Ugh, god, the world was a terrible, terrible place. His wrists hurt, his back hurt, his hips, dick, and ass hurt. He was exhausted and utterly spent, and he really, really didn't feel like moving.

So, with a disgruntled mutter, Arthur rolled over and shifted closer to where Alfred should have been. He'd mean to nuzzle into the athlete's chest, maybe be hugged and cuddled so he could fall back asleep with a smile. Except the space in front of him was empty, and the edge of the bed was behind him.

It slowly dawned on him that he was alone in his bed.

Green eyes cracked open, bleary and unfocused at first, then cleared after a few groggy blinks. Just as he'd thought, his bed was empty except for him.

"Alfred?"

Sitting up despite his sore body's protests, Arthur rubbed his face in an attempt to wake up faster then looked around the room. There were his clothes, still abandoned on the floor where they'd been dropped. But Alfred's clothes were missing, and it wasn't hard to notice that all the toys were gone, too.

Did he…clean up?

It was nice of him, and his job as the Master, to take care of things until his pet recovered. Only, Arthur had never told him that. They'd skipped all the figurative paperwork that came with BDSM play, so the athlete could only have done it to be nice.

Cute, the punk thought, smiling as he pushed his bangs back out of his face.

Throwing the blankets off, he moved to the edge of the bed and carefully stood to give his legs a chance to stop wobbling. Almost immediately, he felt wetness on the backs of his thighs that slowly slid downwards—Alfred's cum. Normally, he'd have headed straight to the bathroom to shower and clean himself up, but he wanted to see where Alfred had gone, so he dug through his dresser until he found a several-sizes-too-large shirt that he usually reserved for sick days, and pulled it on over his head. The sleeves were so long only his fingertips poked out, it was long enough to cover part of his thighs, and the neckline was stretched so far that some of his shoulders and collarbone showed. It was the most comfortable shirt he owned, and he liked to think Alfred would think it was cute.

So, Arthur abandoned his room and ventured out into the apartment.

There was no sound to indicate that anyone else was here, but he knew his parents were in their bedroom, passed out from all the drinking they'd done the night before. It'd be hours still before either of them regained consciousness, and that was entirely fine with Arthur. He should have plenty of time to find Alfred and clean himself up.

Well, the bathroom door was open, so Alfred wasn't in there. Glances told him that the bespectacled blond wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, either. Where the hell was he?

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze lowering towards the floor.

He left.

It hurt more than it should have to realize that.

I let him fuck me like that and the bastard just left.

This had never happened to him before. Waking up after one-night-stands was always a matter of getting rid of his partner so he could go about his day. But he hadn't wanted to get rid of Alfred, not after last night.

"God damn it," the green-eyed teen muttered, rubbing at his face again out of frustration with himself. He was such an idiot. Why had he ever thought the athlete would stick around? In this shitty dump? No, of course he wouldn't. He'd woken up, gotten dressed, put the toys away just to be polite, then had gotten out of here as quickly as he could.

Of course.

There was no reason for Arthur to ever expect otherwise from star athlete Alfred Jones.

But it still hurt.

Arthur went back into his room and shut the door.

It was Friday. He was late for school. No, he was absent. If he went to school, then he'd run into Alfred, and he was not ready for that, not so soon after being fucked and left. He was staying home today. Besides, he needed to shower, and his bed needed similar attention. Had Alfred cleaned the toys before he put them away? Maybe. Probably not. Arthur was going to have to check. But, first, he wanted to shower. Having Alfred's spunk on him wasn't something he particularly wanted at thte moment.

So, despite the allure of crawling back into bed and sleeping the day away, Arthur took his towel out of his closet and headed for the bathroom. He cranked the water up to full blast and turned it as hot as it would go. His shirt was abandoned on the floor, and it was then that he caught sight of his reflection in the rather dirty mirror above the sink.

He was still wearing the collar.

Anger and hurt and embarrassment welled up in him until Arthur couldn't stand it anymore. He tugged at the buckle until it came free, so rough that he almost choked himself, and pulled the collar off as quickly as he could then dropped it as if it might bite him. Damned thing. Damn it and the bruise it had left, and the hickeys that decorated his body. There were so many, so many hickeys and bruises, and he knew without looking that his arse was black and blue. God damn it. That prick had claimed him in every way then left without a word. What sort of heartless bastard did something like that?

