can you see me now {Tael/Albany}

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

Every evening at ten o’clock they would kneel at their bedsides and pray, then press their ears against their son’s door to ensure he was obeying the laws of the book. The sound of his whispers proved his loyalty. If they opened the door they expected to see his blonde head of hair bent in submission, face concealed by his devotion to their God. They expected him to finish without question and turn his head to greet them, dark eyes flickering with the light of faith. They would beam at him proudly and wish him goodnight. He would nod and return the favor, waiting for them to gently close his door so he could crawl into bed and await another blessed day. They expected an angel, unquestioning obedience and compliance. A proper son would stay in his bed and rise early like they wanted.

Tael giggled into his pillow. I ain’t stayin’ here for nobody.

He always waited an hour. It took his parents thirty minutes to fall asleep on a typical evening, and the additional thirty was for precaution. He listened for the reassuring silence and folded his sheets over. Owls hooted their soothing songs outside his window as he unburdened himself of his pajamas and slipped into something nicer, yet easy to unbutton should the situation require it. He stood in front of his mirror relying on the moonlight to illuminate his reflection, and smoothed his hair to a presentable style. When he was satisfied with this evening glow, he maneuvered through his window and down the tree, hoping he hadn’t disturbed the owls.

When his feet landed in the grass, he grunted and inspected the palms of his hands. He hated climbing trees, it was dirty business. If he was too quick he would sweat, but if he was too slow he would accumulate more wood splints against his pink-tinged palms. The last thing he needed was a dirty hand, and he refused to ruin his pants by wiping them. He elected to sulk about it and climb over the property’s fence, pausing to listen for the barks of the neighbor’s obnoxious dogs. There was nothing tonight. They were either asleep, or had finally stopped caring about the blonde boy down the street sneaking out of his parents’ mansion.

Fortunately, the dogs weren’t alarms. Nobody cared about a dog’s conversation once the sun disappeared, so it was never enough to wake his parents. Even if it was, they seemed to trust him enough not to check on him. They had every reason to be suspicious because of the way he dressed and obsessed over himself in front of a mirror. Those were universally “feminine” habits, and so was favoring the color pink. He was guilty of all of it, although “guilty” was never the best way to describe how he felt about it. He cared about consequences, not about people’s opinions. They could call him feminine, weak, embarrassing, shameful – just as long as he continued to sell the story about his “girlfriend.” As long as he didn’t disobey too sinfully, he was safe.

Good thing they don’t know I’m sinnin’ plenty.

The church’s withered spires penetrated the stars. It was an ominous silhouette, a symbol of the mighty power taking hold of his life. Invisible and silent, there was no proof that this power even existed, yet it dominated his life like a shackle around his ankles, grounding him to one path, one destiny. He rejected that destiny with all his might. He would pull against the force of those shackles until his skin bled raw. He hated pain as much as he hated rules, but he couldn’t stand to be miserable.

The creek of the doors always irritated him. It announced his arrival loud and clear, so anyone hiding could scramble or show themselves. He didn’t have anyone to meet tonight, but sometimes they simply popped up without invitation, asking him for sinful favors and a night of bliss. Tonight there was a shadow in the pews, a head of hair he couldn’t recognize until he circled him. The name escaped him entirely, but the face was a memory. A memory of rumors and delights that made his insides sing. ”You cravin’ some company?” he cooed, sliding into the pew until their hips touched. ”I sure am.”

[nyte]

I haven't been sleepin' well these past few months. I've been dreamin' of hellfire an' the devil on an ebony throne. He always has Ma's eyes an' her real cruel smile with teeth stained yellow from the smoke she been blowin' out of her lungs as of late. I worry 'bout that. Her breathing's been gettin' real shallow an' heavy an' when she coughs it comes from a real deep, dark place in her. As much as I should hate my Ma, for the way she talks t' me, the way she treats me like I'm bit a' pink bubble gum stuck t' the underneath of her shoe, I don't. I love my Ma with all a' me, cause've the way she used to pull me into her chest with gnarled fingers runnin' themselves through my hair real gentle like as she told me she needed her little boy. She needed me. An' it felt real nice to be needed be-cause Marcus wasn't needin' me no more, that's for sure.

