“You don’t even know this guy!” she said, whispering loudly to be heard over Halo 4.
“Fuck you! Who knows anyone?” He’d decided not to tell her who, exactly, the guy was, just that he worked at the school. Which was good, because right now she’d probably be trying to get Campion fired if he’d told her details. “Pol, I’m a grown up. I can fuck anyone I want. Plus, we haven’t even gone that far!”
Okay, that was mostly a lie. Sure, he sort of hadn’t had sex with Campion, but what they’d done had been way more serious than anything he’d done with anyone else. He still couldn’t get the taste of Campion’s fat fingers out of his mouth, even after brushing like five times, which had to be psychological.
“What if it was me, Red? Huh? What if I was all, ‘Oh, I’m having sex with a secret older man, who works at the school, and he pretends he doesn’t know me if we see each other on campus.’ Wouldn’t you have a problem with it then?”
“Pol, you’d have a problem with that. But I don’t. It’s—actually, it’s hot.”
She narrowed her eyes, throwing her hair over her shoulder in that way that made her look like a valley girl, even though she was Asian and her hair wasn’t even long enough to throw back like that. “How can you possibly find that hot? Weren’t you just moaning last semester about how much you hated random hook-ups and you didn’t want a fuck buddy, you wanted something real? Is this real, Red? Is this what you were talking about?”
No. Okay, be honest, no, it wasn’t. He would have cringed in horror at something like this. But right now? It was by far the most real thing in his life, way more real than classes, or professors, or one more endless game of Halo Capture the Flag.
“Leave him alone, Polly!” Damon called. “Give Red a break.”
“No, I won’t leave him alone. Because this may be hot now, but in a couple of days you’re gonna want more than sexy text messages from this guy, and he’s gonna drop you, and you know what you’re gonna do then? You’re gonna come crying to me, Red. You always do this. You always pick some stupid guy, and he always breaks your heart.”
“We’ve only known each other for eight months!”
“Name one guy who didn’t break your heart in the last eight months, then.”
He couldn’t. “Shut the fuck up, Polly!” He grabbed his bag. “I’m taking a walk.”
“Aw, c’mon, Red! Come play with us!”
“You’ll see, Red! You’ll see I’m right!” Polly’s voice followed him down the hall, and the worst part was that beneath how much of a bitch she was being, she probably was right. But because he’d stupidly mentioned that he might end up at the Spark, he couldn’t go there now or risk his friends finding him.
Obviously, if you can’t see the guy you’re screwing because you can’t introduce your friends to him, that was probably a warning sign of some kind. But fuck it.
He pulled out his phone and texted Campion with shaking fingers. I can’t get away from my fucking friends. Can we meet anywhere else? Where there aren’t people?
And if Campion blew him off, then fine, fucking fine, everyone could just fuck themselves for all he cared. He could move to a different school, get a different life, and forget any of these people existed. Fuck all of them.
The phone went off.
Arts and Letters, north entrance. By the rose garden.
“Thank god,” Red mumbled, and texted Okay.
The rose garden side of Arts and Letters was dark and shadowy, not all that frequently used. On nights when there was a game at the baseball field, which was on the other side of the hill, the lights lit this side of Arts and Letters, but right now nothing was going on. Red’s heart beat faster as he approached the doorway, wondering if this was such a clever idea after all. He trusted Campion (at least, about something like this), but what about all the other fucking psychos?
Something moved in a bush and he jumped. A squirrel. Or a mouse. Or—wait, do mice come out at night?
He exhaled as Campion stepped out of the shadows. “Fuck. I’m really glad it’s you and not a serial killer.”
“Do serial killers wait around the north entrance, just hoping someone will walk by?”
“Right, no, that’s probably stupid. What are we doing here?”
Campion shrugged, his massive fucking shoulders rolling from one side to the other. “You said you needed a place with no people.”
“Yeah. Yeah, right. Uh. Figured I’d beat you here.”
