24. Peris

I can’t seethrough the sweat dripping into my eyes. My heart is hammering away in my ears, timed erratically to the digital clock counting down on the scoreboard—seven minutes left in the second half.

Seven minutes and we’re down by twelve.

I can’t stop the dart of my eyes toward the two red, glowing numbers. It twitches when Jordan saunters into my peripheral, always on my fucking ass.

“This is all you’ve got, Baxter? Kinda pathetic, if you ask me. That twelve is only gonna get higher.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t fucking ask you,” I mutter, ignoring the rest while my eyes never stray from those numbers. Except they do. They drop to the pretty little cheerleader standing just below, shaking his pom poms, thick, purple-painted lips spread wide as he chants another cheer.

His hair is different, pulled away from his face in two braids on either side of his head. The hair exposed is shaved close to his scalp, cropped into white, choppy strands. My fingers twitch to feel them. To know if they’re soft or spiky.

Abel’s eyes dart to me, dark, silver orbs in a sea of blurry purple. His mouth twists in that lopsided way, showcasing two rows of crooked teeth. The tip of his tongue skims the snaggle tooth that finds a home in mine with every kiss.

And then, his lips pucker in a kiss that finds its way inside my chest, where it flutters alongside the disastrous hunk of muscle. My eyes narrow, feeling the gaze of hundreds on me, but all I see is Abel.

He shimmies his hips, and the two-piece of that fucking outfit reveals a strip of skin on his abdomen. The dark blonde hair of his happy trail peeks through, a promise of what’s at the end if I follow it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jordan sneers beside me.

My eyelids flutter as my eyes roll into the back of my head. Jordan Bates, the only fucking man in the state that could steal everything I’ve worked so hard for. The muscles in my arms tense as he leans in, smelling of sweat and desperation.

I’m sure I reek of the same.

We’re overtly aware of the ability of the other. As much of a prick as he is, he’s got a real shot at the scholarship we’re both vying for—and this is the game that will truly determine it all.

And I’m fucking it all up because Abel is just standing there with the other cheerleaders, waving his arms, shaking those fucking pom poms, cheering me on. Because I fucking hear that raspy little voice through the crowds shouting my number.

Go number three! You’ve got this!

Damn it all to hell.

“No, Bates. I just can’t stand being in the same vicinity as you,” I respond dryly, a few seconds too late. The refs blow their whistles, signaling a timeout. I push against my knees to my full height and jog over toward Coach with the rest of the team.

I watch Coach Johnson’s lips move, but the sound doesn’t carry past the rush of blood in my ears. Heat burns its way up my neck and across my face.

“Dude, your mom is waving at us,” Gabe murmurs. My head jerks in the direction of his finger, finding Ma exactly how I pictured her. She’s wearing the same school shirt she wears to every game, and when she notices I’ve seen her, she jumps to her feet, arms raised in the air. A loud, “Whoop,” follows, making me shake my head, but my smile still breaks free.

“Baxter, Avalos, are either of you listening to me?!” Coach belts.

“Yes, sorry,” we parrot in unison. Beneath his sweaty glare, my head drops between my shoulders. I’m painfully aware of the droplets of sweat trickling down my spine as Coach goes into the game plan for the last few minutes, switching up a few of the plays.

I narrow my gaze at the shiny, brown floor beneath my purple and black shoes until it blurs and I’m hyperaware of the voices around me—Coach’s heavy timbre and the follow-ups from my teammates.

When Johnson nods, satisfied we’re all on board, he taps his clipboard against the heel of his palm, dark eyes narrowed in his general, focused manner. “Peris,” he says as everyone disperses to grab a quick drink.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got this? I know you need that scholarship. You’ve been busting your ass, but Jordan has been too, it seems.”

My molars slam together. Great, so everyone’s noticed how much better he is. “I know.”

“I’m not saying that to bust your balls but to kick your ass in gear. You’re distracted.”

I’m really gonna need everyone to quit paying such close attention to me. “I’m not trying to be.”

“Obviously not, but you are. What’s going on? You’ve never given the cheerleaders a second glance before.”

My eyes widen, mouth falling open just before I catch myself and snap it shut. Fingers clamp my sweaty nape before delving into my sticky hair. “You noticed that?” I mutter. No point in denying it now.

“Pretty sure everyone has, son. Who’s caught your eye?”

I find Abel in a flash. He’s staring at me with a frown contorting his face, more so than usual. “You okay?” I think he mouths, but sweat is still stinging my eyes, and he’s halfway across the gym, so I’m probably wrong.

With a flushed grimace, I look away, only to find Coach ping-ponging between us.

“Fucking great,” I mutter, yanking on my hair. Johnson glares.

