Genevieve
Pip nudges Nicky 'cause his ice cream's melting and everyone deserves to eat ice cream without sticky fingers. One of them common sense laws of the world, like never get fisted by Edward Scissorhands.
Nicky twitches his eyes up and notices. And with a shrug, he drags his pink tongue round the side of his strawberry gloop. There's something fantastic about Nicky's tongue – something intriguing and clean about it.
Pip tries not to notice.
"Him," says Nicky, rocking a twelve o'clock point and raising his dark eyebrows just a whisker.
And Pip looks and prepares himself because Nicky, little love, only ever speaks to Pip when he has something terrible to say.
"Him, I'd tear open."
"Aye?"
"Yes, from the arsehole."
Pip smiles something twee and forgettable and nudges him with a shoulder. The guy – the unknowing object of Nicky's disturbing affection – is a skinny little thing, pretty as a stain-glass window, and just as colourful.
His bones are long, thin and birdish. Hips politely jut up against the powder-white skin that covers them, collarbone accenting the hollows in his shoulders and neck. His skeleton whispers – suggestions, mostly. Places to kiss, places to touch. His tattoos make the sun bounce. Stars and planets and nebulae. Aliens too, sitting on his ribs, pondering the French Riviera as this boy – this strange, skinny lad – writes in the sand with a toe, his little bum gleaming in the sun.
"He's naked," Pip observes.
Nicky nods, cracks his shoulders and kisses his teeth. "Yes."
"And he's beautiful."
Nicky chuckles, snaps open a beer.
"You spotted him first," Pip says. "Go tell him. You should go tell him he's beautiful."
Nicky snorts. "Fuck no."
And like shock horror. They've been travelling together for three months now, and Pip is yet to see Nicky pull, despite the fact that he's confident and handsome and sautéed in his own brand of fuck-me charisma.
"You go," says Nicky, rocking. "Go tell him he's beautiful."
Pip extends a hand to Nicky's shoulder, and squeezes just a little. Then he plants a little kiss on the corner of Nicky's mouth as some sort of chirpy ta. Lip hits lip, and it's soft and awkward, and Pip backs away with a fizzy blush. His heart is beating way quick and he shouldn't've fecking done that.
Though it was totally platonic.
A wry little smile plays with Nicky's mouth, cos like hell he's going to pretend not to notice the fucking squirm, and then he leans back into the sand and pulls his green-rimmed sunglasses down over his eyes.
"Yeah, bye," he says, with a little wave. "Fucking hippy."
The sea sparkles in those sunglasses, a smash of light. Nicky's smile grows, white teeth peeking.
Pip can fall in love with anything, and he falls in love with this right-here-right-now. With this beach. With Nicky. With the alien boy and his delicate bones and painted skin. He presses a hand against his bare chest and smiles.
But there is a boy who needs to know he's beautiful. Pip downs the remainder of a cup of sunned-up wine, and off he goes on his merry way.
"Hey!" he calls out, waving.
The naked guy continues to draw in the sand, frowning as his body turns. It's a circle he's doing, and Pip's got to wonder why.
"Excuse me!"
Pip waves, stumbling in the sand. He may just be a wee bit drunk.
"Excusez-moi?" he attempts.
The guy looks up, shades his eyes, tilts his flirty body in Pip's direction. And Pip absolutely does not look at his penis.
"Oui?"
"Bonjour! Je… je m'appelle… Philip…Phillipe…Pip?"
'Cause saying your name in a French accent is basically speaking all fluent.
The boy nods. "I am Enzo."
"Oh – oh. You…you speak Anglais. Trés bien!"
"Don't do that. Don't kill my language."
Pip giggles, embarrassed. "O-okay."
Enzo nods and wipes his hair from his forehead. Lovely hair, that one. Too much of it and all rich chestnut. The sort of hair you wanna grab as you…well.
"Your creepy boyfriend is watching us," says Enzo.
Pip looks back. Nicky tilts his sunglasses and raises his cup, mock triumphant.
"He's not my…" He shakes his head; it doesn't matter. "I wanted to say… I mean. I came here to tell you you're beautiful."
"Pardon?"
"You're beautiful. I wanted you to know that."
He nods. "Merci, Phillipe."
