15-Nov-2004
Title: Smoking With Freshmen (written for the Back To School Smutathon)
Author: CleverYoungThief
Recipient: Raletha
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Light bondage, light angst
Pairing: 6x3, past 13x6
Genre: AU/ (mostly) PWP
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. College kids are like L2 kids;
we got nothin'.
Feedback: Please?
Thanks to: Windsor and company, for hosting the smutathon that made me write this fic!
Note: This is my first attempt ever at a 6x3, so I hope you guys enjoy. ^_^;;; (Also, I told you I'm not dead.)
"He's a cool blond scheming trick
You want him so much
You feel sick
The boy can't help it
He really can't help it now
Teenage brandos stalk him in the halls
They tease him with cat calls
He's a combination
Tom Cruise, Zack O'Tool... "
--- Highschool Confidential
"Addison?"
"Here."
"Agauni?"
"Here."
"Baker?"
"Here."
"Barton? ...Barton!"
Trowa jerked out of his daydream, lifting his head. Several students around him snickered, and the study hall teacher gazed at him sternly, one eyebrow raised. "Are you entirely with us, Mr. Barton?"
"Yes," Trowa said softly. His voice was quiet, but unapologetic.
"Good. Brandelo?"
Trowa stopped hearing after Brandelo. He lowered his head back to the desk, silent. It was his first day of class in Cinq High. He tugged uncomfortably at his tie. His last high-school hadn't required him to wear a uniform. Still, he didn't miss it. He got moved around so much, he really didn't miss anything.
"Mandela... "
"Here."
"Marquise?"
There was a beat of silence, and someone laughed. Trowa sat up.
"Zechs Marquise! Eric, tap him!"
Trowa looked to the back of the room, and what he saw made his heart drop into the bottom of his stomach.
The most beautiful boy he had ever seen was sprawled in a desk at the very back of the classroom, boots kicked up on a desk in the aisle opposite his. He had a notebook resting on top of a motorcycle helmet cradled in his lap, and his ice blue eyes were riveted to it. His gloved hand moved in steady, sure movements across the page as he drew. White-blond hair cascaded down the back of the black leather jacket he wore over his dress shirt. A cigarette was tucked behind his right ear. The same ear was pierced, a silver hoop glittering in the lobe.
Noting the earring, Trowa suddenly saw the reason Zechs didn't answer the roll; there were headphones in his ears.
The boy sitting on the other side of him leaned over and tapped his shoulder. Marquise lifted his head languidly, staring straight at the teacher as he pushed the headphones to fall around his neck. Tinny hard rock issued from them.
The teacher glared, furious. "Marquise, how many times have I told you not to wear those damned headphones in my classroom?"
"Several," Zechs answered carefully, a disdainful smirk touching his lips. The classroom broke out into nervous laughter.
"That jacket is a violation of dress code, Zechs. That's it. I'm writing you up."
"Then save yourself the trouble and pretend I never showed up."
Zechs shoved his notebook into his backpack, then took the helmet under his arm and stood up with the bag slung over his shoulder, walking out of the room without even a glance back. Trowa followed his departure with rapt eyes. Zechs Marquise was heart-wrenchingly, impossibly beautiful. Desire weakened his stomach. A waterfall of blond hair splashed over black leather.
And just as quickly as Trowa saw him, the older blond boy was gone.
"Faggot," a boy nearby him whispered to another, the word almost an obscene hiss, and the other boy-Brandelo, Trowa thought-laughed softly.
Trowa's heart thudded in his chest, and his eyes felt dry in their sockets.
But he suddenly realized the two boys weren't talking about him.
Getting up as if he was in a daze, Trowa grabbed his bag and headed towards the doorway.
"Barton, where are you going?" the teacher asked sternly.
One of the boys in the back of the classroom laughed. His answer was quiet, but not a single person in the room had a problem hearing it. "He's gonna go get a blow in the back of Marquise's jeep." The guys around him snickered.
