dirty {little} secret // colt

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dirty {little} secret // colt Apr 4, 2012 12:23:42 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Apr 4, 2012 12:23:42 GMT -5

Heaven forbid, well aware of your sins
In the wake I'll be just like the rest
Tell the sun don't fall so we'll never forget
Heaven forbid, well aware of your sins
In the wake I'll be just like the rest, past praying for

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Kaelen is not a brat. Despite the fact that Alyssa manages to call him one at least twice a day, and yes, maybe it had been more than a little juvenile of him to steal her clothes while she was showering after boxing practice - she'd had it coming, though, simply retribution for hiding all of his favorite Hemingway books earlier in the week - he has a far too developed sense of poise and rationality to truly be called a brat. No, he's not a brat no matter what Lyss may think otherwise, he muses as he walks into glee club predictably earlier than the vast majority of the other members, reclining lazily in one of the moulded-plastic chairs and kicking his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him. Kaelen yawns boredly as he fishes a time-battered copy of A Farewell To Arms out of his bag (Alyssa had hidden the aforementioned missing books in the under his mattress, for Ripred's sake. Honestly, he'd thought she could do better than that. As if he doesn't change his sheets at least three times a week), effectively concealing the way his calculating gaze flicks upsward as a stumbling bundle of dark hair and half-formed thoughts stumbles too-loudly into the room.

Colt Hanlon is an enigma wrapped in a conundrum tied up with a ribbon of annoyance. Kaelen came to this conclusion within hours of meeting the new boy, but it's become even more obvious over the past few weeks. Hanlon's one of those types of people who are just so gratingly different that it sets his teeth on edge, with his easy smiles and unfailing good nature. Not to mention the fact that he's as gay as the fourth of July and makes no qualms about letting people know it, but that's a particular fact that Kaelen had planned to play to his advantage. The plan had been a fairly simple one: send a few well-placed false signals, get Hanlon to develop a ridiculous schoolgirl crush on him, and then promptly inform him that he was straighter than a ruler so he could watch his heart shatter in a swirl of decadent ruination. So maybe he's twisted. Maybe he's cruel. Maybe he plays with people for his own enjoyment.

But he'll be damned if he can't say it isn't a thrill to watch the pawns fall and shatter one by one, depraved pieces in the divine game of a god they'll never understand.

But the problem with the plan's simple brilliance is that Hanlon doesn't seem to be taking the bait. This is perhaps what makes Kaelen twitch internally every time he's around even more so than his stupid puppy-dog smiles and infallible trust in a world that doesn't deserve it. The fact that a simpleton like Colt Hanlon could manage to slip through the emotional snares he so carefully set is enough to make Kaelen want to rip his hair out, and he can't deny that the civil but otherwise distinctly detached behavior that shorter boy's been exhibiting towards him at practice over the past few weeks has been enough to make him more snappish and caustic than usual, even around Lyss, who usually serves to distract him for however short a time from what might be weighting down his convoluted paradigm. He makes a concerted effort to smile winningly rather than glare like he wants to when Hanlon settles into a seat a few chairs down from his own (one catches more flies with honey and all that nonsense, but it's harder than it looks when there's nothing but acid and ice thrumming in his veins to the beat of a phantom heart). Kaelen doesn't work with hard to get. He isn't in it for a chase because that's not his mode of operation. It's his game and it will be played on his terms.

He's not a brat. He's simply accustomed to getting what he wants.

Although the mere implication that what he wants is Colt Hanlon is hilarious enough to make the corners of his lips quirk upward at the very thought (what he wants is power, to feel his fingers tugging at another's heartstrings, the knowledge that he holds the ability to destroy him from the inside out in the palm of his hand), it's enough to make his glance at the other boy turn speculative, the gears in his mind beginning to whir as he tries to place a finger on what, exactly, he's not doing right. Although he's never played this sort of game with someone of the male persuasion before, he's always assumed the the principles of manipulating people were the same regardless of gender. But maybe, he ruminates as he watches Hanlon goof around with Sam and some of the other boys that he seems to be on considerably better terms with, there are differences. After all, girls are more attuned to emotional things, have more of an ability to read between the lines and sometimes see things that aren't there at all; it's what makes them easy to reel in and subsequently shatter. So perhaps... The realization is such an ah-ha moment that Kaelen could swear a lightbulb flicks on over his head. Despite his love of subtleties and silent manipulation, if this is going to work then he has to up the ante. Fine, Hanlon. If this is how the game works, then this is how it will be played. But I'm the one making the rules, not you.

"All right, guys!" Jace's voice screeches along his consciousness like nails on a chalkboard, all loud and fast and too enthusiastic for its own good. Kaelen will never understand how the educational system let an ignoramus like Wheaton become a teacher, but he supposes the pickings are slim in Nature's basement when it comes to music instructors. Pity. The azure-eyed drummer twitches down the front row with his default eager grin plastered across his face, waving a clipboard emphatically as he talks to each member of the glee club in turn and scribbles out his findings. "Duets this week! I'm not giving you a set theme, but I really want to see some teamwork put into the exercise because... well, lets just be honest, right now the lot of you couldn't work together to save your lives. So Christian and Isabella, you guys know what you're doing. Abril, you said you and Jackson have already started rehearsing. I need the rest of you to find partners and team up. Kaelen and Lyss, I assume you two are -"

"Assume makes an ass of you and me, Wheaton. Well, just you, really," Kaelen drawls, snapping his book shut and stretching out long limbs like a cat in the sun. "I'm not working with Alyssa this week. I figure it's time for some variety."

