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It was another hard practice session— Bif's muscles were already starting to feel sore as he stepped into the showers. He instantly leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the tile wall with a groan, savoring the relief he got from the heat of the water.
His mind was jumbled and tired, his body feeling the same; he just wanted to get back to the dorm, eat, then call it an early night, but the hot, steamy shower was like being engulfed in heavenly clouds.
He'd been staying at the club later than usual and really pushing himself the past couple weeks due to the upcoming tournament, so his life as of recently just consisted of class, practice, and sleep, and he was extra stressed out because graduation was just a month away and his grades were still unsatisfactory— Not that it really mattered, he already had a guaranteed spot in the brand new college that Derby’s dad funded, but his parents still expected him to at least not have any Ds on his final transcript.
Though never outwardly stated, Bif knew his dad was disappointed in him— Mr. Taylor was a straight-A student throughout his entire schooling, and had expected his son to take after him and get good grades, to easily get accepted into law school and become a remarkable lawyer, but it became abundantly clear that wasn’t going to be in the cards for Bif as early as elementary school.
It took him longer to grasp concepts, and he would get so frustrated and have meltdowns when he couldn’t do things as expected— while other kids were reading and writing at the level they were supposed to, even higher, Bif was behind; he was one of those kids that made class popcorn reading take twice as long because he’d stutter and struggle with nearly every other word.
He wasn’t good at math, didn’t like science— as he got older he naturally got a little better, but alas, was still behind and struggled; no matter how hard he tried, no matter how good his tutors were, he just… wasn’t academically inclined. It was what it was.
Him bulking up in middle school was his saving grace— it gave him the opportunity to potentially have a career in sports in the future, and thank the fucking Lord he ended up being a natural at boxing; his father still would have preferred him to be a lawyer or some other high-class profession, but he supposed if Bif could be a professional boxer, one that made a name for himself and made money, then he wouldn’t be a complete failure.
Bif sighed shakily at the thought of it all, weakly pounding his fist against the tile as the spraying water above turned icy. Fuck.
He took his time in getting dressed, slipping on a simple t-shirt and athletic shorts; preps would rather die than be caught wearing such casual attire, but Bif didn’t care, he was going straight to bed once he got back to the Harrington House.
He was the last of the guys to leave; he pushed the heavy doors of the club open, and he was instantly greeted by the sudden brightness of the evening spring sun, instinctively lifting a hand to shield his eyes. The warmth of the golden rays felt nice against his skin, and he let himself enjoy the sensation for a moment, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against his shoulders.
Normally, he would have been at the beach or roaming around town with the guys, as they all probably went off to do an hour ago when they all left together. They were all going to participate in the tournament, too, but no one took boxing as seriously as Bif did— he was the undefeated champion, after all, so the rest of the team wasn't worried about the club losing because they knew he would carry them to victory.
As much as he loved boxing, as much as the adrenaline rush from even just practicing got him high, he was definitely starting to feel exhausted; his body needed a break, not just a good night's sleep, but he needed to take a day or two off from training, but knowing Bif, that was out of the question.
The redhead inhaled the fresh air deeply, letting his chest expand fully before exhaling slowly, and before he could open his eyes, he could hear a sultry female voice coming his way.
"Well, hey there, handsome."
Bif opened his eyes to see none other than Lola walking over to him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly as she approached. His thick brows instantly furrowed, his lip kinking up in a slight sneer at the sight of her— He didn't acknowledge her, just turned around and proceeded to lock the club's doors.
What the hell was she doing in the Vale? This was definitely not her territory, but Bif figured she was probably meeting up with one of his preppy peers— Ugh, could they at least just go to the slums instead of bringing trash to their respected establishment? There was going to have to be a clique meeting so he could remind them of the rules and expectations.
Despite Bif ignoring her, Lola confidently continued to strut over to him— She reached out to flirtatiously touch his forearm, pulling him away from the door and turning him around so he was facing her, "Aw, come on, don't be like that, Bif," she cooed as she reached up to run a delicate hand down his neck.
Bif just blinked down at her, his eyes raking her up and down in a judging, unimpressed manner— He was one of the only preps who hadn't messed around with her; he wasn't like the others, he didn't get any sick kicks out of playing in the garbage.
Yeah, she would be an easy way to get off, but he already had someone to help him with his... biological needs. She was essentially useless to him.
"What do you want?" he gruffly asked, though he didn't pull away, just glared at her as she pawed at him.
"I was just walking by and couldn't help but notice you," she smiled, pressing herself closer to him, "I mean, who wouldn't be entranced by these muscles?" she gripped his biceps tightly, biting her bottom lip as she gazed up at him through mascara-caked eyelashes.
Despite him having no interest in her, Bif couldn't help but smirk; he was a self-obsessed bastard, after all, and compliments, no matter who they came from, always stroked his ego. He didn't make any attempts at prying her away, rather his arms flexed instinctively beneath her grasp.
"Yeah, well, if you wanna see more of them, just come watch the big match coming up," he suggested.
Lola giggled as she traced the definition of his muscle with her long fingernail, "Ohh, I'll definitely be front row."
"Great, I'll be looking for you in the crowd, then," Bif sarcastically responded as he shrugged her off and began to walk away, but he was only able to take a few steps before she was grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him to the nearby alleyway— He resisted slightly, but ultimately let her tug him along.
"Come on, stop playing so hard to get!" she whined as she pushed him against the brick wall— They weren't hidden, anyone walking by could easily see them; Lola clearly didn't care, but Bif surely did.
"Seriously, Lola? Get off," Bif scoffed, attempting to push her away, but she clung to him like a parasite. He could easily overpower her, but despite her being a dirty greaser slut, she was still a lady, and though Bif was a brute, he had manners.
"I know you want me," her hands splayed across his chest before trailing down to the waistband of his athletic shorts, "I don't know what's taken you so long to make a move," she hummed as she placed her hand over his crotch, boldly squeezing.
"Woah, okay!" Bif's hand instantly shot down to grab her wrist, pulling her unexpected touch away with an awkward, bewildered laugh, "Chill out, girl."
"Oh, don't pretend like you don't fantasize about me," the greaser teased as she tried to grope him with her other hand, but Bif was quick to grab that wrist, too— He held her arms up, and from the view of anyone who happened to glance by, they looked like two young lovers sharing a playful moment together.
"I don't," Bif laughed as he let go of her wrists in a slight shove; his reaction wasn't aggressive per se, more amused than anything, as if he were just trying to push away an overly friendly dog.
Lola snickered, not ready to let up— She forced him against the wall again, pressing herself closely against him, placing her palms against his chest and leaning up into his face, the smell of cheap perfume and a mix of mint and stale cigarettes hitting his nose, "I find that hard to believe, Biffy.”
Bif's amused grin instantly fell at the nickname— There was only one person who ever called him that, and the way Lola said it made his skin fucking crawl.
"Alright, enough," he suddenly grabbed her shoulders and forcefully pushed her away, so much so that she stumbled back and lost her footing, falling right upon her ass on the pavement with an exaggerated gasp.
"Ugh!" she dramatically huffed out as she looked up at him with an offended expression— She had expected him to instantly apologize and help her up, but when he just stood looming over her with his arms crossed over his chest, true anger flashed through her eyes, "Screw you, you asshole! How dare you!"
She scrambled up from the ground, dusting her butt off before striding toward him with a threateningly pointed finger, aggressively jabbing him in the chest, "I'm tellin' Johnny you pushed me!" she hissed before turning and angrily storming away.
"Yeah, don't forget to tell him about the part where you grabbed my fucking dick!" Bif yelled after her, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched her disappear behind the closest building.
