DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything or anyone. Promise.
Warnings: Eroto-asphyxiation and lots of language. This is a really short one, and I tried a different writing style as an experiment. Again, reviews are awesome :)
"I'm deadly like poison," he says. "I'll just fuck up your life."
As he says it, his lips curl into a sneer, blonde fringe falling over his eyes. As he tilts his head a shaft of light catches the silver of his nose ring, makes it glint like diamonds, like a beacon in a black, endless tunnel. His hands twist around the hem on his shirt, shift down to scratch at the rough denim of his jeans.
Nervous twitches, he calls them.
That's just a nicer way of saying Tourettes, which he doesn't have.
The hands that grab onto the blonde's shirt, twisting the material between long fingers, are anything but gentle. "Fuck that," the other boy, a redhead, says, his voice hot and fiery like coals. "Fuck consequences. Poison is just a word. You're a fucking drug. If I didn't want you I wouldn't be here."
The redhead moves on the bed they're on, knees bunching the cheap comforter as he bumps against the blonde's thigh. As he moves the light catches onto his hair, makes it shine like the burn of a dying fire. His lips don't curl around a sneer but rather a soft smirk.
"I want you like I want a hole in the head," the blonde says, turning his head away from the redhead. Their room is dark, bathed in what only night can bring. Their voices are lowered, hushed whispers that hiss and pop like fire.
The redhead scoffs. "Fuck that. You want a hole in your head, because you're not all there."
They grapple for a few seconds, legs crossing and uncrossing over one another, the squeak of the rubber on the soles of their shoes like nails on a chalkboard. "You're a fucking prick," the blonde says, but his mouth is almost on top of the redhead's, hands digging into the other boy's sides. "God, seriously, Caleb."
The boy's name falls like a reverent curse from the blonde's lips. He breathes harder, presses his lips roughly against Caleb's, teeth biting at skin and tongues battling. His hands slip under Caleb's shirt. He runs blunt nails up and down the bumps of Caleb's ribs and he can feel the shudder under his fingertips.
He knows how responsible he is.
"It takes one to know one, Kyle," Caleb says, hands reaching up to cup Kyle's face. "If you weren't such an amazing fuck I would've left you ages ago."
Kyle laughs, fingers tracing Braille patterns on Caleb's neck. "Why's that, baby? 'Cause you know you'll never get another dick as good as mine?" Experimentally he tightens his hands on one side of Caleb's neck, thumb pressing onto Caleb's throat.
The gasp the redhead emits is beautiful and fucking arousing, and the way his hands claw at Kyle's arm, rake down his side isn't scared, or angry. Kyle can feel a bubble of a moan trapped beneath his thumb and he shudders.
After Kyle lets go, Caleb moans and then gasps, manages to get out, "Fuck, do that again. This is why I'm with you, you sick, kinky bastard."
Kyle laughs, the sound almost too raucous and loud for the dark bedroom they're in. He pulls back, tells Caleb, "Lay down for me, okay? Just like that," and positions the younger boy the way he wants. Although the light is dim Kyle can make out the sharp angles of Caleb's arms and legs, artfully arranged to his liking.
"On your back, just the way I like it," Kyle says, contemplating, his lips pressed into a thin line. Caleb's arms are splayed like an angel's wings at his sides, his legs straight and pressed together.
Leaning down to whisper in Caleb's ear, Kyle says, "I only do this because I love you."
And, "Only the sick and perverted get a kick out of eroto-asphyxiation."
Caleb replies, "Then count me fucking in," the words floating and enveloping the two.
Kyle straddles Caleb's hips, fingers gently moving strands of red hair out of the way. In the moonlight Caleb's pale, pale neck is outlined in silver, Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, each breath that inflates and deflates his chest.
Right here, he's so pretty, so alive. Kyle flexes his fingers, pulls them in to his palm, then out. He chews his lip, looks down at the willing body beneath him. Caleb squints a little, looks up at Kyle, at the silver moonlight reflecting off his white-blonde hair like a spotlight.
Caleb says, "Well, fuck. Get on with it," and tilts his head back.