Alyssa's head whips around, her eyes wide with surprise even as Bentley reaches for her excitedly and mumbles something about them finally getting to sing together. Wheaton, too, looks shocked, but Kaelen finds that he takes the most satisfaction by the subtle quirk of interest he notes from a few seats down, faint curiosity sparking in bottomless, deepdark eyes. Jace eventually nods, even though he still looks suspicious as he crosses something out on the clipboard. "Then who are you going to..."

Kaelen lets a smile bloom slowly on his lips, the kind of grin that more than one person has called chilling. Game on. "I'd like to sing with Hanlon."

Wheaton's eyebrows drift dangerously close to his hairline, and Kaelen almost cackles when he catches Hanlon's expression - the poor boy looks like someone's just slapped him in the face with a trout. Jace mumbles something under his breath as he scribbles the change down on his paper but continues to move down the line nonetheless, making notes here and there before he looks up to address all of them. "All right, get with your partners and start planning. I want your song selection on my desk by the end of practice. Ready, set, go!"

Kaelen smirks as he picks up his bag and moves down the row with an almost predatory grace, more akin to a panther bearing down on a helpless, fuzzy mammal than a gangly boy walking across a classroom. He slides into the vacant chair next to the darker brunette, invisible challenge playing along his lips ans he levels eye contact and the second round of this particular game begins. Kaelen is not a brat. He's simply accustomed to winning. "I've already got a few songs in mind, but by all means, let's hear your ideas first. You never called me, by the way. I was disappointed."

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Last Edit: Apr 4, 2012 12:25:02 GMT -5 by Deleted

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dirty {little} secret // colt Apr 15, 2012 17:46:54 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Apr 15, 2012 17:46:54 GMT -5

And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and I feel so rough
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
But felt so lonely in your company

Kaelen Dempsey is a brat.

It's easy to see in the way he sits with his feet kicked up on the chairs, or to hear in almost every word he says. It's as if he has a personal vendetta against the entire world, like it's bit him so hard in the ass that every time he sits down it only reminds him and he gets angrier. Well, he sits down a lot. In the past few weeks that I've been here, he's done nothing but sneer and make rude comments at pretty much whatever anyone says. He's a tall boy with the grace of a feline, and something hurt and dark wrapped up inside. All he's done is confuse me since I first met him. First he was rude, and just plain.....that word for when a person takes up space but not physically. Then he was suddenly sweet, and gave me his number. So of course I ripped it up, I don't do well with temptation.

Yeah, he's rude t people, and treats them like dirt, but he's also a question because every time I look his way, he's looking my way and smiling. I don't know if I should be confused or happy that he's treating me differently, so instead I just treat it like he's indifferent to me. I don't really know what he's playing at, but it has to be something. I've learned that people aren't always what they seem, and although I've been called too open, and too trusting, I've learned you can't trust anyone at all. They either always leave or hurt you. I flinch visibly as my mind slips back t people from the past who haven't been able to live up to the simple need of staying and not deceiving. The number is still at zero, because everyone leaves, it's like a rule.

I slip as easily out of my thoughts as easily as I face plant on the ground. It'd be nice to change the topic in an easier fashion, but I'm used to it. As I lay there for a minute in the hallway, a hand reaches down, big and sturdy and pulls me to my feet. Sam Toska, he's cute, probably gay because that hair cannot be natural. I nod in thanks at him, and he chuckles lightly, "That's the fifth time today, I think!" My cheeks flush a bit red, and as we enter the choir room, I say with an answering, slightly flirtatious laugh, "You wouldn't have to.....uh....pick me up so much if you simply followed me....all...around." And although I speak quickly, it isn't hard to spot the rough patches in my tone where I've dropped the words all over. As if to accentuate my arrival into the room, I slip on the linoleum and hit my shin on a red, plastic chair.

That's going to bruise. With a sigh, I run my hand through my hair and glance up at the tenor section where I know Kaelen will already be sitting. He makes a point to be early. A Call To Arms. Just as I always note where he is, my second instinct is to glance at the book perpetually perched between his long fingers. It was the first Hemingway book I ever read, and my fondest memory was opening up the book for the first time and realizing that he had all the words, so many that he couldn't even fit it into one sentence. But even as I take the moment to look, Sam guides me over to the other boys in the room, and I sit with them, instantly pulled into their conversation. Still, my gaze flicks over to Kaelen Dempsey once again, and when he sees me looking, he flashes a bright smile. Slowly, well, slowly for me, my mouth curls up into a responsive grin, just as the resident whirlwind known as Jace Wheaton flies in.

