9. Abel

Having his eyes on me makes me feel high—on his hatred, his obvious fascination.

I’d wager that Peris Baxter hates that he wants me—someone like me. Gay and open and happy about it. Someone who is a slut and fuckin’ loves it.

I’ve been around enough people like him to know the type—in the closet, hating on everyone who is what they wish they could be, or even what they covet.

And I want to fuck with him. Push every single button he didn’t know he had. For nothing more than my own version of sick fascination. Because I can—and will always—use my body to my advantage.

After all, I’ve been used and fucked and thrown away. Why shouldn’t I take control where I can? Take a piece of my freedom, make it my own again—even if it is just with this one thing.

It’s better than the nothing I always had.

I didn’t exactly know how I was going to handle… everything after what happened last night—being watched, the way he was watching me. Like he was equal parts sick and impossibly aroused. A stranger peeking through the darkness, a vacant witness to such depravities.

Not that what Lance and I were doing was truly that depraved. I mean, it was just a hand job. Really, I’ve done much worse—and inside a school, no less. But to none other than Peris Baxter, varsity basketball captain, it was an illusion of hidden desires.

But I saw it—the pain in his eyes. The longing for what I was feeling—what I was experiencing. It had a particular taste as it lingered in the air.

It’s still there, too. Shrouding him in the weight of it—a weight he can’t shake. He knows I see it, too. Which is why from the moment our eyes connected again, he decided to push forth every ounce of bitter disgust. But that’s just fine by me. He can set the tone for what this is. He can push and scream. Hell, he can even snap those pretty white teeth and bite me a little because, in the end, he’ll end up on his knees just like the rest of them.

They always fucking fall.

My body isslick with sweat, my heart hammering against my sternum, mimicking that of a hummingbird’s. My eyes continuously dart toward his door, bottom lip trapped between my teeth as I strain my ears for the sound of his footsteps.

I know he’s home.

I watched him pull into the drive, windows cracked, bass thumping.

Then I ran—straight into his bedroom. It fucking smells like his cologne in here, and it’s making my brain foggy and my cock ten times harder than it would normally be. But just knowing he’s so close to catching me… well, my dick certainly likes the prospect.

Manipulative, sure. But with how many people have fucked with my head, I’ve learned to play the game. And well.

It never lasts—nothing does—but it’s viable for a time.

I jolt when the front door slams closed, followed by the distinct thud of his bag atop the washing machine. Doors open and close, glasses clank. Feet shuffle. And all the while, I’ve got my fingers wrapped around my dick, holding it with a grip far too tight. My knuckles bump against the cotton of my boxers with every slow drag of my hand—slow because if I move any faster, I’m going to come before he even makes it down the hallway.

“Oh, f-fuck,” I rasp as his heavy footsteps thud closer. Each one distinct, each one I match my hand movements to.

As they draw near, I close my eyes and straighten my head against his pillow. My breaths are louder now without my sight. My heartbeat feels heavier. My balls are throbbing painfully.

Precum oozes at my slit, slick and wet and nowhere near enough to ease the burn of friction, but I don’t care. My hand moves faster down my length, fingers reaching down to graze my balls before flicking up and massaging my head.

My shoulders tense as the doorknob turns. The door swings open, letting in muted light. Peris’s heavy sigh is loud in my ears as he flicks on the light switch, dropping his backpack atop the desk with a thud so jarring, I jerk, and my breath hitches—my undoing.

A sharp inhale.

I open my eyes. Silver meets golden-green.

I expect screaming. A red face. Even flying fists and spit.

What I didn’t—and never would have—expected is Peris’s cold and calm demeanor. His face is nothing but a twisted version of his usual bitch-faced sneer. His fingers are lax at his sides, broad shoulders even and relaxed.

The only tell-tale sign that he just caught me jerking off in his bed is the slight tilt to his head and the flare of his nostrils.

“What are you doing?” And it’s the sound of his voice that, for the first time in a very long time, spikes a dose of trepidation into my blood.

I swallow slowly, all too aware of the sweat beading along my hairline. My hand trembles too much to keep moving.

Peris takes a step forward—only one, but I feel it like a kick in the ribs.

I shouldn’t have done this. I’ve pushed too far.

“Did you hear me, runt?”

“W-what?” I squeak.

“What are you doing in my room? In my fucking bed.” He’s closer now, a mere foot away, and his scent is overwhelming. I’m surrounded by Peris Baxter on all sides, and I’m suffocating in him.

“I—” His hand shoots out, and his large, calloused fingers clamp tightly around my throat. Airflow is cut off instantly, blood flow not far behind, while his other delves into my hair, gripping tightly right at the scalp.

He shakes his head slowly—so slow, it sends goosebumps burning down each arm. “No. There is no reason to explain why the fuck you’ve invaded my space. And to fucking—” He cuts off sharply as his eyes dart to my crotch—where my hand is still very much on my junk, which is also still very hard. Throbbing, really. If I could just?—

“You’re fucking disgusting, Abel. Thinking you can break the rules and burrow your sad little self into people’s lives…” His voice is a soft, tempting whisper across my overheated skin. I can’t swallow against the pressure, let alone breathe. My head swims, lungs contracting from lack of oxygen.

