CLASS PROJECT

Here it is again, springtime, sitting under my favorite tree, a Cinnamomum Camphor, in the Groves of Rothspire Academy. A little writing desk sits next to a scrying pool under the boughs of my tree. My name is Sylas Wright, and I guess you could say I’m a bit of a voyeur; then again, I think most Seers are, and he’s a lot of an exhibitionist. So here I sit, writing and writing, writing what he does and with whom he does it. I can’t help it; I’m enamored with him.

Who, you ask? 

Hymeros Admetos Metaxas; everyone calls him Meto.

He’s my little short king. And yet, he bears the stature of a fallen star—broad, sensual, grounding. The kind of body that invites both devotion and surrender. Golden hair flares around his head like a sun-captured mid-rise, and his eyes—those impossible, ocean-blue eyes—hold the weight of desire and the ache of memory.

He has an unfair advantage, not just his looks, of course. You can feel the arousal wash off him; it’s like a summer breeze carrying all your favorite spices—for me,  it’s saffron and fenugreek.

I stir the waters of the pool—there he is, in Ethical Reasoning and Metaphysical Responsibility with Ms. Nyx, our professor, if you can stand the irony.

He’s framed in the bay window, naked, skin glowing with spent effort, the afternoon sun once more lighting him with a halo. Bastard: I can’t help but chuckle to myself. 

Ms. Nyx stretched out nude across her desk, feverish from their passion.

Oh… he won’t see this coming, but will he do it? I muse.

“Meto,” his name like honey on her lips, Rowena Nyx speaks. “We’ve seen how proficient you are with your powers when it comes to women,” he chuckles, “but have you ever tried your gift on a man?”

His voice is soothing and slow, like breath against your skin. “Well, a little extra credit in English Lit can never hurt,” Meto teases, his chuckle low and warm. 

Rowena’s pale skin flushes, responding, “No, I was thinking of someone a little closer to your age.” Her voice brimmed with quiet delight.

He thinks he sees the trap—doubt flickers over his beautiful face. Rowena slips from atop her desk with languid grace. “Mr. Ravensworth,” the trap is sprung, “one of the young men I always see you in the halls with. Capture him in your thrall, seduce him.”

"I don’t Thrall people," Meto says, heat in his voice, but to his credit, he doesn’t panic like a typical guy, a straight guy, would have. “If I don’t?” he asks, stalking towards her; the scent of Petrichor and jasmine tightens her nipples.

This time, a chuckle chimes from her throat, “Well, Mr. Ravensworth just became 60% of your grade this semester.” She strides towards him, meeting him halfway. 

With an amused look, he drags his fingers along her sides, his thumb lingering along the side of her breast. “Well, for 60% of my grade, then!” he draws her in for a long pull of her lips, “I should probably get started on my class project.” Getting dressed, he walks towards the bay windows again. “Sylas,” he asks as Rowena blanches, “I’ll be down in a few. Will you be able to tell me where Rev is by then?”

I close my journal, for now, laughing, and cast my sight into the scrying pool.

Here he comes, Meto, walking down the path towards me. His school tie hangs from his back pocket, and his shirt is untucked and barely buttoned. As usual, his uniform pants are slightly low.

“Sylas, have you found Rev yet?” he inquires, with his belt still unbuckled, another detail he has overlooked, maybe. I’m pretty sure he knows what he does to me, but I can’t help but give him an admiring smile. “Are you really going to try seducing Rev?” I ask. 

“Try!? You doubt me?” he gives me his best incredulous look as though he’s offended. “Pretty sure I could seduce you if you prefer.” He whispers in my ear as he runs a finger along the outline of my hard cock.

Drawing a deep sigh, “Yeah, well, not sure that your powers work on men, remember?” Licking my lips, I continue, “But I mean, won’t it be weird; we’ve been friends for eight, no, nine years.” I continued as though he wasn’t petting me. But, watching him with Rev? I’ve never seen him watch a guy like that. Have I?

Staring into my scrying pool, he sees only his reflection; seeing isn’t his gift, but he stares as he sees something important, nonetheless.
“I’ve thought about it before, you know? Not with Rev, but with a guy; see how it feels.” A confession to the scrying pool, a confession I think he doesn’t want to be entered into one of my journals. It’s why he’s saying it in person.

“So two things, one…” he actually puts a finger up. “If I’m going to be made to explore that desire- he won’t freak out about it- hopefully. If my powers don’t work on guys and he’s not interested in trying it, I can… we can leave it at that, and it won’t destroy our friendship.”

