This much vertical is unnatural….
Bart had sprawled himself out across the outside steps leading up to the lunchroom, his art tools haphazardly strewn across the step he occupied. It was a little late for lunch, so nearly no one came up these steps and he thought it was the perfect spot to study the way light struck the leaves of the trees nearby.
He squinted to try and see the lights and shadows better before trying to sketch a small scene on his sketchpad. He frowned and crumpled up the sketch when he didn’t seem to like it and tossed it to the side, blinking when someone grumbled about it hitting them.
When he glanced up, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the other standing partially in his light. Huh, so that’s why his sketch looked funny.
“Er. Hi. You’re Conner, right?”
Conner was innocently strolling through the plaza, about to ascend the stairs to the dining hall. He had a fair amount of bounce in his step today, having the session with the trainers and knowing his room was cleaned and damage controlled post-party. He was doing his best to clear his thoughts of school work and focus on the positives, even though he knew there was surely an angry e-mail waiting from his mother in his inbox and probably a voicemail or two from Gram and Pops on his phone. Might be time for a drive later this evening on the bike to clear his head. The breeze against his body, the silence inside his helmet, the freedom of the open roads of nighttime in Gotham… Conner had half a mind to skip the rest of his classes and go for a long drive right now.
As he pulled out his phone to inform Jaime of his planned truancy, Conner was assaulted by a free-range paper missile from a small boy sitting on the stairs. “Whoa, ‘scuse me for walking, apparently.” He bent down and picked up the paper, throwing it in the nearby trash can with a perfect shot. Too bad his basketball skills sucked when an actual basketball was involved, or else Conner might be a three-season athlete. The small ginger peered up, almost in fear. His freckled face seemed familiar for some reason… Conner knew this child’s face from somewhere. That, or he had been smoking far too much lately.
“Yeah, I’m Conner. Sorry––I can’t place a name with a face.” Conner definitely was a household name at the school, though. Small crowd here at the Academy. It did (or did not, depending on the view point) help that he was considered something of an athletic hero and was known for co-hosting some of the best parties the school had to offer. Either way, Conner had very little anonymity around campus. “What are you drawing?” he asked, noting the boy’s sketchbook. Conner wished he had a visual arts talent. His talent lay in the musical world, though, so he could not complain too much.
“He ducked out sometime after lunchtime. Not that we ate much food all day.” Jaime said. “And my ass may not have been out of bed, but I was still awake. If you catch my drift.” His morning had been just as eventful as the night before. “I actually just got back from getting a late lunch at the cafeteria. Too exhausted to make anything for myself.” He’d have to make sure to make proper time for a meal at some point during his next foray with Roy, because he had no doubt that there would be a next time.
“So how much shit am I going to get for missing practice today?” He grinned. He’d probably be running extra laps come Monday, but it’d be totally worth it. He wasn’t too worried about homework. That would be the easiest thing to catch up on. “And how did things go with Stephanie?” Jaime had lost track of him and the blonde when Roy had shown up, but it had seemed like things were going in a pretty good direction.
As Jaime recounted his morning, Conner quickly popped a hefty dose of ibuprofen and twisted the cap off his beer, doing his best to control his thoughts. Yes, it was a large dose and he was mixing it with alcohol, but frankly he needed anything to relax his fried nerves at the moment. Conner did not like being injured. More than anything, he hated being vulnerable because Conner was not weak. Injuries and pain made him appear weak. He had once worked an entire summer with Pops on two broken toes and a torn tendon in his foot (and played soccer at least half the summer) and never let Gram see him so much as whimper because he did not want her to think he was weak. Conner really needed to sort out his priorities, but he would worry about that when he had a scholarship in his hands.
“Do I look like a chick? I don’t need details, man. I can fill in the blanks myself,” he laughed lightly, downing another sip of beer. “Glad you’re at least carbing up… Don’t think I could take you to the hospital with a straight face if you passed out during sex with Roy!” How would Conner even begin to explain that one? ‘My roommate has an insatiable sex drive and apparently forgot to feed himself before attempting to burn 2000 calories in the sheets…’ Yeah, he did not relish having to fill out that paper work, nor did he envy the nurse who had to assist him in caring for Jaime. Thankfully, that did not look like a foreseeable consequence. Conner relaxed into the couch, rotating his ankle and wincing slightly at the pain. Conner knew Jaime would not judge him. Brothers did not do that.
Thinking carefully, Conner considered the coaches’ attitudes at practice today. “Probably just some laps, at worst some screaming. They were pretty lax. A good third of the team decided not to show up. And people wonder why we don’t win often…” Conner wished the team cared a bit more. But at least he could take pride in knowing that he was doing all that he could do to help the team win. Or at least, he did on a sound ankle. Hopefully it would heal up soon. As soon as Jaime mentioned Stephanie, Conner blushed. He was not one to kiss and tell, mostly for her sake. “Shit. You saw that?” If Jaime had seen through his escapades, how many other people had seen?
It’s been how long since I posted? GURRRRRL.
Anywho. I plan on getting back in action ASAP. Starting…..now. Or after Dance Moms!
Will be MIA for the next ten days or so. Super busy with finals. Keep me in your thoughts, y’all. <3
Roy had been pretty sure that any hopes for racing Connor would have to just fall to the wayside when he heard from Jaime that the football player had sprained his ankle. A crying shame, really, because those thighs were made to be photographed wrapped around a motorcycle, and Roy has really detailed thoughts about those thighs.
