Strange Boys part 9
This is a little bridgey bit , when I come back from The Underworld, I'll post the next bit. We're entering Wrap It Up land, so yee-haw, everybody! In the mean time, please to be enjoying these little cookies I made just for you. See? this one looks like a penis, doesn't it? Though I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be a dachshund...
Part eight is here.
Strange Boys or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Game.
IX
Monday the following week, Bruce was on Lex’s mind. He had been since the handkerchief thing. Bruce hadn’t done…anything. Had he overplayed it? Maybe Bruce didn’t like sentiment either. It was startlingly mawkish and girly of him to do that. What the fuck, he might as well have just skipped up to Bruce and asked him for his fucking class ring, or something.
Swinging open the door to his room he tossed his books on the bed. His roommate the repressed faggot was there, glaring at him as usual. Lex shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over his desk chair. The roommate kept staring as he put away his books, pulled out his laptop, and kicked off his shoes. Lex stopped, turned to him and asked politely, “Would you like to blow me? It’s okay, really--”
“You’re disgusting, you--” Lex made a “wrap it up” motion with his hand. *Jesus, what a self-hating little homo*
“Here,” the guy snapped and tossed an envelope at him. “Tell your boyfriend I’m not your personal secretary.”
Lex caught the heavy envelope against his chest and grinned at the other, blew him a kiss and almost laughed when he blushed. It was a red, splotchy, ugly wash of color, it wasn’t cute-not a bit like Bruce.
He lay back on his bed and looked over the envelope. LEX was the only thing written on it, he turned it over and ran his fingers over it, he felt nothing on the paper so the outside probably wasn’t rigged in any way. He slit the envelope open carefully, and shook the contents out. Hmm, a note, and two pictures---one was a picture of *his* mother’s grave, and one was a picture of a -tomb?
A mausoleum.
Bruce’s parents grave.
He jumped up and pulled open the largest drawer in his desk and yanked his photo album out. It was terribly thin compared to Bruce’s and his heart thumped. Bruce had finally paid him back for peering into his most private places-he probably laughed at Lex’s pathetic little album, his paltry few pictures. His eyes burned and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t done anything to his mother’s picture, the picture of her grave. He grabbed it up and turned it over and over-nothing was wrong, nothing changed, why had he done that-why had he taken this picture out, why had he taken it from the room?
He opened the note and read it. Read it again and wished he had needles to drive into his eyes, it would at least give him a reason for the tears that threatened to spill over.
I’m sorry. That was all it said.
*Bruce, Bruce you giant psychotic bastard, I should be more scared than I am that you care for me,* Lex thought. He dropped the note and closed his eyes. It would of course never occur to Bruce to just come up to him and say, 'Sorry I looked at your pictures, sorry about your mom.' Maybe it was his way of saying 'we share something.'
He sighed. *psycho fucker* he thought fondly.
aww! Romance raises it's head! TBC, of cawse.
Part eight is here.
Strange Boys or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Game.
IX
Monday the following week, Bruce was on Lex’s mind. He had been since the handkerchief thing. Bruce hadn’t done…anything. Had he overplayed it? Maybe Bruce didn’t like sentiment either. It was startlingly mawkish and girly of him to do that. What the fuck, he might as well have just skipped up to Bruce and asked him for his fucking class ring, or something.
Swinging open the door to his room he tossed his books on the bed. His roommate the repressed faggot was there, glaring at him as usual. Lex shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over his desk chair. The roommate kept staring as he put away his books, pulled out his laptop, and kicked off his shoes. Lex stopped, turned to him and asked politely, “Would you like to blow me? It’s okay, really--”
“You’re disgusting, you--” Lex made a “wrap it up” motion with his hand. *Jesus, what a self-hating little homo*
“Here,” the guy snapped and tossed an envelope at him. “Tell your boyfriend I’m not your personal secretary.”
Lex caught the heavy envelope against his chest and grinned at the other, blew him a kiss and almost laughed when he blushed. It was a red, splotchy, ugly wash of color, it wasn’t cute-not a bit like Bruce.
He lay back on his bed and looked over the envelope. LEX was the only thing written on it, he turned it over and ran his fingers over it, he felt nothing on the paper so the outside probably wasn’t rigged in any way. He slit the envelope open carefully, and shook the contents out. Hmm, a note, and two pictures---one was a picture of *his* mother’s grave, and one was a picture of a -tomb?
A mausoleum.
Bruce’s parents grave.
He jumped up and pulled open the largest drawer in his desk and yanked his photo album out. It was terribly thin compared to Bruce’s and his heart thumped. Bruce had finally paid him back for peering into his most private places-he probably laughed at Lex’s pathetic little album, his paltry few pictures. His eyes burned and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t done anything to his mother’s picture, the picture of her grave. He grabbed it up and turned it over and over-nothing was wrong, nothing changed, why had he done that-why had he taken this picture out, why had he taken it from the room?
He opened the note and read it. Read it again and wished he had needles to drive into his eyes, it would at least give him a reason for the tears that threatened to spill over.
I’m sorry. That was all it said.
*Bruce, Bruce you giant psychotic bastard, I should be more scared than I am that you care for me,* Lex thought. He dropped the note and closed his eyes. It would of course never occur to Bruce to just come up to him and say, 'Sorry I looked at your pictures, sorry about your mom.' Maybe it was his way of saying 'we share something.'
He sighed. *psycho fucker* he thought fondly.
aww! Romance raises it's head! TBC, of cawse.