"So, what do you like? B-D-" Zach enunciated each letter with exaggerated care, letting the tip of his tongue play against his front teeth,
"-S-M? Hm?"
Kit smiled, leaning forward and drawing his fingertip down the gleaming bartop.
"I like...bondage," he said, watching Zach's dark eyes.
"And sado-masochism. Sure, I can play with dominance, but..." his eyes slid over to Charlie, sitting next to them, engaged in a tipsy conversation with a man Kit would have to shoo away soon enough.
He wasn't listening to them.
"Pain is more my style. I don't care so much about gender - but, yeah, I might have a type."
"Type?"
"Tall, dark, and dangerous," he teased, sipping his bitter coffee, one corner of his mouth turning up.
After he made his deal with Charlie, Kit had started hanging out at the bar a lot.
Every other evening for a few hours, while his uncle was quietly sipping his drinks, Kit kept an eye on him and did his homework, perched on top of a tall round barstool underneath the fashionable yellow lightbulbs suspended from the ceiling.
You don't have to come with me, Charlie had protested when he started tagging along.
Kit had arched his eyebrow at him, and the older man had blushed.
Fine. Come along then.
He needed to make sure Charlie stayed alive for two more years, Kit told himself. Might as well look after him. Just a little.
This was only about convenience, for both of them.
Now, after a few weeks had passed, he'd almost started enjoying their new routine.
Flirting with Zach was an added bonus. The older boy didn't seem to take anything - his job, his customers, himself, or the world in general - very seriously, doing his tasks with an efficient disdain and being just handsome and charming enough to get away with it.
It was relaxing, chatting with someone who honestly didn't care whether he lived or died, would shrug at any story and smile at his sharp words.
"Guys tend to go for me because of the way I look, but sometimes there will be a girl, you know..." Kit mused.
"Yeah, I know. I usually go for girls myself, but sometimes a guy catches my eye..."
Zach raised his eyebrows slightly, holding his gaze across the bar.
"Pain, huh?" he continued. "Giving or...taking it?"
Kit smiled, absentmindedly twirling a straw between his fingers.
"I can play either way, but I have a pretty high threshold for pain, so I've been told I'm not much fun on the receiving end."
"Why?"
"Because most people just want to tease their partners a little and make them cry and beg. Me, I don't cry - and you have to go pretty far to get me to beg."
"Sounds fun."
"Does it?"
"I think I could manage."
"Is. That. So?"
"Mh-mhm. Maybe you should hang around after closing sometime, I'll take you out for dri - " he glanced down at the cup in front of Kit and changed tactics mid-sentence, " - coffee."
Kit flashed him a wry smile. "I'd love to, but I've got to get this one home."
He jabbed his thumb in his uncle's direction.
It was relaxing to talk to somebody who took nothing seriously. The bartender flirted with everyone.
"Shame. You seem like fun. Feisty."
"Fuck you."
"Whatever you're into, sweetheart," he drawled back.
Kit would usually be annoyed at anyone who called him sweetheart, but felt the corner of his mouth tug up instead. Zach was just so -
Just so -
"You two are so alike," Charlie mumbled from his seat next to Kit. "It's cuuute."
That made the bartender smother a laugh and Kit glare indignantly at his uncle, who sat oblivious, nursing his drink.
"Closing time soon," a deep voice addressed Zach, and Kit watched the grim-looking owner walk past them with his laptop under his arm, pushing open a black door to what Kit could only assume was his office.
"Start clean-up."
"Sure thing, boss," Zach called after him as the door swung shut behind his broad back.
"That guy's been watching Charlie," Kit muttered.
The youth shrugged. "Everyone here has been watching him, Doc. 'Specially since he stopped going home with them - you really got into their bad books when you started chaperoning him."
"Is there any other kind?"
"Want to get into my good books?"
"Is 'good books' code for 'pants'? And besides - I'm not chaperoning anyone. The day I'm put in charge of safeguarding someone's virtue, you'll know things have really gone to the dogs."
As Zach chuckled and started putting things away, Kit wheeled around on his barstool to deal with the man chatting his uncle up.
The problem was, he just couldn't seem to leave well enough alone.
Kit was standing just outside the school, smoking behind an old bike shed together with Oliver. Over the last couple of weeks he had discovered that the other boy was smart, and surprisingly funny when he thought no-one was listening.
Befriending someone who was most likely being bullied was asking for trouble, but...
"Shut up, fag."
