These Paper Pages

f r i e n d s (Jarlo)

⇘                                ⇙

And what the hell were we?
Tell me we weren't just friends,
This doesn't make much sense, no~
But I'm not hurt, I'm tense.

⇗                                ⇖
A smile appears on his lips, meeting Arlo’s piercing gaze, John nods his head before turning his attention back to Hieronymus who had comfortably settled on his lap. He grips his chin, tugging the blond closer to him and his gaze returns to Arlo again. Without breaking eye contact, he tilts Hieronymus’ chin and leans in, his lips grazing against his exposed neck. He relishes at the sight of Arlo’s composure slipping, ocean blue eyes wild and promising of possible destruction. John savours the moment, a smirk forming on his lips as he studies his stiff figure, hands curling into fists so tightly that the can crumples and the liquid bubbles from the mouth.

“Enjoying yourself there?” Hieronymus drapes his arms around his neck, fingers threading through his locks of messy raven hair. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he parts from John’s hold. “Is my little vampire watching as well?”

John chuckles, his breath warm against Hieronymus’ skin, “With great attention, both of them actually.” He trails kisses up his neck before slowly moving to his jaw, lips brushing tenderly against the exposed skin. “How long do you think it will take for them to make a move?”

Hieronymus hums, twirling a loose strand of hair, he briefly cranes his neck to steal a glance at the two males just out of his sight, he smiles before looking away. “If they’re alike, then it shouldn’t be long now.” He takes a shuddering breath when John’s lips brushes against a rather sensitive area. “They’ll kill us both if it means keeping us to themselves.”

“That’s morbid, Hiero.” He pulls himself away and leans back against the leather seat, an eyebrow raised as he stares up at the blond. “I don’t think they’ll go that far, Arlo knows his limits, he wouldn’t go as far as that.”

He grins, and John marvels as the strobing neon lights move with the shadows obscuring his face, “Maybe not Arlo, but Chase just might. He’d bite you on the neck and feast on your blood.” He pauses, his smile growing wider and a laugh bursts from his lips, “Or maybe he’ll send you Sorin out a window.”

John couldn’t help but groan at the terrible pun, rolling his eyes at the blond, he flicks him on the forehead as he attempts to hide the small smile appearing on his lips. “Stop, it’s not that funny anymore.” he complains despite his poorly masked amusement.

And Hieronymus laughs, “Mhm, maybe. But you still find it kinda amusing despite your complaints.”

Arlo watches, his blood boiling as he observes from the distance; dread tugs down at his stomach, melding with both disgust and poorly disguised jealousy as John’s hand wanders just below Hieronymus’ thigh. When the raven-haired male parts from the blond, it irks Arlo quite terribly at how comfortable he looks on top him, straddling what is his-

He runs his hand through locks of dishevelled blond hair, John isn’t his to begin with, they were just ‘friends’ as he would put it. There was nothing more between them, nothing romantic, only lust and ill-placed desires of wanting something neither of them could have and so they sought comfort in each other’s misery. But now, Arlo reflects, he finds himself seeking something more, something intimate and long lasting rather than phone calls at twelve in the morning where he should be asleep but he isn’t because the bed is cold and the apartment is empty and dreadful. He looks down at the crumpled beer can and sighs, the throb of every beat of music reverberating within the enclosed space and the flashing neon lights coupled with the noise of the crowd as they scream and holler with the music was giving him a headache. The alcohol, the accursed beverages, coursing in his system was not helping. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stealing one last glance at the two who had comfortably hidden themselves away in the corner, Arlo scowls and pushes himself through the crowd and disappears.

The amusement of seeing Arlo simmer in jealousy soon slips as John watches him disappear in the crowd. His stomach rolls and clenches, maybe he had taken it too far. Shoving Hieronymus off his lap, who had yelped and muttered obscenities underneath his breath but John couldn’t care less as he springs to his feet. Without so much as a word, he pushes past the crowd infested with drunken young adults and the occasional sober friend whose stuck with driving everyone home. There are no apologies thrown as he carelessly navigate through the sea of bodies stumbling on their feet as they move to the sway of the music. Five more drunk people shoved aside and a near brush of getting into a fist fight, John finally spots him.

“Arlo!” He calls out as he finally makes his way out of the bodies messily mashed in the dance floor. The blond pauses for a moment, appearing conflicted to whether he should turn around or keep on walking. The brief pause was enough for John to finally catch up to him and grab hold of his wrist.

The next few seconds come as a blur, to John’s surprise, the blond has enough strength and sense of coordination to pin him against the wall. Arlo firmly plants his hands on either side of his head, using the wall as a leverage to hold his weight as he towers over the raven haired male. His warm breath, infused with the strong smell of alcohol, fans his face for a brief moment before Arlo leans in and presses his lips against his. And John doesn’t hesitate to return it. He wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him closer. The tension explodes as pent-up frustration burst forth to the surface and it pushes them both over the edge of rough and heated passion and lust lacing their lips like sweet, sweet, candy that leaves them craving for more.

They pull apart eventually, both out of breath and red-faced. John cups his cheeks and tugs him forward again, wanting another kiss despite barely recovering from the previous one, but Arlo resist. They stare in each other’s eyes darkened by desire and need of touches only privy to both of them in the confines of the bedroom.

“What exactly are we?” The question takes him by surprise, John searches his eyes for a clue, urging him to specify. Frustration twists Arlo’s features, running one hand through his hair and carelessly tugging at it in his irritation. “What the hell are we? Because surely were far off from being...” he pauses, taking a deep breath as he fixes his stare at him.

“Just friends?” The words roll of his tongue like acid, John spits it as if it burnt him. Arlo falls quiet, John brushes his thumb against his cheek before he pulls his hand back, “To be honest, I don’t know how to answer that.” Because he wants it to be more than that, he wants more than just sitting in his bedroom and staring at his phone as he waits for him to call. It’s always the same time, always the same day, and it’s his fault that he’s hooked into this toxicity.

“Do you want us to be more than that?” Arlo’s voice his quiet and barely audible from the sound. He tilts John’s chin up, forcing him to look into his eyes. He nods and Arlo sucks in a sharp breath.

“Then what’s stopping you?”