Private Bliss

Chapter One: Robot from Space

(A/N) Yes, I should be writing Barely Legal. I just couldn't help myself! I would like to thank my wonderful beta, Maryjane! She's always amazing.

Important Note: This story may be taken down eventually, if the site really intends to go through all the M stories and take out the ones that are MA. If this happens, or if you wish to go there now, you can find this story on A03 under the same title and penname KittyHowell(no space).

Oakland Academy - Home of the Cardinals. Where Your Dreams Begin!

Travis frowned at the mural painted on the wall opposite the front doors of the school. He was already late for his first class, but he wasn't in any hurry to get there. Slowly, he walked to his locker and shouldered his backpack off and plunked it onto the floor, the thud echoing in the silent hallway. He shoved the books the admissions woman had given him in his locker, and snarling slightly, stuffed the red blazer in the back, not caring when it fell off the hook. Then he carefully hung up his leather jacket before closing the black door and checking the map for the first time to see where his class was.

The school was large, the shape reminding Travis of a hotel or a small castle. It had high ceilings and extremely clean white floors. The halls were wide, and the black lockers looked as if they were brand new. There were inspirational posters and paintings all over the school, some, Travis noticed, were done by previous students who signed their work along with the date it was done and when they attended. Travis made note of the exit and entry points, the weaknesses of the building and the strengths. He passed a door with the words 'Staff Only' written on it and felt the familiar urge to do something wrong. He almost opened the door, but stopped himself at the last minute. Always the curious one, Travis would have no problem finding out what was down there − if he didn't already know.

The lower half of the school had Kindergarten through Eighth grade, grades nine through twelve comprising the upper level. Travis couldn't imagine being at Oakland for his entire schooling, but then again, Travis couldn't imagine himself being in one place for very long. He was only ever in one home for so long, usually just less than a year before he moved onto the next one.

Allowing himself one last look down the deserted staircase, Travis continued on towards his class, whistling as he went. Two girls were walking towards him down the hallway. They both looked him over before giving each other scandalized looks. The blonde whispered to the brunette and the two laughed as they passed, no longer paying him any attention. Despite the rather negative vibe, he gave them a charming smile, and watched their backsides as they walked. They were alright, he decided, though they might have looked better if the girls uniform showed a little more leg. He missed public school, missed the girls in their short shorts and tank tops. They were teases, really, but Travis didn't really mind. He didn't need them for anything more, and he wasn't sure he'd be getting any here.

Although he was generally good-natured, Travis couldn't help but pick apart every little thing about the school. The uniforms, the kids, the overly optimistic mural, and the stupid mascot. Why couldn't they have something like a tiger? Something with a little more bite and a little less tweet. Though, admittedly, a tiger probably wouldn't be such a good idea. The red and black uniforms coordinated with the bird, and Travis didn't think the school could look any stupider than being dressed in Halloween colors all year round.

He reminded himself he was there for football and, more importantly, to get his previous foster mom off his back and he didn't need to have anything more to do with the school than that. Subconsciously, he loosened his red and black striped tie for the fifth time since he put it on this morning. He felt claustrophobic, which meant he was feeling out of place. Being who he was, that didn't happen often nowadays, and when it did, he always managed to fake it. He'd been in foster care all his life, and if that had taught him anything, it was the art of deception. His tie was barely on now, but Travis didn't care. He would probably get in trouble for it but he was actually looking forward to that more than anything else. He was curious about the type of discipline the Academy would dish out.

When he finally made it to his class − a total of five minutes after he made it to school and twenty minutes after he was supposed to be there − he walked in with only a second of hesitation. If he went in, there was really no turning back and he wasn't sure he could make it through an entire year with the prep school kind. He could barely stand his teammates right now, and all they ever did together was practice the last three weeks before school started. He had to remind himself of why he was doing this before stepping in the door, his face instantly falling into his fake grin. He wouldn't fit in, but that didn't mean he had to let everyone hate him. He could have most of his teachers, if not all of them, charmed in a couple days. Then he could skirt by, doing just enough to make Principal Sutton happy. He'd had tons of acquaintances at his old schools, and very few people he actually called his friends. He knew it would be different at Oakland. He'd probably find a friend or two, at least someone to do the partner projects with. That was probably all, but Travis was perfectly okay with that.

