Nephilim

The scent of pot hit him first, wholly and choking as if a cloud had been festering at the doorway, waiting for him. He coughed heartily, eyes watering and sinuses beginning to plot a terrible revenge. The circle that had formed around the pipe in the living room turned its head toward him, gaze sleepy and mocking all at once. Brendon patted his chest with a final hack, waving a hand at the group in reassurance. They chuckled at him cruelly, resuming their listless whining for another hit, just one more, I swear. Brendon stood entranced at the sight of their clawing dormancy, wondering how anyone could ever want such a thing. As his lungs, nose and mind grew accustomed to the startling new scent, he exhaled smoothly. His shoulders slackened.

“Hey, preppy,” a boy with mussed blond hair called to him from the circle. A few girls giggled. Brendon jolted and turned to him. “If you want a hit, come take one. Don’t just stand there hotboxing.”

“Um,” Brendon raised his hands in protest. “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Many in the group released soft, amused shots of laughter, others smiling faintly, hands becoming curious. The blonde boy shook his head, grinning, reaching for the pipe and lighter. He held the ceramic piece to his lips, other hand flicking sparks from the lighter until finally invoking a flame. He suckled the smoke, the smell of the herb burning clotting the air of the living room. Letting the smooth porcelain lip of the pipe slide from his mouth, he held the cool curls of fog in his chest, allowing several seconds to pass before releasing it as a puff of gray haze. With a funny sort of simper, his eyes drifted back to Brendon, who was still watching, mystified.

“Yeah, whatever, neither do I.” He chuckled, wisps of smoke falling coolly from his cheeks. Brendon felt his face fall into a frown. He was getting annoyed already. He needed to find Ryan. He needed to set things straight. Positioning the strap of his bag tightly against his left shoulder, he stormed past the circle, not trusting anyone around him enough to leave his things by the doorway. He made his way into the kitchen.

“Oh,” he yelped instinctively at the sight of three girls in front of a blaring bowl of atomic cherries. Their various shades of hair were dripping wet dollops of water onto their bulging bikini-clad breasts, leaving a massive puddle around their collective set of feet. There was a shy-looking brunette with her fingers positioned in front of luscious, full lips, cherry lingering on the mound of her moist, pink tongue. A fire-haired girl had one hand reaching for another portion of the vodka-soaked fruit, a thin line of candy-red juice falling from the corner of her wide, pretty mouth. A strawberry blonde stood between them, looking bewildered, arms placed in such a way that the supple mounds on her chest plumped together like a mountain range.

Brendon shifted his bag in front of him. “Um...uh, I’m, ah...”

The brunette squished the cherry between her perfect pearls of teeth. Brendon blinked and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m looking for Ryan.” He murmured, eyes low, face burnished crimson.

There was a moment of silence, then an eruption of tittering laughter. Brendon found that he was very quickly becoming tired of people laughing. He shifted his stance and looked annoyed until the girls had finished the zenith of their snickering, their glee dying into sighs of enjoyment. The blonde moved a dampened hair away from her coffee eyes.

“Um, Ryan is upstairs...” Her smile was broad and beautiful, and yet it seemed fake.

“Okay, thanks,” Brendon began to turn.

“No,” the red-head burst out, chortling. “You don’t understand. He’s...” she paused and looked at the other girls, who nodded in proud understanding. “...upstairs...”

“Okay...” He repeated and gave a puzzled stare, smirking a little nervously. “I think I get it. Thanks.” He offered a jerked wave of salutation, shifting to complete his turn.

“No,” the brunette giggled, tone silly and embarrassed. The other girls covered their mouth to hold back another bout of guffaws. “You don’t freakin’ get it...Ryan is upstairs.”

“I freakin’ get it, okay? Ryan’s upstairs! I understand!” Brendon threw his hands up in frustration, blush shading into a dark bridge of anger across his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, swiveling his frame and leaving before the throng of girls could gasp out whines of insult. He fumed past seas of strangers, his slicing shoulders leaving him feeling less like a blade and more like a fleck of spray. By the time he reached the stairs, he wanted to scream. If he had to stop for one more shit-faced moron, he would-

“Oh, fuck,” There was a sudden, crooked laugh and a splash of lukewarm liquid upon the crotch of Brendon’s pants. “Sorry, buddy,” was the useless apology from the lop-sided, tipping voice. The dark-haired boy half sighed, half groaned, the sight of the creeping stain of unfamiliarly-scented wetness across his groin irritating the hitching climb of anger in his chest to a state of being officially pissed off. Brendon gripped the banister of the staircase, stomping up two at a time, slamming his feet to the ground as he made his way to Ryan’s bedroom. He gripped the doorknob, twisting, and burst in.

