Page 56 of Ancient History

We were breathing heavily and laughing and our hearts were thumping in our chests. I wanted to bottle this moment and open it when I’m ninety.

“Wait.” I activated a thirty-minute timer on my phone and placed it in the backseat cupholder, where it still fit.

“Genius.”

The second I grabbed his hardness through his pants, I knew this wouldn’t stop at kissing. To be fair, I couldn’t let the man walk into a pep rally with blue balls. And by the ferocious hue of his heavy-lidded eyes, he wasn’t going to let that happen either.

Hutch pushed me back onto the seat, his towering frame heavy over me. He grunted as he thrust against me, our dicks rubbing against each other through thick layers of pants. I did some impressive acrobatics and lifted my legs so he could dry hump right against my ass. I was on fire, melting into his heat.

“We’re supposed to be napping, Amos.”

“Don’t blame me. Blame friction.”

His heavy breathing against my lips cast a spell on me. We were going to make the most of these remaining minutes. I moaned at the delight of his tongue, of his body on mine, of the sound of his crotch hitting my hole, wearing down the fabric of our pants.

“Need you,” he heaved out, barely able to form words, his pink lips slick.

In lusty, desperate seconds, we both unbuttoned and unzipped each other’s pants. He freed my cock from its tight quarters, and I let out a guttural groan as my hands made contact with the hot flesh of his rod.

Hutch took control, taking both our dicks in his hand, pumping us together while rutting against me, heat and need building and building. I stared into his eyes, blazing with hot lust.

“Feels so good,” he uttered.

“Hutch.” I pushed my head back against the seat, letting this feeling roll through my body. I didn’t even have the breath for a witty retort. The jokey part of the sexytimes was officially over. This was a race to the finish.

“Gonna come,” he strained out, his voice husky and desperate. He tried to point at something. “My gym bag. On the floor.”

My hand felt around desperate for gym bag contact. I was so turned on and so close to coming, I could barely function. The orgasm was tearing through me, ready to unleash all over our nice school clothes. Hutch couldn’t stand in front of the school with come stains on his clothes.

Inside the bag, I pulled a fresh towel, likely for the gym showers. I handed it over, and he wrapped it around our dicks. The new sensation sent me over the edge.

Hutch grunted and his voice cracked as the towel and my dick were soaked with his release, and then mine. He kept our cocks covered as he wiped up, then threw the towel back into the bag.

I glanced down.

“All clear,” he said. “No stains.”

“Fantastic.” My head smacked back against the seat. “Ten out of ten. Would definitely recommend we do that again.”

Above me, Hutch hovered. He leaned down and pressed the softest, tenderest kiss on my lips.

“And we still have twenty-five minutes. Enough time for a nap,” he said. “Get over here.”

We returned to our natural positions of spooner and spoonee. Like clockwork, Hutch’s arms sent me off into a blissful cat nap.

* * *

Pep rallies were heldon South Rock’s indoor basketball court, with students and teachers filling both sides of the bleachers. I led my eighth period history class to the gym. All of the classes that walked down to the gymnasium mashed together in the hallways. Friends found friends, everyone mixed. Teachers were only responsible for getting their students into the gym.

Julian had arrived first and saved us our usual spot at the far end of the bleachers. Two of us sat in front of the other two. We found it was easier than us all sitting in a row and trying to talk.

But could I talk? I still felt flushed and wired from the backseat adventure I took with Hutch. My body continued to tingle with afterglow.

“Just so we’re all aware, this is a waste of time and school resources.” Everett sat down behind me and Julian. “There are posters?”

He scoffed at the freshly printed posters celebrating different soccer players adorning the walls. They must’ve been made within the last forty-eight hours.

“I begged and pleaded for a new prop budget last year for our production ofThe Glass Menagerie, but was told there wasn’t any funds available. We almost had to cancel the show because Laura had no menagerie to show off.” Everett rolled his eyes and took a calming breath. It wasn’t worth anyone’s energy to rebel against the sports-industrial complex, as he called it. “Anyway, what’s up with you? You look winded.”

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