Sage had managed to get to school without Corey waking up, his brother having stumbled in drunk some time around dawn and promptly falling asleep. School had been difficult, impossible to concentrate with so many thoughts running through his head never mind feelings through his body. The shifter had not been in the alley. Sage had checked. He wasn’t even sure why just that he had to know that Heller was really gone. Whether he wanted the man to still be there or not, Sage still wasn’t sure. His body was aching and he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

Taylor was waiting for him after school, soft ash blond hair and bright blue eyes setting him apart from the others. Taylor was a really odd kid, looking very much sweet and weak and even shorter than Sage was. But the boy was vicious when he needed to be, a switch inside his friend that turned Taylor into a wild, angry thing that would defend himself and friends at any cost. That was how they had become friends to begin with.

Sage had seen the boy being picked on and gone to help, only to be as surprised as the bullies to find that Taylor was plain crazy, biting and punching back with a rock in his fist. He had burst out laughing, seeing such a sweet looking kid go nuts and win. Bullies always underestimated him too, and it just seemed right to hang with Taylor after that.

“You get home alright last night?” Taylor asked, slipping in step with Sage, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I wish you had let me go with you. You know how I worry.”

Sage nodded mutely, not sure what he wanted to tell his friend just yet. He was in trouble, he knew that much. His body was aching, each step he took making his hole throb in memory and unceasing want.

“Sage… you kinda smell, man,” Taylor said, glancing over at him. “And not a garbage smell from the Wastes. Something musky, almost.” He stopped, grabbing the brunette’s hand when the boy tried to walk by him. “What are those marks on your neck?”

Sage ducked away, covering his neck. His flesh had only gotten darker as he slept, bruises blossoming purple in the morning light. “Shit, is it really noticeable?”

“That someone’s been sucking on your neck? Yeah, it fucking is. What the hell happened last night?”

“Oh god, Corey’s going to kill me,” Sage gasped frantically, eyes wide in fear. “Literally kill me. Tayls, I need makeup or some shit. I need to hide this. You know how he gets—He’s going to slice me up so bad, I’ll never move again!”

“Calm down, Sage. Just stop and breathe.” Looking around at the students in the distance, Taylor pulled his friend down the street, heading for his neighborhood. “Start at the beginning and we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

Sage nodded weakly, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Tayls… do werewolves ever… fuck people on the full moon?” He asked quietly, staring at his sneakers.

Taylor stopped walking, scratching the back of his head. “Umm… why do you…?”

Sage ducked his head, edging closer to whisper into the blond’s ear. “When they’re transformed, do they ever… fuck people?” He asked again, blushing brightly.

“I don’t…” Taylor glanced around, speaking quietly. “Yeah, I think so. Not something I’ve seen firsthand, or anything, but they talk about it sometimes. I guess there are some people that really, er, like it.”

“What about shifters?” Sage asked, fidgeting under his friend’s stare.

“Do werewolves fuck shifters?” Taylor asked, looking confused.

“No… damn it.” Sage got right into Taylor’s ear, feeling the blond shiver from his breath. “Do transformed shifters screw a lot of people?”

“Um… maybe? There was this girl once, sister to one of the shifters. The gang had said things about her. About her letting dogs do her and stuff. Why? Did you see something last night?” Taylor stepped back, looking Sage over cautiously. His friend looked different, his already pale skin nearly translucent, lips flushed a deep red, green eyes bright and glowing.

Sage had always been kind of pretty, singled out for his delicate features and slender form. The kid was tough with a terrible brother that kept most bullies away just by existing, but Taylor had taken it on himself to protect Sage as much as he could. The boy was just so nice, stuck in a bad situation with his brother and was the most loyal friend a guy could want. Seeing the brunette now, he had to wonder if maybe Sage might have been getting a different sort of attention looking the way he did.

Glancing around nervously, Sage pulled Taylor into a blind alley, making sure no one was walking by or that any windows were open. “I… I don’t know how to say this,” he mumbled, rocking from foot to foot. “It’s really, really fucked up and… and I don’t know if…”

“Just say it,” Taylor demanded, grabbing Sage by the shoulders. “I don’t care, just tell me. Was it Corey? Did he kill one of them?”

Sage shook his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he tugged his chocolate locks in frustration. “I met a shifter.”

Eyes widening, Taylor pressed his hand over the brunette’s mouth, looking around the alley to make sure that no one was definitely there. “Are you fucking serious? Did he hurt you?”

Sage bit his lip, unable to meet his friend’s concerned gaze. “A little… I don’t think he meant to. There’s something wrong with me, Tayls. I think someone might have, have cursed me or something.”

“Why would you…? Just tell me what happened,” Taylor muttered, ducking his head so his friend could whisper in his ear. Blue eyes widening in shock, Taylor began to curse under his breath as Sage poured out the events of the last night in halting sentences. “Holy fuck, Sage. Shit… Shit! How did you even go to school after that? How are you just fucking standing there and not fucking freaking out or something? He—Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t yell.” Taylor stepped away, kicking the nearest thing he could find, a soda can clattering loudly down the pavement.

Sage continued to tug at his hair agitatedly, watching Taylor’s sneakers as the blond paced. “I gotta find a way to hide the marks, Tayls,” he whispered, flinching when the blond reeled and turned on him.

“You’ve just been fucking raped!” Taylor covered his mouth, glaring at the entrance to the alley. Ducking his head, he whispered furiously into Sage’s ear. “You should go to a doctor. Make sure he didn’t give you something. Who the fuck knows what kinds of diseases shifters have?”

Sage just shook his head, his anxiety growing. “If I go to a doctor, they’ll want to talk to Corey. The shifter is not the issue right now. If Corey finds out, I’m fucking dead!”

“He wouldn’t—Would he? Is he that fucked up that…” Taylor trailed off, eyes closing. Corey was that fucked up. He wouldn’t care how or why, just that Sage had been tainted by a shifter.

“Please, Tayls, I don’t know what to do,” Sage pleaded softly, watching the emotions swirl on his friend’s face. “There’s something wrong with me. The shifter said I had a scent that made him that way. And Corey smelled me last night and you just did now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay. Okay, we’re going to fix this. I just… just have to ask for help.” Taylor looked at his friend warily, again taking in the brunette’s strangely beautiful features. Whatever had changed in his friend, it wasn’t just the odd, musky scent. He looked different too, possibly magically different. “First we’re going to get you a hoodie to cover you up. I got something big at home you can wear. And then… then I’m going to call Jared,” he added under his breath.

“But Jared’s a werewolf,” Sage said fretfully.

“Yes, and werewolves know magic,” Taylor replied as evenly as possible, trying to ignore the feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “So if you’ve really been cursed to… to make shifters want to do that… Well, he’ll be able to help.”

Fidgeting, Sage eventually nodded, letting Taylor grasp his arm and lead him towards his house. “Just… we can’t tell Corey. If he finds out that I’m talking to a werewolf… I already get in trouble because you talk to them.”

“I know, Sage, and I’m sorry about that. We’re going to disguise you so no one will know it’s you.”

Taylor’s mom had once had a fling with a werewolf, the man passing through their lives very briefly. But Taylor had been drawn to the lifestyle the werewolves had led while they were dating, never having to worry about anyone preying on his family or trying to cheat his mom out of her hard earned money and house. Taylor had figured if he were a werewolf, maybe he could protect his family the same way.

“He won’t… he won’t think I want to be one, right?” Sage whispered, Taylor unlocking the door to the small house he lived in and quickly jostling the brunette inside.

“I’ll let him know, not that it matters. They have so many damn hoops you have to jump through,” Taylor said bitterly. “Jared says they won’t even consider me until I’m twenty-five—Which is fucking bullshit because I’ve seen way younger than me. But that’s Frey for you. He’s one of the better pack leaders and has rules like that to keep from being totally terrible like the other gangs.”

Taylor left Sage drinking a glass of orange juice in the kitchen while he rustled up a large, black sweatshirt out of his closet. Grabbing a toothpick, he chewed on it mindlessly while looking around his room. His eyes fell on a pair of sunglasses on his bureau and he quickly snatched them, bringing both downstairs to his friend.

Sage dressed while Taylor used his special cellphone to contact Jared. There would be no way the werewolf would come to his house. It just wasn’t smart, even with Ms. Hunt out and working at the hospital. Taylor’s mom was not a fan of what her son had been slowly getting into, having seen firsthand the consequences of the werewolf gangs and the people that tried to cross them.

“Come on. He says he’ll meet us at The Den,” Taylor said abruptly, pocketing his phone. Sighing, he pulled the hood over Sage’s hair. “I know it’s hot out, but you have to stay covered so you won’t be recognized.” Taylor didn’t bother mentioning that he’d run across way too many fucked up werewolves that would think someone as pretty as Sage was fair game. Jared was his sponsor, protecting him from any ill attention even though he wasn’t officially in with Frey’s pack yet. Another perk with joining a proper werewolf pack and not some bunch of fucked up creeps that thought just because they could transform on the full moon they could hurt anyone they liked.

Sage let Taylor pull him out of the house, his head spinning, stomach tight with anxiety as they headed for the bus. He had made a point to avoid the werewolves; after nearly being murdered by one as a child, Sage really didn’t trust any of them. Taylor was the only reason he was even considering this, and mostly because his friend was as street smart as they came. If Taylor thought the werewolves were his only chance to fix whatever had happened to him, then Sage was willing to give it a shot.

Sage ran faster, his blood roaring in his ears. Beneath the sound of his heart frantically beating, he could hear it still; claws clicking on cement. It was dark and he had waited too long to go home after leaving his friend Taylor’s. His blond friend had offered to walk with him, but that would have just left Taylor to walk home alone at an even later, more dangerous hour. Sage’s brother would never let someone like Taylor stay at their place overnight, not when the boy hung out with the werewolves.

There was a loud huff, then a growl. Green eyes widening, Sage caught sight of an off shoot, an alleyway connecting streets together. If he could get over to Washington St. where the bars and bright lights were, he might be okay. As if reading his thoughts, there was a low howl, chilling and hungry. It made his knees weak and Sage stumbled to a halt. Dimly he realized that no other voices had raised to join the cry. The shifter was alone, stalking him down without a pack.

Oh god, what was wrong with him? He felt so hot all of a sudden. Not just from the running, but from the sound of the wolf, blue eyes glowing out of the darkness as it panted. “L-Leave me alone,” Sage said weakly, stepping back away from the intense stare. “I’m not… I’m not a werewolf. Your kind are supposed to be able to smell that. I’m just a guy… so leave me alone.”

He had reached the alley, brick rubbing his shoulder coarsely as he turned and nearly barreled backward, just catching the corner to keep from falling. His shoulder ached from how his arm had wrenched. And something else… Something else ached inside him, his legs shaking and feeling heavy. The shifter kept approaching, head low, a dark shadow stalking forward.

Sage knew it was a shifter and not a real wolf. Real wolves didn’t get as big. Something about the magic that allowed shifters to transform into animals also made them look more beautiful than the real creatures out of nature. The black wolf was otherworldly in appearance, silky looking blue-black fur and ice blue eyes. It was looking at him almost as if trying to figure out what he was, nose scenting the air.

Biting his lip, Sage hesitantly held his hand out. Once the shifter smelled him, he would know he wasn’t a werewolf. The shifters and werewolves didn’t get along. Dogtowne was the border where both packs fringed. The name was ironic given that any real dog had been killed off by the cursed werewolves years ago. The werewolves liked to kill the shifters, and the shifters liked to kill them back. Hopefully hanging around with Taylor hadn’t gotten too much werewolf smell on him. Taylor wasn’t a werewolf but he wanted to be.

“Stop!” Sage gasped, the wolf loping up to him and reaching its terrible fangs right at his hand. But the boy had held his hand out, something the shifter recognized enough to approach.

It was so much bigger close up. Sage was small even though full grown, slender and wiry-limbed from never getting a full meal. With his messy chocolate hair and bright green eyes, he was constantly being mistaken for much younger. The wolf stretched out nose to tail tip would likely be as tall as him and much heavier and stronger. Swallowing nervously, Sage raised his hand again, watching his thin fingers shake. The wolf pressed its large maw to his hand, breathing deeply, a low whine falling from its mouth.

Sage had only ever seen one other shifter up close. He had been a wolf too, bright white fur, maybe the same size of this one or even larger. A long time ago when Sage had been just a child, his parents were killed by warring werewolf packs. He had run, a transformed werewolf chasing after him, humanoid and muscular with terrible claws and slavering jaws. Everyone knew werewolves ate children during the full moon and Sage had not wished to be a meal.

He hadn’t known if the white wolf had come to save him or to just kill a werewolf. The shifter had died, the injured werewolf lurching and staggering away while the wolf bled out. Sage had cried, watching the fluffy fur stained scarlet turn into a tall, powerful looking man, blood pouring from his throat. He had been beautiful, long white-blond hair and pale eyes. His skin had nearly been as white as the wolf’s fur.

