#wipitgood

bitty teaches home ec. this is completely expected. but then he also ends up teaching some shit like multivariable calculus through some strange turn of events and all his former home ec students feel like they’ve got whiplash

jack is a history teacher. he’s very good at his job. but he’s also the teacher who, if you ask him the right questions, will most definitely go on an hour-long ramble on how actually the plague was in part caused by the romans and—

shitty is also a history teacher. probably something modern and most definitely something concerned with class structure. he also sponsors the debate team. people have mistaken him for a student multiple times

lardo teaches art and petitions for the principal to allow her to use chainsaws in school for her lessons

nobody is sure what ransom and holster teach. they both do something STEM-y but the name plates outside their classrooms have fallen off and sometimes they’ll just switch classes. no one dares say anything. anyways, they all end up actually learning.

johnson teaches philosophy. everyone sleeps in his class. he doesn’t give a shit. “i’m just here perfunctorily,” he says every year in the yearbook.

the frogs are all TAs— jack and shitty share nursey, ransom and holster have dex, and bitty takes chowder. lardo refuses a TA on principle but she lets nursey come in and help unofficially sometimes.

bitty nearly has an aneurysm when he tries to teach his class how to make pecan pie and all of his students pronounce it the new englander way. jack is passing by and bitty asks him how he pronounces it. “pecan,” jack says. “why do you— wait why is your face so red?”

he is very displeased that this new “mr. bittle” keeps giving his players frosting-laden treats before practice— doesn’t he know that none of these kids wash their hands and get smears of frosting all over the locker room and then jack has to clean it up (not really but he feels guilty having the custodial staff do it). the treats get messier and messier until one day the freshman goalie drips the contents of an entire lava cake onto the floor and he has to confront bitty about it.

bitty looks at him for ten seconds before bursting out into laughter. jack immediately transforms into a tomato

bitty reassures him that they’re about to go into the sewing unit, and any treats he’ll bring in will be “strictly of the mess-less variety, don’t you worry”

jack thanks bitty very awkwardly (he hadn’t thought this far ahead)

bitty invites him to try some of the pecan pie (“but only if you don’t butcher the pronunciation—” “i’m just saying pecan! wait bittle your face is really red again are you okay—” “NO”) and after the whole pecan-pecan thing they actually have a really good time and end up talking until the school shuts the lights off

shitty chirps them endlessly, as do ransom and holster

joke’s on them though because when jack and bitty move in together jack gets an endless supply of treats

the next year bitty arranges it so that he teaches his multivariable calc class or whatever last (e.g. he is not giving the hockey players incredibly messy food right before practice)

he gets chirped for that too

he withholds treats for two days and the chirping stops

three years later some of their wedding favors are lava cakes

jack suggested mini pecan pies but bitty shot that down (“i will NOT have the guests at my wedding saying ‘pecan’ the whole time”)

they all live happily ever after

         Within minutes, Sean has Dex snorting unattractively into his cup, laughing so hard his chest aches. Dex has no idea why Sean is still talking to him, as Dex is making an absolute ass of himself, staring blankly into Sean’s face like a middle-schooler with a crush. Still, Sean talks and jokes and—flirts? Dex doesn’t exactly have experience with flirting with men, but he’s pretty sure all of this—the soft teasing, Sean finding a reason to reach out and touch Dex’s hand, arm, chest, Sean’s eyes filled with heat—it has to mean something, right?

         They talk for an hour or so, slowly filtering into other areas of their lives. Dex talks about how he’s adjusting to being away from home for the first time and Sean shares tips he’s learned since being here for a year. They talk about their families, a little, Dex mentions his asshole of a brother and how he misses him anyway, and Sean shares a story about when his sister shaved off one of his eyebrows in his sleep. Dex finds himself sharing fears about college that he hasn’t even told the team or his family back home. Sean is funny and kind and easy to talk to—not to mention he’s fucking hot.

         Sean finishes his drink and knocks his empty cup against Dex’s matching one. His has been empty for the past twenty minutes but he hadn’t wanted to stop talking to Sean. He leans in closer and, his voice soft, he asks, “Would you like to get out of here?”

         Dex may have little experience with the flirting thing, but this, at least, is familiar territory. He grins. “Definitely.”

         It’s just starting to get cold out, so they make the walk back to Sean’s place pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Dex is tipsy but not drunk, just a pleasant buzz under his skin, anticipation building in his chest. They cut through the backyard towards a frat house, as Sean apparently lives in one. They go in through the backdoor and climb the stairs, trying to be quiet so they don’t wake up Sean’s housemates. Finally they reach his bedroom and Dex follows him inside only to be pushed up against the inside of the closed door.

