouts, or on occasion, out of town guests. “Dal—uh, whatever your name was, wouldn’t you like a little privacy?” Zak’s brows lifted, something lining his eyes as he pretended not to know Dalton’s name. “Oh. I found this bag on the steps.” He offered it to one of them, arm stretched out, willing one of them to relieve him of it shortly. “I uh, made some cookies. If you guys wanted to come to the kitchen and have some?” Zak paused. “Unless you have plans.” His eyes kept darting to Dalton’s mouth, his abs. He tried not to be obvious about checking him out, but the car had been dark and this was his first real good look at him.

        It would be best to avoid temptation in all forms for the duration of his stay. The only thing Dalton wanted was to make a good impression on his best friend’s family. Being the standup, responsible man his parents tried to raise him as was a difficult feat for the wild coed, but for his self-adopted brother, he could rise to the occasion. Or at least try. The pair never discussed etiquette beforehand, but Dalton knew from the moment he received the invitation that all he wanted to do was make sure that his bud’s family saw him in the best light just as his own family did. The debauched reputation he’d gotten in college could stay on campus for all he cared. However...

He simply didn’t have a good hand to play, and games weren’t his cup of tea in the first place. Unsure of what Zak was thinking or intended to do, Dalton spent too many seconds mulling over the boy’s offer to move. Before he could decide where it would be best for him to stay for the next couple of weeks, Ronnie praised his little brother for realizing the spacing flaw, quickly offered to take the attic office instead so Dalton could have an actual bedroom to himself, and began carting his bags down the hall. Dalton didn’t even have a chance to negotiate or stop Ronnie from leaving the room. In one fail swoop, it was decided that the two guys with a shared secret to hide would be sleeping across the hall from one another. And now they were alone, a situation Dalton knew he wanted to avoid the moment he saw the kid’s dumbfounded face open the door.

"You made cookies?” was all Dalton said after enough seconds passed for their silence to be considered awkward. With his sharp tone, the basic observation could’ve easily sounded like a scalding critique of some sort, but his tongue-in-cheek expression showed he was stifling a grin. But he straightened up as he walked to the door to grab the discarded bag in Zak’s hand, fully wanting to intimidate the younger boy a bit by getting in his space and letting their size difference do all the work. It was a tactic that rarely failed when Dalton felt he needed to get exactly what he wanted. Dalton really didn’t look for anything to extravagant in the guys he liked to "take care of” his true urges with and Zak checked off more than a few boxes, but last night was a one-time thing; he’d already done his usual thing and blocked Zak’s profile the moment he climbed out of Dalton’s car. 

              If he had it his way, Magnus would never attend a business dinner. They were far too formal for someone like him, overflowing with pointless civilities. He much preferred picking bananas as he hiked through the Amazon to a five course meal on fine China. As it were, he was rarely in charge of his own schedule during that brief part of the year he was considered in the office. He’d agreed with his brother Niels that he’d spend four months out of the year grounded and not out trying to get killed. Of course Niels never specified that it had to be four consecutive months and Magnus had seen it fit to take advantage of the loophole.  That had been a mistake. His brother slash COO countered by filling Magnus’ calendar with enough dinners and meetings to make him consider setting himself on fire just for a thrill. The downside of nepotism had never been more obvious to him than over the last few weeks.

            This wasn’t the worst of his engagements he supposed. Bill or Stan or whatever the accountant’s name was, was pleasant enough. He’d been fawning over Magnus all night, begging for stories about this adventure or that one. Sometimes he’d even fill in the details like he’d been there. Steve was clearly a desk adventurer, living vicariously through everyone else but never having enough balls to go out on their own. Niels knew how he felt about people like that. Simple people in their simple lives. It felt like being chained down to Magnus and he wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of message. Did his family think it was time for him to settle down? Did they think Alan was going to be the one to convince him do that? If anything it gave Magnus more incentive to run off and do something insane, just to make up for the lack of excitement in their empty lives. The only truly interesting one among them was their son Emmett. Magnus figured that much was obvious because it was the only name he’d bothered to remember. He didn’t waste his time on forgettable people.

            Something about the blond boy felt familiar though, even if he wasn’t certain why. It didn’t help that he barely looked up for the entire meal. Or that Emmett hadn’t said more than ten words. The blond spent most of the evening sitting at the end of the table like a life sized doll that only responded on command, just not his. There was a moment when their hands had touched and Magnus was sure he’d say something but even that didn’t warrant a response. It wasn’t until Richard told his son to get dessert and Emmett looked up at his father through those long lashes that it all fell in to place for Magnus.

