Work Text:
God works in mysterious ways.
Had anyone told Kenny merely two hours ago that Mr. Mackey finding him behind the school and ushering him back to PE class would actually be a blessing in disguise, he would've laughed in their face. Usually, he reserves his two PE sessions every week to get a good nap in in one of the empty classrooms or at the back entrance of the school. In the afternoons the sun hits the concrete steps just the right amount to warm him up but not completely fry him in the process. Kenny sleeps like the dead on those steps if the goth kids don't happen to bother him.
This time, however, their school counselor got to him before Henrietta, Firkle, Michael or Pete could. He knew damn well to accompany Kenny to the boys locker room, rather than sending him off on his own, because if he hadn't, he would've taken a right and disappeared down the hallway and gotten as far away from the gym as possible.
Like this, though, he was forced to actually join the other boys in running laps and then playing fucking football under Coach Miles' watchful eyes and unnecessary instructions. Nobody except for Clyde is taking PE class seriously anyways.
Kenny simply doesn't see the point in exhausting himself for two hours straight when he's already tired and worn out from his two jobs every fucking day of the week.
But God works in mysterious ways indeed, because Craig was present too.
Kenny's pretty sure he usually is, simply because he doesn't hate PE enough to skip it. It's not like history or English literature; it's physical and allows the other boy to let off some of his pent-up energy regularly. Getting a free pass to smacking his classmates in the head with whatever softball he's got in his hands is definitely another plus to him.
A plus for Kenny is that Craig looks good in PE class. To be honest, he always does, no matter what he does or what class he's in. He carries himself with a natural effortlessness that makes him look elegant even when he's just standing around in some jeans and a hoodie. But it's different in PE; when he's wearing those black shorts that are a little too wide to really fit snugly against his thighs and Kenny sees practically every muscle flex and work under the tan skin of his legs when he runs just a few steps ahead of him. When the sweat starts to build up on his skin, glistening softly in the afternoon sun and the bright overhead lights of the gym. When he grabs the softball with a little too much force, his fingers digging into the material as it gives way beneath the strength of his grip. The fact that he's catching and holding them with just one hand, never even thinking about using two.
It's all a little too familiar for Kenny not to look, to ignore it. Reminds him of the summer just two years ago, when Craig would stack bottles upon bottles of water and countless beer cans onto the shelves every week and Kenny would ring up the very few customers that dared to walk around at the height of the relentless dry heatwave. It's burned into his mind, the way Craig would grab him around the waist and push him against the shelf in the claustrophobic storage room, using about as much force as he uses to hold onto those softballs now. Without fail, every time they'd shuffle out of there again, his neck was glistening the way it is now, after two hours of relentless football. Despite spending it working almost every day, it was one of the best summers Kenny has ever had.
Who could blame him for looking in these circumstances, really?
Today must be his lucky day, because not only is Craig wearing the same shorts again but some sort of tank top with huge sleeve holes that reach almost all the way down to his waist. Whenever the angle is just right and Craig gets ready for another throw, Kenny gets to catch a sliver of his tan chest, the tank top slinging around his torso like it's just some oversized sheet the other boy has hastily thrown over. It reveals patches of black on all that dark skin, which must be new tattoos Kenny has yet to learn about.
In the two years since they worked at that tiny supermarket down in Denver, Craig has gotten hotter with every day, it seems. It's like he's been on some sort of mission to turn into literal sex on legs ever since Sophomore year started. It was subtle at first; he started out with piercings, got himself additional lobes to the one he already had on the right, then a few helices on both ears. Then he got an industrial and the snake bites and Kenny started noticing the various tattoos of all shapes and sizes that began to adorn his arms.
Worst of all, the mission is absolutely successful. Craig looks fucking hot. If Marjorine's intel can be trusted, he's holding the first place of hottest guy in school by a mile and Kenny isn't surprised in the slightest.
By the end of class, when the bell rings, when Coach Miles finally releases them and allows them to return to the locker room, Craig's shirt is sticking to the front of his chest, drenched in sweat, and Kenny still hasn't gotten his entire fill. All the way back to the locker room, his eyes linger on the other boy, just a few meters ahead of him and Stan, walking in step with Tolkien and Clyde.
The latter is chattering away and Craig is listening, or maybe he isn't, who's to say with him and Clyde. Kenny isn't listening either, not when Tucker suddenly lifts his shirt by the seam and wipes his face with it. It doesn't last long, barely five seconds, but it's enough for Kenny to catalogue the way the fabric rides up at the back, revealing delicious dark tan skin glistening with sweat and the ends of what must be yet another tattoo, planted right on top of his spine.
His mouth goes dry.
And then the tank top drops back into place, the black ink vanishes beneath black fabric and Craig responds to Clyde, in that low, unbothered voice of his that never fails to get right under Kenny's skin, no matter what's being said. "Don't think so. Mr. Donaldson doesn't really give a fuck about that."
"I think I'm gonna head to the bathroom real quick," Stan suddenly mumbles next to him as they're about to enter the locker room, finally getting Kenny out of his reverie. It's more slurred than anything, and Kenny doesn't have to look at him to know that he's pale as a sheet and definitely greenish around the nose. Still, he glances at him, one hand already on the doorknob.
Stan looks like he's been put through the wringer, which isn't a surprise with how much he's probably had to drink again today. At least he's not swaying where he stands like other times he has said that exact same phrase after PE. Still, Kenny doesn't need to be a genius to know he's about to puke his soul out in the bathroom after being forced through all that exercise.
"You want me to come along?" he asks him, trying to sound nonchalant and not worried, so that Stan won't mistake the emotion as pity and get angry.
But his best friend starts shaking his head anyways, then stops almost immediately with a choked-off groan when that makes the nausea worse. "I don't think you'll be any help," he replies, breathless, before he turns around and already heads for the bathroom in big, hurried strides.
He's right; Kenny couldn't do anything for him except keep him company and Stan has never been a big fan of having anyone around when he's throwing up. He feels too pathetic and humiliated to let anyone help him in those moments. Trying to help him anyways will only make him more miserable. So Kenny watches him stumble into the bathrooms and then enters the locker room alone instead of following him.
It's as loud as ever in there, which is to be expected when you place 15 teenage boys in a cramped room with absolutely no supervision. The air is warm and it smells like deodorant and cologne already, proof of the fact that not a single soul considers using one of the two showers in the adjacent room. Unlike when Mr. Mackey sent him in here with a set of old basketball shorts and some oversized, white shirt that was never picked up from the Lost & Found, the room is uncomfortably full now; his classmates are everywhere, sitting on the few, small benches, squeezing through the narrow corridors or standing right in front of the lockers, making it impossible for Kenny to just silently slip back into the desolate corner where he left his belongings. He narrowly avoids colliding with Bradley who's chasing Kevin through the room with what seems to be a sopping wet piece of clothing right after stepping inside.
Part of why he dislikes PE so much is the fact that at the start and end of the class, Kenny is forced into this room with another 15 teenage boys. The air becomes too thick with the smell of different deodorants and colognes and the constant onslaught of voices talking and yelling is all too loud for his own liking. The fact that he has to get changed is probably the worst of it all; not that he'd have any shame — Kenny has seen too many bodies and shown his own for that. — but he'd rather people don't see the bruises.
They're everywhere, littering his whole body like it's an abstract art project. He knows it. And he knows everyone else knows it. He has caught several boys' stares throughout class today; the fucking shirt might be oversized but the sleeves are nowhere near long enough to cover up all of the finger-shaped imprints in various shades of yellow and green. They don't need to see him undressed to know that his father is not holding back on Kenny in the slightest. But as long as he gets to hide some skin, he can leave them speculating at least. Guessing, never quite sure just how much Stuart isn't holding back. He doesn't want their already borderline worried glances to turn into pitiful stares. The mere idea of it makes his blood pressure spike, his throat constricting like he's choking on their compassion already.
