Hoyden keeps telling me to write lemons, but I don't feel like lemonaide. I love Cher and Dev and they can be such sillies at times.
Living in Ardouisur's meant that people began to spread rumors about Cherior and Devecia. This pissed Cherior off. The fact that the rumors were true didn't make him feel any better.
Once, Zachariel made the mistake of trying to tease him.
"I hear you're living with Devecia," he said.
"Yeah," Cherior muttered, packing his bag. "That's right."
"Well," Zachariel said. "I guess it's always the ones you don't suspect."
Cherior kept packing his bag.
"So, are you fucking Devecia?" Zachariel asked.
"No."
Zachariel looked offended. "Why not? I mean, if /I/ was living in the same place as that boy, I'd throw him face-first on the bed in no time--" He began to gesture a demonstration.
So Cherior hit him.
Hard.
Devecia was unimpressed when Cherior got back from detention. "Are you still getting into fights?"
The red-haired student shrugged and went to find an ice pack. "Yeah."
Devecia watched him, arms crossed, hair pulled back in a French twist. He'd already changed out of his school uniform and was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt -- simple, immaculate clothing that somehow looked sexy on him. Exotic. The twist kept most of his neck bare and pale, except for a few green stands which floated around his face, shaping it, making the curve of the jawbone prominent and eye-catching.
/If I was living in the same place as that boy, I'd throw him face-first on the bed in no time/
Carefully, Cherior applied the ice pack to his lip. "Figures that my healing abilities only work on OTHER people."
"I hear that's normal," Devecia said mildly, pulling out a chair for Cherior, another for himself. Fingers toyed with the loose strands of green. "What were you fighting about this time?"
/Face first on the bed in no time/
"Nothing," Cherior said. "What's for dinner?"
Devecia scowled. "YOU could cook for once, you know. It wouldn't kill you. It might even be appreciated."
"I don't know how to cook," Cherior said. Besides, the idea was ludicrous. He bought pizza or café food, but that's as far as it went. Ever.
"Oh, good," Devecia murmured, eyes half-lidded. "Then you wouldn't mind learning."
"Stir it. No keep stirring. ALL of it. You don't want it to burn to the bottom of the--"
"Fuck it, it IS burning!"
"Here, add some water."
A fizzling noise.
"Not that much."
"What?"
"You just drowned our stir-fry. I think we'd better make it wok instead."
"What the hell's wok?"
Dinner tasted awful. "See, this is why I think you should cook."
"Practice makes perfect," Devecia pointed out, sweetly. He took another mouthful and swallowed quickly.
Cherior watched him eat for a while, his own plate pushed away.
Full lips closed around the fork. An unhappy face, then throat worked as Devecia swallowed.
"You don't have to eat it, you know," Cherior pointed out. "We have some leftovers we can heat--"
"I want to," Devecia said. "You made it."
The swelling went down pretty quickly, which Cherior appreciated, though he didn't know if it was actually his own healing abilities or if it wasn't as bad as it had felt. So despite split lip, he had been able to trap Devecia against the couch, stealing (gentle) kiss after kiss.
Arms, tight around him, fingers crooked in clothing. Devecia had a soft mouth and was a devil with his tongue. The sound of denim on denim -- jean-clad legs against jean-clad legs. Hair slowly untwisting, spread on the couch. Bobby pins on the floor. Hands inside each other's shirt, just wandering. Touching.
Worshiping, smoothing, hoping.
"Cherior," Devecia whispered as Cherior licked along his pulse. "Do... you want to..."
"Yeah."
"...make love to me...?"
"Yeah." Hands moved more frantically now, trying to bare more flesh.
"I mean... the" Devecia hesitated and Cherior pulled back to look at him. "Oh, fuck, there's no term for it that doesn't sound stupid. Do you want to fuck me, Cherior?"
Cherior snorted, slipping a hand down Devecia's pants. "I always want to fuck you, Dev."
A sigh, a quick jolt of hips moving. "I mean... all the way." Silence, and Devecia laughed. "I sound like a virgin girl there, huh?"
The redhead pulled back more, watched Devecia spread out, one knee bent, arms still raised to hook around Cherior's waist. "Let me get this straight," Cherior said quietly. "You want me to take you up the ass."
Colour spread across Devecia's face.
/If I was living in the same place as that boy, I'd throw him face-first on the bed in no time/
"Yeah," Devecia murmured, hands wandering again. "Yeah, that's what I want."
