Chapter Text
Every other Wednesday is when his dealer gets his new shit. By now, it's like clockwork. He goes to the bathroom on the second floor behind the gym during lunch and waits patiently for the guy to show up. The transaction is the same as ever- a crumpled twenty into the guy's palm and a quick blowjob to make up the difference for how much he asks for. He's gotten good enough at it that the entire thing takes less than ten minutes, start to finish, and he swishes his mouth out in the drinking fountain on his way out.
The lock on the double-doors leading outside by the gym are busted, something discovered by accident. He's only a sophomore, so he's not allowed outside to eat yet like the juniors and seniors, so he's gotta take what he can get. Jiggle the doorpush handle, listen for the specific click that means the lock's slipped open, and slip on out. Don't forget to wedge the door open with a rock, if it closes on you you're fucked.
Then it's just a matter of squatting down against the wall and rolling his shit. Lighter from his pocket, light it up, tuck it away.
Breathe. Hold. Exhale.
Dave rests his chin on his knees and stares blankly at nothing.
It's late fall, so there's a hint of cold crisp to the air. It's not quite cold enough for Dave to see his breath, but it's chilly enough for him to huddle into as small of a ball as possible to preserve his warmth. His toes will be chilly- ratty sneakers don't really keep out the cold well, especially now that his left one's busted out the side- but the couple minutes of peace getting high brings him is worth it.
The smoke in his lungs fills him up, makes him buoyant. If he closes his eyes, he almost feels like he could be caught by the wind and lifted up, pulled away from this place, from this world. Like gossamer spiderwebs on the wind.
Shit, that's not too bad. He should try and remember that. He fumbles for his phone and types in gossamer spiderwebs on the wind.
Three days to the end of the week. Ten days to the end of the month. Then it's just seven more months and school's out. Two more years after that.
He takes another pull. He doesn't like overdoing it, especially at school, but sometimes he just needs to not really feel all the way here. It's been a rough couple of days since his stash ran out- so getting the weed back into his system is relief of the best kind.
Dave raises a hand and rubs at his eyes under his shades. Thankfully his shades help to hide his bloodshot eyes- though, honestly, these days they're probably just as bloodshot from exhaustion as being high.
Sometimes, he wonders what the fucking point is of anything. There's gotta be more to life than just like… day after day of being in this depressing fucking school. Is he supposed to grow up and go to another school? Get a job at a depressing place where he goes there day after day?
Everything is just… what's the point? Why should he even bother?
Well. Weed is nice. So that's something, he guesses.
Dave's blood runs cold as he hears the door click and shift. He looks over, hastily pinching the end of his rollup off and stuffing it in his pocket- but instead of the door having been shut, which probably would have been better, he's met with the sight of his fucking gym teacher leaning in the doorway looking down at him.
"Dave." Bro is a fucking brick wall of a man- both physically and with inability of anyone to tell what the man is thinking at any particular moment. Dave might have a prescription to let him wear shades in school, but he's got no idea what Bro's reason for wearing them is. The teacher tilts his head down a little to silently watch Dave for a moment.
"Uh, sup, teach." Dave says, suddenly hot under the collar, nervous sweat breaking out across his body. "Just, uh, came out for some fresh air, you know how it is. A guy's gotta cool off every now and then, it gets real stuffy in that school, haha. You don't gotta worry about me, it's all chill, I'll be back in in a minute or two-"
"You could be expelled, you know." Bro says simply and Dave's words dry up in his mouth, staring blankly at Bro.
Realistically, he knows that. Doing drugs is an expellable offense. But, like, it's one of those things that feel so far away that it's so unlikely. Who gets expelled for weed these days? Like, come on, it's weed. Practically everyone does weed. And yet, here Dave is, suddenly staring down the edge of the precipice.
Expelled. Ha. That's… funny. Almost. Right? It's a funny joke.
Bro tilts his head a little at Dave, expression unreadable. Dave is sure that, even through his shades, his dawning panic is written across his face like words on a page.
"Inside." Bro says, holding the door open. Dave scrambles to his feet and almost trips over them on his haste to get inside. He hugs his bag to his chest as Bro turns and starts walking away without a word, following after him anxiously. The mellow buzz of the weed is being pushed out of his system by the encroaching panic.
He follows Bro to his office, a room by the locker rooms, and gulps as the door swings shut behind them. His gaze flickers around the space- and when Bro gestures towards the shitty plastic chair, Dave sinks into it gratefully. He watches Bro as he digs through the drawers of his desk and pulls out an empty plastic baggie.
"Put all of it in here." Bro says, holding it out. "After school, you will come see me."
Dave's heart sinks like a stone.
