Chapter Two – Pink Umber.
Kenny's eyes drift towards his alarm clock at the sudden spike of muddy, blurred voices from outside. He wonders momentarily if his neighbours are arguing in the street again. He hears the door click open, and when his brief panic subsides, he presumes Kyle's home. A murmur of footsteps draws towards him and Kenny props himself onto his elbows to hear them better. "Ky?" He calls out groggily, the outburst of sound brings forth a yawn within him and through it he hears Kyle's lethargic moan in reply. His footsteps are lazy and uneven and Kenny wonders if he is tired too.
The door clicks open timidly, and through it appears Kyle, looking petite and drowsy; tiny hands peak from the cuffs of oversized coats and poke from their confinements to wiggle zips and strip off heavy layering of clothes. Each layer falls around him, dropping discarded and disremembered on the floor for the morning. He strips himself down to only his white button-down shirt, crumpled from being hurriedly smuggled into trousers and kept pressed in such a fashion for hours on end. Kenny knows he will be the one to wash out those creases in the morning but forgets as soon as he remembers when Kyle's hands snake towards him.
The fall from a kiss into a lousy embrace, Kyle's legs are loosely thrown over Kenny's and their fingers swarm in their laps, entwined. Kyle rests his head against Kenny's chest, fingers clipping against Kenny's top and worming behind his neck. Slumped in a lazy position, he drowsily huffs into Ken's shoulder blade. He begins in a cottony voice; crackled and hoarse, overworked from a day of artificial kindness and smiles; "It was strange."
"Was it?"
Kyle wonders if it truly was "–No, I want to like him, I have no reason not to, but he's just so strange."
"Strange how?"
"I don't know- lonely? Like he has the socialisation of a fish."
"Fish have good socialisation; they swim in schools."
"Shawls." He teasingly corrects with a roll of his eyes, an ongoing argument they've been having for years. "Anyway, he fell on me, my chin has been pecked by another man. I need my big, strong mechanic boyfriend to kiss it better."
Kenny – disregarding the urge to argue back about what a group of fish is called – presses forward and imbeds an individual peck onto Kyle's chin, drawing back with a mousy expression; lax and tender. His eyes droop to find Kyle returning the same expression, leaning forwards, presenting a surly smile and a lusty overbite, mewing; "Do that again." Kenny does, dotting a kiss on his chin before lingering over his lips, lungs heavy and firm. He locks an open mouth kiss onto Kyle, letting him slack his fingers through his hair, their position making it easily to guide Kenny over him and fall panting onto the duvet.
They continue their slow soldering dance of tongues, lusty peckers sweet nibbles and low grumbles. Their lips loiter and latch when being pulled apart and return more desperately before, a building passion of momentum and need. Kyle's fingers draw from their hold in Kenny's hair to run down his chest and back around to his shoulder blades, where he scratches his name untidily into Kenny's skin and listens erotically to Kenny's shuddering breaths. This ballad of heated tonguing renders an interval when they pull away finally, heaving and puckered; swollen, ruby lips, furrowed ready for another round. They smirk disjointedly at each other, communicating only through raised eyebrows and glazed eyes.
When Kenny sits back up, resting on Kyle's legs and staring down at him, he wonders if Kyle's lust bounces off his own emotional need for Kenny. If they both resonate into one gooey mess that is Kyle – horny, needy and thirsty. He wonders what Kyle is thinking right now; is it the heat of their bodies, compressed together? This emotional and physical need for him? An endless thought of Kenny, whom he is defencelessly in love? Kenny ponders thoughtless, his lungs like deflated balloons. He pants through his smile; Kyle looks so peaceful and willing beneath him, his hands planted on Kenny's thighs and his breathing matching Kenny's.
"We never got to finish earlier. Wanna start from where we finished?"
"Gee–" Kyle begins, sarcastic and playful. "I can't seem to remember, how about we start from the beginning to see if you can jog my memory?"
Kenny wheezes inwardly, pulling a face that jokes; I don't know. "Fine, only this once." He allows, leaning forward to recapture Kyle's mouth before releasing it for better of his skin; ripe and white, flush against his neck. He suckles against it, providing soft nips and prolonged licks that exploit Kyle's whimpers. Slowly, he voyages downward, pulling apart buttons and fondling the new skin with his mouth, dousing it in his own saliva and scent. So accustomed to Kyle's skin he can pinpoint each freckle and locate precisely where the birth mark on his shoulder blade lies. He could paint Kyle's vibrant bottle green eyes, adding precise flicks of brown to the centre and deep ring of green to the perimeter of his irises. He could mix the perfect shade of copper for his hair, and dip his brush into a light mushroom shadow for his freckles. However, he feels it impossible to ruin Kyle with his inexperienced hand. He will never be able to add that perfect orange tint to his eyelashes or the pale nudity to his lips. Never able to get that clip in his front left tooth correct from where he got in a fight when he was twelve. Never able to create his perfect Kyle. Delicate and tidy, yet so undeniably resilient and robust. Truly a masterpiece that Kenny never fails to adore.