“You aren’t gonna beat me anywhere, Red. I was in my truck already when I got your message.”
Beat me. Right. Shit. “Oh. Sure. That makes sense.”
Campion took another step forward. “You nervous, boy?”
“Yeah, I’m—” Maybe the dumbest person on earth. By the way, do you want to get coffee sometime? Or a beer I don’t have to kneel on piss-covered tiles to earn? He swallowed. “The walk up here was a little spooky. And I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“You’re following orders. Come here.”
Orders, he could do. He went forward, a little surprised when Campion turned back toward the door and opened it.
When they find your body in the morning, the custodial staff is gonna be really annoyed, Polly’s voice whispered in his head.
“Where’re we going?”
“What the hell did I just say, Red? Quit asking questions.” Campion gestured him ahead, and gave him a little shove. “Faster.”
Surely the part of his brain sounding an alarm should have been louder than the part of his brain thinking about how fucking hot this was, and if there was any way he could get Campion to give him a real taste of his dick tonight, not just a tease.
The plaque over the doorway read “Room 111.” The room beyond was unlike any other classroom in the building, all thick carpet and polished wooden bookshelves.
“Oh my god. What is this?” He lost himself for a moment, turning around in the room. No white board, no folding chairs. A long table at one end, but it wasn’t a shitty multi-purpose table, it was a carved wood table, like you might see in a fucking formal dining room. Two built-in benches, upholstered in dark fabric, were set under the windows. What a great place to curl up and read a book! It was like not even being at school anymore, like he’d been transported to a castle somewhere.
“We can’t turn on the lights. It’s Room 111. They use it for poetry readings and to bring people they want to impress. Some professors are allowed to use it, but it’s a kind of a reward.”
“Jesus. I think I’m in love with this room.” Red snapped his mouth shut and spun around, realizing abruptly how fucking stupid he must sound. “Oh, god. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
But Campion only shook his head. “Compared to the rest of the buildings, I can see how you’d like this room. Why couldn’t you meet me at the Spark? I don’t much like you changing the rules, Red, and the most important rule is that I make the rules.”
“I—my friends wouldn’t leave me alone. I figured they’d find me if I went there, and I thought—I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t want to stick your finger in a boy’s ass with your friends watching?”
“Yeah,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I didn’t want to have to explain to them—just, they don’t get it. So whatever.”
He expected derision. Mockery. More humiliation. Campion stepped all the way inside his space, then pushed down on his shoulders. “Take off your clothes, Red.”
“Thank you, Officer Campion.” The words were more breath than voice, but it didn’t matter. He’d been desperately afraid that Campion would ignore him, and he was horribly relieved to discover he wasn’t. Even though, in the long run, this just meant the band aid would come off slower.
Right now he was going to have sex with Campion. It was worth the trade.
“On your knees.”
Was he gonna stick his whole fucking hand down Red’s throat again? Because that had been way close to not-fucking-hot-anymore. It hadn’t been hot in the moment, not at all. In the moment he’d wanted to rip Campion’s eyes out of his head. But later, beating off in the shower, unable to stop tasting Campion’s dry, callused fingers, it had seemed unbearably hot.
Campion’s hand landed in his hair and pulled.
“What we’re doing ain’t exactly professional on my part, Red.” He was lit up by the lights coming in through the windows, face half-shaded, looking down at Red. He looked demonic, wild, and also somehow totally in control. “I’ll accept you switching the location tonight, but don’t get it in your head that’s a decision you get to make. If I wanted to bend you over one day in front of your little friend at lunch time, I expect you to do it, or we’re through. That’s my rules. You get it? I might push you too far, but I’m not gonna go easy on you.”
“My little—you mean Tony?”
“That the kid you work with? The little wrestler?”
“Yeah. That’s Tony.”
“Then that’s the kid I’m talking about.”
Red gathered enough saliva to say, “I got him to use the pen. Did you see?”
“Shit. No, I missed it. Fuck, you should’ve texted me.”
