From England, With Love

Red Lips and Blue Lights

I find it hard to describe how I feel when I see Pete shirtless, staring back at me like a trapped rabbit. Surprise, embarrassment and shyness cross my mind, but by far the most strongly, I feel a pulsing in my pants.

When I press my lips to his, my hand cupping his face, my mind almost bursts. I'm overwhelmed by the soft warmth of his mouth and our proximity. I lean further onto the bed, gently pushing him onto the mattress and run my fingers through his hair. Pete clings to my shirt, his eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows furrowed. I feel short of breath and can hear my heart pumping in my head; I'm an over excited teenage boy, what else am I supposed to feel apart from overstimulated?

Pete's hands move onto my back, pushing my desire to touch him. I run my hand down his waist. It's slim, as I expected, and I can feel the heat of his skin underneath my palm. I can feel myself falling further and further into my lust but make no real attempt to stop myself as I run my tongue across Pete's lips, causing them to open. I deepen our kiss, making myself dizzy and causing Pete to flush scarlet. I can't ignore the tightness in my pants, and subconsciously grind my crotch on his leg – suddenly I feel hands on my chest and I am pushed onto the floor.

My chest heaving and my lips swollen, I look up at Pete. His eyes are hazy and his skin dusted pink down to the neck of his shirt and his lips shining with saliva, but he looks... scared.

I went too far.

Just as I open my mouth to speak, he springs up from the bed and runs past me out the room. After a moment of processing what's happening, I swear to myself and run after him.

"Pete, don't go, I-" My words stumble out.

"I need to go, thank you f-for helping me, Ae," Pete forces out, quickly sliding on his shoes and opening the door. I want to stop him, but something holds me back, telling me to let him go. So I do. He slides out the apartment, hurriedly shutting the door behind him.

"Shit." I breath, sighing heavily and rubbing the back of my head in frustration. Why did I do that? Why did I scare him away. I pace back to my bedroom and fall, face first into the mattress. I lie there, still, for a long while, trying to collect my thoughts and feelings for Pete.

I haven't known him long, but he makes me feel comfortable. More relaxed. He's unusual, his softness intrigues me. I like the sound of his voice, and the way he laughs. He's... cute.

But he's a boy.

As someone who has never questioned or confronted my sexuality, I'm uncertain and slightly on edge. I have nothing against being gay, or supporting anyone in their relationships – love is love at the end of the day, and who is anyone to deny that fact? I just never thought that I, personally, would be so irrevocably and intensely drawn to another boy.

A part of me yearns to explore this new feeling, but another part of me is, to be frank, scared. I pushed Pete too far today in order to pursue my own desires, not considering his feelings toward me. For all I know, I am hopelessly forcing a narrative applicable only to myself, like a child trying to hold the air in their palms. Potentially, I have ruined everything.

I feel a dull pain in my chest and roll onto my back. Closing my eyes, my mind pulls forward images of what just happened on this very mattress, and I find myself unable to focus on anything aside from the feeling of Pete's lips on mine, and his body beneath me.

I feel my heart rate rising, and that familiar swelling in my pants. I sigh.

Why am I like this?

My hands travel to the zipper on my trousers, pulling it down hastily. I undo the button and lift up my waist as I hook my thumbs underneath the waistbands of both my trousers and boxers, pulling them down in a swift motion to release my half-hard member. I adjust myself on the mattress and grab a pillow to place under my head before taking the heat into my hand and start to stroke it.