Fic: John the Revelator
Oct. 8th, 2009 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: John the Revelator
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/John, Bruce/Anton
Notes: ~4,000 words. Sixth installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy verse. I got the title from another Depeche Mode song, but that song is adapted from the original gospel song, which Chris refers to in the text. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starsandgraces for the beta read.
Warning: Underage sex, a whole lot more blasphemy.
Summary: John's first day back at school post-illness is filled with distractions, including Chris Pine, a handsome priest and a new transfer student.
Previous fics in the series:
I Will Deliver (I) | Boys Say Go (II) | Get Right With Me (III) | Discord (IV) | One Caress (V)
John drums his fingers against his notebook and sniffs, waiting for Religion to begin. He's recovering from his cold and feels like death warmed over, but his parents insisted he couldn't miss more than two days of school. And it's not so bad because it means he gets to see Karl again. Not that he wants to make Karl ill, but that might be a risk he'll have to take. It's been far too long since he's able to touch him, taste him. He can't wait until the middle of the day, when they have class together.
Right now, the teacher keeps droning about how they have to wait for Father Bruce, who has a special announcement. John can just imagine how much this day is going to drag; he's already bored to death and he's only been sitting for five minutes. He sighs and flips to an empty page at the back of his notebook, hunching forward as he starts to write a note for Karl; he can cram it into his locker between classes.
Never thought I'd say this, but I miss that broke-down Buick of yours so much. Well, I miss you. You'll be around after school today, right? I've still got the sniffles but that's not going to stop me from getting my hands on your
"Well, who's that writing? John the Revelator!"
He's interrupted by the sound of someone singing paired with a hip bumping into his desk, sending the ink of his pen into a haywire spiral along the page. John looks up and frowns at the sight of Chris Pine standing over him, clapping his hands and laughing. He closes his notebook swiftly, pushing it away when Chris tries to grab for it.
"Oh, come on, Cho. Sharing is caring." Pine leans in close, his breath ghosting close to John's mouth, making him want to flinch. He doesn't, though. "Whatcha writing?" he whispers, grinning. "A note to the missus?"
"None of your business," he replies, as stiffly as possible. Pine smirks as he stands up, cocking his head in amusement. John bristles at his expression, shaking his head. He wishes he didn't have so many classes with the jerk. "Why the hell are you so interested in me all of a sudden? It's creeping me out."
He shrugs, taking advantage of the fact that the rest of the class is making a racket, still waiting for Father Bruce. "Just making conversation. We're both strapping, handsome young men with athletic interests and some...friends in common." He lingers on the word "friends," which makes John fidget a little, much to his dismay. "Why not get to know each other?"
"What are you, gay or something?" John says. He tries on a sneer but immediately regrets it—mostly because it's an entirely hypocritical thing to do, but also because Chris' sharp bark of laughter means the guy can see right through him. He pats John's shoulder in a patronizing fashion and John can feel the shape of his hand even after he pulls it back.
"Takes one to know one, sweetheart."
John firmly presses his lips together, trying not to scowl and give himself away anymore than he already has. He was right to suspect that Chris knows his secret—or, at least, he knows something about it. But how does he know? He figures it has to do with Karl's confession. He wants to jump out of his seat and stare him down, ask just which kindly priest is ramming his ass in exchange for this information. But then Father Bruce comes to the door of the classroom and yells at everyone to quiet down and Chris just smiles and slinks away to his seat. And just like that, the tense moment is over. John takes a deep breath and sits up straight, trying to put it all out of his mind as Father Bruce starts babbling about some kind of big announcement.
"All right, quiet down, everyone," he says, and John looks up at him. Father Bruce is a pretty good-looking guy, with silvery hair and crisp, alert blue eyes. He's got crow's feet too, but they just give him more character. He's a striking man, probably drop-dead gorgeous when he was younger. John quirks a brow, wondering if the Father and Chris Pine have more in common than just their eye color. He doesn't necessarily strike John as gay, but he and Karl once had a conversation where they concluded that all Catholic priests were probably gay. Didn't really seem like something a straight guy would want to do with his life.
"As you know," Father Bruce continues, "our school is open to students from all walks of life who have come here to learn the ways of the Lord. That includes young men and women from foreign countries...such as Mr. Bana, of course."
Eric Bana smiles smugly at the acknowledgement across the room and John rolls his eyes, half-expecting him to stand up on his desk and start a chant of "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi, oi, oi!" It wouldn't be the first time. He considers flipping his notebook open again and finishing his letter to Karl when someone else catches his eye at the front of the classroom.
"So, bearing that in mind, I'd like everyone to welcome our new transfer student from Russia, Anton Yelchin," Father Bruce says. And he lightly pats the back of an absolutely cherubic looking boy, standing there in a uniform that's slightly too big, with large, expressive eyes, cupid's bow lips and a mop of unruly, soft brown curls. Well, they look soft. His hands are clasped behind his back and for all the innocence he radiates, when he gazes around the room at the rest of the class, John swears he can sense a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Without meaning to, John glances over at Chris, interested in his reaction. He's not surprised to see Chris leaning forward in his chair as he scopes the new kid out, resting his chin in his palm as a sly grin slithers across his face. John squints and wonders how he didn't ever notice Pine was gay before. It's all too obvious now.
