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prompt #144
"Everywhere I go, they whisper your name. They chant it, they pray to it, they worship it. Who are you?"
Prompt 144
“Stop! Just, stop. Why are you even doing this? You don’t- you don’t even have anything to gain!”
“Oh, Hero. Why do I need to gain anything from it,” they grinned, “when there’s simply nothing left for me to lose.”
Clubbing 101
Written by @alliswell21
Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]
Rating: Explicit. NSFW.
Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed.
Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it.
Thank you all!
KPKPKPKPKP
It starts with a harmless ranting.
“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.
The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet.
I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest.
“I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”
My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”
“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug.
The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles.
“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!”
“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place.
I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”
“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”
I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music.
The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.”
I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!”
“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”
“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze.
He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club.
He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.
“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.”
“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?”
“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,”
Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”
I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye.
I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.
“I lost a bet against a colleague.”
“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?”
The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence.
I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”
“How so?” He beams.
“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!”
“Am I that transparent?”
“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!”
We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat.
“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful.
I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle.
He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”
I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether.
Peeta gives a full belly laugh.
I really do like his laugh!
“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures.
Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.
“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”
“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily.
He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead.
I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme.
I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray.
The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch.
Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat.
I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life!
Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt.
Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on.
I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise.
He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly.
“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply.
Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together.
I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it!
There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have.
“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door.
There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me.
The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth.
He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly.
He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.
“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?”
“Okay,” I gasp.
Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim!
“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs.
“Yes… I’ll allow it!”
His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!
Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.
Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!
Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own.
Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up.
But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants.
He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.
“Fuck!” I squeak.
My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.
When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter!
“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door.
Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.
He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.
It’s too much.
I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates.
Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve.
I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor.
All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it.
“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress.
It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!
We both chuckle.
He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again.
“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine.
He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine.
He moans.
“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans.
He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.
“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob.
“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.
I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him.
Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet.
I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.
“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”
“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!”
His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.
He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head.
“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep.
“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me.
I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more…
When was the last time I had sex?
As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m
Not sure if I can,”
I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive!
“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.
“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling.
I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off.
“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust.
I squeak; he grunts..
Peeta holds me by the waist, “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.
I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?
His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts.
I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.
“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe.
“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”
One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.
I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body.
“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still.
Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.
We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.
Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath.
I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”
“Good,” he sighs.
Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.
I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean.
“Yeah,”
“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully.
He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today?
“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.
I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.”
Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”
My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.
“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“
My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!
My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?”
“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”
I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.
“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”
I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.
“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—”
While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.
Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”
I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely.
Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine.
“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips.
“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time.
“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…”
Peeta nods again, looking disappointed.
I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?
Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door.
Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”
“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.
“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”
I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is.
>>—————> * <————<<
It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep.
I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily.
I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave.
It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!
I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking.
The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.
“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!”
A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.
I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.
Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself.
“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!”
My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint.
“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?”
Ugh!
He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.
Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with?
But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!
Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit!
Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?!
Oh shit!
Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours…
Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach.
I realize, I’m jealous!
My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims!
Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading.
I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!”
I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”
There are quiet little giggles all over the place.
Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”
“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.”
“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps.
I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.
Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.
Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night…
Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead.
I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta?
I scoffed at the thought.
To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?”
Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor.
Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings.
Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening.
I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.
“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me.
His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met.
I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember.
He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—
I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!
Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly.
I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.
I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl.
My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally.
He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket.
How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master?
I shake my head, cursing my horny brain.
Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first.
I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention.
“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“
“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?”
Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago.
“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”
“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”
“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly.
“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.
“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”
“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!”
Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”
I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder.
“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful.
I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“
“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.
I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles.
“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”
Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly.
“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”
“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”
“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?”
“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests.
I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time.
“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.
“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,”
“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?”
He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”
“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”
We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse.
“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly.
Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.”
Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”
I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.
Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says.
“How old are you?”
“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable.
“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.
“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.
It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”
Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”
I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him.
“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”
“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?”
He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“
I shake my head, vehemently.
Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me.
“Please… stay with me…”
Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly.
I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”
He stares at me.
I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow.
“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”
He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”
“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?”
Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”
I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really.
Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.
“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk.
Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.
“Humor me?” I cajole.
He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.”
I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together.
I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”
Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally.
I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?”
It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern.
“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”
My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”
His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”
“Next time?”
I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.
I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.
I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.
Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”
I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”
Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.
I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”
Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”
“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically.
“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes.
“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?”
I wait for him to nod.
“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?”
“Mmm no, never had. Why?”
Aw shit!
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”
Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern.
“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”
“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“
“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all.
“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”
“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle.
After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out.
Prompt #144
A: How come your hands are cold?
B: Cold hands, warm heart.
Prompt: Peeta's perspective. A more in-depth look at how he joined and tricked the Careers and led them away from Katniss in the Hunger Games.
Thanks for the prompt @acpoe82!
Everlark Fic Exchange 2020. Prompt 144
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Prompt #144: “Королевская битва” 1 работа
Mud-Fight by KP-ShadowSquirrel
Тема: Королевская битва. Описание темы: В последнее время жанр “королевской битвы” достаточно популярен. Правила просты: несколько игроков начинают с одинаковыми условиями, после чего устраняют своих соперников до тех пор, пока не останется только один победитель. Пони в Эквестрии, понятное дело, настолько жестокими не будут. Однако это не означает, что они не будут сражаться, пока к финалу не останется только один.
Список работ:
Prompt #144: “Нездоровая конкуренция” от Copydog
Prompt #144: “Нездоровая конкуренция” от Copydog
«День этот будет идеа-а-а-льным!» - мурлыкал себе под нос арию из популярного мюзикла «Зелёная свадьба» Колд Винд, становясь в строй. Дюжина пегасов в одинаковой синей униформе выстроились на понивилльском стадионе. Инструктор окинул их суровым взглядом и занялся привычным делом – начал толкать проникнутую пафосом речь:
- Итак, сегодня настаёт день решающего экзамена. Сегодня станет ясно, кто из вас, птенцов, достоин стать птицей высокого полёта, кто сменит форму ученика на мундир настоящего профессионала…
Дальше Колд Винд не слушал. Он и так представлял, что хочет сказать наставник. Вместо этого он исподтишка принялся рассматривать своих однокурсников. Нет, соперников. Одиннадцать пони, выстроившихся на стартовой черте – и никто из них не должен дойти до финиша.
- Что ж, довольно слов, - тем временем инструктор всё-таки закруглился. – Перед вами сложены двенадцать сумок, внутри каждой маршрутный лист и карта. Выбирайте любую и – время пошло!
По сигналу претенденты рванулись к сумкам. Первой была самая маленькая и самая проворная, Флиттер. Она зубами ухватила лямку, дёрнула – и тут из груды сумок выскочила ярко-зелёная лягушечка. Флиттер завизжала и брякнулась в обморок: она почему-то терпеть не могла всех квакающих, о чём её сокурсники узнали во время практики.
Остальные конкурсанты похватали сумки и теперь проверяли карты. Все, кроме одного: Зефир Бриз отчаянно махал крыльями, но с места сдвинуться не мог.
- Помогите! – вскричал он. – У меня накопытники к земле приклеились!
- Так сними их! – посоветовал его товарищ Флаффи Клаудз.
- Они же мне счастье приносят, я без них не справлюсь! – плаксиво воскликнул Зефир. Наставник только покачал головой и развёл крыльями, показывая, что ничего не может поделать. А Колд Винд крепко задумался. Он точно не мазал клеем зефировы накопытники. Кому же это могло прийти в голову?
Разобравшись с маршрутом, пегасы один за другим взмывали в воздух. У серой кобылки по имени Маффинз это получилось особенно неловко – как, впрочем, и всё, что она делала. На этот раз она ухитрилась врезаться в вывеску, закреплённую над воротами стадиона, и шмякнулась на землю, сумка открылась, всё её содержимое рассыпалось по земле.
Упускать такой шанс было никак нельзя. Колд Винд тут же подскочил к пегаске и принялся подбирать разбросанные вещи. Только карту он ловко сунул себе в карман, а взамен положил подделку, над которой сидел всю ночь. Запасной вариант, а ведь пригодилась!
