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CAMERON by: Caisele
James couldn't concentrate. His ever-alert eyes peered out from under his mass of curly, sleep-ruffled hair. It was four in the afternoon. He has an exam in thirty-one hours and fifteen minutes – and counting – and he has an interview for that work-study position just two hours after that. Oh, and, the most important essay of his university career was due yesterday, and he still hasn't figured out his topic yet.
Sometime he drove himself insane. It seemed though, at some subconscious level, he wanted to procrastinate. It was perverse the way he couldn't even will himself to make up a study schedule or start studying for tests before the day he has them. It was like an addiction, except he's actually enjoying the overdose.
James groaned, squinting and glaring out the floor-to-ceiling window of his over-priced residence. He scratched at his boxers. They were new and extremely uncomfortable. They were also the only piece of clothing James could wear. Everything else was either dirty and covered in dust bunnies, or smelled like that one party last month.
It was sunny out. Yesterday it was cold enough for boots and a down jacket trimmed with furs, and today everyone's wearing shorts and sweaters. It's too fucking sunny out.
James rubbed the bags under his eyes with his bony knuckles and stretched, yawning. He kicked the empty coffee cups from last night, cluttered at his feet, and managed to drag his ass off his stiff computer chair and into the bathroom. God, he really needed to pee.
There was a heavy thud from the front door. James swore under his breath. He's had enough distraction already.
His dorm door shook as the knock sounded again. "I know you're in there, James," came the all too familiar sigh, muffled, from outside. James flushed the toilet. Fuck.
He dashed out of the bathroom, pulled on the first pair of jeans he found on the floor, and leant against his door, hand steady over the door knob. "I'm busy, Cam."
Cameron kicked his door again. "James," he whined through the slit where the door fitted into its frame. "James." His voice sent goosebumps down James's arms. James could imagine Cameron, with his lips against the door, smirk on his lips. "We both know you're not doing shit right now."
James leaned his head back, banging it loudly on the door. He let out a deep breath, looking around his room, the mess. He drew one hand through his unkempt hair and turned the knob. He could imagine Cameron's eyes as he smiled, victorious.
James closed his eyes and threw the door open.
He cracked open one eye.
There was Cameron.
Cameron and his wavy blond hair, his cheeky grin. He was wearing a striped shirt. The sleeves draped over his fingers. It was a long shirt, probably from a thrift store. It was tucked in at the front into a pair of denim shorts that were ripped and frayed at the bottom. James's eyes trained onto the boots Cameron wore. "You still have them," he commented, sounding odd even to himself.
Cameron shrugged. "They're Doc Martens."
James turned and slouched toward his computer. "They're my ex-girlfriend's."
Cameron caught James's arm, turning him around. "You gave them to me," Cameron reminded him, grinning widely. "You gave them to me the day after she dumped you 'cause you told her about me and you and–"
"That was a one-time thing," James said sternly. Cameron's eyes were mischievous. "Yeah, sure. That was one time. And that night at the Underground was also one time. In the bathroom of the Psychology department was another one time, and–"
James pressed his fingers gently to Cameron's lips. Cameron fell silent. His eyes glared up at James. James shook his head. "You need to leave me alone."
Cameron's fingers closed around James's wrist, pulling James's hand away from his face. "I'd like to, but you won't let me." He grinned that grin of his and shoved a plastic Starbucks cup into James's palm. James shivered at the coldness of the drink. Cameron sidestepped James and bounded into the room. Skipping over the clothes, books, newspaper, empty bags and random fruits strewn across the floor, he threw himself into the bed, giggling.
James watched him, silent, unmoving.
Cameron got to him, every time. It never failed. The boy seemed to have a knack at finding James at a bad time, and he knew it, but he demanded James's attention anyway. Sure, James could humor him, watch a movie with him, talk about nothing, go through his iTunes together for hours and end up listening to Amy Winehouse like they do every time, or maybe they'd get takeout and chips, and sit around and just do nothing, or take a walk to the grocery store, or fuck.
But not today. Today James wasn't in the mood. "Cameron," he said quietly, leaving the Frappuccino on his desk, on top of his calculator. There wasn't space for it anywhere else. "Cam, you need to leave," James said seriously. Cameron kicked off his boots and pulled the pillow behind his head, ignoring him. "Like my new clothes?"
James tilted his head, giving up. "Popeye wants his shirt back."
