I want to thank all of those that reviewed and commented. I wasn't originally planning to continue this story. It was supposed to be a stand alone, but after much encouragement I've decided to go forward with the story. The following is a kind of short interlude just so you know I'm still working on it. I hope you like it. Thanks!
Steve woke up, arm weighed down, hair tickling his nose, and a bony knee against his side. The clock next to his bed read 2:00am. It wasn't a huge shock. He rarely slept through nights anymore. He gently pulled himself from the thin boy in his bed and padded downstairs to the living room, collapsing on the sofa. He laid down, throwing his arm over his eyes. He had no idea how he let this happen. Not that anything really happened. But things were said and actions were made and that was enough, too much, for Steve.
This wasn't supposed to happen, not again. Steve heard footsteps on the stairs and sat up, looked up, to see Richie, hair tousled from a night's sleep and wrapped in Steve's comforter.
com'ere." Steve motioned toward Richie until the younger man was
close enough for him to take his hand. He pulled the teenager toward
him, until he was forced to fall down next to him. Steve reached
forward, taking the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the coffee
table. He took the time to pull one out and light up before leaning
back and throwing his arm across the slim shoulders next to him.
Richie moved closer to him, finding that perfect spot between
arm and chest to rest his head.
They sat like that, in silence with an ease that should have been peculiar, as Steve smoked his cigarette. The streets outside were completely silent, being too early or late for people to be awake. Steve finished his cigarette and moved to put it out in the ashtray on the coffee table, dislodging Richie a bit. When he moved back to lean against the cushions, he and Richie resumed their positions. Steve pulled Richie a little closer and started a quiet conversation.
"You know we can't do this, right?"
"Yeah? Why?" Richie's voice was still full of sleep, his eyes still half closed.
"I'm too old for you."
"You're only twenty-three, Steve. A six years difference."
"You're my sister's student."
"She'll get over it." Their voices had trailed off to whispers by now.
"I'm damaged goods."
"So am I."
"The point is," he wasn't given the opportunity to finish.
"The point is…I like you and you kinda like me. And we'll figure it out."
Check out bent-fiction (dot) (com). I tend to update there a bit quicker.