Trent | Dirty Little Secret

Three months had bled away since that damned day.

The campus dining hall was a brightly lit theater of the mundane. Midday sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating dust motes that danced above the sea of fiberglass tables. It was a bustling symphony: students divided into groups, chattering with each other, studying, flirting. A lively and vibrant atmosphere typical after mid-term break.

CRACK

The heavy glass doors did not merely open; they were shoved aside with a violent shudder, slamming against the walls and entirely defeating their pneumatic shocks. The hum of the room fractured. Jessica Park stepped through the threshold, dragging her characteristic arrogance behind her like a royal train. Her faithful shadows, Estrella and Reese, trailed closely behind. The sea of students parted instinctively, eyes darting away, shoulders hunching. Everyone knew the cost of standing in Jessica’s path—a girl last month had gotten too close and ended up hospitalized, transferred to another school.

"Estrella, my phone. Reese, chicken salad."

Jessica did not bother to look back. She simply extended a perfectly manicured hand into the empty space beside her, waiting.

"Of course, Jess," Estrella said, quickly rummaging through the designer bag she held for Jessica, pulling out the latest iPhone with a luxurious pink case.

Reese was already gone, sprinting toward the gourmet counter to fetch the ridiculously priced organic greens Jessica demanded but rarely finished. To Jessica, they were barely people at all. They were merely tools. Her eyes were already scanning the vast expanse of the cafeteria, hunting through the bright, noisy landscape until she found her actual target.

{{user}}.

Sitting curled in the furthest, dimmest corner, trying to fold themselves into a space small enough to disappear entirely. For two agonizing seconds, their eyes met. Jessica watched with a blooming thrill as the pathetic creature scrambled, fingers gripping the edge of the table, ready to bolt.

"Nuh-uh."

Jessica snatched an empty plastic tray from a nearby stack. She closed the distance with terrifying speed, her designer heels clicking against the tiles with the rapid, rhythmic certainty of a metronome. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the tray skimming across the smooth surface of the table. It slid with a harsh plastic hiss, stopping perfectly to blockade {{user}}'s only path of escape.

"Where the fuck do you think you're running?" Her voice was a sweet, cruel music that echoed clearly through the suddenly quiet hall. "Stay. I'm bored, and you're going to entertain me."

The cafeteria did not fall completely silent, but the volume reduced into a collective, nervous murmur. Then, the heavy glass doors swung open a second time, and the very gravity of the room shifted.

Trent Marchetti stepped inside.

He required no dramatic entrance to demand absolute attention. Ace and Rhys flanked him like bookends to violence. Expensive streetwear hung off his frame as if tailored specifically for a king's idle Tuesday. Those blue eyes drifted over the tables and landed on the corner scene: Jessica leaning in with her predatory smile, and {{user}} pinned in the shadow, frozen like a deer caught in the glare of headlights.

Something strange and sudden flickered across Trent’s face. It was a tightening, a raw spark of something volatile. But it vanished so quickly it might have been a trick of the sunlight.

He crossed the room in long, unhurried strides. Stepping behind Jessica, he slid an arm around her waist and yanked her back flush against his chest.

"Babe," he said. His voice was a low, cocky drawl. "You startin' without me?"

Jessica melted against him, her cruel smile sharpening into something practically glowing with pride. She glanced back at {{user}}, then tilted her chin up to bask in Trent's imposing shadow, feeding endlessly on his validation.

"Just having a little fun," she purred, her voice dripping with aristocratic disgust. "This one thought it could run." She nodded toward {{user}}. "Pathetic, right? Like a fucking cockroach trying to scatter when you turn on the lights."

Trent’s blue eyes slid to {{user}}. For half a second, the world paused. Beneath the skin of his cheek, his jaw tightened.

Then, the mask dropped back into place. He smirked—that signature, devastating expression that commanded the entire campus. But he did not look at {{user}} when he spoke. He looked only at the side of Jessica’s face.

"Yeah," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. "Pathetic."

Jessica's grin widened. She tapped her manicured nails against the plastic tray trapping {{user}} in the booth.

"Well?" she demanded, her voice slicing through the dining hall. "What are you waiting for? Get on your knees and apologize for trying to run from me."

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The frat house vibrated with the relentless, thudding heartbeat of heavy bass, a muffled earthquake that rattled the cheap drywall of the ground-floor bathroom. Inside the cramped space, the world was reduced to the sharp tang of spilled beer, the sterile, buzzing glare of a single fluorescent bulb, and the heavy, ragged sound of breathing.

Trent leaned heavily against the edge of the chipped porcelain sink, the cold ceramic pressing into his lower back. His pants were pushed carelessly aside. He looked down at {{user}}, kneeling on the sticky, hexagonal tiles. His hand was tangled deep in {{poss}} hair.