Sometimes I get real mad at him, for leavin' me like he did. I've got no right, I know. It's my fault he done left. 'Cause we were sinnin' an' if I just kept my goddamn mouth shut n' never told 'im that I loved 'im, he wouldn't have died. He wouldn't have gone to hell like he did. Maybe him n' Maggie woulda got back together n' they woulda survived the reapings n' had two little kids like they sometimes talked 'bout. They was always so happy talkin' 'bout their futures. Argued ov'r the names for hours even though it was real stupid 'cause they were just kids an' ended up breakin' up anyhow.

I've only talked to Maggie once since Marcus died. There was black makin' its way down her cheeks, like little stripes 'gainst her pale skin. An' with her red hair n' claws snakin' 'cross my cheeks she looked just like a tiger. Roared just as fierce on too, screamin' 'bout how the two of us had betrayed her an' were probably fuckin' before the two of them even broke up. 'Cause that's what faggots like us do an' we made her sick an' she was glad he was dead an' was just waitin' for me to follow suit.

An' she had a new boy with big muscles n' dark skin just like Marcus'. When I told her just how much Marcus had loved 'er an' how torn up he was when she left, she sicked 'im on me. He beat me black n' blue no matter how hard I begged n' pleaded for him to show mercy he called me all these awful names, leavin' me sobbin' 'gainst a couple've lockers. I remember how it hurt to breathe, an' how I thought just maybe this is what it was like to die.

The janitor found me after school let out, a kindly man with white hair an' a silver beard. He helped me back home an' told my Ma where he found me. She took me outta school for two weeks an' when I came back Maggie wouldn't even look at me. But I think I done saw disappointment in her eyes when they crawled 'cross my skin, stained yellow with bruises an' black with scabs. She thought I'd fucked off, I think. Killed myself just like Marcus. Seein' me made her real sad an' I remember feelin' bad 'bout it. Maggie'll always be my best friend, hold a little part a' my heart an' I never wanted to cause her grief. I swear to God, I din't mean to.

Not that God much cares what I do, now a days. He's already written me off in 'is books. HELL. In big black letters 'cause I was wired all wrong an' liked boys like I should like girls. An' some nights I get on my knees in front a' my bed an' tell him how sorry I am for bein' wired wrong an' I beg him to fix me.

Some nights I tell 'im how much I hate 'im.

An' some nights I wonder whether he listens to anyone at all. If he isn't just a fairy tale t' keep us in line n' outta trouble. That when we die, we're just that. Dead. There's no heaven or hell. Just nothin' 'cause that's what you become when you die. Nothin'.

I just don't know anymore.

I don't go to church for God. I go for my Ma, an' I go to visit Marcus. Maybe I go for the pretty Preacher's boy with a sweet smile an' a pretty voice too. (An' I hate how he makes my heart flutter, hate how he makes my stomach fly. 'Cause no one but Marcus should make me feel that way. I loved 'im. Only 'im. An' I should be alone for the rest've my life 'cause that's how it works when the person you love dies.)

I'm visitin' Marcus t'night. Settled in a pew with my head hung low n' my hands clasped together. I'm talkin' to him in my head, askin' how he is an' if thinks Maggie is happy with her new boy or if he's thrilled he looks just like 'im. 'Cause that means she still loves 'im one way or another.

Not that I expect an answer. Marcus is dead, buried just outside the church with a little tombstone that I always leave yellow flowers on during Sunday mass. He loved little yellow flowers. Always got 'em for Maggie. (An' me, but I don't like t' think 'bout that.)

There's never anyone comin' into the church in the dead a' night. Never anyone who bothers me, anyhow. Everyone knows about the sick little boy who killed his best friend just by lovin' him. They treat me like a curse. An' just maybe I am.

But the creak a' the church doors an' the heat of a body be-side me breaks pattern. It's a small boy I've seen 'round class an' in the church. I don't know his name, I've never bothered to ask. I don't know anyone really, kept to myself since Marcus done offed himself. Goin' to school, church n' home. Wash rinse repeat. The days have passed in sucha blur it feels like only yesterday that Marcus' hand crawled under the waist a' my shirt. I can still remember how soft his fingers were an' how gentle his touch was. Like I was made of air an' I might disappear if he blinked too hard.