"And you should come sit with us. We're chilled. We're drinking. It would be aces."
Enzo plucks his foot from the sand, and stands, one-legged, peering at his zero in the sand.
"You know, I have a girl." Enzo points vaguely at the mess of colour over his right hip. Genevieve written there in curling font, just beneath an alien girl with her green tits out. "It is love," he says.
Pip smiles 'cause people in love will always make him smile, the goof.
"I have a boyfriend," says Pip. Not exactly true, but a better comeback than 'I have a cousin'. "You're exclusive?"
"The correct term is 'fucked up'." Enzo starts on another line with his left foot. "Oui. We are fucked up."
"But you're happy?"
"Non. I am not happy. I am French."
Pip wobbles under that blue-eyed stare, then kisses Enzo's cheek.
There is a sweet little thing; the taste of musk. And with Enzo's soft skin beneath his lips, Pip thinks at what else he'd like to touch.
"We could make love in the sand," he says, pulling away. "That might make you happy."
Enzo raises his eyebrows. "I only love Genevieve."
And Pip smiles politely and walks away. There's a drag to it, though – like walking into the sea.
Nicky is waiting, drinking and grinning.
"Pussy-sniffer?" he asks.
Pip shrugs. "Well, he's in love with a girl, if that's what you mean."
"Pussy-sniffer."
Pip stretches. "Love should make you happy, shouldn't it?"
Nicky wriggles out of his t-shirt and squirts cream on his arms. Wet muscles and the stink of suncream, the stick of sand to his skin. It is all so detailed and deliberate. Pip believes in fate whenever the fancy takes him.
"You know fuck all about love," says Nicky, tucking his damp black hair behind his ears. "Love hurts. Love's a razor beneath your skin. It's sick. It's bone rot."
"Love's beautiful."
"Never said it wasn't."
"Oh." Pip stares out at the sea – all fizzy sparkles and blue.
"It's his phone number, by the way," Nicky says blandly.
"What?"
"What he's writing in the sand. It's his number."
Next morning, they take breakfast on the balcony, have it with sun, where everything's lovely. Pip takes a sec to appreciate how good Nicky looks in this light, despite the fact that he's barely ever up in it. The sun caresses him all forgiving, all 'sokay, nighttime beastie, Daddy still loves you.
Nicky's dissecting a croissant, peeling layers from layers and toying with the gooey middle. He's cute when he plays, like a puppy nosing fox shit.
Pip eyes the sky and doesn't eat. In seconds, he's confounded. Mostly confounded by a certain naked French boy with a sad-fish face.
"Why did he leave his number if he didn't want to sit with us?"
Nicky's answer is half laugh, half bite.
"He's so sad and fascinating," Pip sighs. And he runs a finger over the screen of his phone. Back and forth, back and forth. "I'm going to call him. I'm going to make him smile."
Nicky nods like he cares.
"You don't care."
Nicky shakes his head. "When it comes to the frog, mainly I want to make him buck. There is something so absolutely lovely about a boy who bucks, don't you think?" And he smiles oddly at Pip for a long and awkward time, before winking.
"You're thinking about that kiss," Pip says. "It was an accidental kiss."
"Do you buck, Pip? And are you an experienced and free lover?"
"You're a fuckhead," Pip says.
Not the best insult. Nicky laughs. Looks away. Finishes his croissant and downs his juice. "I'll call him," he says. And he spreads out Pip's arm and stares at the number written down on it – a hasty scrawl in biro, slightly smeared. Nicky snatches Pip's mobile too, and starts jabbing at numbers.
Pip watches, wide-eyed and powerless. He runs a hand through his hair – blonde curls squiffed, having recently been molded between a puffed-up pillow and a puffed-up cheek.
"Dial tone," Nicky hisses. "He's probably having a breakfast of wine and cigarettes. He'll taste all stale and fruity, like that dirty kid in every class who smells funky and walks funny and always, always wants you."
"I never had that kid."
"Then you were that kid." Nicky laughs, but then he clears his throat; Enzo must've picked up. "Where do you want to fuck me, French boy?"
