Author: Sheepie PM
SLASH/Male x Male. It started off with me hating him. Then I was naked and bent over his kitchen table. Now he has wings. I'd like to know what the hell is going on, but I'm to busy running for my life to stop and ask.Rated: Fiction M - English - Fantasy/Adventure - Chapters: 22 - Words: 102,812 - Reviews: 662 - Favs: 621 - Follows: 445 - Updated: 02-05-11 - Published: 01-15-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2622253
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author Note: I know. Another story. You all are probably wondering where the updates are. Well Sentinel should be updated shortly. I'll be focusing on that story the most until I get farther in it. Seattle Rain will be updated, I haven't dropped it or anything. Right now it's just on the back burner until I get farther on Sentinel. In between that I came up with this little idea that I thought would be fun! It's just a little something I'll work on in between the other two stories. Though this will be the last story I post until I finish up my others! But enjoy none the less!
Special Thanks: To Bloodfeeder for being such a great beta. :D YOU ROCK!
Disclaimer: All characters (c) Sheepie. You maybe not use them with out my permission.
Warning(s): Adult Situations, Strong Sexual Content, Graphic Violence, Strong Language
I hate Deangelo Rossi. I don't think I can be clearer about this. I hate him with a burning passion that boils in the pit of my stomach. I hate him more then I hate mushrooms or Janet DiMaggio. Why, you may ask, do I hate Deangelo Rossi? Simple: he's a pompous ass! He flaunts around like he's God's greatest gift to women. Sure he has every reason to be an egotistical jerk: chiseled features, washboard abs, and a winning personality of devil-may-care, I-don't-give-a-shit. But that doesn't mean he can act like it! He is the bane of my existence. I hate him.
You're wondering why he's the bane of my existence, aren't you? Why something as simple as a chauvinistic personality could piss me off so much? Well, I'll tell you why! I remember it like it was yesterday. Freshman year at West Hilliard High School, I was starry eyed for him. Me, Mr. Popularity, had a crush on the antisocial tough guy. Everyone wanted me. I turn down people I don't get turned down. But he did! And then, as if to rub salt in the wound, he dates wormy, book smart Mark Wilmington. Pa-lease! Asshole.
Okay, I probably should let it go. After all, it isn't like there aren't more fish in the sea. And it is senior year. But that doesn't change the fact that he's an ass. If I had my way he'd be a bug I could step on.
I picked my satchel from the floor and slung it across my chest. I had to stop by my locker before my history class in order to grab my book. I, stupidly, had left it in my locker this morning. Now I was going to be late.
The halls of West Hilliard High were a pale, muted yellow that was a few shades brighter then cream. Mixed with the sky blue lockers that lined the halls and the green carpet it looked like the Easter Bunny had vomited inside the school. I had decided a long time ago that whoever had been hired to do the interior design of West Hilliard should have been shot because they did a crap job.
Typically, the halls were congested with traffic, but seeing as how the bell had already rung it was bare. I rounded the corner quickly and pushed through the heavy double doors that lead to a stairwell. I ran up the stairs, panting by the time I got to the second floor. I hate stairs almost as much as I hate Janet DiMaggio, but not as much as I hate Deangelo. Stupid fucking stairs.
I'm really not a hateful person. I just have my list of things I dislike. Other then that, I'm really a cheery person. Honestly.
I walked down the hall that was a straight shot to the other end of the school. Halfway down the hall another one intersected, connecting the west and east side of the school together. My history class was the second room from the stairwell, so I didn't have to jog much farther. I pulled the oak door open and walked in, Mr. Rice already standing to give his lecture.
He gave me a scowl, his long face pinched in a perpetual hateful glare. The man was either seriously constipated or just one seriously bitter person. It has yet to be decided. I offered him a sheepish grin and said, "Sorry. Had to get my book."
"Just sit down, Mister Franklin. Now." Mr. Rice said flatly, irked that he had been interrupted. It wasn't like anyone was listening to him though!
I sighed and walked to my seat, smack dab in the middle of the rows of chairs. Just two seats in front of me was my bane of existence. He was slouched against his chair, looking like he barely fit in it. I glared at him briefly before focusing on pulling out my school supplies: binder, pencil, and the said history book that caused me to be late.
Once I had everything out, I looked back to Deangelo, glaring at the back of his head in hopes a hole would burn straight through it. Deangelo comes from a stock of pureblooded Italians. Did I mention how I love Italians? Fucking sexy. Deangelo is the cream of the crop when it comes to hot Italians. Standing at a whooping height of six-three with broad shoulders, rock hard muscles, a six-pack, and sharp hips, he was a man not to be messed with. His features were cut-glass: hard set chin, thin lips, a long nose that was slightly large but filled out his face nicely, and a pair of killer chocolate eyes that could seriously make you cum on the spot. Even though he was only eighteen, he was all man.
