Heaven's Ablaze - Chapter 20
Title:: Heaven's Ablaze
Genre:: AU Vam Fanfic
Rating:: R
Summary:: His heaven is ablaze in my eyes
Notes:: This story is based on the album Dark Light. All lyrics are taken from that album, and are copyright of Ville Valo. I do not know or own the characters in this story. The storyline itself is property of me and me alone. This story deals with the themes of religion and a degree of pedophilia. If you have a problem with the themes, dont read it.
Links under the cut
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Accident
Chapter 2 - Pot Luck
Chapter 3 - Warmth
Chapter 4 - Joseph on Wheels
Chapter 5 - My First Christmas
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 6 - Beginnings
Chapter 7 - Music
Chapter 8 - Time
Chapter 9 - Unfortunate Meetings of Unfortunate Friends
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 10 - Journies
Chapter 11 - First Crush
Chapter 12 - Contemptible
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 13 - Bath Tubs
Chapter 14 - Labyrinth
Chapter 15 - Pure Mornings
Chapter 16 - Angels
Chapter 17 Angels
Chapter 18 - Coffee
Chapter 19 - Refuge
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 20 - Dirty
I knew Bam like the back of my hand by then. As soon as I saw him I could tell what kind of mood he was in. And I noticed the change immediately, though I had no idea what had brought it on.
He looked tired. Gloomy. Confused. A mess.
“Bam, are you okay?”
“Huh? What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
I frowned, but I didn’t say anything, just slid into my seat, closed the door, and let him drive.
It was the same for a while. He looked tired, worried, and stressed out all the time. And it wasn’t just from the schoolwork. I could tell. There was something more, something deeper; something was troubling him to his very core.
In oblivion’s garden
Her body’s on fire
Writhing towards the angel defiled
If I had had any idea what it was or what I could do, I would have done it in the blink of an eye. I hated to see him so troubled.
But I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.
I watched him closely. I watched how he worked, how he talked, how he interacted with his friends - the same as ever, but there was that look in the back of his eyes that troubled me. He was the same as he always was with me, there was nothing different there, nothing alarming, nothing had changed.
The only thing I could notice was that he seemed to be praying more than usual.
He made a big deal out of praying before every meal he had. Normally he would only do it when he remembered, but he had started reminding himself to do it, and it soon became something that had to be done. And it wasn’t just a “Thank you Lord for this food, Amen,” as it used to be. Nor was it a rather clichéd “Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen,” though admittedly, he did use that once or twice: the simple formula for every good Christian’s prayers.
But generally, he made a new one up, every meal. I respected it, of course, but sometimes I just wanted to eat. But I sat, and I listened to what he said. The long and short of it was, Thank you God for what you’ve given us, bless the food we’re about to eat, thank you for the good day we’ve had, thank you for being there for us and forgive us for our sins, Amen.
I never said anything, just bowed my head respectfully, waited until he was done, smiled once he’d opened his eyes, and then dug in.
He started praying every night before we went to sleep too. He wouldn’t kneel or anything, I think he was too embarrassed to do that in front of me -though if he’d wanted to he could have, I wouldn’t have done anything. But every night he spent with me, without fail, starting from that one Monday, he would stop whatever we were doing - be it kissing, cuddling, talking, whatever - to do it.
“Ville?” he’d say quietly, normally into my neck as we lay in bed.
“Mmm?”
“D’ya mind if I pray?”
“No, of course not sweetheart.” He always asked, every single time. And he would say the words just laying there in my arms, say them into my neck. Thanking God for his day, his friends, his parents, his life, for me, for what we had, asking forgiveness for any sin he had committed, assuring Him of his loyalty and love, prayed for anything his friends might need, for help on tests or homework. Sometimes it was fast; sometimes it took a long time. I lay still as I could, trying not to breathe too loud lest it interrupt some kind of connection with the Almighty and bring his wrath down on me. Bam’s or the Almighty’s, either one, they were both forces I didn’t want to have to deal with.
When he was done, he would kiss my neck, nuzzle into it, cling to me as hard as he could.