Pip huffs in mild surprise. Nicky says a lot of terrible things, but they're always to Pip. With other people, Nicky's as clean as he smells – which is mostly of fabric softener, soap and Febreeze. Pip wonders if he might just feel a little bit jealous.
"I will make you cum so hard you'll scream," Nicky says through his teeth. "I will have you begging to gag on my cock."
Nicky pauses. Pip pouts something awful.
"Or you could chat to my cousin, who is an actual decent human being," Nicky says dryly. He passes the phone over to Pip.
"B-bonjour?" Pip attempts.
"Your fake boyfriend is a shithead. As is my girl. Let's get together."
And Nicky smiles dead beautifully, 'cause he's a miracle-working little sweetheart, for sure.
Nicky insists on driving; he's protective like that. Drives like a dog with the window down and his lips spread wide. He grins, catching flies between his teeth, sunglasses flashing.
To see Nicky happy is as warm and big and beautiful as the world they're exploring. And when they pull up to the little bar Enzo suggested, Pip is almost unhappy to leave. Not actually unhappy, though; he never lets himself go that far.
"You going to be okay?" he asks Nicky.
Nicky raises his eyebrows and unfolds himself from the car. "I'm coming. Like fuck I'll be letting some frog cut your throat and eat you all like steak tartare." He stuffs his sunglasses into his pocket, scrapes his dark hair back into some kind of a style, and pushes Pip towards the building. "I'll be discrete. It's fine."
Pip stares back at him for a bit. "You're my mammy now?"
Nicky nods, and that's cool; Pip's mam is sort of lovely – she gives him money and food and cuddles most every time he needs them.
Nicky's big shoulders tilt towards the door of the place, and he cocks his eyebrows. "Go!"
Pip goes.
Bar's all light and bright and open, but it still takes Pip an age to find Enzo. Takes an age 'cause Enzo's not naked, 'cause he's dressed like a normal person, leaning over one of the tables with his head crooked, blunting them elbows.
He's halfway through a bottle of red, watching Pip over a pair of glasses. He jerks up a hand in a wave.
Pip buys and beer and joins him. And he's not sure what to say. Needs a deadly opener, a charming little snapper.
But Enzo speaks first. "Why?" he asks, his thick accent cuddling thicker disdain.
"Uh…"
"Why do you assume it was for you, eh?"
"Assume…what?"
"You know what. My phone number is what."
"Oh…" Pip looks over his shoulder, squints at the bar to catch sight of Nicky. "If you wanted my cousin, instead, I'll –"
"You think it was for either of you?" Enzo leans further forward, itches at the collar of the jacket he's wearing, gulps his wine. The chestnut fluff of his hair falls into his face, and he flicks it away irritably. "Was for Genevieve. I do it every day. One day she will see."
"Kind of assumed your girlfriend would already know your phone number…" Pip shakes his head. "Do you want me to leave?"
Enzo considers this, the tips of his teeth against his lower lip. Pip is maybe seconds from getting eaten. And then Enzo leans forward even further, his stomach flat against the table now and –
Oh.
They're kissing. And Enzo tastes like many things. Mainly alcohol. Mainly person and alcohol. Person. Pip tastes people in their kisses – tastes their kinks, their mood. Pip loves people, the tastes and techniques of people. And as Enzo's warm hand curls around his neck, he imagines a childhood, an education, a million different moments and conversations.
And the conversations feel hollow, the moments fake. This is a kiss without tongue. Not French kissing, not French kissing.
He blinks as Enzo pulls away.
"Right."
Enzo licks his lips, and his eyes are as hard as his mouth is soft. "Follow me."
Must be the hollowness of that kiss – 'cause Pip's hooked. He follows as Enzo leaves the table, stalking past the rose-coloured furniture, the sweet-looking people with their eyes all fuzzed. Pip follows Enzo out into the street, all lit up orange, still smelling of sun. He follows Enzo down some alleyway or other, not thinking, never thinking. Nicky will kill him for this. Nicky – shit!
Pip checks his phone. One message.
YOU LEFT ME ALONE IN SOME FUCKING FRENCH BAR. AND HE WILL EAT YOU COCK-FIRST. NOT IN A NICE WAY. X
He replies – SHIT. SORRY. – and looks up to see something odd.