"You cravin' some company?" He asks in a gentle sort of way, all soft an' daring. In a way that made my heart jump outta my chest 'bout a thousand times quicker than normal. "I sure am."

I meet his eyes with my own, spread wide from shock an' the thrills crawlin' up my spine. "Uh well I really wasn't." My words are thick compared to his dainty, clear speech an' I can't help but think a' how stupid I sound in the presence of such a pretty boy. The same boy who was sittin' so close his jeans touched mine an' I thought maybe he din't know who I was 'cause I don't think he would've otherwise. "But you're welcome to stay, I have been real lonely lately."

I don't see the point of lyin' to a stranger.

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

The only sign of life in the church was the echo of their sinful voices. By the masses’ standards, they were not obeying the laws of nature. If this was the boy he thought he was, he was a “betrayer” of God like him. They had a preference that couldn’t be helped. Tael was one of the pretenders, wearing a false face of a boy with a future wife and children. It was exhausting and tedious, but necessary. His parents wouldn’t accept him otherwise. This boy, however, (the name was lost on him still), was more well-known from what he remembered. What was he doing in the church at night? Repenting, praying, begging for forgiveness? Hiding? He didn’t know whether the boy was still following the “wrong” lifestyle, but he intended to find out for himself in the most sinful way possible.

“I’ve been feelin’ lonely too,” he sighed, eyes fixed on the stained glass. He had grown weary of the beauty, and didn’t care for the characters they depicted. They were practically fictional, like people invented for a novel. Yet the people of the church acted as if they were real despite the complete lack of proof, and brainwashed their children to believing the same. “But that ain’t the only thing I’ve been feelin’.” He slipped a hand over the boy’s upper thigh. He wanted the message to come across crystal clear, and planted a semi-firm grip on the available muscle. During his nightly adventures he was never subtle. Time wouldn’t allow him the luxury of dancing around the subject. It was now or later, perhaps tomorrow or never.

”I heard you’ve got a certain taste,” he continued, voice lowered to a velvety whisper. He lifted his gaze to catch the eye of the handsome boy, and batted his eyelashes for dramatic effect. If he was trying to take the path of righteousness again, Tael intended to lead him away. He was a terrible influence and he knew it. Cold and condemned to hell, his parents would say. A tainted soul led by the devil. Tael didn’t give a rat’s ass. The righteous pass was too difficult to follow, too restricting. It felt less natural than what he did at night in the church. If the devil was real and metaphorically anchoring him to Hell, so be it. He liked things hot.

Hopefully this boy did too.

The alternative was a long, boring path to righteousness.

”I’ve got it too.”

[nyte]

He tells me he's lonely too an' there's a kind a' warmth that builds in my chest at the words. 'Cause even if we was alone, we was alone together right now an' for the longest time that's all I've needed. Someone who wasn't scared a' me 'cause I liked boys and they thought I was gonna try n' kiss 'em if they left their guard down long 'nough. It's like I'm a monster sometimes, girls laugh at me n' boys keep their distance whisperin' t' each other like I don't know what they're sayin'. Hatred burnin' into my skin as I make my way down the school hall-ways with a lump in' my throat. I don't wanna go most days. Back t' the place where Marcus n' me sneaked kisses in the halls an' held hands durin' class. Where everythin' was so good 'cause I was a dumb thirteen year ol' who didn't even know I was sinnin'.

I was just lovin' someone. I din't mean t' condemn 'em to hell too.

"But that ain't the only thing I've been feelin'." His hand crawls across my skin, restin' on my upper thigh in a way that makes my stomach churn. My heart starts poundin' something awful, like a beast had made it his home an' was tearin' every part of me to shreds. An' fuck, does it feel good.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, eyes travelling the length of this boy almost on instinct. The palms of my hands start itchin', yearning to reach out an' touch the pretty boy who was touchin' me in a way that made me feel so damn weird. There a hollowness in my gut, a hunger that I can barely control as my fingers trace the length of his jaw real slow like, the softness of his skin was like water to a parched man. I wanted more. More a' this feelin' more a' his hands on me.

