A/N: Hey! This is a small experiment, a one-shot inspired by an exercise for writing class. It’s from a first person point of view (maybe I’ll do the same storyline from the other point of view later), and consists of a story told by the very insecure Kay (Alexander), riddled with flashbacks.

Warning: This contains homosexual content, so if you are a close-minded bastard please leave now, flames will not be tolerated.

Hope you like it, read and review please!

Wormy

I stare at the mirror. Push my bangs out of my eyes, watch them flop down again. Listless. Lifeless. So unlike his buoyant, thick blond hair.

He’s coming home today. Home, finally, home to me, after being gone for almost two months. God, I miss him so much.

“Are you sure I can’t come with you? Please Brent? I won’t bother you guys or anything.”

He smiles sadly, tiredly. “No, Kay. I told you, being on tour is hard, and it’s no fun being cooped up in a bus all the time. You’d hate it. Besides, I wouldn’t have much time for you. Stay here, with Mithra, she’ll keep you company. Anyway, you know you can’t stop working for so long.”

There’s something tight about his face, something closed, that tells me he’s not telling the truth. He’s hiding something from me, for some reason he doesn’t want me there when he goes off with his band.

Something inside me dies. I’m not good enough for him anymore, he doesn’t want me. I knew it would happen, knew it knew it knew it, after all why would he stay with me when he deserves so much better?

I force a smile, feeling as if it will rip my face in two and expose my bleeding heart. “I’ll miss you like the devil.”

He hugs me, enfolding me for a short moment in his wonderful warmth. Kisses me lightly, I shudder at the liquid lightning it sends down my spine.

“I love you, Alexander.”

“Love you too.”

He picks up his bag, takes a last look at me, and is gone.

And I, I slide down the wall, holding my head in my hands, and cry.

For he doesn’t want me anymore.

The apartment, so empty without him, is cleaner than it’s ever been and smells of pizza, his favorite food. With anchovies, mushrooms, bell peppers, leave the pepperoni.

Even Mithra, our-his-cat is clean, despite the light scratches now gracing my arms.

I want to make him want me. Want to be good enough.

That’s why there is now a shining metal stud in my tongue.

It’s evening. We’re draped all over the couch, fingers entwined, kissing occasionally. He’s curled possessively around me, the hickey where he’s claimed me still vibrant on my skin.

It’s just the stage in our relationship where we feel comfortable enough to tell each other some of the tiny things that matter, tiny secrets we never though important before.

I’ve just told him that I love it when he pets my hair as if I’m a cat. My blush is still fading.

“Your turn,” I mumble. He thinks for a minute, making use of the time to nuzzle his face into the crook of my neck, kissing the skin there.

He raises his head so his breath ghosts over my ear, unconsciously (I think) stroking his hands along my belly. It feels good, in a sleepy sort of way.

Brent smirks. “I think tongue studs are hot as hell.”

Somewhat uneasy, I turn around in his arms and kiss him, hopefully convincing him that I’m hot as hell without metal in my mouth.

I stick out my tongue, watch the light glint off of the plain steel globe. I couldn’t work up my courage enough to get something gaudier, sexier.

I’ve had it for a month now, and sometimes I still stare at it, wondering what possessed me to put something like that in my mouth.

And then I look at his picture on the fridge, and I know.

A surprise for him when he comes home, something to make me desirable, needed. I smile, watching the faint shine from behind my teeth. I wonder how long it will take him to notice.

God, I’ve missed him, missed him so much. It’s been like a black hole in my heart and a gnawing emptiness in my stomach, a chill between my shoulders. I’ve grown thinner without him here to make me eat. I worry that he’ll be disgusted, but I just can’t force my food down.

I dream about him, not chaste dreams, and I wake up in the middle of the night craving his presence, crying because it might all be over soon. Because even when we make love I can see his restraint.

Heat, wet, need, fire in my veins and the heady perfume of his sweat, his salty essence in my mouth, the slide of his fingers on my length.

I moan, arch into his touch as liquid fire and heat runs through my veins. Need him to fill me, complete me, need his touch and his heat around me and in me.

