Wicked
Chapter 5: Hush
This couldn't be happening. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be fine, because he did not fall in love. The boy in the hall had the same coloring. His eyes weren't quite right and the smile was way off base, but he was definitely black marker material. He would have Noah's mark in the morning, maybe on that rock hard abdomen. Noah cherished boys who were in shape. He would shag him senseless, into blissful forgetfulness. He wasn't in love.
His vision darkened as he was slammed hard into the bed, and the tongue in his mouth wasn't the one he'd grown used to. It was too sloppy, too hasty, and nowhere near as gentle. This boy didn't taste like salsa and curry. This boy didn't smell like sea salt and strawberries. What difference did it make how he smelled, Noah thought angrily, and threw the boy's clothes roughly against the wall.
He'd made Frank sing for him once, and his voice hadn't been great. It had been beautiful, rough and soft against the veil of midnight, but Noah was sure no one would appreciate it but him. When they went to sleep, Noah would tap out the rhythm of his boyfriend's heart. One two three. One two three. One two three four, one two three.
Noah liked rhythms. He liked the way seeing Frank made his heart skip a few beats in his chest, and he'd put it in a song. He liked the way Frank's breathing sped up when he bit his neck or his earlobe. He even liked the way the blonde boy chewed his food, slowly then quickly then gulp and it was gone. He liked to listen to him talk, how he carefully chose his words then created a beautiful sentence.
He didn't like this boy's rhythm. He didn't like the way he said, "Oh baby, yes, please."
Who said baby anymore? He felt dirty and used, even though he was the one who was using.
His sheets still smelled like Frank.