I didn’t know what was going on, and try as I might, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He insisted there was nothing wrong, that he was fine, nothing was different.
He was lying, of course. But I let him, after I realized I wasn’t going to get anything out of him. There were things going on in his life that I couldn’t understand, because of course, I was a teacher, of sorts, and he was a student, and of course there were things I wouldn’t be privy to or comprehend, though I prided myself on being generally able to comprehend what was going on in the student body, which skill most other staff members were sadly lacking.
I didn’t know what he was like when he got home. I didn’t find out until later. Had I known, I would have done something.
Had I known the extent to which he was being torn apart, I would have stepped in, intervened, done something - anything - to stop it. But I didn’t know, so I didn’t do anything. Just kept on going, trying to figure out what was wrong, never succeeding.
I loved him more with every passing day; it was something that I had no control over. It crossed my mind that he was spending too much time with me, that he should be spending more time with kids his age - but he had a point. He was 16. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, though it was hard sometimes for me to realize what 16 meant in real terms, since I wasn’t the best judge of character or of natural maturity and growth - having been cheated, or having cheated myself of my own developmental years, and I had no measure on what was normal or not. I just trusted that at 16, Bam was old enough to think for himself, to take care of himself for the most part, and that he knew when he needed help and that he would find that help somewhere if he needed it.
We smile when she cries a river of tears
A mirror where we see nothing but a reflection of heaven
Too far away
Though the praying was something I would never be able to see eye to eye with him on, I couldn’t help but admit that I loved to listen to his words. It brought an odd sense of calm over me and over him whilst he did it. It was almost as if… almost as if we felt safer.
Did God ever speak to him, ever answer him? I don’t honestly know. I don’t think he could honestly say that he knew either. I could never understand how he could keep at something so diligently even though nothing ever seemed to come out of it. Except for that it brought him comfort. I could see that. I couldn’t deny him that. Sometimes I thought I almost loved him more when he was praying. Then I told myself that that was weird, wrong, stupid. I loved him with my whole self all of the times without stop, without change, without any questions at all.
But when he prayed - when he shut his eyes, folded his hands or buried his face in my neck - he was beautiful. Perfect. He looked so innocent, untouched… he was like something out of a Bible story, or at least, what I imagined would have been in a Bible story, having no knowledge of the book whatsoever. But he looked… he looked like an angel. His skin was perfect, his countenance serene… he almost seemed to glow.
My angel. He hated when I called him that, but it fit him so well.
“Come here, Angel.” It always made him grumble, but he smiled when I dusted fairy-kisses all over his face.
“I love you, Angel.”
“Willa, I’m not an angel.”
“Oh, but you are. You are, Bammie, you are. You’re my guardian angel, you saved me.”
When I was around him, the tough hide I’d built up around myself crumbled; I talked freely, voiced my thoughts, no matter how soppy or how pathetic they were. I said what I wanted to to Bam, because he knew me inside and out, and I had nothing to hide from him, nothing at all. He knew how I felt. He knew that he’d probably saved my life by hitting me with his car. He knew how much I owed to him, how much he’d done that he didn’t have to do. If I was a believer, I’d have thought that he actually was a messenger from God, a perfect being sent to save me from damnation. As it was, I was just in awe of him, his goodness, his purity, his goodwill…his love.
“Goodnight, angel,” I whispered in his ear at night, kissing it lightly. “I love you.”
Sometimes I wondered… I wondered where exactly all of it was going. I tried to think of the future, of where we would be in 5 years time, if we were still together. Bam would probably be in college. Where would I be? Still an assistant music teacher in West High? Maybe I’d transfer to East, the corresponding high-school on the east side of town. I’d be 34. Bam would be 21. An adult. Would we bring it out into the open? Or keep it secret like we always had? Would we still have that same connection, the one that bridged thirteen years and a whole world of differences? Could we stand to keep it a secret for that long?