He doesn't need his classmates to treat him like he's fragile. It's enough that Stan can't help but do so after yet another beating, even if he got bruises of his own, too.
So, instead of squeezing past Tweek and Gary to get to his own small heap of clothes, Kenny brushes past Tolkien and Clyde and ducks under various open lockers to get to the back of the locker room where the two shower stalls and a double sink are located. He knows for a fact that nobody will be hanging around there, since nobody will use the showers and everyone's in a hurry to get to the next class or home. He can hide out there until they've all left and change then.
As he slinks around the corner, however, he is greeted with another figure hunched over one of the sinks.
It's Craig, which explains why he wasn't with Tolkien and Clyde in the front, still dressed in his gym clothes and drinking from the open stream. Kenny stops in the doorway without thinking about it and he allows himself to indulge to the fullest once more. Craig hasn't noticed him yet, his eyes closed as he grips one of the faucet's knobs with one hand and takes fast, greedy sips without pause. Kenny gets a full view of his defined jawline and his exposed neck, watches the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down with every gulp. He remembers mouthing along Craig's neck on several occasions, the feeling of that same motion under his palm after circling his hand around his throat once. His stomach feels heavier just thinking about that moment now, after the other boy has only gotten hotter in the meantime.
It would be easy, so fucking easy, to walk up to him, bend down and sink his teeth into the soft, tan skin of his throat. Ridiculously easy, even. It would be just like it was back then, in the stale, hot air and with the loud, constant whizzing of electrical devices and Craig's heavy breathing in his ears. The door to the storage room ajar wide enough for a customer to peek inside if they came close enough. The risk made it all the more exciting.
Kenny could grab him at the back of his head, wind his fingers around the thick, black strands of hair and keep him in place exactly how he wants him, could bite and lick at the sweaty skin and feel Craig's hammering pulse under his lips, his tongue. Maybe he'd get lucky enough to draw a moan out of him — an actual moan. Not just a low, shaky exhale, or a soft hum, but parted lips and hitched breath and the deep, guttural vibration that Kenny could almost feel in his own chest whenever he was pressed close enough.
"You're staring."
Kenny's gaze snaps up from Craig's bared throat to his face and directly into the other boy's dark bedroom eyes. Craig hasn't changed his position, and the water is still running, but he's not drinking anymore. Kenny was so caught up in his own thoughts, he completely missed the moment his Adam's apple stopped moving and Craig opened his eyes, noticing him just standing there and watching.
He lets his lips stretch into a wicked grin, then shrugs. "Gotta refresh my memory once in a while," he explains lazily. Not like that's a lie anyways. Craig shows up with fresh tattoos and new piercings basically every other day at this point. Every time Kenny spots him, there's something new to catalogue, and if it's just the fact that he changed a silver ball into a silver hoop on his ear. It might as well be updating his memory, really.
Still, he knows that Craig isn't just stating facts. There's another meaning behind his statement, an unspoken question. Why?
Because Kenny doesn't have to refresh or update his memory, not necessarily. It's not like they're a thing — not like they've ever been a thing, not like that, not even during the summer two years ago. A fling would be a better word to describe their relationship during that part-time job. A way to pass time when the hours would drag on and not a single customer showed up.
At least, that's what it probably was to Craig. It's what Kenny tried to make it out to be in his head as well, because when school started again, there was no need to pass time anymore. Craig went back to his friends and so did he and now they're mainly just meeting up so Kenny receives the notes and homework from Stan's physics and chemistry classes that he shares with Craig. Apart from that one time they were arguing over the bruises on Kenny's neck — which doesn't really count as an interaction anyways. — the other boy mostly tells him where he deliberately fucked up an equation or wrote down something slightly wrong, like he can't stand the mere idea that people might think he makes mistakes in those classes.
They don't walk home together anymore and they don't hang out together more than those moments of passing worksheets back and forth and it's okay — or it would be, if Kenny could pretend to be as unbothered as Craig is.
Because if he's being completely honest it was never just a way to pass time to him, not when Craig Tucker makes his heart beat at a speed that only one other person manages.
There is no other reason as to why he's refreshing his memory. Kenny doesn't have to do it, apart from the fact that he's missing that summer ever since it ended, ever since they stepped out of that store one last time at 7 pm and Craig looked at him like he wanted to reach into his chest and get a hold of his soul on the bus ride back home. Just to see whether Kenny would allow him.
And ever since he's been trying not to let it show that he would've let him, that Craig already did, and that he took something with him when it happened, because Kenny wants to chase after him the same way he chases after Marjorine's pearly laugh and the glimmer in her big blue eyes. He's been trying his damned hardest not to miss it, he's been trying to be normal, because Craig went back to fucking normal too, but it's moments like these, when it's just the two of them and the world kind of falls away, that make it difficult to hold his composure together without flaw.
But that's not an answer someone like Craig Tucker wants to hear, or even cares about, so Kenny just doubles down on his initial statement.
Slowly, he drags his eyes away from the other boy's perfectly sculpted face, his pretty, dark lips and the sharp jawline and along his throat, down his body, though he doesn't get very far.
Still bent over the sink, Craig's shirt is hanging from his torso. With the slight twist of his upper body to gain better access to the faucet, the huge armhole carelessly slipped across his chest, revealing miles and miles of beautiful tan skin adorned with small tattoos Kenny has never seen before. What actually catches his eyes, though, is the fully exposed nipple sandwiched between to small silver balls.
Kenny can feel his entire body heat up in the span of a second, his heart accelerating. Fuck.
He speaks up before he can think better of it, nodding towards the dark bud and the curved barbell that goes right through it. "Those are new."
His voice sounds calmer than he feels about this discovery, thank fuck. He's not sure how he would've explained any kind of shaky raspiness in his words other than that he'd like a repetition of the storage room two summers ago.
It takes all of Kenny's willpower not to let his eyes linger there, and even then it is only with great difficulty that he manages to look back into Craig's face, forcing his eyes to stay right there and not go back to the piercing. That's the only reason he catches the subtle rise of Craig's eyebrow at all.
"Don't know what you're talking about," he huffs before he, unfortunately, straightens up, turning off the faucet. The stupid tank top falls back into it's usual place and Craig's chest is obstructed by fabric once again.
Kenny manages a scoff and pushes himself away from the wall. "The nipple piercings?" he jogs his memory as he reaches for the faucet on the other sink, turning it on to the max. He needs to give his hands something to do before he makes a rash decision and his whole body feels way too hot anyways, so he bends down and splashes some of the biting cold water into his face, trying to cool off.
When the fuck did Craig get these? And Kenny is 100% sure he's got both nipples pierced, despite only seeing one of them. Tucker is not one to half-ass anything and certainly not something like that. If he decided to get nipple piercings, then he got two of them for sure. Fuck, why didn't he have them when they were working together and Kenny got to kiss and bite his way down the entirety of his torso?
He can hear a low sound of understanding coming from Craig as he straightens up again and brushes some water over his forearms. When he looks back at the black-haired boy, he sees him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Nah, I've had them for a few weeks already."
Barking out a laugh, Kenny turns off the water and gives Craig an incredulous look. "And you never said anything?" he asks, grabbing the collar of his shirt to dry his face.
"I wasn't aware I was supposed to report back to you about my body modifications," Craig shoots back immediately. Kenny hears the subdued bite in his voice, something that borders on annoyance but isn't quite that. It's a tone he has never heard Craig use except for when he addresses him — maybe that's why Kenny can't let go of him. The Tucker boy treats him differently from all the others, even his closest friends, and Kenny is drawn to it like a moth to the flame.
"About modifications like these? Absolutely, dude!" Kenny shoots him another toothy grin as soon as he drops his shirt. "I'm, like, the professional in this field."
"Since you've got so many of your own, clearly." Craig drags his eyes all over Kenny's face, as if he'd need to prove his point when he's the one with the snakebites and the septum out of the two of them.