He had tried to help the shifter, but Sage’s brother had found him. Corey had screamed at him for going near such a filthy, horrible monster and pulled him away. Corey didn’t care that the shifter had saved Sage. He hated all of them, shifters and werewolves.

Staring at the icy eyes of the dark creature still sniffing his hand and wrist, Sage wondered what the man looked like. They were all males, the shifter gene stuck on the Y-chromosome. Not all men were shifters, but all shifters were male. They were also usually very handsome, or so Sage had been told. The shifters didn’t come into the city as people. The werewolves could smell what they were and would hunt them down quick enough. Moving as a wolf was much faster.

“S-See? I told you I wasn’t a werewolf,” Sage stammered, foot slipping back to creep away. The wolf growled at him, the boy freezing and biting his lip. What if the rumors were true? What if the shifters were just as terrible as the werewolves and if they got hungry enough they might just eat a person?

Sweat trickled down his neck. The wolf didn’t look particularly skinny, more compact muscle and nicely kept fur. But maybe it was just well fed on stupid humans that didn’t know better than to wait until daylight to travel?

Sage cautiously peeked over his shoulder. There was a large dumpster blocking most of his view. Only as far as two towering apartment buildings away were city lights, neon and garish. If he ran for them, he might make it. The shifter wouldn’t risk being around a huge population. The werewolves roamed at night, partying with their human crew of gangsters. Surely the shifter would avoid a bar full of both.

Decided, heart slamming in his chest, Sage turned and ran. He made it about three feet before he tripped, blind to the black plastic bag of trash that had been right by his foot. He fell heavily, the concrete jarring his bones, everything spinning for frantic, dizzy minutes. “Shit—Oh fuck, get off me,” he whimpered, the wolf growling and biting the collar of his shirt, paws and a great weight pinning him hard to the ground by his shoulders.

Sage felt so hot and dizzy. There was something wrong with him, some sort of fever. There was a musky, strange smell around him that had nothing to do with the garbage only feet away. He thought maybe it was the wolf. The creature was tearing at his shirt with its vicious teeth, pulling a long slash down the fabric, a ripping noise loud in his ears.

It was going to eat him. Peel his clothes off and eat him like a bag of dog food. As if to validate the terrifying thought, the wolf began to lick over Sage’s exposed back, its slippery pink tongue lapping down, stealing the spots of blood its claws had caused while it continued to stand on top of him. Sage should have been terrified but there was something wrong with him at the moment. His body felt so hot, so achingly tight and hard. He woke up some mornings, heated dreams fading where he felt like this. He had never felt it while awake. He could be dreaming… that would make more sense.

“Oh god… please stop,” Sage groaned, teeth nipping at his shoulder and shooting fire through him. He shouldn’t like this. It was a shifter and a male. Sage wasn’t supposed to like guys… or wolves. “Oh… oh hell…” The tongue moved lower, down his back, licking the dip of his waist and leaving trails of wet on his skin. He wondered if it would go lower—If he should help the shifter get his jeans off so it would lick even lower.

Eyes squeezed shut, Sage silently cursed himself. He shouldn’t want that. What kind of freak wanted that? God, he was so hard, though.

While he fought with his body’s confusing desires, the shifter nipped at his waistband, sinking teeth in and pulling his jeans down. They were too tight, Sage gasping with each tug of fabric that pulled snug on his erection. He was going crazy. Shifters might eat a person, but they didn’t fuck them. At least, he didn’t think they did. His brother had suggested something disgusting along the lines of it, but Corey always said gross stuff about sex. The man thought everything about sex was filthy, including wanting it. Sage was, unfortunately, feeling very filthy at the moment.

Unable to hold back any longer, he reached down, fighting with the clasp of his jeans and unbuttoning them one handed. He unzipped slowly, the wolf stilling as he heard the metal teeth unfurl. Panting, Sage raised his hips when the shifter tugged again, the heavy fabric giving way, pulling down his narrow hips and then slender thighs with each wrench and snarl, leaving his exposed flesh stinging on the rough concrete. God, what was he doing?

A hard nose pressed against his ass, his briefs the only protection from the hot snuffles and sharp teeth. The shifter was smelling him, down his crack, pushing between his cheeks, breathing in the musk of his balls. Sage bit his lip hard, trying to keep from moaning with each touch. Maybe this was all it wanted. Just to smell him and learn whatever the hell it was canines learned from sniffing each other. That Sage was getting hard, his cock dripping precum was really just something fucked up with him.

It was apparently not enough, the wolf huffing and nipping at the thin material of his underwear, stretching it from the boy’s golden skin. It got his briefs halfway down his thighs, the material snagging on the front around Sage’s embarrassingly hard dick. The nose returned with prickling whiskers and damp heat, nuzzling and wedging between his pert cheeks with clear intent. Sage could not stop from crying out loudly, his hips jolting forward.

“Why are you…? Oh god… that’s bad… really, really bad,” Sage mumbled mindlessly, the slippery tongue delving, tasting his bare ass and sac, sliding around to lap at his hard cock. Then it wiggled between his cheeks and lighted over the pucker of his hole. “It’s dirty… so dirty,” he whispered, his face and neck bright red. But it felt so good.

Corey had promised to beat him if he ever masturbated like some degenerate, freak pervert. His older brother used to beat Sage whenever he caught him getting hard. Sometimes even doing stuff to hurt him that made him hard and then punishing him for it after. Only sick freaks liked that. Corey still did that sometimes, usually after getting drunk and extra mean. Sage still couldn’t stop from getting hard, just showing how fucked up he was.

The tongue kept moving, nose pushing relentlessly against his crack, spreading his cheeks wider as it slipped over his entrance again and again. The wolf nosed lower, pushing at Sage’s thighs, forcing him up onto his knees while the boy’s slender legs trembled. Then again, slipping deep between his cheeks, tasting him more from the new angle, dripping trails of saliva down his pale inner thighs.

“D-Don’t—You shouldn’t… oh fuck—Oh fuck, you’re gonna…” Sage sobbed weakly, realizing what was coming next. He was surrounded by silky fur, black and suffocating as it rubbed on his bare back, ass and thighs. The wolf settled heavily on his sloped torso, paws clutching his narrow, heaving chest. Sage could feel hot splatters of liquid, each hump of the wolf’s hard cock adding another stream of wet to his thighs and ass.

Face pressed up tight to the dingy bathroom mirror of his small apartment, eyes slit open so he could just make out his own dazed blue orbs, Beau forced another soap lubed finger into his aching hole. Gasping loudly, he pushed it as deep as he could get, not caring that it stung, that his flesh felt so raw and sore already. He couldn’t stop. It was Friday, he had woken up after dreaming of everything Darien had done to him last Tuesday, and his entire body was crying for more.

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, driving his two fingers in deep, gaping when his hole was stretched wider as he spread them. “Fuck, please… Please…”

He was losing his mind.

Whimpering lowly, he began thrusting in and out of his clenching passage, hissing from the feel of his fingers scraping his burning hot flesh. He couldn’t stop. Had been wanting it so bad. Needing it so much. He had tried to hold back, had tried to not be this way, but every time he was alone too long, Beau remembered. And when he remembered, he needed to feel it again. Needed to be taken. Owned. Exposed and humiliated. It was wrong, and so fucked up, and it was making him so unbearably hard.

Pulling his head off the mirror, he panted loudly, his breath bouncing back hot on his face as he took in his creamy skin flushed red, brilliant blue eyes and golden shoulder length hair. His brows were furrowed, mouth open wide, tongue tip brushing his bottom lip as he groaned. He looked like a slut. Like some sort of man whore just begging to be fucked. And he was. He was secretly begging for his muscular, young student to walk into his bathroom and replace his fingers with his own thick ones. Maybe even that big dick of his.

Slamming his fingers deeper into his hole, Beau jerked his hips against the wall, rubbing his aching dick against the cool surface. He released a weak cry, then another as his body clamped down so tight on his digits. Close. God, he was so close. Just thinking about Darien got him so hard, so ready. How the tall boy had pushed him down over his desk, fingered him in front of his students. Humiliated him. Degraded him. Got him off so fucking good.

Beau came with a cry, his cum streaking the wall in long streams as he bucked on his fingers buried deep inside him. Fuck. Fuck, he was losing it.

Panting heavily, he ran his tongue out, licking up the mirror, moaning from the smooth feel of cool glass on his hot flesh. Before he knew it he was sliding down the wall, seeking out his dripping cum, licking it off the surface while remembering how Darien had held him by his hair and forced him to lick his desk clean. Beau didn’t stop until he got every drop of his seed, and even then he couldn’t seem to pull away, lapping slow touches until his tongue was sore and his breathing had finally calmed.

***

It was Friday.

Beau had told himself to call out. He had stood in front of his bathroom mirror and told himself out loud that he was going to call out of work that day. Then he had gotten so hard he had stripped his pants off and fucked himself on his fingers. He had already come once that morning when he first woke, his dick so hard from dreams of his student that he barely touched it before he’d orgasmed.

It was crazy just how much he needed sex lately, how hot he got just thinking about Darien. It was wrong, he knew it because he wasn’t thinking about things like how nice the boy was, or how sweet he treated him. No, Beau was getting off on how possessive, rough, and brutal his controlling student was. How Darien had been able to push him up against a wall and grope him so thoroughly that he couldn’t escape, had not wanted to by the time the boy had his hands down his pants. And when he had fingered him, forcing him to bend over in front of his other students and the open classroom door, Beau had gotten so hot, so crazy he hadn’t been able to do anything but let the boy take whatever he wanted from his body.

He was in trouble. He couldn’t keep a straight head, couldn’t seem to find the moral ground that had been so solid before. To the best of his knowledge, he didn’t even like men. But he got hard for Darien. Every time the student looked at him—God, touched him. Beau wanted him to touch him. Needed him to make him feel that way again.

What he really needed was to not go to school that day. It was a prestigious college, he was the newest, youngest teacher there, and if he went into work he knew he was going to do something completely inappropriate with a young man that could have him fired in an instant. He should have been fired. After what had happened, he should have been escorted off the grounds and possibly straight into a police cruiser.

But no one had said anything. Beau hadn’t reported the three hooligans that had destroyed his classroom, and the three punks hadn’t said a word to the Dean or authorities about how he’d then gotten on his knees and sucked the dick of the student that had stopped them. He had a strong suspicion Darien Castello was to blame for that as well. Not only was the boy as aggressive as they came, but he also had a senator for a father. Whatever Darien had said to his classmates after the incident had apparently been followed.

Or so, Beau hoped. He was still waiting for the axe to drop. Three days later, he was still unsure just what the hell had happened and if he was going to be able to handle what was coming next.

He still had the bruises on his hips where Darien’s fingers had dug in, the muscular twenty-two-year-old having ground him so tight against his desk it had left marks. He still had the cuts and slashes from the angry boys that had tried to beat him into giving them a passing grade. His hole still ached, still throbbed every time he thought of how Darien had pushed him over his desk and fingered him roughly until he came. All while claiming his teacher belonged to him.

“Fuck,” Beau groaned, hitting the brakes abruptly as the car in front of him stopped. He was hard again. He kept getting hard every time he thought about what had happened. Especially when he heard Darien still in his ear, whispering that he was a nasty, bad slut—his bad teacher, and he needed to be treated like it.

Beau didn’t think he was a bad teacher, not the way Darien had said it. Not really. In his early thirties, he’d only had a short string of respectable, if not extremely tepid relationships, all of them with women willing to overlook his feminine good looks with his silky blond hair, bright blue eyes, and slender form. He had never thought of himself as gay. He had certainly never thought to look at a student in any way that was inappropriate, male or female. But then, he had never met a young man like Darien Castello before.

Tall, black hair streaked with red, green eyes and pure muscular confidence, Darien was everything Beau had hated when he was in college. Mostly because Darien was the type of boy that liked to bully him. Now an established teacher, that had not changed. Even though Darien had been very interested in getting Beau off, he had also done it while extorting his teacher for money with the promise he’d hurt him if he didn’t pay up. And if money wasn’t available, Darien would be more than happy to take it out of his flesh with a good fucking.

His breath speeding up, Beau licked his lips, trying to will his erection away. He could still call out. He could turn the car around, call from his cellphone and pretend to be sick. Sure it was hardly a month into the term but it was just one day. One day to keep from doing something extremely stupid.

What that stupid thing was, he wasn’t a hundred percent certain. He had the money. Darien had said he’d accept $50 a week to protect him from the sort of punks that would destroy his classroom and beat him bloody… But only if Beau offered something else in trade. Something sexual. $450 worth of sexual.

Beau had never thought to hire a prostitute, the idea too off-putting and crass. Now he wished he knew someone who had, only so he could get an idea of just what $450 would get with a person like that. Because when Darien’s eyes burned over him, he was pretty sure the young man saw him the same way most men looked at a hooker. Someone with a price that once reached would give them anything and everything.

