The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed overhead as Ariana twisted her locker combination, her hips swaying absently to a song only she could hear. The transparent white top she wore left nothing to imagination — her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, dark and hard from the air conditioning, her gold hoops catching the light every time she moved. Her low-rise jeans sat so far below her hips that the black lace of her thong was on full display, the waistband cutting a sharp V toward the promised land.
She hummed, tucking a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way the guy two lockers down had stopped mid-conversation to stare. Unaware of the way his friend elbowed him, muttering something low. That was just how things were with Ariana — she existed in her own warm, bubbly little world where everyone was nice and everyone meant well.
A familiar rhythm of footsteps, heavy and confident, echoed down the hall.
She spun, her green eyes lighting up like Christmas morning. "Marcus! Dylan!"
Her voice carried, bright and infectious, and she was already moving before she thought about it — because Ariana never thought about it. She just felt. And what she felt right now was joy, pure and simple, seeing her two favorite people striding toward her in their varsity jackets, all muscle and swagger and easy smiles.
She threw herself at them without hesitation.
Marcus caught her first, his broad hands finding her waist, but Dylan was right there, his chest pressing against her back as they sandwiched her between them. She giggled, arms wrapped around Marcus's neck, her body pressing flush against his. Her breasts mashed against the hard plane of his chest through the thin fabric, and she felt his breath hitch — but that was just Marcus being happy to see her, right?
"Missed you," she mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing tight. Her hips shifted, grinding back against Dylan without intention, just seeking more contact. She loved this. Loved being held. Loved the warmth of their bodies boxing her in.
Dylan's hands slid down her sides, slow and deliberate, coming to rest on her hips. His thumbs hooked under the waistband of her jeans, brushing against the exposed skin above her thong. "Missed you too, Ari." His voice was low, a rumble against her ear. "Always miss you."
She pulled back from Marcus just enough to look up at him, her smile so bright it could power the whole school. "I was just thinking about you guys. Wondering if you wanted to grab lunch later?"
Marcus's hand moved from her waist to the small of her back, then lower, palm flattening against the curve of her ass through her jeans. He squeezed, firm and possessive, and Ariana just leaned into it, sighing happily. He was so warm. His hands always made her feel safe.
"Lunch sounds perfect," he said, his voice a warm purr. "Maybe we can find somewhere quiet. Just the three of us."
She nodded eagerly, her hair bouncing. "I know the perfect spot — behind the gym, under the bleachers. Nobody ever goes there."
The look Marcus and Dylan exchanged lasted half a second. She missed it completely, too busy stepping back and stretching, her arms lifting over her head. The movement made her transparent top ride up, baring her ribs and the bottom swell of her breasts, her nipples straining against the fabric in a way that was impossible to ignore.
Dylan's jaw tightened.
His eyes tracked down her body, catching the way her thong disappeared between the cheeks of her ass, the way her jeans hung so low he could see the dark shadow of her curls above her cunt. She was a walking invitation and she had no idea.
"You ready for class?" Marcus asked, but his tone said something else entirely. Something hungry.
"Almost!" She turned back to her locker, bending over to grab her textbook. Her ass pressed against the denim, the thong riding up, the thin fabric barely containing her. The position was obscene — her pussy outlined by the strained lace, her low-rise jeans dipping low enough that her labia pressed against the waistband.
Dylan stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that his breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck.
"Need help?" he asked, his hand landing on her bare hip, fingers slipping under the waistband of her jeans to graze the lace of her thong.
She laughed, the sound light and carefree. "I got it!" She straightened up, textbook in hand, and spun to face them. "Okay, ready!"
They walked together down the hall, Ariana between them, and she unconsciously slipped her hands into the back pockets of their jeans. It was just something she did — she liked touching them, liked the connection. Her fingers curled against Marcus's left ass cheek, Dylan's right, and she walked with a little skip in her step, utterly content.
Dylan's hand left her hip and found the bare skin of her lower back, his fingers splaying wide, his pinky hooking into the waistband of her thong and pulling it taut. She didn't even flinch. Didn't even notice how his touch lingered, how his thumb traced the edge of her panty line.
"You're in a good mood today," Marcus observed, his hand dropping from her pocket to palm her ass, squeezing the full globe through her jeans. She just smiled wider.
"Why wouldn't I be? It's a beautiful day, I have my two best friends with me, and I'm hungry. Life is good."
