August.
Spencer/Brendon; 789 words; R.
for prompt august 11 at we_are_cities.
It always happens in August. It's the month where you feel parched, dry, and empty like the rest of the world. Staring up at this cloudless too-bright blue sky and wondering if maybe that's where all the color has gone. Everything else seems faded and listless, especially you.
I know, trust me I know, that you have your reasons. Somehow that makes it okay to swallow your lies - your dry, empty promises. It's okay to search out your eyes under the blinding, scorching, dazzling empty sky. It's okay to stare every time I see you - hands shoved in your pockets and eyes empty of anything and everything - and wondering if you're ready yet. I know I'm willing, but when am I not willing for you? I don't need to feel a certain way to want you, and I suppose that's what makes us different.
A soft knock on the door. A sort of fluttering fills my stomach at the sight of you. Dressed as usual, you don't seem to notice the heat. But I can tell that inside you are sweating and shaking and emptier than ever. You stare at the floor, unmoving. I reach out to touch your cheek, and your eyes meet mine. I know that it's time.
The feel of your lips against mine is so bittersweet; you give me something so deliciously forbidden and tempting and overload my senses, so I crave it always, even knowing that I have to wait until next summer to experience it once more.
I yank on your tie and feel you gasp against my mouth. I untie it and throw it on the floor, getting it out of my way. You lay back on the bed and somehow all of our clothes end up on the floor, our lips never disconnecting. I'm afraid that if I let go, you might never come back.
My hands travel along your skin, slick with sweat that drips onto the off white sheets of my bed. I'm moving slowly, taking my time; I know that I won't get another chance like this for a long time. My fingers trace along the lines of your muscle, curl over your hips and rest there for a moment before moving further down. You release the first long moan that rises like a supplication from your open throat, like sidewalks shimmering in the sun. Relishing in the sound, I trace my tongue upon your jaw line and lower, biting gently at the skin of your neck and scraping my teeth against where I can feel your pulse thudding hard beneath the smooth skin. I can't shut my eyes, just watching you and let the ecstasy pour over my skin like thick sticky honey is enough.
I can feel you trembling, quivering under my hands. Your eyes slide shut and you bite your lip almost desperately, as though trying hard to keep the words inside. I wish you wouldn't hide from me, wouldn't feel like you need to be something other than you are.
Staring up at you, the sight is almost unnaturally beautiful. Your dark eyelashes are fluttering over your face, breath coming in rapid gasps broken by pants and moans. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, mussed and drenched in sweat. Droplets are rolling down your cheek and dripping off of you. I know I won't wash the sheets for a week, relishing in the scent of your body and the feeling that you are still laying next to me.
"Brendon, Brendon, Brendon." I pant your name over and over, wishing that you would understand the feelings behind it - too much for me to understand myself, my tongue twisting over words like desire, always, please, and mine.
Too soon, you're shuddering against me; eyes squeezed shut with eyelashes brushing against my skin, hands clenching tight on my shoulders with nails digging in.
"Spencer, oh fuck I love you, please, oh oh." A thousand promises in choked out words reach my ears. I breathe deep and savor them for the broken lies they are.
Laying back against the pillow, I feel you slowly relax against me. Your breathing is deep and even, and I know that you are asleep. I can feel the darkness pulling behind my eyes as well, but I fight against it. I fight for this moment, when you are completely at peace in my arms. I know it will fade along with everything else.
Your promises are all around me like this suffocating heat. I know that at the end of the month, they will slide off of me and fall away, evaporating between my fingers as I try to catch anything, any part of you that's left.
for prompt august 11 at we_are_cities.
It always happens in August. It's the month where you feel parched, dry, and empty like the rest of the world. Staring up at this cloudless too-bright blue sky and wondering if maybe that's where all the color has gone. Everything else seems faded and listless, especially you.
I know, trust me I know, that you have your reasons. Somehow that makes it okay to swallow your lies - your dry, empty promises. It's okay to search out your eyes under the blinding, scorching, dazzling empty sky. It's okay to stare every time I see you - hands shoved in your pockets and eyes empty of anything and everything - and wondering if you're ready yet. I know I'm willing, but when am I not willing for you? I don't need to feel a certain way to want you, and I suppose that's what makes us different.
A soft knock on the door. A sort of fluttering fills my stomach at the sight of you. Dressed as usual, you don't seem to notice the heat. But I can tell that inside you are sweating and shaking and emptier than ever. You stare at the floor, unmoving. I reach out to touch your cheek, and your eyes meet mine. I know that it's time.
The feel of your lips against mine is so bittersweet; you give me something so deliciously forbidden and tempting and overload my senses, so I crave it always, even knowing that I have to wait until next summer to experience it once more.
I yank on your tie and feel you gasp against my mouth. I untie it and throw it on the floor, getting it out of my way. You lay back on the bed and somehow all of our clothes end up on the floor, our lips never disconnecting. I'm afraid that if I let go, you might never come back.
My hands travel along your skin, slick with sweat that drips onto the off white sheets of my bed. I'm moving slowly, taking my time; I know that I won't get another chance like this for a long time. My fingers trace along the lines of your muscle, curl over your hips and rest there for a moment before moving further down. You release the first long moan that rises like a supplication from your open throat, like sidewalks shimmering in the sun. Relishing in the sound, I trace my tongue upon your jaw line and lower, biting gently at the skin of your neck and scraping my teeth against where I can feel your pulse thudding hard beneath the smooth skin. I can't shut my eyes, just watching you and let the ecstasy pour over my skin like thick sticky honey is enough.
I can feel you trembling, quivering under my hands. Your eyes slide shut and you bite your lip almost desperately, as though trying hard to keep the words inside. I wish you wouldn't hide from me, wouldn't feel like you need to be something other than you are.
Staring up at you, the sight is almost unnaturally beautiful. Your dark eyelashes are fluttering over your face, breath coming in rapid gasps broken by pants and moans. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, mussed and drenched in sweat. Droplets are rolling down your cheek and dripping off of you. I know I won't wash the sheets for a week, relishing in the scent of your body and the feeling that you are still laying next to me.
"Brendon, Brendon, Brendon." I pant your name over and over, wishing that you would understand the feelings behind it - too much for me to understand myself, my tongue twisting over words like desire, always, please, and mine.
Too soon, you're shuddering against me; eyes squeezed shut with eyelashes brushing against my skin, hands clenching tight on my shoulders with nails digging in.
"Spencer, oh fuck I love you, please, oh oh." A thousand promises in choked out words reach my ears. I breathe deep and savor them for the broken lies they are.
Laying back against the pillow, I feel you slowly relax against me. Your breathing is deep and even, and I know that you are asleep. I can feel the darkness pulling behind my eyes as well, but I fight against it. I fight for this moment, when you are completely at peace in my arms. I know it will fade along with everything else.
Your promises are all around me like this suffocating heat. I know that at the end of the month, they will slide off of me and fall away, evaporating between my fingers as I try to catch anything, any part of you that's left.