Enzo is peeling off his jacket. In the middle of the street. He tosses it down all hatefully onto the street behind him. His t-shirt next, darkness shifting into the contours of body, welcoming itself home. A pair of shoes roll backwards. With a wriggle, Enzo's jeans are on the street, along with his underwear.
"Uh…"
Pip stops dumb on the street, watching the pale shape of Enzo's bum racing on ahead. In a second, the strange naked guy in front of him might be gone forever.
And then Enzo stops, leaning pointedly against a dark building with a green door – one of the many dark buildings that surround them now. Those blue eyes of his prod. The corner of his mouth twitches. His whole body yells 'so now what'.
Yeah. Exactly.
Pip swallows, and pulls off his own t-shirt, fumbles with his jeans, finds his feet too big for his shoes, and his socks too small for his feet. This is….crazy. Shit. Fucking crazy.
Clutching his phone and his wallet and nothing else in the world, he slams himself up against Enzo and kisses him hard. Mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue, body against…fucking body. And skin – the softness of skin. Enzo's painted body against his own gawky figure, moving, flowing.
Shit, that body. That calculating fucking body he has – every part of it knowing exactly what it's doing. Pip's hands are drawn to it, are drawn all over it – to the softest hidden parts; those sensitive little spaces that he can't help but love. And Enzo is on his breath, hot around his mouth, smelling stale and ready and sad. Not a quiet sort of sad, but something Pip has never tasted before – a bolshy, stinking sadness that sinks into his body like cold weather.
"I love you," he finds himself saying. "You're beautiful."
But he loves everyone and everyone is beautiful; he needs something else to give. He puts his forehead against this naked stranger's face, and thinks. Thinks there's nothing he can do besides kiss and fuck and appreciate. He has nothing Enzo wants, most likely. And the Frenchman, as if sensing this, wriggles away, looking upset.
"Wait!" Pip tries to kiss him again, because kissing and fucking and appreciating are all good things. Not amazing things, perhaps, but good things Pip can do amazingly well, and he isn't going to get insecure.
Enzo backs away, chewing his lip. He fusses with his glasses, rubs at his eyes. "No… I… only want to show you…"
Pip watches Enzo play with the green door behind him, suddenly very aware of how naked they both are. It's sort of cold. They are sort of in public. Sure, he's made love in public before, and there aren't actually people around, but this awkward not kissing? Naked? On a street? It's a bit of a boner-killer. He checks his phone.
"My nudity was not a 'come on, hello'," Enzo says, pushing the door. "I am a nudist. Fuck you."
But he holds the door open, which is a 'come on, hello' if Pip has ever seen one.
Enzo's place is a place that Pip doesn't fit, mainly 'cause it's full of alien crap and it smells funky. Posters, figurines, a telescope he must've sold his pretty bum for. Pip picks up a book on crop circles, looks at it doubtfully, then places it back on top of a dusty television stacked high with DVDs.
Enzo's fiddling with a record player, doing things. Pip doesn't understand vinyl; he understands iTunes.
"What–"
"I want to show you."
The record squeaks a little, wiggle-whirs, plays bugger all. And Enzo stalks away, all satisfied and impressive. He adjusts his glasses, sits on the bed, and gives Pip a smug look. Almost a smile. The line of his mouth trembles.
"I was fifteen," he starts.
Pip waits for more, 'cause he was fifteen once too, and that's no story. Enzo takes his time, though, sitting there naked on the bed, cock resting against his multi-coloured leg, against black holes and planets and supernovas. The whole alien thing… Pip looks around at the little one-bed flat and hugs his own naked body.
"It is when I met Genevieve. I was camping with my father. One night I woke up to urinate, so I left the tent, and there was a light."
Oh fuck.
"There was a light in the sky. I have never seen anything like it. The light. And it was, er, getting larger. Coming nearer."
Pip glances at the record player. Still no music. "Is that supposed to work?"
Enzo doesn't listen, which is not unexpected, but the guy looks animated, which is. And his cock's getting hard. Pip pretends not to notice, but it is. He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know if he really should say anything.
