The Thing About Winter

THE THING ABOUT WINTER - HIGH SCHOOL - ONE-SHOT VIGNETTE

(There's lots of talking, narration, blahblahblah, but the sex comes later, and it isn't a very important factor to the story, but it is there so enjoy)

THE THING ABOUT WINTER

The thing about winter: it was cold. And do you want to know what the worst possible thing about the cold is? The cold was shit. Horribly, stupidly, pathetically - shit.

And everyone knew that the worst of the winter always hit up-state New York more than anywhere else in the country. The winter crept up at the end of the year, after the sweet welting summers that the South always seemed to enjoy , and left everyone - Northern states especially - freezing cold and tucked away in their homes, hiding from the heavy sprinklings of snow.

The town of Lonely Shoals, N.Y., was definitely no exception. As autumn had died away and the trees had grown black and bare, their branches twisting and grabbing at anyone who walked too close to them, so did all of the pretty flowers of the season. All of those nice and enjoyable colours had died away, even the sky had oozed out all of its colour and was awash with endless shades of grey. The snows always came in at the end of the year and fucked everything up.

Winter was the absolute worst time of year for Ansel Stoertebecker, but please ignore the atrocious name. The harsh, endless snow-storms that plagued their tiny seaside town left him bored for the entire season, with no one to enjoy the unfound beauties of winter, no real friends that he could play with, and even though the local high school had been closed the last few weeks, that only worsened his shitty mood.

It was probably because, year after year, winter reminded him of romance. It was stupid, he kept telling himself, but he wanted that winter romance that he'd seen in all of those movies. He wanted the cliche kiss in the middle of a snow-storm in Times Square, he wanted one of those rare and unforgettable moments of winter. He wanted to drink hot chocolate with his significant other, he wanted to snuggle up by the cosy fire as the snow was blasting outside, he wanted some stupid kind of love.

And for a fifteen year old, he'd always known it was kind of odd to want love. With all of those hormones building up, and with the pressures that came with public school - homework, studies, pretending to fit in even though you didn't - you would generally expect Ansel to be ogling at girls and their new-found boobies, discussing with all of your guy pals who was the sexiest piece of ass in school, who you fucked raw this weekend, who's titties you copped a feel of, and all of that overrated bullshit.

Ansel never had that, he didn't want that. He hated that kind of thing - talking about fucking girls and all of that bullshit, that was probably why he had no friends. Or, at least, that was why he had no guy friends. They all thought he was weird, mainly because he never really spoke that much.

To anyone.

At all.

Ever.

And he'd known all along why he didn't ogle over the plump titties of all of the female students at school, he knew why he didn't have any guy friends, why he didn't like to play sports, why he wasn't even that good at sports. He'd wanted to join the cheer-leading squad, but his pappa had told him he couldn't. His pappa didn't want his son becoming "too American", he'd told him.

Originally, Ansel Stoertebecker was from Europe, if the name wasn't obvious enough. And no, he wasn't from the sweltering hot parts of Europe where the sun looked down constantly, giving you a lush tanned body. He was from the cold part of Europe, with snow and crap weather, rain, grey skies, farms, horses, the ugly countryside. He was a little Dutch farm-boy from Holland that was scooped up as a child and brought to a small village outside of Manhattan, in New York, where he'd lived ever since.

And, if you haven't already guessed, there was something special about Ansel.

The thing about Ansel was, Ansel was a hopeless romantic, and not just that, but Ansel, to put it simply, liked to suck dick.

Yes, I know, I know, how tragic, how awful for him. He was a filthy sinner, a slut, a whore, a dirty homosexual immigrant that has come to America to rape your children and steal your job. But, seriously, let's not get too far ahead of ourselves, okay?

If you couldn't have already guessed, Ansel was closeted to everyone he knew, except his family. And his family were the most accepting in the world, because that was what the Dutch people were known for: their acceptance. I mean, you don't go to Amsterdam for the food, do you? No. You go because gay marriage was legal there when the rest of the world thought it was disgusting. You go there because weed is legal, and because prostitution is too. You go there because it's the most accepting place in the entire world to live.

But they weren't in Holland anymore, and Amsterdam was half a world away. He was in New York, the city full of mobs and gun crime, petty thieves and explicit homophobia. He wasn't about to flamboyantly pounce out of the closet, hands flapping wildly and strutting like an absolute model any time soon - that much was obviously certain.

But was there anything wrong with him? He'd kept asking himself that. Because, even though he did like boys, he didn't really care about the sex and dicks and the rimjobs, handjobs, the blowjobs, he didn't care about fingering, fisting, using toys, dildos, strap-ons, anal beads, he didn't care whether or not he liked it rough, or if he liked it in public places, or with more than one guy at the same time. Because, for some reason he couldn't gather, he didn't care about the sex.

He wanted the sex, yeah - believe me now, he DID want the sex. He wanted the sex badly. But he didn't want a quick winter fling that would end in a week, he wanted someone permanent, someone who could love him, and who he could love in return. He didn't want a quicky in the corner of a park, or a brief peck on the lips, he wanted it all.

And he wanted it with Nick Adattarsi.

Desperately.

Now, out of everyone Ansel had ever met, Nick Adattarsi was the fittest, most beautiful, and absolutely perfect boy he'd ever seen in his entire life. With hair as black as coal and sexy, tanned skin, Nick was everything Ansel looked for in a guy. Eyes like melting chocolate, a slim-built posture, and of course, well out of Ansel's league.

And another thing about Ansel's boy-crush, Nick Adattarsi: he was completely, definitely, and entirely heterosexual.

Sadly. Yes. Heterosexual.

If anyone was the straightest, pussy-loving, clit-licking heterosexual on this planet, it was Nick Adattarsi. Without a slither of a doubt. There was no possible way that Nick would ever be anything other than straight, so why would Ansel torture himself? Because Ansel had this complex way of looking at life.

And for some stupid mechanism inside of his head, he always went for what he couldn't have, knowing very well that he would never have it. And for another stupid reason, it just so happened that he fancied the very guy who was his exact opposite.

Ansel was an introverted kid, always preferred staying at home to going out and having fun. Nick Adattarsi was one of the jocks at school, the kind of guy that was anybody and everybody's friend - anybody, of course, except Ansel. And if you guessed it was about to get worse, then you've guessed right.

Ansel was Dutch, Nick was obviously one of those American-Italians littered all over New York City with that sexy Yank accent that gave him the shivers. Nick played almost every sport that the school offered, from football to ice-hockey, meanwhile Ansel wanted to be a cheerleader.

And yes, it gets even worse. While Nick loved diving in the mud like a pig when playing football, and fist-bumping and actually touching people, Ansel was a complete germophobe. Literally. No touching anything or anyone without gloves. No coughing near him, no sneezing, no public transport, no sports, and just in case, he always kept a bottle of sanitiser with him. For Emergencies.

And just in case you're still wondering, it does, actually, get even worse. Because Nick was carefree and disorganised, he didn't exactly have the best grades, and he was confident with himself. Ansel was just a mess. A well-organised, smartly-dressed, intelligent mess.

They were on opposite sides of the planet, opposite sites of the social sphere, opposite sides of everything that they could ever be opposites of. They were nothing alike, even in size, Ansel was tiny and Nick was well-built, but not too muscular. Even in appearance, with Nick's black hair, tan skin and brown eyes - all the obvious tropes of an Italian. Meanwhile, Ansel was about as blond as blond could possibly be blond, with eyes like ice, and skin as pale as the winter snow.

It was just so unbelievable how completely unalike they were.

So why, out of any guy that Ansel could become attached to, why on Earth did he get the hots for Nick?

Well, Ansel could only ever come up with one answer.

Purely and simply.

Opposites attract.

And the two of them definitely seemed to attract.

Well, not in the sense that all you dirty-minded people are thinking. They were like two opposite ends of a magnet: for some scientifically complex reason, they were always in close proximity of each-other, like some magical connection was between them and tied them within a one mile radius of each-other at all times.

Ansel had made a theory around it, and he'd called it True Love, because he was cliche and he loved the idea of a happily ever after, and that made it so easy for him to give into theories about why they always seemed to be bumping into each-other at the cinema, school, supermarket, even public bathrooms. And even though they always seemed to magically be near each-other, they'd never actually spoken to each-other before. Some people might think it a coincidence, but Ansel believed in fate.

He made an equation of how this True Love was created, he'd called it the "Nick plus Ansel" equation, and here is how it goes:

Nick is the One, so Ansel plus Nick equals True Love, and True Love equals Happily Ever after, which equals The End. So, all Ansel really needed to do was start the equation, to somehow get "Nick plus Ansel" to happen, and he'd made a plan.

