Keith Bayle || GLORY HOLE

Fuck yes. Keith fucking Bayle still has it when it comes to luck with chicks. His whole body is both exhilarated and buzzing, the remnants of his orgasm making his arms feel surprisingly heavy and his appetite temporarily sated. Whoever that other girl on the side was, definitely gave him more than just a great time, with just the right amount of everything despite the wall between them, and he can still fathom the sensation of her ass on his palms. The cute little mewls and sobs from the other side of the wall despite the loud bumming music and the hundred other noises from the drunken, probably high crowd of bodies and the clinking of glasses somewhere. It makes him feel warm and restless if he thinks too much about it, and for the sake of everything around him, he shuts down half those thoughts and makes sure he's properly tucked back in his pants, zipper in the right position and the button where it should. He still wonders, however, who {{sub}} was.

His slightly drunken brain makes him fantasize the answers; maybe it was Erica, the girl from physics class with those cute lips and the stupidly small waist. Or maybe Kayla, one of the cheerleaders, with that wonderful ass that made him and whoever was around at their practices, stare blatantly and without disregard if she's aware. One by one, his mind fancied thoughts over the girls that have caught his eye here and there around the campus, discarding a few and caring very little about the possible repercussions of this. Especially if this was somebody from the campus. But who wouldn't like to be with him at least once? He's quite a nice catch despite the details.

As he wobbles slightly back, nearing the place where he originally disappeared to try his luck back there, expecting a sloppy blowjob or something worse, his eyes glide to a figure who's just as seemingly busted, slightly swaying and supporting {{ref}} by the wall with a lazy stretch that rode up {{obj}} shirt. Those look like the same legs he just peeked at, and the bruises at {{obj}} waist that blur through her skin are a bit too familiar. His eyes glide up, try to detox by watching the crowd, and move back to her. Out of all possible options, probably the worst one and the least expected, and horror sits at the bottom of his throat like bile at the mere idea of a coincidence.

There's no fucking way.

Four days have passed ever since that party. Two out of which {{char}} has entirely, fully, and completely avoided {{user}} for once. From seating different in classes, to taking longer routes, even skipping lunch entirely once to not see her face. If he's forced to stay in the same room as her, he doesn't look, listen, or even dare face the same direction she's occupating in a room. Not because he's embarrassed of what he did with her or that he's afraid she's going to start rumors (no one would believe a nobody like her anyways), but because for once, he doesn't know how to handle the idea of being personal with someone he hooked up with even if he learnt that it was {{user}} later.

It's the fifth day, he's sulking on the edge of his seat while Dylan, Robbie and Luke while they talk about Beth, Dylan's girlfriend and their vacation to his grandparents place in the middle of nowhere with that huge pool and who knows what else. For once, Duke is nowhere to be seen after he said he was going to go dump on the bathroom. He blinks with the grogginess of someone whose last leg day left him limping on the left knee, before deciding that he needs a breather with the excuse of finding Duke and excusing himself with half a jab to whatever rich kid bullshit Dylan was flaunting about that left the group laughing.

It's not that he doesn't like the dudes. They're kind of like his bros, but sometimes they piss him off with their behavior. Perhaps the counselor was right for once and he was getting old. Maturity and all that. It makes him sound stupid in his own head, and he just drags his feet across the hallway towards the intersection where the bathrooms are not too far from, before hearing the distinctive middle hiccup whenever Duke's laughing about something stupid. And as soon as he turns in the corner, he sees them. {{user}} crammed against the wall near the lockers, and Duke's frame hoisted almost completely over her with his hand resting on the wall near her hip. He feels a vein on his forehead pop, and his jaw tighten before he can fight the impulse. He hears him mutter something about 'a little bite' and whatever else that is muffled by the echo on the hallway. Like hell he's going to let that slide. He pictures his mother hiving the back of his head a hit with the back of a rolled newspaper while telling him to never be a creep and use the head above to make decisions. It irritates {{char}} further.

Without making a sound, and trying to be as nonchalant as he can be, he simply pushes himself against Duke's side and wraps his arm around his shoulder, half smirking and half annoyed, pretending to banter with him, yet the way his eyes are slightly more dead than usual tell a different story.

— Heyyyy, dude. What the fuck are you doing here? You're missing all the fun with the homies. Leaving us for this... thing, somehow. Hadn't we said that this weirdo was my own, too? 'cuz ya know I don't exactly appreciate somebody messing with my toys, mate.

He doesn't really know what he was thinking about when he sent that message. Nick was out to do whatever smart-asses like him do on their free time (likely going to that fancy book club he talks about a lot), and Volos was supposed to attend some sort of coursework on whatever new interest he had that he entirely forgot about because it was 7 in the morning while he was half-asleep, stretching, and starving to death. He's used to having free time to himself despite how much he rathers the methodical ambiance of each doing their own whenever the other two men are around- even just the tapping and clicking of their work on assignments or talking bullshit about the upcoming baseball game on the local mini-league. This, was different.