I wasn't really payin' attention t' what he was sayin' in the meantime. Somethin' about taste. I didn't really care what he was sayin' if I'm bein' honest. His lips were too pretty t' takes my eyes off've when they moved. All slow n' gentle like in a real elegant way. The way they kinda glowed in the dim light an' the contrast of his skin 'gainst dark oak pews. He seemed outta place in a shithole like Eleven. Filled with people who talked real slow and thought even slower. He was elegant, dif'rent than all've us bumblin' fools.

And before today I had never seen someone with such breathtaking beauty. "Uh..." I manage in between thunderous heartbeats. "'m sorry I din't catch that uh... that last part I was..." My tongue snakes across my lips, quick n' hungry, somethin' stronger than nervousness shakin' my voice. "Lord, don't take this the wrong way or nothin' but sweet God you're pretty."

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

Tael always compared himself to a flower. He was short and fragile, easily swayed by strength. His skin was soft like spring petals, and he carried with him a sweet fragrance that lacked the detectable stain of outdoor labor. He smelled pampered and pretty instead of sweaty and dirty, although sometimes the heat of the sun was too harsh to escape entirely. He adorned himself in vibrant colors that his parents never approved of. They wanted to see him cloaked in black or white, stale colors of purity. It bored him. To their dismay, his favorite color was instead pink. A “feminine” color. But they seemed to think everything was feminine. Pink, purple, yellow, orange. They were bland people, too traditional for his tastes.

He didn’t love his parents like he should’ve.

Feeding his pride, the boy was gawking at him like he’d never seen an angel before. Tael’s lips pulled back into a close-mouthed smile as a hand caressed the length of his jaw. It was almost innocent, like a child petting his kitten. But this kitten was mischievous, and there was nothing innocent about him. His eyes were sinister, his touch fire. He was reeling the stranger in with no intent of releasing him until he got what he wanted.

“Flatterin’ me already?” He said, sliding into the boy’s lap with one leg on either side of his thigh. The compliment was encouraging. He would never tire of being called pretty. It was his identity; not masculine, not sexy, just pretty. It was simple enough and pleasing to the ear. “Cute” was a close second. “Seductive” was what he aimed to be right now. He snaked his arms around the boy’s neck and leaned in close. ”You don’t even know my name,” he said, smile still glued to his lips, ”It’s Tael, and I’m glad you think I’m pretty. I think you’re real handsome.”

He was not afraid to sin in a church. In fact, that was part of the thrill. It was easily one of the most private hideouts after sunset, eerily quiet and mostly unvisited by the worshippers. It was his sanctuary. He could fill the void with the sweet sounds of lust instead of the drawls of prayer and worship. Instead of singing a song of dedication he could sing a song of passion, one more raw and irreplaceable. It was strange how this place could be both annoying and convenient. The worshippers would be horrified if they discovered, of course, but they were all tucked into their innocent beds.

He laughed at them.

[nyte]

His touch sets my skin on fire, breath catchin' in my throat as he moves on top a' me, legs tanglin' with mine. My eyes more real slow like, lookin' at the boy who has come so much closer, touchin' me like I ain't been touched in years. My body leans into the touch, pressin' myself further 'gainst the boy 'cause I forgot just how good touch feels. To have another's body heat mixin' with mine an' keepin' me warm even though it's cold an' dark an' scary outside these walls.

The pretty boy's eyes are like midnight, glued to mine as small hands interlock behind my head, trappin me 'gainst the boy in a way that feels so good I don't even care. My own eyes are like saucers, lips yearnin' to close the few centimeters of space left between us.

My hands brace his hips, more out of habit than necessity, fingers curling into his belt loops to get a better hold on the fragile boy. He asks me if 'm flatterin' him already an' I can't help it as my brows furrow in confusion. I ain't ever been the brightest boy 'round but I'm pretty sure I can tell when I'm flatterin' someone. I was just tellin' this boy he was pretty because he was. I din't think much of it, 'specially 'cause he wasn't gay.

