( blackboard ) extra curricular

[caipirinha]

She barks at him to go and sort out the sports shed, because it’s in a state, she says, because you’re usually so willing to volunteer, Joshua, and she does it with such bite and temper that all he does is blink and nod at her, pushing back some of his rain soaked hair as he tramps across the sports fields, his every step followed by her bright, vicious eyes. She’s unnaturally good at keeping her thoughts from her mind (but he doesn’t need to be a telepath to know why she’s picking on him today), and he doesn’t even attempt to go looking for anything; teachers are trained to know. He doesn’t even look back at her. He just does as he’s told. The sports shed isn’t a state, it’s a disaster. He groans upon stepping inside, knocking his head against the nearest wall with frustration at the sight of all the netballs, all the hockey sticks, all the tangled tennis nets that won’t be needed until the summer. It could be worse, he supposes. She could have told someone about it. He hopes she hasn’t, at least. An hour later, he’s still there, trying to figure out a way of organising all the footballs and rugby balls without everything toppling over. Four different techniques have failed so far, and the fifth does not seem all that promising, and he kicks at the case of spare lacrosse sticks angrily just as he hears the door unlatch behind him, and Catherine Morrison’s strikingly bold consciousness presses against him even though he’s not trying to find it. He turns inelegantly, stumbling over his own feet, preparing himself for another spectacular bollocking (he probably shouldn’t have felt the spark of excitement last week, the way she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back to his dormitory - she could have given him a push with her mind, kept her hands off him, but she didn’t), his mouth trying to move before his brain- “Ms Morrison, I’m so sorry-” That I’ve basically done nothing for the past hour? That I tried to drunkenly kiss you last week in the middle of a dark, empty corridor? Whatever it was he was going to say, he doesn’t have the chance. Cat raises her hand and pinches her fingers together, and his lips follow suit, clamping shut as she closes the distance between them in three long, confident strides, and suddenly she’s very close, so close that he’s suddenly very aware of the damp strands of red hair clinging to her forehead, the way her freckles stand out against her pale, cold skin, and for all that confidence he just saw, her usual, fearless self, he sees her brows crease and her lips - such a bright red - part hesitantly. He only sees it for a moment, before he feels the slippery, icy grip of her hands on his jaw and the contrasting warmth of her mouth on his. Either this is a terrible joke or a really great dream, right now he can’t tell, and neither can she. There’s no keeping something like this a secret in a school full of superpowers and psychic abilities. There’s no reasonable explanation for why she’s choosing to do this (a drunk seventeen year old trying to kiss you isn’t exactly a turn on), but it’s like something suddenly switched on in her mind and made her notice him. He’s a handsome boy - she’s heard enough of that from giggling girls and even a boy or two in the corridors - but he was never handsome to her until that moment she shoved him through his door, seeing the look of- ugh, longing? Whatever it was, she saw it in his face just before she slammed the door, and she’s barely been able to keep it off her mind ever since. He’s exactly her height, but he’s shaped differently, not quite an adult but not quite a standard teenager either - his shoulders are very broad, and she can feel a sturdy, firm quality to him as her body presses closes to his for the brief duration of their kiss. She barely gives him any time to respond - which he does, rather readily - before jerking back to stare at him again, not quite moving back, her hands hovering near him, not quite dropping, as if she’s waiting for a sign to continue, and they move almost simultaneously. Boldly, he takes hold of her waist, her hands settle on his shoulders, and they lock together a second time, and this time it lasts. It starts not to matter that both of them are still soaked from the rain that had been falling over the lacrosse pitches all afternoon, because warmth is starting to flood both of them in the midst of the frenzy, both wondering how on earth this is happening, though both for entirely different reasons. Cat decides to stop caring. She can’t have cared that much to start with if she had the balls to do this, and frankly, caring and thinking never did anyone much except get them into trouble. Joshua moves against her with more and more assertion, pressing that little bit more, his teeth brushing her lip experimentally before he bites at it, a hand rising to smooth her hair away before finding the nape of her neck, and in between all the not caring and not thinking, Cat