"Hey, my experience might not be as personal as yours, but that doesn't mean it's not hands-on," he grins, to which Craig merely rolls his eyes, but Kenny spots the corners of his lips pulling upwards just slightly.
"You would've seen them earlier, but it's been a while since you were here," he shrugs, and Kenny lets out a wistful sigh.
"Been a while since Mackey actually caught me."
"It was a good run."
"New record, for sure," he grins, but before Craig can reply, Clyde's voice rings through the air, "Craig? We're leaving, alright?"
Craig looks past Kenny and towards the locker room, which has gotten significantly quieter now that Kenny pays attention to his surroundings again. He turns around and peers into the room, and only finds Tolkien and Clyde still left in the room, their gym bags slung over their shoulders and looking at Kenny and then at Craig as he steps out of the shower area. Everyone else must've already left, in a hurry to enjoy the rest of the 20-minute break until the next class or to get home as fast as possible
"Sure," he nods at his two friends and makes his way back to the bench where Kenny sees a bunch of clothes still lying around that aren't his own. "See you tomorrow."
"See ya. You too, Kenny!" Tolkien calls, raising his hand towards the two of them.
Kenny responds in kind. "Hopefully not in PE again," he grins, making his way past Craig's bench to his own. Now that everyone else has left, he can change without having to fear worried faces or pitiful glances.
He hears Tolkien and Clyde laugh as they leave the room before the door falls shut and silence engulfs him and Craig. The latter sits with his back to Kenny, his bench situated right in the middle of the room, whereas Kenny has claimed a corner of the room, a bunch of lockers in his back, a wall to his left and in front of him a row of benches that has been pushed against another one that looks out into the room. He's chosen this spot because it guards him from other people on at least two sides and because he knows the worn-down leather jacket hanging right in front of him on the other row of benches is Stan's. Stan is familiar with his bruises and he won't ask questions, nor look at him weirdly. It's the safest place in the entire room for him to change.
Right now, that's not what matters, though.
Whatever it is, divine intervention, or just a stroke of his sheer fucking luck, but from this spot, Kenny can see past the leather jacket and right towards Craig, his view unobstructed by other bodies or lockers. He gets to see the way the other boy grabs the back of his tank top and and pulls it over his head, unveiling his broad shoulders, and, more importantly, the big, intricate back tattoo he only caught a glimpse of before in full detail now.
And, God, it's beautiful. Kenny's breath fucking catches in his throat when he sees it in its entirety.
It's delicate, the lines thin. The thickest part is also the center piece; a long, slim cherry tree with an elongated trunk that winds down Craig's spine in small, gentle curves and yet gives the impression of starting to branch out the way its top does. There are blossoms along its roots the same way they are on the branches, albeit fewer. Although that is clearly the main part of the piece, it is surrounded by countless perfect circles that are almost half as big as the tree, layered over each other in a seemingly careless manner yet still engulfing the blossoming crown fully. There are even thinner straight lines horizontally and vertically running through them and the tree, together with other, smaller circles and dots towards the edges of the design, giving it a rather mathematical or scientific air. And, because it's Craig, and his love belongs to space first and foremost, there are three, or maybe four planets finishing the picture; the biggest one is at the top, still touched by some of the lines and dots. Another one is to the left of the roots, small and entirely black. The last two are at the bottom of the piece, barely touched by the lines anymore.
Kenny has never seen anything similar before and he has no clue what it could symbolize. He hasn't taken Craig as the guy for cherry trees. It fits him, though. The whole scientific approach to something so naturally ethereal, and pairing it all with space.
It's too short of a moment to really take it in fully, to appreciate and admire the design the way it's clearly meant to be with such thin lines and so many small details, but Craig doesn't really give him a chance when he suddenly turns around. Kenny hasn't even noticed him getting up and getting out of his shorts, but there he stands, only in his boxer-shorts while Kenny hasn't even managed to get his shirt off yet, too enraptured with the sight of Craig's back. When he forces his eyes up his smooth chest and into his face, he finds him already looking back.
It's quiet for a moment. The only thing Kenny can hear is their soft breathing and his heart hammering in his chest. Craig's eyes are as dark as ever, pools of depth that reveal none of his thoughts or feelings. Out of all the people he has ever known, Tucker has always been one of the hardest to get a read on. It's like he knows Kenny is trying and he's actively working against it. Like he fears that he's too easy to read if he doesn't fight back, though Kenny can't imagine that's possible with someone as stoic and silent as him.
Craig cocks his head in a quick motion and Kenny holds his breath, pinned down by the harsh, unforgiving stare. And then, low, quiet, almost gentle, "You should take a picture."
Kenny's mouth goes fucking dry. That's an invitation if he's ever heard one. He knows Craig keeps watching him as he wets his lips and deliberately takes him in fully, running his gaze across his broad shoulders and down his lean torso, slowing down at the outline of his dick through the gray boxers and then taking his sweet time with his stupidly long legs before snapping his eyes back up to Craig's without a single word, waiting.
His body is heating up with every passing second and he can feel every beat of his heart against his ribcage as he anticipates Craig's next move, trying to gauge his actual motive, the goal of whatever play he initiated just now.
Finally, his lips pull into a small but wicked grin and Craig adds, deceptively soft, but with so much bite, it cannot not mean something, "It will last longer."
He doesn't give Kenny the chance to react before he pushes down his boxers, giving him his dick on full fucking display, and Kenny is just a guy. He looks without even thinking about it, just to realize Craig has gotten even bigger in the last two years. His whole body feels like it goes up in flames and his throat is so dry, he's not sure his vocal chords are even working anymore.
Craig doesn't seem to be bothered by his prolonged silence. In fact, he seems smug about it, like it's exactly what he wanted to achieve. He turns around, then, and vanishes back into the shower area with big, heavy steps, leaving Kenny half-hard in his place. As if the conversation is over now, although it just now actually started.
They're the furthest fucking thing from done right now.
It can't be anything but a challenge for Kenny to rise to. It has to be. Craig is pushing and he knows exactly that Kenny will push back. That's what they were doing all summer long, after all. Pushing, pulling, holding, gripping, biting. Unforgiving and unrelenting. Unwilling to let go and back down first.
They haven't played for a while now, but the game is still familiar and Kenny can practically feel the sting of the taut band in his whole body when Craig releases it with those few, simple words.
Kenny just doesn't understand why he's doing it now of all times, so out of nowhere. Not that it didn't work, he can feel his dick strain against his underwear and although Craig is long gone, it's as if the image of him lingers. It's all he can see when he closes his eyes with every blink. But six months ago, Craig's voice was laced with pure disgust when he looked at Kenny, his lips pulled into a sneer and eyes cold. After that argument, Tucker barely looked his way anymore. His gaze was distant, brushing over him like he was just some shadow and Kenny isn't sure he even registered who was right in front of him although Craig handed him physics and chemistry notes that were clearly meant for Stan.
This invitation right now is worlds apart from the boy who wrapped his scarf around Kenny's neck, hiding the purple bruises littered around it and making sure to not even brush his fingertips against the sensitive skin, as if the mere idea of his touch was suddenly off-putting.
But while he's busy racking his brain about that, Kenny hears the shower curtain to one of the two shower stalls in the adjacent room being drawn and then the water running. His eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, displaying the time a minute or two past 3 pm. If it really was an invitation then they've got maybe fifteen minutes left before the bell rings and they'll have to be long gone or take the risk of being caught by the next group of teenage boys changing.
If it really was an invitation — but Kenny is sure that it was, more than he's ever been sure about anything else in his life, maybe. Craig is hard to read, he fights back with everything he has to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, more than ready to take every little secret of his to his grave some day — but this was obvious. It was loud. Craig held his gaze, pinned him down and used a tone that made every hair on Kenny's neck stand on end.
