Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eric narrowly avoided being hit in the face by a whizzing, yellow dodgeball.

“It’s not the plague, Effiong! It won’t kill you to catch the damn thing!” Coach Wilson paced alongside the bleachers, his hands squarely on his wide hips.

Across the gym, Adam stood smiling.

“He’s trying to kill me.” Eric muttered to Otis, who also happened to be hiding out in a remote corner of the court.

Otis’s eyes went wide. “Look out!”

“Wha—?” Eric swung his head just in time to be smacked in the face. A frustrated, painful groan seethed out of him. Meanwhile, Adam’s hysterical laughter echoed off of the vaulted ceilings. “That’s it! I’m done!” Eric marched over to the sideline and sank down onto the shiny wooden floor, his tube-socked legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Effiong, get back in the game or I’m giving you a non-participation for the day.” Coach Wilson said, holding out his clipboard threateningly.

“No offense Mr. Wilson—but I really don’t care.”

“Hey!” Adam jogged over, holding out his hand in a gesture toward Eric. “How come he gets to sit out?”

Coach Wilson huffed. “He doesn’t. In fact—” He took a serious look at Eric. “Since he doesn’t seem to care, he can be the one to clean up.” Coach blew his whistle. “That’s it for today everybody! Effiong, I want all these balls collected and in bags before you leave.”

Eric groaned.

Adam cackled. “Cheer up, Trombona. You finally get to handle some balls!” Then he fucked off to the locker rooms, along with everyone else.

Otis trailed by, his scrawny pale frame looking out of sorts in Moordale’s burgundy-yellow gym uniform. “Sorry, man. Totally unfair.”

Eric sighed. “Whatever. I’ll meet you after, yeah?”

“Ah—” Otis bobbled his head indecisively. “I sort of have to meet Maeve for a clinic thing, but… Bike rack after school?”

Eric nodded, pushing off the floor to stand up. Otis smiled and departed, leaving him alone in a gym littered with dodgeballs.

*

He’d finally packed the last of the balls into their respective sacks and stowed the sacks in the maintenance closet. Now, smelling of rubber and sweat, he made his way to the boys’ locker room. Which, by this time, was empty of his fellow students.

Eric sang to himself under his breath while he opened his locker, peeled off his maroon shorts, and chucked them inside. He went to take off his shirt, as well, but was stopped short by the familiar bang of a hand slamming down on the locker next to his head.

“Adam,” he said, once his breath had returned to his lungs. He didn’t bother turning around.

“Trombona.”

Eric felt a rush of warm breath on the back of his ear and resisted the impulse to shudder. “What do you want?” He shuffled through his bag in an effort to appear occupied.

“Are you not going to look at me, Trombona?” Adam asked, in a voice much deeper than usual.

Eric swallowed, then turned. The taller boy loomed over him, his large body leaning on the hand beside Eric’s head, his face inches from Eric’s.

“Better,” Adam noted. “How’s your face?”

Eric couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes and scoff. “Like you care?”

Adam smirked devilishly. “You’re right. So—what’ve you got for me today?”

Eric, who needed to turn again to retrieve his book bag, inched closer to Adam’s face. He could’ve sworn the other boy’s eyes flickered momentarily to his lips. With his bag in his hands, Eric searched breathlessly for the plastic-wrapped sandwich he always had for Adam.

Adam plucked the sandwich from his grasp. “Thank you. And?”

Eric reached into the back pocket of his jeans and gave Adam the wrinkled bill and loose change therein.

“And?”

Eric rooted deep into his book bag but his fingers never met the crisp cellophane wrapper they were searching for. His heart hitched in his throat. “Okay, Adam. Don’t get mad—”

Adam’s eyes drifted down to his empty hands. “Where’s my curly wurly?”

Eric shook his head. “My mum must have forgotten to pack it.”

“Are you holding out on me?”

“No?”

Adam ripped the bag from his hands and, stepping back, dumped its contents onto the floor. There was, evidently, no curly wurly.

“I’m sorry,” Eric said, though he knew he shouldn’t be apologizing to his bully, the look on Adam’s face was enough to make anyone feel apologetic.

However, Adam rebounded quickly. He threw the bag to the ground and, using his hard body, checked Eric into the lockers. The smaller boy gasped, caught between cold metal and warm flesh, in only his t-shirt and briefs.

Adam was breathing heavily through his nose. “What are we going to do now? Huh? I want my curly wurly.”

Eric looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. “I don’t have it.” He could see Adam’s jaw working. Grinding.

“Well, then.” Adam’s eyes roved along Eric’s form, paying particular attention to his bare legs. “I’ll have to have you instead.”

Eric felt unspeakable things as Adam’s thigh split his legs and came to press against his manhood. A strangled sound issued out of his throat.

“What—are you—ah.”

Adam had leaned forward, as though about to whisper a secret in his ear, and taken Eric’s right lobe into his hot mouth. Eric could feel Adam sucking on the bit of flesh as he might’ve suck on his curly wurly and the slight tugging made all of the blood in his head flee elsewhere.

Eric went limp. “Fuck.”

Adam’s hands came up from his sides to restrain Eric’s wrists to the locker. He used his tongue to swipe the small swatch of space behind Eric’s ear. The boy at his mercy felt a flush break out across his neck.

“Are you going to forget my curly wurly again?” Adam whispered.

Eric could hardly speak, so he merely nodded and gave an affirmative whimper.

Adam bit him on the ear, hard enough to sting. “Good.”