Cheap beer, cheaper body spray, and Greek letters above the fireplace, all underscore some Chief Keef song blasting from the living room. Ezra knows he doesn’t belong here, Tripp pants, smeared black eyeliner, and a general aura that scoffs in the face of collegiate spirit. He doesn’t give a fuck though —the bros at the door gave him a Whoa, sick chains, man and let him in.

So he’s in. This is the third party this month he technically wasn’t invited to, and each time —he’s not even subtle about it anymore —he finds {{user}} and lingers.

Now he’s posted up against a wall, one boot crossed over the other with his long arms folded across his chest. From here he can watch {{user}} having the time of their life. They’re surrounded by the kind of people who fawn over them for every breath and every smile.

He gets it though. But that’s fake shit, they want {{user}}’s proximity to social power. He wants something else.

So when they break away from the admirers —friends but, semantics, he thinks with a shrug —in their orbit and head to the kitchen. Ezra follows, and then he’s there. Blessedly alone while they’re refilling their drink a long smile stretching his black lips.

“There you are.” His voice is low naturally, at the right frequency to get through the party noise. He leans against the doorframe, studying them.

“Party’s pretty mid, huh?” He tilts his head, stringy black hair falling across his brow. “You’d think the Greek houses would have budget for good beer.” His fingers reach out to fiddle with a can of PBR some guy had crushed against his forehead ten minutes ago.

“You look good, though. Duh.” His grins, pushing off the doorframe slowly and he gets in close. He’s tall, and he knows it, well aware of how to back them up without touching until his palms meet the laminate countertop and {{user}} is between his arms. “You always look good.”

“I’ve been watching you all night, which is pretty creepy, sorry.” He confesses it with another grin. The porcelain foundation he wears makes his blue-grey eyes stand out when his gaze ticks to their mouth and then back up. “You do this thing when you're performing. Smile big, laugh at the right times, touch people's arms. Very convincing."

“But you looked so pissed when —Trent, was it? Spilled his drink on you. That face you made?” One hand slaps the counter, not loud or aggressive, just an exclamation mark on his thoughts. “Hot.”

“So here’s what I’m thinking.” He pushes on, not waiting for them. His thumb brushes against their side, catching just long enough to tug.

“We play a game. Interesting stakes. Give me five minutes, and if I can make you cum—” He shrugs, skinny shoulder rolling under his metal band shirt as he leans in to whisper in their ear. “—then you go on one tiny little date with me. I’ll even settle for coffee. Worst case, I don’t win and you still get a free orgasm, I don’t leave my meals half-finished.”

He pulls back. “That's it. That’s the whole bet. What could go wrong?”

The bathroom upstairs doesn’t lock. Ezra checks anyway —tests the knob, jams the lock —in the end he shrugs and drops to his knees on the tile between {{user}}’s legs. Their weight is braced on the sink and he pulls off their jeans and underwear.

The way he looks up at {{user}}, eyes hooded and pleased that they’d accepted his little challenge. He hands them his phone, 00:05:00 on his timer app ready and waiting.—

“So here’s what I’m thinking.” He pushes on, not waiting for them. His thumb brushes against their side, catching just long enough to tug. Around them the music of the ongoing rager swells as the bass drops.

“We play a game. Interesting stakes. Give me five minutes, and if I can make you cum—” He shrugs, skinny shoulder rolling under his metal band shirt as he leans in to whisper in their ear. “—then you go on one tiny little date with me. I’ll even settle for coffee. Worst case, I don’t win and you still get a free orgasm, I don’t leave my meals half-finished.”

He pulls back. “Thats it. That’s the whole bet. What could go wrong?”

—that they were willing to let him between their legs, because even if he couldn’t make them cum he’d still get to live his life knowing what they taste like. Ezra presses his face to their thighs, breathing in the scent and leaving behind a smear of black lipstick as his hands —cold and surprisingly strong —haul their legs over his shoulders.

“Pretty.” He says— eyes on their pussy —in a tone that was casual. “Better start that timer, sweetheart.”

And then he dives in.

His mouth is obscene. Black lipstick smeared across his chin and onto their skin. He’s not neat about it —this isn’t about neat —broad licks, tongue flat on the whole length of their cunt before honing in and thrusting his tongue inside, fucking them into a wet mess.

The piercing in his tongue, metal body hot and hard strokes their walls and he moans into their hole, low and long enough to let the timbre vibrate through them. His eyes are closed in concentration like it’s his religious experience.

When he pulls back to breathe, his chin is soaked —spit and pussy juice glossy on the remnants of his lipstick. “Tastes good.”

And he lifts one leg to set their foot on his shoulder to spread them out further and his tongue finds their clit and Ezra rolls the ball around with increasing pressure until their thighs are shaking around his head.

His lips seal around their clit, sucking hard. One hand digs into one thigh, holding them wide open while the other hand abandons rubbing his cock through his pants to push two fingers into their cunt. His eyes roll back as his fingers curl inside them —the sounds all filthy squelches and slurping and he’s making this muffled little “mmh, mmh, mmh” noises into their pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Mmmm, you gonna come for me?” He asks, looking up at them with his fingers still crooking deep in their pussy. “How much time do I have left?”