“It was only for a minute. But it was—” Fucking gross and hot as hell, thinking about that pen being in his ass. “I was hoping he’d chew on the end of it, but he didn’t. Shit, is that fucked up? He’s just kind of a jerk, so it seemed fitting.”
Campion’s eyes were little black pits in his shadowed face. “He checks you out when you aren’t looking.”
“Tony’s not gay.”
“What the fuck does that matter? Don’t have to be anything to check out someone’s ass, and he definitely checks out yours.” The hand in his hair tightened. “Maybe next time I should bend you over and let him fuck your ass with the fucking Sharpie.”
Oh Jesus Christ almighty. Fucking Tony, who was bigger and stronger than he was. But not bigger or stronger than Campion. “I—uh—”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Now, I’m willing to go along with your little change up, but I think you might be getting a big head, little Red, so it’s time to show you some manners. You ever have a spanking, Red?”
Red wilted, curling his body in a little, like he was anticipating impact. “No, sir.”
“You ever wanted one?”
“I—I’ve thought about it.”
Campion laughed. “Oh, I just bet you have. Get over that table. Don’t go too close to the windows.”
“Yes, sir.” Holy shit, holy fuck, holy oh-my-god, was this really happening right now? Red rose, feeling the air all over his body, moving every hair, caressing every patch of skin. Oh god, oh god, a spanking, shit, all the pornos in the world and here he was, bent over a table in a classroom, about to receive a spanking.
The table was astoundingly cold. He shivered, trying to lower himself slowly. At least, until Campion’s paw slammed down on his back.
“Dammit, boy, move your ass. All the way down, reach out to hold onto the other side of the table.”
He did as he was told, and he thought this was vulnerable, thought being stretched like that, body extended all the way over, feet barely on the ground, was vulnerable, right up until Campion spread his legs apart and grunted.
“Fuck, look at your fucking balls.” He grabbed Red’s sac, playing with his balls, and Red’s eyes rolled back in his head. Suddenly the table was hot, the room was hot, everything was hot and he needed more of it.
“Shit,” Campion said. “Boy, your dick ain’t much, but the old family jewels are goddamn golden. The bigger they are, the more sensitive.” He nudged Red’s legs wider apart and held his balls in one huge hand, while the other kneaded them.
At first it was the greatest thing Red had ever felt in the same room as another human being. He would happily have lain there all night while Campion fucked his nuts. But it didn’t stay light and pleasing. Campion’s hands started in a little harder, the kneading turned to squeezing, and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he who held the balls, had all the fucking power.
“Hey, that’s—ow—that’s too much—Campion—”
The pressure increased.
“Ow, fuck you, stop—”
Both of Campion’s hands disappeared and Red panted there, breath fogging the gleaming reflective surface of the table. Campion’s body pressed down over his, making it a little hard to breathe.
“The word is stop, in case you forgot. Though I’d be disappointed in you if you were actually using it right now. That wasn’t even the beginning of what I can do to your balls, Red, and if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll show you all of it.”
Red closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing with a man on his back. I wish I had a hell of a lot more practice at this. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s right,” Campion said, running a hand through his hair, speaking into his ear. “That’s right, little Red. Now. Where were we?”
Red couldn’t figure out if he was disappointed or relieved when Campion moved to his ass instead of his balls.
“This is a nice ass, boy. Round, but not fat. Fits well in the hand.” Both hands grabbed his ass cheeks and squeezed. “Yeah, I like this. I wonder how it moves.” Campion started lightly smacking his cheeks, alternating sides, not really spanking, not even slapping. “Real good. I think I want this ass on film, Red. I want to watch it jiggle when I give it a little love.”
The smacks started to pick up, always in the same two spots, and Red tensed his legs, trying to stay in place, fighting the part of his body that was starting to consider getting the hell out of there.
“Uh huh. Fuck yes, I want a movie of this ass, nice and red, jiggling all over the place. Maybe I’ll make you fuck yourself with a plug while I take pictures, Red. Wouldn’t that be hot? Being the star of your own little movie. I already know you like being on camera.”