Everyone's eyes fell on him the moment he walked in, including the teacher's. She was pretty and Travis found himself smiling at her long legs before actually looking up at her face. She may or may not have noticed it, but when he looked at her, her eyebrow was raised in questioning. "Travis Marks?" She sounded British.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his grin widening, "Sorry I'm late."

She took in the way he was dressed; white dress shirt untucked from his black slacks and the first two buttons undone, allowing those to peek down his shirt with his tie askew. "I bet you are...Would you like to fix your uniform before we begin?"

"Not really," he said honestly with a shrug.

"Very well," she said, "take an empty seat. Like I was saying, I am Dr. Ryan, and I will be your AP Psychology teacher for the year. I am also the school's counselor. I teach for the first three hours of the day and after that, you can find me in my office over in the counseling center."

Travis knew where he wanted to sit, and was thankful there was an opening on the far wall. He took a quick look around the room before actually settling down, his back against the wall so he could watch the others more carefully. Most of the students were staring at him, at his appearance or his skin color, he wasn't at all sure. Either way he didn't care, and to prove it, he shoved his sleeves up, showing more of the dark skin and then stretched, making it look as casual as possible. He looked around the room, once again marking his exits, weaknesses and strengths, and once he felt more confident in his environment, he took note of the people in it. Most of the girls were pretty, but all of them followed the dress code to the letter. Their skirts stayed where they were meant to and each wore the red cardigan or womens blazer. One girl, a redhead up front, had laid her blazer over the back of her chair. All that was visible was her arms, which were pale and covered in freckles.

Next, Travis focused on the boys. While he didn't advertise it, Travis was not picky about gender. Love was love, and to him, sex was sex. Travis never really went looking to sleep with men, but that didn't stop him from checking them out. There were beautiful men in the world − and he happened to be one of them and didn't mind partaking every so often. There were some promising looking boys in the back, dark hair and darker eyes with bright smiles. There was a redhead in front of him with bright green eyes. He wasn't his type though so he instantly moved on.

The boy straight to his right caught his attention. He was dressed in the complete uniform, white shirt tucked into his black slacks with his tie so tight Travis was surprised he could breathe. The tie was pressed under his red cardigan, which was pushed up slightly as he took notes, revealing a very expensive gold watch and pale delicate skin. His blonde hair stuck up slightly, and his grey eyes looked forward, narrowed in slits as he concentrated on what Dr. Ryan was writing on the board.

His book and folder were placed neatly under his desk, just out of the way of his feet. His folder had a label on it, and Travis almost snorted at how anal the boy was. For some reason, though, he found himself looking closer to see what it said. Wesley Mitchell - AP Psychology - Dr. Ryan - Room 34A. Even stranger, he found himself moving forward to talk to him.

Wesley's eyes were piercing, and Travis almost shivered. "Hey, can I borrow a pencil?" It came out before he could think about it. He was glad for his automated remarks. He wasn't sure he could have come up with something under the others' gaze.

Wesley's eyes narrowed, "No."

"Why not?"

"You don't have any paper." The blonde turned back to writing, and Travis couldn't help but feel annoyed. He didn't like to be ignored.
He poked Wesley again. The blonde turned to him slowly, his jaw locked, obviously angry. "What?"

"Can I borrow a pencil and paper?"

"You can't borrow a piece of paper."

It took Travis a moment to realize what Wesley was talking about. "Okay, can I borrow a pencil and have a piece of paper?"

"No."

Travis poked him again. "Please? I promise to return the pencil."