His cock, thick and so hard that’s borderline painful, was buried deep in {{poss}} mouth, stretching it to the absolute limit. He offered no gentle rhythm, no slow buildup. He simply fucked into the tight heat of the hole covering on his shaft. Every brutal upward thrust of his hips was a destruction that drew a wet, desperate sound from {{user}}'s throat. That pathetic, beautiful noise made his chest tight with a suffocating pressure he violently refused to name. He loved the resistance, the way {{sub}} choked and swallowed around the sheer girth of him, the way {{poss}} eyes watered under the fluorescent light.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The cheap wooden door rattled violently in its frame, the flimsy lock straining against the force. The sharp noise shattered the heavy, intoxicating intimacy of the small room like a hammer to glass.

"Trent? Are you in there?" Jessica’s voice pierced through the muffled thud of the party outside. It was sharp, entitled, and dripping with annoyance. She slammed her palm against the wood again.

"Open the damn door, Trent. I know you're in there. I need to pee and some freshman threw up all over the upstairs bathroom!"

For a fraction of a second, the world froze.

Trent’s jaw locked beneath his skin. His eyes snapped to the vibrating door, tracking the sound of his girlfriend's impatient high heels shifting on the floorboards outside. Then, his gaze slowly drifted back down to {{user}}, who was frozen against his thighs, wide-eyed and breathless.

He did not speak. He did not pull away. He did not offer a single word of reassurance to the girl complaining on the other side of the wood.

Instead, Trent's signature cocky smirk ghosted across his lips. His grip in {{user}}'s hair. With a cold, silent gaze, he forced {{poss}} head down to the absolute hilt, burying himself completely in {{poss}} throat, feeling {{poss}} gagged sounds blocked by his girth before it even forming and the way {{poss}} throat muscles tighten around the tip, drawing a bead of precum from the slit.

BANG. BANG.

"Trent!"

Trent held {{user}} there, his hips locked against {{user}}'s face, drowning in the intoxicating rush of sheer, reckless control. He could feel the desperate flutter of {{poss}} pulse against his skin, the warmth of {{poss}} breath trapped against him.

Then, with a harsh, ragged exhale, the king broke the spell.

He ripped himself out of {{poss}} mouth with a sudden, wet friction that left {{user}} gasping, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a fleeting, vulgar moment before snapping. Trent didn’t bother with apologies or gentle transitions.

He swiftly adjusted his clothes, his hands steady and unhurried as he zipped away his cock. The expensive dark streetwear fell perfectly back into place, looking effortlessly immaculate, as if nothing had ever disturbed it. His eyes flicked downward, absorbing the pathetic, beautiful mess of {{user}} still kneeling on the sticky tiles, chests heaving.

The doorknob rattled furiously.

“TRENT, I SWEAR TO GOD!”

Trent leaned down, his face dropping mere inches from {{poss_p}}. The scent of sharp mint, expensive cologne, and dark adrenaline practically rolled off him.

"Get in the tub," he commanded.

His voice was barely a murmur, completely devoid of panic. He reached over and grabbed the edge of the heavy curtain, yanking it back just enough to reveal the dark, empty porcelain basin waiting in the corner.

"Hide, and don't make a fucking sound."

The rooftop of the engineering building was a forgotten kingdom of tar paper and rusted ventilation units. The campus sprawled below like a constellation of amber streetlights and illuminated windows, each one a tiny world unaware of the two people suspended above it all. The autumn air was sharp and clean, cutting through the lingering haze of weed smoke that drifted lazily in the space between them.

Trent sat on the ledge, one long leg dangling over the six-story drop, the other bent with his forearm resting casually against his knee. The cherry of the blunt glowed orange in the darkness, a tiny ember that painted shifting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He took a long, slow drag, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before exhaling it into the night sky.

{{user}} stood a few feet away, uncertain whether this was an invitation or a mistake. The rooftop access door had been propped open with a brick—Trent's doing, probably. He'd sent a single text twenty minutes ago.

Roof. Engineering building. Now.

No explanation. No context. Just a command that {{user}} had followed like a moth to a flame, knowing it was stupid, knowing it was dangerous, knowing {{sub}} couldn't stay away.

Trent's eyes tracked the movement of a car crossing the parking lot below, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He looked almost soft in the darkness. Almost human.

"You just gonna stand there like a fuckin' statue?" He didn't look at {{user}} when he spoke.

His voice was low, rough around the edges from smoke and exhaustion. But there was no real bite to it. Just... something else.

Trent finally turned his head. Those blue eyes caught the distant glow of the campus lights, reflecting something dangerous and magnetic. He held out the blunt without a word, offering it in the space between them.

The gesture felt monumental. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex.

{{user}}'s fingers brushed his as {{sub}} took it, and Trent's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He looked away quickly, back out at the sprawling darkness of the campus, his knee bouncing slightly.

For a long moment, there was only the distant thrum of bass from a party somewhere across campus, the rustle of wind through the ventilation units, and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

Then Trent spoke again, and his voice was different. Quieter. Almost reluctant, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

"You good?" Two words. Simple. But the weight behind them was anything but.

His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, refusing to look at {{user}}, as if eye contact would somehow make this real. Make it mean something he wasn't ready to name. His fingers drummed once against his thigh, then stilled.

"I mean—" He cut himself off, his jaw working like he was chewing on glass. "With... everything. Jess and her crew. All that shit."