             The right thing to do would have been to remain seated. He should have continued to make small talk with Tim but the adventurer excused himself instead. What was the point of being the boss if he couldn’t call his own shots? Never mind that this wasn’t his house and it was probably rude to walk away. All that mattered was his interest in Emmett and the curiosity gnawing at his insides. Had they met before? The blond talked to him like they had but it wasn’t until he was on his knees looking up at Magnus that it became glaringly clear. Cori.”I wasn’t sure before but it’s hard deny when you’re on your knees like this,” he teased. That was the position he’d spent the most time in when they first met. Magnus wondered what the chances were for a repeat performance.

               He ignored Emmett’s pleas to leave him alone, wrapping his cut fingertips up in the handkerchief that was stuffed in Magnus’ breast pocket. The older man intentionally invaded his space, bodies almost pressed together but not quite. “You never called,” he remarked, searching Emmett’s features and almost forcing him to make eye contact. It drove the adventurer mad at the time and now that they were reunited he was curious why. “Get a better offer did ya?”

        There was nothing Emmett wanted more than to run upstairs and hide in his room for the rest of the night, but that simply wasn’t an option. Dad needed to present his picture-perfect family to the boss he was so desperate to impress, and that didn’t include his son’s typical screw ups or his past transgressions. Worlds colliding? That would’ve been a nightmare for Emmett on a normal day. For someone to perceive him as the slut he loved to be when he didn’t have his mask on was simply too much, but if Magnus figured out their connection now ... forget horrifying, it would be catastrophic! Granted, Emmett would’ve loved to be able to brag to his father that their worldly dinner guest already had a favorite at the table, but that would require a complete transformation: Mani, Bobbi, Cori or Dani were queens in any room, Emmett was the world’s biggest fuck up.

He did his best to ignore Magnus like he had been all night, playing it cool and all. It didn’t matter that his hand still burned from where they touched briefly or that the suggestion he looked better on his knees got Emmett’s oral fixation acting up enough for him to lick and bite his lower lip for a few fleeting seconds, Emmett was determined to keep his head on straight. But Magnus ... fucking Magnus! His mere presence in the kitchen was distracting enough without him trying to be difficult about this. Unsure of what to say to him, Emmett went about his business doing his best to push the older man away, but the moment Magnus started trying to help was the moment Emmett lost it again. Being close to him, able to smell him again, it was simply too much for a boy who had excepted that their night spent together was a one-time thing akin to a fantasy. And that was alright. 

“Enough! I didn’t ask for your help!” he spat, still straining to keep his voice down. Emmett pulled his hand from Magnus’ and grabbed his own paper towel so he could apply some pressure to the scrapes. “A-And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I call my dad’s boss? I have his work number, y’know.” It was the perfect response to demonstrate obliviousness to the situation. If only he said it more convincingly. Emmett still did everything to avoid looking Magnus in the eyes for longer than a split second even if his own gaze was shifting to extremes. He’d stumbled back so they wouldn’t be close, afraid that Dad could walk in at any moment. Magnus had just seen the façade of the sweetest family on the planet so of course he didn’t understand how dire it would be if Emmett’s father walked in on them together like that, but Emmett was no idiot. He’d prefer not to get beaten tonight.

“Whoever you think I am, you’re wrong. My name is Emmett and I’ve never met you before you came into our house,” he said, unwittingly adding a contradiction to his previous statement and proving that he knew exactly what the older man was talking about. “You seem a bit young to be having old man symptoms, but perhaps you’ve been working too hard. That Goddamn dementia seems to have gotten you all confused in the head.” The way he sneered the last part while looking at Magnus square in the face seemed to be out of character for the boy who presented himself as demure all night. A sharp tongue and piercing words were attributes of a boy more confident than he, and without his mask on using those qualities seemed foreign and wrong. Emmett physically reeled the moment he said them, shook his head, and bent back down to wipe up the spilled coffee.