starts to find herself wanting. Forgetting that Joshua is seventeen and her student, her responsibility. His lips on hers suddenly aren’t quite enough. It doesn’t take much to coax him forwards a little so that he has her against the wall, leaning in to her as she arches her body towards his. She takes the lead easily, only too aware of how hard he already is, her hand slowly drifting from his shoulder, down his chest, along his abdomen, until it slips past the waistband of his shorts, and he moans sharply as her hand closes around him, breathing out heavily against her lips, and she opens her eyes in time to see the way his eyebrows arch and pinch with unexpected pleasure. For a moment she feels a maddeningly smug enjoyment, but she doesn’t bother with it for long. Her other hand moves to take one of his, guiding it down her body in much the same way, passing it over the curve of her breast and then down, down, to dip under her skirt, until he gets the picture and continues on his own, cold fingers slipping between the slick warmth of her thighs, causing her own breath to pitch comfortably. He learns quickly, she’ll give him that; if he’ll never perfect his lacrosse skills, at least he’ll get good at this. He strokes her faster and faster, and as her breath quickens she knocks at his hand a little, pushing it down - not yet, breathless and instructive, the first words she has uttered since she arrived - until he experimentally slips one finger inside her, then a second, his mouth having long since migrated to press against her jaw. He goes on like that for a little while - no initiative, not yet - until Cat suddenly releases him and pulls at his shorts, then at her own underwear, which he helps her with, eagerly, fumbling but keen hands all over the place, before she directs him again - hand under my knee, like that, hold it, her voice more rough and intimate than he has ever heard it, and it makes him shiver - and their eyes meet properly, for the first time in a while. Both breathing heavily, they stare at each other senselessly for a long moment, before she tips her chin up, lips pressed together in a thin line, challenging him. Go on, make it happen. So he does. She tips her head back with a sound of approval that makes him grin, suddenly, keeping the pace slow and rhythmic, leaning his head down to press kisses to the hollow of her neck, breathing in the scent of rain and shampoo in her hair, fully conscious of the way her nails scrape along his nape, the way her fingers curl into his hair. He builds the momentum - a little too quickly, Cat thinks, but only for a moment, because it might be quick, but it’s no less enjoyable - still touching her, feeling something electric pass under his skin as she starts to moan with every thrust, as she pulls him up for another kiss, more urgent and more clumsy, and he realises these things aren’t meant to be refined or elegant, whether you’ve had experience or not, because they’re spontaneous and you can’t prepare for them, you can’t control the way your body responds to another person. With a high pitched noise that makes Joshua’s ears burn with odd, teenage pride, Cat climaxes moments before him, clutching at him that bit harder, her entire body seeming to tremble against his, and he follows her (almost obediently), mouth open against her neck, his own noise muffled against her skin. He leans against her, heavily, suddenly exhausted, and manages to get in one last kiss before Cat goes back to normal. She grabs him by the jaw again, roughly, snaps at him to open his eyes, look at her, and he does, immediately. “Keep this the fuck out of your mind, King, ‘cause I swear down if one of your little friends so much as glances funny in my direction, I’ll personally castrate you with a tennis racket, you understand?” He nods, even though he can’t stop grinning, despite the rather genuine quality of that threat. “Of course, Ms Morrison-” “Cat. You don’t call me that after we’ve just fucked in the bloody sports shed, s’not like this isn’t creepy and ridiculous enough as it is.” He’s about to protest the “creepy” remark, but he doesn’t have the time, tongue getting tied up as Cat pushes him out of the way, grabbing her discarded undergarments from the floor with one fell swoop and re-adjusting herself with such astonishing ease that the only way Joshua would be able to tell she’d just had sex would be from the pink flush of her cheeks (it occurs to him at this point that he has just had sex too). She stalks from the sports shed with another bark and reprimand, telling him to sort the cricket bats the fuck out and to remember to padlock the shed when he leaves.

Comments

[cupnoodles]

oh my fucking god i can't begin to tell you how much i love this

ohmygod

pretty epic SO HOW DID YOU LOSE YOUR VIRGINITY story tbh

[caipirinha]

just had a thought, you've definitely wanted a verse with cat as the older one of the pair since the aviary haven't you
I SEE WHAT UR DOIN besides corrupting me horrendously