“Don’t fucking cuss. I didn’t know?—”

“I’m not,” I snap, taking a step back. The whistles are gonna blow any minute, and I cannot be having this fucking conversation right now.

“I was going to say I didn’t know you were one to break the rules.”

“I—what?” I blink.

“He’s your foster brother, no?”

The whistles blare, echoing in the gym. Cheers go up as both teams walk onto the floor. “I can’t have this conversation right now,” I spit through gritted teeth, and then, I turn my back, eyes narrowed with tunnel vision.

Vexation licks through my veins, and when the ball finds its way between my fingers, the rest falls away—the crowds and Coach’s nosy questions, Abel and his penetrative gaze.

There’s only me and the ball and my team at my side. The squeak of my shoes on the floor and the feel of my heart inside my chest. Because those are the only things that matter.

The only things that can ever bring me any good.

The buzzer chimesthroughout the gymnasium, two seconds after Gabe shoots the most perfect three-pointer, ball swishing straight through the net, not even grazing the rim.

Up by six, we beat Southview Prep.

“Holy shit!” Gabe runs up to me, face split into a beaming grin. His brown skin is glistening with sweat, dripping down and soaking into his jersey. He throws his arms around me just as the rest of the team follows suit.

The cheers of the crowd are deafening with their screams and chants and stomping feet. The cheerleaders add to the noise, pom-poms shaking in the air in my peripheral. Through the masses, I find Abel. He’s grinning, eyes squinted through his smile. He shoots me a wink before turning and dropping his props to the floor to join the rest of the squad.

The Southview team is huddled together at their spot by the bleachers, but Jordan’s not paying attention. He’s glaring at me, face flushed a bright red as his hands hang on his hips. His blue and gold Jersey clings to his torso, the number 12 a bright, white contrast.

I flip him a wide grin, eyes flashing. His feet jerk forward, but he’s caught by one of his teammates. He spins to face them, arms flailing. I turn away, not sparing him a second glance as Coach jogs across the floor, a grin splitting his face.

“We beat them first game of the fucking season,” Corbin heaves between breaths.

“It’s gonna be smooth sailing from here,” Thomas concurs with his own relieved smile.

For the first time today, everything has aligned, and I don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.

After Coach’s ritual post-game speech, we’re all released for the night, and I heave a breath of relief that Coach didn’t try corner me and badger me about Abel.

I can’t handle that shit tonight. Or ever.

I watch most of the team disperse through the crowds to find their people while I wait for Ma to come find me.

“Peris!” she calls as she breaks through a mass of bodies. I push up, brushing my hair back just as she yanks me into one of her breath-stealing hugs. “I’m so proud of you!” She pulls back, keeping her fingers wrapped tightly around my upper biceps, unbothered by the sweat now staining her clothes and slicking her hands. “You kicked ass!”

I flush at her praise. Despite hearing it every game, I’m still not used to it. Her being so… proud of me.

“Thanks, Ma.” I shrug. “We didn’t, really. We were?—”

She slaps my arm with a scoff. “Whatever. You did.” Her eyes linger on the scratches, but before she can comment, she’s distracted. “And Gabriel, my favorite,” she croons as she pulls Gabe in for a hug.

“Hey, rude!”

Gabe smiles at me over my mom’s shoulder. I roll my eyes, but I’m relieved at the distraction. “Thanks, Mom,” he says.

“Of course! You’re gonna have to come by the house soon for dinner. You haven’t been over in months; I’ve missed you.”

Gabe’s eyes dart toward me. “Yeah, sorry. Just been hectic this year. Yanno, senior shit and practice and whatever.”

“I get it; just don’t forget, okay? Invite Thomas and Grady and the rest, too. We’ll have a little grill out.”

“Mom,” I butt in, “it’s the end of November.”

She faces me with a frown. “So?”

I huff out a laugh. “Whatever. I guess I’ll be the one grilling in the cold, anyway.”

“Right, you are. Oh, Abel, honey!” His name being spoken steals every shred of my attention. I turn in the direction Mom’s now facing, watching as Abel sashays toward us.

There’s really no other way to put it—between the sway of his hips and the movement of his skirt with every step, the sliver of exposed, pale skin, braided hair, and black eyelashes.

His dirty Converse stand out from the pristine condition of his uniform, giving off the impression he’s pretending to be something he’s not.

But fuck me, he really does have the body for it.

“Elise,” he smiles, almost shy as she pulls him in for a hug. Our eyes meet over her shoulder for only a short beat, and then he’s pulling away, gaze back on the floor.

“You look so amazing!” she exclaims. “And your hair—you cut it.” She trails her fingers over the braids and the cut sides that I want to run my fingers through. I frown, watching my mom touch Abel’s hair.

“Uh, yeah.” Our eyes meet. “It was an impulsive decision.”