         Quinn should leave. He knew he should leave. But that was his head talking, not his heart. His heart was hammering out a rhythm which wanted to urge Carlisle closer, urge him to pay attention to Quinn, urge him to give Quinn a chance. It held the young boy in place, staring awkwardly at the condensation on the outside of his glass and nervously swiping at the foam whenever it oozed over the rim. He felt foolish, like a clod, rough around the edges. He wished he was smoother right now, but he was who he was, and he couldn’t pretend to be anybody different. He was certain the other man was used to smooth, confident guys who knew the right thing to say, and could impress him with their looks and charisma. He was just— Quinn pulled a face. He didn’t know what he was, but he knew it wasn’t impressive. Perhaps that was another reason why he stayed. How many other chances would he get to talk to someone like him?

Carlisle looked like something out of an old movie. Indeed, he looked as though he might have stepped out an old movie starring Barbara Stanwyck or Joan Crawford - the mysterious charmer, faintly dangerous. Except, Carlisle wasn’t exactly charming. He was intimidating and Quinn flinched as if his words had landed an actual blow. It hurt because it was true, and he felt humiliation sweep over him as though everyone in the bar was looking at him and knowing exactly what dirty thoughts were going through his mind. “It’s not like that,” he protested weakly, but there was absolutely no question he was lying through his teeth. “I just wanted to talk to you. I never thought– I mean, I didn’t expect…” his voice trailed off as he listened to Carlisle explain just how out of his league he was. Any self-respecting man would have left by the time he was done, but Quinn couldn’t bring himself to move. But he couldn’t bring himself to answer, either. A lump in his throat prevented any response.

Moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, he held his glass to his chest. The condensation spread onto his shirt and seeped into the fabric, chilling against his overheated skin; a temporary relief before he was pulled closer and it felt like his body burst into flames. Quinn could feel Carlisle’s breath on his cheek, and suddenly thought to himself that all he had to do was turn his head and he could kiss him. He felt a tingly sensation travel up and down his spine and forced himself to focus on what the man was saying, and not his childish fantasies. “… and you would do that? Bring me home with you?” He knew he sounded skeptical, mostly because he was, but oh, there was a hint of hopefulness in his voice too. He felt his cheeks blush bright red again - Adorable? He thinks I’m adorable? - and that hint of hopefulness grew into something bigger. “Quinn. My name’s Quinn. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this– uh, I’m not usually like this.”

        Once again Carlisle was laughing, though clearly not with Quinn. Much like a cat poking its claw at a trapped mouse before going in for the kill, his playful laughter was malevolent in nature. He wanted to punish the boy for being so bold as to force his queer ways onto someone as superior as he, and there was no better way to do so than taking advantage of the creature’s misplaced affections. “You’re not very good at conversation. You keep losing me with all your stuttering and mumbling. It’s like you’re retarded or something,” Carlisle retorted, that same childlike gleam in his eyes even as he spoke cruelties to his young courter. “It’s pathetic, truly pathetic. But yeah, I think I’d still take you home with me even so. I can tell you’d like that a lot. I’m not surprised since ... well, how often do guys actually show an interest in someone like you?” Taking some cash out of his pocket, he slid it to the bartender and pointed to one of the bottles sitting on the shelf behind the counter.

“So Quinn, since I’m not some sleazy whore, why don’t we share a drink together first? I’d love to get to know you a bit before we discuss whatever comes after.” As if he held the slightest bit of charm somewhere deep within his core, Carlisle winked at Quinn while he made use of one of the two glasses the bartender was kind enough to bring out and poured about a shot of the vodka he paid for. It was normal to think that two cups were needed, but Carlisle only intended on using one. Quinn wouldn’t need a cup at all. “Here,” he said, shoving the bottle into Quinn’s chest and pulled the spare cup away from him. After the bit that he poured, there was less than three-quarters left, but Carlisle had spent the money for a reason and if all went well it wouldn’t be a waste. “Drink it. All of it,” he demanded of the boy, his expression going dark for a moment while he held Quinn’s gaze to express his seriousness. 

            Most people in his situation would have flipped. They would have given way to anger or tears, screaming at Trevor about how insane he was to think it was their fault. Not Jonah. He’d spent enough of his life being told he was in the wrong that the feeling of disgust clawing at his insides was perfectly normal. He’d disappointed another person, and not just anyone either, but Trevor. The blond was the only guy who’d ever shown an interest in him, the only one who gave him what he needed. Of course it was always accompanied by a heavy dose of unfiltered and intentionally jarring honesty but it always seemed to get to Jonah in the worst way. Even now as he called him a closet slut the ginger began to squirm. Trevor was tugging at his hair, pressing firmly against his bruises, and despite this he still felt his little prick start to stiffen with excitement. He was revolting and it made Jonah all the more willing to endure Trevor’s abuse, physical and verbal. “I didn’t think……” Jonah stopped himself before he made matters worse. Maybe if he gave Trevor an easy opportunity to call him stupid he’d be less annoyed with the ginger. It was wishful thinking at best.

