Part 4
“Oh, my God,” Quentin whispered, unaware that his hand had gone to his mouth. He was too busy staring in shock at Chet’s lower back to notice.
The smooth skin of the upper back gave way to a hideous mélange of scars – everything from broad, flat, ridged ones to narrow whitish ones to round little dark ones that a horrified Quentin had to assume were cigarette burns. They coiled up Chet’s lower back like a strange set of tattoos, overlapping each other in a manner that told him that Chet hadn’t gotten all of them at once –that they’d been acquired over many years of abuse.
“Who...who did that to you?” he managed to choke out after a moment’s shocked silence.
Chet looked at him over his shoulder. “My old man,” he replied simply. “He always said that he’d never have a son who was a pussy. That he’d make sure that I came out strong and tough, even if he had to beat those qualities into me. That I’d be a man whether I liked it or not. He used to only hit me on my lower back because I could hide the marks under my shirt when I went to school. If he didn’t start hitting me when I walked through the door, it was because he was off at the bar getting drunk.”
Quentin felt rather sick. He couldn’t imagine a father doing this to his own son. “He beat you…because he suspected that you were gay?” he asked, his eyes still not quite able to look away from the road map of hideous scars decorating Chet’s lower back.
“No. He never thought that,” Chet replied coldly. “This didn’t have anything to do with being gay. He just didn’t want a son who was weak, that’s all. I was only ten when he went to prison. Too young to even have any kind of sexual orientation.”
“Did he go to prison…for doing this to you?” Quentin asked, looking up into his face.
Chet turned around, folding his arms across his massive chest. “No,” he said, his voice grim. “He went to prison for murder. He killed a guy in a bar fight.”
“Oh,” Quentin didn’t know quite what to say to this, but then Chet continued flatly: “He killed a gay guy,” his made his eyes widen.
“He…what?!”
Chet shrugged. “He killed a fag. Beat him to death. Which is ironic, considering the fact that I’m sure that he’s learning to be just like the guy he killed in prison. He wasn’t big like me. I got these genes from my Mom’s side of the family,” he explained. There was a certain amount of relish in his voice as he spoke about his father becoming a forced bottom in prison.
Quentin struggled to think of something to say to these revelations. “So…you’re a bully…you pick on those who are weaker than you…as retaliation for your father beating you up for not being strong? For being like them?” he began carefully.
Chet just looked at him. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
Quentin felt sad. “And you’re most avid about ‘fags’ because your father killed a gay man,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “Is it that you think you’re just like him? So you should act like him?” his blue eyes searched Chet’s face, and he saw a small wince.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said. “You think you’re just like him so you try to act like him. Beating up on fags and torturing ‘weak’ people. But who says that you have to be like him, Chet? You don’t, you know.”
“Well, according to my mother I already am,” Chet replied tightly.
Quentin’s brows drew together. “What?”
Chet shrugged, his whole big body tense. “When she gets drunk, which is every day pretty much, she makes sure to tell me that I’m just like my father,” he said flatly.
Quentin felt rather sick. He moved toward Chet instinctively, and the bigger boy flinched visibly even though he didn’t move. He was waiting for Quentin to attack him. But he astonished Chet by slipping his arms around that big form and resting his electric-blue head against the firm chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against Chet’s skin. “I really am, big man. Sorry that all of that happened to you. But the truth is,” he added, pulling back a little to look up into Chet’s astonished caramel-colored eyes, “That none of that is a good excuse for you to bully and hurt others. You’re not your father, no matter what your mom tells you. And by doing that, you make yourself into him. Is that really what you want? To be just like him? To be cruel, violent, to cause other people pain? Is it?” his eyes searched Chet’s and after a moment the football player’s eyes slid away. He stared at the far wall as he spoke.
“No,” he said quietly. “No. I don’t want to be like him.”
“Then don’t be,” Quentin told him.
Chet’s lips twisted. “Is it really that easy?” he asked.
Quentin nodded. “Yes, it is. We are the authors of our own behavior, the masters of our own destiny. If you don’t want to be a brute like your father, then DON’T be! Choose not to be. Fight it with all that you have. Prove that you’re the strong one, not him. I know you can do it,” he went on simply.
Chet’s eyes veered back to him. “How do you know that?” he asked bitterly.
He shrugged a little himself, setting his hand on Chet’s broad chest. “I just do. I can read people pretty well, most times. And when I first saw you, I knew that you weren’t the normal bully. Everything that I’ve found out about you only enforces that idea. Yes, you’re an angry person. I guess you have reason to be. But you shouldn’t let that anger rule you. You’re better than that. Stronger. I believe in you,” he added, his voice even and sure.
Chet’s mouth opened a little. He stared down at Quentin in a kind of amazed fascination, as though he’d encountered an alien species. But then he sat down on his own bed abruptly, as though his legs had given out from under him. “You’re crazy,” he said, looking away. His whole body was stiff and tight again.