Some of the girls glowered at him in disapproval, and the boy shrugged his shoulders, laughing. "It's true! Everybody knows about him and that student teacher at Luxembourg High... "
"Oglethorpe!"
"-Khushrenada," the boy finished lamely. But there was still a small grin on his face.
"Fine, Oglethorpe. Since you seem to be so interested in Marquise's extracurricular activities, you can join him in in-house. Three days." the teacher replied, glaring. He ignored the boy's rising protest and looked back to send Trowa to his seat...
But Trowa was gone.
It didn't take him long to find Zechs. He was passing the boy's restroom on his way out to the parking lot, thinking that the older boy was probably heading for his car, but he smelled a whiff of cigarette smoke coming from the bathroom. It was fresh.
He knew instinctively whose it was.
Carefully, he pushed the door inwards and dropped his backpack by the urinals. The bathroom was filled with smoke like a Marlboro-scented mist. Zechs stood in the far corner of the bathroom, beneath the cracked window, leaned against the wall with his ankles crossed casually. He looked up as Trowa came in, but he didn't look either particularly disturbed or surprised. His hair hung in his face, and he stared through it like a wild animal peering through its mane. His ice blue eyes regarded Trowa fiercely.
"What the fuck do you want?"
The word fuck made Trowa's ears burn, even though he used it fairly regularly himself. It made the rest of him burn, too, but that was a completely different kind of fire. Perhaps it was because a fuck was exactly what was on his mind.
"A cigarette," he answered boldly, trying to smirk. He knew he probably looked even more nervous that way, a skinny lank kid with shaggy bangs and an immaculate school uniform, but he couldn't help himself. Zechs laughed at him.
"You don't smoke."
"How the fuck would you know?" Trowa replied, rolling the guttural word in his mouth. Tasting it.
"Hm. Fair enough. But I only have one cigarette left, and you sure as hell aren't smoking it. Want to shotgun?"
The puzzled expression on Trowa's face made Zechs laugh again. His laugh was velvety, rasping, and it sent shivers down Trowa's spine. "I'll blow the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale. Get it?"
Trowa's face flushed. He got it. "Is it true... what they say about you? You and the student teacher?"
Zechs looked at him then, his gaze considering and dangerous. "He was only four years older than me. It was nobody's business but mine."
"So you're-"
"That's also my business."
"Me, too," Trowa said, softly.
Zechs stilled, cigarette burning down between his fingers, his earring glittering in the half-light of a malfunctioning fluorescent panel. He looked at Trowa hard for a few moments, taking in his angular face and catlike frame. Finally, that faint, slightly self-deprecating smile returned to his face, and he threw his cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it out on the tile.
"How about that shotgun, then?"
Trowa smiled back tentatively, encouraged. "Sounds good."
"Okay." Zechs took a rumpled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and a lighter, lighting a new cigarette. He took a few puffs on it, then nodded his head. "Come here."
Trowa walked forward carefully until he was standing right in front of the older boy. The difference between their height and weight, even though it wasn't much, was intimidating. Zechs put a hand on his shoulder, holding the cigarette far out so he wouldn't burn either of them. "Open your mouth."
Trowa obeyed, and suddenly Zechs was leaning down to him. Lips that both managed to be rough and soft closed over his, and a breath of cigarette smoke flowed into his mouth. He was so busy struggling not to cough he didn't even notice when Zechs's tongue gently brushed against his. And then suddenly, he did. His cock noticed, too. He jerked back, snorting smoke out his nose like a bull. His voice wavered. "What was that?"
"Moving smoke," Zechs replied, an inscrutable expression on his face. "Want another one?"
Hell yes! Trowa's mind volunteered deliriously, but what came out of his mouth was, "Sure, I guess."
Zechs took another puff of the cigarette, and then his mouth was on Trowa's again, dry velvet lips moving against his as cigarette smoke seeped into the younger boy's lungs. But smoke wasn't the point, anymore. Trowa felt Zechs's tongue touch his again, and this time, he was ready. In a move so impulsive he would have pleaded temporary insanity, he grabbed the front of Zech's jacket with both hands and pushed the senior against the wall, tongue sliding against the older boy's. Zechs dropped the cigarette in his hand onto the floor and grabbed Trowa's shoulders hard.