Маффинз рассеянно поблагодарила, поднялась в воздух, посмотрела на карту и уверенно направилась в сторону Вечнодикого леса. Сдерживая злорадный смех, Колд Винд помчался вслед за однокурсниками, которые уже приближались к Понивиллю.
Но почти сразу за оградой стадиона его перехватили взбудораженные чем-то три пегаски.
- Я тебя вчера видела! – обвиняюще ткнула копытом Оранж Свирл. – Ты у болота околачивался!
- И что с того? – хладнокровно ответил Колд. – Это вроде не запрещено.
- Да просто мы никак не можем понять, откуда на стадионе взялась лягушка, - пояснила Джентли Глоу. – Сколько мы там занимались, ни разу звери к нам не приходили.
- Тогда не приходили, а сейчас пришли, - Колд повертел головой как бы в замешательстве, а на деле оглядываясь. Они вели разговор на лету, и это было очень удобно. Осталось только заложить пологий поворот, чтобы маршрут прошёл под вон той грозовой тучей…
- Что за детские отговорки! – воскликнула Рейндропс. – Именно такой подлости от тебя и можно ожидать!
- Это ваши обвинения сплошной детский сад! – перешёл в наступление Колд. – Ты просто ревнуешь меня к Оранж, вот и сочиняешь небылицы!
- Че-че-чего ты сказал?! – возмутилась Рейндропс (а Оранж залилась румянцем). – Да ты всегда был такой, мутный, себе на уме!
- Вот, значит, как? – Джентли Глоу, приподняв бровь, оглядела пегаса. – А я и внимания не обращала…
- Постойте, не надо! – отчаянно замахала ногами и крыльями Оранж. – Вы в самом деле перегибаете палку! Почему вы решили, что он…
Яркая вспышка и удар грома прервали её речь. Воздушной волной Колда отбросило в сторону. Выровнявшись, он завертел головой в поисках Оранж. Сбитая молнией и слегка подкопченная пегаска слабо ворочалась внизу, на земле. Пострадала она вроде бы не сильно, но продолжать участие в экзамене явно не могла.
- Неужели на том кулоне, что ты ей подарил, было молниеотводное заклинание? – в голосе Джентли было что-то, напоминающее уважение. – Вот это действительно ловко.
- Как ты посмел! - А вот в голосе Рейндропс слышалась жажда крови. – Тебе конец, слышишь, умник? Если ты надумал всех нас ухлопать, так учти, в эту игру можно и вдвоём сыграть!
- Ты, как всегда, медленно соображаешь, - усмехнулся Колд. – Второй игрок уже в деле, ведь я точно не приклеивал Зефирчика.
- Всё равно! – нелогично ответила Рейндропс. - Я постараюсь, чтобы сегодня твоя голова встретилась с наковальней, слышишь, ты!
- Ладно, воркуйте, голубки, а я полечу выполнять задание, маршрут сам себя не пройдёт, - Джентли резко взмахнула крыльями и понеслась к городу.
- Смотри не надорвись, наковальни тяжёлые. Может, сперва с цветочным горшком потренируешься? – насмешливо сказал Колд и тоже ускорился, оставив Рейндропс бессильно скрежетать зубами.
Понивилль жил обычной жизнью, горожане не обращали внимания на пегасов в синей униформе с большими сумками, которые носились над крышами. Но если бы кто-то всё же заинтересовался крылатыми испытуемыми, то наверняка заметил бы, что их полёт из деловито-сосредоточенного всё чаще становился нервным, дёрганым. Значит, всё шло по плану – по плану Колд Винда, конечно же. Вдоволь похихикав над судорожными попытками однокурсников двигаться по маршруту, пегас стёр с лица улыбку, достал из кармана шпаргалку и отправился выполнять задание.
Ему оставался последний контрольный пункт – почтовый ящик, поставленный посреди площади. Победа была уже почти в кармане. И Колд слегка расслабился, полетел к цели напрямик, не изучив обстановку.
Свист падающей с высотного облака наковальни сразу привёл его в чувство.