His hair fell in layered, choppy strands of coal around his face. Everything about him is tall, dark, and handsome. Bronze skinned, dark penetrating eyes, and messy black hair you could run your fingers through for hours. I hated him.
Shaking my head I tore my eyes away from him and looked to my right. Candy dropped a note on my desk, flashing me a grin before turning back to focusing on Mr. Rice's lecture. We had been best friends since freshman year and had seen many hard times together. I had been there for her parents divorce and she had been there for my first break-up. I had held her hand, when she thought she was pregnant, and she had been the shoulder I cried on, when my ex Danny Nicholson boinked me and then broke up with me.
She was curling a strand of wheat gold and cherry red infused hair around one of her manicured fingers. She was one of those girls that had a buxom figure and pulled it off well. She was big assed, thin waist, and large breasted. If I were a girl, I would hate her.
I opened the note and looked down at it.
'Stop ogling Deangelo, you perve.'
Me? Perverted? Pa-shaw! I grabbed my pencil and scribbled a response; 'I wasn't ogling him. I was simply trying to burn a hole in the back of his head with my eye beams. Bitch.'
I tossed the note on her desk and looked up at Mr. Rice, before he could notice my lack of attention. He was going on and on about something along the lines of projects, the government, and immigration. I had lost track of what he was saying, mostly because I didn't care. I had a solid B+ in this class and that was good enough for me. History was of little interest to me. Drama was where it was all about!
Candy dropped the paper back on my desk.
'Eye beams? Psycho. You were drooling over him. There's a puddle on your desk. Now, do you want to be partners with me for the project?'
Oh? Partners? I wiped my mouth and wrote, 'STFU ho bag. And of course. What's the project?'
A smile cracked along her lips as she read the note, but before she could write a response, Mr. Rice asked, "Is something funny, Ms. Gibson?"
Candy quickly stuffed the note in her binder and said, "No sir. I was just thinking about another class."
Mr. Rice gave her a skeptical glance and said, "Well, maybe you should focus on this one. It would prove crucial for you."
Candy's cheeks turned a few shades brighter then rose. Mr. Rice was the kind of man that enjoyed embarrassing his students. He was a short, wiry man with a face that was to long for his body. He looked like a weasel, bred with a rat. He's a raesel.
"Yes, sir." Candy grumbled, looking sideways.
I jabbed my tongue into the side of my cheek and looked apologetically at Candy. Mr. Rice nodded and grabbed a small bowl filled with slips of paper on his desk. He walked to the front row of desks and said, "Now, you'll draw a number from this bowl. Who ever has the same number as you will be your partner for the immigration project. Any questions?"
Yeah. What was the project?
When he got to me, I was mentally crossing my fingers as I grabbed a number. Please, oh please, let it be the one Candy has.
I opened up the small slip of paper, a neat little eight written on it. I looked over to Candy who showed me a twelve. I glared at her number and looked around the room to see if I could spot who had me. Please don't let it be snotty faced Milton.
"Now find your partners." Mr. Rice ordered.
Snotty faced Milton walked over to the other side of the room. I gave a sigh of relief and turned to look for my partner. I locked eyes with Deangelo from across the row of chairs. In two fingers he held up a small slip of paper with a neat little eight printed on it. I glared hard at him and gave him the middle finger.
He flashed me his white teeth in a smug grin and stood up, walking straight for my desk. He wore a pair of tight Diesel jeans and a black muscle shirt that shouldn't have looked so good on an eighteen year old. I really wanted to lick him all over. Shit! Stop thinking that. I bit down on my tongue to get it to behave and glared harder at him.
He slipped into the seat in front of me, which had become empty when Shirley ran for her partner. I huffed and slouched back in my chair.
"You don't look to happy, Oliver." Deangelo said with another smug smirk.
I gave him a haughty look and jerked my head to the side. "Screw you."
"Oh come on, I didn't even do anything." Deangelo laughed. Yeah, but you're up to something. I can feel it in my bones!
I shot him another withering look and gave a snort. "Whatever. Look, what's the project?"
"You weren't paying attention were you?" Deangelo asked, mirth sparkling in his rich eyes.
I resisted the urge to stab my pencil in one of his lovely brown eyes and instead focused said defensively. "I was too."