Zechs's hands were hard, holding him at a slight distance, but not pushing him away. He drew back from the kiss-because that's what it was, really, when you got right down to it-and regarded the younger boy. Trowa looked up at him, green eyes wild.
"Why did you do that?"
"Wanted to," Trowa replied, his voice quiet. But there was no waver in it now.
Zechs glanced down at the front of the freshman's slacks in amusement. "Looks like you want more than a shotgun. Do you?" The question was in his eyes, too.
Trowa gazed back at him steadily. "Yes."
When Zechs smiled at him again, the expression was dangerous. Sexy, but dangerous.
"Good."
Trowa tensed instinctively as Zechs grabbed him by the front of the shirt, jerking him roughly into the nearest stall. The taller boy pushed him against the side of the stall, and his mouth covered Trowa's again, hot and rough, no smoke this time. The forgotten cigarette lay smoldering on the floor, fire alarm be damned. Their teeth clacked together, lips bruising, but neither cared in the least.
"Trowa... " Zechs whispered, his soft, rasping voice almost a growl. "Want you."
Trowa closed his eyes as he felt Zechs grab his shirt and pull it up out of his dress slacks. He gasped when he felt cold leather snaking its way up the bare skin of his chest, gloved fingers stroking him. "Christ, Zechs!" His protest swiftly trailed off into a startled groan as his nipple was pinched, hard enough to shock, but not hurt. The sensation sent a line of fire straight to his groin, and he writhed in the unrelenting steel band of Zechs's arms.
"Too hard?" Zechs asked, lips brushing the skin of Trowa's neck. Teeth quickly punctuated the question, nibbling gently at the puncture of the younger boy's shoulder, pushing down the side of Trowa's collar until he heard a seam rip loose with a soft purring sound.
"No," Trowa managed to gasp. Zechs was shoved flush against him, and he could feel the bulge between the other boy's legs. Zechs moved suddenly, hips grinding against his, and all coherent thought was lost to him. He grasped the back of the Zechs's shirt in both fists, face buried against the top of the blond's head, breathing into platinum locks.
Panic and desire raged through him alternately. Here?!? What if someone comes in? What if someone sees!?
When Zechs scraped his teeth across Trowa's collarbone, then soothed the scratch with his tongue, Trowa suddenly decided he didn't care if the principal walked in them.
Zechs moved back from him slightly, undoing his belt. Trowa leaned against the wall, not entirely sure that his legs would hold him on their own. He closed his eyes as he listened to the minute zipping noise of Zechs pulling the belt through the loops in his slacks, then let himself be sat on the closed toilet lid. He only opened his eyes when he felt Zechs pulling his arms up over his head, and the cold, rough leather of the belt against his wrists.
"Be still." The command in that low voice was unmistakable. Trowa felt the belt tighten around his wrists, felt the freezing metal of the pipe it was looped through against the backs of his hands. He felt the belt tighten, quickly, and his mouth dropped open in a silent pant. Zechs took the opportunity to close in and cover the younger boy's mouth again, taking Trowa's lower lip between his teeth and pulling softly, comparing the textures of cheek and palate with his tongue.
Trowa died for all of this, eyes sliding closed again in longing. But still, in the back of his mind, he couldn't believe it was happening to him. Surely he wasn't really being tied to a toilet by a senior, kissed senseless, an older boy whose desire he had felt pressed against his thigh? It could only be some cruel joke. He was waiting for the moment Zechs would laugh and pull away, producing a camera like magic to record the freshman's humiliation in full Polaroid glory.
Trowa's uncertain thoughts froze as he heard a faint snick sound. Zechs held up a switchblade; it gleamed brightly in the fluorescent lights. The look in those ice blue eyes was feral.