We steal the fire from a sacred heart
And bleed the wine unholy
We fall in love with the serpent’s song
And fear nothing
The answers to those questions never came. I hated the questions, I tried not to think about them. Bam was growing up, I could see the differences in him over just the year and a few months I’d known him. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he was 16. 16 years old, as he loved to remind me. Old enough to take care of himself, old enough to drink, old enough to love, old enough to kiss and cuddle and take care of me when I needed it.
Old enough to have thoughts beyond kissing and hugging, old enough to feel the pull of temptation that we all feel; old enough to want more.
We never talked about sex. We never talked about the possibility of anything ever happening between us that involved more than lips on lips. I won’t lie. I won’t lie and say that I never thought about it. That I never thought of showing him just how much I loved him, showing him how wonderful it could be to give yourself completely. Of course I thought about it. I’m only human, and had you ever seen Bam, you would have been thinking about it too.
He was gorgeous. He was quite short, but his muscles from skateboarding were beginning to show, all his puppy-fat had been completely burnt off, turned into muscle. His stomach was flat, and I loved to trace my hands over it, and to draw my fingers over his chest, over his skin, taught over his muscles. His face was not the picture of beauty that some people may set their standards by, but he had a ‘cute’ look to him, so endearing and charming that it was beautiful. His hair was perfect, though always a mess, curls of chestnut brown cascading just about everywhere, try as he might to control it. And his eyes - I was so in love with his eyes. Piercing, piercing ice blue, so big and round and clear that they almost hurt. They sparkled when he smiled. They danced while he talked. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever set eyes on and I wanted him so much.
I’m drained but aching for more,
And the devil inside is reading
The words of the saddest poem
To be engraved on the stone of my grave
But I planned never to let myself satisfy that craving. Not for a while.
I didn’t know if he felt the same; if he found me as attractive as I found him. It didn’t matter to me. He loved me anyways, that was what I cared about.
I didn’t know what he did when he was at home at night. He was a teenaged boy in 21st-century America, but he didn’t seem to always have sex on the brain like the rest of his friends, who, I noticed, were not abject to talking about sex or any other form of sexual pleasure. “Wacking off” was their favorite topic of conversation. I would throw my head back and laugh when they started talking about it - about the porn they’d watched, the magazine they’d seen, how horny they were. Because teenagers never changed. They were the same when I was a kid. I imagine they’ll be the same in years to come.
Bam would laugh too, would comment on the girls, drool over the magazines, watch the porn with avid eyes. I didn’t mind. It was hilarious to see. His friends knew, by now, that I was gay, and they would always make compensation for me.
“Here, look Ville, this one’s for you,” they would say, tossing me a magazine that they’d picked up, a magazine for women, with naked men, muscles rippling and bursting and skin shining with grease everywhere.
“Ugh. How gross,” I’d say, tossing the magazines aside.
“What? We thought you liked guys.”
“Yeah, I do, guys that don’t look like they’ve been taking steroids and have taken a bath in olive oil. That’s gross.”
I didn’t tell them that sometimes, I recognized the faces. Sometimes, I knew the people. Sometimes, they were giving me pictures of my old comrades and friends to look at. But Bam knew, and he would throw the magazines away for me, squeeze my hand surreptitiously, apologize later. It was okay. I was used to it. I couldn’t do anything about it. I still liked being around him and his friends, no matter how crude or vulgar they got. Bam wasn’t quite on the same level as them, he placed at least some store in morals, and didn’t join in the fun all the time. With the others, I knew they would go home right away, indulge themselves, pleasure themselves - it was a need they had. Did Bam have that? I didn’t know. I didn’t care to ask.
It didn’t matter to me… I couldn’t let myself be interested.
I’d kill to share your pain
(And carry the shame)
And sell my soul for you just to say
Love’s name in vain
Again and again
I’d been through it all before. The desire, the tension, the need. I knew what it was like growing up with two stomachs - one for food, the other for sex. I knew what he must be going through, the annoyance of growing up. The frustration. The confusion. Hormones going haywire.
I knew it, but I didn’t want to think about it. That was all so far away for me, and yet he was living it. I never really knew how real it was for him, he never talked about it. That was okay. He could have his privacy, if he wanted it. I wasn’t going to push for anything.