They rounded a corner, and Ariana's foot caught on a loose tile. She stumbled forward, her books flying out of her hands — and Marcus was there, instant, his arm hooking around her waist. But his other hand — his other hand pressed flat against her bare breast through the sheer fabric, his palm flush against her nipple, his fingers spread wide to cover as much of her as possible.
He held her steady.
She laughed, breathless, looking up at him with those bright green eyes. "Whoa — thanks, Marcus. You always catch me."
His thumb brushed across her nipple before he let go. A slow, deliberate stroke that made the sensitive bud harden further beneath the fabric. She didn't notice. Or if she did, she didn't register it as anything but an accident of the catch.
"Always," he said softly.
Dylan was already crouched, gathering her scattered books. But his eyes weren't on the books. They were locked on her ass, bent forward as she balanced against Marcus, the thong completely exposed above her low-rise jeans, the thin strip of fabric disappearing between her cheeks.
He reached out, his hand landing on the curve of her ass, his fingers gripping the exposed flesh above her jeans. He squeezed, his thumb pressing into the seam of her body, and she just wiggled her hips, adjusting her balance.
"You dropped your chem notes," he said, his voice a low rumble, handing them up to her.
She took them, beaming. "You're the best, Dylan. Seriously. What would I do without you two?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She turned and kept walking, her hips swaying, her transparent top doing nothing to hide the bounce of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples visible to anyone who cared to look.
And both of them cared.
Marcus fell into step beside her, his hand finding its place on the small of her back again, his fingers dipping just barely into the waistband of her jeans. "So," he said, his voice casual, "are you wearing the black one today? Or did you switch it up?"
Ariana glanced down at herself, confused, then laughed. "Oh, my thong? It's the black lace one. My favorite. Dylan said he liked it last week."
"I did," Dylan confirmed from her other side, his voice soft. "I do."
She beamed. "I know! That's why I wore it."
She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like wearing a specific thong because a friend said he liked it was just normal friend behavior. And for Ariana, it was.
They reached the end of the hall, and Ariana stopped, looking out at the sunny quad. The picnic tables were scattered across the lawn, students lounging in the warm afternoon. She shifted her weight, her body brushing against Marcus's arm, her breast pressing into his bicep.
"So, lunch?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "Under the bleachers?"
"After class," Marcus said, his hand sliding from her back to her ass, cupping the full curve. "We'll meet you there."
She bounced on her heels, her breasts jiggling beneath the sheer fabric. "Perfect!"
She leaned in and hugged Marcus first, her body pressing against his, her arms around his neck. She felt his hands land on her ass again, gripping hard, his body pushing against hers. She squeezed him back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Then she turned to Dylan, wrapping herself around him — her cheek against his chest, her hips pressing into his, her breasts flattening against the hard wall of his torso.
His hands came down, one on her waist, one sliding lower to palm her ass, his fingers kneading the flesh through the thin denim. She sighed against him, warm and content. She always felt so safe between them.
"Okay, see you at lunch!" She pulled back, her hand brushing against the front of Marcus's jeans as she did — an accident, of course, she was just waving — and she didn't notice how his breath caught, how his jaw tightened, how his eyes darkened.
She turned, bending over to pick up a dropped pen, and her thong was right there, on full display for the whole hallway, the black lace stretched taut over her curves, her pussy outlined by the thin fabric.
Dylan's hand shot out, his fingers hooking into the waistband, pulling it up slightly and letting it snap back against her skin.
She yelped, then laughed, looking over her shoulder at him. "Dylan!"
He just smirked, those ice-blue eyes tracking her. "You had a wedgie."
"Oh, thanks!" She didn't check. She just accepted it, because Dylan was her friend and friends helped each other. She straightened up, tucked her pen into her pocket, and gave them both a bright, blinding smile. "See you soon!"
She bounced off toward the science wing, her ass swaying hypnotically, her transparent top catching the light from the windows. Every guy in the hallway stopped to watch. She didn't notice.
Marcus exhaled slowly, running a hand through his short black hair. "She's going to kill me."
Dylan watched her disappear around the corner. "Not if I kill her first." A pause. A slow, predatory smile. "Maybe I'll just fuck her to death."
Marcus laughed, low and dark. "One thing at a time. We have lunch."
Dylan's hand dropped to the front of his jeans. He adjusted himself, the bulge obvious even through the denim. "I'm going to need a cold shower before this next class."
