Simplicity: A Tryan with a Beginning, Middle, and Ending in 5 parts.
Intricacy.
A shirt, a white shirt decorated by the use numerous indigo dots freckled over the garment. Underneath the ivory a light blue layer adorned with the golden floral print of many sunflowers laid against the pale, milky white flesh of its wearer. Over the ivory, was a dark denim vest. On the head of the wearer, a matching fedora. Midway down the down sleeve of the ivory dress shirt was a patch, decorated in black with yellow pieces of material bordering the edge of the dark piece of attire. As for the separate patch itself, many various, colorful images were printed on the fabric, completing the overall ostentatious look of the wearer.
Simplicity.
A white shirt, the sleeves rolled up past the forearms worn over a masculine frame. A simple pair of blue jeans. Hands intertwined, the two wearers of these contrasting garments drew forward. The blond, smaller, curvaceous, clad in his wild, unique attire, arbitrarily instructed the brunette, ignoring the in-ignorable fact that his thoughts were anywhere but focused on the words he spoke. That they were on the hand currently holding his. The hand of the boy he was meant to never have.
The brunette was empty, starving for the physical contact he was being denied in the absence of his girlfriend. Ravenous for a constant, for stability. The words, the routine, so familiar, reiterated so many times, fell on deaf, inattentive ears. Instinctively, he knew what to do, for he had done this so many times before hand. Draw forward with your partner, hand in hand, spin around, and give our partner a twirl. The choreography was rather simple and mundane for someone of such creativity and complexity as the blond whom was walking him through the steps.
Forcing back his hunger for the brunette athlete, the blond described the maneuver as simply as possible.
"Walk, walk, walk. Jump in. Around the world… and spin out."
The brunette followed through, noticing however, that this time was different. Was it that he had improved… or was this feeling a result of his partner? The feel of the boy's cool flesh, his slender form in his arms? That unmistakable spark as he twirled him effortlessly?
Something had clicked, and it had not escaped the blond's notice. Acting was his escape from the truth; acting was his way of convincing others as well as himself to deny things. He knew it wasn't right, as much as he longed for it to be. The basketball god and the theater fag? No, that line between fantasy and reality could never blur. One always thirsts for what they cannot have.
For once, however, he was unable to plaster an oblivious, carefree smile on his face. He had to stiffen to contain his increasing concupiscence for the other boy. "See? You got it!" he warmly praised the brunette.
He didn't know why, but the taller boy stepped into his partner, suddenly feeling insatiably hot and needy. "You're easier to dance with than she is." he murmured, exasperated and confused.
It was the truth; both of them knew it. Their blue eyes bored into one another, permeating the layers of clothing that came between them. Wracked with lust, they could clearly envision, practically feel their heated bodies rubbing and twining together. Red colored faces both pale and tanned. Lucid visions dominated the mind. Both boys felt arousal swelling in the confines of the denim clothing their lower bodies. Their hearts ached, calling out to one another with intense longing.
They knew it was wrong. But it was so natural, so easy to feel this way. The blond opened his mouth, preparing himself to formulate words to communicate that he too, felt, he knew that the other male was easier to dance with… to be with.
It took the entrance of the blond's twin sister, the "she' in question, to divide the two of them, pull them out of their fantasy world. Under her demand, the routine began once more, this time with her serving as the brunette's partner in place of her brother.
The naturality was gone.
A large prop fell over, almost crushing the three of them.
The female, feigning more fear than was actually felt, cuddled against the brunette's chest.
The blond cupped his hands about his mouth, stunned at the ironic timing of his near-death experience.
It was inescapable. The entire duration of the startling ordeal, both males were aware of an epiphany that could no longer be denied.
The emptiness and desire grew simultaneously.
If that prop had fallen but a few seconds earlier, they would have ended up in each other's arms. And in those few, panic-stricken moments, that is the only place they wished to be. They simply wanted to be held in each other's arms.
Revelation.
