warning: This warning includes homosexuality, swearing/language, violent affections, abuse, and sexual content.


The first kiss


"Get. Out. Of. The. Damn. Way." It goes in my ears, muddled; bounces around in my head for a few misleading seconds before skipping its way out of my right ear. Through all that, not a single word came out coherently to me – it was all a bunch of yellow spots dancing around my blue and most likely, dazed eyes.

And I was suddenly splayed precariously on the linoleum ground, not only yellow spots dancing around my blue and dazed eyes, now. But also, a faded thudding pulse ricocheting against my hip, crunched up against my bone.

A strangled cry crawled its way out of my mouth, chocking me as I grunted in pain.

Unadulterated agony exploded in my chest, causing me to groan and fall back from the pressure that seemed to sporadically bloom between everything else.

"Fucking weirdo. Get some life." It was then I understood. What it was all about, what everything was that I was feeling.


That name was merely a kaleidoscope of all those feelings. A folder titled Stefan that held all the documents that were those feelings. I had gotten so used to it by then, it was a surprise I felt something new every time.

A different type of pain, a higher warbled whimper, a tighter clench of my teeth, a larger bruise burning the inside of my thigh, a longer fall.

The jet black hair that was spiked unmistakably, the dark, glaring eyes that were always there; the straight but prominent nose that bent down at me arrogantly, the full lips that sneered disgustingly at the sight of me, the tall, slightly muscled form that attacked me; and the personality that seemed to merely clash with my own.

Those were collectively Stefan. He collectively hated me as I was collectively scared of him. We collectively didn't work.

We could have worked…but Stefan never would have liked that. Was it because I was a skinny, pale kid that grated his nerves? While he was the muscular, Hispanic guy that was calm, except when it came to me. I guess I brought that all out of him, I don't completely understand how nor do I completely understand why, but that's the just way things were.

The sad part about it all – I allowed him to. I thought I was doing the right thing, I felt I was doing the right thing; so I let him throw it all on me, push me down, chew me and spit me back out, he was able to do all of that.

Because of me.

It was only occasionally though, few times a month, only twice if I was lucky. I never worried though, I never set a limit to how many times he could do the things he did to me each month: he simply did them and I never said a word afterwards about it.

I couldn't stop him, even if I wanted him to. He was physically and mentally stronger than me – or so I thought. He seemed like it, at least.

I can't exactly remember when and where it first started, all I know is, is that it begun with his face flashing in front of me and it ending with him pummeling me on the ground – fists lodging themselves in and out of my body. It was a generally painful and unexpected memory to say the least.

A memory that was fizzling and would slowly fade away, if not completely.

At the same time though, through all of this, I think I've gingerly come to comprehend my change of heart towards him, my submissive to his dominant.

I think I remind him of someone. Or so rumours seem to say.

There's a tale – tale because I can't fully guarantee it's the truth, if liberties weren't taken – that Stefan knew a guy, who apparently looked like me and whose personality was similar to my own. This guy was very close friends with Stefan, they hung out together, they smoked together, and they did everything together. Everything had no boundaries when it came to these two, including doing each other. From there, the tale goes down to say that Stefan and this guy became lovers and it was unrequited love on Stefan's part. And as most tales seem to do – as do rumours – this guy hurt Stefan, cheating on him with many other men, and they broke up: not only their lover status, but their best friend status also.

All's well that ends well, I guess.

Can you see where me not believing this so much, comes into play? I can't exactly see Stefan as the gay type, not that I have anything against it, especially considering my own…weird feelings…but as I said before, that's why I called it a tale.

It's also reason enough though, it seems, to melt the permafrost my heart seemed to cautiously take on – guarding myself from Stefan – and put me in the situation that I am. Because if it is true, I can't really blame him for taking it all out on me, especially if I do look like this guy.

I rest my case.

Awkwardly, long arms wrap themselves around me, lifting me up gingerly from the ground as I whimper selfishly. My head lolls forward from all the pain and the dizzying sadness strumming through me. I clench my eyes furiously, biting the inside of my mouth, chewing leisurely on the gummy, veined skin there; suckling the bright, sour portions.

