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Fuck, dead end. You took a wrong turn.
Your feet throb in your shoes as you continue to run down the short alley anyway, hoping maybe you could hide or find a way over the concrete wall. You’re panting. You’ve been running for longer than the oxygen in your body could keep up with. Chest heaving and hands gripping tightly around your unfortunately dry water gun.
You hear his steps as he continues coming after you, ratty yellow converse slapping against the concrete of the sidewalk. You thought you could make it back to your apartment in time, but in your haste you took your turn too early, and now you were trapped.
You reach the wall, searching frantically for an escape. You could climb the dumpster, but it wasn’t high enough for you to reach over to the other side. To safety.
His running behind you gets louder in your ears as he gets closer. You can hear him panting hard over your own heaves, eyes still frantically looking for a way out. You couldn’t lose yet, and you’ll be damned if you lose to him.
“Give it up, Dave,” he pants, steps slowing to a casual walk. You can hear him pumping up the gun as he continues toward you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “You’re not going anywhere.”
You slump forward against the cold, scratchy façade of the concrete wall, chest still heaving for the air your muscles so desperately need, and you go over why you were even in this situation in the first place.
Oh yeah.
This all started as a bet between Jake and Dirk.
Well, officially, it started when you all decided to join the Assassins game this year.
Normally a contest of sorts amongst the Seniors of your high school, you and the rest of your Juniors group were able to enter alongside your brother Dirk and his other senior friends Jake and Roxy. There was Jane as well, but she wasn’t really interested in the game from the beginning.
You had, at first, decided to enter as one big group, but then decided if you entered as two, you would all have a better shot at winning the pot.
You see, how Assassins works is like this. Every group that enters has to pay an entrance fee of twenty bucks per person. All of this money is collected and put aside. Each team, equipped with the water guns of their choice, were pitted against each other. All you had to do was shoot an opponent to get them out of the running. No rules about how you acquire your target, and this led to some pretty interesting tales. You heard that once, a kid climbed up on an opponents roof at five in the morning and waited for them to leave their house to shoot them.
A lot of the stories went along those lines.
But the biggest part of the game was that the winning team took home the pot. Which is why you had decided to enter as two separate groups. Well, at least that’s how it started.
Jake was going on and on about how well he would do in the game, due to his knowledge of working firearms. Dirk had then, after listening to this for twenty minutes, said that agility and cunning were more necessary tactics for the game. They were just water guns, Jake, a little different from your double pistols.
But Jake had believed otherwise, and the conversation turned into a big disagreement between the two that sucked in the rest of the group like a black hole. Once Jake made a snarky comment about your brother’s sword and his abilities with it, the line wasn’t just crossed, it was sped over at 80 miles per hour by a 16 wheeler going down the interstate.
And that’s where the bet came in. Dirk challenged Jake for the pot. Teams were made right there at Dirk’s hand. Jake, Jade and John would fight against he, you and Roxy. Your brother was scary serious, and while he was usually calm and collected, the waves of anger and determination radiating off him kept the rest of you from protesting. It was Jake who had broken the silence, pushing up from his chair and leaning over the table to shake Dirk’s hand, sealing the deal.
Later that day, you and John were chilling on his couch, watching lame movie after lame movie. Well, watching was a relative term. You had started out watching movies, but along the way there was touching and groping and panting and now you're here, straddling your boyfriend and leaning over him, hands in his hair and mouth over his own. Lips and tongue and sucking and fuck. In the middle of it all, you half hard and rutting slowly against his thigh, he laughs. You ask what and he just says he was thinking about earlier, saying how ridiculous the whole thing was. You grunted, annoyed, the throbbing in your jeans more important than the dumb argument earlier. You pull back, frustrated, as he giggles again, but once you’re off him, he rolls his hips up to try and find some of the lost friction.
He whines, lips pouting and hips rolling again. You just ride it out. “Dude, don’t think about your cousin and my brother while we fuck, that’s weird and a total boner killer.”
“It’s just, really stupid that they agreed to this, that’s all I’m saying,” he pants, still trying to get you back into it, hands massaging your sides, moving your hips down against his as he moves.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” you say, body moving with his motions. “But c’mon, Jake is in a little in over his head, here.”
