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Post by teampad4eva on Jun 24, 2015 23:46:21 GMT
{Continued from here}
Summer sun beat down on the proud front steps of CCH, the dark heavy doors propped welcomingly open to allow the nearly non existent flow of students ingress to the facilities.
Max stepped out of the front doors, tilting the brim of his fedora to keep the sun out of his deep brown eyes, eyes deep enough to drown in. He surveyed the gravel drive up to the front of the school, the silhouette of capital city in the distance, then, gym bag still hefted disarmingly over his right shoulder he turned away from the city and loped easily around the outside of the school.
Ahead of him lay the sensual sweep of the school's broad track with curves in all the right places, and at the other end of it the sports complex, and the pitch.
He leaves his sports bag on the benches, lays the water bottle and towel out, then begins to warm up after the pause in the cool interior of the school. Behind him he feels the sharp eyes of spectators as he warms up, he can smell them, a mingling aroma of teenage lust and sunblushed skin. He starts working steadily up over his shapely calves, tight thighs and onto his alabaster chiselled torso, its rippling definition barely hidden by the t shirt over it.
Once warmed up he crouches briefly, twists to loosen his shoulders and then he's off. Long legs easily eating up the track as he runs.
Internally he processes, laying down what he knows, who's been seen kissing who, which email accounts have been left logged in on school servers. In an hour or so he will lay this all out for Mia Mulholland, but until then, he runs. |
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Post by QUEEN on Jun 25, 2015 0:55:03 GMT
{Continues from this post}The sun doesn't so much beat down upon as caress Bia, as she stalks towards the facilities. No-one is ever sure how Bia reaches the perfect tan this early in the holidays, but she has once again managed it. Her flawless golden skin practically glows, and there is far more of it on show than most of her fellow students would consider seemly. As Bia approaches the track the slow trickle of other students stops, and then begins to flow the other way as everyone realises who is amongst them. The summer sun on the athletics pitch might be nice, but avoiding the ire of the Student Council and the Yearbook Committee is far nicer, and everybody knows it. Bia ignores the changing rooms entirely. She isn't dressed at all appropriately for sport, but that is not her reason for being here. Her intent, in fact, is obvious. She stares with undisguised avarice at Max as he pounds his way around the track, sparing not a glimpse for her coterie as they ensure that Bia and Max have the track to themselves. Bia sits by the finish line in one fluid motion, thrusting her arms behind her for support. Her long toned legs arrange themselves appealingly in front of her, and a little flick sends her shoes into the warm grass. Then, she waits. The only movement is that of her head, as she tracks Max around the track.
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Post by teampad4eva on Jun 26, 2015 21:52:23 GMT
On the first pass around the track Max doesn't slow, his shoes slap the track, sure and solid. A steady beat helping him focus, until he sees her. His eyes trace over Bia's fine form from a distance, a sight that only improves as he approaches and passes her; on the second circuit of the track he slows, winks at her and then speeds up away and around the track again.
On the third pass he pauses at the benches, refilled and picked up his bag and then sauntered towards the finish line.
"Bia" He pauses beside her, voice warm with pleasure, and extends a arm to her, offering her a hand up.
"It's only polite to offer a fine lady like you a hand up. Is there something you need?"
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Post by QUEEN on Jun 29, 2015 23:54:12 GMT
Bia takes the proffered hand with a regal simper and a flick of her perfectly toned wrist. Her bracelet shimmers in the sun as it rubs lightly against Max's outstretched fingertips. She rises sinuously to her feet, a single fluid motion taking her from sitting to pressing herself closely to Max's chest. Her long black eyelashes flutter, making her large brown eyes seem even larger, and even deeper, than Max's own.
A dusky whisper rolls slowly off Bia's tongue.
"Max. Such a delight to see you here. Thank you for your concern, but there is nothing I need at the moment. I was merely here to appreciate this most pleasurable view."
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Post by teampad4eva on Jun 30, 2015 2:17:28 GMT
"I hate to disappoint you, however, unfortunately I have an appointment to keep on the roof" he waves up and behind without looking away from Bia's face, or releasing her wrist "and before that, I have the desire for a shower."
