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By Thursday, the tension was eating them alive.
Every glance across the cafeteria. Every brush of hands in the hallway.The kiss they pretended never happened.
Brian told himself he could handle it — the stolen looks, the quiet nights lying awake replaying the feeling of Scott's lips barely grazing his. He could keep pretending.
But pretending had started to hurt worse than the risk.
So when he saw Scott leaving study hall that afternoon, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes flicking up like he'd felt Brian's stare — Brian didn't think. He just acted.
---
"Come with me," Brian said — voice low, eyes hard. His hand found Scott's wrist, strong and warm.
"Where?" Scott breathed, pulse hammering so loud he swore Brian could hear it.
"Somewhere nobody can see us."
---
They cut through the back hallway, slipping out the side door near the old gym. The wind bit at their cheeks. Brian never let go of Scott's wrist — just tightened his hold when Scott stumbled over his own feet trying to keep up.
They reached the rundown equipment shed by the football field — the one nobody bothered to lock anymore. Inside, it smelled like dust, sweat, forgotten ropes and wrestling mats. The door creaked shut behind them with a heavy finality.
Scott's chest rose and fell like he'd run a mile. Brian stood in front of him, hair damp from the drizzle outside, jaw set tight.
"Brian… what are we doing?" Scott asked, but he already knew.
Brian's eyes flickered over him — from his flushed cheeks to the curve of his mouth. He stepped closer, so close Scott's back pressed into the rough wooden wall.
"What we should've done a long time ago."
---
The kiss was like striking a match.
One second, Scott was gasping — the next, Brian's lips crashed onto his, big hands grabbing his jaw, tilting his head so he could kiss him deeper.
Scott whimpered — hands fisting in Brian's hoodie, dragging him closer until there was no space left. He could feel every inch of him: the muscle under his shirt, the heat of his thighs pinning Scott in place, the sharp bite of his zipper digging into Scott's hip.
Brian pulled back just enough to look at him — their breath mingling in the cold air.
"Tell me you want this," Brian rasped, voice raw.
Scott didn't even hesitate. "I want you."
---
Clothes came off in messy pulls — Brian's hoodie hit the dusty floor, Scott's sweater landed in a forgotten bucket.
Brian's skin was warm, solid under Scott's palms — broad chest dusted with hair, abs flexing as Scott traced every line with trembling fingers.
"God, you're…" Scott breathed. He bit his lip, cheeks hot.
Brian smirked — but there was nothing cocky in his eyes. Just hunger. "Say it."
"So fucking hot."
---
They fell onto an old wrestling mat half-covered by a ragged blanket. Brian's mouth was everywhere — sucking a mark on Scott's collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin behind his ear, swallowing every moan he could coax from Scott's throat.
When Brian's hand slipped down, fingers wrapping around him, Scott's hips bucked, a choked whine escaping his lips.
"Fuck— Brian— please—"
Brian's answering groan made Scott's toes curl. "Hold on, baby."
---
The stretch made Scott gasp — hips lifting off the mat as Brian worked him open, slow but relentless. Their eyes stayed locked the whole time — Brian's thumb brushing Scott's cheekbone, a silent promise that he'd never hurt him.
When Brian finally pushed inside, Scott's mouth fell open — a broken sound caught between pain and pleasure. Brian pressed his forehead to Scott's, breath ragged, chest heaving.
"You're so fucking perfect," Brian growled. "Taking me so good."
Scott couldn't answer — just clung to Brian's shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle as Brian rocked into him, slow at first, then faster when the ache turned to heat.
---
The shed echoed with soft, desperate noises — the slap of skin, the creak of the mat, the stifled moans they tried to swallow into each other's mouths.
Scott felt like he was burning from the inside out — every thrust sending sparks up his spine, every drag of Brian's lips across his neck making his pulse stutter.
"Look at me," Brian rasped, hips snapping harder. "I wanna see you."
Scott obeyed — eyes glassy, lips parted, hair stuck to his forehead. He'd never felt so wanted — so wrecked — so alive.
---
They came together, bodies trembling, muffling their cries in each other's shoulders so nobody would hear. Brian kept moving through it — slow, sweet, drawing out every wave until Scott thought he'd pass out from how good it felt.
When they finally collapsed, sweaty and breathless, Scott lay half sprawled across Brian's chest, listening to his heartbeat thunder under his ear.
---
"You're not gonna pretend this didn't happen, right?" Scott whispered, lips brushing Brian's collarbone.
Brian stiffened. His arms tightened around Scott's back. For a moment, Scott thought he'd pull away — but instead Brian kissed his temple, voice rough.
"I'm not gonna pretend," he murmured. "But you gotta give me time."
Scott wanted to ask time for what? — but he didn't.
Instead, he pressed his nose into Brian's neck, breathing him in — the
sweat, the musk, the warmth — and let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, Brian wouldn't hide forever.
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