         “You okay with this?” Sean asks, already a little breathless, and in the semi-darkness of the room, the only thing Dex can see is the moonlight reflecting off of Sean’s wide smile. He presses his hands into Sean’s tense abdominals and there’s little to no give.

         “More than okay,” Dex says, and leans down to finally get a taste of that wide, enticing smile. It hasn’t been a ridiculously long time but kissing Sean reminds Dex of how fucking good kissing can be, even when it’s like this, a bit tipsy and messy but hot. Dex feels like he’s being consumed and he’s completely fine with it, wants it, wants to disappear under Sean’s lips and teeth and hands.

         Dex throws his head back to try and suck in a breath, and Sean takes this as invitation to drift lower and suck pretty bruises into Dex’s skin. “Fuck,” Dex exhales, shaky, and feels Sean’s mouth spread into a grin against his neck. “Don’t get cocky,” Dex says, digging his nails into Sean’s shoulder, realizing then that he wants Sean’s shirt off more than anything else.

         “Thought that was the point?” Sean says into Dex’s collarbone, stifling his giggles, and Dex groans because how the fuck. How can Sean be hot and seductive and delicious, while also being ridiculously endearing? It isn’t fair.

         “Oh God, shut up.” Dex pushes his hands up under the edge of Sean’s t-shirt, rucking it up until Sean gets the message and pulls back to tug it over his head and throw it somewhere behind him. Dex sighs at the sight he makes, skin gone soft in the moonlight, muscles tight and defined, slightly crooked grin on his face.

         Oh yes, Dex thinks, stepping forwards to push Sean back towards the bed, tonight is going to be good.

 *~*~*

           Dex wakes up with the sun in his face, a heavy arm around his waist, and a satisfied warmth running throughout his whole body. He stretches, sitting up, and Sean grumbles, pushing his face into Dex’s hip. Dex smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through Sean’s hair as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. It tells him that he has practice within the hour, so he pulls himself from Sean’s bed and clinging limbs to try and collect his clothes.

        He finds his briefs hanging from Sean’s desk lamp and puts them on, hopping around to find his t-shirt on the ground. He scratches at his stomach, where cum has dried to his skin and left it hard and flaky. He grimaces, pulling his shirt on over it. He’ll definitely have to go home and take a shower before practice and or he’ll never make it through the chirping. Then he looks up, in search of his pants, and sees himself in the mirror, neck covered in marks that drift down under his collar and most definitely spread even further. Guess the chirping is a sure thing no matter what, then.

         “Mm, where’re you goin’?” Sean says, muffled, into his pillow, and Dex huffs.

         “Probably to be teased to death by my teammates for all the marks you left on me, dude.” Dex spots his pants on Sean’s bookshelf and grabs them, bending over to pull them on. They apparently make his ass look great, or at least Bitty says so. He’s right, if the way Sean’s eyeing him as he pulls them on fully is any indication.

         “Teammates?” Sean asks, dragging his eyes back up to Dex’s face, where he’s grinning knowingly. Despite his blush, Sean asks, “What d’you play?”

         “I’m on the hockey team,” Dex says, searching idly for his socks and shoes. When he looks back at Sean in the bed, he’s lost all the mugginess of sleep and is staring, wide-eyed and horrified, back at Dex. “What? What’s wrong?”

         “You’re on the hockey team?” he asks, voice much higher than before.

         Dex nods slowly. Hadn’t that come up last night? Maybe not. “Yeah. Why?” Sean groans and buries his face in the pillow in front of him. Dex shifts in his spot. “Dude, c’mon. Why’s that a big deal?” Sean says something into the pillow that just sounds like a series of anxious grunts to Dex. “What’s that?”

         Sean sighs and turns his head, staring up at Dex with something half-sad, half-terrified. “I’m on the lacrosse team.”

         Dex freezes in place. He can feel as his face mirrors Sean’s worried expression. Fuck. “I’m in the LAX frat right now?” Sean nods gravely. “Fuck.”

         “Yeah.”

         Dex takes a seat at Sean’s desk chair and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck. Fuck. I fucked a LAX bro. Shitty’s gonna kill me.”

         “Chad R. is going to kill me. So is Chad S.”

         “You have two guys on your team named Chad?” Dex looks up to give Sean an incredulous expression.