"Ryan, you assho-"

The quick realization that he was talking to no one. The room was empty. Messy, but empty.

“Oh.” Brendon’s eyes darted about, searching for a trace of him. A clue. A sign. He found it odd that this was Ryan’s party, and he had not seen a single hint to where he would be, save the unnerving conversation he had with the soaking-wet girls downstairs. He did not want to have to go back down there to ask for more help. He found it even odder that though the lower floor was packed with people, he could see nobody besides himself upstairs. He heard music and dancing, and yet he felt very alone. Feeling somewhat comfortable in Ryan’s room, despite the state of sluggishness around him, Brendon lifted his bag away from his body and set it in front of the door to Ryan’s closet.

He walked out of the room, shutting the door silently behind him, feeling like a wanderer as he meandered through the hallway by the stairs. Brendon shook the bangs away from his face, flicking them to the side, finding it futile when they fell back into place. He absentmindedly slipped his fingers into his pockets, stepping slowly through the place he had been to so many times before. He remembered the scent of chlorine on his towel, in his hair. Clean pillow cases beneath his head. The sound of Ryan sleeping just above his sleeping bag on the floor. A smile slipped. The music seemed to fade into something quieter, something more like the silence of awakening in the morning below someone you trusted. Not too many years ago.

Brendon spotted a line of light from under the doorway to Ryan’s parent’s bedroom. His eyebrows rose in curiosity, and on a hunch, he reached for the knob and turned it open.

There was a girl.

She was sitting on the corner of the king mattress, raven hair limping wounded in front of her glimpses of tarnished blue eyes. Her skin was milky and soft looking under the hanging light of the ceiling fan. Her expression was distant and lost, as if someone very far away was calling for her. Her muscles looked lax, the cloth of her white long-sleeved shirt crumbling around her wrists at the cuffs loosely. Her full, rounded breasts curved into perfect forms, filling her exposed bra, cupped in black lace. They leaded into a tautly sculpted stomach, falling into a nipping waist. There was a blue-plaid skirt pushed up above her thighs, the color and pattern familiar. Brendon’s gaze fell. There was a pair of black panties encircling her ankle. There was a figure between her legs.

She looked up at him, face calm and distracted, staring through him. Brendon felt frozen, hand still gripping the doorknob. Something within him was telling him to run, run, to just get away.

Her eyes shone. Lips moving. “Ryan...”

Before Brendon could open his mouth to deny, a shadowed mass raised itself from between the dark girl’s thighs. Hands curved to cup her voluptuous bottom. A mess of chestnut hair became visible in the light. A shine of creamy fluid upon claimed lips. Brendon’s breath was lost to him. He felt as if his heart had shriveled into something smaller than the wind. Words were gone. His bible, his God, his thoughts. Everything. Gone.

Ryan’s eyes grew wide as his tongue began to lick around the gleaming smearings of liquid that had lined his mouth. It fell deftly between his teeth. His pupils dilated. “Bren?”

“Oh, God,” Brendon felt his free hand climb to cover his gaping mouth. He felt empty, empty. All of the blood must have been drained from him, from his world. He felt colorless. Empty. He let the doorknob go sharply, the sound as loud as a knock on a heavy door.

(her eyes and hair will never be as bright)

The dark girl’s gaze was lenient. When Brendon stared at her for a few seconds, he could make out the faintest hinting of a simper.

(and she will never be as close to ryan as i am)

Brendon turned and walked back to Ryan’s room, sight clouded in red and black. His hands fumbled for the sphere of the knob, palms rolling freely, movements unchecked and random. Somewhere, he could hear the sounds of muffled shouting, of pants zipping and footsteps storming. Brendon found a way to twist the handle so that he could enter. He did not pause to search for a light switch. He stepped into the room and groped for his bag in the dark. He had to get out of there, if he could just get out of there.

Blinding light. Someone flicked on the lamp. Brendon’s eyes winced, but his hands continued searching. “Brendon, wait, please.”

(wait)

(please)

Hadn’t he said those words? Hadn’t Brendon begged for mercy? For fulfillment?