And there was something final about that, something scary.
More frightening than warm mouths, than hands, then the powerful force of heat and friction.
Something--
"Not right now," Cherior said, hand curling around Devecia's penis.
"Yeah, okay," Devecia said, eyes closing. "I understand."
Devecia didn't have a morning class the next day, so he lay there in bed, curled on his side, while Cherior got up, dressed. In the other room, he made coffee and cereal. He called back a tired "I'm going now" to Devecia and left.
Five minutes later he realized he'd forgotten his school uniform tie, and so came back, crept up to his room in case Devecia was asleep.
He wasn't.
Green hair spread on the pillow, eyes closed.
One hand playing with a nipple.
The other lower. Between his legs. Circling fingers around his anus.
Cherior clutched at the door for a moment, silent, then turned and clattered back down the stairs, pausing in the kitchen to duck his head under the water, to wait for his erection to fade.
Because he could go to school without a tie.
"Here," Devecia said when he got home after that evening's class. The green-haired boy dropped some bottles and cans in Cherior's arms. "Ingredients."
"What?" Cherior asked.
Devecia smiled blindingly. "For spaghetti. It's a little easier than stir fry."
Cherior shook his head quickly, tried to hand the ingredients back. "No, you saw yesterday, I'm no good as a cook, you should make it--"
"I'll instruct you. It's easy, you know. You just guess and taste every so often. It just sort of happens. Put everything together, and it just happens."
"Can't I just buy something?" Cherior pleaded.
"I'll get the oven started."
Spaghetti was somewhat easier than stir-fry, though the meat ended up more blacked than browned, the oven needed cleaning, and there was too much garlic. Cherior apologized.
"There's no such thing as too much garlic," Devecia lied, spinning his fork to get more. "It's good. I love it. I really hope you make it again."
"You don't need to go that far," Cherior said. "It sucks. I should toss it."
"I /like/ it," Devecia said. "I want it. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but at least let me do it."
Cherior watched him eat. "Thanks."
"I love you, you know."
"Yeah," Cherior muttered. "Me too."
Devecia beamed, licked his fork. "So does this mean you'll cook again?"
"No."
Bodies tangled, mostly unclothed, mouths eating roughly at each other. Devecia's mouth still tasted faintly of spaghetti. Of garlic. A leg pushed in between Cherior's thighs and rubbed, so he growled and bit Devecia.
"Oh!"
Apparently, Devecia liked that, so Cherior did it again.
"Mmmm... you... can... you can fuck me if you want."
"You have a pretty mouth," Cherior said, licking at it. "Fuck, I love watching your mouth."
Devecia gazed at him for a moment, then smiled. "Hmm. Okay." He slid down, began mouthing Cherior through the cloth. Raised his head, eyes hot. "Like when I use it like this?"
Cherior moaned. "Oh. Yeah."
In Raphael's class, Cherior doodled in his writing book. He was supposed to be writing down whatever came to mind.
'Class is boring.'
He stared at the page for a moment longer, then added on the line below, 'Class is very boring.'
Teeth worked at the end of his pencil.
'Class is very fucking boring.'
He stared out the window, daydreamed for a moment. Of. Devecia. Face down on his bed.
'Dev wants me to fuck him' he wrote, then stared at the page, not really believing he'd written that. Even if Dev had been pretty obvious. Not something he wanted Raphael to read. Not knowing what to do about it.
"Time's up," Raphael said, clapping his hands. "Next step? We burn the page you wrote. Come, come, crumple it, here's some fire, throw it in..."
"Soup and sandwiches," Devecia told him. "You make the soup, I'll make the sandwiches."
Cherior looked at him suspiciously, waiting for the trick. Dev smiled back. "Well," Cherior said. "Soup. I can manage soup."
"From scratch. Instructions are written out on the counter. Ingredients are set out. All you have to do is follow the instructions."
Anger, blinding, and he just sputtered at the smiling Devecia, who turned. Cherior noticed that the green-haired boy's jeans were particularly tight that day.
"Don't worry," Dev said over his shoulder. "It's just chicken noodle. You'll be fine. Go on."
"Dev, is it supposed to smoke like that?"
Soup was fine, after they'd thrown out the first batch of noodles. Soup was good. Sandwiches went well with them. Devecia kept watching him as he ate.
"What?" Cherior asked finally, unnerved.
"I need to talk to you," Devecia said.