         Sean says, “Three, actually.”

         Dex groans. “What have I done?” He shakes his head. He thinks back to last night, talking with Sean, opening up, laughing. God. It had been good, okay, the talking and the banter and the everything. Dex liked Sean. Still does, if he’s honest, but he’s a LAX bro. Even if Dex didn’t agree that they were all kind of assholes—which he does, the LAX team is a petri dish of toxic masculinity and misogyny and they’re also just huge dicks—trying to date a LAX bro would never work.

         He looks up from the floor and stares back at Sean. He can feel the weight of all the dead possibilities between them, heavy and suffocating. Dex swallows roughly and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, and he shouldn’t be this sad, they haven’t even known each other for a day. But they could’ve been—no, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. “Okay,” Dex repeats, “this’ll be fine. No one has to know. I won’t tell anyone, you won’t tell anyone. I’ll leave now and it’ll be fine.”

         “Yeah,” Sean says, and his lips quirk up at the corners, the horror in his expression draining, leaving behind a soft melancholy that Dex wants to kiss away. He says, “It’s been fun, Dex.”

         Dex grabs his socks and shoes and offers something like a smile back. “It could’ve been,” he says, and turns towards the door.

         Suddenly, there’s a knock. “Sean, brah, get the fuck up! We’ve got practice!” Dex jumps, turning to share a panicked look with Sean, and then they both simultaneously look at the window.

         This is how Dex finds himself shimmying down the drain pipe on the side of the LAX frat without his shoes on. He makes it to the bottom and hops down, the cold dew of the grass freezing his toes. Sean sticks his head out of the window and grins down at him. “I’ll see you around.”

         “Probably not,” Dex calls back up at him, and then runs to the other side of the street, pulling on his shoes. He makes it back to his dorm and showers, changes, and then leaves for practice. The whole while he tells himself that this is fine, it was a one-off, good time and that’s it.

         It should be it. It’s not.

 *~*~*

           Team breakfasts are loud. Dex doesn’t really know what to do with them, sometimes, so he tries to keep to himself at the end of the table. The hickies on his neck still haven’t disappeared, though they’re now nearly gone. Still, whenever any of the guys see them, they make a face like they’re proud, or want details or something, and Dex doesn’t know how to say it was a guy let alone it was a lax bro so he ducks them whenever he can.

         Bitty takes a seat on Dex’s left, talking a mile a minute about something back home that his mother told him about, and Dex listens to his voice, if not the words. Something about Bitty’s lilted and slow tone is comforting to Dex, and he lets that cover him like a blanket as he tries not to fall asleep into his cereal.

         Vaguely, Dex hears someone call, “Shut up, already!” from one table over and he doesn’t think much of it until Holster and Ransom are standing from their seats and yelling back.

         “What’d you say to him?” Holster asks, his usual playful expression gone with a second. For a 6’4 dude, Holster almost never looks intimidating, but right now Dex wouldn’t even get near him.

         “He won’t shut up and it’s fucking early, man,” the same guy says, and Dex turns to see he’s sitting at the LAX table. Sean isn’t there, which Dex can’t help but be grateful for.

         “Then fucking plug your ears and leave us the fuck alone,” Ransom yells back, and the surrounding tables do not seem pleased with all the commotion and Dex would be embarrassed but these dicks are harassing Bitty. Bitty. The embodiment of everything good in the world.

         “Just tell your girlfriend to keep her mouth closed,” the guy says, smirking all shittily, and Dex knows that kind of grin well, knows the kind of taunts that come from between those lips, and his blood boils before he can help himself and he’s going to hit something, he knows it—

         “The fact that you use gender as an insult just reinforces the lack of confidence in your own masculinity,” Shitty says, using his matter-of-fact asshole voice that Lardo says is the closest he can sound to his father. He only uses it when he wants to piss people off.

         “What’d you say to me?”

         “He said you’re just a part of a broken machine aimed to eviscerate the emotional capacity of masculine people,” Ransom says, catching Shitty’s condescending tone.

         Holster continues in the same vein, “Yeah, you’re just part of the problem, man. Don’t you get tired having to assert your dominance over every fucking situation? Just take a seat, dude, let your emotions out.”

         The LAX bro mutters something that sounds like, “Fucking hockey team,” and turns back around to his table. Bitty is now completely pink and hiding his face in his breakfast, but his lips are upturned in the corners.