"Yes, sir." He mumbles, reaching into his pocket and taking out his bag, putting it in the offered one. He watches mournfully as Bro takes a sharpie and prints NOIR, DAVE on the bag, drops it into a desk drawer, and then locks it, locking away Dave's weed and his crutch to keep his miserable existence going.
"Have you eaten?" Bro asks. Dave shakes his head.
"No, sir." He hugs his bag tighter. There's a moment as Bro looks him over.
"No lunch money?" Bro guesses. Dave hunches in on himself tighter, then nods. Bro hums.
"Alright. Come on, then." Bro pulls a set of keys out his pocket and Dave looks at him in confusion. The man just arches a brow, so Dave scrambles out of his chair and swings his bag over his shoulder to follow after him. Bro leads him out the busted door and around the corner to the teacher's parking lot, unlocking a sleek black car, and sliding into the driver's seat. Dave scrambles to get in the passenger side- as he climbs in, he realizes the interior of the car is immaculate and immediately feels guilty about putting his ratty, filthy shoes on any part of the car, even if it's just the floor.
Bro doesn't say anything as he starts the car and slings an arm around the back of Dave's seat as he turns to look as he backs up. Dave doesn't stare at the way the motion pulls his polo tight across his muscled chest. He doesn't. What the fuck does this guy eat, to get a body like that?
Bro pulls out of the parking lot and down the street and Dave stays silent the whole time, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.
So, this is the part where you kill me, right?
So, uh, hope you're not planning on taking me to the woods and killing me, that would be awkward.
So do you kidnap kids from school to take them to weird places often, or…?
The words circle in his head until he's finally able to open his mouth and ask, "was this some weird plan to kidnap and kill me? Cause if so, you could've at least let me smoke all that fucking weed before I die."
To his surprise, a smirk pulls at the corner of Bro's mouth.
"I'm not going to kill you." His tone is laced with amusement. That's… good? "You haven't eaten lunch, so I'm taking you to get food."
".....oh." Dave glances out the window, then back to Bro. "I… don't have any money." He says hesitantly. When he doesn't have money, that usually means….
"I know." Is all Bro says. Dave swallows. That stone in his stomach is getting bigger.
"Okay." He says. Dave stares out the window as they drive and pull up to a McDonalds.
The woman in the drive through greets them and Bro tells her, "one minute," before looking at Dave. "What do you want?" He asks.
"Um. What can I have?" Dave asks hesitantly, squinting at the menu, raising a hand to bite on his nails nervously.
"Anything."
"Okay. Um." He scans the menu, feeling the weight of Bro's eyes on him, anxiety mounting. Shit, okay, uh- chicken's good, right? "The- number four. Please. No tomato?"
"Drink?"
Shit, is McDonalds Pepsi or Coke? Coke, right? Dave scans the menu before giving up and asking, feeling childish, "can I have an apple juice?"
"Sure." Bro looks out the window. "Number four, no tomato, large. Apple juice as drink. Number three, only onion, lettuce, mustard, ketchup, cheese. Large with a sprite. Extra ketchup packets."
The ease with which he rattles off their order has Dave a little surprised- it's weird to think about teachers just being… normal people. Doing normal people things. Outside of school. Existing. Like, logically, rationally, of course they are. But it's still weird to be confronted with it.
So Dave stays silent as they pull up and Bro pays. The food is handed over to him so he holds it and waits to see what he needs to do as they pull away.
Bro holds out his hand wordlessly. Dave stares at it for a moment before it clicks and he scrambles to obey, digging out Bro's burger and handing it over. Bro unwraps it without looking and sinks his teeth into it in a motion that has Dave trying not to stare and really, really failing.
Fuck, of course this would happen to him. He's in a car with the hottest teacher in school. Thank god he doesn't have a dick to get an awkward boner with. Small graces.
He opens the other bag and starts quietly munching on fries, not wanting to risk getting sauce over Bro's clearly-cared-for car. They're hot and salty and fill up his empty stomach in such a good way, fuck- he hasn't had McDonalds in forever , their fries are so goddamn good it's almost bringing tears to his eyes. He could write poems about McDonalds fries. He could rhapsodize sonnets about them. Okay, maybe not, because iambic pentameter is a bitch , but it's the thought that counts.
Bro pulls back up to the school and shuts the car off, wrapping up the half of his burger remaining to get out again. Dave scrambles to follow, hugging the bags close to his chest as Bro lets them back into the school. A glance at his phone shows they still have nineteen minutes left of lunch, so Dave follows Bro to his office again.
The door clicks shut. Dave puts the bags and drinks down on the desk and looks at Bro, setting his bag down as Bro drops into the chair behind his desk, legs spread. A silent invitation.
Dave shifts uncomfortably. Bro looks at him and raises that brow of his.
Right. Time to… get to it. He steps forwards until he's standing in front of his gym teacher. There's a heartbeat where they're just looking at each other- and then Dave sinks to his knees.
