Richey had been somewhat of a phantom the next morning. His truck wasn't in the parking lot when I arrived. The only reason I knew he was even at school was a glimpse I'd seen of him from across the hall during a class change. We shared lunch and last period with Sumner. Until then, I'd have to be patient.
Lunch. Lunch meant Arthur Campbell. Arthur Campbell meant trouble. May as well get it over with, I thought as I marched down the hallway. My hand reached out for the double door push bar when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun around to see Richey.
"Follow me." He said.
Admittedly, I hadn't paid much attention to anyone's special bits. Gentlemanly or otherwise. Strange for a senior in high school, I know. I'd watched porn before, seen what I thought I was supposed to see. It always took an extreme amount of coaxing to bring myself off. Just kissing Richey had me ready to cream my pants last night. This may seem like the ramblings of some hormone crazed teenager, which means I must stress the point that this had NEVER happened to me before ever. Not with any of my girlfriends. Honestly, I had begun to think of myself as just not having a sex drive. I got the urge to cum, not the urge to cum for anyone in particular. Richey had changed that last night. The girls I'd dated out of some twisted sense of obligation had always confused me with their advances. I could never figure out if they were just bad at flirting. Turns out, I was just bad at being straight.
Mrs. Turner looked up at the two of us as we entered the library.
"Another tutoring session Mr. Kirk?" She asked sweetly. Damn her. If she had been talking to me, it would've been a step above hissing.
"No ma'am, we're working on a project together for Mr. Sumner's class."
"See that Mr. Kirk doesn't wind up doing all the work Mr. Doyle."
"Yes Ma'am." I gritted out between clenched teeth.
"That lady hates me." I whispered to Richey on our way to the back tables.
"She doesn't like any jocks."
"I'm not a jock!" I whispered loudly.
"No, but you look it muscle boy."
I blushed, remembering when I'd last heard him say that.
He laid out a couple of notebooks in front of us once we sat down. They had random notes from different classes spread out on their pages.
"This has nothing to do with our project."
"Please, I've seen how smart you are. We can write ten pages in our sleep. I just wanted to spend some time with you." He leaned in close to whisper in my ear. "You have no idea how much I'd love to sneak off with you right now. That was quite the picture last night."
"I wasn't sure you'd gotten that."
"Funny that. I woke up this morning to find a hot little muscle boy had sent me a down right sinful photo." A hand roamed over my thigh, a mere inch away from my already hard dick. "I've kept checking it throughout the day."
"I wasn't sure if I should do it or not, you know?"
"No I don't know. If you wanted me to want you, you didn't need to do anything."
"Oh fuck..." I moaned. One finger was running a nail down the length of my cock. It pulsed under his touch.
"It's a good thing no one comes to the library much. You look like you're about to cum in your pants. Not that I'm complaining."
"If you make me cum here, I swear I will kill you."
"Then stop me." He smiled.
"You're an evil bastard." I placed my head down on the tabletop. My breath came in pants. Sweat was starting to break out on my forehead. I laid my head on its side to look up at him.
"You're a sexy bastard though." I said.
"Compliments are always good." He gave my cock one last squeeze. "I'll have mercy on you. After all, I want you built up for when we get to your place." My cock throbbed at hearing this.
After a minute's breathing, we sat up straight. Our eyes searched the others for some sign of... well something.
"Where are we going with this?" I asked.
"Where do you want to go with this?"
"I'm not after a quick blowjob."
"Not even an ass fuck?" He joked.
"Do you always make jokes when people are trying to be serious?"
"Only when you're being serious."
"Look, I want more, okay? There I said it."
He sat back in his chair, looking quite pleased with himself. Smug jackass.
"I think the term you're looking for is 'boyfriend.'" He said quietly, air quoting the word.
I gulped, though didn't break eye contact. Above all else, I wanted him to see that I was serious about this. Our eyes stayed locked. My hand slid on top of his below the table.
"Richey, will you date me?"
His head nodded once.
"I'd love to. For your sake though, I'd recommend keeping it to ourselves for the time being."
"What do you mean for my sake?" I asked, a bit offended. Did he think I wasn't serious?
"Well, you are on the football team. You sit at the jock table. Are you telling me you're willing just to throw that all overboard when we just started this today?"
