You dressed up for me.

It's not the navy blue shirt this time but a light grey one that still dips at the chest but is loose on your frame. You should have been born to live in the eighties with that hair and the acid-washed jeans, and still, you pull it off. Maybe it's the way your face lights up when you see me, and you jump to your feet.

"Eddie!"

"Hey, Steve."

You hug me, and you smell like body wash, not cologne. It's nice and, thankfully, not overpowering. "Okay. I know the party was a bust last time, but I promise you'll enjoy this."

"You're not gonna tell me where we're going?"

"Nope." And you pat the side of an honest to god Beemer with a smug little smile. "Hop in."

Tommy had laughed when I told him we were going out. "Enjoy your only night together. Steve doesn't do seconds."

I won't let him ruin this night for us, though—besides, it's our second date, not first. You're dressed to impress, and even the Beemer is a flex. Where did you get this?

"It was my grandad's," you tell me like you can read my mind. "I've kept it in good condition. Only bring it out for special occasions now."

"Is this a special occasion?"

"Let's find out."

You take us out of the city, and you were born to be free like this: the windows down and the dark country lanes. You laugh and sing along to the radio. Did anyone ever tell you how mesmerising you are? Because you are. I'm spellbound.

"What is it?" You ask when you catch me, and I just shrug. It pulls a smile out of you, and you bite your bottom lip. "I can stop if you want?"

"Don't. I like it."

"Good because I like singing." You don't stop until you pull into a field. There's a screen erected further up, and several cars are already parked up. "It's a drive-in."

I've never been to one of these before. It's kind of sad to come on your own. But I'm not alone. I'm with the prettiest boy in the lot. You lean over me to rummage in the back and come back victorious with two bags of popcorn. Sweet and salted. In your other hand, you hold a six-pack of beer.

"You're driving, Steve."

"Live a little." You throw a bag onto my lap and open a beer. "I hope you like horror."

"I love horror."

It's old school. Classic slasher films. You laugh at the gore and groan at the sex scenes. You throw popcorn at me when I find myself looking at you instead of the screen, but you like it. You can't hide the smile perpetually pulling at your lips.

After the second film and half the beers are gone, your hand finds my thigh. It's simple at first, fingers dancing across the denim and then dipping between the rips on my knee. When I open my mouth, you just shush me. Your hand is warm and so confident. It's hard to focus on the beginning of the next movie.

"Eddie," you laugh when you reach my belt. "What the fuck is this?"

"A belt?"

You struggle with the handcuffs and huff petulantly. I laugh, and you smack my stomach. Ouch. I show you how to undo it then your hands are back on me and unzipping my jeans. There's a moment where your eyes meet mine, and we just look at each other. On-screen, a girl screams as her throat is slit, but your hand is in my pants, and it's heaven.

Your hand, Steve. Your fucking hand.

How am I supposed to survive your mouth or your body when I'm about to blow my load after ten fucking seconds of a handjob? Your lips find mine, and you bite my bottom lip, pull on it and just like that, I'm gone.

It should be embarrassing, but you keep kissing me, and it's not. You don't care. I swear, Steve, I promise, I'll last longer when we have sex.

And then you pull away to lick my cum off your fingers like it's a delicacy, and I choke on my spit. You laugh and grab a napkin to clean me up. With one last gentle kiss, you murmur, "Good?"

"So good."

"Yeah?" You've got my belt done up again, bottom lip between your teeth, and then you're climbing onto my lap. Who the fuck cares about the killer chasing down the final girl? The real show is right here in front of me. "Touch me, Eddie."

I do as I'm told. You are the boss, and I follow your orders.

You don't sound like those videos. Your voice isn't so high-pitched, and you're not begging for your daddy. It's, "Eddie, oh god, Eddie." And it's fucking music to my ears. I want to listen to you forever. You're hard but so soft in my hands, pliable and lax.

When you cum, you bury your face in my neck and whimper. It's not loud or any of that fake bullshit. It's perfect. You're perfect, Steve. Then you laugh and bat my hand away, letting out a long sigh. You taste good too, even though you scrunch your nose and groan when I do it.

"You know… there's about five minutes left of the movie if you wanna finish it."

"What are we supposed to be watching again?" You don't get off me. You only smile and yank me into another bruising kiss, and I'll be tasting you on my lips for hours. "Oh, who the fuck cares?"

When someone honks their horn, we both jump. The movies are finished for the night, and we're blocking some asshole in. You slide out of my lap and shove your dick back into your pants as you start the car.

It's a quiet ride back. You don't turn on the radio, but there's a new sense of companionship between us. We made a pact in the dark, hands in each other's pants. You can't do that with a guy and not see him again. Tommy was wrong. This is not one night only, and we both know it.

I direct you to my house instead of the shop. It's a tense moment. You come from mansions and big yards. This is a two up, two down in a sea of identical houses. It's not even detached. But you look at the house and say, "Cool. You live with your uncle?"

"Yeah. He'll be in bed by now. The lights are off."

"Right." You put the car in neutral and turn to smile at me. It's flirty, and your fingers dance across my thigh again like an echo of earlier. "Maybe next time I can say hi."

"He'd like that." I grab your hand, trap it by my knee, and you laugh. "You're insatiable."

"Maybe I just like how your rings felt." You play with one, twirling it around my finger. When you speak, it's soft, like you're confessing a secret. "I had a good time tonight."

"So did I."

The corner of your lips pull up slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You look down at my mouth and then back up. "Kiss me goodnight?"

I do. It's soft, no tongue. You sigh against my mouth like you've been waiting for that all night. I know I have. When we finally break apart, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are bright. You bite your kiss-reddened lip to contain a smile.

It's time to go, and I get out. Then I walk around to your side and knock on the window. You roll it down and look at me questioningly. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to do up your pants."

You blush and quickly zip up. "Thanks."

I lean in the window to capture your chin, pulling you in for one last kiss. "See you soon?"

"Yes. I mean, I've got coursework and shit, but… I'll call you?"

"Don't leave me waiting too long, pretty boy."

The blush that had been fading comes back in full force as you laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight, Eddie."

"Night, Steve."

I watch your car go before I go inside.

You text Tommy an hour later, and it's the best thing I've read in weeks.

Stevie - [12:49 AM]

We're done Tommy.

I don't want to argue about it. I don't want to talk about it.

Propose to Carol and move on.

I'm moving on so let me.

You were wrong about Eddie.