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Ok so this is exactly the kind of crack fic I love to make fun of. (I once read a summary of an Inuyasha fic on FFnet that read, and I quote, “The gang are all in high school but instead of running around and fighting and stuff they sit around and drink coffee”. OY… Anyway, I hope this isn’t *that* bad, even if it is as pointless). And though it might be too short and too condensed or whatever, I *refuse* to make this any sort of series or epic. I have enough to do with the regular boys.
BTW, I have no idea what American high school would have kids in it named Etienne and René, but whatever. OMG, this is SUCH crap. (I can’t stop saying OMG now). And René absolutely refuses to be modern. I tried.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Rene is gay
and now James is too.—a rhyme by Kittie, heh
A Story With No Title
This was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done. That he had even used the word stupidest was proof of how distracted he was, and of just how stupid he was going to feel in a few minutes.
He still couldn’t say exactly what had made him do something like that. It wasn’t like him at all, whatever Etienne said yesterday, smugly announcing that he had known it all along. The note Etienne had slipped then into his locker had been more mocking than helpful, and the series of texts James had had a chance to read while walking to calculus had started out okay—2 romantic with an annoyingly happy emoticon next to it—and had ended ominously—omg did u sign your name?. The omg just mocking enough to make James feel ill, typical of Etienne.
He hadn’t signed his name, but James still felt his stomach tighten, and bent over his desk with his face buried in his somewhat moldy copy of Your Government and You. He had already been bending, hunching his shoulders a little despite his stepmother’s urging to stand tall, and it didn’t take much until his nose was nearly resting on the eagle on the book’s cover. If he didn’t bend down, then the kid behind him wouldn’t be able to see, and, if he didn’t sit up, then he wouldn’t be facing the door.
He was going to kill Etienne. Or, at least, he was going to post a message on Etienne’s Myspace that announced Etienne’s secret crush. James had been worried enough already, without his friend’s jokes. For a moment, he curled his fingers into a fist, and then sighed, smoothing his hand out over the shiny wood and chewing his lower lip. So he wouldn’t do anything. Etienne was just jealous that James had dared to do anything at all. James just hadn’t realized when he’d done it just how daring it would feel afterward, how sick he had been all last night and all today, thinking of this.
He had only had one class with René Villon this year—a blessing and a curse, as his stepmom would have said, considering how last year he had spent at least two hours a day tripping over his feet and blushing bright red. Just one chance per day to humiliate himself this year, which had been a painful sort of relief—until today. A.P. Government was the last class of the day, which had given James well over eight hours to stress himself to death.
He was going to be sick, and he knew, if he looked up at the clock right now, he would have less than a minute of safety before…
Oh God, too late. The bell rang just a second after James heard the impossibly soft scuff of boots at the door. He shouldn’t have been listening for the sound, but of course he had. He always did, and swallowed, glancing up over the rim of his glasses to study the blurry figure.
If he inhaled now, he thought he could probably detect the scent of the cigarettes that René Villon would have been smoking out behind the portable classrooms before the other boy had decided to finally head to class. James sucked in a breath, feeling his cheeks heat at the taste of tobacco on his tongue. It was just his imagination, he knew that, but it wasn’t any less embarrassing. He could only be grateful that Etienne wasn’t there to see him blush.
Only twice had he ever been close enough to René to really smell his cigarettes, and only once while René had been smoking, and for one clear, startling moment, it was like James was still standing there, frozen in place as René had coolly lit his cigarette, seeing nothing but that red, wet mouth wrapped around the white paper, the pink tongue darting out to lick a stray piece of tobacco from his bottom lip.
James groaned into his desk and shifted, pulling his legs in under the desk just in case anyone happened to look.
Ducking his head even further, though he had to look like a freak doing it, James watched René step gracefully into the room and cross to his desk. Not even Mr. Brown dared to tell him to hurry up, though James could feel himself wanting to ask, and not for the first time, if René knew the way he looked when he paused in the doorway every day. It had to be for effect—nobody could be that beautiful and not know—and it wasn’t as though there was anything very interesting to see inside the classroom—at least not that René wouldn’t have seen every day anyway.
René was a shady outline, black leather jacket, loose pants, and the thick length of his dark hair falling down to his shoulders. Only his skin stood out, so white a Goth girl would have killed for it, and James shifted once more, flinching quietly at the sound of Mr. Brown’s voice, floating somewhere above him. In a magazine they would have said René’s skin was creamy, and the thought of cream was enough to have James blushing once more, his face stinging. There was no other sign of color on René today that he could see, and he exhaled roughly, stirring the strands of hair that never seemed to want to stay out of his face.
He hadn’t really thought… That is he’d wanted René to…had dreamed of it too many times to number, but he never actually thought he would… James groaned quietly and ended his streaming thoughts there.
At least he hadn’t signed it. Relief should have poured through him, but instead James made another fist against the desk, staring blindly at the eagle still glaring fiercely back at him.
He really ought to be paying attention. James cleared his throat quietly, and pushed his hair back behind his ears. His grades weren’t in jeopardy, but anything was better than spending another hour in here sneaking looks across the room. It didn’t help that there was no one sitting in front of him today and he had a nice, clear view.
James watched René stretch out his legs to rest on the crossbar underneath his desk before he turned his eyes away. He had to sit up and crane his neck to see over the handful of metallic pink balloons that Rachel next to him was holding, and shared a little smile with her, but caught their teacher’s eye to show he was present before leaning back in his seat.
Mr. Brown liked the students to debate, and had arranged his class to make that easier, the desks split into two sides with their backs to each wall, making the students face each other. James hated it more today than ever, since somehow he had ended up surrounded on all sides by girls, very nice girls, but who were all at least a foot shorter than him. His recent growth spurt hadn’t helped either; he already towered over most of friends, and according to his dad he probably wasn’t done growing yet. There was absolutely no way for him to hide.
The only time he didn’t feel completely out of place was during gym, which was his least favorite class so that hardly mattered. And today was just making worse. He still felt ill, but now he had no place to hide unless he wanted to duck behind some girl’s giant, velvet-covered box of chocolates. It was Valentine’s Day and even the angry granola girl from the newspaper was holding a fuzzy teddy bear. He was in a sea of pink hearts and candy, and he didn’t even want to start counting the number of red roses. Each and every one with a tell-tale note attached.
He was going to be sick.
Flowergrams, to raise money for each class. Or really, to prove how popular you were. And it was no wonder that there weren’t any on James’ desk. The jocks were really the only boys who ever got any flowers anyway, he told himself, since cheerleaders somehow found that funny. Though it could just as likely be that many of the cheerleaders could probably use therapy to raise their self-esteem, according to several articles he had read for last year’s Social Science project.
Etienne would of course say ‘fuck their self-esteem’ and James felt himself frowning a little bit at just the thought, knowing that probably everyone else would agree with his friend. He had heard that René had singed one of the cheerleader’s skirts once, flicking hot ash from his cigarette at her when she had approached him about class elections. As though René Villon would care about something so pointless, and James could easily imagine René and his strange circle of friends laughing at the girl before they all walked away and left her standing there.
Though the opposite could also be true; René could have just ignored her, staring at her with eyes so cold and superior that they would have made even Etienne shut up, and James couldn’t say which scenario was worse; only knowing that to find himself the center of René Villon’s attention, even if only for a minute, had left him frowning and dizzy and certain for days afterward that he had made a fool of himself. All of which would have been bad enough without the knowledge that it was only his baggy jeans that had kept the entire school from knowing exactly how hard thinking of René made him.
The urge to run his hand down the front of his pants now was so strong that James jerked his hands up and back, his elbow banging against the back of his chair, the sound more than the pain making him jump and look up to see if anyone had noticed.
