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Halloween was always an exhilarating event for Racetrack Higgins. He went all-in for it, getting done up in a full ensemble with accessories and make up every year. To be able to dress up as someone entirely new for a day, and to be able to take himself more seriously than he usually did while doing so, was a delightful change of pace.
Race leaned over his desk, his nose inches away from his little standing mirror. Concentrating with all of his energy, he swiped his finger around the corner of his mouth, creating a crisp edge for his lipstick. He stepped back, satisfied with his handiwork, and quickly swiped a glittery lip gloss from the shopping bag hanging on his desk chair.
The local high school permitted its students to wear their costumes on Halloween day, and Race was taking full advantage. In the past, he’d gone for something scary or topical, like last year, when he went to school dressed as a full Walking Dead-style zombie, or the year before that, when he dressed up as a Saw-trapped damsel in distress— complete with a homemade reverse bear trap around his head.
But this year was different. He had grown into himself more, was more physically confident than he’d been in previous years, plus he had a hot boyfriend to tease relentlessly. Considering that the dress code could be damned for the day, Race knew he needed to bring his A game.
This is to say, it was the sluttiest day of the year for boys like Race, and he spared no effort or expense.
The sun shone through the blinds in a sandy glow, brightening up the messy room as the morning wore on. Boxes and bags from the various costume pieces littered every surface, the blond tornado having torn everything open in the last hour. A crisp autumn breeze blew through his bedroom window as he checked himself out in the full-length mirror again. Harsh lines and a killer silhouette, lashes long and languid, with lean legs to match.
Scratching his fingers through his loose curls, he gave himself a closed-mouth smirk. He was a proper bombshell in this get up. A sexy, baby-voiced, whorish bombshell. He loved it.
He unwrapped a lollipop from his desk and stuck it between his plush mauve lips, cherry red sweetness melting on his tongue. His backpack slung over his shoulder, he admired his reflection one final time before heading out the door.
Spot was going to cream his fuckin’ jeans, if Race had any say in the matter. Spot had no idea what was gonna hit ‘im.
*
Halloween was always a neutral affair for Spot Conlon. He never quite got the appeal, and even as a kid, his costumes were usually half-baked, if he dressed up at all. He’d rather stay home and eat the candy his parents bought for the neighborhood kids, frankly.
After his freshman year, in which he got mercilessly bullied by his friends for not wearing a costume to school, he’d learned to put in the most basic effort possible for the holiday— something to keep the idiots off his back.
He often went for the tried and true method of scrounging around his closet until he found something that evoked the basic idea of a character or image. This year, that meant pulling on his life guard uniform from the summertime. He even clipped his first aid waist bag to his person, which he felt earned him bonus points, especially considering he felt like a doofus wearing it.
Now, standing at his locker, it occurred to him that he hadn’t yet seen Race. He knew the kid normally took Halloween a little more seriously than most, but he was starting to wonder if he’d show up at all.
“‘ey, Red!” Spot called to Race’s friend a couple locker clusters down. “You seen Racer?”
“Do I look like ‘is keepa?” Albert snarked back. He was dressed in a skin-tight black tank top tucked into army green cargo shorts; it took Spot a moment to recognize that, with the black gloves and utility belt, Al was probably dressed as Kim Possible.
Spot walked down the hall to him, rolling his neck in the process. “You think ‘e skipped out?”
“On Halloween? No way,” Jack said, waltzing over in a normal outfit, save for a set of painted whiskers on his cheeks and a pair of hyperrealistic cat ears that sprung from his scalp. “Race never cuts class on Halloween.”
Davey wasn’t far behind his boyfriend, wearing identical ears and whiskers. He nodded with Jack, adding, “One year, he was sick with strep and he still dressed up. He lost his voice for a week—”
“Quietest week o’ my life,” Albert cut in with a laugh.
Spot huffed. Growing frustrated with the peanut gallery, he folded his arms and leaned his back on the lockers. “So where is ‘e, huh?”
“Aw, miss him that bad, Spotty?” Al jeered. He quickly ducked his head, narrowly escaping Spot’s arm as he swung it over and slammed his fist into the locker doors. “A’right, geez! Was just messin’—”
“Well, speak of the devil,” Jack drawled loudly, gesturing down the corridor. Spot turned to meet his sightline, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat.
It was the legs he saw first. Those long, toned limbs were tightly wrapped in fishnets, stark black lines along alabaster skin. Gray thigh-high socks hugged those strong calves, and shiny Mary Janes with a wedge heel clicked as the boy sauntered in. The sound alone made Spot’s knees weak.
The black pleated skirt caught his eye next. The thing was sinfully short, and the waistband hugged the blond’s navel just so, and the pleats swished against those creamy thighs— Spot wanted to wrap his hands around those thighs, wanted to hold and squeeze and bruise them.
Then, the top. A simple white button up was tied high to reveal a toned abdomen and unbuttoned low to share a peek of strong pectorals. A light gray sweater, cropped and loose, sat across the beauty’s shoulders. Press-on nails of baby pink made his fingers look impossibly long, and Spot craved to feel them against his scalp.
