Frequencies of Us Chapter 83: Bleacher Heat and Dirty Threats

Mateo POV

I’m dripping sweat after a run on the Lincoln High track, chest heaving hard. My legs ache from sprinting out of the library, away from that creepy phone call. Noah stands by the bleachers, tossing me a water bottle. Our fingers touch when I grab it, lingering slow. My heart jumps, fast and warm. I pull him behind the bleachers, quick. My hands find his waist, holding tight. I kiss him slow and sweet. His lips taste like salt and relief, soft against mine.

He kisses me back, gentle at first. I deepen it, pushing my tongue in. He moans, quiet and shaky. My hands tug his shirt up, fast. He pulls it off, letting it drop. I touch his chest, fingers sliding over his skin. He’s warm, smooth. I kiss his neck, sucking soft. He groans louder, hands grabbing my shorts. I shove them down quick. He touches me, firm and hot. I hiss, loud, legs trembling. His grip feels good, too good.

I undo his jeans, fast and sloppy. They fall, and I grab him, tight and warm. He gasps, loud, shaking against me. I move my hand, slow then fast. He bites his lip, holding in a moan. It slips out anyway, rough and needy. I kiss him deep, swallowing the sound. My hands speed up, stroking him hard. Our breaths mix, quick and messy. He pulls my hair, just a little. I growl, kissing him harder. His tongue fights mine, wild.

I press closer, hips rocking into his hand. He’s trembling, close. I feel it too, building hot and fast. “Mateo,” he whispers, voice breaking. That’s it. I lose it, spilling over his fingers, groaning loud. He follows fast, shaking against me. We hold each other, panting, sticky and close. His breath’s warm on my neck. It’s sweet, perfect, even here.

I pull back, grinning big. He smiles, shy but happy. I fix my shorts, hands slow. He pulls his jeans up, laughing quiet. “You’re wild,” he says, teasing. I shrug. “Only for you.” My chest feels full, bursting with him. I step closer, kissing his forehead. He leans into me, warm and safe. For a second, it’s just us, no fear, no chase.

A flash snaps loud. My head jerks up. Ryan stands there, holding his phone. “Gotcha, queers!” he yells, smirking mean. My stomach twists, mad. I charge him, fast. My body slams into his, tackling him to the dirt. He hits the ground hard, grunting. My fists swing, slamming his jaw. Blood streaks his lip, red and wet. He swings back, weak. I hit again, anger burning hot in my chest.

Noah yells, “Mateo, stop!” I don’t listen. Ryan’s laugh pisses me off more. My knuckles hurt, but I keep going. A whistle shrieks, loud and sharp. Coach grabs my arm, yanking me off. “You’re out!” he growls, voice rough. I stumble back, breathing hard. Ryan wipes his lip, smirking bigger. My hands shake, itching to hit again. Noah pulls me away, grip tight. “Enough,” he says, quiet but firm.

I glare at Ryan, chest heaving. He stands slow, brushing dirt off. Something falls from his pocket, a folded note. I see it, small and white. He smirks, kicking it toward me. “Pick it up,” he says, voice low. My stomach flips, nervous. I bend quick, grabbing it. Noah steps close, looking over my shoulder. I unfold it, hands sweaty. “Ortiz says tonight,” it reads, scribbled fast. My heart drops, cold.

I look at Noah, eyes wide. “What’s this?” he says, voice shaky. I shake my head, mad and scared. “Trouble,” I say, low. My mind races. Ortiz. Tonight. The emails, the ledger, the prank. It’s all crashing together. My chest tightens, worried. Ryan laughs, walking off slow. “See ya, Vargas,” he calls, mean and loud. My fists clench, hard.

Noah grabs my hand, squeezing. “We’ll handle it,” he says, soft. I nod, trying to believe him. My heart’s still pounding, angry and fast. I pull him close, hugging tight. He’s warm, steady. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and him, my Noah. “I hate this,” I whisper. He rubs my back, slow. “I know,” he says. It calms me, a little.

I step back, holding the note. “Tonight,” I say, voice rough. Noah nods, jaw tight. “We need a plan,” he says. I agree, but my stomach twists, bad. Ortiz is moving, fast. My hands sweat, crumpling the paper. I want to rip it up, smash something. Noah’s hand stays in mine, keeping me here.

We start walking, slow. My legs feel heavy, tired. The track’s quiet now, dusk fading dark. My mind won’t stop. Tonight. What’s he got? More photos? Worse? My chest burns, scared for us. Noah squeezes my hand, hard. “We’re okay,” he says, quiet. I nod, but I don’t feel it.

A sound cuts the quiet. Low, far off. My head snaps up. A hum, growing loud. My heart jumps, fast. “You hear that?” I say, sharp. Noah nods, eyes wide. It’s an engine, roaring closer. My stomach drops, hard. “Not again,” I say, voice breaking. We step back, fast. The hum turns sharp, tires squealing.

Headlights flash, bright and mean. My chest tightens, scared stiff. “Run!” I yell, pulling Noah. We stumble, hands locked. The roar’s close now, shaking the ground. My legs shake, weak. I look back, quick. A car, speeding straight at the bleachers. My heart slams, wild. Noah trips, grabbing me. “Mateo!” he yells, panicked.

The car swerves, fast. My breath stops. It’s coming for us. Tires screech, loud and high. My mind blanks, fear choking me. I pull Noah harder, running blind. The headlights grow, blinding. A horn blares, sharp and close. My stomach twists, sick. It’s gonna hit. Then a crash, loud and sudden. Metal crunches, hard.