"My skin felt… You know. Excited? There were five of them. One was my Genevieve. I do not remember much, but I remember she was beautiful. And then… then seven days later, my father finds me face down in the grass. And I have this word written on my arm. Genevieve. I woke up knowing that I loved her, and that I would perhaps never see her again." Enzo looks at Pip, all sincere, and Pip pretends not to notice that Enzo has his cock in his hand now, and he's jerking himself off with a faraway sort of look on his face. "Do you believe in aliens?" Enzo asks.
Pip winces, shakes his head. Enzo gives no shits about this.
"She has been watching me," he says. "I buy records, and they play only blank. I buy watches, and they are broken. A year ago there was a cat, you know, from the street? A white cat. It made babies. On the next day, they were – err – stomach out?" With his free hand, he gestures towards his belly. He pulls a face.
"Gutted?"
"Yes. Gutted. It is her way of letting me know she is watching. That she is loving. And it is complicated and fucked up, but I am in love with her too."
"That's why you strut around naked? For her benefit?"
Enzo squints. Shrugs. The lines of his shoulders fill with shadow, and his right hand goes all up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down. Faster, faster, faster. Pip smells cock now, and the situation's strange and sorta sick, but he's always liked the stink of it. He breathes in deep, pictures himself in some normal boy's room, listening to normal music and making out.
Up-down-up-down-up-down goes Enzo's hand. Faster, faster, faster.
"Do not stare," Enzo says. But there's a smirk in his voice. He knows this is weird. He has to know this is weird. Jerking off to white noise and talk about alien abduction is really fucking weird.
"Don't stare? I mean, you know I'm gay, right?" Pip asks.
A vibration in his pocket. Another text from Nicky.
CALL ME? X
Pip frowns. He doesn't mind that Nicky's protective – really, it's sweet – but he feels guilty for leaving now, and he's not even convinced he's done anything wrong.
He replies DOWN ALLEY LEFT OF BAR. GREEN DOOR. CHECK FOR CORPSE IN THE MORNING. QUIT WORRYING. LOVE YOU.
Pip pops his phone and wallet down on the floor, and looks back up at wanky Enzo. His cheeks are all flushed with arousal now, his head tilted back just a little, nodding slightly.
"Like…why am I here?" Pip asks. "What do you want from me?"
Enzo's right hand stills. Just for a second. And he taps the bed beside him. Pip sits. He's uncomfortable, but not scared. Enzo's crazy, but not dangerous crazy, he thinks. And there've been times Pip's been sort of crazy too.
Enzo's very close. Still hard. Pip looks at the swollen red head of his cock, and wants to touch it. Taste it. Do something with it - shit. Shit.
But Enzo just leans over and breathes into his ear. "What I want is for you to fall out of love with the world. Just for a day."
Pip swallows. "Why?"
Enzo smiles. "You are a hollow person."
Pip touches his chest, and Enzo's fingers creep up between his. Dirty nails against his pale, clean skin. Skin that's too sensitive, feels everything too much.
"Hollow?" He's not offended, but he is confused, because Pip is full. Full of love, affection. Horniness…
"I want you to ache," Enzo says, but Pip does ache. "You say that I am beautiful, but you have no tangles in your heart. How can you know beauty when you have only ever seen one side of it? There is beauty to sadness too, Philip. Me and Genevieve. I know there is beauty there. A beauty that you cannot understand because you are…" He gestures at Pip. "You are sweet and kind and hollow."
"I like myself," says Pip.
He has to stop looking down at that beautiful hard cock.
"I am not saying not to," Enzo replies.
Pip inhales, and it's audible and embarrassing. "You want to break my heart, then?"
"You like me, do you not?" says Enzo, all devil-may-care. "If you like me, stop staring."
Pip doesn't understand all the tangled hearts and what-the-fuck, but he does understand that a guy doesn't just jerk himself off in front of another guy for the sake of it.
There's no real reason not to. He's a single and horny young thing, and so what if Enzo believes in aliens? Let the boy believe what he wants. And fuck – maybe there is something beautiful in white noise. Something oh-so-lovely in crop circles and little green men and big white lies.
Why's he wasting time? His heart's beating so fast it's like he's never waited for anything so long in his entire life.
"Wait," says Enzo shuffling. And Enzo kisses Pip – his mouth a fog, a chemical burp. He sticks out his tongue and Pip gets a peep at a little white pill on the end of it. He feels dizzy, but knows that's too quick. "Now," says Enzo.