“Um,” he said, movements stalling, “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?”
“Well, of course we’re going to be the ones to win,” he said, laughing airily like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His thumbs massaged circles in your hips. It felt condescending.
“Oh ‘of course’?” You pull back, lifting off his lap and moving to sit on the couch. His hands fall limply to his sides as he looks at you, confused. If it weren’t for your shades obstructing the view of your eyes, John would know it was time to stop talking. Your tone of voice alone should have been enough of a warning, but your boyfriend could be incredibly dense when he wanted to be.
“Well,” he said, shifting up into a sitting position, bringing his legs closer to him as you sit, “Jake and Jade do have pretty good experience with guns and stuff, and I’ve gone to the shooting range with them a few times before. I just think our experience will get us farther than your team. I mean, you guys just have swords.”
“Oh we ‘just have swords’?”
“Well, Roxy has her guns,” John muses, completely oblivious to how riled up you were getting, “but still, three on one, dude.”
You turn away from him, looking back at the television, arms crossed and hands tightening around your elbows. The light from the screen flashes across your face as John finally gets the idea. “Aw, Dave. Your team will do fine, just, probably not as good as us.” You shift your eyes over to him, a silent warning about saying another word I fucking dare you Egbert I swear to God. He puts his hand on your shoulder and you tense, waiting for him to fuck up even more than he had already managed. “I mean,” here it comes, “I guess you guys have a shot, but honestly I don’t think you’re gonna win.”
You huff and stand from the couch, adjusting your shades before nodding to him in silent goodbye. “Have fun fucking your hand, asshole.” And you’re out the door, John trailing after you, confused, angry and pants straining.
“Dave!” he calls, still standing at his doorstep as you advance down the sidewalk. He calls after you again, and you flip him off before turning onto the next street.
Of course this meant no sex for you too, but seriously what an ass. The next few weeks you found yourself strifing with Dirk more and more. There was a silent agreement amongst the both of you that you will not, under any circumstances, lose this tournament. Or at least lose to them. Bro watched you both flash around the house when the weather was too wild for the roof. Sometimes he would step in, making distractions or even taking out his own sword as well.
You distanced yourself from John slightly. But he did the same. The whole game thing started to eerily consume the lives of both teams. Well, sans the girls. They were still acting all buddy buddy. You, however, were determined.
You were also fucking irritable to say the least. All this pent up frustration and anger left you tired and aggravated. Jerking off at three in the morning wasn’t exactly how you would normally choose to go about relieving yourself, but really you had no other choice. Well, you did, but that involved running back to John with your tail between your legs. Fuck that.
Damn your flaring teenage hormones.
You don’t think John was any better off. At school he kept his distance, but you could feel him hovering. He’d stiff when you would walk past him and his breath would hitch when you teasingly bumped into him in the lunch room. The little touches were for you too because God do you miss those pianist fingers.
When the game actually started, however, the relentlessness of their team was actually pretty surprising. Especially seeing John in this new way. Determined, strong, and terrifying. Completely different from the dorky boy you called your boyfriend.
It was actually incredibly attractive, and you found it your masturbation fodder for the next three weeks.
As the days passed, more and more teams found themselves out of the running. You had managed to get Jade while she was out with Rose getting coffee, and Jake had surprisingly taken out Roxy early one Saturday morning by hiding in the bushes outside her house. This evened out the score, and the numbers continued to dwindle, bringing you to now.
Your two teams, along with one other large group, were the only ones remaining. You and Dirk had been walking home from school, water guns in your backpacks even though the school forbids them. Really they just forbid the use of them on school grounds, but with the way John and Jake had been really stepping up their game, you both felt the need to be prepared.
And good thing you were. Once a good distance from the school, Jake appeared on the sidewalk, water gun in hand, finger on the trigger.
John was behind you when you went to run, and with a glance at your brother, it was on. In a flash your water guns were out and you both had began advancing down opposite ends of the sidewalk. John had followed in pursuit after you, and Jake followed Dirk as he disappeared behind the buildings. Bait: taken.
And everything would have gone according to plan if you had just taken the right fucking turn.