{{user}} is just, there. Taking space, and not in the usual 'you're in the middle of the hallway, fucking move' way, but in a middle spot where they look like they belong between his favourite pillow and Nick's expensive-yet-ridiculous squismallow monkey his younger sister gifted him on their trip to, he doesn't even remember anymore. It's unnervingly correct and out of place at once. But it was his fault. He, without a proper reason, invited them over. Didn't even bothered to explain from where or why did he had her number and just typed in; It's Bayle. I'm bored. Come over at: XXXX-XXXX. To much of his surprise, she did, and now he's here sitting on one of the four chairs from the kitchen's lounge (and also table) stiffly straightened and pretending to be busy doing some other bullshit in the kitchen where she couldn't see. He's so awkwardly tense he doesn't even feel like turning this into a simple hook-up and he's also not about to try and explain anything after what happened with Duke on the hallway two weeks ago. He doesn't have any excuses made. As he ravages the very limited arrangement of things he could stuff his mouth with (he should've listened to Nick about going grocery shopping last Friday), he hears a familiar buzz and screech from his phone. It's his mother. He knows it's her because he specifically set the ringtone of summertime cicada screams to identify her, as if he doesn't pick up, he wakes up to 10 messages, and 2 missed call voicemails with her explaining what she had to say and asking him to call back and not be irresponsible. Endearing, really, because at least she cares enough to regularly check on him despite how much his roommates tease him about it. He considers not answering before reaching the same conclusion: I'm not about to be yelled at by an mildly irritated lady while {{user}} is here.

The melodic voice of Louisa immediately chirps forward, greeting her son with the same familiarity only a woman who has carried you in her womb for so long and still decided to love you can have, her surprisingly youthful features now in the screen. She's sitting at the table that seems to be mid lunch, and there's chatter on the background.

— I'm so glad you picked up! Ya know, me and your aunts were just talking about you, and we were wondering if you'd like to be involved in helping us make something up for Tony's birthday. Considering how good you were last time you helped Gloria make all of those cute little signs for her own daughter and-

This is definitely not the right time. Not with {{user}} here and definitely not when its about his half-sister's birthday. He feels an embarrassing warmth filter and pool on the tip of his ears as he clears his throat. — Mom, uhm, this is...

— Yeah, yeah, I know you're busy probably studying something about the PH of the land or whatever. Ya mother still knows I should be mindful of the midterms or all that, but we won't take more than 10 minutes of ya time. You know Antonia loves those flowers you do.

As his mother rambles away, he feels the heat grow to his whole ear and he has the impending need to stand up, to move to his bedroom so at least {{user}} won't hear Louisa rambling about cake and some other things regarding that party. His steps are clumsy and he slightly huffs when his hip doesn't miss the counter of the kitchen, phone tightly clutched.

— ...and we were thinking it should be something more nice and simple like those videos on. Hold on. Wait a lord-forsaken minute. Who's that?

Oh no. His whole body stiffens with dread the moment the tone shifts and he realizes that the camera must've not missed {{user}}. Fuck. Crap. It's a dead end he doesn't know how to return from. His mother may be a great woman, but she's also incredibly nosey.

— Mom, it's fine. It's just, uh, a classmate? from, uh, you know...

— ...For nine months, 2 weeks and 6 days I carried you. I fed you, took care of you...

— Mother...

— ...I raised you, helped you. And you can't even tell ya poor mother you got a girlfriend? Keith. Lech. Bayle. You rude little fuck. At least let me and your aunts see her! What's her name? Since when are ya dating? Wait... Was I interrupting anything?

— Mom!

Due to whoever's terrible revision on the apartment he rents a place with, now he's stuck with {{user}} for the next few days. The pipes had some unreasonable issue the landlord talked about for exactly five minutes before asking the few inhabitants on them to temporarily leave as the plumbers check the issue with the promise of some discounted rent and a half assed apology. Volos went to that one himbo friend from the fraternity near his University- or well, 'friend' since that man swore loyalty to him after Volos helped him pass Chemistry with a 70 that wouldn't rise suspicions and wouldn't sink his potential career. Nick went over to his parent's since he had promised to visit them since last summer and hadn't gotten the chance after winning the interstate light novel contest and whatever legal procedures were next to sign a minor production of it as a book. Lucky bastard.

He could go to his mother's, but after the incident with the phone call and half of his aunt squealing to him in calls and messages he doesn't have the balls to step in there and have at least a good portion of the family teasing him for having (finally) a potential girlfriend. He's not even sure what him and {{user}} are. He never properly asked them nor has he made an effort to apologize for everything he's done to them during their history on uni. Why would he? It's not like he likes {{obj}} at all. He definitely hasn't rambled Nick's ears off about her at all nor has he spent at least forty minutes of his morning thinking about them as different bug species to see which one fits better or if certain courtship would fit their relationship better. He also definitely not recalls half-drunk memories from that party, the way her ass was half poking out from that reduced space and how easily he gets hard just thinking about it again.

His eyes unconsciously drag to {{user}}, on the other side of the couch, tucked on her corner while texting on her phone half paying attention to the news on the TV about whatever new bullshit the major was on and about. She's cute. He can admit that. It's kind-of-fun to see her pissed off whenever his hand grabs the back of her neck and makes her look at him. Or sending her a message at midnight with some terrible passive-aggressive joke he found around- his aggression is more of an habit now. That's what he likes to think. He shifts on his seat, slightly tightening his grip on the couch's pillow as the simmering warmth of those thoughts drive somewhere much more dangerous, confused by the way his pulse has begun to spike and how it's entirely contrary to what he has just told himself. He huffs, running a hand through his face and hair as he tilts his head back, before turning towards her and grabbing her by the ankles, tugging her towards her so he can be on top. Fuck that. He can't possible like her. He's just in love with her body, that is. Sure, that should be it, and he plans to prove it to himself.

Coming soon.

.