Perfection Never Lasts (a Phanfiction)

Blaine

Warning: sexual content

Blaine's POV

I stared at his dark, solemn composition all morning. I knew something was wrong with Phil. I wished that I had the balls to just ask him what was wrong. I have never talked to him before, but we made eye contact once at lunch, and he ran into me in the hallway last month...

I saw a figure move from my sight while I sat lost in my hopeless day dreams. It was Phil. He must have been going to the bathroom. This was the chance I had been waiting for. As bad as it sounds, he was obviously upset, so maybe him and that boyfriend of his weren't doing so well...

I caught up with him down the hall easily because he had just sat down around the corner, nuzzling his face in his knees. The dominant male instincts deep down inside me knew that this was my chance. 

"Phil?" I used my deepest, huskiest voice.

He looked up at me; his puffy, tired eyes gazing into mine. "Do I know you?"

I sat down next to him. "No, sorry, I just saw you sitting here and wanted to make sure that you were okay," an obvious lie. "What's wrong?" I ask, leaning closer. I could feel his warm breath.

"No-nothing," he stammered. He was like a weak gazelle that I was ready to hunt.

"Want me to try to make you feel better?" It was more of a demand than a question. I placed one hand firmly on his knee, the other around his smooth, pale neck.

He hesitated to say anything. I replied to his hesitation with a low "shhh..." and a light, but powerful peck on the lips. I could tell that he was unsure of what was happening, but he didn't resist. I continued. I let my long, skinny fingers draw down his femur toward his pant zipper as I stared into his frightened yet intrigued blue eyes. He then leaned closer to me, pressing his lips into mine. Our lips moved together, painting a picture of this affair. I could tell that he hadn't had much experience in this department, but I let it slide given my forgiving Catholic background.

My hand reached his pant zipper. I rubbed his growing manhood through his thick jeans, but I knew we wouldn't be able to go further in this middle of this school hallway. I instantly thought of a plan.

"Let's take this to the janitor's closet," I insist.