            He cringed, touching Trevor for the first time, as he forced the ice back against the worst of his many injuries. Jonah couldn’t have screamed out if he wanted too because the sound died in his throat from the overwhelming pain. He could have cried all over again but he knew better now. No matter how satisfied Trevor would be to have a reason to make him suffer more Jonah couldn’t look any weaker than he already had. He was supposed to be proving himself to the other male. Jonah was a good and loyal boyfriend. He’d do anything for Trevor, even lie about his bruises and pretend he’d brought this on himself. In a way he had, his own twisted logic let him believe that. If he wasn’t a faggot in the first place than there wouldn’t have been any reason to beat him up. Jonah always wondered what would have happened if he’d said no that day. If he’d told Trevor that he was straight, if he’d never sucked him off under the bleachers, would it have made a difference? Somehow he knew the answer was no. From the searing pain in his side and the ache of his body he knew nothing could have stopped them from ending up here. Jonah had been putty in his hands from the start and Trevor had always known it. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly. He didn’t know which of the half dozen things he’d done wrong he was apologizing for but Jonah hoped it would suffice for at least one.

            When he winced this time it had nothing to do with physical pain and everything to do with Trevor’s words. “Babe I didn’t mean…” That was not the word to use, not here or anywhere. He’d only ever allowed himself to think of Trever as babe in his head and it tasted dirty on his tongue when he said it out loud. Jonah was hit with a sudden wave of nausea, but whether it was his own gayness that upset him or the fear of how Trevor would respond was anyone’s guess. “No wait,” he pleaded as the older male pulled away. Jonah moved despite his pain, crawling forward on his knees until he was the edge of the bed. The only way he could have been more blatantly begging was if he’d been on the floor at Trevor’s feet. Maybe he’d do that too, if this didn’t work. "I didn’t mean…I know you wouldn’t let them if you didn’t say so. Please don’t go, you’re the most….you’re the most important thing in my life.“ He was an idiot for saying it out loud even if they both knew it was true. If it wasn’t for Trevor what reason did Jonah have to get out of bed in the morning? "Trev I’m sorry I’m such an idiot.”

        Trevor would only see value in their “relationship” so long as he had complete control over it. Being a golden star in the school, worship was easy to obtain giving him that inflated ego of ungodly proportions, yet there wasn’t a single plebian who could uplift him higher than Jonah could. He supposed that’s why he continued things for as long as he did despite the way his stomach churned at times when they were alone. In Trevor’s eyes, there was nothing redeemable about Jonah, yet his dependency on the weakling’s company was lost entirely on him. Hearing the pathetic begging behind him gave Trevor little pause, but ultimately he rolled his eyes and turned back just to see the familiar sight of Jonah pining for his approval.

It was exactly what he expected to see, the pitiful pleading of a piece of shit that wasn’t at all worthy of his time. Fury, disgust, and an emotion generated from his own self-loathing burned in Trevor’s eyes, but by the time he reapproached the edge of the bed, his expression was blank. Much like a master would regard his pet, Trevor roughly placed his hand on top of Jonah’s head and began to rub back and forth. “Yeah, you are pretty stupid,” Trevor agreed. Babe... For the time being, he would choose to ignore the pet name, not exactly sure what to make of it. Certainly it was strange, however it just proved Jonah’s devotion to him and more than anything that’s what Trevor wished to secure. Looking into the younger’s eyes he could see the desperation, the confirmation he needed that the little ginger bitch meant every word he said. Sure he was a piece of trash, but he was Trevor’s piece of trash after all.  

Still, every new pair of eyes that this irritating screaming attracted felt like a hot pan being pressed into his skin. He could practically feel the questions and judgment radiating off every onlooker in waves and he hated the potential conclusions they could draw, the ones he imagined in his mind worse than anything any stranger could come up with. Creed’s panic was silent and slow-building, but there. His chest would heave a bit, his fists would tighten until his knuckles began to whiten, his eyes would frantically look around as if the answer to this stressful situation could be somewhere in the air around him… As if his eyes actually found their answer, Creed’s fist sharply connected with his ex … whatever’s face, right smack in the eye.

