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The moment BJ's dorm door shuts behind him, he checks his watch, then swears under his breath. Ten minutes. Even as he chucks his schoolbag on the bed, his mind spins faster than a centrifuge. I don't have time for this. Even as he rips open his belt. I'm an adult. Even as he works at his button fly. I'm a goddamn Stanford student, for Christ's sake. But notably none of these thoughts are doing anything to either divert his course of action or calm his half-hard cock. If anything, the adrenaline is making him dizzy with need.
Nine minutes. BJ leans against his armoire as he spits in his palm. He's got nine minutes until Leo's going to show up and drag him to lunch. It's safer that way, really. Any time BJ meets up with him in the dining room, his chair leg's sawed through or there's a whoopee cushion in his seat or a live spider hidden under Leo's hat that just happens to be on the table where BJ's plate is going to end up. If Leo comes straight from his chemistry class to walk BJ down for a meal, then it keeps him out of trouble and gives him far less time to set up mischief. Not foolproof, but—
Eight minutes, fuck. This is what thinking about Leo does to him nowadays. It gets BJ off track from very necessary procedures that will ensure his sanity through the following half hour. He shoves his hand inside his shorts and bites back a groan the moment his cock is in his hand. He wastes no time in stroking himself, teasing, coaxing it to fully harden as quickly as possible. He needs to get off and he needs to do it now.
He doesn't know yet how to reconcile their fondly antagonistic friendship with the handful of times that they've messed around together—or perhaps it's more accurate to say when Leo has messed around with him. It always happens out of nowhere. They'll be studying together and Leo will flop on BJ's bed, put his chin on his shoulder, and read from BJ's textbook rather than his own. And before he has the time to parse through how humid the air has suddenly become, Leo's dragging the tip of his nose over the sensitive skin of his throat and sliding his clever, long-fingered hand out of sight under the book to cup BJ through his trousers.
That's the memory that floods him now, that has blood filling his cock until he's painfully throbbing in his grip. "No, no, keep going," Leo had whispered against his ear with a chuckle that dragged goosebumps all down his body. "If you fail that test tomorrow, how're you gonna explain that to the scholarship board, huh?"
A strangled whimper vibrates through BJ from head to toe as he pushes his trousers and shorts all the way down, hears the clattering of his belt buckle when it hits the floor. God, Bardonaro's such a fucking piece of work, all gleaming eyes and sharp smirks, an easygoing drawl that sometimes makes BJ feel like a moron for how stressed he'll get about his own marks. Tempting propositions, addictive invitations for prank after game after lark, all these verbal jabs and banter that pull at BJ's loneliest threads until he's practically on a leash in Leo's grip, one that's twisted around his fist so many times that the only way to escape would be cutting through it.
But every time BJ gets spooked enough to try, there's Leo again, boxing BJ into a corner and palming him so lazily, cocking his head as he examines him like BJ's a scientific experiment. Getting him caught in the whirlpool. And though BJ knows that Leo's height doesn't equate to physical power—that it would take barely any effort at all for BJ to shove him away—he'd be the most egregious liar if he tried to tell himself that he didn't want every second of his attention.
BJ all but strips his cock with his rapid pace, beginning to tremble as he moans. C'mon, c'mon, he goads himself. You want him to see you hard all through lunch? It's meant to be embarrassing enough to dissuade him but all it brings to the surface is an image of Leo shoving BJ flat on the table in the middle of their fraternity house's dining hall and yanking his pants down and making BJ touch himself right there in front of everybody. Making all of their brothers see that BJ Hunnicutt, the golden boy, is so desperate for Leo that he'll follow anything he says. And fuck, if that doesn't have him dribbling a thick bead of arousal.
Leo's a bastard is what he is. He'll make BJ wait outside his room a good ten minutes after they're supposed to meet up for a walk to the quad because Leo's snuck a girl in again, is making her gasp and beg and scream in his bed for more, more, more. He'll scribble obscene doodles in the margins of BJ's notes.