Cameron laughed. James sat down on his chair and turned back to his computer, staring blankly at the screen. He clicked on the little W icon and the Word document flickered open, empty of words. The glaring white pixels gave James a headache.
He heard Cameron moving behind him. James could almost see Cameron, with his skinny arms and legs, his perfect skin, and his sea-green eyes, his cupid lips, and his warmth; Cameron and his beauty, his eccentricities. Cameron and the way he lights up when he talks about his new designs that came to him in some dream, or a new fabric he discovered online, or about how many Hypes he got on Lookbook. Cameron was always so animated, talking with his hands, gesturing with his eyes, seducing with his lips, all at the same time. In the fraction of a second he would have James wrapped around his little finger, and another fraction of a second later he would wrap his legs around James's waist.
James could still hear Cameron moving behind him, throwing his blankets to the side, fingering through the line of pill bottles on the bedside table, and wiggling around on the bed, making himself a little nest, curling up.
James wanted to turn around, to watch Cameron and let the boy's cheeky smirk make him smile.
But it was a bad time.
Whenever Cameron came around it was always a bad time.
"You should let me dress you some time," Cameron said. James flinched when he felt Cameron's hand on his bare shoulder. Cameron peered at James, raising his soft hand to push the hair away from James's eyes. "I could do so much with you," he pouted. "You would be gorgeous if you remember to sleep once in a while…sleep is good for you, it'd get rid of those bags under your eyes," Cameron leaned in, poking James's nose with his finger, "But I do kinda like how you look now…your panda eyes make you look very sexy, in a trashy, homeless kind of way."
James wrinkled his nose.
Cameron laughed. He picked up the shirt that hung off James's bedpost. He held it in his hand. "Wash your clothes, James," he said seriously. The shirt was a rusty red, with short sleeves. It was a gift from James's mom. Last time Cameron was here he managed to convince James to slash it up with a pair of scissors and some sandpaper. James wore the shirt once, down to the bar on the corner of the club district. He met his ex-girlfriend there. She was an art major. She loved the shirt. That was four months ago. Or more?
"Where've you been?" James asked suddenly, reaching up and pulled at Cameron's sleeves. Cameron held the red shirt up to his chest, looking at himself in James's mirror. "Busy. It's finals time. Why?" he turned to smirk at James, "Did you miss me?"
Cameron's eyes held James's as he lifted up his shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it at James. James caught it. It was warm and smelled nice. Cameron picked up James's red shirt and put it on. He grabbed the black silk scarf off bedside table and dusted off the beret on the floor. He tied the scarf like a tie and pulled the beret over one eye.
He turned to look into the mirror. He asked, "How do I look?"
Perfect, James thought. "French," James said.
Cameron stuck a finger through the shredded parts of the shirt and poked his bellybutton. "Can I keep it?"
James turned back to his computer, "The shirt? Yeah. But put the hat back, and the scarf."
Cameron reached for James and sat down on his lap, facing him, straddling him. Cameron placed the beret on James's head. "But I wanna keep them all," he said, making a sad face. James gripped the scarf, pulling Cameron forward by accident. "No," he said.
"If you stay any longer you'll make me fail this year. And I'll have to drop out of university," James said, sounding offhand, but the weight of his own words settled heavily on his heart. God, he hoped that would never happen, but at the rate things are going, who knows?
"Good, drop out," Cameron said easily. "Go back to your parents' house. It's closer to my school anyway."
James felt his lips tug up into a smile. "Selfish bastard," he whispered.
Then Cameron's lips were on his.
It was a chaste kiss, soft and open, like Cameron himself. James reached up with one hand and grabbed the back of Cameron's neck, pressing him closer. He nibbled at Cameron's bottom lip, teasingly. Cameron squirmed, pressing closer to James, pressing into James. He stuck his hot tongue in between James's teeth, lapping him up. James moaned, closing his lips around Cameron's, locking them, claiming them as his.
Cameron broke the kiss, pulling away, licking his lips as he did so, making James want more. He looked deep into James's eyes. He raised his hands to cup James's face, and then ran his fingers through the knots in James's hair. "You're beautiful, so pretty," he breathed, "You're too precious to be wasted on this stupid town. Get out of here, I'll help you."
James dragged his palm along Cameron's sides, under the shirt, rubbing the firm, warm skin, pulling him closer. "But then you'll be lonely," he said. Cameron shook his head, eyes flashing wildly. "No, James, you mean you'll be lonely," he corrected, "You'd be lonely without me."
