Talking to Girls Ch. 01

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.

One who takes care of his body is allowed to appreciate form.

Especially that one.

"No, I locked the room because I want to make out," the flustered teenager scoffed, immediately berating himself for blabbering that weird fucked up sentence, but then dismissing it with a chuckle.

Just some guy banter made weird because someone practically flashed his ass. For fuck's sake, Zach, you're on a football team. And hard-ons in showers didn't make you gay then.

Freckle, for instance, neither froze nor looked up, must not have noticed a thing. Instead he quickly kicked something under the desk before the quarterback reached him, releasing it to the floor with a loud thunk. Zach quickly distracted himself by scooping up the pile of drugs before him and throwing it onto the table in front of the couch. How could the shy squint refuse? The clattering pile barely fitting its surface, the alpha whistled softly.

"Holy shit Freckle, for a small sprout you're fucking hardcore."

Like a true candy shop for careless juveniles, Zach seemed to have hit the cornucopia of highs. Raking his fingers across the meticulously tagged bags he quickly scanned the names for recognition.

Ketamine, pep, XTC, LSD...

"Jesus, some strong shit too."

With a snort he pushed some sniffable drug in a sealed flask aside to hold up a small bag of purple haze.

"Strawberry Cush? Sounds kinda gay dude."

Instead of the expected bromo denial, the blonde responded with a frown and a small bite on his pouted lip, focusing a little too actively on the drugs before him. Zach groaned internally. He had been throwing the boy nothing but fucking weird innuendos and clearly Freckle did not have the capacity to socially cope with bantering on a football team level. What do nerds talk about? How to stop being virgins?

"Just joking man," he tried to defuse the boy that was now absentmindedly perusing packs of ganja. "Boozed up with...alcohol?" As he squashed his ass on the couch again, striking his long dark locks of hair from his face, he decided to add an apologetic smile.

"Eve's been trying to pounce me all night and with the team-shots your brother has been supplying it's been getting me to fucking weird horny places."

Eve, of course being the top cheerleader, valedictorian and soon-to-be prom queen. Not the one failing Mathematics while somehow also sleeping with the teacher. Traversing the jungle of hormones that is high school, one had to know the difference between types of crazy when wanting to get their dick wet. Zach happened to be somewhat of an expert.

"Hm, nice humblebrag mr. Fuckboy."

"No bragging when she will be humbledragging on my dick later."

Perhaps somewhat crass, Zach cringed, perhaps a lot crass. But it did achieve the goal of making Freckle look up with a somewhat more relaxed eye-roll, holding two plastic packets.

"So mr. Kingsize," he attempted in a low baritone voice his pitch could not quite reach, barely containing a soft smile. "Green pill," pushing the left bag forward, "or pink pill," lifting the packet containing the Strawberry Cush.

"Fuck it, never had strawberry-weed before."

"Strawberry-flavoured," Freckle corrected him, directing a smirk at the new piece of foil between his fingers, having appeared out of nowhere. "Never too late to try new things," he softly murmured to no one in particular, with a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"Talking about new, I feel like I haven't seen you in years man. Where have you been?"

"Not where my brother is," Freckle chuckled, putting the weed into a Disney-princess themed grinder. For a second he closed his eyes to enjoy a drop in the EDM, his long delicate fingers never ceasing to roll with a swift accuracy that would make neurosurgeons blush. Black finger-nail polish, Zach clocked.

Of course, matches his fucking everything else.

"Man if he'd catch you with that shit he would kill you," the quarterback remarked, while slowly being hypnotised by the professionally fluid movements of Ariel and Belle turning upside down and right again. "Why do you have so much anyway?"

Freckle frowned, and opened his eyes in a momentary halt to nudge to the grinder. A minute of insurmountable patience ticked by, as dots were ever so slowly connected.

"Holy shit," the mountain of a man suddenly shouted brusquely, causing Freckle to flinch. "You're the Green Fairy," he added in a whisper, after a hissed shush.

"Bippetyboppetybooze."

"That's a terrible fucking nickname."

"Cause fairy means fag?"

"No because a fairy is a woman. Well I guess both." During their mutual laughter in response, Zach missed Freckle's eyes were not smiling with. After all, sharing such a secret meant trust, and Zach felt closer than ever to the boy barely a blip on his radar 10 minutes ago.

Cat got claws and uses them.

"Freckle the Green Fairy." He whistled appreciatively into the humid air. "Holy shit, that means I have your contact number. Like all the popular kids. Double holy shit, that actually makes you more popular than your brother! Like a secret identity with street credit."

"It's called drug dealer," Freckle breathed wryly. "And if I was more popular than mister swim-team captain, I wouldn't be here for all the kinds of green in the world." He gestured dismissively at the locked room around them.

Oh. He means here with me.

"Then go to your friends," escaped Zach's lips before he even realised.

"What friends," the smaller boy blurted out, immediately cringing. "I-I mean... which friends?"