Eyes so dark they seemed black were looking straight at him, a weird, hypnotizing sort of black that didn’t obey a single rule that James had learned in any of his science classes. Black that reflected light instead of absorbing it. Only the exchange student from Turkey had that brightly gleaming black, and he had never inspired the same sinking feeling in James’ stomach like when he stared at René Villon.
James felt his chest constrict, unable to breathe. And he thought distantly that this was what it felt like to have your heart in your throat, why people books could never breathe or eat or do anything but sit and think about the person they wanted.
He gasped, the air harsh in his dry throat, and saw the one eyebrow lift with a cruel kind of amusement. He had seen René Villon give others that look, across the mall at lunch, in the parking lot, but never at him. And he thought, maybe, it would have better to have to have been ignored after all.
He frowned, his fist still on his desk, his elbow still sore, and finally looked down, away from René. It was hardly fair that René managed to look gorgeous sneering at him either, James decided resentfully, his hair falling back into his face. He glared at the blonde tips in front of his eyes and huffed an angry breath.
He was probably red from his forehead down to his neck and he hadn’t really done anything to deserve that kind of response, at least as far as René knew. Yes, he was clumsy, and too tall, and if it weren’t for his job working for his dad during school vacations, he might still be skin and bones without any muscle at all. And so what if he really liked government class, and science, and reading? It wasn’t as though René was all that anyway. Posing in the doorway everyday, pretending to disobey the rules all the time, but if he really did, he would hardly be in an honors class like this one. And then of course, there was the fact that James had caught him lying, twice, even if James hadn’t realized it at the time.
At that, James glanced back up, his mouth falling open to find René just smiling at him; his lips curved high on one side as though James were the funniest thing he had seen in forever.
It was almost exactly how he had looked the day they had met—the day James had met René. The first time they had ever spoken, even if James was the only one to consider it a meeting. René probably didn’t remember the encounter at all, except possibly to laugh about James’ stuttering back at him; he had been so impressed with what he’d thought had been René’s kindness that he’d barely managed a sentence.
Scowling, James flipped open his book and dropped his head to stare at the random page. It was crazy to think those eyes were still on him, but this seemed to be his week for craziness, and he wanted to look at the clock, pull out his phone and text Etienne, anything but keep sitting here and not look across the room. Looking would just confirm his insanity, and remind him of things he ought to have forgotten by now, instead of dreaming and mooning like Clark on Smallville.
Posters in the bathrooms for clubs and assemblies were mostly just torn down immediately no matter what they said, but James hadn’t minded taking time to put more for the campus Gay and Lesbian Alliance when the chapter president, Gabriel, had asked. That had been until two assholes from the football team had wandered in, trying to be funny, he supposed. That they had probably just been speaking from their own insecurities would have meant more if it hadn’t been after school had been over for the day, and if they hadn’t both been in front of the door. Blocking it really, and wanting to know what the fag was doing in there. It also would have helped if James had shut up, instead of asking if the two of them would like to be left alone in that tone he usually only used on his little brother or a friend like Etienne.
It was probably the same stupid impulse that had come over him yesterday, James reflected sickly, wondering if there was some pill he could take to make him more rational. It wasn’t as though he knew how to fight, unless he counted wrestling with his neighbor Jack when they’d both been about five. And football players were much larger than a five year old, James had thought, licking his lip nervously. And even if only one of them had actually understood his remark, it would have only taken the one to kill him.
He had just taken a step back, reaching for his tape like an idiot—tape was not a weapon—when a startlingly calm voice had echoed around the tiled walls and stopped everyone in their tracks. The jocks had turned to see who had interrupted, letting James hold back whatever stupid thing he might have said next and pull in a shaky breath.
He had choked on the air in the next second to see René Villon and several of his friends, and the sight would have been even more frightening if René had not been arching that eyebrow, if he had not been looking right at James with a little smile on his face.
“I think they do want to be alone,” he’d spoken as though James had said it just to him, stepping into the bathroom and sweeping a look from the posters, to James, and then back to the jocks. “But some of us just want to piss.” And James had blinked at René’s sudden, fierce grin, the way it was echoed on the faces of his friends behind him, even though they couldn’t see it. He could only imagine the football players’ reactions.
“Get the fuck out.” René’s friend Deniau was more direct, his golden grill somehow terrifying, and the jocks gotten the fuck out, and James had sighed, turning back the pile of posters and tape he had left on the sink, blushing at his shaking hands.
“Th…thank you,” he had murmured, and finished taping up a poster before turning back around. He’d had his stuff gathered close to his chest for a quick exit, knowing they wouldn’t want the queer nerd around either.
“Just for posters?” He hadn’t expected the smooth question, and had jerked his head up. He had been only about an inch taller than René at the time, and the other boy had moved quietly into the room, so close James had had to push up his glasses to see him clearly.
“It’s worth it, if it helps someone else to not feel ashamed,” James had blurted the words out in the same defiant way he’d snapped back at the jocks, and could even now remember the painful blush that had followed them, his whole body hot and tight, his eyes unwilling to look at anything other than René Villon as he had extended his arm, reaching out to James to...
“Okay, gang, today’s discussion will be based on…” Mr. Brown’s voice brought James’s mind back to the present, and he hitched his shoulders, wondering just when he had sat up straight, and when had he let his gaze wander back toward René. René, who, now that James thought about it, probably wouldn’t recall that incident at all or know James’ name. He wouldn’t even remember James frowning at him a moment ago, and so he wouldn’t connect any gifts he might have received today—and then thrown away, obviously—to James.
Letting out a relieved breath, James allowed his eyes to roam back over to René, keeping his gaze safely below the desk. Or not so safely, he decided a moment later, his mouth dry. God, he was an idiot. Even then, René had only wanted to take a closer look at the posters, not to touch him. Etienne who hung out in far too many chat rooms swore that René pinged, but if that were true, it still meant nothing for James. In fact, about a month before, James and Etienne had been walking behind the school to back parking lot and had come across René and a girl friend, standing close together by her car. She had been bent down close to his face, laughing, and though René’s glance in James and Etienne’s direction had seemed, well, annoyed, he had still let her put her hand on his shoulder.
They had both turned as he and Etienne had passed, and if anything, though James knew he had probably imagined it, René had frowned again, just at James. René and that girl had been almost holding hands by then, and James had looked quickly away, staring blankly at Etienne as his friend had demanded James feel the suede lining of his new jacket, pulling James’ hand along the collar, around his neck. As though Etienne didn’t buy new clothes every week, and James had smiled reluctantly at Etienne’s joke that James could also use a little leather.
Etienne wished he was that hardcore, James decided, relaxing a bit as he did, sighing at the familiar sight of René’s boots. He’d been so wired at the thought of René Villon possibly touching him back in that bathroom that he had stiffened up and dropped his head, studying the all-black Chucks René had been wearing that day until he had memorized every scuff mark.
“…I had you all read about the Cold War, particularly about our involvement in Viet Nam and Cambodia, articles from various perspectives…” Mr. Brown was watching him, and so James looked up with a quick smile, striving to pay attention. “This war incited a lot of protest, at home and abroad, much like American action now, though the types of protests have some striking differences…”
“You’re more concerned with the feelings of people you don’t know than with your safety.” René might have meant the statement to be a question as he had slid a single sheet of paper from James’ arms, and looked critically over the poster. And for a moment, James had thought of some of the many rumors about René Villon. About his drunk mother, and millionaire father, and the affair everyone had said he’d had with his junior high Gym coach. Which was ridiculous of course, even if René were gay, nobody in junior high had an affair with any teacher. That would have been abuse, and if others had known about it, they should have reported it.
But he’d still thought of it, glancing up from studying René’s shoes to study René’s mouth, inhaling the lingering scent and detecting the sour hint of alcohol on René’s breath as well.