         “Y’all didn’t have to do that,” he says, quiet, and Holster ruffles his hair softly, softer than he usually is.

         “Of course we did, Bits,” Ransom says with a wide, handsome grin.

         “Got your back,” Shitty says, resolute, and they all go back to their breakfasts.

         After a minute, Dex prompts, “So what did Mrs. Henderson do about her missing begonias?” and Bitty starts talking again, not even a degree softer than he’d been before.

         Walking home from the dining hall, Dex tries not to make comparisons to his old team, how they’d wait until he turned his back before they called him any number of slurs that cut at his skin, how that had been the most respect they could’ve held for him. There are an endless number of comparisons to make—the difference between chirping and insulting, how having your back on and off ice is more than just a means to a win, the way Dex smiles more than he ever thought he could—and Dex could tire himself with trying to evaluate them all, but still.

        It’s nice to have the difference.

 *~*~*

           The next time it happens, Dex really can’t be blamed.

         Samwell is very big on making sure there are an infinite number of spaces for someone to acquaint themselves with. Only a month into the school year, Dex is a part of a program for first-generation college attendees, athletic scholarship awardees, financial aid awardees, STEM oriented students, and student athletes. And those are only the ones sponsored specifically by the college. Dex is in a handful of other clubs and organizations meant to aid his transition to college.

         Mostly, Dex hangs out with the team, some friends he made from class, and people from the tech club he’s in. People from the other organizations are mostly acquaintances. If he sees them on campus or in class, he’ll give them a nod, but they aren’t planning any kegsters together or anything. Still, Dex attends the soirees they invite him to, standing scratchy and uncomfortable in a suit that doesn’t fit quite right—“You should get something tailored,” Nurse would say, infuriatingly—and sips at his sparkling cider and counts down the seconds until he can leave.

         He’s having a particularly boring conversation with a trustee or an alumni or a donor or whatever when Dex sees Sean from across the room. It’s been a few weeks since Dex climbed out his bedroom window and he hasn’t thought about him constantly or anything, he’s not obsessed, but. Well, sometimes he’ll pass the LAX frat on the way to the Haus or he’ll see a couple of guys tossing a ball around on the Quad or he’ll be trying to fall asleep to no avail, and he’ll think of Sean, of his laughter and his hands, and he’ll miss him, just a little. A tiny, manageable amount.

         Now, now Sean is talking to his own donor/trustee/alumni, throwing his head back slightly in a beautiful laugh, and Dex wants way more than a manageable amount. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads for the bathroom to cool down and get ahold of himself. He grabs a paper towel and soaks it in some cool water, dabbing lightly at his face to try and stave off his blush. He huffs as it doesn’t go down at all and throws away the towel. He looks at his reflection, tugs his collar straight, stares himself down.

         “You will be normal,” he says, firmly, just as a man leaves a stall. Dex’s flush gets deeper as the man gives him a short look before washing his hands and leaving. Great. The being normal thing is going just gr—

         “Dex?” Dex looks up and there’s Sean, standing half in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at Dex’s reflection with an open-mouthed, soft expression that Dex wants to touch.

         “Sean.” Dex swallows. “Hey.”

         After a few loaded moments, Dex realizes that he hasn’t turned around yet, so he steels himself and does it. Sean cleans up nice. Like, really nice. His suit looks tailored, if the way it fits him is any indication, and he might not have a hockey ass but damn is it a good one. His tie is a soft blue that complements his eyes. There’s one stray curl at his collar that Dex wants to smooth out but he doesn’t. They just stand there staring at one another until Dex can’t handle it anymore and coughs.

         “I’d better—”

         “Yeah, I don’t want to—”

         “—get back to the—”

         “—keep you.”

         “—party.”

         They seem to have only managed to gotten closer, as Dex tried to leave and Sean tried to move towards a stall. Now they’re so close that Dex can see a spot where Sean missed when he was shaving and all Dex wants to do is brush his thumb against it. “Fuck,” he hears himself say, and in the next second Sean is kissing him.

         (See, Dex really can’t be blamed.)

         “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Dex manages to get them behind a stall door before he lets himself melt into it. It still is a school sponsored function and he really doesn’t want an alumni/donor/trustee walking in to find Dex shoving his hands up the back of another student’s button down.

         “God, you’re fucking huge,” Sean mumbles against Dex’s mouth, his hands curling around Dex’s shoulders. Dex hums and surges even closer, wrapping his arms around the small of Sean’s back, pulling him tight against Dex’s body. “Couldn’t stop thinking about your arms,” Sean says, pushing his hands inside Dex’s jacket to scratch at his chest through his shirt. “Bet you could hold me up against the wall and just—unngh.”