He knew exactly how Kenny would take his words, his actions, and that must be what he's betting on.
It's when he hears a soft sound from the adjacent room, something that sounds like a low, soft sigh, as if Craig's enjoying his shower without any second thoughts, that Kenny finally makes the split decision to take his fucking chances now or never.
His clothes are off in record time, carelessly thrown onto the floor and Kenny almost slips on the dirty, white tiles as he rounds the corner and hurries into the shower area. His naked footsteps echo loudly against the ground, and he's sure Craig must hear them, how quick he is suddenly, but Kenny doesn't care about how desperate he might come across right now.
He's been waiting two fucking years for this, for just one more, small repetition of that little piece of heaven they carved themselves into the edges of that convenience store and the storage room and he'll be damned if he doesn't indulge as much as he can before it's taken from him again.
They've got fifteen minutes, and Kenny will make the most of them.
He pushes the drawn shower curtain aside just enough to slip into the small, gloomy stall and Craig is already waiting for him. He stands there, halfway under the gentle stream, a lazy smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, piercing Kenny with his lidded eyes and not in the least surprised at his appearance.
Kenny flashes him a wild grin and wastes no time crowding all into the other's space until they're practically chest to chest already. "Can I use your shampoo?" he asks, his voice low and rough and already reaching up to sink his fingers into Craig's wet hair at the back of his head.
He's warm against Kenny's touch, burning even, and his beautiful, tan skin is so, so smooth under his palms. Kenny has to suppress a shaky breath when he finally touches him again. Not just a teasing shove of his elbow into Craig's side, or the other boy tapping his shoulder as they pass each other in a hallway, but touching, with the intention of feeling everything, every ripple of Craig's muscles as they tense first under Kenny's fingertips, how they relax just a heartbeat later when he grabs a fistful of his wet strands. He's not even attempting to sell his act of asking for shampoo, too focused on the way Craig's face goes through a myriad of expressions to even try to look for anything that might resemble a shampoo bottle. He knows there is nothing in this cramped box except for them. Hell, Craig didn't even bring a fucking towel for later.
The shift of emotions is subtle, but it's there when you know what to look for. There's a kaleidoscope of sensations displayed in the way he furrows his eyebrows just slightly and how his gaze grows heavier as he holds Kenny's eye contact. The right corner of his lips twitches upwards and Kenny feels his touch before his hands truly settle on his hips and his back, the memories of it enough to have it all come back to him within a heartbeat.
Craig huffs out a laugh, seemingly unbothered. "Yeah, sure," he shrugs, but the words come out a little faster than the pace he usually speaks with, just a hint too breathless to really come across as composed. The universe must have aligned every last star and planet around for Kenny to have this as some sort of blessing or good karma. He can't explain otherwise why Craig would crave his touch one last time.
Not that he cares about it much longer, though, because Craig leans down and catches his lips in a bruising kiss. Kenny sighs as soon as he feels his mouth on him, warm and heavy, and so familiar despite the fact that it's been two years. Their lips slot against each other like puzzle pieces, and the only difference is that Craig has gotten even better at kissing than he already was at fifteen.
He's hot and confident, demanding, but there's something in the way that he moves his lips against Kenny's, that makes his heart beat faster and all the thoughts in his head dissipate. All he can focus on is Craig, his warm, wet body pressed against his own, his minty breath of chewing gum to cover up for the cigarettes, the cold metal of the snakebites digging into his lips and his huge hands splayed against Kenny's back, his hips, pulling him closer until he's pressed flush against the other boy.
It's so fucking easy to kiss Craig, no matter how long it's been. Kenny doesn't have to think about anything as he moves his mouth against him. There's no pressure to it, no need to please, just raw, unfiltered want and pleasure.
Craig kisses him like he wants to devour him; he nips at his bottom lip before he drags the tip of his tongue over it and when Kenny parts them with a low sigh, he licks into his mouth like a starving man. It's filthy and Kenny is so fucking hot, his head spinning just from these few seconds already, when they haven't done shit yet. But Craig's mouth is intoxicating in the best way possible, his lips so warm, smooth against his own chapped ones and he kisses him like there will be no tomorrow, like he's been waiting for this moment ever since that summer two years ago came to end.
He touches Kenny as if he's been just as desperate all this time; his fingers twitch and sink into his skin as he tightens his grip, as if he wants to tear pieces of flesh out of his body in the process. Kenny gasps at the delicious sting it causes and arches his back against Craig. He winds his fingers more tightly around the wet, black strands and pulls and when Craig hisses into his mouth, nails scratching across his lower back, he can't help but grin.
The water stops at some point, but Kenny barely notices it, just like how he barely noticed some of the stream pouring onto his arm, and down his side when it was on. He's too caught up with Craig's mouth kissing him fucking senseless with a kind of urgency that can't simply be because they're in the school's locker rooms. He presses his lips onto Kenny's again and again, licks over them, nips and pulls at them and breathes into his mouth as if he wants to burrow into him, become a part of him. His hands are wandering too, across his back, down his sides, until one of them eventually reaches up into his hair and tugs hard, as if he wants to get even.
"Fuck," Kenny gasps as he lets his head get pulled back by the force of it. Sparks of pleasure zap down his spine and go straight to his twitching dick. God, he's so hard and Craig has barely done anything at all. It's pathetic how easily his body reacts to the other boy, but how could he resist him? He's so fucking hot and he doesn't even have to try.
Craig holds his head in place and lets go of his lips in favor of mouthing down his jaw. His touch is frantic, but featherlight as he presses his lips onto Kenny's heated skin again and again, as if he's trying to touch as much of it as he can in these fifteen minutes. The grip in his hear is tight like a vice and Kenny's neck almost strains from how hard Craig pulls his head back, but he doesn't care about any of it when the other boy finally reaches between them to wrap a hand around his dick.
Kenny has to bite down on his tongue so hard he almost draws blood in order to stop himself from moaning out loud. The feeling of Craig's big, calloused hand around his hard-on is heavenly and he ruts his hips into the touch without thinking.
"You're a mess," is the only thing Craig says about all of that, but his voice betrays his indifference; he sounds raspy, wrecked as if he's already fucked Kenny twice in the last few minutes. When he opens his eyes to glance at him, he notices the way Craig's chest heaves with every breath and how he stares back at him with hooded eyes and pupils so blown, his eyes seem practically black. Even if he were to look composed, Kenny can feel his boner twitching against his abdomen when he flashes him a grin.
"You love it."
He does, and he couldn't deny it if he tried. Not when Kenny is the one he'd want to deceive. It's in the way Craig looks at him, his bedroom eyes hungry and fixated. He licks his lips, collecting droplets of water that have accumulated on the edge of his cupid's bow. Wet strands of his hair hang into his face and stick to his forehead and he doesn't deny or confirm anything but it's not like he really has to. He starts moving his hand, stroking Kenny with hard, quick movements from the start and he tilts his head forward, like he wants to get a better look at his face, lips parting around a deep, controlled breath when Kenny's mouth falls open with a silent moan and Kenny knows he's won.
He grins impossibly wider and bites his lip at the growing pleasure buzzing in his groin with every flick of Craig's wrist. He moves into the touch with tiny rolls of his hips, letting his head fall back willingly into Craig's other hand as his own slide over the smooth, tan expanse of his chest with small, open-mouthed gasps. Craig's chest is littered with water droplets, running down his torso and being caught by Kenny's fingers as he explores all that naked skin like he's never done it before. He might as well, because it looks so different from the fifteen-year-old Kenny sucked off in the parking lot that summer. He built up more muscles, his chest and abdomen and biceps more defined, and he looks a little tanner.