But one day it became reality, and I couldn’t help but notice it.
He’d spent the night at my house. We fell asleep in our boxers, curled up together, sheets over us though we didn’t really need them, we had each other to keep us warm.
When I woke up the next morning, it was because something kept poking my leg. I cracked an eye open - Bam was squirming uncomfortably, sighing, his hands on my leg, trying to wipe it clean of something.
“Bammie? Bammie, sweetheart, stop. What’s wrong?” Then I realized that my leg was sticky and his boxers were wet against my thigh. “Oh,” I said softly, smiling at him as he bit his lip. “Hey, its okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah well…”
I kissed him, reached to my bedside drawer and found some tissues.
“There you go, that’s better than your hands.”
“Thanks,” he said, blushing, going back to cleaning up.
“Okay?” I asked, when he was done. I was still sticky, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Yeah… sorry… thought I’d… you know. Grown out of that…”
“It’s okay sweetheart,” I said, kissing him again.
“Just… you know…” I hushed him before he embarrassed himself anymore. I knew what he wanted to say - that sleeping next to me had finally taken its toll.
Deranged, we’re tearing away the petals of desire
Learning the mathematics of evil by heart
“You know how to stop that from happening, right Bammie?” I said it quietly, not wanting to embarrass him.
He nodded, blushing.
“Yeah… but… I just… I don’t do that too much. I dunno. It feels weird. Well no, obviously it feels nice, but …”
“I know what you mean,” I said, smiling at him. “Been there done that, kid.” I regretted saying that right away; he looked away from me and sighed. “Hey, Bam, don’t worry about it. It’s natural. Or whatever.”
He shrugged, sighed again, bit his lip.
“Quit that.” I pulled his bottom lip from his teeth with my thumb, kissed it softly. “It’ll start bleeding.”
We just looked at each other for a while, straight faces, just looking - until we both burst out with laughter at the same time. I loved that he could make me laugh in any situation. I pulled him closer to me and hugged him.
“You don’t mind do you?” he said after a while, playing with my hair.
“What’s there to mind?”
“Well you kinda just woke up all gross and sticky cuz of me.” I shrugged.
“I’ve woken up in worse ways.” He frowned, decided he didn’t want to know, went on.
“I had a dream. About you. It was…”
“Nice?” I smiled at him, pushed his hair out of his face. “I could tell.” I smirked and he blushed again. “Don’t worry Bam. I’ve had dreams like that too.” He opened his mouth to ask something - I answered his question before he could say it. “Yes, about you.” I kissed him, sucked on the skin on his neck for a second.
“Oh,” he said.
“Yes. Oh.” I kissed him again. He sighed a little, wrapped his hands in my hair, pulled himself closer.
“But Bammie… listen to me.”
“What?”
“We’re going to keep them as dreams, okay? Just for now. Okay?”
He nodded - though he looked a bit confused.
“You’re not ready for it - you may think you are but you’re not.”
“But what about you?”
“I can wait.” I smiled, and nodded. “Is that okay? It’s not to say never just…”
“Not yet. I know. It’s okay. That’s what I thought too.”
I kissed him, then pushed the covers back and stood up, stretching.
“Come on, stand up, get in the shower while I change the sheets.”
“Change the sheets?”
“Well, you’ve gone and made them dirty, haven’t you? Unless you want to sleep in crust tonight…”
“Oh. Gross. Okay. Yeah.”
“And give me your boxers, I’ll stick them in the washing machine.”
“What am I going to wear then?” I raised an eyebrow.
“A towel? I dunno. Go commando. Or just don’t wear anything. Nothing I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”
He blushed, glared, ran to the shower and tossed me his shorts from behind the door. I laughed, caught them, and stuffed them in the washing machine.
Once we were both dressed - or semi dressed, in Bam’s case, he was in a robe - we sat on the couch, eating breakfast.
“Sorry again about…”
“Bam, please, seriously, don’t worry about it.”
“Okay…”
I pulled him onto my chest and held him close.
“I love you, angel,” I said, kissing his neck softly. He smiled, leant back into my arms.