         Sean trails off as Dex finds a spot on the hinge of his jaw to focus his attention on. He really does have great skin—fucking LAX bros—and Dex has no reservations about staying there and working on making a deep pink-purple bruise like it’s his job, but he hears the door to the bathroom open and realizes that two pairs of feet in a stall are very suspicious. Looks like Sean’s going to have his fantasy come true.

         “Jump,” Dex mutters into Sean’s cheek, and then picks him up, pinning him against the wall, in one fluid movement. It knocks the breath out of Sean, but apparently in a good way, because he immediately rolls his hips against Dex’s.

         “God,” Sean says on a breath, and Dex kisses him to keep him quiet. He pulls back after a second or two to muffle his hiss into Sean’s shoulder as Sean reaches down and cups Dex through his slacks.

         “There’s someone in here,” he whispers, furious, into Sean’s ear.

         Sean simply grins. “You’d better be quiet, then.”

         About ten or so minutes later, they leave the stall, both thoroughly flustered. Dex’s flush is a complete lost cause and Sean can’t seem to get the stupid, smug grin off his face, so it’s very obvious what he’s just been doing. God, they’re hopeless.

         “Okay, so, that happened.”

         “Yeah it did—”

         “Sean.”

         Sean’s smug grin softens into something sheepish, kind. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just, kinda, been thinking about you.”

         God, that’s gay. Why does Dex like it so much? “I—I guess I have too.” He shakes his head. “But this would never work. We couldn’t tell our teammates, we couldn’t be seen together, I—I…”

         “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Sean steps forwards and puts his hand on Dex’s hip, comforting. “I don’t want to force you into anything. We don’t have to do this again, we can control ourselves.” He smirks a little. “I hope, at least.”

         Dex looks at him for a few moments, thinking about the possibility of it all. He likes Sean, for his looks, sure, but more than that, he’s a nice person, kind and funny and interesting. Dex could see himself dating Sean, like actual, out-in-public, playing-footsie-under-the-table dates. He never thought he could have that with a guy. He wants it so much it aches.

         But the idea of sneaking around, like he had to back home, not telling any of the guys, his friends…. Dex doesn’t want that.

         “We can,” Dex says, and he must be imagining the fall in Sean’s expression. “We have to.”

         Sean smiles, but it’s heavy. “Yeah,” he says, leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Dex’s mouth. He leaves the bathroom with a lingering look and Dex is left alone, wanting.

 *~*~*

           Being alone in the halls of an unknown rink is creepy. Dex is half-exhausted and half-keyed up from their win tonight, and he finished showering and redressing faster than most of the guys in his pseudo-state, leaving him to walk the path back to the parking lot alone. It’s quiet, so the only thing he can hear are his footsteps echoing around the halls, and he’s got nothing to focus on except his thoughts, which are worrying enough that he wants to actually run from them. But that would just be weird so he walks, contained, tense, and hopes more than anything that no one—especially one no one— will find him.

         His prayers must fall on deaf ears.

         “Dex!” Jogging casually down the hall comes Luke Rossi. He’s got on the same grin he always wore back in high school, wearing a tight, soft-looking t-shirt that reads Cornell across the chest. Dex swallows down whatever feeling has lodged itself in his throat. “Hey,” Luke says, slowing to a stop in front of Dex. His brown eyes look a shade softer in the fluorescent lights, deceiving. “Long time no see.”

         Long time is a bit of a stretch. They saw each other over the summer. It was similar to every time they’ve seen each other over the summer for the past four years. Dark car, quiet beach, hands over mouths to stifle whatever sounds came out. At once, it feels both like it’s a million years away and as if Dex is still living that same moment. Luke has that effect on him.

         “Yeah,” Dex says anyway. He shifts his weight, nervous. “How have you been?”

         Luke laughs, bright, cheerful. Dex wonders if it always looked that fake or if he’s learned Luke too well by now. “Oh, you know. Hockey, school, the works. You actually know now! Finally in real school.” He claps Dex on the arm. “Samwell, whoa. I always knew you’d go somewhere smart.”

         Despite himself, the praise warms Dex. “Yeah, it’s been nice.”

         “I bet the folks back home lost their shit,” Luke says, with another laugh, this one shorter, more pointed. He knows better than most the rumors that clung to Dex’s back all through school, and going off to the Gay Ivy did nothing to alleviate them.