He returns to from his worship of Kyle's skin, adoring it with a murmur of kisses and gnaws, leaving questionable marks down his torso. Kyle's fingers travel to push Kenny away from his skin with a gentle giggle, "I get it, ok!" he chortles. Their moments like this are so common and ordinary that casual chewing is often skipped as their build up is each other, not their foreplay.
Kenny sits back up with a pout, which he can't contain before he breaks into a gleam, smiling boyishly down at Kyle. "I never get to bite you these days." He remarks, a hovering indication of his pout still noticeable through his fat bottom lip.
"You what? Kenny, you started biting me when we were like, what? 13?" He retorts, "Dude, Kenny. I'm supposed to be married with two kids by now!"
"Kyle, you're only twenty four."
"I'm twenty five in a few months!" he argues back, teasingly sulking and using a bratty drawl to specify his point.
"So?" He shrugs; "what's your point? Wanna marry me?"
"Don't ask me that when I'm hard." He snaps.
"Fine, but Kyle, dude – I love you."
"No Kenny, you're not biting me!" He ripostes, understanding Kenny's ulterior motive behind those words; words he truly believes are humble and factual. And even when they're used so simply or as a joke, Kyle can't help the fleeting fluster within his stomach which briefly helps him to appreciate Stan's Love Sickness.
"Alright, no biting. But, I mean it…" Kenny imparts, leaning forward to kiss Kyle's cheek; flourished peach and tinted with gingered grey freckles. He extracts himself away, noticing Kyle's eyes open and centre on him, tapered and relaxed. His rich, bottle green eyes dilate into a sharp, almost yellow colour that Kenny adores.
Everything about Kyle had its own unique symmetry, Kenny had found a freckle on his shoulder that he believes appears in the same spot on his other shoulder. The colour in his eyes hold more symmetry than Kenny's, who apart from the obvious colour difference, finds that each of his eyes have been created separately – as if woven together by two different hands. His eyes filter down to Kyle's parted lips, bruised pink and tinted with a speckle of claret in the centre, tiny, indented creases splay over his lips and Kenny finds himself enthralled – drowning in Kyle.
Kyle's face contorts as Kenny regains his fondles, he studies the lines that appear on the outer side of Kyle's eyes and between his brows, the way his eyes lose that yellowness briefly when a deep shimmer of royal jade overpowers them. Kyle moans through his nose, his fingers guide Kenny's head to his lips, tantalising caresses and alluring pecks overrule him and when they part clumsily, Kenny continues in an unconscious blurt; "I really wanna marry you."
"Kenny, don't tell me that whilst you're touching my dick!"
He smirks, shuffling back to sit upright and rearranging them both so Kyle's leg's part over his knees. "I'd come home and shout 'honey, I'm home' and call you my wife and have children with you and–"
"Wife?"
"Fine, but you'd still be mine."
"I am yours Kenny, drop it."
"Marry me, Kyle."
"Kenny!" It comes out more a moan than anything, his hand quivers over his mouth and he can't believe that he's just going to come from being jacked off again. He leans upwards and Kenny reads this indication to stop briefly. Kyle would probably let him bite him now, but Kenny no longer feels like teasing Kyle whilst they're so content like this.
They both fiddle and grunt until Kenny is hovering over Kyle again, connected and blissful. Kenny sighs brokenly, his hands rest of Kyle's legs, freshly shaven and twitching in deligh– a clunk ricochets next to the window ceil, rousing them from their trance painfully; Kenny's jitter causes him to thrust wildly into Kyle, which triggers a yelp. "Ken, don't do that!" He hisses, forgetting about the sudden intrusion of foreign noise momentarily.
"Dude, someone's outside." Kenny strains in a loud whisper, looking worriedly down at Kyle. They both stare at the wall where the noise presented itself from. "Get off my property or else I'll shoot you!" Kenny growls through a shout. Kyle has to giggle finding it far too comical and radical that someone could possibly be outside spying on them, however he finds himself to be no longer in the mood due to the chilling wonder. What if there was someone there?
Kenny pulls out and rolls down his shirt, still feeling playful but no longer horny, he finds himself half listening to Kyle and half listening to how his house groans. He hears the jittering boiler and the radiator clicking, but nothing more. He turns and settles adjacent to Kyle, not really focusing on him but viewing him with a vague expression. His mind lays to their aforementioned blithe conversation. Marry me, Kyle!