"So, let's make Anton feel at home, everyone. Got that?"
Father Bruce pats the kid on the back and takes his leave, the teacher stepping forward to show Anton to an empty desk. It happens to be next to John's, in the row to his left, and directly in front of Chris. Perfect, John thinks. Fresh meat for Pine. He gets a better look at Anton when he sits down and nods his thanks to the teacher. The boy is insanely attractive, with pale skin and cheeks lightly kissed with a blush that seems sort of obscene when viewed up close. And his hair looks even softer now.
Most of the other kids are looking at Anton, watching as he silently pulls his Bible and notebook from his bag, setting them on the desk before him. John notes that even Zoe Saldana is getting a good leer in while the teacher is distracted. Chris, of course, can't help himself for very long and taps the boy on the shoulder to get his attention. Anton turns and looks at him with only a vague, understated curiosity, not saying a word.
"So, if you're from Russia, shouldn't you be in the ESL class?" Pine asks, tilting his head. John almost laughs. As if Anton is going to understand him, if he actually does belong in ESL.
Anton just quirks a brow, looking completely underwhelmed with Chris. "I speak English fluently," he says. His accent is soft and lilting, nothing that overpowers his voice. Not like Bana's distinct Australian twang. "I've lived in America for years."
"Well, how about that?" Chris nods, looking impressed with the information. "Did you hear that, Cho? He's all acclimated and everything."
"Yeah, great," John mutters, looking down as he opens his notebook again. When he lifts his head next, he feels Anton's eyes on him, the weight of his stare like a metric ton of bricks as it rakes over him. He blinks, touching his hair self-consciously as he nods to the kid, giving him an awkward half-smile. "Hey. I'm John."
"Hello," is all the boy says, likely knowing full well that John already has his name memorized from earlier. Anton's voice is low in register and sweet, his eyes unwavering as they focus only on him. John can only nod in response, clearing his throat nervously.
He chances a look back at Chris, who just smiles deviously to him, waggling his brows. John sniffs and looks back down at his notes, willing himself to focus completely on the lesson at hand. Still, he hears Pine flipping through the pages of his Bible behind him; a few minutes later, he nudges John's side, passing him a note. John exhales as he reads it, feeling his breath hitch.
And I took the little book out of the angel's hand, and ate it up; and it was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it, my belly was bitter. (Revelation 10:10)
He crumples the note up and doesn't dare turn his head throughout the rest of the class, even though Chris keeps humming that damn gospel song.
The day crawls by, just as predicted, and even though John's not feeling one hundred percent, he's grateful when his study hall period rolls around. He blows it off and heads to the gym, changing into his athletic uniform and going to shoot some hoops. And, because he seemingly can't catch a break, Chris Pine is in the gymnasium as well, running laps in a sweaty tank top and shorts. He catches sight of John and waves with his signature feral grin; he just sighs and nods back, going to the spare basketball hoop and focusing on his game. He glances over at the bleachers in between lay-ups and looks over the few kids scattered there. Zach Quinto is sitting toward the back, though he's not wearing gym clothes. He seems to be completely fixated on the sight of Chris running, his eyes following him as he runs in circles.
Very, very interesting, John thinks. He makes a mental note to tell Karl about it later and starts to dribble the ball toward the net.
John finishes up after a while and towels off, heading back to the locker room for a quick shower. After he gets changed, he goes to the bathroom and concentrates on combing his hair into a perfect side part. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chris' face suddenly appears in the mirror, his smirking reflection looming right behind John's.
"Jesus! What the fuck, Pine?"
"Hey, Johnny. Nice moves out there. We should play one-on-one some time."
"Yeah, no, I don't think so." John turns around and huffs at him, which doesn't seem to deter or erase that cocky grin one bit. "Why are you following me around?"
Chris puts his hands up defensively. "Hey, I was already running when you got here. I'm just being friendly."
John huffs and ignores him, striding out of the bathroom and going back to his gym locker, retrieving his bag. Pine follows him, naturally, and John kind of wants to scream. They've never been enemies, he and Chris, but they've certainly never been good friends. And now he's about five seconds from just sucker punching the guy.
"So..." Chris muses, leaning against the lockers next to John's. "Any big after-school plans today?"
John slams the door shut as he slips his backpack onto his shoulders, looking around to make sure no one else is nearby before whispering harshly. "Look, cut the shit. Is this about me and Karl?"
"You and Karl?!" Pine whispers back, clutching at his tie as if it's a string of pearls. "Why, John, I had no idea! Where are you two lovebirds registered? I'll have to get you a toaster oven."
