The bed was always cold, an over bearing loneliness that would tick on in his mind, dripping down on him like a mental Chinese water torture. He'd turn, mumbling in his sleep, long body stretched out, toes curling before he'd twitch, cold sweat starting to form.
Then he'd wake up. Cold, alone, and no one near him to talk to. It'd happen in maybe two seconds. Sit up, blink, stare. Hazy eyes would stare and stare at the wall, where various posters stayed, some not even sure where he got them and others being ones he bought. Licking his lips, eyes would trail over to the papers he'd tape or nail to his wall, of pictures drawn by a shy hand.
Rolling his shoulders back, he'd finally move, an odd movement that seemed to be so fluid and tired, it's a wonder he didn't fall over. He'd run a hand through his dark curls and be confused for several seconds, unsure where or why he was standing. Had he even been dreaming?
The answer would be no. Thus, him shuffling about in his room, looking for something. He'd find a bottle of Faygo and look at it for a moment, staring at the blue liquid inside. He'd prefer grape, but he liked all of the flavors. Not thinking, he'd take a swing, cough from the warm liquid, having been there maybe two days before he set it aside, again, looking for something else. He'd give up, only to actually step on it.
Looking down, he'd pick up the small card and tilt his head, looking over the Pokemon on it before he'd tell himself to make a note to remember to give it to the Mohawk wearing boy. He'd forget to do both, naturally.
He felt stiff, nothing like water, and definitely not feeling miracles. He'd groan, wondering for a split second why he felt like that, only to brush it off as maybe being hungry. But, he didn't want food. It seemed a pointless little task when he could do something else.
Like message the one who had been here earlier.
It would only take a few minutes of turning on the laptop, watching it laminate everything, and sending one message, for the man to invite the other over. It'd take more minutes for other to come over and then lay on the bed, nervously speaking of how clean it bed always seemed. Minutes ticked and ticked and blended into each other to where he didn't care about them. He'd simply look at the other, lips curling in a smile, watching the younger blush, look away, look back, blush harder. It was a process that both had gotten used to, it seemed. It was repeated every time and each time, he'd reach up and run his hand in that dark Mohawk, giving a honking laughter before he moved up, thin frame leaning against the shorter one and, in a way, clinging. Hands on his shoulders, nails digging softly into the flesh, lips touching his warm head and sniffing the dark hair. Shifting, he'd give another laugh and nip at the hair.
"W-why are you eating, uh, my hair?"
Nervous, pausing, unsure. It was a manner of speaking he had; as if unsure he should be speaking, like he'd be hit if he said something wrong. It saddened the man once he thought it and chose to speak.
"Because it smells like miracles, bro."
Up and down, alternating, a relaxed tone that was dreamed off the edge. The one under him laughed now, a soft chuckle. Warmth arose and he would be aware of his sagging pants, it was unsure why, his pants always did that. Gravity clung on them and he'd find them barely hanging on his boned hips, but he never seemed to mind. At least, his tranquil smile and joyful eyes never showed anything like that. He sat up, teeth showing as his smile widen, looking down at the one under him, taking in the pale flesh and brown eyes. Always innocent.
As he looked down, he made a note of favorites. Favorite blink, favorite tug of lips, favorite smile, favorite eye. No matter what, though, he'd pause and linger at those eyes. Deep pools of chocolate melted and warmed to the core that, by the time you found the pupil, it'd just be a depth of nothing. Nothing, but clear emotion.
He loved those eyes.
Knees digging into the bed, he leaned down, hair over his eyes, lowering to touch the other's head, tickling over the skin as he tilted his head and his lips met the other. They kissed a lot these days. Gypsy kisses, butterfly kisses, and then the random, but oh so wonderful meeting of the lips miracles kissing.
He loved those kisses the best.
Leaning into it, eyes closed, hands would trail down slowly, feeling the muscles that he grown from years ago, childhood spent in a wheelchair, underneath the fabric of the shirt. He rose, smiling, his hands trailing lower until he reached the hem of the shirt and he tugged, the boy blushing so hard now, his face red. If only the lights were on, so he could see it better. The younger rose, however, letting the shirt be tugged off before he was lowered by a pair of lips back on his, eyes instantly closing and hands gripping the back of the large shirt the other wore.
Minutes that had blended were frozen at this point. Hands gripping and tongues dancing a dance that many in the world had. No matter how cold or warm a room way, the temperature of the two would rise, clinging in their skin and causing a chemical to release, a sort of need that would kick in and demand more, make a want becoming a need.
He moved from the lips, moving over the burning flesh now, kissing his chin and moving down his throat. His teeth grazed over and he felt a jolt of power, a spark that made his lips twitch and legs move, the legs of his partner moving and hooking around his hip. He could feel the cold metal on his lower back, even through his shirt, and it reminded him of just how much clothes were still clinging to their bodies.
He moved, quickly removing his shirt, his pants falling, as he rose. It was in one movement, and after that movement, boxers were off and his skin was free to let the cool air of the fan above dance along it. The other looked away, but a hand forced him to look back to him, a gently brush over his cheek, the other hand moving over the hem of the pants and pulling, taking both the pants and undergarment off, and his eyes took in the other below him, smiling in absolute affection.
Nails trailed over the flesh and the younger shuddered, eyes closing and he swallowed. He knew he was focused now, and he smiled, leaning down to nip and suck, tasting the salty flesh, so close to the area that was in need, but he simply rose again, a small whimper forming from the other. Moments would speed a bit, the frozen ice melting from the heat as he slid in, biting his lower lip in arousal of it all, ears perking to the gasping of the one below.
He moved his hips, in a steady pace as the other made small noises, a small breathing pattern before it would hitch, arching when the one spot was hit and the one on top would watch, dark eyes gleaming and he picked up speed.
It was only about timing then, the meeting of hips and hitting that one spot. His head would rest on a shoulder, biting down on that neck and the other would cry out, jolting up. A shocking wave a pleasure rolled over, so different from his usual relaxed state of mind. Kicked into a mind of need and want, he'd take those hips, urging them to move faster, hitting deeper into the other, sure from his yells it was nothing, but pleasure.
And then it'd end. So fast, yet it took several moments. He paused, chest heaving as he tried to remember, his mind having jolted and twitched from suddenly releasing. He licked his lips and moved, moving next to the other, breathing in the scent of the younger. The other would look at him, still trying to catch his breath before a small smile would play on his lips.
And slumber would then take them, again in the night. It was a process that both were used to and enjoyed; a sort of dates that would all trail up to their own events, but it was pleasing. Why stop pleasure when you could enjoy it? Everything was a miracle, anyway.