Before he could work himself into tears, Arthur stepped into the shower stall, shivering at the heat of the water on his skin. It burned, but he sort of liked it. This way, maybe he wouldn't be able to feel Alfred touching him anymore.

When he was sufficiently drenched, he moved onto the task of shampooing his hair, then of scrubbing his body—it was hard not to watch the last traces of Alfred go down the drain. But Arthur was determined to get over this, and that bloody jock, so he was thorough in cleaning himself, and didn't let himself linger when it came to making sure his body had rid itself of any foreign substances. Having leftover spunk or lube leak out onto his clothes during the day was definitely not on his to-do list.

Only once he was absolutely sure he was spotless did the punk rinse himself one more time then shut off the water. Standing there, he examined the bruises that were still darkening around his wrists, then gingerly stretched out his back and hips.

Yeah, still sore. It'd be a few days before he'd be fully recovered, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Moving a little faster now, Arthur toweled himself off, gathered his shirt and the collar, and crossed the small space between his room and the bathroom. The next step was getting dressed, though he didn't much feel like skinnies and fishnet. The alternative was more sick day clothes—he found and dressed in sweatpants and a worn out t-shirt.

For a moment, he considered the collar. Part of him very much wanted to wear it. He loved collars and he loved the idea of being collared. But it would be exactly the wrong thing to do while he was trying to not be attached to Alfred. Being collared meant he was being claimed, that he was Alfred's pet and no one else's. It was frustrating to want that when he knew he shouldn't.

Damn it.

In the end, he left the collar on his desk and focused on pulling the sheets off his bed. They all needed to be washed, which meant a trip down the street to the Laundromat, and if he was already going, then he might as well take the rest of his laundry, as well.

After the bed was stripped, the soiled linens were added to his hamper, and Arthur packed his homework into his bag. He was already skipping school, so he should at least get his homework taken care of.

Hamper and bag in hand, the pierced blond grabbed his keys and wallet and phone, slipped on some shoes, then left the apartment in favor of his car. The Laundromat wasn't very far away, but Arthur was in no shape to walk those few blocks, especially carrying two heavy bags. So he drove, and settled as comfortably as he could with his bruised backside on one of the plastic chairs available once he'd gotten a couple of washing machines started on his clothes and bedcovers. It would be nearly an hour before they'd be ready to move to the dryers, and he could get plenty of homework done in that time.

Homework, at least, would be a good distraction.

When he returned home just over two hours later, Arthur was unsurprised to find his parents lounging on the couch. The remnants of a pizza—their breakfast—were scattered on the coffee table, and they each had a lit cigarette in hand. He would have liked to just go to his room and shut the door and not say a word to them, but he knew it wouldn't happen. They never made it that easy.

So he was prepared to be addressed when he passed in front of the TV to move deeper into the apartment.

"Hey."

He faltered when his mother spoke, but didn't stop.

"How come you ain't in school?"

"I'm not feeling well."

"What's that mark on your neck?" It was his father's turn to speak, though Arthur was pretty sure the man on the couch wasn't his biological father. Not with how much his mother slept around. "You little fag, you brought someone home. We told you not to do that shit here."

Arthur grit his teeth but didn't respond. Fighting with them would take energy he didn't have at the moment. As much as he wanted to berate them for being useless pieces of shyt, he merely shrugged noncommittally and continued into his room. It was a relief to finally get the door shut and locked behind himself to drown out the sounds of whatever show they'd had on the TV.

Sighing, the blond set down his school bag then started to pull his freshly washed sheets out of the hamper. It was a matter of minutes to put his bed back together, though all the leaning and reaching was less than pleasant on his back.

Damn that git for making him arch so much.