“I know.”
Genre:: AU Vam Fanfic
Rating:: R
Summary:: His heaven is ablaze in my eyes
Notes:: This story is based on the album Dark Light. All lyrics are taken from that album, and are copyright of Ville Valo. I do not know or own the characters in this story. The storyline itself is property of me and me alone. This story deals with the themes of religion and a degree of pedophilia. If you have a problem with the themes, dont read it.
Links under the cut
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Accident
Chapter 2 - Pot Luck
Chapter 3 - Warmth
Chapter 4 - Joseph on Wheels
Chapter 5 - My First Christmas
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 6 - Beginnings
Chapter 7 - Music
Chapter 8 - Time
Chapter 9 - Unfortunate Meetings of Unfortunate Friends
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 10 - Journies
Chapter 11 - First Crush
Chapter 12 - Contemptible
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 13 - Bath Tubs
Chapter 14 - Labyrinth
Chapter 15 - Pure Mornings
Chapter 16 - Angels
Chapter 17 Angels
Chapter 18 - Coffee
Chapter 19 - Refuge
Interlude - Bam
Chapter 20 - Dirty
I knew Bam like the back of my hand by then. As soon as I saw him I could tell what kind of mood he was in. And I noticed the change immediately, though I had no idea what had brought it on.
He looked tired. Gloomy. Confused. A mess.
“Bam, are you okay?”
“Huh? What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
I frowned, but I didn’t say anything, just slid into my seat, closed the door, and let him drive.
It was the same for a while. He looked tired, worried, and stressed out all the time. And it wasn’t just from the schoolwork. I could tell. There was something more, something deeper; something was troubling him to his very core.
In oblivion’s garden
Her body’s on fire
Writhing towards the angel defiled
If I had had any idea what it was or what I could do, I would have done it in the blink of an eye. I hated to see him so troubled.
But I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.
I watched him closely. I watched how he worked, how he talked, how he interacted with his friends - the same as ever, but there was that look in the back of his eyes that troubled me. He was the same as he always was with me, there was nothing different there, nothing alarming, nothing had changed.
The only thing I could notice was that he seemed to be praying more than usual.
He made a big deal out of praying before every meal he had. Normally he would only do it when he remembered, but he had started reminding himself to do it, and it soon became something that had to be done. And it wasn’t just a “Thank you Lord for this food, Amen,” as it used to be. Nor was it a rather clichéd “Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen,” though admittedly, he did use that once or twice: the simple formula for every good Christian’s prayers.
But generally, he made a new one up, every meal. I respected it, of course, but sometimes I just wanted to eat. But I sat, and I listened to what he said. The long and short of it was, Thank you God for what you’ve given us, bless the food we’re about to eat, thank you for the good day we’ve had, thank you for being there for us and forgive us for our sins, Amen.
I never said anything, just bowed my head respectfully, waited until he was done, smiled once he’d opened his eyes, and then dug in.
He started praying every night before we went to sleep too. He wouldn’t kneel or anything, I think he was too embarrassed to do that in front of me -though if he’d wanted to he could have, I wouldn’t have done anything. But every night he spent with me, without fail, starting from that one Monday, he would stop whatever we were doing - be it kissing, cuddling, talking, whatever - to do it.
“Ville?” he’d say quietly, normally into my neck as we lay in bed.
“Mmm?”
“D’ya mind if I pray?”
“No, of course not sweetheart.” He always asked, every single time. And he would say the words just laying there in my arms, say them into my neck. Thanking God for his day, his friends, his parents, his life, for me, for what we had, asking forgiveness for any sin he had committed, assuring Him of his loyalty and love, prayed for anything his friends might need, for help on tests or homework. Sometimes it was fast; sometimes it took a long time. I lay still as I could, trying not to breathe too loud lest it interrupt some kind of connection with the Almighty and bring his wrath down on me. Bam’s or the Almighty’s, either one, they were both forces I didn’t want to have to deal with.
When he was done, he would kiss my neck, nuzzle into it, cling to me as hard as he could.