Tyson walked past them, shouldering into him while Corey shoved Oliver down, sending him sprawling on the rough tarmac. Kit spun around, grabbed the back of Tyson's jersey, and yanked him backwards.
He did not expect the larger boy to go sprawling on the ground - but he did.
Barely registering his own surprise, Kit aimed a kick at his head and felt Corey grab him from behind, tossing him into the corrugated iron wall of the shed.
Throwing his hands up to catch himself, Kit tried to turn in the air when a large body slammed into him, knocking his head against the metal.
He turned and kicked out blindly but a fist connected with his cheekbone and another landed in his gut. Hissing, he crouched, trying to catch his bearings.
The punches stopped.
"That look suits you better," Corey jeered, but they were both stepping back now, casting their words over one shoulder, heading back towards the main building.
"Just stay like that, cowering on the ground."
Kit showed them his two middle fingers, remaining were he was. Laughing, they left.
Head down and nose clear, Kit. Let's not go looking for any more problems.
But as it turned out, that was easier said than done.
Bullying had been the sort of thing that went on in the periphery of his old schools - stuff he couldn't afford to worry about. He used to just sleep his way through the school days - his real work had started when he got home in the afternoon.
Kit knew that he couldn't really help Oliver. Yet he couldn't leave him to fend for himself, either.
At least the fighting gave him a rush, cleared away the fog in his head for a few minutes. Corey and Tyson usually backed away after a few blows when it was two against two, still wary of Kit after their bathroom encounter.
He dusted himself off and turned towards Oliver. The blond was getting to his feet, his palms and knees bleeding from being knocked down and sent skidding on the asphalt.
Kit frowned.
"C'mon. Let's go to the chemistry classroom - it's bound to be empty over lunch, and there's a first aid kit in there. I'll patch you up."
"What if it's locked?"
"I make a habit of testing closed doors. Trust me, that teacher - Mr. Dawson, right? - he doesn't lock."
Kit touched his cheekbone, wincing. It felt hot and tender. Tomorrow he would sport a black eye.
"You should leave," he told Oliver as they walked up to the third floor hallway where all the natural science classrooms lay. It was deserted.
"Transfer schools. How long has this been going on?"
"Years..." Oliver replied, looking down at his shoes as they plodded up the stairs.
"Too long, then. Hard to change it once it's gotten in so deep."
"This school would have to admit that they have a problem with bullying, if they wanted to try and change anything."
"They do, though."
"Yes, but nobody talks about it. Tyson and Corey only mess with me when we're alone, and sometimes small stuff in front of other students, never in front of a teacher. They only do it to me."
"That stuff in the bathroom too?"
Oliver swallowed. "That was the first time they...went that far. Sometimes, other stuff. Touching, stuff like that."
"I don't think they'll back off. Fighting back can work in the beginning - break the habit right away. But once it's gone on this long... You gotta change schools."
"I can't. If I complain, the teachers might think I'm the problem... Or ask why I never said anything before. This is a good school, I've been here so long, and my father went here. It would embarrass him and the school - and me. I would have to admit...everything."
"Mhm-hm."
Kit had know of bullied kids who couldn't transfer because they didn't have the time or the bussfare to travel further away. Whose parents couldn't drive them because they had no car or had to leave early and come home late, working every day.
But he had never met anyone who'd leave their kid in a bad situation just to save face. To avoid embarrassment.
Seemed crazy, he thought.
"Your parents must be pretty rich."
"Sure. Your uncle too, right?"
"Uh..."
I have no idea how much he makes - or how exactly he makes it - but I have a pretty good idea how he spends it...
Kit walked into the empty classroom and headed over to the green box on the wall. He grabbed some extra gauze - but he had better disinfectant and anti-bacterial bandages in his own bag.
Nodding at the other boy to sit up on one of the desks, he dragged over a chair to sit in front of him.
Glancing into a mirror on the opposite wall, Kit frowned. He thought he'd felt a bruise forming on his cheekbone, but when he looked in the mirror he saw nothing. Not even a shadow.
"Must not have hit me as hard as I thought," he muttered.
"What?" Oliver asked, climbing up to sit on top of the sturdy counter with it's little sink.
"Nothing. Show me your hands."
He cleaned them carefully, wiping and washing away the gravel and dirt before putting on some salve and wrapping them in clean gauze and then woven, breathable tape.
Oliver stopped flinching, relaxing into his ministrations. Kit smiled at him.
He shaped his lips into an 'o', wetting them with his tongue, and blew cooling air over the skin around his wrists, gazing up from under his lashes and winking.