Except Beau was the one paying Darien. To protect him. Maybe… maybe to look at him the way the boy kept doing. Maybe even to touch him, if he could face that thought as well. Maybe to make him do the many dirty, messed up things Darien wanted to do to him and a secret, naughty part of Beau desired to do. Like suck the boy’s thick cock as thanks for beating up his attackers.

“Go home,” Beau whispered, biting his lip and staring down the street where he could just make out the clock tower of the college administrative building. “Call out sick, and go home.” He ran his hand down the front of his pants, hissing softly as he pressed against his hard erection.

He had managed to not be fired for the incident. He had managed to not have his name dragged through the papers in some huge scandal over his cocky, handsome extortionist of a student. He wouldn’t be so lucky this time. It was tempting fate. Tempting the little good left in him.

Would you like that, Mr. Ashford? Do you want everyone to know you belong to me? Do you want to belong to me?

Darien’s voice again taunting in his ear, Beau took the turn into the college gates, driving to the faculty parking lot. He kept his mind blank, kept his expression flat, his mouth grim. It was just a day like any other day. Just a Friday. Just the day he decided if he was going to let Darien Castello bully him back onto his knees, maybe over his desk again, and give the boy everything he wanted.

“Hey, teach.”

Head ducked as he washed his hands at the sink, Beau shivered from the familiar voice, his eyes lifting up to the mirror. Darien. The dark haired, green-eyed boy somehow looked even taller that day, his muscular form on full display in a tight black t-shirt and clinging jeans, biceps revealing tattoos under the short sleeves.

Beau’s hands shook as he turned the faucet off, catching his own wide blue eyes in the mirror beneath his shoulder length blond hair. He was already panting, already growing hard, his cheeks flushing as Darien stared at him through the mirror, eyes moving over him hungrily and lingering on his bow tie.

“Mr. Castello, will you be joining my class today?” Beau asked, his voice hoarse as he made himself reach for a paper towel instead of falling to his knees like his body was screaming to do.

“Yeah, I was thinking about it.” Darien watched his teacher patiently, waiting for Beau to dry his hands before addressing him again. “But I figured if I was going to let you teach me today, Mr. Ashford, it would be better to get something out of the way first.”

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Beau swallowed down the saliva building in this mouth. “Y-Yes?”

Darien crossed the distance in two strides, grabbing Beau roughly by the shoulders. “Put that mouth of yours to good work, teach. On your knees. Now.”

“Oh, fuck,” Beau groaned, his knees buckling when Darien pushed him down to the ground, his student’s large hands keeping him from swaying as he hit the floor. Fingers trembling, Beau tore at the boy’s fly while resting his head on his hip and giving in to the urge to breathe the brunette in. God, he was so strong. Made him feel safe. So dirty and protected.

“Better not dawdle, Mr. Ashford. Wouldn’t want anyone to walk in while you have my dick in your mouth,” Darien taunted, grabbing the blond by his hair and grinding his cock against the man’s cheek.

Fire and fear shuddering through him at the idea of getting caught, Beau pulled back enough to glance at the bathroom door. If anyone walked in they’d see Darien’s legs first. But it would only take a step, maybe two to see him after. Beau’s hair was recognizable—It would be so easy to identify him. He looked up at the brunette, whimpering lowly when intense green eyes burned into his.

“Open, pretty teach. Show me how much you missed me over the weekend.”

Staring up, Beau parted his lips, opening his mouth until Darien pulled him roughly by his hair and forced his head back. Groaning in the hold, Beau turned his gaze down to the large, thick dick of his student, taking in how hard and ready Darien already was to put it in him. He tried to lick the tip, wanting to taste it, wanting to have that thick flesh filling his mouth, but Darien kept pulling him back by his hair, Beau’s tongue outstretched while the teacher whimpered.

“God, you look like such a slut. You make me want to fuck you up so bad, teach.” Grunting, Darien shoved his dick between the blond’s parted lips, forcing Beau to hold still so he could get as deep as possible into his throat.

Eyes rolling back, Beau fought the wish to breathe, to choke or gag. He held himself still, letting Darien thrust into him shallowly, hitting the back of his throat with each pump. He couldn’t comprehend just how hard he was right now. A minute ago he had been tired but ready to teach his last class of the day, and now he was on his knees sucking his student’s cock. He felt so used and it was making him unbearably hard.

Beau glanced again at the bathroom door, groaning as his tonsils were ground by that blunt cockhead filling him again and again. God, if someone walked in he’d be ruined. He knew it. It didn’t matter if Darien’s father was a senator or not—There would be no fixing being caught like this.

It should have freaked him out, but Beau kept looking at the door hoping it would open. He wanted to be discovered. He wanted people to see Darien using him, getting off on his body, his mouth, his ass. The more he thought of it, the hotter he got, his entire body flushed and dizzy as he gave in to every relentless, gliding thrust of his student’s cock.

Growling, Darien held Beau tight against his body as he filled his throat, forcing two fingers into his mouth beneath his thick cock and making the blond open wider to him. “Fuck, that’s it. My fucking beautiful hole, look at you.” He rubbed Beau’s tongue while humping his face slowly, his dick swelling, balls tightening as he got close. “Hold on, teach. Just hold that slutty pose for a little longer.”

Hot tears streaming down his cheeks, Beau gurgled at the first splash of cum against the back of his throat, trying to swallow and failing. Darien’s cock suddenly withdrew, sperm streaming over the blond’s face as the boy graffitied his teacher’s skin in a seemingly endless hot rain.

Breathing heavily, Darien grabbed the blond by the back of his neck, pulling Beau back so he could take in the lines of cum all over his face. “Fuck, teach. You are a bad, bad man. Absolutely filthy.”

His mouth still hanging open, Beau gasped up at the brunette, eyes pleading for more.

“You close, Mr. Ashford?” Darien asked, his voice a low growl as he pushed three fingers into the blond’s gaping mouth and began to fuck him with the thick digits.

Beau couldn’t answer, mouth full, head caught too tight to even nod. But he could see that Darien knew. Could see it in the boy’s expression as he drank in every sight of Beau taking his fingers while dripping in his cum.

Beau moaned when he felt the touch of a sneaker to his hard dick, Darien holding his gaze while rubbing his shoe over his teacher’s erection. Beau struggled to talk around the fingers pushing deep into his throat, wanting to say that he needed to get his pants down. But Darien wouldn’t let up, and the boy gave a very demanding growl when Beau went to try to unzip.

Hands freezing, Beau’s face grew even redder, unable to look away from his student’s hungry glare above him. “You can clean your face, teach, that’s it. I want you in class wet with cum. You’re a bad teacher. My bad teacher. Even when you’re being good, I want you to still be filthy for me.”

Whimpering in agony, Beau bucked against the unyielding toe of his student’s sneaker, his body so tight, ass clenching, thighs hard as he jerked his release in hot spurts. Flushed and dizzy, he let Darien pull him to his feet, only to be slammed up back against the counter as the brunette crushed his lips to his and forcefully plundered his mouth with his tongue.

Pulling away just as abruptly, Darien pushed the blond’s disheveled hair from his face, staring into Beau’s dazed blue eyes as he took in his tears, cum, shame, and lust.

“You’re going to want to touch yourself during class, Mr. Ashford. You’re going to see me watching you, you’re going to get hard, and you’re going to want to touch yourself. Don’t.” Darien bent down, pressing his lips lightly to Beau’s dripping red ones. “I’ll be watching the whole time. No touching; I’ll punish you if you do. Now clean up before you’re late.”

Feeling completely lost and befuddled, Beau watched silently while Darien turned and left, his student giving him a final heated once over before the bathroom door swung shut.

Darien Castello could not take his eyes off of Mr. Ashford. The guy had the face of a model; a really naughty one that wanted so badly to be pushed down and messed up. Damn, he had never really gotten off on just a face, but with his soft blond locks, bright blue eyes, and pouting red lips, Darien was totally hooked on his new teacher. Unfortunately, so were his classmates.

Mr. Ashford looked like prey, plain and simple. He was average height, slender, and had a way to his shoulders and walk that just screamed ‘jump me.’ Currently Tony and Radford were doing just that. They had cornered the new science teacher by the lockers and looked ready to start punching and maybe even stuffing if they didn’t get some cash off the cutie.

Darien took his time, dragging on his cigarette as he approached. No one had noticed him yet, which was fine by him. He wanted to take the opportunity to look at Mr. Ashford up close. The guy was hot. Really fucking hot. Pale skin, golden hair, and damn those lips. The nasty things he would do to those lips. Radford better not punch the man’s face or he’d have to beat the fuck out of him for ruining perfection.

“What’s going on, guys?” Darien casually slung his arms over Tony and Radford’s shoulders. Both of his classmates immediately froze. Darien was top dog for a reason. He was the tallest kid in school, the strongest, and when the mood struck him, the meanest motherfucker there was. Everyone knew. The ones that didn’t, figured it fast. Mr. Ashford would be getting that privilege soon enough.

“Fuck, hey Darien,” Tony said hesitantly. He glanced sideways at the tall brunette who had crept up behind them. When his eyes fell on Darien’s bicep right next to his face—the flesh hard and tattooed—he swallowed. “We were just having a chat with the new teacher. Nothing to get involved in.”

Darien’s gaze traveled over the blushing teacher who was currently glaring holes at the three students as he tried to straighten his rumpled shirt. Darien took his cigarette from his mouth. “Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong. I happen to have Mr. Ashford for fourth period. And if you’re messing him up, well, that’s going to mess up my grade.” Darien fixed on Tony again. “You wouldn’t want me to fail, would you?”

Radford immediately took a step back and ducked from his heavy arm. “Right, so I’m getting the fuck out. Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Ashford.”

Darien smirked at the incredulous expression on the man’s face when Radford apologized. “Um, don’t think anything of it,” Beau mumbled as he straightening his tie.

“What about you, Tony?” Darien asked, his voice full of implication.

Starting, Tony winced. “Hey, I got the message loud and clear. You wanna be teacher’s pet? By all means.” He went to duck away, but Darien grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled Tony sideways while he hissed.

“Wallet.”

Glaring, Tony reached into his back pocket and slammed the leather into Darien’s hand. Flipping it open, Darien raised his brow at his ever watching teacher. “This all of it?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Beau answered, expression full of surprise and gratitude.

Damn, he had amazing eyes. Sexy, wide, glowing blue eyes. Not bothering to look at Tony, Darien shoved the punk aside and listened to him huff away. He used the time to study his new teacher, one he hadn’t met until that moment. That was definitely going to change.

Darien let his gaze move from Beau’s handsome face, sturdy shoulders, and down his lithe body still trembling in aftershock. Sexy. Sexy, and sleek, and in desperate need of a very hard fucking.

There was no way he was letting things end here.

“You’re Darien Castello?” Voice quiet, Beau combed shaking fingers through his shoulder length locks. His gaze had strayed to where the other two had dissapeared, as if just waiting for them to turn around and come at him.

“That would be me, teach.” Tilting his head, Darien offered the man a drag on his cigarette. When Mr. Ashford shook his head, Darien finished it off, then dropped it to the hallway floor. He crushed it carelessly with his heel.

“You really shouldn’t…” Mr. Ashford’s eyes widened when Darien pushed him back and blocked him in with his taller, stronger form.

“You saw how easy that was for me, right teach? I just showed up, and those losers walked away.”

“Y-Yes, I was meaning to thank you.”

Darien smirked. The guy had the cutest fucking stutter too. “You might want to hold off on that.”

He opened up the wallet again, pulled out the cash and counted it while Mr. Ashford watched him with growing trepidation. “I’m going to take this… $300, and you’re going to bring me another $200 by Friday.”

“I am?” Mr. Ashford’s eyes narrowed even as his voice broke.

“It’s a good deal.” Cash now free of the wallet, Darien slowly snaked his hand around until he found his teacher’s back pocket. Ducking closer, he slowly pushed his hand into the man’s pants, watching intently as Mr. Ashford blushed and refused to meet his eyes.

Yeah, the guy was smoking hot and definitely interested. What it would take to get him to admit that interest, Darien was looking forward to figuring out.

He left the wallet but not before stealing a small squeeze of that tight, firm ass. “You pay me $500 a week, and I’ll make sure guys like that don’t mess up your pretty face.”

“You’re out of your mind—Ah.” His eyes closed as Darien’s arm suddenly pressed across his throat and he fell silent, head forced back against the locker.

“Mr. Ashford, it would be really easy for me to hurt you. And believe me, I wouldn’t feel bad about it in the slightest.” No, Darien would love every moment of covering this hot man with as many bruises as he could handle. Moving his head so that he was pressing his mouth to his ear, he added softly, “But if you’re a good boy and you do as I say, I’ll take care of you. No one will hurt you as long as I’m here to protect you.” Mr. Ashford gave the slightest of tremors and Darien fought back a smile. “It’s not a free service, teach. If you don’t want to pay me in cash, I might be willing to accept a trade.”