He releases her hand reluctantly and steps away. "Of course, If you were heading that way I would offer to accompany you but I know you probably have pressing Student Council Concerns elsewhere than the boys locker room. Perhaps I could find you later?"
He waits for the flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes before walking away, he would never consider turning his back on a dame after all.
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Post by QUEEN on Jun 30, 2015 11:05:48 GMT
Even as Max steps away, Bia steps in close once more. Her outstretched hand, now free from Max's supple grip, slithers around to rest possessively on his forearm. With susurrating grace, Bia dons her shoes and moves to Max's side, holding herself as if he were her lord, and she his date for the evening.
The words are louder this time, gaining a sibilant quality as they slip into the warm air.
"Oh no, your company never disappoints. It is such a beautiful coincidence that I am indeed heading up to the roof. I will gladly accept your offer of accompaniment. Perhaps I will let you find me *later* as well?"
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Post by teampad4eva on Jun 30, 2015 18:37:43 GMT
"Well" he says, navigating them firmly round the track's gentle curves towards the Sports Complex and away from the main school building. Behind them the bulk of the Drama Centre hulked, ugly, new and suspicious.
"I will happily accompany you there shortly."
As they approach the front of the complex Max pulls the doors open for Bia.
"I would hate to think of you waiting here for me alone" He eyes Bia's gaggle of followers, still wisely back at the bleachers "while I rinse off, but there are seats and vending machines round by the Gym."
He smirks an invitation at her.
Above them, in the Summer sky clouds are beginning to roll in, threatening an abrupt but heavy summer shower. |
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Post by QUEEN on Jun 30, 2015 18:50:42 GMT
Bia relinquishes her grip on Max's arm with a disappointed pout, and stares longingly after him until he is out of sight in the changing rooms. Her expression drops the instant he is out of sight, and she unleashes a baleful glare upon her coterie. They very quickly learn that they might in fact not have retreated far enough away from the young lady and her prey, and swiftly move to correct the situation. Barely thirty seconds later, Bia is the only one left in the room. She primly takes one of the aforementioned seats, arranging herself artfully for when Max returns.
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Post by teampad4eva on Jun 30, 2015 19:14:09 GMT
Outside the Sports complex the heavens open briefly, covering the track, and Bia's spectators swiftly in water.
There are a variety of squeals, and the sound of running feet, yet none dare open the door and join Bia in the Sports complex.
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Post by QUEEN on Jun 30, 2015 20:31:31 GMT
As long as they don't come inside and nearly ruin everything again, Bia cares more about the effect the rain might have on her perfectly coiffed hair than that which it might have on her fleeing coterie. She spares barely a glance outside, an amused hiss offering a brief variation upon the humid warmth, before rearranging herself into her former position.
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Post by teampad4eva on Jul 1, 2015 0:17:59 GMT
The gym bag hits the benches with a solid thunk, and Max's trainers follow after, landing under the bench beside his locker.
He's half way out of his tight t shirt before he's crossed the room, tugging it up over his ripped torso and as he frees his arms the shirt follows the bag onto the bench.
Max pads through from the lockers into the shower unit and there he peels off his trousers and hangs them over the side of the cubicle. He starts the water running while he returns to the lockers and claims his wash bag.
His boxers join his trousers on the cubicle wall as he steps under the water and begins to lather up, soaping and caressing his aching muscles. The water that drips off him onto the tiled floor laps at elegant toes briefly before draining away.
***
He towels off vigorously, and wraps the towel around his hips. As he steps out of the cubicle he slicks his hair back and the final few drips of water trickle down his neck and pool for a moment at his clavicle before tracing their way down his naked chest.
Back in the locker room he pulls clean trousers out of his bag and dresses quickly, tightening his belt and following it up with socks and shoes. Everything else gets jumbled into the gym bag to be dealt with later.
Somewhere in the bottom of the bag is a clean shirt but that will come later.
Once again he slings the gym bag onto one shoulder and fresh faced steps out of the locker room.
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Post by canyoudigit on Jul 1, 2015 0:58:36 GMT
The doors of the Sports Complex suddenly burst open as enters a tall dark figure. Mister India is soaked from head to toe from the downpour, his clothes sodden and his shirt sticking to his chest, outlining its details perfectly. He holds in his hand a very much extinguished cigarette and throws it to the ground in contempt as he strides into the complex.
