The Morning Afterlife

b kisses like he means it, open-mouthed and honest, holding nothing back. he fucks c hard, fingers carving bruises in c’s hips, mouth pressing kisses down c’s spine, and he holds c after, murmuring nonsense into the afterglow. c relaxes into his arms and thinks that he could really fall for him.

*

(one day. maybe. c hopes. he hopes really, really hard.)

*

how’s it going with b? e asks the next time c sees him. they’re still friends; they promised a long time ago that that would never change, and c isn’t bitter about it at all. he isn’t.

fine, c says. he doesn’t have to lie; b is wonderful, really wonderful, and c is going to wake up in love with him any day now. he is.

e smiles. it’s a perfectly friendly smile, turned up at the corners, with enough of his trademark charm to make c’s lips twitch in response, much as they don’t want to.

good, e says, i’m glad. he sounds like he means it and c has never hated him more.

*

(e never kissed c like he meant it, but that’s just ’cause he never did.)

*

b is attractive. there’s no denying that. his hair is short and blonde instead of long and dark, and it’s harder to tangle your fingers in it but it’s not impossible. his eyes are blue not brown, the kind of blue girls swoon over and poets go crazy for, so honest it’s impossible for c to believe they ever told a lie. his features are different but they’re just as sharp and just as pretty, and his lips are always so soft and so kind.

b is ridiculously attractive but c’s dick is barely hard in his mouth. he’s not made of stone, and b is very very good with his tongue, but b’s been sucking at him for ages and c hasn’t come. b has to keep pulling off to rub his jaw, and c keeps saying sorry and you don’t have to, it’s fine but b is determined to get c off if he has to choke on c’s dick to do it.

c screws his eyes shut and thinks of e fucking him.

he comes in seconds.

*

(he hates himself for it as much as he knew he would, after. he hates himself even more when b pulls him into his arms and kisses him hard and whispers love you, love you so fucking much into c’s mouth and he can’t say it back.)

*

b only asks about e once, when he first asks c if he wouldn’t mind maybe getting a coffee with him sometime.

he asks if they ever fucked, casual, like he doesn’t care, and c gives a cautious nod because he can tell that that isn’t what b really wants to know.

he asks if they were ever in love, his eyes fixed on the floor and not c’s face. his voice is so quiet c has to strain to hear him, almost asks him to repeat the question.

c says no. he says no and it feels like the truth, and when b looks up at him he’s grinning so hard c can’t help but smile back.

*

(it isn’t the truth, but it isn’t a lie either. the feelings have to be reciprocated for it to really be love.)

*

e has another fuck buddy now. k is beautiful with long dark hair and greenish eyes and a smile that could turn c straight, probably, maybe, given the chance.

she looks a lot like him, or she would if c had tits and a vagina, but he doesn’t tell e that.

she smiles at c when e introduces them, says e’s told me so much about you and c blushes. the way e’s grinning is enough for c to know exactly what he said to her about him. k’s grinning too, but there’s something soft about her eyes that makes c smile back, muttering something self-deprecating that makes the other two laugh out loud.

*

(he couldn’t hate k even if he tried. she’s too sweet, too sarcastic, too genuinely funny for him not to like her almost instantly. she doesn’t kiss e in front of him, either, and that’s... c doesn’t know why, but he’s sort of ridiculously grateful.)

*

e says, once, just the once, i miss you.

c swallows hard and doesn’t say me too. he’s pretty sure e knows; he’s not exactly subtle.

it’s too soon after, though. too soon after e patted him on the stomach and smiled and said it’s been fun, but we should probably stop doing this now, tossing c aside like another toy he’d got tired of playing with.

he didn’t even look at c. he couldn’t even give him that.

in all fairness, c never tried to fight him, never tried to make e stay. he didn’t even ask why. he just didn’t see the point. e doesn’t do serious relationships, never has, never will. c is fucking in love with the bastard and e doesn’t even care.

*

(it’ll stop hurting. one day. c hopes. he hopes really, really hard.)