Quentin smiled slightly. He straddled Chet’s lap, making the bigger boy gasp and tense up even more. He set his hands on Chet’s shoulders and met those bewildered, uncertain caramel-colored eyes. “Maybe I am,” he said softly. “Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe you’ve made me crazy, big man. I just can’t seem to help myself,” he breathed, then he leaned forward and set his mouth over Chet’s, doing something that he’d wanted to do again ever since the cafeteria.
Chet sat still, obviously stunned into freezing by Quentin’s actions. His mouth moved over Chet’s slack one, not trying to deepen the kiss at all but merely caressing Chet’s lips with his own in a tender, gentle way. His hands slid around to the strong back and moved downward, finding the ridges and lumps of those scars. He caressed them lightly with his fingertips, saying without words how bad he felt about what Chet had gone through, how terrible it must have been for him, and the pain he must have endured.
A low groan against his lips, and then Chet pushed him away. Not violently, as Quentin expected; he simply forced Quentin away from his lips. “Don’t,” he said, his eyes full of some darkness that made Quentin’s heart hurt.
“Why not?” he whispered, looking into those eyes steadily. “Why not, big man? You don’t need to be scared of me.”
Chet’s mouth worked. “Something tells me that the person I should be most frightened of is you,” he answered rather grimly.
Quentin chuckled breathily. “You may be right,” he conceded, then began to squirm deliberately on Chet’s lap. A low sound was his reward, as well as a distinct lump under his pert backside. He grinned, showing off his white teeth. “But is that so bad? A little fear will spice up our relationship.”
Chet frowned at him. “I wasn’t aware that we HAD a relationship,” he pointed out, his big hands moving to span Quentin’s waist.
Quentin’s grin widened. “Sure we do,” he said. “Although I’m hoping for something a bit more…intimate…between us eventually. That you’ll stop trying to beat up on me and fuck me instead,” he explained.
Chet sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “You really are crazy,” he said to the air.
“Maybe. But just think about how good it could be between us, big man. I could rock your world in ways you can’t imagine,” Quentin told him in a seductive tone of voice, giving him a lidded look from under his lashes.
“Maybe I don’t want to be with another guy. Maybe, even if I am a fag, I don’t want to come out of any closet,” Chet said.
Quentin laughed, slinging his arms around Chet’s shoulders as he swayed a bit, like a snake. “You may not want to, but I’m not sure that I’m going to give you much of a choice,” he said happily.
A frown. “Do you really think that I can’t resist you?” Chet demanded.
Quentin giggled. “No, I don’t think you can. Not because you’re weak, but because you want me so much,” he added in explanation. “And hormones, especially in a teenage male, are waaayy stronger than resolutions.”
He gasped suddenly, because a hand grabbed his hair and a stunned Quentin found himself being thoroughly kissed. Chet’s mouth ravaged his, and a thick tongue slid inside to conquer him. He moaned, forgetting everything as Chet addled his brain completely. When Chet sucked on his tongue, he went limp and gave himself over to what was happening totally.
He found himself being pushed backward, and his dazed eyes met Chet’s. “I’m going to prove you wrong,” the football player told him in a husky voice. Then he shoved Quentin completely off of his lap and stood up. “I’ll take you back to your car,” he said, then pulled on his shirt without looking down at the boy sprawled on the floor of his bedroom.
Quentin finally managed to pull himself together. His lips still felt swollen from that amazing kiss, and his whole body was throbbing with thwarted desire. His tight jeans were especially torturous, and he wanted to whimper as he crawled to his feet. He stood half doubled over, trying to ease the pinch even a little bit. “You’ve learned well from the Master,” he noted in a choked voice.
Chet glanced over at him briefly. “What?”
Quentin laughed in a cracked way. “I mean that I taught you well how to tease somebody,” he hissed, feeling like his crotch was going to explode at any moment.
Chet lifted a single brow. “Well, payback is a bitch,” he said, something like a smile hovering over his mouth. “Let’s go,” he added, walking out of his bedroom without a backward glance.
Quentin hobbled after him, feeling frustrated and horribly aroused. It seemed, he mused to himself in a painful sort of amusement, that he’d finally met his match. And wasn’t that an amazing, glorious thing, in spite of the fact that he was hurting so much right now? His eyes filled with a gleam of anticipation as he thought about the near future. This was going to be fun! He’d bring Chet Rollins to his knees both literally and figuratively, or his name wasn’t Quentin Thelonius Yardsley…
Quentin stood in front of his mirror and looked himself over critically. He thought he looked ultra-hot; this was definitely the outfit to wear to perturb and work up a certain closeted football player. He smiled triumphantly as he fluffed his electric-blue tresses idly. He was ready to go get Chet Rollins, wearing his best armor.