I didn’t know what was going on, and try as I might, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He insisted there was nothing wrong, that he was fine, nothing was different.
He was lying, of course. But I let him, after I realized I wasn’t going to get anything out of him. There were things going on in his life that I couldn’t understand, because of course, I was a teacher, of sorts, and he was a student, and of course there were things I wouldn’t be privy to or comprehend, though I prided myself on being generally able to comprehend what was going on in the student body, which skill most other staff members were sadly lacking.
I didn’t know what he was like when he got home. I didn’t find out until later. Had I known, I would have done something.
Had I known the extent to which he was being torn apart, I would have stepped in, intervened, done something - anything - to stop it. But I didn’t know, so I didn’t do anything. Just kept on going, trying to figure out what was wrong, never succeeding.
I loved him more with every passing day; it was something that I had no control over. It crossed my mind that he was spending too much time with me, that he should be spending more time with kids his age - but he had a point. He was 16. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, though it was hard sometimes for me to realize what 16 meant in real terms, since I wasn’t the best judge of character or of natural maturity and growth - having been cheated, or having cheated myself of my own developmental years, and I had no measure on what was normal or not. I just trusted that at 16, Bam was old enough to think for himself, to take care of himself for the most part, and that he knew when he needed help and that he would find that help somewhere if he needed it.
We smile when she cries a river of tears
A mirror where we see nothing but a reflection of heaven
Too far away
Though the praying was something I would never be able to see eye to eye with him on, I couldn’t help but admit that I loved to listen to his words. It brought an odd sense of calm over me and over him whilst he did it. It was almost as if… almost as if we felt safer.
Did God ever speak to him, ever answer him? I don’t honestly know. I don’t think he could honestly say that he knew either. I could never understand how he could keep at something so diligently even though nothing ever seemed to come out of it. Except for that it brought him comfort. I could see that. I couldn’t deny him that. Sometimes I thought I almost loved him more when he was praying. Then I told myself that that was weird, wrong, stupid. I loved him with my whole self all of the times without stop, without change, without any questions at all.
But when he prayed - when he shut his eyes, folded his hands or buried his face in my neck - he was beautiful. Perfect. He looked so innocent, untouched… he was like something out of a Bible story, or at least, what I imagined would have been in a Bible story, having no knowledge of the book whatsoever. But he looked… he looked like an angel. His skin was perfect, his countenance serene… he almost seemed to glow.
My angel. He hated when I called him that, but it fit him so well.
“Come here, Angel.” It always made him grumble, but he smiled when I dusted fairy-kisses all over his face.
“I love you, Angel.”
“Willa, I’m not an angel.”
“Oh, but you are. You are, Bammie, you are. You’re my guardian angel, you saved me.”
When I was around him, the tough hide I’d built up around myself crumbled; I talked freely, voiced my thoughts, no matter how soppy or how pathetic they were. I said what I wanted to to Bam, because he knew me inside and out, and I had nothing to hide from him, nothing at all. He knew how I felt. He knew that he’d probably saved my life by hitting me with his car. He knew how much I owed to him, how much he’d done that he didn’t have to do. If I was a believer, I’d have thought that he actually was a messenger from God, a perfect being sent to save me from damnation. As it was, I was just in awe of him, his goodness, his purity, his goodwill…his love.
“Goodnight, angel,” I whispered in his ear at night, kissing it lightly. “I love you.”
Sometimes I wondered… I wondered where exactly all of it was going. I tried to think of the future, of where we would be in 5 years time, if we were still together. Bam would probably be in college. Where would I be? Still an assistant music teacher in West High? Maybe I’d transfer to East, the corresponding high-school on the east side of town. I’d be 34. Bam would be 21. An adult. Would we bring it out into the open? Or keep it secret like we always had? Would we still have that same connection, the one that bridged thirteen years and a whole world of differences? Could we stand to keep it a secret for that long?
We steal the fire from a sacred heart
And bleed the wine unholy
We fall in love with the serpent’s song
And fear nothing
The answers to those questions never came. I hated the questions, I tried not to think about them. Bam was growing up, I could see the differences in him over just the year and a few months I’d known him. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he was 16. 16 years old, as he loved to remind me. Old enough to take care of himself, old enough to drink, old enough to love, old enough to kiss and cuddle and take care of me when I needed it.