"I'm picturing you with purple wisteria draped around you and you in this gorgeous white suit with a top hat–"
"Purple?" Kyle questions like it's the stupidest thing he's heard all evening. "Ginger, green and purple. What a brilliant colour pallet. No, it would be this gorgeous sunset orange, an earthy, autumn tone – you know, like a mix of burnt sienna and a golden peachy tone. We would have peach Dahlias on the tables because they're my favourites and all the women would've have to wear those obscure hats and–" he catches himself and rouges, embarrassed at his sudden openness about his own potential wedding. He peers up at Kenny who looks so delighted that Kyle calls him an idiot.
"What like the orange of my old parker?" He encourages.
"I'm not saying anything else."
"How stupid a hat are we talking?" Kenny tries prompting again, enthralled with what Kyle wants for his wedding. A wedding he had obviously planned from a young age from the detail and preciseness Kyle has already exhibited.
Kyle taps his nose twice, "It's a secret."
Kenny crosses his arms pathetically, and Kyle uses this leeway to push him off of the bed, propelling him with his leg so Kenny falls backwards with a squawk and giggle, beneath him Kyle hears Kenny grumbling and fumbling below him, fumbling about until he springs upward with a hidden agenda, evident by his churlish smile.
Kenny straddles him and his hands labour to urge Kyle onto his elbows and then onto his back; where it tours from his shoulder lower, meandering over his chest and towards the end of his ribcage. Swiftly Kyle catches Kenny's motive "no!" He squeaks as Kenny thunders down, under and up his ribcage, digging his index and middle fingers under his last rib and witnessing Kyle deform in weakness – his short-lived limpness ignites Kenny with a hasty snatch at Kyle's wrists. He holds them captive by his ears and his dissimilar eyes blaze with a juvenile glimmer above him as Kyle regains his composure.
"Cheap move, McCormick." He wheezes, giving an untroubled tug to his encased wrists before giving up wholly and revolving his head somewhat to accompany Kenny's keen closeness and swelling curiosity. And as Kenny keeps pressing as to why Kyle isn't talking more about their potential wedding, Kyle feels himself losing it, why can't Kenny just drop it. Kyle grits his teeth irritably, smacking his lips in a way to humour himself against Kenny's oblivion to Kyle's emotional change.
"I don't want to get married, ok!" He bites. "I was just humouring you. Marriage is one of the only things I couldn't see myself doing… after line dancing." He wheezes out his biting tone and softens under Kenny's grip. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realised how much it meant to you. I just thought you were happy like this."
"I am, I'm sorry too," he sighs, realising Kyle and sitting back away from him. "I-It's just you started talking about marriage and I saw it, the flowers, our families. I'm happy with us now though Kyle. I'm just happy being with you."
Kyle pats the duvet surrounding him, shuffling slightly to tuck himself into it before calling to Kenny to do the same, "me too." He murmurs as they settle for sleep. "I'm so happy being this with you. I can't have anymore."
"I love you."
.
Brr brr.
Kyle's breath hitches, he sighs it free before letting out a light cough, uncaring to disrupt the silence that has already been broken by his awaking. He awaits anxious, turning himself over lazily and letting his fingers clip against Kenny's chest to alert him to the noise, "Put it snooze, please." He grumbles apathetically to the other.
Brr brr.
"Good morning," Kenny hushes, arm sloppily reaching over Kyle and embracing him, a morning ritual Kyle commonly forgets to enjoy; too tired and impatient to turn off the sound of the alarm clock, which screeches out 'too early'. Kenny crawls blindly over Kyle's form and switches off the device, trying to settle back between the sheets before Kyle edges out of it, hauling the sheets away with him. Kyle doesn't say anything when leaving the room to shower, but Kenny knows that he would go as far as pouring water over Kenny if he isn't up by the time he gets out. So, he waits for a minute which turns into five, he hears the water stop through the wall and makes a mad scramble to get up, he just manages to dart into the kitchen as Kyle opens the bathroom door, Kenny sticks some water in a pan to boil and places four pieces of toast in the oven to grill. He hates being poor, and hates Kyle waking up at his house to burnt bread and instant coffee, but Kyle never complains, and Kenny is too proud to apologise for it.