And Pip burrows down into Enzo's lap and licks the salty hot head of his cock.
Is he being too keen? He's being too keen. But he takes it as deep and as quickly and as far as he can. Gags. Keeps doing it. Faster, faster. Cups Enzo's balls in one hand and his shaft in the other.
And he's inspired and fizzy and flushed and hard, his dick aching. Fuck. He swallows around Enzo's dick, listens to the Frenchman moan. Hears vague other things. The sounds of the lights flickering, the shifting of Enzo against the messed-up sheets of the bed.
He wants to talk, but loves that he can't. And Enzo is groaning, shifting, thrusting his hips a little, a move towards throat-fucking 'cause he just can't help himself. Pip can't help himself. He's…
Somewhere in the world, a phone is buzzing and his head is hurting. Fuck's sake, Nicky.
"Hey," says Enzo. "Stop."
And he's lifting Pip's face and smiling at him naughtily. Pip lets the glistening dick slide out of his mouth. Feels emptier emotionally, literally.
"Come here," says Enzo.
He crawls up onto the bed, and lies next to Enzo as he rummages around a drawer of grub and plastic. The muscles beneath his tattooed skin are tight and little and shifting. Pip kisses that skin, tastes the grainy softness, edges his tongue out just a little. Enzo's salt and sea air.
Have the lights always been so bright, or is it the pill…
"Use the drawer," says Enzo, getting up and kissing him briefly on the mouth. "I'll be right back."
He walks across the messy room to the bathroom or whatever. Pip appreciates his bum, his arse, his bottom. Pip appreciates it en Francais, and all, and he watches that derrière closely until it disappears behind a door.
Then, Pip lies on the bed and thinks about the butt.
There are aliens scribbled into the ceiling in biro. Best one's a lady - lifesize, with her tits and gee on full display. She smiles down, winking one of her three eyes, touching her clit. Last thing Enzo must see every night. Sweet dreams, Genevieve.
Nicky's texted him again. Just a smiley face. Pip ponders at a fun reply, but ends up just sending the same thing back. He's not sure how to impress Nicky. Mainly 'cause he's not sure what Nicky wants. Mainly 'cause Nicky's his cousin, three years older, and better than Pip can ever imagine being.
Only…he's not quite sure how Nicky's better, given that Nicky's clingy and terrible.
GETTING LAID NOW, Pip adds. LOVE YOU.
Nicky's reply comes in seconds. SLUT. X
Pip smirks and tosses his phone back beneath the bed, dizzy with the taste of Enzo's pill. The lights flicker, and he makes Genevieve move in his mind, makes her fuck her fingers. Girls aren't his deal, but he makes her fuck herself because he can, and he's hard enough already to sort of appreciate it as he tugs on his cock.
And he hates Genevieve, because Enzo does. He's never hated anyone in his life before, and it feels good, feels balanced. And he feels like he doesn't understand a single thing in the whole damn universe that spins and expands around him.
Enzo emerges from the bathroom, his body a collage of planets and supernovas; he holds worlds on his skin and just looks so damn casual about it. And Pip laughs now as he remembers the sight of Enzo in clothes – thinks of that figure resting beneath fabric, a painting behind a curtain.
But he doesn't say any of this as Enzo sits down next to him. He just slings a long arm to pull him closer. He nuzzles his shoulder, and Enzo's hot. And his skin stinks out a premonition of sex.
"The drawer," he says. "I told you to use the drawer, did I not?"
Pip starts. "Oh. Yeah."
The drawer's full of condoms and lube, mainly, so Enzo wants to play bottom. Which is cool, because Pip's easy either way.
Enzo bends, his tight little arse in the air, his shoulders low and his face turned. His cheeks are flushed, and he's smiling, but frowning. His eyes sparkle, like he might've been crying in that bathroom.
"People will use you and fuck you," he says, spilling out his words like profound truth.
"Shut up," Pip says, smiling. He doesn't believe he will be used, and he likes being fucked. And fucking. Truth is, right now, there's nothing he wants more.
"People will hurt you."
