Fic: Get Right With Me
Sep. 25th, 2009 12:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Get Right With Me
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Notes: ~2,650 words. Third installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy!verse, after I Will Deliver and Boys Say Go. You don't have to read the other two to follow this one, but there are multiple references to the previous fics. Yet another Depeche Mode song used for the title. Thanks again to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starsandgraces for the beta read.
Warning: Underage sex, lots more blasphemy.
Summary: Chris is finding out just how much of a sinner Zach can be when he puts his mind to it.
The church smells as it always does, of must and candle wax, an odor that's always felt both strange and comforting to Chris. This time, he has to smile when he enters, already spotting the head of dark hair in the fourth pew from the back, slightly bowed. Earlier in the day he left a note in the slot of Quinto's locker, asking him what he had planned after ninth period, and the reply left on his desk in Algebra made him grin: Praying.
As if praying is of any worth to boys like them; as if god would even listen to such sinners. Still, there's something attractive about Zach's devotion to his god, his innate belief in something beyond all this. It makes Chris want to both laugh at him and spread his legs for him. But Quinto can get the latter reaction out of him easily enough, even with just a well-directed look. Chris knows that should bother him somehow, but it hasn't, not yet.
Chris sits down heavily in the pew beside him, fingering the collar of his leather jacket and smirking when Zach doesn't lift his head. "Quinto," he says.
"Chris," Zach acknowledges quietly. His eyes are closed and his hands placed on his knees, his shirt crisp and tie tightly knotted as usual. His dark hair is slicked back, every hair perfectly settled in its place, and Chris just wants to run his hands through it and ruin that immaculate illusion. He opens his eyes after a few moments, directing his searing gaze at Chris and whispering, even though no one else is in the church. "Hi."
"What were you praying for?" Chris asks, arching a brow in curiosity and amusement.
"For my soul," Zach says. He leans over and presses his nose to Chris' shoulder, inhaling the scent of the worn leather. Chris can't help but reach up and slide his hand over his nape, dipping his fingertips beneath his shirt collar.
"That's very admirable, Zachary," he whispers, his voice slightly teasing. "But I think we've thoroughly ruined any chances for your soul to be saved by now."
"I was so good before you started taunting me." Zach peers up at him with a challenging look and Chris grins, stifling his laughter.
"You say good, I say dull. Now, the way you looked when I fucked you against your locker the other day—that was good."
Chris can feel Zach shiver against him at the mere mention of their recent after-school activity and he can't blame him—it's a pretty picture. He can still feel Zach's leg as it tightened around him with every thrust, the heel of his shoe pressing into his lower back, scraping the soft skin there, right above the curve of his ass. He can still hear the desperate mewls and moans reverberating through the empty corridor, punctuated with metallic creaks and repeated bangs of Zach's shoulder blades against his locker. Quinto was so tight and perfect, so eager to be used, shuddering and sweating through his uniform as Chris pushed him against the unforgiving metal ridges, mercilessly thrusting and filling him up.
Okay, maybe Quinto wasn't all that dull. He did jerk off in confessional booths, after all; though, admittedly, that was Chris' fault. No regrets.
"Yeah...that was good," Zach agrees, swallowing. He lifts his head again, fidgeting with his tie. "That reminds me; I owe you."
"Well," Chris says, grinning as he looks at his wrist, as if an invisible watch exists there, then stretching his arms along the top edge of the pew's back, "I got time."
He's lounging in the pew like it's his own personal armchair now; Quinto, the little slut, just quirks a sly smile as he looks him over. Without an ounce of shame or reservation, Zach slips off the pew and shifts to kneel on the church floor between Chris' legs. No wonder the kid has to pray so much; he's got a growing list of carnal offenses that require extreme repentance. Chris is half-hard, even before Zach gets his fly open, and when his cock slips into those full, pink lips, he imagines there's no fucking way he's going to last longer than thirty seconds. Zach is sucking him off in a church pew—even more dangerous than the sanctuary of the confessional booth, out in the open where anyone coming to speak their piece with their god might happen to see.
"Oh, jesus," he whispers, which seems to make Zach suck harder so he says it again, his hands clenching in that thick, dark hair. "Jesus."