Not fair. That wasn’t—that was— But he didn’t have the brain power to spare to form arguments right now because Campion’s hands were moving harder, and the repeated smacks on the same skin were starting to build up pain, like a tone increasing until you don’t think you can take it, you have to scream.
It stopped. “Good boy. This really your first spanking, Red?”
Campion rubbed up and down over his ass, not lightly, but the firmness helped settle Red’s nerves. “Good.” His hands dug in, palms scraping against the sensitized spots, fingers grabbing like Red’s ass was something Campion could take a handful of and walk away. “Fuck. You want more, Red?”
“Yes, sir.” Sorry, Polly. Guess I really am stupid.
This time it was just one enormous hand, while the other held him down, flat over his spine. And shit, was this Campion holding back, going easy on the new guy? Because it hurt like fucking fire and no matter how hard Red tried, he couldn’t keep from crying, even though he liked it, even though he was still hard through the pain. The mental aspect, the picture in his head of himself naked over a table in a shadowy room while Campion (in jeans and a black T-shirt, and the same boots as last time) beat his ass was so fucking hot it made him want to explode.
“Too much?” Campion asked, voice low, rubbing over the burn.
“No, sir.” Almost, maybe. It hadn’t even occurred to him to stop it. So no, not too much. Maybe not all that close to too much, though it was damn hard to think rationally with Campion’s hand scraping over his ass.
“Pull your knees up on the table, Red. All fours with your head down and your ass presented.”
Shit, yeah, ass presented was one of those phrases that once you heard, you couldn’t un-hear. Red followed directions, edging to the side to get his face out of the wet spot. Tears. He’d cried so much, he’d left a puddle of tears on the table.
He arranged his legs, then arms, then head, sighing into the position.
“What the hell is that?” Smack. “I want to be able to see your little brown hole. Use your hands and show me your pussy, boy.”
Red bit down on the inside of his cheek and reached back, holding himself open.
“There. That’s better. I want your legs wider, too, in case I want to practice punching your bag.”
Oh, god, no, that was, that was bad, wrong, insanely hot, stupid. (Could that damage his chances for kids? Because he thought he wanted kids someday.)
“You want me to do it for you?” Campion said, roughly prying his knees apart and pressing his upper back down, cramming his face harder into the table. “You got something to say, Red?”
If he begged Campion not to punch his balls, Campion almost certainly would, just to prove he could, that it was his right, and Red could fucking walk away if he didn’t like it. The problem was, Red didn’t think he would walk away. So he didn’t beg.
Campion didn’t reply, just jabbed one dry finger into Red’s ass, and fuck, it was like a goddamn roll of quarters, except with calluses.
And bendy, oh fuck.
Smack. “I appreciate you’re eager, Red, but don’t fucking move until I tell you to move.”
“Sorry, sir,” he whispered, digging fingernails into his hot, spanked skin, trying to pull focus from the too-dry feeling in his ass.
“Aw, is that too big, little Red? Shit, you’d probably split in two if you tried to take my cock, huh? You scared of my big cock, Red? You scared I’m gonna break you?”
Please, please. “No, sir.”
“Uh huh.” A hand grabbed his balls again and he stopped breathing. Campion laughed. “Aw, poor little Red, can’t get up, can’t get out, finger in his ass, hand on his nuts. Move, little Red. I’ll hold my finger nice and still, and you fuck it real good. I want to see that bubble butt taking it in. Fuck it like you would if it was college boy dick, Red.”
This is so much better than college boy dick.
Red shifted his body back, experimentally, but came up short. At the balls.
“Aw, Jesus, your balls appear to be stuck in my fist. Bad luck for you.” Campion moved, shoving his finger in deeper. “Did I tell you what they call me, Red? They call me Bad, or Big Bad, sometimes, when I get mean. I used to fuck up the frat boys who were too drunk to remember, but they pulled me off nights and put me at the fucking desk all day.”