“Well, I like it. It’s like a mullet, and you totally have the face for it.” She palms his cheek, radiating love. It makes me sick.

What we’re doing.

What I’m feeling.

How, if Ma ever finds out, it’ll break her heart, and I swore I’d never do that again. I’d never lie to her.

And now, here I stand, deception heavy on my shoulders.

“Well…” Gabe trails off, bouncing on his feet. “I’m gonna go.”

Ma smiles. “It was good seeing you, honey. Drive home safe.”

“Oh, I’m not—” I cut Gabe off with a pointed glare, which he returns with a particularly evil grin. “I’m going to the party.”

“Oh, party?” Mom says, posing it like a question. I drop my head back with a drawn-out sigh, which makes Gabe cackle loudly.

“Yep, at the lake house. A little celebration for kicking Southview’s ass.”

“Sounds fun! Be safe, okay?”

He salutes as he walks away, backward. “You got it, Mom.” And then, he whirls around, disappearing into the lingering crowd.

“A party, huh?” Ma drawls, lips curled in to fight the smile I know is fighting to break free.

“Whatever,” I grumble, sighing loudly again.

“I had no idea there was a party,” Abel says confidently. Mom turns to him, finally letting her smile free.

“Oh, I know, honey. Peris doesn’t like to tell me these things. It’s like he forgot I was in high school once, too.”

“For fuck’s sake?—”

“Hey, language!” she chastises.

“Really?” I deadpan.

“Yes, we’re at school, Peris,” she whisper-yells, pretending to be scandalized.

“You’re a hoot, doc,” Abel laughs loudly as his fingers twist the metal in his ears.

When the conversation lulls into silence, she darts her eyes between us a few times. I look away, out at the people still hanging back.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask…

Southview has apparently left, so it’s mainly just the parents of teammates hanging out, and said teammates trying to get rid of their parents so they can go to the party at Gabe’s house. I laugh to myself, watching Corbin’s wide-eyed exasperation as his dad keeps talking.

“All right, I suppose I’ll head home.” And then, she yawns.

I laugh. “Okay.”

She tucks her dark hair behind her ear. “Be safe, okay? Let me know when you get there and when you’re on your way home. No drinking, Peris.” Always the same, but it never fails to make me feel… loved.

I blow out a breath through puffed lips. “I know, Ma.”

“Abel, are you coming home with me?”

He looks to me for an answer, so I purposely look away. After a beat, he says, “Nah, I think I’ll just find my way to the party. Sounds like it could be fun.”

“Okay, just… cover up? It’s freezing! And you be safe, too.”

He clasps his hands in front of himself, rocking back on his heels. “I will.”

“Good. I’ll see you both later.” With a squeeze to my shoulder and a pat to Abel’s, I watch Ma walk away. I expect Abel to stick around like the leech he is, but he turns away from me, too, and I’m left standing alone with a win on my shoulders and no one to share it with.

Sighing, I drop down on the lowest row of the bleachers, hands clasped between my spread legs as I watch the gym slowly empty out. There were scouts here tonight. They saw me play—distracted and frustrated. It wasn’t my best game, but we won, and that has to mean something.

It has to.

“Peris,” a voice sneers at my back.

I can’t bite back my groan of exasperation. Fucking great.

“What do you want, Bates?” I dig the pads of my thumbs into my eye sockets.

“Just because you won this one doesn’t mean you’ll get the scholarship.”

With a scoff, I mutter, “I’m well aware, dude.”

“Good.” His shoes squeak as he steps closer.

I glance up, eyebrows raised. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“I told them I needed to piss.”

I lean back, dropping my elbows onto the seats behind me. “Just to come in and harass me?”

“Who the fuck is harassing?” He comes up beside me, hands fisted at his sides.

I look between his balled-up hands. “Well, since it’s you who came to find me after you fucking lost, I’d say it’s you.”

“I think it’s finally time I kick—” My head jerks in the same direction as Jordan’s, watching as Abel strides over with his ratty backpack hanging from his shoulder. My eyes narrow as I watch Jordan’s widen.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers in front of him. “Over here.”

“Who are you?” Jordan says, ignoring me entirely.

“Who the fuck are you?” Abel retorts, one brow arched high. My lips twitch, for the first time grateful for his bratty attitude.

“Woo-hoo.” Jordan chuckles as Abel plops down beside me. His skirt fluffs out, drawing my attention to his thighs. His bare, hairless thighs with visible, silver scars. My fingers find his skin of their own volition, fingertips tracing a warped smiley face. I swallow at the tingling sensation of soft skin and Abel’s hitch of breath.

“Yo, Baxter, I didn’t know you were a queer.”

The whole world turns on the spot. Brakes screech. A sharp scream. Muscles contract. Fingers flex.