Wesley sighed, gently and neatly ripping a piece of paper from his spiral notebook and handed it over to Travis. He took a pencil box out of the small knapsack tucked neatly on the other side of him and handed a new and perfectly sharpened pencil over.

"Thanks," Travis grinned.

"Whatever."

"Travis."

"Yes," he said, snapping his head up and grinning. It was another automated response, and a good one at that. Most teachers never noticed the difference. Dr. Ryan was once again staring at him with her eyebrow raised, as if waiting for him to say something.

"Well, don't be shy," she said, "go on, tell us about yourself."

It was then Travis realized she was holding a hat and a little slip of paper in her hand. Everyone was staring at him. He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. He had nothing to hide. Well, no, that was a complete lie. He had tons to hide, and the best way to do that would be to reveal other things about himself to deflect. "Uh, okay," he clapped his hands together, "I'm Travis Marks, I'm eighteen years old, and this is my first year here. I used to go to L.A. High, but then I got offered a football scholarship."

"Very nice," Dr. Ryan said, like she was impressed and it made Travis grin. "Why don't you tell us about your family?"

They always probe. "All right. I have...had...have...had..." he played with his fingers, as if debating the word play, "had or have a hundred and ten siblings and eighteen mothers and fathers. I've lost track of my aunts, uncles, and cousins honestly." he gave a small chuckle as he finished, but his chest hurt.

"Be serious," Wesley said next to him, snorting as he rolled his eyes.

Travis turned to him, a little put off. "I am."

"Care to elaborate?"

No. But he did. "I grew up in foster care." There was the average awes and ohs he usually got, but they died down soon after. "I had eighteen different families with average of five to seven kids."

"Wow," Dr. Ryan said, her eyes growing wide for a second, "that's very interesting and quite different from the others' stories. Would you mind answering some questions?" She asked, and then when Travis shrugged, "Does anyone have any questions for Travis?"
A girl in the front row raised her hand. "Are most kids in foster care African-American?"

"Uh, no...I mean, there are a lot of us, but there are other races too." He told her, feeling a bit awkward, "even white." He had a feeling that was what she really wanted to ask.

Another hand − one of the cuter boys from the back. Travis turned slightly to listen to him. "How is it different from growing up in a regular home?"

"I wouldn't know," he said, still grinning. His heart hurt, though. "I never lived in a 'regular' home. I can't compare."

"I have a question," Wesley said, raising his hand slightly. Travis nodded his head towards him, "What are your plans for the future?" At the look Travis gave him, Wesley elaborated. "I mean, you're in foster care."

"Was."

"Was?"

"I'm eighteen. I'm out now."

"And what do you plan to do after your cozy ride here is over?"

Travis didn't appreciate how Wesley was talking to him, but he smiled. The kid had guts, he had to admit. Not many people would stand up to him, especially after hearing some of his past. Everyone always assumed the worst about him when they heard the words 'foster care'. "College."

"For what?"

"Criminal Justice."

"Police Officer?"

"Detective, actually."

"Don't you have to be responsible to be a Detective?"

Travis' eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'm not responsible?"

"You walked in twenty minutes late and you're completely unprepared," Wesley said, and then looked him up and down, at what he was wearing, as if to tell him without saying anything.

"Alright boys, that's enough." Dr. Ryan said, her hand itching to write down her observations. "Wesley," she said to him directly, "I pulled your name next. Why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"

"I'd rather not."

"Why not?" Dr. Ryan asked, a little disappointed.

"Because he knows his story is nowhere near as entertaining as mine."

Wesley glared at Travis, leaning forward slightly. He debated about talking, but made up his mind when Travis pulled a face at him. "My name is Wesley Mitchell; Wes." he emphasized his nickname and Dr. Ryan nodded her head in understanding, "I've been going here my whole life. I moved to L.A. when I was four."

"You're from Texas?"

Wes turned to Travis sharply. "And how did you know that?"

Travis smirked, "Your accent."

"I don't have an accent."