The words were hard to put in order, but the hand squeezing his sac was pretty goddamn clear. “Please,” Red whispered.
“Don’t ask me, boy. It’s your turn now. Go on, boy. Fuck yourself.”
This couldn’t even be real. Each time he moved back, both of Campion’s hands stayed still. He was trapped between the unyielding finger in his ass and the unyielding hand around his balls, tugging tighter each time he breathed.
“Gonna have to do better than that if you want my cock, Red. Come on. It only hurts for a minute, and you know if you get it right, if you get my finger right, it’ll feel so, so good. Want a little hint?” The finger began to move, squirreling around in his ass, turning, twisting, and ohfuck, yes, yes, there, there—
But as the lighter fluid spread of pleasure ramped up, so did the intensity in his balls, until he couldn’t quite teeter between them.
“Oh yeah. You liked that, didn’t you, Red? That was nice, wasn’t it? Be a good boy, and you might get more.”
Red sucked in air like he was drowning, mindlessly humping back in little jolts.
“That’s right, boy. Keep going.” A thumb brushed over his taint and he moaned, shuddering, wanting more of the finger, but caught every time by the fist. “Fuck, I’d love to watch you shatter, little Red.” The finger moved again and Red pushed back, determined to find that place again, no matter what the pressure.
If balls could explode, his might, but at the same time Campion played his prostate like a fucking bass string, plucking it again and again until Red realized he was making trapped animal noises, begging to be set free.
“Down, boy,” Campion said, easing up on both ends. “On the floor.”
Red did not whimper. He didn’t. That was just—well, it wasn’t a whimper, anyway. It was something masculine and quiet. Quiet, maybe a little high-pitched, but in a masculine way.
A low chuckle above him as he knelt. “Get off with my cock down your throat, if you can. But if I come first, boy, you better believe you’ve missed your chance. Now open up.”
Yeah, open up. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth, expecting more of the usual playing around with lips and tongue, but instead Campion unzipped, pulled his dick out, and stuffed it into Red’s waiting mouth.
He sucked reflexively, then glanced up.
“Do it, boy. Do your own, too, but I want you to come all over yourself. You hear?”
Red heard and understood, sucking deeper, trying to take all of Campion’s dick at once, like some kind of idiot kid who never gave a blowjob before. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the feeling of Campion’s glans sliding over his tongue.
“Touch yourself, Red. Come on, boy, don’t be slow.”
He didn’t want to embarrass himself, but this was the hottest night of his life, and he wasn’t at all sure he could hold back. Red pulled on his own dick, remembering the feeling of Campion’s huge hand around his balls, huge finger in his ass. His other hand came up to hold onto Campion’s dick as he sucked, jacking Campion like he did himself.
“Oh shit, boy, yes, yes—” Campion’s heavy hands took hold of his ears, holding him steady so he could thrust and fuck, shit, he was gonna puke if Campion kept—
Red gagged and tried to pull off, but Campion didn’t let him.
“No,” he said, keeping his dick inside, but pulling back enough so Red could breathe. “We’re gonna do it again, now, Red.”
Fuck, we’re gonna do it again now, also known as I’m going to choke you with my dick now. Right, sure, sounds fucking great. He stared up at Campion’s face, catching more light at this angle, looking right down into his eyes.
Please don’t make me puke in this beautiful room, Red thought, and started going at himself harder, wishing he had something in his ass to draw his attention away from the dick down his throat. (Oh, god. Campion in his mouth, some other man at his ass, maybe a stranger? That would be beyond hot.)
“That’s it, baby. Fuck that cute little clitty, fuck it good.” Campion started rocking himself deeper and deeper into Red’s mouth, farther and farther, letting Red breathe through it, keeping a rhythm, calming him down.
He could do this. He could. He could take Campion in and not throw up.
Campion held him still, cock in deep. “Swallow, Red. Swallow, swallow, swallow.”
