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Claire, kneeling in front of him, tears in her eyes, anguish in her voice, “If you keep letting things go on like this-” she motions towards the patio where the bodies of his classmates lay bleeding and broken. Because of him. He did this- “You're going to lose everything.”
He screams, agony tearing through his chest and piercing his heart. Tears fall from his eyes as he knocks Claire out, not ready to face the harsh reality. Her words physically hurt because he knows they're true. She only got one thing wrong: he won't lose everything, he already has.
He has no friends, the one he trusted betrayed him, and the one who was loyal to him, he discarded. He has no power, only an empty crown on his head. He has no heart, only violence in his being, his only purpose is destruction.
What more does he have to lose?
John awakes with a gasp. He sits up abruptly, sweat on his forehead, his heart thundering. He looks around, trying to assess his environment: where he is, who he is with, what happened. Arlo is the first thing that pops into his field of vision, the blond boy sitting on a chair by his bed, reading the school's newspaper. He slightly lowers the paper to speak, “Look who finally woke up-”
John's fist swings through the air. But Arlo is quicker, dodging the attack effortlessly with a slight tilt of his head. John's momentum carries him forward, and he stumbles- still woozy from waking up- crashing into Arlo's chest. Their lips meet in an accidental clash, freezing them both in place. John hurriedly pulls back, eyes wide and mouth parted.
All thoughts fly off his head. He forgets what he dreamt of, forgets why his first impulse upon waking up was to punch Arlo, and forgets the burning questions he was going to ask. A peck is all it takes to render John incapable of coherent thought, leaving his heart pounding- whether from the nightmare or from the accidental touch of lips, he doesn't know.
His face flushes crimson as the realization of what he just did crashes, “I-I'm oh My gOd I CAn't believe I-”
He becomes hyper-aware of the places they are touching: John's hand on Arlo's shoulder, the other one gripping the blond boy's bicep, and him sitting on the other's lap. Arlo seems to still be processing what happened, one hand resting on John's thigh and the other one frozen in the air.
If possible, John thinks his face gets even more scarlet as he becomes conscious of their positions.
“I- I'm sorry, I don't… what happened, how does that even happen?” Embarrassment makes speech difficult, but he tries, Arlo's silence only making him more nervous, “Oh my god, I should just leave, but Doc won't let me, I'll just…” He shifts, preparing to get up.
That's when Arlo grips John's hair on the back of his head and pulls him in for a bruising kiss.
When John accidentally kissed Arlo, the king's brain came to a temporary halt. However, the next second a whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind, each vying for his attention.
First and foremost, a startling realization hit him: he liked it. The peck couldn't have lasted more than a second, but it left Arlo's lips warm and tingling. It was a sensation he found himself craving more of, even as he tried to cope with the shock of the moment.
Another thought followed closely behind: John was undeniably attractive. Ignoring the questionable hair-do that John seemed to maintain with an excessive amount of hair gel, the supposed cripple held a certain allure. The lean muscles, raven locks, and those captivating golden eyes—all these traits combined to create an image that was hard to ignore. Particularly, right now John still managed to paint a pretty picture despite being banged up: disheveled hair, an open shirt exposing his abdomen and a blush coloring his cheeks.
Of couse, practicality soon claimed his focus. Arlo realized that he could use this to his advantage. He knows people tend to be more honest when there is a physical relationship, a dynamic that could work to his benefit. Their supposed friendship had already made John more comfortable on opening up to him, but he hasn't made enough progress, there are many secrets left unknown. He's sure of it. Perhaps this unexpected development could hasten the building of John's trust and the unraveling of the raven-haired boy's past.
Arlo tells himself he's doing this purely because it plays to his advantage, his ulterior motives are definetely the only reason why he grabs the back of John's neck and pulls him for another kiss.
The second time their lips collide, John is caught off guard once again. This time, there's nothing accidental about it—Arlo's lips are insistent upon his, movements purposeful. As their mouths meet, a surge of unexpected heat courses through him, pooling low in his gut. It's that very feeling that sets him on what he does next. He recovers swiftly from his momentary hesitation and meets Arlo's assertiveness with equal fervor, moving their lips in sync.
Arlo's hand glides from John's thigh to the low curve of his back, a possessive arm encircling his waist. The blond boy leverages his hold to draw John in even closer, narrowing down the small space between them to nonexistent. Their bodies fit perfectly together, like matching puzzle pieces.