         “Yeah,” Dex says, and looks down.

         “But hey, you played a good game tonight. An assist and everything. We should go out and celebrate, I know this great place—”

         “Dex?” Dex looks up and over to see Ransom and Holster coming down the hall, both of them frowning. Dex shrinks down without thinking. “Is everything okay?”

         “Who’s this?” Ransom asks, coming up on Dex’s right. Holster takes his left. Dex feels even smaller between them.

         “This is Luke,” Dex says, half-gesturing towards him. “He was my old captain back home.” Luke grins, charming, at the introduction. He sticks his hand out.

         Holster hesitates. “I thought you were your team’s captain,” he says, frowning.

         “He was captain when I was a freshman.” Dex fidgets, pulling at the material of his sweatpants. “I took over when he left.”

         “Oh,” Holster says, nodding exaggeratedly. He takes Luke’s hand and Dex sighs out his relief. “So you just want to catch up?” Holster directs to Luke.

         Luke grins wider, more charming, more plastic. “Yeah, man. Just thought I’d take him out with some of the guys, talk the game, stuff back home.” He shakes Ransom’s hand next, who returns his grin with a flat stare. Luke falters and looks back to Holster. “You know how it is, old teammates, I’m sure.”

         “Oh, I know—”

         Dex cuts Holster off. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” He takes a step forwards and turns so he’s facing Ransom and Holster and standing next to Luke. They both shoot him downturned-lip-furrowed-brow worried expressions. “Tell Chowder I’ll be back at the room a bit late.”

         “You sure?” Ransom frowns, staring unflinchingly at Dex.

         Dex—he doesn’t know what to do with this. The protectiveness. The care. It makes him fidgety, nervous, almost itchy. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not yet, and though he doesn’t really know how to describe the way he feels about Luke either, that pit in his stomach is at least familiar.

         “Yeah,” Dex says, and Luke throws a casual arm over his shoulders. It’s uncomfortably heavy, but it’s a weight Dex knows how to deal with.

         “I’ll have him back by midnight, boys,” Luke says, joking, though the looks on Ransom and Holster’s faces seem to imply they would appreciate just that. Luke nods. “Alright then.” He turns and starts walking them down the hallway towards the exit Dex had been looking for earlier. “Your teammates are a bit strange, Dex,” Luke says with a laugh, as they make their way out.

         “They’re just big on taking care of each other, at Samwell,” Dex says, and identifies the curl in his chest as guilt for not defending them.

         Luke laughs. Dex can see the exit clearly from where they are now. “Of course the sissy school is big on caring shit.” Luke’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “You must hate it there.”

         They’ve reached the exit to the stadium. It’s too late to turn back, so Dex just says nothing and follows. Luke always liked it best that way, anyway.

 *~*~*

           Within half an hour, they’ve reached a secluded field. Luke turns off the car. He gets out and flattens the backseats so there’s one big opening in the back. Dex joins him, quiet, and begins taking off his shirt.

         They say nothing for the next twenty minutes. Luke keeps his fingers pressed tightly over Dex’s lips even though he’s long since trained himself to be silent. The soft sounds of skin against skin and choked-off breathing fill the humid air. It’s cold outside but it’s boiling inside the car. It was always like that, too, back in Maine, the car so hot it almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. At one point, Dex convinced himself it was probably the closest he’d ever been to Hell.

         They dress in silence. During, Dex usually thinks of nothing except guilty, horrible pleasure. After, there’s nothing else to focus on but the adjectives. He sits in the passenger seat in rumpled clothes that stick to his sweaty skin, quickly cooling into something uncomfortable.

         Dex thinks of Sean, ridiculously. Of walking back to his dorm with cum drying on his stomach and going through a school function with slightly dirtied underpants. Both times he was dirtier, physically, than he is now, and still right now he’s the most uncomfortable.

         Sean didn’t make him uncomfortable. Sean made him giddy, made him smile, made him happy. Dex forgot, somehow, the desperation of being with Luke, the guilt and the fear. Now Dex remembers the way he used to pray, afterwards, ask God forgiveness for his sins, his inability to stop making them. His tongue tastes like communion wine gone sour and his body feels stiff with disgrace. Even now, all he can think of is how wrong he is.

         Twice he was with Sean and both times Dex had forgotten to repent.