But the closer his face gets the more I'm comin' to doubt that.

Sometimes it's hard t' imagine there's anyone else who'd dare love boys in a place like this. Hard to imagine I ain't as alone in this world as I think.

He tells me his name is Tael an' I mouth the name slowly, tastin' it as he keeps talkin' in low, pretty tones that made my heart pound and my stomach get real hot. "I think you're real handsome." he purrs into my ear, tightenin' my grip 'pon his hips as my own body rocks forward. There's somethin' feral in me, somethin' needy that's tellin' me to press my lips 'gainst this boys. Even though I'm real sure I don't love 'im an' I know you ain't supposed to kiss anyone you don't love.

(Or do love, in my case.)

"Er..." I manage, talkin' even slower 'cause the world seems to suddenly be made of Ma's burnt fruit pudding. "Nice t' meet you Tael, I'm Albany. An' uh... an' uh..." My cheeks are burning, bright white flames lapping at my face as my eyes travel the length of this boy 'gain and 'gain and 'gain...

"You might not wanna sit so close." I murmur, voice turnin' low as lust pulls at my tongue. "I might do somethin' real stupid."

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

He knew what the boys wanted. No matter what sexuality, no matter how religious – they all wanted the same thing. Sex from love, sex from lust, sex from girls or boys or both. It could be secret, it could be after marriage, it could be with someone they didn’t truly care about. Church boys and regular boys alike wanted it. Even his own father had admitted to it. ”It’s natural to want it and have it,” he said to him one day after pulling him aside, ”Don’t tell your mother, but God will forgive you if you do it before marriage, and so will I.” It was one of the funniest things he had ever heard. He had assumed Tael would be having sex with his girlfriend when that wasn’t quite the case. It was instead with a boy named Percy. Nice boy, he was.

Since that night with Percy, he had gained a lot of experience. Too many passionate nights to count, and just as many disappointing ones. He discovered confidence as well, enough to keep his eyes twinkling as he sat atop of this needy church boy. He recognized the signs of desire; the dark luster in his eyes, the pink tinge staining his cheeks, the way his hands settled on Tael’s belt loops. He had been right about who this boy was, and had therefore scored himself a golden opportunity. His voice was shrinking and stuttering under Tael’s influence. The boy wanted him for sure; he couldn’t mistake these signs for anything else.

”But I’m so comfortable,” he purred, rolling his hips. ”You wouldn’t make me move, would you?”

He was cruel, and he knew it. Seduction was his forte. Albany was probably trying to mind his own business, innocently visiting the church to pray in isolation and peace. Tael was ruining it with lust and sin, but he didn’t care. He was selfish. He preferred to think of it as sharing an experience, because Albany would receive a slice of the pleasure as well. It didn’t make him any less of a sex menace, but it brought him a false sense of accomplishment. Cute and generous, right?

”It’s real cold in this church anyway,” he continued, tracing his thumb across Al’s bottom lip. It was soft and warm, and would fit very well with his own, like beautiful puzzle pieces. ”I want you to warm me up.” He breathed it into Albany’s lips, ready to heat this church up like Hell on a summer’s day.

[nyte]

He's so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. It sears across my cheeks as he presses himself closer to me, seemin' to know just how to make the achin' in my stomach near unbearable as my eyes crawl across his body o'er an' o'er again. He's small in a real pretty way, with dainty arms currently slung around my shoulders and a leg that fits real comfortably 'tween both a' mine. "But I'm so comfortable." he murmurs, sending a violent shiver across the whole of my body.

I'm tryin' real hard t' be a good boy. Just like Ma would want 'cause the hate in her eyes when she sees me lookin' at another boy makes my heart fall to the floor every damn time. She wouldn't like the way I'm lookin' at this boy. I can feel her eyes branding themselves into the back of my neck. Disgustin' fuckin' pig you are Albany. What did I raise? What did I raise?! A fuckin' monster. Where did my baby boy go? The beautiful baby boy I raised what did you do with him?!

It's impeccable how well my will power remains in tact with her shrill screams echoing about my skull.

"You wouldn't make me move, would you?"