“Of c…course I am.” James had answered after too long of a pause, frowning a little and looking beyond René to the poster he had just put up. “People should always feel that someone else might care about them.”
“Really?” Liquor and tobacco-scented breath had rushed past James’ ear and he cringed to recall just how he had jumped, snapping his head around to find René Villon inches away from him, looking like he might at any second just lean in a little more and kiss him. His vision had dimmed; his mind brightly swirling with thoughts of René kissing him, of René Villon’s mouth on his and his hands touching his body, and his mouth had fallen open when René had ducked closer, bringing his lips just to James cheek. His breath had been warm, and James had shivered, feeling how René had smiled. “But nobody really cares about anybody else, James.”
“You…you came in to help me,” James had shot back, shocked at his attitude, trembling with sudden cold. And René had lowered his eyes and stepped back, flicking the poster from his hands and ignoring it as it floated slowly to the floor.
“Deniau had to use the bathroom,” René had turned away to answer, shrugging as James had just stared blankly at his back. A moment later, with René’s friends still grinning strangely at him he had stumbled out, tripping at least once his way to the door. He hadn’t heard them laugh, but was sure they had.
“Riots aren’t protests,” James heard himself suddenly speaking, staring at Mr. Brown with wide eyes and then inexplicably glancing to René, René who had known his name then even if James hadn’t noticed right away. René’s head was down, his hands flat on his desk. “Th…they don’t help any cause and they only lead to destruction and more pain.”
“Interesting…” Mr. Brown didn’t seem to mind him interrupting, and a few others started to comment. René took a deep breath, tapping his hand on his desk, and James couldn’t help studying that intently as well. René only seemed annoyed, James was sure. He was probably just bored like he always was, staring off into space and still somehow getting A’s on every test. James heard him tell the honors society student next to him that he cheated, when Thierry had asked.
“A riot is the voice of the voiceless.” Abruptly René was speaking, and as though no one else had been talking, the room grew quiet. “The rhyme of the unheard.” And James sat up, his chin lifting to realize that though René didn’t bother to raise his head, he was looking up through his eyelashes at only him as he quoted their textbook, probably the only person in the class who would know the words enough to quote them, even if he claimed to be a cheater. There was a slight curve to his lips as well, just like the day they had met, as though René found something funny and wanted James to find it funny too, as though he knew that James was possibly the only one in the class who knew it was a quote from their book, including Mr. Brown. Which was another crazy thought that James did not need. He was dreaming again, imagining things that weren’t there.
“That only serves to terrorize the defenseless, usually as bad or worse than the government or law they are rioting against. There are better ways of making a statement.” James jerked his chin up, his eyes so wide and dry that he wondered why nobody asked him if he was alright.
“James?” But Mr. Brown only seemed surprised that James was so involved in the discussion today, and was unconcerned with his panic. James dropped a hand to his turning stomach, suddenly dizzy.
“Peaceful gestures get ignored.” It was irritating how bored René sounded, how tired he looked, watching James with half-closed eyes, as though Mr. Brown were not also turning to him, startled at his response. Why had René chosen today to finally speak up? James clenched the hand at his stomach, his mouth firming as he held back his words. “People admire courage.”
The flowergrams were always delivered during second period, and it had taken a lot of work to figure out René Villon’s schedule without anyone noticing. Even more work just to think about sending a rose. It was a stupid ritual. And a stupid holiday. And there was really no point in sending a flower and not sign your name or write a message. He had never really intended to do it.
But clearly he needed help, but not only had he ordered one to be sent to René, he had ordered twelve, a gesture to obvious that everyone in that classroom must have understood. Everyone in the school, even if they couldn’t know the sender, and he ought to be grateful René had thrown the things away.
“Passive protest helps send a message of strength…” James insisted anyway, his voice growing faint to think of those flowers in a trashcan somewhere. It had taken all his nerve just to send them, and that hadn’t gotten him anything. “And as for courage…”
“Rebellion helps send a message of strength.” Now René raised his head, and James looked quickly away, dropping his eyes and then gasping loudly to see René’s backpack. It was propped against his desk on the floor, the zipper undone just enough to reveal the crimson splash of a dozen roses, neatly bound into a bouquet.
“So, why take an action that isn’t direct?” Mr. Brown asked, or James thought he did; he didn’t look to see, his gaze fixed on those roses.
René hadn’t thrown them away. He still had them; even if he had shoved them into his backpack. Which was confusing too, and horrible, and James bit his lip, staring so hard at the flowers that he could have counted the petals.
It was absolutely insane this time, but James knew René’s dark eyes were studying him, knew it from the way his stomach was churning and his shallow breathing and if he looked up, René would know and then James really would be sick—if René and his friends didn’t beat the shit out of him first.
“B…because you have no other option left. But if you don’t say something, you’ll die.” If anyone heard his whisper, James would have been surprised. But at least he wasn’t blushing. He felt too sick for that, shivering a little as he sank back in his seat, vaguely hearing Rachel offering her opinion next to him.
“Interesting,” Mr. Brown commented again, seeming far away.
“But just speaking could destroy you,” René spoke softly, slowly. James knew the voice without looking up though it was no longer as loud, not carrying clearly through the whole room, almost for James alone, just like his strange smiles.
James’ hands curled into fists, then opened, his eyes squeezing shut as the words rose up again, and he wondered if it were René who did this to him.
“But not speaking out is destroying you.” He answered, not stuttering for once, even if his breathing was unsteady. This was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life. Oh God. He didn’t even think he was making sense.
He looked up like an idiot, and looked right at René, because René was looking right at him, just like he’d feared. René was no longer smiling, though his lips were still slightly parted, as though he was having trouble breathing too. Then his eyes narrowed and James twitched in his seat, his heart ready to burst from his chest.
“What good will feelings do for someone who cannot speak?”
“Out of fear?” Rachel spoke suddenly, and James blinked rapidly at the reminder that other people were there with them, that there was a space between them, as though he were somewhere else again. He thought of that bathroom, thought of passing in the hall and of almost reaching out and stroking that leather coat. “Of shame,” Rachel went on innocently, not seeing James’ slight flinch, “or retaliation?”
He hadn’t of course. Active in the Alliance was one thing. Attempting to touch one of the school’s more dangerous outcasts was another. It had been unfortunate that René had chosen that moment to turn around and James had been helpless to do anything other than look up at René’s arrested expression and try to smile. What had been supposed to say, remember me, the fag who you saved, then laughed at in the restroom one time?
“James…” But René had said his name again, his eyes wide and strangely light, his pale face rushing with color.
Then René’s hand had come up, and it was only after James’ back had slammed into the row of lockers behind him that he’d even realized he’d been shoved away. He’d said something, but James hadn’t heard it, not as the AV cart had come crashing between them, a frantic girl running behind it with her arms out.
Others in the hall had stayed to watch what would have been a fabulous crash, but James had run out, hurrying to class and then home after school. He’d taken a new way to that class for the rest of the semester, determined not to make a fool of himself any more if he could help it.
“Fear of rejection?” Someone was still stuck on this topic, and James frowned over at Thierry, who seemed surprised and then irritated.
“If fear and loathing are internalized enough, by whatever means…” They wouldn’t be quiet, the class today was suddenly inspired to continue this discussion, and James tracked each voice, shifting his gaze anywhere but right in front of him, his heartbeat so hard it was painful, so loud they had to hear it.
“So…even one nonviolent protest has an effect, by inspiring others.” Thierry gave James a challenging look as he came to this conclusion, and it was James’ turn to frown.
“Yes…the very reason governments crack down like this, prevent meetings and freedom of expression…” Mr. Brown looked about ready to cream his jeans in his excitement over his class’ interest today, and James supposed bitterly he had René to thank for that as well. “One leads to so many more…”
“Taking a stand by yourself, that takes real courage,” James fought the urge to bury his head in his arms back down on the desk, looking to Mr. Brown instead.
“Exactly!” Their teacher seemed impressed with James’ brilliance, and gestured wildly as he called on someone else, babbling about facing down tanks and monks on fire. James stared after him for another moment, and then did drop his head, all his muscles aching like he had just run a few miles. He exhaled and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. There was only one person who’d be texting him now, and James pulled his cell out just enough to glance down at it.
I saw R w them. Etienne warning him about half and hour too late. James glanced carefully back and saw René sitting back now, his head down. He looked asleep, until he shifted position, his eyes still only on his desk.
James tried to imagine René carrying around his roses all day, and shut his eyes to think of the jokes that even René Villon he would have gotten from everyone. He had only put them in his backpack for this class then, and James licked his lips. He had probably just been tired of carrying them…even if he hadn’t thrown them away. And it wasn’t like it mattered either way, René couldn’t have known who had sent them.
Not this morning, but he might know now.
James’ whole body seemed to flinch, and he sat back up so abruptly his hands flew out on their own, flinging his book to the floor. He flinched again, along with everyone else in the class, as it landed flat, halting the flow of discussion with the loud bang until he bent down to grab the book and place it back on his desk, his fingers slow.
If only he faced down a tank now. That might be easier.
James licked his lips and threw his gaze up before he stop himself, watching René’s dark head turning away from him, turning like maybe he had just been staring at James like everyone else.
“But those people who face troops and dogs and stuff, they’re committing suicide!” The realization made Rachel finally go silent, and James felt his stomach flip like he might actually throw up, his chest tight as René spoke, still not looking up.
“It’s worth it, if they can help others not feel ashamed…or afraid,” he remarked smoothly, the words coming from him so easily that he had to have said them before.
James gasped, saved only from explaining himself by the ring of the bell, the end of school for the day. The end of his life. God, he was so stupid.
Everyone was moving, gathering up books and bears and candy, and, oh lord, flowergrams, taking their booty home with them. If he looked, he would see René leaving too, and instead he bent over to shove his book away, turning off his phone before Etienne comment and stuffing that in his backpack too.
He was the last one out, forced to smile at a beaming Mr. Brown before he could escape. Stopping just outside, he intently observed the others leaving. No one would linger at school today, and if you didn’t have plans, you went home. Simple as that. If he stayed any longer it would be odd, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move quickly, staring at their backs as they headed home. Off to parties or just to study, maybe to go under the bridge and smoke out. He had no way of knowing, really, and let out one long, tired breath.
“Stupid,” he said out loud, slipping on his jacket and glancing around one last time before he stepped from the portable’s doorway.
The soft laugh after that made him turn, and then frown and move across to the side of the building, going still to see René watching him on the other side of the corner, leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette.
James’ face was hot before he even had a chance to walk away, his mouth dry of any kind of greeting at all at the knowing arch of René’s eyebrow. He knew he was staring, and worse, he was just watching René smoke, his lips closing around the butt as he sucked in a breath, his cheeks hollow. A stream of gray smoke lingered in the air between them when René lowered the cigarette and James sighed at the smell.
“I…” He started and stopped, swallowing. I sent your flowers, seemed lame now, and somehow René already knew who he was, so he didn’t need to introduce himself. “You…really shouldn’t smoke,” he finished sadly.
“You shouldn’t bite your lip,” René answered instantly, drawing James’s attention back to face in amazement that René had noticed the habit at all. But then René let the cigarette fall to the ground as though he hadn’t just lit it, crushing it carelessly under his boot. His backpack was resting on the ground by his feet, roses still displayed for him to see, and James took a deep breath, looking back up.
René was watching him, his body pressed too hard to the wall, his hand playing with his lighter now that the cigarette was gone. After a moment, he frowned and looked away. The lighter slipped in his hands, almost dropping to the ground before René saved it.
“I sent you those.” The words slid out easily, all his tension leaving with them so suddenly James had to put a hand out on the building to stay up. His vision swam for a moment, and then he moved, or René did, their bodies closer than they were before. He knew he was going to keep talking, there didn’t seem to be any way to control his insanity, not today. “Did you know that?”
“Yes.” René’s nod didn’t tell him anything at all, but René’s breathing was fast, his eyes wide, and, oh god, he kept moving closer until James could either back up and leave or be flush up against him. His feet didn’t seem to want to move, at least not backwards, and James held his breath as René finally stopped, tensing as he waited. But René didn’t reach out or push him away, didn’t do anything, and there James let out his breath, shuddering as he did.
He had grown taller than he’d thought, and couldn’t help hunching his shoulders, bending down slightly to be closer. And then René was a dark blur, too close to his glasses for James to really see him, far too close, and James gasped as he was flattened to the wall, René’s body slipping between his legs.
“James…” It didn’t even seem like his name, the way René breathed it into his ear, but James turned his head to follow the sound, a silent gasp leaving him gaping when René’s mouth pressed along his neck, sliding down to suck along his throat. Suck hard along his throat, and James shivered, putting out his hands and then letting them fall, not sure what he was supposed to do other than lean heavily against the wall and try not moan. René seemed to know what to do anyway, and James blushed at his own inexperience.
God. They were at school, only a few feet away from Mr. Brown’s classroom and possible discovery, and all he could think to do squirm, shifting his hips up, pushing against the body wriggling in his thighs, and he was already so hard and he had to be dreaming it felt so good.
It almost hurt when René’s tongue darted beyond the neckline of his shirt, his fingers working the buttons loose until suddenly James felt that wet, needy pressure at his collarbone. René would have his shirt off soon, or at least open, and he should have been embarrassed to think of it, why René would want to undress him so quickly.
“René…” he tried to say, struggling to focus on something other than shockingly cold hands warming against his chest, his bare stomach, and going lower. “René!” The first tug on his jeans made James cry out, he couldn’t help it, and the startled sound echoed between them. For a moment they were both quiet, listening for signs that anyone else might have heard, and then René’s hands were at his hips, yanking their bodies together.
“What…what are you doing?” James wondered breathlessly, his hands leaving the wall to close around smooth leather, his back arching at the swipe of a tongue across his chest. “W…wait…” His fingers clenched at the hot feel of René’s breath on his stomach, his dick pounding at how close René was to… James gasped, rocking forward, and he felt the momentary force of René’s gaze on him before his zipper was slid down and René’s hand was cupping him through his underwear.
This could not be happening. James’ eyes flew open and he looked down, jerking to see René’s head bent, René dropping down to his knees on the cold ground. And in his dreams it had never been like this, and James felt himself frowning. “Wait,” he said again, and was a little surprised that he hadn’t stuttered. His hands curled around the soft leather of René’s coat, pulling hard though he didn’t know why, until suddenly René was in front of him again, his cheeks flushed as he scowled up at James.
“What?” René’s glare last for a moment, and then he was glancing away. James shook his head, not clear on what hew as doing, why his hands wouldn’t let go of René’s jacket no matter how René shrugged and tried to pull away, as though people stopped him from sucking them off everyday and it didn’t bother him, and the thought made James frown even more.
“I…” James stopped there, licking his lips, and shaking his head. But René looked back to him, eyes wide and dark, his mouth slightly open as though he couldn’t catch his breath either, and James swallowed. “I…” he said again, and then dropped his head, crushing his mouth awkwardly against René’s soft lips and feeling his face heat. He didn’t have much practice at kissing either, but René’s mouth opened to murmur something, and it was James who slid his hands down to René’s hips, holding the other boy tightly to keep him from falling.
He was kissing René Villon. This… this was the best thing he had ever done.
Cheeeeese!
