Yarp. This is it. BUBBLES ends today.
Ten Years Laters
Exhausted, irritated and treading the very borders of depression, Syl slammed the flat's door behind him as he returned from another day of work, tossing his keys in the mail basket and throwing his bag on the floor before sinking down with an almighty groan of weariness into a sofa.
"I fucking hate them. I fucking hate them. Those arrogant, snotty, disgusting, hormonal, retarded retards. They're all going to grow up to become adulterers, alcoholics, amateur porno directors and McDonald's employees. And you know what? It serves them right, fucking disrespectful, rude fucks."
"Syl, I'm busy. I've a deadline in a week. Call your mom and rant at her or something, yeah?"
"Fuck you too!"
Syl stood up, storming into the kitchen and grabbing a can of soda from the fridge. "Where is the fucking food?" he yelled through the door.
"It's your turn to go shopping this week, I'm busy. I've a deadline in a week."
"Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"
"Many times, and at length, although quite repetitively."
"Fuck you! You don't understand my anger and frustration! Ugh, why on earth did I ever become a teacher?"
"Because you finally realised you're not actually good at anything and it was your only option?"
Syl was silent for a moment. He took the words like a Hollywood action hero might take a punch: without impact or emotion or pain. Probably because he realised it was nothing but the stark, stone-cold truth. He gulped down his soda and said: "Let's fuck."
"No. I'm busy. I've a deadline in a week."
"And I'm angry, hungry and horny. Come on. One little pity fuck. Make my life worth living."
Dale turned away from his computer screen and they stared at each other across the room. The late afternoon sunlight dripped into the room, highlighting the thick chestnut of Dale's hair with splashes of autumny red. His chin was shadowed with stubble and he was still in his boxers and oversized AT-AT shirt, but at that moment Syl felt oddly struck by his simple, scruffy prettiness. Irrationally turned on from irritation, tiredness and the pale insides of Dale's thighs, Syl crossed the room, slammed his can of soda down on the desk and grabbed Dale's face between his hands, squeezing his cheeks together so his mouth squished into a twisted pout, upon which he proceeded to crush his own lips. He felt Dale's hands close around his wrists and Dale responded to the clumsy kiss before pulling away.
"Seriously, I have a deadline to meet, Syl. I have a hundred pages to complete before the end of the month," he winced, rubbing a hand wearily across his face. There were dark rings of shadows gathering around his eyes and Syl felt the strange urge to lick them away.
"Dale. You know that sex is a famous stimulant, it will relax you and energize you and increase your productivity."
Syl smirked a little, leaning over Dale and sliding a hand down to his crotch, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton of his boxers. "Besides, if you let me fuck you I will stay up all weekend, make you coffee, bring you doughnuts, do all the shopping, and help you organize your manuscript."
"You're promising to actually help me write my book? God, Syl, how horny are you?"
Syl pressed his palm against Dale and smirked when he heard his breath hitch. Pressing his face against Dale's neck, he kissed the tender skin there and whispered: "Pretty damn horny."
Later, as they lay on the bed, sheets tangled around their legs, the serene azure of early autumn evening floating in through the window, brushing sweat-drenched bare limbs, Syl, his mouth pressed against Dale's shoulder, looked up to see Dale's eyelids drawn over his eyes. His chest rose and fell to the peaceful rhythm of…sleep. Syl swore.
"Fuck! Dale! Don't fall asleep!"
Dale opened one eye.
"You were great, the earth moved, never stop loving me," he muttered dutifully, turning around to sink his face into the pillow.
"Dale! We had a moment! Doesn't that matter? Fuck you! I hate you! Why am I even still with your sorry ass?"
Dale snickered and turned back around.
"Because, after you spent three years swimming up the denial river, joining a band because you somehow managed to delude yourself into thinking you were musically gifted and ready to stun the world with your awesomeness before realising that everybody hates you, attempting and failing to shag enough people to personally sample every STD in existence, you finally came to your senses and realised you would probably never manage to do much better than me."
"Fuck, I would hate you for being so harsh if you weren't so right. Didn't help that after we finished university you somehow turned into this total god of sexiness."
"Being intelligent does that to you."
"Please. You still can't open gherkin jars without my help!"
"Right, and that has to do with my intelligence…how?"
"Fuck you! I just told you you're sexy! Aren't you going to tell me I'm sexy back?"
Dale rolled over to land on top of Syl, settling his hips between Syl's legs and kissing his chest, pale and still glossy from sweat before propping his chin over his chest.
"Baby, you're sexier than a hot tub full of Square Enix characters."
"That's a compliment?" Syl pouted, flicking Dale's forehead.
"It's the best compliment, trust me." Dale sighed and leaned his cheek against Syl's heart. "You know you have to be sexy, why else would I put up with living with an immature imbecile with the libido of a rabbit in spring?"
"Talking of which…" Dale squirmed slightly. "Your, uh…your happy place is making my happy place…happy."
"What!" Dale sat up abruptly. "What the hell, Syl? We just did it!"
"So? God, you're sexy, and you were rubbing against it!"
"You're almost thirty, man! How the hell do you manage to have this much stamina?"
"I have needs, and a very frustrating job, okay!"
"You chose to be a teacher! Stop complaining about it already!"
"I had no choice! Nothing else to do! What else was I supposed to do?"
"Fine then! Quit and start working in Tesco's if you're that frustrated!"
