fuchsia petals on his lips
Note(s): Heterosexuality and homosexuality; cross-dressing (since it's my thing now or somethin'.); teenage feelings, hormones and drama.
Warning(s): language; implicit handjob (aha.) and the word orgasm. Yes; orgasm.
Summary: His name is Tauris and he likes girls. Or occasionally, the next best thing. /belarus x lithuania x poland; high school!au
I hereby disclaim any rights.
i.
His name is Tauris and there's not much to say about him except for the fact that he's average; he has sleek chocolate-brown hair and he plays his guitar on rainy Wednesday afternoons on the window still of his living room.
More often than not he tries to recreate the sound of Mozart's violins in acoustics; it's difficult and his fingers usually slip and the great composer comes out mangled and beaten. Tauris sucks in his bottom lip, and then huffs the aggravation out through his nostrils.
Sometimes, when the thunder rumbles through the pregnant clouds and the rain feels particularly ferocious and unforgiving; he plays something uncharacteristic. Reminiscent of the soundtrack of Requiem for a Dream and it's so unlike himself; so overpowering and alluring.
It actually reminds Tauris of his neighbour; a boy who wears dresses and innocent knee-high socks and struts around on cotton candy Mary Jane's.
His name is Feliks and he is everything but average.
Tauris actually likes him.
ii.
They make it a habit to sit on the swing set of the abandoned playground near the park every Sunday afternoon; the iron shackles cackle manically whenever they sway to and fro in a calm, methodical pace. Probing needle-thick pin-points through the foliage of the surrounding moist trees, the sun decides to fan their pale cheeks with moderate warmth and they smile quietly to themselves.
To someone unaccustomed to the factual reality of what lies underneath Feliks' skirt, they'd appear as an adorable couple of highschoolers; except they're not.
Tauris likes girls and the bulb of their calves and the sway of their hips and the curve of their jaw line; the dimples when they smile and the fluttering of their skirts.
Feliks has the posture of a supermodel: flat and straight and all bones and flesh. Soft, silken skin in a nacre pallor. He's just not interested in what flutters underneath his skirt.
When Feliks talks, he does so in a demanding tone and the pitch is heavier than a girl's usual silver bells. His voice resembles cymbals and tambourines; an autumn breeze ruffling fallen leaves, a faded red and a hollow yellow and a decaying brown.
It's bewitching.
"Sing me a song, Tauris." His fingers brush the sensitive plush of Tauris' thumb.
He ponders for a moment; every song popping up croaks inappropriately about love and heartache. Eventually he settles for November Rain; because nothing lasts forever.
Neither the autumn breeze, neither the autumn rain.
And certainly not Feliks' pretty face.
iii.
It's in a human's nature to get curious and to get all these strange fuzzy feelings; hormones and endorfines and adrenalin. It's for the average teen and guess what Tauris is/always will be deep down?
So when his thumb brushes against a perky deep pink nipple on a flat male chest in the janitor's closet, Tauris doesn't dwell on it too much. There's a distinct smell of cleaning chemicals; sour lemons and artificial lavender, there are a few buckets and brooms, a mop and a cupboard with toilet paper and other commodities.
He's pressing Feliks against the shelves; his uniform's shirt held up to reveal the smooth plane of his stomach and chest. He can count the ribs; one, two, three, ivory and Feliks gasps when he strokes them. It's a most delectable sound.
More often than not, they do these sort of activities in his bedroom, surrounded by the mauve of the wallpaper and the various posters of skylines; New York, New York and Los Angeles and the Taj Mahal of India. Marble like Feliks' teeth and he can see them perfectly from this particular angle; and he can hear the keening sounds perfectly and smell the perspiration sliding down his sternum.
If he closes his eyes and focuses primarily on the sensation; a hardened bud of flesh in between the plush pads of his thumb and index finger and the skin between his canines and the stammering, stuttering commands.
Cymbals and tambourines but if he twitches the pitch around a bit in his eardrum; autotunes the frequence, then maybe Tauris can hear silver bells.
He likes girls after all.
"Tauris..." His eyes crack open, and in between the shutters of his eyelids, he sees Feliks' feminin face with the tinge of rouge on his cheeks and he can distinguish the bone-white knuckles of his hands as he holds the uniform up.
He responds softly, "Yes?" Somewhat impatiently; don't talk, don't talk, Feliks, don't talk, I don't want to hear you; I just need to feel you.
