Din's pr0n prelude
So. communistmonkey has badgered me into actually writing some stuff. Well, actually typing it out from the Notebook of Doom. It is Original Fiction, and incomplete at best. If she does deem it worth to continue, though, I might give it a shot.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Write something sex-related that you would actually want to submit to your teacher to make him/her blush. Initially: short story with suspense build-up (courtesy of carcoura.)
Will isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing. No, this isn’t entirely correct. He is currently trudging through campus, and fending off the many people waving him over enthusiastically. Or, in the case of Kaesha and her cheerleading friends, openly leering at him. Ugh, he can’t not stop, the girls do cheer at their every game. Will swears that if it weren’t for them winning, people would still turn up, if only for the cheerleaders’ skimpy outfits.
“Will, honey.”
“Kaesha, Laura. And…”
“Em and N’Gozi,” the newcomers simper. “Will, captain of the basketball team, right?” Their eyelashes flutter enough to chase away any flies in the vicinity, and Will fights not to shudder. “How come Kaesha tells us you’re still single, handsome?” one of them says coyly.
“Hey,” Kaesha’s voice is lined with steel. “It’s because he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, have you now, Will?” she intones, her nails digging possessively in Will’s muscled forearm.
Well. At least the bruise won’t be seen, Will thinks wryly. Because, see, Kaesha is as intent on him as a dog on a bone: she can’t seem to get over the fact that both the captains of the basketball team and the cheerleading squad are black. And yet, the basketball captain isn’t hers. She has done every single possible thing, short of showing up naked and sprawled on Will’s bedspread (although she had turned up in a red bikini, once, though) but they still aren’t an item.
Will thanks God he has some grey matter up there. Kaesha ha slept her way through most of the university’s athletes, and he categorically refuses to become another name on her headboard, another cock for her to ride.
“So where to, Will?” Kaesha says seductively. “It’s Friday night, baby. Up for a good time?”
Will’s palms start sweating again as he disengages his arms from her sharply ensconced nails.
“I still have tutoring, Kaesha.” He sighs. “Even you know I have to show up.”
“So you’re off to Will’s Little Math Helper, are you?” she sneers.
Which is the point, really, of this whole debacle. Will feels stupid, taking this thing in his chest so seriously. But he has to act, this can’t go on anymore: the heat in his stomach won’t leave him alone now. It already muddled his brain, that it did. Will winces, because he should have seen this coming a mile away, he should have known.
He should have felt the shift, dammit, he who’s so attuned to his own body.
It’s all Ashley’s fault, really. He knew the other student to be completely off-limits, right from the start. Well, right at the start he wanted nothing to do with the Physics nerd. Failing algebra grades, however, had forced his professor to arrange tutoring for him. Because the university, of course, could not lose its star basketball player to low grades that would guarantee Will’s scholarship removal.
And Will’s parents could definitely not afford forty grand a year: they had money, but not that much.
And so three times a week found him at some empty tables in a nook of the university library he had not known even existed. And in came this pale and slightly chubby science nerd, all soft and quiet and compliant.
Will hates Ashley: because tutoring sessions have started stressing him just as much as any upcoming match, but in the case of tutoring, he doesn’t actually know the answers. He itches to be able to actually say something right, though, just for that small tilt in Ashley’s lips, the way vivid green eyes light up just a little behind the square glasses.
And there had been a reason for him to take up tutoring, only right now there isn’t anymore. He has improved much over the semester, and there had been no reason to continue with the few hours a week after the final exam.
But then, the marks have finally come out, and it seems he is still in much need of Ashley’s guidance. Will is breathing erratically by the time he enters and climbs the three flights of stairs that lead up to Ashley’s room. Seriously, the other student could have chosen a closer, more accessible room, dammit. It seems everyone can hear Will stomping from a mile away in the rickety construction. He thinks darkly that, with all the money the university is leeching of their students, they should be able to provide nicer accommodation, at least.
He has nicer rooms, after all. But then, he is the captain of the basketball team.
Will knocks: he doesn’t dare not to. Especially after the last fiasco.
See, Will is in the bad habit of always labouring on coursework at the last minute. And while the basketball player does hand it in at the appropriate deadlines (usually), this means he slaves away the day before and, for algebra and calculus, means Ashley can’t check Will’s answers over.
Of course, Ashley had tried badgering him into working on his problem sheets right when he got them, so that the Physics student could go over them at some point during the week. Unfortunately, Will has training and outings and friends, as he bitingly remarked to Ashley during the first few weeks of their arrangement.
