A/N: Holy crap it's been a long time :/ I'm fucking sorry.
On to more pleasant things, yeah?
pain-stricken lover: I still have not gotten around to PMing you. ::reddens in shame:: Thankyou for your everlasting love!
Funkiminki: LOL! Glad Lance was able to amuse you- he's good at that stuff XD Oh- and has more drama by the chapter!
: And I like YOU.
a science of faith: Isn't it just wild, though? ;D More now comes ;)
sasunaruyaoifangirl: Glad you're enjoying it! 3
RebeltoAnything: Ha! Good stuff (: Wouldn't want to hear that my characters are boring sods X| I know this update prolly wasn't to your speed tastes, but I hope you like the next one regardless!
And on to- what, you say? Lemony goodness?
Read on ;)
Trust Me- I'm A Professional.
Have you decided to go on and keep my mobile and just text me forever, then?, was the message I received from Demetri as I chatted idly on the home phone with Ashton, my one and only.
I didn't know how to answer.
Oh shiznitter! "Sorry, sorry, Ash. I was just... reading somefink."
"You're rubbish at multitasking," he teased, and my stomach twisted.
If you only knew.
"It was only a text message," I argued, cringing inwardly. Only? "I think I can manage that much."
Ashton didn't laugh (which was weird because I was a laugh most of the time). His side went dead quiet, actually. But eventually, he said, in a carefully blank voice, "...text message? You told me some random tosser had stolen your phone." Oh shit. "Whose text messages are you reading?"
Oh bugger. Shit, shit, bugger, shit.
"They're Danny's, actually," I said quickly with a nervous laugh, hoping he didn't didn't please didn't see (hear) through my crap lies.
"Oh!" Ashton exclaimed, his sudden doubt easily forgotten. "Are you two getting on now? You hadn't told me."
Gah! Another lie. It had actually been nearly two grueling weeks and Danny had been his incredibly stubborn self and was still adamantly ignoring me and my apologies. It wasn't the longest we'd gone without talking, but I had the niggling feeling that this time round, there were going to be some severe consequences.
But Ashton didn't need to know that.
"Erm. Sort of." I winced, fiddling with the phone in my hand. "We've worked out a bit of a temporary truce thing."
"Uh huh." Translation: ehhhnnk! WRONG. Try again.
Shitshitbugger. Think quick, think quick! "Yeah, I'm- er, well, he doesn't actually know that I have it, actually."
"I reckoned as much," Ashton replied with a laugh, and I could practically see the smug smile on my boyfriend's face. Mmm. That is- I mean, ugh.
"Look, I've got to go, alright?" I muttered, a bit annoyed, toying with the mobile in my other hand. "Ill talk to you later."
"Allright," he murmured, laughing again. "Later. I love you, Riley."
"Yeah," I said, swallowing. "You too." I hung up the phone and sprawled back on my bed, glancing at my purple alarm clock.
11:34!, it blinked eagerly, and I shot it a dark glare as I wriggled about to get comfortable.
After a bit, I turned back to my clock and gave it an affectionate pat. It wasn't her fault. She was just telling the time. The right time. The truth.
Unlike some other people my dirty mind could name. I shook my head scornfully at my legged lamp. Liar.
But I had to confront this new habit head on, I reasoned as I buried myself alive in fluffy pillows. No suicide. Just stop lying. JUST STOP. STOP LYING.
In all honesty, however, (haha, honesty. Right.) I knew it was too late. With every lie I told, every truth I bent, I felt stronger, more powerful, controlling. I could live in this web forever, and no one would ever know. The thought that I could create a world completely fabricated from lie upon abstract lie made me dizzy.
The good kind of dizzy.
I could lie to myself into believing that Demetri would suddenly become aware of his hidden homosexuality, dump Heart and surf (on land) to sweep me off my feet and to our Russian mountaintop house where we would live in utter bliss forever.
Well, until I could pretend that Ashton would be biding his time, waiting for when I would undoubtedly crawl back to his warm eyes and open arms, tired of Demetri's aloof manner and his constant cutting remarks.
But by that time, I'd have no more friends. Ian would have long ago tired of my petty excuses, and left me to struggle through my pathetic lie of a life forever. Rowan and Alex would have split eons before, and Rowan would return to his obligated acknowledgement of my existence whenever he saw me. And Alex, after inheriting whatever billions of pounds his father had left him, would be lavishly spending all that ca$hmoney on someone who hadn't lied to their best friend, purposely kept him out of the loop, or sued him because they'd stood daftly, frying in the awful pre-summer sun as they awaited his next command.
