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Stupidly... tight... jeans!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this computer. All recognizable Glee characters belong to Messrs. Brennan, Falchuck, Ryan, et al.


His skin, pale, perfect and glistening under the slow flow of water from the shower head tempts me to touch. The wall that separates each shower stall isn’t doing a good job of blocking my view of the long, elegant line of his back because he’s grown so much taller in the time I’ve been away.

He hums as he washes his hair and suddenly, with his arms raised in just the right way and the muscles of his back displayed perfectly, a memory of a painting I’d once seen in an encyclopedia came back to me. What was it… ahhh, yes!

Odalisque. Those luscious naked women with the tempting pale skin, tons of  jewelry draped over them instead of clothes. I can picture him naked but for a few pieces of silk, tempting his sultan, his master to throw him down and…

Mmmmf, I try to stifle the moan struggling to leave my throat. I remember spending hours at the public library when I was in middle school back home working on a project and how I had been so distracted by the beautiful color photos in the Art History books. The paintings of beautiful harem slaves with pale, gleaming skin took up a lot of my time and had a starring role in my dreams over several nights. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have those small round breasts the Old Masters used to like to paint, his flawless skin simply made me hard again, just thinking about it.

Now my mind is hung up again on his creamy, porcelain-pale flesh and I ache just to touch him. Would his skin be warm or cool? Is that ass as tight as it looks, as biteable? I feel like a pervert because he looks so innocent, though maybe he isn’t completely ignorant of the effect of those tight, skinny jeans.

I have a feeling I’m not the only jock who can’t keep his eyes off of his ridiculously tempting ass, but I’m probably the only one who wouldn’t be afraid to admit it. Maybe there is one other guy but he’s usually busy chasing anything in a skirt, no matter the age, I don’t know if he’s interested in more than just looking. Me, though, I could be tempted to touch – to touch, to taste, to do so much more – if I just got the opportunity.

The wall does block from my sight of the lush curves of his beautiful ass, unfortunately. I’ve always been an admirer of beauty in all its forms and I’ve never labeled myself gay or straight. I think I’ve evolved beyond the narrow thinking that passes for normal in Lima, Ohio. I’ve freed myself to admire whoever I wish to, male or female. I’m different from the other jocks (some of them think I’m a bit of a dork because I love sci-fi movies) but I don’t really advertise that difference. Lima is not known for its open-mindedness and after witnessing the crass way the students here behave, I don’t think I’ll ever risk it.

The very same boy I’m here admiring while I should be concentrating on washing off the grime of my extended football practice is the perfect example of how very backward this town is. He is one of the bravest – or some would say ‘stupidest’ but I don’t – people I know because he faces ridicule and hatred on a daily basis and yet his beautiful face hardly ever shows the pain I know he feels. He is also one of the few people who don’t think I’m a nerd if I bust out a Connery impression or two or break out into Na’vi, my favorite ‘foreign’ language.

He struts through the halls of this high school as if he owns it, rocking the most outrageous outfits and some of the tightest, sexiest jeans it’s been my pleasure to see. I smile every time I see him shrug off a taunt or straighten up after being shoved into a locker by any one of a number of homophobic jocks who strut around, laughing like hyenas and high-fiving each other. His sarcastic turn of phrase often goes way over the heads of those jackasses and I can’t help admiring its barbed subtlety. He’s almost like a comic book hero in my mind.

He knows and I know that none of those knuckle-draggers is fit to even breathe the same air that he does and they’re just too dumb to know it. I wish I could tell him what he does to me just witnessing his indomitable spirit. I wish, too, that I were brave enough to go up to him one of these days, slide my arm around his slender waist and hug that hot, firm body to mine.

I’m brought out of my daydreaming when I realize the water is getting cool and he’s stepping out of his cubicle. I turn to watch the way his butt moves beneath the towel he’s wrapped around his waist and I’m glad he’s moved away before he can hear the embarrassing sound that just left my throat. Uhhh, *ningay tutean sevin*, seriously.

I palm my boy but I know I can’t do anything to give him relief so I promise him an extended session later tonight when I’m in bed. Those sinful jeans have been taunting me the whole day and the bonus of those tight, Cheerio-red pants just this afternoon didn’t help either. It’s really distracting when Coach Sylvester has her team training when we’re out there but Coach Beiste has told us to just suck it up and concentrate.

