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It seemed like an adventurous thing for him to want to do - hide out under the bleachers, away from the sun, like it's some sort of giant fucking pillow fort. He wants to peer out at the girls like you're in some secret hiding place and they didn't just watch you both run back here. Sometimes it's like he's six years old forever, innocent and adorable, and you want to keep him like that. You want to put him up on display, picture-perfect with skinned knees, dark skin and dirt on his cheeks.

He's reluctant at first, shy and bashful and scolding, "Strider!" as you lay him out in the dirt. You bury your face in his neck and take in his smell, musty with a little fragrant spice that pools warm in the bottom of your stomach. Lalonde laughs and Jake lets out a nervous whimper as you undo his pants and yank them down his hips. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. Everything he does is a fucking novelty, little diamonds that you'll roll around in your head forever.

He chokes on the sound he makes when you take him into your mouth, even though the girls are hobbling to the other side of the track by now. His back arches up to meet you and you have to watch him, you have to drink in every little thing as you suck on him as hard as you can. You grab at his ass before pressing the fleshy part of your palm against his hip bones. You rub your thumb across his tan line.

You lick at the tip of his cock, taking in his hisses and grunts like they're water in the desert when his hands find yours. He weaves your fingers into his like a grade-schooler's love confession. His hands are calloused and rough, but he's trembling and he breaks your fucking heart. You squeeze his hands in yours and he finally looks down at you, all blushing and hair messy and he's the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your life.

You drop your head and take all of him, down to your throat, keeping your gaze on his pretty green eyes. He gasps and you squeeze each other's hands. He squirms and thrusts up into you as you come down onto him. His fingertips press between your knuckles. After a few more bobs of your head he comes, with the most delicious strangled moan that amateur porn makers wish they could grab as a stock track, but you get to keep just for you.

His head drops to the side in the dirt and you watch him, panting down into relaxation. He shivers a little as you lick him off, taking every bit of jizz for yourself, salty and strange but all 100% authentic Jake English. When you're done you slip your hands out of his to pull his boxers and shorts back up, albeit half-heartedly. He does up his fly while he catches his breath.

You stretch out next to him, head on your hand while your other tucks down his shirt for him. "You are amazing," he says. Eventually.

Your jaw hurts and your cheeks hurt and your pants are too tight. You run your hand across the corner of your mouth, wet with spit or spunk or something. Jake's strewn out, his face pillowed on his own hair in the dirt, flushed and breathing becoming normal, buck-toothed and beautiful.

"I know," you reply.