Or summat like that, anyway.
The next morning, I woke up nice and early (11:37 a.m., to be precise), fresh, and ready to be a new me!
Er- sort of.
I did feel sort of crummy, though, for being a crap boyfriend, so I called Ash and asked him to go to the movies with me that night. He was ridiculously happy, and that made me happy.
Feeling much better about life in general, I decided to tackle another of my obstacles.
Then said obstacle narrowed his green-gold eyes and chucked a knife at my face.
Perhaps later, I thought as I performed several Matrix-esque moves to avoid sustaining multiple stab wounds. I didn't need my Poker Face getting whacked at. Or any part of me getting mutilated in any other way, actually.
"So," I said cautiously from behind the fridge door, my arse freezing, "I assume you're still being an immature sod then."
Er- wrong words.
"Look, I don't want to seem obnoxious or anyfink, but honestly, Danny, it's been, what? Two weeks?"
His fingers twitched. An open can of red-looking eager-to-stain-white-hoodies tomatoes sat on the counter next to the can opener. Both were dangerously close to his spasming appendages.
"All I'm trying to say is," I began again, keeping my wary eyes on his Weapons of Mass Destruction, "I reckon you're being a bit of an over-dramatic toss-"
There was suddenly a brand-new dent in the brand-new refrigerator. Har har. Har. I certainly wouldn't be the one explaining this to Mum.
I quickly exited the kitchen and sprinted to the front door, flinging the door open and running until I was out of pelting distance.
I heard a tiny cough and looked up.
The old lady from down the way was peering at me from her position on the sidewalk, her droopy dog wagging its droopy tail. She glanced at the house and then back at me. "Are you all right, duckie?"
I smiled at her politely, resisting the urge to collapse at her feet and scream at length of the agony of my aching lungs. "I'm quite fine, thanks, Mrs. Sheffield," I managed to croak. "Go on now."
I ushered her along with a few assuring remarks ("Are you quite sure, lad? I've a bottle of mace here in my baggie. You can have it if you like." "No, ma'am, I'm perfectly all right. Keep your- Mrs. Sheffield, your dog's having a wee."), and then set off to harass Ian's soul for a change.
After winning over the (female) Supervisor with a bit of flirty wheedling, I found him in his Staff Room, taking up an entire couch with his ridiculously long legs. Every now and then, I'd admit to myself that he really could be a model. Then I'd remember that he was a completely independent prat and would never be able to stand for people telling him what to do, what to wear and what to eat, and would most likely - inevitably - shock them with his highly inappropriate manner of speaking. He tended to do that a lot, shock people. Mothers and children in particular.
I snorted at that thought and he opened an eye to blink lazily in my direction. "Well, well," he murmured sleepily, a faint smirk animating his relaxed features. "Look what the Slut Sewage coughed up."
I rolled my eyes. "Please, pot. You dare to call us kettles black?"
His smirk became decidedly more Ianish as he made space for me on the couch. "Touché, Padowan.
I grinned at him as I wriggled my legs into his lap. "It's been too long, my fiendish friend."
"Fiendish I am. Friend?" He looked at me for a long moment. "You tell me."
"Ian," I said, slightly distressed and slightly annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous."
"You ask t he impossible," he muttered, yawning. "Have you cut off the Hot One yet?"
I avoided his gaze skillfully.
"Oh bloody hell, Riley," he said scornfully, suddenly quite alert. "What in God's name are you waiting for?"
"Look, Ian, it's not like that." Oh God. It was so like that. "We just talk, is all. He's my mate."
"Your mate!" he repeated with that scathing incredulity he wore so well. "What, you mean what Jen in Year Twelve is my "mate", Riley?"
"I am not fucking him, Ian!"
A loud squeal from across the room pulled us from our nasty conversation with wide, startled eyes. And derisive snorts.
That girl had managed to spill something down her front once again. What the hell? Was she allergic to le word "fuck" or summat?
What a complete wet sod.
"Hey," Ian said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Over here." I batted his hand away, and he sighed. "What are you doing, Riley?"
I sighed as well. "I have no fucking idea."
I wasn't lying. Progress?
"Give me the phone," Ian muttered after a bit. "I know you think that this is harmless, but shit like this gets way too complicated, way too fast."
I shook my head. "I can't do that, Ian. I've got, like, a gut feeling about this. It'll work out. So… I'm sorry." I really was. "I just… can't."