“Excuse me?” My voice sounds far away, echoing with the distance. Purple and blue and brown bleed into a vortex of impossibility.

“You know, a faggot,” he sneers. And for the first time in my life, I get it. The shame and embarrassment and rage that comes when someone spews their hate. When it’s directed at you. Like you’re the problem.

My throat aches with the urge to tell Abel how sorry I am. Gabe, too. But it won’t make a difference now, so I shove that down, buried in the box I keep locked up tight. Where Luke and disgust and truth reside, to focus on the one thing that’s always made sense to me.

Anger.

I’m on my feet and in Jordan’s face in the next second. We’re so close, our noses bump together, drawing a hiss from my lips as sparks shoot behind my eyes. “Fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said, for the third fucking time, you’re a fag—” I’m wrenched to the side seconds before a sharp little fist connects with the side of Jordan’s face. He stumbles backward before falling to his ass, hands clutching his jaw.

I stare at him with wide eyes, at the stark, red mark blooming along his cheekbone before I glance to my right, where I find Abel with his hands fisted in front of him, little chest heaving amidst his anger.

His nostrils are flared, cheeks blushed a vivid pink, lips fish hooked into that awful, ugly sneer of his. And I’m so fucking hard.

“Jesus, Abel,” I breathe out, eyes flashing between him and Jordan. “You punched him in the face.”

“He fucking deserved it,” is all he says through clenched teeth. “And it’s not like you were gonna do shit about it.”

“Excuse—”

“You just fucking hit me!” Jordan bellows as he clumsily pushes to his feet. The second he takes a step toward us, I move in front of Abel, blocking him from sight, one arm wound behind me to pin him against my back.

“If I were you, I’d get on the fucking bus and go home, Bates.”

“You’re kidding if you think?—”

“I’ll fucking do it again!” Abel shouts at my back, pushing around my right side. “Come a little closer, bitch.”

Jordan’s jaw drops. “Bitch?—”

“Go. Now. Or I’ll make sure your coach finds out about your hateful comments. That’ll definitely fuck up your chance at scholarships.”

That seems to snap him out of his fit. With a sneer and a bright red face, he flips us off as he walks away.

When the door slams shut behind him, I blow out a breath, fingers already digging through my hair to yank on the strands, finding little comfort in the usual sharp tug.

The gym is quiet in its vacancy, each breath seeming to echo in its emptiness. I focus on the sound, the rolling vibrations as I try to steady my breath, but Abel’s shoes squeak on the floor beside me. His breath punches out faster, disrupting the rhythm.

His body smells of fucking sweat and cherries, and I can’t take it.

My fingers find his throat, wrapping around the circumference and shoving him back into the bleachers. He falls backward, arms flailing as his back connects with rows of plastic seats. “Hey—” he squeaks, nails scoring the back of my hand as he fights for air.

I bend over, putting my face millimeters from his. “What the fuck was that?” My jaw pops through the harsh grind of my molars. Abel’s lips part, and the flash of pink amidst purple lipstick feels like a taunt.

I loosen my hold just enough for him to steal a breath. “What?” he asks. “Me punching that prick?”

“Obviously,” I snap, feeling equal parts pissed off and… mollified.

It’s confusing,

Abel’s eyes flash, and I get lost in their molten silver. “You weren’t gonna do shit, and I wasn’t gonna stand there and listen to his slurs.”

“I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, pup.” I enunciate the fact with another squeeze against his delicate throat. He swallows against the pressure, neck arching and rolling to the side.

Abel scoffs. “It was just as much for me as it was for you.”

“Right. Because you just go around hitting people every time they spew a slur.”

He pushes up against my hand, using the heel of his palms to press as close as he can. I’m caught in his palpable strength. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice is a slithering whisper up my neck, wrapping around my brain stem.

“Knowing that people hate who you are. That they’ll go out of their way to make sure you know just how much. Spitting words they think cut and maim.”

My nose wriggles against the onslaught of a burning sensation. It shoots up into my eyes, distorting the ugly boy sitting before me. He’s everything I hate, all I can’t be, and exactly what I want.

“They hurt you, too,” is all I can think to say. I know they did. It wasn’t just me.

The small shake of Abel’s head makes my stomach flip upside down and inside out. His fat lips curl inward over his crooked teeth. “They only hurt me because I saw how they hurt you.”

It all comes screeching to a halt. The room stops spinning, my heart no longer thrashing, lungs not contracting. Only the rush in my ears as my fingers lose their grip and Abel slips through—down, down, down. Then up as he pushes against me.

I stumble backward, staring down at him with wide eyes. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to know. To be…

And it’s Abel’s fucking pity that pushes the universe back into it’s orbit. That sad-eyed sympathy that rights all the wrongs again.