*

c’s sort of expecting it when b says, i can’t do this any more. his eyes are so sad c wants to gather him in his arms and never let him go.

he doesn’t. he swallows hard and says i’m sorry because it would only be cruel to ask why.

b says don’t be, but the lightness in his voice isn’t echoed in his face. it just wasn’t working out, he says. but we can still be friends, right?

c says of course and he means it. b really is wonderful, more wonderful than c ever deserved. he hugs b then, too hard and too long for just a friendly embrace, but b doesn’t push him away.

*

(it hurts more than he thought it would and c is so glad for it, for the pain lancing his chest. it means he cares about b and even though it wasn’t enough, it’s something.)

*

k calls c and tells him to come over because e’s asking for him. he got supremely drunk, she’s saying, and she sounds part angry part worried part really fucking miserable.

c goes. his flat feels horribly empty without b to fill it with his laugh, and he hasn’t seen e in weeks.

k hugs him when he gets there, saying she’s sorry for leaving him alone with e but she really isn’t in the mood to deal with his shit tonight. she doesn’t even sound angry this time, just exhausted. c hugs her back and wonders where the guilt twisting in his gut came from.

he’s barely through the door of e’s bedroom before e’s on him, burying his head in c’s shoulder, murmuring thank you thank you than you c seriously you’re my best friend i love you so much.

c’s chest clenches even though he knows e doesn’t mean it that way. he tightens his grip on e’s waist and drags him out of the room, out to the bathroom so e can spray his vomit over something that won’t stain. he hasn’t thrown up yet, k said, but he’s drunk enough that he should soon if his body knows what’s good for it.

c sets e down against the bath tub, sliding down next to him, knees drawn up into his chest. he leaves his body pressed up against e’s so e doesn’t keel over. he winds his fingers into e’s hair so e has something to anchor himself. he doesn’t lean his head on e’s shoulder because he has no excuse to and he can’t think of a lie that’ll convince himself. he resolutely does not think about kissing e.

i’ve never fucked k, e says quietly, and c’s head jerks up so fast he thinks he might have given himself whiplash.

e is drunk. e never lies when he’s drunk. he rarely lies when he’s sober, either, keeps to dancing circles around the line between fact and fiction.

e is drunk and e never fucked k.

okay, c says, because he doesn’t have a fucking clue what else to say.

okay, e echoes, and then he leans over and retches into the toilet. c holds his hair back from his face and strokes the nape of his neck and lets the stench of vomit drive any coherent thoughts from his brain.

*

(what does this mean why would he not fuck her she is exactly his type oh god oh god what if this means he- oh don’t be so fucking stupid he doesn’t give a damn about you, this means nothing this means nothing this means-)

*

b broke up with me, c says.

e stopped throwing up a few minutes ago; he’s leaning back against the bath tub, eyelashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. they’ve been sitting in silence ever since.

e opens his eyes. c can’t read the look in his eyes, the expression on his face.

i’m sorry, e says. he sounds like he means it and it makes c want to laugh, low and bitter. he doesn’t.

just wasn’t working out, he says, b’s words rolling easily off his tongue. not your fault.

still, e says. i know you really liked him.

c shrugs. i really liked you, he says before he can stop himself, but i got over it.

e’s eyes go wide. c has a moment to think oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck before e’s saying what? his voice is unusually high-pitched, echoing the shock etched into his face.

um, c says. he hides his face and his burning cheeks in his knees. can you forget i said that?

no, e says, more clearly than he’s said anything since c stumbled through the door. no, what the fuck, why did you never- why did you never say anything?

because, c says, a little desperately, it was never supposed to be about that and you never wanted me that way and i didn’t want to scare you away and-

you are such a fucking idiot, e says, with feeling, and then he’s kissing c like it’s the only thing that’ll save him. he tastes disgusting, of the vodka he was drinking and the bile that lingered in his mouth after he threw up his guts but c kisses back because he can’t not.

you, e whispers fiercely, breath burning c’s skin. always been you, c, always.

c clings to him and says you too because e didn’t know, he never knew, and c is such a fucking idiot.

e laughs, a sudden burst of helpless sound that gusts over c’s face. didn’t really get over it, then? he asks, and there’s something in his eyes that looks a lot like hope.

nah, c says, not really. he grins because e does and it’s blinding, but it isn’t his usual smile. this smile is soft and warm and all c’s, he thinks. maybe. probably. hopefully.

me neither, e says, and he kisses c all over again.