For a moment, he felt relief that the high pitched wailing of a bitch was no longer polluting his ears, but the moment he realized the ‘oh’ of the crowd elicited the attention of every student on their way to class as well as a few phone cameras in prep for a fight, Creed knew he made a mistake. Instead of entertaining the hive-minds of their community college, he decided to settle this haughty, dramatic mess himself. Privately.

Without checking to see if his ex … whatever was alright, Creed just grabbed his shirt collar and began dragging him away from the unwanted attention. Even though they had a few followers for a couple beats, Creed’s metaphorical hovering dark cloud and actual murderous look drove them away so he could make his escape, bitch in tow. The moment they rounded a building that had no student traffic—the most private Creed could hope for during the middle of the day on campus—he slammed his ex … whatever against the brick wall. For a moment, he didn’t say a word, simply stewing in his anger that this guy, just about the only person in the world that could make him lose his cool like that, chose now of all times to work out his feelings. “What the hell?!” he finally yelled.

Replaying the last few moments in his head, Creed took a deep breath and collected his thoughts before continuing on. “What. The. Actual. Hell! I told you to stay the fuck away from me. I’m done with you.” Of course, that was a mighty tall order considering Creed’s lack of commitment to is. Since he demanded they stopped fucking and ceased their communication a month ago, Creed had busted up the guy’s car, broken into his home at night, and even killing and stringing his cat up in a tree for reasons he couldn’t even comprehend himself—-and of course he’d deny ever doing any of those things since he’d left no proof.

          It was a stretch to describe Quinn’s wildly lame attempt at charm as flirting. He didn’t know what that word meant, much less how to do it. Not really. He could recite all twenty-three of Hilbert’s mathematical problems and calculate pi to the nth degree, but he didn’t know how to seduce a man - or women, for that matter. Yet here in front of him was a presumably eligible, attractive man, and Quinn felt he had to do something. This was his first time at a bar like this and he couldn’t go home without at least trying. Just being around Carlisle had heightened every nerve in his body. Trouble was, the other man was treating him more like a bother than a potential hook-up, except for a couple of smiles and glances. Though Quinn could have just as well imagined those to ease his own discomfort.

As Carlisle started to laugh at him, Quinn nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tried to avoid the other’s eyes. He clutched his untouched pint glass with both hands, running a thumb in a half-moon along the rim to capture the residual foam. He had tried to put himself out there, and was already starting to regret it. Why had he thought talking to someone like him would be a good idea? Why had he let himself be coaxed by a couple friends and loneliness into making a fool of himself? “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean–” He took a step back, increasing the distance between them. Were people staring? It felt like they were staring. The last thing Quinn wanted was to make a scene. He was all but ready to leave Carlisle alone when the word fuck caused him to halt. The way his face reddened must’ve been visible even in the dark room, if not, his embarrassment was evident in his voice.

“That’s not- I’m not– I wasn’t coming on to you,” he said, trying to backpeddle out of this whole situation. If Carlisle hadn’t chosen that moment to touch him, chances are Quinn would have left and taken the first available Uber home. But Carlisle did touch him, and suddenly it felt like everything was going to be okay. His touch was at complete odds with his tone, but Quinn didn’t seem to care. Call it inexperience or bad judgment, he stayed put. “No! Absolutely not. You’re just so— ah, I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry,” he mumbled his apology, fingers tightening anxiously around the glass he held, attempting to control the trembling in his body, beginning with his fingers. It didn’t work. All attempts at control failed when Carlisle put images of his cock in Quinn’s head. “I–” his voice faltered. “I would ask why. You said it yourself- we don’t play in the same league.” 

        Carlisle couldn’t help himself. The way this boy stammered and squirmed, got short of breath and red in the face... No longer did he see a nuisance pandering for his attention but a shiny new plaything to torment. Had a girl started hitting on him like that, Carlisle would’ve been unnecessarily hostile and cruel to her, namely because he was beyond disinterested with the female species even if he wasn’t aware of that fact himself. But a guy, and a fairy at that, well he was interested in those. Making them pay for being born wrong gave Carlisle a sensation unlike any other. Of course, he fully expected this stranger to have run away with at least a few tears in his eyes by now. This one stayed, however, much to his surprise and amusement. 

