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“What do you think you’re doing? You’ll get us both in trouble!”
“Don’t be such a killjoy, Pitch.”
“Oh, I’ll be a killjoy, alright. Just you wait!”
How had he come to be locked in the abandoned janitor’s closet with the school’s swimming champion? Just how did Kozmotis Pitchiner get himself into these situations? He honestly didn’t know. But suddenly Jack Frost was so close that he could smell the chlorine in his hair. “Come on. Lighten up, man,” the sophomore uttered to him.
“I will not! I’ll be late for—.”
“What? Chemistry? You ace that class. You can afford to skip.”
“If I get caught skipping—.”
“Relax.” As he breathed the word, he leaned in entirely too close for comfort. Jesus, Pitch could smell his breath. And it smelled like Juicy Fruit. “I hide here all the time.”
“Jack, please—.”
“When did you get your braces taken off?”
“That’s the first topic of conversation? Hardly an interesting one.”
“Oh, come on.” Jack dropped his backpack and started to pull Pitch’s shoulder bag from him. Pressing his back to the shelves behind him, Pitch clung to it like it was his last chance at escape. Then the bell rang. Pitch’s heart hammered. He was late. He’d missed the bell. And Jack just shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal. “May as well stay now.”
“You’ve made me late . . . .”
“Better to miss out than be caught tardy.”
Pitch pushed his glasses up further on his nose pointedly, glaring at the swimming champion. He wanted nothing more than to get away, leave the space which forced him to be so close to one of the school’s most popular jocks. But he didn’t. He allowed Jack to slip the bag from his shoulder and set it with his backpack. Crossing his arms, he glanced about the tiny space in search of . . . anything, really. Maybe something to act as a barrier between himself and the bleached sophomore. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to chill out and stay a while,” Jack said. The teen’s back hit the wall behind him and he slid to the floor. Pitch shifted his feet and pressed himself against the shelves again to accommodate him. Jack looked up at him. The jock was amused by Pitch’s embarrassment. Wonderful. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Comfortable. With you? In a closet? I may as well be shoved in a locker.”
Jack’s face shifted and he actually looked guilty for a moment. “North hasn’t done that to you lately, has he?”
“No, the abominable snowman who calls himself wrestling captain hasn’t shoved me in a locker recently.” Although he’d much prefer it to being stuck with Jack.
Jack gave him an odd look. “Aster’s captain.”
“Not according to North.”
“Jack smirked up at him, chuckling as he said, “They’ll be at it again soon enough. Don’t know why I bother trying to distinguish who’s really in charge.” Then Jack patted the ground. “Sit down. Would it be so hard spending an hour or so with me?”
Yes, Pitch thought. Then he asked himself why. Because Jack was popular and he was just a geek? Because Jack happened to be friends with the other jocks, the ones who bullied him? Because he was so painfully gorgeous that . . . ?
Pitch’s face reddened at the thought he just had. Quickly banishing it, he slid to the floor and took a seat opposite Jack. He tried to keep their legs from touching, but it was impossible when they were this close to one another. Jack smiled at Pitch’s compliance, but that smile didn’t make him feel any less uncomfortable. “What do you want?” Pitch asked again, folding his arms over his chest defensively once more.
“Just to talk. Something wrong with that?”
“But why would you want to talk to me?”
Finally, a hesitation out of the overconfident, charismatic, unanimously adored Jackson Overland Frost. At last, it was his turn to feel uncomfortable. Jack sighed, his eyes darting to the bottom of the door where the hall light shown underneath. When he looked back up, he said, “I like you.”
Pitch’s heart did not just stop at that. It absolutely did not. “What?” he managed to breathe out.
“Well, not like . . .,” Jack froze, his crystal blue eyes staring at the ceiling like it was going to help him in some way. Sighing, he said, “Okay, yes like that. I like you.”
“What?” Was Pitch hearing Jack correctly? Surely he wasn’t.
But Jack’s face was beet red, his smile awkward and . . . teasing. Nope. Nope, this could not be happening. He’d most definitely misheard. Jack asked, “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
The keyboard in Pitch’s head clattered to the ground, its keys all being pressed at random. “I . . .,” he scratched his head, incapable of forming coherent sentences. “I, uh . . . I . . . .”