"Tangled heart," Pip says, squirting lube into his hand. "It is sort of beautiful. Sort of interesting. But seriously. Shut up."
"You do not understand yet," says Enzo. "You will not –"
But Pip's inside him now, too deep and too quick, but then Enzo's no virgin. Enzo groans and winces. Breath spills from his mouth, hits the back of Pip's hand, all clammy and soft.
"Fu-fuck," Enzo says. "It has been…a while."
Pip doesn't reply. He's not a vocal fucker – focusses on feelings instead. In particular, the feeling of the hot, tight hole, and the boy beneath him. The beautiful squirming body. The close, intense feeling of being inside someone. He's excited. Wonderful. Lovely.
He grabs Enzo's cock and strokes it slowly. He loves making him happy. He loves making everyone happy. Enzo's hard again quickly – hard and hot and ready. And Pip moves his hands across that beautiful body, drawing light, palmy circles against nipples and hip bones, and the curves of Enzo's stomach.
Enzo whines. He seems infinitely happy, yet infinitely sad. Pip thrusts slowly, gently, biding his time for as long as he can.
"Tell me when it's good," he says.
"Fuck you," says Enzo. "People will hurt you. People are monsters. People will leave you."
Pip plants careful little kisses behind Enzo's ear, down his neck, along his collarbone. Draws out the lovely chemical taste of him. The sweet dusk of his skin, a world of shadow and movement.
"I love you," says Pip.
"You love too easily," Enzo remarks.
"Yes. People will love you."
"Sh-shit. Oh shit," Enzo gasps, and Pip smirks and draws his cock back and forth over the place that makes Enzo squirm most. He sees the bones in his back, smells their sex in the air. His cheeks burn and he wants every second of this, but he's also impatient, so damn impatient.
"Come on," says Enzo. "Merde."
Faster, then. Pip wants so much to make him happy. Loves pleasing this strange alien creature, as his imaginary, alien girlfriend watches jealously.
He jerks his head up at Genevieve and blows her a kiss, then goes back to working Enzo's cock with his hand.
"Everything goes to shit," Enzo says after a few minutes. "Shit – ralentir!"
"Yeah! Speak French!"
"Ralentir! Slow! Slow down! Shit!"
And then Enzo gasps and moans, and collapses onto the bed, trembling. Pip falls on top of him, feeling Enzo's heart race through his back.
"Well shit," says Pip. "Nothing's perfect."
"Désolé, keep going, keep going…"
Pip shrugs and goes as hard and fast as he can. Hips bucked, straight dick sliding in, out, in out. And he's flushed and ready against the clammy body and – fuck – fuck – fuck. Suddenly, he has never been so pent up, so ready…
His phone vibrates.
"Ah, shit, Nicky!"
But he's past the point of no return now, and his orgasm comes with his cousin's face in his head. With his cousin's smile. His cousin's damn voice. He tries his best to care, but the satisfaction is just so lovely. And he collapses against Enzo again, sighing and smiling kisses into his neck as his heart races the hell out of itself.
"I'll love you forever," he says.
"Meaningless," says Enzo. "Now sleep."
Pip nods, closes his eyes, and listens to Enzo's breathing until the day ends.
Pip is vaguely aware of a body beside him – a big, warm body that smells and feels familiar. He wraps his arms around it, grinds against the side of it, plants kisses on the nearest area of skin he can find. He wakes up hard, because he always wakes up hard. Hard and warm and smelling funky. He's always loved himself the most in the morning.
"Good morning, Philip."
A familiar voice. A voice that makes him smile.
"Nicky," he mumbles, grinding again, harder. A nice, deliberate dry hump. He tries to move, to get a better angle, wriggles a hand down the body's underwear, tries to make him as hard as he is. "Nicky, Nicky, I…"
He starts, snaps his eyes open, sits up. "The – the…fuck?"
Nicky's in bed next to him, fully clothed, and with his hands resting on his stomach. He looks up blandly. "Hello, Philip."
Pip looks around the messed-up alien room, suddenly frantic, without knowing why. And his head – shit – it's pounding. "What – why are you here?"
Nicky is unimpressed. "I got worried, you fucking goon. I came here to check for corpses, like you told me to. Only thing I found was you, half passed out and delirious. God knows what you took."