Old enough to have thoughts beyond kissing and hugging, old enough to feel the pull of temptation that we all feel; old enough to want more.
We never talked about sex. We never talked about the possibility of anything ever happening between us that involved more than lips on lips. I won’t lie. I won’t lie and say that I never thought about it. That I never thought of showing him just how much I loved him, showing him how wonderful it could be to give yourself completely. Of course I thought about it. I’m only human, and had you ever seen Bam, you would have been thinking about it too.
He was gorgeous. He was quite short, but his muscles from skateboarding were beginning to show, all his puppy-fat had been completely burnt off, turned into muscle. His stomach was flat, and I loved to trace my hands over it, and to draw my fingers over his chest, over his skin, taught over his muscles. His face was not the picture of beauty that some people may set their standards by, but he had a ‘cute’ look to him, so endearing and charming that it was beautiful. His hair was perfect, though always a mess, curls of chestnut brown cascading just about everywhere, try as he might to control it. And his eyes - I was so in love with his eyes. Piercing, piercing ice blue, so big and round and clear that they almost hurt. They sparkled when he smiled. They danced while he talked. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever set eyes on and I wanted him so much.
I’m drained but aching for more,
And the devil inside is reading
The words of the saddest poem
To be engraved on the stone of my grave
But I planned never to let myself satisfy that craving. Not for a while.
I didn’t know if he felt the same; if he found me as attractive as I found him. It didn’t matter to me. He loved me anyways, that was what I cared about.
I didn’t know what he did when he was at home at night. He was a teenaged boy in 21st-century America, but he didn’t seem to always have sex on the brain like the rest of his friends, who, I noticed, were not abject to talking about sex or any other form of sexual pleasure. “Wacking off” was their favorite topic of conversation. I would throw my head back and laugh when they started talking about it - about the porn they’d watched, the magazine they’d seen, how horny they were. Because teenagers never changed. They were the same when I was a kid. I imagine they’ll be the same in years to come.
Bam would laugh too, would comment on the girls, drool over the magazines, watch the porn with avid eyes. I didn’t mind. It was hilarious to see. His friends knew, by now, that I was gay, and they would always make compensation for me.
“Here, look Ville, this one’s for you,” they would say, tossing me a magazine that they’d picked up, a magazine for women, with naked men, muscles rippling and bursting and skin shining with grease everywhere.
“Ugh. How gross,” I’d say, tossing the magazines aside.
“What? We thought you liked guys.”
“Yeah, I do, guys that don’t look like they’ve been taking steroids and have taken a bath in olive oil. That’s gross.”
I didn’t tell them that sometimes, I recognized the faces. Sometimes, I knew the people. Sometimes, they were giving me pictures of my old comrades and friends to look at. But Bam knew, and he would throw the magazines away for me, squeeze my hand surreptitiously, apologize later. It was okay. I was used to it. I couldn’t do anything about it. I still liked being around him and his friends, no matter how crude or vulgar they got. Bam wasn’t quite on the same level as them, he placed at least some store in morals, and didn’t join in the fun all the time. With the others, I knew they would go home right away, indulge themselves, pleasure themselves - it was a need they had. Did Bam have that? I didn’t know. I didn’t care to ask.
It didn’t matter to me… I couldn’t let myself be interested.
I’d kill to share your pain
(And carry the shame)
And sell my soul for you just to say
Love’s name in vain
Again and again
I’d been through it all before. The desire, the tension, the need. I knew what it was like growing up with two stomachs - one for food, the other for sex. I knew what he must be going through, the annoyance of growing up. The frustration. The confusion. Hormones going haywire.
I knew it, but I didn’t want to think about it. That was all so far away for me, and yet he was living it. I never really knew how real it was for him, he never talked about it. That was okay. He could have his privacy, if he wanted it. I wasn’t going to push for anything.