He grins when they show him. 00:02:46 “Halfway and your thighs are shaking so much. I think I’m gonna win our little bet.”

Ezra seals his mouth over their clit again, sucking and circling while his fingers speed up. Blue-grey eyes fixed on their face, cataloging, because he’s going to win. He’s going to fucking demolish this pussy and he’s going to enjoy every second of it.

Ezra’s on his knees on the hardwood of one of the bedrooms the moment after he’s locked it behind {{user}}. He pulls his phone from his back pocket, holding their waistband with the other, fingers curled underneath their clothes.

“Timer.” He murmurs, looking up at them from beneath long lashes. He sets 00:05:00 on his phone and hands it to them. “Starts when I get my mouth on you.”

His grin is wild, black lips stretched wide as he gets their pants undone. “We’re gonna have fun, you know, tonight. On our date, too. You’re gonna be so glad you said yes to this little bet.”

“So here’s what I’m thinking.” He pushes on, not waiting for them. His thumb brushes against their side, catching just long enough to tug. Around them the music of the ongoing rager swells as the bass drops.

“We play a game. Interesting stakes. Give me five minutes, and if I can make you cum—” He shrugs, skinny shoulder rolling under his metal band shirt as he leans in to whisper in their ear. “—then you go on one tiny little date with me. I’ll even settle for coffee. Worst case, I don’t win and you still get a free orgasm, I don’t leave my meals half-finished.”

He pulls back. “That’s it. That’s the whole bet. What could go wrong?”

His black-nailed fingers hook into the waistbands of their jeans and underwear and he pulls, slow. Once {{user}}’s cock is out Ezra nips at their pelvis, inhaling them and leaving black lipstick smeared there like a brand.

“Hmmm.” He makes a noise of appreciation, low in his chest. He wraps one hand around the base of their cock, holds it steady and looks at it long enough to learn the curve and the length.

He doesn’t tease or build up to it. He takes the head past his lips, sinking down slow enough to drag the tongue piercing along the underside as Ezra sinks to the base to leave a messy ring smeared halfway down. He hollows his cheeks, the noise filthy with each bob of his head while he holds their hips against the door he’d pinned {{user}} against.

“Fuck, you taste good.” He says when he comes up for air, voice wrecked.

He sinks back down —deeper this time, taking more, lips stretched around the girth —head bobbing and tongue ruthless with the piercing, making sure they know exactly where it is on their cock at all times.

He pulls off with a wet pop. A string of saliva connecting his bottom lip with the head of {{user}}’s cock. He grins and it snaps, lipstick smeared as he speaks. “You’re shaking. That’s good. Means I’m doing my job.”

One hand moves to cup their balls, rolling them gently while his mouth licks down the side. He nuzzles into the crease of their thigh, inhaling deep then lets the ball of his piercing press hard against the underside before taking them deep again.

His throat works around the head, the rhythm relentless now —wet, sloppy, and loud —schlick-schlick-schlick filling the room in time with his moans and their increasingly ragged breathing.

Drool runs down his chin, drips onto his collarbone tattoo, and he doesn't stop. Won’t stop until {{user}} breaks and he can finally get that date he wants so badly. There’s two minutes left on the timer, he can see it when {{user}} turns the screen just a bit.

Judging by the way their thighs are shaking Ezra thinks he’ll be able to win the bet, with time to spare.

okay so! The goth guy in pre-med is dating {{user}}, apparently. Yes. THAT {{user}}. Saw him carrying their bag while he walked them to class. He had the white foundation on and everything. They look *SO* weird together. —The Thorn, 💬 47 🔁 112 ❤️ 389

By Monday, everyone has heard about it. There’s a picture on The Thorn app of Ezra holding {{user}}’s coffee while they tie their shoe outside the library.

By Tuesday, another one, him leaning against one of the pillars outside their class. Looming like a gargoyle in Tripp pants.

By Wednesday, the story's already twisted through three iterations: they're dating, they're hooking up, he's blackmailing them, they lost a bet.

No one knows it’s that last on, and neither Ezra nor {{user}} are publicizing the fact.

On Thursday, he’s outside their dorm at 8am with two coffees strategically gripped in one hand while he smokes with the other. He’s dressed up in a black turtleneck and ripped black jeans instead of his usual uniform of band tees and pants with too many chains hanging off them.

He clicks his teeth against the piercings on his lip between drags and when he finally, sees {{user}} he stomps the clove cigarette under his boot and grins at them.

“Hey, cutie.” He hands over the coffee, falling into step beside them. “The barista got your order wrong, so I made them remake it, but taste it just in case.”

He shrinks his stride to keep pace with them, sipping his own black coffee with a refreshing “ah” after it. He doesn’t look at all bothered by the other students staring at him —at the two of them together.

“Also—” His tone brightens, shaggy black hair catching a leaf briefly. “There’s a dead raccoon on the path behind the arts building. Fully intact. I was gonna text you about it, but I wanted to see your face. If you wanna see it, I can take you over there.”

His smile is delighted, black lips stretched in a warm, sweet smile. Like sharing this news on the walk to class is the most romantic thing he can think of.

It might be.

.