He inhaled deeply before exhaling with a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair before walking out of the alley and to the main sidewalk— What in the bull-fucking-hell just happened?
Thankfully the walk back to campus wasn't too long, but now he was going to be in a bad mood the entire way home.
Unbeknownst to either of the two seniors, there was a figure standing on the other side of the street who was watching them the entire time— Tad had left the club right before Bif did, running across the street to the store to buy Lola a few things for their planned meetup; that's why she was in the area, but when she noticed Bif alone, she saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally make a move on him, completely forgetting about the date she had with the smaller prep.
Naturally, Tad was furious about being ditched, especially for Bif— he couldn't bloody stand that meathead— but as he thought about the situation, a grinch-like smirk was soon curling upon his lips; Derby would surely have a field day with knowing that Bif was in the alley with Lola.
Sure, it looked like he rejected her, but he didn’t have to tell Derby that, he surely could alter the tale with a little fib— you know, for some added flavor.
He watched as Lola stormed down the sidewalk before turning his head to watch Bif start heading toward campus in the opposite direction.
Tad knew he wouldn't be able to make it back to the Harrington House before that long-legged cretin, but just as fate would have it, a cab was coming down the street toward his direction— He quickly gestured for the vehicle, sliding inside the backseat and ordering the driver to take him to Bullworth Academy.
He looked out the window as they drove by Bif, and Tad couldn't help but snicker to himself— He'd beat him there by a good ten minutes, and that was plenty of time to talk to Derby before Bif could even step foot onto the property.
This was perfect— Finally he had sufficient enough dirt on Bif that would most likely knock him down a rank in the group— This was just one step closer to becoming leader of the preps, and though Tad told himself it was a dream of his, in reality it was just another one of Daddy’s toxic, pressured expectations.
Regardless, Bif’s demise was going to be positively smashing.
. . .
The Harrington house was as pristine as ever, soft classical music playing in the background as Derby comfortably lounged on the couch, lazily flipping through Aquaberry's latest catalogue. He was accompanied by Gord, who was sitting on the opposite couch to him, mindlessly yapping about his day as he flipped through his own Aquaberry copy.
Derby couldn't tell you what exactly he was saying, he wasn't paying any attention, not even sparing an occasional nod or hum in false interest; it was as if Gord wasn't even there, but Gord didn't seem to notice, or mind, Derby's blatant disinterest, just continued to babble on.
"I mean, she's cute and all, but have you heard that girl talk? Oh-ho-ho, it's like having a conversation with a brainless bee," Gord scoffed as he flipped the page of his catalogue, "I just don't know if the pretty face would be enough to distract me from having to listen to that grating valley-girl voice– It's so hard on the ears, and she just goes on and on, ugh, it's truly unbearable!"
Derby slowly blinked as he turned another page.
"But there is that one fellow on the football team— He tries to act tough, but I can see right through his act," Gord continued on, "You know I’ve seen him around town holding hands with that one blonde boy with the terrible acne, so surely I would be a step up from that mangy thing, but I don't know, I'm still deciding if I even want to bother, but I will say, he does seem fun,” he sighed, “Ever since Hopkins had shagged up with that scary girl, he’s completely forgotten about me— I’m bored, I'm not suited for loneliness, Derby, I’ll simply waste away.”
Derby didn't respond, didn’t even glance at him from the corner of his eye, just continued to read his magazine.
"I'm nearly tempted to just start propositioning the other chaps," Gord laughed, "Do you think Bif would give me a chance? I mean, I know you guys are about to graduate, but two years isn't that big of a difference, is it?"
Derby's head instantly snapped toward the talkative brunet, but before he could even open his mouth, the front doors were swinging open— Tad sauntered in, and upon catching sight of his leader, he eagerly made his way over to him.
With a pep in Tad's step, along with that scheming look upon his face, the one Derby had seen a hundred times before, he knew his fellow prep had some juicy gossip to spill— The blonde smirked, sitting up from his lounging position and tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, "Tad, my good chap," he greeted as he stood up.
"Ohh, Derby, you are going to want to sit down for this one," Tad chuckled excitedly, rubbing his hands together as he stepped around the couch, "You won't believe what I just witnessed!"
Gord lowered his own catalogue as he leaned in, naturally eager to hear what he had to say— He was the king of gossip, after all.
Derby's smirk never faltered as he sat back on the armrest of the couch, "Oh? Is it that riveting?"
Tad glanced over at Gord— this was absolutely wonderful, someone as drama-hungry as him was there to hear; he'd surely spread the info like an unruly wildfire.
He looked back at Derby, letting the anticipation simmer for just a moment longer before finally spilling, "I saw a certain redheaded champion getting handsy with a certain greasy tramp right by the Glass Jaw."
Both Gord and Derby's eyes blew wide— Gord gasped dramatically whereas Derby seemed to freeze, his smirk instantly dropping and his jaw visibly clenching; he didn't say anything, just stared at Tad as if waiting for him to say it was a joke, but when the chap continued to look at him with glee and mischief, Derby knew this was no cruel prank.
"Nooo, not Bif,” Gord sighed, "Lola, that blasted vixen— I just knew after she was done with me that she'd set her sights on another one of us, and it makes sense that she'd go after him, I mean, he is handsome–"
"Shut up, Gord," Derby suddenly hissed through gritted teeth, threateningly whipping his head toward him as he stood up from the armrest— Gord certainly did shut up.
The blonde was quick to look at Tad again, taking a few menacing steps forward, “Tell me everything– What exactly did you see?”
"Why, she was practically wanking him off right in front of the doors! I'll say, I was absolutely dumbfounded at the lack of decency," Tad exaggerated with a dramatic sigh, "Of course, I was going to confront them myself, but I didn't want to overstep boundaries, you know, with him being your second in command and all."
Gord's mouth fell open— Not even he went as far as to be so bold in public, and in front of their sanctuary at that?! Oh, the audacity, oh, the scandal! He was already itching with the need to go find the rest of the boys and spill every detail.
Derby, on the other hand, didn't react— He felt like he was going to legitimately vomit, his stomach violently twisting and body breaking out in a sudden hot, uncomfortable sweat. He swallowed hard before straightening out his posture, forcing himself to remain composed despite the absolute fucking fury bubbling inside him. He brushed off the front of his sweater as he cleared his throat, bringing his wrist up to check his watch.
Bif was a little late coming back from practice than he normally was, though nothing major, but upon hearing Tad's story, it all made sense— No, it couldn't possibly be true, Bif would never betray him, but Tad certainly wouldn't lie to his face... would he? No, he wouldn't dare— Oh, Lord, Derby was starting to lose his mind.
"Thank you for informing me," he said coldly before making his way to the stairs— he wasted no time in ascending them, his quick steps echoing throughout the manor.
And just like that, the icy leader was gone, leaving nothing behind but a loud slam of a bedroom door.
The two preps followed the blonde’s figure up, flinching ever so slightly at the loud slam before sharing a glance.
"Is it really true?" Gord asked Tad as he set his magazine carefully down upon the coffee table.
"She was shamelessly touching him, Gord– Positively pawing at his groin right in the open!" Tad threw his hands up for emphasis, "And our dear Bif didn't seem to mind one bit," he smoothly lied as he sat down upon the couch.
Gord just shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval, "I know how that she-devil is, I understand the temptation, but, really, it isn't that hard to go find a secluded place.”
Tad smugly leaned back against the cushions, bringing his leg over his knee as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Some people just have no class, I suppose– Such a shame that one of our own leaders would be so careless."