His mouth curled into a sickly sweet smile, his eyes glistened adding a warmth to them that could easily be misconstrued as kindness. “I think you were flirting with me. I think you like me, or at least the way I look. I bet you’re thinking about having sex with me right now. If I put a hand on your crotch, would I find a chub?” As Carlisle teased, his voice was more sing-songy now, a sharp contrast to his harsh hypothetical questions previously. “I see you don’t listen very well, though. I told you that I’m out of your league, there’s a difference. Someone like you could never be with someone like me. I’m just ... better than you in every way. And there’s nothing wrong with that either. Some people are born to be spectacular. Others are not...”

          Garrett followed Jayne into the kitchen with a smug smirk spread across his lips. He was playing the foolish, younger boy and without him even realizing it or perhaps Jayne was so damn scarred by how Garrett had treated him the past years he became completely submissive to whatever the older said. He took the glass of lemonade and downed it quickly, as he was feeling slightly dehydrated after running for so long. Then he put the glass down on the counter and leaned back against it, watching Jayne sitting on the counter opposite him. As soon as he began speaking, Garrett rolled his eyes, knowing where this was going. It was so brutally pathetic how Jayne actually thought it was all his fault. He was taking the blame and while it was nice for Garrett to not get any blame what so ever, it felt sad and that feeling just annoyed him. ❛ Take it back ?? ❜  he scoffed a little. Jayne hadn’t done anything. He was just an easy target and had become more and more easy to put down the past few years. ❛ Man if you could take back an entire personality I’d be sincerely impressed. ❜ Garrett let out a small laugh before beginning a slow walk towards the counter where Jayne was sitting. ❛ Oh but this is fun. Isn’t it ?? ❜ Garrett teased, one hand coming up to rub at his sweaty pecs for a moment as he stopped right in front of Jayne. ❛ How could you possibly be any more fun than this ?? ❜ 

            Why did he think this time would be any different? Why did he open the door and invite chaos in to his closet? Jonah should have known that smile was trouble, the same way he’d always known that Trevor was. He was delusional, he had to be. Jonah let himself pretend that he wasn’t unnatural and just maybe he deserved to be comfortable in his desires - maybe being a fag wasn’t wrong. They showed him didn’t they? Trevor outed him on the track, watched as they laughed, as Jonah turned as red as his hair, and even landed the first punch. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life. Every lie he’d told came crumbling down and the one person he thought he could trust was to blame. The shame was bad enough to deal with but Jonah knew this was only the beginning. There was no way his parents would believe he got jumped by the entire lacrosse team just because.

            He’d pulled away when Trevor appeared in the doorway, wondering if this was round two. Did the others come with him? But he was all alone and stupidly some part of Jonah still wanted him. He shivered at Trevor’s touch and whether it was out of fear or desire he wasn’t sure. “You broke my rib,” he confessed quietly, not sure why he felt the need to justify himself. Jonah was the one who’d just got his ass handed to him. He hadn’t meant to cry, he didn’t even know he was doing it. Of course Trevor knew. He always seemed to know the things the ginger tried to hide. It was how they’d ended up in this fucked up relationship in the first place. “And you’re an asshole.” He tried to sound tough or maybe even brave but they both knew Jonah forgave him the second he touched him, even if the pressure on his eye made him wince. “Did it really have to be the whole team?” Now everyone would know what he was. Anyone who hadn’t witnessed it would hear from someone else. Gossip spread around the school like wildfire. Tomorrow they’d probably all be calling him fairy or something.

            He’d seen how they tormented the other queers, Jonah had done it too. He just never thought the tables would turn on him. “What if they try to…” he couldn’t say it. If Trevor smiled at his fear of being taken by the lacrosse team the last bit of strength Jonah had would abandon him. He’d melt into a pathetic pool of homophobic self loathing that didnt see the point in existing. Maybe he deserved it. The whole reason this thing between them worked was because Trever never failed to remind him what he was. Maybe this was his way of making sure that Jonah never forgot.