Wow, I did not see that coming; he would rather walk naked down the school halls than share emotions. Of course, he’d enjoy the stares and slack jaws. I hugged him from behind, resting my slightly taller body against the heat of his back and laying my head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, I can understand that, and you’re right. Rev would take it … in stride, plus you already flirt with him as much as you flirt with anybody else anyway.” I say as I run a hand up under the tails of his shirt. His skin is sometimes like a field of electricity; for instance, now he tenses as I drag my nails along his obliques. Oh, that summer wind, that saffron-scented breeze. “And what’s two?” 

He smiles that salacious smile, “It IS 60 percent of my grade this semester.”

I give him the disapproving look that his comment deserves, “Well, he’s finishing putting equipment away at the track.” I point through a stand of trees, “Cut through there; you should get to the locker room just a few minutes before Rev.”

He turned to me with a smile and a kiss, a kiss that wasn’t chaste. “Thanks, Sylas.” Off he goes, and I go back to my writing table, adjusting myself as I do; he knew better than to ask. 

The professors here like to discuss how our powers work, primarily in theory. Meto and I talked about it once; he wondered how it feels to SEE as I do, and I told him, but that’s not this story. 

When I asked him about his powers…

“Have you ever held your breath? Like held it until you were red and ready to burst? That’s what it feels like. When I was younger, a kid, it was easier to breathe before my powers started to grow. Now, I’m always holding my breath, taking little sips from Time to Time. Then I let go and breathe freely, and my power boils out on that breath.”

He didn’t look at me while we discussed his powers, how they’re more robust with touch, and some of the implications of his description for the world.

I swirl the waters of the scrying pool.

Locking the equipment shed, Rev heads for the locker room’s showers to clean off the sweat and dirt of practice. He doesn’t know it yet, but Meto is already in there, fidgeting with his shirttail, a nice corner where he’ll see Rev but not be seen. Again, he’s usually bolder. Rev entered the not-as-empty locker room, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt along his long, athletic frame and over his head. Like a moment slowed to crystal clarity. Meto takes inventory of Rev, his taut stomach, and the slight dimpling of his abs; then his lats, the nickel-size nipples crowning his pecs, and Meto’s breath catches. 

The brief bulge of his arms, the geometric shapes tattooed on his right forearm, all this as Rev’s shirt clears his head and lands on the bench. Turning, Rev props first one foot, then the other on the bench, taking his shoes and socks off, bending over as he does. Rev’s shorts pull tight across his ass; translucent with sweat, Meto can see the imprint of the jockstrap framing his cheeks as they
do.

His shorts on the ground, Rev stretches his arms into the air, arching his back slightly.

“Damn, Coach!” he talks to himself, legs straight, bending at the waist, touching his extended fingers to his toes. Just two straps frame the globes of Rev’s ass, and his cheeks part just a hint. “Way to work us; I’m going to be sore.” Finally free of his jockstrap, Rev grabs his towel and heads, naked, for the shower room. Meto hears the water roar in the silence of the locker room, and he moves to Rev’s clothes, dropping his shirt beside them. Hesitantly, he picks up Rev’s jock. Meto’s own arousal, not the usual summer breeze, but like a gale-force wind, blows through the locker room. Meto hesitantly gathers Rev’s jock up to his face and draws in the musty aroma. The mystical nature of his arousal forces his power through the room into the showers, carrying on the steam.

Rev, breathing deeply, smells clover… warmed by the sun- so he has noticed before. 

Meto sheds his clothes and heads towards the showers. He took a deep breath, his mask of bravado in place, a fire in his eyes. There, Rev stands under the spray, water running down the crease between his pecs, over his taut stomach, into his sugar brown pubes, streaming from the end of his penis. Ample in size, not yet fully erect, but not completely soft. He doesn’t see Meto, not
with his head tilted back, his eyes closed.

Without opening his eyes, Rev turns, reaching for the shampoo dispenser. He steps from under the spray, lathering his hair, suds sliding down his back, caressing his spine, and seeping between his ass cheeks. The strain of Meto’s erection makes veins protrude along his generous, uncut length. Meto breathes; he’s not holding his breath anymore, and it raises goosebumps along Rev’s skin.
Meto approaches quietly, soap in his hands, and rubs it across Rev’s back, massaging muscles and trailing fingers down his spine. 

“Wha!?” Rev jumps, almost slipping on the tiles. “The hell, you scared me, man.” 