"Really?" Travis questioned, "Then how did I figure it out?" Wes glared at him once more and then looked forward again, annoyed. His accent wasn't obvious. Travis was just good at noticing things like that. Some of his siblings had been moved in from different states. He'd even been sent to an Oregon family once. "So, what are your plans after your cozy ride is over?"

"University."

"For what?"

"Criminal Justice."

"Police Officer?"

"Lawyer, actually."

"Don't you have to be−"

"Travis," Dr. Ryan cut him off. "I see you two will be an interesting couple..." She thought about moving one of them, but decided against it in the end. She wanted to see where it went, if it went anywhere at all.

"Is that what your daddy does?"

"Actually, yes, it is," Wes said, turning in his chair to look completely at Travis. His pants wrinkled a little, and Travis found some weird form of satisfaction in that. "Why?"

"No reason," he said, waving it off, but he was still smirking. "Just...figures."

"What's that supposed mean?"

Travis was once again cut off by Dr. Ryan, who pulled the next name from her hat. The person hesitated, wanting to see if Travis and Wes would get into a fight before telling the class about themselves. Everyone slowly turned their attention away from the fuming couple and towards the new speaker. No one was very interested in what he has to say and even kept glancing at Wes and Travis to see if they would do something else. The two glared at each other for the rest of the hour, neither bothering to even pretend they were paying attention.

Dr. Ryan, admittedly, paid more attention to them too.

When the bell rang, Wes was snapped from his trance. Annoyed, he quickly and neatly gathered his things and left the room without looking at Travis again. The other was left standing there, pencil in hand. Shrugging slightly, he stuffed the pencil in his pocket and walked on, ignoring Dr. Ryan's eyes on him as he went.

The hallways weren't crowded like L.A. High's, but Travis could tell immediately how many students were in attendence of the school. The noise level was less than at his other school as well, but not completely gone. In fact, the students were rowdy, loud, and some were just plain rude. Travis was actually glad to see it. He was worried the students would walk in rows, like robots or zombies. But besides the too-clean-cut looks, they looked to be average teenagers. Wes must be a robot. From Space.

Travis slowly made his way to class, and somehow got there before the bell rang without ever looking at his map. Math wasn't his favorite subject, which was why he picked Business Math for his senior year. The admissions woman he talked to wanted to put him in Trig, but he told her he didn't feel comfortable. He batted his eyes and pouted his lips and she believed him without a second thought. She wrote him down for Business Math and then let him pick out the rest of his schedule himself. He'd picked the classes that interested him, and few he figured would be considered challenging, just to keep everyone happy.

Second hour passed by without any problems. Mr. Holder took one look at how he was dressed and sighed, waving him off. Travis just grinned as he sat down. Just like always, the teacher probed into the students' lives and for a brief moment, everyone's sympathy was with him. But, like always, it passed over time and they moved on to the next person, this one a female student who got to go to Switzerland for her summer vacation. They spent the entire hour getting to know one another and looking over the syllabus for the semester. Mr. Holder wasn't nearly as handsome as Travis would have liked and had a boring sounding voice. Travis spent the entire time he wasn't talking focusing on the pencil in his hand and trying to think of Dr. Ryan's legs. He thought of Wes's lips instead.

When the bell rang, he walked past Mr. Holder and instantly started walking towards the gym, grinning like a fool. He had been there dozens of times already, but had never been there from inside the school. He knew the general area that it was in, and found his way there with two minutes to spare. Because their school had a religious affiliation, they separated the sexes for gym. Travis was a little disappointed, but rather excited to be able to show off his skills. He always liked gym, as did most teenage boys did, but gym was particularly special to him. Even if he got good grades, most teachers overlooked him, either because they were put off by his attitude or because they believed he wouldn't want the spotlight on him. In gym, he was able to show off by being natural, and for once, all the attention was on him without it ever being uncomfortable. Sports were something he was always good at, no matter what it was, and that made him feel good about himself.

