inspired by Weird Science '85
"Oh, Ian."
Experienced lips worshipped my neck.
"Y/N someone might hear you..."
Soft hands caressed my lips.
"I don't care."
Wet tears stroked my cheek.
"Ian, are you okay?"
Warm hands cupped my own.
"I just wish that I could love you every second of the day, just like normal people."
I brought my lips to his.
"Normal is boring."
Ian and I had been hiding our love for about 6 months, hiding it from Gary and Wyatt who had an incredibly strained relationship with Max and Ian himself. It was hard running around places and sneaking off at questionable hours in the morning just to say hello or so he could know what it was like to feel again.
Gary and Wyatt kept me locked at their hips most days as we grew up together in the same neighbourhood. I wasn't complaining because each time we'd hang out, I'd come out with a stitch and tears of laughter in my eyes. It was cute but it wasn't real.
I knew they would never support me.
I was cautious at first, talking to him with furrowed brows because of the grief he'd caused for those boys since they were tots. But, when he started to actually speak his mind, I knew there was no turning back even if I wanted to. I was doomed from the start.
We were so happy until Gary found out that day.
--
I was in science class the drool from my lips onto my work wetter than the liquid in the test tube. It was boring, gross but mandatory of course.
Conveniently I jump from my hand seeing a familiar mop of tall hair calling me in the window of the door and instinctively I use my bathroom pass.
We locked hands skipping down the empty glossy hallways like we were born yesterday, chuckling and tickling each other like children but that look in his eye was way more mature.
He was supposed to be in Gym with Gary and Wyatt but he claimed he skipped only for a few seconds just so he could kiss me once more.
"Only once," he promised, pointing faithfully to the sky, his defined arms appealing in his gym tank top.
He pulls me in, a devilish twinkle in his eye.
"Or twice."
He kisses my ear, biting the lobe.
"Or three times."
He traces the line of my cheekbone with his lips.
"Or four."
He kisses my nose, I was panting.
"Or five or six or seven and eight."
He kisses me quickly for each number, hugging my waist and hips as we leaned against one another. Every time he kissed me it was like the first time which let me know that this was no bad boy fling, a trip to the wild side. This was true.
The kisses that were quick soon turned quicker and my hair was getting messier and his gym shorts were getting tighter. He playfully shoved me to the wall, bright eyes undressing me with his gaze. And before I knew it we were kissing feverishly, no, more like making out.
