Chapter Text
Laurent started thinking he was sure of a lot of things in his life while untangling his earphones during Professor Vannes’s class.
1. He needed to keep his GPA at 9.7
2. School was nothing but a pack of savages he couldn’t wait to get rid of
3. He hated Damianos of Akielos.
Damianos, Damen, as his friends called him, was very close. Close enough to count eyelashes and see the tiny crease that would form if he smiled. Laurent had slid into the seat next to him at the start of class with a little smirk; Damen had returned it. Five minutes later they had already dragged their desks together to be even closer.
With spring ending and summer beginning, the weather had been brutally hot lately, so during the last few periods the teachers conveniently looked the other way when the popular guys from the school tennis team stripped down to just their white tank tops. Laurent (who was far from popular) allowed himself to ditch the turtlenecks and start wearing thin white or black cotton shirts.
Damen was staring fixedly at a sliver of exposed skin between Laurent’s pants and shirt: a strip of pale muscle. Slowly their smiles grew. The athlete’s was friendly and suggestive; Laurent’s was deliberately seductive (he tried to channel every expression he’d ever noticed on the guys at his uncle’s bar).
“I…” Damen began, flashing that arrogant grin. Of course fucking Damianos of Akielos was used to every blonde bitch in the world fluttering around him like moths to a flame. (The flame being the cinnamon color of those beefy arms or whatever—this wasn’t the moment for metaphors.) “My name is Damen,” he finally admitted.
“Laurent,” the blond introduced himself while leaning in and brushing the tip of his nose against the back of Damen’s neck. On second thought, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but it seemed to work when barely-dressed guys did it in fanfiction. “I think you have a little fuzz,” he murmured right against Damen’s ear.
Damen looked like he was suffocating. Eyes closed. Like he was simply savoring having Laurent so close. Like his scent was too much. Laurent almost got distracted thinking about alpha/omega fanfics.
“Maybe it fell off. How careless.” Laurent finally let his hand drift to the top of Damen’s thigh and gave the lightest touch. just a ghost of contact over an imaginary piece of lint, followed by the dark-haired boy’s gaze as his eyes finally opened.
That was enough. The front of his pants was now visibly straining.
Perfect.
“Mr. Damianos, if you’d be so kind as to come up and present your section...” Vannes interrupted, right on cue.
And that was how Damianos of Akielos ended up sporting a very obvious erection in front of the green chalkboard, next to the Shakespeare posters and—conveniently—directly beneath a sign about using condoms for sexual health, while explaining the frog they had dissected last month.
Never in the history of Ios High had anyone cared so much about a frog skeleton. Laurent smiled.
Someone wolf-whistled.
Among many other comments.
“Oh my God, do you think he was jerking off in class?” Ancel whispered, the redhead three seats away who moments earlier had been painting his nails black.
“What a waste if he was jerking off. I’d let him bend me over right here,” Jord declared.
“Finally we get to see something besides his arms,” Ancel continued.
“Jokaste was a bitch for giving that up,” Jord said. “Though we still don’t know if he actually knows how to use it.”
“Please. Everyone knows he knows how to use it.” Ancel bit his lip.
“I need the brand of those pants,” Huet announced. When Ancel, Jord, and Laurent (who was supposedly not listening) all turned to stare, he went on: “What? They stretch a lot.”
To Laurent’s annoyance, Damen didn’t seem particularly embarrassed. He spoke calmly, as though having the most coveted dick in school ready for non-academic use was not only normal but also a source of confidence. The only thing that gave him away was a faint flush on his ears. Anyone would say he looked as adorable as a bunny from the neck up and a sex god ready to ravage entire cities from the torso down.
“If he choked me I’d die happy,” Ancel went on.
“I think that thing looks long enough to choke you without even using his hands,” Jord said.
“I hope that’s the last thing I see before I pass out. Like an angel, but not a white one,” Huet finished.
“That’s racist,” Jord laughed.
“No, I mean, I didn’t say it had to be an incubus or anything. Just an angel.”
“Whatever you say,” Ancel muttered without much conviction.
Even Vannes, with her rainbow pin on her bag, gave a tiny glance when she saw how focused everyone suddenly was, then shook her head and went back to her notes. You could practically hear her internally complaining about testosterone, teenagers, and their inability to focus on frogs.
“You did that on purpose,” Damen said once he’d finished.
“With the purpose of getting you to fuck me right here? How arrogant.”
Damen only frowned.
“That’s not...”
“You should have more control over your body. There’s a whole chapter about that in the reading we did last week.”
The frown deepened.
“Or is the problem that I’m not obsessed with you?”
“You were the one who came over to me,” Damen said softly, in a tone that clearly implied Laurent was definitely the obsessed one.
“You were the one who got hard. As everyone could see.”
Damen glanced around and finally seemed to decide against drawing even more attention by moving seats. He stopped looking at Laurent, clearly wanting to end the conversation and visibly annoyed. His expression completely changed when he spotted Nikandros, another extremely large tennis brute, down the hallway.
“Well, the mood just dropped,” Nicaise commented as Damen walked out the door. Everyone burst out laughing.
Laurent could only think that that furrowed brow was his small victory of the day. And honestly? He was a fan of small victories.