"Oh, I can't wait until everyone else gets home, they need to know what happened," Gord was practically vibrating with excitement, pulling out his phone and flipping it open, "I should call Justin right now, I wouldn't be surprised if he's with Chad and Bryce, oh, and I'm sure Parker is with them, too," he rambled as he quickly scanned through his contacts.
Tad grinned widely, absolutely relishing in how his plan was already panning out perfectly— Though Derby didn't blow up, it was obvious he was upset by the news, and just as he expected, Gord was jumping at the opportunity to spread gossip; all Tad had to do was sit back and watch the chaos unfold. He just knew it wouldn't be long before he was climbing his way to the top.
. . .
When Derby was in the privacy of his own room, he finally let himself unravel— The second that door slammed shut, he abruptly leaned down, digging his elbows into his thighs and shoving his face into his hands; he let out a desperate growl of frustration before shooting upright, whipping his head around as if he were searching for something, but he wasn't, he was just utterly fucking lost, losing his mind by the damn second.
How could this be? How could Bif fucking do this to him? He didn't want to believe it, he couldn't believe it— His Biffy would never, but the other preps knew better than to lie to him. Oh, God, oh, fuck— Derby couldn't fucking handle this. He had never felt such a sickening, unbearable feeling before.
He worried he was having a heart attack with how badly his heart physically ached— he couldn't breathe, his skin felt like it was burning, even his vision seeming as if it were blurring; his hands began trembling uncontrollably, his eyes and nose starting to tingle with the threat of tears.
Derby never cried, only ever when he was taking horrific beatings from his father, but this horrendous feeling within his very soul was worse than any lashing that man could give him. This betrayal, the rope of control slipping right out of his hands— He didn’t understand.
He gripped his hair tightly, pulling at the roots as he began pacing like a panicked caged animal— He wanted to go ballistic, to scream and destroy things like a madman— he wanted to kill Bif, wanted to kill Lola, wanted to kill Tad for being the bearer of bad news, fuck, he wanted to kill Johnny for never being able to keep his fucking dog on a leash. He was absolutely spiraling.
He suddenly darted for the leveled cart he used to store his own personal alcohol bottles, snatching the nearest one— It didn't matter what it was, he just desperately needed something to numb his mind before he truly lost all sense of sanity he had left. He had grabbed a bottle of whiskey, hurriedly popping the cap open before bringing it to his lips and taking a long, deep swig.
The liquid burned like hell going down his throat— Derby wasn't normally one to drink hard liquor, especially not downing it like a sloppy fiend, but he wasn't exactly in his right mind; he was desperate to get rid of that dreadful, heavy, suffocating feeling, and if it took poisoning himself, then so be it.
After drinking the equivalent of what was probably about two shots, Derby pulled the bottle away with a grimace, instantly coughing as his throat tightened in protest to the burn. He set the alcohol back down onto the cart before sitting on the edge of his bed, an uncomfortable warmth spreading throughout his stomach as the harsh liquid settled.
He breathed heavily, inhaling sharply through his nose before letting it out through his mouth— He still felt that godawful dread and disgust, though now his rage was shifting to something weak and vulnerable, and before he realized it, thick, salty tears were bubbling in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked, prompting them to fall down his cheeks and drop below, the heavy droplets landing upon his slacks.
Once the initial flow started, it was clear that it wasn't going to stop— The aristocrat's face was twisting into something broken, lips parting ever so slightly as he began to weep out soft, breathy sobs. It didn't take long before he could no longer keep himself upright; he let himself fall back against the mattress, his hands reaching up to press against his face.
Warm tears continued to seep from his eyes, trailing down his temples and filling his ears. His hands muffled his cries, his body shaking with every choked sob that escaped him— He laid there completely ruined, unsure of how he was ever going to recover from this. The Derby Harrington, reduced to nothing but a choking, sniveling mess... How pathetic.
Fucking pathetic.
The blonde was suddenly forcing himself up, violently wiping his palms against his wet cheeks as he stood up completely. He wasn't going to let himself be such a disgusting display of weakness— He was a bloody fucking Harrington, he was supposed to be strong, to be fearsome, to be authoritative.
He made his way over to the closet, yanking the doors open and looking toward the corner— he caught sight of exactly what he was looking for; it was just where he left it, a long, skinny wooden pointer stick that he had stolen from class. If he remembered correctly, he took it from a teacher that refused to take bribes, so, he figured he'd take something of hers as a subtle, simple 'fuck you.'
He reached for the rod, pulling it out of its resting spot— He laid it flat against his palms, analyzing how the wood was still polished, how it remained sturdy and strong; his brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing and jaw clenching as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle.
He was going to deal with Bif the only way a Harrington knew how… through pain and humiliation.
. . .
The two preps continued sitting in the lounge— Tad had grabbed Derby's discarded magazine and began flipping through it himself, while Gord was frantically yapping away on the phone.
"Justin! Where are you? You must come back to the dorm, I've got delicious news!" he squealed, pausing as Justin spoke on the other end of the line, "No, no, I can't tell you now, you must hear it in person– Are the others with you?" another pause, then Gord laughed, "Perfect! Oh, my God, yes, I don't care what you guys are doing, just come home now!"
As he flipped his phone shut, Tad looked over and chuckled, "You're awfully excited about this, chap."
"Can you blame me?" Gord exaggerated, "This is practically a soap opera unfolding before us! Don't you know the significance of this?"
"Well, yes, it's not a good look for Derby's right-hand man to be caught being loosey-goosey with the school's tramp," Tad hummed as he went back to the magazine, flipping a page nonchalantly, "But I am not one bit surprised, Bif has always been–"
"No, you fool—! Well, yes– but it's more than just that! Do you not know?" Gord interrupted as he scooted down the couch to be closer to the other prep— Tad looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, confusion etched across his features.
Gord laughed in disbelief, "What, have you been living under a rock? They're lovers, Tad!"
Tad's eyes blew impossibly wide, instinctively straightening up from his relaxed posture, "Who–?! Bif and Derby?!"
"Yes! How do you not know this?!" Gord exclaimed before glancing toward the stairs to make sure Derby hadn't reappeared, lowering his voice as he continued, "They are absolutely crazy about each other!"
Tad couldn't believe what he was hearing– Sure, he had heard the stupid little rumors, but it never made sense; Derby was with Pinky, and Bif was always sneaking out– Mind you, he didn't know what the brute was getting up to, but he always assumed it was to meet up with some girl, he figured what else could he have possibly been doing?
But with this newfound information, he now wondered if the redhead had been sneaking out with Derby this entire time– He knew that Bif wasn’t the only midnight sneak, he’d seen Derby do it, too, so…
He knew they were close, but he thought they were close like brothers, not that they were...
Oh, my lanta— It all made sense, it all made clear, perfect sense— Derby's obsessive need to control Bif's every move, Bif's strange protectiveness over him, how they were always seemingly glued at the hip, how their gazes would linger just a little too long on each other, how Derby always flaked out on his dates with Pinky, and now it made sense why he was never seen kissing her, not even once!
"How do you know this?" Tad hissed quietly.
"Have you not heard the rumors?" Gord asked.
"Of course, I have, but I didn't–"
"You didn't believe them, and neither did I until I saw those two with my very own eyes," Gord cut him off as he stood up and plopped down next to Tad, "A month ago, Derby's birthday party on the yacht– A stunning yacht, by the way, I was so jealous– I mean, I get that it was his eighteenth birthday, but ugh, I–"
Tad snapped his fingers, "Stick with the program, Gord!"
"Oh, yes, right– Well, anyways, remember how Bif shoved Derby's face into the cake, and afterwards Derby stormed off to the bathroom and Bif followed him?"