The teacher instantly sent everyone into the locker rooms to change and Travis wasted no time. He had already put everything he needed in his locker before practice the day before and actually hurried.

"Travis!"

Travis turned, grinning slightly as Clyde walked into the changing rooms, his change of clothes under his arm. Clyde was one of only two members on the team he could stand and actually liked, and probably one of the only other black kids who went to the school. Travis knew of three; himself, Clyde, and Clyde's girlfriend Rozelle, who he'd seen at practice a couple of times. Behind him, Peter walked in just as he was pulling his curly hair back into a ponytail. The three joked and laughed while they got ready. Travis wasn't at all sure why, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Do either of you know Wes Mitchell?"

Clyde and Peter shared a look before looking back at Travis. "Yeah," Peter said, shrugging. "He was class president for the last three years. Can't say I know him all that well, though."

"He's kind of an asshole," Clyde put in, "I had him in my second hour last year. He has what Rozelle calls the permanent cold shoulder."

"Yeah," Travis chuckled a little, "I got that."

"You met him?"

"First hour," Travis smiled sheepishly, "I made the mistake of asking for a pencil." The other two chuckled, both joking about Wes when someone caught Travis' eye. He stood up from his spot and slowly walked to the end of the aisle. "Uh, guys? I'll be right back." Travis called over his shoulder, but both were too busy laughing to really notice. Travis walked through the locker room, looking down each aisle as he went. The lockers were divided by sport, with more off to the side for those in gym class who didn't play sports. When he reached the tennis aisle, he paused. When he was sure of who it was, he walked down until he was just out of reach and sat down on the bench.

"What do you want?" Wes sounded annoyed, and maybe a little hurt. Travis wondered if he had heard the others making fun of him, but didn't push it. The last thing he needed was Wes to freak out at him.

"This is the tennis section."

"I play tennis."

"That's cool. Do you like it?"

"It's why I play."

"Are you any good?"

Wes sighed, "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be on the team, now would I?" He took off his cardigan and hung it carefully before unbuttoning his shirt. He was not going to be late because Travis couldn't take the hint. He hung up his shirt and toed off his shoes. He placed them in his locker before sitting down to take off his socks. He folded them and set them safely in his left shoe and went to work on taking off his belt.

"I guess tennis is all right," Travis said with a shrug, "I mean, if you can't handle a real sport."

Wes' fingers paused against the button of his slacks, his head turning slightly to look at Travis. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean, come on," Travis started, chuckling a little, "Tennis...you just run around and hit a ball back and forth."

"Tennis takes strength, confidence, and concentration." Wes frowned. "All football requires a certain number of pounds and a hard head." Wes could have gone on; he hated football. He could have, but Travis was just staring at him, his body leaning back against the bench, supported by his hands. Travis looked so relaxed, like this was his element. He looked like he was comfortable with only him and Wes there, and it made Wes more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. His eyes were so blue, Wes hadn't noticed them before. They were smothering, and Wes wanted to look away, but found himself staring intently at them. Wes felt a lump in his throat. He knew he was breathing. He could feel his chest rising and falling but felt as if he was suffocating. Then, suddenly, Travis looked down, the too blue eyes flickering as they ran over Wes' chest and even lower. And just like that, it was over. Travis slowly looked up again, and Wes almost found himself lost among the sea of color once again.

He turned his head sharply, feeling his face heating up. He moved to take off his slacks, but stopped himself once again. He could feel Travis' eyes watching him. It unnerved him, and yet, made him feel something Wes couldn't quite understand. "Can you leave now?" He asked finally, glaring at him. It didn't have nearly as much anger and resentment as he wanted.

Travis shrugged, standing up from his spot. He stretched lazily, the bottom of his t-shirt raising slightly to reveal part of his stomach. Wes' eyes traveled to the bare skin before snapping back up. He turned to his locker and pretended to shuffle things around. Travis chuckled a little and left without saying another word.

