Status: Rewritten, let me know what you think!!
A Library Romance
Chapter One
*Nico's P.O.V.*
Mahogany wood, leather, paper, dust; these are some of my favourite smells in the world. They encompass the one place that has always been a home for me. A bookstore. My bookstore. When I was a kid I would come in and read on one of the thick leather chairs and get lost for hours in another life, another world. No matter how much time I spent there, or how little money I spent, which was none, the owner, who later became a very good friend of mine, never kicked me out; never asked me not to come back. And now I work there.
My name is Nico Mamolliti. I live in a small town in the province of Manitoba, Canada. I am gay.
I will admit, life has not been very hard for me, even after I came out to everyone I know. I guess I was blessed with an amazing family who loved me no matter what. Unfortunately that kind of love and devotion is not always the case, no matter what age, or sex, or race, or sexual preference.
"Morning, Nico,” one of my best friend's Deana said sleepily as I stepped behind the cash counter of the bookstore and shrugging off my grey pea coat.
“Yello, ello, ello,” I sang back.
“How are you so bubbly in the morning? Gosh, it makes me hate you."
“Love you too!” I tease.
Deana rolled her eyes but smiled anyway as she rolled the cart full of books off down one of the aisles.
I pulled out my book of the week, Stephen King’s The Stand. I pretty well read a new book every week. It is Wednesday today and I am currently at chapter 45. Pulling up the leather sofa chair, I sat back and relax.
-----
At around noon, even through the interruptions from customers I have managed to get myself to chapter forty-eight.
…The Kid had put Trashcan’s hand on the kind of gun he understood. He closed his hand around and began. After it was over The Kid would fall asleep again. Then he would creep out.
The Kid’s breath was becoming ragged. He began to bump his hips in time with Trashcan’s strokes. Trash did not at first realize The Kid was also unbuckling his belt, then slipping his jeans and underpants down to his knees. Trash let him. It didn’t matter if The Kid wanted to slip it to him. Trash had had it slipped to him before. You didn’t die. It wasn’t poison.
Amen to that.
Then his hand froze. Whatever it was suddenly pressing against his anus, it wasn’t flesh. It was cold steel.
And suddenly he knew what it was.
“Ahem, excuse me,” a high-pitched, nasally voice demands from the counter.
Damnit!
Looking up I see the faces of three people I would rather not see at the moment. Correction, one person I very much like to look at, and two that could go to hell for ll I care. I pick myself up from the chair, marking my page. I can't help but stare at him, standing there timidly behind his obnoxious older brother, and his even more obnoxious girlfriend.
Adlar Ackerman. The most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes on. Adlar is the second son in the biggest farming family around our area. They’re German, giving Adlar the perfect combination of blonde hair and blue eyes. It doesn’t help either that he is the perfect height or that his body is perfectly proportioned or that he’s quite stylish without looking gay. Something I have yet not achieved.
I’ve been dreaming about Adlar ever since I first saw him when I started grade three. Adlar is two years older than me. He was in grade five that first day of school. I’d seen him from across the playground, and although I hadn’t known what it meant to be gay, I’d immediately thought that he was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.
But of course someone as beautiful as him will never like someone like me. Whereas he is beautiful and German, I am Italian, earning myself the dark skin and hair, along with the hair covering the rest of my body. I swear I thought I was turning in to a werewolf when I turned thirteen and started growing hair. My older brother had laughed at me, and then had welcomed me to manhood. Besides, he was extremely popular, therefore couldn't possibly be bothered to give a little gay guy even the slightest bit of his attention.
“Hurry the fuck up, Fag!" his brother scoffed impatiently.
Mahogany wood, leather, paper, dust; these are some of my favourite smells in the world. They encompass the one place that has always been a home for me. A bookstore. My bookstore. When I was a kid I would come in and read on one of the thick leather chairs and get lost for hours in another life, another world. No matter how much time I spent there, or how little money I spent, which was none, the owner, who later became a very good friend of mine, never kicked me out; never asked me not to come back. And now I work there.
My name is Nico Mamolliti. I live in a small town in the province of Manitoba, Canada. I am gay.
I will admit, life has not been very hard for me, even after I came out to everyone I know. I guess I was blessed with an amazing family who loved me no matter what. Unfortunately that kind of love and devotion is not always the case, no matter what age, or sex, or race, or sexual preference.
"Morning, Nico,” one of my best friend's Deana said sleepily as I stepped behind the cash counter of the bookstore and shrugging off my grey pea coat.
“Yello, ello, ello,” I sang back.
“How are you so bubbly in the morning? Gosh, it makes me hate you."
“Love you too!” I tease.
Deana rolled her eyes but smiled anyway as she rolled the cart full of books off down one of the aisles.
I pulled out my book of the week, Stephen King’s The Stand. I pretty well read a new book every week. It is Wednesday today and I am currently at chapter 45. Pulling up the leather sofa chair, I sat back and relax.
-----
At around noon, even through the interruptions from customers I have managed to get myself to chapter forty-eight.
…The Kid had put Trashcan’s hand on the kind of gun he understood. He closed his hand around and began. After it was over The Kid would fall asleep again. Then he would creep out.
The Kid’s breath was becoming ragged. He began to bump his hips in time with Trashcan’s strokes. Trash did not at first realize The Kid was also unbuckling his belt, then slipping his jeans and underpants down to his knees. Trash let him. It didn’t matter if The Kid wanted to slip it to him. Trash had had it slipped to him before. You didn’t die. It wasn’t poison.
Amen to that.
Then his hand froze. Whatever it was suddenly pressing against his anus, it wasn’t flesh. It was cold steel.
And suddenly he knew what it was.
“Ahem, excuse me,” a high-pitched, nasally voice demands from the counter.
Damnit!
Looking up I see the faces of three people I would rather not see at the moment. Correction, one person I very much like to look at, and two that could go to hell for ll I care. I pick myself up from the chair, marking my page. I can't help but stare at him, standing there timidly behind his obnoxious older brother, and his even more obnoxious girlfriend.
Adlar Ackerman. The most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes on. Adlar is the second son in the biggest farming family around our area. They’re German, giving Adlar the perfect combination of blonde hair and blue eyes. It doesn’t help either that he is the perfect height or that his body is perfectly proportioned or that he’s quite stylish without looking gay. Something I have yet not achieved.
I’ve been dreaming about Adlar ever since I first saw him when I started grade three. Adlar is two years older than me. He was in grade five that first day of school. I’d seen him from across the playground, and although I hadn’t known what it meant to be gay, I’d immediately thought that he was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.
But of course someone as beautiful as him will never like someone like me. Whereas he is beautiful and German, I am Italian, earning myself the dark skin and hair, along with the hair covering the rest of my body. I swear I thought I was turning in to a werewolf when I turned thirteen and started growing hair. My older brother had laughed at me, and then had welcomed me to manhood. Besides, he was extremely popular, therefore couldn't possibly be bothered to give a little gay guy even the slightest bit of his attention.
“Hurry the fuck up, Fag!" his brother scoffed impatiently.
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Rewritten, hope you guys like it!!!!!