“Eh,” Crash carelessly brushes off, “you’d give me mouth to mouth.”
“You-betcha.”
The lack of reluctance in my retort shifts an arrogant smirk onto his face and a shameful shade of red onto mine.
Fuck. Me.
Maybe I should just go to bed.
Save myself the hours of potential embarrassment ahead.
I clear my throat in hopes that my stutter won’t make an impromptu appearance and state, “The pool would be better. It’ll keep your core temperature down and decrease the chance of me having to explain over breakfast how you nearly drowned to death in the hot tub while they were all drowning in hot screams.”
“Fine, fine, you convinced me,” Crash sighs on a spin. “We can go skinny dipping in the pool.”
The words immediately widen my gaze. “W-w-we?”
He swings the door open and struts outside to the patio without providing clarification.
What did he mean by we?
Who’s we?
Did he invite someone else for a moonlight fucking swim and forget to inform me?
Am I about to have to watch him shamelessly flirt with some other asshole before dismissing myself for them to fuck in private?
I quickly follow after him, making sure to shut the door behind me once I’m outside. “W-w-we? Wh-wh-who’s we?”
“As in you,” Crash’s unbuttoned floral print shirt hits the stairs he’s joyfully descending, “and me.” When he reaches the bottom, he turns back around so we’re face to face, revealing an impish grin I have a love/hate relationship with.
Fuck, how do I say no to that shit?
How have I not learned how to say no to it after all these years?
Crash’s stare holds mine while his fingers nimbly work to free him from his remaining clothes. Every muscle inside of me fights against the instinctive nature to let my gaze drop to where he’s lowering his zipper. To watch his lower half wiggle from side to side during the discarding of his bottoms and to steal a glance of a sight I’ve spent more nights jerking off to than is clinically healthy according to a recent article I read in one of my dad’s medical journals. I keep my eyes locked on his like they’re in the penalty box on some trumped-up charge. It isn’t until he turns around again that I open the visual door and grant them their freedom. They eagerly skate across every exposed inch of skin, igniting gratitude for the glimpse of his delightfully round peach butt I’d sacrifice my lucky 3Ps to have a bite of, but spread envy among my other senses for not being able to touch or taste or get a better smell of whatever tropical fruit product is seeping from his hair today.
I like when it’s papaya.
I love when it’s mango.
Guilt over glancing causes me to cast my glare to the ground in front of me the second his lower half disappears into the water.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have looked.
I know I shouldn’t have looked.
Nothing healthy can come from looking.
It’s like sneaking a naughty snack on the second day of your new diet.
It can only end in disaster.
“Get in,” Crash commands, sending my stare to where he’s wading near the waterfall.
I don’t trust my voice not to sell me out regarding my unstableness, so I simply shake my head during my extremely slow stroll down the steps.
“Please?”
I shake my head again, although this time there’s a noticeable reluctance.
Crash’s full lips form a pout that’s been known to have me do unthinkable things.
Like join him in karaoke.
I mean, I like classic Elton John songs as much as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean I want to belt out “Tiny Dancer” on stage with him after he wins first place in a drag show I drove three hours to see him in.
I will openly admit that is not something I pictured myself doing last summer.
My crush slightly sways his figure back and forth. “Pretty please.”
Rather than continue to completely deny him, I cave. Again. “My feet.”
A dramatic exasperated sigh is expelled. “Ugh. Fine. Fuck it. At least then I’m not technically in here all alone.”
I lightly chortle at his inability to accept compromise and move myself to stand on the first step in the pool.
Distance.
I need distance.
Distance is crucial in keeping my composure.
I need it for my sanity.
I need to keep my unresolved feelings of love that have been needlessly intensified – thanks to Gillette and his shit-kicking nature – as physically far away from me as possible.
I’m gonna add a different type of nut juice to his next protein shake for doing this to me.
I hope he knows that.
Crash disappears below the surface only to reappear underneath the waterfall. It cascades down his extraordinarily long neck that’s stretched to one side, calling to my attention to follow its journey. I watch the liquid splash the pink ballet shoes tattoo on his honey beige shoulders. A single slipper dangles on each one, yet the two are connected at the nape of his neck where the strings tangle together. A place where I want to plant my fingers to help keep them tangled together. I let my observation of the water’s exploration resume, which results in my mouth cracking open in anticipation of lapping up the droplets that are dribbling towards his dark shaded nipples while my cock thumps in outrage of the confines it was invited to abandon.
Yup.
Distance keeping is a fucking must.
I fold my hands in front of my crotch to block its hardened state and shamelessly watch Crash run his fingers through his jet-black locks.
He’s fucking beautiful.
Lean fit frame from hours upon hours of dancing.
Face flawless with or without makeup.
Gray eyes that glow even in the darkness of night.
He’s constructed like a timeless poem that could be appreciated by even the most reluctant readers.
How could I not devote my life to defending something so priceless?
Crash steps forward, distancing himself from the waterfall, and wipes away the drops that are on his face. “You remember that one summer we each caught our parents fucking in our own pools?”
The boner killer is very much fucking welcomed.
“Yeah.” I hastily nod through my own laughter. “Your parents thought you were gonna be gone longer on your date-”