Meanwhile, Jack’s smile was widening. Before Pitch could react, Jack leaned forward onto his knees and said, “Come here.” Pitch’s eyes widened as Jack’s lips met his. His whole body stilled, his mind unable to comprehend what was happening. What was happening?
Jack was kissing him. Jack Frost was kissing him in the janitor’s closet.
And . . . he liked it.
His eyes were just about to close as Jack pulled back. It took a moment for Pitch to focus in on the slightly terrified expression that now was Jack’s face. Jack stayed on his knees before Pitch, his hands nervously clenching and unclenching on his thighs. The awkward silence extended between them until Jack looked down, his shoulders sagging as he uttered, “You don’t feel—.”
“No,” Pitch stopped him. Jack looked back up at him, his gaze hopeful. Only then did Pitch regain his composure enough to remember what he considered an imperative detail. “Aren’t you going with Toothiana?”
Jack paused, then smiled. “Nah. She likes me, but . . . .” He started running a nervous hand through his white hair. “The feeling wasn’t mutual.”
Why did every little thing, every little movement he made, suddenly seem irresistible to Pitch? It had been unbearable before, but now that he’d tasted Jack’s lips . . . .
Pitch reached his hand out, placing his palm on the side of Jack’s face. The jock stared at him, surprised at his action. Before Pitch realized what he was doing, he took Jack’s face in his hands and pulled him close. Their lips brushed against each other, Pitch breathing in the sophomore’s sweet breath as he kept his kisses soft at first. Soft and slow as he learned the texture of Jack’s mouth, his fingers memorizing the softness of Jack’s white hair. Pitch forgot why he’d been nervous about Jack being so close to him and found himself leaning closer, their lips locked in a gentle dance. Pitch groaned when he felt Jack’s hands on his sides, the jock suddenly pressing his lips hard enough to Pitch’s that he was certain the unaccustomed skin would bruise.
It wasn’t until Jack’s slender legs straddled his hips that Pitch gasped and pulled back to look at Jack. A tremor of disbelief ran through him, and suddenly reality hit him: the school nerd was currently underneath and making out with one of the school champions. What am I doing? Pitch asked himself. This was wrong. This couldn’t be. He looked down at Jack’s chest, his hands sliding from the jock’s face to his shoulders. He was ready to push him off, ready to end this before he made a terrible, embarrassing mistake. Pitch sighed, wishing that his heart would stop hammering long enough for him to hear something other than his pulse. “Jack—.”
“Did I move too fast?” Pitch’s gaze shot up to Jack’s shame filled face. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” Pitch said quickly. “No, I just . . . .” How did he even begin to explain what was racing through his mind? “I can’t . . . I can’t do this.”
Jack’s face fell considerably at Pitch’s words. Pitch was afraid for a moment that he’d lash out, but instead he nodded. “I get it.”
“I just . . .,” Pitch didn’t want to be the jerk. He really didn’t want to. But he had to find a better way to explain himself. “I just can’t do this sort of thing behind closed doors and then be ridiculed in the halls.” Great, now he felt less like a jerk and more like a lovesick sap. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
Jack’s face went from downtrodden to almost furious. Pitch leaned back quickly, expecting to get punched. “You think I would do that?” Jack asked incredulously.
“I don’t know. I just can’t imagine—.”
“What? You can’t imagine what? That I’d be capable of having a normal relationship?”
“That you’d want to be seen with me!”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m nothing but a smart freak, and you’re . . . you’re . . . handsome and beloved.”
Pitch’s voice softened as he said the last bit, feeling his face reddening again.
Once Pitch dared to look up, he saw that Jack’s features had softened. His eyes were watering, and that bothered Pitch. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Then something struck Pitch. “Who would think you couldn’t have a normal relationship?”
“Plenty of people. Who do you think would bitch about us being together?”
“Plenty of people.”
“Give me names.”
“You give me names.”
“Aster.”
“Toothiana.”
They stared at each other for a long while, completely forgetting that Jack was still straddling Pitch’s hips. Pitch’s hands were still placed on the sophomore’s shoulders, Jack’s hands still cupping the senior’s sides. Jack spoke first, “What if I didn’t give a damn about what everyone else thinks?”
Pitch wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe they could leave this closet being as open about their relationship as Jack said he was willing to. He wanted to believe it would be that simple. Why couldn’t it be? Because Pitch had a grip on reality that Jack seemed to lack.