        Honestly, he expected more from Jonah. After all, fairy-fag-red should’ve been grateful that a guy as golden and magnificent as Trevor even bothered to offer him a second glance. Whatever warmth graced his features disappeared the moment Trevor realized that instead of being thanked, he was being insulted. His reasons for keeping Jonah around didn’t include hearing him whine all the time. “What the hell, dude? Ungrateful much? If anyone’s to blame, it’s you.” Unwittingly, Trevor’s hand shifted from the front of Jonah’s neck to the back where his fingers started to curl in his hair, putting stress on the roots. Though he continued to press the ice pack into his boyfriend’s face, performing his “due diligence” as his de facto nurse, it was clear just how angry Trevor was at what he was hearing. “I told you to stop me if I got to rough, but you’re not just a closet fag but a closet slut too, huh? You liked it so much when I gave you all those hickeys, you liked it when I left my mark. You didn’t stop me so I didn’t. And like always, I had to clean up your mess. Do you really think that anyone would believe that a girl would get wet enough for a scrub like you to do that?”

Clearly, Trevor wasn’t concerned with the aftermath of his actions as far as Jonah was concerned. From his point of view, things couldn’t have worked out better for him. With someone to single out, his teammates wouldn’t be focusing on anything Trevor could do that would indicate his own sexuality. They’d be oblivious to the signs, too focused on the easy target now painted on Jonah’s back. In addition, hickeys would imply that Jonah was a part of a pair and that would be no good either. This was the easiest way to cover their tracks. It was just a shame this fucking cumrag didn’t see it that way. “Here I was, trying to be nice by taking care of you and all I get is this fucking bullshit?” Trevor continued, using the new knowledge of Jonah’s broken rib against him by removing the ice pack from his face and jabbing it roughly into his chest. “I was even going to offer to let you come over to mine for date night, but I guess that’s out of the question. Selfish whore.”

Last night, after the pair of co-eds arrived in town for the fall break, Dalton was sure that they’d just head to his best friend’s house so they could meet up with the family and relax after a long drive. His friend had other plans though, wanting to hang out with an ex-girlfriend or something (and Dalton knew him well enough to realize it was code for getting laid). The naturally independent male didn’t mind being ditched even in a town that wasn’t familiar to him. He could take care of himself, that is with the assistance of the Internet. Immediately after seeing the kid who responded to the ringing doorbell of his friend’s childhood home, Dalton put two and two together and didn’t bother waiting for a formal introduction. 

“'Sup man? I’m Dalton.” It was a jerky, awkward introduction, one that his best friend was sure to notice and grill him about later. But he was behind the pair now, completely out of view, and Dalton figured that he’d have time to come up with a story later. For now, he was focused on one thing and one thing only—making sure that his best friend, the first friend he made in college, the man who had practically become family over the course of the last few years, never found out that Dalton had face-fucked his little brother to tears, Prince Albert and all. Damn the kid’s feelings to hell, he needed to be proactive to prevent his secret from being exposed.

He trusted Grindr to prevent something like this from ever happening, but the damage had already been done. In hindsight, Dalton could see it all so clearly now: how that cherubic face looked not only cute but also young, how he had similar features to his older brother, how he even dressed like the virgin loser Dalton was expecting to meet anyway… None of that information was the least bit useful now, though. All Dalton could do was loom over the highschooler and hope to God that he’d take the hand extended out and didn’t say a word. His face was uncharacteristically stern, almost reading with the unspoken message of ‘be cool’. Absolutely no one needed to know what the two of them had been up to, and there was nothing more to say on the matter.

The hairs covering the back of Daniel’s neck stood on end, a minute response to the perceived threat standing before him. He wouldn’t ever instigate a physical altercation, let alone against a fellow law enforcement agent, but if provoked, he would stand firm.

And that was a glaring possibility given Hollis’ coiled posture and the scathing verbal attack that Daniel would never admit had startled him. There was passion behind that fiery gaze bearing down on him, a need to protect his people from the threat of a killer and the perceived threat of FBI incompetence. It just so happened that Daniel himself embodied the obstacle preventing the police officer from succeeding.

“What do you think I’m doing? My only concern is catching this killer and as far as I can see, it’s the playground behaviour of your officers that threatens to stop that from happening.”

Daniel really didn’t want to waste precious time, not his and not Hollis’ but that of the girl’s,with petty arguments or alpha male bullshit. He could understand the other man’s motivations and even forgive him his curt demeanor, but couldn’t condone and wouldn’t play nice with physical aggression.

The agent’s gaze shifted to Hollis as he backed off, his own growing exasperation escaping through a sharp, audible exhale of air. He had hoped his words had struck a chord with the other man, but the obvious display of puerile behaviour evidenced otherwise.

