The Fag Swag [boyxboy]

The Fag Swag {5}

                I groaned and opened my eyes. They instantly widened in terror as Phil slammed me up against the lockers again, fury in his eyes.

                “You’re not supposed to be here!” I cried desperately. “Angel said that you were…and…but…WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

                “Angel said that you were talking shit about me. Calling me weak. Do you think I’m weak, kid? Because I’ll happily prove to you that I’m not,” he growled dangerously.

                I looked up hoping to see a teacher, but instead seeing Molly and Angel peeking around the corner at us. Molly put a finger to her lips and smirked.

                “Be tough,” she and Angel mouthed.

                Be tough? BE TOUGH? WHEN HE WAS ABOUT TO FREAKING KILL ME? Sure. Yea. Easy, right? Be tough. Be to-

                I was slammed against the lockers again. “I asked you a fucking question!” Phil snapped impatiently.

                “Uh…Uh…Wait, what was the question?” I asked, more focused on not trying to scream for help than actually paying attention to what he was asking me.

                “I asked you if you thought I was weak,” Phil hissed, clenching his fist tightly.

                “I…I don’t think you’re weak!” I cried. Phil pulled his fist back to hit me, and I realized that sucking up to him wasn’t going to save my face. Only standing up to him would.

                “But if you hit me, I’ll kick your ass so hard that you won’t be able to find it with two hands and a search warrant!” I snapped. Jeez. Where the hell did I get that lame line from? An ex boyfriend, I think. Huh.

                But it was enough to stop Phil. He stared at me in confusion and slowly unclenched his fist, releasing his hold on my shirt.

                Knowing I would probably regret it, I shoved Phil off of me and fixed my shirt. I shot a glare at Phil. “Don’t ever grab me like that again!” I snarled.

                I tried not to shift uncomfortably as Phil stared me down, that confusion still in his eyes. I kept glaring at him, hoping to make him uncomfortable.

                “Who are you?” he asked at last.

                “Nick Bradley. Don’t forget my name faggot!” I hissed.

                “You got a problem with gays? Because I’m gay,” he growled, the fury coming out again.

                “Nope. I’m gay too,” I said quickly, letting out a nervous laugh and holding up my hands as if proving I had no weapon that would wipe out the homosexual population.

                “Really?” he asked, the fury snapping right out of his face and the childlike curiosity coming back. Oh my lanta. What was with this kid?

                “Yea,” I said, dropping my hands down and trying to muster up the tough look. I imagined my dad the times I had seen him arresting people and tried to put on the same expression he wore during those moments.

                “Oh. Cool. I’m Phil. But I guess you already knew that,” he said with a shrug.

                “What makes you think I already know who you are?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed. In reality, how could I not know who this gorgeous boy in front of me was? Everyone knew Phillip Brooks.