My first story! I wanted ch.1 to be one continuous event, so it has a somewhat slow build-up: Skip to *** for starting closer to smut - I know why people are here ;) - and feedback is incredibly appreciated (and slightly feared <3)!
Disclaimer: consent is a grey area in this story. Skip if that's not your thing. All characters are over 18 years old.
Talking to Girls Ch. 01: Taking a Turn
They say luck is the crossroads of chance meet opportunity. Therefore, the lesson that changed two lifetimes took nothing short of a goddamn miracle. One which led two polar opposites to accidentally reacquaint in a cramped bedroom during a boisterous party. One that started with a nerd being an idiot, and an idiot being bright. Simultaneously.
In casual stampede, Zachary Kiing threw open a bedroom door not his, only to be surprised by a pair of emerald eyes widening, mouth agape.
"Oh...Shit, Freckle?"
In response, the boy that had priorly draped himself languidly over a black polyester couch on the other side of the cramped room shot up and immediately started to cough.
Frantic huffs of smoke fled from soft pinkish lips into the humid Californian air through strangled breath. There, they dispersed in aggressive heaps amongst a typical cramped high schooler room. Past a simple black desk held up by forgotten homework, two surprisingly thriving plants, and indie movie posters with unrecognized half-bared actors in bathtubs. A room including a king sized bed, Zach immediately registered, strewn with a crumpled mess of clothes and an electric guitar imprinting the sheets. As the brunt of a still simmering joint was hastily chucked out of a four-by-four window, the two emerald doe eyes once more cast a furtive look at him.
"Well fuck me I guess," Zach remarked with a smirk.
As 'Freckle' turned an even redder hue, covering his mouth in another coughing fit, the intruder let out a rumbling laugh.
"And here I was thinking you weren't home, so Irish stashed the booze here."
Freckle shook his head while waving fresh air into his watering eyes, trying hold his breath in vain. "No... booze," he croaked, while trying to vanish into the creases of his couch. "Just me."
An awkward silence ensued, save for some soft EDM barely smoothing out the dance-but-fuck-music from the party outside. As by-product, the half-broken laptop caused a blanket of soft dissonance to cover the room, resonating with the type of quiet which made Zach feel guilty for entering. Best, the star quarterback and to-be-prom-king deemed through experience, to ignore the unfamiliar tension immediately.
"Booze-schmooze, scoot over," he hummed, smashing the door shut and turning the lock to keep his discovery private. Not noticing the face Freckle pulled at the gesture, he instead casually sauntered his hunk of chiselled mass over to the far smaller anxious boy opposed to him with a cocky smirk.
The contrast between the caramel-colored star quarterback and the fair-skinned and freckled stoner could not be greater, in choice of clothing, character or build. Before his soon to be victim could ponder his most recent life choices, however, Zach dropped on the couch, using a yawning stretch to claim some extra space from the shrinking figure.
Gotta put my muscles somewhere.
"So, our little Freckle does drugs," he breathed with a smirk. "You're allowed to inhale by the way."
"J-just... I... I-I don't wanna cough..."
Lol, pussy.
"Doesn't explain the frowning", Zach continued, trying to figure out how to make eye-contact without making the skittish kitten shrink even further within the safety of his couch crease. The alpha knew his personality could be somewhat abrasive and his star-status could be imposing. Well, less of a knowing, and more of his coach telling him. But after a mere thirty seconds, annoyance of having to pull the conversation rose up unabashedly.
The least he could do is man up like his big twin brother and look me in the eyes.
We're in his room for crying out loud.
"Erm, m-maybe cause of the unbangable nickname. And o-only cause you d-don't w-wanna call your b-best friend a ginger."
Surprised Zach looked at his side, to notice the little twin of Irish, real name Josh, leering at him from under his golden blonde curls. Clearly fraternal twins, Zach noted in his thoughts, as Irish was at least a head taller, with twice the amount of muscles, words uttered per minute and popularity, and half the amount of freckles, a certain adorable daftness, and halo of orange curls. Freckle pushed one hand in his knee, the other absentmindedly scratching the slight fray in the surface layer of the couch rest.
"Mr. Kingsize," Freckle added in a mutter, breaking yet another somewhat uncomfortable silence.
Pussy got claws.
Zach could not help but snicker. His fucking awesome nickname was fucking deserved. He stroked a long black lock behind his ear, enjoying the way his biceps popped in response. It got him laid. Whenever he wanted. With popular girls. Sometimes simultaneously. Since he started wearing tighter blue muscle-shirts, accenting his own blue eyes and granite hazel skin, offers exceeded demand. What better reason to highlight the ridges and edges of the over-defined abs his conquests liked to rake their nails across. Just thinking about it made his well-endowed pole ever so slightly chub, causing him to readjust it slyly by rubbing the denim covering his thick thighs.
An added bonus was the envious stare of every man too lazy to put in the work. Including Freckle, Zach remarked to himself, hiding his undoubtedly puffy ivory skin in a sloppy black hoody and a pair of raven-colored trainers. While the long fluttering lashes and fairly sharp cheekbones were probably an advantage in winning over the more dominant lays Zach liked to subdue, the rest of Freckle's body was so carefully hidden that Zach made an easy conclusion: fuel of Irish's twin seemed either energy-drink or the blood of virgins. Not much of a man, in either case. Not that it mattered to him, less competition.
"Well, you do have a lot of freckles," the quarterback countered with a wink, "and I prefer your hair over your
big
brother's any day."
He could vaguely remember Freckle having strawberry blonde spikes half his lifetime ago, when Zach still did sleepovers with his Freckle's big twin, eating Doritos and drinking coke all night while playing Mortal Kombat on world's slowest PlayStation. But the long blonde curls made his green irises all the more... exotic boy next door? He ruffled the mop of hair with a paternal force, to set the boy up for the next command.
"So, you gonna roll me a joint or what?"
"M-me? Rolling a joint for the star quarterback of m-mcHill," Freckle exclaimed mockingly, his squeaks finally lowering in tone. Except Zach could see, after some mulling over, the excited glint reflected in his irises. The chuckle that followed caused small dimples to crease his cheeks, softening his face surprisingly.
"We're two consenting adults according to the rules of law," Zach answered with an impatient wink, feeling relief wash over him for no idea why. His balls are finally dropping, the muscled jock mused, as he stretched his legs to let his feet escape from the prison of his Nikes without the danger of beer caps and glass from his soon to be next lay hopefully not puking in a toilet somewhere. After all, the were celebrating Irish having caught up to Zach's age of adulthood right this very even-
Zach froze, watching the other boy start to blush as the jock caught up to the fact they were twins. Being way too late to wish any resemblance of a happy birthday - actually having taken place half a week ago - an awkard silence filled the room.
"R-right, yeh...." Freckle bounced off the couch to hop to his desk and lift the corner, swiping several objects into the room with his foot that were hidden beneath the wood. Instead of bending his knees to crouch like Zach expected him to, however, while still internally mocking his funeral-colored attire - even his fucking socks - the boy casually folded himself in half at the hip, touching the floor with legs stretched straight.
Oh.
Suddenly, straining black cotton pulled tight over two plump yet firm bubbled cheeks wiggled in front of him. As Freckle separated the cush from the hasj like Moses once parted the sea, inappropriate horny teenager thoughts pried into the stallion, pinged by such a familiar yet strange sight.
Shame he hides such an ass.
"Are you, l-like, sure?"
Zach ignored the warmth creeping into his cheeks by shooting upwards.