"Zechs?" he asked, the question coming out as little more than a soundless whisper.
"Trust me," the senior replied. He leaned forward and put the switchblade to Trowa's neck. The freshman could feel it pressed up against his tie, and Trowa made a low groan in the bottom of his throat, pulling against his restraints helplessly. The blade suddenly slid forward, into cloth, and then jerked back.
Trowa's blue tie fell into his lap, cut. Zechs smiled at him.
"You're overdressed. But this will come in handy." Zechs reached into Trowa's lap, lingering a moment to stroke the bulge beneath the younger boy's slacks, then grabbed the slashed tie. Trowa moaned at the loss of contact, and Zechs smirked, amused.
"Open your mouth. Wouldn't do to have anyone hear you yelling in here, would it?"
Yelling? Trowa's eyes widened, and he didn't move. But the expression in Zechs's eyes would not be denied. The blond took a few seconds to brush the bangs back from Trowa's face almost affectionately, then brought one gloved hand up to the younger boy's face, gently-but firmly-pulling down on his jaw until Trowa's mouth opened. He put the tie in Trowa's mouth, tying it at the back of his head securely. Trowa closed his eyes and swallowed, but he relaxed slightly when he felt Zechs's hand on the nape of his neck, even as the blond's knife pressed against Trowa's chest.
"Don't worry, Barton. I know it's your first time. I won't hurt you."
Pop. Pop. Pop. Trowa kept his eyes closed, afraid to look, and flinched every time he felt the pressure of the blade against him. But once he heard the small clattering sounds on the tile, he realized what the noise was.
Zechs was cutting the buttons out of his dress shirt.
That's my uniform, Trowa thought incoherently, some small part of him offended at the senior doing his best to destroy every article of clothing he was wearing. The rest of him, though, wished that Zechs would just hurry the hell up and get on with it. That latter part of him crowed in triumph as Zechs ripped his shirt open in the front and down each sleeve, and pulled it roughly down his shoulders. The mangled white dress shirt slid rustling to the tiles, and Trowa couldn't help letting out a soft whimper behind the makeshift gag that used to be his Armani tie.
Zechs stepped back a moment and surveyed his prey with satisfaction. The freshman Trowa Barton was sprawled wantonly across the closed lid of the toilet, half-laying on it, face flushed, legs spread, wrists bound over his head. Tied up with leather and gagged with silk.
A twist of desire knotted itself in his stomach, sinking between his legs as he took the younger boy in with his eyes. He was all smooth, golden skin and lean, hard muscle. Catlike and lithe, but powerful. A thin line of reddish-brown hair began below the cup of his navel, disappearing into the waistband of the boy's slacks.
Notice of that delicate line of hair-and the bulge it led to-told Zechs that those slacks would have to come off as soon as possible.
Trowa opened his eyes and watched the older boy watching him.
What the hell are you waiting for? Well, I'm sick of playing POW, Marquise. Two can play at this game. Trowa's eyes slitted, green and catlike. He leaned his head back, exposing the fine line of his neck, and groaned, the noise muffled behind the wet silk over his tongue. He rocked his hips up slowly, writhing.
Zech's eyes flared, and the blond senior kneeled on the tile in front of him, spreading his legs so sharply that Trowa inhaled in a hiss. Finally.
The older boy's nimble, gloved hands pulled his shoes off, tossing them aside. He then unbuttoned Trowa's slacks, unzipped them, and Trowa grunted as Zechs jerked both slacks and boxers down in one rough motion, flinching as they caught on his erection. But his muffled protest was lost as Zechs grasped his hipbones like handlebars and wet, tight warmth engulfed him.
Holy shit! Shit! Trowa squeezed his eyes tightly shut and jerked his head back so hard it struck the pipe behind him, but he didn't care. All he could feel was the steady lapping sensation of Zechs's tongue on the underside of his cock, then swirling around the head. The cool leather of Zechs's black gloves caressed the skin over his ribs on either side, soothing. He didn't look, but he could feel the bobbing motion of the senior's head in his lap, and he ached for his hands to be free, so he could bury them in that flowing platinum hair that was tickling the inside of his thighs.