Tad chuckled, he didn’t remember everything from that blurred night, but he surely remembered how flustered Derby got, like a spoiled girl having her sweet sixteen ruined, "Yes, I thought he was going to kill him."
"Yes, me, too, that’s exactly why while Bryce and Chad were cleaning the bits of frosting off the counter and floor, I went to go check on them," Gord explained, "And when I got to the door, it wasn't closed all the way, just cracked, and in the mirror I saw them– Ohh, Tad, it was so..." the brunet placed a hand over his cheek, "I'm blushing just thinking about it."
"What? What did you see?" Tad demanded, instinctively gripping Gord's forearm in a tight, anticipating grip.
Gord lowered his hand from his face, "Bif had Derby against the sink and he was... licking the frosting off his face!" he excitedly grabbed Tad's arm, "And then they kissed, and I'm not talking about an innocent peck– It was filthy, Tad, positively filthy! Bif had his tongue so far down Derby's throat that I'm surprised he didn't choke!"
Tad's face grimaced at the thought, his cheeks flushing just the slightest tinge of pink, "You're lying!"
"I am not!" Gord defended, "Don't you remember how red-faced I was when I came back into the kitchen?"
"I just thought they yelled at you," Tad snickered as he let go of his arm, "I truly don't remember all too much from that night, I had one too many glasses of wine, that was for certain."
"Yeah, you ended up retching all over Pinky," Gord laughed, and Tad's brows instantly furrowed– He didn't remember the actual act, but he remembered the scolding he got from Derby once he was sobered up.
"But anyways, I knew it wasn't because they were drunk because Bif barely drinks– Derby may have been tipsy, but not Bif, he knew exactly what he was doing," Gord explained, "And you know Derby, intoxicated or not, if he doesn't like something, he'll certainly let you know."
"Well, maybe what you saw was just two best friends being silly and celebratory," Tad shrugged, but Gord instantly shook his head.
"No, no, you didn't see them, Tad, that’s not how best friends celebrate," Gord laughed, "And honestly, I always had a feeling that Derby was, you know..." he chuckled, pausing to hint at the implication.
"It takes one to know one, I suppose," Tad teased, and Gord grinned wide, playfully smacking his thigh.
The doors were suddenly opening, and both preps instinctively turned their heads toward the creaking— Bif's tall, muscular frame pushed through, his eyes flicking to the lounge out of habit; Derby was usually sitting on the couch, but he didn't see him, just Gord and Tad sitting oddly close to each other.
He didn't greet them, just made his way to the stairs, but Gord just couldn't help himself, "Well, hello there, Bif!" he cooed as he rested his arm against the backing of the couch, "How was practice?"
Bif barely glanced at him, just continued walking up the grand staircase, "Tiring," he simply answered— Normally, he wouldn't have a problem entertaining Gord's pointless chatter, but he was exhausted and irritated, he just wanted to go to his room.
"Mm, I'm sure it was," the brunet purred before looking at Tad.
Bif didn't say anything, just disappeared up into the second floor, his heavy footsteps creaking against the old wooden steps.
Tad watched him with a dark, eerie look in his eyes, the smuggest of smirks curled upon his lips. Oh, that simpleton had no idea what was waiting for him.
. . .
Bif went straight to his room, and upon opening the door he was a bit caught off guard by the sight of Derby standing by the window, arms neatly behind his back, and he appeared to be holding something in his hand— Some kind of stick? Strange, but whatever— Bif smiled, closing the door behind him and tossing his gym bag to the side.
"I was wondering where you were," he chuckled as he crossed the room, planting a sweet kiss against Derby's cheek, pausing to stare at him with a frown once he realized the blonde didn't flinch, didn't even look at him, just kept staring out the window like a brooding Victorian widow.
"As was I," the blonde murmured coldly, fingers tightening around the wooden rod behind his back, "You're late."
Bif blinked, his eyes flicking to the clock on the nightstand before looking back at Derby, "Yeah, by, like, fifteen minutes?"
"Did something happen?" Derby asked as he watched two purple finches below in the garden land upon the edge of the birdbath.
"Uh, no?" Bif answered awkwardly, his gaze trailing out the window to where Derby was staring— He didn't see anything interesting, just the typical garden view, "May have stayed in the shower longer than usual," he added as he bent down to start untying his sneakers, "I was, like, instantly sore after practice, so I got caught up in the hot water, I guess."
As Bif untied his shoes, he lifted his head to look up at Derby, who still hadn't turned to face him, and since he was eye-level with his middle, he was able to see exactly what he was holding— it took him a second to actually realize what it was, but when he did, his brows furrowed in confusion, letting out a slight laugh, "Why the hell do you have a fucking teacher's pointing-stick-thingy?"
"Caught up in hot water, yes," Derby mused ominously, ignoring his question, "So I was told."
"Alright, what's up? Why are you being a weirdo?" Bif huffed as he stood up, kicking his shoes off— Derby's eerie tone was pissing him off, the fact that he still hadn't looked at him, and that random fucking stick— he was too tired and hungry to deal with any theatrical, moody bullshit.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, and once he was able to see Derby’s face a bit more properly, he realized his normally flawless complexion was a bit red and splotchy, his eyes slightly swollen... wait, had he been crying?
Derby slowly blinked, his attention still fixed upon the two birds outside.
"Derbs, are you okay?" Bif asked cautiously as he instinctively reached an arm out toward him, but Derby suddenly flinched away, whipping his body around to face him fully for the first time since he entered, raising his arm and pointing the tip of the stick right at Bif’s face.
"Don't touch me."
Bif froze mid-reach, his eyes crossing in on the wooden pointer inches from his nose— They were quick to flick back to Derby, and he raised his arms up as if surrendering, taking a few steps back to give the blonde his space. He didn't know what the hell was going on, and honestly, there was a part of him that wanted to laugh, but it was evident that Derby wasn't messing around.
"Jesus, dude, what’s your problem?" Bif scoffed, letting his arms down once he figured he was at a safe enough distance— Despite this, Derby didn't lower the stick, just kept it pointed at him like a fencing sword.
“I should be asking you the same bloody thing!” the blonde hissed as his fingers tightened around the handle of the stick— He had half a mind to lunge forward and stab the end right into Bif’s eye.
“What the hell are you talking about?!” Bif exasperated, “Are you seriously that pissed off? I was barely late, Derbs— God, next time I'll be sure to call you, okay?”
Derby was suddenly storming over to him, unable to contain his temper any longer— He got right in Bif’s bubble, and the bigger prep instantly recoiled back, but Derby pushed forward until he was cornering him, “Why the fucking hell did Tad tell me he saw you fooling around with Lola earlier?”
Bif’s eyes widened in shock, his entire body tensing— Jesus Christ, he didn't realize any of the guys were around, let alone Tad of all people.
"Wait, what? He told you that?" Bif stuttered, panic creeping into his voice— Derby didn't say anything, just continued glaring like a wild animal ready to strike, "Okay, that's not– that's not what happened; she was the one all over me, I didn't do shit. I mean, c'mon," Bif gave a nervous scoff, "You know I wouldn't fuck around with a whore like that."
Derby suddenly shoved him back with a furious might, the larger prep hitting the wall with a thud, the painting hanging above rattling, "You shouldn't be fucking around with anyone but me, you disloyal bastard!" the blonde snarled, and not only did Bif's panic increase, but it also split into defensive anger, but before he could retort, Derby was pushing at his chest again, "He said she was fondling you!"