Fear however, seizes me as he announces the fact that we'll be doing duets this week. I'm the new kid. It doesn't change anything that I've been here for a couple weeks now, I'm still new. And I'll be assigned last, I resign myself too easily to that thought. Not that I would make a good partner to other people. All they see is the tripped up feet and the forgotten words. They don't know how I can be when I'm performing. How for some reason my feet listen to me, and my words stay clear. My mother would say it was because singing and dancing was half of what I was, I didn't have to think, I just did. But I haven't really sung since my audition, unless I'm singing the tenor section next to a certain chocolate haired boy.

Ducking my head, I keep to myself in my chair, sighing as Jace lists off each pair that's already made. I glance at Sam, wondering if he'll have me, but he's looking at Day. That's awkward because Amity's intense stare tells me that she's hellbent on having Sam as a partner. Her hand is waving through the air already. I sit back, rolling my eyes automatically at Kaelen's comment to Jace. It's too bad, because Jace is a great guy and he works hard for everyone. I've already had quite a few chats with the guy, and quite frankly we bot talk o fast that all our words get jumbled to hell, but we sure enjoy it. But it feels like I'm jolted awake when Kaelen drawls out, the fact in that way he can that he doesn't want to sing with Alyssa this time. "It's a Ratmas miracle!" I say automatically, even as I stare at him in confusion. I don't know who he would want to sing with other than her.

"I'd like to sing with Hanlon."

What the hell is he trying to do? But when Jace looks at me, I nod slowly, and he shrugs, a sad smile forming on his lips. What, am I being sent off to my funeral? It certainly feels like it as the room falls into motion and Kaelen sidles up to me. Just having him near makes me want to stiffen my posture, but I remain relaxed in the chair, trying not to let him show that this is going to bother me. And as he sits, he purrs out something about me not calling him yet, and blah blah blah. He is a brat, used to getting his way, and I don't want to fall for him. That doesn't mean that I can just turn my Colt factor off, so I smile brightly at him in my usual manner, searching my brain for duets I know. No one's ever wanted to duet with me before though, so I don't know many of them.

"Seeing as.....well......" I gesture helplessly down at myself, body languid in the chair, and back stretched out, my white t-shirt slightly riding up and tight to my abdomen. "I didn't think anyone would want to....sing....with me, all I can think of is C'mon." I hum a couple bars of the song, and then trail off at the idea of calling him. I don't really want to tell him that I ripped it up. That's still rude and hurtful no matter what I may think about him. "I'm a traditional type of guy alright? I didn't want to.......look, a lot of people...they just don't. They just don't understand okay?" I've been called an abomination, homewrecker, spawn of the devil, and many another thing before. "I'd prefer to be comfortable here for a while." Blinking, and slipping lower in the chair, I glance up at him, and ask, "I bet you already have a song in mind anyway."

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dirty {little} secret // colt May 3, 2012 0:36:41 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on May 3, 2012 0:36:41 GMT -5

I got so sick of being on my own, now the devil won't leave me alone
It's almost like I found a friend who's in it for the bitter end
Our consciences are always so much heavier than our egos
I set my expectations high so nothing ever comes out right
So shoot a star on the boulevard tonight, think I'll figure it out with a little more time

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Kaelen doesn’t miss the apprehensive tightening of the smaller boy’s shoulders as he closes the distance between them, doesn’t miss the glimmer of confusion hovering in the darker shade of his eyes before another one of those smiles that seem so damnably easy lights up his features. Kaelen wonders sometimes how it’s possible for someone to smile that often and still be genuine about it. He has a fairly well-tested theory that stupid people are generally happier in the grand scheme of life, but he’s spent enough time around Colt Hanlon to know that despite fleeting words and unfailing kindness, stupidity is not one of his shortcomings. As if to attest to this, Hanlon’s gaze shoots briefly to the Hemingway novel still held loosely between his fingers, and Kaelen files the interest he sees etching his features away for a possible lead-in if he needs it later.

“Seeing as… well…” the darker of the two brunettes always seems to be at war with words, pulling them past his lips on rusty chains whereas they come rushing to Kaelen’s aid like an eloquent regiment of soldiers, their edges sharpened and always ready for battle. It’s mildly intriguing, really, he notes as he watches the sputtering display over steepled fingers, the look on his face expectant but not pushy. For someone who loves talking as much as Hanlon does, one would think he’d be better at it. Still, the look on his face when he’s deep in the throes of trying to string together a sentence is elegant in a unique sort of way, defined brows drawn together over bottomless eyes that seem to swirl with a million unspoken words (if he were honest with himself, Kaelen might admit that the prospect of lowering himself from his divine status might be worth it given the chance to see into the other boy’s mind and find out what really happens beneath a sea of stuttering and words that never seem to be enough for what he has to say).

