A Little Therapy

Jack wasn’t entirely sure how they got to this position, it was incredulous and almost taunting how he’d thought about it for a good three to four months and now it was just happening. Recounting the steps in his busy mind he tried to pinpoint where it all went down (or up, this seemed like an up hill); he’d like to use it to his advantage so this position could be mimicked another time.

When he’d awoken that morning, he had been too disorientated to realise that he wasn’t in his own house, but when he did he sat bolt upright only to be yanked back down with a groan of discomfort from the person lying beside him. Alex. Alex was the person lying beside him, shirtless and skinny with his golden hair mussed from sleep and gorgeous caramel eyes drooping. And then he spoke and every sound ran straight through the younger’s veins to a part of his body left unmentioned; the deep growl of his friend’s early rising voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This, Jack later decided, is probably when he realised he wouldn’t be leaving that bed without a lack of self-restraint and dignity.

The shadowy haired boy took the advice and lay back into the warmth of the feather-light quilts, as the caramel hair of the boy with arms like a vice on Jack’s hips tickled his cold cheeks. Then the night before washed over him, the screams and the shouts and the smashing of glasses. Alex must have felt his friend tense because he looked up with these wide and dark eyes, for the first time Jack really saw the young anxiety kid with innocence written across his face (Not for the first time his breath also hitched and his head spun because Alex was just generally so gorgeous), only to see the tears in the other’s eyes.

There were no words that could be found of comfort and questions were simply not going to help, so the elder folded his arms more comfortingly around his best friend’s waist, snuggling close so their ankles brushed together and the ever so slight brush of rough lips slid on the pale skin of Jack’s neck, hair tickling his cheek. Alex wanted to offer comfort, he wanted to offer help, but he himself was a little too broken for that.

Eventually they both fell fast asleep once more, curled around the warm embrace of each other and when they awoke there was a new air between them (Alex still had the morning voice, and was still ridiculously attractive), they felt brave. If Jack had wanted to admit it aloud he would say that his other friend was the reason of such emotions, be he was still coming to terms with the fact he could love and was loving someone; he didn’t need any more pressure to that. Yet for the first time Alex looked at Jack and thought ‘this is a good guy, why can’t I love a good guy?’ And then the honey haired teenager bit his lip and relayed that thought ‘I could at least try.’

Neither of the boys discussed why Jack had crawled through the pouring down rain with veins begging to be split and a head almost cracked with fear to his only, his best friend. It seemed even though the hazel eyed boy had rehearsed over and over his confession, Alex never asked, as if he just understood that the younger boy wouldn’t want to talk about it, instead just providing him with someone to hold him and calm him down. So they crawled out from the dark room to the vacated area of the kitchen and Alex slid over a packet of cigarettes from which Jack took one and lit, coughing up most of his guts as he allowed his insides too burn. The shirtless other looked over, quirking a smile but not laughing, before heating up the oven and kettle simultaneously “Let’s have breakfast,” With that, Jack could not complain.

After breakfast, the baby of the group sneakily taking another cigarette, inhaling a little more quietly and with a lot less of a show; his companion raised an eyebrow and took one for himself, taking in a long and graceful drag before filling the room with impressive rings that made Jack frown intensely. “Practice, in assumption you want too,” ‘I want to impress you,’ hung in the air, unspoken from Jack’s lips as he nodded. Up until this point everything was all too platonic, neither of them vocalised an interest for anything other whilst Alex rambled on about how annoying his part-time lover, by name of the wonderfully infamous Kellin Quinn, could be.

It was by the time they got upstairs with the realisation that they had missed half a school and were all too joyful about it, Jack stumbled into Alex (this right here was where he pinpointed that things went down/uphill), and they both tumbled onto the bed. The caramel hair brushed across the wide, surprised look on the face of the boy underneath him, their hips and legs slotted together and their hands brushing. It was far too intimate, yet not intimate enough. So Jack leaned down and kissed him.

Maybe it was because he was exhausted with listening to his acquaintance/friend/whatever they were at this point complain loudly about a certain charcoal haired boy with a loud mouth and addiction problem. Maybe he wanted to distract Alex or maybe he wanted to distract himself, but at that moment all he wanted was the taste of those rough lips and the feel of them pressed together. Almost immediately he felt the body underneath him relax, a pair of hands that were skilled with guitar strings moved up his back, dipping along the curve of his bony spine before sinking under the hem of his shirt. Letting out a gasp, he arched away from the rough fingertips cold against his skin, only to press his hips against Alex’s. The two let out a soft sound into the mouths of the other, whilst Jack had no experience whatsoever, his partner most certainly did.

The feeling of a tongue against his lip jerked Jack away, embarrassed by the reaction of his body and irrationality of his mind; he sat back and moved to the furthest end of the bed. “That was good,” Alex tried to voice, but was met by a brick wall of a boy.

“That was my first kiss,” There was no accusation to the tone of Jack’s voice, just bewilderment and disbelief. His first kiss; he’d had his first kiss.

Notes