John feels himself growl, jabbing a finger at Chris and hissing. "Look, I don't know which priest you're fucking to get your information, but—"
"A priest? Me?" Chris laughs suddenly, shaking his head brusquely. "That's a good one. All the priests here are ugly as sin. Well, except good ol' Brucey, but he pretty much hates me."
"I can't imagine why."
John doesn't care to discuss it any longer so he turns and makes a beeline for the locker room exit, walking faster when he hears Pine trailing behind him. He doesn't quite know how to shake him at this point, so he just tries his best to ignore him as he walks down the basement corridor. Chris, though, always has to be the center of attention, and it's not long before he's running to catch up with John, grasping his arm.
"You're going to give me a complex with all this running away you're doing," he says. "Why the hell did you think I was fucking a priest?"
"Because that's the only way you could know," John says, sullenly. "And it seems like something you'd do." He looks at Chris and thinks that he can spot something dangerous flashing in his eyes; he draws back, frowning when Chris immediately steps forward, tightening his grip on John's arm.
"You know, I'm not the only bad guy around here, Cho. You missed a lot more than just some homework when you were out sick."
"I don't even want to know what you're talking about, Pine. And get the fuck off me."
John shoves Chris backward and after a brief moment of hesitation, he immediately retaliates, pushing the shorter boy against the wall and holding him there. He's lither than Chris, but the other boy is a bit stronger, not to mention a lot more menacing—though at this angle, he's actually quite attractive, his eyes bright and daring. His lips press together in a way that makes John wonder whether he's planning on hitting him or kissing him. For a fleeting moment, he doesn't know which one he would prefer. John shivers, gripping Chris' wrists and squinting at him in warning.
"Don't—" he starts, but then they both hear the soft sound of someone talking nearby. They both look up and realize they're right near the door of the teachers' lounge, and that's enough to split them apart, knowing there's an authority figure inside the room. Plus, the door is slightly ajar. They glare at each other and John is about to suggest some kind of temporary truce when an unmistakable noise hits their ears.
A low moan.
Pine's eyes widen immediately as he darts his gaze toward the door. In an instant, they're both scrambling to crouch down by the narrow opening, trying their best not to make themselves heard or seen. John ends up on one knee, closest to the door, and Chris hunkers down behind him, one hand clutching his shoulder, his breath warm and ticklish against the back of his neck. It's not entirely uncomfortable. John licks his lips faintly and does his best to suppress his telltale sniffles.
Inside the lounge, Father Bruce is sitting in a swivel chair, his hands clasped before him as he addresses a student. The student in question happens to be sitting in the Father's lap, his mouth swollen and uniform disheveled. John swallows, already recognizing the curly mass of hair. That soft, soft hair.
"I've taken a special interest in you, Yelchin. Most wouldn't see fit to take in a young man with a track record like yours. An expulsion for trying to seduce your last headmaster...doesn't look too good on paper."
Chris gasps at that, audibly enough for John to hear, and when he looks back, the guy is grinning like a hyena. John just blinks, feeling dazed by the information. Expulsion? Seduction? God, that wasn't just mischief he saw in those eyes, was it?
Father Bruce keeps his eyes on Anton's face, betraying nothing in his stern tone of voice. "You're very lucky to be here," he continues. "And you'll have to repay me for the favor. Do we have an understanding?"
"Yes, Father," Anton replies, nodding dutifully.
"Then hop to it, kid."
And just like that, Anton is moving off Father Bruce's lap and sliding down to the floor, kneeling between his legs. John's fingers flex against the doorframe as he watches the boy's delicate hands open up the priest's slacks and carefully extract his long, slender length. He lets out a shuddery gust of air when Anton's mouth goes to work, and Chris squeezes his shoulder harder.
"Holy shit," Chris whispers. "I fucking love this school."
John doesn't know how to reply, not when he's so wrapped up in the sight of Anton proficiently sucking on Father Bruce's cock—cheeks hollowed, jaw flexing, tongue occasionally peeking out as it swirls masterfully around the shaft and down to the base. The Father is obviously doing all he can not to make any noise, biting his lip as he buries his fingers in Anton's hair, twisting them amidst the curls. His face is completely slack with pleasure, the lines by his eyes only showing when Anton does something particularly nice, whatever that may be. John feels terribly disturbed and aroused at once, and Chris isn't making it any better by breathing down his neck—literally.
Then John shifts slightly, only realizing he's gotten hard when he feels Chris' bulge against him.
"Back up," he whispers, as insistently as he can. Chris just smirks and shakes his head.
"No way. The view's too good from here."
Their collective attention returns to the scene playing out before them when Anton makes a small, choked noise. Father Bruce is sitting up slightly in his chair, all-out fucking the boy's mouth now, and Anton's fingers pull at the fabric of his trousers in response. John stares at the priest's Adam's apple, moving sinuously against his collar; he swallows hard, unconsciously mirroring the action.
