Not Perfect

Author's Note: A PG-13 (m/m, swearing) fluff story.

Pairing: Cyanide/Skids. Like it was meant to be.

Disclaimer: All these characters belong to the most talented, most beautiful and most intelligent Sandra Delete; I am merely creating my own ripple in the Boy Meets Boy Universe ()

---

The sun was just rising but Cyanide Torres was already awake. Rather, he had never gone to sleep. He doesn't sleep much these days. It never happened that way before, but recently something had changed. His mind simply wouldn't rest. Cyanide spends most of his nights thinking. Just thinking. He always starts with something innocent enough. New song lyrics, new tattoos he wants, the way the shadow of his coat rack looked just like Skids. But that was just it. His thoughts always led him back to Skids. How Skids' eyes were a light chocolaty brown; so deep you could lose yourself in them for hours. How Skids' hair was soft and felt like silk. How his smile was warm enough to melt the coldest of hearts. The way his cheeks flushed pale crimson when you complimented him. The way you could see that tiny line of hair stretching from his waistband to navel when he stretched.

'Shut up' he had to constantly remind himself 'shut up'. Skids, not only was his best friend but a guy! Things like this don't happen to normal people. Thoughts like these don't happen with straight people. Stuff like this doesn't happen with Cyanide. But it did.

Hoisting himself out of the mess of tangled sheets, Cyanide flung his legs over the side of the bed. Pulling his blanket tightly over his naked body, he gazed out his window without really seeing anything. The freshly minted rays of light seeped through the gaps in his blinds and made long shadows along his bedroom floor.

Visions of Skids in his arms, Skids kissing his neck, Skids' lips on his, slid in and out of his mind's eye like slide show. No... no… no

These thoughts wouldn't have been so hard to cope with if it didn't feel so damn right. Every time Skids' had given him a kiss. Every time Skids had given him a hug. Every moment shared with Skids felt right. More right than anything Cyanide had experienced. More than right. More than anything. There were just no words… no art… no possible way to express how it felt when Skids was close.

Rubbing his forehead, Cyanide took a deep sigh before pulling himself to his feet. His house was rather cold for late September, but Cy didn't mind. Dragging himself to his closet, he dropped his pseudo-toga and opened the door. Pausing for a moment to revel in the warmth of the sun on his bare back, he felt goose bumps spread from his shoulders down to his forearms. A small shiver passed up his spine and he reveled in the lingering tingling sensation.  Like the after-effects of a tickle. Like Skids…

*

"I wanna leave your life, but you hurt me bitch. You said you'd take my fears, all I got now are tears and you hurt me bitch, I ain't forgetting it no day soon. You fucked me up and let me fall but no more, I'm gunna –"

"Harley, you're flat!" Rasheequa yelled, her glasses askew.

"Well, no kidding, I'm not a woman" he replied, grinning.

It was two o'clock and Boy Band was doing its weekly rehearsal. Harley, Skids, Cyanide and Rasheequa were sweating heavily in the cramped studio as the sun flooded tantalizingly through the window. Cyanide watched as Skids looked wistfully outside at the cloudless sky while Harley and Rasheequa debated over whether the note was flat or not. He looked so cute standing there… he looked Perfect. And then it hit him… no… Skids wasn't perfect. How could someone be perfect? Perfect was just a word, a word given by man to describe something. Perfect was a quality, not a person. Perfect was a degree of flaws or lack of. Perfect wasn't Skids. Skids was more than perfection.

"Flat! FLAT I TELL YOU!" Harley yelled, the music sheets gripped firmly in his hands.

"THA'S A SMUDGE!" Rasheequa retorted, her face screwed up in anger.

"Guys" Skids started to say, but was drowned out in their yells. "Guys!" Still they didn't stop. "GUYS!"

"WHAT?!" Rasheequa and Harley yelled in unison at Skids.

His eyes shot open in shock and Skids let out a small whimper and withdrew from them. Goddamn was Skids cute when he whimpered. Walking up to the two other group members, Cy placed his hands on his hips.

"What the hell, guys? Don't yell at Skids, the man did nothing. You're way out of line here, he's just trying to help you guys out!" Harley and Rasheequa mumbled sorry, their eyes directed at the ground.

"Now… lets go outside, cool off a bit." He said opening the door of the studio. "And maybe get some ice cream" he said a little louder, so Skids could hear him clearly

*

As he walked down the narrow hall, Cyanide felt a tug at the back of his shirt. Spinning around on his heel, he came face to face with Skids, his innocent smile back in place. It took every ounce of self-control not to taste it. Before Cyanide could say anything though, Skids had wrapped his arms around him.

"Thanks dude, that was really shibby of you. Kinda like school again, eh?" he said happily. As he pulled away from the hug, Skids planted a peck on his cheek and strode off down the hall.