They started walking, following the path she'd taken, not ready to let her out of their sight just yet. They caught her at the quad, near the picnic tables, where she'd stopped to talk to a girl from her chem class. The girl was saying something, gesturing, and Ariana was nodding along, one hand touching the girl's arm — always touching, always connecting.
Then a kid with a backpack cut between them, running, and the strap caught Ariana's elbow.
She stumbled.
Her feet tangled in the grass, and she pitched sideways, her arms flailing, her body rotating as she fell — and Dylan was already there, his hand shooting out, his palm planting flat against her bare breast through the sheer top, his fingers spread wide, his thumb pressing into her hard nipple. He caught her, held her, supported the full weight of her body with that one hand on her tit.
She gasped, then laughed, looking up at him. "Thank you! Oh my god, I'm such a klutz."
His hand didn't move. His palm stayed pressed against her, his fingers curling slightly, gripping the soft mound. "You okay?"
"Yeah!" She didn't step back. She stayed there, leaning against his hand, her body trusting his completely. "You're always saving me, Dylan."
His thumb brushed across her nipple, slow and deliberate. "Always will."
She smiled, reached up, and squeezed his bicep. "You're so strong. How do you stay so strong?"
Behind her, Marcus watched. His eyes tracked the way Dylan's hand gripped her breast, the way her body arched into his touch without realizing it. He stepped closer, his hand landing on her ass, his fingers finding the edge of her thong, tugging it gently.
"We work out," he said, his voice low. "Maybe you should come with us sometime."
She spun in Dylan's grip, her breast sliding out of his hand with a soft drag of fabric, and threw her arms around Marcus's neck. "I would love that! You guys could spot me — I'd probably drop the bar on my face, but it'd be fun!"
She laughed, and the sound was so genuine, so pure, that it made the whole situation feel surreal. She was standing here, in a transparent top with no bra, her nipples visible, her thong on display, a thumb-shaped imprint fading on her breast, and she had no idea.
She had absolutely no idea.
She pulled back, her hands on Marcus's chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his varsity jacket. "Okay, seriously, I need to get to class before Professor Adams locks the door. But I'll see you guys under the bleachers at twelve, right?"
"Twelve," Marcus confirmed.
"Can't wait," Dylan added.
She beamed, spun on her heel, and almost tripped over a crack in the pavement. She caught herself at the last second, wobbled, and kept going, her hips swaying, her thong winking at them with every step.
Dylan watched her go, his jaw tight. "I'm not going to last until lunch."
Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. "Then don't. We've got ten minutes before the bell. Plenty of time."
Dylan glanced at him, a slow grin spreading across his face. "The bathroom by the gym?"
"She'll pass it on her way to class."
They moved, fast and silent, cutting across the lawn toward the gym building. Marcus pulled out his phone, texting quickly. The message was simple: Meet us at the gym bathroom. Left door's unlocked. Got something to show you.
They reached the bathroom, slipped inside, and waited.
Three minutes later, the door swung open, and Ariana's head poked in, her green eyes curious. "You wanted to show me something?"
She didn't hesitate. She walked in, letting the door swing shut behind her, her body swaying into the dim fluorescent light of the gym bathroom.
She trusted them completely.
She stood there in the dim fluorescent light, her green eyes bright and curious, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her transparent top clung to her skin, the outline of her nipples visible, hard from the cool air of the bathroom. Her low-rise jeans hung on her hips, the black lace of her thong riding high above the waistband.
"So?" She stepped further in, her hands clasped behind her back. "What is it? Is it the new play? Did Coach finally let you guys run that trick play you were talking about?"
Marcus pushed off the wall slowly, his dark eyes traveling the length of her body like he was memorizing every curve. "Something like that."
Dylan leaned against the row of sinks, arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes fixed on her face. "You trust us, right, Ari?"
The question caught her off guard. She tilted her head, her long black hair sliding over one shoulder. "What? Of course I do. You're my best friends." She said it so simply, so completely, like the answer was obvious. Like the question didn't even need to be asked.
Marcus stepped closer. His hand came up, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered, trailing down her cheek, her jaw, her neck, coming to rest on her collarbone. "Then don't freak out."
Her brow furrowed, but she didn't pull away. "Why would I freak out?" Her hand came up and touched his wrist, her fingers wrapping around it gently. "You're being weird, Marcus. Is everything okay?"
Dylan pushed off the sinks and walked up behind her. She felt his body heat before she felt his hands, and then his palms landed on her shoulders, warm and heavy. His thumbs pressed into the muscle just below her neck, kneading slowly. "Everything's fine, baby girl. We just wanted some time with you."