"Yeah, for a second, but I–" Bif cut himself off when Derby abruptly turned around and stormed over to the other side of the room where his desk was— He proceed to sweep his arms over the surface, sending all the papers and miscellaneous items flying to the floor in a dramatic clatter.
He grabbed the edge and dragged it away from the wall it was against, bringing it to the middle of the room with an ear-piercing squeak of the feet scraping against the floorboards— He whipped around to face Bif again, and he wasted no time in striding back toward him, grabbing the back of his neck in a tight grip and forcing him to the desk.
Bif gasped, the sudden intensity of the situation catching him off guard— Before he knew it, he was being thrown against the edge of the desk; he was able to catch himself on his palms before his face slammed into the surface, and he instinctively pushed himself upright, twisting around to look at the fuming man, "What the fuck are you doing–?!"
"Shut up–" Derby snapped, "Get back down and shut the fuck up."
Despite the whirlwind of emotions— confusion, anger, fear— Bif found himself obeying, as he always did with Derby, reluctantly bending back over the desk as he looked up at him like a scared, kicked puppy, his elbows digging into the wood, palms flat, fingers twitching.
. . .
Derby's polished loafers slowly clicked against the hardwood floor of the elegant room as he circled Bif like a predator, his grip tightening around the pointer stick in his hand until his knuckles were white and aching.
He had fallen eerily silent, just as he was when Bif first walked in— Bif hated it; truthfully, he’d rather Derby go back to yelling in his face. It sucked to be berated by someone he loved, but he was used to the blonde’s cruel words.
He had thick skin, he could take anything, and he surely could take a physical beating, but… Derby had never laid a hand on him, other than sparring with each other in the ring, but that was different, this was different.
Was he seriously going to fucking spank him?
Of course he was— Though to most people, on a surface level Derby was just a spiteful brat, but the more you got to know him, the more it became evident that he was a fucking freak; guy had issues, to put it simply.
Bif knew of all the dark, foul shit he had done in his life, knew what he was capable of— he just never thought that side of him would ever target him… but here he was, forced upon a desk with the impending threat of a psycho with a weapon.
He was scared, but honestly… this was the best case scenario— knowing Derby, there was so much more he could have chosen to do to him.
Yeah, he knew Derby wasn’t going to go easy on him, but he’d rather his punishment be that than something extreme like having his ass cheek branded, or his bare back cut up with a whip, or taken out at night on his yacht and forced to swim with the sharks, or God forbid being taken deep into the woods and being used for target practice— Derby had told Bif vague stories of the Harrington’s annual ‘Rabbit Run’…
Bif didn’t want to be next year’s rabbit— a good ol’ fashioned spanking would do just fine.
"Derby, please, you gotta listen to me," Bif pleaded as his eyes followed the circling man, his large hands gripping the edge of the desk he was bent over.
"Whatever that fucktard told you, it isn't true– I would never touch that cheap trash, you know me; I could get any girl I wanted, why the hell would I pick her?" his words were rough and panicked, his eyes blowing wide at realizing he may have just dug his grave even deeper, “But— But I don’t need any dumb bitch because I’ve got you, right?”
Tap, tap, tap, tap…
Derby was aware that Bif could get any girl at the snap of his fingers, but just as the redhead realized, that was the wrong thing to say— the blonde was a jealous, possessive thing, and with seething rage already burning within him, the comment only made it worse. He stopped right before the window, glaring out of it with stern eyes and a tight jaw, the tapping of the stick coming to a halt.
"It wouldn't be the first time you dogs have chased after her," Derby finally spoke, his voice dangerously low, referencing how the other preps had been entangled with that infamous greaser slut.
"Not me, man! Everyone else has, but not me— Fuck, that’s probably why she was there in the first place, to slobber all over Tad’s tiny dick— You're really gonna believe the bullshit that comes from him? He's jealous, dude, he's always been jealous of me— This was the perfect opportunity for his snake ass!" Bif frantically, angrily blabbered.
"Were you going to let her do that to you?" Derby asked as he brought the tip of the stick to the window, lightly trailing it along the glass.
"Of course not! She cornered me, Derby!" Bif defended, pushing himself up slightly from the desk, "I barely walked out of the damn door before she was dragging me away— I told her to fuck off, but she wouldn't take no for a goddamn answer, just kept trying to feel up on me!"
Derby wanted to believe him, he truly did, but the blade of insecurity in his chest twisted deeper into his heart the more he thought about the situation— Had Bif actually fallen for that succubus’ charm? He was dumb as rocks with an inflated ego, and Derby surely knew how quick he was to fall for flattery, how quick he was to arouse; he was the perfect victim for Lola.
The tip of the stick was suddenly digging into the glass of the window, prompting an ear-piercing squeak to cut through the silence of the tension-filled room.
"I don't believe you."
Those four words hit Bif like a punch in the fucking gut, harder than any he’d ever taken in the ring.
“You’d seriously believe Tad over me?” he retorted, his voice cracking from fear and betrayal, “After everything we’ve– Damn it, Derby, fucking look at me!” he fully straightened up, the last bit of composure he had left crumbling into his typical temper-riddled self— It was rare that he raised his voice like that at Derby, but goddamnit, this was ridiculous.
"Get back into position," Derby gritted through clenched teeth; he didn't need to look back to know that Bif had moved, he could hear the slight creak from his heavy weight shifting off the desk.
The boxer hesitated, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides before he took a nervous inhale through his nose and stepped back, positioning himself over the desk again, but not without one last attempt at saving himself from his impending doom.
"I bet Tad left out the part where I pushed that bitch back so hard she fell on her ass— She ran away crying that she was gonna tell Johnny."
Derby's grip upon the stick's handle loosened just slightly as Bif's words registered— that detail Tad hadn't mentioned.
He turned slowly, his expression stoic and sharp, taking a moment to study the bent over redhead— Bif was clearly nervous, his face red with even the thinnest sheen of sweat upon his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with every heavy breath. Was this the sight of a guilty man, or one that was simply just afraid of being beaten?
"Why didn't you tell me what happened, then?"
"I–I was going to—“ Bif began, but was instantly interrupted by the blonde’s angry, sharp voice.
“No you weren’t, don’t you dare try to lie to me even more than you already fucking have,” Derby growled as he pointed the stick at him, “If you actually planned on telling me about the predicament, you would have told me when I asked about why you were late, not tell me about some bullshit excuse about showering!”
“I did take a long shower!” Bif exasperated.
Derby just scoffed and shook his head before suddenly reaching his hand out and grabbing a vicious hold of Bif’s hair.
"How many lashings do you think you deserve?" he asked in a voice of ice, his evil amber eyes boring down at the boxer.
"C'mon, Derby, please– Why don’t you believe me?" Bif heartbrokenly whined.
"At this point, whether you did or didn’t doesn’t matter," Derby growled as he released his grip, violently pushing Bif’s head away in the process, "The others think you did, and that alone is tarnish enough; now they think you're like them. Now, I shall ask you again– How many lashings do you think you fucking deserve?"
“This isn’t about them, Derby! I would never sneak behind your back— I fucking love you!”
Derby's eyes widened, his posture loosening for a fraction of a second— He was always weak for when those words would leave Bif's lips, but the warmth that threatened to melt his icy heart was quickly overpowered by his burning rage.
This was why he was so utterly infuriated; he loved that blasted redhead more than anything, dare he say more than he loved himself, and that was a lot coming from a twisted narcissist like Derby, but that's exactly why he was acting the way he was, because he was a sick individual who couldn't handle the thought of someone he loved betraying him in such a vile way.
Derby inhaled deeply, exhaling sharply before leaning forward until his face was just inches away from Bif’s, “Don’t make me ask again, Taylor.”
