You knock tentatively at his door and he welcomes you in for the very first time,
arms wide, he pulls you in and kisses your cheek.
"You look incredible," he says, running a hand through his blonde hair. You look at him and you feel that strange surge in your fingertips....that pull, pure magnetism.
This is the second time seeing this boy, a complete stranger, yet he feels so goddamn familiar. So comfortable.
He takes you to dinner, Japanese restaurant. You drink too much sake and you can't stop staring at his blue eyes. His arms are tattooed, fair hair slicked back, and he's laughing a deep warm laugh as you struggle to eat rice between chopsticks. He drives you back to his place and you're both singing along to Rob Zombie and discussing conspiracy theories. And he's beautiful, so goddamn beautiful, and you hope he wants you the same. So he leads you to his room and wraps his arm around you, serial killers on the television.
"I couldn't watch this shit with anyone else - you understand me," he says, kissing your throat.
"You're one of my kind" you reply, curling fingers into his shirt. He stands you in front of him perched on the bed, undressing you slowly, he covers your eyes with a suit tie. He binds your hands above your head, body pinned against the bedroom door. So here you are - Saturday night, strange beautiful boy, your hands shackled to the corners of a wooden door, but you're not fearful.
There's power here, gasoline and open flame. He's kissing you every inch of your skin and you can't see him, but my god you can feel him, his breath electric on your flesh. And so you kiss and bite back, and when he finally in shackles you, you dig your fingers in.
And after,
he holds you close against his chest, "I wanted to do that since the moment I saw you" he says. And you grin into his shoulder, his sweat on your lips. And isn't it nice, you think, to find somebody, a complete stranger only days ago,
whose demons play so goddamn well with yours?
arms wide, he pulls you in and kisses your cheek.
"You look incredible," he says, running a hand through his blonde hair. You look at him and you feel that strange surge in your fingertips....that pull, pure magnetism.
This is the second time seeing this boy, a complete stranger, yet he feels so goddamn familiar. So comfortable.
He takes you to dinner, Japanese restaurant. You drink too much sake and you can't stop staring at his blue eyes. His arms are tattooed, fair hair slicked back, and he's laughing a deep warm laugh as you struggle to eat rice between chopsticks. He drives you back to his place and you're both singing along to Rob Zombie and discussing conspiracy theories. And he's beautiful, so goddamn beautiful, and you hope he wants you the same. So he leads you to his room and wraps his arm around you, serial killers on the television.
"I couldn't watch this shit with anyone else - you understand me," he says, kissing your throat.
"You're one of my kind" you reply, curling fingers into his shirt. He stands you in front of him perched on the bed, undressing you slowly, he covers your eyes with a suit tie. He binds your hands above your head, body pinned against the bedroom door. So here you are - Saturday night, strange beautiful boy, your hands shackled to the corners of a wooden door, but you're not fearful.
There's power here, gasoline and open flame. He's kissing you every inch of your skin and you can't see him, but my god you can feel him, his breath electric on your flesh. And so you kiss and bite back, and when he finally in shackles you, you dig your fingers in.
And after,
he holds you close against his chest, "I wanted to do that since the moment I saw you" he says. And you grin into his shoulder, his sweat on your lips. And isn't it nice, you think, to find somebody, a complete stranger only days ago,
whose demons play so goddamn well with yours?