Bed made, he took his time in putting his clothes away, then sat at his desk to finish up his homework. His stomach growled, since it was past lunch time, but he knew better than to think there would be food in the kitchen. If he wanted to eat, then he'd have to go out, and he already knew that wasn't going to happen as long as the useless arseholes he called parents were still home.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

X

Monday

Standing at his locker, Arthur was careful to keep his wrist covered as he reached for a book on the top shelf. The last thing he needed was for someone to see the bruises and start asking questions. That was why he'd worn a scarf and a jacket, a black one with silver studs on the shoulders to keep his fellow students at bay. He didn't want anyone getting too close to him. Not today.

It was only two class periods into the school day, and he'd already had a close call with Alfred. The jock was in several of his classes, so he'd had to hurry to escape being caught. He didn't really think Alfred wanted to talk to him, but even if he did, Arthur wasn't ready for it. Not after a weekend of unsuccessfully trying to get over those eyes and that smile and that body. If Alfred tied to talk to him, the punk would almost definitely break.

This being the case, he really wasn't looking forward to P.E. class at the end of the day. Maybe he'd skip. It wasn't like he could do much, anyway, considering how sore he still was.

Just as he was about to close his locker and head for his next class, Arthur felt a presence at his back. His first thought was that it was Gil or Tonio come to ask him where he'd been all weekend.

"I was sick," the green-eyed blond began before the other could speak. "I'm sorry for skipping practice."L

There was no response at first, then Arthur felt his heat sink. It wasn't Gil or Tonio.

"Arthur."

The pierced teen spun, his books held to his chest, and started walking. "Go away, Alfred." Leave me alone.

"Arthur!" The larger boy grabbed his arm, making him stop, though Arthur refused to look at him. "I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you. We made a deal and now it's over. That's it, the end."

Insistent, Alfred turned the other blond around to face him. "And what if I don't want it to be over?" he asked, setting his hands on Arthur's shoulders and trying to get the punk to look at him. "What if I'm not okay with it being the end?"

No, no, he couldn't say that. It was cruel. The bastard was toying with him, playing with his emotions.

"You left," Arthur said quietly, aware that they were now alone in the hall; the bell to start class would ring soon. "You didn't say goodbye or leave a note or anything. You just left."

"It sounds awful when you say it like that," Alfred tried to joke, though his smile quickly faded. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Arthur."

The punk shrugged. "You didn't. Just let it be done, Alfred. It was a good shag. It was fun. Now forget about it and move on." He wished he could take his own advice. He really, really did. But the most he managed to do was shake Alfred's hands off and turn to start walking again.

One step. Two. Three. Alfred's eyes were drilling into his back. Then footsteps sounded. A hand grabbed his upper arm and pulled, forcing Arthur sideways into an empty classroom and almost making him fall—he dropped his books in order to regain his balance.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" the green-eyed student shouted as Alfred closed the door to give them some privacy. His shoulders were hunched as he glared at his scattered belongings, and there were angry tears forming under his eyes. "You don't just grab people like that, you git! I said I don't want to talk to you! Why should I, huh? You left! I let you fuck me and then you just left! You're such a bastard! I can't stand you! Just stay away from me!"

Silence followed his outburst, broken only by his uneven breathing. Damn it, he was going to cry, right in front of Alfred. Bloody fucking brilliant.

Out in the hall, the bell rang to signal the beginning of class—they were late.

Alfred hesitated for a moment before he grabbed the shorter blond and turned him around.

"Let—!" Arthur didn't finish that command, being too surprised at suddenly finding himself in a tight hug, his face pressed into Alfred's chest as the jock held him.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected an apology. What was he supposed to do? At a loss, he simply stood there and let Alfred hold him.

"I'm sorry," the athlete repeated. "I'm sorry for leaving. I didn't want to. I had to be at school, I had a game on Saturday. I…sorta hoped you'd be there." He smiled as if mocking himself for being so stupid. "I thought I'd be able to talk to you at school on Friday, only you didn't show. Guess that's my fault for being so rough with you." He was apologetic, but not sorry. "I wanted to go back and make sure you were okay, but I don't know your address or your phone number or anything, so I couldn't. I'm sorry. I should've stayed with you.

Hoping his voice would stay steady, Arthur swallowed thickly. "Yeah. You should have."

His response made Alfred laugh a little, and the jock finally let him go. "You okay?" he asked, smiling, though he also looked concerned.