And, of course, there are the tattoos. Before, when they were still in the locker room, Kenny didn't get to see the ones on his front. They're too small to really make out in the distance. Like this, however, just centimeters apart from Craig, with his hands splayed across his collarbone and lingering at his neck, Kenny can take them all in despite his head lolled back. They're tiny in comparison to the back piece, littered across his chest and down his stomach and side like patchwork art. There's a complicated looking physics thing below his right collarbone, almost on his shoulder; a black sphere with countless, oval-shaped rings wrapping around it and a few smaller dots on those lines. Could be an atom. There's a line of several other, just as small symbols further to its right, even more mathematical shapes akin to prisms. Below that, there's a whole moon cycle displayed in the same size.
Further down, on his right pec, right above the nipple piercing that initially drew Kenny's attention, sits a small tunnel in grids that opens up more on both ends. The small particle-like matter that seems to come out of it fits in perfectly with the countless little moles that are dotted across Craig's torso. Between the tunnel and the next piece, an incredibly detailed astronaut, extend two dotted lines each. They remind Kenny of the kind of lines on exam sheets, when you're supposed to label things on graphics and pictures. Next to the astronaut is another vertical array of symbols. He has no idea what they mean, some of them are just squares, another is a circle, one looks like a soundtrack and the last one has some sort of starburst shape.
In comparison, the rather thick-lined picture of the little prince sitting on a planet is much easier to understand. It fits Craig, just as much as the floating astronaut on his ribs.
There are two more unfamiliar shapes in the middle of his sternum, just as small as the prism shapes and the moon cycle; Kenny has no idea what they're meant to represent. The same goes for the weird equation that lies right below his left collarbone, balancing out the pieces of the right. It's just a bunch of letters in round brackets with the exception of a single one. It's cancelled out together with another symbol in the equation, though, and the whole thing amounts to a plain zero.
The bigger, almost entirely black and sphere-like tattoo that sits gingerly in the dip between his collarbones, right above the sternum, is much easier to figure out. It can't be anything but a replica of that picture of a black hole Craig showed him once. Kenny remembers the black and white of that picture, the way the shades seemed to flow around the sphere in the image itself. It's the exact same in the tattoo as well.
With a low whine, Kenny arches up against Craig, feeling the way he lets go of his hair and wraps his free hand around his back instead to pull him closer again. He's still working on his dick, his big hand steadily moving up and down his shaft with borderline rough movements, smearing Kenny's precum all over it. It feels so fucking good, his grip is tight, his hand rough and warm and Kenny can almost stop thinking about anything as he bucks his hips into his touch again and again, pleasure spreading into every last muscle of his body.
Almost, because it'd be a fucking shame if he would let all that beautiful skin with those tattoos and piercings under his hands go to waste.
Craig leans down to kiss him again, hard and frantic. Their teeth clack against each other before he licks into Kenny's mouth, not slowing down in his ministrations just once. Fuck, he is everywhere, all around him and it's almost too much to handle for Kenny. He feels the way Craig's tongue swirls around his own in suddenly languid, lazy circles, like he fucking wants Kenny to imagine what it would be like if he was sucking him off instead of giving him a hand-job. It's downright filthy, but that makes it only hotter and Kenny's stomach feels like it drops to the floor, his chest growing tight with how turned on he is. His dick twitches in Craig's hand and he lets a quiet, but draw-out moan spill into the other boy's mouth when he feels him thumb at his slit.
He runs his hands over his torso as the kiss continues, feeling his way up Craig's toned stomach, along the gentle ridges between his ribs until he reaches his nipples and pinches them between his fingers.
Craig groans right into his mouth, low and guttural, sounding so fucking wrecked already although he's not the one getting a hand-job right now. His fingers sink into Kenny's back, grasping at his spine like he wants to sink them into his flesh then and there and his next stroke comes harsh and mean, almost too rough against his sensitive skin.
Kenny ruts into his hand with a gasp, before his lips stretch into a smirk. Still as sensitive as ever, it seems. Maybe even more, he's heard that nipple piercings increase the sensation of touches quite drastically. And Craig is such a willing victim as he starts playing with the silver barbells, pushing and tugging at them just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough for the other boy to feel it together with Kenny's thumbs flicking at the dark buds.
He gasps with every of Kenny's actions until he can't focus on kissing him any longer and merely pants into his mouth instead. His hand slows down, too, as if it's hard to do anything when he's being played with like this. As Kenny looks up at him, he finds Craig's eyes almost fully closed and his eyebrows slightly pinched. His chest is heaving under his hands, rising and falling in quick succession to his short, ragged breaths and when Kenny rolls the piercings between his fingers once more, he suddenly rolls his hips forward and Kenny can feel his erection, hot and slick with precum, sliding against his abdomen. He's not sure he's ever experienced anything sexier.
"My turn," he grins, but his voice is barely above a whisper, not only so that nobody will hear them in case there's already someone else in the locker room, but because he's not sure whether it will sound as cocky and confident otherwise. He can feel the rasp at the back of his throat that's sure to come out if he raises his tone above a mumble.
Craig doesn't seem to understand what he's hinting at, but that's only to Kenny's advantage. It makes it that much easier to push him backwards in the split of a second and the black-haired teen moves despite being almost one-and-a-half heads taller and also more muscular than him. In fact, the push catches him by surprise; he completely lets go of Kenny and stumbles two big steps back that Kenny follows until his back hits the beige-tiled wall with a wet thud and Craig lets out a pained sound. Only a moment later, the shower above them turns on again without any warning, which must mean that he bumped into its button protruding from the wall.
The stream hits Kenny this time around, drenching him immediately. The water pattering onto his head and down his back is ice cold the first few seconds, and he flinches, his skin erupting into wave after wave of goosebumps. It's more of a reflex that he pushes himself closer to Craig, trying to escape the cold water cascading down his body, though it doesn't take long until it warms up to its previous temperature.
Craig is glaring at him, despite his hands settling on his hips. Getting the shower button pushed into his back must probably hurt like a bitch, but Kenny barely has the time to feel sorry for that. He's too occupied with all that beautiful, naked skin in front of him and the nipple piercings. He shivers again just thinking about Craig's moan from before. So hungry, full of want, full of need. He wants to hear that sound again. He wants Craig to unravel for him because that has been a breathtaking sight at fifteen and with how much hotter he's gotten in the meantime it can only be better now.
And the metal button shoved into his back means that there will at least one bruise from Kenny blooming under his skin after this.
He's touching Craig again before the water stops; his hands lie low on his abdomen, just centimeters away from his rock-hard dick, but Kenny wants to draw these fifteen minutes out as long as he possibly can. God knows if there will ever be another chance to enjoy Craig Tucker like this. He has to make the most of it. Instead of wrapping his hand around his cock yet, he pushes himself against the other boy until their bodies are touching and he can mouth along his torso.
Kenny lets his hands and lips wander, steady but greedily, caressing over his stomach and up his chest, one arm wrapping around his back just like Craig did to him before. His nose brushes along his collarbones and he plants featherlight, wet kisses along the intricate prism shapes and moon phases.
He can feel Craig's breathing turn sharper as he kisses his way down his chest, how he arches into his mouth the second he swirls the tip of his tongue around one of the nipple piercings. The hands on his hips suddenly reach around him, grabbing his ass and then squeeze hard. Kenny lets out a breathless chuckle, a shiver running through him. He wishes they'd have the time to actually fuck in here. It's been two years and he's convinced that if Craig only got half as much better at sex than he got at kissing, then he'd fuck Kenny silly in this gloomy, cramped shower stall.
But they're on borrowed time and this will have to be enough.
Craig takes a shuddering inhale when Kenny sucks at the piercing. He swirls his tongue around it at the same time, coating it in saliva, then runs his free hand up his chest until he feels the dip between Craig's collarbones, right where the black hole lingers. He thumbs over the tattoo gently, almost shyly, and Craig's breath hitches. When Kenny looks up at him, nibbling just slightly at his nipple, he meets his eyes, black in the low lighting and with how blown out his pupils are now. His head is tipped back against the tiles and his lips are parted around every harsh pant. He swallows once and his Adam's apple bobs up and down just like it did when he drank from the faucet. It looks so prominent and the skin on his throat so flawless, unblemished, not even used for a single tattoo, as if inviting Kenny to get his mouth on it.