"No! The pay would be even worse! Wait…would the pay be worse? You know, I shouldn't even have to work. I could just wait for your books to become bestsellers and then be your kept toyboy…you could use me for sexual favours, lick golden syrup off my chest, make me dominate you…have you on a leash…make you wear frilly underwear…and feathers…"
"Who would be whose toyboy exactly?"
"Fuck, fuck, Dale, I turned myself on imagining all that!"
Syl grabbed Dale's arms and rolled him over so he lay on top, pinning Dale's fists over his heads into the pillows. "I'm going to do you so hard the neighbours are going to complain again."
"You fail at dirty talk, now I'm visualising our – ahh."
Syl's face twisted into a feline, evil smirk at the sound of Dale's breath catching in his throat. "Hah, you like that, don't you? You depraved slut."
Sliding down to crouch between Dale's legs, propping one thigh up over one of his shoulders, Syl proceeded using his one trusted method to make Dale speechless and docile as a lamb.
Fifteen minutes later Syl was pressed so tightly against Dale's back that neither could feel where their body ended and the other's began, teeth scattering marks all over the curve of Dale's shoulder, and against his neck Syl whispered, over and over: "Fuck, oh God, I love you, I love you, I love you. You fucking beautiful bastard, I love you. I love you."
There was something about the raw intimacy of Syl mid-coitus that always reduced Dale to a blushing, trembling wreck of emotion, and now he lay clinging to his pillow, stifling moans and gasps into the cotton. The room was thick with the rushed sound of their breathing and the warmth of their skin, the ice-cold breeze wafting in through the window bringing the smell of dead leaves and rainfall. Syl kissed the nape of Dale's neck, leaving his lips to rest against it as he murmured: "I love you…"
He sounded exhausted, and oddly, there was a twinge of longing in his voice.
Turning inside the circle of Syl's embrace, Dale wrapped his arms around his neck and, speaking with his mouth right against Syl's, murmured back: "Hey…I love you too. I love you too, you idiot. I love you too."
"I feel like my bones have melted from sheer…pleasure…" Syl sighed languorously.
"I'm that good," Dale replied, smirking and biting on Syl's lower lip.
"I feel like I've just eaten the best cake ever…and will never be able to move…ever again."
"I'm the cake?"
"I feel dirty and delicious…"
"I feel like a bubble bath."
"I feel like a bubble bath too."
"Okay. You're drawing the bath and lighting the candles."
"Fine, but only if you go get the Vienetta from the freezer."
Dale rolled lazily away, stretching luxuriously.
"I have a deadline in a week. And I just rocked your world."
"Fine! I'll do everything. You lie in here like a decadent duchess or something."
"I shall, my lackey. Now go, go do your thing."
As they lay shoulders-deep in violet-scented water hot enough to warm their skin lobster-red, the water lit with the flickering gold of candlelight, empty Vienetta plates propped on the window sill, Dale moved his hand lazily over the floating islands of bubbles that covered the bathwater. Over his shoulder, Syl blew bubbles from a plastic tub of bubble liquid, watching them shimmer in the candle light before disappearing against the tile walls. The lazy murmur of limbs shifting in water was suddenly interrupted by Syl's laughter.
"Hey, hey, d'you remember how we met? The first time?"
"Yeah. You thought you could blow bigger spit bubbles than me."
"And I totally could!"
"Yeah, and you still blow."
"Yeah, I blow you. Which you love. You whore."
"I do. You have a good mouth for blowing…bubbles."
"You're filthy, Dale. Fucking filthy."
Some relationships are based on spilt strawberry daiquiris. Others are based on rainbow socks, others on an irrational passion for the alternative rock band Fair to Midland. Cripplingly deep affection, love of an obscure TV program. Soufflés. Glade air fresheners. Odd hats.
This completes the story BUBBLES :3 after, what? Three, four years of waiting? xDD
I made you guys wait for it. I can't even believe I finally finished an actual story! I would be proud of myself if I hadn't been such a crappy updater, but…hell. I regret nothing, NOTHING!! Syl and Dale and you guys and your amazing amounts of enthusiasm and love and support and ideas have been such an important part of my life…I'm actually getting foggy-eyed as I type ;__; you all rock, from those of you who were reviewing me when I was just an overenthusiastic 16-years-old screeching fangirl to those of you whom I helped discover their bubblesexuality :3 and all of you in between, and especially my amazing café-au-lait best friend, who didn't seem at all shocked when I confessed to writing about boys dryhumping other boys x3
I LOVE YOU ALL LIKE SYL LOVES RAVISHING DALE AGAINST WALLS. THAT'S A WHOOOOLE BLOODY LOT, AS YOU SHOULD KNOW XDDDD BUT THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE IS DRAGGING AND YOU PROBABLY ALL HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO, SUCH AS FAPPING, MAKING MARZIPAN DILDOS, WATCHING WEIRD FRENCH SCI-FI FLICKS, SUMMONING SATAN BY CANDLELIGHT OR…OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU GUYS DO DURING YOUR WEEKENDS X3
I LOVE YOU IMMENSELY, DEVOTEDLY, PERVERTEDLY, FLUFFILY, RIDICULOUSLY. AND ALSO I AM INFINITELY GRATEFUL FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND YOUR REVIEWS AND YOUR AWESOMENES, AND JUST…
THANK YOU 3