"Outta my way, faggot!" the star linebacker Don Torelli shouted... right after he bowled over Quentin Hearth. Snickers and muffled laughs erupted in the hallway. Quentin, flushing, just gathered up his books as best as he could and slammed shut his locker.
Ever since he'd been forced out of the closet, they'd all been like that, every last one of them. All the jocks, all the 'cool kids', the in cliques, all of them. Making his life miserable as best as they could, lying left, right, and center; enough was enough already!
After school, he leaned his head against his locker for a moment before opening it. Naturally, Don showed back up just as his guard was down to repeat the earlier performance.
No one really expected what ended up happening, least of all Don and Quentin!
Just a few feet from Quentin, Don went flying as an equally large form bowled into him, with absolutely no pretense of accident. "Outta my way, bigot!" Yelled Eric Stephens, the football team's quarterback, as he dashed down the corridor. A few muffled laughs showed that Quentin wasn't the only one to get the reference.
"Paybacks a bitch, ain't it?" Quentin whispered as he scooted past Don to go say thanks to Eric. He'd barely turned the corner when a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his head, one over his mouth to keep him from screaming.
Yanked practically off his feet into the restroom, Quentin was just a little bit scared. As in he nearly lost the contents of his bladder over what Eric was going to do to him. Only one coin of payment could warrant this treatment... and he was a top, not a bottom! "Shhhh!" Eric hissed, then let go. "Listen, don't bother saying thanks. Just let me know if he keeps it up, I'm not interested in that kind of BS going on here."
"I... listen, I owe you-"
"You owe me nothing, and it has to stay that way Quen. I don't want out of the closet myself!"
Quentin blinked. "You?!"
Eric grinned softly. "Susy knows I'm using this, her, as protective coloration. She's doing the same thing to me, she might enjoy cheer leading, but she has no interest in 'putting out' for a football player, traditions or no traditions. So we protect each other's interests... and look the other way, so long as it's discreet."
"Discreet?" Quentin asked with a flush.
"I like bottoming..." Eric stuffed a small piece of paper with a phone number in Quentin's hands, and then walked out of the restroom.
Quentin grinned, and took the time to wash his hands before he left. He didn't mind discreet... discreet was better than being stuck with Mr. Right Hand!
Years after graduation, he heard through the grapevine about Eric's death. Unfortunately, he was in the hospital at the time, and couldn't attend the funeral. He really regretted that, but figured he'd be able to make his apologies in person soon enough. His body was so badly beaten that he was dying despite everything the hospital staff could do. For every internal bleed they closed up, three more would open. Finally, the doctors had given up hope and told him to make the best of what time he had left before the bleeding killed him.
He was staring out the window into the sunlit day when a stranger walked into the room. Except... his green eyes... his blond hair...
"Eric?" Quentin whispered.
The silent figure reached out a hand, and Quentin took it. His body arched in sudden agony as his heart finally went into arrest, but he didn't feel it as he stared down from beside the bed. He smiled at Eric, a thanks for this one final gift.
He went out with a smile on his lips, much to the amazement of the hospital staff that 'tried' to revive him, as procedure required. They'd been pumping him with blood thinners for a while, and now the queer was finally dead. But why would he go out with a smile?