Bif felt his heart shatter, not just at how Derby didn’t tell him he loved him back like how he usually did, but because of the use of his last name— Derby only ever referred to people by their surname when he had no respect for them.
"Fuck," Bif muttered under his breath before hesitantly answering, "I–I don’t know– Five...?"
Five would be painful, but manageable— Bif could handle that.
"You think five is enough to cleanse the stain on my reputation?" Derby hissed as he straightened himself out, soon settling himself behind the large prep— Of course, he was making the situation about himself.
How Derby saw it was however Bif acted would reflect upon him— He was his second in command, he chose him specifically to be the second leader of the clique, so therefore he had expectations, a certain standard he had to live up to. What did it say about Derby when his own right-hand man was up to no good?
That he had poor judgment, that he was easy to trick, that he was a leader that couldn’t fucking lead, and God forbid anyone could think that— That certainly wasn’t the way of a Harrington, and he’d be damned if people thought they could walk all over a bloody Harrington.
“Twenty— ten for the humiliation of the scandal, five for your stupidity on even giving that broad the chance of pulling you aside— you should have just simply pushed right by her— and of course, another five since our dear Johnny will most likely want a word with me in the upcoming future."
Bif's stomach absolutely fucking dropped.
"Twenty–?!"
He couldn't believe it, and in that moment his fear had deepened into full-blown terror; he could already feel the burning, aching, excruciating pain.
"No, that's too much, man! I can't– You know I have the tournament coming up, I can't afford to miss any practice days!" Bif protested, twisting his neck to look back at Derby with wide, panicked green eyes.
"Hmm… I suppose that is true," Derby hummed thoughtfully as he pressed the stick against Bif’s backside, dragging it down his muscular thighs, "Perhaps I shall just give you ten... but only if you beg," he paused the stick's movement, pressing it hard against the back of his knees, causing Bif's legs to instantly lock.
"Please," the redhead instantly gritted out, his voice rough, "Please be nice to me, Derby, I'll–I'll do anything, just don't make it twenty," he begged as the blonde teased the tip down his calf, "Please, I love you, I love you so much—"
Derby's lips curled into a satisfied, sadistic smirk as he watched Bif tense under the threat of the stick, his own pulse quickening at the way he pleaded, at the desperate ‘I love yous’; he'd always adored the power dynamic between them, the way the boxer’s brute strength meant nothing when it came to him.
"Anything?" he cooed, bringing the stick up and over his ass, then along the curve of his back and further up, "Tell me, then, what would you give to save your skin?"
Bif tensed even more so as the stick traveled up his spine; he recognized that dangerously playful tone in Derby’s voice— he may have still been angry, but he was fucking enjoying this now.
"You already own my damn soul,” the boxer replied lowly, “What else is left?”
Damn right he fucking did.
"Hmm, how about more words? You could start by admitting how desperate you are for my forgiveness," Derby said as the stick reached the back of Bif’s neck, "Tell me exactly how much it terrifies you to disappoint me."
Okay, yeah, Bif could do that.
"I fucking hate when you're mad at me," he admitted as he looked down at the polished wood as the tip of the stick dug into the back of his skull, "Makes me feel like I'm gonna fucking puke– I'm nothing without you, Derby, absolutely-fucking-nothing."
"Mmm, that's right," Derby cooed as he pressed the tip just a little harder into his head, "Now tell me, how would you react if I dropped you? If I left you in a box on the side of the road like a puppy I no longer wanted?"
Bif felt his chest unbearably clench and his stomach twist at the thought of Derby refusing to ever talk to him or look at him again— He already felt like he was going crazy just thinking of the hypothetical situation.
"I'd fucking kill myself," he quickly, almost frantically responded, pain evident in his voice; as dramatic as it sounded, it was the truth— Derby was his entire world, and without him, he would have no goddamn purpose.
Not even boxing would be enough to keep his head up— After all, Derby was the reason he got into it in the first place, was the reason he was able to strive to be so good at it; he was his motivation, his drive... without him, it would all mean nothing, he would mean nothing.
And ohh, that morbid admission was exactly what Derby wanted to hear.
His smirk widened to a sharp grin, his heart thumping wildly, hot blood rushing through his veins— He was getting off on the power he had over the redhead, the way he could reduce him, the strongest fighter in town, to such a weak, vulnerable, pitiful display.
He loved it, loved him, loved how completely dependent that simpleton was on him; words couldn't describe the euphoric feeling his desperate devotion gave him.
"I thought so," Derby purred as he withdrew the stick, taking a small step back to take a moment to admire Bif's tense, rigid form.
He was beautiful like this, that cocky, untouchable exterior stripped away; he could feel his groin begin to swell and throb in his slacks at the sight, at the knowledge that he was the only one who had such power over him.
"You're lucky I absolutely adore you, Biffy, otherwise, I would toss you out; so, you better consider punishment a bloody blessing."
"I know," Bif sighed, and despite his stress and anxiety, his heart pleasantly ached at the use of the nickname, his voice dropping to a meek whisper, "Thank you, Derby, thank you..."
"Mmm, who am I?" Derby asked as he made his way around the desk, positioning himself in front as he pressed the tip of the stick under Bif's chin to tilt his head up, forcing him to look at him directly.
Bif stared up at him with wide eyes, and though he was a nervous, scared wreck, stars seemingly sparkled in the emerald depths as he gazed up at his better.
"You’re my..." he paused, his tongue snaking out to wet his dry lips, "My everything… my world… my— my fucking savior…"
Derby was fucking melting under that worshipful gaze, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, but despite the rush he felt, his composure stayed threateningly poised.
"Indeed, I am," he proudly purred as he placed the tip of the stick to Bif's mouth, teasing it along his bottom lip before slowly slipping it inside— Bif didn't retaliate, he gave a slight part of his lips and took the wood obediently, his eyes never leaving the sadistic amber boring down at him.
His thick eyebrows knitted as the stick pressed further into his mouth— Thankfully, Derby stopped before it could become uncomfortable; Bif was surely expecting him to make him suck on it, or even jab it to the back of his throat, but instead, the blonde was slowly pulling it out, letting the saliva-covered tip drag along his bottom lip before withdrawing it completely.
"I suppose it's time to move along," Derby mused as he circled back around the desk until he was behind Bif, giving a light tap against his thigh, "Be sure to count them out– I know math isn't your strongest suit, but I'm sure even a caveman like you can count to ten, yes?"
"Yeah," Bif answered with an anxious gulp as he squeezed his eyes shut, already bracing himself, but instead of being met with a loud thwack and a harsh burn, Derby was chuckling softly, running his fingers along his back and to his ass.
"You know that’s not the proper way to answer me," the aristocrat hummed as he let his fingers teasingly trail over the shape of the boxer's athletic glutes, "You say, 'Yes, sir.'"
"Yes, sir..." Bif muttered obediently as he let his head drop, resting his forehead against the desk, his cheeks burning a shameful crimson— the blonde gave an approving hum before raising the stick up high.
THWACK!
The first strike cracked through the room like a gunshot, causing Bif to jerk forward with a choked gasp, the barrier of his shorts doing nothing to dull the bite— the harsh burn instantly spread throughout his thighs, followed by a throbbing ache that made his stomach queasy.
"One!" he forced himself to grit out through clenched teeth, his grip upon the edge of the desk tightening as he fought back the natural urge to shoot up and punch Derby right in the fucking face— but he would never, even if his instincts urged him to.
The blonde couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled up from his chest; this power was certainly intoxicating— Without warning, he was delivering another sharp strike to the same spot, a strong, bestial sensation surging throughout him upon hearing another loud crack, seeing the boxer jolt and writhe; it brought him pure, sick, perverted delight, made his stomach clench and his body buzz with adrenaline.