"Fine."

"Good."

Slowly, Arthur lifted his chin and looked at the older boy for the first time in days. The git was even more attractive than he'd remembered.

"There they are," Alfred teased, touching Arthur's cheek. "I missed those big green eyes."

With a watery smile, Arthur realized that he was near to crying again, only this time he didn't particularly care. They'd be happy tears, after all, though there were a few things he'd rather do than cry.

Reaching out, he grabbed onto the front of Alfred's shirt and pulled, simultaneously going up on his toes to press his lips to the jock's. Immediately, arms snaked around his waist and he was lifted off his feet as Alfred returned the kiss.

Lips parted; breaths mixed and tongues invaded mouths. Arthur tilted his head and let out a soft moan, moving his hands up to tangle in Alfred's hair. He wrapped his legs around the jock's hips to pull himself closer and felt Alfred grin against his mouth. Teeth caught one of his lip rings and tugged playfully before the tongue came back to toy with the stud in Arthur's mouth.

God, no one snogged as good as Alfred did.

But he was getting light-headed, so it wasn't much longer before he broke the kiss and rested his head on Alfred's shoulder.

"Damn," the pierced blond panted, and the taller teen chuckled breathlessly. He was carried a few feet then set on the teacher's desk at the front of the room. Lips began to caress along his jaw then down—he felt Alfred taking his scarf off and blushed just as the athlete paused.

What would he think?

"Good boy, Arthur," Alfred purred, blue eyes locked on the collar around his pet's neck. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was definitely a welcome sight.

"Master," the smaller teen whimpered, fighting back a smile. In all honesty, he'd tried really hard to talk himself out of wearing the collar, but he hadn't been able to help it. Now he was glad he'd given in. In fact, he was pretty sure it would let him turn this whole thing in his favor. He just had to play his cards right.

Ducking his head, Arthur hugged himself and whined pitifully. "Why did Master leave me?" he asked, voice small and unsure to play up his role as the victim. "Was I bad? I tried to be good…"

"No, baby," Alfred crooned, easily falling back into the game. "You were perfect. Absolutely perfect." He smiled, cupping the smaller blond's face in his hands and lifting so he could see his pet's eyes. "I couldn't ask for a better pet."

Arthur sniffled. "Really?"

"Really." Still smiling, the jock leaned down and kissed the punk's nose, then lifted Arthur's chin just a little more and kissed him firmly.

Timid, the tattooed student pressed closer, his tongue slipping out to shyly taste his Master's lips before he drew away and looked down as if embarrassed.

Alfred nuzzled his companion's cheek, wrapping Arthur in a loose hug. "What is it?"

"I thought Master didn't want me anymore."

"That's not true."

"But Master left."

"I had to."

"But you didn't say goodbye, or tell me you would come back, or anything." His voice thickened as he talked and his eyes welled up with tears—crying on command had never been so useful. Arthur choked back a sob just to make it more realistic, though there was no denying that he'd had these exact feelings all weekend and just hadn't expressed them until now. "I thought Master abandoned me."

"No, no," Alfred soothed, gathering Arthur into his arms and hugging him close, "I would never abandon a pet as sweet as you."

Arthur nuzzled into the larger blond's chest. "Master promises?" he asked softly, voice muffled.

"Master promises. Now, give me a kiss."

Obedient, Arthur sat up and kissed the athlete, smiling as he did. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome. However," a sly look came into Alfred's eyes, his eyebrows quirking as he smirked, "you were a bit naughty earlier when you ignored me then yelled at me."

Those words sank in and Arthur was quick to pull away, a whine escaping him. "No, Master, no punishment," he pleaded, fearing what that would do to his still-recovering body.

Alfred stroked the punk's cheek with his thumb. "But you misbehaved. You were rude and called me a bastard."

"I didn't mean it," Arthur whimpered, curling protectively, though he didn't dare pull away from his Master's touch. "I only said it because I was scared that Master didn't want me anymore."

"Pets that bite are punished, no matter why they bite."

"But it wasn't my fault!"

"Hush." Alfred was stern. "You did misbehave, but I'll let it go just this once. Only," he raised an eyebrow to make sure Arthur was paying attention, "because it was mean of me to scare you like that."