And so he had gotten a free pass to Ashley’s room. It had gone something like, “Find me whenever you need anything. If you understand, then don’t bother me. If you don’t, bother me as little as possible please,” and Will had gotten Ashley’s room number.
And knowledge that the pale student was in the ‘nerd’ building, and no good could come out of him visiting.
Of course, Will had to be proven right: after the first few weeks when, whenever he knocked, he got ushered in Ashley’s room because the people in the hallway had decided he would make a great target for a chewed bubblegum slingshot contest (a basketball player should never, in their right mind, set foot in their building -nerds were possessive and territorial little things, after all) well, he decided to forego knocking and just shouted “It’s me, Ash-” before barging in.
On some very wet, very milky skin. Ashley had obviously just gotten out of the shower, blond hair darkened and dripping, skin gleaming with untoweled droplets slowly making their way from dusty nipples to a soft, white stomach.
Will had never been so glad of his skin colour, or his baggy trousers: his mouth had gone dry and familiar heat -previously associated only with Playboy centrefolds and a few really imaginative girlfriends- had coiled and tightened in his abdomen, while Ashley had flushed down to the collarbone.
Will is almost certain there were tiny tears on the very red face, at some point. But then, he had hastily let himself out and waited for a signal that Ashley was decent. Which had come a few seconds later, when Will opened the door to find Ashley curled up on the small bed, ensconced in an entirely too big sweatshirt and grey jogging pants.
The blond hair was still damp, and Ashley smelled like mint.
Will had never asked questions this fast before.
So now he always knocks, because he doesn’t want any more nasty surprises. Or a week with no sleep, either. Because the Knocking Incident (as Will dubs it), if anything, made him reconsider his priorities. And his preferences.
Because not only is Ashley’s skin pearly white and smooth, it covers a very flat, hairless chest. Will has glimpsed faded freckles dotting the other boy’s back, and faint hipbones over which the milky skin is pulled taut.
To Will, Ashley is very white. And very male.
And usually, doesn’t want to be called Ashley. He refuses, however, to be nicknamed ‘Ash,’ and it leaves Will wondering what Ashley’s friends call him. He has tried asking, of course, but the smaller boy just glowered at him.
Will figures it must be pretty embarrassing.
TBC.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Write something sex-related that you would actually want to submit to your teacher to make him/her blush. Initially: short story with suspense build-up (courtesy of carcoura.)
Will isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing. No, this isn’t entirely correct. He is currently trudging through campus, and fending off the many people waving him over enthusiastically. Or, in the case of Kaesha and her cheerleading friends, openly leering at him. Ugh, he can’t not stop, the girls do cheer at their every game. Will swears that if it weren’t for them winning, people would still turn up, if only for the cheerleaders’ skimpy outfits.
“Will, honey.”
“Kaesha, Laura. And…”
“Em and N’Gozi,” the newcomers simper. “Will, captain of the basketball team, right?” Their eyelashes flutter enough to chase away any flies in the vicinity, and Will fights not to shudder. “How come Kaesha tells us you’re still single, handsome?” one of them says coyly.
“Hey,” Kaesha’s voice is lined with steel. “It’s because he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, have you now, Will?” she intones, her nails digging possessively in Will’s muscled forearm.
Well. At least the bruise won’t be seen, Will thinks wryly. Because, see, Kaesha is as intent on him as a dog on a bone: she can’t seem to get over the fact that both the captains of the basketball team and the cheerleading squad are black. And yet, the basketball captain isn’t hers. She has done every single possible thing, short of showing up naked and sprawled on Will’s bedspread (although she had turned up in a red bikini, once, though) but they still aren’t an item.
Will thanks God he has some grey matter up there. Kaesha ha slept her way through most of the university’s athletes, and he categorically refuses to become another name on her headboard, another cock for her to ride.
“So where to, Will?” Kaesha says seductively. “It’s Friday night, baby. Up for a good time?”
Will’s palms start sweating again as he disengages his arms from her sharply ensconced nails.
“I still have tutoring, Kaesha.” He sighs. “Even you know I have to show up.”
“So you’re off to Will’s Little Math Helper, are you?” she sneers.
Which is the point, really, of this whole debacle. Will feels stupid, taking this thing in his chest so seriously. But he has to act, this can’t go on anymore: the heat in his stomach won’t leave him alone now. It already muddled his brain, that it did. Will winces, because he should have seen this coming a mile away, he should have known.