He kisses his way up again without thinking about it, though he makes sure to press his lips against the black hole before he finally reaches his throat, exposed and vulnerable, like Craig wants it too, as if he's waiting for Kenny to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin like he's done so often in the past.
He mouths along his neck in a teasing manner first, before he finally latches onto Craig's pulse point. Craig gasps the second he can feel Kenny's teeth grazing the thin layer of skin, the tip of his tongue drawing lazy circles over it right afterwards. He shivers before he suddenly wraps one hand around Kenny's cock and starts jerking him off once more.
The pleasure comes back like a tidal wave crashing over him and it distracts Kenny enough that he lets go of Craig's throat for a moment, biting his lips to fight back a whine instead. He starts rolling his hips again, his eyes closing as he holds onto Craig more tightly and pants against his neck, getting immersed in the buzzing pleasure that spreads through his veins like poison. It takes several seconds and a very pleased hum from the other boy for him to clear his head enough and press his mouth to Craig's throat again.
He can feel his heartbeat under his lips, fast and erratic, like a prey on the run. Kenny's chest coils tighter at the thought of that. That he made Craig's pulse spike like this, have his heart jack-hammering in his chest just from his proximity, his touch alone. He can't help the tiny grin that spreads on his lips as he starts sucking at that same spot in earnest.
Craig makes a raspy sound as soon as he feels the sting of it, small, but so full of desire, Kenny's whole body grows hotter as soon as he hears it. His hips rut forward in time with Kenny's, but he ends up humping against Kenny's abdomen again, squeezing his ass tighter and pushing him closer. He's desperate for his touch, it seems, for more friction and to finally find his release — Kenny wouldn't dream of denying him.
Still working at his throat, he reaches between them and wraps his hand around Craig's dick. The reaction is immediate; Craig inhales sharply and his head falls back against the wall once more as a full body shudder wrecks through him. He can't help but grin.
He starts jerking Craig off to his own rhythm, or he tries to, at least, because it's difficult to really move freely when their arms keep bumping into each other. Craig being left-handed means he can't move his hand at a pace or angle that actually pleasures the other boy, not when the latter is getting him off at the same time. He notices it all too well when Craig's movements start stuttering as well for all the wrong reasons and the steady, rising pleasure he's been feeling so far begins to ebb away within seconds.
He huffs out a chuckle that is a mix between amusement and annoyance, but before he could say anything, Craig suddenly pushes his hand off his dick and to the side brusquely with a scoff. He doesn't even bother lowering his deadpan voice when he follows the action up with, "You suck at this."
For a split second, all Kenny can do is stare at him, dumbfounded. Then, he bursts out laughing like never before.
He can't control it, it just seems to spill out of him like a dam that's been broken. His whole body shakes with the force of it and Kenny throws his head back, unable to stop it. All he can do is cling to Craig a little tighter as his chest feels a little too light. He's not sure he's ever laughed like this before.
Nobody has ever caught him this off-guard before, either.
Kenny has slept with so many people, he doesn't remember half of them, let alone their names. He's experienced pretty much everything; people come to him with their wishes and fantasies and he is happy to provide. It's been so long that nothing shocks him anymore, because nothing is anything new anymore. He has seen it all and heard it all in terms of sex and nothing truly matters at all when the act itself feels like a transaction anyway, giving and taking what both parties want and need.
This, though, is definitely a first in what feels like forever.
He's still chuckling as he focuses back on Craig. The latter is already looking at him, face blank, probably because he doesn't understand what's so funny to Kenny.
"No one's ever said that to me in this kind of context," he grins. Maybe it's weird, and Kenny shouldn't feel so delighted about this kind of comment. Clearly, Craig meant it to push his buttons, not to amuse him, but instead of bothering him, it makes him feel happy. Giddy, even. Excited in a way that is unfamiliar and new.
He doesn't get to think about it further, because Craig grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for another kiss after he barely finishes his sentence. It's different from the other ones; Craig's hand lingers, his touch burns into Kenny's skin like a brandishing, but in a good way. In a way that makes him melt against his palm, tilting his head back further to give the other boy better access to his mouth. And Craig makes the most of it, kissing him deep, so deep, and so slow, completely unlike when Kenny slipped into the shower stall in the first place. As if he doesn't have a single care in the world, no other place to be after this. As if time is stretching for them in particular and they can steal more than fifteen minutes.
He kisses Kenny like he wants to quench an ache, a desire. He can feel the hunger, his greed, trickling down his throat and filling into every fiber of his body as he moves his lips against Kenny's, hot and languid, yet without any force. His fingertips teasingly brush over his wet skin at the base of his neck and Kenny's legs grow weak.
It only gets worse when Craig solves their problem by pressing Kenny closer to his body, until they're flush to each other, and he wraps his long, calloused fingers around both of their dicks at the same time, squeezing slightly before fucking into his hand with a grunt.
Kenny gasps into his mouth and rolls his hips forward too. It feels so fucking good, the burning hot touch of Craig's hand around his dick, paired with the delicious friction of his cock dragging along his own, it's sending sparks up his spine — but it feels confusing too, because Kenny isn't used to being useless, not in situations like these, at least.
He's always in control, always the one calling the shots; he's the one who gives people hand- and blowjobs, not the other way round. He's the one to grab his partners, pull them closer, reposition them in a way that gives him the most access and freedom to pleasure them. But right now, Craig has beaten him to that position. In fact, he has denied him that role, and now Kenny's hands are too free, too empty, lost without a purpose, and he's not sure what to do with himself while the other boy works his hand up and down his length in firm, languid strokes other than move his hips to his rhythm and feel the pleasure crawling up his spine to the fullest extent.
It makes him feel small in a way he never has during sex before, or at least not in a long, long time, longer than he can properly remember, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's uncertainty. He's feeling insecure, unsure of what to do when suddenly nothing is expected of him. When Craig isn't looking at him, waiting for him to provide, but when he's staring down at him with his heavy, burning gaze, eyes lidded and lips parted around every breath like he's just watching him for his own enjoyment.
His hands are itching with the need to do something, but, clearly, Craig doesn't want his help. He found it downright annoying, even, his deadpan voice still ringing in Kenny's ears. You suck at this. And yet he's here, and he doesn't look bothered by the fact that Kenny isn't doing anything except roll his hips forward into his hand whenever Craig's hand pushes back down his cock.
Still, he can't shake the need to use his own hands for something, anything, really. It's almost like a reflex he can't suppress. He's still holding onto Craig from his previous laughing, one arm wrapped around his back, the other gingerly lying on his hips after the other boy shoved it off his dick, and the only distraction he can think of is to keep touching Craig.
Tentatively and with shaky breaths, Kenny starts moving his hands. He lets the arm around his torso sink lower until it rests at the small of his back and brushes his fingertips of the other hand across Craig's abdomen. His skin is so hot under his touch, so smooth, and when Kenny gently caresses the small symbols on his side, he notices the way Craig's stomach twitches before he takes a deep breath, seemingly on purpose.
When Kenny looks up, Craig's gaze has gotten even more intense if that's still possible. He swallows around nothing when their eyes meet, before he parts his lips again, still breathing hard. The sight makes Kenny's heart skip a beat and his stomach feel funny.
He keeps his eyes glued onto his face as he moves his hand again, away from the astronaut and up. Craig's breathing quickens along with Kenny's touch, his chest rises and falls more prominently under his palm and Craig holds his gaze as his mouth falls open wider with every exhale until he reaches the dip between his collarbones and the black hole again.