It's impeccable how easily my willpower shatters at the words whispered into my ear I can only muster a kind of shy shake of my head, like alluva sudden I'm a schoolgirl gettin' pinned 'gainst the lockers an' told she's real beautiful like.

He tells me somethin' about it bein' cold but I really can't concentrate with his thumb runnin' across my lip like that. Real slow and playful like as he slowly inches closer. An' I wanna scream at him to get it on with.

Just fuckin' kiss me.

I'm about to burst, really. My chest and stomach and head have all filled to the brim (with what i don't know.) My fingers twitch, an awful sort of burning hot need forcing them to tangle themselves into the back of Tael's collar.

I ain't waitin' anymore. I'm done with guilt and shame and I can't feel nothin' but needin' him. Right here. Right now.

I turn the both of us around, liftin' him up and pressin' him flat against pew and leaving my knees on either side of the boy. "I'm real sorry for this." I murmur quickly, more out of habit than doubting that he wanted this as bad as I. An' I don't think a second more before I press my lips to his, pullin' him as far into me as I can. It's been so fuckin' long since I felt someone kiss me I forgot how sweet it was. How the taste of another can be so intoxicatin' that the world melts 'round us an' there's nothin' left to feel.

For this moment there ain't no one but us.

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

Tael could feel the sexual tension like a summer heat. He didn’t necessarily feel hot or flushed, but his heart was thumping like it always did when he prowled and preyed. He was like the cat mutations on TV, crouched down low and ready to pounce, chest hammering from the anticipation of a catch. There was something oddly satisfying in playing this hunter’s game, especially when he reigned victorious. Boys could be pathetically easy, or – in the case of the frightened, repressed novices – a challenge. Both were equally satisfying. The easy ones would sweat waterfalls from his touch. He could set their lips on fire with one kiss and then it was over, they were his. The challenging boys always had some excuse to run away. They were scared of being seen, or waiting until a marriage union, or feeling guilty about sins.

He was something different, because he rarely felt guilt about his sins.

In the heat of the moment, it was easy to forget how well-behaved he was supposed to be. A good, loyal religious boy wouldn’t whisper the things he did, or let his hands wander where they did. An obedient boy would at least apologize for it, instead of sneaking out again and again to keep cherishing it. He liked the thrill – but most of all, he liked being himself. Parts of it were exaggerated for show and for reeling them in, but loving boys (in the physical sense) was the reality of Tael Barkley. He was finished rejecting it, tired of denying it, and sick of sitting idly in a puddle of self-pity.

Fortunately, he had been born with ambition in his heart. He was always determined to get what he wanted, and most of the time he did. How else was he supposed to break out of his shell? By pushing and punching the walls around him. Only then could he be reborn.

He was lucky to have had Percy nearby. The boy practically saved him.

Tael didn’t know – or hardly cared – about the consequences of the present. He was too comfortable in Albany’s lap. He sensed repression, and obviously the boy was trying very politely to resist him. Resistance was boring, and now he was feeling too frisky to back off. He smirked at the hands tangling themselves in his collar. Albany was melting in the palms of his hands, so close to becoming a liquid puddle of desire. Give in, cause it’s only gonna get worse.

On cue, he ignited. Tael was abruptly lifted into the air by a firm pair of arms, and nearly lost his breath as his back hit the pew. ”I'm real sorry for this,” Albany said, and he didn’t quite grasp the apology, mostly because his mind was still spinning from the sudden movement. What was there to apologize for, unless he was about to do something bad? Then, of course, he remembered. What was hot and naughty to Tael was “bad” to Albany, the poor boy. He had probably been repressed most of his life, especially since the knowledge of his sexuality was public.

His arms were still hooked around his neck. Albany’s lips were starving, and tasted of sweet desperation. He was eager to devour and Tael was happy to fuel the fire. With a giggle, he wrapped his legs around the boy’s hips and tightened his hold. He was light as a feather, he knew it wouldn’t be too much of a burden. Boys liked to feel strong. They also liked to manhandle a bit, which he didn’t appreciate. So far Albany hadn’t crossed any discomfort lines. He was just enthusiastic.

