1/2/2012

solecism

(sol-uh-siz-uhm)

1. A breach of good manners or etiquette.
2. A nonstandard or ungrammatical usage, as unflammable and they was.
3. Any error, impropriety, or inconsistency.

It's wrong. You know it is. The musky scent of his skin won't help you forget. He tries to keep his hands under check. You might break otherwise. You love him for that. You know how hard it is for him. And you also know how hard you are for him. It makes you want to cry. You don't know whether you really care, but mum says it's wrong so it must be.

You can't control your body.

Mum reminds you far too often. She must know. She always does. You know she'd 'forget' if she ever knew. You've known all about it since you were young. You wouldn't be her son any more because faggots don't deserve a mother.

You can't forget.

But his hands on your knees make you wish you could. They're twitching to reach for places they've never been before. He's rock hard and you know it. You are too. 'Do it,' you breathe against his neck. And this shouldn't make any sense to him, but it does. Everything leaves your body all at once.

You can't think, can't breathe, can't talk.

Suddenly, his hands are everywhere. In places you hardly knew about yourself. Your thighs are tingling under the tips of his fingers and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from begging. Your hands are on his chest and his nipples can only handle so much. He moans. It's harsh and breathy against your ear. And the hand on your stomach affects places that shouldn't be...hard, but they are. You can't help but thrust up so that his hand is touching it, just slightly. He knows it's okay now. He's no longer curious, tentative. He's groping. You whimper a coat of dust of the ceiling's surface. 'Should I stop?' You know he would, if you told him to.

You don't (can't).

You shouldn't have let your hands travel that far south. You shouldn't have enjoyed it. Neither should have ever spilled white heat into the other's hands. Why did you marvel at the feeling of it trickling over your tongue?

'Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination.'

And it's lust anyway, but you can no longer bring yourself to care either way. It feels too right. It burns in your chest briefly. You think you pass out soon after because all you can hear is Dean after that. He keeps saying he's sorry because he doesn't know those tears are happy ones.

You have to hold your breath when you come back because he's huddled against your chest . You wonder if he can hear your heart speed up from where he's at. He looks like an angel like that.

Angels sin too, you know?