"Nnnn...!!" His mouth couldn't fall completely open because of the gag, but his choked cries issued from behind it. His hips jerked up ineffectually against Zechs, but the older boy grabbed his hips hard, keeping Trowa still. Zechs dragged his lips torturously up Trowa's cock before releasing him. A smug grin surfaced on the older boy's lips, and he was about to speak, when-
Footsteps. Quickly, Zechs stood and straddled Trowa's lap silently, careful of the younger boy's erection, then lifted his feet off the floor, bracing them against the walls on either side of Trowa's shoulders. He started to pull his gloves off soundlessly and leaned down, easing them onto the floor, ears keenly tuned to the boy on the other side of the thin wall.
Trowa let out an almost inaudible grunt of discomfort; Zechs's full weight was situated across his thighs, and the older boy was not light-but all of his discomfort was wiped from his mind as Zechs's bare, hot hand wrapped around his erection, pumping in long, languid strokes.
Trowa's eyes shot wide again, and he was about to moan, but Zechs leaned forward quickly, pressing his free hand against Trowa's gagged mouth. He lifted the hand he had been using on Trowa, blue eyes daring as he placed his pointer finger against his lips. It was damp with sweat and pre-come. Trowa read the gesture perfectly. Not a sound. He almost whimpered as Zechs put the same finger in his mouth, sucking it. Tasting him.
Oh, Jesus.
Outside the stall, Trowa could hear the liquid splashing sound of someone using the urinal. The unknown boy outside whistled softly to himself as he urinated.
They barely breathed.
But Zechs's hand returned to his lap, teasing him. Keeping him on the knife's edge. The other hand returned to his mouth, holding in the shrieks of passion that Trowa knew he would be voicing to the ceiling if Zechs hadn't gagged him. He was so close... Little white specks of electricity crossed his field of vision, blinding him.
Suddenly, the footsteps retreated as the intruder left, the door slammed behind him, and Zechs's hand left his lap. Trowa did scream in frustration then; he was so hard it hurt. "Mrmph!!" Don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me like this!
Zechs got off of his lap and gazed down into his eyes, that disdainful amusement in his expression again. Trowa glowered at him, the angry glare tempered with passion.
"Are you sure?" Zechs asked, softly. He lifted Trowa's thigh slightly, his hand moving to the spot behind Trowa's balls. His fingers pressed that sensitive area gently. Questioning. Trowa jerked away from that questing finger, but only because it was unfamiliar to him. And he was so sensitive it felt like being struck by lightning to be touched there.
"Of course I'm sure!" Trowa snarled back, but due to the gag of cut silk in his mouth, it came out something like, "'frsemmre!"
Zechs laughed, softly, then leaned down and rummaged around in his backpack. He finally pulled out a small bottle, but Trowa couldn't read the label on it. Zechs saw him trying to look, though, and laughed again. Like a conspirator.
"Leather oil."
The senior poured some of the stuff over his fingers, then lifted Trowa's legs gently. He noted the tension in the younger boy, and looked into Trowa's eyes. There was fear there, but there was passion, too. Trowa wanted him. There was no doubt in his mind about that.
"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. But I have to prepare you first. Okay?"
Slowly, Trowa nodded, leaning his head back against the pipe, his eyes fluttering shut as Zechs slipped one finger into him. He moved away slightly, trying to escape the intruder instinctively, but Zechs's free hand on his erection, stroking gently, made all thoughts of protest melt away. He went limp. As Zechs speeded up and started to bring his tongue into play, Trowa barely noticed when the older boy added another finger. It still wasn't exactly comfortable, though.
When Zechs added a third finger, he almost jerked away. Only Zechs's free hand, gently fondling his balls, stopped him from moving.
Suddenly, the senior hit something inside of him that sent thunder down his spine. He shrieked, eyes closing, arching in pleasure.