- Да у тебя и со зрением проблемы! – крикнул он, уворачиваясь от опасного снаряда. Тут же на него обрушился самый настоящий град. Уклоняясь от острых льдинок, пегас нырнул в крытую галерею – и запоздало сообразил, что этого от него ждали и потому натянули в проходе сеть. Затормозить он уже не успел, врезался в неё, сорвал с креплений и закувыркался по мостовой, запутываясь всё больше и больше.
- Вот ты и попался, трепач! – послышался голос сзади. Колд закатил глаза и застонал от злости. Мэрри Мэй, она водила компанию с Рейндропс и Оранж Свирл.
- Не стоило тебе трогать нашу подругу, ой не стоило, - тут и Рейндропс показалась, спустилась к земле прямо на небольшом облачке, искрящемся от ледяных крупинок.
- Да я и кончиком хвоста до неё не дотронулся! – Колд напрягал мышцы, надеясь найти слабину в сетке, но, похоже, влип он крепко.
- Не знаю, как ты сделал так, что все остальные сбились с маршрутов, но это теперь и неважно, - Мэрри подобрала сумку, оброненную Колдом при падении, и начала там рыться. – Ведь маршрутные листы не подписаны, а значит, мы можем взять твой лист, который ты так аккуратно заполнил и все вымпелы собрал, молодец какой.
- Здорово придумано, - признал пегас. – Только одна загвоздочка: лист один, а вас двое, как делиться будете?
- Э-э-э, что-нибудь придумаем! – оптимистично сказала Рейндропс. – Жребий бросим, например.
- А можем и просто так решить, - сказала Мэрри Мэй, выплёскивая воду из фляги Колда под ноги своей подруге. В переохлаждённом воздухе, окружавшем градовое облачко, вода мгновенно замёрзла, приковав Рейндропс к мостовой.
- Как ты могла?!
- Извини, дорогая, но мне действительно нужна эта работа, - вероломная пегаска прогулочным шагом подошла к почтовому ящику, открыла его, сунула внутрь копыто… и с воплем отпрянула. Из ящика вырвался пчелиный рой, явно недовольный, что его покой нарушили. Забыв про маршрутный лист, Мэрри бросилась прочь, в направлении ближайшего водоёма. Пчёлы с мрачным жужжанием устремились следом.
- Ты заранее всё продумал?! – Рейндропс свирепо сузила глаза
- Нет, я тут ни при чём! – Колд действительно был потрясён не меньше пегаски. – Ты же знаешь, у меня аллергия на пчелиные укусы, я бы за всё сено мира не стал бы с ними связываться! Это тот самый второй игрок, который приклеил Зефира!
- А сейчас, кажется, взялся за Лилак Скай, - Рейндропс указала на смерч, возникший на другом конце города. – Что же нам делать?
- Чтобы стать победителем, нужно доставить заполненный маршрутный лист в ратушу. Поодиночке ни я, ни ты не справимся, - соврал Колд. – Так что давай ты развяжешь меня, и мы вместе, прикрывая друг друга, полетим туда.
- Складно говоришь, - холодно сказала Рейндропс, растапливая свой ледяной капкан. – Так кому же из нас достанется победа?
- Давай вернёмся к этому вопросу, когда победим второго игрока, - уклончиво ответил Колд. – Кстати, кто бы это мог быть? Не так много кандидатов осталось.
- Призм Глайдер очень подозрительно себя ведёт. Постоянно такой, как Старсвирл, весь в белом.
- А я думаю на Парасоль. Она, вроде бы, на Радужной фабрике подрабатывала, а там можно такому научиться…
- Ты и без всякой фабрики учёный, - подколола Рейндропс. – Ладно, так и быть, пошли вместе, а то нас даже Маффинз перегонит.
«Вот это вряд ли», - подумал Колд, но благоразумно промолчал.
Зигзагами, периодически останавливаясь и прислушиваясь, Рейндропс и Колд приближались к ратуше. Когда до цели оставалась всего пара кварталов, им навстречу вышла крайне сердитая Парасоль:
- Как ты могла та поступить?!
- Кто бы говорил! – возмутилась Рейндропс. – Это же не я решила всех соперников сжить со свету!
- Да, так действует вот этот подонок, - Парасоль ткнула копытом в направлении Колда, - а ты с ним путаешься! Что он тебе пообещал за помощь? Место на коврике у входа?