"You have no friends?"

Jesus Christ why Zach, why.

"Yeh," Freckle whispered softly after eleven hesitant turns of the grinder, in a tone that made Zach feel like he was walking into the locker room with everyone immediately halting their conversation.

An outsider.

He unsuccessfully sought words that unlocked a lighter conversation, but it was Freckle who managed to break the silence. "All people are assholes anyways."

What.

"When was I ever an asshole to you?"

"You hit me in the face with a soccer ball."

"Okay, when was I ever a dick to you in the past ten years?"

"We haven't spoken in the past ten years."

"Y-you can, ehm, take it with. I-if I'm a bummer. Th-the joint I mean...s-so...erm-"

"No."

The rough tone in which Zach's low masculine voice commanded the rejection from his throat made the anxious head of the boy snap towards him, immediately pulled into an intense yet confused stare. The sudden contact caused an electric spark to tinge over Zach's muscled skin, not entirely pleasant. Like being challenged, without knowing how or why. And without wanting to loose, not even sure whether to Freckle or himself, it created a limbo in which he awkwardly squirmed but refused to yield whatever he was clinging onto. As alternative he adjusted his cyan coloured collar once again, scathing the damp fabric over his pecs. This time he saw Freckle break their intense stare to watch his hand movement in silence. Somehow it made them both blush.

And then by a second miracle, an idea struck Zach like lightning.

"I got it!" he exclaimed, happily strumming his feet along the floor while clapping his thigh, causing a slight ripple of muscle to dissipate along his caramel-coloured skin. "You need to get laid."

Freckle spurted into a bright laugh, ending in a precious giggle that finally lifted the strange heightened atmosphere in the cramped student room. "How the fuck did you come to that conclusion?"

"First of all, I can name three things I see in this room that suggest, no, preach to me you're a virgin."

"Oh f-fuck off."

"There is no room for two people on your bed, you just got a secret pile of drugs from under your desk but it contains zero condoms, your movie-posters have men on them, your plants are way too well tended to, I can see dirty briefs which are the least sexy underw-"

"Stop, stop! F-fuck, kick a dog while he's down", Freckle exclaimed with his hands in the air. Thank god he seemed to take it in stride, Zach would later realize.

"I mean, I haven't fucked any girls. Ever", the smaller boy murmured, his soft voice barely carrying over the party music. Once again a seemingly mischievous smirk lit his freckled dimpled cheeks that the alpha could not quite place. "What's the point of fucking so many girls anyways."

"Point is, it is the ultimate social test. With our age, women like nothing more than to be dicked, and men like nothing more than to dick. So getting it on is a skill, skill gives you value, and value gives you respect. Which means, in this cesspool of hormones, before we reach the age to actually start thinking with our brains, getting laid gives you respect. And dependence", he added with a brow wiggle, "if you're as good as me."

"Respect and dependence," Freckle murmured while avoiding his gaze with a blush, "the two qualities of friendship."

"Of power," Zach corrected him. "And people become real easy to make friends with once you're popular."

Freckle pulled a quizzical frown at the hunk, lowering his hands to scratch his cheek in another pout

"...Holy shit you're probably right," the smaller boy sheepishly muttered as he leaned further into the couch. This time, however, not anxiously but relaxed. Doing so, their upper legs touched one another slightly, both noting, neither mentioning it.

"You just need an experienced teacher, me. Bet I could have had you too if you were a girl. Even being Irish's bro."

"Prove it."

***

"...What?"

"T-teach me, I mean."

Oh.

"Well, seeing as you're halfway to becoming a drug lord, I don't think talking to strangers is the problem here," Zach huffed, scratching his head.

Though a slight blush coloured the cheeks of the blonde, Freckle did not halter bringing the joint to his mouth. Moistening his pink lips by swirling his tongue carelessly over the reddening flesh, he succeeded to flick the filter along its edge in a covert lascivious gesture Zach his body could not help but respond to on a primal level.

Gotta remember that move for conquering girls.

"Y-yeh, just don't think about it," Freckle meanwhile continued. "Walk up to someone with zero expectations, say 'hey my name is Mace how are you', and see where it goes."

Right, his real name is Mason. You have been here for 15 minutes. Asshole.

"Right, so the real question is, what do you do next?"

"Whip your king-size dick out."

"Oh come on, actually try."

With a small huff Freckle wiped a lock out of his eye, pouting once again. "Dude I'm fucking stoned," he softly whined, "offer a drink?"

"...to buy some time..."

"NOPE." Triumphantly Zach clapped his thigh, causing the mass to ripple slightly. "That is LITERALLY wrong."

Freckle scoffed with an eye-roll, while searching his pockets for a lighter. "LITERALLY teach me your alpha ways then, Senpai."

Zach impatiently waited for Freckle to refocus once again, tapping his foot along with the monotone EDM beat. "Seduction is not about showing weakness. It's about showing strength," he added, after watching the three consequent tokes pass in silence.