The Nobodies

4. Tristan Wants His Girl Like Right Now

Tristan

(Mature content warning: Tristan needs you to know that this one's smutty)

Fucking on school premises is risky.

Finding the right place to do it, the stress of being caught? Nah. I'm doing it tough with assignments and attendance as it is. We did it once in one of the practice booths, months ago. Took advantage of an empty music room. That was enough for me.

Better time and places for it.

But that was before. Before Sienna started brushing her leg against my own, giving me that wet-eyed, dark-lashed look I knew meant trouble. In the very back of a dark classroom, Macbeth playing out of an ancient projector. Ten minutes before the lunch bell.

Looking at me like she knew all the ways to fucking break me, because she did.

I catch her leg under the table with one hand. Give it a squeeze.

Stop.

All that does is make her glossy lips curl. It hurts how unfair this is. Wouldn't even let me kiss those lips in my car for fear I'd smudge them, now this?

She gazes at me sideways again. Fierce, coy, wanting eyes. Not one hint of a good intention in them. The back of my own eyes pound with exhaustion.

She's toed off her shoe now. Her stockinged foot strokes my ankle. Catches the edge of my jeans. My poor, calloused thumb can't help itself. Starts stroking the silk of her thigh. Short skirt hiked up from being seated. Six hours' sleep over two days, no breakfast – Jesus, how can she still make me deranged?

I'm so aware of her, inches next to me. Perfumed skin so warm.

Perfumed skin so warm, I muse. Could be the start of a new verse. I file it away in my mind.

"Sin," I warn her under my breath. Wicked girl, fitting nickname.

Eight minutes left on the clock. Where could we go to do it, anyway? I'll drive her back to my place. Only reasonable thing to do; no chance of getting kicked out for traumatising other students. No one should be home. Except—fucking damn it all, Axel and Jett are home from college. Sleeping on my bedroom floor. The two dim-witted reasons Sin couldn't stay over the night before were ripping bongs on the family couch.

I'm guessing this is punishment.

Sienna opens her wet mouth in the darkness. Teeth flashing. Opens her thighs an inch wider. Hasn't said a single word and doesn't need to. Knows what she's doing.

I'm already far gone.

She wants to fuck now? Right now?

Fine. My mind races against the five minutes left of the film. There are those music booths again. No way; the school choir has Thursday lunch rehearsals. Olly can't cover for us, nor would he want to – last I heard, he's still concussed in the sick bay. Chose morning Chemistry of all classes to pop an appendage.

Three minutes. Macbeth's head separates from his body. Malcolm gives a speech.

"Where?" I breathe into her hair, barely moving my mouth. I've caught Sienna's full thigh under the table, firmly gripped in my hand. The impulse to squeeze it feels fluid and practiced.

My fingers try so hard to keep still. It doesn't work.

I trail the very edge of my pinky upwards. Softly. Slowly.

Feeling for the edge of underwear.

Finding none.

Think, Tristan. One of the art supply rooms? Can't guarantee it'll be empty or unlocked. Behind the gym? Backseat of my car? Too many smokers. Not into exhibitionism. But the gym itself is huge – there are old storage rooms right up at the back. Might smell like stale rubber and sweat inside, but it's accessible through a roller door. The locks don't properly work.