Hot air pushes through my nostrils, burning my chest as I drag my fingers over his cropped air before gripping one of his braids and yanking his head to the side. He stumbles over the last row, body bent into a sideways curve.

“Fuck, Peris,” he yelps when I yank harder, just to hear his pain.

He’s wrong. It didn’t hurt because it’s not true.

Or fuck, maybe it is. Maybe I am a queer. A faggot.

“I don’t need your fucking pity.”

Abel scoffs before mewling when my nails sink into his scalp. “When are you gonna accept it, Peris? When are you finally going to stop fighting?”

“I’m not fighting anything. And there’s nothing to accept.”

Finding his footing, he pulls against my grip, brought up short when he’s yanked closer. “Right. Because touching me, kissing me, fucking me, and loving every second of itdoesn’t mean shit. Yeah, you’re right, Peris. You’re so fucking straight,” he sneers with a grimace, like he’s disgusted with me.

“You want me to accept it, runt?” I pull him against me. My teeth graze his ear. “I accept that I happen to like your used-up pussy wrapped around my dick. I also like shoving myself down your throat because you’re exceptionally good at swallowing cock.”

“Calling my asshole a pussy doesn’t make it any less of an asshole, Peris.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that fact.” My tongue licks across the barbell in his upper ear. “But I also know how much you love thinking of your hole as a pussy. The flush the very first time I said it. The wideness of your eyes.” I place my palm against his sternum, hating the rough texture of his polyester outfit.

“Yeah. I can feel your heartbeat right now.” My hand drags down over his stomach, fingertips skimming that peek of skin that’s been taunting me all night. I swirl my digits through the hair there, delving down beneath the band of his high-waisted skirt.

“There are cameras, Peris.”

I still for a moment. One beat. My eyes flick up to the corners of the gym. Shit. “What’s your point?”

“You really want to be expelled for fucking in the school gymnasium? Didn’t peg you for the risqué type.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Abel. And who said I was going to fuck you?” He wriggles his tiny little ass against my crotch, somehow managing to get my dick wedged perfectly between his cheeks.

“Your dick. It’s been hard since I punched your bestie.”

My eyes roll into the back of my head as I snatch one of his tiny braids again and shove him forward. Abel stumbles, fighting against my hold on his head. His Converse squeak on the wood as I propel him forward, his backpack left stranded on the floor.

The little brat fights me every step of the way, arms flailing behind him to claw and scratch, digging in deep wherever he can reach.

By the time I slam him into the cinderblock wall near one of the side doors, we’re both panting. My arms are bleeding, and his neck is cherry red, face pressed flat to the cool surface. With his eyes facing the brown door, he whispers, “This isn’t much better.”

“Are you done?”

Peering over his shoulder, Abel smirks. “I think we both know the answer to that.” The shadow on his eyelid catches in the yellow light above, washing out the color and creating black shadows that dance along his cheekbones.

“Good,” I growl as I shove him beneath the extended bleachers. He narrowly misses catching his head on one of many black, metal bars, ducking just in time. When he pops back up, he whirls around, arms crossed over his narrow chest.

I ignore the familiar queasiness, the uncertainty and envy. The pride. And latch onto my oldest, most familiar foe as I lunge forward, knocking Abel’s hands away to cup his nonexistent breasts.

He balks, lips parted as he stare down at my large hands covering the entire expanse of his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” I dip down to slip beneath his top. It’s tight, constricting my movement, but I just drag him closer. His skin is warm and soft, but his little nipples are pebbled against my palms. I tug on the singular barbell, relishing in Abel’s hiss.

“Looks like you’re playing with my tits,” Abel whispers after a few minutes of my ministrations. A low growl vibrates in the back of my throat.

“Yeah, pup.” I step forward, slowly backing Abel against the wall. His arms shoot upward, fingers curling around a bar overhead.

“Stop.”

I rear back, hands slipping out from beneath his top. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m not fucking around in the gym?”

The scoff that bellows from me is loud enough to echo. “That’s fucking rich coming from you. Need I remind you of the night we met? When I fucked your throat in the locker room? And those are the only places I know about.” That realization burns hot in my chest where it festers. “So,” I clear my throat, “if either of us has a penchant for unorthodox locations, it’s you, runt.”

Abel’s arms cross over his chest again, but this time, it’s different. He’s curled over on himself, a few wayward strands hanging in front of his face as he speaks to the floor. “I’m allowed to say no.”

My tongue rolls in my mouth as I taste his words. Bitter and cold. I don’t like them.

“Not with me.”

“And if I don’t want you?” My brows furrow at his insinuation. I can’t read his face well between the shadows and the fact that he won’t fucking look at me.

His head snaps back as I slam my mouth to his. He tastes bitter and sweet and mine. His lips part on a hitch of breath, and I shove my tongue right in, scouring over his crooked teeth before sucking on his tongue.

