Good Boy For Him

Tutoring

Wesley sits in the library, watching as Bowie texts Dawson across the table. He watches Bowie, glaring at him.

"Can we hurry this up?" Wesley deadpans, slouching in his seat.

Bowie looks up from his phone. He shrugs and mutters, "I'm bored. I think we can be done for the day."

"The history test is next week. You need to study so you won't suck so much." Bowie rolls his eyes at Wesley. Wesley ignores him and tells him carelessly, "I talked to the principal. He knows that you've cheated on every test for the past four years. And yet, somehow you've never passed a class. He's giving you this next test in a way where you can't cheat, so it's all you. Just your knowledge. So if you can't pass this test without cheating, then you're going to be held back. Again."

"How'd you know I've been held back?"

"I had to know what I was working with." Wesley explains with a shrug. "Bowie, look," He sits up, leaning on the table. "It's senior year. Don't let it be wasted goofing off. You can have fun while also making sure you walk the stage with the rest of us."

"I don't think I can do it." Bowie states simply.

"Do what? Graduate?"

"Yeah." Bowie shrugs, refusing to make eye contact with Wesley. "It's not that I don't want to do it, which I don't wanna, but I don't know how. I haven't always cheated on tests, you know..."

"What stopped you from learning back then?"

"I don't know. Stuff just got too hard and paying attention to a teacher was never very interesting."

Wesley stares at Bowie for a moment, his eyes pulling themselves down to Bowie's hands. Ever since they got into the library, Bowie has been texting on his phone, tapping away at his phone case, running his nails over the cracked screen. Now that his phone is down, he still tugs at his chain necklace, pulling on it in a rhythm.

"Have you ever thought that maybe it's not your choice to be unfocused in class?" Wesley asks, folding his hands on the table. "Like, you want to pay attention but your mind is wandering without you meaning to?"

Bowie raises an eyebrow, "What're you trying to say?"

Wesley reaches toward Bowie's laptop on the table, typing quickly. He turns the screen back toward Bowie and starts explaining, "ADHD. I'm not saying you have it. And if you do, that's not a bad thing! It just means you need more time to process things in class."

"I'm not dumb!" Bowie stands from his chair. "I'm not mentally disabled or whatever!"

"It's not a bad thing to have ADHD, Bowie!" Wesley stands too, putting his hands out in defense. "I just think you'd benefit from a diagnosis. Hey, Bowie, dude-"

Bowie grabs all of his stuff, and stomps out of the library.

"Hey!" Wesley glances over, sensing the yell was directed at him. Before he can move out of the way, Wesley gets pushed back against a wall. Dawson glares up at him, fisting his shirt in his hands. "Why'd you say Bowie was stupid?"

Wesley tries to push off Dawson's hands but they only tighten. "I didn't call him stupid." He states, calmly. "I told him he might have ADHD."

Dawson pulls Wesley forward only to slam him against the wall harder. He growls out, "Bowie's not dumb, you fucker! Don't ever talk to him, again!"

"ADHD's not a bad thing thing!" Wesley argues, trying to keep from punching the little punk. "Bowie's not dumb, just unfocused. It's nothing he should be ashamed of. I'm just trying to help him, I swear."

"Just fuck off, or I'll fuck you up!" He threatens, dropping Wesley's shirt and walking down the hallway to first period.

Wesley spends the whole day thinking about Dawson. His mind doesn't only stay on the threat he was given, but it also moves to how Dawson held onto him. The way Dawson's pretty pink lips were in a frown, trying to be threatening when looking up at Wesley. He thought back to Dawson's dark brown eyes, his long black eyelashes surrounding his menacing eyes. Dawson's small hands, holding onto Wesley's shirt, keeping him pressed against the wall.
If he wanted to, Wesley's sure he could've switched the positions and forced Dawson on his knees real quick. For the first time ever, Wesley finds himself daydreaming in class. He thinks about how good Dawson's lips would feel on his. Or even wrapped around his big, wet cock.

Would it be such a bad thing to make a bad boy a good boy? Wesley wonders, his eyes drifting to where Dawson stares out the window in class, not even attempting to listen to the teacher. Every bad boy needs to be punished...