Relief had the green-tipped-blond nearly going limp. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome. But there is one other problem."

Problem?

The shorter teen let his confusion show on his face, though he didn't ask what Alfred was talking about. His small frown was met with a tranquil smile.

Alfred shifted, his arm moving a few inches to the side—Arthur gasped, back arching, then whimpered because suddenly the athlete had hold of his groin and he hadn't realized he was hard until this moment.

Fuck.

"What are we going to do about this, Arthur?" the bespectacled blond purred, rubbing gently.

Nails digging into the wood of the desk to keep himself in line, Arthur wished he could close his legs and knew Alfred would never let him. The athlete was already standing between his knees.

This was embarrassing as hell. Being groped at school, skipping class to hook up in an empty classroom, wasn't something he'd ever planned on doing. It wasn't his particular kink. What if someone walked in? What time was it? They were skipping class. Someone was bound to notice.

"We—we can't do this now," he protested, nervously glancing towards the door. "Someone'll see…"

"I don't care."

Fear of being walked in on made Arthur hesitate for a moment longer, then he signed resignedly. "Okay," he gave in, relaxing so that his legs fell open, and leaning back on his hands to give Alfred access to the majority of his body.

The athlete grinned, obviously pleased, and ran his hands up Arthur's jean-clad thighs as he bent forward and kissed the pierced blond. "Good boy."

It was a husky whisper that made Arthur shiver, his green eyes hooded and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Alfred's hands were rubbing at his hips and thighs, just enough pressure and friction to cause tingling pleasure in the punk's groin. He could feel his jeans getting tighter, though most of his attention was on the mouth that had found its way to the corner of his jaw. Bites pulled small gasps from him; he'd have gripped Alfred's hair if doing so wouldn't have made him fall backwards. Instead, he settled for tilting his head back and letting only small, breathy sounds escape him as the bespectacled teen nipped and sucked to create a new hickey on his pet, claiming him all over again.

Eventually, Alfred drew away so he could examine the mark, then licked it by way of showing his satisfaction. When he straightened, Arthur watched him, his face flushed and his pulse quickened. It was difficult not to shift against the desk to try to relieve the tightness around his still-hardening length.

"We need to make sure you keep your voice down," the athlete mused, looking Arthur up and down in search of inspiration. Then he grinned, took hold of the shorter blond's shirt, and lifted the hem toward's his pet's mouth. "Bite this."

Knowing full well now what Alfred meant to do, Arthur obediently opened his mouth and caught the fabric of his shirt in his teeth, holding it up to bare his chest and stomach.

"Perfect." Alfred's hands went to the Brit's belt, pulled the buckle loose then slid it free, and moved onto the button and zipper of those skinny jeans that made his pet's ass look so tempting.

Arthur let a heavy breath out through his nose, his shoulders sagging slightly at the release of most of the pressure on his cock. Then he watched, tense with anticipation, as his jeans and pants—not a thong, because his backside was still too tender to rub against denim—were pulled down just enough that his length was given freedom. The hungry way Alfred looked at him put a dark blush on his cheeks, and he dug his teeth a little harder into his shirt.

That look alone told him he wouldn't be given any mercy.

"You're cute all over," Alfred cooed, stroking one finger up and down the punk's erection as if petting him. "Just adorable."

If he'd been able to talk, Arthur would have told the taller blond to go fuck himself. That, of course, would have gotten him in trouble, and even if Alfred decided to let him say it, the athlete would undoubtedly have turned it around on him. Saying something like that would only have gotten him bent over the desk for a thorough fuck before their next class.

Honestly, Arthur wasn't sure if he'd survive sex at the moment. Not that he was given much time to think about it.

"Hn!" Breath catching in his throat, the punk tensed when that teasing finger was replaced by a firm grip, Alfred's hand holding him tightly as he pumped once to make sure Arthur was fully erect. The friction made him keen.

Smirk once more in place, Alfred leaned close to the smaller male as he palmed his pet's cock. "You're hard as a rock, Artie. Is a quickie going to be enough for you?"

