Anyway, the week's 30 Minute Writing Sprint. I decided, for a reason I'm not 100% certain on, to ask Twitter what I should attempt to write. So, you voted for this. This is all on you!
After I do some blogging/guest blog post writing, will try & do 30 Writing Sprint on blog. What should be my starting point?— Andrew Hall (@PewterWolf) August 20, 2017
“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” I lie.
“No, something is wrong. You have been weird with me all day. What is it?”
I look up at Garrett, his dark brown eyes watching my face for any signs of the truth. The truth I can never tell him. Ever.
“It’s nothing,” I lied again, trying to palm him off with a fake laugh and put space between us. “Just work and the blog and YALC coming up and -.”
“Stop.” Garrett raise his hand to stop the words pouring out of my mouth. His tight tee pulls with the movement, revealing his nipples and showing that his left was pierced with a bar.
Don’t look there. You can’t. He’s your best friend. He is your best friend.
“You’re hiding something. You keep being weird round me and I’ve had enough. What is it?”
“I -.” I choke on the word. I can’t tell him.
“For god sake, Peter!” He threw both his hands up and stepped closer. I can feel his body and I ache. “I’m trying to help. But I can’t do that if you don’t let me. I am trying to be your friend. I -.”
“I don’t want you to be!” I throw the words out before I could stop them.
They hang there like poisoned thorns. I see Garrett flinch and I flinch because of his reaction. He thinks I said that because he’s black. He thinks I said that because I’m a racist bigot and that’s not it. That’s not it at all. That’s not the reason why I can’t be his friend anymore.
But I can’t hurt him. Not like that.
Before I can stop my body, stop my heart, I close the space between us and I kiss him.
The air becomes stunned. I felt numb and shocked and -
I pull away, fingers touching my lips, eyes shut. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see his reaction.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper to myself. “I’m sorry. I -.”
Gentle fingers touch my cheek, tracing my cheekbone.
“Peter.” Barely a whisper. “Peter, look at me.”
No. I can’t. Everything has changed now. I’ve ruined everything.
It was the plea in his voice that did it. I open my eyes.
He’s looking at me, his face an expression I have never seen him give me before. He’s looking at me as if he’s seen me for the first time. It’s as if -
He lowers my hand from my mouth and his lips are on mine.
It’s barely a kiss. A ghost of a kiss. Gentle, feather-like, hopeful…
I can’t stop myself.
I lean forward, my reply more urgent, more hunger. I can feel my blood boiling and his heart beating too hard as I taste him - not the hot chocolate he’s drunk five minutes, but of him. Of salt and spice and Garrett.
His arms are wrapped around me, pulling me into to him and my hands are in his hair, pulling out his man-bun and gripping the black curls.
I want him.
I kiss hard still, and he replies in kind. His tongue teasing mine and I can only breath in gasps. I can’t get enough air into my lungs but I don’t want to stop this kiss. I don’t want this kiss to end.
My back hits the wall and Garrett gentle takes his hands out of his hair and pins them above my head, his lips never leaving mine. His hands slowly going down my arms and I shiver. His fingers hold my face, him not wanting this to end either.
But this isn’t enough. I want more. I ache for more.
My hands are under his t-shirt, stroking his flat stomach and his chest. How many x-rated dreams have I had of him shirtless on top of me and I can do this? Touch his chest, kiss this nipples, tease the piercing?
His lips leave mine and his kisses my jawline and throat. I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs but this, this is everything. This moment is everything. I can feel stars explode on my skin where he’s touching me.
His t-shirt is off and I’m kissing his neck, his chest, his lips.
My top comes off and I can feel his fingertips burning my sides, holding me close to him.
This is a mistake, I think. This can’t be happening. We’ll regret this later.
But not now. Never now.
I kiss him harder, my legs itching to wrap themselves round his waist. I can feel him pushing me into the wall further and I know he can hold me up, his hours at the gym being useful.
But I don’t. It’s too soon for that.
We pull our lips apart and we’re gasping. His forehead rests on mine and I want to drink this moment in. Everything itch of his skin, every laughter line, every muscle. I want to commit this to memory.
Because he’s not looking at me. His eyes are shut and the kissing has knock our breaths away.
My skin and blood is singing for him - they want more from us - but I can’t. I’m frightened. I don’t know what’s going to happen next and I’m frightened that this might have ruined us in the cruelest of ways.
Because we can’t go back. We can’t go back to Peter and Garrett, best friends since year four. The ground has shifted under our feet because of this. We can’t go back.
“Garrett -” I breath as he lifts his head slightly and his lips brush mine.
“Shhh,” is all he says. “Don’t ruin this for me. Let me enjoy this moment with you.”
He gently kisses me and I let him take the lead. It’s a slow kiss, slow but building to burn. I can feel his hands slowly trace down to mine and hold them.