James kissed Cameron lightly, on his cheek. "I'll never be without you," he said. Cameron tilted his head, like a child. Adorable. He bit his lip, thinking. Delicious. "Promise?" he demanded. James grinned, "I promise."
And so it happened again.
Cameron always got to James, every time.
Their clothes were torn off in seconds, and Cameron pulled James into the bed, atop of him, and kissed him madly, leaving hickies like little red bruises, and bit at his lips, his tongue, moaning softly. James kissed him back, took his nipples into his mouth, sucking on them, licking them, making Cameron arch and call out his name.
Cameron let James grab his knees, and push them apart. James held onto Cameron's thin, boyish hips and pulled them toward him. Cameron reached for the body lotion, spreading it on James's hands, and James pressed two fingers into Cameron, making him gasp and arch some more. James's fingers stroked Cameron, making him all sensitive and boneless. James pressed down on Cameron's small body, feeling him melt.
Cameron grabbed James's hair. "Panda eyes," he groaned, teasing. James bit his neck, liking the way he purred. "Slut," James whispered hotly into Cameron's ear. Cameron bit his lip again. Sexy. He slid a finger down the center of James's chest. "I'm not," he grumbled. James kissed him fiercely, pumping his fingers faster. "Slut," James repeated. Cameron gasped loudly, aroused.
Then James fucked him.
Cameron growled wantonly as James buried himself in him, sliding in and out, making their flesh slap together, making that heady sound. Cameron cried in pleasure, wrapping his legs firmly around James. And James moaned, watching Cameron writhe, then slamming into him, and ripping a happy, hiccup-like sound from him at every thrust.
He grabbed James's shoulder, pulling his body and sat astride on top of James. Cameron rolled his hips sensually, sending James's nerves into pandemonium with the new sensation. James slipped deeper inside as Cameron rode him, up and down, side to side; his bony pelvis doing a special private dance just for James.
James pulled out, turning Cameron onto his stomach, and pushed in again. Cameron's muscles squeezed him tightly, throbbing every time he slid back before thrusting in again. He grabbed Cameron's hair, pulling his head back. Cameron groaned like a whore. James leant forward, fucking him even harder, and bit his ear, kissing him along the jaw line. Cameron turned his face in James's direction instinctively, indulging himself in James's kisses. He was too far gone in the pleasure. His eyes were glazed over, and his lips opened and closed as he thrashed, tensing, climaxing.
Cameron went numb, riding the waves of blissful gratification, eyes squeezed shut. He was so tight now that James had to fight to fuck him, every part inside him was reluctant and trembling, he was so hot he could burn, and James licked Cameron's sweat-drenched neck, feeling himself going over the edge.
James let himself relax deep inside Cameron, and feeling spasms of uncontainable pleasure flood through his every pore. Cameron shook under him, arms tightening around his neck, crying out.
Cameron kissed James again along the side of his face, down his neck, around his lips. Cameron sighed, contented, settling down into the bed sheets, snuggling in James's arms. James pressed his forehead down onto Cameron's locking those sparkling sea-green stones onto his own eyes. "You're so lovely," Cameron smiled. "You're always the prettiest after sex, like this…" Cameron's fingers curled into fists in James's hair, "So handsome, panda eyes. Breathtaking, like a vision…"
James's small smile slipped slowly off his face. "Like a vision," he repeated.
James's room was empty.
He was alone.
He was standing in the bathroom.
Empty latte cups lay by his bed, his floor was messy. He stood by the toilet, looking into the mirror. He had hauled himself off his stiff computer chair a minute ago to go pee.
James flushed the toilet. Fuck.
He washed his hands and stepped out of the bathroom. His bed was empty, his computer was humming tiredly, and no knocks sounded at the door. There was no blond boy lounging on his pillow, and it was really only a minute ago that he was squinting and glaring out the floor-to-ceiling window of his over-priced residence, scratching at his boxers.
James smiled a little, feeling silly.
Cameron was gorgeous, perfect. But James was straight, and no amount of one-night stands with Cameron could ever change that. Especially since Cameron didn't exist anywhere except inside his head.
James paused on his way back to his computer. A striped shirt that was too small to be his lay on the ground. It had a v-neck and sleeves that were too long. James didn't need to look to know that his rusty red top was gone from his bedpost, as were his beret and his scarf. He dropped down into his uncomfortable seat and picked up the Frappuccino that definitely wasn't there a minute ago.
He took a sip.
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