Kenny brushes his fingers further up, begins to wrap them around his throat, and Craig starts tilting his head back in accordance to the touch, his eyes falling closed in the process. He can feel his heart racing at the sight of the other boy and how much he seems to enjoy his simple, almost shy touch. Fascinated, he watches as Craig bites his bottom lip to fight back a moan as soon as he moves lower again and his grip around their cocks turns tighter. Kenny's hips jerk into his hand entirely on their own, a wave of goosebumps rolling down his back as he gasps, and oh.
This is new. More than that, it's nice.
It feels good, all of it; Craig's touch, his hand around his dick, the way he moves it so steadily, so fucking warm and tight around Kenny. It feels good not knowing what to do, being uncertain. It makes him feel inexperienced, although he definitely isn't, and even that feels good. Makes him feel like he's just a guy who has no clue what to do in this moment, who's just here to feel good and enjoy himself, and that thought fills him with excitement.
Fuck, Kenny loves it, not knowing what the next step may be, what the reaction to his actions will be. For once, he's not in charge and he doesn't have to think, not if he doesn't want to. He can do whatever he wants.
And, God, how much he wants to touch, now that he's gotten such a new and exciting taste of it.
With a breathless laugh, he surges forward and crowds into Craig's space in the fraction of a second and then he's touching. His hands are moving on their own, caressing all that naked, tan skin like he's never touched it before in his life. Over Craig's chest and his tummy, across his shoulders and down his sides, Kenny puts them wherever he can reach. His chest feels light with excitement as he lets his hands wander wherever they please, no ultimate destination or goal in mind, and he can't help but chuckle happily.
He's not sure he's ever felt so good during sex before; the drag of Craig's hand and his cock along his own feels heavenly and makes his head buzz together with the giddy happiness from getting to do whatever he pleases. He's not sure how much longer he's gonna last, not when he's feeling so light-headed already. He's happy to suck at this, if it feels this blissful in return.
Wrapping an arm around his neck, Kenny buries his hand in the short strands of black hair at Craig's nape and starts fucking into his hand steadily. Every small roll of his hips leaves him gasping and sighing against the other's skin as pleasure crawls up his spine and coils tighter and tighter in his abdomen. His heart is racing in his chest and he can feel Craig's hammering against his ribcage from where he's pressed up against him impossibly tight. He's still giggling in between his suppressed moans and whines, the sounds bubbling up in his throat and tumbling from his parted lips before he has the chance to stop them. They dance across Craig's skin together with the kisses he starts pressing onto it until the other boy is shivering in Kenny's hold and a wave of goosebumps coats his body.
Gently, Craig grabs his chin and tilts his head up until their eyes meet and he can lean down and kiss him again. His lips are so hot against his own and they move slowly, but hard, like he wants him to feel them even after this is over and they're out of the locker room. Kenny is unable to do anything but reciprocate, panting into his mouth as Craig keeps holds his chin steady before he suddenly sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tugs at it almost playfully. A shudder runs down his spine and he gasps, while Craig already licks into his mouth, impatiently. He drags his tongue over Kenny’s and then suddenly wraps his lips around it and sucks and Kenny’s head blanks.
His dick twitches hard, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he moans into Craig’s mouth downright filthily. He holds onto his frame more tightly, winding his fingers around the wet strands of hair at the base of his neck and sinking his fingers into his shoulder blade as he snaps his hips forward harshly. Craig sucks at his tongue for a moment longer, before he lets go of him, finally, allowing Kenny to drop his head back against his shoulder and close his eyes in bliss.
He can think straight anymore. He can’t think about anything at all, really, his head is wiped completely blank and all that’s left is the mind-numbing pleasure that courses through his entire system. Craig is he only thing he can perceive; if he thought before that the other boy was all around him, then he’s even more so now; he’s everywhere. He’s all Kenny sees, all Kenny hears, smells, feels. His warm, tanned skin, the sound of his hand wrapped around their lengths, the soft, wet squelch of every stroke. His short, irregular pants, the way he suddenly wraps his arm around Kenny’s shoulders, holding him tight as he speeds up his ministrations and pleasure floods through his whole body.
Craig is completely surrounding him and Kenny never fucking wants it to end.
With low whines and gasps he nuzzles into his throat. He's so fucking close and he's so desperate to finally cum. He needs it, needs Craig to make him cum and work him through it, make his mind flood with pleasure. Helplessly, Kenny ruts into his hand with sharp, frantic snaps of his hips. Above him, he can hear Craig pant, feels the way his fingers dig into his shoulder to the point that it hurts when his nails sink into his skin, too.
With his free hand, Kenny reaches out blindly, unsure of what he's even trying to do, but then he finds Craig's body. He's warm and familiar beneath his fingertips, his skin soft, and Kenny splays his palm flat onto it, gently caressing whatever he can reach, before turning his head and brushing his lips over the black hole tattoo.
Craig's grip on his shoulder somehow turns even tighter and it sends a delicious sting through his body.
Mindless with pleasure, Kenny kisses his way across Craig's left collarbone, as he fucks into his hand with growing desperation. It doesn't take a lot more, before the knot in his abdomen finally snaps and white floods his vision. Kenny throws his head back as he cums all over Craig's hand and his dick, lips parted around a silent moan and his knees buckle from the force of his orgasm.
He's not sure he's ever come this hard before. Craig has to hold him up with the arm around his shoulders so he won't drop to his knees while he clutches onto him, gasping for air as pleasure courses through his entire body. Kenny continues rutting into his hand, milking his climax for every mind-numbing spark of pleasure and drops his head forward with a low whine. Craig's chest is blurry in his vision, the equation nestled beneath his collarbone nothing but a whirl of black strokes as he leans down and kisses it. Slowly, the last waves of his release ebb away, until the overstimulation sets in.
Craig is still jerking them off, but he must be close too; he's started to roll his hips in tandem with his hand and he's gripping Kenny like he's a lifeline, burying his face into the side of his head, his ragged, hot breath hitting his rapidly cooling, wet skin.
When he suddenly plants a kiss onto his temple, something coils impossibly tight in Kenny's chest, and he knows what it is. It makes his heart skip a beat, makes goosebumps wash over his arms and back, and makes his stomach drop. It's the same thing that only Marjorine ever manages to make him feel.
It's the thing that Kenny doesn't dare think, let alone speak. Not to her, and neither to Craig. He doesn't have to put a name to it, but it sits on the tip of his tongue right now, and it has never felt lighter and more right than now, when Craig cradles him like he's the only thing that has ever mattered to him. As he's gripping him until it hurts, as if he fears Kenny could vanish in the blink of an eye.
It feels so right, Kenny can almost mistake it for reality, but he knows this isn't the place for any such things, and Craig is the last person who'd ever want to hear them from him. That's simply not how they operate. That's not who they are. That's not who Craig is.
It's not who Kenny is.
So he pretends that it isn't there, although his lips have already wrapped around each syllable, and instead he plants kiss upon kiss across all that beautiful, burning skin he's pressing himself against and caresses with soft touches until he feels Craig's shoulders and stomach tense and his hips stutter. Until Kenny feels him grip him impossibly tight and he muffles a sound akin to a choked-off whimper into his temple. Until he feels his muscles relax and his warm release coats his stomach and Craig kisses his temple again and again and again. Until Kenny feels him shake apart under his fingertips.
And he imagines that Craig already knows. If only to bask in the illusion of it for this once.
He waits until Craig has worked himself through his orgasm with lazy rolls of his hips and low gasps of pleasure and he finally lets go of their dicks, before Kenny pushes the button on the wall behind them and activates the shower once more. Again the stream hits mainly him and it's cold the first few seconds before it grows warmer, but he barely cares about any of that. He's still holding onto Craig and Craig is still holding onto him as the water washes their cum off.
When Craig loosens his grip around him eventually and straightens up, Kenny lifts his head to look at him, his arm slowly sliding off his shoulder and neck. He's so clearly disheveled, his wet hair hanging into his face in messy, black strands and his gaze hooded as he's still in the middle of catching his breath, though Kenny probably doesn't look any better himself.
