A/N: Warning for some sexual content in this chapter!
——
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, dogs, cats, caterpillars, trees...it's finally happened. We finally know after years of wondering what the f**k touch-starvation actually looks like. And holy s#!t buckets, I could not have dreamed up a better way to find out.
Professional Analysis of Touch-Starvation Gate: I want to fuck Kellin Quinn.
And let me get one thing straight - I'm not. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the opposite sex. I have eyes you know?
Oliver Sykes is, without question, sex incarnate. The man oozes it. He drips it. I'd love to follow him around for a day and lick the ground his feet touch while he verbally berates me; he could literally punch me in the face and I'd say oh, thank you, thank you very much, sir.
He's so fucking hot, as a matter of fact, that it's easy to forget that little Kellin is there in the background, wandering around on his feminine shaped legs (which I have no doubt most of the female population are envious of. I know I am) and scratching absentmindedly at his rosy, blush-tinted cheeks, looking around with those adorable doe-eyes of his. He's, you know- cute. Adorable. He looks like he likes to cuddle. He's Jimin, Baby Spice, Bubbles, to Oliver's Namjoon, Scary Spice, and Buttercup.
After watching him have an orgasm, though. Excuse me- just a second. I need a minute. Just... give me a second... After watching Kellin Quinn throw his head back, moan and babble incoherently for a full five seconds, body shuddering... f**k. There are no f**king words. I've gone speechless. Heaven can't help me now, I've become a Kellin Girl.
It was like Oliver wasn't even f**king there; even after his heroically sexy display of trying to protect his soulmate, even after he flexed his muscles and cocked his fist, after he himself shuddered off into an orgasm, my eyes stayed locked on Kellin's pale, mole-dotted neck.
But, perhaps more importantly; the implications. We finally know that touch-starvation is not, as previously assumed, some weird form of BDSM torture that mutations partake in at weird backalley clubs with cigar smoke everywhere while creepy Russian techno thrums in the background.
Even more importantly than that; we've got several dozen high quality shots of Oliver Sykes' fucking boner. (Touch-Starve Me, Kellin & Oli –Lynn Gunn, MuttPop.com)
——
Kellin and Oliver sit quietly in the Lamborghini in the parking garage. They're blank faced, eyes trained dead ahead, refusing to look at one another or speak a single word as the minutes tick by. Up in Taylor's office was the first time they'd seen each other or been in the same room since... the incident. They didn't look directly at each other, probably out of sheer terror for what would happen if they did.
Control, Kellin thinks with a shake of his head. Freedom. Right. They're fucking terrified to even look into each other's eyes, out of fear of what the mutation is going to make them do, of what law enforcement will do to them if they act upon it. Did they seriously think, for even a fraction of a second, that they had any control over any of this? They're the fucking puppets, the remnants of the serum passed down from their irresponsible and impulsive parents are the strings, and there's nothing they can do about that. Nothing, whatsoever.
"The mark on your face," The hazel-eyed man starts in a gentle voice, the first words he's spoken directly to Kellin since the incident. "That's from..."
"One of the security guards," The small boy says back in a soft voice. "It's not as bad as, um..." Kellin's aqua eyes shine with concern as they subconsciously trace over the painful looking, blue and black bruising around Oliver's eye and the stitches.