BTW, I have no idea what American high school would have kids in it named Etienne and René, but whatever. OMG, this is SUCH crap. (I can’t stop saying OMG now). And René absolutely refuses to be modern. I tried.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Rene is gay
and now James is too.—a rhyme by Kittie, heh
A Story With No Title
This was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done. That he had even used the word stupidest was proof of how distracted he was, and of just how stupid he was going to feel in a few minutes.
He still couldn’t say exactly what had made him do something like that. It wasn’t like him at all, whatever Etienne said yesterday, smugly announcing that he had known it all along. The note Etienne had slipped then into his locker had been more mocking than helpful, and the series of texts James had had a chance to read while walking to calculus had started out okay—2 romantic with an annoyingly happy emoticon next to it—and had ended ominously—omg did u sign your name?. The omg just mocking enough to make James feel ill, typical of Etienne.
He hadn’t signed his name, but James still felt his stomach tighten, and bent over his desk with his face buried in his somewhat moldy copy of Your Government and You. He had already been bending, hunching his shoulders a little despite his stepmother’s urging to stand tall, and it didn’t take much until his nose was nearly resting on the eagle on the book’s cover. If he didn’t bend down, then the kid behind him wouldn’t be able to see, and, if he didn’t sit up, then he wouldn’t be facing the door.
He was going to kill Etienne. Or, at least, he was going to post a message on Etienne’s Myspace that announced Etienne’s secret crush. James had been worried enough already, without his friend’s jokes. For a moment, he curled his fingers into a fist, and then sighed, smoothing his hand out over the shiny wood and chewing his lower lip. So he wouldn’t do anything. Etienne was just jealous that James had dared to do anything at all. James just hadn’t realized when he’d done it just how daring it would feel afterward, how sick he had been all last night and all today, thinking of this.
He had only had one class with René Villon this year—a blessing and a curse, as his stepmom would have said, considering how last year he had spent at least two hours a day tripping over his feet and blushing bright red. Just one chance per day to humiliate himself this year, which had been a painful sort of relief—until today. A.P. Government was the last class of the day, which had given James well over eight hours to stress himself to death.
He was going to be sick, and he knew, if he looked up at the clock right now, he would have less than a minute of safety before…
Oh God, too late. The bell rang just a second after James heard the impossibly soft scuff of boots at the door. He shouldn’t have been listening for the sound, but of course he had. He always did, and swallowed, glancing up over the rim of his glasses to study the blurry figure.
If he inhaled now, he thought he could probably detect the scent of the cigarettes that René Villon would have been smoking out behind the portable classrooms before the other boy had decided to finally head to class. James sucked in a breath, feeling his cheeks heat at the taste of tobacco on his tongue. It was just his imagination, he knew that, but it wasn’t any less embarrassing. He could only be grateful that Etienne wasn’t there to see him blush.
Only twice had he ever been close enough to René to really smell his cigarettes, and only once while René had been smoking, and for one clear, startling moment, it was like James was still standing there, frozen in place as René had coolly lit his cigarette, seeing nothing but that red, wet mouth wrapped around the white paper, the pink tongue darting out to lick a stray piece of tobacco from his bottom lip.
James groaned into his desk and shifted, pulling his legs in under the desk just in case anyone happened to look.
Ducking his head even further, though he had to look like a freak doing it, James watched René step gracefully into the room and cross to his desk. Not even Mr. Brown dared to tell him to hurry up, though James could feel himself wanting to ask, and not for the first time, if René knew the way he looked when he paused in the doorway every day. It had to be for effect—nobody could be that beautiful and not know—and it wasn’t as though there was anything very interesting to see inside the classroom—at least not that René wouldn’t have seen every day anyway.
René was a shady outline, black leather jacket, loose pants, and the thick length of his dark hair falling down to his shoulders. Only his skin stood out, so white a Goth girl would have killed for it, and James shifted once more, flinching quietly at the sound of Mr. Brown’s voice, floating somewhere above him. In a magazine they would have said René’s skin was creamy, and the thought of cream was enough to have James blushing once more, his face stinging. There was no other sign of color on René today that he could see, and he exhaled roughly, stirring the strands of hair that never seemed to want to stay out of his face.
He hadn’t really thought… That is he’d wanted René to…had dreamed of it too many times to number, but he never actually thought he would… James groaned quietly and ended his streaming thoughts there.
At least he hadn’t signed it. Relief should have poured through him, but instead James made another fist against the desk, staring blindly at the eagle still glaring fiercely back at him.
He really ought to be paying attention. James cleared his throat quietly, and pushed his hair back behind his ears. His grades weren’t in jeopardy, but anything was better than spending another hour in here sneaking looks across the room. It didn’t help that there was no one sitting in front of him today and he had a nice, clear view.
James watched René stretch out his legs to rest on the crossbar underneath his desk before he turned his eyes away. He had to sit up and crane his neck to see over the handful of metallic pink balloons that Rachel next to him was holding, and shared a little smile with her, but caught their teacher’s eye to show he was present before leaning back in his seat.
Mr. Brown liked the students to debate, and had arranged his class to make that easier, the desks split into two sides with their backs to each wall, making the students face each other. James hated it more today than ever, since somehow he had ended up surrounded on all sides by girls, very nice girls, but who were all at least a foot shorter than him. His recent growth spurt hadn’t helped either; he already towered over most of friends, and according to his dad he probably wasn’t done growing yet. There was absolutely no way for him to hide.
The only time he didn’t feel completely out of place was during gym, which was his least favorite class so that hardly mattered. And today was just making worse. He still felt ill, but now he had no place to hide unless he wanted to duck behind some girl’s giant, velvet-covered box of chocolates. It was Valentine’s Day and even the angry granola girl from the newspaper was holding a fuzzy teddy bear. He was in a sea of pink hearts and candy, and he didn’t even want to start counting the number of red roses. Each and every one with a tell-tale note attached.
He was going to be sick.
Flowergrams, to raise money for each class. Or really, to prove how popular you were. And it was no wonder that there weren’t any on James’ desk. The jocks were really the only boys who ever got any flowers anyway, he told himself, since cheerleaders somehow found that funny. Though it could just as likely be that many of the cheerleaders could probably use therapy to raise their self-esteem, according to several articles he had read for last year’s Social Science project.
Etienne would of course say ‘fuck their self-esteem’ and James felt himself frowning a little bit at just the thought, knowing that probably everyone else would agree with his friend. He had heard that René had singed one of the cheerleader’s skirts once, flicking hot ash from his cigarette at her when she had approached him about class elections. As though René Villon would care about something so pointless, and James could easily imagine René and his strange circle of friends laughing at the girl before they all walked away and left her standing there.
Though the opposite could also be true; René could have just ignored her, staring at her with eyes so cold and superior that they would have made even Etienne shut up, and James couldn’t say which scenario was worse; only knowing that to find himself the center of René Villon’s attention, even if only for a minute, had left him frowning and dizzy and certain for days afterward that he had made a fool of himself. All of which would have been bad enough without the knowledge that it was only his baggy jeans that had kept the entire school from knowing exactly how hard thinking of René made him.
The urge to run his hand down the front of his pants now was so strong that James jerked his hands up and back, his elbow banging against the back of his chair, the sound more than the pain making him jump and look up to see if anyone had noticed.
Eyes so dark they seemed black were looking straight at him, a weird, hypnotizing sort of black that didn’t obey a single rule that James had learned in any of his science classes. Black that reflected light instead of absorbing it. Only the exchange student from Turkey had that brightly gleaming black, and he had never inspired the same sinking feeling in James’ stomach like when he stared at René Villon.
James felt his chest constrict, unable to breathe. And he thought distantly that this was what it felt like to have your heart in your throat, why people books could never breathe or eat or do anything but sit and think about the person they wanted.
