Don't Wake Me Up.
Flourne.
“Tom, are you awake?”
My shoulder feels like it’s stitched to the sofa and my eyelids are practically one glazed over hunk of skin. I can taste some cocktail of gin and thickened saliva on my teeth, and my nostrils are home to smoky wisps from someone’s fags. James’ stubby fingers leave an imprint either side of my jaw, trying to shake my brain into action, and I slap them away with a grunt sieved through lethargy.
“Hm… what?”
“Is - what Dougie said earlier, is it true?”
My muscles freeze. There’s silence in the room apart from one set of lungs next to me, and I don’t want to open my eyes and face having to answer James’ question.
“Don’t worry, everyone else has gone to bed,” he continues, and I assume the small party we had to celebrate the release of Five Colours In Her Hair has died. “I’m just - just curious…”
I can feel the blood racing through each vessel in my face to surface at my cheeks, and scrunch up my eyes in a mock-stupor, just to put off answering his question. I fucking hate truth-or-dare. If only Matt had challenged Dougie to run naked down the street or something instead of making him spill someone else’s secret, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I know you’re awake,” he presses, and I can practically hear the smirk on his breath, that nosiness painted on his wide grin.
“No thanks to you, Bourne,” I cough, still refusing to open my eyes. I bury my head into a pillow, as if the lump of feathers and silk will magically make the finger poking my dimple disappear. I slap him away again.
“C’mon, Fletcher, be a man. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s, um, perfectly common at the age of eighteen…”
The thing about James is that you will never get a serious answer out of him. Every single comment he makes is laced with either toilet-humour or sarcasm - and even though he’s provoking me, I still don’t face him. “Bugger off. Stop taking the piss.”
He laughs again, breaking the silence with that devious chuckle that could belong to a ten year old. “Tom, nobody cares. It’s fine.”
“Then why do you want to know?”
He sighs, and I feel a soft breeze on my face. Maybe it’s because I’m so tired, but I didn’t realise he was that close. “Just do. Like I said, I was curious, and…”
I freeze, and my hand clutching the cushion has iced up. I really don’t want to face his mocking expression, but I can smell vodka on him and feel the steady rhythm of his breath on my temple. “And?”
“And… you know how I get when I’m curious…”
I finally find the strength to twist my head to the side, and my vision is blocked by a pair of startling turquoise eyes looming at me in the dark, slightly bloodshot from booze – but before I can blink they’re gone and two fierce, plump lips are smothering my own. My eyelids fly open fully and my muscles seize up, heart leaping around embarrassingly in my ribcage as it sends all the blood in my body to my head. What the hell is he doing? I twist my hand up, ready to push him off as our teeth clink together awkwardly and he chuckles – but the vibrations of his voice box reverberate through my lips and into my head and down my whole spine. It actually feels… quite nice. Weird, but nice. I almost jump as his tongue plants a new wetness on my bottom lip and in a panicked response I squeeze my lips together, at a total loss for what to do with myself, and he gives a mixture between a sigh and a moan. Oh god.
I can feel those fingers again; this time they’re in my hair and the clink of the beads on his wrist is a warning bell in my ear. All the gas in my lungs rushes out of my nose and my heart could do with a defibrillator right about now – but suddenly his lips are gone. Still hovering close, there’s a humid pocket of air between my face and his and I dare to open one trembling eyelid – he’s smirking, of course he is. But it’s not the usual kind of dastardly, boyish grin I’m accustomed to, and I think my body’s going to fall apart from the earthquake it’s seized with.
“They can’t say you’ve never been kissed now, Fletcher.”
I throw my cushion at him, and he licks his lips. Fucker.
My shoulder feels like it’s stitched to the sofa and my eyelids are practically one glazed over hunk of skin. I can taste some cocktail of gin and thickened saliva on my teeth, and my nostrils are home to smoky wisps from someone’s fags. James’ stubby fingers leave an imprint either side of my jaw, trying to shake my brain into action, and I slap them away with a grunt sieved through lethargy.
“Hm… what?”
“Is - what Dougie said earlier, is it true?”
My muscles freeze. There’s silence in the room apart from one set of lungs next to me, and I don’t want to open my eyes and face having to answer James’ question.
“Don’t worry, everyone else has gone to bed,” he continues, and I assume the small party we had to celebrate the release of Five Colours In Her Hair has died. “I’m just - just curious…”
I can feel the blood racing through each vessel in my face to surface at my cheeks, and scrunch up my eyes in a mock-stupor, just to put off answering his question. I fucking hate truth-or-dare. If only Matt had challenged Dougie to run naked down the street or something instead of making him spill someone else’s secret, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I know you’re awake,” he presses, and I can practically hear the smirk on his breath, that nosiness painted on his wide grin.
“No thanks to you, Bourne,” I cough, still refusing to open my eyes. I bury my head into a pillow, as if the lump of feathers and silk will magically make the finger poking my dimple disappear. I slap him away again.
“C’mon, Fletcher, be a man. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s, um, perfectly common at the age of eighteen…”
The thing about James is that you will never get a serious answer out of him. Every single comment he makes is laced with either toilet-humour or sarcasm - and even though he’s provoking me, I still don’t face him. “Bugger off. Stop taking the piss.”
He laughs again, breaking the silence with that devious chuckle that could belong to a ten year old. “Tom, nobody cares. It’s fine.”
“Then why do you want to know?”
He sighs, and I feel a soft breeze on my face. Maybe it’s because I’m so tired, but I didn’t realise he was that close. “Just do. Like I said, I was curious, and…”
I freeze, and my hand clutching the cushion has iced up. I really don’t want to face his mocking expression, but I can smell vodka on him and feel the steady rhythm of his breath on my temple. “And?”
“And… you know how I get when I’m curious…”
I finally find the strength to twist my head to the side, and my vision is blocked by a pair of startling turquoise eyes looming at me in the dark, slightly bloodshot from booze – but before I can blink they’re gone and two fierce, plump lips are smothering my own. My eyelids fly open fully and my muscles seize up, heart leaping around embarrassingly in my ribcage as it sends all the blood in my body to my head. What the hell is he doing? I twist my hand up, ready to push him off as our teeth clink together awkwardly and he chuckles – but the vibrations of his voice box reverberate through my lips and into my head and down my whole spine. It actually feels… quite nice. Weird, but nice. I almost jump as his tongue plants a new wetness on my bottom lip and in a panicked response I squeeze my lips together, at a total loss for what to do with myself, and he gives a mixture between a sigh and a moan. Oh god.
I can feel those fingers again; this time they’re in my hair and the clink of the beads on his wrist is a warning bell in my ear. All the gas in my lungs rushes out of my nose and my heart could do with a defibrillator right about now – but suddenly his lips are gone. Still hovering close, there’s a humid pocket of air between my face and his and I dare to open one trembling eyelid – he’s smirking, of course he is. But it’s not the usual kind of dastardly, boyish grin I’m accustomed to, and I think my body’s going to fall apart from the earthquake it’s seized with.
“They can’t say you’ve never been kissed now, Fletcher.”
I throw my cushion at him, and he licks his lips. Fucker.
♠ ♠ ♠
Because Star Girl loves Future Girl.<3