Peter and Clyde were just finishing getting ready when Travis returned to their lockers. He shrugged when they asked him where he went and together the three walked back out of the locker rooms together. They joined the rest of the class in the middle of the room, Wes behind them. The blonde made a note of staying far away from them, standing off to the side with a small group of people Travis could only guess were his friends. Wes stood out from them. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and didn't seem to be paying any attention to their conversation.

"Okay, listen up," their teacher, Mr. Caster, said, "today is gonna be an easy day. The school just wants to see how far along or behind you are in physical fitness. I'm going to split you up in two groups, are you listening? The first is going to go through the stations together, while the second one relaxes on the bleachers. Then we're gonna switch. I'm keeping track of everyone's score. The main goal is to do better at the end of the semester than at the beginning, understand?"

There were the usual murmurs and nods. "Okay, team one is Bass, Blake, Green, Johnson, Kissling, Marks, Mitchell, Paled, Rodney, and Zilling. Everyone else is on team two. Team two, sit this out, team one to the first station."

Clyde bid his friends goodbye before heading over to the bleachers. Peter and Travis walked to station one, along with Wes and one of the boys who had been standing next to him and the other six people. The first station was for pulls ups and the boys instantly started warming up without being told. "Okay, go five at a time. I'll be watching to make sure you're doing them correctly − keep track yourself. I can't do it for all of you. We'll go for one minute."

Travis made his way over to Wes. The blonde looked a little shocked, but annoyance quickly took over. "Watch and learn, baby."

"Excuse me?"

Travis smirked, "I'm about to show you what a certain weight and a hard head can do." He walked over and jumped up to the bar above his head and effortlessly, pulled himself up until his chin was over the bar. He held himself there, grinning at Wes, and the latter couldn't help but smile back a little.
"You're on," he said, moving past his partner and, just as effortlessly, pulled himself up and held.

"Get down," Mr. Caster said, "we're starting and those ones don't count so if you can't do another, you're shit out of luck, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Wes said, while Travis only shrugged.

"Okay, grab the bar..."

The boys did.

"...and go."

Wes and Travis instantly moved, each pulling themselves up until their chins were over the bar and then dropped themselves to start over again. They both pulled three out before the others pulled themselves over once. Their breathing grew heavier, both feeling the full extent of the exercise. Their muscles burned but both ignored the pain and picked up their speed. It wasn't until Mr. Caster started to count down the final fifteen seconds did it become harder to ignore the pain, and both slowed down in their movements. When Caster blew the whistle, they both dropped themselves from their positions, almost losing their footing as they did. Peter clapped his hand over Travis' back, commenting on something Travis didn't care to listen to.
"How many?" Caster questioned each boy.

Travis grinned when it was his turn, "Twenty-three."

It was Wes' turn next. His eyes narrowed at Travis' still grinning face, and sighed as he said, "Twenty-one."

Travis was rather impressed with the honesty, as not many people would have been. The next five started, and Wes pointedly looked away from Travis, who was not-so-secretly paying more attention to him than Peter. When the other five were done, Mr. Caster called them to the next station for sit ups and the boys instantly paired off without being told.

"All right," Mr. Caster said. "I assume everyone has a partner? You guys know the drill. One down, one holds the feet. We'll go for sixty seconds and then switch. Don't try to keep count of your sit ups, let your partner do that. Pick who's going first...Well, chop, chop."

"You wanna go first," Peter asked, and Travis waited until Wes laid down on the mat to nod his head. He laid down right beside him and looked over, still grinning like a fool.

"You didn't watch me," he pointed out, pretending to pout.

"Shut up."

"That hurts."

"It was meant to."

"Okay," Mr. Caster called their attentions, "ready, set, and go."

Wes and Travis were instantly up once again, both jumping in front of the pack. Both got through the first thirty with ease. It's after that the muscles started to ache and wear the person down. Wes was able to push through it, his body a little smaller with less muscle. His movements become a little more erratic, but he kept it together and focused on nothing more than making a complete sit up. Travis, on the other hand, was more weighed down by his muscle and wasn't able to keep up. When Caster blew the whistle, Travis in mid sit up, and Wes upright.