His manly thighs carry him into the corridor but when he rounds the corner, his perfectly trimmed eyebrows widen as he sees the topless Byrd exiting the changing rooms. His sharp lips curl into a smile as a slender hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket and he removes his notebook and clicks his pen. A clear violation of school etiquette if ever he'd seen one.
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sherlockmoriarty
FAN
Watching Rom/Coms for fun
Posts: 19 
FAVOURITE SUPERHERO: The Blurst
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Post by sherlockmoriarty on Jul 1, 2015 1:23:40 GMT
Rain and shower echoing in perfect harmony, Trillion relished the relative calm that came from reclaiming the room of torment that was the shower room from the muscle bound blowhards. During the physical education parts of his school day, anything and everything became an excuse to avoid this dank hive of testosterone, but during off periods, only the die hard and chronically self-obsessed found there way into the now mostly parched wet room. It had become mostly a safe space he could rest, pontificate and masticate in peace. Packed into a partially moist crevice, Trillion unpacked today's refreshments, bound in polyethylene wrap, acknowledging the presence of an interloper into his sanctum by retreating further into the darkness provided by the unrepaired light source directly above.
Cross legged, bedecked with paper towel, the modest feast garnered from the lunch hall laid ahead. From an external position, it is doubtful anyone would use any other word than pathetic to describe the tiny figure sequestered in this dark and foreboding cage. His hair, obviously showing the remnants of care at some point, had grown out into a mop that crossed his vision like a slowly rotating zoetrope. Not even the hint of forming laughlines on his young face, the sadness was evident to anyone who cared to pay him attention; though very few people were given the chance. A billowing mass of uniform, designed to be grown into, obfuscated a slight form, kept slighter by the lack of true nutrition he managed to ingest. The only true sign of individuality that attached itself to the boy was the small teddy which was, implausibly, resting on his clavicle, balanced for all the world like it was designed to live there. A mismatched pattern to it's appearance, sprung from a young child's imagination, and stitched together by the unskilled fingers of a youth, it appeared to stare right down at the banquet below, one eye barely attached.
Mouth bound into a grimace, Trillion reached down and selected the most appetizing object from the buffet. It was little much of choice; an apple, bruised from the hellish conditions all school fruit was subjected to, echoed the core of the identity Trillion carried deep within, green with inexperience. The sandwich, sans crust mimicking the soft edges of the young boy, filled with jam, which didn't represent anything other than Trillion's love of delicious preserves. What he chose though was the cup-jelly, firm but yielding, much unlike his father, who had, not much earlier in the day, reprimanded him for the shoddy quality of his homework, equations his father himself had helped him work out. Free hand rummaging in his pocket, the cold chill of the metal across his fingertips told him he'd found his mark. Removing it, he plunged for his target, bringing spoon to mouth as the viscous red dessert flopped to his tongue, flooding his tastebuds with reminders of his youth, and happier days.
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Post by QUEEN on Jul 1, 2015 23:26:02 GMT
Paying no heed to, or perhaps entirely not noticing, the nobody in the corner, Bia gracefully slithers from her seat and begins stalking towards the half-dressed Max, her eyes never leaving his. When she arrives, she once more drapes a possessive hand over his arm and assumes a pose reminiscent of something out of an Elizabethan court. Having claimed her companion, she snaps her attention to the offending staff member, dominant arrogance pouring off her every move.
"Ah, Mister I. I do hope that pen of yours isn't writing about Max here. We were just having some fun, and I'd hate for anything to happen to our little arrangement."
On "arrangement," Bia gestures imperiously to the freshly-dropped cigarette, and to her bag where Mister I knows packs and packs of the things to reside. Her unspoken threat is obvious. If he crosses her, Mister I will have to find a new way of sneaking his nasty habit into the school.
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Post by teampad4eva on Jul 2, 2015 1:42:48 GMT
"Is there a problem Sir?" Max maintains bland innocence in the face of massive assumptions and draped femmes. (Almost certainly fatale ones, but to who...)
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