It only takes two lonely people
To fuck love up and make it evil
A grin of malice crossed his face as he chased the sow through the creepers. Her squeals screamed "Kill me! Eat me! Do as you please!" Who could ignore such an offer?
Apparently all the other boys, save for one with an affinity for rocks, did not hear her sweet cries. Ralph claimed he was worried, Piggy simply shook his head, and the twins gossiped among themselves whenever he strode by.
Yet still one boy wasn't worried. An eleven year old, with hair as dark as night and a soul to match. No, Roger seemed to love Jack's escapades, always listening intently to his stories. Or perhaps he was just pretending to. Maurice claimed Roger could be quite two faced. Jack believed him.
Roger was an interesting spirit, and the only person Jack would admit he feared. The short sadist seemed to loathe everything and everyone, save for Jack and Maurice (to a certain extent). He especially hated Ralph. Jack noticed the ire boiling inside Roger every time the blonde opened his mouth. What Jack didn't notice was the jealous glares when Ralph spoke to or touched Jack. Ralph didn't notice either.
Jack gazed at the littluns playing in the sand. The fat sow in his hands dragged behind him as he noticed Roger throwing rocks at poor Robert. He looked into Roger's cold, dark eyes, and the short child nodded. Tonight, they would have a feast.
Jack, Jack, Jack. That boy was always on Roger's mind. One could argue he was a bit obsessed. Roger didn't mind.
Speaking of Jack, he and Ralph had a fight. Something about playing games and fires and other stupid things. And, in the usual tactful Merridew manner, Jack stormed off in a temper tantrum, threatening to never return and to start a rivaling tribe. Worried that his threats were, for once, not idle, Roger followed the freckled child into the trees, hoping to find him alone (and vulnerable).
Roger loved Jack Merridew as much as a sadistic introvert could love anyone. He still wanted to kick and punch the megalomaniac, perhaps leaving some bruises or drawing liters of blood. A grin spread across his face at the mere thought.
"The hell do you want, Roger?" a shaky voice called out. So Jack had been crying. Roger frowned and faced the older boy.
"Just seeing if you're alright, Merridew," the melancholy boy replied. Jack smiled weakly when he heard his surname.
"Are you here to join my tribe?" Jack asked the eleven year old. His blue eyes glanced over Roger's tan figure before looking back at his face.
"Perhaps," teased Roger. Jack was scared stiff.
"Perhaps?"
"I have some terms and conditions."
"Lay them out."
"I want to go on every pig hunt."
"Of course."
"I want to be in charge of handling those who deserve punishment."
"You would."
"I want to be second in command."
"We'll see about that."
"I want you to kiss me."
For once in his turbulent life, the whole world around Jack Merridew stood still.
"You what?"
"You heard me. I won't join otherwise."
"Stop smirking like that! Why?"
"Because I love you, Jack Merridew, why else?"
"But… you're a boy! And so am I! It doesn't work that way, Roger!"
"Funny, that's what my father said."
"… Your father."
"I've fancied you for quite a while, Jackie." Merridew cringed at the pet name. Roger continued. "I told my pop. He hit me. He said boys shouldn't fancy other boys, and I should stop thinking about you like that. So I did. But then pretty Jack Merridew catapulted his way back into my life as leader of the choirboys on a deserted tropical island, so how could I ignore him? And now…" Roger shoved Jack against a tree. A look of sheer terror crossed the redhead's face, and Roger whispered in his ear. "It's just the two of us."
Jack refrained from screaming like a little girl, but his fear was still evident as he wriggled between Roger and the tree. For someone of his stature, the raven was strong. Roger smiled sweetly, removing his hands from Jack's shoulders and placing them on his face. He stroked the rebel's cheek with his thumb, and the tall boy shivered.
"So, how about that kiss?" the younger boy sneered. Jack felt so nauseous from fear he thought he would puke.
"Y-you can't reach my lips from there, shorty," he stuttered with an air of bravado, a small smile cracking at his brilliance. Roger tilted his head.
"I suppose not. But…" he stood on the balls of his feet. "How about now?"
Before Jack could respond, he felt a pair of chapped lips press against his own. A wave of panic washed over him; he had never kissed anyone (let alone a boy!). What was he supposed to do?
His anxiety came to an end when Roger removed his lips and plopped back on his heels. The small boy erupted into a volcano of laughter.
"What is it? What's so funny?"
"You are a horrible kisser, Jack Merridew!"