by Andrew
It wasn't our flat. It was one of those places. You know. The
kind that screamed to be inhabited, remodeled. A real fixer-upper.
But it belonged to Sam's-cousin's-uncle's best friend. Or maybe it
was Sam's cousin... Who remembered these things? Regardless of
my memory, it was treated as if it were our green patch of
kingdom, in which each of us were little monarchs with invisible
crowns hanging on our brow. We lounged about in the living room,
lazily strewn over odd pieces of (itchy) furniture and occasionally
flipping through the channels of the small television set provided.
At one point the limited amusement died out when Paul broke the
TV whilst fiddling around at its back - he was convinced he had the
"magic touch" and could get cable. I sighed and flopped backwards
on the sofa I had claimed as my throne; simply staring at the God
awful stucco ceiling above me.
Now I felt as if someone was filling the room with uncomfortably
warm air. My shirt was damp with a thin layer of perspiration,
sticking to my skin no matter how much I plucked the fabric away
with irritated fingers. This was all too tedious for my head to wrap
around. Was I moving slowly? Everyone else was moving at a
rapid pace. What was the rush? It appeared as if they were all
excluding me from playing musical chairs, waiting for me to glance
away before switching pieces of furniture. My eyelids grew heavy
and I hovered in and out of the room every time they fluttered. I
was positive I had dozed off for only a split-second - but when I
reopened each dewy eye it was darker in the room than I had last
remembered.
"Oh, you're up." In the dimly lit room I noticed Paul sitting near
the television set, the tableside lamp - and only source of light -
now resting in his lap. Probably adamant about getting that
blasted cable. As if on cue, I heard him swear, pulling away a
white hand and touching it to his mouth. The television screen lit
up, bathing the room in blue light. Just as quickly as it had
appeared the light faded to black. I sat up, simultaneously
yawning and pushing a lock of escaped hair away from my
forehead as I watched him broodingly out of the corners of my
eyes. Where had everyone else gone? Inching towards the edge of
the sofa I swung my legs over. This was just great. They had let
me fall asleep and went off to do exciting things. If there was
anything I hated, it was being left alone. Well, there was Paul...
”Well, where is everyone?" I asked him finally, a harsh note
ringing in my voice. I shouldn't have snapped at him, but I felt like
a child woken from his afternoon nap: not pleased at all. When he
opened his mouth to reply I found myself listening to him ramble
on but was not fully able to comprehend what he was saying. I
noted the light was making him look pink, casting odd shadows
across his face. Made him look like he was lost in a dream - some
mix of mediocrity and fantasy. I casually inserted mhms and soft
noises from my tongue to pretend I was participating in this one-
sided conversation. Again I found myself touching my hair, out of
habit more than the need for quick grooming. You know, Paul
wasn't looking half-bad. Perhaps it was the lighting.
"I'm going to change," Paul suddenly announced, setting the lamp
on the space of carpet beside him with a soft thud. He was no
doubt sick of the sweat-drenched clothes he wore. I might change
into a fresh pair of clothes myself, I thought as I rubbed my cheek
against my damp sleeve. Slowly pushing the TV back, he hurried
off to the bathroom where he had left a duffel bag. I rolled my
eyes off to the side but couldn't hide the little smile tugging at the
corners of my mouth. "You don't need my permission!" I called
after him. Silly boy. I stared at the white door long after he had
shut it. My interest was piqued, and my eyes might as well have
been round magnets attracted to a sheet of steel. No matter how
often I averted my gaze I was still drawn back to that damned
door. Paul was behind that very door. Paul would be changing.
Damn it all, I wanted to see him at it. I found him strange in the
fact that he would never dress or undress in the same room as the
rest of us. Quietly lifting myself from the sofa I crept towards the
bathroom. What could he possibly have to hide?
Holding my breath, I took the surprisingly cool door knob in my
hand, slowly turning it fraction by fraction, and held my eye near
the aperture. I didn't dare move a hairsbreadth more; the hinges
could be rusty and reveal my position. But I saw just enough to
make me snicker. Paul wore perhaps the most modest pair of
knickers I had ever seen. They were too big for him, pale, off-
white really, and looked old. I imagined they were his favourite
pair of pants - the kind some people would consider their "Lucky
Underwear." Maybe even the kind that one's mum bought for you.
When you were fourteen. A loud laugh sounded without warning
and I quickly pressed both my hands across my lips. But it was too
late, he must have heard me. Uh-oh.
