ashdjgkhasg Peter and Declan... what a fantastic pairing!
Peter groaned and shifted around on his bed, wondering when the sheets had gotten so soft. Sav—being the partial girl he was—somehow was aware that Cheer fabric softener not only smelled good, but also seriously worked, and had also somehow managed to coerce Peter into buying some. They felt plush and soft beneath his fingertips, his pillow, which he usually likened to be more like a rock, was almost like a cloud.
He opened his eyes.
Damn, his room never looked so fine.
(But that was because it wasn't his room.)
He sat up straight, and immediately regretted it.
God damn, it felt like someone had pried him open with a wrench, a horrid pain at the base of his spine like—
His eyes widened in horror.
And trained themselves to his left.
There was an unidentified shape next to him, filled out much like a person would be. Not the lithe, soft curves of Mia's toned body, or, for that matter, a woman's body in general. Firstly, he prayed to god it was Riley. If it was Riley, it would be awkward as hell, but at least they could talk it out. The other guy had certainly come onto him before (albeit, not when he was particularly inebriated), and they had managed to work it out. Secondly, he wondered what the hell he was doing last night.
Yeah.
That party Mia dragged him to.
Fuck.
Mia.
Peter jolted at the thought, causing more pain, which ended up with him making the split second decision to reach for his pants before his bed partner happened to wake up. He got his boxers on and zipped his jeans, pulling his shirt over and getting ready to walk out the room.
As he tore through the luxurious hallway, he caught sight of glimmering dark hair, glowing with the sunlight from one of the windows. Fiona, Declan's illustrious, beautiful sister, watched him amusingly from behind her teacup, leaning elegantly against the wall in some toulle and feather day gown. He hurried past her, and down the stairs.
The brunette watched him go.
Her brother always… had a taste for pretty things. Fiona wasn't quite sure if Peter really fit the mold of the beautiful, undeniably alluring features that Declan pursued in his interests. Mostly, the defining features were exquisite and unique. She couldn't find any in the Canada native.
She shrugged.
Maybe her brother saw something she didn't.
—
—
Meanwhile, Peter raced into his car, started the engine and tried to breathe.
He failed, miserably.
Okay, so maybe he had doubts on his sexuality, which were only intensified by Riley's surprising meeting of lips. He thought that was cured, however, after meeting Mia. The model was incredibly pretty to anyone's standards. He figured that'd satisfy him.
It didn't obviously.
He drove around in misery for a long while, wondering what could have possible happened while he was tripping around on whatever that high-society girl had gave him. He couldn't remember anything besides hazy bliss and sea water eyes burning ephemeral like Indian summer, rimmed with darkness and an elusive smile.
—
—
"Well I thought him very plain." The debutant sniffed, picking daintily at her sushi.
Her brother only hummed in thoughtfulness.
The mansion was eerily quiet, nothing but the silent resounding of stone and marble, of dazzling works of modern architecture. Perhaps Fiona had a truth to her words. Most of his conquests were incredibly glamorous, high society, well to do, the kind his mother would appreciate. Peter was everything but. And he appreciated that more.
He eyed his sister, dark curls over one shoulder, a large bow made of an array of colors in her hair. Her eyelids were dark and brushed with green. Her dress must have cost a fortune, made of an expensive artwork of peacock feathers, lace, toulle, and silk. Her shoes were even worse.
He eyed himself in the mirror behind her. Dark hair. Bright eyes. Expensive clothing.
Was that all their life was?
"Are you going to try this Unagi?" She asked him as she sipped her tea. "It's quite delicious today."
He prodded the eel and rice softly, debating whether he was really as hungry as he thought. Well, he was hungry. Just not for sushi. Or food… in general…
He stood then, deciding he had much more important things to attend to.
"I'll be back later, Fiona." He said by way of explanation.
She stood as well, looking quite puzzled. He left her there, tossed a jacket over his shoulders.
"Wait—! But where are you going…?"
Peter was absolutely not his type.
His type was appealing, classy folk of the upper class. Guy or girl, hardly mattered. Refined features, intelligence, wit, a certain amount of vagueness. The exact opposite of the brash guitar player, who had a bright and big, breathless smile, quite different from the distant quirking of lips above wine glasses. He had big eyes the color of the sky, emotions crossing them like clouds cross the stratosphere. Not the dilution and haziness of a mind kept away, unreadable and coy.
He started the engine, bracing the wheel as the carrera hummed to life.
It was surprising, how quickly conversation came to them. How easily they got along.
"This place is fucking immaculate." The blonde had whistled as he entered the other boy's room. "Wait, lemme guess. The maid's clean the shit out of this room too."
"Absolutely not." He replied easily, tossing his jacket onto a lounge chair. "I'd never let them touch this place. I suppose you could say it's my haven."