“You do,” I mutter.

Abel mewls and crushes himself against me, rubbing his hard little cock between us. I reach down to run the backs of my knuckles over his covered length. His skirt is scratchy against my skin, the pleats a nuisance.

“Do you like it?” Abel asks breathlessly as his lips travel over my jaw, his tongue replacing them on the slope of my throat. We fall back into the wall with mutual grunts. Abel fumbles for a moment.

I lick across his bridge piercing. “You look pretty for me, pup.”

“Mmm.” Heat pulses between us. Teeth score across my collarbone. I return the gesture, and Abel’s head slams into the brick at his back. My hands slip down his waist to palm his pert ass.

It’s not enough.

Wrenching my mouth away, I grab his shoulders to spin him. He falls forward, painted nails scoring the brick. When did he paint his nails? I frown at them before Abel wriggles his ass, stealing the minor revelation.

I flip the flowy end of his skirt up to reveal tiny spanks that barely cover his ass. My palm connects on a hard slap, but the sound is dulled through the fabric. “Fuck, I hate these things,” I grate as Abel shimmies, working them off as I yank them down.

Two, thick black straps cup the curve of Abel’s ass, giving it more volume than usual, with another across the top, just above his ass crack. I tuck a finger under the right strap and pull up, letting it snap back.

“Ow, shit,” he hisses, wriggling against the sting. I grasp his hip, keeping him still as I watch his ass bounce.

“The fuck you wearing a jock for?”

“Because I can.” This time, the connection of my palm against his bare ass reverberates. I think I die a little watching it jiggle. Abel’s back curls inward, the tied ends of his hair skimming his sharp, extended shoulder blades. His skin is stretched so taut, the bone could tear right through, bathing us both in blood as it pours from gaping wounds.

I do it again. And again. And again. Until Abel’s vibrating and whimpering. All because I want to—and I can.

When his flesh burns to touch, I pull back, skimming the backs of my knuckles over him. Abel sighs, head rolling onto his shoulder as his hands slip, slick with the perspiration rolling off his body. My own isn’t far behind, rejoined from the efforts of the game, only this time, there’s more at stake.

I’m warring with a reality I don’t want but can’t seem to refuse, and the more Abel pulls away, the more I want him, against my better judgment—or literally any at all.

All it takes is one look at the little runt to know he’s the very definition of bad news. I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on him, shining gray orbs breaking through the shadows.

Abel doesn’t carry an ounce of good in him. Except when he’s attentive toward my mom and her overprotective, nurturing tendencies. Or when he’s standing up for himself. Or when he’s doing it for someone else.

For me.

Because he knows, and he’s the one person I don’t have to lie to. And we’ve already gone this far drowning in malice and hatred, bruises and blood.

Why change what works? What we know and what we crave.

Maybe this way, it’ll all make some sense in the end. Because it will end.

My fingers slip between Abel’s crack as I bend over his back, tonguing every drop of sweat I can reach. The second I graze his hole, I press my index finger inside with nothing but his sweat coating my finger.

“Ugh, shit,” he whimpers, back contorting away from the onslaught. I inhale sharply, nose pressed against his heated skin. All I feel is heat and flesh and perspiration.

“Peris,” Abel moans. I push my finger in a little more, fighting against the clench of his muscles. They lock even tighter, fighting me. So, I fight back, pushing until my knuckles graze the supple skin of his ass.

My other hand drags over his bunched skirt, down to his shaved legs—so smooth I can feel the slight ridges of some of his scars. “Yeah, baby,” I utter into him, eyes closed at all the heat and burning and this.

“Hurts.”

“Fuck, that’s good,” I mumble, kissing along his spine as I try to add another finger.

“You’re gonna make me bleed.” I can taste his plea like acrid gasoline. My finger is out of his body and wrapped around his hip before I’m able to take another breath. We share a few in silence before he shatters it.

“There’s lube.” He heaves a small breath. “In my bag.”

Every muscle locks as I push away. “Gotta be prepared to be fucked, huh, runt?” I sneer before I can stop myself. “Planning on spreading your legs for someone at the party? Lance, maybe?”

At that, Abel pushes himself up. The sight of his trembling legs unfurls something low in my belly. It oozes out like pus from an infected wound.

“I didn’t think I was allowed to,” he snarks back, fixing his skirt. I bat his hands away. “And I didn’t even know about the party until Gabe brought it up, asshole.”

“You’re not.”

His darkened eyebrows furrow, eyes squinting under the pressure as those fat lips of his twist to the side. “Why?”

