A/N: Mmmm. Craig's creepy. God, I can not have sleep overs with touchy-feely people. This is why.
Another update will be up along soon and quicker, hopefully. I have the next one thought out quite well.
Enjoy~.
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Kyle Broflovski is laying in my bed.
It took walking him home and almost telling his mom from the front doorstep that I was his boyfriend, but he's in my bed.
I am sooooo happy.
You don't even know. You couldn't know - couldn't understand. It's to my assumption you have not had an obsession before like I do - or maybe you have. Who knows?
But Kyle is in my bed. With me.
He looks ready to kill, and I just grin.
"I don't want you to touch me. I don't even want us to make eye contact. I hate you. I hate you so much."
"You're just a sore loser."
"This isn't a fucking game! It's blackmail! You grabbed my ass in front of my little brother!"
"He's probably just as much as a fag as you are, Broflovski. Might as well expose him early," I drawl while flipping him off; things are as they should be.
He's so angry. I could almost laugh. Almost.
"I can't believe you. You're such a creepy freak. I can't believe I trusted you for a second."
He's hammering away with both thumbs on the keyboard of his Blackberry. I glance at my simple generic flip phone on it's charger on my side-table, recalling the time when Blackberry cellphones were a rarity to that of high-class business men only. I see kids walking around with those things. It's almost makes me feel a bit nostalgic.
"You're so tight."
His head whips around. "Excuse me?"
"I said you're so uptight."
He stares at me, disbelieving, and I just let my grin creep. I know I'm a freak. I know I'm a stalker. I know that I now have my stalkee around my baby finger. I know that Kyle is now staring at the little grave stone inside Stripes' old cage and giving it an awkward stare of horror now that he's noticed there's nothing alive in it. Being someone who doesn't like change, I'm a sentimental kind of guy. No, actually, I just didn't feel like carrying the cage out of my room. Anyone who says something has sentiment was just too fucking lazy to throw it out, and I am the prime example of that theory.
"So, Kyle. Who are you texting?"
"Fuck off."
"Oh, alright. So, who are you texting?"
He turns and glares at me, and I roll onto my back with my hip to the back of his thigh, folding my arms behind my head. "Look, Kyle, I never asked you to stay here."
This fires him up and I just grin more. "What the fuck are you talking about!? This is all your fucking fault!"
"Yeah, maybe. But I still never asked you to stay here."
"You ordered me to stay here. You blackmailed me into staying here."
"Admit that it hasn't been that bad. Come on. I haven't touched you. We haven't made eye contact. I've kept up with everything you've wanted me to do." He turns over with his upper body propped up by his elbows and gives me the flattest, most hateful look I've ever received. I think it would be wrong for be to get off to this kind of thing but I don't care; I swallow in anticipation as he reviews his options in his head, before he settles back down beside me again.
"Turn off the light. We're going to sleep."
I oblige. Lapsed into darkness, he clears his throat before sliding under the covers with me and rolling over so that he's facing away. That works for me.
Twenty minutes pass and his breathing has slowed to a pace that tells me that he's asleep. I'll admit it - I've watched him sleep before. But not at this kind of proximity, and it's a good view, too - right next to him, that is. I lean over a little, weighing my chances as I prop up on my elbows and then slip a hand forward, touching his shoulder.
He doesn't even react, just continues to sleep soundly. Licking my lips slowly, my hand starts its blind journey through the dark. I let our skin make contact under the covers, fingertips creeping down the slowly rising and falling shape of his chest. I graze each rib individually, keeping a mental count before I let them tickle over his stomach. His breath jumps a bit at this contact and I freeze, but he soon resumes and my mission continues. An innie bellybotton and protruding hipbones fit the contours of his body just right.
I try to commit these touches to memory, leaving every moment tense in the air of my room. I note that his scent will probably be pressed into my sheets in the morning and I consider seriously not doing my laundry for the first time in my life.
He stirs and I draw my hand back, but maintain my position. His figure rolls and I keep my eye on my prize as he slips onto his side, facing me now with his hands curled up against his collarbone just under his chin. I'm finding that I'm swallowing a lot more than I normally would, mostly because I'm salivating. A lot. Nervous habit, so fucking sue me.
Kyle's hands are my present objects of interest, though. I'm kind of upset that he sleeps in this ball shape and not splayed-out like I know I do, because then I might be able to touch them undetected. His face is so serene that that would be my other reason for not waking him up, aside from the fact that I'm totally molesting him in his sleep here.
Gain comes with a price though, and I decide to take the chance.
I peel one of his hands away from his body slowly, and lay back down beside him as I admire the shape of the appendage in my grasp. His fingers curl with his unconscious state and they have a neat slope to them, leading up to trimmed nails. I squint to get a better look, unsurprised to find them clean. I finally let his hand go and it snaps back into him, curling against him once more. His body shifts as he swallows and I lift my eyes to catch his tongue dip out over his lower lip, dampening it slowly. If I wasn't so certain he was sleeping, I'd accuse him of mocking me.
I lay so we're nose to nose. In his dreams he doesn't notice. For me, this is a dream. This is the kid who's hair I sniff in class. This kid laying so close to me right now is the one I've been pining over for years, whether it's total infatuation or not I'm not sure. I lick my own lips in a hungry manner, and look up, holding my breath. For a moment I'm so sure he was just staring at me. Holy shit. I catch my breath again, anticipating some kind of punch to the gut, but it doesn't come. Hesitantly I lean my head forward, and let our lips brush.
There's a pause before I press against him more firmly. His muscles twitch and I have the sense to pull back and snap my eyes shut. He sighs something in his sleep or not-sleep and sits up slowly, doing something. What? I don't know. Maybe rubbing his eyes, or nibbling on one of those fingers. I let my eyes slip open a sliver before opening them fully, trying to feign a sleepy-face.
"What is it?"
He glanced down at me, looking tired and irritable. I think he sees right through me. I really do. He takes the top blanket of my bed and slides his legs from under the covers, draping the blanket more personally around himself and curling up again with his back toward me.
I can feel panic rising. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.
He stills and sighs contently in his sleep.
He doesn't know.
My hand travels down the front of my boxers with my throat tight as I slide my eyes closed, willing myself to a quick climax after some ten minutes of focused jacking. Relieved, I wipe my hand after pulling a tissue and manage to fall asleep with my face pressed into his shoulder, his scent still fresh in my nostrils as I doze off.