But the thing is he's also the guy who'll sit back to back with BJ until sunrise, quizzing him on his notes without a word of complaint. He'll drop a mug of coffee off for him almost every morning so BJ can save the time, can grab an extra five minutes of sleep. When the guilt creeps in with the night—the knowledge of how sharply BJ cut off his parents the moment he arrived here, the way he has to hold his own baby sister at bay until he can get his degree and come back and get her out—Leo is always the one with an arm around his shoulders, sometimes filling the silence with jokes, sometimes just existing with him.
He's a bastard and he's also the strongest human connection that BJ has here, and it all wraps up to make him impossible to stay away from, even if BJ ever wanted to.
He's close. God, he's close, just needs a little more. BJ rips through his mental filing cabinet to try and find something, anything shocking enough that'll throw him over the edge. Leo jerking him off in the quiet corner of the library where anyone could walk in on them, maybe. Leo hiding under BJ's desk when one of their fraternity brothers drops in. Leo...Leo pinning BJ down in his bed, pressing the head of his own cock against—
The door flies open just in time to remind BJ that he never locked it.
"Fuck," BJ mutters as he throws open his armoire and ducks behind the panel, bending forward to try and grab hold of his trousers. "What the hell do I have to do to get you to knock?"
"Now, why would your best buddy ever have to knock, huh, Beej?" Leo drawls.
When the lock clicks shut, it's like a gun going off. BJ's cock twitches, drips onto the floor as he makes another attempt to snag his belt while his head is spinning. "Because it's goddamn polite?"
"We don't do polite in Philly." Step, step, step, one heavy footfall right after the other. Just as BJ straightens up with his clothes in hand, Leo's arm snaps around the armoire door and grabs BJ by the wrist. "What're we up to?"
"We're not up to anything." But BJ's voice is already breathless, and though he does his best to be modest, it's not like there's an easy way to hide his dick when it's fully erect and hanging out like this. "I-I just figured I'd—"
"—get up to all the fun without me?"
BJ whips his head around. The words disintegrate in his throat the moment he locks eyes with Leo and sees that slowly but steadily rising heat mirrored back at him. With a crooked smile in place, Leo looks every inch a leopard, toothy fangs and triumphant in how he's stalked his prey until there's nowhere to go to escape his whims.
Leo moistens his dry lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. "Where'd this come from?" He flicks his gaze down, then back up again.
God, God, this is really not helping the situation at all. It's the return of that thought loop, knowing he's strong enough to rip himself away, somehow getting twice as aroused at the thought of putting all the control in Leo's hands anyway. BJ sucks in a shaky breath. "Well, Bardonaro, you see," he begins, "when the muscles of the corpora cavernosa begin to relax, blood rushes into the penis, which makes it expand." Before his very eyes, Leo's smirk is widening, but BJ can't make himself stop talking. "And when the membrane of the tunica albuginea locks the blood inside the corpora cavernosa, an erection is sustained."
A few heavy seconds pass before Leo inclines his head, brow lifting. "Bravo. You'll excuse me if I don't clap." He rotates around so BJ's trapped against his open armoire door. His fingers open and send the trousers crashing back to the floor. "Well, well, well, Mr. Anatomy, it sounds like you've been retaining something from the lectures after all. I bet you've got a whole host of naughty essays you've been turning in, huh?"
"What better way to get extra credit?" BJ snarks back as though he's not melting against the wood, giving Leo another inch of height superiority.
"Mm." Leo pins BJ's wrist against the door. "Why don't you give your writing hand a rest, then?" And he wraps his fingers around BJ's cock.
BJ's eyelashes flutter but he fights against the temptation to let his lids droop shut. No, he wants to watch—not Leo's hand but his face. He needs to memorize all of these nuances of his expression so that when BJ turns his lamp off tonight and finds himself unable to sleep, he can start to parse through the details. If Leo's just playing with him like a cat toys with a mouse. If Leo ever glances at BJ's mouth.
Right now, Leo's simply grinning, barely blinking, looking right into BJ's eyes. "So who were you thinking of while playing with yourself, Hunnicutt? Barbara Stanwyck?" He drapes his other forearm over BJ's head so he can loom over him while working him over.
I thought about you fucking me. The crudeness, the perversion of the thought makes him flush redder than a tomato. Sweat beads on his brow. "Th-That's your type, not mine."