She relaxed into the touch immediately, her shoulders dropping as his thumbs worked into a knot she hadn't realized was there. "Oh. That's sweet. You could have just said that instead of being all mysterious." She laughed, the sound filling the small bathroom. "I thought someone died or something."
Marcus's hand slid from her collarbone down her chest. His palm pressed flat against the sheer fabric, his fingers spreading, his palm warm over her left breast. He didn't squeeze. He just held her there, his thumb resting at the base of the swell.
His thumb traced a slow circle over her nipple through the sheer fabric, and she shivered—not from discomfort, but from the unexpected coolness of the air hitting the sensitive skin.
"Marcus? That tickles." She giggled, her hand coming up to cover his, not to push it away, just to touch him back. "You're being weird today."
Dylan's hands slid from her shoulders down her arms, his fingers wrapping around her wrists, gentle but firm. "He's not being weird, baby girl. We're worried about you."
Her head swiveled between them, her green eyes wide and curious. "Worried? Why? Did something happen?"
Marcus pulled his hand back slowly, letting his fingers drag across her nipple one last time before his palm left her chest entirely. He looked at Dylan, then back at her, his dark eyes soft with manufactured concern. "I heard something today. In the locker room. One of the trainers was talking about a skin thing going around."
"A skin thing?" Her brow furrowed. "Like a rash?"
"More like a virus," Marcus said, his voice dropping to something serious, something that made her lean in, trusting. "They said it spreads through clothes. Through fabric. And it starts with these little red marks. You don't even feel it at first."
Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god. That's terrifying."
"We know." Dylan's voice was a low rumble near her ear, his breath warm on her neck. "And we saw you trip earlier. You were all over the grass. We just wanted to make sure you didn't pick anything up."
She turned in his grip, her face inches from his, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. "You're checking on me? That's so sweet." Her voice softened, genuine warmth flooding her features. "You guys are seriously the best friends I've ever had."
Marcus stepped closer, his body boxing her in, Dylan's chest at her back. "We just want to take care of you, Ari. You know that, right?"
"Of course I know that." She reached back and grabbed Marcus's hand, pulling it around her waist. "I know you'd never let anything bad happen to me."
The sincerity in her voice made something flicker in Marcus's eyes—something dark, something hungry—but she didn't see it. She never saw it.
Dylan's hands found the hem of her transparent top. "We need to check everywhere, though. All your skin. To be safe."
She looked down at his fingers curling into the fabric, then back up at his face. "Like... take my clothes off?"
"Just to check." His ice-blue eyes held hers, steady and sure. "You trust us, right?"
The question was the same one from before. The same answer rose in her chest, automatic, absolute. "Of course I do."
She lifted her arms.
Dylan pulled the top over her head in one smooth motion, and suddenly she was bare from the waist up, her big breasts bouncing free in the fluorescent light, her nipples hardening instantly in the cool air. She didn't cover herself. She just stood there, her arms dropping to her sides, her green eyes watching them with innocent expectation.
"Okay," she said, a little breathless. "What am I looking for?"
Marcus stepped in front of her, his eyes traveling down her body with a slowness that should have felt predatory but didn't—not to her. To her, it was care. He was checking her. Making sure she was safe.
"Turn around," he said softly. "Let me see your back."
She spun on her heel, her long black hair whipping across her shoulders, and presented her bare back to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He ran his fingers down her spine, slow and deliberate, his calluses dragging across her skin.
"Anything?" she asked, her voice muffled slightly.
"Not yet." He traced her shoulder blades, the dip of her lower back. "Turn back around."
She turned, facing him again, her breasts swaying with the motion. His hands came up and cupped them, his palms pressing the soft flesh, his thumbs sweeping across her nipples in long, slow strokes.
She gasped softly, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. "That's—that's sensitive."
"I know," he said, his voice low. "I'm just checking. Making sure nothing's wrong."
Her breath hitched as his thumbs circled her nipples again, pressing harder this time, the friction making her skin tingle. "Does it look okay?"
He pinched one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently, watching her face. Her lips parted, her eyes fluttering half-closed. "It looks perfect," he said. "But I need to check the underside."
He squeezed—harder than necessary, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breast, lifting it, exposing the pale underside to the fluorescent light. He ran his thumb across the sensitive skin there, pressing deep enough to leave a mark.
She sucked in a breath. "Marcus, that kind of hurts."