Zach opens his eyes and pins Chris to the hard surface of the pew with an intensely sultry stare, matched by the deft swirl of his tongue as it finds his way from the base of his cock to the head. Chris vaguely wonders if he has experience with this, how many other boys he's done this to—or maybe he's been practicing at home, with a dildo or something more basic. He could make a mental list of useful household items suitable for the task if he weren't busy unraveling under Zach's eyes and tongue, not to mention the hands creeping up his thighs and pressing down on his hips. Quinto is strong and a fucking expert with his mouth; a subtle graze of his teeth along the sensitive, throbbing vein of his shaft is the last thing it takes to bring Chris to the brink, his head tilting back to afford him a view of the painted ceiling as he shoots, heavy and hot, down Zach's gorgeously undulating throat.
When he blinks his eyes open again, still searching for his breath, he's already been tucked back into his trousers and zipped up. Zach once again has his nose buried in Chris' jacket, and he can tell there are some definite stirrings happening down there.
"You really like my jacket, huh?" he whispers. Zach looks up at him and licks his lips, shiny and slightly swollen.
"It's...the first thing that comes to mind, when I think of you." He glances away, looking somewhat embarrassed until Chris brushes back a fallen strand of his hair. He can be a little sentimental if he wants to be—he just got an amazing blowjob in a fucking church, after all. What better time for sentiment? Zach exhales like he's been holding in the breath. "I always imagined what it would feel like...how it smells."
"Yeah? Well, here."
Chris pulls his arms from the jacket's sleeves and motions for Zach to sit back on the pew, reaching to help him slip it on. Quinto looks like he's been granted a divine blessing, or maybe just received the Eucharist. Except, in Chris' estimation, this is probably a lot sexier for Zach than a stale cracker.
"This is my body," he drones, unable to help himself. He laughs when Zach gives him a dirty look. "No, but for real—wear it for a while. If you like it so much."
"You'll be cold," Zach says in bewilderment. Chris rolls his eyes; Quinto will always be a nerd, albeit a fucking hot one.
"I've got another one like it at home." He appraises Zach carefully, adjusting the collar for him and licking his lips. The jacket looks right at home, draped over Zach's broad shoulders and torso, and he bites back the urge to rip it right off again, along with the rest of his clothes. "You look good," he says, slightly hoarse.
Zach looks at him for a few long moments, as if in wonder, and then kisses him fiercely, biting at his mouth. Chris gasps; he knows he's never going to get that fucking jacket back and that's okay if it makes Quinto kiss him like that.
"Algebra class," Zach hisses against his mouth.
Chris gets to his feet and grabs Zach's arm, pulling him out of the pew and down the aisle of the church to the heavy doors of the exit.
Racing down the school corridor makes Chris idly think of John Cho sprinting out of the building the other day like it was on fire, no doubt to meet up with Karl for some dirty, dirty car sex. And to think, he wasn't even invited along; the nerve of those two. Quinto may be stronger than he looks, but he's definitely not a runner, and he's panting by the time they get to their Algebra classroom, leaning on Chris. He's panting too, but for a slightly different reason. Luckily, the door isn't locked, he opens it swiftly, ushering Zach inside and making sure the door is secured behind them.
Immediately, their arms and hands find each other and bring their bodies crashing together, their mouths battling for dominance. The backs of Chris' thighs bump against a random desk and Zach nearly pushes him down right there, but Chris stops him, a hand to his heaving chest.
"Your desk," Chris reminds him, his voice breathy. Zach nods and fists his hands in Chris' uniform regulation shirt, hauling him toward his own desk. A graze of his hip against Zach's is enough to tell him just how hard and straining Quinto is by now, and Chris can't help but groan as he's pushed down, face first, onto the smooth surface of the desk, already salivating at the thought of how good that beautiful cock of Quinto's will feel when it breaches him. Not like he's been thinking about it for days or anything.
So far, he's mostly been the dominant one, fulfilling Zach's timid, little-boy fantasies about the big, bad bully taking control. But Chris knows Quinto well enough by now to realize that there are other kinds of thoughts floating around in that head of his—and every last one of them is absolutely filthy.
His point is immediately proven when Zach nudges him to move so he can open the desk's cover and extract the small bottle of lube hidden inside. Chris barks out a laugh, marveling at the bottle as it passes his line of sight. "Oh, you perverted little shit," he says. "You totally planned this."
"Well, we had an agreement," Zach says. He undoes Chris' belt buckle easily and pulls the trousers down. He makes a small, choked sound when he finds nothing beneath that thin layer of fabric. "As if you weren't planning, yourself."
