Disclaimer/Notes: No one belongs to me. That's right. Contains slashy implications, so if that doesn't rock your boat, go away and don't flame me. This is part one in a series of shorts I'm writing at the moment. I'm attempting one a week until I can't take it anymore. Mwahaha.
Murderous Shorts
By Dr FooFoo
Part Two : Précepteur
==
Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
- Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl [Broken Social Scene]
==
"Richard..." I called quietly, knocking again at the door. I hesitated a few moments, then knocked again. Still no answer. I sighed quietly. Richard always did this, so I should have expected it, right? Whatever.
I decided finally that he must have been listening to that awful metal music in his room again, too loudly to hear the door, so I entered the house myself.
I had been to Richard's house before so I partially knew my way around. I knew his bedroom was on the second floor so, after glancing around nervously for a moment, I ascended the stairs two at a time.
I didn't hear any music, so I lightly opened the first door I came across. I guess I was right about it being Richard's room, but not even close about the activity occuring inside. In reality, he was sprawled out on his bed in just his silky black boxers, fast asleep.
I became confused very fast. Richard had asked me to tutor him and here it was 5:30pm, just like we'd agreed, and Richard was asleep. I stood in the doorway, debating what to do. I could wake him up and remind him of our scheduled tutoring session, or I could stand there and stare at him. Hmm... I decided on the latter without much inner dilema.
I felt a strange sense of power, almost, seeing him like that. Like... I was looking at him and there was nothing he could do about it. It was like he was my slave; all stretched out on my ornately decorated bed, willing to do my bidding at my command.
But he was none of those things. He was Richard, just like he'd always been. It was his bed, not mine, and it was hardly ornate. And if anything, I was his slaveboy; with my dog-like nature that adored being kicked. But it didn't matter because I liked him as Richard. I loved him as Richard, and I didn't really want him to change.
I dropped my gaze to the floor, then glanced at Richard one last time before sighing quietly and leaving the room.
I'd go back tomorrow.
Murderous Shorts
By Dr FooFoo
Part Two : Précepteur
==
Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
- Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl [Broken Social Scene]
==
"Richard..." I called quietly, knocking again at the door. I hesitated a few moments, then knocked again. Still no answer. I sighed quietly. Richard always did this, so I should have expected it, right? Whatever.
I decided finally that he must have been listening to that awful metal music in his room again, too loudly to hear the door, so I entered the house myself.
I had been to Richard's house before so I partially knew my way around. I knew his bedroom was on the second floor so, after glancing around nervously for a moment, I ascended the stairs two at a time.
I didn't hear any music, so I lightly opened the first door I came across. I guess I was right about it being Richard's room, but not even close about the activity occuring inside. In reality, he was sprawled out on his bed in just his silky black boxers, fast asleep.
I became confused very fast. Richard had asked me to tutor him and here it was 5:30pm, just like we'd agreed, and Richard was asleep. I stood in the doorway, debating what to do. I could wake him up and remind him of our scheduled tutoring session, or I could stand there and stare at him. Hmm... I decided on the latter without much inner dilema.
I felt a strange sense of power, almost, seeing him like that. Like... I was looking at him and there was nothing he could do about it. It was like he was my slave; all stretched out on my ornately decorated bed, willing to do my bidding at my command.
But he was none of those things. He was Richard, just like he'd always been. It was his bed, not mine, and it was hardly ornate. And if anything, I was his slaveboy; with my dog-like nature that adored being kicked. But it didn't matter because I liked him as Richard. I loved him as Richard, and I didn't really want him to change.
I dropped my gaze to the floor, then glanced at Richard one last time before sighing quietly and leaving the room.
I'd go back tomorrow.