Without forewarning and with complete disregard for the half-eaten food on Hollis’ desk, Daniel rose from his chair and pulled on his jacket. “I have more questions for the eyewitness” he demanded, this time towering over Hollis with the deliberate suggestion that the initial interview had been inadequate - a subtle but equally childish attempt to rile Hollis.

        Hollis simply didn’t want to hear it, not from anyone but especially not from the agent. After being forced to work through the night placing him at the precinct with only Daniel’s stupid mug to keep him company, his fuse was all but gone. The only thing keeping him from socking his new partner was his captain's orders. He’d exploded once at Daniel and began to think he should apologize if not for cohesion’s sake.

 However, just as he was going to finish off his leftovers, a shadow cast itself over his desk. The unwashed day-old musk that mirrored his own let Hollis know that he had to embrace himself for whatever pompous thing he was about to spew out, but even with the mental prep the burger in his hands squished and crumbled through his vice grip as he failed to contain his anger completely. 

“Shit----Goddammit!” he exclaimed, shaking his hands off furiously into the styrofoam takeout container. “You know what, 007? Let’s go, let’s fucking go exhaust an old lady in the middle of her day with the same exact questions she’s been asked over and over, questions that my officers and I already asked her ... whatever his majesty demands though, right?”

He was too fed up to even bother fighting, and he wanted to leverage this opportunity as much as possible. Nothing would come of it anyway, so why the hell not? “You want to question Misses Nolan? Then fine by me. But after we get nothing from her again, then I’m going home to get some sleep. I need a break from you.” He wiped his hands, grabbed his jacket, and wasn’t even subtle about shouldering Daniel out of his way, though his head hung low. Whether it was exhaustion or humiliation that caused this slight shift, it was obvious that Daniel had gotten under Hollis’ skin and he was entirely unsure of how to deal with this enigma.

“And I’m driving!”

        Not a single moment went by that Faust wasn’t the epitome of pleasantness. Charming, sweet, and friendly were hardly the words someone would use to describe him, but he could, at the very least, be polite and engaging. It was the least he could do for such a darling couple. Like most new neighbors, they would be overly kind up until their lives got too busy and they went about ignoring him with the exception of a few socially demanded ‘hellos’ whenever they happened to be outside at the same time. For the time being, however, Faust intended on enjoying this free meal.

“Color me impressed, this was the best thing I’ve eaten in months,” Faust praised the cook, barely smiling as she blabbered on. He wouldn’t be surprised if compliments in her home were far and few between, all things considered. “But I think I ought to head home. You two probably want to get settled in after such a long day.” Of course, she insisted that he stay for dessert which Faust felt no real need to decline at that point. After all, he felt perfectly at ease since he entered their home but the same couldn’t be said for her boyfriend.

It was obvious to Faust how much he was stressing, though she seemed completely oblivious to her boyfriend’s agitated state. It was the small things that gave him away; the shifty eyes, the fidgety hands, the way he’d peer at Faust when he thought no one was looking----dude was waiting to see if Faust would say anything to expose their secret. That just wasn’t his style. Faust remained the perfect guest, playing the role of the new, genial neighbor perfectly without even letting on in the slightest that the two men had been previously acquainted. 

The moment the hostess of this fine evening ran off to prepare dessert, Faust’s entire demeanor hardened. Gone was the neighborly man, replaced with a stone statue that made no effort to hide his anger. For the first time since entering their home, his cold gaze converged and lingered on the other man. “I want to make something perfectly clear,” he spoke abruptly, taking advantage their first moment alone since they met a few nights ago. “That’s not me. I don’t pull shit like that. You just ... brought it out of me with your incessant...” Naturally, his words were incomplete and vague, and it was impossible to tell whether he meant monkey fucking behind the dumpster of some dingy bar or fucking a guy in general. Either way, Faust recognized the experience as a first time and last time thing.

“Plus, you got a nice girl there taking care of you. I like her, I really do, but she’s got a shithead of a boyfriend. You made me an accessory to your infidelity and that’s not okay. You owe me one hell of an apology, but more importantly, you have some things to clear up with your girlfriend.” Faust stood from the table, already forgetting about dessert. This was one messy situation he was dragged into and he didn’t want to be in this house any longer. Nothing good could come of living next door to him. “Being around you makes me sick. I’m going home. Apologize to her for me, will you? Do it after you apologize for yourself though. She deserves to know how you like to be dicked down, you fucking slut.”