"Oh yeah? What's your type, then, pretty boy?" It's not the first time that mildly condescending term has slipped off Leo's tongue but it's absolutely its first occurrence when they're...when they're doing this, whatever this is. "Here I thought you were into brunettes. Stupid me. It's blondes, isn't it?"
BJ bites the inside of his cheek. He's not gonna say a goddamn word about that either. Not when he's straddling his peak again, right there, toes peeking over the edge. A shivery whimper escapes his closed mouth anyway.
"Yeah, that's what it is, huh?" Leo's lilting, playful tone suddenly dips into huskiness. "Petite little blondes, cute as buttons. Not tall, willowy brunettes. That'd be silly. Wouldn't it, Beej?" He leans an inch closer. "Wouldn't it be silly for you to come all over yourself thinking about a thing like that?"
"Fuck..." The word's more whimper than language, really. His eyes are beginning to burn but he can't. Look. Away. Can't miss this. He wants to be drowning in Leo when he breaks, when, when he...
And then Leo pulls back.
With a chuckle, Leo shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to saunter away. "Eh, y'know what, I'm gonna be late for class if we don't get our butts down to lunch right now. C'mon, put your pants on, you big lug."
Is he... He's not gonna... BJ shakes, knees knocking, his entire body burning and tipping into pained. He's really just gonna walk away right now? Leave BJ like this?
No. No, no, no, absolutely fucking not.
In hindsight, it's a foolish idea to go after Leo this quickly when BJ's ankles are trapped in his trousers, but he darts toward him nonetheless and loses his footing immediately. He grabs Leo's arm for stability, yanks, and suddenly the two of them are stumbling, reeling all the way to BJ's bed. Leo lands in an awkward sit, but BJ catches himself on two lithe, delicate shoulders and digs his fingers in until he thinks he might be leaving a bruise. Marking him.
A fresh rush of hunger cascades through him in a deluge. "You bastard," he growls. "Get me off right now. Now, Bardonaro."
There's a pause, longer than a century, but right as BJ begins to regret his sharpness, Leo grabs his cock and picks up a blistering pace. "Okay, okay. Geez. Didn't know it was that important to you."
"Dick..." But he can't sustain as much malice when he's touching Leo this time, squeezing his...acromion, his brain provides at the last moment. And Leo's resting his other palm gently on the small of BJ's back.
And he's moving. Descending. Squeezing a handful of BJ's ass.
"Oh, fuck." BJ's jaw drops. Despite all his internal insisting, he squeezes his eyes shut. The images rush in again, Leo holding BJ down, dragging his hardness slowly into the cleft between his cheeks, further, further...
Two incredibly interesting things happen simultaneously. One, Leo rubs a fingertip over BJ's hole. Two, Leo wraps his lips around the tip of BJ's cock.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck, God, Leo—" BJ explodes in Leo's mouth like a firework of white-hot ecstasy. It's never been like this, never, never, the overwhelming rush of sparks through his veins that has him curling in on himself as his shocked moans bleed into shuddering, broken whines. Humiliatingly, as he surfaces, he becomes aware of the tears trapped behind his lids, how if he even chances opening them right now, they'll come spilling down his cheeks.
What's about to happen? If he cries, is Leo going to knock him around for it? He could get the whole fraternity in here, set them loose on their resident pervert.
All at once, he's convinced he's about to take a punch to the jaw, and he can't let that happen when he won't see it. So with a deep breath, BJ eases his eyes open and sends the tears rushing forth as though from a broken dam.
Leo's watching him. He's not smiling. Not laughing. But he's not angry either. No, the longer BJ stares, the more Leo looks...concerned? Furrowed brow and slightly narrowed eyes. And for some reason, that makes BJ let out a choked sob.
"Hey, come on, c'mere, before you fall and break your nose on your desk or something." Leo's tone is as low and soothing as he's ever heard it. He pulls BJ in, yanks him straight into his lap, then wraps his arms around his waist, and when BJ buries his face in Leo's shoulder, he doesn't even complain about the tears soaking his shirt. "Yeah, you're okay, Beej." One gentle hand rubs up and down his spine and invites him little by little to relax. "I was gonna skip class anyway, all right? You just... You take all the time you need."