He slowly pulled a lock of Mr. Ashford’s hair aside, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. “I can think of a lot of things a sexy guy like you could do for me, teach.” His eyes locked with stunning blue, Darien pushed a thumb against those damn enticing red lips and smirked when Mr. Ashford gasped and turned his head away.

“Think about it. Next Friday once school gets out. Your room.” He pulled away, eyes lingering on the man’s lithe form. Mr. Ashford’s face was flushed with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and shame. It was sexy as hell, and Darien could think of a million ways to make him look like that all the time—starting with forcing him to his knees.

Fuck, it was his teacher’s fault for having such a damn sexy face. He might as well be begging for it.

Darien walked away whistling, hands folded behind his head. Breathing heavily, Mr. Ashford leaned weakly on the wall and watched him go.

It’s the last Valentine’s Day I’m going to have to endure at school. Somehow it seems to be mocking me, starting from the horrible amount of red and pink everyone’s wearing. Even the other guys are wearing the garish colors while I’ve resolutely dressed in my normal black.

I can’t stand the holidays, Valentine’s Day especially. It has nothing to do with the forgotten religious saint or the fertility festival the damn thing originally represented. No, it’s the way couples just disregard all decency and once again shove their happiness in my face. Like being single means I should automatically be miserable? Like a relationship is the end-all of being a satisfied human being? Fuck them. At least I’ve never had to listen to some girl tell me off for not calling her every hour.

I have no interest in being in a relationship. Seeing everyone acting like it’s the only thing a guy could want is really annoying as fuck.

Dropping my book bag on the floor, I take a seat for my first class of the day, trying to ignore the obnoxious amount of snuggling going around. When exactly did Valentine’s Day become an excuse to ignore all acceptable forms of public displays of affection? I might be running to the bathroom soon to vomit if this keeps up.

“Aiden, you look like someone pissed in your cereal this morning.” Ben, my best friend, sits down next to me, his hands smacking on his desk. He flashes me a toothy grin, clearly not actually caring that I hate today with a passion.

“What are you so happy about?” I finally ask when he insists on smiling at me.

“I got Vanessa a rose. I even wrote her a bitchin love poem.” His smile somehow manages to grow. “If that doesn’t get her to agree to go out with me, nothing will.”

Scowling at my terribly happy friend—Seriously, it’s Valentine’s Day; happiness is not welcome today—I pull out my math book and notebook. “What exactly do you mean by ‘bitchin love poem?’ Is this like some modern art thing?”

“Nope, even better. I wrote it myself.”

Nodding slowly, I duck my head so he can’t see me wince. “That sounds… um, bitchin.” Hideous. Seriously repulsive. God, I hate Valentine’s Day.

“Wanna read it?”

I bite my lip, knowing if he so much as shows me anything he’s written that’s supposed to convince anyone he’s in love with Vanessa, I’m going to laugh my ass off. “I’m good. For real.”

Ben smiles obliviously, his hair brushing into his eyes. “So?”

“So?” I repeat, folding my notebook open and wondering when the hell Mr. Jacobs is going to get here so the idiots will finally sit their asses down and stop making out around me.

“So, who did you get a rose for?” Ben asks, sounding even chipper than when he first sat down.

I glare at him sideways. He looks ridiculously young and happy and I sort of hate him right now. “No one. You know I don’t buy into this stupid holiday.”

“Pssh. You’re just mad because you haven’t found your ‘one’ yet,” Ben says with all the conviction of a hormonal eighteen-year-old that hasn’t had a relationship last more than three months. “When you fall in love, you’ll totally love Valentine’s Day.”

I debate whether I want to tear his love theory apart verbally to pass the time. I’m in a terrible mood, but I don’t know if I want to take him with me. He’s got that hopeful puppy-dog look he gets right before his heart is broken—This time by Vanessa, who has been looking at Ryan H. for the last month. Seeing as Ryan has a car, Ben is so outmatched. I settle for grunting noncommittally and scribbling doodles in my notebook.

There’s a commotion at the door and I sigh. Finally, the teacher is here and we can start. Except it’s not Mr. Jacobs, it’s a ridiculously cheerful girl carrying an armful of roses. I glare, realizing I’m going to have to go through the receiving, squealing, and all around vomit inducing lovey-dovey crap that comes along with girls getting flowers from secret and not so secret admirers. Fuck my life.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ben says, grabbing my arm before I can get up and go hide out in the bathroom.

“What—Why the fuck should I stay around for this shit?” I mutter but sit down. Most of the girls are swarming the doorway anyways—There’s no getting by them to escape.

“Cheer the fuck up, Aiden. It’s just Valentine’s Day. It’s not like people are going out of their way to make you unhappy.”

“Aren’t they?” I snap, pointing at the group of giggling girls. “If I never have to hear that noise again, I’d be happy.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Nothing makes you happy. Not the many holes in your head, your punk music, or even those funky combat boots. You are determined to be unhappy and you shouldn’t go blaming the rest of the world for your state of being.”

Glowering, I hunch over my desk, deciding to ignore him and the class until the stupidity dies down. Having eyebrow rings and a tattoo on the back of my neck isn’t some statement in being unhappy, it’s just a statement in being me. Ben wouldn’t understand, always wasting his time and energy trying to get with the next pretty, vapid thing he sees instead of figuring out himself.

Something flashes out of the corner of my eye, a red rose landing on my notebook. Blinking, I looked up in disbelief as Callie—super smiley cheerleader—hands me a white card. “Looks like you have a secret admirer, Aiden.”

“What?” I say dumbly, glancing sideways to find nearly everyone in the classroom suddenly looking at me.

She continues as if I hadn’t said anything, the card landing on top of my desk when I refuse to take it from her hand. “You know, you’re the first boy that’s gotten a rose this year. Usually guys send them to girls,” she says with a slightly accusing look.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I not good enough for a rose now? Or… is she saying a guy sent me a rose?

“Hey, just because Aiden’s a guy, doesn’t mean he can’t get a rose,” Ben speaks up before I can actually ask what she’s implying. Throwing her bleach blond hair over her shoulder, Callie gives a bored huff and just steps away to the next person on her list.

“It’s the fucking twenty-first century. Geez,” Ben mutters before pasting another huge smile on and smacking me on the back. “Well, what does it say? Who sent you the rose?”

“What?” Scratching the back of my head, I look at Ben warily. My friend of forever has been acting weird ever since he spent his summer in New York with his cousins. I’m not sure exactly what he’s got in his head all of a sudden when it comes to me, but he’s been saying a lot of stupid shit like how I don’t need a girlfriend if I don’t want one, and he’d never judge me no matter what. It’s been really getting on my nerves but I don’t know if now is the time to bring it up, especially when half the class is trying to snoop over my shoulder to read the stupid card on my desk.

Shaking my head, I flip the plain white notecard open, glancing briefly at the one line before flipping it shut and pocketing it.

“Well?” Ben asks, curiosity clear in his voice.

“Well, what?” I go back to scribbling in my notebook, pointedly ignoring him.

“What did it say?”

Sighing in annoyance, I glance his way, finding two other people looking at me just as curiously. Fuck this stupid shit. “Nothing.”

“Like fuck—They wouldn’t have given you a card if it was blank.” Ben isn’t going to let it go. Actually, he looks about ready to wrestle me to the ground so he can get the thing and read it himself. That I’m only five foot ten, and slender will not stop my taller friend. That I also fight like a crazy bastard and enjoy biting will probably keep him from trying it.

“It’s just a time and place for a meetup. No name,” I finally grunt out, looking down at my desk. “I’m sure they just got me confused with someone else. There are like seven guys named Aiden in the grade below us.”

“Aiden…” Ben just sighs, something else I choose to ignore. He can tell me till he’s blue in the face and I want to beat the fuck out of him that I’m actually a likeable guy, but I know better. I barely tolerate people and people, well, they keep their distance. I might have a cute face but with the right scowl and mean enough piercings, they back the fuck off. It’s how I like it. I don’t want people in my life—My life is difficult enough.

“When is it?” Ben asks when I relax enough to think he’s dropped the subject.

“When’s what?”

“Stop fucking with me. The meetup?”

Grunting, I pull the note from my pocket and hand it to him. He reads it, his brows furrowed as he gives me the card back. “That’s a weird place to meet someone.”

I shrug. “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. Someone bothered to write you a card and buy you a rose. You’re fucking going—Stop being such a dick. What if they really like you?”

“Then they’re fucking dumb.” I shove the note back into my pocket, eyes falling on the rose. It’s actually kind of cool looking, the edges of the blood red petals blackened like they’ve been burnt. I reach out, letting my fingers brush over a silky smooth petal. Even the thorns are tipped in black. Do they dye roses now?

I pick it up, pressing my thumb against a thorn. It certainly feels real. Ducking my head, I give it a hesitant sniff, a small smile stealing across my lips.

Fine, it’s a cool rose. Not one of those girly pink ones or I would have tossed it already. But it’s not like you can fuck up a flower. Whoever had the nerve to send me one doesn’t automatically get a meeting with me just because the rose doesn’t suck.

The pack of girls finally leaves the doorway, the sound quieting down as the last of the class trickles in. Observing the way the black edges make a spiral pattern as they wrap around the rose, I’m pulled away by the weight of someone’s stare. It’s the new kid, the foreign transfer that showed up a month ago, currently standing halfway in the room and staring at my rose like he’s never seen one before.

Gavriil Strife is a weird one. He has golden blond hair, weird violet eyes and looks like some fucking model out of a magazine. He’s tall, built, and just has this ease about him with his stylish hair and graceful walk. Every girl in the school is chasing him hardcore, his nickname being ‘the golden prince.’ Annoying enough, but he doesn’t talk, like ever. I think I might have heard him say something once when answering a teacher, and his accent was so thick, I didn’t understand a word. No one can understand him but everyone loves him. It’s bullshit.

That he’s staring at me now, those weird eyes rimmed in black piercing into mine is unsettling as fuck and I find myself biting my lip. But I refuse to back down; he’s staring, and it doesn’t matter where he’s from, it’s still rude. Then the jackass grins at me, his expression turning mischievous like he’s got some fucking secret before he looks away and crosses to his seat. He’s seriously annoying. Weird and annoying, and I’ve caught him staring at me before. Like every class we share.

“What was that about?” Ben leans over to whisper in my ear.

“Fucking weirdo,” I mutter flatly, looking again at the rose and trying to fight the urge to glance over and see if Gavriil’s still staring. Maybe he’s pissed his didn’t get a rose, seeing as he’s a total pretty boy… Hell, maybe his ex sent me the flower? Has the kid actually taken any of the swarms of girls up on a date? He doesn’t speak a word of English yet he’s in my English class. I chance a peek, violet eyes meeting mine for a moment before I look away.

Weirdo.

The idea of Gavriil dating anyone is annoying as fuck too, like the weird boy himself, and I huff and turn to another page of my notebook so I can draw myself a maze. I take small joy in adding spikes and pits filled with vipers for any wanderer to get stuck in. It’s a shit day and only promising to get worse.

***

I’ve dodged Ben’s incessant questions throughout the day about if I’m going to the stupid meetup. The only reason I’m even considering it is just because it’s on my way home. If some idiot wants to wait out in the fucking freezing cold in the middle of February after a damn snowstorm, that’s really their problem, not mine. Throwing a $5 rose in my lap doesn’t mean I’m required to freeze my ass off.

I’m actually pretty angry about the whole thing. Seriously, what stupid idiot got me a fucking rose? Who the hell thought that I’d be into some stupid romantic rendezvous on the sappiest fucking day of the year? I was embarrassed during class, everyone keeps looking at me, and the questions will not stop. If I do go, I’m probably going to do it just to tell the person off for making my Valentine’s Day even worse than normal.

Scowling into my locker, I pull my black jacket on, hunching into the heavy material. It has a few holes but layered with my sweatshirt it does the trick for the fifteen-minute walk home. Tugging my slouchy on over my shaggy dark hair, I glare sideways at Ben who is, of course, waiting for me to tell him if I’m going to meet my ‘secret admirer.’

Fuck, even the name annoys the fuck out of me.

“Well?”

“Fuck off.” I slam my locker shut, ducking around him.

“Stop being an ass, Aiden. It’s just one little meeting. Just give the guy a shot—Shit.” Ben stops short as I whirl, his hands held up defensively.

Guy? Glaring at the cringing brunette, I stomp back. “What the fuck do you know?”

“N-Nothing, it just sort of slipped…” Ben sucks at lying, especially to me. I take a quick look around the hall, way too many of my classmates staring at me. Growling, I grab Ben by his collar and haul him into the empty science room.

“Tell me. Now.”

“Really, it’s nothing. A guess…” Ben coughs awkwardly while I stare him down. I’m not buying it and he knows it. “Fuck… Fuck, stop snarling at me.”

“Tell me, you jackass! Who is it!”