Eyelashes sleeked over with coal-black mascara drum against the skin beneath his spring-green eyes, "Hurry.. Umf.. Up. Cla-a-ass is going to start soo-soon." His hips buck up against his own and it's all bones; not entirely unpleasant.
His breath fans over his left nipple; a marble of flustered pink amidst a sea of nacre; marble. "Sorry.." He looks up again; a voice like autumn, an attitude like summer and eyes like spring. "Do you.. Do you want me to stop it all together?"
Impatience crumples the arousal on Feliks' pretty face, as if the proposal is preposterous and neglectable. There are the sharp angles of those hipbones again, hidden behind a skirt. Tauris wonders how Feliks ever managed to convince the principle of allowing this little charade.
"Don't be.. Stupid." He pushes Tauris backwards against the working desk, cluttered with wrenches and screwdrivers. His mouth plasters against Tauris' mouth and it's overpowering; fierce and he wonders if girls are supposed to be this dominant. His tongue flicks out to probe Tauris' bottom lip while his hand palms Tauris' crotch and it's warm.
Warm like a scorching August afternoon; then he starts rubbing and every protest fleets from his brain; I like girls. I like girls. But who am I kidding? Feliks is the best I'll ever have.
(i am average and i am plain-looking and feliks has the smile of a star. stars burst and shine and i want to shine too.)
iv.
Tauris' favorite season is winter.
v.
During English literature, his teacher reveals the presence of a new pupil; Tauris can't help but stare at the most brilliant girl he has ever seen. She has long silver strands with this inexplicable glow, like a shooting star.
(i want to shine too.)
Her name is Nataliya Arlovskova, she is a talented violinist and her hobbies include reading Stephen King and listening to bands with unpronounceable names in Latin or Scandinavian. She has a cobalt headband and it brings out the impenetrable blue of her irises; they swirl and sparkle like electricity does; like lightning does.
And Tauris can't divert his gaze from her rose-petal smooth lips; glossed over by chapstick and alluring, begging to be kissed. He thinks of Feliks and the innumerable shades of pink and red he spreads over his lips and it seems incredible to even imagine those colors on her lips. She has the same dress Feliks has and the thought should disturb him, but it doesn't, apparently she hasn't received her uniform yet.
Tauris is sort of happy for that; because the sway of the fabric around her slender legs makes him swallow, hard. He's overjoyed when the teacher appoints the empty desk next to him for her and he can't help the nervous quirk of his mouth, curling into a shy smile.
Tilting his head, he greets, "Hello, my name is Tauris."
She looks at him with zero expression and she's so beautiful. "That's nice." Attention back to the blackboard, a few tresses slide forward to hide her features from the world, like a curtain call.
After class, he offers to show her around the building but she just huffs.
"Not necessary."
vi.
Some trees are shedding their leaves already; the first claws of autumn dig into the tail of summer and rip the warmth to shreds with raindrops and cutting winds. Tauris is counting down to winter, to the first snowflakes and the blankets of soothing white. He's brought his guitar with him and Feliks listens to him play while sitting on one of the swings. His fingers curl around the iron links, his nails are a bright orange.
He's murmuring along with the melody Tauris is coaxing out of his instrument; his voice is a tiny bit hoarse from an approaching cold, the first lines of illness slicking the walls of his throat.
"Are you in love, Tauris?" His legs, decked in nylon, entangle when he's swaying, they bend underneath the seat and stretch into the air. "You normally don't sing Rihanna. Even though I've asked you so many times." His fuchsia lips curl into a knowing smirk; Feliks has always known what he wanted; but never what he needed.
Sometimes those are the same, mostly they're not. -ilikegirls, ilikegirls, ilikenataliya butfeliksisthebesti'lleverget-
He halts, the last note ending up strangled, dead. "How do you know you're in love?" Their gazes meet; spring-green meets vale-green and it's electric; the telepathic link sizzles.
His apex darts out and moistens his fuchsia bottom lip; his perfectly pruned eyebrows melt together into a frown and it's rather unsettling because Feliks only frowns when he can't afford Chanel or the store's out of his favourite mascara.
"Butterflies and shit.. Heh," he settles his chin in his fashionable knitted scarf, "but that's a lie. You're in love when your heart beats that person's name."
Tauris seems to mull over the revelation; he makes his insides quiet and tries to listen to his telltale pulse; it's not irregular and rather soothing. It's oddly absent of any indication of a name. He distinguishes footsteps and that doesn't seem right; why would his heart beat the echo of footsteps in hollow yellow leaves? His eyes flutter open and he's met with the face of winter.
