It had almost become a regular occurrence for Travis lying through his teeth, all cold eyes and mocking stare, as if the person speaking would be a fool to believe what they’d just said, and more often than not it had worked. He’d managed to keep himself out of trouble over the last five years and planned to continue on the same route. He was good at it, at hiding things, at lying and scheming, and sure there were many suspicious, but without proof, what was there but idle gossip?
He was doing it again, his back pressed against musty wood, the hand of another boy between his legs and lips on his own—they were in a broom cupboard, nothing particularly fancy, it wasn’t the Ritz, but it would do—and soon enough the other boy on his knees. They had to keep quiet, silent almost, the only thing that would be worse than being caught would be being caught by another student, how the rumour mill would love this.
Travis was usually careful, sure not to forget to lock doors, sure not to make any noises, sure to make sure the coast was clear, but this time he hadn’t thought of it, the fifth year’s hand had been down his trousers, he’d already been hard and now there were lips and tongue moving over his cock like it were an ice-cream on a fucking summer’s day. He couldn’t have been happier. The boy was enthusiastic, making soft, slurping noises, and there was Travis, head dropped back against the wood, unaware to the world around him.