"That so?" The blonde seemed mildly interested, sitting himself on the other chair, separated by a small, steel table.
The brunette tilted his head. "Where's yours?"
Peter shrugged easily. The boy didn't seem to have any problem saying what he wanted. Funny. Declan would rather not say anything at all. His emotions, he supposed, were something that should not be deciphered by anyone but himself. "The docks." There was a wistful look to his face then. "By the ocean. With the salt stinging your nose."
"Interesting choice."
"Dunno why. It's always been in my memories." He scratched the back of his head. Their eyes met briefly. Blue to blue. (Infinity to infinity) "'Course, I haven't been back there in a while…"
Declan tilted his head upwards. "My room has always been the place that no one else would ever disturb me. It's… an easy place to think."
"At least you always have it." The blonde interrupted. "There isn't an ocean anywhere near here. There's a lake though…but it really isn't the same."
"I wouldn't know," Declan supposed aloud. "I've never been emotionally attached to any sort of landmark before."
Peter snorted. "No offense, but it doesn't seem like you've ever been emotionally attached to anything before."
The elusive brunette sideglanced at the blonde, who was taking a swig of Corona. He set it back down on the table, looking sort of out of sorts. Perhaps the better term was, "loosened". On Declan's side was a flute of untouched champagne. Peter didn't seemed to notice his wandering gaze.
"You'd be surprised." He answered, in a way which answered nothing at all.
"Yeah?" The blonde seemed to edge him on, leaning closer.
Declan took the opportunity to do the same. The air singed with energy. The brunette's eyes stayed on the crease of the blonde's lips with something akin to fascination…
The lake…
Lake Ontario was cold and waveless, looking like a tamed reflection of the grayish Canadian sky.
Peter had parked his highlander not too far—free parking on Sundays—and had spent most of the morning staring morosely into the refracted light on the lake. It reminded him very little of the ocean he remembered growing up by, the cold, bitter arctic ocean of the Olympic peninsula, shared with Washington state.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Peter whirled around, feeling his heart leap into his throat, a trapped sensation shaking down his legs.
Declan was striding out of his car, some sleek black benz that would make any car next to it look like a piece of shit, that unflappable half-smile still stuck on his face.
"You didn't have to run away, you know."
"I wasn't running away." Peter denied, though clearly it was useless. "I just… felt I overstayed my welcome."
"Not at all." Declan purred, giving the boy a once over. "I don't think it would be possible to do that."
No, Peter Stone was absolutely not his type.
But perhaps his type needed to be changed, for he had never met anyone as real as the boy in front of him.
His eyes lingered down the body he'd certainly made his mark on last night, now sinfully covered in a hastily buttoned shirt. "Are you embarrassed?" He teased aloud, watching the flush move past Peter's face.
"Who wouldn't be?" The blonde muttered, shaking out his hair and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I got fucked up on meth and did shit I clearly can't remember. It was a mistake."
The blonde brushed past him, unlocking his car with a familiar beep, but Declan caught his arm.
Peter chanced a side glance at the dark brunette, but those stunning ocean water eyes were nothing but sincere, a certain frankness to them that hadn't been there all morning, or for that matter, all last night. "A mistake for you, maybe." The boy agreed. "But not for me."
Peter hesitated, letting Declan's fingers catch in his shirt, eyes wide. "What are you—?"
"To be honest…" The brunette smiled, a bit sheepishly. "I don't want it to be a one time thing."
"You don't…—what?" Peter turned fully, reeling in surprise. He blinked, slowly, and then, "You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
The blonde hadn't even noticed that Declan had successfully backed them up until he could feel he hood of his car against his back.
"Are you afraid?"
"Afraid?" The blonde repeated incredulously, leaning back as Declan leaned in, heart beating furiously as he tried to create distance that was slowly being inched away. "No. I was fucked up. It's not happening again because it was a mistake. I'm not gay—
Though the words hardly stopped the elder Coyne from pressing his lips against the blonde's, pushing them down onto the car slowly. And god, the heat of him, burning against the bitter cold whipped from the lake, the hands pinning his wrists next to his head. There was a moment where Peter just let himself be dominated, eyes sliding closed and getting lost in the perfect lips claiming his own, in remembering the broken pieces of last night that still burned like an afterthought between them.
It didn't last long, though, before Declan broke the kiss, a hesitant pause just inches from Peter's fluttering eyes, breathless like a slow heartbeat.
His eyes shot open, and he pushed the brunette off of him.
"I'm not—" Peter looked away, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth, a terrified look in his eyes. "No. Whatever you want isn't going to happen."
He wrenched the door open, starting the car before Declan could stop him—though the boy made no move to—and furiously backing out one handed.
Declan smiled.
Peter could say all he wanted, but the kiss had only reinstated what he already knew.
He'd be back.
haha..