Meto braces him, then gently pushes his shoulder, turning Rev’s back to the wall. 

“I thought I was alone here.”

He reaches past Rev to the dispenser, takes more soap, builds another lather, and works the knots along his lats. His hands linger, then pull back, then return.

“How was practice?” he asks.

“You know, Coach,” Rev sighs, leaning into the pressure, “He’s always pushing us around and testing our limits.” A sound slips from him, half laugh. “What about you? How’d your meeting with Ms. Nix go?”

“I just―” Meto hesitated. Reaching for more soap, more lather, his palms a little too careful. 

“Stressing,” he turned Rev to face him. 

“New project she wants me to work on.” He tells Rev as he works the soap into his pecs, then stops, then starts again. “And―I―” his fingers trace the prayer, “I need―” Meto stopped, “No―I want to try something―” he looks like he’s looking for the words, “something with you?”

Rev studies Meto’s face, falling into his eyes, then slides past his waist. 

“Okay…,” he says a little hoarsely, seeing Meto’s erection standing high against his stomach. 

He doesn’t step away, but he doesn’t move closer either. 

Not yet.

Meto’s right hand finds Rev’s nipple and stills there, pinching until the flesh beads hard. Rev shivers; his power spikes the air. Meto’s hands continue along his neck, drawing Rev down. Their lips meet, miss, meet again, wet, open. Meto pulls him closer until their cocks mash, wet skin on wet skin. His left thumb circles Rev’s nipple until Rev’s mouth opens on a breath. Meto slips his tongue in, coaxing Rev’s out, sucking, nipping, making love to it the way he already knows how, while his right hand runs across Rev’s shoulder, down his arm, taking his hand, and wrapping it behind himself onto the split of Meto’s ass.

Rev’s hand hesitated for a moment, then slid up along Meto’s back, trailing his power along Meto’s spine. Then tracing his fingers lower and finally cupping Meto’s ass cheek, thumb dipping into the wet cleft. His other hand moved by itself, gripping Meto’s other cheek, spreading him so the spray runs between.

They kept kissing. 

Rev’s hand slid down Meto’s right thigh and lifted his knee. Meto wraps his legs around Rev, driving their erections together, shafts sliding, heads catching, then eases off, then grinds again until precum strings between them.

Meto’s hands slide around Rev’s neck. He pulls Rev deeper into the kiss and rolls his cock against Rev’s. Neither can tell whether it’s the water making them slick. 

Breaking the kiss, “Wait,” Meto says, out of breath. “I want to try something else—if you let me.” Rev lowers him to the floor. Meto’s hands stay on Rev’s hips. He walks Rev through the spray, rinsing them as they go, until Rev’s back meets tile. Rev bumps the wall; air leaves him. Meto breathes more power into the room. He kisses Rev again, then works along Rev’s jaw, licks the collarbone, down the pec. He takes the nipple, sucks until it peaks, waits for the shiver, then kisses his way down the torso. On his knees, he traces Rev’s thighs, kisses the hip, and brings his right hand along the inside of Rev’s thigh, cupping his balls, rolling them, the sack tight and wet in his palm.

Reverently, Meto lays Rev’s firm shaft on the palm of his hand and bites his bottom lip while he looks. Veins stand; the head is flushed, a bead of precum at the slit.

“I don’t think I ever noticed how cute that is when you do that,” Rev whispers.

“What?” Meto asks, looking up from the floor, eyes glassy.

“When you bite your lip,” Rev tells him, wrapping Meto’s hand around him, squeezing so more slick wells. “Is this what you wanted to try?”

Meto lets Rev guide his hand, pulls the cock aside, leans in, and kisses the crease where thigh meets groin. His nose takes in the damp, musky scent of Rev’s pubes. He drags Rev’s cock along his cheek until he can put little kisses on the head, then tongues the slit, tasting salt.

Gradually he takes the crown, swabs his tongue across the tip, and lets the shaft slide in as he flattens his tongue. He breathes through his nose and takes more until Rev hits the back of his throat, enough left for his hand to work the rest, twisting on the upstroke. He draws back until his lips lock around just the crown, swirls under the ridge, and takes him in again, slower than he would with anyone else, building pressure and speed, each pass taking a little more, spit running down Rev’s balls.

The pressure of Rev’s magic builds. A fine tremor starts in Rev’s legs. Meto pulls off, a line of spit connecting his lips to Rev’s tip.

