---
Scott tries. He really does.
He goes three whole days pretending he's fine — that the feel of Brian's hands hasn't branded itself into his skin forever.
In the hallways, he keeps his eyes low. In the cafeteria, he picks a table in the corner where the jocks can't loom like they own the place.
Every night, he lies awake, replaying the way Brian had pulled him close in the dark — their moans echoing off the walls of that shed. It makes his chest squeeze and his stomach twist with a need he hates.
But if he wants to keep a shred of self-respect, he can't crawl back. He won't be Brian's secret forever.
---
On Thursday, it happens.
He's in the library, trying to focus on history notes that just won't stick.
Matt slides into the seat across from him — the sweet, skinny kid with the mop of curly hair and a crooked grin that's more endearing than hot.
"Hey," Matt whispers, flicking his pencil at him. "You look like you're about to eat that book."
Scott laughs. It feels good — for a second, anyway — to let his shoulders drop and lean in as Matt cracks dumb jokes about Ben's lecture voice.
They're so close Scott can feel the warmth of Matt's arm brushing his. He thinks maybe this is what normal should feel like. Flirting with someone who can hold your hand in daylight. No secrets, no shame.
---
He doesn't know Brian's standing outside the stacks, pretending to read a sports magazine — every muscle locked tight.
Brian watches the way Scott smiles — how he tucks his hair behind his ear, how Matt's eyes linger on Scott's lips like he's imagining kissing him.
It makes something ugly bloom in Brian's chest.
He has no right to feel this — no claim, no promise. But he wants to shove Matt out of his seat and slam Scott against the wall until he remembers who he belongs to.
---
After practice, Scott's backpack is heavy on his shoulder as he cuts through the side hallway by the gym. The corridors are half-lit, echoing with distant shouts from the locker room.
He's not expecting the heavy footsteps behind him — or the hand that closes around his wrist and spins him around so fast his bag hits the floor.
"Brian—"
"Shut up." Brian's voice is low, dangerous. His eyes flash that deep amber that makes Scott's pulse trip.
"What the hell are you—"
Brian shoves him backward, and Scott's shoulders hit the cinderblock wall. His breath catches — half from fear, half from the electric jolt that sparks between them.
"You think you're funny?" Brian hisses. His hands brace on either side of Scott's head, so close Scott can smell the soap and sweat on his neck. "Laughing it up with Matt like you don't know what that does to me?"
Scott glares at him. "You don't get to care. You ignore me all week and now you show up acting jealous?"
Brian's chest heaves. He leans in, so close Scott can see the fine stubble on his jaw, feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"I'm not jealous."
"You're full of shit."
Brian's hand fists in Scott's hoodie. "You're mine."
---
Scott laughs — bitter and breathless. "Then act like it. Or let me go."
For a second, it's like they're both waiting to see who'll blink first.
Then Brian surges forward — crashing their mouths together so hard Scott's head thumps the wall.
---
It's not a sweet kiss. It's all teeth and heat and tongues clashing. Brian's hands are everywhere — under Scott's hoodie, tracing his ribs, gripping his waist like he's trying to memorize the shape of him.
Scott groans into his mouth, dragging his fingers through Brian's hair, tugging until Brian growls low in his throat.
They stumble through the gym doors, Brian practically carrying him backward until they crash into the wrestling mats stacked in the corner.
---
Their clothes are a mess — zippers, belt buckles, the rip of Velcro sneakers being kicked off.
Scott moans when Brian pushes him down, straddling his hips, hands sliding under his shirt to feel every inch of skin he's been dreaming about.
"You're still mad at me?" Brian pants against his throat.
Scott gasps, arching into him. "Shut up and fuck me."
Brian growls, lips dragging over Scott's collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
His hands roam lower, squeezing Scott's hips, hooking his fingers into his waistband. Their jeans slide down — the air sharp and cold on feverish skin.
---
When Brian sinks into him, Scott bites his shoulder to muffle his cry. It's rough, desperate — nothing like the first time behind the shed.
This is reckless, filthy, a claim staked in bruises and gasps. Scott can feel every hard line of Brian's muscles pressing him down, pinning him in place.
Brian's mouth finds his again — kisses him like an apology and a promise and a curse all at once.
"Mine," Brian pants against his lips. "Say it."
Scott digs his nails into Brian's back, breath hitching. "Yours."
They move together — sharp, sloppy thrusts that burn away everything else. The world shrinks to skin and sweat and the echo of their breathless moans bouncing off the empty gym walls.
When they come, it's like breaking open — a rush that leaves them trembling, their bodies tangled on the cold mat.
---
After, Brian buries his face in Scott's neck, pressing soft kisses to the sweat-slick skin.
For a moment, Scott lets himself believe this is real — that tomorrow Brian won't pull away again.
He knows better. But he lets Brian hold him anyway.
---