"Didn't you notice I was going commando before, in the church?"
"I wasn't really paying attention," Zach murmurs, and that makes sense, as Chris recalls how eager the boy was to suck down his cock. And he's pretty eager now, too—a wet finger makes its presence known between his legs and Chris groans at the way it barely does one lap around his opening before it sinks inside him. After a couple of strokes, a second finger makes itself at home and his fingers clench around the desk, the knuckles beginning to whiten.
"Fuck...god, fuck," he hisses, tensing then loosening around Quinto's fingers. He slows down a bit, giving Chris a chance to breathe.
"Is this...?"
"Shit, no, not my first," Chris quickly supplies, angling to press back against the two fingers. He knows he was Zach's first, though, and he feels a little guilty at how dismissive his answer sounded, so he keeps talking. "Just one other," he whispers, biting his lip. "But I fuck myself on my own damn fingers all the time."
That answer gets him a third finger and a sharp twist that sets his cock at full attention. Zach's knuckles bump against the sensitive ring of muscle and Chris' voice goes haywire and garbled in his throat.
"Shut the hell up before I come in my pants," Zach hisses.
"Don't you fucking dare, Zachary...fuck me the way you do in your dirty little fantasies, you fucking whore. Come on."
"You're the whore now," he murmurs.
Quinto pulls his fingers out swiftly, leaving a delicious burn in their wake. Chris barely has time to feel the cool air wafting against his slick hole before it's filled again with the hot, hard length of Zach's cock, which is definitely bigger than his previous partner and any combination of Chris' own fingers. He barely squelches a yelp as Zach forces his weight upon him, pinning him to the table, and he hopes none of the perverted custodians are hanging around, near the classroom. Or, hell, maybe it'd be fun to give them a thrill.
Zach moves his hips right before it starts to verge on pain, and Chris shudders with a grateful moan. He's torn between concentrating on the pull and push of the substantial, pulsing cock inside him and the relief of the cool desktop as his own cock slides against it, caught between the smooth surface and his stomach. But even the desk grows warm from the fiction after a while, and then it's all just damp heat, beneath him, inside him, dripping from his hairline down to his brow and along the curve of his neck.
The rhythm is fast and unsteady enough to tell Chris that this isn't going to last quite as long as he'd like it to—though he suspects forever is probably asking too much, anyway. He tries to keep his feet flat against the floor to brace himself for each thrust, but as Quinto takes the express route toward what's going to be a pretty massive orgasm, Chris has an increasingly tougher time staying grounded; his soles keep getting lifted from the floor as his body slides forward on the desk. Finally, he gives up, his voice ragged and vision half-blurred; it feels so fucking good that he doesn't give a shit about where his body ends up, as long as it's under Zach.
Chris's breath is leaving him in feverish gasps as he rocks back desperately to impale himself further on Zach's straining length. It only gets worse when Quinto changes his angle and reaches down to take his cock into his sweaty fist. In the back of his mind, he curses the kid for being such an overachiever that he's already a spectacular fuck on the very first try. Maybe he should chalk it up to pent-up frustration; it would explain Zach's mumbles, only half of which Chris can make out: "Yes, god." "Come on, fuck my cock." "Christopher." "Whore."
As it turns out, that's all it takes to push him off the edge, coming explosively over Zach's desk with a stutter of his hips. He distantly marvels at the fact that he seems to get off on the same things that Quinto does, that he actually likes being used as his plaything. Then he thinks about the fact that Zach will have to look at his cum stain in Algebra every fucking day for the rest of the school year; the idea sends a little jolt of electricity through him and he clenches around Zach's cock on a particularly deep thrust, causing him to jerk forward and shout.
Half a second later, he's thoroughly filled and debauched, clinging to Quinto's desk and trembling, his body still abuzz. Even after the other boy pulls out, Chris can feel the phantom sensation of his cock inside him, and the not-altogether pleasant feeling of cum dripping down his thigh. He shouldn't be surprised when he feels the soft scrape of Zach's tongue against the same stretch of skin, knowing how filthy the kid is, but he is—really surprised. And his cock twitches again with interest.
Quinto pulls him up again with that surprising strength and Chris kisses him desperately, clutching to the collar of the borrowed jacket. He can suddenly see the appeal.
"We have to find a new place to fuck," he murmurs, licking at his mouth. "I'm out of dirty ideas."
"I'll think of something good," Zach whispers.