Winter. The lover's season, the season of long nights snuggling in front of the TV watching old Christmas movies and Breakfast at Tiffany's and Pretty Woman and all of those romantic classics that Ansel had watched a thousand times over. This Winter, he'd get what everyone in those old films had: he'd make sweet love to Nick on a piano like in Pretty Woman, he'd be ravaged and licked and slurped and gobbled, he'd be ripped open by Nick's massive-

Now he was just getting off topic.

Anyway, back to the thing about winter. Winter was the most wonderful time of the year, and this winter, he'd finally decided to put himself out there - something he'd never, ever done before. He'd finally decided to... dare he even think it?

Turn Nick Adattarsi gay.

And why? Because this would create true love and happily ever after and the end and everything he ever wanted. It would give him Nick Adattarsi. He could picture him now, slyly climbing up his body, naked and sweaty, touching him and feeling him and just the two of them alone together, what could be better than that?

Off topic.

Yet again.

He had a tendency to fantacise about that kind of stuff.

A lot.

Sometimes, it would be the romantic parts, the kissing in the rain, the cuddling, the hand-holding, all of the small things that don't really seem important, but secretly mean the world. And other times, he'd fantacise about how Nick would devour him whole, he'd fantacise about the length of him, he'd fantacise about Nick ripping off of his clothes and demanding Ansel sacrifice his virginity to him.

He'd had every little detail of his plan mapped out, about how he'd do it, about how it would all work, and he'd called it his Five-Year-Plan-To-Winning-The-Heart-Of-Nick-Adattarsi. But this five year plan was derailed. He'd forgotten to take into account one major thing: their magnetic pull towards each-other.

So when his doorbell wrung on an icy Saturday morning, after his pappa had driven off to work in the city and his mammie and siblings had traipsed off to the mall for Christmas shopping, he had no clue who would be behind the door. It could have been anyone. An old friend, a neighbour asking to borrow some sugar, Christmas carolers, even a Jehovah's witness. They got a lot of Jehovah's witnesses.

But just as luck would have it, there was only one person standing at the other side of the door to the Stoertebecker home in Lonely Shoals, N.Y., U.S.A.

A freezing cold Nick Adattarsi, who'd left early that morning for ice-hockey practice and forgot his keys. Practice had ended hours ago, and his mother had gone to work, meaning he was locked out of his house. He could see the light on in the house directly opposite his own, a small colonial cottage, and decided he had nowhere else to go.

As the door swung open, it was inexplicably true that as soon as the light blue eyes of Ansel Stoertebecker met the messy, muddy browns of Nick Adattarsi's, his heart skipped a beat. Ansel felt like fainting, or screaming to the Heavens for fucking up his well-thought-out five year plan. He hadn't planned on talking to Nick for at least another six months.

"Hey," he said, in that freakishly sexy Yankie accent, but somewhere in there was the sweet twinge of Italian that was exotic and spicy and made Ansel tingle to no end.

He said nothing in reply.

"Sorry to bother you," Nick began, "but I've locked myself out of my house. I live just opposite you, there, in that house. I'm Nick Adattarsi."

And right then, his entire five year plan had crumbled away and burned.

"I know who you are," he quivered.

"You do?" the black-haired boy asked, an inkling of curiosity playing over his features. "How do you know me?"

"We go to the same school. I'm on the... uh... the cheer-leading squad," he said carefully, choosing his words. Yeah, his pappa had told him not to, but Ansel was his own person and he did his own thing, fuck his pappa. He liked cheer-leading.

Nick's face suddenly perked up in recognition, a small smile sprouting at his lush pink lips and sending those adorable dimples folding over his face. Ansel had adored those dimples for years, from afar. Never had he been so close to him. He saw Nick everywhere, and even though Nick didn't seem to see him, that didn't matter.

"Oh!" he gasped. "You're that kid with the really weird name! I know you!"

"Ansel Stoertebecker," he greeted.

"Nice to meet you, Ansel," Nick replied instantly, flashing a bright toothy smile. Before Ansel could even do anything, Nick grabbed his hand to shake it - he actually touched him, at least a year ahead of the plan!

And what was Ansel's stupid first reaction? To recoil and snap his hand away, ignoring the slight spark that played along his fingertips as they touched. He immediately jumped backwards, so not used to people touching him that he almost tripped.

"Sorry," he said immediately, "I have a... problem with... touching."