Ultimately, it was that wicked dollface that did Spot in. Those lavish lips painted in a pretty pout, those highlighted cheekbones and blushing temples, those blue eyes lined and shadowed and piercing—
Racer was drop-dead, kick-you-in-the-chest, walk-all-over-you gorgeous. A vampire ready to suck the life right out of you. A saint that could bring you to your knees.
Spot was speechless, couldn’t get out even a word as his boyfriend floated over to him.
“Ain’tchu a sight?” Jack laughed, and the ogling from everyone around them made Spot more territorial than he’d’ve cared to admit.
“Thought I’d try to pay homage to the Princess of Pop,” Race replied easily, sashaying closer to the group. “No one does sexy like Britney, after all.”
Upon his arrival, Race slinked an arm around Spot’s shoulders, pulling him in and whispering, featherlight in his ear, “There you are, Spotty— I gotta tell ya, my loneliness was killin’ me.”
Spot nearly moaned. It took everything in him not to pull the blond to one of the custodial closets and ravage him right then and there. “You…” he started, voice low as he looked over the boytoy wrapped around him again.
Those pink press-ons worked their way up Spot’s scalp as Race smirked out, “What, baby? Give me a sign.”
“You are gonna pay fer this, ya know that?” Spot’s voice was low, his eyes peering through the make-up and accessories to his boy.
Race chuckled, the sound ringing like a bell. “Aw, sweetheart…” Race leaned into the other’s head, his lips grazing Spot’s ear. “I’m counting on that.”
With that, Spot groaned, or maybe growled, something pulling deep in his chest as he hooked an arm around the blond and grasped his ass under his skirt.
“Could you two get a room?” Albert whined. Race pulled away at that, his hands finding his hips as he took in the sight of his companions.
Spot’s skin burned where Race had been touching him. He tried to subtly adjust himself, his shorts a bit tighter than they were before his impossibly seductive boyfriend arrived. He moved his first aid bag to hang over the front of him, praying no one would question the shift.
“What’re ya even s’posed to be, huh?” Race teased, and the normal banter went on like any other day of the year, though it felt odd coming from the done up schoolgirl. Soon, the bell rang, and everyone headed to their classes, casual and cool, as if there wasn’t a walking mantrap among them.
It was going to be a long day.
*
The school day had never dragged on so slowly for Spot. It was like the earth was spinning half as fast, or the sun was pausing in the sky. The seconds felt like hours as Spot stared into the white hot oblivion of Race’s fishnetted thighs all day.
The brunette broke from his trance long enough to stop at his locker after sixth period. As he opened the door, a note fell to his feet— curlicue handwriting in sparkly pink ink requesting his appearance in the boy’s locker room during their seventh period. Spot’s shorts tightened for the 15,000th time that day as he stifled a groan.
He shoved his books in his locker and hastily locked it, looking around for curious eyes before walking as casually— and as quickly— as possible to the gym. As the locker room door swung closed behind him, Race stepped out from behind a row of lockers. “Hey, baby,” he cooed, leaning his hip and elbow on the wall.
“Hey, pretty boy,” Spot replied, closing the distance. He slid his hands around Race’s waist, pulling him in to feel Spot’s bulge through his shorts. His hands traveled down and around the blond’s ass. “You’re drivin’ me crazy today, you know that?”
Race leaned in, his mouth a breath away from Spot’s. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” He pressed a tight kiss to Spot’s lips, so light and fleeting, before pulling up again. “Tell me how I can make it up to ya.”
Spot chuckled. He loved when Race gave him the reins.
He pulled the blond by his wrist. They walked through the locker room to the bathroom area, and Spot pressed Race to the wall. He grazed the bottom of Race’s skirt, letting his fingers hover over those plush thighs. His sight trailed down from Race’s eyes to his lips.
Spot captured Race in a fierce kiss. Teeth and tongues mashed together as the blond moaned, his nails scratching up Spot’s back and in his hair. Spot moved down to kiss Race’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, and he sucked a mark just above his collarbone, right where it always drove Race crazy. He cupped Race’s ass again, lifting him up as the blond wrapped his legs around Spot’s waist.
Spot moved them into the ADA stall. Setting Race down, he clumsily locked the door and when he turned, Race was breathless, his lipstick smudged, his skirt wrinkled. Gorgeous.
Race surged forward this time, pressing Spot to the stall door and pulling at his top. Spot stripped his shirt off over his head and held Race’s neck as their lips met again. It was fast and uncoordinated, a rush of energy from the edging they’d both dealt with all day.
The blond pulled and whined at Spot’s stupid first aid pack on his hips. Spot chuckled and unhooked it, and Race fell to his knees.
Spot couldn’t contain his moan as he watched Race untie his drawstring with those long painted fingers. Race’s eyes met Spot’s in a wordless question. As an answer, Spot shoved his shorts and underwear down in one fell swoop, gripping Race’s curls. He groaned as Race wrapped a hand around him, electric and familiar.
The day’s tension finally drained from Spot as Race undid him with his pretty little mouth. As he considered his current position, melting under the touch of the black widow before him, Spot couldn’t help but decide that he could get behind this whole dress-up thing after all.