Like, the fact that they look like you could take a bite out of them and still have glorious muscle left over, and that he’d need several hands just to try and cover them, and the fact that they’re defined to high heaven, really should be illegal. It’s probably a good thing then, that Roy has never actually spent too much time up close and personal with Connor’s thighs because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to go a minute without getting starry eyed and doing something that could, maybe, potentially, okay, probably more than likely, end up with some indecent exposure.
It’s not a guarantee, he’s just saying, if he were in a room with Connor and those thighs, things might happen. Wonderful, glorious things, if he ever gets the chance.
So when he’s going to archery practice and he’s crossing the campus and cutting around the turf field to get to the gym, he kind of notices Connor by himself on the benches because those thighs speak to Roy, they really do. All stretched and spread out, one propped up to help drain Connor’s ankle and that gives Roy a truly fabulous view, oh god.
He subconsciously kind of drifts towards Connor because the junior’s by himself by the bleachers since the rest of the football team is practicing (and if he looks, he can see Jaime, but he’s a bit distracted at the moment, because, ahem, that plane of leg is absolutely sinful), but if he’s really honest to himself, it’s mostly because those thighs seems to have a gravitational pull all of their own.
Which makes sense, in that far part of Roy’s mind that’s trying to justify the longest ogle he’s ever had over this kid’s legs. He should be ashamed of himself, but he feels he crossed that line of shamelessness a while ago, and that he could kind of get away with staring? Not really, okay, but Connor has dark hair and blue eyes, and abs that Roy wants to put his mouth on and thighs that he needs to bite.
Because he has goddamned priorities, and biting some Kent thigh is very high on that list.
“I’m guessing I won’t be able to get that race, then, what with this whole ankle situation?” Roy kind of vaguely gestures in the direction of Connor’s feet and readjusts the compound bow he has resting on his shoulders, trying, and failing, to keep his eyes off of the junior’s legs.
Roy settles for looking at that indistinguishable area between Connor’s mouth and nose (Cupid’s bow, isn’t that what that’s called?) and hopes for the best since he’s not looking at those Kansas sky blue eyes or in the general area of Connor’s crotch, and he considers it a win, all things considered.
Monday rolled around, and despite a fun weekend of relaxation and not so fun homework, Conner was still not back on his feet. He hated the thought of being sidelined for even one game––the team depended so heavily on the kicker for his accuracy and calm under pressure. Conner was practically born to kick a football, despite his passion (and general preference) for soccer. He could always play soccer, though. Football was at least going to open some doors beyond high school. The junior had been *unofficially* approached by several coaches. No actual recruiting could occur until second semester, anyways, according to NCAA rules. But upon discussion with Gramps and his father, Conner figured that football was going to get him to a good school, so why not take advantage of it? Gramps wanted Conner to do something more with himself than be a journalist. “Conner, you’re smart enough to do anything,” he had always said. Then Gram would add that Conner should write the great American novel. Clark and Lois always mentioned how much they loved their careers, though Conner knew that they loved the freedom more than anything. As for the time being, Conner was content to play some ball and enjoy being the king of the green.
He watched the team practicing on the field below, wishing so badly he could be out there with them. His shoulders felt empty without pads and his practice jersey. Something seemed wrong to see the field from up high, without seeing the goalpost in front of him, beckoning to him. Conner might have more taste for soccer, but football was still a huge part of his life. He and Jaime had become best friends through love of the sport, it was one of the only things his father would spare time for a conversation for, plus all that he had learned about discipline and strength… Of course, only enough discipline to squeak by in the classroom acceptably before he was back out on the field, stretching and getting ready for a game. Conner was not necessarily one track minded, but he definitely saw different priorities from his teachers. He just loved his sports too much. The outdoors, the thrill of competition, his friends cheering for him… What was not to love? But being so far from the action, up on the bleachers, Conner felt abandoned. Conner was barred from practice until the swelling in his ankle went down. There was still possibility that the ankle had suffered deeper damage than they had originally thought. That thought alone terrified Conner. Had he damaged his ankle beyond getting kicked too hard (in the process of being sacked)? As much fun as that party had been, it might be proving to be more detrimental than either of the roommates had thought. Maybe Stephanie would remember if Conner had tripped or done something stupid.
Conner’s lonely, sorrowful watching was interrupted when Roy ambled up the bleachers towards him. He asked about their previously planned motorcycle race. “Yeah, I’m barred to the Jeep temporarily. But I’ll be back on that bike as soon as I can kick again.” His Ducati was going to be lonely for a while. Maybe, just maybe, he would let Jaime take a few rides on the beast. Conner needed a favor or two first though. Jaime was clearly obsessed with motorcycles, so Conner knew he would get away with it wholeheartedly. Was he an awful person for taking advantage of that? Yes, probably. But Conner thought he deserved to be bad for a while. “Well, I thought I just got kicked when the defense was playing too rough. And I came down kind of hard from one kick. But it’s still swollen and I still can’t put weight on it, so no practice until further notice. So I have no idea what happened. Blame it on the alcohol,” Conner replied, laying back to the bench behind him and stretching his leg out a bit more.
Yeah, I can help you on that paper. Come up to my room tonight.
I’LL BE WAITING.
I KNOW I’M SORRY GUYS. IT’S BEEN FREAKING CRAZY. I LOVE YOU ALL.
Am I missing anyone? Please let me know ASAP! <3