Foreign
Foreign
He can feel foreign fingers tracing up his back, touching every bit of sweaty skin they can reach, exploring. And then, it's the too-red lipstick-lips pressing against his mouth, neck, left shoulder and continuing their journey downwards. He feels so helpless...but still in control of the situation, knowing he can stop this act whenever he would want to. But the faux intimacy he has reigning through his body is just too good to overcome. He's gone with the wind and very clearly knows how wrong this is, how much this resembles cheating, how much he doesn't want this but he keeps going anyway; can't bring himself to stop touching this foreign body, a woman's body at that.
His hands feel the curves of her figure; from her round shoulders to the breasts, going down over her hips and stopping behind her knees. Feverish, foreign kisses are shared in the heat of the moment and it's not even the kind of passion he gets from the man who earlier that day coldly told him, "it's not like we're exclusive, go fuck someone else" after a fight; but rather the kind one could only get from a willing-to-do-anything groupie in as cliche of a place as a bathroom stall at the mall.
He's emotionally hurt and has permission to have a mindless fuck, and so he does. Thinks he needs it, so he's getting it as he thrusts nearly violently into the girl, fucking her against the wall. It's wrong, it's foreign and it's dirty - but he can't back out anymore, so he keeps going until the climax.
Two minutes later, when he's walking out to the too-bright sunlight, he convinces himself it was not wrong and it was what he wanted and fucking needed.
Later that night, his arms find their way around the familiar figure on the bunk bed and their eyes lock. He knows he reeks of expensive perfume and there's a hint of too-sweet strawberry and alcohol on his lips and he knows the other boy has noticed all of this but neither of them really care as their foreheads press against each other's and their eyes fall shut.
It's all forgiven, not forgotten and maybe not normal but it's their screwed up way of coping and they both understand and, that alone, makes it almost okay.
His hands feel the curves of her figure; from her round shoulders to the breasts, going down over her hips and stopping behind her knees. Feverish, foreign kisses are shared in the heat of the moment and it's not even the kind of passion he gets from the man who earlier that day coldly told him, "it's not like we're exclusive, go fuck someone else" after a fight; but rather the kind one could only get from a willing-to-do-anything groupie in as cliche of a place as a bathroom stall at the mall.
He's emotionally hurt and has permission to have a mindless fuck, and so he does. Thinks he needs it, so he's getting it as he thrusts nearly violently into the girl, fucking her against the wall. It's wrong, it's foreign and it's dirty - but he can't back out anymore, so he keeps going until the climax.
Two minutes later, when he's walking out to the too-bright sunlight, he convinces himself it was not wrong and it was what he wanted and fucking needed.
Later that night, his arms find their way around the familiar figure on the bunk bed and their eyes lock. He knows he reeks of expensive perfume and there's a hint of too-sweet strawberry and alcohol on his lips and he knows the other boy has noticed all of this but neither of them really care as their foreheads press against each other's and their eyes fall shut.
It's all forgiven, not forgotten and maybe not normal but it's their screwed up way of coping and they both understand and, that alone, makes it almost okay.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks to Emilee for betaing.