But one day it became reality, and I couldn’t help but notice it.
He’d spent the night at my house. We fell asleep in our boxers, curled up together, sheets over us though we didn’t really need them, we had each other to keep us warm.
When I woke up the next morning, it was because something kept poking my leg. I cracked an eye open - Bam was squirming uncomfortably, sighing, his hands on my leg, trying to wipe it clean of something.
“Bammie? Bammie, sweetheart, stop. What’s wrong?” Then I realized that my leg was sticky and his boxers were wet against my thigh. “Oh,” I said softly, smiling at him as he bit his lip. “Hey, its okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah well…”
I kissed him, reached to my bedside drawer and found some tissues.
“There you go, that’s better than your hands.”
“Thanks,” he said, blushing, going back to cleaning up.
“Okay?” I asked, when he was done. I was still sticky, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Yeah… sorry… thought I’d… you know. Grown out of that…”
“It’s okay sweetheart,” I said, kissing him again.
“Just… you know…” I hushed him before he embarrassed himself anymore. I knew what he wanted to say - that sleeping next to me had finally taken its toll.
Deranged, we’re tearing away the petals of desire
Learning the mathematics of evil by heart
“You know how to stop that from happening, right Bammie?” I said it quietly, not wanting to embarrass him.
He nodded, blushing.
“Yeah… but… I just… I don’t do that too much. I dunno. It feels weird. Well no, obviously it feels nice, but …”
“I know what you mean,” I said, smiling at him. “Been there done that, kid.” I regretted saying that right away; he looked away from me and sighed. “Hey, Bam, don’t worry about it. It’s natural. Or whatever.”
He shrugged, sighed again, bit his lip.
“Quit that.” I pulled his bottom lip from his teeth with my thumb, kissed it softly. “It’ll start bleeding.”
We just looked at each other for a while, straight faces, just looking - until we both burst out with laughter at the same time. I loved that he could make me laugh in any situation. I pulled him closer to me and hugged him.
“You don’t mind do you?” he said after a while, playing with my hair.
“What’s there to mind?”
“Well you kinda just woke up all gross and sticky cuz of me.” I shrugged.
“I’ve woken up in worse ways.” He frowned, decided he didn’t want to know, went on.
“I had a dream. About you. It was…”
“Nice?” I smiled at him, pushed his hair out of his face. “I could tell.” I smirked and he blushed again. “Don’t worry Bam. I’ve had dreams like that too.” He opened his mouth to ask something - I answered his question before he could say it. “Yes, about you.” I kissed him, sucked on the skin on his neck for a second.
“Oh,” he said.
“Yes. Oh.” I kissed him again. He sighed a little, wrapped his hands in my hair, pulled himself closer.
“But Bammie… listen to me.”
“What?”
“We’re going to keep them as dreams, okay? Just for now. Okay?”
He nodded - though he looked a bit confused.
“You’re not ready for it - you may think you are but you’re not.”
“But what about you?”
“I can wait.” I smiled, and nodded. “Is that okay? It’s not to say never just…”
“Not yet. I know. It’s okay. That’s what I thought too.”
I kissed him, then pushed the covers back and stood up, stretching.
“Come on, stand up, get in the shower while I change the sheets.”
“Change the sheets?”
“Well, you’ve gone and made them dirty, haven’t you? Unless you want to sleep in crust tonight…”
“Oh. Gross. Okay. Yeah.”
“And give me your boxers, I’ll stick them in the washing machine.”
“What am I going to wear then?” I raised an eyebrow.
“A towel? I dunno. Go commando. Or just don’t wear anything. Nothing I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”
He blushed, glared, ran to the shower and tossed me his shorts from behind the door. I laughed, caught them, and stuffed them in the washing machine.
Once we were both dressed - or semi dressed, in Bam’s case, he was in a robe - we sat on the couch, eating breakfast.
“Sorry again about…”
“Bam, please, seriously, don’t worry about it.”
“Okay…”
I pulled him onto my chest and held him close.
“I love you, angel,” I said, kissing his neck softly. He smiled, leant back into my arms.
“I know.”