**Title: After Class**

I never thought I’d be doing this—especially not with Max, the quiet, lanky kid from math class who always sat in the back, doodling in his notebook instead of paying attention. But here we were, locked in the last stall of the boys’ bathroom after the final bell, both of us hard as hell and way too fucking curious.

It started when I caught him looking at me in the locker room after gym. Not just a glance, but a long, hungry stare at my dick as I pulled on my shorts. I pretended not to notice, but my heart was hammering. Later, in the hallway, he bumped into me on purpose, his hand brushing my waist before he mumbled, “Sorry,” and kept walking. That was all it took.

Now, we’re standing close—too close—our backpacks dumped on the floor. Max licks his lips and hesitates for half a second before his fingers slide down the front of his jeans. His cock is already straining against the fabric, thick and obvious. “You too,” he breathes.

I don’t need to be told twice. My hands fumble with my belt, yanking my jeans and boxers down just enough to free my dick. It bounces up, already slick at the tip from how worked up I am. Max makes a low sound when he sees it, his own fingers wrapping around his cock, pumping slow.

“Fuck, dude,” I mutter, watching his hand move. His dick is longer than mine, with a slight curve, the head flushed dark pink. Pre-cum beads at the slit, and he swipes his thumb over it before smearing it down his shaft. The sight makes my mouth water.

I start stroking myself in time with him, our ragged breathing filling the stall. The air smells like sweat and the sharp, musky scent of horny teenagers. Max’s gaze locks onto my cock, watching my fist slide up and down, my thumb rubbing over the leaking tip every few strokes.

“You wanna—?” he starts, then bites his lip. His eyes flick up to mine, hesitant but burning with need.

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know what he’s asking. Whatever it is, the answer’s yes.

Max shifts closer until our hips almost touch. His free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against my cock, testing. A shiver jolts through me, and I groan. That’s all the encouragement he needs. His fingers wrap around me, warm and tight, and suddenly, he’s jerking me off while I’m doing the same to him.

“Oh shit,” I hiss. His hand feels incredible—rougher than my own, his grip just right. I mimic his rhythm, squeezing his cock the way he’s squeezing mine. Pre-cum drips between my fingers, making the slide even slicker.

Max tilts his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he moans. “Faster,” he pants. I speed up, my thumb circling his tip every time I pull up. He does the same for me, twisting his wrist just right, and my knees almost buckle.

It’s messy, frantic, both of us panting and thrusting into each other’s fists. Max’s breath hitches, his whole body tensing. “I’m gonna—” he warns, and I watch, hypnotized, as his cock pulses in my hand. Thick white stripes shoot onto his stomach and my fingers, hot and sticky.

The sight pushes me over. My hips jerk as I come hard, spurting onto his hand and mine, our cum mixing between us. Max keeps stroking me through it, milking every last drop until I’m shuddering and oversensitive.

We’re both breathing hard, looking down at the mess we made. Max’s cheeks are flushed, his lips parted. He wipes his hand on his shirt like he doesn’t even care.

“We should… clean up,” I say, but I don’t move.

Max smirks, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Yeah. Maybe do this again sometime?”

I grin. “Definitely.”

The bell rings for after-school detention. Neither of us goes.