Misconceptions
When You Realize It
Brandon tightens his grip, demanding as much contact as possible and twisting his fingers into the warm fabric of Cody’s sweater, anchoring himself in the arm wrapped around his waist and the hand stroking and flattening at his hair. As they stand in the silent room, clinging to each other and pressing frantic, searching mouths to any skin they can reach, Brandon is caught up in a flood tide of desire so urgent that his exhaustion has no chance against it.
He doesn’t care where or how, he just knows that he needs this now, needs to touch and possess and renew. He needs to see Cody’s eyes as he loses control. He needs to be closer, much closer than this—as close as it’s possible to get, he thinks, and shifts his hips against Cody’s. Finding an answering heat and hardness that draws a breathless groan from Cody, Brandon smiles against his neck.
“I want you,” Cody admits in a harsh whisper.
Before he gets a moment to think Brandon is lifted and rushed down the hallway. Blinking sore eyes, he looks around at what used to be Cody’s bedroom. Well, he supposes it still is Cody’s bedroom, but it’s stripped almost bare of anything that made it his. It’s with a little rush of pleasure that he realizes that everything Cody owns—everything that’s his and not some heirloom—is back at his apartment. At their house. This room doesn’t even really smell of Cody any more; it smells unused and... blank.
“Why do you always get that strange look on your face when you come in this room?” Cody wants to know, reaching for Brandon’s hands and nudging him back toward the bed.
“I was just thinking that none of your stuff is here any more,” Brandon admits as the bed hits the backs of his knees and a twinge of pain reminds him of being bitten just hours earlier, and the conversation with Cody’s mom, which doesn’t belong in this room with them. Not when he just wants Cody. Needs him.
Cody pauses, mouth an inch from Brandon’s, eyes flickering. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Brandon assures, needing the kiss and taking it. “Your stuff is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”
Cody drops his eyes to the floor but his mouth curves into a small, surprised smile and that’s enough. After a moment, he kisses Brandon again. Slowly, but with such a drawn-out desperation that Brandon can’t decide if he wants it to stop because it hurts or never stop because it hurts wonderfully.
He barely registers the thumbs sliding over his wrists, so familiar is the caress, but when Cody stops kissing him, yanks his sleeve back and stares down at the empty wrist, Brandon realizes with an unpleasant jolt just what he’s looking for and why it’s not there.
Eyebrows drawn down, Cody continues to stare at the place where the string should be, where it has been for the past five months. He trails his fingers over the pale Promise band and Brandon’s pulse jumps involuntarily.
“What happened? Did you...” Cody glances up briefly, grey eyes pained. “Were you that angry with me?”
Horrified at the implication, Brandon shakes his head and searches frantically for the right words. Somehow, they have never exchanged a single word about that string, but one look at Cody’s distressed expression tells him that it hadn’t been significant to him alone. Sore, and not quite trusting his voice, he pulls his hand away gently and withdraws the snapped string from his pocket.
“Zack and I,” he starts, and coughs, hating the roughness of his tone. “Zack and I had an... incident. It was an accident, though. I...” Brandon hesitates and slips it back into his pocket. “It wasn’t just string,” he adds awkwardly.
“I know it wasn’t.”
Brandon watches the emotions flick across Cody’s eyes. He wants, needs, loves this man and he’s not about to spend another moment of this day acting like the idiot he apparently is most of the time. He grips Cody’s hips and falls back onto the bed, flopping gratefully onto his back and allowing the soft sheets and firm mattress to caress and take the weight of his aching body.
With Cody half-sprawled and half kneeling over him, he runs his palms over the black-clad thighs, seeking out and finding the hard, eager flesh that jumps under Brandon’s fingers. When he presses his palm more firmly against it, Cody hisses and pushes into the touch, turning eyes to Brandon’s that are almost entirely black with need, ringed by mere slivers of pale grey.
“You want me,” Brandon says, unable to stop his smile or the blood rushing to his cock and making it ache for attention.
“I believe I already said that,” Cody whispers, trying to sound cross.
He doesn’t care where or how, he just knows that he needs this now, needs to touch and possess and renew. He needs to see Cody’s eyes as he loses control. He needs to be closer, much closer than this—as close as it’s possible to get, he thinks, and shifts his hips against Cody’s. Finding an answering heat and hardness that draws a breathless groan from Cody, Brandon smiles against his neck.
“I want you,” Cody admits in a harsh whisper.
Before he gets a moment to think Brandon is lifted and rushed down the hallway. Blinking sore eyes, he looks around at what used to be Cody’s bedroom. Well, he supposes it still is Cody’s bedroom, but it’s stripped almost bare of anything that made it his. It’s with a little rush of pleasure that he realizes that everything Cody owns—everything that’s his and not some heirloom—is back at his apartment. At their house. This room doesn’t even really smell of Cody any more; it smells unused and... blank.
“Why do you always get that strange look on your face when you come in this room?” Cody wants to know, reaching for Brandon’s hands and nudging him back toward the bed.
“I was just thinking that none of your stuff is here any more,” Brandon admits as the bed hits the backs of his knees and a twinge of pain reminds him of being bitten just hours earlier, and the conversation with Cody’s mom, which doesn’t belong in this room with them. Not when he just wants Cody. Needs him.
Cody pauses, mouth an inch from Brandon’s, eyes flickering. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Brandon assures, needing the kiss and taking it. “Your stuff is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”
Cody drops his eyes to the floor but his mouth curves into a small, surprised smile and that’s enough. After a moment, he kisses Brandon again. Slowly, but with such a drawn-out desperation that Brandon can’t decide if he wants it to stop because it hurts or never stop because it hurts wonderfully.
He barely registers the thumbs sliding over his wrists, so familiar is the caress, but when Cody stops kissing him, yanks his sleeve back and stares down at the empty wrist, Brandon realizes with an unpleasant jolt just what he’s looking for and why it’s not there.
Eyebrows drawn down, Cody continues to stare at the place where the string should be, where it has been for the past five months. He trails his fingers over the pale Promise band and Brandon’s pulse jumps involuntarily.
“What happened? Did you...” Cody glances up briefly, grey eyes pained. “Were you that angry with me?”
Horrified at the implication, Brandon shakes his head and searches frantically for the right words. Somehow, they have never exchanged a single word about that string, but one look at Cody’s distressed expression tells him that it hadn’t been significant to him alone. Sore, and not quite trusting his voice, he pulls his hand away gently and withdraws the snapped string from his pocket.
“Zack and I,” he starts, and coughs, hating the roughness of his tone. “Zack and I had an... incident. It was an accident, though. I...” Brandon hesitates and slips it back into his pocket. “It wasn’t just string,” he adds awkwardly.
“I know it wasn’t.”
Brandon watches the emotions flick across Cody’s eyes. He wants, needs, loves this man and he’s not about to spend another moment of this day acting like the idiot he apparently is most of the time. He grips Cody’s hips and falls back onto the bed, flopping gratefully onto his back and allowing the soft sheets and firm mattress to caress and take the weight of his aching body.
With Cody half-sprawled and half kneeling over him, he runs his palms over the black-clad thighs, seeking out and finding the hard, eager flesh that jumps under Brandon’s fingers. When he presses his palm more firmly against it, Cody hisses and pushes into the touch, turning eyes to Brandon’s that are almost entirely black with need, ringed by mere slivers of pale grey.
“You want me,” Brandon says, unable to stop his smile or the blood rushing to his cock and making it ache for attention.
“I believe I already said that,” Cody whispers, trying to sound cross.