And what if this did turn out to be a onetime ordeal? It would hurt. It would hurt more than Pitch was ever willing to admit, even to himself. But the taste of Jack’s lips, the feel of his hands on him . . . were those sensations enough to risk the humiliation of having been fooled into thinking he was worthy enough to be seen in Jack’s presence?
The answer came to Pitch as his hands dipped to Jack’s waist and pulled the other teen to him so they were chest to chest, lips locked once more. The kisses were harder, headier, and Pitch lost all sight of reality and its harshness as soon as Jack ran his hands over his shoulders before wrapping his arms around his neck. Pitch balled his fists in Jack’s shirt, biting the jock’s lip. The moan that passed through Jack’s open mouth absolutely should not have made his breathing heavier.
At that moment, Jack pulled back just enough to remove Pitch’s glasses. Setting them with the backpack and shoulder bag, Jack stared at his eyes. He looked like he was seeing Pitch’s face for the first time or something. “What?” Pitch almost huffed out.
“I thought you looked amazing in those glasses, but without them . . . are you sure it’s you who would be self-conscious standing beside me?”
Pitch’s cheeks heated and he found himself smiling at Jack. “Everyone pales in comparison to you.”
“You and your pretty English,” Jack said, kissing Pitch.
Their foreheads rested together as Pitch whispered, “If you think that’s pretty, you haven’t heard real English beauty.”
“Oh really?”
“He is all states, and all princes I. Princes do but play us. Compared to this, all honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, sun, art half as happy as we, in that the world’s contracted thus. Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be to warm the world, that’s done in warming us.”
Jack’s breathing actually grew ragged. “Who wrote that?”
“John Donne. I omitted, paraphrased, and probably misinterpreted the meaning, but—.”
Suddenly Jack was digging his fingers into Pitch’s back, the other hand threading through his hair and pulling his head back. Pitch gasped as Jack’s lips and tongue traced hot lines across the skin on his neck. His balled fists at Jack’s back pulled the jock closer still, and suddenly Pitch was grinding up against Jack. That succeeded in pulling another moan from the other teen. When Jack’s lips returned to Pitch’s neck, though, teeth came with them. Pitch was embarrassed at how hard he bucked against Jack at that. An unabashed groan fled his lungs as Jack pulled away, ceasing to tease the flesh of Pitch’s throat. Pitch’s lips seized Jack’s as his hands slid to the jock’s thighs, adjusting the way Jack was straddling him. When he had Jack in the position he wanted him, he lifted the other teen and pushed him into the wall opposite Pitch. Pitch was on his knees holding them both up, and Jack’s hands were clutching his shoulders. Suddenly, Pitch was grateful for how small the closet space was, otherwise he never would’ve pulled that off quite as well.
Their kisses went right back to being hard and heady, and Pitch was becoming incredibly aware not only of how hard he was but also of how hard Jack was. However, it wasn’t until Jack slid his hand between them that Pitch fully acknowledged the discomfort. “Do you want to?”
“Want to what?” Pitch asked, unable to comprehend anything with Jack’s hand on him. When Jack squeezed, he gasped out a knowing, “Oh. I . . .,” his cheeks flushed again, honestly how often was Jack going to redden his cheeks? “I have . . . utterly no experience.”
“Me either.”
He actually smiled for a moment. “Good, we’ll be inexperienced together.”
He hadn’t realized he’d said that aloud until he heard Jack chuckling. Well wasn’t that just a heavenly sound compared to the absolutely hellish feeling of his jeans keeping Jack from touching, really touching him.
Before Jack moved to unzip Pitch’s jeans though, Pitch slid his hands under Jack’s shirt and pulled the blue t over the other teen’s head. Now Pitch had seen the swimming champion with his shirt off before, obviously, but he had never been this close to him. He had never dreamed he’d get this close to his toned, slim body which glided through water so gracefully. Jack smiled as Pitch’s wonderment at the smoothness of the other teen’s muscles with, “You too.”
