The Soul of a Boy

Adrian stared, blue orbs sparkling mischievously.
"And what exactly do you want that to be, oh smart one?"
I couldn't wait, didn't want to. I wanted to feel him, to run my hands over his muscles and kiss the lines of his abs. I wanted to taste his skin, his lips, everything.
I stepped forward, our faces coming dangerously close. His eyes traveled down my features, landing on my lips.
The question. I forgot the question.
"I...I want..." I gulped. "You. Just you."
Something flashed in his eyes, and suddenly, his hand was on my chest, shoving me back against the wall. His lips slammed into mine so hard our teeth collided, and my knees went weak.
A low moan escaped my mouth and his tongue slipped between my lips, meeting mine in a fierce battle for dominance.
After a minute, he pulled back, out of breath.
His eyes were hard and lustful.
"What's Billy saying right now?" I whispered, breathing hard. I kept my eyes on his, couldn't look away, at least not now.
"He's saying, 'shut up and fucking kiss him, loser'."
"Yeah?" I reached for him and wrapped my arms around his neck. "What else?"
His grinned his world-tilting, crazy, wonderful grin. "He's starting to regret eating those enchiladas from the school cafeteria.
I laughed, and Adrian's lips found mine again, only gentler this time, slow.
"You're crazy," I breathed.
He smiled. "I know."

Adrian has an overactive imagination for a 17 year old boy. His best friend is William Shakespeare (his nickname is Billy) and he lives in a constantly changing black hole. He's quiet, though. His journal speaks for him, the one book he never lets anyone read, not even his mother. Until, that is, he meets a boy.