He should have felt the shift, dammit, he who’s so attuned to his own body.
It’s all Ashley’s fault, really. He knew the other student to be completely off-limits, right from the start. Well, right at the start he wanted nothing to do with the Physics nerd. Failing algebra grades, however, had forced his professor to arrange tutoring for him. Because the university, of course, could not lose its star basketball player to low grades that would guarantee Will’s scholarship removal.
And Will’s parents could definitely not afford forty grand a year: they had money, but not that much.
And so three times a week found him at some empty tables in a nook of the university library he had not known even existed. And in came this pale and slightly chubby science nerd, all soft and quiet and compliant.
Will hates Ashley: because tutoring sessions have started stressing him just as much as any upcoming match, but in the case of tutoring, he doesn’t actually know the answers. He itches to be able to actually say something right, though, just for that small tilt in Ashley’s lips, the way vivid green eyes light up just a little behind the square glasses.
And there had been a reason for him to take up tutoring, only right now there isn’t anymore. He has improved much over the semester, and there had been no reason to continue with the few hours a week after the final exam.
But then, the marks have finally come out, and it seems he is still in much need of Ashley’s guidance. Will is breathing erratically by the time he enters and climbs the three flights of stairs that lead up to Ashley’s room. Seriously, the other student could have chosen a closer, more accessible room, dammit. It seems everyone can hear Will stomping from a mile away in the rickety construction. He thinks darkly that, with all the money the university is leeching of their students, they should be able to provide nicer accommodation, at least.
He has nicer rooms, after all. But then, he is the captain of the basketball team.
Will knocks: he doesn’t dare not to. Especially after the last fiasco.
See, Will is in the bad habit of always labouring on coursework at the last minute. And while the basketball player does hand it in at the appropriate deadlines (usually), this means he slaves away the day before and, for algebra and calculus, means Ashley can’t check Will’s answers over.
Of course, Ashley had tried badgering him into working on his problem sheets right when he got them, so that the Physics student could go over them at some point during the week. Unfortunately, Will has training and outings and friends, as he bitingly remarked to Ashley during the first few weeks of their arrangement.
And so he had gotten a free pass to Ashley’s room. It had gone something like, “Find me whenever you need anything. If you understand, then don’t bother me. If you don’t, bother me as little as possible please,” and Will had gotten Ashley’s room number.
And knowledge that the pale student was in the ‘nerd’ building, and no good could come out of him visiting.
Of course, Will had to be proven right: after the first few weeks when, whenever he knocked, he got ushered in Ashley’s room because the people in the hallway had decided he would make a great target for a chewed bubblegum slingshot contest (a basketball player should never, in their right mind, set foot in their building -nerds were possessive and territorial little things, after all) well, he decided to forego knocking and just shouted “It’s me, Ash-” before barging in.
On some very wet, very milky skin. Ashley had obviously just gotten out of the shower, blond hair darkened and dripping, skin gleaming with untoweled droplets slowly making their way from dusty nipples to a soft, white stomach.
Will had never been so glad of his skin colour, or his baggy trousers: his mouth had gone dry and familiar heat -previously associated only with Playboy centrefolds and a few really imaginative girlfriends- had coiled and tightened in his abdomen, while Ashley had flushed down to the collarbone.
Will is almost certain there were tiny tears on the very red face, at some point. But then, he had hastily let himself out and waited for a signal that Ashley was decent. Which had come a few seconds later, when Will opened the door to find Ashley curled up on the small bed, ensconced in an entirely too big sweatshirt and grey jogging pants.
The blond hair was still damp, and Ashley smelled like mint.
Will had never asked questions this fast before.
So now he always knocks, because he doesn’t want any more nasty surprises. Or a week with no sleep, either. Because the Knocking Incident (as Will dubs it), if anything, made him reconsider his priorities. And his preferences.
Because not only is Ashley’s skin pearly white and smooth, it covers a very flat, hairless chest. Will has glimpsed faded freckles dotting the other boy’s back, and faint hipbones over which the milky skin is pulled taut.
To Will, Ashley is very white. And very male.
And usually, doesn’t want to be called Ashley. He refuses, however, to be nicknamed ‘Ash,’ and it leaves Will wondering what Ashley’s friends call him. He has tried asking, of course, but the smaller boy just glowered at him.
Will figures it must be pretty embarrassing.
TBC.