Suddenly, Pitch’s black long-sleeved shirt was pulled over his head and both teens were shirtless before one another. Both stared nervously at first as it hit them what they were considering doing. Pitch elected to kiss Jack, hoping it would soothe the tension that now disturbed the sophomore’s beautiful face. Jack stiffened at first, then relaxed against him. Soon Pitch was savoring the way their bare skin rubbed together, sweat forming in beads along various parts of Pitch’s body. Settling down with his seat on his heels, Pitch pulled Jack from the wall and onto his lap again. Wrapping his arms around Jack’s thin waist, Pitch slid one hand up Jack’s back, to his front, over his chest, and came to its destination on the side of Jack’s neck. There he felt sweat forming on the jock’s hairline. Pitch’s thumb traced Jack’s jawline, memorizing the structure of the other teen’s face. He felt Jack reaching between them again, and his other hand moved to Jack’s wrist. Jack stopped, pulling back to look at Pitch. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I’m the one who asked you.”
“That doesn’t mean you really want to.”
Jack thought about what Pitch was saying, considering his option for a few moments. It wasn’t long before he nodded, his head moving jerkily as he did so. Only then did Pitch release Jack’s hand and allow him to undo Pitch’s jeans and reach through the fold of his boxers. Pitch bit his own lip to minimize the sound he made just from Jack touching him. Once his member was free, he gasped, his breathing growing as uneven as the rhythm of his pulse. Without opening his eyes, he reached for Jack’s jeans and fumbled with the button and zipper. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to undo Jack’s jeans and reach through the slit in Jack’s briefs. When he found what he was searching for, he won an equally satisfying gasp from the other teen. As Jack’s hand wrapped around Pitch’s erection, Pitch began pumping Jack’s. The sighs and moans Pitch received from Jack were almost as pleasurable as having Jack stroke him. Jack’s hand was so rhythmic and tantalizing while Pitch’s was almost frantic. They didn’t match up in the slightest. But when Pitch pulled his hand free, Jack actually keened. Grabbing Jack’s hand to stop it pumping his member, Pitch found himself shoving the jock into the wall again. Aligning their members, he began thrusting in a way that pleasured both of them.
As Jack opened his mouth to let loose an utterly exquisite moan, Pitch covered his lips with his own. As he thrust against Jack, he groaned into his mouth. His fingernails scraped Jack’s soft, white skin as Jack tanged his fingers in Pitch’s hair. Thrusting harder, Pitch managed to elicit groans from Jack that he felt throughout the other teen’s body. His lips, his throat, his chest, he even felt them in Jack’s shoulders.
“Pitch, I’m co . . . I’m com—,” Jack was cut off by his own orgasm, which leaked between them. Pitch’s own orgasm followed shortly after.
Afterwards, Pitch and Jack collapsed on top of their packs, which became makeshift pillows. They’d used the paper towels on the shelves to clean their mess, and had managed to do up their pants again. They remained shirtless, though, savoring the feel of skin on skin.
“Wow,” Pitch managed. Later, he would berate himself for not coming up with something a little cleverer than wow.
“Yeah,” Jack uttered. “Quote another dead, white, British guy and you’ll be sure to keep me around.”
Pitch snorted. “The eloquence with which you put that is astounding.”
Jack grinned at him. “Not bad for a first time.”
“Don’t take offense to this, but is this really your first time doing . . . anything like this?”
Jack nodded. “I’d only ever kissed before this.”
“Well,” Pitch uttered, “that was a first for me too.”
Jack sat up and looked down at him. His look of shock was almost hilarious. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Pitch answered with a smile.
“Damn,” Jack said, lying back down. “When you go, you go all the way.”
That actually made Pitch laugh. “You could say that.”
“Well I, for one, am honored to have been the one to steal your precious cherry.”
“You didn’t steal it. I gave it to you.”
“Cute.” Jack kissed him, Pitch sighing into his mouth. Before long, he’d pulled Jack on top of him and they were deepening the kiss. And then the bell rang. It startled Pitch so much that he jumped, making Jack laugh. “I guess we should get to class.”
Pitch considered it, then said, “What’s another missed block?”
Jack focused in on him, then placed a hand on Pitch’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes,” he answered, listening to the sound of students passing by the closet, their feet making shadows with the light that shown through the crack in the door. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I could’ve sworn I just heard you suggest we skip another class.”
“Why not?”
Jack smiled, his whole face lighting up. It forced Pitch to smile too, because he’d never actually been able to take pleasure in such beauty before, “I’ll make a slacker out of you yet.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Keep playing hookie with me like this and you will.”