Chris laughs darkly, pulling him closer. "I have faith," he says.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Notes: ~2,650 words. Third installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy!verse, after I Will Deliver and Boys Say Go. You don't have to read the other two to follow this one, but there are multiple references to the previous fics. Yet another Depeche Mode song used for the title. Thanks again to
starsandgraces for the beta read.Warning: Underage sex, lots more blasphemy.
Summary: Chris is finding out just how much of a sinner Zach can be when he puts his mind to it.
The church smells as it always does, of must and candle wax, an odor that's always felt both strange and comforting to Chris. This time, he has to smile when he enters, already spotting the head of dark hair in the fourth pew from the back, slightly bowed. Earlier in the day he left a note in the slot of Quinto's locker, asking him what he had planned after ninth period, and the reply left on his desk in Algebra made him grin: Praying.
As if praying is of any worth to boys like them; as if god would even listen to such sinners. Still, there's something attractive about Zach's devotion to his god, his innate belief in something beyond all this. It makes Chris want to both laugh at him and spread his legs for him. But Quinto can get the latter reaction out of him easily enough, even with just a well-directed look. Chris knows that should bother him somehow, but it hasn't, not yet.
Chris sits down heavily in the pew beside him, fingering the collar of his leather jacket and smirking when Zach doesn't lift his head. "Quinto," he says.
"Chris," Zach acknowledges quietly. His eyes are closed and his hands placed on his knees, his shirt crisp and tie tightly knotted as usual. His dark hair is slicked back, every hair perfectly settled in its place, and Chris just wants to run his hands through it and ruin that immaculate illusion. He opens his eyes after a few moments, directing his searing gaze at Chris and whispering, even though no one else is in the church. "Hi."
"What were you praying for?" Chris asks, arching a brow in curiosity and amusement.
"For my soul," Zach says. He leans over and presses his nose to Chris' shoulder, inhaling the scent of the worn leather. Chris can't help but reach up and slide his hand over his nape, dipping his fingertips beneath his shirt collar.
"That's very admirable, Zachary," he whispers, his voice slightly teasing. "But I think we've thoroughly ruined any chances for your soul to be saved by now."
"I was so good before you started taunting me." Zach peers up at him with a challenging look and Chris grins, stifling his laughter.
"You say good, I say dull. Now, the way you looked when I fucked you against your locker the other day—that was good."
Chris can feel Zach shiver against him at the mere mention of their recent after-school activity and he can't blame him—it's a pretty picture. He can still feel Zach's leg as it tightened around him with every thrust, the heel of his shoe pressing into his lower back, scraping the soft skin there, right above the curve of his ass. He can still hear the desperate mewls and moans reverberating through the empty corridor, punctuated with metallic creaks and repeated bangs of Zach's shoulder blades against his locker. Quinto was so tight and perfect, so eager to be used, shuddering and sweating through his uniform as Chris pushed him against the unforgiving metal ridges, mercilessly thrusting and filling him up.
Okay, maybe Quinto wasn't all that dull. He did jerk off in confessional booths, after all; though, admittedly, that was Chris' fault. No regrets.
"Yeah...that was good," Zach agrees, swallowing. He lifts his head again, fidgeting with his tie. "That reminds me; I owe you."
"Well," Chris says, grinning as he looks at his wrist, as if an invisible watch exists there, then stretching his arms along the top edge of the pew's back, "I got time."
He's lounging in the pew like it's his own personal armchair now; Quinto, the little slut, just quirks a sly smile as he looks him over. Without an ounce of shame or reservation, Zach slips off the pew and shifts to kneel on the church floor between Chris' legs. No wonder the kid has to pray so much; he's got a growing list of carnal offenses that require extreme repentance. Chris is half-hard, even before Zach gets his fly open, and when his cock slips into those full, pink lips, he imagines there's no fucking way he's going to last longer than thirty seconds. Zach is sucking him off in a church pew—even more dangerous than the sanctuary of the confessional booth, out in the open where anyone coming to speak their piece with their god might happen to see.
"Oh, jesus," he whispers, which seems to make Zach suck harder so he says it again, his hands clenching in that thick, dark hair. "Jesus."