He gasped, the air harsh in his dry throat, and saw the one eyebrow lift with a cruel kind of amusement. He had seen René Villon give others that look, across the mall at lunch, in the parking lot, but never at him. And he thought, maybe, it would have better to have to have been ignored after all.
He frowned, his fist still on his desk, his elbow still sore, and finally looked down, away from René. It was hardly fair that René managed to look gorgeous sneering at him either, James decided resentfully, his hair falling back into his face. He glared at the blonde tips in front of his eyes and huffed an angry breath.
He was probably red from his forehead down to his neck and he hadn’t really done anything to deserve that kind of response, at least as far as René knew. Yes, he was clumsy, and too tall, and if it weren’t for his job working for his dad during school vacations, he might still be skin and bones without any muscle at all. And so what if he really liked government class, and science, and reading? It wasn’t as though René was all that anyway. Posing in the doorway everyday, pretending to disobey the rules all the time, but if he really did, he would hardly be in an honors class like this one. And then of course, there was the fact that James had caught him lying, twice, even if James hadn’t realized it at the time.
At that, James glanced back up, his mouth falling open to find René just smiling at him; his lips curved high on one side as though James were the funniest thing he had seen in forever.
It was almost exactly how he had looked the day they had met—the day James had met René. The first time they had ever spoken, even if James was the only one to consider it a meeting. René probably didn’t remember the encounter at all, except possibly to laugh about James’ stuttering back at him; he had been so impressed with what he’d thought had been René’s kindness that he’d barely managed a sentence.
Scowling, James flipped open his book and dropped his head to stare at the random page. It was crazy to think those eyes were still on him, but this seemed to be his week for craziness, and he wanted to look at the clock, pull out his phone and text Etienne, anything but keep sitting here and not look across the room. Looking would just confirm his insanity, and remind him of things he ought to have forgotten by now, instead of dreaming and mooning like Clark on Smallville.
Posters in the bathrooms for clubs and assemblies were mostly just torn down immediately no matter what they said, but James hadn’t minded taking time to put more for the campus Gay and Lesbian Alliance when the chapter president, Gabriel, had asked. That had been until two assholes from the football team had wandered in, trying to be funny, he supposed. That they had probably just been speaking from their own insecurities would have meant more if it hadn’t been after school had been over for the day, and if they hadn’t both been in front of the door. Blocking it really, and wanting to know what the fag was doing in there. It also would have helped if James had shut up, instead of asking if the two of them would like to be left alone in that tone he usually only used on his little brother or a friend like Etienne.
It was probably the same stupid impulse that had come over him yesterday, James reflected sickly, wondering if there was some pill he could take to make him more rational. It wasn’t as though he knew how to fight, unless he counted wrestling with his neighbor Jack when they’d both been about five. And football players were much larger than a five year old, James had thought, licking his lip nervously. And even if only one of them had actually understood his remark, it would have only taken the one to kill him.
He had just taken a step back, reaching for his tape like an idiot—tape was not a weapon—when a startlingly calm voice had echoed around the tiled walls and stopped everyone in their tracks. The jocks had turned to see who had interrupted, letting James hold back whatever stupid thing he might have said next and pull in a shaky breath.
He had choked on the air in the next second to see René Villon and several of his friends, and the sight would have been even more frightening if René had not been arching that eyebrow, if he had not been looking right at James with a little smile on his face.
“I think they do want to be alone,” he’d spoken as though James had said it just to him, stepping into the bathroom and sweeping a look from the posters, to James, and then back to the jocks. “But some of us just want to piss.” And James had blinked at René’s sudden, fierce grin, the way it was echoed on the faces of his friends behind him, even though they couldn’t see it. He could only imagine the football players’ reactions.
“Get the fuck out.” René’s friend Deniau was more direct, his golden grill somehow terrifying, and the jocks gotten the fuck out, and James had sighed, turning back the pile of posters and tape he had left on the sink, blushing at his shaking hands.
“Th…thank you,” he had murmured, and finished taping up a poster before turning back around. He’d had his stuff gathered close to his chest for a quick exit, knowing they wouldn’t want the queer nerd around either.
“Just for posters?” He hadn’t expected the smooth question, and had jerked his head up. He had been only about an inch taller than René at the time, and the other boy had moved quietly into the room, so close James had had to push up his glasses to see him clearly.
“It’s worth it, if it helps someone else to not feel ashamed,” James had blurted the words out in the same defiant way he’d snapped back at the jocks, and could even now remember the painful blush that had followed them, his whole body hot and tight, his eyes unwilling to look at anything other than René Villon as he had extended his arm, reaching out to James to...
“Okay, gang, today’s discussion will be based on…” Mr. Brown’s voice brought James’s mind back to the present, and he hitched his shoulders, wondering just when he had sat up straight, and when had he let his gaze wander back toward René. René, who, now that James thought about it, probably wouldn’t recall that incident at all or know James’ name. He wouldn’t even remember James frowning at him a moment ago, and so he wouldn’t connect any gifts he might have received today—and then thrown away, obviously—to James.
Letting out a relieved breath, James allowed his eyes to roam back over to René, keeping his gaze safely below the desk. Or not so safely, he decided a moment later, his mouth dry. God, he was an idiot. Even then, René had only wanted to take a closer look at the posters, not to touch him. Etienne who hung out in far too many chat rooms swore that René pinged, but if that were true, it still meant nothing for James. In fact, about a month before, James and Etienne had been walking behind the school to back parking lot and had come across René and a girl friend, standing close together by her car. She had been bent down close to his face, laughing, and though René’s glance in James and Etienne’s direction had seemed, well, annoyed, he had still let her put her hand on his shoulder.
They had both turned as he and Etienne had passed, and if anything, though James knew he had probably imagined it, René had frowned again, just at James. René and that girl had been almost holding hands by then, and James had looked quickly away, staring blankly at Etienne as his friend had demanded James feel the suede lining of his new jacket, pulling James’ hand along the collar, around his neck. As though Etienne didn’t buy new clothes every week, and James had smiled reluctantly at Etienne’s joke that James could also use a little leather.
Etienne wished he was that hardcore, James decided, relaxing a bit as he did, sighing at the familiar sight of René’s boots. He’d been so wired at the thought of René Villon possibly touching him back in that bathroom that he had stiffened up and dropped his head, studying the all-black Chucks René had been wearing that day until he had memorized every scuff mark.
“…I had you all read about the Cold War, particularly about our involvement in Viet Nam and Cambodia, articles from various perspectives…” Mr. Brown was watching him, and so James looked up with a quick smile, striving to pay attention. “This war incited a lot of protest, at home and abroad, much like American action now, though the types of protests have some striking differences…”
“You’re more concerned with the feelings of people you don’t know than with your safety.” René might have meant the statement to be a question as he had slid a single sheet of paper from James’ arms, and looked critically over the poster. And for a moment, James had thought of some of the many rumors about René Villon. About his drunk mother, and millionaire father, and the affair everyone had said he’d had with his junior high Gym coach. Which was ridiculous of course, even if René were gay, nobody in junior high had an affair with any teacher. That would have been abuse, and if others had known about it, they should have reported it.
But he’d still thought of it, glancing up from studying René’s shoes to study René’s mouth, inhaling the lingering scent and detecting the sour hint of alcohol on René’s breath as well.
“Of c…course I am.” James had answered after too long of a pause, frowning a little and looking beyond René to the poster he had just put up. “People should always feel that someone else might care about them.”
“Really?” Liquor and tobacco-scented breath had rushed past James’ ear and he cringed to recall just how he had jumped, snapping his head around to find René Villon inches away from him, looking like he might at any second just lean in a little more and kiss him. His vision had dimmed; his mind brightly swirling with thoughts of René kissing him, of René Villon’s mouth on his and his hands touching his body, and his mouth had fallen open when René had ducked closer, bringing his lips just to James cheek. His breath had been warm, and James had shivered, feeling how René had smiled. “But nobody really cares about anybody else, James.”