John takes advantage of their newfound closeness to slide his hands from Arlo's shoulders to a loose hold around the king's neck. One hand ventures further, to the back of Arlo's head, fingers curling into the blond locks. A gentle yet unmistakable tug elicits a low, guttural groan from Arlo—making John smirk into the kiss.
It feels like victory to be able to pull that sound from the king's throat.
Arlo feels the smug grin against his mouth and bites the black-haired's lower lip in retaliation. John gasps at the mix of pain and pleasure, and the blond takes advantage of his parted lips to slide his tongue in. The sudden intrusion shocks John, thoughts of wet, moist, and warm, flashing through his mind. The added intensity to their kiss soon makes his thoughts go delightfully fuzzy, his focus narrowed down to their mouths only, the world outside forgotten.
In the back of his mind, he notices Arlo's hand leaving his nape, and he misses its presence for only a second until he feels a splaying palm roam the skin of his stomach. The muscles of his abdomen tighten, sending electrifying sparks dancing on his skin and making a full body shiver course through him.
But most mortifying of all is the moan that escapes him before he can stifle it.
Now Arlo's the one smirking-the fucking bastard, of course, he is- and John deepens their kiss even more in reply. They fall into a harmonic symphony of sucking, licking, and biting— and John comes to the dangerous realization that he doesn't want it to end. However, when he feels a growing hardness in his pants, he realizes that he does need to put an end to it. Reluctantly, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting their mouths.
Fuck, that's strangely hot.
Then he looks down on Arlo.
Double fuck.
Arlo makes a stunning sight. Mussed golden locks, dilated pupils, and red lips.
“We-” John starts, breathless- “We should stop.”
The bastard ignores him, nibbling and sucking on a pulse point on his neck.
A little strangled sound escapes his throat.
“Are you sure you want to stop?” the blond asks, smugness oozing from his grin.
Gods, no.
But John has some self-preservation skills, and instead of uttering what's on his mind he admits, “If we don't stop now, I don't think we will at all.”
Arlo's mouth curls into a teasing smile, “So? You want to stop what you started?”
John feels the familiar annoyance associated with the asshole- who he just kissed by the way, what is happening with the world -creep up on him, “I started it? You're the one who kissed me!”
Arlo raises an eyebrow, “You kissed me first.”
“Wh-” John splutters, “It was clearly an accident!”
“I don't believe you.”
“You-”
His protests are silenced when Arlo seals his lips with a kiss once again. John briefly forgets what he was trying to bring up, falling into rhythm.
Meanwhile, Arlo is pleasantly surprised by a new way to shut up the cripple effectively.
It doesn't take long for John to pull back once again, indignation in his tone, “Don't distract me.”
“I don't know, it worked artfully well.”
The black-haired boy hisses.
Arlo chuckles.
“We really need to stop,” John insists, “We're in the infirmary and if Doc catches us I think he will finally make good on his promise of murdering me.”
Arlo's unflinching gaze locks onto him, but John holds his ground, stubbornness unyielding.
Finally, Arlo relents, clucking his tongue, “Fine, I have to go anyway.”
John waits for the blond to leave, but the other simply stares at him. He realizes he's still straddling the other's lap and his face goes red, “Right,” he stammers as he stands up hurriedly, movements slightly clumsy. He walks up to the bed and plops down on the soft surface, feeling oddly self-conscious.
Arlo, finally able to get up, retrieves the journal from the floor and folds it. The king does a quick arrangement of his hair and clothes, going from disheveled to his usual composed manner in seconds. The air is still thick with lingering tension from their heated exchange, making John's gaze track the blond's movements like a magnet as he walks toward the door.
The black-haired boy wonders if the next time they see each other, they'll simply pretend this didn't even happen. It was clearly a heat-of-the-moment thing, so maybe they'll just never mention this and continue their relationship as friends– well, maybe not that, friendly acquaintances?
Arlo opens the door, and John thinks that will be it, as soon as he closes the door it will mark the end of this strange devlopment, cementing it as a one-time happening. But then the blond looks back, smirks, and says, “We should do this again.”
Without waiting for a response, he leaves.
Clearly, Arlo is not feeling any of the awkwardness that John was feeling. It infuriates him, that Arlo can act so relaxed, so self-assured of himself, making John look like a fool for doubting himself. But there's also relief mixed in with the irritation, that whatever this was did not change how the king acts.
Smug bastard, John can't help but think.