Not that Kaelen’s attracted to him. That’s not the case at all – he’d never get so engrossed in the strategy of his own games that he’d allow the tables to turn on him – but the amber-eyed boy simply justifies that he can understand and appreciate beauty when and where he sees it. He supposes that Hanlon’s nice looking enough, can see why people might find him attractive. There’s a sort of easy trust that lies inherent in his features, with eyes that whisper there’s more to him than one might expect and smiles that shine brighter and purer than the harshly buzzing fluorescents overhead (Kaelen’s all but forgotten the feel of the sun on his skin, but sometimes one of those grins is enough to remind him), something that can’t really be called elegance given his inherent clumsiness but might be something close to allure that shows in the languid stretch of his limbs and the way his shirt starts to ride up a bit in result, too-tight fabric giving way to a visible stripe of still-tanned skin as he blabbers on about possible song selections. Kaelen feels his brain click into auto-pilot, head nodding mechanically at the suggestion even as his eyes are drawn back to that small sliver of skin, his mind coming up with some fragmented thought that it looks smooth, like it would be supple and warm under his hands and –

Kaelen slaps himself mentally. He’s not attracted to Colt Hanlon. He’s not. He’s not attracted to males at all, for Ripred’s sake, he has enough sordid trysts with half the girls in this godforsaken district carved into his bedpost to attest to that. The whole tipping point of this particular scheme hinges on Hanlon thinking that he’s attracted to him, and Kaelen tells himself emphatically that he’s just gotten a little too far into character in his desire to win even as that damnably small shirt rides up another half-inch and he feels his bottom lip draw between two rows of straight, white teeth against his will.

So maybe he’s attracted to him. A little. It’s probably nothing, teenage hormones or some similar claptrap. Nothing he can’t repress.

“That’s a good song,” he murmurs, voice smooth as a bolt of silk and betraying nothing of the internal screaming match between his logic and his libido going on inside his brain (this is nothing, dammit. Nothing a few hours with Alyssa and some variety of asserting his masculinity won’t knock right out of him). “Better than anything I’d had in mind, actually. I’d be fine with it.”

In truth, it’s a mediocre composition and Kaelen can name about ten songs off the top of his head that would sound better for their voices, but he bites his tongue and concedes to let Hanlon have his way this time. He knows the best way to manipulate people is to let them believe they’re in control until they’re too far under his power to realize there was ever another way of functioning.

"I'm a traditional type of guy alright? I didn't want to… look, a lot of people... they just don't. They just don't understand okay?" Hanlon mumbles, a new sort of tension pulling at the usually dulcet tones of his voice as Kaelen pulls a sheet of notebook paper from his bag and writes the details of their musical selection in immaculate penmanship. The taller boy snorts amusedly, underlining the song title with an elegant flourish before raising smoke-lined eyes the color of tree resin to meet their darker counterparts.

“’Traditional,’ says the boy who marched into his first day of glee club and loudly proclaimed his deviant sexuality after he’d been in the room less than five seconds. I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who contradicts himself, Hanlon,” Kaelen drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he folds the sheet of paper neatly in half, rising from the discomfort of the creaky old chair and circling around the back of the desk, headed in the direction of where Wheaton sits behind a growing pile of sheet music and ungraded papers. Orbs of analytical citrine outlined with midnight black dart back and forth to ensure that no one is watching, too engrossed in their own mediocre attempts at art, and once he’s satisfied that the coast is clear Kaelen reaches out and lets his fingertips ghost across the nape of the other boy’s neck as he passes, slender digits brushing over the place where dark locks lay in a sort of aesthetic disarray and lips ducking close to the shell of his ear. “Besides, if that’s really your opinion, well… I’m very good at keeping secrets, Colt Hanlon. Are you?”

Jace glares at him like he’s gone and stolen Ratmas when he slaps the sheet of paper down in front of him, causing Kaelen’s mildly amused grin to morph into a diabolical sneer. “Got something to say, Wheaton?”

“Don’t you dare go and fuck with that kid’s head, Dempsey,” the azure eyed drummer whispers furiously, twitching his head in Hanlon’s general direction. “He’s a nice guy and Ripred knows we’re pressed enough for good tenors without you sending all of our existing ones out the door with some sort of emotional trauma, so back off.”

“I’m hurt, Twitchy One. Wounded, even,” Kaelen says, eyes wide in an imitation of innocence as he presses a hand melodramatically to his sternum. “How could you think me capable of such malignancy? It’s a downright aspersion on my character. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His smirk widens as he hears Wheaton’s mumbled curses following him when he turns around and sidles back to the desk ,picking up his bag and slinging it over a bony shoulder. “All right, now that we’ve got our song there’s no reason to stay in this den of mediocrity any longer than we have to. We could always go back to my place and practice. My roommate’s a bit, well… he’s interesting, but he’ll leave us alone if I shout at him, and if you feel like staying we could do dinner and a movie after. Sound like a plan?”

A little more, that instinctual part of his consciousness whispers, the facet of him that has grown and learned over the years to bend others to his will with the greatest of ease. A little more and he’s right where you want him. The tremulous, unsure thought crosses Kaelen’s mind that he’s not even sure of ‘where you want him’ even is on the confusing map of this particular adventure, but he quickly pushes the indecision down with an unspoken challenge gleaming behind his eyes and a silky purr of “Unless that’s not traditional enough for you.”