Zach opens his eyes and pins Chris to the hard surface of the pew with an intensely sultry stare, matched by the deft swirl of his tongue as it finds his way from the base of his cock to the head. Chris vaguely wonders if he has experience with this, how many other boys he's done this to—or maybe he's been practicing at home, with a dildo or something more basic. He could make a mental list of useful household items suitable for the task if he weren't busy unraveling under Zach's eyes and tongue, not to mention the hands creeping up his thighs and pressing down on his hips. Quinto is strong and a fucking expert with his mouth; a subtle graze of his teeth along the sensitive, throbbing vein of his shaft is the last thing it takes to bring Chris to the brink, his head tilting back to afford him a view of the painted ceiling as he shoots, heavy and hot, down Zach's gorgeously undulating throat.
When he blinks his eyes open again, still searching for his breath, he's already been tucked back into his trousers and zipped up. Zach once again has his nose buried in Chris' jacket, and he can tell there are some definite stirrings happening down there.
"You really like my jacket, huh?" he whispers. Zach looks up at him and licks his lips, shiny and slightly swollen.
"It's...the first thing that comes to mind, when I think of you." He glances away, looking somewhat embarrassed until Chris brushes back a fallen strand of his hair. He can be a little sentimental if he wants to be—he just got an amazing blowjob in a fucking church, after all. What better time for sentiment? Zach exhales like he's been holding in the breath. "I always imagined what it would feel like...how it smells."
"Yeah? Well, here."
Chris pulls his arms from the jacket's sleeves and motions for Zach to sit back on the pew, reaching to help him slip it on. Quinto looks like he's been granted a divine blessing, or maybe just received the Eucharist. Except, in Chris' estimation, this is probably a lot sexier for Zach than a stale cracker.
"This is my body," he drones, unable to help himself. He laughs when Zach gives him a dirty look. "No, but for real—wear it for a while. If you like it so much."
"You'll be cold," Zach says in bewilderment. Chris rolls his eyes; Quinto will always be a nerd, albeit a fucking hot one.
"I've got another one like it at home." He appraises Zach carefully, adjusting the collar for him and licking his lips. The jacket looks right at home, draped over Zach's broad shoulders and torso, and he bites back the urge to rip it right off again, along with the rest of his clothes. "You look good," he says, slightly hoarse.
Zach looks at him for a few long moments, as if in wonder, and then kisses him fiercely, biting at his mouth. Chris gasps; he knows he's never going to get that fucking jacket back and that's okay if it makes Quinto kiss him like that.
"Algebra class," Zach hisses against his mouth.
Chris gets to his feet and grabs Zach's arm, pulling him out of the pew and down the aisle of the church to the heavy doors of the exit.
Racing down the school corridor makes Chris idly think of John Cho sprinting out of the building the other day like it was on fire, no doubt to meet up with Karl for some dirty, dirty car sex. And to think, he wasn't even invited along; the nerve of those two. Quinto may be stronger than he looks, but he's definitely not a runner, and he's panting by the time they get to their Algebra classroom, leaning on Chris. He's panting too, but for a slightly different reason. Luckily, the door isn't locked, he opens it swiftly, ushering Zach inside and making sure the door is secured behind them.
Immediately, their arms and hands find each other and bring their bodies crashing together, their mouths battling for dominance. The backs of Chris' thighs bump against a random desk and Zach nearly pushes him down right there, but Chris stops him, a hand to his heaving chest.
"Your desk," Chris reminds him, his voice breathy. Zach nods and fists his hands in Chris' uniform regulation shirt, hauling him toward his own desk. A graze of his hip against Zach's is enough to tell him just how hard and straining Quinto is by now, and Chris can't help but groan as he's pushed down, face first, onto the smooth surface of the desk, already salivating at the thought of how good that beautiful cock of Quinto's will feel when it breaches him. Not like he's been thinking about it for days or anything.
So far, he's mostly been the dominant one, fulfilling Zach's timid, little-boy fantasies about the big, bad bully taking control. But Chris knows Quinto well enough by now to realize that there are other kinds of thoughts floating around in that head of his—and every last one of them is absolutely filthy.
His point is immediately proven when Zach nudges him to move so he can open the desk's cover and extract the small bottle of lube hidden inside. Chris barks out a laugh, marveling at the bottle as it passes his line of sight. "Oh, you perverted little shit," he says. "You totally planned this."
"Well, we had an agreement," Zach says. He undoes Chris' belt buckle easily and pulls the trousers down. He makes a small, choked sound when he finds nothing beneath that thin layer of fabric. "As if you weren't planning, yourself."
"Didn't you notice I was going commando before, in the church?"