So now you’re totally fucked three ways from Sunday and Dirk is going to rip you apart when you manage to saunter back home, soaked and ashamed.
Fuck that noise, you could still get out of this.
Your schoolbag on your back is heavy like cinderblocks and you let it fall off your shoulders. It hits the ground with a thud and a jingle, the zippers and key chains clanging against each other as the books inside shift and slide. You still hear his sneakers slapping against the pavement, advancing upon you.
You can hear his fingers tap tap taping in a slow rhythm against the plastic of his water gun, tongue clicking in a playfully scolding way as he gets closer and closer. “I’m surprised, Dave,” he says, slightly panting, “such a simple mistake.”
He’s only about two feet away from you, and you groan into the cement, “Just shoot me already, Egbert,” you sigh, defeated, “you win.”
You feel his breath tickle against the hair on your neck and did it just get really hot out here or is that just you. “Maybe in a moment,” he breathes, and fuck, dorky John has checked out, “but right now I have you right where I want you.”
You groan and your knees go weak, but John keeps you suspended with his own body, pushing you up against the scratchy wall. You both sigh at the amount of contact because goddamn it’s been too long. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he breathes, lips brushing against the base of your neck. And fuck has he because you can already feel his arousal forming against your ass.
But damn you have too, and you groan, forehead leaning against the wall.
The water gun is out of his hands now, suspended at his side by the connecting strap around his shoulders. His hands snake around your sides and massage your hipbones, bringing you closer to him. “Seeing you at school, trying to keep my distance. It was so hard, Dave.” He’s panting again, but this time it’s not from chasing you and your head is spinning. “And then you fucking touch me at lunch and it took everything not to jump you right there.”
“Fuck, John,” you whine, pressing back against him, forearms propping you against the wall, gasping as he shifts forward. You couldn’t get away even if you wanted to. His arms like steel around your midsection as he breathes into your ear and moves with shallow ruts against your backside.
Also the fact that you haven’t been touched by your boyfriend in so fucking long was making this seriously hard to refuse.
You feel yourself already begin to strain in your jeans, and you cry out a little when John’s thrusts start to become more vigorous. He’s nibbling at your ear when he says, breathy as fuck, “Shh, hh” stuttering with a particularly forceful thrust, “Can’t be too loud now can we, Dave?”
You whimper, eyes squeezing shut. You feel electricity run from every place that he’s touching you. From his knees against the backs of your own to his chest pressing into your back. God you just want him to touch you already, those numbing circles he’s still forming on your hips not being nearly enough, but you won’t beg for it. Because that’s exactly what you know he wants.
Unfortunately it may have to come to that.
John is actually keeping to the volume level pretty well. At least better than you. But God, when the nibbles on your ear begin to move down your neck to the junction where it meets your shoulder, things are starting to get a little hot to handle, and you’ve barely passed second base.
You can feel the hickey he’s leaving and fuck this is awesome.
But it’d be a lot more awesome if he would just touch you already.
“Jesus, Egbert,” you pant, neck craning to the side as he pulls your shirt collar down to leave another bite. He’s still rocking against you. It’s more of a rubbing motion against your ass than actual thrusts but it keeps him pressed tight against you and you don’t want him to stop. Maybe use his hands for something else but please god don’t stop.
“Fuck, Dave,” he pants, forehead against your shoulder, shallow thrusts never ending “I want you, I need you so bad,” and each word leaves you whining, rubbing back against him, “it’s not enough, it’s not enough.” You don’t know whether he’s talking about right now or hours spent alone in his room with only his right hand for company because you con-fucking-cur.
Because it’s not enough and it never fucking was and John I swear to God if you don’t fucking touch me already-!
You’re half positive the end of that sentence was said aloud but the fact of the matter is that his hand is finally snaking lower and gripping you and yes, yes, perfect. You both moan at the contact, and John thrusts hard against you, hand gripping tight as he does so. It’s painfully good but this fabric need to go like, now.
You’re both panting hard and “Egbert I swear to God if you cream your pants you’re not getting any for the next month-!”
Your breath hitches when you feel his fingers move, dance around the buckle of your belt and slip it loose. The button is next and he opens your fly with such velocity you’re afraid it’ll get caught in your boxers.
