| ⊰ ❝ Help me tear down my reason.
Help me its' your sex I can smell.
Help me you make me perfect;
Help me become somebody else. ❞ ⊱ ||
It’s a little stupid how nervous Kyle finds himself, as if he’s never gone somewhere and done something with Christian, and as if they’d met earlier that day and Kyle was still peacocking heavily, scavenging for a morsel of acceptance. His musses with his hair countless times and tugs at the Joy Division shirt he definitely, absolutely didn’t change into after inviting Christian over. His fingers keep his mind from wandering.
He vaguely hears something and he thinks it’s The 1975 coming from his living room, back where he left his laptop open on 8tracks. Kyle’s footsteps sound too loud in a too empty house and each breath feels like it’s being taken in unison with the drapes, billowing from that small crack of freedom he’d pushed the window up to. It’s a Sunday night, late, late into the year and it’s almost all over to the point where Kyle can’t force himself to give a shit if he has school in the morning or not because his lungs might balloon the way his curtains were if he didn’t relieve the currents in his veins yearning to trace lightning scars on Christian’s skin.
And so he waited, distracting himself by messing around on 8tracks and Reddit, capturing his goldfish attention easily for seconds at a time.
Christian toed out the shower and wrapped a lanky towel around his slim waist, eager to find clothes and jump on the boy who was waiting for him. At first he tries for something simple, like his torn jeans and Pink Floyd Prism tank, but then he settles for his loose Drake jacket and his gray baggy sweat pants, deciding that they’d be inside for the most part. Christian dries his body and throws on his clothing articles, getting completely dressed before heading back into the bathroom. He glances at his hair in the mirror and frowns at the damp mess sitting on top of his head. He then began to blow dry his hair and proceeded to throw a random beanie on his disheveled mane.
After going over his appearance with a fine tooth comb, he grabbed his keys and wallet, and dawdled down to his 2014 Mazda6. Igniting his vehicle and trailing down the memorized route, Christian was soon met by Kyle’s driveway, and as he got out of his car slowly, he pondered on what activities they would do. A part of him wanted to touch Kyle inappropiately, though he also wished they could cuddle and do much more, and the thought of seeing the beautiful ocean blue-hued male so soon surely made his insides flutter. Christian knocked on the door softly and nibbled on his lesser lip, his voice raspy from the late night setting.
"A back rub sounds absolutely amazing, thank you."
“No worries, babe. Now, ‘bout you and a certain someone…”
Come to mine? No one’s home.
“Oh yes, I’ll be there soon.”
Maybe I am. And maybe I can show you how bad I can get, if you’re for that.
“Oh yeah? Try me.”
I plant trees on the weekends; the worse I do is take hits outta Nico and not pass him around.
“Planting, so hardcore. Though, you don’t share, maybe you are a little ruthless bastard.”
I stole the cookie from the cookie jar. That bad enough for ya?
”In your sense— yes. In mines? Nah. Try again, baby.”
“I’m not sure you’re quite deserving of that. Spankings are for bad boys.”
So’s that mean you’re going to slap me without lotion? Can I choose where?
”Yeah, be glad you’re cute. Where would you like me to touch ya’?”
I saved a baby bird when I was workin’ at the vet’s office over the summer. Boom.
”If you weren’t cute, I’d definitely slap you with lotion.”
Not what I was talking about, bro. Fuck off, at least Stacy’s enthusiastic about it.
”Yes— enthusiastic with a hint of chapped lips. Anyway, what’s the matter with my little Graybear?”
But heating up sesame chicken gives me like… saving-a-baby-bird levels of happiness.
“— Right… now, explain to me how the hell you know what that feels like.”
Someone sounds chipper — guess we both have something to be happy about.
“Awe, bad blowjob again? I told you your ex isn’t the best one to get that from. Trust me, I’d know.”
Chinese is better the second time around. Left-overs rule.
”Uh— no. Cold pizza and cold pizza only.”
All right, who’s rolling with me? I’ve had a pretty lame day and all I really need right now is a nice buzz to just take away the annoyance.
“Want a back rub? You seem tense.”