It distracts me for a while.

A large hand roughly clasps onto my chin, pushing my head up as the pads of his fingers slip into the creases of my jaw. It holds me up as I threaten to fall down again, wanting rest, something, something to stop the pain for just a moment.

"Just…stop…" his voice is gruff, huskily straddling itself into the dizzy dance that is my brain functions. I merely hum under my breath in response, a rough sounding hum, gritty inside my throat. "You're fucking me up so…bad…" something warm, unfamiliar but rough latches itself onto my lips, causing the dishes to fall from my shelf of life and onto the kitchen floor.

I garble a whine, eyes closed tightly in response, hands fisted and forcing themselves down onto the cold, linoleum floor of the ground.

Stefan's kissing me.

A smothered groanmoan sprints from in between my lips and into his, as his tongue flicks patiently along my bottom lip, wrestling me down and open for the taking.

It was a mere twenty seven minutes later, and I had flung myself carelessly to Daniel's feet, suppressing a wailing sob, shaking needlessly as I breathed heavily the whole while. The black, scuffed toes of sneakers are what first catch my sight, barely holding my dying gaze though. The grating texture of the grass blades tips scratch messily at my burning lips, causing me to stifle a pained moan at the same time.

"Fuck – !" In a few quick but struggling movements, Daniel has me pressed closely against him, holding me up with a clumsy grace. His arms wrap themselves tightly around me, crushing me against his chest, my hands cradled tightly along his warm figure, weird feelings flashing through the agonizing pain that was quaking in me. "What happened? Who did this to you? Say something Bishop, I want an answer…I need an answer – "

"…can't…Stefan…he kissed…me…I don't get it – "

"That chicken – shit," Daniel holds me away comfortingly, his hazel eyes watching and studying me intently, allowing the gold flecks in his eyes to jump out at me through the stumbling haze that was engulfing me. His hands wrap nicely around my thin arms, the pads of his thumbs unconsciously caressing the screaming skin there, as he growled lowly and dangerously.

I tremble obviously, feeling my bottom lip shake worriedly, wanting to close my eyes tight and shut out the furious air that streamed off Daniel in waves. I didn't want him to hate me, far from it actually. I was torn between wanting to take everything back and then wanting to keep everything as it's been – for Stefan's sake.

"Don't be scared…I'm not mad at you, not mad at all…" He murmurs soothingly.

"…yeah?" I ask quietly and hesitantly.

"Yeah." He answers softly, smiling gently now.

He pulls me in then, an indistinguishable glitter set in his eyes – a clench in his jaw. I peer up at him curiously, eyebrows furrowed, bloodied and cracked lips pursed gently, breathing quiet. He leans down slowly, touching his forehead to my own, earning him a mumbled moan on my part. My head still hurt, if only slightly. My forehead was warm and clammy, while his was cool and comforting, it felt good. He brings both hands up and under my jaw, cradling my neck and tipping my head backwards, allowing me to stare up but equally into his own. I didn't get it, I was confused. His lips stroking my own, a shock stinging me from the inside, catapults me everywhere but nowhere – I'm still here. His fingers clasp lightly into the slips of my jaw, holding me still but kindly, as his lips run along my own, burning me slightly because of the cracks, but I ignore it for him instead.

I part my lips slowly, enjoying the slip of his soft, sticky tongue in my mouth – stifling a breathy giggle from the way his tongue tickled my own. I liked this. A lot. A tight, taut ball grew in the pit of my stomach, pulling at my insides, tugging away at my confused lust, feelings, needs, all of this really. He strokes the soft skin of my jaw, tracing the relaxed and tensed muscles that shifted with every movement of my mouth along his own.

I was no expert to say the least.

He pulled away tenderly, cradling my jaw still, still bunched and aligned against my stiff and shorter body, just not his lips though.

"I wanted to do that first. Sorry." He cocks a sheepish smile, my breath frozen but my cheeks alive with a ruddy brush of blush.

Two boys kissed me and I still wasn't dead. Hn.


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