There’s a part of him that can’t get over the fact that he’s making out with a buffer. He can’t blame Roman for this anymore, it’s not just an attack in the locker room that escalated; he’s kissing back. He’s turning them, pushing Roman against the cold metal of the lockers, pulling himself in close with hands fisted in his jacket like he can’t get close enough.
He hates buffers, hates the way they live and what they value. But he doesn’t hate them enough to stop kissing Roman, because he’s different. Maybe he’s so far the other direction he doesn’t register, or maybe it’s something else he can’t put his finger on yet, something dark in Roman that speaks to something wild in Cael, something that’s just as afraid of being tied down as Roman is afraid of being alone.
Roman’s hard against his hips as he presses in close, and it pulls a low hum of appreciation from him as his hands begin to roam. It was the last gym period of the day, the locker room would be empty until the track team came after school for practice. His hands slip beneath Roman’s jacket. He feels strong beneath his hands, lean muscled body, and he’s so tall. He’s remembering how easily Roman had had him pinned to the lockers now as his hands move over his chest. It’s not slow or sensual, really, it’s that desperate kind of teenage groping, that need to feel, need to experience, need to get as close as possible.
It doesn’t matter to Cael that Roman’s probably still in love with someone else. This isn’t about that. They’re not even friends, let alone more. Cael doesn’t know what it’s really about. Later, when he’s laying on the cold tile at the bottom of the pool, he won’t know what possessed him to do this. Maybe just some need to not feel so fucking alone all the time, so cut off from anything and everything that meant something, that made him feel good. Cael just wants to feel good, and right now, Roman feels fucking good beneath his hands and against his body, and that’s all that matters.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-11-05 04:53 am (UTC)He hates buffers, hates the way they live and what they value. But he doesn’t hate them enough to stop kissing Roman, because he’s different. Maybe he’s so far the other direction he doesn’t register, or maybe it’s something else he can’t put his finger on yet, something dark in Roman that speaks to something wild in Cael, something that’s just as afraid of being tied down as Roman is afraid of being alone.
Roman’s hard against his hips as he presses in close, and it pulls a low hum of appreciation from him as his hands begin to roam. It was the last gym period of the day, the locker room would be empty until the track team came after school for practice. His hands slip beneath Roman’s jacket. He feels strong beneath his hands, lean muscled body, and he’s so tall. He’s remembering how easily Roman had had him pinned to the lockers now as his hands move over his chest. It’s not slow or sensual, really, it’s that desperate kind of teenage groping, that need to feel, need to experience, need to get as close as possible.
It doesn’t matter to Cael that Roman’s probably still in love with someone else. This isn’t about that. They’re not even friends, let alone more. Cael doesn’t know what it’s really about. Later, when he’s laying on the cold tile at the bottom of the pool, he won’t know what possessed him to do this. Maybe just some need to not feel so fucking alone all the time, so cut off from anything and everything that meant something, that made him feel good. Cael just wants to feel good, and right now, Roman feels fucking good beneath his hands and against his body, and that’s all that matters.