Oral Obsession
Whenever I saw Arthur, he always had something in his mouth.
During lunch breaks I would find him hunched back on his heels behind the old gym, his dark hoody pulled up over his messy yet stylish hair and a cigarette between his thin lips. Lips tucking into a crooked smile as I leaned against the brick wall next to him and made obvious comments about the weather.
If we went somewhere they didn't aloud smoking, Arthur would let a lollipop dangle from his mouth instead, occasionally bringing his hand up to twirl it between his fingers, before darting his tongue out to give it a lick. When doing so, his tongue piercing would catch the light, making it hard for me not to steal glances at his mouth.
Sometimes he catches me staring and then he takes the candy out of his mouth, offering me a lick. It's times like these it's hard to tell, if he is still referring to the popsicle .
It was an oral obsession created from some neglected phase in his early childhood. At least that's what Freud would've said according to my Psychology teacher. When I told Arthur, he just snickered, asking if I was trying to "cure" him. I'd shaken my head. While the smoking wasn't doing him any good, oral obsessions had their perks.
Like now. I had one hand tangled in his hair, the other against the wall in the small public bathroom, steadying myself as Arthur continued the blowjob. I could feel the piercing as he ran his tongue over the slit, making me bucker into his mouth.
I wouldn't want to cure his oral obsessions for the world.
A/N
This is what my brain produces 4 am...