"Chris," he whispers again when Father Bruce sounds close to coming. "We have to get out of here."
"What? Fuck that. I wanna stay for the money shot."
"They'll see us, asshole. Come on."
He grabs Pine by the arm and wrenches him off the floor, pulling him along as he runs down the corridor—which is more difficult than usual, in his current situation. Chris keeps pace, following him back to the boys' locker room and only raising his voice to bitch when they're safely inside.
"Christ, Cho! I can't believe you pulled me away! That was, like, on the list of the top five hottest things I've ever seen in my life."
"We would have gotten caught."
John squints, trying to look as annoyed as he can, but it's hard to stay focused on that when he's so uncomfortably hard. He leans against a locker and tilts his hips toward it, trying to get some relief. Chris blinks at him and laughs faintly, looking around the deserted locker room.
"You need some help with that?" Pine murmurs. He steps forward, close enough for John to see the firm line of his erection creasing his trousers.
"No, just...you take care of yours, and I'll take care of mine. Okay?"
"Well, that's a lot less fun," Chris muses. He shrugs, though, and undoes the zipper of his fly, pushing his hand down his pants. John can't help but gawk at the utterly shameless display.
"If only I'd known what was waiting for me at school when I woke up today," John mutters with a frustrated groan, unable to take his eyes off Chris.
"You would have left your underwear out of the equation?" Chris asks. His breath hitches as he squeezes his cock and after everything John has seen, he finds it unbearably sexy. Pine laughs and licks his lips in a way that's just not fair. "Way ahead of you, Cho."
"Fuck," John simply says. He opens up his own trousers and grips his leaking cock with a firm hand, tugging and stroking to get himself off as quickly as possible. Chris makes a noise of protest and moves closer, his hand still moving rhythmically under his uniform.
"Hey, come on, man. We didn't expect to be in this situation, but here we are. So just enjoy it, huh?"
"I don't want to enjoy it." John grits his teeth, turning away from him. Of course he can't enjoy this—he's with Karl, and the last thing he should be doing is mutually masturbating with Chris Pine, of all people. In the boys' locker room. After seeing...all that. "I just...want to finish this and forget—ahh—forget it ever happened."
"Yeah....you and Urban are a lot alike that way," Pine mutters, dropping his head back against a locker door. John shuts his eyes tightly and twists his own hand on his cock, bucking. He's so close now and Chris isn't helping at all.
"Stop talking about him...just stop talking," he hisses.
"Yeah, you usually do the talking, don't you...?" Chris' eyes are shut now when John glances at him; his mouth hangs slightly open, wet and dark pink. John feels a shock of electricity run through his blood at the sight, ending at his twitching cock. Chris keeps talking, as if he's envisioning it. "He likes it when you talk...when you moan for him."
"Shh—"
John cuts himself off with a sudden and undignified cry, shuddering all over as he comes hard, mostly into his hand. He blinks dazedly down at his cum-streaked palm after he collects himself, panting slightly. When he looks over, Chris is still going at it beside him; his trousers now slung low on his hips, enough to show the topography of bones hugged by hard, straining muscle. John shivers, looking a little too long, and he only notices the bruises there when Chris is right about to come—they're a few days old, still lightly purpled but mostly fading into yellowish marks, like stains. Pine jerks with a hoarse gasp as he finally comes and John feels his face burn with the realization that he now knows exactly how Chris Pine looks and sounds when he achieves orgasm.
That can't be good.
John zips up with his free hand, forcing himself to look away and going to the bathroom, grabbing paper towels for both of them. He wipes his hand clean and when he goes back to the lockers, the bruises are nowhere to be seen; Chris' pants are already up over his hips. He nods wordless thanks, taking the offered paper towel from John and dabbing at his palm. John clears his throat uncomfortably, shifting in place when Chris arches a brow at him.
"Care to share with the class, Mr. Cho?" he says, snidely.
John juts his chin out a bit. "What happened to you? The bruises?"
Chris smiles, finally, tossing the balled-up paper towel behind him and shrugging. It's not one of his usual smiles, John notices; there's something lurking behind it, a strange sadness he doesn't recognize on that face. "Why don't you ask your boyfriend?"
"Karl?" John asks, feeling as blank as he must look. What would Karl have to do with it? He wouldn't...no. He wouldn't.
"Quite the revelation, huh?"
Chris adjusts his backpack and pats John's shoulder, much more gently than he did earlier in the day. They exchange a look that he can't quite decipher.
"He really likes you," he says, quietly. And while John suspects he's right, he doesn't have a single thing to say about it, at the moment. Chris hesitates briefly before trotting off to the exit, the bounce already making its way back into his step. He calls back to John as he lets himself out: "Hey, this was fun! Let's do it again some time!"