Stumbling back, he ends up sitting heavily on the teacher’s desk. I glare as he smiles at me sheepishly. “I don’t know his name. I just… I’m pretty sure it’s a guy.”

“Why?” I growl when he feels the need to stop at that fucking revelation and not explain. Why the fuck would a guy be looking at me? I’m an asshole to everyone, and I’ve never shown an interest in hooking up with anyone, especially guys.

“Well… um… Someone asked me if you’d… might be interested…”

“Oh my god—Fucking whore, Ben! Why? Why would you tell someone that I’d—Fuck.” I whirl, pacing away before I do something uncalled for, like punch the idiot. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he do that? Does he hate me or some shit? He’s like my only friend—Do I have to worry about him spreading fucking rumors about me liking dick or something? Fuck.

“Aiden, you have to understand. I just thought, well… Well, I just thought,” Ben finishes lamely, wincing when I turn and glare his way.

“You think I’m gay?”

Looking uncomfortable, he gives a weak shrug. “It could explain a few things.”

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Like what?” I growl, my hands on my hips as I wait expectantly for whatever stupid is going to come out of his mouth. There is nothing remotely gay about me. Fuck, if I’m anything, it’s asexual, but I hate fucking labels so I wouldn’t even say that. I have no interest in being with anyone, period.

“You don’t date,” Ben points out.

“So? You know my fucking home life. You think I want to bring anyone into that shit?”

“Bullshit,” he says, standing up and glaring back at me. “Do you think I’m blind or something? Like I can’t see when you’re checking a guy out? You spent nearly half of last class staring at Chris.”

“He was cheating off of Duley,” I snap, really not liking where this is turning. I do not check out guys.

“Was his ass cheating? Cus that’s where you were staring.”

“Are you shitting me—Did you just seriously accuse me of…?” There are no words. “Ben, I’m not gay!” I yelp in frustration.

“Whatever, jackass,” he mutters, like I’m fucking lying to him or something. “I’m not the only one who thinks it, man. Ever since Gavriil transferred in, everyone has been talking about it.”

Blinking dumbly, I hold up my hand. “What? What the fuck does that weirdo have to do with anything?”

Ben growls in exasperation. “Dude, you stare at him all the time!”

“Only because he keeps staring at me!” I turn away, my hat coming off in my hands as I grab my hair and tug. Stupid Gavriil Strife—Of course that fucker is to blame for all this. The damn pretty-boy came in here acting weird, and the second I glare at him everyone just assumes I have a thing for him because he’s gorgeous. The fucking bastard.

“Who did you tell?” I ask, spinning back to Ben. “Who fucking asked?”

Huffing, he folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure.”

“Like fuck you’re not—”

“I never saw the guy before. It was a couple of weeks ago during that football game you left early from.” He gives me a look and I wonder if he’s going to start accusing me of staring at their asses too. “He came up and asked if you were into guys. He had long black hair, green eyes. Tall. Really good looking.”

“Why the fuck do you feel the need to tell me he’s good looking?” I hate him so much right now. “So you just told this absolute stranger that your best friend is into guys?” I say in frustration.

“No,” he snaps back, his jaw squaring defiantly. “I told him it was a possibility. That you’re not the dating type so there was really only one way to know for sure.”

God, my life sucks so much right now. My mom is probably home drinking our fucking food money away, and here I am standing, listening to my best friend explain how I could be gay.

“Did you ever once think to ask me?” I can’t stop my angry growl. He winces and I feel a mild satisfaction that he at least feels guilty. It’s extremely mild.

“Aiden, I watched you eat half a raw potato before you realized it wasn’t an apple.”

“So—What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“So, you’re fucking oblivious, man. If I was going to ask someone about you, I’d ask me first because, fuck, I know you better than you know you.”

Scoffing, I glance away. “No, you don’t.”

“Oh yeah? Favorite food—Cheeseburger with extra pickles, but on a grill because you like the burn but still pink in the middle. You’re two homework assignments away from failing Mr. Pincer’s class. You spent all of yesterday with a pink barrette in your hair because you didn’t notice I put a fucking barrette in your hair. Dude, you’re a fucking space case,” he says with a wave of his hands.

I pause at that, remembering vaguely something pulling on my hair yesterday when I took my hat off. Fuck. “Pink? You jackass.”

“Do you even know how many people check you out?” he continues sternly. “Like every fucking day? I have chicks asking all the time if you’re, like, not allowed to date or something. I see guys looking at you all the time, and hell, I’m as straight as they come, but even I can admit you’re totally sexy, man.”

I splutter, glaring at him while my tongue refuses to work. I am not sexy. I am angry and unapproachable, and that is how I want to be.

“Aiden, go meet the fucking guy. For once in your life stop wandering around aimlessly after cleaning up your parents’ mess, and just live a second for yourself. People want to get to know you, so give them a fucking chance already.”

It probably would have been more poignant if my best friend wasn’t trying to send me off because he thinks I like dick. As it is, I’m just more annoyed that there are at least two people on the planet determined to make this day as fucking miserable as possible.

“I’ll go,” I finally growl, glaring him down as he beams in reply. “But only to tell this guy that you were mistaken. Bad enough he’s so retarded he thinks I’m dating material to begin with.” Seriously, you’d have to be a fucking idiot to think I was worth hanging around for any amount of time. I’m pretty sure Ben’s an idiot, and he’s well aware of my opinion on the matter.

“Seriously, dude, if it’s the guy from the game, he’s hot. I’d never do you wrong like that.”

I shake my head. There are really no words for how dumb he is today. Fucking Valentine’s Day.

“Did Vanessa like her rose?” I grunt out, feeling spiteful. Ben gives a heartfelt, woeful sigh. Answer enough. Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot and now I have to go let some really confused gay guy down on Valentine’s Day. Fuck my life.

“Hey, Jayce, isn’t that your little brother?”

Glancing over Paul’s large shoulder, Jayce searched to see where his friend was tilting his head. The mall was crowded as usual, but yeah, it wasn’t hard to spot Declan. “Stepbrother,” he muttered darkly. They didn’t look alike. Jayce was tall, muscular, tanned with shaggy, sandy blond hair and dark eyes. Declan was… well, Declan.

All black hair, blue eyes, and gothed out to the gills. The kid looked like he’d been dropped in a vat of black ink. Tight black semi-transparent shirt, long black shorts, black trenchcoat, black boots, black belt, black choker and bracelets; Declan had a very obvious theme going. Even his eyeliner and nail polish were black. Everything about the kid was black except for his skin. No, his skin was so pale, Jayce swore it glowed half the time. Then there were his eyes. Blue. Crazy blue. Manic and fucked up, and it was always so hard for him to look away from his brother’s eyes. Declan was beautiful.

Jayce wanted to fuck his little brother, and it was really starting to be a problem.

“What is he, some sort of vampire now?” Paul snickered, ducking his head when Declan approached.

Jayce kept his mouth shut, trying not to stare at his sexy-ass brother. There was something fucked up in his little brother’s head. Jayce wasn’t sure what it was but ever since they’d started sharing a room, things had gotten awkward. Part of that was on Declan for being an angry freak. The other part was on Jayce for wanting to do a lot of freaky stuff to the kid. It really wasn’t cool but he was behaving, so that was something.

He kind of felt sorry for Declan. Sort of. The kid had to move to a new town, start a new school, and, oh yeah, leave his old life behind. The kids there were total asses about the goth thing. Not all of them, but enough that his little brother hadn’t made many friends yet. Maybe not any. He was a total loner.

“Hey,” Jayce greeted when Declan was in range. The brunette looked him right in the eye, coolly raised a pierced eyebrow, and then kept walking like he hadn’t said a word. Asshole. There might be a reason Declan didn’t have any friends. Jayce sure as fuck didn’t want to be his friend. Still didn’t keep him from staring at his ass as he walked away, though.

“Harsh,” Paul muttered, grinning when Jayce met his gaze. “You two still fighting?”

“I don’t think we are. Hard to fight when we barely say two words to each other.”

It hadn’t always been that way. Their parents had dated for years and he and Declan had spent all their free time together. The kid had been practically tied to his hip. Declan used to idolize him and Jayce had been thrilled to have a brother. Even if the kid was younger and insisted on being nerdy. Declan had been his best friend. Then everything had gone to shit.

Jayce wasn’t sure what had happened exactly. Their parents had gone through a rough patch and took a break. It turned out to be exactly what the two of them needed because fourteen months later his mom, Sarah, married Declan’s dad, Greg, and the Rainers had moved into his house. But something had changed during that break. Declan refused to answer any of Jayce’s texts or calls as if their parents splitting meant that they couldn’t be friends. Jayce had been preoccupied with college at the time and hadn’t really realized just how much his brother had shut him out. After the wedding, Declan moved into his room a completely different guy. Cold. Goth. Fucked up.

Sexy as sin.

The revelation that his brother was beyond hot had been extremely uncomfortable on Jayce, and not just because they were currently fighting. Declan was the kid he had protected and damn near half raised, their parents always at work and leaving them on their own. He had done his best to protect his brother from the assholes that would look at his nerdy clothes and silly books and talk down to him. Now, well, now every time he looked at his little brother in his ridiculous skin tight black clothes and girly makeup, he just wanted to push him up against the nearest sturdy surface and fuck him raw.

He was pretty sure he was going to hell, perving on his little brother. They might not have been related, but Declan was still everything to him even if he couldn’t stand whatever dumbass phase the kid was going through at the moment. Which just made it so much more messed up that he dreamed about fucking D nearly every night now.

He almost wished he had gone out of state for school instead of attending the local university. Seeing Declan acting out sucked. He had lost his brother only to gain some angry, albeit really hot punk. The kid got pissed every time Jayce even said the word goth. Declan had grown his hair out, all sleek and cut spiky, and although Jayce had managed not to say a word yet about it, D sure hated when he hid his hairbrush.

“I heard a rumor about him,” Paul said while they were walking to the food court.

“What, that he’s an ax-murder that’s escaped from an institution?” Jayce had already heard that one. The kids around there were total dicks and had shit for imagination.

Paul looked around, ducking his head so he was talking into the blond’s ear. “Nope. That he sucks cock.”

Jayce snapped his mouth shut, glaring sideways at his giant of a friend. Jesus, why would he tell him something like that? He was fucked up in the head already about D.

“Jason Henley’s, to be precise. So, is it true? You share a house with him. You probably know if he’s—”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t be that way. Vanessa is crushing on him and just wants to know if she has a shot. She thinks he’s hot, even with his girly hair and makeup.”

Another thing Jayce didn’t ever want to hear. He knew Declan was hot. He didn’t want his fucking friends thinking it about his little brother too. Jayce stopped walking, turning on Paul. “Whatever strange my stepbrother is into has nothing to do with me. Definitely nothing to do with you. Now drop it.”

“Touchy.”

Jackass. Glaring straight ahead, Jayce tried to keep his mind from running in circles. Declan was gay? For real? The kid had never talked to him about guys, or girls, for that matter. He’d never met D’s old friends—the few he’d had. For all he knew, Declan used to have a boyfriend. Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell him? Declan knew he was bi. He had to know Jayce wouldn’t have anything bad to say about him if he was gay.

“How certain is this rumor?” He finally asked Paul, frustration clear in his voice. How could Declan have kept such a huge secret from him? Why would he have?

“Ah… pretty certain.” Paul suddenly grabbed Jayce’s arm, pulling him around a pillar and pointing down the line of tables ahead as they stepped into the food court. It was Declan, sitting with his book resting on the table. But he wasn’t alone. Some sleazy looking guy was hovering over his shoulder, talking in his ear. Sure enough, the guy suddenly leaned his head and gave Jayce’s little brother a kiss.

Son of a fucking bitch.

“Whoa, where the fuck are you going?” Paul grabbed the blond’s shoulder and Jayce jerked to a stop. “What, you going to go beat him up or some shit?”

Fuck yes. “It’s fucking Jason Henley,” Jayce hissed, glaring at the two of them as the loser sat his ass down across from his little brother and ran his fingers through Declan’s perfect hair. He was going to fucking kill that asshole!

“Keep it together, big bro,” Paul said in his infuriatingly reasonable tone while refusing to let Jayce go. “If Declan’s as smart as you used to say, he’ll see right through Henley’s crap. He doesn’t need you going in there embarrassing the hell out of him with your macho bullshit.”

Jayce wasn’t so sure. Declan had been messed up lately, acting out, looking for trouble. The kid wouldn’t talk to him for shit and it had been worrying him more and more. Now this. Gay with Jason Henley.

“Henley’s too old for him,” Jayce finally grunted, allowing himself to be pulled away.

“He’s our age,” Paul said with a snort. Jayce and Paul had been on the wrestling team together in high school. Paul might act like a gentle giant but under his flab was enough muscle to keep Jayce from making an ass of himself if he lost his shit.

God, if only it had been anyone other than Jason Henley.

