Just a random little One-shot that wandered into my brain yesturday when i was trying to sleep.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh, the very sexy Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding do.
It's just a normal Thursday evening, I'm minding my own business watching a documentary on the telly. It's pretty fascinating actually; all about shoe brushes of the 18th century. Then the door slams and you walk in. I call out a vague greeting, expecting you to go into the bedroom, but you don't. You come over and sit down on the sofa next to me. As you walk past I can catch the smell of sugar and chocolate and strawberries; that intoxicating smell that seems to follow you round wherever you go. You sit down next to me; too close. Your hand brushes against mine, and I instantly whip it away; skin tingling after only the briefest of touches. You sigh theatrically and I know I've annoyed you. You don't understand this 'no touching' rule; you just think I'm a freak. But I can't bring myself to touch you, if I did I'd probably do something embarrassing like try and kiss you and that would not go down well.
Only problem is; the documentary isn't nearly so interesting anymore. I can't stop my eyes from being drawn to you, again and again. You remain oblivious, examining your hands and nails for imaginary imperfections. I'm glad, because if you knew I kept looking at you; you might ask why, and I don't know what I'd tell you. I can't even trust myself to speak right now, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out some declaration of how I feel.
The documentary ends, but it takes me a while to realise. As soon as I do, I flick channels and come across a film. Brokeback Mountain. Not really my thing; but it seems like the sort of film you might like, and you don't complain.
We sit there for a while in silence. After a little while you yawn, and lean your head against my shoulder. I tense up, the desire to tilt your head back and kiss you stronger than ever. Only; I don't push you away. I let you lie there; breathing in the scent of your hair (coconut and cinnamon). I suddenly feel like a bit of a pervert. You shift slightly and your forehead brushes briefly against my neck. I bite my lip to keep from gasping at the skin contact; at the electricity that just jolted through my body making my heart beat faster.
You have no idea what you do to me.
It's just a normal Thursday evening, I've just been shopping. Got some pretty genius stuff actually, not that you'd notice. You never do, no matter how hard I try. You're watching some boring old documentary on the telly, something about brushes that would probably send a mega insomniac to sleep. You call out a vague hello and I hesitate before walking over and sitting down beside you as close as I dare. My hand accidentally brushes your's and you instantly pull it away like I'm made of lightning or something. I sigh loudly, to cover up the fact that that hurts. This 'no touching' rule of your's is torture for me. Because that's what you do normally if you fancy someone, isn't it? You try and touch them as much as possible. Only I can't, because you'd freak out. I don't even want to think about what you would do if I ever re-enacted my fantasies and kissed you. Run away, probably.
You keep glancing over at me. Are you annoyed that I interrupted your documentary? You're not talking to me. I examine my nails, trying not to look at you. Because if I did I'd have to ask why you were looking at me, and you might tell me to leave.
The documentary ends and after a few minutes you begin channel hopping, stopping on one of the film channels. Brokeback Mountain. Just what I need, a film about two best friends getting it on when you're so close to me and I can't even touch you. I yawn suddenly and, on a whim, I lean my head against your shoulder. You tense instantly, but you don't push me away. I lie there, breathing in your musky smell which for some reason drives me wild. I suddenly feel a little bit pervy, smelling you. It's a bit weird, isn't it? If you knew you'd probably go mad.
I shift a bit, my head accidentally-on-purpose brushing your neck. Your skin is warm against mine and sends a not unpleasant jolt straight to my stomach. But I can't maintain the contact without freaking you out, so I lay my head against your shirt again, trying to repress the urge to jump on you and kiss you as hard as I can.
You have no idea what you do to me.