Nataliya remains impassive, her hands tucked in the pockets of her thick navy trench coat and her boots scrunching the vegetation beneath them. She's walking towards them and he can hear the sharp intake of breath behind him. Somehow this feels like summer and winter clashing and he cowers, holding onto his guitar even more tightly.
She stands in front of them, her head high and proud.
"Excuse me, but can any of you tell me where the nearest electronics store is." Her voice doesn't waver; it's a simple request. Feliks kick-starts his swinging again and chuckles humourlessly.
He replies though, "Down the road on the left, sweetcheeks."
She nods but just as she's about to turn and walk away, Tauris stands up, rather abruptly. "I have to go in the same direction. Let me walk with you." She raises an eyebrow and shrugs; she's so beautiful.
Feliks doesn't seem to agree and the demanding voice turns annoyed, "But. Tauris, you haven't finished your repertoire yet." He effortlessly jumps from the swing mid-air and slides up next to him, his hands settling on his shoulders, the fingers curling into the fabric of his vest. "She's a big girl."
"I don't care if you come or not. But if you are, hurry up." Nataliya says and everything about her screams crystals; glass shattering and he wants to burn the pieces together to make a wonderful figurine. Wishful thinking.
He shakes his head though and his chocolate-brown hair sways; "Please, let me accompany you." Feliks' fingers curl and they prick and hurt but he ignores the sting.
It must be a trick of the light because he could almost make out her smirk, "If you insist. Tauris, wasn't it?"
na-ta-li-ya his heart beats and his cheeks flush and he nods and nods and nods.
vii.
There's something off; his touches are more feverish, pleading and they burn; scorch, wreck. Underneath him, the sheets shift like waves and he almost jolts upright when he feels Feliks unbuttoning his pants, zipping down his fly, tugging on his jeans. Tauris tries to swat away the affection, the desperation but something wet and demanding presses against his mouth.
He loses himself in the blanket of heat; the tongue dipping into the cavern of his mouth and it's so unfamiliar and uncomfortable yet so natural. His pants end up slumped around his knees and they have never reached this stadium before. Just a bit groping and a bit fondling and a bit rubbing. Not full-on jerking. -ilikegirls-
Justify: he's just curious and horny and every average teenager experiments.
"You were mine first." Feliks murmurs against the lobe of his ear and his lips are scarlet and bee-stung. His throat is dry and everything is so warm, so warm.
Tauris wonders if he presses his ear against the other's ribcage, he might hear his heart spelling out tau-ris tau-ris and the thought terrifies him so he loses himself in fingers and skylines and orgasms. New York-New York.
It's much easier this way.
And when he comes, a planet explodes behind his eyelids and it's a star that's bursting, shining, blinding him. He's burning like a summer day.
His heartbeat is absent of a name once more; but that might be the post-coital afterglow interfering with his regular routine.
viii.
This time he's in the janitor's closet with Nataliya and his palms are clammy and his knees are clattering in fearful anticipation. She quirks a brow and leans forward, into his personal bubble and beyond; her perfect pearl-pink lips so close to his mouth that he can almost taste the snow. Frostbite.
Scents of detergent jam into his nose and he feels like wheezing but he manages to keep his composure, fiddling with the sweater of his uniform anxiously until she speaks.
It sends shivers down his spine like blizzards are wanton to do, "I need a date for prom."
Everything short-circuits and he manages to stammer in confusion, "Wh-what?"
Her tongue clacks in irritation and he's counting every lucky star there is, (i want to shine too.); she repeats her former statement, "I need a date for prom." She continues, "All the pretty boys and jocks and losers throw in their two cents and some flowers if I'm lucky. They bother me."
"And.. And I don't?" Tauris winces at how the hope in his tone morphs into painful desperation.
Nataliya twirls a few silver strands around her long index-finger, "You haven't asked me yet." Her lips twitch into an arrogant smirk, "And. I know you like me." He swallows and his heart thumps all the blood to his cheeks.
"Well.. Uh.. I usually go with Feliks and.. uhm.. I thought you.." He doesn't get far; she's impatient but she's so beautiful and he forgives her in a heartbeat. (nataliya.)
She finishes the sentence for him, "Yeah, you thought I already had a date. I don't, though." Her eyes pin him to the janitor's work desk and the sharp angle digs into the flesh of his back. Swirling sapphires and cobalts and a smidgeon of ice. "So what do you say?"
Tauris takes a deep breath; he's supposed to be the brown mouse, the kid nobody pays attention too until Feliks in his pretty dresses and high heels stands next to him and now the rising star of his high school, his personal crush, asks him out. On a prom date.
