THE BLIND GLASS RAGE

15

Josh's skin was so soft, and so warm.

It had been three hours since the party, when I came to that conclusion.

It was like pressing the gentle pads of your fingertips to a live wire, that felt as if it was wrapped in nothing but satin. In nothing but fabric that only the best people in the world get, and a lot of electricity, and the desire that fizzled under my skin and steamed when I came into contact with him, only grew in temperature. And I couldn't believe how beautiful he was, with the way I was looking at him. So silent and gentle and steady, and I couldn't see anything wrong with him then, though I could later on. An hour later, after I started staring at him in the first place, and I started thinking.

I started thinking that if Noah has always been treating him like this, through the months they've been together, that I should have known. There should've been something visible to me that I was ignoring, and I hoped to whoever listened to me that I was wrong, but I wasn't. Because my hand came out to touch at his shirt hem, with my pale skin touching at his, and I wanted him to know that I was just looking in order to be sure, when it didn't assure me of anything, aside from the fact that if anyone deserves to be get punched in the face over and over and over, it was Noah.

There was small little fingerprints painted onto the skin of Josh's hipbone, colored the exact shade of devestation and fear and everything else that swarmed the pit of my stomach, and I wanted everyone to know that people didn't touch Josh and have nothing happen to them because of it, which is why things happened when they did.

Josh woke up when I moved his shirt back into place, and I was starting to think that his sleep wasn't even really sleep at all, but just keeping his eyes shut against the hand on his waist. His hand shot out to grab at my wrist, though, and I froze in place, trying not to let my fear seep from me, and into him. His back was to me, and he shuffled towards my chest, and I never knew him to be one to cuddle, but apparently he enjoyed it. And I didn't push him away, simply because the strength to wasn't there, and apparently my feelings hadn't transferred from me to him, because he reached his hand back and carded his gentle fingers through my messy hair, before he turned to face me, and moved my face closer to his, and kissed me.

It wasn't like the first time. It wasn't for confirming anything, or for questioning, or for whatever the one before was, but it was for us. Just for us, and he was my best friend that I sometimes kissed. That I had kissed twice, and tried not to care about him more than I knew that I should. He moved so that he was against me, though, and he crushed the fraction of space between us, and there was no protest from me.

His hand came up on the side of my face, while mine pressed onto his shoulder, and the skin of his fingertips felt insane and vibrant against my skin. If my life depended on me breaking away from him, then I would have no choice but to die, because everything that I felt was such an addicting, strong thing. So strong. God, so strong.

His hand slid down my neck, and he slung his arms there instead, molding his mouth to mine, and letting me know that, in one way or another, he cared about me. I knew he did. His tongue was strong and steady in my mouth, with his hands sure and purposeful on my back, and I could feel the stuff he didn't want to say, jumping through my skin. His fingertips moved under my shirt, and he pushed the fabric up, and I wanted to hear him tell me the things he was trying to tell me. A flick of his finger and a nudge of his hips and a swift movement of his tongue all seemed to mean something, and I wanted him. I wanted everything about him. And I wanted to know if he spoke like this with that dumbass of his. Like he read my mind, though, he broke away from me the smallest amount, dragging an inaudible whine from me.

"Just...don't talk to me about Noah. Okay?" Josh spoke against my lips, keeping his eyes shut while my palms danced under his shirt. "I don't want to hear it. I'm figuring it out myself, alright?"

Before a response from me could be formed, he just kissed me again and again and again until I felt like there was a possibility of him meaning it, and, before I could think of anything else but him, his body moved so that it was straddling the entirety of mine, and my head was tilted up so that my lips were perpetually pressed to his, and I wanted nothing but to keep this going. Going and going, but, I couldn't.

My hands were everywhere, though, near his waistband, and tugging shakily at his boxers, which were the second article of clothing (and only other one, aside from his loose shirt), and the one I tried to stray away from. Because I knew that we were kissing and that he was my best friend, but I wasn't sure if he would be alright with any of that. But, he could feel my hand there, and he moved us so that I was above him, and a moan pushed from him at the same time that his fingers came around my wrist, and guided me to the front of him, where there was a prominent bulge that I could feel, and that I've never felt on another person before. In fact, I've never done this with any guy ever, and he was the first. And, if I had to pick, he would always be the first.

His eyes were so powerful, even in the dark of this room. With the scattered moonlight pouring through the awkward angle the window was at, spilling onto the floor and dancing onto his hips, and illuminating the place where my touch met the intimate part of him. Josh's boxers weren't completely off, but the temporary light brushed against his hipbones, were they hung extremely low.

"Just..." Josh breathed, knowing we had to be quiet. "Just. Move your h-" In the middle of his sentence, I decided that I would rather have my hand in his pants at that point, and he buried his face into my shoulder at the contact, and I never thought I would ever feel something like this in my hand, but Josh was making me feel like ever doubting this would happen was nothing but fucking stupid.

Heavily, he breathed against my skin, small uh uh uh's floating from his lips, and making the lump in my throat and in my pants grow, and he moved his hips against my touch. And I didn't exactly know how to move my hand, but I thought about how kids used to pretend to jack off banana's, and I guess it worked. I just moved it up and down and up and down and, experimentally, twisted my wrist, and that went well, too, because he gave a rather not-silent moan, and dug his teeth into my skin. "I'm gonna-"

"Oh, uh," I muttered, and he gave a small, breathy laugh.

"F-faster. Faster faster." I met his demand, and that's the first time I touched a guy the way I always thought I was going to forever touch girls. And that's the night I learned that girls didn't appeal to me nearly as much as the person in my bed did.

"Do you-do you want me to suck you off, or something?" He slurred sleepily, and the words didn't help the issue in my pants anymore. Only worsened it. Neither did his appearance, and neither did the fact that my hand was painted in my best friend's cum. My breathtaking, powerful best friend. "Cause I can, if you want me to."

Part of me wanted to do nothing but that, but a stronger part of me needed to have some time to go into my own space, think about what the hell I just did, and maybe wank it to the thought of his lips on my dick.

~~~

When I got back from the bathroom, he was still laying on my bed, in all of his glory and wonder and beauty, and I wanted to know how I even found the strength to leave from next to him. I could look at him all day, I decided, pressing my feet to the carpet, and scratching at my jaw with anxious, shaky fingers, trying not to show my fear and apprehension.

"Tyler. Tyler, I love you."

And I thought it meant something different at that point, even though I just masturbated to the thought of him, and now that I knew how it felt to have my hands on him past the clothes, and I struggled for air while I walked. Really, I did.

***

a/n: short as fuk but needed (: