(no subject)
Title: Black(white)
Rating: R (slightly vague sexual content)
Fandom: HoneyDew Syndrome Read it here!
Characters: Josh/Metis, 2nd person (=O)
Notes: ... Yeah. I see myself writing a lot of these in the future.
He really doesn’t match the rest of your bedroom.
He’s pale and dark and different, standing out against your plaid comforter with his ink black hair.
--complete with emo-kid part, even though he swears up and down that if you call him that again he’s going to make you bleed. from your eyes--
Your room, on the other hand, is socks on the floor and football posters, and the flat screen TV your dad got you for winning the big game in the fall.
--you scoffed internally when he presented it to you and thought, they‘re all “The Big Game“ to you, but you accepted the gift anyways. the enhanced picture makes it easier to spot snipers hiding on rooftops, which comes in pretty damn handy--
He stands out like a sore thumb when he sits downstairs, eating dinner with your family. You mom tries to feed him thirds and your dad hides his head behind his newspaper so he won’t openly stare. You’ve never brought anyone like him home before, and you don’t plan on making this a habit because there’s only one Metis, and one is more than enough to satisfy the urges deep within your chest.
Your mom adores him, and you love your mom, you do, but she’s pretty much an airhead, and you think your dad may suspect, but if he does he’s remaining purposely oblivious, because what good is being able to brag about your all-star football playing son when he fools around under the bleachers after the game with another boy?
You don’t think you’re gay or anything. You just like Metis.
You really like Metis.
Dinners are awkward for you, mostly because as you eat your mother’s chicken while she chats about school with Metis, you’re mentally timing how long before you can pull him away from the table, up to your room.
--he clashes against your wallpaper--
How long before you can turn your stereo on, popping in something loud like Metallica or Kiss, how long before you can push him against the wall or to the floor, or if you’re feeling adventurous, the bed, how long before you can mouth at his bellybutton and undo his belt, and taste his cock.
You wouldn’t have guessed this a year ago, but you love giving head. And probably this only applies when the thighs squeezing your skull belong to Metis, but you have no interest in testing that theory against anyone else.
So when you finally get him upstairs, your hands shake just a bit as you lock your door.
--you forgot once, just once, and your mom tried to bring you cookies and milk. It’s a damn good thing that was a wall day because you were able to shove the half naked metis into a closet and pretend he was in the bathroom, but you never forgot again, and he made you buy him three video games and treat him to milkshakes at the mall before he‘d forgive you--
He’s looking out your bedroom window into the night, and you give into all your urges and come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He’s soft and hard and smooth and all the jagged bits that make up Metis, and dammit, but you don’t care that he’s a more of a dark storm to your cloudless summer day, you’ll bang on the puzzle pieces until they fit together because he’s Metis and light and he makes your heart ache in your chest and your cock twitch in your pants.
And he’s not going anywhere.
Rating: R (slightly vague sexual content)
Fandom: HoneyDew Syndrome Read it here!
Characters: Josh/Metis, 2nd person (=O)
Notes: ... Yeah. I see myself writing a lot of these in the future.
He really doesn’t match the rest of your bedroom.
He’s pale and dark and different, standing out against your plaid comforter with his ink black hair.
--complete with emo-kid part, even though he swears up and down that if you call him that again he’s going to make you bleed. from your eyes--
Your room, on the other hand, is socks on the floor and football posters, and the flat screen TV your dad got you for winning the big game in the fall.
--you scoffed internally when he presented it to you and thought, they‘re all “The Big Game“ to you, but you accepted the gift anyways. the enhanced picture makes it easier to spot snipers hiding on rooftops, which comes in pretty damn handy--
He stands out like a sore thumb when he sits downstairs, eating dinner with your family. You mom tries to feed him thirds and your dad hides his head behind his newspaper so he won’t openly stare. You’ve never brought anyone like him home before, and you don’t plan on making this a habit because there’s only one Metis, and one is more than enough to satisfy the urges deep within your chest.
Your mom adores him, and you love your mom, you do, but she’s pretty much an airhead, and you think your dad may suspect, but if he does he’s remaining purposely oblivious, because what good is being able to brag about your all-star football playing son when he fools around under the bleachers after the game with another boy?
You don’t think you’re gay or anything. You just like Metis.
You really like Metis.
Dinners are awkward for you, mostly because as you eat your mother’s chicken while she chats about school with Metis, you’re mentally timing how long before you can pull him away from the table, up to your room.
--he clashes against your wallpaper--
How long before you can turn your stereo on, popping in something loud like Metallica or Kiss, how long before you can push him against the wall or to the floor, or if you’re feeling adventurous, the bed, how long before you can mouth at his bellybutton and undo his belt, and taste his cock.
You wouldn’t have guessed this a year ago, but you love giving head. And probably this only applies when the thighs squeezing your skull belong to Metis, but you have no interest in testing that theory against anyone else.
So when you finally get him upstairs, your hands shake just a bit as you lock your door.
--you forgot once, just once, and your mom tried to bring you cookies and milk. It’s a damn good thing that was a wall day because you were able to shove the half naked metis into a closet and pretend he was in the bathroom, but you never forgot again, and he made you buy him three video games and treat him to milkshakes at the mall before he‘d forgive you--
He’s looking out your bedroom window into the night, and you give into all your urges and come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He’s soft and hard and smooth and all the jagged bits that make up Metis, and dammit, but you don’t care that he’s a more of a dark storm to your cloudless summer day, you’ll bang on the puzzle pieces until they fit together because he’s Metis and light and he makes your heart ache in your chest and your cock twitch in your pants.
And he’s not going anywhere.