making hollywood look tiny
š for @eternalgoldfish (you inspire me every day of the working week & overtime on weekends) š
Closer, Steve thinks.Ā Closer.
He wants Billy so close he can taste his cologne, stinging sharp in his throat with every breath, but heāll take an inch and make it everything if Billy will just give it to him.
Itās that fizzing, trembling new-crush feeling.
Theyāre in the grocery store and Billyās reaching for a box of his favorite brand of laundry soap, because he has a favorite, because the other ones make him sneeze, itās so gross that Steve knows any of this. Billyās reaching, and his shirtās riding up in the back, and Steveās whole world is the gold-soft glimpse of skin. Higher higher closer closer.
Theyāre on the sofa that Billy picked and Steve paid for, in the apartment they split rent on every month, even though it was only meant to be for the summer while Billy saved to move away. Steve wonāt ask how much he has saved now, ten months in, because ā because ā because theyāre on the sofa, and Billyās toes are digging into Steveās thigh, and Steve says cut your fucking toenails, and means closer.
Theyāre doing dishes like the old married couple that, God, sometimes Steve wishes they were, so that he could push his body into the negative space of Billyās without startling him into dropping a plate. Heās greedy and impatient and tired of the bits before, stepping careful, speaking careful, he wants to have and to hold. Billy passes him the plate. Billy wipes his sudsy fingers on Steveās shirt, and Steve fumbles it. Closer is the two-syllable in-out catch of his breath.
Theyāre watching a movie, because high schoolās over and no one parties anymore, or maybe neither of them really have friends to party with anymore, and even though theyāre still not legal, itās just less fun to get fucked up at home than it is to sneak eye-water mouth-burn vodka into overpriced icees. Itās dark, and theyāre sharing popcorn, and Steve wants to lick the grease off Billyās fingers. Wants him to leave fingerprints on the back of Steveās throat. He thinks maybe even that wouldnāt be close enough, that he would still, eyes watering mouth burning, ask for more and closer and closer and closer.
This is a crush. Steve is being crushed.