“Fuck you,” he growled. His vision adjusted to the rush of color. He found his bag and his hand sought to fill themselves with it. There were grips on his wrists again, from the back this time. When Brendon bucked to escape, there was an unrelenting body behind his, balanced and firm.

(do you have any idea how much stronger than me you are?)

“Don’t fucking touch me, you back-stabbing asshole!” Brendon bent his arm to form a sharp point with his elbow and thrust it into Ryan’s solar plexus. He felt the fingers fall from his frame and heard the dreadful gaspings as Ryan crumpled onto the floor, breath as lost to him as it was to Brendon. Rather than resuming the gathering of his things, Ryan stood, hands shaking, chest heaving, eyes blotted and tearing. Oh, Lord, he was crying. His whole body wanted to lose the heavy sadness through falling tear drops. He was so full, so full and so empty. He slunk to his knees, Ryan wheezing behind him.

“You asshole, you fucking asshole...” Brendon rubbed the length of his forearm across his face. Under his nose, under his eyes. He sniffled. “I trusted you, and you pull this kind of shit on me...Do you have any idea how fucking confused I’ve been? How fucking scared?” His word grew thick; his nose was filling as he tried to stop the water from falling down his cheeks. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!” He yelled sharply, turning to face Ryan, who was still clutching his stomach and gasping. “Not some fuckwad who gives me head and tries to fuck me in the school bathroom and goes down on some fucking stranger right in front of me! That’s not how it’s supposed to be! It’s not!” He was shouting now, face hot and cheeks wet despite all efforts. A sickly sob escaped, and Brendon covered his mouth with one hand. He didn’t want to believe such a sound had come out of him. It sounded so weak, so very weak. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be...”

A hand on his shoulder. How he wished he could just shrug it away. His muscles limped at the contact.

“Bren,” Arms all around him. Shuddering breaths on lips slipping by his neck. Being held. “Bren, I’m sorry...” Fingers over his chest, touching him through his shirt. Warmth keening onto his collar bone. “Oh, Brendon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even know you were here...”

Brendon shuddered. “As if that makes this better? Just because you didn’t know I was here means you can suck on some-”

His shoulders were gripped and swiveled, Ryan’s cold lips upon his suddenly. His eyes shot open. His tongue assaulted, pinned, raped. He tasted...No, no, not what had been before. Something duller and bitter and slipping away and yet clinging. It crawled into him, scampering onto his taste buds, filling his mouth and making him gag. Brendon squirmed away, choking. He thrust out at Ryan, knocking him backwards with the force. Brendon coughed while Ryan watched, face changing, reddening.

“What the fuck, Brendon? What the fuck--"

“You taste like her.” Brendon spat onto the carpet. Again. He still tasted it. He was drowning.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You taste...” Again. It was lining his mouth. His whole body coated in her slick, disgusting essence. “...like her come.”

Ryan sat, back against his wall, at a loss for words. His face paled sullenly, the sight of Brendon flushing and bowing and heaving his kiss out so sickly. His eyes shaded darkly, brow furrowing and angry. In one swift motion, he crawled toward Brendon’s kneeling frame and pushed him down, the shards of his hair billowing and fanning upon his carpet, eyes icy with surprise. He pressed his drying lips upon Brendon's furiously, desperately. Brendon tried to dodge, twisting his torso and shaking his head about as if in a seizure. His face was taut with rejection. Though his eyes were closed now, Ryan could sense it. No, no, no, no, no. His mouth wandered. His cheek, his neck, the curve into his chest. “Feel it, Bren, God dammit, feel it...” He pleaded, hands pressing Brendon’s wrists into the ground, legs straddling his waist, back arched so that his lips could read the map of his body. Brendon squirmed.

“Ryan...”

Softly, cooing. The boys jolted in unison at the sound.

It was the dark-haired girl, gaze flowing and shimmering, empty and lost. The black lace panties still hung above her foot like a tacky anklet. Her shirt sleeves wrinkled into ruffles at her cuffs, the collar, side, and back of the uniform top behind her, almost dragging. Her breasts, ripe and heavy, beamed high and sculpted in her ribbon-lined bra. Her skirt was too short. Brendon could see where her thighs led to her bottom. Brendon blushed. Ryan saw this. His lips upturned.