His sexy outfit included skin-tight black jeans that had silver stars sewn down the seams, a thin length of silver chain as a belt around his narrow waist, and a thoroughly sexy shirt that he had to wear a jacket over lest it get him kicked out of school today. It was almost see-thru, black with a silvery sheen on the fabric that caught the light a bit as he moved. Quentin could clearly see his own nipples through the gauzy fabric, pert little things that would just beg Chet to touch and kiss them. He blew himself a kiss in the mirror as he pulled on the jacket that would mostly hide this shirt, a silver leather one with black buckles on it. He worse a single silver chain around his throat with a cartouche dangling from it with the Egyptian hieroglyphic characters for ‘rooster’ and ‘path’ on it. He’d had it custom-made, because it amused him to wear a piece of jewelry that declared him to be ‘cock of the walk’. Even though he was very, very out, Quentin still liked to have an in joke once in awhile…
He’d accessorized the chain around his neck with a single silver earring in his left earlobe, silver skull-and-crossbones. And he’d very carefully chosen his make-up for the day as well. He’d painted his lower eyelids with a silvery eye shadow, and the upper part with a darker grey that made his eyes look sexy, smoky, and seductive. Lots of mascara threw them into stark relief, and his choice of lip gloss for the day was a barely-there pink with a little shimmer to it. It would draw attention to his kissable lips without screaming ‘slut’ to everyone and sundry. He’d smoothed on just a bit of pale powder, and he thought that he looked like sex on two legs. He turned a bit on his heeled black leather boots (with shimmery sliver laces) to look at the side view. Perfect.
Quentin smiled at himself in the mirror. “Let’s see you resist this, Chetty boy,” he purred to himself in satisfaction. “Get ready, big man, ‘cause here I come!”
“Wow, you look good,” Gary said to his friend admiringly as he and Corey greeted Quentin later at school.
Quentin preened a bit. “Do you think so?” he asked, smoothing a hand down the gauzy shirt.
Gary nodded, not pointing out that he liked this outfit a lot better than Quentin’s normal fare, since it would hurt his friend’s feelings to know that the word that Gary most associated with him was: gaudy. Quentin smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Thanks. I’m hoping to make a…big…impact today,” he informed his friends lazily.
Corey looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Quentin waved an airy hand at him. “Never mind,” he replied. “Where are Patrick and Amanda?” he asked, diverting their attention to another subject quite deftly.
This worked, of course. Both Gary and Corey lit up when he mentioned their respective boyfriend and girlfriend. “Amanda’s adding some finishing touches to the paper this morning,” Corey told him. “It goes to press today, and she wants to make sure that it’s perfect.”
“And Patrick’s with his team; they wanted to get some practice in this morning, because they have a game this afternoon,” Gary explained.
“Oh? Are you going to go and cheer him on?” Quentin asked.
Gary nodded. “Of course. He asked if I wanted to come, and I really do. It’s all right; everybody on the team already knows that he’s gay,” Gary explained. “Patrick told them a few days ago that he was gay and that he’s dating me. Nobody got that excited, And David,” he casually mentioned his old crush, clearly not infatuated with him anymore, “said that if anybody had a problem with it they should just leave it at home since he doesn’t want it affecting their game. He even congratulated Patrick about having a boyfriend,” he said, beaming.
Quentin smiled affectionately at him. “That’s good, Gary,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad to hear it. Do you want me to come with you to the game?”
Gary looked rather alarmed. “Uh, if you want to…” he began.
He tried not to laugh at the expression on Gary’s face as he tried to fight back alarm over the thought of Quentin showing up at the baseball game in all of his full glory. Quentin’s lips twitched. “On second thought, I can’t,” he said, tapping his lower lip thoughtfully with his finger, “I have something else that I need to do after school.”
Gary looked relieved, and then tried to quash that expression. Quentin almost giggled as he said: “Oops, there’s the first bell. I’ll see you guys later.”
They replied in kind, and he left his friends to go to his first class. Unfortunately he didn’t share any of them with his target, so he’d have to keep an eye out for Chet in the halls. Quentin relaxed behind his desk, his thoughts not on what his home room teacher was saying but on his strategy to drive Chet Rollins crazy with frustrated lust.
He saw his chance at noon. He was strolling along, keeping at eye on the crowd of students surrounding him, when his eyes lit on a massive form walking along surrounded by his friends from the football team. People were hurriedly getting out of Chet Rollins’ way, but Quentin chose to do the opposite – he went and planted himself right in Chet’s path. The football player came to a halt, his face unreadable, as his friends all gaped at the sight of Quentin standing there in all of his glory. “Hi, Chet,” Quentin chirped. “It's nice to see you again.”
“I can’t say the same,” Chet replied stonily. His friends whispered among themselves as they two boys stood there staring at each other.
Quentin smiled. “Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about. I kind of feel bad about having to trounce you,” he said, trying not to snicker at Chet’s friends’ reactions to his use of the word ‘trounce’. “So I thought that I’d try to make it up to you somehow. Can I take you to lunch? My treat.”