"Ah," Zechs murmured, removing his fingers. The sound was distinctly smug. He grabbed the bottle of leather oil, and even through the haze he was under, Trowa watched avidly as Zechs unbuttoned his own dress slacks, pulling his cock free. He drew breath sharply between his clenched teeth as he unwrapped a condom and put it on, then spread the leather oil over it. When he was ready, he approached Trowa, blue eyes burning with a dark fire.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Trowa nodded, and spread his legs slightly. Zechs didn't need any other answer. He grabbed Trowa's legs and lifted them to his shoulders. He saw Trowa flinch when his erection touched the younger boy's entrance, but instead of pushing on, he leaned forward, kissing the freshman gently on the forehead.
"I promise. I won't hurt you. But you have to relax."
Trowa took a deep, heaving breath, and Zechs could see him forcing his muscles to loosen. Finally, when he thought that Trowa was ready, he pushed forward. Slowly.
Trowa closed his eyes at the sensation, a low moan trickling from behind the damp gag. It felt as if he was being split in half, but it wasn't painful. At least, not overtly so. If there was pain, it was so mixed up with the pleasure that he couldn't tell the difference between them.
Zechs pushed forward until he was seated fully inside Trowa, then stopped, letting his pent-up breath loose in a harsh gasp. He waited until the freshman adjusted and began to writhe against him, head tilting, and then he began to move.
He moved in slow, steady, deep strokes. He knew that it would be just as good to take the boy rough and fast, pound him into the wall... but it was Trowa's first time. Zechs wished that his first lover had been as gentle as he was being now. So he didn't go fast. He didn't need to. It felt too good to want anything else out of it. He was giving the young freshman something he himself had never had a chance to have.
Trowa was lost. He couldn't feel the cold porcelain beneath him, the tiles against his socked feet, the freezing metal against his hands or his head. All he could feel was Zechs's body moving against him. In him. Every few strokes, the older boy would hit that spot in him, that spot that made his body want to fly apart in a thousand sparkling pieces. He screamed behind the gag now, but Zechs knew it wasn't pain, and he didn't bother trying to stifle the cries. They were both beyond that.
He knew Trowa wouldn't last long. The younger boy was already too wound up. Too nervous, too excited, too overwhelmed, too everything. Zechs increased his thrusts, driving a little harder... just a little faster. Suddenly, the freshman beneath him stiffened, a low groan tumbling from his gagged mouth as the space between their feverish bodies became hot and slick. Trowa clamped down on him, impossibly tight, and Zechs had no choice. He tumbled after Trowa, so hard that for a moment, everything was gray.
Like smoke.
Trowa put his slacks, boxers, and boots back on, wincing at the pain in his backside. It would fade, Zechs told him. But part of him didn't want it to. He wanted to carry the encounter with him like a brand. Maybe I should get a tattoo that says, "I fucked Zechs Marquise," he thought, smiling ruefully. There wasn't much humor in it.
"I know that face. Post-coital depression. Have a cigarette. It'll make you feel better." Zechs pulled a fresh pack from his backpack, opening it and handing one to Trowa. Trowa took it, then scowled. "I thought you said you didn't have any more cigarettes?"
That smirk again, cool amusement at the expense of everything and everyone, even himself.
"I lied."
Zechs held the cigarette out to Trowa, but for a second, Trowa didn't take it. He just stared into the taller boy's face, as if searching for something.
" ...So, what now?"
Zechs stood there, holding the cigarette out to him as if he could do it for a million years. As patient as a river. Finally, he shrugged, ice blue eyes inscrutable. "I'm leaving here. After that, whatever you want."
Whatever you want.
I want-- But Trowa knew it wasn't the time for that now. He took the cigarette from Zechs's outstretched hand, careful not to break it.
There was a period of comfortable silence between them as Zechs lit his cigarette, then gave his lighter to Trowa. After a few attempts, Trowa finally got his own lit.
The cigarette tasted like French kisses.
Owari
(:./cyt/smoking)