Arthur struggled to keep his eyes open, air hissing between his teeth with every little movement of Alfred's hand. What was he supposed to say? Yes? That probably wasn't the answer Arthur wanted to hear, but saying no would probably lead to sex and as much as he liked that idea, he knew he wouldn't make it. So he shrugged, arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up as his Master continued to touch him in that infuriatingly patient way.

"You don't know?" Lips brushed against his cheek then down towards his neck—Arthur shuddered when Alfred licked along the edge of the collar. "We are at school…so I guess you'll have to be satisfied. At least for now." His hand squeezed and twisted, dragging a moan out of the smaller male.

Fuuuuck you, git.

It wouldn't surprise him to find a tear in his shirt from his teeth by the end of this.

Seeing the punk so breathless and tense already had Alfred practically purring. "Remember to keep your voice down, my pet. We wouldn't want someone walking in and seeing you like this." He grinned, moving his hand just a little faster against Arthur's length. "We'd probably get in trouble, but I don't care about that. I just don't want anyone else to see how sexy my personal little slut is."

If he'd have been able to breathe properly, that would have made Arthur whimper. The sound came out in pieces, muffled by his shirt, and he was glad he was biting into fabric instead of his lip. Still, the jock was taking things much too slowly for his liking. What the hell was Alfred thinking? They were in school! He shouldn't be dragging it out and teasing like this!

Just get me off so we can go to class, he pleaded silently, hoping the look on his face was enough to convey that message.

But Alfred wasn't looking at him, not specifically at his face, at least. The athlete had stepped back enough that he could get a better of view of what his touches were doing to the green-eyed blond he'd perched on the teacher's desk. He wanted to see every pleasured, tortured expression on the punk's face, watch his chest heave with labored breaths, every tremor that ran through his body and the way his hips twitched and jerked with need. Everything Arthur did was perfect and he wanted it all.

It still stunned him a little to think someone like Arthur was his for the taking, that the pierced teen wanted to be claimed by him. And wearing that collar to school? That was the sexiest fucking thing Alfred had ever seen. All he wanted right now was to work every sound possible from the punk, to do whatever it took to ensure that Arthur would never walk away from him like that again, and he hated that they were at school so he couldn't. Jerking him off in a classroom was just going to have to be good enough until he was finished with practice tonight.

Refocusing on the boy he was touching so intimately, Alfred moved in close again so he could lean down and nip at Arthur's ear, then smiled when the punk shivered and whined. "Don't worry, baby," he purred, nuzzling the pale teen's cheek, "I'll let you cum soon." Tongue slipping out, he licked one of the rings through his helix.

Oh god, oh god.

Arthur felt it when his body started to get close to giving in. He was burning, much too hot to be wearing clothes, especially a leather jacket. His face was beet red, and sweat was darkening his hair; he could feel it dripping down his back, too. All he could think was that he was too hot, too tight in his belly, too short of breath.

Breathe, he had to remind himself, not that it did him any good. There just wasn't enough air coming in through his nose to keep up. And, hell, his stomach was so tight. So bloody tight. IT was going to give soon. It had to. He couldn't take this for much longer.

So many sounds wanted out of him and holding them all back was impossible, but he at least managed to keep them muffled and quiet, some were broken and choked. None of them should have been loud enough to be overheard through the door.

"You make such cute faces."

His hips twitched upwards and Arthur's eyes rolled towards the back of his skull. "Nnn…"

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It registered, slowly, that the friction of Alfred's hand against his dick wasn't as rough as before. Even more slowly, Arthur realized it was slick now because he'd started leaking precum, and the jock was using it as lube so he could pump faster. And shit he was thumbing the tip, pressing on it so that Arthur couldn't stop the whine that built up in his throat, couldn't keep from bucking his hips up in desperation. "Hnng!"

Shit fuck arse bloody wanker!

"Cute."

"Nn…nn…" He was panting hard and light-headed, his nails digging into the desk and his heels pressed against the side to give him leverage so he could keep moving his hips with Alfred's hand. There wasn't a lax muscle in his body—every single one of them was straining towards getting rid of the pressure in his groin. It had to go. It was too much.