John stands, still as a stone, clutching the straps of his backpack with both hands and staring at the slate-gray metal of the lockers. He winces at the sound of the door swinging and slamming shut, echoing throughout the empty room. Chris was right; homework is obviously the least of what he's missed.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/John, Bruce/Anton
Notes: ~4,000 words. Sixth installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy verse. I got the title from another Depeche Mode song, but that song is adapted from the original gospel song, which Chris refers to in the text. Thanks to
starsandgraces for the beta read.Warning: Underage sex, a whole lot more blasphemy.
Summary: John's first day back at school post-illness is filled with distractions, including Chris Pine, a handsome priest and a new transfer student.
Previous fics in the series:
I Will Deliver (I) | Boys Say Go (II) | Get Right With Me (III) | Discord (IV) | One Caress (V)
John drums his fingers against his notebook and sniffs, waiting for Religion to begin. He's recovering from his cold and feels like death warmed over, but his parents insisted he couldn't miss more than two days of school. And it's not so bad because it means he gets to see Karl again. Not that he wants to make Karl ill, but that might be a risk he'll have to take. It's been far too long since he's able to touch him, taste him. He can't wait until the middle of the day, when they have class together.
Right now, the teacher keeps droning about how they have to wait for Father Bruce, who has a special announcement. John can just imagine how much this day is going to drag; he's already bored to death and he's only been sitting for five minutes. He sighs and flips to an empty page at the back of his notebook, hunching forward as he starts to write a note for Karl; he can cram it into his locker between classes.
Never thought I'd say this, but I miss that broke-down Buick of yours so much. Well, I miss you. You'll be around after school today, right? I've still got the sniffles but that's not going to stop me from getting my hands on your
"Well, who's that writing? John the Revelator!"
He's interrupted by the sound of someone singing paired with a hip bumping into his desk, sending the ink of his pen into a haywire spiral along the page. John looks up and frowns at the sight of Chris Pine standing over him, clapping his hands and laughing. He closes his notebook swiftly, pushing it away when Chris tries to grab for it.
"Oh, come on, Cho. Sharing is caring." Pine leans in close, his breath ghosting close to John's mouth, making him want to flinch. He doesn't, though. "Whatcha writing?" he whispers, grinning. "A note to the missus?"
"None of your business," he replies, as stiffly as possible. Pine smirks as he stands up, cocking his head in amusement. John bristles at his expression, shaking his head. He wishes he didn't have so many classes with the jerk. "Why the hell are you so interested in me all of a sudden? It's creeping me out."
He shrugs, taking advantage of the fact that the rest of the class is making a racket, still waiting for Father Bruce. "Just making conversation. We're both strapping, handsome young men with athletic interests and some...friends in common." He lingers on the word "friends," which makes John fidget a little, much to his dismay. "Why not get to know each other?"
"What are you, gay or something?" John says. He tries on a sneer but immediately regrets it—mostly because it's an entirely hypocritical thing to do, but also because Chris' sharp bark of laughter means the guy can see right through him. He pats John's shoulder in a patronizing fashion and John can feel the shape of his hand even after he pulls it back.
"Takes one to know one, sweetheart."
John firmly presses his lips together, trying not to scowl and give himself away anymore than he already has. He was right to suspect that Chris knows his secret—or, at least, he knows something about it. But how does he know? He figures it has to do with Karl's confession. He wants to jump out of his seat and stare him down, ask just which kindly priest is ramming his ass in exchange for this information. But then Father Bruce comes to the door of the classroom and yells at everyone to quiet down and Chris just smiles and slinks away to his seat. And just like that, the tense moment is over. John takes a deep breath and sits up straight, trying to put it all out of his mind as Father Bruce starts babbling about some kind of big announcement.
"All right, quiet down, everyone," he says, and John looks up at him. Father Bruce is a pretty good-looking guy, with silvery hair and crisp, alert blue eyes. He's got crow's feet too, but they just give him more character. He's a striking man, probably drop-dead gorgeous when he was younger. John quirks a brow, wondering if the Father and Chris Pine have more in common than just their eye color. He doesn't necessarily strike John as gay, but he and Karl once had a conversation where they concluded that all Catholic priests were probably gay. Didn't really seem like something a straight guy would want to do with his life.
"As you know," Father Bruce continues, "our school is open to students from all walks of life who have come here to learn the ways of the Lord. That includes young men and women from foreign countries...such as Mr. Bana, of course."
Eric Bana smiles smugly at the acknowledgement across the room and John rolls his eyes, half-expecting him to stand up on his desk and start a chant of "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi, oi, oi!" It wouldn't be the first time. He considers flipping his notebook open again and finishing his letter to Karl when someone else catches his eye at the front of the classroom.
"So, bearing that in mind, I'd like everyone to welcome our new transfer student from Russia, Anton Yelchin," Father Bruce says. And he lightly pats the back of an absolutely cherubic looking boy, standing there in a uniform that's slightly too big, with large, expressive eyes, cupid's bow lips and a mop of unruly, soft brown curls. Well, they look soft. His hands are clasped behind his back and for all the innocence he radiates, when he gazes around the room at the rest of the class, John swears he can sense a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Without meaning to, John glances over at Chris, interested in his reaction. He's not surprised to see Chris leaning forward in his chair as he scopes the new kid out, resting his chin in his palm as a sly grin slithers across his face. John squints and wonders how he didn't ever notice Pine was gay before. It's all too obvious now.