“Please, Brent, oh God please…” Gasp.

His slick, cool fingers on my entrance, massaging, entering one by one, stretching me so slowly I almost scream in desire. Just take me, take me now I won’t break! Then slowly, agonizingly slowly, so much pleasure I feel like fainting, but there can be so much more, if only he weren’t so restrained, so careful, holding back and not giving his entire self as I long to…

No thoughts now, only mind-numbing pleasure as shards of light explode across my vision.

He groans, “Kay, oh God baby I love you…”

My whisper-wind of a breath by his ear:

“Brent…”

Standing by the door, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart quickens. His footsteps, his peculiar hop-skipping way of jumping over every other step. I hear his key scrabbling in the lock, can almost imagine his breathing. I quickly duck around the corner, flattening myself to the kitchen wall and trying to calm my racing nerves.

I hear the door open, hear it close, and then a weary voice calls, “Kay?” It’s all the prompting I need. I fly around the corner and throw myself at him, just in time to take in his handsome, disheveled appearance, blond hair over piercing green eyes and lips turned up in a happy smile.

He wraps me in his arms, sweeps me off my feet and swings me around and I’m so happy as he buries his face in my hair, clasping me so tight it feels like he’ll never let go. His embrace is so warm, so comforting, so loving that it surprises me and I feel the tears of happiness pricking at my eyes.

And now he’s laughing, chest rising and falling with each wonderful chuckle in that mellow, deep voice, and I’m smiling up at him while the tears stream down my face and then he kisses the tears away, his face alight and unmistakably tender.

His mouth meets mine, and I forget how to breath. It’s perfect, a utopia focused on my lips and the tingles spreading all over my skin. I gasp into the kiss and his tongue slips inside my mouth, explores it and brushes against mine-

He freezes, pulls away, his face a mask of confused surprise. I swallow.

“You got a tongue piercing?” he asks and I nod sheepishly. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea and he doesn’t like it? I unconsciously lick my lips, watch his as gaze follows the motion.

“Why, Kay?” He’s taken my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over them.

“I-I want to make you happy.” Then, in a whisper, “I want to be good enough for you.”

And then his face looks so sad that I want to kick myself, and I know that getting the tongue stud was a bad idea and that it will all be over so soon and I’m losing myself in a typhoon of negative emotions and it hurts…

He pulls me close to him. “Oh, Kay,” he breathes, “why would you think that you aren’t good enough? Why would you ever think that? You’re perfect, just as you are. I just don’t want you to get hurt, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But-” I start to protest, but I’m cut off by his soothing hands on my back and his voice crooning in my ear.

“Shhh. You’re everything I ever wanted and I love you, Kay, love you so much, and I’ve missed you so much it hurts. And,” he pulls back, grinning that infectious grin I love so much, “though you didn’t have to, I love the piercing.” I smile weakly, joyfully back at him, so relieved and so happy I almost can’t believe it, he loves me and I’m good enough for him and everything can go back to how it was. Everything, now, all his restraint, all his fretting is explained, because he was worried for me, scared for me, and I love him.

So I stand on tiptoe and kiss him again, deeply, wetly, with all the passion and all the love I have, putting my new stud to excellent use. His arms circle around me and he presses me to him, oh-so warm and reassuring, adoring, protective.

The kiss lasts a small eternity, and when he finally pulls away his face is tender. “You’ve lost weight,” he whispers, concern flickering in his beautiful gems of eyes.

I smile, truly smile for the first time in what feels like forever, and bury my head in his chest, peck his collarbone.

Then I twist out of his arms, grasping his hand and tugging him playfully forward. “Well, then we have to put it back on, don’t we?” My eyes twinkle and I feel light-headed with relief.

He sniffs the air, then ebulliently drags me to the kitchen. “Pizza!”

A/N: Well, I hope you liked it! Please review, and I’ll write you guys the Brent version of this story (and there are already ideas flying around my head and cackling like the monkeys in the Wizard of Oz). Ciao baby!

Wormy