"Breathe." She commands and her features contort into something akin to worry. "Just. Breathe." It's shaky but he dares to meet her gaze and he's caught in a snowstorm.
Winter is his favorite season.
He says yes.
(na-ta-li-ya. na-tali-ya. nataliya. his heart hums.)
ix.
Feliks is furious and the cymbals and tambourines in his voice clink and clash in a cacaphonia of screeching sounds, Tauris clutches his guitar a bit tighter and his brows knit a bit closer.
"You were supposed to take me and we would've been goddamned gorgeous, Tauris. Gorgeous." He imagines they could've been; Feliks would've dressed up all prettily in a plum dress with matching suede pumps and he would've worn a suit with a corsage that brought out the church-glass green in his eyes. They would've drank punch which Alfred would've spiked and gotten a bit tipsy.
They probably would've made out behind the bleachers and there would be burgundy lipstick all over his mouth and chin and every inch of skin Feliks loves to covet.
Tauris remembers Nataliya's instructions. breathe. "Feliks.. I thought we were just friends."
This seem to evoke more anger into the smaller stature of the blonde and he's shaking like a leaf in a tempest; completely vulnerable to the emotions stirring tornados inside. His hands curl into fists and they remain frigidly by his sides. Tauris thinks he looks beautiful and he realizes those thoughts aren't going to help him in this situation.
"Friends?" He shrieks, "Just friends?" He shakes his head wildly and those silken tresses flutter around like spider-threads, glistering in the late autumn sun.
Something like a strangled sob erupts from Feliks' throat, bubbles into the cavern of his mouth and rumbles inside his stomach. "Tauris.." His lips are fuchsia and his cheeks are crimson. He's beautiful. "Tauris, Tauris. Tauris." He repeats his name like a mantra, "Friends don't do the shit we do." He raises his chin and his gaze is defiant; smouldering like coals. "Friends don't fuck, Tauris." He spits out the curse word and it lingers.
Tauris meekly defends himself, "We didn't fuck. We.. We never fucked, Feliks."
"We could've damned done so if you weren't fed up with your ridiculous notion of sexuality!" He retorts and it's venomous. Tauris recoils and holds his guitar to his chest like a child, shielding it away from all the poisonous sentences. Clinging to the syllables.
He sighs, disappointment, "You don't like girls, Tauris." It's soft with resignation. Feliks never gives up; he's wildfire, this tone kills Tauris. "You like me and.. And when you told me.. No.. You asked. Me. How you knew you were in love.. I.. I thought. Finally. Finally, he gets it. He fucking gets it. Me. Us." He rubs the bridge of his nose, "And then miss winter came and stole you away."
No, no, nonononono; he's average; he likes girls and he likes Nataliya and his heart sings for her; beats for her and her cobalt eyes and supple waist and her pale ankles and her slender wrists. He likes her in dresses and ribbons and she plays Mozart with him on her violin during lunch time. Sometimes.
Tauris croaks out, "I love you. You're my best friend." Feliks huddles into himself, his shoulders slumped and the tears sparkle as they slide down his scarlet cheeks; marring his eyeliner and mascara.
"But it's not my name, huh?" He chuckles bitterly. "It was never my name." When they stare at each other's face and the sorrow they've caused each other, Tauris kind of wishes his heart would start singing a different tune altogether.
Because when his fingers strum the snares of his guitar; it's a melody; and when Feliks' fingers strum his ribcage; it's a rhapsody.
Haunting. Overpowering. Like Requiem for a Dream.
(basically what this is.)
x.
With the strong bass-line thumping in his chest, Tauris awkwardly shuffles over the dance-floor. He's out of place; but the fingers looped around his wrist make him feel secure. His arms fling themselves around a narrow waist; decked in a beautiful cobalt gown with sequins. They sparkle underneath the flashing lights of the gym hall turned ballroom. Cold fingers caress his mandible and he leans into the frosty touch. She doesn't smile, she just examines his reactions to her administrations. Her silver brows are furrowed a bit.
His gaze drifts towards the person behind her; in the shadows near the spiked punchbowl. Bright catlike eyes gleam in the darkness. Tauris turns back to Nataliya and gives her a warm simper and she just huffs in responds. He can barely distinguish the pink dust on her cheekbones. He wants to kiss her; he wants to kiss him. (nata-liya; fe-liks.)
Feliks is summer. Nataliya is winter.
Tauris is just average. (autumn; spring, transition.)
(i want to shine too.)
...
Lame-ass ending; whatever.