Strawberry Cake

Bright green eyes that seemed to glow from within, like backlit emeralds, raven black hair kissed by a thousand tiny prisms of light, a perfect oval face with a slightly pointed chin, and an unbelievable body. He was hot.

No, he was so hot...

No, scratch that. He was so unbelievably, rapeably hot that I'd be more than willing to give him a good ravishing every hour, on the hour...

...But unfortunately, he didn't exist.

Dammit. That just was not fair!

"Why can't real boys look this good?" I demanded, slapping the page of my book.

"You know," Aaron drawled, "I am right here."

I looked at him — yes, he was indeed there.

Oh, wait, I get it! He was referring to himself. Ha. Ha, ha, ha. He, who did not have black hair, which was not kissed by light of any kind, and looked as though it hadn't been washed today, and whose eyes were brown and did not glow, unless he was planning something evil, and even then, they only glinted. No, Aaron was not hot. He was cute, at best.

...at best.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot..." I hit the side of my head with the book, inserting my index finger to keep me from losing my place. "Silly me, you can tell me the answer."

"You're drooling over a drawing," he said dryly. "It's not real."

Well, duh.

"Not good enough. You're just bitter."

"Bitter...?" he repeated, widening said brown eyes incredulously. "Bitter?"

"You're jeeeaaaloooouus," I sang out happily.

"I am not jealous." I allowed myself to snort derisively. "He looks like a girl, without the chest. It's slightly freakish, actually. If he was a real man, he'd have blemishes and disfigurements, and hair all over his — "

"La, la, la, la!"

"— Chest." He rolled his eyes at me. "I can't believe you're a graduate, you're too immature."

Well, I wasn't... not yet, anyway. There was an entire summer buffering me from the obligations of maturity. It was the last day of school, and we were chilling on the football field not quite ready to go home yet. Or at least, I wasn't. And since Aaron was stuck carpooling with moi, he couldn't leave either. Mwahahaha... ahem. I was safe as a senior for one more day... until graduation.

Smiling slightly, I turned my attention back to the manga, but before I could resume my gleeful ogling of the hotness on the page before me, Aaron reached over and yanked the book away. I know, how dare he? "What are you doing?" I snapped, sticking my hand out for it.

He ignored my reaching hand. "Holding an impromptu intervention, it's for your own good."

"Give that baaaack!" I shouted, getting to my feet and half-running, half-stumbling over to him. Unfortunately, the skinny jerk was a lot faster than I am and easily eluded me, his baggy pants half-falling off his ass as he ran. He headed for the bleachers, and I had no choice but to follow him.

It wasn't just the fact that I was afraid he was going to do something to it (I was), and it wasn't because I had bought it with my own money (I had)... no, it was because that the book was coughyaoicough.

Which is, of course, a manga that has men in "interesting situations." And by interesting situations, I mean sex.

...What? Well, it wasn't my fault. My best friend got me addicted to it a few years ago, so I have her to blame for tainting my mind.

I chased him up to the top of the bleachers and paused for a moment, holding onto the rail as I caught my breath. "Give... it... back..."

He was flipping through it, frowning. "Sarah, I can't believe you actually read this..."

"I like the drawings," I said weakly, thinking oh god, oh god, oh god, oh —

"You're a pervert," he said, with a grin.

"I... I am not!"

"It says, yaoi on the cover. What do you suppose that means?"

I faltered for a moment. I forgot they printed that on the cover... stupid Japanese publishers. "It means strawberry cake!" I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Strawberry cake? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Aaron looked amused, and I think — although I'm not positively sure on this, because he is a jerk — he meant to set it on one of the benches, but he missed and ended up dropping the book. Twenty feet below. "You... you threw my book!"

"Oops," he said.

"If you dirtied the cover... I'll..." I couldn't think of an appropriate threat. Kill him? No, I wouldn't carry it out. Torture? Too dirty, although I could always chase him around the parking lot for a bit in my car. "You shouldn't just go around throwing people's things!"

I tried to hit him and he caught my hand. "Did you know your freckles pop out when you're mad?"

He mentioned the freckles! GAH! Hurt! Wound! Maim! I attempted to use my other hand, and he caught that one as well. He now had both my hands, and we were standing at the top step of the bleachers, with the ground about twenty feet below. I suddenly didn't feel so good...

We were awfully high... If we fell...

"You know," Aaron said, as if reading my mind, "This isn't very safe..."

Really, genius? ...He should have thought about that before he decided to run up here with my book. C'mon, brain! Let's think of something witty and sarcastic to say to the bastard. "I don't like you."

Oh, bravo, brain. You really overdo yourself.

"I don't like you, too," he said, grinning.

...Eh, what?

WHAT?

"A lot," he added, coming closer.

Uh-oh...

I backed up and hit the metal safety rail.

"Aaron, don't throw me over the rail!" I pleaded. "It's not worth it!"

"Don't be stupid," he said, as he scooped me up into a hug, and suddenly I found myself in a comfortingly warm space between his arms. "I'm not going to throw you..." The little hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I felt his mouth come close to my neck. "I'm going to give you some strawberry cake," he growled into my ear.

I snorted. Aaron looked offended. "What's so funny?"

"...I'm allergic to strawberries..."

- - -

A/n: I have no idea where this came from. That said, I hope you like it. :3