Chet’s brows rose a little as the boys surrounding him scowled or gaped at him. Quentin contrived to look sweetly innocent. “I know you don’t like me much,” he began.
“That’s an understatement,” Chet told him coolly.
He nodded his electric-blue head. “Yes. But I want to change that. I think we should be…friends.” His eyes danced as he said this, and Chet’s narrowed warningly.
“Who says that I want to be friends with you?” Chet asked, frowning.
Quentin shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to be,” he conceded. “I just thought that you might want to change your reputation around here as the school bully. Hanging out with an openly gay guy would help with that, you know.”
Chet scowled at him. “And who says that I want to change my reputation?” he growled.
It was Quentin’s turn to narrow his blue eyes. “Because you’re going to change it one way or another, Chet,” he replied with a hint of warning in his voice.
Chet’s frown deepened. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, sounding angry.
Quentin smiled brightly, taking him by surprise. “Yes,” he said sunnily. “Because if you don’t change your ways and shape up, Chet, I will start a rumor that we’re sleeping together. That I was right about you in the cafeteria, that you’re a closet case. Then you’ll know what it’s like to an outcast, I can assure you.”
Chet now looked very angry, which rather titillated him. “What makes you think that anyone would believe a rumor like that?!” he spat, his lips pulling back from his teeth.
Quentin chuckled. “They’ll believe me because I’ll give them a description of your bedroom, Chetty boy,” he purred. “And your tongue, too,” he added in a much lower tone of voice for Chet’s ears only. “Have any of these jerks seen your bedroom? Then they’ll know that I’ve been in there.”
Chet looked like he was fuming. “What do you want?” he snarled softly.
“For you to let me take you to lunch,” Quentin said calmly. “And for you to live up to what you told me – that you don’t want to be like your father. That’s it.”
Chet looked like he wanted to spit, but he rolled his shoulders. “All right, I’ll go to lunch with you,” he told Quentin, as his friends gaped at him instead. “I’ll see you guys later,” he went on with an impatient wave, making Quentin want to giggle.
They all trailed away, looking shocked and dismayed .Chet gave Quentin a black look. “Where are we going? And which car do you want to take?” he spat.
“Hmm. There’s a nice little restaurant uptown that I’ve heard good things about,” Quentin told him. “And we can take your car, I don’t mind. I like to watch you drive, big man.”
Chet shook his head, but said nothing else as they left the school together. Quentin took off the jacket as they got into Chet’s car, and was aware of a sideways look from the caramel-colored eyes. He stretched himself out in the seat, showing off. “Do you like this outfit?” he asked in a low, throaty voice.
Chet started the car, snorting. “It suits you,” he growled.
Quentin grinned at him. “Because it’s sexy?” he asked. “Yes, I agree. Come on, big man; you know you think that I’m sexy.”
“I don’t know any such thing,” Chet told him brusquely.
“Oh, yes you do,” Quentin replied impishly. “Or was that just a really big roll of quarters in your pocket yesterday when I was on your lap?”
Chet gave him a dark look from under his brows. “That was just friction,” he said flatly.
He got an amused look for this assertion. “Friction? Oh yes, I just KNOW that any fiction between us would be great, big man,” he purred. “But you’re really trying to tell me that you were rock hard yesterday - even before you kissed me – because of FRICTION?! Really, Chet, that explanation won’t wash at all. Not for a ‘straight guy’,” Quentin went on in growing amusement.
Chet sighed. “Has anyone told you that you are incredibly irritating?” he asked.
A light and airy giggle. “Oh, yes. Many people, in fact. But I don’t mind,” Quentin replied easily. “If I’m getting to you this badly it means that I’m doing my job.”
A sharp glance. “Your job? What job?” Chet demanded.
Quentin grinned at him, wriggling in his seat a little to draw attention to his hips. “Why, making sure that you’re happy…whether you like it or not,” Quentin told him.
Chet looked baffled. “Why would you care whether I’m happy or not?” he said, his brows drawing together.
“Because I like you, big man,” Quentin said softly. “I really do. You have the potential to be a really great guy. I just want to help you meet that potential, that’s all. I wouldn’t care except for the fact that you told me yesterday that you don’t want to be like your father. That means that you’re willing to change, to become better. If you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t be bothering…despite the fact that I like you.”
Silence. Then: “If I’d said something else yesterday, I wouldn’t have to put up with you today? “Chet asked, sounding annoyed.
Quentin giggled. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Sorry, big man, but you screwed the pooch yesterday. Now I can’t leave you alone,” he said with a Cheshire cat smile.
The expression of rueful disgust on Chet’s handsome face was hilarious, Quentin thought. This was going to be an interesting lunch – and he, at least, was going to enjoy himself thoroughly. Chet might not enjoy himself quite as much, but that wasn’t his problem…
Go to Part 5
“Oh, my God,” Quentin whispered, unaware that his hand had gone to his mouth. He was too busy staring in shock at Chet’s lower back to notice.