"Two!" Bif growled out, trying his hardest to take it without showing too much weakness— his pride wouldn't allow him to break, though he knew that's exactly what Derby wanted; he also knew that if he would just give in to the pain, act like the helpless victim he knew the tyrant wanted to see, then the punishment would likely end sooner, but it was just in his competitive nature to never back down.
Derby was aware of how his best friend worked, and of course, he took his stubborn behavior as a personal challenge.
He flashed a sharp, evil grin as he raised his arm again, swinging down harder this time, aiming for the sensitive spot right where thigh met ass, knowing from experience just how brutal a hit to that area could be, and just as he expected, Bif's usual groan had turned to something that resembled more of a cry, and he didn't immediately state the count.
Bif forced himself to quickly swallow down the pathetic noise, his legs shaking slightly as the searing pain pulsed through his nerves— Fuck, it hurt, it hurt so goddamn much, but he could take it, he could fucking take it, he could take anything because he was the fucking champ.
"Three!" he finally barked out, though his voice wavered just slightly— Derby peered his head over to get a glimpse of his face, a rush of wicked satisfaction overcoming him at the sight of the red flush and droplets of sweat accumulating at his forehead that threatened to spill down his temple.
"Mmm, I do love when you try to be strong for me," Derby gave a condescending hum as he teased the stick over the fresh welt beneath the fabric, prompting Bif to squirm slightly, "But just give in, darling, it will be easier for you."
"I don't do easy," the redhead instantly rasped out, and Derby gave a haughty laugh as he lightly ran his palm up and down Bif's back in an almost comforting, loving manner.
"Ahh, which is why you're my favorite," he purred as his hand snaked down to the swell of Bif's ass, giving a firm squeeze before pulling away— Bif barely had time to brace himself before the next hit cracked across his thighs again, though thankfully Derby didn't strike in the same spot.
"Four!" the redhead grunted, back arching as the pain flared throughout his flesh— God, he felt like he was on fucking fire, the pain sharp and pulsing, but he still refused to let Derby see just how much it was affecting him, but the way the droplets of sweat had begun to trail down his face was enough of a sign that he was starting to lose the battle.
"Just about halfway there," Derby cooed as he began to tap the pointer stick against his palm as he circled Bif with slow, measured steps, shamelessly eating him alive with his gaze.
He settled in front of him and leaned down to where their faces were right before each other's, being able to smell the musky odor of Bif's sweat— Oh, Lord, he just couldn't contain himself.
He leaned further in, nuzzling his nose into the damp auburn locks and inhaling, savoring the divine scent before letting out a shaky exhale— It was like snorting a line of cocaine, his pupils dilating and heart thumping wildly; the sensation was nothing short of euphoric, that was for sure.
He pulled back enough to plant a soft kiss upon Bif's sweaty temple, and upon tasting the salt, his tongue instinctively snaked out, licking up from his cheekbone to the end of his eyebrow.
"You are absolutely delicious when you suffer," the aristocrat whispered against his skin before planting a few kisses along his cheek, trailing to his ear, "I could just devour you."
Bif's eyes couldn't help but flutter shut at the feeling of Derby's face against his, the smell of his cologne and hair product like a gentle caress. He absolutely melted at the feeling of his wet tongue running along his face, at those soft lips sweetly kissing him, a shiver running down his spine as his warm breath ghosted over his ear.
His heart felt positively heavy at the blonde's twisted affection; he knew that if Derby actually had the chance, he would absolutely cannibalize him; he would feast upon his flesh and innards like a savage beast, lapping at his blood as if it was fine wine— Oh, the way he would sink his teeth into his beating heart, tearing at the bloody muscle with an intense feral hunger until there was absolutely nothing fucking left— It would be an honor to experience such an erotic, gruesome demise.
The thought of Derby covered in his blood, his face smeared, the crimson dripping from his chin, down his neck and to his chest, his blonde locks sticking to his forehead with sweat, pupils blown wide in primal ecstasy— Fuck, Bif was down bad for the psycho, but he was the true freak for finding such morbidness so alluring; but after all, Derby was a malicious, licentious, debauched devil, and Bif had sold his soul to him long ago, so it was only natural for him to find beauty in such debauchery.
Derby pulled back, prompting Bif’s eyes to flutter back open, licking his lips of the tangy sweat as he admired the glazed-over look in those green orbs— he knew what that was, a deliciously pitiful look of devotion, of love, and his heart felt as if it were going to burst, that he was going to lose all control and pounce him like a wild feline, to skin him with his tongue and gnaw on his bones.
But, alas, that was just a fantasy in his sick, filthy, macabre mind, so instead, he settled for abruptly gripping the redhead's jaw, leaning in and pressing his lips against his— Their mouths instantly moved against one another’s with a passionate hunger, Derby’s fingertips digging into Bif’s face as the sound of their ardent smacking got louder and louder as their passion intensified.
As fervent as their kiss was, it didn’t last long; Derby was pulling away, and Bif naturally tried to chase after those beloved plump lips, but the blonde was pushing him back down before he could lean up any further.
They shared a long, intense, intimate gaze, their chests heaving, bodies buzzing; Derby finally took a step back, releasing his grip upon Bif’s jaw before running a quick hand through his hair. He took a deep, grounding breath to regain some of the composure he lost before circling back around to position himself behind the boxer once again.
"Let's get back to where we were, shall we?" he breathed out as he raised the stick high, his eyes catching how Bif had cranked his head over his shoulder to watch him this time around— He loved how easy it was to cast him under his spell, how simple it was to diminish that stubbornness with just a few kisses.
Though his thighs still ached with pain, Bif's demeanor surely did change; he didn't care about putting up a front anymore, he was now eager to suffer, eager to please, all because Derby gave him that small lick of affection.
Of course, he craved more, and he knew that if he finally quit the tough-guy act, showing the greedy, submissive side of himself, he would be rewarded with enough kisses and praise to make him drunk, and being drunk off Derby's love was an out-of-this-world feeling that Bif couldn’t even begin to describe.
"Do it," the sweaty, blushing brute demanded, "Give it to me, Derby, fucking hit me."
Derby instantly stopped breathing, his eyes going wide at Bif's raw, shameless command— the way his rough voice sounded so determined yet needy, how his gaze never faltered, how his tight, rigid body now seemed more than ready for the lashing— It was so beautifully deranged, so perfectly filthy, just as the malignant blonde liked it.
He had to force himself out of the small trance he found himself in, giving his neck a quick crack before raising the pointer stick higher, muscles tensing as he swung it down with a brutal force, a vicious lash landing across Bif's ass with a grating crack.
Instead of relishing in the way his body reacted to the pain, he was quick to raise his arm up and bring it down in another ferocious swing, then again, and again, and again— He surely had passed the remaining five strikes, but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Bif's entire body writhed violently with each consecutive strike, and he tried to keep up with the count, but Derby was swinging far too fast now. Tears were quick to swell up in his eyes, blurring his vision as broken gasps and yelps escaped him— He tried to take as much as he possibly could, but eventually, he couldn't fucking do it anymore; he was screaming out for mercy.
"Okay, okay, stop– Derby, please, please fucking stop!" he begged, his voice so hoarse and pathetic, sounding nothing like the strong, untouchable brute everyone knew him as— he was a red, sweaty, crying mess.
Thankfully, Derby did stop the barrage of lashes— He stood there like a deranged man, his chest heaving wildly, his own face red and shiny, even a strand of hair had fallen out of its usual neat placement. He stared down at Bif with pupils so big that the amber of his irises were nearly gone, and he swallowed hard once the redhead met his gaze with those big, watery green eyes.
