Dreamer's Disease

Chapter Ten

"If I show you, you'll hate me." Elliot said quietly, his voice almost a pathetic whimper. His cheeks were burning a furious scarlet, the colour of a kid's face just before they started to throw a tantrum over something they wanted but couldn't have. That was Elliot all over. The ever-stroppy seven-year-old, ready to throw a pathetic tantrum over the one thing he wanted - the one person he wanted - but yet couldn't have. Blake wasn't his. And dammit, that hurt so much it was unbelievable. Matt was right, it wasn't fair at all, to lead the guy on the way he had been, when Blake was just right there, when he was so close, as close as he was, his nose almost touching his own, his breath blowing gently into his face. Elliot's gaze was locked on Blake's lips, and he studied them as he battled with his own thoughts. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. Blake was this unchanging embodiment of steadiness and strength, like a rock, and Elliot was just this trembling shipwreck, filled with water that sloshed about endlessly and threatened to break the few remains of the shipwreck in one quick rush of current.

"I won't." Lies. Of course he would. He would push Elliot away, would refuse to talk to him, refuse to acknowledge his existence. Every shipwreck had a resting place, and this walking shipwreck had settled next to this rock, the rock that pressed against the hole in the side of the shipwreck, and stopped the strong water current from ripping apart the shipwreck. He wasn't about to willingly push that rock away anytime soon.

"Promise?" He found himself foolishly asking. Only a tantruming, stroppy seven-year-old would be foolish enough to ask that. "Promise." It was a line for kids, because only kids could keep promises - and even then, that was because kids had no need to make serious promises, or promises that were impossible to keep. They were kids. Kids had no responsibilities or worries outside of getting home before the streetlights came on. He was pathetic, and asking Blake to promise something utterly impossible just proved it. But, nonetheless, Blake nodded, his mouth set in a straight line, his expression firm but worrying. This was his rock.

"Promise."

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it. It was a terrible idea, but an idea that flashed into Elliot's mind for just a split second. He never acted on impulse, never acted on ideas that hadn't been thoroughly thought out, tried and tested. He couldn't trust himself, couldn't trust his instincts, couldn't trust the temptation. His palms were pressed back against the cold, grimy wall of the alley behind him, and he could feel sweat forming in his palms. If he didn't act soon, he would lose Blake forever, he would be too nervous to do anything. Blake would let him duck out beneath his arm and run off home, and would forget he existed within a week.

He pushed himself up onto his toes quickly, a hand slipping off of the wall behind him and swinging around to allow him to wrap his arm around Blake's neck, and it was then that he crushed his lips against Blake's. Blake was still for a second, unmoving, unbreathing, and Elliot held his breath, his lips still against Blake's, his arm still around his neck.

And then, Blake began to move. His hands moved from where they were planted on the wall at either side of Elliot's head, down to his chest, pawing at absolutely nothing and yet still trying to find something. His lips pushed back against Elliot's, his breath heavy and laboured as he pushed his lips apart in a sloppy, unpractised kiss. Elliot didn't even care that they were in a dark and grimy alley, that Blake was only kissing him because Elliot had kissed him first and thrown him off guard, that he would probably hate him and run away after they were done. For the time being, for now, this was enough. This was more than enough. This was everything. This was all he'd wanted.

Elliot wrapped his other arm around Blake's neck, pressing in closer, trying to remember the sensation of having Blake's tongue probing his mouth; the feeling of his hands grasping desperately at his shirt, his hips, his face, his thighs; the way his body pressed so easily against his in the narrow alley, Blake kissing him deeper; his hands finally finding their resting place in his shaggy blond hair, where they tugged gently, causing Elliot to crane his neck, giving Blake's lips access to his neck. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses from his mouth to his jaw, and down to his neck, his teeth grazing the skin, his hands moving frantically again to touch his face, his shoulders, his hips, and then slipping under his t-shirt, skimming across bare skin. His hands were cold, gentle, but insistent all the same.