The distant sounds of destruction and ruination seem to call to him on the horizon, and Kaelen muses as he walks out the door that as beautiful as Colt Hanlon’s smile is, his heartbreak is probably twice as decadent.
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Last Edit: May 3, 2012 0:46:35 GMT -5 by Deleted

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dirty {little} secret // colt May 21, 2012 22:11:44 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on May 21, 2012 22:11:44 GMT -5

His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly
Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind.
Howling ghost they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.

I wish that when I spoke my words would flow from my lips as agile as I think them. For so many people, words get lost. They leave mouths and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly away until one day they fall into a gutter and become crack addicts and it all goes to hell. For me, the words get lost before they even run through my mind, hitting a wall, getting blocked without even a chance at life. Maybe it's because they don't have to travel far to reach a gutter, to reach a dirty underworld that's so under looked, and so used. Maybe the words stay locked up inside me because that's where they're comfortable, or maybe it's because they're looking for the perfect safe haven for me to pour all my words into. Whatever the problem, I might as well be a mute for all the good words do me. I can't learn how to get a message across, maybe I should just learn to speak with my hands.

But then, the way words flow in sinking, swimming, flying arcs across spaces to create bridges and slip tracks over frozen tundra is miraculously brilliant. It leaves me breathless when I think about it, so much so that I'll lay awake at night, speaking words into the darkness, trying to cross the chasm that separates a guy like me from a person like you. Even alone in darkness the words stutter and skitter in and out like a broken tide I know that no matter what I say about them, or can't say, I'll never stop trying. Even though it feels like it would be best to crawl away into the woods, living without civilization is really quite lonely. I have first hand experience with it, so I should know, shouldn't I? (Even if these mind games that you play everyday with people are difficult, they're still worth it.)

"N-no," I flounder out, "That's not.....that's not it. I mean that I don't just........" I don't just let people use me for their 'gay moments' anymore? "When when I say traditional I mean that I can't.......................I can't do it anymore." I give up then, knowing that I can't sit there and explain to him that I'm trying to stop being used, that we've barely spoken, that I want a relationship to be like a fifties sitcom where there might not even be a first kiss on a first date. I want to drive up to a cliff overlooking a lit up city like in the movies and have a guy wrap his arms around me. I want a guy to lean over and whisper in my ear that I'm perfect and not just say it because they're in the midst of fucking me and it's euphoria coursing through their veins. The only thing that's near perfect about me however is the way I'm perfectly flawed. It's funny because no one will ever notice 'cause my smile's far too bright to see darkness lurking down below. I'm desperate for someone to see me, but already given up on the whole endeavor.

If I were to slide any lower in my seat, I'd disappear but I do anyway, hoping to slide right down into the ground. If I could live under this, sliding past each floor until I hurt packed dirt, I might. To feel weight holding me down so maybe I won't just float away. I shake myself out. These thoughts are not for me, not the way I live, and I gotta stop it. Before I know it, I'm going to turn into someone else entirely. I don't know what it is, maybe it's the lack of sunlight or the lack of stars pressing down on me, squeezing all my handfuls of warmth out, but whatever it is, it isn't me. So suddenly I shoot up in my chair, in that way I can, and tap my feet against the linoleum flooring. A smile blooms on my lips once again, and I laugh lightly, "You've...you have heard me speak....it's pretty simple to.....to uhhh....to contradict myself."

With the struggle, my smile slips for a second or so, but I pull it back up like the curtain it is easily enough. Clapping my hands onto the desk I look down as he stands up, all muscles and long legs working together so flawlessly that I can't help feeling a little spark of jealously. I'm more likely to trip over the legs of the desk even when I'm ten feet away from it. As he walks away, I feel the ghost of his breath upon my neck, and I shudder involuntarily, my body reacting to his nearness and the words sliding from his mouth. I don't understand what he's trying to get at here, and I know I'm not that dense. I just assumed from earlier that he was as straight as Sam's tan line. Evidently not however, unless I am definitely reading things wrong because holy fuck this is flirting. I mean I may not be any Sigmund Freud, but I'm no idiot either.

My blood races as I watch him cross the room, walking like he owns the place, even as he slides across the room like he doesn't care to bother crossing it. What a conundrum he is, what a question. I can't help wondering if it's one I'm going to want to spend my whole life answering. There is no doubt that I'm attracted to him. In body and talent. The way he plays the piano, I still lay awake at night with notes echoing in my head. How he looked so very vulnerable for a few short seconds. It won't get out of my head, and it makes me want to know him, to delve deeper into his psyche and find out why he wears eyeliner, and if he's really such a huge asshole. I sit frozen, and quietly as I watch him converse with Wheaton, obviously snarking him because Jace is looking pretty agitated. So why am I so interested?

Anger courses through me at is invitation. I know it's unreasonable for it to make me so mad. I know it's dumb. But right now he's being such a tease that I wouldn't mind just getting these feelings over with and fucking him until he can't walk in a straight line, because it would be a hell of a lot easier. I nee to get rid of these emotions. But Sam is far too close to Narnia to ever let me mess around with him, and Christian is too traditional to ever be a sex buddy. And now this jerk is standing in front of me basically asking for it and I'm ignoring the invitation because I want to try being a normal teenager? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that ship sailed out the window and over the edge of the world at least four years ago.