Travis thought about having Peter lie about how many, but Wes had been honest and he decided to do the same. "Green, how many did Marks do?"
"Sixty-six."

"Zilling, what about Mitchell?"

"Seventy."

Travis could feel Wes' ego. They focused completely on their partners this time, each counting. When they were done, they moved on to the next station: flexibility. Unlike the other stations, only one person could go at a time. Caster started off with Bass intending to end with Zilling. Travis wasn't the most flexible person in the world, but he wasn't completely incapable. When it was his turn, he sat down and put his feet into the metal box and moved forward until it felt as though his knees would pop off. He made it further than the previous boys, and Travis felt proud himself. Wes didn't look worried, but he didn't look as cocky as Travis felt. Wes sat down on the floor and set his feet in the metal box after a small moment. He took a deep breath and moved forward, pushing the small metal measure as far back as it could go and then continued on by himself. Travis felt his mouth go completely dry, the blood rushing south. Coughing a little, he turned to the side and tucked his partial away, hoping that no one − mainly Wes − saw it. When the next few seconds went by without problem, he let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't keep his eyes off Wes, his mind racing with all the possible things he could do to him. It wasn't helping. When Zilling finished, Travis turned to the next station as fast as he could.

Wes had won two, meaning Travis was losing. He'd fix that. There were two more stations and Travis was determined to win. Their current was the push up exercise, and Travis had never been so happy to be facing away from everyone. He was grateful when Wes decided to go first and got down into position far enough away from the blond where he wouldn't be distracted. Caster started the sixty seconds, and Travis pushed everything he had. He lost track of the time, and the number of push ups he did, but when he came up, he could feel the pain in his arms.

"Dude, fifty eight," Peter gushed, most of the other guys only getting to the forty mark. Travis didn't care about them, though. If he didn't beat Wes, it would be over.

"Fifty," Zilling said, and Wes shrugged like it didn't matter. But then he looked at Travis and then at the final station and Travis knew it was on. They were tied, two and two.

At the final station, there was a spot for two people. The objective was to run to the halfway mark, grab the cone and run back, pick up the second cone and run it all the way to the end and come all the way back. Wes instantly took a spot, and Travis grinned at how eager he was, but then Zilling made it to the second spot before him. He, like everyone else, was oblivious to the small war going on before them. There was a flash of something in Wes's eyes and Travis stepped up to say something.

"Let me go, man."

"Why?" Zilling looked at Wes, for support or answers, neither was sure. Wes only shrugged. The reaction must have been enough, because Zilling stepped back and allowed Travis to take his spot.

"Both boys ready?"

They nodded.

"Ready, set, go!"

Travis took off, Wes right behind him. Travis reached the cone first but Wes made a sharp turn and shot past Travis before he could blink. Travis quickened his pace and together they reached the second cone. Wes, once again, shot off, leaving Travis to catch up. By now, Travis realized he was losing time in his turns, so instead of turning to run back once they reached the other side of the gym, he started running backwards. Halfway, he slide into the right direction, pretending he was avoiding getting hit when going for a touchdown. They both stopped once they reached the finish line, both a little out of breath. Mr. Caster wrote down their times and moved onto the next two boys without pause, and then the final of the group.
"Okay, you guys can go sit now. Team two!"

"You might have won," Travis told Wes smirking, "if you weren't so busy watching me."

Wes glared at him. "I won. If anyone was too busy watching anyone, you were too busy watching me."

"What is with them?" Peter asked Clyde as they walked past one another. Clyde only shrugged before catching up with the others. Wes and Travis continued to argue until team two was done and Mr. Caster was telling them about the rest of the class.

"What was my time for the race?" Travis asked, and then raised his hand as an afterthought.

"And mine?" Wes remembered to raise his, but didn't wait to be called on. They glared at each other and then looked to the teacher.

