Not only did he want him, he craved him. And despite his refusal to acknowledge him, he needed him.
Green eyes beheld a sinful contraction veiled by dark skin as the very testament of man's acquiescence to his own damnation bobbed with an impudent swallow.
Blue eyes narrowed, brows furrowing, "Not now." A flicker, a candle, a votive emitted a fervent glow. Light issued forth only to be reflected off the glassy surface of listless iris.
Impermissible to delve even the slightest bit further.
Moist appendage drove forward, seeking to quench dry flesh.
He understood the incandescent plight all too well.
An awkward tensing, an ear shattering silence. A non-intrusive inquiry only met by resistance.
Outreached hands, contradicting the universal understanding of outreaching equating to accepting, mindless in their need to reinstate independence, loneliness, a long withstanding norm, mirrored by arms seeking to embrace, to hold, to posses.
Dark hands intercepted pale ones and the friction was found to be unbearable for both parties.
With a rather unbecoming aversion of the head and flippantly spoken words
... he's repelled.
Stubbornly, though, the other persisted despite the perfectly clear and coherent protest.
Thin, pale lips brushed against his and he lost myself.
Once and for all, despite all the carefully planned and well executed obstacles he set forth to challenge, the other rose to the occasion and overwhelmed him.
Lips parted, tongues boldly set forth to exchange secrets of the depths with-held.
He'd thought he'd known him entirely.
If one were to draw forth from the clichÃ©, it could be said: "All that there is to know, I know."
Though he didn't know, which came as a great surprise, he learned, to his even greater astonishment.
He tasted of the cigarette he'd hastily extinguished with the worn sole of his sneakers after his mother stormed in when he'd thought it was safe.
When he believed them to be alone.
He tasted of peppermint and apples.
Of salt and spice.
Of arrogance and cowardice.
Of affection and lust.
It was then that he knew.
It was then, that very moment.
. . . and from there he found Riku to be unavoidable.
Whispered pleasantries and oaths spilled forth from equally chapped lips as his arms writhed and coiled of their own accord, snaking around hips to hook around a slim frame.
To hook and to drag in, to clutch with such force and possession as to leave no room to ever assume he'd let go.
No room to lead on, because he had no intention of that. No intention of letting go.
Forcing a parting of tongues, a moan of disappointment followed; wrenched from between the older boy's gaping lips, "Sora. . ."