I have to face the facts that there isn't ever going to be anyone that treats me right. I'm always going to be that little gay experiment and I guess that's fine with me. I mean I shouldn't expect any better and I don't know why I do. Man, all I want to do is live up in the clouds where no one can touch me unless I ask them to. But since that's impossible, I'll stick to being a sex doll. So when Dempsey just walks out of the classroom expecting me to follow I slip out of the desk, tripping a bit on the legs like I knew I would. Jace is eyeing me, and so is Abril with a bit of a worried look, so I flash them both a smile and move on out, jogging a tiny bit to catch up to Kaelen Demspey's long strides across the floor.

"A-as long as you cook because you.......you....you don't want to see me in a....those rooms used for cooking." I smile at him as we go, a really stupid idea for a guy like me, because as soon as I stop concentrating on my feet, I miss the fact that there's a staircase right in front of me and I start falling through air, mouth opening in surprise, "....oh..."

Last Edit: May 21, 2012 22:18:16 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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dirty {little} secret // colt May 22, 2012 3:18:24 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on May 22, 2012 3:18:24 GMT -5

I always flip myself into a shape I can't make
Thinking so hard about who we really are
You spark the good within
But I was never good at listening
Listen until you're gone

[/color][/center]
Kaelen smiles with that unsettling chill sitting heavy in the curvature of his lips, victory humming in his veins when he notices the tension that shoots through Hanlon's frame beneath the ghosting touch of his fingers. Game, set, match. It's almost too easy. It doesn't take long for the smaller brunette to follow him out of the sterile-white music room on a tide of jumbled phrases and hopeful eyes - people always gravitate toward danger and their own detriment, and Kaelen is more than happy to supply a large portion of both - trotting along to keep up the pace and babbling uncertainly. They wind through silent hallways and clean-scrubbed corridors, finally leaving the cavernous echo of the lifeless school sector behind and making their way into the only slightly homier residential area. His apartment is a few floors below, even further from the sun and fresh air that he's almost forgotten, and Kaelen nods in reference as he yanks the door to the nearest stairwell open, the scent of old metal and chemical cleaners wafting out on a tide of filtered air. "I'm on Level 7. We're on 10 right now, I guess I should probably have told you it would be a bit of a hike. I promise dinner will be worth it."

"A-as long as you cook because you... you... you don't want to see me in a... those rooms used for cooking," his companion stutters and Kaelen accidentally lets a laugh that doesn't hold very much malice at all slip past his lips, a very vivid, amusing image of Hanlon burning the District down in an attempt to make toast flickering across the canvas of his imagination. He catches the lapse in his composure quickly, though, reining the warm tenor of his voice into something colder and more distant that suits him far better. Kaelen feels like he's on dangerous ground with the new boy, teetering on some sort of unspoken precipice and caught in a frantic game of tug-of-war with his formerly unshakeable willpower. Colt Hanlon is different. He's known that from day one, from the first time he bothered to look past the displaced words and sun-bright smiles. There's a quiet sort of intelligence that sits present and unspoken in the deeper dark of his eyes, and Kaelen sometimes has the fleeting thought that he likes that before her remembers that he doesn't like anything about anyone save for Alyssa and her exception to all of his carefully-crafted rules. Kaelen doesn't like exceptions. His own paradigm is the only thing that is truly solid in a world that the heavens forgot, and if he can't rely on his convictions then he feels out of place, off balance and knocked away from his comfortable position of power, tugging strings and nudging pawns to and fro just to watch them fall. Colt Hanlon is just another of those pawns, another plaything for him to use and tire of, but he's different. He reads Hemingway, he can learn how to play any song on any instrument with strings given five minutes and a measure of quiet thinking space, he has a voice that could make the angels jealous, and as loathe as Kaelen is to admit it, smiles that do something uncomfortable and constricting to the hollow cavern of his chest. But he's not attracted to him. Not at all, because one of those unshakable convictions in Kaelen's life is that he's nowhere close to gay. He is not attracted to Colt Hanlon.

His thoughts are interrupted by the unwieldy clang of feet scuffling on metal and a soft oh of surprise from behind him, and Kaelen turns around just in time to see a very shell-shocked Hanlon falling straight at him at a rapid pace. It's purely an unconscious movement for his arms to reach out in an effort to steady the falling boy, but a collision is inevitable and they crash together in a tangle of limbs and muffled cursing, Newton's first law sending Kaelen's back knocking rather painfully against the cool, solid cinder block of the wall. It takes a moment for him to register the situation, and he's caught somewhere between terrified and confused when he does. Kaelen Dempsey is standing on an abandoned stairwell landing with the school's new resident one-man gay pride parade wrapped securely in the spindly circle of his arms. He is having fleeting thoughts that said boy smells very nice, like sunshine and soap and lazy Sunday mornings when hours tick by languid and easy. Their lips are probably less than two inches away from each other. Neither one of them is moving, and Kaelen can feel a frantic onetwothree drumbeat against his ribcage, close enough that a softer echo with a different owner patters a refrain that grates at his hypersensitive state, every nerve ending on edge.

So maybe he's attracted to him. A little.

"Well, erm," he coughs awkwardly after what must have been at least thirty seconds, robbed of all his usual eloquence and grace by some unseen force as he promptly disentangles himself and dusts off the immaculate denim of skinny jeans that didn't have any debris on them to begin with. "You fall quite a bit, don't you? That's twice since you got here that you would have cracked your head open if not for me catching you. I'd say you owe me, Hanlon."

Kaelen nearly squawks in horror when he realizes the implication laced along the words that occurred without his planning or permission. There's strategy, another move in the game, and then there's honest-to-Ripred flirting, and the idea that he may have just done the latter as a purely subconscious action has him hovering somewhere from wanting to either be sick or run away as fast and far as possible. Another stilted cough grates along his throat and he turns promptly on his heel, yanking open the heavy door in front of him marked with a large 7 and hissing at himself internally to get it together. Kaelen's never lost a game yet, and he'll be damned if his first defeat comes all wrapped up in fragmented sentences and stumbling feet. The silence between them is awkward and heavy as the travel down to the end of the hallway and Kaelen pulls his keys from his bag in front of the door marked 708, slipping them easily into the lock. "Remember, my roommate's a bit odd. Just ignore him and he should leave you alone."

So much for that, he muses as the door swings open and Hanlon is immediately accosted by a blur of honeyed skin and dark hair. Kaelen sighs irritably, yanking the two apart with a disapproving glare. "Please don't sniff the company, Pip, it's rude," he drawls before languidly shifting his gaze to the boy on his other side. "Sorry about him. Complete savage, literally raised by wolves. They found him out in the woods last month and it's apparently my job to civilize him."

Pip retreats to a corner of the living room and continues eying their guest warily as Kaelen tosses his bag onto the couch, spindly arms reaching to the ceiling and trying to stretch out the blooming ache in his back from his close personal encounter with the wall a few minutes ago. He doesn't like the way that he can still feel phantom hand-prints on his skin and still smells summer and fresh air as closely as if they were still crushed together. This isn't part of the game, not on the agenda. He's not in control in this situation, and Kaelen determines with an icy resolve that this will have to change immediately. After all, he still has the advantage. He's an advanced enough being that he can turn his askew hormones off for the time being, but he very acutely remembers the rabbit-paced thrum of the other boy's heart in the silence of the stairwell.

Kaelen smiles again, but it's that calculating, borderline-predatory curvature of lips that have set the nerves of so many on edge, prowling back over to where Hanlon stands and making sure to stay just on the inside edge of his personal space. "So. Dinner, movie, practice. You can pick whatever order you'd like those to go in, unless you have any other activities to suggest."[/color][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

Last Edit: May 22, 2012 11:26:21 GMT -5 by Deleted

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

dirty {little} secret // colt May 28, 2012 4:04:37 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on May 28, 2012 4:04:37 GMT -5

His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly
Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind.
Howling ghost they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.

I'm shaking as I fly slowly through the air. (It's sort of funny how one missed step can lead to this.) But I can't remember ever making such a big mistake before this. In District Three there were stairs, but they were wooden and there weren't a lot of them. Here the stairs go on for ages and they're all spiky so that you can keep your grip. You can look through them and see down below to other levels, and sort of see death staring back at you. Especially if you are a guy like me. So I'm shaking as I'm falling to my death, shaking in fright as I fall through clean air because I am not holding onto anything that is Earth anymore, although I'm falling in it. I'm falling in it and I can't escape the confines of nothing. It's ironic really. Ironic but not surprising that what's going to kill me is what I am. I guess I just can't help that initial jolt, that shock of surprise electrifying my body, making it shake as I realize that death and I are friends, and we've walked together more times than I can count. Is he still a friend if I don't want him around?

But there's one thing that hasn't been here before, that's always been missing. There's one thing that has never lent to my bruised body and skin so scraped we could call it something else entirely. There's one thing in this moment's equation that has proven to be unavoidably trustworthy when it comes to a situation like this. And the thing that I'm talking about is attached to a pair of arms and has a heart beating in it's chest even though it'll never admit that fact. It's still surprising like it has been every single time, since the first. However, when long, graceful arms wrap around me and hold me safe against pain even as the owner of them crashes back against the concrete all with me in his grasp. The way he holds me is the perfect way to keep me from harm, and for him to take the brunt of my clumsiness. Still, I can't stop shaking.

We stand together for a moment, me and him. We're so close right now. It'd be easy for me to lean my head forward and kiss him on the lips, we're that close. I'm shaking. I can feel my heart beat leaving me behind in it's need to fly away, like it's moving past every third beat and flying onto the fourth, making me speed along with it. I can hear his beside me, beating steadily but swiftly too, almost like he was scared for a moment too. Kaelen Dempsey scared? Hah. But for this moment I feel so safe. So much safer than I've felt in a long time in these few short seconds that he's been holding me. I bite my lip to hold back the protest rising up my throat when after a long moment we disentangle and separate once again. I can't stop shaking.