“Because!” I snap, refusing to ruminate on it. On this hot, twisted desire to keep him close. “Don’t fucking move.” I turn my back on him as I duck out from our heated enclave. My steps are heavy as I beeline for the bag. Fabric faded, straps frayed and held together with safety pins. Stained and dirty—just like him.

Like me.

Gripping it tightly, I scan the empty room as I stride back, gut coiled like a snake ready to strike. My feet stumble to a stop when I find Abel exactly how I left him, only this time, one ankle is crossed over the other, and there’s something about those dirty shoes falling apart at the seams that eradicates everything around us.

My vision tunnels into a dark void as I step up to him. Abel yanks his bag from my hands to rifle inside, making shit rattle and scrape. My eyes never leave his face as he pulls out the bottle with a trembling hand.

I take it from him, and with the other hand, I snatch his backpack away, tossing it somewhere behind us. Abel follows its dissent with a gaping mouth. “Hey, that’s my fucking shit. You can’t just throw it around—” I shut him up with my tongue, licking along his lips before delving inside the damp cavern of his mouth.

Abel sighs so softly, I freeze. His shoulders have dropped, body completely lax as his head thunks against the wall. He’s no longer fighting me but welcoming my touch without a trace of apprehension, eyes half-lidded as his eyelashes skim his gaunt cheekbones.

My fingers curl around the bottle as something akin to fear licks its way across my insides, watching him before me. So comfortable with whatever may come. So vulnerable and… and pretty.

Popping the cap, I pour a glob onto my fingers, then press against him. My arm snakes around his left side, disappearing beneath his skirt. Abel’s breath hitches when my slick fingers slide through his crack, finding the warm pucker of his hole with ease.

“Only because I want this fast,” I growl against his mouth. “And wet.”

He smirks, lids low as he thrusts his hips, giving me more room to work. The slide of my finger is smooth, encased by an impossible kind of heat. It sinks right to the knuckle with the ease of a single breath shared between us.

Abel’s hard, little cock twitches against mine, and even with the too many layers of fabric between us, it feels painfully intimate. I grind against him as I bury my knuckles in his crack, massaging along the tight warmth of his channel.

His breathless mewls are the ignition for the flames that bloom inside me, unraveling into a blinding inferno. I drop my mouth to his neck, kissing, licking, mouthing every inch as my breath hitches, no longer controlled but choppy and unrestrained.

The press of my second finger brings a hitch of breath followed by a muffled moan as Abel bears down, accepting me with ease. Trails of vile thoughts peek around the edges of consciousness, so far away from the vortex I’m falling into but close enough to touch.

He’s used to this.

He knows what he’s doing.

There was fucking lube in his backpack—the bag I’ve never seen him without.

I crack my neck, growling through the onslaught as I push three fingers deep. Abel grunts, back bowing as I slam into him, no longer stretching but fucking—and hard.

The speed parallel to the sounds ripping from his throat blurs the presence of confusion, so I push deeper. Abel’s hands clamp around my neck, fingers delving into my hair as he yanks me around.

The collision of our mouths is brutal. We fight for control, tasting of blood and heated spit. My teeth find his bottom lip, and I shred it open, gnawing on it as he pants through his opened mouth, hot breath fanning across my face.

I burn. Every inch of my skin is crawling with stinging flames as I shove my shorts down to free my aching dick. Abel shoves his hand between us to grab me. I curl over him with a grunt when he encircles me and tugs upward.

Stuck flush together between clothes and sweaty skin, I pin Abel against me with my fingers inside him, and he controls the movement of my hips with his grip on my dick. We fight for it, teeth clashing and flesh shredding. His crooked teeth scrape across my collarbone. My nails tear through his flesh.

Slickness coats my dick, making me shudder, shoulders rolling as it slithers down my spine. Abel reaches down to fondle my balls before teasing a blunt nail just beneath my glans. I pull back with a hiss, catching the wild, sinister twist of his mouth.

His left leg rises, curling up around my hip. His skirt bunches around his narrow waist, exposing the front of his jock. I release a heavy breath through my nose as Abel balances back on his tiptoes, using the wall for leverage as he angles my cock downward. But our height difference doesn’t make it easy.

Through a heavy-lidded gaze, he grunts, the toes of his converse slipping on the floor as he swipes my cockhead over his slick, stretched hole. I’m panting, mouth pooling with saliva as I watch the show before me, one hand wrapped around his hip, the other clutching his exposed thigh curled around me.

“Peris,” Abel rasps. I blink. “Fuck me. I’m ready for you.”

I glance down between us. His hard cock is visible through the dark fabric, but I can’t see it. All I can focus on is Abel’s hole and my cock against it.

I already know how tight and hot and wet he is. How all I have to do is lift him up to sink inside. To choke on the grip of his pussy until it all feels right again.

Just me and Abel and all our ugly.