“He’s too old. Old enough to drink. Old enough to get Declan in so much fucking trouble—And that asshole is total trouble. You know his rep.”

“You’ll only make it worse. Keep your mouth shut and let your bro make his own mistakes.”

Jayce growled but didn’t say anything else.

Shit, Henley was such a fucking loser. Like, drugged up half the time, drunk the other half, and all mean spirit. He had also already managed to flunk out of college while Declan was still in his graduating year of high school. Jayce knew it was none of his business, but hell, the idea of that asshole touching his little brother just really pissed him off. The kid could do better.

D was only one summer in Jayce’s town and had already hooked up with the biggest loser around. There really was something fucked in the kid’s head.

***

Jayce had hoped to talk to Declan once he got home later that night but D wasn’t there. Neither were his mom and stepfather, Greg. Not a huge shocker with the last two. They were both doctors at the local hospital and worked the worst hours. Jayce had foolishly expected when his mom finally got married that he’d see her more. Instead he’d been stuck with Declan, which just felt like being extra alone for all the icy distance the kid put between them. Impressive, considering all the shit he had crowded into Jayce’s room.

His mom kept promising they’d move to a larger house soon. Going from a family of two to four overnight had been intense. Declan didn’t get any say in being shoved out of his fancy mansion and into Jayce’s cozy house. The kid was probably hurting about that too—Not that D would tell him.

Jayce made himself a quick snack and then went to his room to get his homework done.

Declan was usually haunting the living room or backyard while reading his horror novels. He read scary shit; weird, dark, bloody stuff that made Jayce wonder if he might be a closet serial killer, as did the kid’s decorating sense. Half of his room was now covered in what he could only assume was vampire paraphernalia, Asian, at that. D had a lot of posters of guys with sleek spiky hair just like Declan’s dressed in elaborate coats, leather, ruffles, and lace. Oh, and they were all in makeup. It was weird. Especially when Jayce spent a day checking a few of them out, only to have Declan tell him they were men. All of them.

That might have been a big clue, now that he thought about it.

Gay. His little brother was gay. And D had never told him. It didn’t make sense. Jayce had told Declan when he was figuring out he was Bi. It had been a big deal to finally tell someone. Declan had been cool about it. Quiet, but hell, he was always quiet. But D hadn’t said shit about liking guys. Had he said something wrong? Did he somehow indicate that there could only be one sexually free brother in the house when he’d moved in? It felt like something he would remember. Fuck.

Maybe Declan knew. Maybe he knew deep inside Jayce’s messed up head he had been checking his little brother out all fucking summer and masturbating to his image. The kid had nothing to worry about. Jayce would only ever look. He knew it was wrong. D was a kid to him—even if he was angry as fuck lately. He was his brother and you just didn’t do that shit. No matter how much he really wanted to.

Jayce honestly didn’t think it was him. There was just something going on with D. Something kinda messed up. Even his bed was black. Black sheets, black bedspread, blood red satin pillows—He must have been feeling rebellious. Declan’s side of the room was covered in candles, all elaborate, drippy looking things in twisted silver holders. The kid kept dead roses in vases with incense smelling up the place. It was really starting to take over the room. Although he did like the incense; it smelled nicer than his gym clothes.

It was like D was living in a fantasy world and Jayce couldn’t figure out why he needed it. All the books, his themed room; he couldn’t imagine being so dedicated to a theme. He just had stuff. Clothes ended up in the bureau, sometimes the floor. He had a few posters, mostly of his favorite video games—And none of them matched. The bedspread was a gift from his grandmother. He could barely put the effort into matching his damn socks. Declan had a theme for his life. It was impressive and fucked up.

Jayce was done with homework and twenty minutes into a very difficult raid in his online game when Declan finally came home. And fuck his life, he wasn’t alone. The kid had finally made some friends. Three very loud, assholic friends that he immediately wanted to beat the shit out of when he realized they were lighting up in his fucking living room.

Seriously, who did that? Just walked into a stranger’s house and started smoking weed? No one had even given a fucking hello.

Jayce wasn’t shocked to discover Jason Henley sucking down a hit, his arm tight around Declan’s waist as they shared the couch. One of Henley’s friends—Jayce had seen him in the parking lot of his school and was pretty sure he was college too—was flipping through the now blaring television. Apparently being high meant also being deaf. The third was laughing about some shit while texting on his phone. Somehow he seemed the least obnoxious of the group, even though Declan was silent and sober.

Ignoring his brother, he focused in on the asshole trying to blow a smoke ring while stinking up his couch. He and Henley had gone through school together. Jayce had managed to not have to talk five words to the loser up until that moment. “Take your pot and get the fuck out of my house.” No, he wasn’t subtle. He was pissed. It was the first time Declan had brought people over and they plain sucked.

“Shit, chill the fuck out, Flint. Or is it Rainer now?”

“Flint,” Declan said in his quiet voice, looking at Jayce nonchalantly. “We kept our last names.”

“Whatever,” Henley snickered, grinning meanly. “Chill the fuck out, Flint.”

Jayce was about five seconds from punching the guy in the face. He could take him, easy. Heat racing through his body, Jayce turned to Declan. “I’m serious, D. Get them the fuck out or I will. You won’t like how I do it.”

Declan was three years younger than Jayce, nearly a head shorter, and his big brother could literally bench him. He knew it, and yet, cool as could be, grabbed the joint from Henley and took a hit. He held it between long fingers, unblinking as he looked at Jayce with his unnerving blue eyes. “Fine. There’s nothing to do in your shit house anyways.”

Motherfucking ass. Jayce waited, his arms folded over his chest to keep from swinging. Henley didn’t want to leave. Too fucking bad. By the time the three stoners were finally through the front door, Jayce was ready to start throwing shit. Namely them. He grabbed Declan before he could go, holding him by the arm while the brunette stared back defiantly.

“You want to bring people over here, that’s fine. But tell them to leave their fucking drugs at home.”

Blowing a strand of ink-black hair out of his eyes, Declan looked completely void of emotion. “Whatever. Not like it’s my house or anything.”

God, he wanted to punch the kid through the fucking wall. He had done everything to make Declan feel welcome. D just kept shutting him out.

“You have shit taste in friends. Normal people don’t get fucked up the second they walk into someone else’s house.”

“Fuck you and your normal.” Declan wrenched his arm free, slamming out the door. Jayce almost followed after, but there was really nothing to say besides a big ‘fuck you,’ and he was trying really hard not to lose his shit. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel slightly satisfied that he had managed to break through his brother’s infuriating icy facade for a moment.

God, the kid pissed him off. Worst brother ever.

Jayce might have been referring to himself. Declan had looked fucking hot. Sexy as hell.

Chapter 2

Jayce received a text around eight to inform him that his mom and Greg weren’t going to be home for the pizza he had already ordered and eaten. Also not a fucking shocker. He spent the rest of the night pissed off, playing video games and then pacing as the clock kept ticking and Declan didn’t return home.

His little brother had just met those guys. He was new to town, new to the school, new to everything, and he was letting some fucked up college stoners drive him around. Jayce couldn’t stop the paranoid fear that Declan had gotten into a car accident. Maybe he shouldn’t have let them go until they had gotten the drugs out of their system first. Fuck him if he’d inadvertently caused D’s death because he couldn’t chill over some pot. It wasn’t like it was ecstasy or meth, or even cocaine. He wasn’t tripping on acid.

God, but it had been so fucking rude. Walking into his house like no one else existed. Like it hadn’t been his home for the last ten years. He had helped his mom pick out the place. He was the one that had chosen the couch in the living room that the losers were stinking up with their smoke. Fuck.

He hoped D was alright.

Jayce knew Declan was only a few years younger than him, but he was such a fucking naïve child at times. The kid just didn’t know the world even if he got straight A’s in school. He was always reading, thinking that was the way shit happened. Like you could plan, like people made sense the way words did. The fucked up kids didn’t make sense. From everything Jayce had heard about Henley, he was a user. A user of drugs and a user of boys. And now Declan was just hanging around, not understanding that just because a guy got hard over him doesn’t mean he was in love. Guys got hard over everything; he knew firsthand.

He was going to kill Henley if he touched his little brother. Should have beaten his face in before they’d even left the house for having the nerve to put his arm around Declan in front of him. Fucking sleaze.

He was just about ready to change out of his pajamas and start driving around looking for his brother when he heard a car pull up. Voices raised in laughter flowed in through the window while Jayce looked at the clock on his phone. 2:25 am. The little fuck. The backdoor opened then shut. Hearing a small crash, Jayce quickly strode down the hall, flipping on lights as he moved.

“Hey… big bro.” Declan smiled lopsidedly from his slump on the wall. Jayce stopped cold, closing his eyes and slowly counting to ten.

For fuck sake, the kid was drunk.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell D how fucking stupid he was for hanging out with a bunch of fucking losers and then getting shitfaced with them. But he just bit his tongue. Saying that kind of shit would only make Declan want to do it again.

Jayce crossed the kitchen, grabbing the brunette by the shoulder and pulling him off the wall. Declan swayed, stumbling forward, snorting in laughter. “Oh shit. You’re not going to spank me, are you?”

He really fucking should. “You’re fucked up. Get your ass in bed and I’ll put some coffee on.” Jayce pushed him towards the hall. Declan nearly fell, grabbing onto the kitchen table for dear life. Fuck, he was really messed up. “How much did you drink?”

Staring down at the table, a smile slowly split Declan’s lush lips. “Not much… Couple shots.”

“Declan—Fuck!” It couldn’t have been fucking beer like a normal kid. No, he had to go get fucking hard liquor into him.

“No, it’s okay. It was all very sophis… sophis… sophisticated,” he mumbled, turning his smile Jayce’s way. Declan began to lose his balance, his eyes blinking in alarm as he tilted towards the floor. Jayce grabbed him before he could fall, steadying the brunette and pulling him into the hallway.

“You’re an idiot. What the fuck were you trying to prove to those losers? You think they’re going to like you more if you get just as fucked up as they are?” Damn it, he was nagging like some bitchy mother and he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Mmm… Maybe I want to like me more.” Reaching the bedroom, Declan nearly fell when his brother released him. Jayce directed him to his bed so when the kid’s legs finally gave he’d have something soft to land on.

“Change. I’ll be back after I put the coffee on.” Jayce left him struggling with his coat while he escaped to the kitchen and tried not to punch the wall in frustration. He should never have let D leave with those losers. Should have… What? Tied him up? Seriously, Declan did whatever the fuck he wanted. Jayce just hadn’t realized it was going to include fucking up his life.

Should he tell Greg? Was that the answer for something like this? Jayce tapped his cellphone in his pocket while he put the coffee on, his mind whirling. He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what the hell Declan’s father would do. Greg was a bit of a religious nut. He was always at the hospital, but while Jayce’s mom was there to provide a service doing something she loved, Greg looked at it like it was his calling.

Maybe he should just wait until morning. Talk to the kid when he was sober and he could feel him out to see if he was going to pull this kind of shit again. Jayce wasn’t his father. Hell, he was barely Declan’s brother. It really wasn’t his goddamn responsibility to make sure—

There was a loud crash from the bedroom. Scowling, Jayce jogged down the hall, only to find his lamp was broken. Not Declan’s lamp. No, that would have just been fair. No, the kid had knocked over his lamp with his jacket and was now on Jayce’s bed. One of his tall boots was halfway off his leg and he was staring at his feet blankly like he had forgotten what he was doing. Fuck his life.

Declan blinked up in surprise when Jayce walked into the room. “My boot broke.”

Yeah, just fucking perfect. Growling, Jayce knelt down, pulling at Declan’s boot. It wouldn’t budge and he had the horrible notion that he was going to have to unlace the godawful things. Then he found the zipper on the side. De-booted, he tapped Declan’s arms until the kid lifted them, then pulled his silky shirt up and over his head.

“Whoa, hold on,” Declan mumbled when Jayce reached for his belt. The brunette pushed himself up, trying to stand, only to stumble forward as he tripped over his boots. “Crap.”

“Stop moving,” Jayce ordered exasperatedly as he saved the boy from the ground again. It was hard enough to get him changed while trying not to look at him. Jayce refused to perv out on his little brother no matter how milky white his skin looked. “Where do you keep your pajamas?”

The question taking a moment to sink in, Declan finally pointed to the corner of the room where he kept his clothes’ hamper. Jayce took a step to leave, but Declan grabbed him, his knees wobbling unsteadily. “Wait… Dizzy,” he giggled, nearly falling again just standing still.

“Declan…” He was annoying as fuck, but D’s smile was heartwarming and made his eyes sparkle. The kid really didn’t smile much anymore. Shaking his head, Jayce tried to walk the boy over to his bed again, but the kid’s feet weren’t budging. “Come on. One foot in front of the other.”

Snickering, Declan made an attempt, managing to step on Jayce’s foot and slide down his body as he immediately fell forward.