"So, let's make Anton feel at home, everyone. Got that?"
Father Bruce pats the kid on the back and takes his leave, the teacher stepping forward to show Anton to an empty desk. It happens to be next to John's, in the row to his left, and directly in front of Chris. Perfect, John thinks. Fresh meat for Pine. He gets a better look at Anton when he sits down and nods his thanks to the teacher. The boy is insanely attractive, with pale skin and cheeks lightly kissed with a blush that seems sort of obscene when viewed up close. And his hair looks even softer now.
Most of the other kids are looking at Anton, watching as he silently pulls his Bible and notebook from his bag, setting them on the desk before him. John notes that even Zoe Saldana is getting a good leer in while the teacher is distracted. Chris, of course, can't help himself for very long and taps the boy on the shoulder to get his attention. Anton turns and looks at him with only a vague, understated curiosity, not saying a word.
"So, if you're from Russia, shouldn't you be in the ESL class?" Pine asks, tilting his head. John almost laughs. As if Anton is going to understand him, if he actually does belong in ESL.
Anton just quirks a brow, looking completely underwhelmed with Chris. "I speak English fluently," he says. His accent is soft and lilting, nothing that overpowers his voice. Not like Bana's distinct Australian twang. "I've lived in America for years."
"Well, how about that?" Chris nods, looking impressed with the information. "Did you hear that, Cho? He's all acclimated and everything."
"Yeah, great," John mutters, looking down as he opens his notebook again. When he lifts his head next, he feels Anton's eyes on him, the weight of his stare like a metric ton of bricks as it rakes over him. He blinks, touching his hair self-consciously as he nods to the kid, giving him an awkward half-smile. "Hey. I'm John."
"Hello," is all the boy says, likely knowing full well that John already has his name memorized from earlier. Anton's voice is low in register and sweet, his eyes unwavering as they focus only on him. John can only nod in response, clearing his throat nervously.
He chances a look back at Chris, who just smiles deviously to him, waggling his brows. John sniffs and looks back down at his notes, willing himself to focus completely on the lesson at hand. Still, he hears Pine flipping through the pages of his Bible behind him; a few minutes later, he nudges John's side, passing him a note. John exhales as he reads it, feeling his breath hitch.
And I took the little book out of the angel's hand, and ate it up; and it was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it, my belly was bitter. (Revelation 10:10)
He crumples the note up and doesn't dare turn his head throughout the rest of the class, even though Chris keeps humming that damn gospel song.
The day crawls by, just as predicted, and even though John's not feeling one hundred percent, he's grateful when his study hall period rolls around. He blows it off and heads to the gym, changing into his athletic uniform and going to shoot some hoops. And, because he seemingly can't catch a break, Chris Pine is in the gymnasium as well, running laps in a sweaty tank top and shorts. He catches sight of John and waves with his signature feral grin; he just sighs and nods back, going to the spare basketball hoop and focusing on his game. He glances over at the bleachers in between lay-ups and looks over the few kids scattered there. Zach Quinto is sitting toward the back, though he's not wearing gym clothes. He seems to be completely fixated on the sight of Chris running, his eyes following him as he runs in circles.
Very, very interesting, John thinks. He makes a mental note to tell Karl about it later and starts to dribble the ball toward the net.
John finishes up after a while and towels off, heading back to the locker room for a quick shower. After he gets changed, he goes to the bathroom and concentrates on combing his hair into a perfect side part. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chris' face suddenly appears in the mirror, his smirking reflection looming right behind John's.
"Jesus! What the fuck, Pine?"
"Hey, Johnny. Nice moves out there. We should play one-on-one some time."
"Yeah, no, I don't think so." John turns around and huffs at him, which doesn't seem to deter or erase that cocky grin one bit. "Why are you following me around?"
Chris puts his hands up defensively. "Hey, I was already running when you got here. I'm just being friendly."
John huffs and ignores him, striding out of the bathroom and going back to his gym locker, retrieving his bag. Pine follows him, naturally, and John kind of wants to scream. They've never been enemies, he and Chris, but they've certainly never been good friends. And now he's about five seconds from just sucker punching the guy.
"So..." Chris muses, leaning against the lockers next to John's. "Any big after-school plans today?"
John slams the door shut as he slips his backpack onto his shoulders, looking around to make sure no one else is nearby before whispering harshly. "Look, cut the shit. Is this about me and Karl?"
"You and Karl?!" Pine whispers back, clutching at his tie as if it's a string of pearls. "Why, John, I had no idea! Where are you two lovebirds registered? I'll have to get you a toaster oven."