“Why…” Rev asks, breathing hard, “…why did you stop?”

“Oh, I’m not stopping.” Looking up the long line of Rev’s body, “there’s definitely more.” Rev’s chest is mottled with the rush of excitement and the heat of the shower room. His breath caresses Rev’s crown as he smiles up at Rev with just a hint of tease as he rises to meet Rev’s lips again with more passion.

Rev takes Meto by the ass. Their kiss is like a rush as Meto breathes his power over Rev’s tongue and into his mouth, and Rev throbs against his abs, his precum dripping onto Meto’s dick and magic out into the room. Taking him by the cock, Meto pulls him back under the shower spray.

“Have to make sure we’re really clean for the next part.” Meto’s eyes light up like lightning as power breathes out of him; the amber of Rev’s eyes, like fire on the plains, answer with his magic. They wash each other as once again they fall into the lips of the other.

The kiss deepens, and hands roam their respective landscapes, Rev bringing his hands from behind Meto, over his shoulders, and down his arms. Meto swipes his hands down Rev’s lats, wrapping them down his ass, caressing, squeezing. Rev’s hands slide from Meto’s arms over his stomach and up, tickling his ribs and palming his pecs. Meto’s hands squeeze, rubbing as they move closer together, slowly parting Rev’s cheeks as his fingers trail in. Meto’s soap-slicked finger trailed down the crevices of Rev’s ass, his fingertip brushing gently against Rev’s pucker, then pressing until the ring yields a fraction. The wind of Meto’s power fanned the flames in Rev, causing the pressure to blossom like fire. Meto swallows Rev’s moan, drinking in the heat as he slowly drags his finger back and forth over the crease between Rev’s globes, then works the tip inside. Rev draws his hands up from Meto’s chest, up his strong neck, running his fingers into Meto’s matted golden waves. Forcing their mouths apart, Rev opens his mouth to say something, but Meto beats him to it. With power in his voice and command in his tone, Meto says, “Time to rinse off again.” Meto’s sultry voice echoes in Rev’s ear. Rinsed, Meto turns Rev to face the wall, then slides back onto his knees.

“Wait,” Rev breathes out slowly, “what….” Meto silences him as he dives face-first into Rev’s round, muscled ass. Kissing and licking between the cheeks, he spreads them with both thumbs, then nibbles gently at the edge of Rev’s rim, driving in his tongue, wet and pointed, until the muscle opens for him. Meto slides a finger up along his tongue, twisting, licking, and nipping. “Silver’s light….” Those words slip his lips and arcane energy washes across Meto. He slides a second finger with the first, twisting and scissors. Opening Rev up, he breathes power in, kissing and chewing at Rev’s ass, tongue fucking the hole around his knuckles. Rev whispers incoherently at first, then with rhythm, an incantation.

Finally, a third finger joins the rest, twisting, knuckles deep, as Meto stands, running his other hand up Rev’s spine, subtly bending Rev over as he does, fingers still working, stretching the ring until it stays open around him.

Meto and Rev’s energies swirl and wash through the room, coming back to spill over them like waves, drowning in power between them. Rev’s incantation reverberated in the walls.

“Don’t.” Rev whispers, “Please…” he begs, “…More!” he gasps as Meto slowly draws his fingers out of Rev, the hole clutching, then gaping.

Laying the tip of his cock between Rev’s cheeks, “Rev?” Meto asks.

Rev nods his head in a hesitant answer. “Yes.”

Meto rubs his crown over the opening in Rev’s ass, smearing his precum over his tip, mixing it with his spit. Slowly, he pushes forward, meeting resistance, “Breathe… breathe out.” Meto mummed, his power rippling up Rev’s spine. As Meto moved forward this time, Rev pushed back to meet him. The ridge of Meto’s crown crested the rim of Rev’s ass, the ring stretching white around the head, and Rev’s incantation stuttered, then renewed. Wildfires consumed the savanna within, power riding the two of them. Meto slides into Rev by inches, each inch like the stalking steps of a lion about to pounce. Pounce he does as half-buried Meto presses, then runs over Rev’s prostate. Again, Rev’s voice falters; again, it strengthens. Meto starts to withdraw once more, grazing Rev’s prostate, trembling. Rev holds his moaning refrain. Meto starts to thrust back in, driving further over it, back and forth, sliding in until Rev can feel Meto’s pubes brush his ass, balls slapping wet.

Rev, “Silver’s light! Oh.. fu..!” his exclamation cut short with another thrust from Meto, cock dragging the rim on every stroke.

