In the Closet (boy x boy)

7. A Swear Per Sentence

Monday, March 6th

"No because: What. The. Fuck." The veins of his temples pulsate. How do I keep getting into this situation?

"I can explain," I say, bobbing my hands as if to calm a toddler down. I wouldn't want Seamus and his stern glare to come back around.

I tiptoe across the room, carefully closing the door. Tavish waits, as if understandingly, to lash out. Only as I come back do I figure I could have just escaped instead of explaining what can't truly be explained.

"Why the fuck are you in my closet again." I can almost hear his teeth creak as he grits them.

"Long story short?" I offer.

"Your long story better be fucking short."

"Yep, okay. I forgot my phone. Last time, you know." He narrows his eyes at me.

"Oh, I fucking know," he growls.

I absolutely panic and try to lighten the mood however I can. "You haven't said a sentence without swearing yet. This is quite impressive, honestly." He is hardly impressed.

With an angered huff, he marches closer to me. I don't know why but he has a thing for making me crane my neck to get a proper look at him. He prods my jaw. I yelp, try to move away but he doesn't let me.

"That bruise from me, huh?" He juts his jaw at it. I nod meekly. "You'd like on one the other side, yeah?"

"No thank you," I mumble, stepping back until I'm a couple inches away from collapsing on the bed.

He observes me thoroughly. From head to toe, guiding my chin up and down with his fingers. For a moment, as I read the sheer curiosity in his eyes, I'm reminded of the Tavish from my dream.

Then the frigidity of reality shatters upon me. "Such a deplorable thing," he spits right in my face.

Years and years of stifling insecurity return in a second and I feel my heart stumble. I draw a pained breath and bury hatred into Tavish's eyes with mine. He's so close that I feel his breath tickle my cheek. I feel his warmth near my body. I feel the dampness of his hair fall upon mine. I feel so much but hate him even more. He's far from decent, whatever Barb says about his persona and the way I might have rattled the security of his image.

"And what kind of pathetic excuse of an imbecile hides in a closet to fuck even when there's nobody around. That's the question to ask," I seethe, keeping my face as hard as I can.

He steps back, startled. Then he scowls in disbelief and grasps my wrist tightly. I flinch at the pain, dropping my phone.

"What?" The question comes out of his mouth as a snarl.

"You're so so scared of people finding out you have dudes in your bed that you don't even dare to put them there. Where do you bring those poor boys, Tavish?" His face flashes with expressions I don't recognize, his nice hand slides up to hold my neck. "Your bathroom? Your car? The locker room?" I can't finish, hardly concealing that I'm choking on air.

Fist now wrapped around my throat, he watches me silently and curses me with his eyes. My hands paw and claw at his humid chest. I try to pull air through my nose and it burns. My mouth emits a pathetic choked sound. I close my eyes in shame at my weakness. I'm seconds away from passing out when he lets go. I collapse on the ground and pant like a rabid dog. My face is hot, my cheeks redden.

"Shut up, you got the message?" he asks down at me.

I grip the cover of the bed and haul myself to my feet, still recovering.

"You hurt me because you know I'm right," I dare to say. He might not notice but he doesn't even deny.

"I could call the police on you, you know?" He seems to contemplate. I pretend the eventuality doesn't scare me.

"So who is it?" I ask and receive a cocked eyebrow indicating me to clarify.

"Who are you most scared of? Mommy?" His expression falls, grave and full of anger-less hatred. "Daddy, then?" His fury redoubles.

"Or maybe I could get rid of you myself on second thought."

"What would Daddy do, huh? Are you Daddy's good pet who only brings pretty girls home?" I bat my eyelashes innocently at him.

He doesn't even acknowledge my taunting anymore. "I could snap that neck of yours so easily." He wets his lips and I notice how plump and pink they are.

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Are you scared for your allowance, pretty boy? Or is it the inheritance?"

Tavish grabs my waist with both hands, pinning me in place. "Stuff you in my car." We hold two very different conversations.

"What? You might get two houses and a car instead of a villa, a tropical forest and a private jet?" I jeer, hands joining his on my waist.

My fingers entangle with his and I'm not sure whether it's an accident. His skin sears into mine. I might have melted right there if my sore neck from earlier wasn't grounding to reality. Reality where Tavish and I hate each other. Reality where he views me as repulsive while I find his hands rather nice. Reality where he will never gape at me with delicate affection animating his handsome features.

"Throw you in the ocean." I almost mention that I hate water. Then I remember it doesn't matter to him. Or if it did, it would only fuel him with ideas to torture me further.

"What a tragedy. You, merely a filthy multimillionaire whilst your brothers are billionaires." I pout up at him.

His gaze flickers to my lips and his eyes widen. He tightens his grip on my fingers and my waist. And then he looks away, letting go of me to cross his arms as sternly as Seamus did.

"I don't even think fish would want to eat you." He sizes me up demonstratively. "I mean, have you seen yourself?" Tavish asks and I feel a prickle at my heart. The kind that pinches where you're sensitive, where you would rather remain untouched.

I turn my head away. With a steady hand at my jaw, he drives my chin back towards him. I don't want to look at him in the eye anymore. I want to leave.

"Did that hurt you? I know it did." My vision blurs at the corners. I look straight at his chest where his heart pumps, hoping I could will it to stop so I can catch a fucking break.

I glower harder at the space between his naked pectoral muscles. His breath itches and I'm sure he notices my tears welling up. For a moment, I truly believe he might leave it at that. Then he laughs and I almost let out a sob.

"Good," he says with swelling pride and I hate him so much I can't bear it.

"You're the worst kind, Tavish McCloud." I bring my hands up to cling at his biceps, my nails catching at the skin. I hope it hurts him. His smirk tells otherwise.

"Is that all you got left in you, you poor thing?" I stare at him again, once my tears have been swallowed back. His expressions shifts.

His eyes, despite no less obnoxious, have lightened at the edges, softened where they were sharp. His lower lip leaves a small gape from where it hangs invitingly. His hands smoothly slide over my hips. His hair is still wet, resting atop his head in an alluring mess. His jaw flexes and I see the muscles twitch. He watches me consider, hands kneading my flesh. He seems to consider too, narrowing his eyes pensively. Between the two of us, I discover I'm the braver one. I break first, fully indulging. I grasp his biceps harder as I hoist myself up to my toes, mouth crashing atop his.