"Sorry, baby. Just being thorough." He released her breast and grabbed the other one, repeating the motion—squeezing, lifting, his thumb digging into the tender skin underneath. His fingers left red imprints on her pale flesh.
Dylan stepped up behind her again, his hands landing on her hips. "I need to check the rest of you." His fingers hooked into the waistband of her low-rise jeans, tugging gently. "These need to come off too."
She looked down at his hands, then back at Marcus, who nodded encouragingly. "It's just us, Ari. We're not gonna let anything happen to you."
She bit her lower lip, considering for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. If you think it's necessary."
She popped the button on her jeans and pushed them down her hips, the denim catching on the curve of her ass before sliding down her thighs. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and stood in nothing but her black lace thong, the thin strip of fabric disappearing between the cheeks of her round ass, the waistband riding high on her hips.
The air hit her bare skin, and she shivered, her hands coming up to wrap around herself. "It's cold in here."
Marcus's hands caught her wrists, pulling them away from her body. "Don't cover up. I need to see you."
She let him guide her arms down, standing exposed, her nipples peaked, her body on full display. She didn't feel vulnerable. She felt cared for. They were looking after her.
Dylan dropped to his knees behind her, his hands gripping her hips, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her ass. "I need to check your backside. Turn around."
She turned slowly, presenting her ass to him, the thong doing nothing to cover the full curve of her cheeks. His hands landed on them immediately, spreading them, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
"Any marks?" she asked, her voice light, trusting.
"Let me see." He spread her cheeks wider, pulling the thong to the side, exposing her completely. His thumb found her asshole, pressing against it, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure it's clean."
She tensed for a second, the sensation unfamiliar, but she forced herself to relax. He was helping her. He knew what he was doing. "Is it okay?"
His thumb pressed harder, the tip breaching her just slightly, the ring of muscle clenching around him. "Almost. Just hold still."
She bit her lip, her hands clenching at her sides, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. Behind her, she heard Marcus move, felt his body press against her front, his hands coming up to cup her face.
"You're doing so good, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "So good for us."
She smiled against his thumb, her eyes shining. "I trust you guys."
Behind her, Dylan's thumb pushed deeper, working into her tight hole, stretching her slowly. Her breath caught, a soft whimper escaping her throat.
"Shh," Marcus soothed, his thumb sliding into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. "Just breathe. He's almost done checking."
She sucked his thumb instinctively, her eyes fluttering closed, her body caught between the intrusion behind her and the warmth in her mouth. She didn't understand what was happening—not really. She just knew her friends were taking care of her, and that was enough.
Dylan's other hand came up and grabbed her ass cheek, squeezing hard, his fingers digging into the flesh as his thumb worked deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he was fully inside her.
She gasped around Marcus's thumb, her body jolting, her eyes flying open. "Dylan—"
"Almost done, baby girl." His voice was strained, rough. "Just checking everything."
His thumb withdrew slowly, then pushed back in, fucking her asshole in slow, deliberate strokes. Her body shook, her hands gripping Marcus's arms for support, her mind struggling to process the sensation.
It felt wrong. But also good. But also—
"You're okay," Marcus whispered, pulling his thumb from her mouth and replacing it with his lips, kissing her softly, swallowing her whimpers. "You're so okay."
She kissed him back, her mind going blank, her body surrendering to the dual attention. Dylan's thumb pumped into her asshole, faster now, harder, his fingers spreading her cheeks wide, exposing every inch of her to the cold air and his hungry gaze.
And through it all, she kept thinking: They're just checking me. They're just making sure I'm okay. They're my best friends.
The thought wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and safe, as Dylan's thumb drove deep one last time, holding there, letting her feel the stretch, the fullness, before pulling out slowly.
She sagged against Marcus, breathless, her body trembling. "Did you find anything?" she asked, her voice small, hopeful.
Dylan stood up behind her, his hands landing on her shoulders, his body pressing against her back. "You're clean, baby girl. Perfect."
She sighed in relief, turning in his arms to face him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you for checking me. That was really sweet of you guys."
She pulled back from Dylan's chest, her green eyes bright with unshed tears of gratitude, her full lips curving into the warmest smile. "I mean it. Thank you. Both of you."
She reached up, her fingers curling around the back of Marcus's neck, and pulled his face down to hers. Her lips pressed against his, soft and quick, a peck that lingered just a heartbeat longer than a friendly kiss should. When she pulled away, she was still smiling, completely unselfconscious.
