Ok, I know I promised this chapter a long time ago, but I've just started my first year of college, so things have been rather hectic.
This is the companion piece to 'A little less conversation'. And this time, it's from Webster's point of view. I know I promised some descriptive slash, but it just didn't seem to fit.
Hands.
If anyone were to ask him what pulled him to Joe in the first place, Webster would say that it were his hands.
Girls in every country they'd been to had gushed about his soft, brown hair, or his soulful eyes. But to David, it had always been his hands.
They were artist's hands, with long and slender fingers. Made for painting, or writing, or a lot of other things that made David colour red when he thought about it.
Those last thoughts kept worming their way into his head ever since that kiss. And ever since that kiss David couldn't help but notice that Joe's lips certainly had an appeal of their own.
It was thoughts like that that kept David awake at night, and it was thoughts like that that lead him to stand in front of Joe's door right now.
He'd been mentally arguing with himself for the last 10 minutes. Eventually though, the curiosity of the writer in him (or the lust of the sex-deprived male, he wasn't quite sure which) led him to open the door.
Joe sat on the edge of his bed, and didn't seem to be surprised to see him at all. He just looked at him with those soulful eyes, a soft smile on his beautiful lips, and combed his slender fingers through his soft, brown hair.
'What took you so long?'