TORPEDO ✓

beautiful killer with killer eyes

"REALLY SORRY, DORIAN. WE KNOW you've worked hard for this but the scholarship has been awarded to another student, a more deserving one. But hey, you are free to check out more options on..."

The ghost of Principal Wei's voice resounds the umpteenth time in Dorian's head, even now that he's dressed in his jersey, the bench boys are polishing their balls, the Monday sun is glaring lasers down to Earth and Coach just left for the icecream truck.

That scholarship was meant for the most outstanding player; this Dorian and the principal both knew well, but of course the latter had to give his son for being built like a IKEA fridge.

Dorian is going to be a leftist tweeter and say for once; the nepotism, the racism, the lookism; all jumped out.

Dorian heaves a deep sigh and leans back against the bleachers. He casts the field a forlorn gaze to see his teammates pillow-fighting with their shoulder pads and this even fuels the crushing weight of the scholarship and channels it into apathy for the sport. He's never liked football. It is the most pointless, unorganized, random sport he knows and yet, he strived to excel in it just to get slapped in the face with a napkin soaked in his blood, sweat and tears.

"Dude, now come on," whines Dorian as soon as he sights Khalid pissing right behind the bleachers.

The curly-haired boy scoffs and for some reason, whips his leaking dick around. Dorian frowns deeper because while Khalid is obviously doing this on purpose to spite his OCD, they're about to play football. Football in which wallowing in the lawn is a neccessity.

"Now you're just pushing it."

"Is that another way of saying you want me push it in you?" His afro is bounded in a fluffy bun but few stray strands sweep his face from time to time. Although Khalid Meyers is taller than Dorian by just a hair, Dorian complements this difference with build and in multiple folds.

Dorian folds his arms. "Actually, yes. I don't mind the size either."

"Wah-wait-" Khalid stuffs his junk quickly in his compression shorts. "I don't know, um, what you're talking about." But he's blushing so much that Dorian has to pause to decipher the body language behind Khalid's mouth hung slightly open, his eyes darting around and his throat bobbing down in anxiety.

Anxiety? The flamboyantly straight Khalid is rendered this bashful by a little homoerotic tease. That's kinda sus.

"Just, get out of my way," Khalid concludes, shoving Dorian just to walk the other way. "Fucking fairy."

Something snaps inside Dorian that moment.

"Now you come here," he says, as he locks Khalid's top into a fist and slams him against the wall, "lemme make something clear."

Khalid's face flashes with fear and in a sort of way, shocking as it is, it turns Dorian on?

"You keep fronting and running that foul little mouth around and we gon' have a problem. Do you understand?"

Who do these nincompoops think they are anyways? They are all smiling and skipping and goofing around in their own paradise and still dare to interfere in his that is about to close over his head any moment. None of them can imagine what he goes through everyday. Not one of these bastards can survive a month in his shoes so why make it worse for him?

"I swear to God, nigga you begging for it."

Khalid shuffles himself and hard out of Dorian's kryptonian hold that doesn't budge one bit. Whilst a handful of their team is watching and cheering them on to knock their jaws out of their faces, Dorian is in his own world.