He's not sure what to say now — it was easier two years ago, when they were in the storage room. Kenny cracked a grin at Craig and then motioned for him to follow him out into the store where they would either restock the shelves or hang around the cash register with almost nothing to do.
He's not sure whether a grin is the right choice now. He's not sure whether he would even manage to grin in the way he's supposed to, all cheeky and wild.
Ultimately, Craig beats him to the first step. Without saying anything, the other boy grabs his chin again, and brushes the pad of his thumb over his lips for the fraction of a second before he lets go of Kenny fully and nods towards the drawn shower curtain. "Let's go."
Right. Fifteen minutes are almost over. They need to get out of here before someone finds them first. It's a miracle there haven't been any guys entering the locker room yet and disturbing them. Kenny is glad that they're apparently all the same kind of stubborn assholes that refuse to use any minute of their breaks to change early and ensure gym class starts with the bell across the entire school population.
Not only that, but Kenny has a history class after this. Not that he'd really care about it, but it's one of the very few classes he shares with Stan and he has to be present and pay attention for his best friend's grades, at least.
They get out of the shower stall dripping wet and with nothing to dry themselves off. Kenny wasn't even planing on attending gym class, so he surely hasn't accounted for a shower afterwards. He's got no towel. Craig doesn't seem to have anticipated it either despite being the one who lured them into the shower in the first place.
With a chuckle, Kenny starts making his way back towards the locker room, naked and dripping all over the tiled floor. The open air makes his wet body shiver. He'll have no choice but to dry himself off with the gym clothes he got from Mr. Mackey if he doesn't want to wet his own. His footsteps sound loud through the air until they're joined by Craig's, who's falling into step right next to him.
As soon as they enter the locker room, however, Kenny almost trips over his own two feet.
Stan is sitting on one of the benches, right where his clothes were strewn onto before. Fuck, Kenny completely forgot about him after he disappeared into the bathrooms; he must've come while he and Craig were in the shower together, changed back into his regular clothes and now he's probably still here because he saw Kenny's deserted clothes on the other side of the bench. He must've waited for him.
How much has he heard? Sure, Kenny and Craig were quiet for the most part, or tried to be, at least, but they weren't completely silent. And Stan, already looking at him and Craig as soon as they step into the locker room, doesn't seem all that surprised to see them together. Naked.
"Hey, dude," Kenny says, trying to sound casual, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
Craig follows his lead without missing a beat. He scoffs looking at Stan, his face blank and his eyes unimpressed as they run over his face and he walks over to his own pile of clothes. "You look like shit."
Kenny wouldn't have said that, but he's gotta agree with Tucker; Stan looks like he just crawled his way out of hell. In a way, he surely has, throwing up God knows how much after drinking as much as he did. It's a hell of Stan's own making. He sits slumped against the wall to his left, barely holding himself on top of the bench without the support. His hands rest between his legs and his eyes are only halfway open. He still looks pale, his temples shining with cold sweat. He does look like shit.
Stan takes the punch lying down. "Why thank you," he mumbles, his speech still a little slurred. He's nowhere even near sobering up, despite emptying the entirety of his stomach five minutes ago. "Not all of us had the time for a refreshing shower."
Kenny isn't sure how to read that reply. Stan doesn't exactly look like he paid a lot of attention to his surroundings, but those words could definitely have a double meaning.
"How are you feeling?" he asks him as he makes his way to his own clothes. Grabbing the white t-shirt, he starts drying himself off. Usually, if Stan really wants to be a dick, he doubles down on things two or three times. If he heard them in the shower and realized what they were actually doing, he's bound to drop an even more obvious hint about it.
Stan merely moves his head a little, as if to indicate that he'd look back at Kenny if he had the energy for it. "Splendid," he replies dryly, but apart from that one word, nothing else follows up. He doesn't seem to have caught onto the fact that Kenny and Craig didn't actually shower, too occupied with his own misery and feeling like shit, clearly.
Still, Kenny decides to play it safe. He huffs out a laugh and grabs his boxer-shorts. "A shower would've done you some good as well. Though, I'm not sure whether Craig would've shared his shampoo with the both of us."
"No," comes his prompt answer from across the room. Kenny can't help but chuckle, throwing a glance in his direction as he pulls his jeans on and reaches for his own t-shirt. Craig isn't even looking at them as he gets dressed. His back is turned towards Kenny and Stan and he doesn't seem to have anything else to add to his refusal, pulling his Queen t-shirt over his head. Kenny watches how the black fabric with dates for the A Night At The Opera tour that Tucker hasn't even attended falls down his torso. His intricate back tattoo disappears beneath as if it doesn't exist in the first place.
In front of him, Stan only huffs at Craig's deadpan reply. It sounds nothing but exhausted, no teasing following the sound or some sort of comment that would uncover Kenny's lie. He doesn't have a clue.
After getting dressed, Kenny gathers his borrowed gym clothes as the bell suddenly rings muffled from outside, indicating the start of the next class. Stan must hear it too, because he pushes himself off the bench with a groan and great difficulty, gathering his leather jacket in his arms. Craig is already waiting by the door and right as they're about to step out into the hallway, the door to the locker room is pushed open and a gaggle of underclassmen files into the room, screaming and yelling at each other over raucous laughter. Outside he can hear Coach Miles complain loudly about the boys being late to class and that this will have consequences. Kenny has heard it all before as well and just like him and his classmates, none of these boys take any of that seriously. They're so caught up in their laughter and mockery of the coach, they barely even notice Craig, Stan or him as they leave the room.
Kenny drops the borrowed clothes in the hamper that stands right at the entrance to the small teacher's room next to the gym, then turns to face Craig, who is also still here although he doesn't have history with them now, while Stan decides to lean against him for support. He wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer for more stability.
"You done for today?" he asks him, although he knows Mr. Garrison will chew them both out harsher for every additional minute they're late. Kenny can't help it — he just wants to keep Craig around for a little longer, even if it's just a few seconds and some story about his afternoon plans.
The other boy shakes his head with a sigh. He's got his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, the other hand pushed into the pocket of his jeans. He looks endlessly cool with the tattoos on his arms and the piercings, especially when he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and plays with the snakebites. Kenny couldn't stop staring at him if he was held at gunpoint, he's pretty sure.
"I've got an exam in AP physics now."
"An exam?" Stan echoes into Kenny's shoulder, sounding audibly baffled despite being completely wasted. "Dude, you're, like… five minutes late already!" That, and he has to walk up all the stairs to the fourth floor, too.
Craig simply shrugs. "It's fine. Miss Clarkson loves me." He flashes them an arrogant, smug grin that tells Kenny he has his teacher eating out of the palm of his hand and he can do whatever he wants. He's not even surprised about it, he's the exact same and Craig is not actively impressing him by setting the curve of the entire class in fucking AP physics — although that's a pretty hot thing to him, too.
"So that's what the equation is for?" he grins, nodding at him, "I gotta say, I respect your commitment to the bit if you're tattooing your cheat sheets onto your body."
"AP physics doesn't cover advanced relativistic quantum mechanics, dumbass."
"Yeah, whatever you say, but I better don't hear about you taking your shirt of in the middle of class to look at those symbols and letters you've got on your collarbone."
"I'll let you know in advance if I do that, so you can be present for it yourself," Craig scoffs and turns around, heading for the stairs.
"Always so courteous, Craig. I appreciate it!" Kenny calls after him with a laugh, before he squeezes Stan's shoulders to prepare him for their walk to the classroom. He's been mumbling something under is breath into Kenny's shirt repeatedly.
Unlike a certain someone's AP physics teacher, Mr. Garrison doesn't love either of them. It's the opposite, really. He has them stay ten minutes after class to make up for coming late and clean up, but Kenny doesn't mind.
Those stolen fifteen minutes were worth it.