Yeah, I don’t think Beiste gets what it does to us to watch those hot bodies flexing and stretching and teasing us as they go through their routines. The only male diva on the team sometimes practices the songs Coach Sylvester has lined up for them to perform at their Nationals competition and he sounds sexier than ever, now that he sings in a somewhat lower range. I think she has a soft spot for him but she works him just as hard as the other members of her championship team.

I’ve gotta say that if I had the balls I’d personally thank that crazy coach for getting him back in the Cheerios. The extra workout that he’s getting apart from dancing in the glee club has worked wonders on an already sweet little body and my little na’vi friend twitching here agrees wholeheartedly. Those legs, that ass, even the shoulders, should be immortalized in paint, I grin to myself. Maybe, if I’m good, my fairy godmother will give him to me so I can paint him – among other things. I crack myself up sometimes at my own wit, really.

I hear him puttering about and humming, of course, and I know he’s going to take some time to do his hair and whatever else he does to look so girly and perfect. That means I have time to finish washing my hair and showering. He does take a lot of time and that’s one of the reasons he waits for the other guys to finish in the shower before he does his thing. The other reason is, of course, their stupid homophobia.

The bullying has eased off a lot and now Coach Sylvester has him on the Cheerios again (damn that uniform for being so tight!) no one dares to hurt him anymore – at least not physically. Coach Sue would rip anyone a new hole and also rip off favorite appendages if anyone were stupid enough to damage her ace in the hole to win another championship.

I finish and wrap my own towel around my waist, making sure to have it hang really low on my hips. I’m really proud of my body, especially my abs – can we say ‘six-pack? – and I like the way he always tries to avert his eyes but he never quite succeeds. I smile at him as I walk slowly over to my locker, shaking the excess water from my hair as I go.

We talk a bit about glee club and the songs we’re going to be doing for Regionals and I tell him I hope he gets a solo because his range is awesome as well as hot. I can see the color rising in his cheeks from the corner of my eye and I smile. He’s really cute when he pretends he isn’t blushing though it’s there for everyone to see, his skin is so fair. I shimmy into my boxer-briefs, knowing that the movement of the towel is showing some of my thigh and butt and he spins around really fast.

I’m not upset because, seriously, the back view is always a bonus when it comes to this boy. He has on a different pair of jeans from before but this one’s a little nicer. Just as I’m eyeing up his ass and just stopping myself from licking my lips, he turns around and catches me at it. I cover by commenting on the fact that the jeans look expensive and he reels off a whole bunch of names I suppose are designers’ and I just nod and smile as if I know anything.

I ask him how come he looks so dressed up and he says he’s meeting Mercedes and Tina at the Lima Bean when he’s done here. He turns back to the little mirror in his locker to do stuff to his hair and while I shrug into my own jeans and tee-shirt, I take the opportunity to admire that view some more. Suddenly I realize that he can see me reflected in his mirror but I just grin at him while he raises that eyebrow at me.

When he’s done primping – he’s such a girl – he turns to me with his bag hanging over his shoulder and kinda hesitates before just blurting out if I want to come with him to hang out. I am a little surprised but my parents didn’t raise no fool and I answer ‘yes’ so fast his eyes widen a bit and then he gives me that goofy little grin that we hardly ever get to see.

He waits while I gather up my stuff and then we head out of the steamy locker room. I open the door for him and he smiles this really cute, seductive little smile at me with his lashes kinda half lowered and I know my face is hot but I smile back. He makes a little comment about always admiring Southern manners and I bump him gently with my shoulder in response.

I don’t think he realizes that this Southern boy would love to find out if there’s enough room for two in his gorgeous, skin-tight jeans but I have a feeling he is not going to remain ignorant of that for long. I cross my fingers for luck and follow him out to his car. He hasn’t realized that I don’t have my own ride and that he’ll have to take me home later. If I play my cards right, who knows, maybe I’ll find out tonight the answers to all those questions popping up in my mind from earlier.

Never underestimate the power of a well-maintained six-pack; just like I never underestimate the power of skin-tight jeans and one hot diva.




A/N: *Na’vi: ningay – truly; tutean – man; sevin – pretty (roughly translated as in text: a really hot guy)