[nyte]

I can't breathe real well. His lips burn into mine, moving quick against me, so fast n' so hungry I almost can't keep up. It wasn't like this with Marcus n' I can help but feel this is all wrong, something worse than the gentle embraces we shared among amber fields with quiet I love yous in childish whispers because that I all we were. Children. I don' think we coulda known what love was even if we tried real hard to understand but it was nice t' pretend. I think that ignorance really is bliss 'cause when I din't know what we were doin' was sin, I loved it a lot more. It was somethin' special.

This is desperation n' it is heat. It's hair standin' straight along my spine and my nails curling into his shirt, pulling the boy pinned to the pew into me 'cause it feels so fuckin' good that I can't stop. I can't stop my lips movin' against his n' I can't stop my tongue from tracin' the bottom of his lip 'cause it's so pretty n' so swollen from my own hunger. It ain't right. It ain't love. And I know I should care. I know I should stop this. 'Cause this ain't Marcus an' I just met this boy. All I knows about him is his name an' not even his last. But he's here, offerin' himself up for usin' an' I can't say no. I need 'im.

An' just maybe I think I could pretend that it's the pretty little preacher's boy who makes my stomach jump n' flip whenever he looks at me with that little smile 'cross his lips who's kissin' me. 'Cause he's straight as an arrow an' he has a girl an' he has everythin' he could ever want an' that don't include me. It'll never include me. No matter what I feel for that boy, lust or love or like, I ain't ever gonna have him. An' it's pathetic pretendin' one boy is another but I don't think Tael will care an' I know I'll never tell 'im.

His legs make their way 'round my hips, lockin' me into him as I force a shakin' breath into my lungs, head spinnin' and heart pounding. There's bright red heat painted 'cross my cheeks an' I can feel the way my lips burn as I pull back to breathe. A wonderful, wet kind of burning as I press my forehead to his chest an' I pant, searching for the air Tael has sucked from my lungs.

I don't know what t' say.

So's I don't say nothin'.

[Python]

I WANT TO LOVE BUT I 

T A E L  B A R K L E Y

SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.

He was addicted to heat, and maybe that was why he belonged in Hell. It was a drought of the mind, absorbing coherent thought and inhibitions. Left in the steaming cracks was the craving for instant gratification, and with nothing to counter the blaze he was determined to snatch what he rightfully deserved. There was a reason why addictions were considered sinful in their religion – it was like a fog of possession, clouding one’s eyes to blind them from the “path to God,” but it was also a matter of willpower. Tael could resist if he wanted to. If Albany turned out to be some creep, he would try his best to wriggle out of the situation.

He didn’t sin because it was too strong a temptation to resist. He sinned because he wanted to.

It also felt fantastic to meld their lips together, two church boys with insatiable hunger. Sin was tricky because it felt heavenly. His folks would argue that it wasn’t natural for two boys to feel their bodies tingle when they licked each other’s swollen lips, but now it was easily the most natural thing he had ever felt. Perhaps it had been strange the first time with Percy; they were awkward and uncertain. Where did this go, what do we do now? Yet at the end of the evening Tael didn’t regret it. Sweaty and gross or not, there was a pleasure to be cherished, a bliss he thought every human being deserved.

Albany was playing nicely into his hand. His own flirtations had awakened something, a starved little devil inside that could finally roam free over Tael’s lips. He smiled into their rushed kisses. A giggle formed in his chest but lost its strength when he could breathe freely again, mouths and tongues disconnecting. The church air still smelled like old wood and winter, crisp against his flushed skin, but he would rather engulf himself in the smell of Albany resting his head against his chest. Grinning, Tael unraveled his legs and combed his fingers through the boy’s hair. He could tell Albany was a sweetheart, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking advantage of the situation.

”You’re real sweet,” he cooed, planting a butterfly kiss on the top of his head. And you taste real sweet too. The church was silent but for their labored breaths. Tael smoothed the fabric of his shirt, where fingers had desperately tried to tear apart the seams, and smirked. It was time to show him something sweeter.

He gently pushed Albany’s shoulders and dropped to his knees, fumbling with his belt buckle. ”Sit tight, Albany,” he whispered.

And don’t forget to relax.

ftb.