rock on! | inanimate insanity au

[ volume one, chapter eight: anger or arousal? ]

TW for sexual themes/content, light-ish swearing..(payjay fans i guess you've won.... for now..)

OJ sat on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily — oh, how he loved Knife. He just wanted to be ravished by him all around, touched in each pleasure spot on his body — marked, owned, dominated. His hands would start to shake, his body sweating with anticipation — he needed more, the faint sunlight from the sunset setting on his skin, a golden glow.

Paper had an ounce of decency — much to OJ's benefit, and he'd yank his blanket up to cover his waist and below — he wasn't exactly thrilled to show his lower half, alright? The handle of his bedroom door would rattle lightly, and Paper would peek through the crack, a nervous expression on his face. He was still friends with OJ, even after voting him off the student council.

He couldn't help but feel bad for what he did.

"Hey," He muttered, his eyes glancing up at him for a brief second before back down to the floor — his shoes were resting near the foot of his bed, and a hand would begin to run through his hair. Paper glanced at the messy state of his friends' room. Was he doing okay? Well, obviously not. That's a stupid question to ask when someone's hunched over in what seems to be a garbage disposal of a room.

"Why are you here?"

"You've been distant," He began quietly, "I've been trying to talk to you, but you brush me off like I'm nothing to you anymore." His eyes had a look of hurt in them, and he'd cross his arms — speaking once more. "You just.. don't seem to want to open up to me anymore — what happened to being good friends, OJ? We were close." Paper sighed, his hands clasped together.

"What is it? Is it because I—" A sigh was heard, cutting his sentence off to an end. Paper was getting on his nerves.

"I don't want to talk, alright? It's nothing, now leave." His face formed a frown, his hands pushing down on the blanket, covering his lap specifically. There were so many things Paper had to say, that he hadn't said yet.

"You can't keep running away from your problems! Don't you know it'll only make things worse?" Paper said through a frown, leaning against the bed frame, moving to grip OJ's shoulder — but he pushed his hand away, not wanting the contact. What would Paper know about him, what does he know about what he wants?

It's his life. Why does he give two shits?

"Like you're any better, huh? Who's the one who dragged me along with all your problems?" OJ started, his brow furrowing deeper than usual — Paper had no right to be getting into his business. What he was struggling with wasn't any of his concern, as far as he knew. Just because they were good friends didn't mean bullshit!

"You're not serious, right? OJ, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" His face turned red in anger, his hand reaching to slap him across the face — but all OJ did was grab his wrist, gripping it tightly. They were both seething with rage, more than they had before. This argument wasn't like the others they'd had before, no, this was different.

"What's wrong with me? No, Paper, what is wrong with you? Who gave you the fucking right to barge into my life, and tell me what to do with it all? You're not a friend, you're an asshole — I don't have to be around you every second of the day, just because your ex- boyfriend didn't touch you in the way that you wanted him to!"

.. well, shit.

Paper stared at him, completely dumbfounded. How dare he.

"He was more of a man than you'd ever be, OJ! More of a fucking man!"

OJ furrowed his brow, standing up — pushing the other male to the wall, staring down at him with a dark expression. His eyes were cold, and starting to pierce into Paper's head, making him experience a shiver down his spine — his face was so close, and he didn't know how to feel, beginning to sputter out words that made no sense, sentences which were gibberish as a whole, his throat growing tight.

"Repeat that again." He'd hiss through his teeth, threatening to snap his neck off. To Paper, this was slightly more attractive than he let on — but he wasn't supposed to admit that.

"I said, that he was more of a.." His attention has trailed somewhere else completely, looking him up and down — OJ was fit, I can say that much. As much as he would hate himself for it, it wouldn't hurt to get a little bit more action in his life — but with his close friend? That was a risky move, especially as they're currently in a disagreement.

"Exactly."

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They didn't know how they got here.

Each kiss was clumsy, and definitely uncoordinated — but that was the beauty of it all. OJ held the back of his head close, his fingers grasping Paper's white hair — tugging for encouragement. Paper melted into the kiss, biting OJ's bottom lip, wanting more contact. He hadn't thought of his friend in a way like this, but now? You bet he was. There were multiple ways of how he wanted to make a whole movie with this man running through his head, his hands squeezing his arms.

Paper pulled away, a desperate sigh escaping his lips — he wanted more, no, he craved more. OJ grunted and crashed his body forward, pushing against the other male, who squirmed in response, his face heating up further than it had before. To OJ, Paper was just a cute boy with pink lips and a red face. That's all his mind was telling him. It was also telling him to RIP those clothes off.

"Gah, fuck," OJ murmured, seeing Paper's eyes begin to slowly dart downwards, and he'd snap his fingers. If he wanted it, he'd have to earn it.

The word was spinning at a very alarming rate. Maybe a little too fast — was the room spinning? He couldn't really tell. All he knew was that he was going to get fucked, even if it meant nothing right after. It was better than nothing. Paper watched as OJ gave him a glance, before getting yanked onto the mess he dared to call a bed.

"Jeans. Take the jeans off." He'd use his hand to motion for him to begin — and the blue eyed make would sputter, hands fumbling with the belt on his jeans, pulling it through the loops and onto the floor. The process of taking off jeans was a hassle, but he finally got them off, throwing them on the ground to join the mess, which was OJ's laundry pile, his gaze averted.

"Look at me." God, this would be a very long night, and Paper didn't know how he was going to live with himself after this.
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end of chapter.