“You don’t want it from me, Bren? You say you ain’t a faggot?” Ryan twisted Brendon’s hands, lifting him so that his arms curved behind his back as he forced him to stand. Brendon whimpered, face already moist from tearing. He shot his crystal gaze down, down, down. Hatefully, he watched the floor, afraid to send his sight anywhere else. Ryan gripped his face at his chin and jerked it upward, his eyes landing upon the girl. “Fine, then. Let’s do things your way.” Ryan’s breath upon his ear. It sent shivers through him. “Brendon, meet Mika. Mika, this is Brendon.”

Brendon felt his eyes widen and straighten their focus on the girl. Mika? Who was this girl, anyway? Ryan certainly never mentioned her. He scanned her again. No, nothing. Nothing special at all. She was pretty. Very much so. But she looked... almost unworthy. Any girl could have a beautiful face, big tits and a nice ass...Why had Ryan chosen this one? Where he shone, she rusted. Why so different?

He was pushed toward her. He stumbled and nearly fell. “Go ahead, Brendon. Say hello.” Ryan’s voice. His hurting voice. Brendon knew he was upset, but he did not want to lose himself to him. Not because he was angry. Not now. Not like this. He had his own control.

Smooth hands, smooth lips. Cool, sweet tongue rolling like waves into him. Brendon kept his eyes open, but found he was lost in the darkest of forests. Her hair was a labyrinth. He found nothing but darkness inside of it. When she drifted away, her gaze was the same. Unchanging. Uncaring. “Hello,” she murmured, as if this were natural.

“Come on, Brendon,” Ryan shot out, tugging the hold on his hands. “Mika’s being real nice to you... Why don’t you return the favor?” At his last word, he thrust Brendon out of his hands with a turn, pushing him toward his bed. Brendon tripped and landed on the mattress, shocked and speechless, head swimming from his word, her kiss, this future. He could feel what was coming. It was swallowing his soul. He watched Ryan flick a glance at Mika. He pointed to Brendon. Brendon and the bed. “Go ahead, Mika. Brendon wants to prove to me that he doesn’t want me. Why don’t you help him?”

“Ryan,” Brendon shifted, face falling. “No...”

“No?” Ryan shed something similar to a smile. It was like the dying laughter of a cruel joke. His eyes were pained. His vision faltered between them: Ryan watching him, and Mika stepping closer to the bed, undaunted. “No, huh? Sounds like you’re pretty fucking confused there, Bren.” Ryan’s hands were upon him again, tearing his shirt over his head before any protest could even be imagined. Brendon lifted cringing fingers over his bareness. He felt naked. When he felt Mika’s hands glide over his muscles, he jumped and nearly squealed. So fast. Ryan’s eyes were bland. “There’s a lot of people downstairs, you know,” he spoke again, ignoring the panic rising in Brendon’s eyes as Mika looked his body over. “I wonder how many know you get hard when I touch you.”

“Ryan, please, please don’t do this...”

“Prove it to me. Prove that you’re not gay. Prove that you like girls.” Fists clenching. Eyes trying so hard to be strong. “Either that, or show me otherwise.”

“I...

(his mouth on her, oh god oh god, her taste and i never wanted to know such a thing. it was in him now, inside of me now vile vile vile)

...I...

(so many people down there, so many watching and i’m not a bad boy i can be good, i swear. leviticus leviticus leviticus leviticusleviticusleviticus 18 22 18 22 18 22 and i can’t just turn the page manshallnotliewithanotherman give me one more chance once more)

...I can’t do this...” When he tried to push his hair away, it fell over his fingers. Strands of brown stuck to his face, cemented by the glue of his sweat, the paste of his tears. He heard the music downstairs. He heard the laughter of the blond-haired boy, smile clouded with confusion as his swallowed the smoke of that searing herb. The sounds from the girls with their bodies soaked in something he could never swim in. Ryan’s tongue. Mika’s hands. He couldn’t help it. Too much. So fast.

“Ryan, he sounds scared...” Mika’s voice. Her hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears like they were shavings of charcoal. Lips on his forehead. Mother.

“So he does.” Ryan’s shadow, darker than any illusion Brendon could have made. Not in those days. Not now. “But isn’t he pretty?” And Mika nodded, a smile faint. Brendon’s heart beat as if it would burst. “Why don’t you help him ease this fear?” Ryan raised his arms, coated in cloth, and there were two t-shirts on the floor. And before Brendon could cry out or move, he was riding, and taking, and the whole world spun slower. He felt as if they were dropping so far from a place they could never reach, falling so fast it was impossible for anyone to slow or stop or be saved at all.