Nick didn't seem at all fazed. "That's fine. Well, anyway, I'm locked out, would you mind if I just wait out in here until my mom gets back from work in a few hours?"

Ansel was confused. "You want to come in? Into my house? For hours? Just you and me?" He sounded stupid.

"If that's okay. If it isn't, that's fine, I can just go to a friend's or sit outside in the cold."

"No! No, it's fine, it's perfectly fine. Come on in, sit down somewhere, anywhere, I don't mind where."

"Thanks, man," he said kindly, stepping in and having a quick glance around the Stoertebecker home. It wasn't a huge house, but it was small and cosy, and it was warmer that being out there in the cold, trodden snow. He could see the fireplace in the corner of the living room, and immediately clung to it for warmth.

"Do you want a blanket or something?" Ansel asked, feeling awkward at Nick being here, but excited that he was here, and amazed that he was standing in his living room, in front of his fireplace, in his house!

"That'd be great. It's fucking freezing out there."

Ansel flinched at the swear word.

Nick Adattarsi noticed.

"Sorry, don't you swear?"

"Not out-loud."

"Well your better-mannered than I am, I'll give you that." Ansel had gotten an old green blanket off of the couch, the blanket that he'd been snuggled up in a few minutes ago, watching an old black-and-white film before he heard Nick knocking on the door. He handed the blanket to Nick and took a seat on the armchair opposite the TV.

"So, what were you watching?" Nick asked.

"Roman Holiday," he answered, then realising that he'd answered with the truth, blushed horribly, because no boy watches Roman Holiday.

No straight boy, anyway.

"Oh, I love that one!" Nick exclaimed.

WHAT?!

Ansel remained as composed as he possibly could.

No. He couldn't possibly like Roman Holiday. Maybe he just liked the film. Now the real gay thing about the situation was Ansel's fixation on Audrey Hepburn films - he absolutely loved Audrey Hepburn. And that was undeniably homosexual.

Ansel smiled. Finding things they have in common - at least seven months ahead of his plan. "Me too. I like to watch old films this time of year, in front of the fire, with a mug of-"

"Hot chocolate? Me too! Mind you, I gotta say, Audrey Hepburn is one of my all-time favourite actresses, I love all of her films!" he interjected, finishing Ansel's sentences for him - two years BEFORE THE FIVE YEAR PLAN! This is absolute mayhem. "You know, if I'd known that we had so much in common, I think we'd have been friends a long time ago. Why haven't we spoken before?" Nick asked, in the usually upbeat and jolly way that he approached everything in life.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just forgettable," Ansel answered, sitting stiff in his chair, his eyes planted firmly on his knees. He wouldn't look at Nick, standing a few footsteps away from him in front of the living room fire.

"Nah, you're definitely not forgettable. I won't forget you."

Awkward.

Silence.

More silence.

Crickets chirping.

Silence.

An owl hoots.

More silence.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Nick asked him.

"Shoot," Ansel replied without thought. Honestly, he'd do anything for this boy. H'ed fancied this boy for years, he'd planned ahead a relationship he knew would never actually happen, he was in love. Was he in love? Nick was a near stranger to him, how could he possibly be in love with him?

"I mean, I really don't want to be rude, and I hate being one of those jerks that always assumes shit," he rambled on. Neither of them made eye contact.

"I don't mind. Ask away."

"Are you..."

Silence.

"Are you gay?"

More silence.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I've crossed a line, haven't I? I do that a lot, but I really don't mean any offence. Shit. You know what, I'm just gonna go sit on the sidewalk 'til my mom gets back." He dropped the green blanket to the floor and began pacing his way for the door, but as he passed by Ansel, he found himself compelled to reach out and grab Nick's hand.

He was actually touching him. Another person. And his germs. His filth was now Ansel's filth. And he was okay with it. And even though it was the simplest thing in the world, it felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him ever. He let go after a short while, obviously. To keep holding it would be a breach of personal space.

"You didn't cross a line," he whispered. Here it comes, the big secret revealed. Ansel wasn't ashamed, he didn't even mind telling people about him, he was proud and he only kept it a secret at school because pappa had warned him of the kinds of Americans that would hurt him for who he was.

Nick stayed, and scooched onto the couch beside him, watching him, their bodies so close, almost touching.

"I am," he told the boy, watching him tentatively. He wanted to see Nick's exact reaction. You can tell a lot about who a person truly was if you looked at their face when you told them you sucked dick. And Nick passed the test with flying colours. A smile had tugged lightly at his lips, and he didn't honestly seem that bothered. "Why'd you ask?"