Oh, good heavens.
The blonde suddenly dropped the stick to the floor, the thin wood clattering against the floorboards as he practically lunged forward— He pressed himself against Bif's backside, smacking his arms against the desk as he buried his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling a deep, desperate breath of his skin.
Bif grunted at the feeling of Derby's full weight on top of him, squirming slightly at the painful feeling of his groin pressing against his raw backside, but despite the pain, he nuzzled up into him, letting his eyes shut as the blonde's ragged breath tickled his neck— though his eyes were blowing wide once he felt a sudden sharp, stinging sensation against it.
Derby had sunken his teeth right into his flesh, biting down with vampiric force— Bif let out a mix between a groan and a moan, instinctively kinking his head to the side to give him more room.
A deep, hoarse groan ripped from his throat when Derby began to rut against him, the friction against his welted ass and thighs making him grit his teeth, but the feeling of Derby's hard bulge grinding against him was much more distracting.
The blonde's thrusts started out desperate and quick, and it wasn't long before he was rutting against Bif like an animal in heat, his teeth still clamped down into his skin— He let out crude, muffled grunts as he rocked against him, his eyes shut tight and brows furrowed in concentration, his manicured nails nearly digging against the wood of the desk.
He had completely lost his mind; the only thing he cared about was showing Bif who he fucking belonged to, chasing the high with every intense stutter of his hips. Hearing the redhead's whines and groans only spurred him on, how he pressed back against him in encouragement— It was so utterly primal, so fucking perfect— Derby suddenly released his mouth from Bif's neck, bringing his lips to his ear.
"Mine," he whispered hotly, his voice deep and ragged as he continued to fuck against him, "Don't you fucking forget that– You belong to me, only me–"
"Yes," Bif instantly whined out as his large, muscular body jerked forward with every rut from the other man, "Only yours– Only yours, I swear– I love you, I love you so much–" his words were soon being cut off by Derby snaking a hand up to his face, abruptly turning his head to the side to steal his lips in a hungry, vulgar kiss.
The kiss was a complete lecherous mess, all teeth and tongue with erotic, muffled moans. The passionate lip-lock continued for a moment longer before Derby was pulling back just enough to speak, letting out a breathy confession against Bif's swollen, spit-slicked lips.
"I love you," he pressed his lips against Bif's again, only to pull back once more, "God, I love you so much, you stupid– fucking– bastard–" his voice was broken up as he couldn't keep his lips off of Bif's, his hips absolutely erratic; he was the display of pure, unbridled, obscene desperation.
Though his abused skin burned from the constant friction, his hard cock rubbing uncomfortably against the edge of the desk, Bif felt like he was going to fucking cum— It wasn't often that Derby told him he loved him, so that alone was enough to make him feel like he was going to explode, so with the frenzied rutting and sloppy kisses, he was a ticking time bomb.
"Please, Derby–" he whimpered between kisses, and he didn't even know exactly what he was asking for, he was just so caught up in the intensity of the moment— He soon felt that familiar tight feeling in his gut and groin, his face scrunching up as his body tensed in anticipation of his orgasm, "God, I'm gonna fucking–"
His warning was cut off by Derby letting out a sudden loud, guttural yell, the thrusting of his hips faltering and coming to a stop tightly against his ass— The blonde shoved his face into Bif's neck, his entire body trembling as high-pitched, pathetic whines escaped him as he came hard in his pants, perfect timing for the boxer's own orgasm. He followed suit right after Derby’s, letting out a throaty groan as his own release shot into his underwear.
The two rode out the powerful euphoric waves together, bodies convulsing, legs shaking, whines and curses slipping from their lips. Everything was hot, the room felt like it was foggy and spinning— Derby's arms shook as he struggled to keep himself up, and soon he was wrapping them around Bif's neck, holding onto him tightly as he let himself go completely limp against him.
His chest heaved against his back, and Bif swore he could feel the pounding of his heart in the middle of his shoulder blades— His own breathing was heavy, his heart feeling as if it was going to literally burst; he couldn't fucking think, all he could do was feel, feel Derby's warmth and heaviness, the intense connection between them— He had never felt closer to him than he did in that moment. It all felt so surreal.
Derby remained slumped against Bif's broad back for what felt like forever— He finally forced himself to pull away, his movements slow and sluggish, his entire body still tingling from the high. He blinked lazily, swallowing hard as he grabbed the back of Bif's damp shirt, hoisting him up from the bent over position he had been in the entire time.
Bif's legs felt like they were going to give out when he stood up straight, and Derby instantly wrapped his arms around him just in case he went toppling over, but that wasn't the only reason; he needed to be close to him again. He rested his chin on his shoulder, and Bif leaned into him, embracing him in a tight, desperate hug— Neither cared about the mess in their underwear.
Despite the support, the aching pain in Bif’s backside was too much to be able to stay upright, and he found himself stumbling forward with Derby in his arms, soon pushing him toward the bed and collapsing on top of him. Derby let out a small laugh as the heavy weight of Bif's body pinned him down, and he stared up at him with a soft smile, something so rare and precious from him.
There were stars in the depths of both of their eyes as they gazed at each other— The love they felt was so suffocating that neither of them knew what to say. Derby silently, almost hesitantly reached up to cup Bif's cheek, gently running his thumb over the light freckles.
Bif's heart pleasantly ached at the gesture, and he leaned into the touch with a soft sigh, his muscles relaxing despite the stress his body was put through. He let his eyes flutter shut for just a moment as he savored the soft, loving moment before peeling them back open. He felt like he was going to cry, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. He let out a light, shaky breath before parting his lips just enough to softly speak.
"I would never betray you, Derby..." his voice was quiet and full of sincerity as he searched the blonde's eyes with his own lidded, glossy green ones.
Derby was quiet, but Bif could notice the way his throat bobbed with a thick swallow. His lips parted slightly as his thumb stopped its comforting movement– he was going to say something, but his lips were quick to close, his amber eyes softening in a sad, almost regretful way. For once, the cruel heir felt... sorry, genuinely sorry.
He remained silent for a moment before finally speaking, his voice just barely above a whisper, "I know," he admitted, his fingers twitching slightly against Bif's cheek, "I– I just–" his words faltered, eyes closing as he struggled to express himself.
All those confusing emotions came washing over him again, and his chest tightened, his face twisting into a pained expression as if he were about to cry.
And he did.
The usual stern, cold prep began to silently cry, and it wasn't long before tears were falling down his temples– Bif's eyes blew wide at the sight; he had never seen Derby cry before, and the fact that he was crying over him... Normally, the egotistical brute would have taken pleasure in something like this, but no, his heart shattered into pieces.
"Derbs–" he weakly breathed, and Derby opened his eyes, blinking through the thick tears that filled them.
"I'm sorry, Bif, I'm so fucking sorry," he choked out, "I just– The thought of you– you–" he couldn't get the fucking words out, but Bif knew exactly what he was trying to say. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against his, closing his eyes and speaking against the blonde's trembling lips.
"You're the best damn thing that has ever happened to me, the best thing I'll ever get; I've won, there's nothing else I could ever possibly fucking want."
And with that, he closed the tiny gap between their mouths, pressing their lips together in a soft, meaningful kiss— Derby whimpered, his hands snaking up and through Bif's auburn hair, letting himself melt into him as more tears fell from his eyes.
Tad's plan didn't work— Instead of tearing them apart, it had seemed to bring the two leaders closer together, strengthening their bond in a way no one would ever understand.