Staring at the wall-length mirror of the badly lit bathroom, you touch your face, just below your eye, to make sure it’s real. You’re pale, and your eyes are blood-shot and baggy. The make-up you swiped from your mom’s drawer helps a little. But you wonder if you’re really sending out the kind of message you think you are. And the Logan-Berry kohl you’re wearing doesn’t really hide the bags as much as… accent them.

You look like Hell.

You want to blame it on the crappy lighting, but you can’t. You know you’ve looked like that for weeks. Since you saw it, maybe even a little before. Can’t remember when it started. All you know is, this has to end tonight. You have to take care of it tonight.

Take a moment to breathe, then brush through the bathroom doors as fast as possible. Back to the table. The seat creaks under you, and you wonder how close the thing is to falling apart, then decide to stop caring. How long since? Two weeks? Three? You don’t remember. And it hits you that maybe you don’t want to remember. But you know that’s not true. You want to remember every detail. The moments, the seconds… Maybe you’re just teasing yourself. You always liked that. You always felt the temperature soar when what you wanted was just out of reach.

You see him and your body goes rigid. He’s not too far away, just a couple tables. Laughing, pad and pencil in hand, taking down a couple’s order as he listens to their jokes. It seems stupid, pathetic, that you watch him and never say a word. But what are you supposed to do?

At school, you catch a glimpse of him as he walks through the halls, surrounded by his friends. His friends either don’t like you or don’t notice you. They push you into lockers and walls, snickering as your books hit the floor. He laughs with them sometimes. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he gives you a dark-eyed stare that makes you feel a little strained inside. But he’s always the first to look away. That, you are sure of. He always looks away, moving in the center of his crowd, never once looking back.

You remember why you’re here. Again. For the millionth time and then some. All because of what you saw; what you couldn’t get out of your head. And, sipping your water, you wondered if you could think about it here. In front of him. In the same room as him.

It had been raining. A late night, a hard day, you’d just wanted to get home. Not that you minded the rain as much as the day altogether. Your boss would’ve beaten you to the ground if you’d taken a step against him, his mood was so sour. Then there’s your headache, which had bothered you since the night before. In any case, you’d just wanted to get home and go to bed; screw homework and any other scholarly responsibilities for the night. So, that was the plan, and that’s where you were headed.

Then, you happened to turn your head as you were passing the restaurant. And in the alley, under the back kitchen door-way, there they were. Him. And a boy his age. Their lips melded together under the rain, hands slicking down the wet clothes they wore. They clung to each other, feverish and intense, open mouths gasping for each other’s breath. Breathing each other’s air. And he was backed against the doorway, arms above his head, as the boy’s thin fingers rolled the wet shirt up his chest.

Your eyes were on fire, you didn’t dare blink. An insecure, impatient feeling seared its way down your body, from your chest, to your stomach, and even lower. You were walking closer; you couldn’t feel it, but your feet were moving. And soon you were grasping the wires of the chain-link fence, the only thing that kept you from moving even closer.

His mouth opened wide in a gasp. His shirt hit the ground, and the rain fell on his bare chest. The boy was kissing down his body, his tongue licking droplets of rain off his nipples, following more down the hard lines of his pecs. And you felt your body grow warm, the feeling below your stomach growing tighter; almost an ache. And at this point, you didn’t care that this was turning you on, or that this was two boys, or that you were a boy yourself. You didn’t exist right now. Only the details of this scene before you.

A light gasp as the boy fell to his knees. It could’ve been his, it could’ve been yours. Didn’t matter. His belt came undone, his jeans unzipped. They didn’t hit the ground, but rode down his hips until they were just above his knees. The boy licked his lips, then closed in, wrapping them around him like a popsicle. He groaned, dropping his head back against the wall. The boy moved in, taking him all the way into his mouth and holding himself in place. It was moving fast. Maybe they wanted it that way.

“Oh, Fuck…” A strangled sound escaped him, his hands dropping to rake through the boy’s wet hair. You bite your lip, the rain numb against your skin. It was aching now, your body suddenly sensitive to every movement you made, all of it shooting through your nerves and tumbling between your legs.

You had to get out of there. You had to.

So you let go of the fence and made a run for it, barely making it to your house before you came. Still biting your lip.

The next day, you were knocked into a second floor locker, but you were the first to look away. You felt eyes on you all the way down the hall. You didn’t see him again that week. Or the next. In fact, tonight was the first time you were seeing him since.

Sipping your water again, though not really tasting the dull metallic flavor, nor feeling it go down your throat, you watch him come closer. He doesn’t seem to notice you at first; just another table to serve. But his eyes trail from the half-full water glass in your hand, up your arm, to your face. He blinks in recognition.

“Hey,” He leans a little closer. You feel your stomach clench at the gesture. “You go to-”

“Yeah.” You cut him off, swirling the ice in your water like you don’t care if he knows you or not. You bet he doesn’t notice the way you’re becoming bolder. You bet he doesn’t see the way you won’t look at him. You bet he doesn’t even notice the make-up you were stupid enough to-

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around…” He trails off, trying to place your face. “Anyway, can I help you?”

A little smirk pulls at the corner of your lip as you set the glass back on the table, barely noticeable. “I’ll have some coffee, I guess.” You cover the smirk with a friendly smile. He looks you up and down, then smiles back.