“I tried to warn you, but you’re just too fucking stupid to take a hint.” He’s so close, the tip of his nose skims mine, dark, golden-green eyes pinned to the silver barbell at the bridge of my nose. “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.” He says it like it’s a threat, but that’s just the thing: it’s what I’ve wanted all along. Because obviously, something is wrong with me.

Whether it be the mommy issues, the I don’t know who my daddy is issues, years of abuse and trauma of every variety… who the hell knows. But ever since I watched Peris come in his pants to the sight of me jerking off a dude in the choir room, well…

I do love playing games. And fuck, if I’m not falling right into my own trap because the thing is: I genuinely like Peris. He’s hot as all fuck, has bouts of dry humor, and seems to generally be a pretty all-right guy—just not to me. Which is all well and good because I don’t want his fucking decency.

I want his darkness. His depravity. Every shred of his ugliness. I know it’s in there.

“I-I want—” I wheeze, the words barely formed.

He speaks as if he didn’t hear me, but I know he did. He can’t not with his face millimeters from mine. Our breaths are rapidly exchanged. “But it’s too late. You just—” He cuts off with a harsh, snapping grind of his teeth. The muscles in his jaw flutter under the pressure, bulging and straining against his stretched skin. Through gritted teeth, he dips low enough for his lips to graze my jaw with every word.

“And now, I’m gonna bruise that pretty skin of yours, Abel. I’m gonna fuck you up and make you bleed.” His words caress the tip of my tongue, sending shivers down the length of my spine. I tremble when he yanks on my hair, sending a twinge down my neck. “You like that shit, right? Is that what you want from me?” He pulls back, drags his finger over my gaunt cheekbone, down into the hollow, before compressing my jaw, forcing it open.

Oh, shit.

I try to breathe in, but nothing happens. My legs start to twitch as the pressure builds, spots dancing along my vision. Peris leans his body over my torso, keeping me pinned exactly where he wants me, and my hands shoot upward, fingers clasping his wrists.

The urge to plead for my life rests on the tip of my tongue, but nothing more than a pathetic mewl escapes from my lips. Peris’s lip curls as if caught by a fishhook as his fingers loosen, and I gasp.

“All you are is a sad, worthless waste of space, and I can’t wait…” Peris breathes every word into me, where they flow straight down my newly freed throat and into my gut where they sit like a lead weight, “until I never have to see your disgusting… pretty face again.” He rips himself away, face twisted, body trembling, and I wish it would make him look at least a little bit ugly, but no. The fucker is so hot, he makes even a temper tantrum look good.

I watch his tendons and veins bulge through his cut-off shirt. We’re inches from one another. Chests heaving in a staccato rhythm. Our breaths are the only sound permeating the air for long moments. He fingers the piercing at the bridge of my nose, almost absentmindedly, before he shoves me away and stomps out his room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard, it rattles the pens on his desk.

I keep my eyes pinned on his vacancy far longer than necessary as I catch my breath, head pounding mercilessly. It takes too many minutes for awareness to come back to me, for my fight-or-flight instincts to infiltrate my conscience again.

And they scream to fight—harder. To make him snap. ‘Cause I wanna bleed. I wanna ache with his bruises, if only for the satisfaction of having made him do it.

My hand, still shoved down my pants, comes back to life and squeezes my throbbing erection as my tongue skips across crooked teeth. The fingers on my other hand brush over my cheekbone, down to the throbbing points on my jaw, and to my throat—where he held me, pinned me in place—before I reach up and into my hair—where his nails bit into my scalp.

I dazedly make my way back into my own room, the few steps feeling momentous, not knowing where Peris is at. The air is silent with static, and my hairs stand on end.

The moment my door latches into place, casting everything in heavy shadows through the sunset, I heave out a desperate breath and flip the lock before shoving my jeans and boxers to the floor in a rush.

Touching the places he touched, my eyes roll back, and I slouch against the closed door. My legs tremble, then buckle, and my ass slams into the carpeted floor with a sharp thump, giving me a jolt up my spine.

My mind whirls with pained pleasure and at the impossible practicality.

Fuck. The way he spit disgusting and pretty out at me, like he loathed the very words coming out of his mouth.

A visceral truth.

He said I was pretty…

My hand wraps around the base of my dick, fingers dipping down to feather over my balls, heavy and full.

‘I’ll bruise that pretty skin.’

‘Fuck you up and make you bleed.’

‘Worthless waste of space…’

My hand flies over my dick as his voice echoes in my head, vile and venomous. The ooze of precum at my slit works wonders against the friction. It stings just enough. So much more after he had his hands on me.

It doesn’t take long for my balls to pulse, and at the tell-tale throb, I curl inward, shoving my baggy shirt under my chin and angling my hips up to watch my cum shoot out of my cockhead. A pained whine rips through my throat as white ropes paint my torso.

As my release slows, cock still pulsing and pumping out the last few drops, my eyes roll back. Panting and dazed, my hand keeps moving until I hiss in discomfort and I’m forced to let go with a whimper to follow.

My hand drops to my stomach, and I smear my spunk around, playing with it as I catch my breath. Swirling it through the thick line of hair leading to my groin.

When I finally sink my fingers into my mouth to clean up, I can’t help but wonder if Peris would think I look pretty… or worthless.