Ian stared at me with sad eyes. Then he sighed again and pushed my feet off his lap. "Fine. I'm your friend-" I cheered internally. "-and it's my job to support your decisions. But I won't lie- you're screwing up royally with Ashton."
I winced. "Ian-"
"I mean, honestly," he continued, ignoring me, "He's fantastic. Her Maj probably couldn't mess up as royally as you have."
I snorted, laughing despite his depressing words. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."
I stood to leave, and he grabbed my wrist – what was with him and his brother and this wrist thing? – before I walked away. "Riles."
I looked down at him. "Yeah?"
He met my gaze and smiled gently. "Be careful, alright? I don't want to have to rough anyone up. And especially not you."
I smiled back. "I will. Thanks, mate."
Decisions, I thought as I slowly walked home.
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
Nothing makes Ashton happier than a good action film.
Except me, of course.
He was as excited as a teenage boy in a porno store as we shuffled into our seats, fully stocked with snacks of Ashton's (my) choice, and for the first ten minutes of the film, I was completely absorbed.
Then, I got bored.
I managed to get through the first half an hour or so with minimal fidgeting, and I could tell Ash appreciated my good behavior by the way he kept squeezing my fingers.
To be honest, he was more like crushing them, really. And he only ever did it when something exploded.
When the spazzy squeezing got too much, I carefully removed my hand from Ashton's and shoved it into the popcorn bucket. I grabbed a handful of the stuff, and I ate each kernel slowly.
After I'd done that a few times, I was a bit lost. I checked my phone- 40 minutes of movie madness left.
God. I couldn't take 40 more minutes. Distraction, take me in your idle arms.
I made my face neutral as my hand wandered lonely as a cloud into Ashton's lap.
He glanced over at me, surprised and questioning, but I pretended to be watching, even letting out a surprised "Ooh!" as a man clad in rather formfitting leather kicked down a door.
My fingertips roved, roved like the Rover until they found- aha.
He sat up suddenly.
Eureka. I've got it.
I let my hand rub slowly up and down his hidden length, up and down and up and down until it stirred to life (obviously, it was as bored of this film as I was).
"Riles," he said quietly, all calm-like.
"What- nngh. What are-" He swallowed as I squeezed gently. "What are you doing?
I could feel my lips twitching as I answered. "Watching the film."
Ashton swallowed again as I rubbed him through his jeans. "Jesus."
I could feel the heat of him under my hand, the throbbing. I was so bloody horny.
My fingers soon grew tired of the barrier between them and their prize. Ignoring Ashton's feeble (and so obviously fake) protests, they made quick work of his colorful zipper, snuck past his rather snug pair of boxer-briefs and took matters into their own hands.
"Ri- Jesus Christ."
My breathing increased with his as I held him, hot, pounding in my A/C-cooled palm, pumping in time with his shallow, quiet pants. I ran my thumb along the slit and his breath caught in his throat, his hand shooting out to grip my moving one.
"Riley," he gasped as a machine-gun fired on-screen. "I don't think w-we should be… doing. This. Ahh. Here."
I barely heard him, and when he didn't let go of my hand, I took matters into my own ha- wait. No, that's not it. With a smirk, I slid down the surprisingly soft theatre seat and settled on my knees in front of Ashton. His poor eyes were threatening to pop out of his head.
''Fuck…" Ashton groaned as I nuzzled his contained erection with my nose. Kissing it through his tight boxer-briefs, I grabbed the elastic waistband between my fingers and slowly slid them down enough to free the tip of his cock.
I kissed it and wiggled my eyebrows at him. When my tongue licked along the ridge of the head, I thought he might faint. Both of his hands automatically jumped to my hair, lightly threading through the unruly brown locks. As I gradually lowered his underwear, I kissed every newly freed inch of his cock before taking him completely into my mouth. Instinctively, his hips bucked, seeking out the depths of my throat.
With one hand on his abs, my other held his hip, my thumb circling as my lips slid up and down his cock in a steady rhythm.
When I moaned quietly around him and the vibration sent his hips thrusting forward, his grip on my hair tightened. Releasing my grip on his stomach, I gripped the bits of him that I couldn't swallow, bobbing up and down at a frantic, excited pace.
He let out a strangled groan and then he was coming, hard and sudden, his hips jerking and his cock spasming between my lips.
I swallowed. He sighed.
I gave him one final hard suck and sat my head down on Ashton's knee, licking lazily at his slowly dwindling erection, a bit like a cat enjoying a particularly creamy bowl of creamy cream.