"Just an unidentified pill," says Pip. "Why so worried?"
"You're blind," Nicky says, shifting on the bed. "Worst part is you're blind about being blind."
Pip nods vaguely, glancing back over his shoulder. He jumps off the bed and checks the bathroom. Empty. Shit. What?
"He's not coming back! Miserable fuck's gone and found himself a bridge to jump off."
Pip laughs. "Shut up."
"I'm serious."
"Shut up!"
"Sit down. I'm serious."
"You're a prick."
"Pip."
Pip sits. "Shit! Don't say that! Don't call him a miserable fuck. Shut up!"
Nicky lowers his eyes. "Sorry." His cheeks flush. "I found a note," he says, unfolding a piece of paper. "I called the police. You might want to put some clothes on; they'll be here soon."
A note? Pip falls back down onto the bed, heavy, shocked – shocked. "What?"
Nicky passes him the piece paper.
"The world is just too beautiful. Now I go to Genevieve. You will not see me again." He turns it over, but there's nothing more. "That's not a suicide note, Nicky. That's just a note. To me. Why else would it be in English?"
Nicky says nothing. Just stares right ahead, his jaw tightening a tad.
"It's a note to me, Nicky. A 'sorry I left you alone and naked in bed' type note. Not a suicide note."
Nicky rubs his eyes. "We should go."
"You're a witness. Or you would be. If this was a suicide note. Which it isn't." Pip clears his throat. "Yes. Maybe we should go. Maybe we should."
He rolls off of the bed and looks around for his clothes. Then remembers that he left them in the street outside. All he has is his wallet and his phone, left in a neat little pile beside the bed. He doesn't even have any shoes.
"Let's go," he says grandly, strutting to the front door, dick bouncing.
"Fuck's sake," groans Nicky, taking off his own jeans and tossing them over.
Pip stares at Nicky's crotch for a little too long, 'cause he has boxer shorts on that are sorta tight. "It's not a suicide note," he says again. "I'm…I'm not that bad in bed."
And he wonders at once whether it's appropriate to joke about that sort of thing. But of course it's fine because this piece of paper – it is not a suicide note.
He cranes his head back and glares up at the lady on the ceiling. "He says he wants to be with her, but he's been with her for years that fuck." He's crying, and he doesn't quite understand why he's crying.
He checks his phone. One message. Unread. From Nicky, of course. Because every message he's ever received is either from Nicky or his Ma.
WE NEED TO TALK. X
"We do need to talk," Pip says, looking up. "But first we need to leave. Because if he is gone – if he is. I don't think I could…" He shakes his head, because he's a coward, and he knows that he's a coward, and he'd rather be surrounded by pretty little what-ifs than a big hunk of misery for a guy he barely knows. He'll run away from anything if he has to.
Nicky gets up, wraps his arm around Pip's shoulder, buries his head in the crook of his neck. He smells so clean – so very very clean. A warm hand finds its way into his own.
"Hey," says Nicky. "Hey. I hate it when you're sad. It's ugly."
"I know. I love you," Pip says.
"You love everyone."
"I know." Pip shudders.
He shakes his head, looks away. He's upset, and if Enzo's gone – if – it deserves to mean more than this. Fuck, he feels sick.
Nicky nods, and Pip waits for the terrible thing, because Nicky always has something terrible to say. This boy who is so careful and protective and selfless – he brims over with insults. "I love you too."
And it's terrible, and beautiful too.
Author's note. Yeah, so this may or may not be inspired a little (a very little) by Star Girl by McFly... I actually hate how this thing ends because it's like...probably the worst match-making service ever. Okay, so Enzo is very not dead, but I wasn't sure how to make that clear, given that we're in Pip's head. I don't know if it came across /at all/, but if anyone has any ideas? Because I actually like the start of this one, just very not keen on the ending. HUM.
Also, hi. Yeah. It's been ages since I used this account. But if you like this, check out the collab stuff I'm doing with cybersheep (link on my profile). It's got to be better because I'm writing with two magical unicorns (hatetohope and SenatorBlitz) whose writing I love to death :D. This was actually written as a prompt from then. Had to write about a love rectangle and a nudist. And it had to be smutty :P