"That's how my family says thank you," she explained," It's just—it's how we show we care for our friends."
Marcus's hand came up, his thumb brushing across his lower lip, his dark eyes hooded. "I like your family's traditions, princess."
She giggled, then turned to Dylan, her hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. "You too, Dylan. Thank you for checking me so thoroughly."
She pressed her lips to his, the same quick, grateful kiss, her body pressing against his for just a second before she pulled back. Dylan's hands had found her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her thong, holding her close for a beat longer than Marcus had.
"Anytime, baby girl," he murmured, his voice low, his ice-blue eyes fixed on her lips. "Anytime."
She beamed at both of them, her hands dropping from Dylan's neck as she bent to pick up her jeans. She pulled them up her long legs, the denim sliding over her thighs, her hips, the waistband settling low on her hips, the black lace of her thong still visible above the seam. She buttoned them, the metal cool against her stomach.
"I feel so much better now," she said, reaching for her sheer top where it had fallen on the floor. She shook it out, then pulled it over her head, the fabric settling over her breasts, doing nothing to hide the dark circles of her nipples beneath. "I was so worried I'd hurt myself when I fell. But you guys caught me so fast. You're like—like my guardian angels."
Marcus laughed, a low, warm sound. "Guardian angels who get to see you naked. Best job in the world."
She blushed, but she was grinning, tucking her hair behind her ears. "You're so silly. Come on, let's go get lunch. I'm starving."
She grabbed her bag from where it had fallen near the table, slinging it over her shoulder, and started walking toward the cafeteria. Behind her, Marcus and Dylan exchanged a look—a long, loaded look that said everything they didn't say out loud.
She has no idea.
And we're going to keep it that way.
They followed her, their eyes on the sway of her hips, the way her thong peeked above her jeans with every step, the sheer fabric of her top clinging to the curve of her breasts.
They caught up to her easily, falling into step on either side of her, their shoulders brushing hers as they walked. Marcus's hand found the small of her back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her top. Dylan's hand dropped lower, his fingers grazing the top of her ass, casual, friendly.
She didn't notice. Or if she did, she didn't think anything of it.
She was too busy chattering about the biology test she'd barely studied for, her voice bright and bubbling, her hands gesturing as she talked. She bumped into Marcus when she turned to look at him, her body pressing against his side, and he let his hand slide down, cupping her ass for a second before she pulled away, laughing at something she'd said.
She didn't notice that, either.
The cafeteria was loud, crowded, the usual chaos of lunch period. Ariana made a beeline for their usual table near the windows, weaving between tables, her ponytail swinging. Marcus and Dylan followed, their eyes never leaving her.
"I'll grab us seats," she called over her shoulder, already sliding onto the bench. "Get me a burger? And fries? And a soda?"
"What do we get?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You get my undying gratitude," she said, grinning up at him. "And maybe a kiss later if you're good."
She said it so casually, so naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like kissing them was just—something she did. Something they did.
Marcus's jaw tightened, just for a second. "I'm always good, princess."
He turned toward the food line, Dylan falling into step beside him.
"She's going to kill us," Dylan muttered, low enough that only Marcus could hear. "She has no fucking idea what she's doing."
"That's the point," Marcus replied, his voice just as low. "She's not supposed to know. Not yet."
They got the food—three burgers, three fries, three sodas—and carried it back to the table. Ariana had her legs crossed, her foot bouncing as she scrolled through her phone, her lip caught between her teeth.
"You guys are the best," she said, setting her phone down as they set the tray in front of her. She grabbed her burger immediately, taking a huge bite, moaning around the taste. "Oh my god, this is so good."
Marcus watched her chew, watched her lips wrap around the burger, watched her tongue dart out to catch a drop of ketchup. His hand found her knee under the table, squeezing gently.
"Eat up, princess. You need your energy."
She smiled at him, her mouth full, completely oblivious to the hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with food.
Dylan's hand found her other knee, his thumb stroking the inside of her thigh through her jeans, casual, absent-minded. She didn't pull away. She leaned into the touch, relaxing, comfortable.
They're just being friendly, she thought, taking another bite of her burger. They always touch me. It's just how they show they care.
She didn't notice Marcus's hand slide higher, his fingers brushing the hem of her jeans, the bare skin of her inner thigh. She didn't notice Dylan's thumb press harder, rubbing slow circles into her leg.
She was too busy eating, too busy talking about the biology test, too busy being happy and safe and loved.
And that was exactly how they wanted her.