Bender's mouth is warm and wet around his cock and Brian thinks that this, right here, right now, is probably the dumbest thing he's ever done. Any moment now, Mr Vernon (or even worse: his dad) is going to walk in, and there's just no way they can look at Brian's face and not know.
It's a bit sick, really. He's a bit sick, that he's letting Bender do this.
On the other hand, well, what was he supposed to say? No? Brian isn't an idiot; he's aware of what happens when guys like him say 'no' to guys like Bender - and it's not as if he doesn't want to, anyway. Just ... maybe not in the middle of detention.
"We get caught, it's both our asses on the line," Bender told him, before he ducked under the desk. "So just keep it nice and quiet, the way you always do when nobody's asking for your opinion. Should be easy."
Brian's still not entirely sure how much of that last bit was sarcasm.
He is pretty sure that 'keeping it nice and quiet' while someone's sucking on your dick? Not easy. He started with biting on his pen, but then Bender did some sort of thing with his tongue (so Brian doesn't know the technical term, so sue him) and Brian almost bit the thing in two.
Now, he's got half a hand stuffed in his mouth and is praying it'll be enough, that there's some sort of self-preservative instinct that's going to kick in and keep him from actually breaking skin. It's worked so far, but Brian's already trying to think up excuses for coming home with human bite marks in his hand.
Of course, thinking's getting a bit tricky, too, at the moment.
And it's unfair, really, Brian thinks. Anyplace else (well, many places else), he could just lean back and enjoy. And wonder why Bender's offering to perform fellatio on him, maybe, but, well, now that he's not going to be an A student anyway, Brian's life has become a lot more carpe diem.
He's still in the Latin club, obviously. And the Maths club, and the Physics club, and the 'gosh, isn't John Bender kind of hot, actually, even if he's also psychotic / a criminal / a druggie / bad news / the guy who beat someone up the other day' club. (Brian's a covert member, obviously. All the members are.)
Bender pokes him in the thigh sharply, and Brian guiltily realizes his hand's been slipping a bit.
The door's open, as always. Bender apparently doesn't like performing the same trick twice, or maybe he just figures that closing the door will make it that much more likely anyone's going to come in. Brian squirms a little, trying to catch any sounds that might indicate someone is coming. Bender pokes him again.
Brian considers saying sorry once more, but thinks better of it. He's not sure how long this is supposed to last - it's not as if this is the sort of thing he can simply look up somewhere, or ask his parents.
It feels good, though. It feels really good.
Saying that out loud doesn't seem like such a great idea, either. He should probably say something when Bender decides he's done, but at the moment, Brian's clueless what that something should be.
He's picked up some basic stuff about girls - who hasn't?, mostly to do with, well, offering to carry stuff and holding doors and paying for dinner and the movie, and her milkshake.
It's not as if Bender's taking him out on a date or something, though. They're not sitting together at the cafeteria. They're not going to hold hands in the dark during a movie.
"I - " Poke. "I think I'm going to - " He is; he can tell.
And that feels good, too, better than when he's just by himself, in his bedroom, praying Mom and Dad aren't going to come in for another lecture on how disappointed they are in him.
Bender's hair looks messy when he crawls out from under the desk. Brian reaches for it almost by instinct - Bender slaps his hand away, looking annoyed.
"Um," Brian says. He thinks he's probably blushing.
"That's the problem with youth today, you know," Bender says, puncturing the air with one finger in a near-perfect imitation of Mrs Hollowgreen. "No stamina. Dweeb."
Brian's not sure if it's an insult or more, like, a special term of endearment. "Would you uh like to come over some time?" He knows it's a mistake the moment he's said it.
"Would I uh like to come over some time?" Bender cocks his head. "How about: no."
"I was just asking."
"And I was just replying. What's the matter, don't you think I was being polite enough? Didn't you like my tone?" Bender swaggers to an empty desk and sits down.
"No, it's fine," Brian says. "I mean, yes, it's fine. I mean - "
Bender takes his switchblade out of the pocket of his jacket. "Shut up."
"That's - you're not scaring me, you know."
Brian swallows. His mouth is dry and his palms are sweaty and his fly is still undone. "Really."
Bender gets up. Brian resists the sudden urge to apologize, to babble about how, really, he's too young to die. "Good for you, dork."
Yeah. Good for me. Brian starts breathing again. "We uh - my dad's taking me fishing next weekend." Bender sits down again, boots on the desk this time. "Want to come with?"
"Golly gee whiz, Brian. My social calendar's really crammed this month."
"Oh. That's okay. I mean, that kind of sucks. That you can't come, I mean. I'd have liked you to."
Bender puts away his switchblade and takes out a match. "I'll come. I mean, what would you do if some big, scary fish attacked you just when Daddy wasn't looking and I wasn't there?"
"Well, we're not going anywhere where there's sharks or something," Brian says. "It's pretty safe." He's fallen overboard, once. Years ago, but Dad still likes to tell it to people who haven't heard it - or people who have.
"Well, that's reassuring."