Okay, this is not a story with a whole lot of sex. Some will come in here and there, but it is not the central theme. It's a story about love between men and self-acceptance, kinda like all of my stories are.
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Sorry this one took so long, but I am still writing!!!
IMPORTANT!!! This story includes excerpts of Paul & Morgan's memoir, which I will separate from the rest of the story with asteriks like the one's below. If this is confusing, e-mail me and let me know and I will try to figure something else out!
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Part Six
I didn't know what to say. What could I say? It wasn't as if I had a whole lot of options in front of me. I stared at Skit for a long moment as he stood there in the doorway, his pink hair all over the place, the black sweater like a second skin over his tight chest, his lips quivering ever so slightly and the baggy pants making him look like a two-year-old in his older brother's jeans. He looked so vulnerable and my heart...my heart was doing funny things inside of my chest. Panic swept over me and I started to get mad as hell. When I am backed into a corner, I don't try to think things out, I fight my way out.
"I'm not gonna be your fucking boyfriend, Skit," I told him, snapping the drawing pad shut.
Skit's hands went to his elbows, a protective stance.
"I didn't ask you to be," Skit informed me, which only made me madder.
"Good, well stop stalking me," I said, waving the pad around angrily as I talked. His expression became incredulous as he came further into the room. Even at my meanest, he was ready to go toe to toe with me. I knew guys on the football team who would turn the other way if I so much as looked at them odd.
"I am not stalking you." Skit exclaimed angrily. "I stopped staring at you on May 16th, when you did your Neanderthal routine in the gym. I can't help it that we both work here. I've been trying to stay out of your way and as for what I draw, this is a free fucking country and you can't dictate to me what I put on a sketchpad."
I stopped talking when he walked closer to me. He had never come so close to me since that time in the gym. The top of my head started to tingle and burn. Skit held out his hand.
"Give me my sketchpad," he demanded and I held it away from him. He came closer.
"I'm not sure I should give it back to you, you might show someone," I said uncertainly.
"I started drawing you over ten months ago and I haven't shown anyone a single drawing," Skit said and reached for the sketchpad, his chest brushing my forearm. "Why would I start now?"
He was so close to me that I could smell the cologne he wore, an airy, tangy scent that I had smelled before. I couldn't help it. I started staring at him silently. The perfect shape of his pink lips, the huge, doe-like blue eyes, the creamy, flawless skin. I wondered for an aching moment if he felt as soft as he looked. I reached up and ran my hand across the side of his face. He stopped straining for the sketchpad and stared at me. His eyes dilated and became dark. I ran the tips of my fingers down his left cheek. He was soft...so soft, even softer than I had imagined. I moved my hand shakily down until it reached the edge of his turtleneck.
"What I don't understand is how you can be supposedly so wrapped up in me and then come in here with hickeys all over your neck," I told him, a little roughly. He moved so that my hand fell away from his neck.
"You said it," he informed me briskly. "You're not gonna be my fucking boyfriend. So, somebody has to."
I stared him straight in the eyes.
"I just don't understand how you can go around telling someone they're beautiful and then hooking up with someone else," I said, illogically. I didn't know what I was saying...or how to say what I wanted to say. I needed to shut up.
"You know that if you even gave me half a chance, I'd -," he began, but looked away quickly, swallowing hard and fast. He looked back at me, his eyes hard.
"Don't play around with me, Eric," he said brutally. "I can't handle it if you do that, okay?"
His mixture of vulnerability and strength got to me.
"I'm not playing with you," I told him. "I swear, I'm not. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know what the hell I'm saying."
I stopped talking before I made a total jackass of myself and we stood there for a minute, looking at each other and then we were closer. I don't know if I moved or he moved, but his lips were less than an inch away from mine and I could only acknowledge one fact to myself. I wanted to kiss him. I definitely wanted to kiss another guy.
The sound of someone at the door broke us apart. I shot about twenty feet across the room and Skit turned to look at the door. Drew stood there, staring at us.
"Shit," Drew said, with a laugh. He ran his hands through his dark hair quickly, his eyes bouncing between me and Skit quickly. He laughed again and then whirled on Skit.
"Is this the guy?" he said, gesturing at me with his thumb. Skit nodded and Drew laughed again. First of all, I don't like being laughed at. Second of all, Drew was really not my favorite person in the world at that moment, there were hickeys on Skit's neck to remind me of that.
"God, you know how to pick 'em," Drew said, with a laugh and that was it. I didn't know how to deal with whatever it was that was going on between Skit and me, but I had no problem getting angry. So, I charged across the room and picked Drew up by his throat. I pressed my finger hard against his windpipe until he sputtered.
"What's so fucking funny, kid?" I asked him and he looked down at me, his eyes wide and panicky.
"Eric," Skit's voice was soft, compelling and making me ashamed of my behavior, ashamed of the one thing I had always been proud of, my ability to intimidate anybody that stepped in my way. I dropped Drew and he crumbled in a coughing heap on the floor. I looked at Skit. His eyes were locked on me, asking me a question I didn't even have the answer to.
Fuck it. I was out of there. I walked out of the room. I paced back and forth in front of the door for a second before I grabbed my keys out of my pocket and headed purposefully down the hall. To hell with all of it, I was going home. I had not had a single, fucking problem until I set foot in the gay antique shop. So, maybe being there was my problem.
I was at the door when Morgan stopped me. He took one look at me and grimaced, looking away quickly and then back.
"So, you leaving early?" he asked, then plowed on. "Fine. But don't forget this." He handed me another manila folder. This one was thicker than any of the others. Fucking great. I walked out of the door.
"See ya tomorrow," Morgan called after me. Yeah, right.
I'm stuck here, don't know whether to continue with Eric, what he will do next....or to go into Paul & Morgan's portion, which by the way, I am completely stuck on what to do with those guys as the story has changed right before my eyes from its original plan...if you have any advice, lend it.