It doesn’t, though, and the released pressure is both wonderful and not enough. He pulls back, hands receding, and your hyper-sensitive ears pick up the sound of him removing his own belt and popping the fly. Your pants fall limply around your knees once given the space to do so, and you hear his pants do the same. You both gasp when his hips connect with yours again, sans denim, and it feels fucking fantastic.
He’s rock hard against you, dick rubbing between the cleft of your cheeks through your boxers and you bring your hand up to your mouth, silencing a particularly loud moan.
That seems to egg John on even more, and he groans, burying his face in your shoulder as he ruts harder and faster and yes, yes, yes. The banging of the water gun at his side background noise to you now.
You’d much rather be facing him, your dick needing the friction, wanting his pressing against your own, needing it. Instead he wraps his hand back around you, palming you through the thin fabric as you gasp and shudder at the much needed contact. “John, please,” you breathe, no longer caring about your pride because you need this God do you need this.
He moans, thrusting again, “Please, what?” and it’s strained but it does wonderful things to your dick and fuck he wants you to beg for it.
“Please touch me I need you so bad fuck John please I can’t I need it I-fuck!”
And he’s sucking your neck again, hand finding its way through the part in your boxers to finally grasp you and you cry out, hand reaching back to grasp and tangle in his beautiful dark hair. You pull as he begins to pump you, and he groans into your shoulder, biting and licking and sucking and it sends vibrations down your spine and throbs in your dick and Jesus fuck this isn’t enough but it feels so perfect.
He rubs the bead of pre at the tip of your cock and uses it as lubricant, continuing to pump you faster. “God Dave, I wanna fuck you so bad,” and you gasp because damn that sounds so much better.
Hand still in his hair, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, shuddering as his lips brush up your neck and nip around your mouth. Finally he kisses you, and you see stars. His tongue teases your lips and you open them easily, your own tongue dancing with his.
Distracted by his mouth over your own, you barely register when he pulls down your boxers, letting them fall over your jeans. You moan into him as the crisp air hits your erection, and he moves to suck your bottom lip between his own. “John,” you breathe, and you feel his hand leave your hip, hear it dig around in one of his hoodie pockets and you can only guess what he’s got in there. You smirk, his mouth moved to pant beside your ear. He planned this.
“Don’t fucking say it,” he says, low and like fucking music to your ears as he pulls out the little tube from his pocket.
You sigh when you hear the cap pop off and hit the ground, and you prepare yourself for what you knew was coming. In what feels like seconds, you feel his index finger rubbing against your ass and you moan. “Just do it already you ass.”
You feel his smirk on your neck as his finger breaches you and you gasp, hand tightening in his hair. This makes him gasp as well, and to silence himself he bites onto your shoulder. You groan, his finger curling inside you, and he brushes against fuck yes!
“Ah! John,” you cry, and he kisses you to keep you quiet. If not for the scratchy surface you were trying to avoid rubbing your dick against, you would’ve forgotten you were even in an alley. At any second you could be caught and the thought makes you moan into his mouth.
He adds another finger and begins to stretch you, brushing against your prostate one last time before avoiding to touch it any longer. He just teases around it and it makes you throb, hot and heavy, leaking from the tip. “John I swear to god.”
You know it’s taking everything for him not to just thrust into you, and to tease you push back against his fingers, moaning obscenely. He shifts, rubbing his dick against one of your cheeks, groaning. “Fuck, Dave,” pant, “not fair.”
You do it again, and in retaliation, he grips your cock and brushes your prostate at the same time and “JesusfuckingChristJohnjustdoitalready!”
He doesn’t need to be told again. He stretches you one last time, then removes his fingers from you to coat himself. He moans at the contact of his hand around himself, and you can hear the slick as he pumps himself once, twice. “John I swear to God if you come without fucking me I will rip off your dick and shove it up your ass.”
You’re needy and already so embarrassingly close, and you want him so bad just “John please.”
