thinking about you [muke af]

seven

seven

Luke was sat in Dr. Ren’s chair, Ashton forced on the ground. They were grading papers, Ashton on one quiz, Luke on an exam. The blonde figured the small private university would have better technology that they didn’t need the TA’s to do this by hand. Jesus, it’s the twenty-first century. 

The blonde just looked for the right answer, scanning over the key words he needed to find. His mind was focused on the previous week with Michael attached to his body like two peas in a pod. His eyes were clouded of the thought of the sounds escaping the blue-haired boy’s mouth, the breathy escapes passing through his throat. 

Luke couldn’t get the site of his pale legs entangled with Mike’s, their bodies falling down from their highs slowly before reaching their normal tones. He wanted to run his hands through Michael’s hair again, tugging at the strands as he lets out high-pitched screams of pleasure. 

He wanted to open his metal blue eyes to the site of a pale boy with dark red lines running down his broad back. He wanted to step behind him, letting his lips linger on the start of the lines before resting his head on Mike’s back. 

He liked his arms wrapped round Michael’s bare waist, his cold fingers on the cold skin as he asked if he slept well. (“I seem to sleep best when I’m with you.”)

Luke felt a nudge on his foot, he pushed it away before the annoyance turned into a painful punch. “Shit,” the blonde whisper-swore. 

His eyes widened as he prayed the professor did not notice. She didn’t—he was free. 

Luke glared at the twenty-four year old on the ground. “What?!” He hissed, shaking the tan fingers off of his jean leg. 

“We’re only half way done, can you stop daydreaming?” Ashton shot back, still looking up at him with angry golden eyes. 

“F.uck off,” he swore, leaning back over the papers and running a hand through the side of his hair. 

“Which of the following moments in “The Most Dangerous Game” represents an example of foreshadowing?” The question read, he squinted as he realized this kid has gotten every question wrong. He put a red X through the correct answer, not understanding how this student flunks so badly. This was a simple question—the easiest on the quiz. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to do this, but he flipped back to the front. A large sigh left his lips when Michael Clifford was written in sloppy letters. 

Michael had the perfect riff worked out, it was going to start on an A shape, going up the pentatonic and them getting a punk channel on to start the chorus. He looked at the chorus written in front of him, “It's such a sick obsession/ And now you've got the best of me/ I’ve got the worst intentions/ So call me over and set me free.” He continued to write lines, the words flowing from his mind and straight to the page. He was in his zone, his green eyes flickering over the words to Green Light. 

Mike looked up, seeing Luke only twenty rows in front of him. His head was down in the papers as he read over the words of a failing test, Michael figured it was his. 

“All you gotta do is tell me right now/ You want me right now, come on/ Give me the green light/ We could have all night/ If you just say the word.” Michael’s jaw was clenched, the peppermint taste of his gum bursting onto his tongue. His eyes were on the paper, but his mind was on Luke’s body. 

His hand’s on the older boy’s hips, his mouth leaving marks upon the once clean and soft pale skin. Luke has small freckles on his shoulders that Mike never noticed. They’re different sizes and different colors as they scatter the beautiful skin stretched over his bones. 

There’s a spot under Luke’s chin where he must always forget to shave, because the patch of hair is dark and thick and made Mike laugh ever so slightly. 

“Mr. Clifford, could you answer the question for the class?”Dr. Ren asked. 

Michael’s head perked up as his name echoed through the auditorium. He blinked a few times, not sure if it was in his head or not. “Probably not,” he called back, his face was straight, his persona solemn. 

Ashton snickered next to Luke, “That kid is so stupid, I have no idea how he’s in this class.”

“Don’t be mean,” Luke scolded him, flipping over a test and moving on to the next one. 

“He fails everything and is asleep half the time.”

“I think he’s kind of cool.” Luke twirled the pen in between his fingers, waiting for Ash to say something more. 

He didn’t. He looked up at his roommate, though. Something in those blue eye’s was suspicious to the brunette. 

“And why is that, Mr. Clifford?” Dr. Ren asked, taking a few steps in her leather black boots up the stairs. 

Michael’s guidance counselor here at University promised that the teacher would probably not know his name in a large class like the core class. He lied. “Because I don’t know the question,” he admitted. His eyes screamed please kill me now and everyone saw it. 

“Well, Sir, maybe you should be listening more and drawing less. Maybe that’ll improve your grade,” she sassed. The professor knew the power she held in her small, wrinkly hands. 

“Maybe I don’t want to improve my grade,” Michael called back. 

Her back was turned to him, but she froze as her shoulders tensed. The class filled with Ooo’s and Burnnnn, and Michael began to wonder if he was a senior in college or a seventh grader in middle school. “Is that so?”

Michael kept his head held high, daring her to continue. 

Dr. Ren turned back to face Michael, her head held high as she called out, “Luke, what was Michael’s last score?”

Luke froze, his eyes open as wide as dinner plates. “Um, I—I don’t think I can g—give out that information right now,” he stuttered. His breath was shallow and he did not want to be put in this situation. 

“Don’t make me ask twice,” she yelled. Her head turned to face the blonde, her shiny, black hair cut in a pointy bob cut was still waving as she sent mental laser beams in the blonde’s direction. 

“A forty two percent,” Luke said quickly and just loud enough, “He got twenty one points of fifty.”

Luke’s voice filled Michael’s ear with dread. His voice was like a robot, being programmed by the University. 

“Hate to break it to you,” Michael called out, “But, I’ve done worse.” He slumped his shoulders, smiling at the words leaving his mouth. 

“Leave my classroom,” she yelled. 

Michael laughed, standing up, “I’ve been waiting to hear that all year.”

(a.n) fun fact, when i was still in public school, i had this awful health teacher. he and i got in arguments every single day, and this was one of them.