The smooth skin of the upper back gave way to a hideous mélange of scars – everything from broad, flat, ridged ones to narrow whitish ones to round little dark ones that a horrified Quentin had to assume were cigarette burns. They coiled up Chet’s lower back like a strange set of tattoos, overlapping each other in a manner that told him that Chet hadn’t gotten all of them at once –that they’d been acquired over many years of abuse.
“Who...who did that to you?” he managed to choke out after a moment’s shocked silence.
Chet looked at him over his shoulder. “My old man,” he replied simply. “He always said that he’d never have a son who was a pussy. That he’d make sure that I came out strong and tough, even if he had to beat those qualities into me. That I’d be a man whether I liked it or not. He used to only hit me on my lower back because I could hide the marks under my shirt when I went to school. If he didn’t start hitting me when I walked through the door, it was because he was off at the bar getting drunk.”
Quentin felt rather sick. He couldn’t imagine a father doing this to his own son. “He beat you…because he suspected that you were gay?” he asked, his eyes still not quite able to look away from the road map of hideous scars decorating Chet’s lower back.
“No. He never thought that,” Chet replied coldly. “This didn’t have anything to do with being gay. He just didn’t want a son who was weak, that’s all. I was only ten when he went to prison. Too young to even have any kind of sexual orientation.”
“Did he go to prison…for doing this to you?” Quentin asked, looking up into his face.
Chet turned around, folding his arms across his massive chest. “No,” he said, his voice grim. “He went to prison for murder. He killed a guy in a bar fight.”
“Oh,” Quentin didn’t know quite what to say to this, but then Chet continued flatly: “He killed a gay guy,” his made his eyes widen.
“He…what?!”
Chet shrugged. “He killed a fag. Beat him to death. Which is ironic, considering the fact that I’m sure that he’s learning to be just like the guy he killed in prison. He wasn’t big like me. I got these genes from my Mom’s side of the family,” he explained. There was a certain amount of relish in his voice as he spoke about his father becoming a forced bottom in prison.
Quentin struggled to think of something to say to these revelations. “So…you’re a bully…you pick on those who are weaker than you…as retaliation for your father beating you up for not being strong? For being like them?” he began carefully.
Chet just looked at him. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
Quentin felt sad. “And you’re most avid about ‘fags’ because your father killed a gay man,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “Is it that you think you’re just like him? So you should act like him?” his blue eyes searched Chet’s face, and he saw a small wince.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said. “You think you’re just like him so you try to act like him. Beating up on fags and torturing ‘weak’ people. But who says that you have to be like him, Chet? You don’t, you know.”
“Well, according to my mother I already am,” Chet replied tightly.
Quentin’s brows drew together. “What?”
Chet shrugged, his whole big body tense. “When she gets drunk, which is every day pretty much, she makes sure to tell me that I’m just like my father,” he said flatly.
Quentin felt rather sick. He moved toward Chet instinctively, and the bigger boy flinched visibly even though he didn’t move. He was waiting for Quentin to attack him. But he astonished Chet by slipping his arms around that big form and resting his electric-blue head against the firm chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against Chet’s skin. “I really am, big man. Sorry that all of that happened to you. But the truth is,” he added, pulling back a little to look up into Chet’s astonished caramel-colored eyes, “That none of that is a good excuse for you to bully and hurt others. You’re not your father, no matter what your mom tells you. And by doing that, you make yourself into him. Is that really what you want? To be just like him? To be cruel, violent, to cause other people pain? Is it?” his eyes searched Chet’s and after a moment the football player’s eyes slid away. He stared at the far wall as he spoke.
“No,” he said quietly. “No. I don’t want to be like him.”
“Then don’t be,” Quentin told him.
Chet’s lips twisted. “Is it really that easy?” he asked.
Quentin nodded. “Yes, it is. We are the authors of our own behavior, the masters of our own destiny. If you don’t want to be a brute like your father, then DON’T be! Choose not to be. Fight it with all that you have. Prove that you’re the strong one, not him. I know you can do it,” he went on simply.
Chet’s eyes veered back to him. “How do you know that?” he asked bitterly.
He shrugged a little himself, setting his hand on Chet’s broad chest. “I just do. I can read people pretty well, most times. And when I first saw you, I knew that you weren’t the normal bully. Everything that I’ve found out about you only enforces that idea. Yes, you’re an angry person. I guess you have reason to be. But you shouldn’t let that anger rule you. You’re better than that. Stronger. I believe in you,” he added, his voice even and sure.
Chet’s mouth opened a little. He stared down at Quentin in a kind of amazed fascination, as though he’d encountered an alien species. But then he sat down on his own bed abruptly, as though his legs had given out from under him. “You’re crazy,” he said, looking away. His whole body was stiff and tight again.