Bro inhales sharply. Dave reaches for his belt, his stomach squirming uncomfortably- only to freeze as his hands are grabbed.
".....sir?" Dave asks hesitantly, his throat going tight. Fuck. Did he- did he misunderstand? Was he not supposed to…?
"What are you doing, Dave?" Bro asks, his voice low. Controlled.
Dave swallows.
"Paying… you… back?" He says slowly, uncertainly. Bro stares at him. A cold chill sweeps through Dave- oh, fuck. Is… is this not what Bro wants? Is there something else? Or was he not…?
"You don't have to pay me back for lunch, Dave." Bro says quietly. A shuddering relief swamps through him- as hot as Bro is, Dave really doesn't want to suck his teacher's dick. Not really. Okay, maybe he does, but not like this. Not as a transaction. "Go eat your food."
Bro lets go of his wrists and, humiliated, Dave rises to his feet and backs away, grabbing the bag of McDonalds and slouching into the uncomfortable plastic chair, shoulders hunched as he pulls a couple of fries out and silently eats them, shame making his chest tight. He can feel the weight of his teacher's stare like blankets piling around his shoulders, hot and stifling and heavy.
"Dave." Dave doesn't flinch when his name is said. He might have gone stiff, but that was not a flinch. "Do you do that often?"
Do you whore yourself out?
Dave doesn't look at him and chews his lip. He doesn't know how to answer that question, so he stays silent, trying not to squirm guiltily.
"Dave." Bro says his name again, and his tone is… weirdly soft. "You're not in trouble. I'm not upset. I just want to know. Is it with a teacher?"
"I- no." Dave fumbles with his words, before shoving a fry in his mouth and mumbling, "it's not a big deal."
Really, it's not. Just sometimes he gives people blowjobs for stuff. Sometimes it's weed. Sometimes it's lunch. What does it matter? It doesn't, that's what it matters. It doesn't matter. He chooses to do it. It's just how it works. He blows people and they give him stuff.
Clearly, he hadn't picked up on this script being different. He should've realized. He got the thing first, that's not how it usually goes.
Bro's silence is oppressive. Dave feels the urge to fill it, but he doesn't- what would he even say?
He stays silent.
"Is it with another student?" Bro prompts.
Dave shrugs. Stuffs another fry in his mouth. The swallow down is painful.
".......is it with your family?" The words are soft and drop ice into Dave's stomach. His head shoots up.
"I- no, it's not- no! Ew, I don't-" just the idea makes Dave want to retch or kill himself or maybe both. Something in Bro's expression clears up a little, maybe relief-? Dave isn't sure.
"Alright." Bro leans forwards, folding his arms on his desk. Dave drops his gaze again, but Bro says, "Dave, look at me."
Reluctantly, Dave looks at him. It's uncomfortable, holding his gaze, even through the double barrier of their glasses.
"If someone is forcing you to give head, then I need you to tell me who it is." Bro says. "You won't be in trouble."
"No one is forcing me." Dave says weakly. It's true, but… is it really? If he didn't do it, then there were days he wouldn't have been able to eat at all. But, it's not like they drag him into the bathroom and order him too, he's not forced to…
Bro nods just a tiny bit. "Is it normal, then, for you to trade blowjobs for food?" He asks. Dave hunches in on himself and doesn't say anything.
"Dave." Bro prompts gently. Dave's never heard his serious, rough, no-nonsense gym teacher sound so soft before.
It's fucking with him a little bit, so before he realizes what's happening he's mumbled, "and weed."
Dave really wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. Hot claws are tearing into his chest, his throat closing up and going tight. It's so stupid- it's so fucking stupid. He shakily reaches out and puts the bags of food on the desk and draws his knees up to his chest in the uncomfortable plastic chair and shoves his shades up to the top of his head so that he can press his eyes into his knees and pretend that he's not crying.
He doesn't realize Bro's moved until a hand's settled on his shoulder and he jumps- the touch feels hot and electric and he's leaning into Bro's side before he knows what's happening and Bro's other hand is on his head, just a warm, almost-comforting weight and the tears are coming harder and Dave can't stop.
The fabric of Bro's polo is surprisingly soft. As Dave presses his face to it and cries, somewhere inside him is a little voice going wow, I didn't expect that.
Bro, surprisingly, just stands there and lets Dave cry. His hand rubs comfortingly across Dave's shoulders, every now and then, just… letting Dave cry. It's so weird, but… it's also… fine? In a way? This is a teacher who no one expects to do more than crack the tiniest of smiles when he sees kids trying to murder each other with dodgeballs. No one would expect that he would just let Dave cry all over him, so it's… fine.
It's just fine. Eventually Dave shifts a little and Bro lets go, going back to his chair and sitting down again.