John feels himself growl, jabbing a finger at Chris and hissing. "Look, I don't know which priest you're fucking to get your information, but—"
"A priest? Me?" Chris laughs suddenly, shaking his head brusquely. "That's a good one. All the priests here are ugly as sin. Well, except good ol' Brucey, but he pretty much hates me."
"I can't imagine why."
John doesn't care to discuss it any longer so he turns and makes a beeline for the locker room exit, walking faster when he hears Pine trailing behind him. He doesn't quite know how to shake him at this point, so he just tries his best to ignore him as he walks down the basement corridor. Chris, though, always has to be the center of attention, and it's not long before he's running to catch up with John, grasping his arm.
"You're going to give me a complex with all this running away you're doing," he says. "Why the hell did you think I was fucking a priest?"
"Because that's the only way you could know," John says, sullenly. "And it seems like something you'd do." He looks at Chris and thinks that he can spot something dangerous flashing in his eyes; he draws back, frowning when Chris immediately steps forward, tightening his grip on John's arm.
"You know, I'm not the only bad guy around here, Cho. You missed a lot more than just some homework when you were out sick."
"I don't even want to know what you're talking about, Pine. And get the fuck off me."
John shoves Chris backward and after a brief moment of hesitation, he immediately retaliates, pushing the shorter boy against the wall and holding him there. He's lither than Chris, but the other boy is a bit stronger, not to mention a lot more menacing—though at this angle, he's actually quite attractive, his eyes bright and daring. His lips press together in a way that makes John wonder whether he's planning on hitting him or kissing him. For a fleeting moment, he doesn't know which one he would prefer. John shivers, gripping Chris' wrists and squinting at him in warning.
"Don't—" he starts, but then they both hear the soft sound of someone talking nearby. They both look up and realize they're right near the door of the teachers' lounge, and that's enough to split them apart, knowing there's an authority figure inside the room. Plus, the door is slightly ajar. They glare at each other and John is about to suggest some kind of temporary truce when an unmistakable noise hits their ears.
A low moan.
Pine's eyes widen immediately as he darts his gaze toward the door. In an instant, they're both scrambling to crouch down by the narrow opening, trying their best not to make themselves heard or seen. John ends up on one knee, closest to the door, and Chris hunkers down behind him, one hand clutching his shoulder, his breath warm and ticklish against the back of his neck. It's not entirely uncomfortable. John licks his lips faintly and does his best to suppress his telltale sniffles.
Inside the lounge, Father Bruce is sitting in a swivel chair, his hands clasped before him as he addresses a student. The student in question happens to be sitting in the Father's lap, his mouth swollen and uniform disheveled. John swallows, already recognizing the curly mass of hair. That soft, soft hair.
"I've taken a special interest in you, Yelchin. Most wouldn't see fit to take in a young man with a track record like yours. An expulsion for trying to seduce your last headmaster...doesn't look too good on paper."
Chris gasps at that, audibly enough for John to hear, and when he looks back, the guy is grinning like a hyena. John just blinks, feeling dazed by the information. Expulsion? Seduction? God, that wasn't just mischief he saw in those eyes, was it?
Father Bruce keeps his eyes on Anton's face, betraying nothing in his stern tone of voice. "You're very lucky to be here," he continues. "And you'll have to repay me for the favor. Do we have an understanding?"
"Yes, Father," Anton replies, nodding dutifully.
"Then hop to it, kid."
And just like that, Anton is moving off Father Bruce's lap and sliding down to the floor, kneeling between his legs. John's fingers flex against the doorframe as he watches the boy's delicate hands open up the priest's slacks and carefully extract his long, slender length. He lets out a shuddery gust of air when Anton's mouth goes to work, and Chris squeezes his shoulder harder.
"Holy shit," Chris whispers. "I fucking love this school."
John doesn't know how to reply, not when he's so wrapped up in the sight of Anton proficiently sucking on Father Bruce's cock—cheeks hollowed, jaw flexing, tongue occasionally peeking out as it swirls masterfully around the shaft and down to the base. The Father is obviously doing all he can not to make any noise, biting his lip as he buries his fingers in Anton's hair, twisting them amidst the curls. His face is completely slack with pleasure, the lines by his eyes only showing when Anton does something particularly nice, whatever that may be. John feels terribly disturbed and aroused at once, and Chris isn't making it any better by breathing down his neck—literally.
Then John shifts slightly, only realizing he's gotten hard when he feels Chris' bulge against him.
"Back up," he whispers, as insistently as he can. Chris just smirks and shakes his head.
"No way. The view's too good from here."
Their collective attention returns to the scene playing out before them when Anton makes a small, choked noise. Father Bruce is sitting up slightly in his chair, all-out fucking the boy's mouth now, and Anton's fingers pull at the fabric of his trousers in response. John stares at the priest's Adam's apple, moving sinuously against his collar; he swallows hard, unconsciously mirroring the action.
"Chris," he whispers again when Father Bruce sounds close to coming. "We have to get out of here."