He goes to shower, and he hears Kyle's patter of fingers against the door as he walks past. He thinks of last night and how he couldn't sleep, staring at the highlights on Kyle's face and thinking about the last time he watched Kyle sleep; the night they finally got together, after years and years of fooling around and cheating on peers and darting out of the house at unruly hours just to suck each other's dicks. He thinks of how even when they finally made it official, Ken was dating Red, and Kyle hadn't wanted to make it public, so he continued dating her. He remembers how jealous Kyle was when he found out and how possessive he had been, and Kenny didn't last an hour after they had finished fucking before he broke it with Red. He reminisces on how Kyle's Ma tries to accept her Jewish son for dating a Christian boy, tries to understand and cope. She'd offer Kenny round for dinner constantly, persisting on talking to him about Judaism and their customs and how one could reform. Kenny never really minded, he saw it that she was ok with him and Kyle together, but she just wanted him to be Jewish too. He'd even went to their synagogue a few times to please her; watching Kyle chant in Hebrew as he placed on a cape he couldn't remember the name of, and the rabbi being so pleased to greet him that he welcomed him in both Hebrew and English.
He stumbles out of the shower, chilled, yet satisfied. A realisation that he is ok with him and Kyle not being married, that as long as he and Kyle are in love and together, he doesn't care what official term is used to talk about it. After getting changed he walks to the kitchen to have I heart you written scruffily onto toast in Nutella and a cup of steaming coffee that Kenny knows will taste great because Kyle made it.
"I love you too," he murmurs into the empty house, "so, so much." And Kenny is right, he truly doesn't care the word used to describe their relationship as long as he gets to keep telling Kyle these three simple words.
.
Kyle's morning is unproductive yet busy, swarms of customers request bundles of the same drinks with a slight variation. Tweak offers him leftovers at lunch that Kyle trundles through, the guilt from last night still evident in the way his shoulders hunch and his face distort when he's left alone to mull over it for too long. He further serves three plain black coffees, five whites and two teas before he is faced with Kip, who seems just as surprised and put off as him. He joins the two-person queue and Kyle silently begs that Tweak offers to take over – or at least Craig who has been sitting out back reading porn mags all morning.
"Kyle." Kip greets, pleasantly surprised and almost jolly. "I didn't know you worked here."
"Yeah…" he responds, weary of how much he should reveal, "I've worked here since I was fifteen, the pay's plenty." He outlines, fingers clicking against the till without firmly pressing the buttons down. "What can I do for you today, Sir?" he continues, treating Kip like every other customer he has served. Oblivious to how Kip's eyes glimmer and the way his body slowly curls forward.
"Latte, please."
"Sure, are you sitting in or taking out?" he begs Kip leaves, the air is stuffy, and Kyle is desperate to get onto the lady behind him who always wants the same obscure Starbucks style shit each day.
Kip hums, his eyes flicker down towards the till then return back up at Kyle, "I'll sit in." he confirms. Kyle sends him away with a promise of it being delivered to him but makes no effort to start the machine up or call for Craig to do it for him. He serves two other customers, and then when he finds the shop bare, he makes Kip's drink – he has been putting it off, yet if he does so for any longer Kip is entitled to complain. He adds a fancy wheat pattern with the milk and rushes it to Kip hoping to look too busy to chat. But with the shop vacant and rush hour coming to an end he has little excuse to shy away.
"Wow." Kip says when his drink is presented. "Holy shit that's good, did you do that?"
"Yeah," he smiles.
"I don't wanna drink it, it looks so pretty."
"It tastes better than it looks," He argues, feigning politeness, ready to turn his back and run into the storage room. He can't explain why he feels so unusual, he'd had a lovely evening with Kip – but this is too soon and so awkward. Kip seems to be setting off every sort of warning today, yet he seems too harmless to be a threat – Kyle finds himself wanting to run but he knows there isn't a precise reason why. He'd always seen himself as a confident people reader. From the way people carried themselves to the small reactions they revealed. Kyle feels he can learn a lot about someone just through these things. Yet, Kip, he is an untouched canvas, unmarred and left vacant of mistakes and masterpieces and perhaps that's what it is so scary to Kyle, the fact that he can't read Kip. Kip is so concealed and everything about him lay hidden to Kyle's speculating eye.
"Kyle," he calls softly, "do you not like me? Is it because of last night, if it is I'm sorry! It's jus-"
"No." Kyle intervenes, caught in a purgatory of lying and being honest. This tone is something unlike the cheerful, artificial one Kyle had heard the night before, it had its own self gravelling sadness to it. Something Kyle hasn't heard yet. Perhaps – he has to wait for Kip to open himself to be able to understand him. It was similar for Kenny too, he remembers. He used to feel so confused and resentful when it came to Kenny, yet now–
"I'm sorry," he continues making up his mind. "I like you, Kip."
"Really!" He responds like a child, "I found out the arcade you were on about has been redone; same one I went to as a kid, wanna go with me?" and after the performance he just pulled – how could Kyle disagree?