Warnings: Violence, mild language
Rating: T
Pairing(s): PruCan, previous PruAme
Skin connects with skin roughly, hard muscles colliding as the two boys throw themselves together. Blurs of silver, blonde hair flying astray. Unforgiving fingertips assault his sides, pushing him back. They spar angrily, full of energy and alcohol. There's fire in Gil's eyes, penetrating glazed amethyst. Breathing is harsh and uneven, like his heartbeat. Hands on his shoulders, forcing him against a wall. One forearm to pin an arm up, firm torso pushed up against his, hot breath on his face. Blood. Gil's nose is bleeding, dripping over delicate lips on to his teeth. Matt can guess he fights a lot, but he still has the upper hand.
He lurches forward, hands everywhere as he frees himself, spinning abruptly, changing their positions. Close. So fucking close he can taste the cheap shitty beer on Gil's breath and the smoke from the back of his throat. The pang of blood. Grunting, silver head hitting the wall, long neck exposed. He wants to bite. He wants to bite it so badly and he's so damn drunk. The blood makes its way down, following the path carved out by Gil's jugular vein. Soft skin under his lips, sliding under the split tissue, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Adrenaline shakes him from the inside out. Panting.
"Matt..." Barely even a whisper. Gil lifts his hands from his sides, pin them down. Tries to push up from the wall, press up against him. Turns his head, bite.
Strangled breathing, a groan vibrates under his teeth. His lips pull into a smirk, tugging painfully, bringing his face up. Gil finally stares at him, not through him. Blood smears over his lip and jaw and his eyes are wildfire, consuming him. He looks like heat and trouble. Matt knows he shouldn't be doing this. Gil's from the rough side of town, his brother's ex. Hidden tattoos, lean muscle, fire and sweat and sex and oh god he wants him too badly to care. All those rumours, all the warnings and yet here he is in Gil's apartment, miles from home on a Tuesday night, horny like he's 14 again.
After that he can only remember the sparks, electricity in his veins, pulling him to the edge. Skin under his, sweat in his eyes, blood on his chin. The noises. Fuck, those noises. He had wanted to drink them up. He felt them in his chest, the pit of his stomach, his cock. So much want, taking like he might never do this again. He supposed he wouldn't.
The morning after is cigarette smoke. They lie on the mattress which has no bed frame and smoke and doze, lazy and sated. Matt uses the tiny bathroom to clean up, combing his hair, putting himself back into place. He leaves his number, goes back to his house where Alfred's eyebrows arch in confusion, smelling something familiar on his brother's clothes. Matt takes care to wash thoroughly later on, almost regretful as the last of Gil leaves his skin. Somehow he can imagine that the pale boy has seeped into his bones.
For the following months he frequently works himself into a frenzy. Gil has become a welt deep in his skin that keeps him awake at night and distracted during the day. He sees the other boy on the bus one day yet avoids sitting next to him, earphones firmly plugged in. Gil descends the stairs at his stop and at the last moment catches his eye and smirks, a promise for later.
Written to 'The City' by the 1975