Summary: Everett Raleigh is a force of nature, that’s to be sure. But poor Garrett isn’t sure of exactly what nature Everett’s force is when he finds himself battered by the typhoon we call love. Slash.

Just an idea that’s been eating at me for ages..thought I’d get it out. (And this will be my last chapter story for a while. Hopefully.)

Contains language and actual slash. In this chapter. (I work fast. What can I say?) And dirty innuendos that are really fun to write.

Chapter One:

In which there is a play, a dark theater, many parentheses, and Garrett is assaulted (kinda)

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Rehearsals are for losers.

Or, at least, for tormenting losers like me when I end up forced to attend said rehearsal. Seeing as I’m one of the major characters in the school play, however, I guess I’m obligated to see how the rest of my cast is doing.

In my case it’s actually something like ‘obligated to sleep through half the rehearsal and pretend I was paying attention if someone sees me’. Because that was what I was doing; dozing off in the back row of the auditorium to the lullaby of my best friend, Camden, belting out his lines on the front stage.

The bench I was sitting on vibrated slightly, just as I was beginning to be able to block out the lights ahead of me. Naturally I had to assume the worst and sit upright, knocking myself in the hip with my elbow on the way there. To my left the bench vibrated again and then suddenly someone vaulted over the back with all the speed and grace and hush of a ninja, or at least a gymnast.

I jerked back–again, my elbow colliding first with my hip and then with the chapel-style wooden armrest–and bit my lip to keep from shrieking in unmanly terror, staring wide-eyed at whoever the hell would leap over the back of a bench instead of just going around. And oh, it couldn’t have been a ninja (or a gymnast, even), no, the person next to me could probably cause me twice the suffering of any professional ninja (or gymnast).

Everett Raleigh, the smarmy bastard, who was neither a ninja or a gymnast but a jock of all trades, looked completely nonplussed by his own behavior. He wasn’t breathing hard (I sure as hell was) or even looking at me, but staring straight ahead like he’d been sitting next to me this whole rehearsal. And I knew for a fact he hadn’t or my name was Pete Wentz (and if I looked like him I would pray to God it was), and it wasn’t (unfortunately). Everett, who was the Jafar to my Aladdin, the Cruella de Vil to my one-hundred and one dalmatians, the Galbatorix to my Eragon, who was sitting way too close when there was a whole bench available to use, turned his head and offered me a foreboding smirk.

“Hey, Mayfield,” he said lowly, leaning in close, and I clasped my hands in my lap to keep from screaming or strangling him or doing both at the same time, possibly. God, I was an arts-and-theater pansy, but could he leave me alone in my own territory? Just for once?

“H-hi, Everett.” Oh, that was smooth. Really, really, effin’ smooth, Garrett. He’ll probably beat you up for that. I winced, and he must’ve seen it because now his left hand was on my shoulder and his right on the back of the bench, pressing faintly against my back. This was getting increasingly awkward.

“How do you like the play?” His voice was soft and it made me want to twitch and shudder and tell him to back off, because this was way too weird.

“Come again?” I asked at a loss for anything intelligent, tilting my head and–OH MY GOD, what did I just say? Holy shit.

My face was on fire and I was absolutely mortified. I wanted to sink into the ground right here, right now, but somehow Florida seemed to be out of earthquakes at the moment. Damn. I settled for looking straight ahead and pretending he hadn’t ever existed. Wouldn’t that be nice.

Everett just chuckled, raising his eyebrows at my phrasing, and wow, his face was really close when I looked at him through my peripherals. How did that happen? “Haven’t gotten to that part yet, have we?”

I was about to ask him what he meant (using the term “What?” this time) when his lips brushed over my jaw and I just kind of shut down. As in, like, I wasn’t thinking, wasn’t breathing, wasn’t functioning at all, just feeling his mouth against my skin. And my ear.

At that point my brain rebooted and I blinked, blushing harder still and tipping my head away. That didn’t seem to bother Everett; he just repositioned himself and I just kept leaning over, over, over until I was laying sideways on the bench and Everett was practically on top of me and still attached to my neck.

“What are you doing?” I hissed finally, turning onto my back to push at his chest with both hands. As much as other parts of my body were telling me to let him do what he wanted, my mind was, thankfully, obstinate enough to inform me that this was an odd situation. Not to mention that Everett was a guy, and that we were also in an auditorium where any number of people could see us. The threat of utter humiliation and death by any number of Everett’s many fangirls was sufficient to make me fight back. “Are you crazy?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Everett hissed back, letting my neck alone for a moment. My head cleared slightly–it was, contrary to popular belief, easier to think when you weren’t being molested–and I turned my head to face him, glaring.

“I don’t know! I couldn’t see you, idiot!” I retorted. That wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was ‘Why the hell are you perving on me, you bastard?’ or something like that. Because at the moment the only conclusion I could come to was that he was dared to do this, which wouldn’t really make sense because he would’ve just paid me off (I knew how he worked) or gotten someone else to do it.

“Well, then, since you can’t see me–” Everett’s gaze sharpened and he continued again, tongue flickering out briefly to trace the sensitive spot behind my ear and down to where my jaw met my neck, and I downright moaned (quietly, albeit, because I didn’t want anyone looking back here and seeing me), my hands clenching in the fabric of his shirt. He seemed surprised, hesitating briefly before I could feel him smirk against my neck and do it again–damn him!

He bit down on the spot he’d just gone over and I moaned again, letting out a shaky breath, and that seemed to be the signal to stop because he pulled away, sitting up and tugging me with him. Embarrassingly enough, I whined, my hand going to the red mark I knew was going to be there, and glared at him.

“One more time, you bastard,” I let out, scowling. I wasn’t pissed off because he’d stopped–no, I was glad to be able to think again–but because he still hadn’t given me any semblance of an explanation yet. “What are you doing?”

“Going back to history,” Everett replied, tossing me a smirk and stepping over the bench like nothing had happened. He pulled a white slip of paper from his pocket and waved it at me. “Hall passes can only cover for a certain amount of things, and this is not one of them.”

“Wh--” I sort of began, not really intending to finish the rest of that word. It could have been anything: what, where, when, whiplash, or even why, and that one was sounding pretty good right now. But I didn’t have anything planned out to say.

“Well?” Everett asked, raising an amused eyebrow at me. I gaped like a fish for a few moments, casting about for some suitable word and not finding any.

“..I’m not going to tell anyone,” I said finally, flushing pink, and Everett grinned.

“Saturday, my house, noon,” he said, turning as if to step away. I opened my mouth, probably for another word that started with “wh–” but he cut me off. “Don't worry about it. Just be there."

I watched him retreat a few steps, thanking God for his soon absence, but he turned in the blink of an eye and covered the distance between us in a few uncharacteristically bouncy steps and pressed a chaste kiss to my mouth.

“Seal the deal, yeah?” His voice was husky and slow and I shivered just a little bit, looking down at my hands.

“Okay,” I said softly, listening to his feet carry him away, and thinking of just one thing.

I am so screwed.

And if I didn’t do anything to stop it, that phrase would be literal.