And his hands move to spread you, and guide himself into you. He goes at such an agonizingly slow pace but you feel yourself stretching around his girth and you sigh. Head still against his shoulder, you shift and kiss at his jaw, and you continue to kiss and nip at him as he turns his head, lips finding your own. You suck his upper while he sucks on your lower and finally he stops moving, and his hips are pressing firmly against your backside.
You're still a little uncomfortable, and John gives you a minute to adjust to him. His rough kiss lightens, and instead his lips ghost over your own, pecking once, twice.
Even when he’s trying to be controlling he’s still fucking sweet and dear lord you love this boy.
“Ok,” you breathe against him, hand moving from his hair to rub at the back of his neck.
He kisses you roughly again, but not sloppy and you love it when he kisses you like this. Sweet and raw and perfect and you breathe him in as he starts to shift, slowly, shallowly, pulling out and pushing in.
“I thought you were supposed to be angry with me,” you whisper, and he deepens the kiss, hand moving from your hip to tilt your head so he has easier access. You sigh against him, needing controlling, rough John right now.
His thrusts start to speed up, start to get more vigorous. His mouth falls from yours, unable to keep the kiss going as he continues to rut against you. He’s panting and you’re panting and he’s pressing closer against you with each thrust until he gets to the point where he pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in to the hilt.
Your own dick is throbbing with each thrust and leaking embarrassingly. “Nngh,” you whine, face pressing against his neck, “John touch me please.”
He doesn’t hesitate. One hand on your hip, keeping you steady as he thrusts in and out of you, the other trails down from its place on your neck. Everywhere he touches leaves goosebumps as he slides down your chest, over a pert nipple through the cotton of your shirt, over your hip bone and finally, finally touching you again and you keen, back arching against him.
“Oh my god, Dave,” he pants into your shoulder. “You’re so perfect oh my god.”
Your whines and moans get progressively louder as his pumps begin to match his thrusts. You arch against him again, hand like a vice grip in his hair as you cry out. His own is still pumping you, pre spilling and lubing your cock as he twists his fingers around the head. “John I’m!” and you keen as you come onto his hand, some splattering on the wall in front of you.
“Fuck, Dave!” and he spends himself in you as you clench around him. He rides out his orgasm, and keeps you from coming down from yours as he continues to press against your abused prostate.
You make little ‘nngh’ noises as you slump against his chest, him thrusting into you with less and less energy as he finally comes down.
His lips brush against your neck, breath hot as they trail up and kiss lazily at your mouth. You’re both left panting as he pulls away from you, bending down to pick up your pants and readjust you before fixing himself. The mess in your boxers is sticky and feels nasty as it begins to dry, but you’re almost home you could care less.
His lips are back at your ear again, hands massaging your sides as he whispers, “I’ll let you go this time,” and you had completely forgotten about what had happened about twenty minutes ago that landed you where you were now.
John’s gone once you pick your backpack off the ground, and you walk back home like you didn’t just have amazing sex in the back of an alley, and that the evidence of such wasn’t splattered on the cement wall and drying in your pants.
Dirk’s sitting on the futon when you return home, and you can tell he’s suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything and gets back to watching T.V. as you pass him and saunter into your room.
Your ass is sore when you lay back on your bed and you sigh, post sex haze numbing you, lulling you to sleep, and you pass out before you even touch your homework.
John learns pretty quickly that he should’ve taken you out when he had the chance. You and Dirk craft and perfect your plan of destruction, and manage to take out Jake and John, as well as half of the remaining team. The last three weren’t too hard to finish off, and you and Dirk left school that day with the pot, Roxy at your side.
You all stood in the quad, Dirk and yourself triumphantly holding the $800 in winnings above your heads. There were some boos from the losing teams, but they were easily out volumed by the crowd of cheering peers.
The burning look that John gave you bore into your skull, and it made you smirk even harder.
That night he tugged you back to his place, still angry, and pushed you against the door once he closed it, kissing, sucking, tugging.
It was hot as fuck.
He then pulled you up the stairs and into his room, throwing you down and ravishing you on his bed.
Hate sex was fucking great.
But after, he kissed you in that way you love, nuzzled at your neck and held you close, whispering in your ear about how much of a prick you were but that he fucking loved you, you dork. You had laughed and rubbed at his back, kissing him one last time before resting against him and falling asleep.