- Ах ты собака летучая! – Рейндропс с рычанием бросилась на соперницу и они, сцепившись, покатились по улице. Колд попытался незаметно улизнуть, но тут что-то просвистело у него над головой, чуть не оторвав ухо. Это оказалась тяжёлая табличка-указатель с названием улицы.
- Вот ты и попался, негодяй! – сверху спустился Призм Глайдер с ещё несколькими табличками наперевес. – Теперь ты ответишь за свои злодеяния!
- Что ты из меня какого-то Сомбру лепишь! – неубедительно возмутился Колд, прикидывая пути к отступлению. Горячий нрав делал Призма опасным противником, особенно когда оказывались задеты его высокие-высокие моральные принципы.
- Ты не Сомбра, ты будто сам дух Хаоса во плоти! – патетично воскликнул Призм, потрясая указателями. – Заменить все таблички с названиями улиц, чтобы никто не смог отыскать правильного маршрута? И, главное, у тебя хватило наглости попросить меня помочь эти таблички нарисовать! Так что я и сам замазался в твоих преступлениях!
«Конечно, нужно же было обеспечить виновного на тот случай, если начнётся расследование», - вот это точно не стило сейчас говорить вслух, поэтому Колд попытался сгладить обстановку:
- Ты просто всё не так понял! Да, я делал таблички, но мне и в голову не могло прийти, что кто-то их использовал для мошенничества на экзамене. Хм, кстати, о них, кроме нас с тобой, знала только…
- Не пытайся увильнуть! – Призм перехватил указатель на манер копья и бросился на Колда. Тот подхватил табличку, лежавшую у ног, и отбил удар.
- Как ты мог! Как ты мог так поступить! – бушевал Призм, атакуя бывшего товарища. – Почему вообще ты решил всех обмануть?
- Тебе не понять! – Колд уворачивался и атаковал в ответ, метаясь по всей улице. – Я мечтал служить почтальоном с детства! Форменная фуражка отца была моей любимой игрушкой! И при этом я уже два раза не могу сдать экзамен на почтового работника! Но я добьюсь своего! Любой ценой, слышишь!
- Избавь меня от жалких оправданий! Кому интересны твои детские комплексы?!
Фехтуя указателями, пегасы-соперники неслись по крышам домов, пока не добрались до площади, посередине которой стояла кондитерская «Сахарный уголок». Швырнув табличку с такой силой, что она пригвоздила хвост Призма к деревянной стене, Колд метнулся внутрь здания. У него было всего несколько секунд.
- Здравствуйте! – приветствовала его миссис Кейк. – Ваш заказ уже го…
- Да-да-да, вы меня спасли! – Колд швырнул на прилавок горсть мелочи и подхватил поднос с пирожными. – Я ещё одолжу мешочек муки, хорошо? И можно выйти через заднюю дверь? Вот и отлично!
Оказавшись на заднем дворе, Колд свечой взмыл в небо. Когда за спиной раздались вопли «А ну вернись и дерись как подобает жеребцу!», он подбросил мешок муки и со всей силы лягнул его. Конечно, белое мучное облако не могло остановить Призма, он, как всегда, рванул напролом. И напоролся на град пирожных, которые Колд натренировался швырять с редкой скоростью и меткостью.
- Думаешь, меня остановит запачканный мундир? Готовься к взбучке, трус! Ой, что за…
- Медовые пирожные миссис Кейк – самые липкие во всём Понивилле! – крикнул Колд вслед Призму, который камнем падал, не способный летать со склеившимися перьями.
В этот момент за спиной у Колда послышались ритмичные хлопки. Резко обернувшись, он увидел улыбающуюся Джентли Глоу, которая с приветливой улыбкой аплодировала ему.
- Даже не думала, что ты сумеешь одолеть Призма, - добродушно сказал пегаска. – Что, на самом деле, представляет некоторую проблему. Его я бы сумела уговорить отдать победу. С тобой же, видимо, придётся драться.
- Значит, ты и есть второй игрок? – тихо спросил Колд. – Никогда бы не подумал. А где Флаффи Клаудз? Подбирается со спины?