“You…you came in to help me,” James had shot back, shocked at his attitude, trembling with sudden cold. And René had lowered his eyes and stepped back, flicking the poster from his hands and ignoring it as it floated slowly to the floor.
“Deniau had to use the bathroom,” René had turned away to answer, shrugging as James had just stared blankly at his back. A moment later, with René’s friends still grinning strangely at him he had stumbled out, tripping at least once his way to the door. He hadn’t heard them laugh, but was sure they had.
“Riots aren’t protests,” James heard himself suddenly speaking, staring at Mr. Brown with wide eyes and then inexplicably glancing to René, René who had known his name then even if James hadn’t noticed right away. René’s head was down, his hands flat on his desk. “Th…they don’t help any cause and they only lead to destruction and more pain.”
“Interesting…” Mr. Brown didn’t seem to mind him interrupting, and a few others started to comment. René took a deep breath, tapping his hand on his desk, and James couldn’t help studying that intently as well. René only seemed annoyed, James was sure. He was probably just bored like he always was, staring off into space and still somehow getting A’s on every test. James heard him tell the honors society student next to him that he cheated, when Thierry had asked.
“A riot is the voice of the voiceless.” Abruptly René was speaking, and as though no one else had been talking, the room grew quiet. “The rhyme of the unheard.” And James sat up, his chin lifting to realize that though René didn’t bother to raise his head, he was looking up through his eyelashes at only him as he quoted their textbook, probably the only person in the class who would know the words enough to quote them, even if he claimed to be a cheater. There was a slight curve to his lips as well, just like the day they had met, as though René found something funny and wanted James to find it funny too, as though he knew that James was possibly the only one in the class who knew it was a quote from their book, including Mr. Brown. Which was another crazy thought that James did not need. He was dreaming again, imagining things that weren’t there.
“That only serves to terrorize the defenseless, usually as bad or worse than the government or law they are rioting against. There are better ways of making a statement.” James jerked his chin up, his eyes so wide and dry that he wondered why nobody asked him if he was alright.
“James?” But Mr. Brown only seemed surprised that James was so involved in the discussion today, and was unconcerned with his panic. James dropped a hand to his turning stomach, suddenly dizzy.
“Peaceful gestures get ignored.” It was irritating how bored René sounded, how tired he looked, watching James with half-closed eyes, as though Mr. Brown were not also turning to him, startled at his response. Why had René chosen today to finally speak up? James clenched the hand at his stomach, his mouth firming as he held back his words. “People admire courage.”
The flowergrams were always delivered during second period, and it had taken a lot of work to figure out René Villon’s schedule without anyone noticing. Even more work just to think about sending a rose. It was a stupid ritual. And a stupid holiday. And there was really no point in sending a flower and not sign your name or write a message. He had never really intended to do it.
But clearly he needed help, but not only had he ordered one to be sent to René, he had ordered twelve, a gesture to obvious that everyone in that classroom must have understood. Everyone in the school, even if they couldn’t know the sender, and he ought to be grateful René had thrown the things away.
“Passive protest helps send a message of strength…” James insisted anyway, his voice growing faint to think of those flowers in a trashcan somewhere. It had taken all his nerve just to send them, and that hadn’t gotten him anything. “And as for courage…”
“Rebellion helps send a message of strength.” Now René raised his head, and James looked quickly away, dropping his eyes and then gasping loudly to see René’s backpack. It was propped against his desk on the floor, the zipper undone just enough to reveal the crimson splash of a dozen roses, neatly bound into a bouquet.
“So, why take an action that isn’t direct?” Mr. Brown asked, or James thought he did; he didn’t look to see, his gaze fixed on those roses.
René hadn’t thrown them away. He still had them; even if he had shoved them into his backpack. Which was confusing too, and horrible, and James bit his lip, staring so hard at the flowers that he could have counted the petals.
It was absolutely insane this time, but James knew René’s dark eyes were studying him, knew it from the way his stomach was churning and his shallow breathing and if he looked up, René would know and then James really would be sick—if René and his friends didn’t beat the shit out of him first.
“B…because you have no other option left. But if you don’t say something, you’ll die.” If anyone heard his whisper, James would have been surprised. But at least he wasn’t blushing. He felt too sick for that, shivering a little as he sank back in his seat, vaguely hearing Rachel offering her opinion next to him.
“Interesting,” Mr. Brown commented again, seeming far away.
“But just speaking could destroy you,” René spoke softly, slowly. James knew the voice without looking up though it was no longer as loud, not carrying clearly through the whole room, almost for James alone, just like his strange smiles.
James’ hands curled into fists, then opened, his eyes squeezing shut as the words rose up again, and he wondered if it were René who did this to him.
“But not speaking out is destroying you.” He answered, not stuttering for once, even if his breathing was unsteady. This was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life. Oh God. He didn’t even think he was making sense.
He looked up like an idiot, and looked right at René, because René was looking right at him, just like he’d feared. René was no longer smiling, though his lips were still slightly parted, as though he was having trouble breathing too. Then his eyes narrowed and James twitched in his seat, his heart ready to burst from his chest.
“What good will feelings do for someone who cannot speak?”
“Out of fear?” Rachel spoke suddenly, and James blinked rapidly at the reminder that other people were there with them, that there was a space between them, as though he were somewhere else again. He thought of that bathroom, thought of passing in the hall and of almost reaching out and stroking that leather coat. “Of shame,” Rachel went on innocently, not seeing James’ slight flinch, “or retaliation?”
He hadn’t of course. Active in the Alliance was one thing. Attempting to touch one of the school’s more dangerous outcasts was another. It had been unfortunate that René had chosen that moment to turn around and James had been helpless to do anything other than look up at René’s arrested expression and try to smile. What had been supposed to say, remember me, the fag who you saved, then laughed at in the restroom one time?
“James…” But René had said his name again, his eyes wide and strangely light, his pale face rushing with color.
Then René’s hand had come up, and it was only after James’ back had slammed into the row of lockers behind him that he’d even realized he’d been shoved away. He’d said something, but James hadn’t heard it, not as the AV cart had come crashing between them, a frantic girl running behind it with her arms out.
Others in the hall had stayed to watch what would have been a fabulous crash, but James had run out, hurrying to class and then home after school. He’d taken a new way to that class for the rest of the semester, determined not to make a fool of himself any more if he could help it.
“Fear of rejection?” Someone was still stuck on this topic, and James frowned over at Thierry, who seemed surprised and then irritated.
“If fear and loathing are internalized enough, by whatever means…” They wouldn’t be quiet, the class today was suddenly inspired to continue this discussion, and James tracked each voice, shifting his gaze anywhere but right in front of him, his heartbeat so hard it was painful, so loud they had to hear it.
“So…even one nonviolent protest has an effect, by inspiring others.” Thierry gave James a challenging look as he came to this conclusion, and it was James’ turn to frown.
“Yes…the very reason governments crack down like this, prevent meetings and freedom of expression…” Mr. Brown looked about ready to cream his jeans in his excitement over his class’ interest today, and James supposed bitterly he had René to thank for that as well. “One leads to so many more…”
“Taking a stand by yourself, that takes real courage,” James fought the urge to bury his head in his arms back down on the desk, looking to Mr. Brown instead.
“Exactly!” Their teacher seemed impressed with James’ brilliance, and gestured wildly as he called on someone else, babbling about facing down tanks and monks on fire. James stared after him for another moment, and then did drop his head, all his muscles aching like he had just run a few miles. He exhaled and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. There was only one person who’d be texting him now, and James pulled his cell out just enough to glance down at it.