"You seem incapable of understanding that I am not some king of the school." I said, leaning forward. I pointed two fingers toward my eyes. "Look at me. I am a backup strong safety on a football team whose season has ended, a losing one at that. No school anywhere sent me the first scholarship offer. I. Am. Not. A. Jock. Those people don't know, nor do they particularly care about me. I'm just another nobody. They only talk to me out because I was on the team. No other reason."
"Are you blind?" He stared at me like he had all the answers. "Do you know what would've happened to anyone else who grabbed Arthur Campbell's arm like you did? Hmm?" The fingers of the hand not attached to mine thrummed on the table.
"I don't know. Probably a fight of some sort."
"You have no idea, do you?"
"About what?"
"Just how intimidating you are."
"Please." I pulled my hand back, attempting to cross my arms. His hand popped me in the kidney with a short jab. "Ow!" My hand was immediately scooped up by his when I dropped them to clutch my side.
"That's better." He said.
"If I'm so intimidating, then why ain't you cowering around me?"
"Because I've seen how you really are. Shy, quiet, thoughtful, considerate, someone who is just who he is without having to explain himself. Nobody else see's this, least not at this school. They all see a guy who doesn't look to others for any sort of validation. Maybe you're not the greatest football player-"
"Thanks."
"But you are strong, certainly for someone your size. You don't take crap off of anyone. Your... perfect." He finished on sigh, his eyes holding mine.
"You're delusional."
The bell went off overhead. Just as the dull hum of the electric note playing through the speakers finished, the sound of books cluttering to the ground came from behind a nearby shelf.
"The fuck?" Said a surprised Richey.
My pulse shot through the roof. I half expected to see some spying friend of one of my exes running out the library with her mini skirt flapping in the breeze. Instead, Larsen Nichols sheepishly walked out from behind the shelf.
"Hi guys." He gave a meek little wave from the waist.
"Were you listening Larsen?" I asked, deciding to get straight to the point. Less bull shit that way.
Richey gave me a strange look, almost as if he were saying 'be nice.'
"Yeah... I kinda sorta overheard the beginning. And then the middle... possibly the end."
His face was extremely red.
"Look guys, I swear to god I'm cool. I was just looking for a book. When I heard what you guys were talking about... well I couldn't help but listen."
"Why?" Richey and I both asked.
"Well, to be honest... the idea was kinda hot." Slowly, he met both our shocked gazes.
"This, I did not see coming." I said, stunned.
"Well, I may have."
Larsen and I both shifted out gazes to Richey.
"What?" He said. "He's not subtle about letting his eyes roam."
Larsen stood there with his mouth hanging open, redder than ever.
"Look," I said "We'll see about this later. We've got to get to class."
We all shuffled out the doors feeling awkward as hell.
Mr. Sumner's class passed quickly. The man had the unique ability to make the drivel that is a government prescribed history class somewhat interesting. It is quite embarrassing when you think about it. What do most U.S. history classes cover when they talk about the War Between the States? They go over three generals and four battles. Lee, Grant, and Sherman followed by Manassas, Antietam, Vicksburg, and Gettysburg. It's arguably the most important time in the nation's history, yet the chuckle fucks who set the curriculum think it's only worthy of two class periods. Meanwhile, I have to hear a week's worth of shit on where Christopher Columbus took a shit.
Watergate gets a day. Actually, a day is me being generous. If Richey and I spent more than forty minutes on our project, we would've covered more than we would have in the class where it was assigned. Which is why I spend my time in better ways. Much better ways. Firmer ways.
"Are you even paying attention?"
I looked up to meet Richey's eyes. He had a habit. Whenever he could pace, he would. My floor has developed a rut in it, I'm sure.
"Were you staring at my ass?"
"No, no." I waved a hand dismissively. "Just making sure you didn't sit in anything."
"Uh, huh."
Slowly, he stalked over towards me. Knees brushed past one another as he stood between my open legs. Hands descended down onto my shoulders.
"I suppose two hours is enough work for one night." He whispered, his face a few short inches from mine.
"It was closer to an hour and a half, if we're honest."
"Shut up."
Lips slowly glided against mine. I swear to god, there is something seriously underrated about taking your time. Little nibbles on my lips. Slow flicks of tongues up against one another. All of it adds up to a combination to drive me wild. My hands palmed his ass through his tight jeans. His hands worked their way down my chest. A sound bordering on a hiccup escaped me when nimble fingers found my zipper.
"Too fast?" He whispered.