He had, and suddenly whirled about in surprise. "Carlos! What the
hell are you doing?" I fell forward onto a dark bath mat, overcome
with a fit of laughter. I had been caught but for the life of me I
could not stop myself from rolling about at the sight. Paul quickly
grabbed his shirt from where it lay on the tiled floor and wrapped
it around his waist. Tears sprung from my eyes, all whilst he
glared and took a seat on the edge of the bath tub. He made an 'x'
with his arms, placing them over his bare chest. His mouth was
pouty, a glistening cupid's bow aimed towards his chin. For some
reason I found myself romanticising all his features. Was I high or
something? His voice interrupted my thoughts. "This isn't funny."
"Oh? Then why am I laughing? Oh, this is too good..." I dragged a
palm across my face, dabbing away the wetness that tears had
left. Through the gaps of my splayed fingers I could view his
expression: Paul was not amused in the slightest. What a shame. I
sighed, propping myself up on one elbow and curling my fingers
into the fuzzy mat beneath me. Some people just had no sense of
humour. But ideas were already blossoming in my mind. "You wait
until the others-"
"Oh, you wouldn't!"
"Wouldn't I?" I knew my eyes sparkled darkly. Some glint of
mischief winked back at the world. I was relentless, but he knew I
was just taking the piss out of him. Or at least I hoped he did. A
sidelong glance in his direction. No, I was certain he thought I was
dead serious about this situation. Perhaps this could be used to my
advantage. I couldn't just let him sit at the bath tub's edge,
glowering like those little porcelain angels grandmothers loved to
adorn their fridges with. Gently clearing my throat, I looked up at
him through dark lashes. I dubbed that one my "flirtatious" face. I
batted my eyelashes at him, and he raised an eyebrow at me.
"Come here, Paul." Still resting on my elbow, I beckoned him
forward with my free hand. He shifted nervously; glanced down
and rearranged his shirt to better conceal his underwear. I sighed,
a loud deep sound from the bottom of my lungs as I exhaled. "I
guess... I guess I'll just have to tell someone about you and your
modest knickers." I injected as much sugary sweetness as I could
into those words, feigning disinterest as I traced shapes into the
bath mat. I wanted to play games with him, tickle at his brain until
he wanted me just as much as I wanted him at that moment. He
scowled at me, yet confirmed my suspicions - poor Paul thought I
would really announce to the world what his drawers looked like;
he slowly slid off the bath tub's edge and neared me.
"Good." I nodded my head in approval. Though he did have the
appearance of someone who firmly believed I was going to bite
their hand off. "What about a kiss?"
"What! Carlos, I am NOT going to kiss you." Paul frowned and held
onto his shirt like it was a chastity belt. Interesting. I rolled my
eyes again, but pulled myself to my knees. "Don't pretend like
you've never wanted to," I hissed, wagging a long finger in his
direction. His face turned a delicate shade of red, a blush creeping
all the way to his neck. He was suddenly unable to look me in the
eye, twisting his fingers into his shirt. Perhaps this would go better
than I initially thought. I scooted closer, reaching out for one of his
pale arms. He didn't protest my actions and let himself be drawn
into my chest.
"One kiss?" I pleaded, tip-toeing my fingers across the top of his
blonde head. My eyes grew wide with puppy-dog sadness. If I was
able to make them well with premature tears I probably would
have added a little of that, too. Paul quickly leaned past me and
pushed the door shut. Worked every time. And I mean, every
time. "Okay, fine. But only one!" I knew he wasn't as reluctant to
do as I asked as he would have liked me to believe; his body
betrayed him. As I wrapped an arm around him, I felt his skin turn
feverish under my fingertips, heard a soft gasp escape him.
I tilted my head, briefly brushing away strands of hair from Paul's
face. With unexpected ferocity, he attacked my mouth - a kiss that
was all teeth, little pin pricks dotting my lips. I pressed both hands
against his chest, trying to give myself enough room to kiss him
back. In the process, I felt the strong beating of his heart,
powerful thumps that pushed against my flesh. I imagined it like a
battering ram, trying to force its way through his ribcage.
Paul seemed to take this as a signal to slow down. He pulled his
mouth away, breathing softly into my own. A flash of pink darted
out, wetting his lips before he met mine again, licking into my
mouth. That was the only thing I could focus on, the soft little
noises he made as he tongued the slick surfaces. I was beginning
to wonder why I hadn't done this sooner; Paul was an excellent
kisser. Probably excellent at other things, too.
I reached down, grasping at the dark shirt that hung from his
waist. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist, preventing me from
moving it. "Carlos, I am NOT going to sleep with you." There was
some sort of defiance glittering in his pale eyes. Now who was
playing games? I dealt my best card again: puppy-dog eyes. I
know it wasn't fair. After all, who can resist?
Paul quickly leant past me and locked the bathroom door.