Cherior took an aggressive slurp of soup. "Fine. Talk."
"Okay, so we've got a little relationship problem here," Dev said, fiddling with his braid.
Cherior FELT his shoulders tense. "I don't see any problem."
"So you're really dense. Let me say it flat out," Devecia said. He was blushing, but his voice was strong. "I want you to fuck me. You don't want to fuck me. Does this not come across as a relationship problem to you?"
There really wasn't much to say to that. Cherior picked up his spoon, put it down again, scowled at the bits of slightly burned chicken. "Is there anything WRONG with not being ready for that?" he muttered.
"Yes, there is," Dev said, clearly trying not to get angry. "Because I know why you're not ready. You don't want to be gay. Anal sex makes you gay. End of story, yes?"
Cherior stared at him. "I'm not -- I mean, we ... look,"
"Even if it's not me doing you, it's you doing me, oh look, sexual association with the anus." Devecia was rambling, eyes getting angrier and angrier. "And maybe you ARE afraid to admit that you're gay or bi or whatever you are but you know something? Straight guys don't DO what we do! Strange but true! Wake up and smell the fucking coffee, Cherior! You are fucking a man, you just aren't doing all the stuff that'd make that particular man HAPPY! Fuck it, I'm asking you to take my cherry, Cherior!"
Blank anger, and then, suddenly, inappropriately, Cherior found that last line extremely funny and began to laugh. "Cherry, Cherior? What the FUCK, Dev?!" He laughed louder.
Devecia threw a sandwich at him. "Oh, fuck OFF."
The humour died away and Cherior rose, suddenly, chair clattering to the ground. "What the fuck are you going ON about, Dev? What do you want? You WANT to be thrown face first onto a bed and held down while I -- I--" He couldn't say it, couldn't even do that much. His throat closed on the words.
"Yes, Einstein!" Devecia was on his feet as well. "That is abso-fucking-lutely what I WANT!" He panted, angry, red-faced.
And Cherior just stared at him, stared at the way Devecia was trembling. Angry.
Sad.
His throat was still closed and he couldn't find any words. He remembered Devecia spread on the bed, not knowing he was there. Touching himself. Remembered the sudden heady rush and-
"Okay," he said, unable to look at Devecia any more. "Yeah, okay."
That threw Dev for a loop. "What?"
"Okay," Cherior said, angry. "Okay, I'll do... that. Okay? Are you happy?"
Devecia licked his lips. "Fuck, yeah," he murmured, voice husking. "I am happy. I am more than happy. I ... fuck. Oh."
And suddenly, Cherior found himself not angry any more. Not at all.
They made out for a while on the bed, though they were both trembling. Cherior wasn't sure why. Fear. Lust. Something...
They were a nude tangle, warm flesh, pale, freckled. Hands seeking out familiar places and relearning them.
Cherior pushed himself onto an elbow. "Will this really be okay?" he asked, unsure of what he meant.
"If you get off my hair, it will be so much better than okay."
Quickly, Cherior scrambled further to the side and Devecia moved with him, nails raking roughly down Cherior's chest, no longer playing.
Pain. Pleasure. Cherior pinned Devecia roughly with his own body's weight, ate frantically at the other boy's mouth. "What do I--?"
"Lube."
A pause. "Do YOU have any?
Devecia moaned as Cherior's hand circled on his ass. "Um, yes, yes, but I don't know where, I got it a while ago, maybe the bathroom--"
"Fuck."
"Or maybe in the drawers, I don't--"
"Cooking oil," Cherior said.
Devecia stared at him, breath practically screaming out, heart hammering like construction equipment. "...that'd do."
The trip to the kitchen and back didn't particularly stick in Cherior's mind. He was off the bed, he was back, and Devecia was reaching towards him, reaching up for him and Cherior was frantic and burning and needed to touch right fucking now and lifted Devecia practically off the bed, touching, kissing, biting, and threw him over, so Devecia was face down on the bed.
And the green haired boy was squirming and begging as oil-slick fingers touched him.
Face buried in the bed sheets.
And suddenly, everything was perfect and all the earlier arguments seemed so stupid.
So fucking stupid.
"I love you," Devecia was saying. "I love you, you know, I love you."
Cherior took hold of white-skinned, slender hips.
"I know," he said.
The next morning, Cherior made breakfast.
The bacon was burned.
The eggs were runny.
"It's perfect," Devecia said.
And smiled, because it was true.