“I haven’t heard the words ‘playing hookie’ since elementary school.”
“Well it’s high time we reintroduced it into your vocabulary.”
In three minutes, the bell would ring again. In that time, Pitch would reacquaint himself with the taste of Jack’s lips several times.
They hadn’t gotten into trouble. They hadn’t even been caught. They’d managed to drive home with each other’s numbers on their phones and each other’s names on their lips. At least, that’s how it’d been for Pitch.
The next day would be the true test. Of course, by midnight he’d had to stop saying tomorrow and replace it with today. He hadn’t slept. He’d been too busy recounting the events of his ‘encounter’ with Jackson Overland Frost in the abandoned janitor’s closet.
He debated going to school at all, thinking he might save himself the humiliation of being rebuffed in front of everyone. Yes, he was still certain he’d be rebuffed. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, however, he walked into the school from the parking lot. He liked to think he had seemed just as normal, walking through the school doors as if it were any other day. To be honest, his heart rate was ridiculously fast and his muscles were incredibly tense.
The bell rang as he entered, and he headed straight for his locker. Going through the mental checklist, he switched out what he did and didn’t need for the day as the other students stampeded the halls. Some shoved past him, and he managed to ignore the usual bumps that he knew to be intentional. Still his heart hammered as he neatened up his locker, stalling going to his first class.
“How’d you get a bruise on your neck?” came a song-like voice he recognized. His cheeks reddened as his hand touched the side of his neck and felt the sting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Toothiana’s jaw drop. “Is that . . . is that a hicky?”
“Who has hicky?” came yet another familiar voice. Pitch dared to turn his head and look at his audience. North, Toothiana, and now Sandy stared at him. North’s jaw also dropped. “You?” North bellowed out a laugh that made Pitch want to shrink into the ground and disappear. “Who would be giving you hicky? It’s probably not even real.”
Pitch said nothing. He could’ve. He also could’ve slammed his locker and walked away. But he didn’t. He was rooted to the spot, hand frozen on the door to his locker as his mind clouded with humiliation. He shouldn’t have showed up to school. He should’ve just stayed home and saved himself—.
A hand pressed up against his lower back. He straightened up, feeling someone’s lips touch his cheek. The laughter stopped, and so did his heart. Turning to look, he found Jack standing beside him and smiling. Before Pitch could ask, Jack stood on his toes and whispered in Pitch’s ear, “Told you so.”
Pitch couldn’t stop the relieved sigh and joyful smile that crossed his lips.
“Uh, Jack,” North uttered then. “Explanation?”
Jack winked at Pitch, then turned to the hulking high school wrestler. “What? I’m dating Kozmotis Pitchiner. It’s as simple as that. Any questions?”
“But . . .,” Toothiana began, the high school track captain confused and redfaced. “But . . . .”
“What’s going on?” Aster suddenly came to stand behind the other three members that made up Jack’s group of friends. A look of confusion passed over him before he saw Jack’s hand on Pitch’s waist. Realization dawned on him. “Oh . . . .”
“Don’t you guys know,” Jack began, “the geeks get the guys?”
At that, Toothiana stomped off to her first class. North and Aster sighed and followed, Aster shoving Jack in what could’ve been his way of showing approval. It could have also translated into disapproval. Or disbelief. Either way, they were left staring at Sandy. Ignoring the reactions of the others, the short blonde gave them both a warm thumbs-up before saluting and walking away.
Jack turned back to Pitch. “You better get to class, killjoy.”
Pitch grinned wider. “I was sure you’d prove me right.”
“Isn’t it fun being wrong?” Jack kissed him then, and Pitch’s doubts fled him. When Jack pulled away, he whispered, “And don’t mind them. They’ll suck it up.”
Closing his locker, Pitch said, “See you at lunch, then?”
Jack’s smile was incredible as he walked down the hall. “Lunch, after school, calculus, you’re stuck with me.”
“You have swim practice after school, don’t you?”
Jack stopped and winked at him again. “Maybe you could stay behind and, uh, tutor me.”
Pitch peered at him over his glasses and he swore he saw Jack shiver at the motion. “How about English literature?” he asked with a smile.
Jack’s grin was absolutely devilish.