The other boy stared - then actually laughed.
Progress.
He moved on to the abrasions on Oliver's kneecaps, pulling the chair in closer. Focusing on getting them clean, he rested one hand on the back of the other boy's knee.
The skin there was very soft. Kit looked up at Oliver and saw him blush.
"Hey, Oliver..."
He pursed his lips, considering.
"I think Tyson wants you. Corey is just afraid - afraid of being at the bottom of the food-chain if he can't put someone else there instead. And angry that his only friend is so interested in you. "
"W-What?"
"Tyson wants you, but rape isn't about wanting - it's about power and control. I'm sure you know that already. That's what I thought ever since I first saw you three together - I just wasn't sure." He took a deep breath.
"So, my point is - stay away from Tyson. He's into you, but he's insecure and homophobic, and he's trying to hurt you and break down your self-esteem to make you his - that's messed up and shitty."
"I'm - I'm already trying to stay away from them. How well has that worked so far?"
Oliver let out a shaky breath and looked away, frowning.
"Thank you for telling me what you think. Maybe you're right...but I don't know what to do with it if you are. I'll think about it..."
"It's messed up, it what it is."
Kit looked up at him, biting his lip. He felt like cheering him up, after making him look so troubled.
"Speaking of messed up..."
Glancing at the clock on the wall, he taped on the last gauze pad and rested his other hand lightly on top of the blond's thigh, still seated between his legs.
"Lunch will soon be over - no point in going back out there. Let's do something fun instead."
"Like what?"
"...Wanna make out?"
His friend looked at him sharply. "Why?"
"'Cause we can, and it feels good."
He grinned up at the blond boy, meaning it as another joke.
But Oliver surprised him. His eyes focused on Kit, hardening from thoughtful to determined.
"Yeah - Okay."
Kit's eyebrows flew up but Oliver was already lowering his head, brushing their lips together lightly, soft and dry and warm.
A sweet, gentle kiss.
Now that won't do, Kit thought.
He was surprised - but he liked kissing.
Grabbing a handful of Oliver's a white shirt, he yanked him down and surged up to meet the kiss with more force, still standing between his legs.
Their kisses grew hungrier, surer, with the smaller boy leading, brushing their tongues together. Kit slid his palms up Oliver's thighs, rubbing light, teasing circles closer to his groin.
The blond made a mewing sound into his mouth.
"Let me show you something," Kit whispered, sliding one hand up under his shirt, thumb brushing over Oliver's nipple, making him shiver.
"Hah - Okay..."
"You see, these can be sensitive too..."
He broke the kiss and lowered his head, ghosting warm, wet breath over the thin white cotton, teasing the small bud with the tip of his tongue until he felt it peak and heard Oliver's breath hitch.
"Are yours?" Oliver asked him, voice husky.
"Huh?"
Suddenly Kit felt warm hands grab his waist, lifting and turning him, flopping him down on his back where the other boy had just been sitting.
Oliver stared at the row of shirt buttons down Kit's chest, then took a hold of the hem and pulled the shirt over his head.
Goosebumps broke out over his skin in the air-conditioned room, but Oliver stepped in between his legs, his body warm, and dipped his head down over Kit's bare chest the dark-haired boy had done for him.
"Ah..."
It was delicious, the warm wet tongue, the tingling sensation it sent racing up his spine.
Oliver's hands pulled his waist closer, bending his spine backwards and Kit let his head roll back, wrapping his legs around the back of the other boy's thighs, angling his hips up.
He could feel something pressing against him through the fabric and wondered what had gotten into his timid classmate...
The blond was fumbling - but focused, as if Kit's body was a complicated problem to solve, all calculation and no instinct.
Eyes trained on the shorter boy's face, he registered every expression, every twitch and shiver, learning very quickly.
His tongue circled Kit's nipple, sucking on it, grazing it with his teeth by accident, making him flinch and startling a moan from him.
"Oh..." he groaned, grinding against the other boy through the fabric between them.
"Good?"
"Ah, yeah, keep doing that..."
His nipples had hardened into small pert buds, stark against his smooth chest, shirt tossed to the floor. Oliver's hands roamed over his body, hesitant and then surer, soft and firm.
Kit was breathless, shirtless, hard. He lay back on top of the desk, nipples wet with saliva, lips red from kissing, and hair mussed, his curls spread out over the lacquered wood.
That was when their chemistry teacher walked in through the door.