Quentin smiled slightly. He straddled Chet’s lap, making the bigger boy gasp and tense up even more. He set his hands on Chet’s shoulders and met those bewildered, uncertain caramel-colored eyes. “Maybe I am,” he said softly. “Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe you’ve made me crazy, big man. I just can’t seem to help myself,” he breathed, then he leaned forward and set his mouth over Chet’s, doing something that he’d wanted to do again ever since the cafeteria.
Chet sat still, obviously stunned into freezing by Quentin’s actions. His mouth moved over Chet’s slack one, not trying to deepen the kiss at all but merely caressing Chet’s lips with his own in a tender, gentle way. His hands slid around to the strong back and moved downward, finding the ridges and lumps of those scars. He caressed them lightly with his fingertips, saying without words how bad he felt about what Chet had gone through, how terrible it must have been for him, and the pain he must have endured.
A low groan against his lips, and then Chet pushed him away. Not violently, as Quentin expected; he simply forced Quentin away from his lips. “Don’t,” he said, his eyes full of some darkness that made Quentin’s heart hurt.
“Why not?” he whispered, looking into those eyes steadily. “Why not, big man? You don’t need to be scared of me.”
Chet’s mouth worked. “Something tells me that the person I should be most frightened of is you,” he answered rather grimly.
Quentin chuckled breathily. “You may be right,” he conceded, then began to squirm deliberately on Chet’s lap. A low sound was his reward, as well as a distinct lump under his pert backside. He grinned, showing off his white teeth. “But is that so bad? A little fear will spice up our relationship.”
Chet frowned at him. “I wasn’t aware that we HAD a relationship,” he pointed out, his big hands moving to span Quentin’s waist.
Quentin’s grin widened. “Sure we do,” he said. “Although I’m hoping for something a bit more…intimate…between us eventually. That you’ll stop trying to beat up on me and fuck me instead,” he explained.
Chet sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “You really are crazy,” he said to the air.
“Maybe. But just think about how good it could be between us, big man. I could rock your world in ways you can’t imagine,” Quentin told him in a seductive tone of voice, giving him a lidded look from under his lashes.
“Maybe I don’t want to be with another guy. Maybe, even if I am a fag, I don’t want to come out of any closet,” Chet said.
Quentin laughed, slinging his arms around Chet’s shoulders as he swayed a bit, like a snake. “You may not want to, but I’m not sure that I’m going to give you much of a choice,” he said happily.
A frown. “Do you really think that I can’t resist you?” Chet demanded.
Quentin giggled. “No, I don’t think you can. Not because you’re weak, but because you want me so much,” he added in explanation. “And hormones, especially in a teenage male, are waaayy stronger than resolutions.”
He gasped suddenly, because a hand grabbed his hair and a stunned Quentin found himself being thoroughly kissed. Chet’s mouth ravaged his, and a thick tongue slid inside to conquer him. He moaned, forgetting everything as Chet addled his brain completely. When Chet sucked on his tongue, he went limp and gave himself over to what was happening totally.
He found himself being pushed backward, and his dazed eyes met Chet’s. “I’m going to prove you wrong,” the football player told him in a husky voice. Then he shoved Quentin completely off of his lap and stood up. “I’ll take you back to your car,” he said, then pulled on his shirt without looking down at the boy sprawled on the floor of his bedroom.
Quentin finally managed to pull himself together. His lips still felt swollen from that amazing kiss, and his whole body was throbbing with thwarted desire. His tight jeans were especially torturous, and he wanted to whimper as he crawled to his feet. He stood half doubled over, trying to ease the pinch even a little bit. “You’ve learned well from the Master,” he noted in a choked voice.
Chet glanced over at him briefly. “What?”
Quentin laughed in a cracked way. “I mean that I taught you well how to tease somebody,” he hissed, feeling like his crotch was going to explode at any moment.
Chet lifted a single brow. “Well, payback is a bitch,” he said, something like a smile hovering over his mouth. “Let’s go,” he added, walking out of his bedroom without a backward glance.
Quentin hobbled after him, feeling frustrated and horribly aroused. It seemed, he mused to himself in a painful sort of amusement, that he’d finally met his match. And wasn’t that an amazing, glorious thing, in spite of the fact that he was hurting so much right now? His eyes filled with a gleam of anticipation as he thought about the near future. This was going to be fun! He’d bring Chet Rollins to his knees both literally and figuratively, or his name wasn’t Quentin Thelonius Yardsley…
Quentin stood in front of his mirror and looked himself over critically. He thought he looked ultra-hot; this was definitely the outfit to wear to perturb and work up a certain closeted football player. He smiled triumphantly as he fluffed his electric-blue tresses idly. He was ready to go get Chet Rollins, wearing his best armor.