- Можешь не волноваться, бедняга Флаффи выбыл, - вздохнула Джентли. – Так что здесь только ты и я. Ну что, решим наш вопрос? Или, может, ты хочешь договориться мирно?
Вместо ответа Колд бросился на свою последнюю соперницу.
* * * * *
Палата для пегасов в понивилльской больнице была двухместной. По идее, кровати можно было отгородить, но медсёстры сказали, будто ширма только для тяжёлых больных. Так что закованному в гипс Колд Винду ничего не оставалось, как глазеть на такую же белую от бинтов Джентли. Сейчас она с кислым видом читала местную газету, которую закинул в окно кто-то из мстительных однокурсников.
- Поверить не могу! – фыркнула пегаска. – В почтальоны всё-таки приняли эту косоглазую! Чем они только думали?!
- А что им оставалось делать, если она единственная осталась в строю и с заполненным маршрутным листом? – вздохнул Колд. Он по-прежнему не понимал, как Маффинз ухитрилась прочитать его поддельную карту ровно наоборот и оттого вышла на правильный маршрут. Видимо, чудакам везёт.
- И всем плевать, что она обрушила на нас стену ратуши! – Джентли неловко скомкала газету и швырнула подальше.
- Так расследование показало, что эта стеночка держалась на честном слове. Маффинз просто в неудачный момент к ней подлетела, - в который раз повторил Колд, потом подумал и добавил: - А может, в приёмной комиссии решили, что мы как раз это и заслужили…
Джентли пробормотала себе под нос, где именно она видела приёмную комиссию и её родственников, полежала несколько минут, глядя в потолок, а потом вдруг оживилась:
- А знаешь что, Колд?
- Не знаю, - пегас насторожился: соседка по палате в первый раз назвала его по имени.
- Если они так с нами, то, может, ну их? Зачем нам рваться на службу, добровольно себе ярмо на шею взваливать? Давай откроем свою собственную почтовую контору!
- Откро-ем? – переспросил Колд. – Предлагаешь стать твоим партнёром?
- Почему бы и нет? Ты ведь способный жеребец, чуть меня не переиграл, а это мало кому удаётся, уж поверь. Соображаешь быстро, дерёшься хорошо, опять же, теорию почтмейстерства знаешь назубок.
- Спасибо за комплимент, - пробормотал Колд. Со своей стороны он не мог не признать, что Джентли тоже не промах: отличная актриса, прекрасно управляется с облаками и ветром, опять же, самая симпатичная из группы… - Но чем мы будем заниматься? Почта и так неплохо справляется.
- Вообще-то эквестрийская почтовая служба доставляет не все грузы и не везде. Разные магические артефакты не принимаются к пересылке. И, например, в Тартар почтальоны не суются.
- А кому в Тартаре шлют письма? – хмыкнул Колд. – Хотя рекламный девиз получается отличный: «Доставим вашу почту даже в Тартар!»
- Пока на почте работают такие, как та косоглазая, без заказов мы не останемся, - оптимистично заявила пегаска. – Ну что, обеспечим здоровую конкуренцию?
- Обеспечим! – поколебавшись, решил Колд. – Что, это и есть начало прекрасной дружбы?
- Конечно! – солнечно улыбнулась Джентли Глоу. – Сегодняшний день изменит историю Эквестрии навсегда!
Отзыв от Тыка: Вот уж где не ожидал я встретить битву на выживание, так это на экзамене на должность почтальона. Конечно, служба “и в дождь, и в снег” предполагает целеустремленность и способность доставлять почту в любых условиях, но происходящее в работе является уже некоторым перебором. Причем если судить по реакции экзаменатора на происходящее, подобное является вполне себе нормой. С этой точки зрения даже главного героя не получается полностью осуждать за его методы: дважды провалив этот экзамен, он наверняка на собственной шкуре испытал подобную тактику, и в итоге решил сам применять её. А вот роль второго саботажника не ощущается большой в сюжете, хотя поначалу кажется иначе. Само же почтовое отделение Понивилля я могу только поздравить со вступлением в их ряды Маффинз. С этой пегаской можно быть уверенным, что даже если посылка не достигнет указанного на ней адреса, то она точно попадет туда, куда нужно.