I grab his ass on either side and lift him into the air, using the wall at his back for support as I spread him open. He guides my dick inside him as I slowly lower him down. The compression of him bearing down makes me shudder, the squeeze of his hole impossible to penetrate. And then, my head pops through.

I’m inside him again.

“F-fuck,” Abel moans out as his head falls back, and my gaze catches on the scar through his eyebrow. I’m reminded of when he showed up on my door, mottled and broken because someone dared to put their hands on him.

My back hunches as I slowly release his weight until his ass is flush against my groin. The straps of his jock burn against my skin when I roll my hips, just to feel him from every angle.

The curve of his spine, the thrust of his chest. The pucker of his lips with a few sweaty strands stuck to them.

Everything about him twists me inside out.

I shuffle forward until he’s fully pressed against the wall, and the strain of keeping him upright lessens some. With his back supported, I’m able to pull out and sink back in with a gentle ease. Abel hums, eyes closed as his head rolls to his shoulder.

His shoes dig into my bare ass with every thrust, and it’s the reminder of those dirty shoes against my skin that brings it all back again.

“Goddamnit,” I growl, lips curling into a snarl as I slam forward. Abel screams, hands scrambling for purchase around my neck. His painted nails sink into my skin as my pace increases.

“Fuck… what you do to me.” The slap of our skin stings. I crave to hide in the slope of his long neck. To not see his face as I fuck him. To pretend.

But I can’t.

“If what I do—” Abel pants. “Mmm. If what I do makes you fuck me like this,” his tongue drags across his lips, over smeared purple now staining his chin and cheeks, “then I’ll keep doing it.”

“Keep pissing me off? Keep acting like a little whore?” I snap forward, bruising his skin—and mine. But I think we’ll both need these marks when it’s all said and done and the hatred for who we are settles back in.

If only the high of this lasted longer.

Maybe we just need to fuck more… to keep it going. Because when we’re doing this, I can be angry. I can fuck him up, and it doesn’t matter because he wants me to.

It’s when I can’t feel his body against mine—when I don’t have that undeniable reminder—that it all goes so fucking wrong.

“Only yours, baby,” Abel rasps softly with a tenderness that’s a fucking lie.

My jaw clenches with a pop as I slam forward and snatch his jaw with a punishing grip. Abel’s lips pucker under the pressure, exposing his pink tongue. It flicks out, skimming my index finger. I snarl and yank my hand away to grab his throat.

Abel gasps as I cut off his air, eyes flying open when realization kicks in. His lungs contract, needing a breath he can’t fucking have.

“All you are,” I rasp against the side of his face, then swipe my tongue over his cheek, up to the bridge of his nose, “is a fucking liar.”

“N-not,” he wheezes, barely discernible.

I cackle wildly, throwing my head back at the utter fucking absurdity of it all. Abel’s channel ripples around me as I jostle him. The sensation rips a groan from my throat.

“Do you even notice all the lies you spew? Or have you said so many, you actually fucking believe they’re the truth you’re trying to fabricate?”

I don’t expect the veracity of my words for who Abel is to hit me so hard. So personally.

We’re forever one and the fucking same.

Abel tries to speak, but he can’t. I don’t let him because if I hear another fucking lie spill from those pretty lips, I might actually kill him.

When the color of his face turns a pretty shade of red, I pry my fingers away. Abel gasps loudly, eyes bulging from his skull as he pants wildly—all the while I continue to fuck into him, reveling in the strangulation of his pussy.

“Still so fucking tight. I don’t get it,” I mutter to myself when Abel contracts. The flutter of his hole gives the perfect drag along my dick as I pull back, squeezing his ass cheeks together as I slam back in.

His back connects sharply with the wall, stealing whatever breath he just gained. “Fucking hell, Peris,” he rasps. The roughness of his voice makes me shudder.

I hope he bruises in the shape of my fingers.

Let everyone see the whore he really is.

“All you do is fucking lie and cheat to get what you want.” I bend down to nip his shoulder before cupping one side of his flat chest. His sweat-slickened skin slips down my waist, so I jut my left hip out to catch up, keeping his right pinned in place with my other hand.

“You fucking got me, and now, you just want to string me along.” His lips parting in protest draws my hand back to where it belongs along his throat. I cut off his words before he can say anything.

“Don’t,” I snap, “say a fucking word.” Abel nods just enough to draw a smile from me. “Good boy.”

His eyelids flutter as his eyes roll into the back of his head. I lick my lips, rolling my hips. My balls are so heavy and tight between my legs. Abel’s so fucking good, it’s disgusting.

“You like praise, huh, runt?” The roll of his throat tells me all I need to know. “You don’t like being my dirty little cum dump? Such a useless little pup.” I drop my head back with a sigh at the ripple of Abel’s channel.

“So fucking predictable.”