Hunger. The world fading fast around them, they confronted one another on the gymnasium floor. There was nothing left to stop them, to starve them anymore.
All of their peers watching, the blond and the brunette leaned into one another.
"Ryan, I love you. I love you, Ry." the taller athlete relayed.
"I love you, too, Troy love. Ohh… God, I love you too."
It was the epiphany, the simple, undeniable self-truth. To placate their hunger, the two boys locked their lips in a fierce tangle of passion despite the protestations of their classmates. The blond betrayed his prom date, leaving the girl bewildered and gaping soundlessly at this loud display of moral disregard.
They knew it was wrong.
But they also knew that they no longer cared about right or wrong. At last they knew that all they wanted, all they needed, was each other.
Fulfillment.
Hand in hand, in the same manner as their earlier coupling, the two boys, dressed in their coordinating, monochromatic tuxedoes and lavender corsages, began executing the next part of their routine. It was new, strange, and unfamiliar, yet, at the same time as well known and versed as breathing, walking, living, a routine as old as time itself.
The blond opened his legs wide, despite the restrictions of the fabric of his dress slacks, to accommodate the waist of the brunette. Their lips smacked together, tongues twining. Supporting the smaller boy's weight without trouble, the brunette athlete began backing him into a wall.
"Ohh, Troy!" the blond moaned in relish.
This provoked the brunette, Troy, to kiss harder. Loosening the blond's necktie, he lined his throat with an array of orally produced markings.
Letting out another moan, the smaller blond bit down on his lower lip, thrusting his strong hips forward.
"Oh! Ryan!" the brunette exclaimed loudly.
The blond, Ryan, busied himself with the removal of Troy's clothing, continuing to grind their hips together. Every minute of it seemed to be as expertly choreographed as the school's musical. The movements thought out, planned. Animalistic abandon fueled this hedonistic pursuit.
The routine became a dance all its own.
Bare flesh, more beautiful than fantasy could aspire to be, glimmered enticingly in the darkened backstage area. Clenching white hips tightly, the movements started. In contrast to before, there was no walking, no twirling, and best of all; no departure from one another. Hot. Friction. Frenzy. Proclamations of love issued forth from their mouths, as they merged, unifying. They wanted this bit of immaculacy, of perfection to last forever.
Clutching one another, they called out each other's names. The union deepened, motions becoming more fierce, brisk, powerful. The exclamations of "I love you" inundated more rapidly, increasing in supply. The heat blissfully intensified.
At last, clinging to one another, ecstasy reached its peak, boiling over, and they were granted deliverance. Softly, lazily, pleasure flowed forth. Coming down from this high, their bodies melted into each other. Warm and cool. Strong and fragile. They shared a sigh, a sense of fulfillment.
Love.
Crossing the stage in red gowns, they knew their time at school had ended. And with its passing, it had claimed a relationship no one had suspected, yet at the same time; wished to see the end of. The relationship between the basketball god and his girlfriend had dissolved.
Diplomas in hand, preparations were made to embark upon the net step in their lives, tassels hanging from the hats sitting proudly upon their heads.
Two lingered behind. An unspoken question hovered between them. Was a relationship built on the foundations of deep-rooted, overwhelming desire, and a moment of impulsive spontaneity meant to last? Especially if the people in the relationship were two boys?
Setting their futures aside, the brunette and the blond stared into each other's eyes, the look of intense desire softened, replaced by something else. Sweeter. Tender. But just as powerful. This feeling also wracked their entire bodies with its enormity. The origin was from deep within their hearts.
Once again, the blond dressed in a strapping, elegant fashion; a silvery dress shirt and tie and tan dress pants.
The brunette by contrast was more conservative; a plain white dress shirt and a black tie and pants.
Opposites.
Like the look in their eyes of blue, they were an unlikely combination.
Complicated and Simple. Longing and Loving. Doubt faded. Those eyes, the windows to the souls within, gave everything away.
They knew somehow they were going to last.
It was simply love.
Fin.