"I was just curious. So like... no, I can't ask you that," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head.

Ansel perked up on the couch, sliding his legs under him and replying, "Well now you have to ask!"

"I couldn't possibly. It's too rude, too personal..."

"I really don't mind." He really didn't mind.

"What's it like being gay?"

"Well what's it like being straight?"

"Who told you I was straight?"

Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying. Their entire conversation: mortifying. Ansel's eyes immediately bulged out of their sockets, he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What?" he asked, stammering, trying to gather his words.

Nick just smiled, running a hand through his quiffed black hair. "I was joking. Making a joke. Sorry, my sense of humour isn't the best. Can I ask you something else?"

"Are we playing 20 Questions now?" he asked. "Okay. But I get to ask you too."

"Great. So, have you ever fucked a guy?"

The question took Ansel off-guard, slapping him in the face without warning. And the best of all was Nick's face. He looked so calm, like he'd asked him what his favourite colour was. Which was not pink, as it happens. It was green.

"N-no, I haven't. I'm a virgin. My turn. Why do you want to know if I've ever slept with a guy?"

He had no clue how this conversation had gotten this way, but since it was already there, why the hell not?

"Curiosity. My turn. Do you have like... I don't know... a type?" he asked, his face only showing genuine curiosity. Why Nick was so curious about Ansel's sexuality, he couldn't say.

"I guess I do," he answered truthfully.

"Not enough," Nick decided.

"Fine. I guess my type is the exact opposite of me. Slim-built, tanned, swimmer's body. Black hair. Brown eyes, eyes that you can just melt away when you look at them. And lips. Pink lips, soft and sweet and kissable. And he has this mole just at the corner of his lips-" He stopped immediately after realising what he'd just said.

"He, eh? You've got a boy crush!" he replied excitedly, seeming entirely none-the-wiser that Ansel had just been describing HIM as the HE. "Wait, a mole? Oh. You mean like mine?" he asked, his fingertips trailing lightly over the cute mole that rested at the corner of his mouth, just above his upper lip.

He went silent as soon as he realised.

"I'm really really sorry, please... fuck." Did he just swear out-loud? "You can beat me up if you want."

Nick recovered pretty easily, maybe he thought it was kind of a compliment? "No. It's uh... it's flattering that you uh... have a crush on me. It's your turn. Ask me something."

"Why are you... why are you okay with it? Some guys would flip out. I don't get you," Ansel told him.

Nick shrugged in response. "It doesn't bother me. It's actually kind of... I don't know, tingly. My turn. What would you do to me?"

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT IS HAPPENING! Ansel thought. Something was going on here, their closeness, the deep conversations and the intense questions, what the actual fuck was happening here?

"Excuse me?"

"Describe what you'd do to me, if you could. If I let you."

Ansel didn't know what was happening anymore. He'd lost control of the conversation, and he hated not being in control. "First, I... I'd touch you."

"Show me where," he said instantly, shuffling on the couch. The both of them crossed their legs on the sofa, and their bodies were tilted sideways so that they were directly facing each-other, their knees touching.

Ansel hesitated as he stretched out his hand, further and further until it reached Nick's face. He sighed on contact with the hot skin, and Nick brushed his face deeper into Ansel's palm. His fingertips caressed his cheek, feeling that sexy little mole above his mouth, grazing lightly over his lips. Before he knew what was happening, Nick dived at him, pinning him down on the sofa and smirking above him maniacally.

Grabbing Ansel by each wrist and pinning him, he dipped down, and their lips met. Nick never hesitated, dipping his tongue inside and swirling it around. Ansel reacted slowly, not sure of what was happening, but not letting the moment pass him by. His lips perked on contact and moved with Nick's, the entire shock of the fact that Nick Adattarsi was kissing him slowly slipping to the back of his mind.

His fingers crept into Nick's hair, messing it up all sexy-like, and he felt Nick's arms wrap around him gently. He moaned onto Nick's lips as he ground his body up against him, rubbing their stomach and their crotches and everything together. It was all in the heat of the moment.

Hesitantly, at first, but quickly, they broke apart. Before either knew what to say, Nick tossed off his shirt, grabbing at Ansel's and forcing it over his head, their lips meeting again as soon as possible. He found Nick's cold hands tracing up his flat chest, twisting at his nipples and caressing over his back. It send hot pulses of wild electricity through him, everywhere that Nick touched.

