by: falsechaos

Don't own Yugioh. Contains yaoi and coarse language.

Joey tried not to question it. Late at night, left only to himself and his thoughts, he might admit to himself that it was only for the variety. It was the only lie he could stomach that was so close to the truth. A few random fumblings in the dark, narrow alleys between the school buildings meant nothing. Neither did grasping, furtive hands wrapped timidly around his cock. Just a little variety, that's all.

Sometimes it was chapped lips instead of rough hands wrapped around the length of him. Sometimes he was the one on his knees in those alleys on the school grounds. Rough asphalt would grind into his flesh even through his denim pants. He noticed that the zipper always whined when he pulled it down, no matter how cheap or expensive the brand of pants.

He never knew what to do with his hands when he went down on those few classmates. Don't put the hands on their hips, never touch above the belt, don't do anything that could possibly be interpreted as anything other than a quick fuck or grope in the dark. That would be kind of gay, after all. And Joey Wheeler was not gay. Neither was the random, barely-known almost stranger there with him. Just two students blowing off some steam in between classes.

It wasn't that hard to find other guys who needed to... blow off some steam. Kind of like Joey'd been found. It's an unspoken rule that you don't look at other guys in the locker room. Not down there, anyway. Some horseplay, maybe a smack on the ass after a really good game. Nothing remotely like touching. Just guys goofing off. But sometimes he'd get careless and look anyway. Curiosity. Scoping out the competition. Nothing at all like those fags ogling at another guy's package.

But one time he looked too long and didn't glance away quick enough. The other guy was just a little taller and a little broader than him and stared so threateningly at him for a long time. A slow grin had crossed the other guy's face and he said to meet him in the alley. Classmates laughed and joked that yet another freshman was going to get his ass pounded.

They met in the alley and Joey was slammed against the wall and a large hand shoved itself roughly down the front of his pants. Grope and fondle and pant and a sticky mess covered the other guy's hand. A brief pause and he understood that he was to return the favor, awkward and rushed. The other guy hadn't even said goodbye, just tossed a handful of crumpled tissues at his feet and walked off.

So now Joey was the one who issued the challenging smirk and aggressive stance whenever one of the younger classmates looked a little too long and turned away a little too quickly to be innocent. Meet in the alley. Grope and fondle and pant. He always remembered to bring tissues.

Not that he was always the one calling the shots. He still had the scar on his left knee from a shard of glass when he had knelt down in the alley on one occasion. And there were still classmates just a little taller and a little broader than him. In this, these rough fumblings in the dark, he knew when to submit. Every other part of his life was a struggle for some sort of control and pride. But not this. It was okay to be scared and nervous and hide it so poorly when the other guy obviously went through the same.

Sometimes Joey ran into that classmate, the one who called him out into the alleyway in the first place. Sometimes they would meet out in the alleyway again between classes. And sometimes they would hang out for the hell of it. It wasn't like Joey was growing attached to Tristan, there was just a comfortable routine to the guy. They got into fights together and even helped pull one another through that terrible period when the fights were all they came to school for.

Blood has a way of helping people bond sometimes. Joey and Tristan had met in one of the many alleyways once, torn and bleeding. He was good at patching himself up and Tristan was good to practice on. Somewhere between tying a knot in a bandage and wiping a crusty trail of blood from his lip, he found his pants unzipped and Tristan's hand down his boxers. It wasn't unusual for this to happen after a fight when the adrenaline still had yet to wear off.

It was kind of odd that Joey had never noticed the little half-grin on Tristan's face when he was touching him. But this time Joey had noticed and leaned forward. He didn't mean to kiss Tristan. He never meant to touch his friend outside of the alleyways or the constant bickering between the two. But he did. And he wasn't surprised to find out that it felt kind of right. He also wasn't surprised when Tristan pulled away in shock and punched him in the face.

You aren't supposed to touch, after all.

Then Tristan did surprise Joey by pressing an clumsy kiss against the dark splotch forming under the blond's eye. The first was followed by a second. And a third. Wet and hot and something strange in his mouth that was way more intimate than some guy's dick. The faint taste of copper that he knew was blood. Teasing Tristan's lips with bites and licks.

Not that any of this meant that Joey was gay. Not at all.

Just two guys meeting in an alleyway at school. Nothing that felt wrong despite being so right. Nothing about it that made him feel weak in the knees, nothing that made him so hard so quick just by seeing a certain guy's smile or strong hands. Nothing about it all. Certainly nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to make him feel dirty and excited at the same time.



A few months later, Joey and Tristan met a short, spiky haired kid who had a lot to teach them about a river in Egypt.