         It wasn’t guilty with Sean. It wasn’t dirty or something to hide. Even when they had to be quiet, it was fun. There was laughter in his fingertips, a smile tucked under his tongue for Dex to find, to enjoy. Enjoy.

         Dex had never found joy in having sex with a man before.

         The weight of the aftermath with Luke lifts, then. Because it doesn’t have to be like this. Dex isn’t bad when he’s with a boy, he’s just bad when he’s with Luke. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe he just tied all his childhood fears up in Luke and he can’t separate them now. Either way, Luke isn’t good for him, not anymore. Maybe he never was.

         “See you,” Luke says, when they pull up in front of the motel the team is staying in for the night.

         “Goodbye, Luke,” Dex says, and means it. He gets out of the car.

         Dex can like a boy. He can like a boy without his tongue curling itself into knots out of self-preservation. He can like a boy without looking over his shoulder for the godly reprimand he can’t help but anticipate coming. He can like a boy without hating himself for it.

         The lightness in his chest carries him up the walkway. He can like a boy. He can like a boy.

         The lightness fades, decently, when Dex remembers that he can like any boy but Sean. Then again, he thinks as Luke pulls away before Dex reaches the front door, he was never really destined for happiness anyway.

 *~*~*

           It’s too fucking cold to be lugging a laundry basket back from the Haus, but Dex’ll be damned before he coughs up cash for the dorm washers when there’s a perfectly shitty washer and dryer at the Haus. Poindexters are nothing if not stubborn to the point of physical injury. Which he’s dangerously close to accomplishing, at this very moment, as he attempts to get his dorm key out of his bag while squishing the laundry basket between his hip and the door.

         He gets the key out right before the basket slips and he triumphantly shoves it in the lock. Letting himself in, he drops the basket on his bed and turns around to shut the door only to see Sean standing in the open doorway.

         What.

         “Dex,” he says, breathless. “Hi.”

         “Uh, hi?” Dex is still kind of stuck at what. “What, uh, what are you—why are you here?”

         “Yeah, um.” Sean swallows. “About that.”

         “Sean?”

         “Okay, this is going to sound really creepy, but remember I’m cute, okay?”

         “What?”

         “Okay, so, uh. I saw you leaving the hockey frat with your laundry and I sort of, followed you and, fuck. I can’t stop thinking about you?” He winces at himself. “This is sounding so much creepier than it’s meant to. I just, I really like you, okay? I think we can get past the team thing. It’ll be kind of like Romeo and Juliet, right?”

         “They killed themselves at the end,” Dex points out.

         “Well, as long as you don’t take drugs from any priests and I don’t kill your cousin, I think we’ll be pretty okay.”

         “Sean,” Dex tries to say firmly, but he’s smiling.

         Sean half-smiles back. “I think we can do it. I really do.”

         “Sean…”

         “And remember how cute I am,” Sean adds quickly. “Also remember that I just ran up three flights of stairs because the elevator was full just for you.”

         “How did you even get in the building?”

         Sean grins. “I am very cute.” Dex gives him a flat look. Sean relents. “Okay, I pretended like I lived here and went in behind someone who opened the door.” He points at Dex. “But I am cute.”

         “I feel like you’re searching for validation here.”

         “And the polite thing to do would be to give it to me, wouldn’t it?” Dex looks at him, standing there a little short of breath with a small, crooked smile. Dex thinks about destiny and bad decisions and how it feels to like a boy.

He spends the next 6 years working hard from his new home, and relays the information to Senor Bun whenever he can. He absolutely loves Georgia with its heat and it’s peaches and its rustic way of life. It’s definitely a big change from...well...the north pole. It actually gives him a bit too much of a culture shock at first. He practically begs his parents to let him do SOMETHING with ice. Bitty takes to skating like he took to baking and toy making: like a motherfucking champ.  Along the way, he learns a lot of things about Christmas. For many, it’s lost the heavily religious undertones in exchange for images of himself...or what everyone down south thinks he looks like. Jolly? yes. Wears lots of red? Yes. Rosy cheeks? Yes. Full laugh? yes. Enjoys Coke? Eh sure why not. Large old man with a big ass beard? uh... no. never. He looks more like those elf depictions than anything else.  Some of the traditions he’ll miss. There’s a lot less horse-drawn sleds and a lot more, “tie an inflatible inner tube to the back of a 4 wheel drive and drag someone behind it in the mud/snow”. And there’s a lot more collectible ornaments and less fruitcake. There’s hallmark movies that tug at Bitty’s desire to someday find some sort of love for himself, even though that’s impossible. And perhaps his favorite thing that has changed with this century of Christmas:  Mariah Carey

