High School Never Ends

“Good morning, Mr Armstrong,” His secretary, Mike, greeted him the same way as he did every morning; Billie always returned the gesture before disappearing into his office to do ‘important business’ such as watch porn or jerk off thinking about Mike.
Mike, however, spent the day pining over Billie and pretending to type or write whilst doodling little hearts with huge ‘B’s in them and sighing wistfully as he thought about Billie’s hair or eyes or hands.
They were both sort of creepy about each other in their own personal way but really it had gone on long enough and Billie had decided that he could at least try to get into Mike’s pants, even if he failed.

“Mike, could you come in here please.” Mike entered his office obediently, drinking in the sight of Billie in his black suit, tie hanging loosely near his belly button
.
“Yes, sir?” Billie got this twisted satisfaction from being called ‘sir’, yeah, he’d really like to be called sir when he was fucking someone.
He slid a stack of folders towards Mike, refusing to break eye contact with him.
“Think you could file these for me?” he hummed, voice like honey and Mikey just nodded, reaching for the pile. Billie flicked his hand forward so that the pile toppled onto the floor before Mike’s hand could reach it.

“Oh, god! I’m sorry, Mike. Think you could um...” He gestured loosely to the scattered papers on the floor and Mike nodded, bending down to gather them into a pile. Billie’s eyes widened at the sight before him and he really couldn’t stop himself from standing up, walking around the desk slowly and standing right behind Mike, bodies mere centimetres apart. Mike was unaware of his presence, still gathering papers, when Billie pressed his cock up against his well rounded ass. He gasped a little and, not wanting Billie to stop, continued gathering the folders. Billie splayed his fingers on Mike’s hips and started grinding up and down on Mike’s ass, whining a little at the feeling. Of course, Mike had to stand up when he’d sorted everything, moving slowly to prolong the moment.

Eventually though, he was standing, back flush against Billie’s chest, hands still resting on his hips.

“B-” Mike was unable to complete his sentence as Billie forced him to half turn, still attached and bent him over the desk. He took Mike’s hands, resting them palm down on the desk, still pressed together. Billie snapped his clothed hips forward against Mike who let out this long, guttural groan that Billie was slightly worried would be heard through the open door.

“Shh,” He hissed, dragging his tongue along the length of Mike’s neck. “Someone’ll hear,” Mike nodded, closing his eyes when Billie’s hand snaked around his waist, palm flat, and pushed under the waistband of his work pants, stroking the soft skin over his hipbone. He kissed Mike’s neck before disappearing momentarily to slam the door, locking it as a precaution. Mike whined at the missing heat but remained in place, waiting for Billie and sighing when their bodies were pressed together again, Billie’s hand snaking round and palming at his dick, much to Mike’s pleasure.

“This is cool, right? You’re not gonna get me arrested or anything?” Billie asked, hand frozen in place. Mike laughed breathily and shook his head.

“No, I’m okay.” Billie nodded and nibbled at the back of his neck, beginning to work at the buttons on his pants, Mike groaned, pressing back against Billie who grinned and pushed his hand down into Mike’s underwear.

Then the door knocked.

“Fuck,” Mike cursed, forcing his way out of Billie’s iron grip and beginning to button up his pants, much to Billie’s distaste.

“What?” Billie Joe snapped towards the door, reaching out to stroke Mike’s neck.

“Mr Armstrong, it’s Edna, some kids are scuffling outside, we need assistance,” Billie groaned.

“I’ll be right there.” He sighed, straightening his tie and licking his fingertips to fix his hair before whispering to Mike, “Meet me at lunch?” waiting for Mike’s answering nod and smiling before unlocking the door and following the stout woman.

The ‘scuffle’ was really just a bunch of thirteen year old kids trying to express how hard they were by shoving each other’s shoulders and grabbing at their shirt collars. Billie Joe couldn’t help but observe how pathetic it was in comparison to his childhood days when it wasn’t uncommon to return home with a black eye or burst lips.
Kids these days.

After he’d half-heartedly scolded the boys in question for their pathetic little encounter, awarding one weeks detention to each, Billie Joe made his way to the cafeteria. He spotted Mike straight away, sitting alone with his lunch and raised his eyebrows, lifting a hand, palm forward in greeting before skipping the queue of hungry kids to receive his food from the lunch ‘ladies’ who were both men.

Patrick and Pete couldn’t cook. Fact. Kids were always complaining about the barely edible gloop they sold but, honestly, they didn’t care. School meals always sucked, it was a part of growing up really. It wasn’t their right to deprive innocent kids from the memory of getting food poisoning from school food, that wouldn’t be right.

“We need more fries,” Pete sighed, scratching at his head under his hairnet before reaching out and caressing the back of Patrick’s neck absently. Patrick reached up, grazing Pete’s hand with his fingers and disappeared to find the large pan of fries; some undercooked, some burnt to a crisp.

He returned moments later, waddling under the weight of the thing and slotted it under the sneeze guard, using a scoop to turn them and mix them slightly. Pete came to join him, rubbing their hips together a little and flashing those amazing teeth at Patrick.

“Hey, wanna come back to my place when we get off?” Pete enquired, causing Patrick to blush, dropping his head.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” Pete reached between their bodies to skim his palm down the side of Patrick’s outer thigh.

They spent the next half hour serving annoying kids who complained about the food and muttered inoffensive phrases under their breaths.

”Fags,” one kid hissed when Patrick pushed the hair away from Pete’s eyes.

“You got a problem, kid?” Pete had growled, leaning over the counter a little and the boy, intimidated by Pete’s expression, shook his head and scurried away with his food.

When everyone was done and the bell had gone, Pete pulled Patrick back from the counter and into the kitchen, pushing him against a freezer so they could make out fervently. Patrick had to stop Pete when he tried to snake his hand between his rounded thighs.

“We still got a shit load to do, don’t get me turned on,” Patrick had panted, allowing Pete’s forehead to rest against in the crook of his neck before he sighed resignedly, untangling their limbs and tugging the hairnet off of his head.

“Hurry,” Patrick ran a palm over his face, trying to calm himself down and set about mopping the floor.

They didn’t make it to Pete’s apartment, losing whatever restraint they might have possessed in the backseat of Pete’s car in the parking lot. There really wasn’t enough space to successfully have good sex so settled for grinding like teenagers; Pete’s hands braced either side of Patrick’s head as he ground his hips down into Patricks whose legs were wrapped around Pete’s waist.

Neither lasted particularly long considering it had been a long day, consisting mainly of subtle touches and strokes and hidden kisses.

“We really suck at this,” Patrick panted, Pete’s cheek resting on his chest, still damp with sweat.

“I know,” Pete replied and pressed his warm mouth over Patrick’s, managing to disentangle themselves a while later to return home to shower and change their wet pants.