(slight smut but whatevs)
DORIAN VOWED TO TAKE THE world by the bow and crank down the nebulas that grace the heavens. To grab his life by the neck and look straight into its eyes, make it submit because only he would like to decide how his cookie crumbles.
This right here though is far from what he can handle. Giovanni is right there but not here exactly, breathing to his bare neck and back and tracing the vertices that carve his body; but as much as Dorian struggles to cherish this space and frame of time that has held on for so long, he can't take it off his mind that he is intercoursing with a ghost.
Oh, sweet Gio. This is really how their story is going to end, Dorian ponders as Gio plunders his insides. Giving the cancer kid one last shag before veering into the great beyond to have Whitney's Houston's autograph. That sounds horrible in his perspective. Not his perspective but some perspective.
This life is crystalline, like those weird dices used to play Dungeons and Dragons. So many faces and Dorian may just be thinking past the normal human limit right now. What if? How if? Should it? Can it even? Maybe if?
Gio soon finishes on top of him, who has been done a long time ago.
The blonde rolls down to his side, panting like he just soloed a racehorse. "Dorian?"
He doesn't reply, his head stuck up in his own dark clouds. He tries to wander in them for too long lest he gets lost in the point of no return. And that involves a shitload of weed and cheap, lethal contraband. Dorian has his stories.
"Dorian?" Again, Gio asks, shaking him by the shoulder. "Is this about the check?"
"Yes it is about the check!" Dorian retorts but not too loudly, as he turns to meet Gio in the eye, which for some reason are glowing tonight like aerodrome beacons.
"What about it?" Says Gio with a sad frown on his red face.
Dorian pauses to ruminate on whether to say what he wants to say or the perfect seasoning to the indecisive atmosphere.
He lazily picks up the check on the bedside drawer and holds it to his face. Gio shifts closer to him rather enthusiastically like waiting for the first positive response this night since Gio told him to strip to his bare ass.
The paper smells like strong, expensive perfume and Dorian just has to wonder if this kind of check, gold-plated, strong-scented and statement-making is really a thing rich people has got going on with themselves.
Dorian reads aloud, his tongue still heavy as an anchor. "Dorian Ayuba, twenty million dollars--"
"--which is subject to increment depending on client's outstanding needs," Giovanni adds with this saucer of a simper on his sexy face.
"Giovanni, this is too--"
"Fuck I just love it when you call me my full name. You are horrible at accentuating it but still make it feel better than even my parents that gave me the name "
"Gio! Listen," Dorian states firmly.
"Clearly I am."
"This is too much. Gio, ten milli. Not one, two, three, four but ten million."
"You deserve it," Gio shrugs.
"See? That's the problem. I don't. I've been nothing but trouble to you since I laid my eyes on you in that bathroom stall, trying to unalive yourself."
"Oh, is that so?" Giovanni folds his arms. "Well in that case, see this as an appreciation gift for saving my life."
"I don't want shit. I want you."
YOU ARE READING
TORPEDO ✓
Teen FictionGirls have always been enough for Dorian Ayuba; until they weren't. Now, he is a hurricane in a box, all the while piggybacking scholarships, bills and his broken mother. Then there's rich, sickly Giovanni Price whose life expectancy is just as shor...
