Will heard the faint, metallic click of the tumblers in the bathroom door's lock falling into place, but he kept his head down and concentrated on scrubbing off the little doodles that Terri had scribbled on the back of his hand during fifth period. Soft footsteps reverberated off the walls and sent an anticipatory shiver down Will's spine. His skin prickled, felt too tight for his body. When he looked up, Bryan Ryan was behind him, looking over his shoulder, glaring at him in the mirror. Will looked blankly back at him, but Ryan just glared harder until Will crossed his arms across his chest, said, "I'm not apologizing. Everything I said was true. You were flat during the second verse," and moved over to the paper towel dispenser. Ryan followed, crowding up behind him, and when Will turned to face him they were chest to chest.
"I was not flat," Ryan spat as if the word was dirty. "I have perfect pitch. Maybe you're too incompetent to even fucking hear right, Schuester, but I was not flat."
Will smirked. "Except for the five measures when you were, Ryan."
Ryan stepped even closer, pinning Will to the wall with his body. "Yeah, well your mama's so flat they call her Salar de Uyuni."
Will blinked and cocked his head at Ryan. "What?"
"Salar de Uyuni," Ryan said with an exaggerated eye roll. "It's a salt flat in Bolivia?" At Will's blank look, he heaved a large sigh and rolled his eyes again. "It's, like, the flattest place on earth. Jesus Christ, Schuester, don't you ever pull your head out of your own ass long enough to read a damn book?"
Will was going to say something to that-really, he was, and it would have been amazingly witty and biting-but Ryan's palms were skating up his thighs to cup his ass and yank him forward and suddenly Will was more concerned with how hard and heavy Ryan felt against him.
Ryan was saying something about how he was always perfectly on pitch-he totally wasn't-but Will wasn't listening because he was also grinding his hips in perfect little circles against Will's. Will clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing onto Ryan's shoulders and licked his lips, which made Ryan jerk against him. When Ryan moved his leg between Will's and made short work of their pants, roughly shoving them down just enough to feel the blissful slide of skin on skin, Will stopped even pretending to listen to Ryan's bitching, instead using what was left of his higher brain functions to clamp down on the moans and whimpers he could feel rising in his throat.
Ryan looked smug-well, smugger than usual-when he took a step back and Will nearly toppled over, but then he was back, roughly flipping Will so that his damp cheek was flush against the wall and his body said, Why hello again.
Will heard the pop of a plastic lid opening and paused, his breath still coming in uneven pants. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the bottle of lube in Ryan's hand. Will's eyebrows shot up. "You have lube. In school. Not lotion or something easy to explain away, but actual lube. Seriously?"
Ryan grinned that damned cocky grin of his and wiggled the bottle in Will's face. "Yeah, but this warms and tingles." Will snorted a laugh and grinned back, forgetting for a second that this was Ryan and they couldn't stand each other. Then Ryan's eyes went dark and a long, slick finger slid into his ass and Will's dick jumped and he forgot to even think. Will shuddered as Ryan stroked inside of him, stretching and working him open, added one, then two more of his cool, slim fingers without asking or warning, brushed over that spot that made Will's breath go ragged and stars explode and an angelic voice start singing.
Wait, no. That was just Susan practicing her solo out in the hallway. She was really getting good.
He reached up and back, grabbing a fistful of Ryan's hair. He was rough, mean, not at all the way he was when he was with Terri. With Terri, everything was sweet and slow and gentle and reverent. With Terri, everything was pure and good. There was nothing pure or good about this. There was nothing right about this. It was sick and twisted and hateful and so sinfully, deliciously wrong that Will thought he'd probably have to spend the rest of his life trying to play the part of the perfect Nice Guy just to atone for the handful of times he'd spent trembling in the school bathroom after glee club with Bryan Ryan's dick up his ass.
Then, with only the crinkle of foil ripping and the feel of Ryan shifting behind him as a warning, Ryan's fingers slipped out of him to curve around his hips and pull him back as Ryan pushed in. Will tensed, the change too sudden, and tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were too dry. He slammed his fist against Ryan's thigh, taking perverse pleasure in hoping that it'd leave a bruise, and tried to curse, but could only manage a strangled sounding wheeze.
Ryan slapped his hip and grumbled, "Breathe, you fucking idiot" into the curve of Will's neck. Will forced himself to take one strangled breath after another, and when his breathing was rough and fast, but constant, Ryan sped up, slamming into him with a force that made Will's knees weak and his head slam back against Ryan's shoulder with the need to hurt, pound, fight back. His fingers scrambled against the sweat slicked wall, but he couldn't find any purchase, so eventually he stopped trying and just braced his arm against it instead and focused on pushing back in time with Ryan's thrusts.
He was talking, a broken mumble that he couldn't seem to control. He had the absurd thought that they managed to keep a better tempo in here than they ever did in glee club, and the words were slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them. Ryan just grunted-it might have been a laugh, but it was hard to tell-said, "Shut up, Schuester," and pressed even closer against his back.
Ryan bit his shoulder, his mouth harsh and hot through the layers of flannel and cotton, and Will tugged hard on his hair, clenched around him, gave into the feelings raging through him.
He couldn't put into words what Ryan did to him, would never be able to fully express it through words or music or dance. There was anger, of course, shame, disgust. But there was more to it than just that. It was the feeling like he was on stage in front of a huge crowd, lights blinding him and turning his skin rosy from the heat, his stomach queasy from nerves and excitement, but so filled with energy and urgency and life that he thought he'd rather die than never experience this again. Only it was better. He didn't know how, but Ryan managed to be all those things and more.
Will's fingers were hopelessly tangled in Ryan's hair, and he pulled sharply, yanking the taller boy's face down next to his. He turned his head slightly, his lips barely brushing Ryan's, murmured, "You were flat," and nearly whimpered when Ryan surged hard against, inside, around him. Will leaned forward against the concrete wall in front of him, cold against his chest where Ryan was pure heat against his back.
Out in the hallway, he could hear Terri, loud and sharp and annoyed at being kept waiting when he'd told her he'd only be a few minutes. Ryan, either not noticing or not caring-did he even know about Will and Terri?-was growling in his ear, a low hum that did as much to push Will over the edge as the almost familiar hand stroking his cock and the fast, overwhelming thrusts. Will groaned as he came, louder than he'd meant, but quieter than he'd wanted, and didn't even notice the splattering of white that showed starkly against the black denim of his jeans, because Ryan was shaking behind him, his fingers biting bruises into Will's narrow hips. And then they were sliding down, a messy tangle of sweaty, awkward limbs on the dirty bathroom floor.
Ryan made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and rolled away and onto his feet. He didn't offer Will a hand up, didn't even look at him as they cleaned themselves off-Will eventually noticed the stains. Terri was going to have to wait even longer, because there was no way he was leaving the bathroom when washing them off had made it look like he'd peed himself-and draped their clothing back into more fashionably sloppy messes. Ryan finger combed his hair back into place, checked himself out one more time in the mirror, and moved to leave, pausing by Will, who was slumped against a sink and fanning halfheartedly at the large damp spot near his crotch. He leaned forward, bracing his hand against the porcelain lip of the sink and hissed in Will's ear.
"You know what you are, Schuester? You're me, without the talent. You have the ambition and the desire, but you don't have any of the skills to back it up. And that makes you worse than worthless."
Will pulled back enough to look Ryan in the eye and grin cheerfully. "Whatever, man, you were still flat."