I saw R w them. Etienne warning him about half and hour too late. James glanced carefully back and saw René sitting back now, his head down. He looked asleep, until he shifted position, his eyes still only on his desk.
James tried to imagine René carrying around his roses all day, and shut his eyes to think of the jokes that even René Villon he would have gotten from everyone. He had only put them in his backpack for this class then, and James licked his lips. He had probably just been tired of carrying them…even if he hadn’t thrown them away. And it wasn’t like it mattered either way, René couldn’t have known who had sent them.
Not this morning, but he might know now.
James’ whole body seemed to flinch, and he sat back up so abruptly his hands flew out on their own, flinging his book to the floor. He flinched again, along with everyone else in the class, as it landed flat, halting the flow of discussion with the loud bang until he bent down to grab the book and place it back on his desk, his fingers slow.
If only he faced down a tank now. That might be easier.
James licked his lips and threw his gaze up before he stop himself, watching René’s dark head turning away from him, turning like maybe he had just been staring at James like everyone else.
“But those people who face troops and dogs and stuff, they’re committing suicide!” The realization made Rachel finally go silent, and James felt his stomach flip like he might actually throw up, his chest tight as René spoke, still not looking up.
“It’s worth it, if they can help others not feel ashamed…or afraid,” he remarked smoothly, the words coming from him so easily that he had to have said them before.
James gasped, saved only from explaining himself by the ring of the bell, the end of school for the day. The end of his life. God, he was so stupid.
Everyone was moving, gathering up books and bears and candy, and, oh lord, flowergrams, taking their booty home with them. If he looked, he would see René leaving too, and instead he bent over to shove his book away, turning off his phone before Etienne comment and stuffing that in his backpack too.
He was the last one out, forced to smile at a beaming Mr. Brown before he could escape. Stopping just outside, he intently observed the others leaving. No one would linger at school today, and if you didn’t have plans, you went home. Simple as that. If he stayed any longer it would be odd, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move quickly, staring at their backs as they headed home. Off to parties or just to study, maybe to go under the bridge and smoke out. He had no way of knowing, really, and let out one long, tired breath.
“Stupid,” he said out loud, slipping on his jacket and glancing around one last time before he stepped from the portable’s doorway.
The soft laugh after that made him turn, and then frown and move across to the side of the building, going still to see René watching him on the other side of the corner, leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette.
James’ face was hot before he even had a chance to walk away, his mouth dry of any kind of greeting at all at the knowing arch of René’s eyebrow. He knew he was staring, and worse, he was just watching René smoke, his lips closing around the butt as he sucked in a breath, his cheeks hollow. A stream of gray smoke lingered in the air between them when René lowered the cigarette and James sighed at the smell.
“I…” He started and stopped, swallowing. I sent your flowers, seemed lame now, and somehow René already knew who he was, so he didn’t need to introduce himself. “You…really shouldn’t smoke,” he finished sadly.
“You shouldn’t bite your lip,” René answered instantly, drawing James’s attention back to face in amazement that René had noticed the habit at all. But then René let the cigarette fall to the ground as though he hadn’t just lit it, crushing it carelessly under his boot. His backpack was resting on the ground by his feet, roses still displayed for him to see, and James took a deep breath, looking back up.
René was watching him, his body pressed too hard to the wall, his hand playing with his lighter now that the cigarette was gone. After a moment, he frowned and looked away. The lighter slipped in his hands, almost dropping to the ground before René saved it.
“I sent you those.” The words slid out easily, all his tension leaving with them so suddenly James had to put a hand out on the building to stay up. His vision swam for a moment, and then he moved, or René did, their bodies closer than they were before. He knew he was going to keep talking, there didn’t seem to be any way to control his insanity, not today. “Did you know that?”
“Yes.” René’s nod didn’t tell him anything at all, but René’s breathing was fast, his eyes wide, and, oh god, he kept moving closer until James could either back up and leave or be flush up against him. His feet didn’t seem to want to move, at least not backwards, and James held his breath as René finally stopped, tensing as he waited. But René didn’t reach out or push him away, didn’t do anything, and there James let out his breath, shuddering as he did.
He had grown taller than he’d thought, and couldn’t help hunching his shoulders, bending down slightly to be closer. And then René was a dark blur, too close to his glasses for James to really see him, far too close, and James gasped as he was flattened to the wall, René’s body slipping between his legs.
“James…” It didn’t even seem like his name, the way René breathed it into his ear, but James turned his head to follow the sound, a silent gasp leaving him gaping when René’s mouth pressed along his neck, sliding down to suck along his throat. Suck hard along his throat, and James shivered, putting out his hands and then letting them fall, not sure what he was supposed to do other than lean heavily against the wall and try not moan. René seemed to know what to do anyway, and James blushed at his own inexperience.
God. They were at school, only a few feet away from Mr. Brown’s classroom and possible discovery, and all he could think to do squirm, shifting his hips up, pushing against the body wriggling in his thighs, and he was already so hard and he had to be dreaming it felt so good.
It almost hurt when René’s tongue darted beyond the neckline of his shirt, his fingers working the buttons loose until suddenly James felt that wet, needy pressure at his collarbone. René would have his shirt off soon, or at least open, and he should have been embarrassed to think of it, why René would want to undress him so quickly.
“René…” he tried to say, struggling to focus on something other than shockingly cold hands warming against his chest, his bare stomach, and going lower. “René!” The first tug on his jeans made James cry out, he couldn’t help it, and the startled sound echoed between them. For a moment they were both quiet, listening for signs that anyone else might have heard, and then René’s hands were at his hips, yanking their bodies together.
“What…what are you doing?” James wondered breathlessly, his hands leaving the wall to close around smooth leather, his back arching at the swipe of a tongue across his chest. “W…wait…” His fingers clenched at the hot feel of René’s breath on his stomach, his dick pounding at how close René was to… James gasped, rocking forward, and he felt the momentary force of René’s gaze on him before his zipper was slid down and René’s hand was cupping him through his underwear.
This could not be happening. James’ eyes flew open and he looked down, jerking to see René’s head bent, René dropping down to his knees on the cold ground. And in his dreams it had never been like this, and James felt himself frowning. “Wait,” he said again, and was a little surprised that he hadn’t stuttered. His hands curled around the soft leather of René’s coat, pulling hard though he didn’t know why, until suddenly René was in front of him again, his cheeks flushed as he scowled up at James.
“What?” René’s glare last for a moment, and then he was glancing away. James shook his head, not clear on what hew as doing, why his hands wouldn’t let go of René’s jacket no matter how René shrugged and tried to pull away, as though people stopped him from sucking them off everyday and it didn’t bother him, and the thought made James frown even more.
“I…” James stopped there, licking his lips, and shaking his head. But René looked back to him, eyes wide and dark, his mouth slightly open as though he couldn’t catch his breath either, and James swallowed. “I…” he said again, and then dropped his head, crushing his mouth awkwardly against René’s soft lips and feeling his face heat. He didn’t have much practice at kissing either, but René’s mouth opened to murmur something, and it was James who slid his hands down to René’s hips, holding the other boy tightly to keep him from falling.
He was kissing René Villon. This… this was the best thing he had ever done.
Cheeeeese!
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Now I really do wanna watch Crybaby again (like I don't watch it at least once a week).
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But seems that Rene doesn't mind at all:) I love them together!:)
I would like to friend you if you don't mind:) Thanks for a wonderful writing about Rene and James!
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Hearts you so much. This is fabulous. Like I said: they are timeless.
From: (Anonymous)
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Hope you don't mind me adding you- I just re-read Ideas because I am in love with Rene and anxiously await the next chapter.
Hope you don't mind me adding you??
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