"Sure you were. What, were you busy ogling me again?" He asked, laughter lacing his deep voice.
I squirmed and snapped viciously. "No! God, you're such an ass!"
"And you're such a drama queen."
I gave a growl of frustration and crossed my arms stubbornly over my chest. With a baby pout, I said. "Whatever. Look just tell me what the project is."
He rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat to face me better. I flicked off invisible lent from my Ralph Lauren polo and looked at him expectantly. My family was pretty well off. You'd never hear me bitch or moan about how bad my life was. The worst it got was Deangelo and Janet DiMaggio. Though, they are pretty bad.
"We're rewriting immigration policies and going to debate them. If you paid attention in class you might have caught that."
"Oh don't be so high and mighty. You've spaced, don't pretend you haven't."
Deangelo shook his head and looked to the clock. We had spent so much time bitching at each other we hadn't had a chance to really work on anything. He hauled his book over onto my desk, shoving mine closer to me. I pushed mine forward childishly to claim more space. He pushed his back and I retaliated with pushing mine again. I would like to say I'd win a fight of brutes with him, but that'd be a lie. Even though I'm not willowy thin, I'm definitely not muscular. I have vanity muscles. I like to look good, but all this was just for show.
"Look, we're wasting time." Deangelo finally said, giving a final firm shove of his book. I deflate and pull mine closer to my body.
With a sigh of defeat, I look down at the page open and say, "Whatever. How long do we have?"
"Well shit, that isn't long." I said dumbfounded.
Deangelo shakes his head and rolls his dark eyes. One minute they could be soft and sweet, but when he wasn't teasing they were as cold as ice and as hard as stone. Either way they made my knees turn into jell-o.
"So what do we do?"
"We can get together after school." Deangelo grumbled, not seeming pleased at the prospect of meeting up after class. He didn't want to be seen with me? Well, screw him. A lot of people would kill to have the ability to stand next to me!
"Don't look too excited."
"Sorrym if I don't want to deal with your bitchiness any longer then I have to." He said with a nonchalant shrug. I gave him a scandalized look and gripped my pencil tighter. The urge to stab him in the eye was beginning to become too great to ignore.
"Well, good for you, I can't do it today. I have plans."
"Whatever. I'll meet you after school tomorrow." I said.
The bell rang shrilly shortly after. I grabbed my things and stuffed them in my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. I had two more periods and then I was home free. Candy quickly caught up with me and snatched my elbow, directing me to the side near a bunch of lockers and out of the muddle of traffic.
"You're with Deangelo?"
"Yep. Yippee." I say sarcastically.
She cracks a bright smile and shakes her hair. She let it grow out over the summer and had it cut in a feathery layer style, doing the layering thing with colors so the bottom was this bright red shade. She called it her punk rock phase. I told her she was about as punk as Barbie. But whatever, it looked good, so it didn't matter.
"Think you'll kill him?" She asked, trying to hide the grin that was growing.
"It's always a possibility. I think I'd fail then, so I'll probably let him live." I say, directing her into the rush of students. We flowed down stream to the stairwell I had run through. So we meet again, Stairs.
"I'm meeting him tomorrow after school. I'd do it today but I got practice so I can't."
"Ethan giving you a ride home?" She asked. Usually we rode together, since she had gotten a sweet convertible for her sixteenth birthday. But since I had practice, I'd hitch a ride instead with my brother. Ethan always had practice after school, at least during football season. After football it was just the gym or some school function. He was Mr. All American. Not that I held that against him. In fact I was in debt to him. Being gay had set me up for four years of severe poundings. Being the brother of the star quarterback though had instead opened the doors to popularity. Well that, and my charming personality.
Though people still found it hard to believe that we were related. I could understand why though. My brother, like the rest of my family, was faire skinned and pale haired; a little blond, blue-eyed family. The men were muscular and the women were dainty. I on the other hand was the black sheep. Dark olive skin, slim muscled, and dark haired. I had dark brown hair and golden hazel eyes. My features were fairer; weak chinned, slim shouldered and narrow waist. I stood at the grand old height of five-nine.
"Yeah. His practice should end when mine does."
"Well, have a good practice." Candy called before parting ways and heading to her next class.
Classes went as they usually did. Math was boring and I was half tempted to stab my own eye out. I finished the day with study hall and got most of my homework done, only a little left for me to do at home. Even though I bitched and moan most of the time, I was a diligent student. I never had late homework and I rarely did it right before class.