His sexy outfit included skin-tight black jeans that had silver stars sewn down the seams, a thin length of silver chain as a belt around his narrow waist, and a thoroughly sexy shirt that he had to wear a jacket over lest it get him kicked out of school today. It was almost see-thru, black with a silvery sheen on the fabric that caught the light a bit as he moved. Quentin could clearly see his own nipples through the gauzy fabric, pert little things that would just beg Chet to touch and kiss them. He blew himself a kiss in the mirror as he pulled on the jacket that would mostly hide this shirt, a silver leather one with black buckles on it. He worse a single silver chain around his throat with a cartouche dangling from it with the Egyptian hieroglyphic characters for ‘rooster’ and ‘path’ on it. He’d had it custom-made, because it amused him to wear a piece of jewelry that declared him to be ‘cock of the walk’. Even though he was very, very out, Quentin still liked to have an in joke once in awhile…
He’d accessorized the chain around his neck with a single silver earring in his left earlobe, silver skull-and-crossbones. And he’d very carefully chosen his make-up for the day as well. He’d painted his lower eyelids with a silvery eye shadow, and the upper part with a darker grey that made his eyes look sexy, smoky, and seductive. Lots of mascara threw them into stark relief, and his choice of lip gloss for the day was a barely-there pink with a little shimmer to it. It would draw attention to his kissable lips without screaming ‘slut’ to everyone and sundry. He’d smoothed on just a bit of pale powder, and he thought that he looked like sex on two legs. He turned a bit on his heeled black leather boots (with shimmery sliver laces) to look at the side view. Perfect.
Quentin smiled at himself in the mirror. “Let’s see you resist this, Chetty boy,” he purred to himself in satisfaction. “Get ready, big man, ‘cause here I come!”
“Wow, you look good,” Gary said to his friend admiringly as he and Corey greeted Quentin later at school.
Quentin preened a bit. “Do you think so?” he asked, smoothing a hand down the gauzy shirt.
Gary nodded, not pointing out that he liked this outfit a lot better than Quentin’s normal fare, since it would hurt his friend’s feelings to know that the word that Gary most associated with him was: gaudy. Quentin smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Thanks. I’m hoping to make a…big…impact today,” he informed his friends lazily.
Corey looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Quentin waved an airy hand at him. “Never mind,” he replied. “Where are Patrick and Amanda?” he asked, diverting their attention to another subject quite deftly.
This worked, of course. Both Gary and Corey lit up when he mentioned their respective boyfriend and girlfriend. “Amanda’s adding some finishing touches to the paper this morning,” Corey told him. “It goes to press today, and she wants to make sure that it’s perfect.”
“And Patrick’s with his team; they wanted to get some practice in this morning, because they have a game this afternoon,” Gary explained.
“Oh? Are you going to go and cheer him on?” Quentin asked.
Gary nodded. “Of course. He asked if I wanted to come, and I really do. It’s all right; everybody on the team already knows that he’s gay,” Gary explained. “Patrick told them a few days ago that he was gay and that he’s dating me. Nobody got that excited, And David,” he casually mentioned his old crush, clearly not infatuated with him anymore, “said that if anybody had a problem with it they should just leave it at home since he doesn’t want it affecting their game. He even congratulated Patrick about having a boyfriend,” he said, beaming.
Quentin smiled affectionately at him. “That’s good, Gary,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad to hear it. Do you want me to come with you to the game?”
Gary looked rather alarmed. “Uh, if you want to…” he began.
He tried not to laugh at the expression on Gary’s face as he tried to fight back alarm over the thought of Quentin showing up at the baseball game in all of his full glory. Quentin’s lips twitched. “On second thought, I can’t,” he said, tapping his lower lip thoughtfully with his finger, “I have something else that I need to do after school.”
Gary looked relieved, and then tried to quash that expression. Quentin almost giggled as he said: “Oops, there’s the first bell. I’ll see you guys later.”
They replied in kind, and he left his friends to go to his first class. Unfortunately he didn’t share any of them with his target, so he’d have to keep an eye out for Chet in the halls. Quentin relaxed behind his desk, his thoughts not on what his home room teacher was saying but on his strategy to drive Chet Rollins crazy with frustrated lust.
He saw his chance at noon. He was strolling along, keeping at eye on the crowd of students surrounding him, when his eyes lit on a massive form walking along surrounded by his friends from the football team. People were hurriedly getting out of Chet Rollins’ way, but Quentin chose to do the opposite – he went and planted himself right in Chet’s path. The football player came to a halt, his face unreadable, as his friends all gaped at the sight of Quentin standing there in all of his glory. “Hi, Chet,” Quentin chirped. “It's nice to see you again.”
“I can’t say the same,” Chet replied stonily. His friends whispered among themselves as they two boys stood there staring at each other.
Quentin smiled. “Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about. I kind of feel bad about having to trounce you,” he said, trying not to snicker at Chet’s friends’ reactions to his use of the word ‘trounce’. “So I thought that I’d try to make it up to you somehow. Can I take you to lunch? My treat.”