Feeling eyes on me, I glanced up and met the eyes of a blond boy sitting not too far from us, a few rows above. The smirk on his rather attractive half-lit face was fantastic. He sent me a thumbs-up with a hand that held another's.
I replied with a wink of my own that I hoped he saw, and followed his gaze to the other boy who sat next to him. Aww. Two gay couples in one theatre. How unexpected.
Actually, I realized as he flashed me an impressed smile, one eyebrow raised, the second boy looked. . . rather familiar.
Rather rather familiar.
I was staring at him curiously, still playing absent-mindedly with Ashton's cock, when the screen behind us flashed a sudden bright color and the theatre was lit up.
Oh. Oh my fucking God.
The color drained from my face as fast as it drained from Second Boy's. My mouth dropped open and Ashton, now limp, slipped from between my slack lips without much notice. I doubted I could notice anything else right now. His mouth opened (to say something? To laugh? To shout outrage?) as well. And then it shut. And then it opened again.
Jesus Christ. I knew exactly, to the significant figure, who that familiar face was. Fuck it all and bugger me sideways.
I shot up from the floor and back into my seat, shrinking down as my face flooded red and my heart pounded in my chest.
Oh fuck. Fuck. What the fuck was the probability? Why God? Why? I know I curse a lot and keep crappy company and I'm gay (though that last one doesn't really count), but what have I done to deserve this!?
The film finished in a tense ten minutes that felt more like two (tension between Second Boy and I; Ashton was still mellowing out, the lucky bugger), and then the credits rolled by and the theatre lights came on.
I tried to sink further into my seat, but Ashton was coming round in quite the untimely fashion, quickly putting away and zipping up as the theatre cleared.
Thirty seconds later, we were still sitting there. So were they.
A minute later. We were, erm. Still there.
Two long, shittily awkward minutes later. Yurrrp. Still. There.
Ashton was fiddling with his hoodie sleeves. "Look, Riles- er, I know that was a bit-"
"Shut up," I snapped quickly, only caring that he had said my name, and completely ignoring his attempt at unnecessary apology. "Are they still there?"
Of course they fucking were.
"Who are you. . .?"Ashton looked a bit put out, but he glanced behind us in a cool, offhand manner. "Um. Gay couple? Yeah, sure. See here, Ril-"
He stared at me, perplexed and slightly put out. Oh God. I was acting like a P.M. bipolar bitch. This was turning into the botchy botch mother of botch nights.
Ashton stood up and looked at his shoes. "Oh-kay. You're obviously upset. I'm not quite sure what I've done, but I get the feeling you're not up for talking about it right now."
I winced. Why did he have to be so perfect?
"Erm. . ." He ran a hand through his black hair uncomfortably. "I'll call you later." He hesitated. "Do you. . . want a lift?"
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, tiny needles forcing sacs of burning water to burst and flood my eyes.
I cut him off mid-name-exposing by pressing my mouth clumsily to his, all teeth and clacking and messy tongues. I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid seeing his face. And to keep back the tears.
"What the fuck is he. . .?" I thought I heard one of the boys ask in a not-so-hushed whisper.
Ashton pushed me off him (gently, always gently) and gave me a searching look, an unfamiliar emotion in his soft gray eyes. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
And then he disappeared.
My stomach twisted. I felt like I was about to throw up. I stood quickly, careful to keep my back directly to the two boys and I had just begun stumbling down the stairs when I heard him say it.
"Ri- Orell? Is that you?"
I paused involuntarily. There was no doubting it now. I turned my head and looked over my shoulder, and fuck. It was him. And I ignored him as I clattered down the rest of the carpeted steps and around the corner.
It was him.
A/N: And on that dramatic note! Bahaha XD
Accept more of my desperate apologies! ::throws apologies with gusto at readers' faces:: Sorry, aim's a bit off!
So this chapter finally decided to be written. This story is very strong-minded. ::sigh:: T.T''
Have a Caribbean word!
Or rather a phrase- I think you lot deserve that much.
- Ah wah de joke yah talll! [pronounced: pretty much how it looks, haha.]: An exclamation; same as, holy shit! or You gotta be freakin' kiddin' me!
Ross: Yow, boss! T.I. gone back jail, again!
Jaycie: Ah wah de joke yah talll! Yow, the man jus' love da free prison food, nuh!
Bahaha. Til next time, lovies.
Leave us a review- let me know if I've still got your attention or if things are getting too fucked up.