I closed my locker after grabbing the few books I needed for home. I'd brush up on the Immigration policies at home so I wouldn't look like a complete moron in front of Deangelo tomorrow. Not that I cared what he thought. Once I had everything, I headed to the theater department, which was a set of two halls that wrapped around the auditorium, which was connected to the cafeteria. I pushed through the left set of double doors that lead to the large auditorium.
Today was Monday, that meant on top of the school project I had a week till the opening of the school's version of The Music Man. I played Harold Hill, the thrifty con artist. Oh, I'm so thrifty.
"You're late, Oliver!" Janet screeched, standing on stage with her fists on her hips.
I glared at her and yelled back, "By like what? Two minutes!"
"So! We can't start if you aren't here and some of us have plans!" Janet snapped. Oh I hated her.
I threw my bag into a chair and climbed on stage, staring her down with my own fists propped on my hips. "Denial doesn't suit you, Janet."
"Alright, that's enough you two. I want to see love!" Mrs. Clearwater said, clapping her hands together. Love? Between Janet and me? Maybe when I shit pigs and they fly.
"Right. Whatever." I grumbled and turned to look at Mrs. Clearwater. She was the head of the theater department and a complete loon. Though that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
She collapsed into a chair next to my bag and waved her hand. "Alright, start from where we left off."
We were at the scene where we get ready to break into chorus with the reprise of Till There was You. Janet played my darling Marian. I was pretty sure Mrs. Clearwater was trying to play some sick joke. Sucking in a breath and shook off my anger and aggravation and tried to fall into character.
"Try to get it right this time, Oliver," Janet said snidely.
I narrowed my eyes at her, jaw clenching and unclenching. I let out a slow breath and said in an acidic tone. "Well, sorry. We all aren't good at pretending to be loved. Unlike you, my parents love me, so I don't get that chance to practice."
"Bastard!" Janet screeched. Her black hair flopped around her face as she launched forward. I didn't even have time to dodge as she tackled me. I shoved her off quickly and scurried across the stage, yelling, "Psycho bitch!"
"ENOUGH!" Mrs. Clearwater yelled, glowering at us both. If she was ever going to spit nails, it was now.
I shut my trap, but didn't stop glaring. Janet's small green eyes narrowed into beady slits. I pushed myself up and turned to look at Mrs. Clearwater. She was drawing in calming breaths, mumbling something inaudible. After a few minutes of muttering, she opened her eyes and set her hands on her small hips. With a flat look, she said, "If you two don't learn to get along, I'm canceling this play. We can't have you two fighting in the middle of the stage on show night! Now either get your act in gear and act like grown adults or get off the stage!"
I glared at Mrs. Clearwater, a pout forming even though I knew she was right. Damn people today. They all wanted to be mean.
"Fine. Sorry." I finally say begrudgingly. Janet mumbles her own apology but it's as sincere as a fox apologizing to a rabbit before eating it. The bitch.
"Good," Mrs. Clearwater breathes slowly. "Then start from the beginning."
Things go off with out a hitch the rest of the way. I warble off my lines, break into song, and pretend to love Janet. I should get an Oscar for my performance.
By the time the practice is over the sky has already begun to grow dim. It was towards the end of football seasons, which meant the start of longer nights and shorter days. The leaves had already begun to turn into a plethora of golden shades mixed with rich vermilion and blazing orange. October was my favorite month because of the changing leaves. The wind had picked up causing the night sky to howl and I was thankful I actually brought my scarf today.
I wrapped it around my neck and waited by Ethan's truck. He came out of the athletic building with his gym bag thrown over his shoulder. His hair caught the setting sun at the right angle and seemed to glow. His strong features were softened by baby fat and his eyes were the deepest blue I'd ever scene. If he weren't my brother, I'd fuck him. But since incest is gross, I'll just ogle and hope to find a man just as good looking.
We were the same age, but we weren't twins. If I hadn't mentioned it before, I'll say it now. I was adopted. Don't know squat about my real parents and don't particularly care. I have a nice set up and I'm not about to muck it up looking for people that got rid of me.
"Ready to go?" Ethan asked, throwing his bag into the bed of his truck. I nod and walk around to the passenger side, climbing in.
"So how was your day?" Ethan asked as he rolled the engine and backed out.
"Fine. Janet jumped me. I got stuck being partners with Deangelo Rossi." I grumble.
"Oh? Don't you have a crush on Deangelo?" Ethan asked, laughter behind his voice.
I shoot him a horrified look and yelled, "No!"
Why can't people understand? I hate Deangelo Rossi!
To Be Continued...
Well I hope you liked the first chapter! :D It's my birthday by the way, so why don't you give me a great present and REVIEW!! Thank you guys! Love you all!