Kyle shakes his head, laughs and says, "Whore," in the most loving way possible, and wraps his hands around Caleb's neck. Just in this close proximity he can feel the pulse of Caleb's carotid thrumming like a soldier's drum under his palm. Can feel the inhale/exhale of breathing.
Flexes his fingers again, knits his dark brows together as he thinks. Says, "It's a beautiful feeling, having control, Cay." Feels the spit travel down Caleb's throat, get lodged in the constricted space Kyle's thumbs create.
True artists always love their work. Kyle is no exception, and he knows Caleb is the most beautiful piece of art he's ever created.
He just says, "Remember, I love you."
Adds, "You can't hold me accountable for any crushing of your larynx."
See: the disclaimer in fine print.
Tightens his grip.
Caleb's gasp is choked off, and immediately his hips thrash upwards, clothed dick brushing against Kyle's, already hot and so, so hard. Kyle moves his thumbs, positions one above the other on the line of Caleb's throat, the hard bulge of his Adam's apple.
Kyle can feel the air trying to get past Caleb's throat, feel the moans trapped beneath his fingertips. "I'm like God," Kyle says into the quiet room. He releases his grip slightly, lets Caleb get in a few necessary breaths, and it's the redhead who tightens Kyle's grip for him again. "I control whether or not you breathe now, Caleb."
Below him, Caleb pushes up harder, pressing the hot, hot bulge of his cock against Kyle's.
"Sick fuck," Kyle says, smirking. He grinds his hips down onto Caleb's, watches the way the younger boy thrashes, back severely arching off the bed. "But you're so goddamned beautiful."
Caleb's eyes roll back into his head, mouth gaping open as sound rushes in but doesn't come out. The noise rattles in his chest like a death call. Kyle releases his grip again and Caleb gasps out, "If you're God then fucking heal me."
"Already done, baby," Kyle says, grinning. He grinds back down, thrusts forward and feels Caleb come apart underneath him, feels the quake of the younger boy's thigh muscles against his own.
"Think of it as being cleansed," Kyle says as he lets his grip slack slightly to allow Caleb's moans to fill the room, the sonnet he never wrote. "Think of your jizz as all the evil expelled from your body in the most powerful fucking amazing way possible."
To emphasize his point he takes one hand from Caleb's throat, sees the pale skin where it's blooming beautiful deep purple, and brings it to the front of his jeans. Caleb watches, as wide-eyed as Bambi when his mother was mercilessly blown away.
"Everyone thinks they need a healer," Kyle grunts, palm rubbing quick and rough over his cock. "And everyone turns to anything that they think will heal them. Herbal teas, fucking acupuncturists. It's all rip-offs. But in the end, it comes down to good old human nature. Sex, you know."
He gasps, throws his head back as pleasure spikes deep in his pelvic region. "Fuck… This is the easiest way to forget your problems, even for one minute. Even if you're flying high for ten fucking seconds it's ten seconds you'll remember as pure bliss."
Kyle swallows back a moan, bucks up into his own hand. "I read a story on the internet about some chick that got into a car crash. She survived, but guess what? This broad, some fucking nerve in her pelvic region was destroyed. The one that controls desire or whatever. So she craves sex all the time."
He pauses, looks down at Caleb, smirking. "So she's back to primitive instinct. Sure, I bet it sucks, but she gets more than ten seconds of the bliss of an orgasm than we ever will in our entire lives."
Caleb gets his breath back, touches a hand tenderly to his red, red throat. The handprints, a dark contrast again his skin. He'll have to wear a scarf for a week now to hide it. He tells Kyle, "It's enlightenment, dude. The same reason people turn to Buddhism." Reaches up a hand, splays his palm over the hard outline of Kyle's cock. He squeezes.
Caleb grabs Kyle's arm, fingers overlapping on his bony wrist, and murmurs, "You're reaching enlightenment, Kyle. You're on that cloud." He keeps his grip until the older boy slumps down, breathing slowly returning to normal.
They lock eyes. Caleb says, "Maybe we should've taken the pants off."
Kyle laughs and wraps his arms around Caleb's shoulders. He says, "Yeah, maybe."
They don't move.