Three Seconds
Authors Note: Well, I've been sitting on this one for months thinking I may revamp it, but I've decided I can always do a rewrite later. So let me know what you think of this as is. Also, happy 70th story to me!
You walk out of the bathroom at the Curtis' wearing nothing but a towel around your waist.
You usually don't shower at the Curtis household. Normally that sort of thing could wait until you were at your old man's place, or at least Bucks, but things just didn't work out that way.
Buck had thrown you out the night before. He'd been pissed and drunk off his ass as he screamed about losing the horse races. It wasn't your fault; you hadn't been in the races he was on about. It didn't really matter. He'd paid good money to fix those races and yet he'd still lost. He was yelling at anyone around.
Normally you could bully Buck into anything. The night before hadn't been worth it. He'd been drunk and carrying on and throwing bottles like your old man always has. It wasn't worth it.
When you'd actually gone to your old man's place your greeting had been a beer bottle whizzing past your face, a shot that was too close for comfort. Usually it's just a bottle and the old man's fine. This time he decided he start throwing all of the empty bottles on the floor at you one by one.
It wasn't worth it there either.
So you'd gone to the Curtis'. You'd slept on their couch and in the morning you'd used their shower. And now you were done with it, walking out of the bathroom like you own the place.
The problem with the Curtis house is that there are seven boys who think they own the place and only one of them is you. Well, maybe only six of them think they own the place.
You catch Johnny's eyes looking at you from the couch immediately. You always catch the looks he throws you. At least when they're those kinds of looks. The kinds of looks that only last for three intense seconds.
You know what's going on as your eyes lock on his the same as his lock on you.
You know you're both thinking about what it'd be like to touch, about how it'd feel to have your hands on one another.
You both wonder what the other looks like naked and think how amazing it'd be to see.
There's always this look. The look you give each other when you both know that you're thinking the same thing. The look you give while you're wondering what it'd be like if things were different and if you could touch without the consequences.
If you could grab each other and strip away the clothes until it was just skin. What it'd be like to have his body flush against your body, what it'd be like to taste his innocence.
You both wonder what it'd be like to touch. Would it burn with sin, or would it send cold rushes down your spines?
You know he wants you, he knows you want him. It's all in the look. The look that lasts three seconds too long, because three seconds is all it takes to imagine the dirty things you both want to do.
To imagine clothes on the floor, skin on skin, and hands everywhere.
It only takes three seconds to imagine what it'd be like if things were different.
If you could hold him. If you could love him. If you could just fucking touch him.
But you can't.
Because things aren't different. There are consequences.
Because you can't touch the way you want to.
So you move your eyes away from his three seconds too late and he pretends he didn't look. And you both go about your days.
It only takes three seconds to imagine having everything you want.
It only takes four to break your heart in half.