Jayce inhaled sharply, his senses suddenly on high alert. Declan’s hands were on his hips, his face pressed into his abs, chest grinding firmly against his dick with only his thin pajama pants between them. Awkward. Especially when his brother looked up at him, his stunningly blue eyes gleaming, lush lips twisted in a smile that could only be defined as sexy. Very awkward. Getting hard awkward.

Swallowing, Jayce wrapped an arm under Declan’s shoulders and pulled him up to his feet, trying to ignore the fact that his brother was shirtless and very warm. He was determined to drag the kid to his bed and get the fuck out.

Declan gasped, his eyes wide as he stumbled and fell flush against Jayce, his face tucking into the crook of the taller boy’s neck. God, if he could just get this done before it got any weirder…

And now D was licking his neck.

“You have a very… very nice neck.”

“Please don’t suck my blood. I’m very fond of it remaining in my body.” Jayce dragged him as best he could because his brother had managed to go limp while at the same time clinging to him. It would be easier to just lift him but that would involve grabbing his ass, or thighs… Nope. Not happening. He had to drag him.

Declan snickered into his throat, his breath hot and tickling as he now tried to nip Jayce. Served him right for mentioning vampires. His brother was lithe and sleek in his arms, making it difficult to get a grip. He eventually got Declan across the room and to his bed. He turned, trying to push Declan down, but the kid was wrapped around him like a leech. His teeth kept sending sparks through him Jayce was having a really difficult time not responding to.

“Declan, get off me.” Jayce gripped his shoulders, carefully prying the boy back. Declan growled in protest and grabbed his arm. Jayce froze as their hips shifted. Declan was hard. Fuck. Seriously not cool.

“Ah… Sorry, big bro,” Declan snickered softly, his face again burrowed into Jayce’s neck. “You’re just really… really hunky.” Hands moving down his older brother’s biceps, Declan squeezed hard, fingers fanning and pushing his short sleeves up. “You have the sexiest fucking shoulders I’ve ever seen.”

Right. So apparently Declan was very gay and so horny he didn’t care who he was touching. “Declan, stop grinding your dick into my thigh and get the fuck off me.”

Jayce was having a really difficult time pushing the kid away. It felt so fucking wrong to have his little brother rub up against him. Wrong because it was his brother, but extremely hot because it was Declan, and Declan was really, really hot. Especially when his wet lips kept pressing to his neck, Declan’s hands now pushing under his shirt and touching his back, pulling him closer.

Jayce was a natural, hotblooded guy that could get hard if the wind blew, and he was trying to justify that now. Declan’s hair and makeup made the kid look so different from how he’d looked growing up. He really couldn’t be expected to not think he was hot. He had eyes. But that didn’t mean it was okay to act on it. It was just really difficult to set boundaries at the moment. Declan’s dick was rubbing against his and it was intense, and dirty, and the kid really needed to get the fuck off of him before he lost his mind.

“Declan, stop… Oh fuck,” Jayce groaned, one of Declan’s arms wrapping around his waist and crashing their lower bodies together. He tried to steady himself, his little brother’s weight threatening to knock them over, but it only pulled Declan tighter against him. God, he felt good. He had been dying to touch the kid and it was so hard to keep it together now that he was in his arms.

“Shhh… It doesn’t mean anything.” Declan’s tongue licked over Jayce’s throat, silky hair tickling as he nipped his flesh. “Fuck, you’re hot. Just want to… God, I want you… Want you so much.”

He was drunk. Fucked up, likely stoned, and definitely drunk. And his hand was down the front of Jayce’s pants. “Holy fuck.”

Jayce grabbed the boy’s wrist but couldn’t bring himself to pull him away. Declan’s fingers slowly wrap around his hard cock, brushing up Jayce’s length, teasing over his head. Jayce’s eyes closed, every nerve he had focused on those fingers first taunting and now bolder, wrapping tighter and stroking. “Hell, D. You really shouldn’t be doing that.”

He should stop him. He should really, really stop him.

“That’s it, Jayce… Fuck… Tell me you like it.” Declan licked up his brother’s neck while panting, gripping his other arm around the taller boy’s back. He tried to wrap his leg around Jayce’s, the room tilting from the move. Before he knew it, Jayce was crushing Declan into the bed, the brunette moaning beneath his larger body.

Shit, he had to stop. It was his fucking brother. His naïve, vulnerable, once sweet little brother that was totally messed up.

He tried to untangle himself from Declan’s long limbs, but the brunette was all over him, his knees hooked around the blond’s waist, arms tight on his neck. “Declan, come on… You’re not thinking.” Jayce was stronger, but he was afraid he might hurt him. The kid was just really drunk and fucking confused. He’d hate himself for doing this tomorrow.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Declan gasped, then his mouth was on Jayce’s, his tongue shoving past his lips. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

There was something really fucking wrong with him when it came to his little brother.

Growling, Jayce grabbed Declan by his hair, wrapping the silky locks around his fist and pulling hard. Declan groaned, his head falling back in the harsh grip as he looked up at Jayce. His eyes were burning that crazy blue, his lids heavy, cheeks flushed, lips blood red. God, he so was sexy. Jayce wanted to fuck those lips so bad.

“Bro…” Declan whispered, his dark lashes fluttering as he panted.

Hearing the boy call him that sent a terrible stab of guilt through his chest. He was just a kid. A dumb, naïve, confused kid that had always trusted him to take care of him. But he was also beautiful. Declan had always been, even before he had started wearing all that shit on his eyes. Jayce had noticed more times than he had ever wanted to admit to himself, his sweet brother so hard to look away from.

“Don’t call me that,” Jayce growled, pulling his hair harder, watching Declan’s lips part in a low moan. Wet. His mouth was so fucking red and wet looking. Jayce pressed his thumb to his brother’s bottom lip, listening as Declan’s breath hitched. God, he shouldn’t. Really.

Eyes caught on Jayce’s, Declan licked his tongue out, moving over his knuckle. Jayce pressed harder and the brunette opened, pulling his thumb into his wet heat. Declan sucked firmly then ran his teeth lightly over the pad of his finger. A shudder running through him, Jayce pulled his thumb away, cupped his brother’s face and kissed him.

Groaning, Declan met him eagerly even when Jayce crushed his lips too hard, gripped his face too rough. He needed to taste him. Just once. Just this one time he would taste him. He plunged his tongue into Declan’s mouth, the brunette moaning, clinging weakly to his brother’s shirt, melting into him, giving in. It sparked something dark in Jayce, primitive and raw. He wanted Declan to give in to him. To stop his incessant fighting and icing him out, and just give in.

Rocking his hips down into his little brother’s, Declan’s thighs clenched Jayce’s waist, their erections grinding together. Their noises were loud and slick as Jayce kissed him relentlessly, exploring every plane, rubbing his tongue against Declan’s, biting the boy’s ripe lower lip sore and swollen. Declan didn’t resist, his reactions slow and uncoordinated the longer his brother suffocated him with every touch of his lips and thrust of his tongue.

It was so hard to hold back, so hard to not take all the many things Jayce had tried to not want from his brother. But he did want them. He had wanted them for the longest time. By the way Declan was moaning, Jayce wasn’t so sure he was alone with that crazy need.

“Jayce… Oh fuck, please. Touch me. Dreamed of you… touching me.” Gasping into the hard kiss, Declan grabbed one of Jayce’s hands, pulling it down between the crush of their bodies, knuckles scraping hot, bare flesh. He was sweating, his flat stomach slippery under Jayce’s fingertips.

He shouldn’t. It was definitely crossing the line. Fuck, kissing was bad enough. Grinding him into his stupid black bed was bad. But to touch him while he was drunk… There was no forgiving that. Jayce was supposed to protect Declan from the kind of losers that would try to do that to him, not be one.

“Please, bro… Please.” Declan pulled harder on Jayce’s hand, pushing until he had his older brother’s palm pressed against the bulge in his jean shorts.

Fuck. Oh fuck, he felt good. He was hard, and he was begging, and fuck, it was really wrong. “D, we should stop,” Jayce muttered, even as he rubbed his palm firmer, groaning as Declan bucked into his hand. “Fuck, that’s it.”

He was done thinking. Declan was whimpering soft cries as he humped his hand, and he was done trying to figure out just how wrong it was. Rolling the two of them to the side, Jayce quickly got to Declan’s belt, unclasping it and tearing through his button and fly. He pushed the boy’s shorts down his thighs, then his underwear—yup, even his fucking underwear was black—and pulled them off his brother’s long, toned legs. Fuck, he was breathtaking.

Pale everywhere. Long, slender, but still toned and strong. He was like something out of a fucking painting, perfect milky flesh and hard, flushed red cock. Jayce couldn’t stop looking at it, a question in the back of his mind of just what the hell D was on that he could be hard while so drunk. But he was. Dripping precum from his throbbing tip. God, he was beautiful.

“Jayce…”

“Quiet, D. Just lie there nice and quiet for a sec.”

Silent, Declan just watched, eyes glowing as Jayce began to move his hands over his brother’s body. Declan’s knee bent when his brother’s large palm roughly moved up his leg, his thighs spreading wide. Jayce slid his hand heatedly over the boy’s inner thigh, his smooth flesh trembling when he gave a squeeze.

He wanted D. He wasn’t supposed to, but god, he wanted him. When he kissed Declan’s nipple, the brunette gasped, and when their eyes met, his little brother looked near tears. God, he was fucking up. Fucking up, touching his brother because the kid was drunk and too fucked in the head to stop him.

“Please,” Declan whispered, his eyes caught in Jayce’s. “I’ll let you do anything. I just… I need you to touch me.”

God, he was so fucked up. Jayce could only pray Declan didn’t say that sort of thing to other guys.

“You’re drunk,” Jayce said hoarsely, trying to stop himself. The kid didn’t know what he was saying. He was just horny and drunk.

“You’re hard.”

The little fucker. Jayce ran his wide tongue over Declan’s nipple again, then pulled it into his mouth. Whimpering loudly, Declan’s fingers tangled into his shaggy hair. Jayce nipped at his slick bud and the brunette arched, and fuck, every noise his little brother made was so sexy. Jayce ran his hands down the sides of his taut body, letting his fingers dig in. When he reached Declan’s hips he held harder, sliding back to caress his ass. Damn, he had a nice ass. Tight and perky. Fucking tight.

Declan reached for his wrist again, Jayce letting him move his hand to his dick. “Please.”

He shouldn’t. Fuck, he really, really shouldn’t. Drunk. D was drunk. Don’t touch your little brother when he’s drunk. Don’t touch him at all.

He was heavy in Jayce’s palm, hot, silken flesh. When he wrapped his fingers around Declan’s shaft, the boy groaned, his hands coming up to grasp his brother’s strong biceps. He stroked Declan slowly, feeling his thickness in his palm, his ridges, wanting to memorize every perfect inch of him. When he reached his swollen cockhead, he let his thumb caress over his slit, wetting Declan with his own slick precum while the boy cried out.

God, he was sexy. He had never known just what the fuck his little brother had been hiding under all that fucking black.

“Jerk me… Fuck, please.” Declan’s hand grabbed Jayce’s wrist again, trying to get him to hurry the fuck up. If only he knew how he looked, begging like that. “Jayce, come on.”

Jayce leaned down, pressing his lips to Declan’s ear. “D, shut the fuck up and let me do my thing.” Declan groaned, biting his lower lip hard. “Okay?”

The brunette nodded, eyes meeting Jayce’s intense gaze, full of trust and need. “Do me how you want, big bro. Any way you want. Just do it.”

Jayce had to grip the bed to keep from swaying. Fuck, D really needed to stop saying shit like that. Declan didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what that fucking meant. Because Jayce wanted to be inside him, making him scream, making him sob his name. He wanted Declan to tell him he was going to be fucking good again, and nice, and talk to him like he used to. Jayce was fucked up, and Declan didn’t understand what he was saying.

Pulling his hand away, Jayce ignored his brother’s whimper of protest. He licked his palm while pushing Declan back on the bed, trapping him between his thighs. Jayce was fully dressed. It couldn’t be that bad cus he had clothes on, even if Declan was fucking nude as could be. The kid still had a few bracelets on; that had to count for something, right?

God, he was going to hell.

He was slick in his palm when Jayce wrapped around Declan’s gorgeous cock again, and his moan was fucking perfect. He watched intently as his brother’s flushed tip disappeared into his hand, only to have it reveal again as he moved down his shaft, all the way to his base, Declan’s hips rocking to meet every stroke.

“Bro, look at me.” Declan’s hand tangled in Jayce’s hair as he tried to turn his gaze to his.

Hell, the kid was going to kill him. “Stop calling me that, D.” Jayce met his eyes, his breath catching. Beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful.

Stroking faster, Jayce drank in his brother’s expression. Declan’s head fell back on the bed, his mouth wide as he panted and gasped between toe curling moans. He was dripping saliva, trickling down his chin and jaw. Beneath his broken gasps, Jayce could hear what he was doing to the boy, his hot flesh slick in his fist, slapping wet suction with every pump. Declan grabbed the sheets, fingers clawing, his back arching as he moaned again and again.