"What? Fuck that. I wanna stay for the money shot."
"They'll see us, asshole. Come on."
He grabs Pine by the arm and wrenches him off the floor, pulling him along as he runs down the corridor—which is more difficult than usual, in his current situation. Chris keeps pace, following him back to the boys' locker room and only raising his voice to bitch when they're safely inside.
"Christ, Cho! I can't believe you pulled me away! That was, like, on the list of the top five hottest things I've ever seen in my life."
"We would have gotten caught."
John squints, trying to look as annoyed as he can, but it's hard to stay focused on that when he's so uncomfortably hard. He leans against a locker and tilts his hips toward it, trying to get some relief. Chris blinks at him and laughs faintly, looking around the deserted locker room.
"You need some help with that?" Pine murmurs. He steps forward, close enough for John to see the firm line of his erection creasing his trousers.
"No, just...you take care of yours, and I'll take care of mine. Okay?"
"Well, that's a lot less fun," Chris muses. He shrugs, though, and undoes the zipper of his fly, pushing his hand down his pants. John can't help but gawk at the utterly shameless display.
"If only I'd known what was waiting for me at school when I woke up today," John mutters with a frustrated groan, unable to take his eyes off Chris.
"You would have left your underwear out of the equation?" Chris asks. His breath hitches as he squeezes his cock and after everything John has seen, he finds it unbearably sexy. Pine laughs and licks his lips in a way that's just not fair. "Way ahead of you, Cho."
"Fuck," John simply says. He opens up his own trousers and grips his leaking cock with a firm hand, tugging and stroking to get himself off as quickly as possible. Chris makes a noise of protest and moves closer, his hand still moving rhythmically under his uniform.
"Hey, come on, man. We didn't expect to be in this situation, but here we are. So just enjoy it, huh?"
"I don't want to enjoy it." John grits his teeth, turning away from him. Of course he can't enjoy this—he's with Karl, and the last thing he should be doing is mutually masturbating with Chris Pine, of all people. In the boys' locker room. After seeing...all that. "I just...want to finish this and forget—ahh—forget it ever happened."
"Yeah....you and Urban are a lot alike that way," Pine mutters, dropping his head back against a locker door. John shuts his eyes tightly and twists his own hand on his cock, bucking. He's so close now and Chris isn't helping at all.
"Stop talking about him...just stop talking," he hisses.
"Yeah, you usually do the talking, don't you...?" Chris' eyes are shut now when John glances at him; his mouth hangs slightly open, wet and dark pink. John feels a shock of electricity run through his blood at the sight, ending at his twitching cock. Chris keeps talking, as if he's envisioning it. "He likes it when you talk...when you moan for him."
"Shh—"
John cuts himself off with a sudden and undignified cry, shuddering all over as he comes hard, mostly into his hand. He blinks dazedly down at his cum-streaked palm after he collects himself, panting slightly. When he looks over, Chris is still going at it beside him; his trousers now slung low on his hips, enough to show the topography of bones hugged by hard, straining muscle. John shivers, looking a little too long, and he only notices the bruises there when Chris is right about to come—they're a few days old, still lightly purpled but mostly fading into yellowish marks, like stains. Pine jerks with a hoarse gasp as he finally comes and John feels his face burn with the realization that he now knows exactly how Chris Pine looks and sounds when he achieves orgasm.
That can't be good.
John zips up with his free hand, forcing himself to look away and going to the bathroom, grabbing paper towels for both of them. He wipes his hand clean and when he goes back to the lockers, the bruises are nowhere to be seen; Chris' pants are already up over his hips. He nods wordless thanks, taking the offered paper towel from John and dabbing at his palm. John clears his throat uncomfortably, shifting in place when Chris arches a brow at him.
"Care to share with the class, Mr. Cho?" he says, snidely.
John juts his chin out a bit. "What happened to you? The bruises?"
Chris smiles, finally, tossing the balled-up paper towel behind him and shrugging. It's not one of his usual smiles, John notices; there's something lurking behind it, a strange sadness he doesn't recognize on that face. "Why don't you ask your boyfriend?"
"Karl?" John asks, feeling as blank as he must look. What would Karl have to do with it? He wouldn't...no. He wouldn't.
"Quite the revelation, huh?"
Chris adjusts his backpack and pats John's shoulder, much more gently than he did earlier in the day. They exchange a look that he can't quite decipher.
"He really likes you," he says, quietly. And while John suspects he's right, he doesn't have a single thing to say about it, at the moment. Chris hesitates briefly before trotting off to the exit, the bounce already making its way back into his step. He calls back to John as he lets himself out: "Hey, this was fun! Let's do it again some time!"
John stands, still as a stone, clutching the straps of his backpack with both hands and staring at the slate-gray metal of the lockers. He winces at the sound of the door swinging and slamming shut, echoing throughout the empty room. Chris was right; homework is obviously the least of what he's missed.