"I know you're close, baby," Alfred cooed, mouth by the punk's ear again. "I know you want it."

Arthur gave an insistent buck of his hips, moaning a little louder than before to get his point across.

Infuriatingly, the jock chuckled. "Yeah, you want it bad."

If he was forced to wait much longer for his release, Arthur thought he might start crying. That blue-eye bastard had done this to him, and now he was taking his sweet time to finish it! Arthur could have punched him. Or, at least he would have if he could've gotten enough control back to move his arms, but that was unlikely. This close to climaxing, it was nearly impossible.

So he ground his teeth into the fabric of his shirt and squeezed his eyes shut against the sensations racking his body. The darkness of his eyelids should have been a sanctuary, but instead it just made it harder to focus. His thoughts lept from how hot he was to Alfred sucking on his ear to how tight his stomach felt to the jock's hand on him.

Rubbing, squeezing, every pass back and forth inching him closer and closer to the orgasm he was more than ready to beg for.

"Hnn…nn…!" There was no keeping quiet anymore. If someone happened to walk by, they'd almost definitely hear what was going on. And Arthur didn't give a fuck. "Mmm!"

Slowly, Alfred let the punk's ear slip between his teeth. "That's enough."

A second later, Arthur's eyes flew open and his stomach arched sharply as a loud groan forced its way past clenched teeth.

Mother of fuck!

Surprised by the sudden increase in the speed and force with which Alfred moved his hand, there was little Arthur could do against it but hold onto the desk and roll his hips desperately.

Jesus! Jesus! Jesus…!

"Fuuuuck!" The word came out in a breathless, high-pitched whine as Arthur's hips bucked and stuttered, his body finally giving in. His eyes were open as far as they could go but he still couldn't see anything but burning white, and his body was numb to everything but his own pleasure and the heat of it all.

"Good boy."

His Master's words barely registered, and once he started to regain some sense of feeling, he wondered vaguely if the bespectacled blond had actually spoken.

Inch by trembling inch, the tension went out of him until the punk's hands slid and he fell back against the desk. Luckily, it was a slow enough movement that he didn't hit his head. Not that he would have felt it. He could barely even feel Alfred cleaning him up—had he gotten tissues from somewhere? It seemed possible—then fixing his clothes. The athlete was such a considerate Master.

"Thanks," Arthur sighed, managing a tired smile as he lay on the desk, his legs dangling over the side. As tense as he'd been, he was completely limp now. Every ounce of energy had left him.

Warmth surrounded the pierced blond and he cracked one eye open to find Alfred leaning over the desk to kiss his forehead. "You're welcome."

The punk let out a happy hum. "We should go to class."

"We can wait 'til next period starts," Alfred pointed out, his tone firm enough that Arthur understood there would be no arguing. "Besides, if we walk in late together, with you very obviously still recovering from an orgasm, everyone'll know what we were doing."

Arthur's smile faded. "…so?"

One of the bespectacled blond's eyebrows lifted. "You want our entire school to know I just jerked you off instead of going to class?"

"I wouldn't particularly mind." That was a lie, of course. He just didn't want to sound embarrassed about it, and he was hoping for it to lead somewhere. "Unless you don't want anyone to know we're fuck-buddies."

Immediately, a frown took of Alfred's face and he straightened to put a little distance between them. "Fuck-buddies?"

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Arthur shrugged out of his jacket to make it easier for his body to cool down. "Yeah. What else would we be?"

"Dating." Alfred said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Arthur fought back a wide smile.

"Are you asking me on a date, Jones?" he teased to cover up the sudden giddiness he felt.

Alfred put a hand on the desk and leaned forward so his nose nearly brushed against the punk's. "Yeah, I am. So, whaddya say, Kirkland? Go out with me. Be my boyfriend—screw what anyone else thinks—and be the cutest," he kissed one side of Arthur's neck, "sexiest," a kiss on the other side, "most irresistible lover," their eyes met for a brief instant before Alfred kissed the shorter blond, "I could ever want." Another kiss, and this time when the jock began to pull away, Arthur leaned forward to make it last longer. Then he grinned, tongue sticking out to show off the stud.

"Whatever you say, Master."