fingerprints
My hands are your hands and your hands are my hands and our hands are intertwined in the tablecloth as we calculate just how much time we have left.
Sure, it seemed like forever, that incestuous game of touch me there and does that hurt, but Forever was forever ago and somehow we've blasted past Eternity and straight into Now.
Now and here and the fact that we're brothers, twins, with an over-zealous affinity for sleeping in each other's beds, curled up in the sheets with our clothes torn off, so I guess the answer is: fifteen.
Fifteen years wasted in a bubble, fourteen of those attached at the hips; I forget if it's metaphorical or physical.
Thirteen and pull me close as our bodies drip sweat …twelve is a seduction because I'm maturing faster than you and I don't think I can wait.
Eleven: why does your doll have the same name as me?
Ten, nine, we're innocent, shut up.
Eight jacks on the playground, dolly in her dress we don't want those plastic guns. Seven, six, five, four: we're not letting go.
Three's a crowd.
Two. She has beautiful eyes.
And one final time sitting with our hands clasped together underneath the dinner table where everyone can see that we love each other in that secret wrong way but your eyes keep on jumping and you can't stop smiling and I feel so strange when those fingers finally pinch between my thighs.
With skin that shudders, tongues on legs and hands late in the shower, the droplets swell heat and so do you.
But I guess it's okay because it's only the last time.
We'll never fall apart because we know it's already over.
new fandom. i'm excited.
reviews are nice.
i don't own Ouran High School Host Club.