“Right.” He nods. “Be right back with that.” He turns, heading for the kitchen. You pretend not to notice as he checks out your reflection in the window. Not as smooth as he usually appears…

A couple minutes later, he comes back with the coffee. Cup, saucer, cream, and pot; all white as eggshells. You don’t know how you noticed this; probably because you were trying not to look at him. Looking at his face when he’s this close would bring problems. Closing your eyes, you can still see his face as the boy…

“You alright?” He asks. You open your eyes quickly, looking up to smile at him.

“Huh? Yeah…” Sighing, you look down at your coffee and shake your head. “I’m kinda worn out. Today was psycho.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” He sighs with you, pouring your coffee. “So, you want anything else? Or, should I come back later…”

You lift your head and look him in the eye.

“Know what… when’s your next break?” You interested?

He smiles, looking over his shoulder at the kitchen. “I was just about to take one, actually.” Definitely.

“You wanna…” You smile friendly, running a hand through your hair. “I dunno, grab yourself a cup and talk or somethin’?”

“Yeah, okay.” He looks back toward the kitchen, then to you. “Be right back.”

---

First step out the back door and he shuts it behind you. Something tells you this is about to get real good, and you’re right, because he spins you back against the wall and kisses you until you can’t breathe. You kiss back, knowing he tastes the coffee just as you taste his soda. And then tastes are a blur, and no one knows who’s who as you clutch his hair and pull him in for the kind of kiss that comes from both anger and lust. He almost seems shocked. He recognized you, you know it now, because he didn’t expect you to be so bold. But his lips taste sugar-sweet now, and you know it all at once. Far different from kissing a girl. Something about this wakes you up. Even better, brings you back to life.

He pulls back, looking into your eyes for a moment as he tries to catch his breath. You don’t let him. You push him back against the other side of the doorway and take control. But you have to rub it in now. Because now you know he knows you, and you know he wants you, even if he thought he was above it all for a while. So you plant another kiss on his lips, which open for you again, but you pull back before it goes too deep. Before you lose your train of thought. You suck lightly on his bottom lip as you pull away, then lean closer, rubbing your body against his. His breathing becomes harsh, and you smirk as your lips find his earlobe. It’s hard not to tease as your teeth graze his skin. You chuckle lightly.

“So,” You sigh into his ear. “You said you couldn’t place me before…”

“I’ve seen you…” He whispers, pressing against you until you can feel his need. “I’ve been meaning to…”

“Liar.” You ghost your hands up his shirt, then claw down, digging your nails into his skin lightly. Hissing at the shock of the contact, he leans against you to kiss your neck, teeth pinching the skin as you try to keep your breathing steady. You let your fingers trail along the strong lines of his chest, then rest on the small of his back, fingers splaying against his skin as you grind yourself against him.

Hands move to undo your belt, but you pull them upward, holding them above his head. You need this. You need the control. And when he looks up in confusion, you kiss him again, letting your lips move together in a way you don’t know if you can handle. But then you pull away, kissing down his neck, moving down his collarbone, tasting his skin. You remember for a second the time you never thought you’d be here. The time before you saw. When you liked girls and dated around like any normal guy would. But the thought is gone the second his hand falls from above his head and trails a finger along the waistline of your jeans. You feel your stomach flip, but don’t show it. Then, he unzips your jeans and trails the same finger over you. You bite his neck lightly, and feel the pants becoming unbuttoned. He’s touching you, slowly moving his hand over you, knowing just what he’s doing but not quite understanding the whole picture. Because it feels better than anything, and you don’t care what he does, as long as he keeps touching you.

You squeeze him lightly through the slacks he’s wearing, and he loses his breath for a moment. You can feel it. So you do it again. Then, you hold the bulge in your hand, rubbing your fingers over the fabric that holds it. He gasps for air, whispers something intelligible into your ear, and starts stroking you like you don’t need to breathe. And it feels more than amazing, and he’s not stopping, and maybe you don’t need to breathe anymore, because this is a better way to die than anything else you can think of. So you keep rubbing him through the fabric, groaning into his ear as you know you’re close.

And the lights hit you then. You don’t want to move. You want to go boneless and drop into the sensation. Instead, you gasp for air and squeeze him lightly one last time until you feel him hit home. He collapses against the wall and you lean against him. And this feels more than amazing, because you didn’t realize it would feel this good just to touch him.

He catches his breath, pulls you up, and melds his lips to yours. This started so different. Finished… so strange. You knew what you wanted before. But now… You can’t stop yourself. You don’t even know what you’re doing anymore. You’re just doing it.

He pulls back. “I can’t believe…” A hand trails down your spine. “This is…”

You shake your head, laughing. “I’m not even gonna try to describe it, man.”

“Yeah…” He sighs. “Good plan…”

You wonder for a second why they call it ‘love’. It’s such a… beautiful word. But it isn’t beautiful. It’s nervousness. It’s heat. It’s a feeling of knowing that you’ll never be the same, like you’ll be hanging by a thread for the rest of your life. It’s madness. It’s losing control. It’s feeling like you’re trading pieces of yourselves until you’re as much him as you are you.

It’s almost beautiful, but a little different. You’re just not sure how.

---

A/N: Felt like writing smut. But, felt like writing it differently.

Emz: Have totally gotten to work. I’m such a bad beta. Smack me with a Beta-Pen if I don’t give by the end of the weekend.