"From now on, if you don't have lunch, you are coming to me." Bro says and something in Dave's chest catches weirdly.
"Uh." He says, eloquently, before the rest of his brain catches up. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, because I really do, a bitch can get real damn hungry sometimes when the last thing he had was a ham and cheese sandwich from the night before-" why the fuck did he say that, that was way too telling- "but like, why? No fucking offense, but you're not exactly 'caring teacher showering fluff and hugs onto his students' of the year. Of the decade, even. Maybe even of the century."
Bro snorts. "I'm aware. You want to know why? Because I feel like it."
"Because… you feel like it?" Dave prompts, not sure what to make of the reply.
"Yeah. Because I feel like it."
That… tells him exactly nothing. Great. Does that mean that if Bro doesn't feel like it, he won't get Dave food (which is what the fuck as it is, honestly-)?
So this 'come see me' shit, is it conditional? Situational? Does it have a limit, should he only come once a week or something? Dave doesn't think Bro understands just how little lunch money he has on any given day. Sure, he doesn't usually need to get someone to buy him lunch, but it happens a not-insignificant amount of times in a month on days where he can't even buy a candy bar from the vending machines.
"Okay……" Dave trails off, not really sure how to respond.
"Eat." Bro says, pointing at the mostly-untouched bag. "You have six minutes left."
Dave eats. When he's finished, he tosses the garbage out, awkwardly mumbles a thanks, and gets the fuck out of there.
He almost doesn't go after school, but the harmonious call of weed is pretty fucking alluring, especially because he doesn't want to try and get more from his dealer and get a bunch of really annoying questions shoved his way by some dude who really needs to just learn that just because Dave blows him every now and then doesn't mean that he gets to pry into Dave's personal shit.
But here he is, after the bell rings, standing in front of Bro's office door. He raises his fist to knock, hesitates, knocks, and waits.
There's no answer. He shifts uncomfortably and wonders if he should knock again…? After checking his phone and waiting for the clock to turn over to the next minute, he raises his hand to knock again.
"You're here."
Dave is here, if by 'here' Bro means about two feet in the air, having practically jumped out of his skin in surprise.
"What the fuck, holy shit, how do you move that goddamn quiet?" Dave demands, trying to get his heart to chill the fuck out, it's fine, it's just Bro. How did he do that, though? These hallways are echo-y as shit!
"Practice." Bro says with a smirk, and then unlocks his door and ushers Dave inside. Dave shuffles inside uncomfortably, watching as Bro goes over to his desk and unlocks it. He pulls out the bag weed and sets it on his desk. Dave stares at it longingly.
"Are you gonna get me expelled?" Dave asks.
"No." Bro says. "But I would like one solid reason to give this back to you."
Dave bites his lip, shrugs, and mutters, "because I bought it and I really want it back."
Bro hums. Dave waits, anxiety making his stomach squirm.
"Alright." Bro says, and then the bag is being tossed at Dave, who scrambles to catch it, cradling it to his chest with wide eyes. "But don't let me catch you smoking it on school grounds again or next time I won't give it back."
"I, uh, okay- um- thank you sir, like yeah. Um." Dave fumbles to shove it in his backpack, shifting awkwardly. "So is this, like, where the being responsible with weed lecture comes in?" He asks, trying not to think about the sudden idea of shotgunning weed with Bro in his car slamming into his brain from literally nowhere, thanks brain.
Bro raises a brow at him and Dave tries not to think about how he almost blew him. How he almost had his hot, sexy teacher's dick in his mouth and- oh, he really really needs to stop thinking about this. His face feels so hot, he's definitely blushing hard enough that it's visible, he's so fucked.
"Do you want a lecture, Dave?" Bro asks.
"Of the sexy kind, maybe." Dave's mouth says without input from his brain. "Oh my god. Let's pretend I didn't say that. Holy shit."
Dave puts his face in his hands.
"Please kill me." He mumbles.
"I'm not going to kill you." Bro says, his voice full of amusement.
"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Strider." Dave mumbles. His chest feels tight with a hot kind of humiliation, shifting uncomfortably.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Bro says, tilting his head towards the door.
Dave takes the hint and steps over to it-
"Oh, and, Dave?"
Dave looks back at him, hand on the doorknob.
"You can call me Bro."
"Okay." Dave says awkwardly, and then flees. No, not flees, leaves calmly and- okay, he was fleeing.
He ends up at the park a few blocks from home, on the swings, hanging off of them and trying really hard not to think about the fact that he has to go to school tomorrow and look his gym teacher in the eye after almost blowing him, after his gym teacher asked if Dave was doing that with a family member-
Dave wants to puke, the anxiety clawing at his gut making him sick to his stomach. It's so fucked up, it's-
It's. Not true, but.
Reluctantly, Dave eventually trudges home.