"Who won? Me or him?"

Mr. Caster looked confused, but checked the charts anyway. "It's a tie," he said, "well, it would have been if this was a race...Oh, look at the time. Hit the showers boys, see you tomorrow."

"No way," Travis said as he and Wes walked to the locker room. "I beat you. I totally beat you."

"In your dreams," Wes said, annoyed.

"Oh, what? You think you won?"

"Of course I did."

"Well how about a rematch? A real race?"

Wes wasn't sure why he was letting Travis get to him, and he knew that it should stop. At the same time, he didn't want it to. "You're on."

It wasn't a requirement to take a shower at Oakland after gym, but it was recommended. Travis didn't care either way. He didn't have anything to hide, so he never worried about showering publicly. Wes, though he had nothing to feel ashamed of, was never a big fan. It was a little awkward to hear people moving around and laughing while doing something private. Still, he hated being dirty, and the half walls covered anything important and so he powered through it.

Travis picked the stall right next to his and Wes instantly regretted his decision. He was still fuming from the day and didn't want to be anywhere near Travis at the moment, but kept finding himself looking over a little. His eyes would remain there for a few seconds and then he'd remember what he was doing and where he was and snap back to reality. He shook his head and continued on with his shower, ignoring the feeling of eyes on him.

Travis wasn't sure where all of this was going. He liked fucking with Wes, that much he'd learned during the day. He took a peek over the wall. Wes was turned at a certain angle, blocking anything good from Travis' view. He quickly looked away and checked to make sure no one was watching him. While he wasn't ashamed of himself, he still didn't need the others to know about his feelings. It would make school difficult − even more so than it already was − and football practice would be hell. He'd only actually been with one guy before, a foster cousin from a different state he would never see again.

Most of the boys just rinsed themselves off before getting out, a few actually washing their hair or body. Wes washed his entire body and hair as quickly as he could and got out, wrapping his towel tightly around his waist and walking back to his locker. Travis wrapped his own towel around his waist and followed Wes out. There was still five minutes left before class ended and lunch was fast approaching, but none of the boys were hurrying to get ready.

Snap!

"Dude, that's not funny!" Bass grabbed onto his ass, glaring at Johnson who had used the towel to whip him. He laughed when Johnson hit him a second time, taking off his own towel trying to whip the other boy in return.

Travis watched for a moment, grinning as Bass and Johnson tried to snap at one another, but quickly found himself turning away to look at Wes once again. The smaller man was watching, a disgusted look on his face. He turned, rolling his eyes slightly and started to head back to his locker. Travis got an evil idea and quickly took off his towel, leaving him nude, and wrapped it around his hand. He snapped it forward, his eyes instantly heading south when Wes' towel slid down a little.

Wes froze dead in his tracks, as did the other boys. Everyone's eyes went from Wes to Travis and then back again. Wes refused to turn around, his fists clenched at his sides. Travis wanted to see Wes's towel on the floor, wanted to see how the blonde would act to being completely naked and vulnerable. He snapped the towel again, but the white fabric never made contact with the target. Wes turned just as Travis flicked his wrist, grabbing the towel and pulling. Travis lost his footing on the slippery tile and crashed into Wes. Wes's back connected with the locker just behind him, Travis' body completely flush against him.

Wes wanted to push him away, but found himself once again lost in his eyes, and in the feeling of his body pressed against Travis'. It was an odd sensation and Wes was so caught up in feeling like he should be disgusted that his mind overloaded. When he finally snapped back, his cheeks flushed hot, the blush running from his face down to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. Travis smirked and looked down with his eyes − or was he just imagining him doing so? − before backing up and turning around. The others laughed and cheered, like Travis had faced a dragon and won. Travis joked around and laughed with the others, though his heart was pounding heavily in his chest.

Wes merely rolled his eyes and quickly went to his locker. He could feel Travis' eyes on him. He didn't know how he knew they were Travis'; he just did.