Holy moly. After hearing that song Bitty made sure to look at Mariah’s biggest desire for that year and get Senor Bun on that stat. She deserve’s the very best. Michael Buble is definitely strong in his heart too. Bitty wishes that he could send an endorsement to those folks. “Santa’s favorite music” it would say.  If he slipped a note in Beyonce’s present one year saying “Christmas Album maybe??? :DD”, she kept it to herself. But a boy can dream.  So the years pass and he get’s this “live like a human” thing more or less in the bag. Until he is trapped in a closet by a couple of assholes on the football team. Bitty has to spend the night in there, no one able to hear him. What’s worse is that he knows where everyone is, and what they are doing. The football douches are currently sitting in the parking lot of a wal mart drinking shitty beer and laughing about how they hope Bitty doesn’t ever get found. 

He sees his dad telling Suzanne not to worry, because the team called him to tell him they were gonna bond with Bitty tonight. Suzanne is so thrilled that Bitty’s “finally getting some friends at school”. And Bitty curls in closer to himself and wonders what will break her heart more: seeing Bitty like this or knowing that he still hasn’t found his place. Probably both, he thinks.  With no one around him, he decides the best thing he can do is rest. He plants thoughts of sugar plums and pecans and jam into the minds of those he loves.  He’s saved by a janitor named Rudy. Bitty knows his full name is Rudolph, but he refuses to acknowledge this. Not at a time like this, and probably not ever.  And his parents, of course, move him to a new school. That was that, he was supposed to start new and “put the past behind him”. It’s not that easy, though. In all his years, he has never felt more helpless. Bitty can’t understand how there are people in the world like that, but now he can’t stop seeing them in the eyes of far too many people. 

When he went away to Andover for high school, it was a different dynamic. The kids there didn’t make fun of his interests or his smarts, they were all pretty smart and had strange interests. But they were almost all white, which made him feel left out in different ways. 

He perfected his chill exterior there. Nothing could get to him if he didn’t let himself feel anything.

When Derek realized he was gay, his obsession with redheaded boys suddenly became a lot clearer. He didn’t come out at Andover, though. There were already too many things different with him there. 

So he pined after Aidan Fitzpatrick in secret. 

It was only when he gets to Samwell that he allows himself to say it out loud. 

Sure, he’s still in the racial minority, but there are some non-white players on the team and there are some non-straight players and all-in-all he feels safe. 

Even if Dex is a stupid, straight, white boy who won’t listen when he explains that his life is never going to be “easy” just because he has wealthy parents. 

Whatever. It’s fine.

At least he’s cute. 

Especially when Derek gets him riled up and makes him blush.

It’s not until they get paired up to room together on roadies that it happens. 

The nightmares. 

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.” 

He’s awoken in a strange bed with William Poindexter hovering over him, hand on his shoulder, and worry in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Derek croaks. 

“Don’t apologize. Do you need anything? Water?” Dex is frowning but in a way that belies his concern, not anger. 

“Water is good.”

It hadn’t been an unusual nightmare, he just didn’t get them that much anymore. The boys in his elementary school teasing him and not letting him escape their surrounding circle. 

He wasn’t sure if they had ever actually surrounded him like that or if it was something his subconscious had created from media consumption, but the dreams were still terrifying. 

Dex came back with a glass of water and he downed it gratefully. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His face was open and Derek knew he could say anything and have the answer be respected. 

But he didn’t want to talk about it, so he shook his head. 

“Okay.”

Things were different after that. Not very different, but just enough. 

He never asked what he had said in his sleep but Dex seemed to respect his space more now, so it can’t have been nice things. 

He even got a few smiles out of him at Hausgiving. 

He started to wonder what his lips tasted like. 

They still fought, of course. 

Derek was certain they always would. But it was good-natured these days. Bickering. 

They chirped each other and when Chowder whined at them not to fight, please, they just exchanged a sigh. They weren’t really fighting. 

It was kind of nice. 

When they arrived back at Samwell for sophomore year, Derek realized he had even missed Dex’s grumpy face. 

He’s pretty sure that’s when the crush really began. 

It was inconvenient, really. Quite rude. But his subconscious had always had a preference for redheaded boys so he figured it was only a matter of time.

He was out at Samwell, but he wasn’t about to come out about a crush on a teammate. A white, republican, grumpy teammate. 

Nope.