"I wasn't really paying attention," Zach murmurs, and that makes sense, as Chris recalls how eager the boy was to suck down his cock. And he's pretty eager now, too—a wet finger makes its presence known between his legs and Chris groans at the way it barely does one lap around his opening before it sinks inside him. After a couple of strokes, a second finger makes itself at home and his fingers clench around the desk, the knuckles beginning to whiten.
"Fuck...god, fuck," he hisses, tensing then loosening around Quinto's fingers. He slows down a bit, giving Chris a chance to breathe.
"Is this...?"
"Shit, no, not my first," Chris quickly supplies, angling to press back against the two fingers. He knows he was Zach's first, though, and he feels a little guilty at how dismissive his answer sounded, so he keeps talking. "Just one other," he whispers, biting his lip. "But I fuck myself on my own damn fingers all the time."
That answer gets him a third finger and a sharp twist that sets his cock at full attention. Zach's knuckles bump against the sensitive ring of muscle and Chris' voice goes haywire and garbled in his throat.
"Shut the hell up before I come in my pants," Zach hisses.
"Don't you fucking dare, Zachary...fuck me the way you do in your dirty little fantasies, you fucking whore. Come on."
"You're the whore now," he murmurs.
Quinto pulls his fingers out swiftly, leaving a delicious burn in their wake. Chris barely has time to feel the cool air wafting against his slick hole before it's filled again with the hot, hard length of Zach's cock, which is definitely bigger than his previous partner and any combination of Chris' own fingers. He barely squelches a yelp as Zach forces his weight upon him, pinning him to the table, and he hopes none of the perverted custodians are hanging around, near the classroom. Or, hell, maybe it'd be fun to give them a thrill.
Zach moves his hips right before it starts to verge on pain, and Chris shudders with a grateful moan. He's torn between concentrating on the pull and push of the substantial, pulsing cock inside him and the relief of the cool desktop as his own cock slides against it, caught between the smooth surface and his stomach. But even the desk grows warm from the fiction after a while, and then it's all just damp heat, beneath him, inside him, dripping from his hairline down to his brow and along the curve of his neck.
The rhythm is fast and unsteady enough to tell Chris that this isn't going to last quite as long as he'd like it to—though he suspects forever is probably asking too much, anyway. He tries to keep his feet flat against the floor to brace himself for each thrust, but as Quinto takes the express route toward what's going to be a pretty massive orgasm, Chris has an increasingly tougher time staying grounded; his soles keep getting lifted from the floor as his body slides forward on the desk. Finally, he gives up, his voice ragged and vision half-blurred; it feels so fucking good that he doesn't give a shit about where his body ends up, as long as it's under Zach.
Chris's breath is leaving him in feverish gasps as he rocks back desperately to impale himself further on Zach's straining length. It only gets worse when Quinto changes his angle and reaches down to take his cock into his sweaty fist. In the back of his mind, he curses the kid for being such an overachiever that he's already a spectacular fuck on the very first try. Maybe he should chalk it up to pent-up frustration; it would explain Zach's mumbles, only half of which Chris can make out: "Yes, god." "Come on, fuck my cock." "Christopher." "Whore."
As it turns out, that's all it takes to push him off the edge, coming explosively over Zach's desk with a stutter of his hips. He distantly marvels at the fact that he seems to get off on the same things that Quinto does, that he actually likes being used as his plaything. Then he thinks about the fact that Zach will have to look at his cum stain in Algebra every fucking day for the rest of the school year; the idea sends a little jolt of electricity through him and he clenches around Zach's cock on a particularly deep thrust, causing him to jerk forward and shout.
Half a second later, he's thoroughly filled and debauched, clinging to Quinto's desk and trembling, his body still abuzz. Even after the other boy pulls out, Chris can feel the phantom sensation of his cock inside him, and the not-altogether pleasant feeling of cum dripping down his thigh. He shouldn't be surprised when he feels the soft scrape of Zach's tongue against the same stretch of skin, knowing how filthy the kid is, but he is—really surprised. And his cock twitches again with interest.
Quinto pulls him up again with that surprising strength and Chris kisses him desperately, clutching to the collar of the borrowed jacket. He can suddenly see the appeal.
"We have to find a new place to fuck," he murmurs, licking at his mouth. "I'm out of dirty ideas."
"I'll think of something good," Zach whispers.
Chris laughs darkly, pulling him closer. "I have faith," he says.