Swallowing without the use of his tongue was hard, as if swallowing itself required an act of leverage. It took a minute, but he figured out how to bypass the signal to his tongue, jump straight to the muscles in his throat.
“That’s it, that’s it, a little more now, Red. I’m close, boy, so you’d better think about coming.”
Swallow, swallow, swallow around the dick at the back of his mouth, forcing its way inside. Red groaned around Campion and worked his dick faster, at the brink.
He came hard, body going stiff, and as he did, Campion pushed as far as he could, pressing Red’s nose to his stomach and holding there until Red thought he might suffocate with his dick still in his hand. At the last second, Campion pulled out, spraying him with jizz, mostly on his chest, pumping his thick dick until nothing else was left, then wiping it on Red’s cheek.
Red stood, on just slightly shaking legs.
“Yeah, that’s real good.” Campion rubbed jizz into him as usual, coating his chest and pits and paying special attention to his balls and cock, massaging him just this side of pleasurably.
Red lost himself to sensation. Campion’s hands were rough, and the room was chilly, but there was something about this ritual that he couldn’t name, some small intimacy he wasn’t even sure he could think about. When Campion’s finger entered him again, stinging and burning simultaneously as it slid inside, with only their combined come as a lubricant, Red felt parts of himself shut down and other parts of himself expand into those spaces.
“Nice and covered now, boy. Go lie down on that table again. Leave a little trace of us behind.”
He straightened and frowned at Campion, who grinned, teeth bright white in the dark room. “But why, sir?”
“Because there’s a class in here at seven a.m. discussing Foucault. You know Foucault?”
“I know a little.”
“Well, Foucault would have gotten off on what we just did, I think, Red. Go on, now. Mark the room like I’ve marked you.”
It was awkward, and cold, and sticky. Not to mention gross. But if he had class in here tomorrow, he’d be hard the whole time thinking about this.
“Put your clothes back on.”
Gross, gross. But underneath how gross it was, it felt so goddamn good Red couldn’t look up, afraid maybe it would show in his face, how much he wanted this. How much he maybe was starting to need it.
Campion grabbed him by the throat and backed him against the wall, putting just enough pressure on him to be alarming, even though he could still breathe if he was careful. “Tomorrow night. The Spark. Do not text me with another excuse, little Red.” He backed off.
“Yes, sir,” Red managed to spit out, trying to breathe heavily without looking like it.
“Ten o’clock. I don’t care who’s with you, I want to see you finger-fucking strangers tomorrow, right there in front of everyone.”
“Then what do you do, Red?”
Red swallowed. “I go to you, so you can smell ass on my finger.”
“That’s right. Come on, I gotta lock up.”
They left by the north entrance and Red stood there while Campion locked the door, shifting from foot to foot, feeling the air shoot straight through his clothes and hit every still-damp spot on his skin.
“You can call me Bad, if you want to,” Campion said, turning back, deep in the shadows. “It’s not my name, but it fits me.”
He almost didn’t dare, but just before the moment would have turned weird, Red said, “Okay, Bad. What’s your name?”
Charles. Charles was an accountant’s name. Or a politician who said “call me Charlie” as he shook your hand. Not—not Campion. Charles didn’t fit him at all.
“What building are you in?”
Campion—no, Bad—nodded. “You want a ride to the horseshoe?”
“Yeah. That’d be great. I mean, if you’re not worried someone will see us.”
“I’m just giving an unsteady-looking undergrad a ride back to his dorm, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Campion stepped into the light, eyes suddenly piercing. “You took that spanking like you were made for it, Red. We gotta do that again sometime. Come on.”
Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Red put his head down and followed Bad to his truck. They didn’t speak until they pulled to the curb.
“Thanks for the—ride,” Red said, smiling a little.
Bad grunted, but the flash of teeth gave him away.
Yeah, that was hot. Also, Red felt better now. He didn’t want to kill Polly as much and he didn’t care how loud Halo was. He fell into bed without showering and passed out, thinking of tomorrow night.