"Te amo…" Cy replied to no one but himself.

However hot Cyanide was before, it was nowhere near as hot as he was now.

*

Walking back home from the ice cream store, Cyanide was gazing at the ground, but again he wasn't actually seeing… he was thinking about Skids. The sun was almost set and its golden rays were bathing the suburban street in an amber light. The light shimmered off the windows of passing cars like flecks of gold set in an asphalt crown. The cool wind rustled the leaves of the trees lining the road. The definite crisp chill of autumn was in the air. But still, Cyanide didn't feel. He didn't see.

This was wrong. Wrong.  You don't think about friends this way. Definitely not best friends. You don't picture them kissing you… you don't picture their sweaty body rubbing against yours… you don't picture them naked with you… Wrong. You've known him since you were in 10. 10! It was sick… disgusting… filthy… it made him squirm at the very thought of it. It made him shiver all over… Just thinking about him was enough to make his stomach turn.

But was that really in disgust?

Of course it is!

But… maybe there was something else.

It's wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

But… it's Skids.

Our friend. Only, our friend. That's all he will ever be. Ever.

But… he could be more.

You're straight.

Yes… but this isn't about that.

It's all about that. It's only about that.

But it's love….

He's a guy.

But this is different.

This isn't different. You can't love him.

Opening the door to his house, Cyanide stepped over the threshold. Walking up the stairs to his bedroom, a single tear slid down his cheek.

*

October came and went in a flurry of restless nights, band practices, hugs, kisses and silent tears. Music, lust, love and desire. Misery, pain, torment and sadness. For the very thought of Skids sent an electric surge of excitement and desire through him but spawned an equal twinge of disgust. It seemed the longer Cyanide told himself how wrong it was, the longer he pushed his feelings back… the more his love grew. But he acted like nothing was wrong. He acted like Skids' very presence wasn't filling him with an intoxicating desire. Pretending that Skids wasn't tearing his heart apart. He acted like life was normal. But on the contrary, it was held in a delicate balance between normalcy and dreams. Between desire and restraint. Between love and fear.

*

Halloween was fast approaching. The temperature had dropped quickly and the sun set earlier and earlier each evening as if fearing the coming of the first snow. Birds were leaving, heading south for warmer weather. Trees were made naked by the bitter northern wind, which had the uncanny ability to pierce even the thickest sweaters.

Walking down the street, Mikhael, Harley, Skids and Cyanide were heading downtown to pick up their Halloween costumes. With his hands deep in his jeans pockets, Cyanide contented himself with listening to his friends chat among themselves. It was always better that was, hearing what people had to say. You understand the people better; you get a feel for what they think about things. Then you don't say the wrong thing to them. You don't make them angry.

"What a crappy day… all October has been is cloudy day after cloudy day…" Harley said angrily.

"I miss the sun…" Skids said quietly, holding his arms around himself to keep warm.

I could keep you warm… I could make you happy… I could be your sun…

Lagging a bit behind the group, Cyanide began thinking again. Have processed thoughts chased themselves around his head. Maybe you could kiss him and he would - He's a boy. You're a boy, it wouldn't – He's so cute when he shuffles his feet – I wonder if I'll see him without his – And suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw the windshield of a car, reflecting the steely gray clouds above. And then he saw and thought no more.

*

Black.

Nothing.

PAIN,

Where was Skids? Where am I? Is everything all right? He could hear voices… disjointed voices that kept getting softer and louder; like a badly tuned radio.

"So, he'll recover?"

That was Skids' voice!

Cyanide's heart skipped. He was here and everything was ok.

PAIN.

Nothing was all right. He hurt. He hurt all over. All over. His head throbbed and his limbs ached. His back felt like it had been broken in four different places and he burned. Burned. His chest was burning, it felt like fire. Make it go… the pain. The pain was so strong. Make it go away… Skids... help me I'm dying. Skids! Help me… Skids… I'm burning all over… I can't breathe. Oh god it hurts…

"SKIDS!"

He had said it out loud. He had opened his eyes. His chest was heaving and sweat slick. But everything was ok now because Skids was there. Everything was going to be all right. It had to. Skids was there. He would be leaving now. Leaving the pain. Leaving here.

But where was here?

White. Very white. This place was all white. A hospital room. Beeping… tubes… that stale smell of hospital clothes and the sickly smell of disinfectant. Skids leaning over him, his eyes widened in worry. In sympathy. In love.

He would be going home soon. No more pain. Skids was here. Skids.

He closed his eyes again. Black was comforting. Nothing to hurt him. He felt Skids brush hair from his sweaty forehead. Skids' hands were soft and tender. Loving. They touched his fore head again… soothingly… warmly. The pain eased. There was no more pain with Skids.