God, D. Get there. He wanted to see him come so bad. He was the sexiest fucking thing ever, and Jayce wanted to see his face when he came. For him. Just this moment. Just this one fucked up moment Declan could be his.

Crying out, Declan’s entire body shook with his orgasm, his eyes squeezed shut, muscles rock hard as he held onto the sheets. His dick kept jerking in Jayce’s hand, spurting stream after stream of seed onto his stomach. Groaning, Declan went boneless, his eyes weakly cracking back open to meet his brother’s ever watching gaze.

Jayce couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let himself think. He just needed, and needed bad.

He grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Declan’s head. Watching silently as he caught his breath, Declan’s tongue drifted over his lips when Jayce climbed up his body and straddled his neck with his knees.

“Bro?”

“Quiet, D.” Jayce ran his hand over Declan’s cheek, tilting the boy’s chin back while he pushed his pajama pants down and freed his achingly hard dick. It wasn’t going to take much. Jayce was so fucking hard, and it was Declan, his beautiful kid brother beneath him, staring at his cock like he’d never seen one before, features twisted in want. His blue eyes kept shifting, moving to Jayce’s face and then to his dusky, dripping cock. Then Jayce started stroking and Declan picked his target, his tongue touching his bottom lip as he watched his older brother jerk inches away.

He wasn’t going to touch him. Just this. Jut have him watch. God, he was beautiful. His lips were fucking swollen and too red. Jayce wanted to fuck his mouth so bad, but that was beyond wrong. All of it was wrong, but that was beyond.

Fuck, would D let him?

Exhaling shakily, Jayce pressed the tip of his cock between his brother’s lips. Declan moaned, his tongue sliding out, teasing over his cockhead, probing tentatively into his slit. Fuck. Oh fuck, he really needed to stop.

“Open,” Jayce demanded hoarsely, the world rocking wildly when Declan parted his lips. He gripped the back of the brunette’s neck with his free hand and slowly pushed forward into Declan’s hot, wet mouth, those red lips contouring to his thick flesh.

God. God, he was actually fucking his mouth. Jayce’s balls were so tight, he knew he was going to come any second. He held off as long as possible. One time. Only fucking time this was ever happening, and he needed to remember.

Declan made a choking noise when Jayce’s tip hit his tonsils. But Jayce kept pushing, needing to feel his brother’s tight channel, needing to make sure Declan knew he was his.

“God… God, that’s it… Fuck, fuck take it, D… Open wide and take my cock, bro… Fuck… good boy… you’re so fucking good.” Jayce didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. He was grinding the back of Declan’s throat, his fingers painful in the brunette’s sweaty hair, taking his mouth hard while his little brother whimpered beneath his thighs. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t fucking think with Declan’s mouth so hot, throat so tight, those fucking lips of his so red.

Jayce held the boy still when he pulled out, forcing Declan to feel every dirty, sticky drop of cum as he covered his beautiful face with all his jizz. D’s moans were fucking music; low, raspy, filthy. God, that was it. All over his face. Covered in him. His bro. His.

Declan had tears in his eyes as he gasped to breathe. Jayce had been too rough. Could have hurt him… Could have done a lot of things he didn’t do. Fuck. Fuck.

Jayce rolled off his brother, pulled his pants up and left. Declan called for him and he nearly turned back. Bad idea. Really bad idea. The kid was drunk, covered in cum, and damn fucking easy prey for the many things he wanted to do. Jayce forced himself to walk to the bathroom and splash his face with cold water. He needed to stop the crazy in his head, the maddening heat that had won way too much already.

Declan was asleep when Jayce got the nerve to return with a wet facecloth in hand. He was exactly how he’d left him, sprawled out nude on top of his bedspread. Jayce washed him off, admiring his porcelain flesh, brushing the bruises already starting to bloom on his hips where he had dug in too hard.

Fucked up. He had fucked up big, and he had no clue how the fuck he was going to fix it.

Maybe D wouldn’t remember? He was really drunk, saying stupid shit about dreaming. Maybe he’d just think it was a dream if he remembered anything at all.

Part of Jayce wanted Declan to remember. It wasn’t the good part of him. It was the fucked up part that wanted him to be his even though it would ruin the kid. Ruin their parents. Ruin fucking everything.

Shit, when had this happened? When had he gotten so crazy over D?

Finding Declan’s pajamas by his hamper, he slipped them on his sleeping brother. Then he arranged Declan under the covers, making sure he was warm. Jayce sat on his bed for the longest time, watching him sleep. Hating himself. Hating how he still wanted him, even then.

God, he was so fucked up.

Declan wouldn’t remember. He was drunk and wouldn’t remember.

I’ve never really been one to talk shit about dick size. You’re born with what you got, and you make do. Being a sorcerer, you even get a little leeway, and I know there are more than a few guys that stuff an extra inch or two to make things interesting. I am not one of those guys. I really wish Randal Davis was.

Tristan’s looking at Davis’s dick like he’s internally berating it for just how fucking small it is. It’s not a sweet expression, but few of Tristan’s are. It also doesn’t help that I’m glamoured as Davis, because hell, I have never felt inadequate before, but I sure do under that withering stare. I’m not hung like a horse, but I could be compared to Davis. Fucked up thing? Tristan sucks this kid off all the time. How the hell does Davis put up with that glare every time he’s being blown?

Probably because Tristan Bryant is the hottest piece of ass the Academy of Sorcery has to offer. I might be biased, but I don’t think so. He’s brilliant, lithe, and all sexy confidence. With his shining blond hair, crystal eyes, creamy white skin and lush red lips, I don’t think there’s a sorcerer or sorceress alive that wouldn’t want Tristan. Most might prefer him dead or in a lot of pain at the time, but that’s only because on top of being gorgeous, he’s also an absolute asshole. Yeah, I’m definitely not biased. He’s sexy as fuck.

Determined to make the most of things before the potion that makes me look like his boyfriend wears off, I grab Tristan’s very silky shoulder length hair and push him down to his knees. Heh, he is not happy about that. Davis is also a fucking sappy, romantic gasbag that likes to whisper sweet nothings in the blond’s ear while he’s rubbing up against him. I know better and wrench Tristan’s hair hard, his lips parting in a surprised moan.

“That’s it.” I cup my other hand down his cheek, fingers running over his lips, touching the edge of his teeth, his trembling tongue. He’s not glaring now. No, he’s into it, eyelids heavy with want, soft puffs of air hitting my hip. “Suck me, Bryant.” I pull his hair again. “Now.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, all he can get out before I’m pushing my dick between his gorgeous lips, holding his face firm to keep him from trying to pull off.

Shit. I really shouldn’t be doing this.

He groans, opening wider as I sit as deep as I can inside the tight, scalding heat of his mouth. God, I wish it was deeper. Part of me wants to suffocate him, take his throat so hard he’ll always be raspy from what I do to him. That he’ll never know it’s me just makes me more desperate to mark him in some way. “God, that’s it, baby… Let me fuck you.”

I can’t stop staring at his face, his cheeks flushed, brows furrowed as he tries not to choke every time I pump into him. He’s tight inside, and so wet. The noises he makes are obscene, loud, and crazy desperate. It’s nearly impossible to hold back. That I’m doing this at all just shows how much I’m losing it over him. He’s so hot and sexy, and I’ve been dreaming of fucking him forever.

He grabs my hips, and I wonder if he’s finally going to push me back, put me in my place for being too rough, but it never comes. No, he just moans again, opens his lips wider, his fingers clawing at the back of my thighs and digging into the muscles of my ass as he helps me slam into his mouth.

“Fuck, Tristan.” God, he likes it. I tighten my grip in his hair, pulling him back so I can see his face. Fuck, he really likes it.

“You going to cum like this? Just from my cock bruising your tonsils?” I can’t stop myself, can’t stop from saying shit to him. His mouth is full of dick, dripping wet, and he loves it. It doesn’t help that he’s on his knees in a back hallway of the school like he does this all the time. Like he’s been looking for someone to come along and use him.

I slowly pull out of his mouth, his lips clinging tight suction to my head as he tries to keep my dick inside. He finally releases me with a wet pop, his tongue caressing over the tip of my cock for a toe curling instant. Fuck. I force his face further back, tilting him up by his wet chin until he meets my eyes. I watch, surprise jolting through me when he actually blushes.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t do this all the time. But he should. He’s really fucking good at it.

He opens his mouth to my thumb, his lips swollen and bright red. I push hard against his soft flesh, watching him gasp, knowing his teeth are biting in on the other side of his lip. His tongue is suddenly drifting out, licking at my knuckle. I take two fingers and push them into his widening mouth. “You have a really sick oral fixation.” His tongue comes up to wrap around my digits, coating me in his clear fluids, sucking me down, teeth scraping as he runs his hands up my hips and stomach, short nails digging in and pulling down.

Oh shit. My eyes close, his hands doing something crazy to me, his mouth sucking my fingers like they’re directly connected to my dick, making me dizzy and so painfully hard. I knew he’d be good—Fuck, he could stick his tongue out and tell me to fuck off, and I’d be coming for him. But that he’s into it makes it so much better. I can almost pretend it’s for me.

Fucking Davis. Fucking douchebag, Randal Davis and his bite-sized prick for dating Tristan.

Opening my eyes, I pull my fingers free of his mouth, grab him roughly by the back of the neck, and grind my too small cock up against his bottom lip. He looks up at me, cruel gray eyes intense with fire and sex, and fuck, I want to ruin him. And I’m pretty sure, seeing how his tongue is sneaking out to lick my slit, he would really enjoy it.

But although Tristan Bryant might get on his knees in a hallway, he does not, under any circumstances, spread his fucking legs in a hallway. I’m actually not even sure he bottoms. Every time I’ve seen him with his boyfriend, he has never once shown an interest in letting anything between those tight cheeks of his. Then again, when you have some sap whimpering how much they’re meant to be together while also refusing to plump his cock up with a simple spell, it really fucking kills the mood. Least, it sure did for me, watching Davis put his soggy kisses and limp wristed hands all over the wild blond. A hot piece of ass like Bryant deserves fucking better.

Too bad I’m not the one to give it to him.

My fingers bite into the back of his neck, pulling him down again. I watch his face, his lashes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open in anticipation, tongue reaching out to meet my cock when I push into him again. I cup my other hand to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and gripping hard as I pull him down to meet every relentless thrust I force into his tight throat. My god, he’s beautiful. His mouth is wide open, dripping wet down his chin and my dick. Whimpering, hot suction noises and choked sobs escape him as he surrenders to me. He gasps around my dick, struggling to draw air in, his hands grasping weakly to my thighs as he lets out a string of desperate, low moans. He’s sexy. Really fucking sexy.

“God… god, that’s it… want it… fucking take it…” He’s going to cum. I can see it on his face. He’s so fucking gone, he’s going to cum with my cock in his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby… So… fucking… tight…” He makes this beautiful, wet cry when I pull him down a final time, his throat opening to me, so hot and dripping tight as I shoot stream after stream of my cum into him. And fuck, he swallows down every nasty drop, milking me for more while fighting to breathe.

Fuck. I pull out of him, my dick growing cold in the air. I don’t care. I have to touch him, or I’m going to lose my mind. I drag him up to his feet, his body swaying, arms heavy as he wraps around me and opens to my kiss. Before he can think to stop me, I shove my hand down the front of his pants, groaning when I find him slick with cum already. God—the gorgeous brat came without even touching himself. Both his hands were on my thighs the whole time, pretty fucking sure.

“Randal, fuck, that was so good. Didn’t know it could—Fuck. Fuck.” He pulls me down into another kiss, crushing me back against the wall, grinding against me so hard I think he’s trying to fuck me with his pants on. It’s hot, really hot, but him calling me his boyfriend’s name is a punch to the gut.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot. If there’s one thing certain in a world full of magic, it’s that I, Chase Hunter, will never have a shot at Tristan Bryant. Just the rule of the fucking universe.

I kiss him—I’m never going to get another chance—and reach down to tuck myself back in while he sucks on my neck. Tristan does really nice things with that mouth of his.

“I gotta go.” I push him back, watching the confusion and hurt flash in his beautiful gray eyes. God, I’m the biggest fucking asshole ever.

I yank him by the arm, his eyes widening as he crashes against my chest. “Baby, you were incredible,” I whisper against his lips, cupping his face firmly, tilting him a little closer so I can kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to kiss him. He melts into me, moaning, tongue tentatively tangling with mine. I pull him closer, unable to stop as I wrap him in my arms, kissing him so consumingly, so thoroughly, all he can do is whimper once I finally release him and leave him leaning weakly on the wall.

I walk away before I can think of a reason not to, glancing back as I round the corner, finding him staring at me, his eyes blazing as they meet mine.

Shit, I am such a fuck up.