Raphael /BoyxBoy/

||Eleven||

Day two.

I was sex crazed. 

Couldn't think of anything but sex, sex, sex. 

That afternoon we spent together, making out on his couch while his record player scratched against his records, it ignited something. That sexual drive I thought I'd lost years ago. Years, years, years ago. When I was twelve, maybe.

I never thought of sex the way I did then. In the way that I couldn't get it out of my head, just images of his body, my body, other people's bodies. Men, mostly. Sweating and bent over, panting for breath, holding their breaths, it was all the same thing. 

I wondered if he saw it the way I did. My arms pinning him down against his sheets, everything was white and dim, the sound of his breathing louder than mine. Him, twisting underneath me, struggling against me. Sometimes he would climb over me, and I would guide his hips. Other times I'd set him against his desk, watch it shake, his pens rolling off the surface the faster I moved.

I couldn't get it out of my head. Even in class, when I should have been bored out of my mind and turned off by the seemingly never ending drone of my professor's voice. But I wasn't. I was struggling to keep my  boner hidden, trying not to think of him

Don't think of him, don't think of his name, don't think of the smell of his skin. And don't think of the taste of his lips, and the feeling of his fingers sliding through mine while I pressed him down, towering over him. 

God. 

And then I had to ask about Dan, because I hadn't seen him in days, I lost count. So I splashed cold water over my face and asked one of his girls. 

She gave me a look that said she thought I was worth nothing more than scraps of garbage before trotting away.

I tried.

And then I had to, because I couldn't see him now. He was at work and I had an hour before my next class, two and a half before I could allow myself to stop by his place.

I did it quickly, and I did it with erotic guilt in the bathroom I should have been sharing with Dan. And when I'd cleaned myself up and tried to avoid my reflection, I still felt a heavy weight on my chest. I still felt that buzz. 

But it helped. That short relief.

I saved the left over buzz for later, for when I could kiss him again.

It was slow getting there.

Time seemed to have lost its meaning by the time I escaped the lecture hall. I dumped all my things on my bed, insisting I would clean it up later. Ignoring the fact that I should have been spending that time studying, but I couldn't. I just couldn't get him out of my head. 

So I walked to his place, thinking of his hair, and  his lips, and the way he rolled his eyes. He rolled his eyes too many times, I wasn't sure how they never stuck. 

He opened his door dressed in an old robe, the sleeves torn, the ends too short, the material too tight over his body. 

His hair was wet.

"Jake," he said my name like he didn't think I would show up.

"Hey," I managed to keep it cool. To pretend I wasn't thinking about undoing that belt around his waist and watching the towel slide to the floor. 

In my head he wouldn't pick it up and wear it again. In my head, he would step out of it and kick it away, yank me inside and close the door and run his hands all over me until I was naked too and we would fall against his couch. 

In reality, he took a step back and let me in.

"I'll just...change."

The word "don't" was on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to hold the edge of his robe in my fingers and force him to stay.

Wouldn't even slide the belt off. I could touch him from underneath. He would like that.

I nodded, settling down on the couch without him while he disappeared inside his room. 

I forced myself not to think about him changing. Get rid of that warmth in my pants before he returned. 

"Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked.

His hair was still wet, but his legs were covered now. In a pair of sweats.

"Done for the day."

"Of course. Coffee?"

"Please."

Or I should have said no. Coffee couldn't possibly help my condition. 

Raphael came back with two mugs and curled up beside me, blowing lightly over the warm liquid. "I used the hand cream."

"Was it any good?"

He nodded. "Very thoughtful gift."

I tried not to let it get to my head. I really did.

"Were you in the shower?"

"No, I just casually hang around in my bath robe with my hair dripping wet. A ritual, if you must."

I smiled. I wanted to kiss him so bad, but I settled my lips on the edge of my mug instead.

"I was being sarcastic," he said.

"I know."

We set our mugs aside when we emptied them out, and Raphael got out one of his safe for skin markers. He traced the point over his wrist, drawing lines and shapes my eyes wouldn't focus on because his face was more interesting. Concentrated like that. The same expression he had on his face whenever he kissed me.

"Stop staring," he murmured around the cap he'd lodged between his lips.

I can't, I wanted to say. The buzzing's still there.

He stopped drawing on his arm and took mine instead. Glanced up as if to ask for my permission. 

"Of course," I said, pushing my sleeves up.

He pressed a hand over mine to steady my arm and then touched the marker to my skin, drawing something I couldn't see because his head was bent over my arm, obscuring my view.

When he glanced up, his face so close to mine, I kissed him. Because I couldn't not kiss him when he was looking at me like that. 

I couldn't not run my fingers through his hair, slightly damp now, smoothening it back. 

He pulled back and I caught a half finished drawing of the pack of coffee beans he used. 

I kissed him again, that buzzing feeling was fading. I no longer wanted to make his lips bleed with my teeth, or take off his clothes just to see what he looked like. It was replaced by a feeling of warmth and I only wanted to kiss him now. Only to touch him over his shirt and hide under warm blankets and take coffee breaks before I traced soothing circles against his back. We would lay down on his couch and stare at nothing, just feel his warmth and breathe in his scent. 

My tongue caressed the corner of his mouth.

 "What about him?"

"It's about you now," I said against his lips. "Forget about him."

"I can't," he said quietly.

"For now," and I kissed harder, so hard our lips were pulsing and bruised when we parted.

"Forgotten," he said and pulled me in closer. "If you kiss me like that again."

So I kissed him like that again. And again, and again until it all blurred together and it was just the two of us locking lips and twisting tongues.

I'm hungry.

Thanks for reading xx