Their kiss never broke as Ansel grabbed the opportunity and unbuttoned Nick's jeans. Nick seemed to know what the other boy was getting at, and pulled off his jeans and shoes, smiling mid-kiss like a plucky goon. As soon as his jeans had flopped off of his legs, Ansel grabbed at his crotch, feeling the beautiful cock hidden underneath. Without hesitation, his hand dipped inside, grabbing at him.

His dick was hot, and big, and beautiful, and hot - and big. Nick slipped out of his underwear, fully naked, and broke their kiss apart. Finally, Ansel shot a look down at the massive pink rod winking up at him. He hesitated, but only for a second, and dived at it. Jerking it with his hands, he thought a moment, before licking the tip.

And Nick practically fainted. He gasped and grabbed Ansel by the hair as the head entered his mouth, wheezing and dying at the pleasure. Nick's first blowjob.

Well, first blowjob from a guy.

Ansel couldn't take it all at first, pushing it deeper into his mouth and making sure his teeth didn't grind against Nick's sensitive skin. His tongue slid along the base, feeling the veins and the softness of his skin, pushing it back out of his mouth back to the tip. He savoured the manly taste, washing his tongue over the tip and lapping up the pre-cum that began oozing out of his slit. He pushed back down, further and further, inch after inch, until he felt it hit the back of his throat. He gagged, but recovered, and with his eyes closed, felt his face be tickled by pubes.

Once his eyes opened, he realised he'd taken him all in his mouth - he actually had Nick Adattarsi's hot dick lodged halfway down his throat.

His first response?

Well, of course, to keep sucking. He pulled back up and dived back down on it, licking and slurping up, loving the taste, loving all of it. And loving Nick's gasps and moans of pure joy, loving how Nick's hands instinctively went into his hair and pulled him further down, face-fucking him like the bitch that he was.

"Stop," Nick begged, slowly pushing him off.

"Why?" Ansel asked, confused. Didn't guys love blowjobs?

"I don't want to cum. Not just yet."

He gave Ansel this look. A look of pure passion, a look of sex. A look that screamed at Ansel to just lie down and take it. He would willingly oblige.

"Why?" he asked again, although he knew the answer. One question came to mind, would he still be a virgin after today? The answer was obviously no.

"Can I fuck you?"

Ansel unbuttoned his jeans in reply, nodding sheepishly. Their lips met again, mixing saliva with that gorgeous taste of dick and pre-cum and everything delicious in the whole entire world. Nick's hands traced over Ansel's chest, flicking lightly at his bare nipples before reaching his jeans. Immediately, he pushed them down, wasting no time in taking off every item of clothing that Ansel had left on.

And at the moment, Ansel didn't care. He wanted it. He wanted it so fucking badly.

Almost instinctively, he dropped down on the couch, spreading his legs. He couldn't wait much longer. He wanted it. He wanted Nick, and he wanted all of him. He wanted all nine inches, deep inside of him, and he wanted it NOW.

Nick, as if he already knew Ansel's answer, picked up his jeans and rummaged for his wallet. There was a golden condom in there somewhere, and as soon as he found it, he slipped it on his hard, shivering dick. Shivering because it was about to plunge for the first time.

Well, first time with a guy. First time into an ass.

"Be gentle," he whispered to him, as Nick towered above him. Ansel lay on the couch, legs resting over Nick's shoulders, waiting to be taken, ravaged, slapped, whipped, tortured. He wanted it. He wanted as soon as possible.

The head slipped in, painfully. Ansel gasped, but the pain wasn't much - he'd had a little practice before that day. Only a little.

It was when Nick pushed deeper when the real pain hit. He cried out, and Nick stopped, but he pleaded him to continue. Deeper and deeper, ever inch pushing further and causing more pain. Ansel liked the pain, he'd always liked a little bit of pain. Inch by inch, deeper and deeper, until finally, Nick was balls-deep inside of him.

"I'm in - what now?" he asked.

"I think you fuck me," Ansel replied immediately, waiting.

He slid out a little, but only a little, before ramming back inside, shaking Ansel entirely with pleasure and pain and cock. And just as the pleasure was beginning to slip away, Nick rammed him again, forcefully and hard, excruciatingly hard. He didn't stop. He rammed again, and again and again and again, until he was full-on fucking him. His first guy.

With each deep thrust, he watched as Ansel flinched up and took it all willingly, watching him bounce up and down from the force of his thrust, watched him cry out and moan. His face was filled with pure pleasure, pure passion. And that passion grew, the faster Nick slammed into him. He'd had enough practice with girls at school to know how to fuck, and he'd fucked a lot.

But fucking Ansel was different. It was better, tighter, more passionate in every single way. Filling him up felt more than just a quick shag - as he had intended it to be. Filling him up, fucking him hard and fast and fully, it wasn't supposed to feel so intense, so... so... indescribable, pleasureful, like he never wanted it to stop. Not ever. He wanted to spend eternity on this couch, fucking Ansel hard, fucking him, and fucking him again. And again. Because he'd never felt anything so... so... meaningful.

He grabbed him by the hips, kissing him again, lifting him onto him. Ansel wrapped his legs around Nick's waist, his dick lodged up his ass, moaning and screaming and loving every second. Nick stood high on both legs with him wrapped around him, fucking him even then, loving it just as much. He'd forgotten everything else.

And, even stupider, he'd forgotten the dare.

Just as he reached, just as he came, Ansel's door swung open, and the camera flashed. They broke apart immediately, Ansel covering himself in the green blanket. Nick stood naked, red, with the grimmest look on his face. Standing it Ansel's doorway was a group of guys, the group of guys that Nick always clung to.

And they had their phones. Out. And they'd taken pictures. And now they were laughing.

"I can't believe you actually did it, Nick! You're such a dare-devil!" one of them chuckled away.

It was... all a dare?

Ansel had given himself to him entirely, all for a dare? He wanted the romantic parts, he wanted the real stuff, the small stuff, he wanted to feel like he was loved. And instead, he felt like he was used, he felt like a whore, a slut, a skank. He felt like nothing.

"He took all of you?" another asked.

Nick didn't answer. He was mortified.

"What fucking queers, the both of them! We always knew about Ansel - I mean, he's on the cheer-leading team. I never would have thought that you would actually do it though, Adattarsi, fucking hell!"

Ansel didn't really know how to react. He was horrified, completely and entirely. He lay there on the floor, torn open and used and broken down, watching, frozen, as the group tired down and left. Nick stayed behind to put his clothes on, not once looking at Ansel.

It was funny that just an hour ago, Nick was drinking with his pals, playing a stupid game of truth or dare. He didn't know why he was dared to seduce Ansel, maybe it was some kind of funny trick that fate was playing, but he'd gone along with it, just to see if he could actually seduce a guy. Another funny thing was how it just completely back-fired on him, how all his friends had watched from the window, seen him get so into it, fucking a boy, loving it. How they turned on him completely.

And the funniest thing? Nick didn't think it would be like it actually was, he thought it would be another quick fuck like with all of those girls.

But it wasn't.

He felt something.

Something more.

Once they were alone again, after his friends had laughed at the two of them, how queer they were, and after he'd heard the door slam shut, he knew he had to do something.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say. And he really, really was. He looked down at the broken boy, wrapped up in that green blanket, once he'd been fully-dressed again. He paced towards him, and as he did, Ansel flinched, squabbling backwards and trying to hide all of his exposed body under the tiny blanket.

Nick bent down to the floor, looking at him, Ansel refusing to look back. Ansel closed his eyes and tried to picture himself being elsewhere, loving someone else, still a virgin - but he couldn't. He flinched again when Nick touched his hand, softly trailing his fingers over his arm and to his face.

Nick kissed him on the cheek. He didn't know why. He just wanted too.

He needed Ansel to know.

"It wasn't just a dare," he whispered, standing back up. "It meant something to me."

Just as he was about to turn away, he felt it.

He felt Ansel's hand, slowly sliding into his own, asking him to stay a little while longer.

WANT TO READ SOMETHING EXTREMELY EXTREMELY SIMILAR? I'VE WRITTEN ANOTHER STORY,"THE THING ABOUT SUMMER", HERE:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/the-thing-about-summer

Not sure if the link will work - if it doesn't, go to

www[dot]nifty[dot]org[slash]nifty[slash]gay[slash]highschool[slash]the-thing-about-summer

I love one-shots. Did you like it? If you did, or idk if you're feeling nice, email me at enchantingenchantor@hotmail.com because I love getting feedback. Thanks for reading.

TA-TA, DARLINGS.