Their powers mingle until the storm over the Savanna Wildfire threatens to consume everything. The pressure of their power, like a living weight in the room, expanding, threatening to blow. At the very edge, Meto pulls out, the hole winking, drawing Rev to the floor, kissing the edge of his sweat-slicked lips as his moaned incantation continues.

Laying Rev on his back, the wet floor tamping the flames for just a moment, Meto goes down on Rev’s dick. One, he dribbles a little spit; two, he draws the tender flesh into his mouth;

three, Rev’s rod, solid as the earth, the fires restoked. Meto positions himself over Rev, slowly sliding his ass back, forcing Rev’s cock back and between his cheeks. Placing his left hand firmly on Rev’s pec, reaching back with his right, and sliding his ass slightly against Rev, he lines Rev’s cock with his hole, pressing the tip against his pucker. Breathing deeply, he sets himself firmly against the intruder and feels a… pop as Rev rises and meets him, the head punching through, shaft filling him. Through gritted teeth, the groaning incantation continues, falling into the piercing rhythm of Rev’s pace, brushing lightly, then roughly over Meto’s prostate. Rev’s rhythm builds, battering Meto’s gland, and Meto cries as each strike runs through him like lightning. Each strike sparked a new fire, the storm becoming a whirlwind of flames. Harder, faster, Rev breaks. “Aaagh! Damn, YES!” driving himself up, pulling Meto, crashing down the tension of the mixed energies building to a crescendo. Meto shoots, his first rope streaking across Rev’s face; he spasms around Rev’s cock, feeling the force of that first strike, hole milking the shaft.

The shower pipes are vibrating.

Meto’s next shot leaves a silvery cord across Rev’s chin and neck; again, he spasms, again that striking force.

The shower nozzles explode, and the room is awash in spray and steam.

Then, the silent explosion, the force of the powers crashing out soundlessly. Rev’s eyes roll back as he cums, pulsing hot inside Meto, Meto momentarily coating Rev’s chest and abs before the spray washes his cum away. Meto leans down and places a kiss on Rev’s right eyelid. “Okay…” the spark of energy audible in Meto’s voice, “That was …” he pauses, looking to Rev.

“Damn…” Says Rev, wearing a well-worn smile and chuckling, “… that was… fun!”

Meto, kneeling back on his heels, grinding playfully along Rev’s shaft still within him, feeling it twitch. Slowly pulling off Rev’s still-hard dick, the head catching on his rim, then standing and stretching under the many sprays of water, Meto asks, “Fun enough… you would do it again?”

“With you…” starts Rev, “…yeah, …yeah, I’d be willing to do it again.” Angling his head up, “NOT NOW! I’m spent after that!” Says Rev, laughing, and lays his head back down on the tile. 

Helping Rev up, Meto chuckles, “That’s good… That takes… some of the stress I was feeling.”

“About what?” Rev starts, then remembers, “Your project? After a fuck like that, you go back to thinking about homework! Wow!” Rev laughs.

“It’s not like that!” starting at the accusation. Rev laughs at his embarrassment as he flushes, even under the cooling water. Rev’s laugh slowed with suspicion. “Okay, so, the thing is, my project was to seduce you … ahem … SEDUCE … seduce you.” Meto finally gets out.

Rev thinks for a moment, leaving Meto in silence. “How long did you think that over?” he asks calmly. 

“Well, I talked to Sylas about it for a few minutes…” trailing off. 

“The Class Project part?” interrupts Rev. 

“You’re 60% of my semester grade?” Meto says with outstretched hands.

Taking one of Meto’s offered hands, they pull themselves together. Kissing him, “You are incorrigible.” He tells him, then kisses him again. “Is that why you asked, ‘If I would do it again?’”

“No.” Meto stated, then “Well… not intentionally… no, but I would have been disappointed if I didn’t get a chance to do that again. If YOU,” he emphasized to Rev,” felt differently, then we might have a problem, and that would be my fault.”

Kissing Meto again, “Okay, you really did think about it, and it wasn’t a total lack of impulse control. I’d still say I look forward to some more of that.” Rev pulled him in for a hug. “I didn’t hate it, but you are the only guy I’ll ever do that with.” Leaning into Meto’s ear. “Now, just one more question, then I want to get cleaned up and dry off,” whispers Rev.

“Of course he’s watching….” Meto whispers back as he licks the shell of Rev’s ear, smiling.