Chet’s brows rose a little as the boys surrounding him scowled or gaped at him. Quentin contrived to look sweetly innocent. “I know you don’t like me much,” he began.
“That’s an understatement,” Chet told him coolly.
He nodded his electric-blue head. “Yes. But I want to change that. I think we should be…friends.” His eyes danced as he said this, and Chet’s narrowed warningly.
“Who says that I want to be friends with you?” Chet asked, frowning.
Quentin shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to be,” he conceded. “I just thought that you might want to change your reputation around here as the school bully. Hanging out with an openly gay guy would help with that, you know.”
Chet scowled at him. “And who says that I want to change my reputation?” he growled.
It was Quentin’s turn to narrow his blue eyes. “Because you’re going to change it one way or another, Chet,” he replied with a hint of warning in his voice.
Chet’s frown deepened. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, sounding angry.
Quentin smiled brightly, taking him by surprise. “Yes,” he said sunnily. “Because if you don’t change your ways and shape up, Chet, I will start a rumor that we’re sleeping together. That I was right about you in the cafeteria, that you’re a closet case. Then you’ll know what it’s like to an outcast, I can assure you.”
Chet now looked very angry, which rather titillated him. “What makes you think that anyone would believe a rumor like that?!” he spat, his lips pulling back from his teeth.
Quentin chuckled. “They’ll believe me because I’ll give them a description of your bedroom, Chetty boy,” he purred. “And your tongue, too,” he added in a much lower tone of voice for Chet’s ears only. “Have any of these jerks seen your bedroom? Then they’ll know that I’ve been in there.”
Chet looked like he was fuming. “What do you want?” he snarled softly.
“For you to let me take you to lunch,” Quentin said calmly. “And for you to live up to what you told me – that you don’t want to be like your father. That’s it.”
Chet looked like he wanted to spit, but he rolled his shoulders. “All right, I’ll go to lunch with you,” he told Quentin, as his friends gaped at him instead. “I’ll see you guys later,” he went on with an impatient wave, making Quentin want to giggle.
They all trailed away, looking shocked and dismayed .Chet gave Quentin a black look. “Where are we going? And which car do you want to take?” he spat.
“Hmm. There’s a nice little restaurant uptown that I’ve heard good things about,” Quentin told him. “And we can take your car, I don’t mind. I like to watch you drive, big man.”
Chet shook his head, but said nothing else as they left the school together. Quentin took off the jacket as they got into Chet’s car, and was aware of a sideways look from the caramel-colored eyes. He stretched himself out in the seat, showing off. “Do you like this outfit?” he asked in a low, throaty voice.
Chet started the car, snorting. “It suits you,” he growled.
Quentin grinned at him. “Because it’s sexy?” he asked. “Yes, I agree. Come on, big man; you know you think that I’m sexy.”
“I don’t know any such thing,” Chet told him brusquely.
“Oh, yes you do,” Quentin replied impishly. “Or was that just a really big roll of quarters in your pocket yesterday when I was on your lap?”
Chet gave him a dark look from under his brows. “That was just friction,” he said flatly.
He got an amused look for this assertion. “Friction? Oh yes, I just KNOW that any fiction between us would be great, big man,” he purred. “But you’re really trying to tell me that you were rock hard yesterday - even before you kissed me – because of FRICTION?! Really, Chet, that explanation won’t wash at all. Not for a ‘straight guy’,” Quentin went on in growing amusement.
Chet sighed. “Has anyone told you that you are incredibly irritating?” he asked.
A light and airy giggle. “Oh, yes. Many people, in fact. But I don’t mind,” Quentin replied easily. “If I’m getting to you this badly it means that I’m doing my job.”
A sharp glance. “Your job? What job?” Chet demanded.
Quentin grinned at him, wriggling in his seat a little to draw attention to his hips. “Why, making sure that you’re happy…whether you like it or not,” Quentin told him.
Chet looked baffled. “Why would you care whether I’m happy or not?” he said, his brows drawing together.
“Because I like you, big man,” Quentin said softly. “I really do. You have the potential to be a really great guy. I just want to help you meet that potential, that’s all. I wouldn’t care except for the fact that you told me yesterday that you don’t want to be like your father. That means that you’re willing to change, to become better. If you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t be bothering…despite the fact that I like you.”
Silence. Then: “If I’d said something else yesterday, I wouldn’t have to put up with you today? “Chet asked, sounding annoyed.
Quentin giggled. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Sorry, big man, but you screwed the pooch yesterday. Now I can’t leave you alone,” he said with a Cheshire cat smile.
The expression of rueful disgust on Chet’s handsome face was hilarious, Quentin thought. This was going to be an interesting lunch – and he, at least, was going to enjoy himself thoroughly. Chet might not enjoy himself quite as much, but that wasn’t his problem…
Go to Part 5