"You're burning up" Cyanide heard Skids say in obvious worry. "Someone get me a wet cloth"

He cares for me.

"It's ok Cya, it's ok now" Skids said soothingly, holding the cloth on his forehead and washing away his sweat.

It's ok now. Skids is here.

Opening his eyes again Cyanide saw the other boy sitting on the side of the bed wiping his forehead. His white shirt was covered in flecks of blood and the shirt he had been wearing on top of it lay discarded on the bedside table, soaked with Cyanide's blood.

"Mik and Harley are getting coffee, they'll be back soon." He said, continuing to wipe his forehead. "Does it hurt Cya?" he said quieter, worry deeply evident in his tone.

"More than you can imagine" Cyanide replied dryly.

"Oh, Cya…" Skids replied, his eyes welling up with tears. "It'll be ok, you'll be fine soon." He seemed equally intent of convincing Cyanide as himself.

Lying back on his pillow, Cyanide felt a fresh rush of pain, like knives, rush up his spine. He arched his back. It hurt so goddamn much. But he couldn't scream. He couldn't show weakness. He couldn't hold it. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

"FUCK!"

"What Cya?! What's wrong?!"

"N-nothing" Skids was much too close. He could feel his warm breath play over his lips. It smelled sweet, like strawberries. His eyes were wide and their color seemed to shimmer… He was much too close. Cyanide could count the tears on his eyelashes… He was much too close.

"Oh… Cya…"

And then it happened. Faster than his brain could stop him, Cyanide pressed his lips to Skids'. Skids' lips were soft… they had a silky and smooth taste; faintly reminiscent of the strawberry ice cream they had eaten earlier. It was like a star exploded in his head. Immediately all the pain disappeared. The burning sensation was gone. His limbs felt fine. Most of all, he felt fine. He felt right.

And then Cy dropped back to his pillow. His lips tingled faintly, like they were recalling the silkiness of Skids' touch. A rush of warmth dropped into his stomach and spread to his limbs filling him with a floating sensation. He closed his eyes and tried to hold the moment. And then he fell asleep and for the first time in many a day he finally felt right.

*

" – and then he kissed you?" Cyanide heard Harley talking to Skids. Mik scoffed. Cyanide could practically hear him roll his eyes.

"Don't laugh. Don't you dare laugh" Skids said with a mixture of pleading and worry.

"He wasn't going to. Right? " Harley said, his tone venomous. "Now… Skids… what – what happened?"

"Well, he had just woken up, and I was wiping his forehead with a cloth and he yelled out and I got really worried, y'know? So I bent closer, trying to see what was wrong –"

Had he really done that? That seemed so long ago… it was so hard to recall… like an old dream… And then it came rushing back to him. Walking on a cloudy street. The car out of the corner of his eye. Blackness like night. Pain beyond measure. Skids. Fire. Pain. Skids. Cool. Touch. Warm. Skids. Silk. Kiss. Touch. Skids…

" – and… I liked it. He kissed me and I liked it…" he finished sadly.

He liked it. Cyanide's heart leaped.

" – but he'd never love me…"

You're wrong. Wrong!

" – I… I think I love him –"

He loves me. He loves me.

"I want to kiss him again… but he's straight…"

But he's straight. It hit him like a two by four. I am straight. It couldn't work out. You don't feel like this about guys. You'll find a girl eventually. But for once the voice seemed to be quieter. It could never work out. But it could… and it did. I don't care anymore. This is Skids. Straight… gay… bisexual… it didn't matter. He had Skids. He loved Skids.

Opening his eyes, Cyanide lifted himself up. A faint smile was traced on his lips. Skids, Harley and Mik were standing together at the foot of his bed. Harley was arm in arm with Mikhael while Skids had his arms crossed, looking, not at Mikhael and Harley but out the window.

Clearing his throat slightly, Cyanide smiled at them. Harley smiled back but Skids didn't look at him. Cyanide's heart sagged.

"Skids…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Cyanide saw Mik elbowing Harley and motioned towards the door. Nodding and giving a farewell smile, Harley and Mik left the room leaving Skids alone with Cyanide.

"Skids…?"

"Cya!" Skids exclaimed, running to Cyanide's side. "I was so worried…"

"Was that true?"

"What?" he asked in false confusion, a small blush creeping up his cheeks.

"That… you love me?"

Skids blanched. His usual smile vanished from his pale face. Skids swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed slowly.

"It's ok Skids… I…" Cyanide started but seemed to lose his voice as he went on.

Throwing caution to the wind, he put his arms around Skids' neck and pulled him in for another kiss. This time his lips were drier, but there was still a lingering silky texture. Cyanide saw Skids' eyes light up in shock but then he closed them and immersed himself in the kiss as well. It was perfect. No, it wasn't perfect.

It was more than perfect. It was Skids.