"Bubba? Your real name is Bubba?"
Marshall suppressed a snicker. With a bumpkin name like that, he'd have assigned himself a nickname too. But on a more serious note, where did it come from? He didn't dress or carry himself like a redneck, and his house definitely wasn't decorated in accordance with such a way of living. Adopted maybe? Marshall was quickly coming to the realization that he knew near nothing about the Candy Prince, and he knew even less of Bubba.
The prince did not bother to look up from his book, flipping another page and revealing more properly inked paper as he responded. He had one leg crossed plainly over the other, making the book balancing feat all the more impressive. Just another physical example of the surreal way in which he carried himself.
"I don't recall giving you permission to look through my things, Marshall."
The dark haired teen wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead, drying the back of his hand off on his faded denim jeans. The same pair he had worn every other day that week. They had a couple of holes in them that broke dress code, but it was nothing that couldn't be concealed by an over sized sweatshirt.
"Bite me."
The beautiful specimen kept his attention locked on the large book poised on his lap, still not looking up from the thin and crackly pages. "I would, but knowing you, you'd probably enjoy it." Marshall smirked at the usage of this particular phrase. Knowing you. As if the two of them were close middle school friends that visited shopping malls together, as if they actually knew each other at all. "I would have hung out with Janice today, but knowing you, you wouldn't have approved."
After a particularly suspicious extent of silence,Bubba finally glanced up from his large and leather bound companion. He noticed Lee's state immediately.
"What's got you all jubilant? No smiling on the job."
He doesn't talk like a redneck either.
"In that case, organize your own bookshelf. I'll smile whenever I please." (Which wasn't that often, not that it's relevant either way.) Bubba slipped a slim bookmark into his book, setting it down on his extra padded mattress. He projected every movement with such a smoothness and fluidity, even when alone in his own home.
"Fair enough. Come here."
Marshall dutifully obliged, and was rewarded with a harsh slap to the face.
"Ow."
"I tell you what to do, not the other way around, so you might as well dispose of the attitude while you're ahead. I don't need some social outcast ordering me about."
Marshall grimaced, rubbing at his defaced property. "You call that merciful? Half of my face is red!"
"Boohoo. Want me to kiss it better?" The prep mocked, still so close to Marshall facially that they both were having trouble ignoring a certain persistent pounding resounding from either body. He was joking. He had to be.
Right?
It felt as if the temperature had risen several degrees. A pen drop could be heard, not that there was any reason for holding one in the first place. Marshall stayed in his silence, twisting the invisible ring that graced his pinky finger. His throat was burning and his eyes were burning and the rest of his body all aflame, the idea that one could feel so much of everything just from the anticipation of that thing made him feel less than capable. But if he leaned forward just slightly, he could feel a better sort of feeling…
"Well? Are you going to respond, or simply stand there like the bloody idiot you are?" Marshall struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, feeling flushed as he stared at the other boy's face, but at the same time so transfixed that he could not look away. Words formed in his mind, but none made it to his tongue. Their faces were so close?! How was he alone in the shake of his knees?
Bubba sighed. He had his answer.
"Just get back to work, you've still got half of the shelves left." Marshall Lee headed back in the direction of the large dark bookshelf in the corner of the room, his heart still bouncing upward towards his throat.
"Oh, and don't flip through anymore of my school yearbooks!" The candy prince called. "I look less than pleasant in photographs." Marshall smothered a breathy gasp in response. It was unlike Bubba to be anything but confident when it came to himself, he always seemed so knowing in regards to the fact that he was clever and beautiful. Even if the prince had major insecurities, he never seemed to let them show. He's...being human around me? Or maybe just fishing for compliments, playing pitiful in order to get something from his counterpart. But Marshall was gullible and obedient enough naturally, and any clever strategy would be overkill.
"Really? I thought you looked great in the ones I saw." The pastel-haired teen, who had already opened up his book again, once more set it down. "I beg your pardon?" Marshall fiddled with a ball of lint in his pocket. God forbid he be any more obvious. "I-I mean, ah-" In the nick of time, Marshall was saved by a loud ringing, and he quickly fished the device out of his pocket.
"I'm going to go out in your hall and take this!" Marshall announced, stepping nervously towards the door. He nearly tripped over several piles he made himself in the process.
Bubba was behind him almost immediately, quicker than waves crashing. "No," he said.
Marshall tilted his head curiously. "No?" Marshall was pinned against the door now, heart hammering fast,and he could not help but remember the similar situation at the lockers not so long ago.
"You aren't taking personal calls in my home when you should be working, Marshall, it's the epitome of rude." Marshall was breathing heavily, keeping his eyes intensely focused on his old converse shoes his mother had bought him for his last birthday. They hadn't been planning on buying anything that day since the family was already in debt, but once Simone realized how many holes Marshall had worn into his old sneakers, she had insisted they buy him something to cover his feet with. She had been saving up coupons for the very situation anyways. But Marshall wasn't thinking about his shoes.
"So I can't even answer my phone without you getting up my ass about it?" The prince clicked his tongue, lifting Marshall's chin upward with one soft hand. The other hand crunched him further up against the wall,far enough that he could no longer see even the outline of his shoes. What he could see, when he angled his face to make room, was the ceiling. Marshall wasn't thinking about the ceiling either.
"Talking big is easy when you don't have to look me in the eye, isn't it?" A dare. He was challenging him. Marshall could feel shallow breaths, lapping coyly at the surface of his neck. He took a single breath himself, just in preparation. At last he found himself relying on his dominant arm, sort of pushing himself up and twisting around in one singular motion. But apparently there was less room for this than anticipated, because the minute their eyes met their lips met,hands and bodies following suit.
Lee was pressed so firmly against the bedroom door that has back was suffering from several ugly bruises, but neither of the teens cared in the slightest. His phone still would not cease it's obnoxious ringing, and it frustrated Bubba to such an extent that he ended up plucking it out of Marshall's hand and flinging it across the room to where it could barely be heard, not breaking lip contact for a moment.
Marshall knew it was probably wrong, but once the other boy started with such things, Lee could hardly stop himself.
Marshall eventually pushed the schoolboy away, struggling to regain his breath. "You don't want this. You're just doing it so you can get in my head." He wiped the spittle from his face, and his hands onto those old jeans again. But Bubba just laughed, not nearly as taken aback or as offended as expected to be.
"Is it working?"
He then kissed him again, more gently this time, and Marshall melted once more. The worst part about knowing you're being used, is realizing that you don't care. So he tried not to think on it, his caring or lack thereof, he tried to solely to kiss and to breathe, both of which he believed himself to be no good at.
The books and their shelves just kept sitting there,remaining inanimate in spite of any mood swings and sudden actions the rest of the room's components fell victim to.
The bed sheets,cold on hot skin. Marshall's breathing: buffering His phone still ringing,but it was too far from grasp and would be forced to sit alone in its corner for the time being. Bubba played with his hair, brushing it out of his face, slipping it behind his ear, twirling the spare strands. He had a lot of hair.
"Are you okay,"he whispered,eyes and mouth so pretty and perfect. He was referring to the other night on the front steps. Or in the school bathroom. Or in the school hallway. Or in the cafeteria. Pick one. Marshall tried to think about if he was okay but all he could think of was how Bubba was the prettiest boy he'd ever seen. Maybe not the kindest, certainly the smartest, possibly the sneakiest. And the prettiest. And it's not like he really cared for an honest answer, just some sort of validation. So Marshall nodded for him. "Okay" didn't really matter anyways.