"You fall quite a bit, don't you? That's twice since you got here that you would have cracked your head open if not for me catching you. I'd say you owe me, Hanlon."

A blush remembers to flood my face, and I mutter something incoherent about the fact that I fall a lot. I don't tell him there's something wrong with my body, with my brain. I don't tell him that I'm pretty much mentally damaged. My brain refuses to connect well to my mouth and my body. It's not that I'm ashamed of it, no I'm really not. It's more the fact that when I still lived in my old District, people would put on 'the voice' with me. they'd put on that inflection meaning that they were talking to a three year old, or someone deaf. No one does that here, looks at me different. They just think I'm a bit clumsy and I stumble over my words a bit. That's better to me than me telling them I have whole problems with my brain. Anything is better than that. Just stop shaking, you stupid body!

"Yeah!" I say laughing lightly, really quite grateful, "I'd need my guns though first.........the.....they...t-they took 'em when I got here." I gesture at my body again, hands flying in conversation like they always do, "B-but I'm ...I'm pretty useless when it comes to...uhh...fighting with the body."Crescendo and Descant, all that's left of my family, and everything that they took off m e when I got here, said that weapons weren't safe underground. They said I'd get them for hunting and for when we finally attacked. But not to leave, I don't think I'm actually allowed to do that. As i think of the guns, my hands automatically move to rest my hands on where they'd normally be hanging just off my hips, but they flutter away again uncertainly when they realize nothing is there. it's been awkward not having anywhere to rest my hands these past few weeks spent living down here. I miss them. Maybe I could stop shaking if I could just let my hands rest on them.

It's a silent walk the rest of the way, and some might call the silence awkward. I don't really mind it myself, I'm o used to silence. but this silence is heavy, and it feels like something's coming, like a storm. But we're underground and Kaelen Dempsey is no cloud. Finally he slits his key into the lock and with the sound there's a scrambling from indoors, making me step back in alarm.Dempsey mutters something about being careful about his roommate, and then the door is open, and everything happens all at once. I'm being sniffed by a boy, is the first thing I realize when I open my eyes after being tackled to the ground. There is a boy on my chest, sniffing my face in a very serious manner, and he seems to be learning something from it. I start to laugh, a big booming thing, and it makes the boy stop in surprise. After a moment, he smiles, or maybe bares his teeth and starts what can only be described as yipping. It isn't long before we're both laughing and yipping and the boy is.......licking my face?

He's roughly pulled away in the next minute, and I climb to my feet to see Kaelen Dempsey looking slightly perturbed, and I don't really know why. Maybe it's because he has Pip for a roommate. He seems nice enough though. "H-Hi Pip!" I say it cheerily, but I don't know if it's too bright because Pip crawls off in a wolf like manner, grace filling his movements with a fiber of being that would make even a dancer jealous. But as I enter I don't think of shutting the door behind me, and with a high pitched keening sound, the wolf-boy is out and screaming something about a Juniper. With a shrug, I half-smile at Kaelen, muttering oops before actually closing the door. As I do so, I see him stretch and wince and I realize that him hitting his back against a concrete wall could not have been good for it. My face falls, and something forms in the pit of my stomach; remorse. He should have let me fall, it would have been safer for him. Shaking still.

He asks me what I want first, my stomach rumbles in reply. So with a nod, he heads into what must be the kitchen, and I stand still, body shaking in the living room. I can't stop the tremors from running through my body. This isn't new, it comes hand in hand with my disease. I don't know when they'll go away. It feels like I'm being electrocuted again and again, it hurts, and I can feel a cold pain shoot through my joints with each shake and change. I know I'm just standing in half light that's made by man and not nature. That there's a boy in the kitchen clanging around, making something to eat. I know that I really have no idea of what Kaelen Dempsey wants from me, that I can't say that I'm secure in the fact that I know exactly what I want from him. This is already a new experience, something else, something I haven't done. It's not just some booty call because he's making food and we're going to watch a movie and practice our duet. I know his name, and face. I only sort of know him. But he saved my life.

It's not that I owe him, at all. It's not that, but it's his way of moving like the world is moving under him and he's simply lifting a leg up and putting it down. It's the way he'll sit there in class with a Hemingway book and completely ignore Specks even as I sit through that class in fear he'll ask me anything. It's the way that boiler room smells like smoke and something else. Not just smoke, Kaelen doesn't just smell like smoke but something else entirely. Like leather and old wool sweaters, like leaves and pine and something else. He smells good even though he says he's so bad. But he's not so bad. He caught me. I turn into the kitchen and e's already working with an apron tied around his waist so meticulously he could be in a capitol ad. It makes me smile, I don't know why. It just does.

Wordlessly, I move forward, for once sure in my movements, even as my brain asks from somewhere what I'm doing The shaking is getting bad, like I'm really cold, but I'm not. I'm really warm, I'm hot. What am I doing? I reach out, and hook one arm around Kaelen's almost roughly, taking him away from the vegetable he was inspecting, not really registering the way it lands with a thump on the floor. He looks surprised then, annoyed, like it wasn't something he was expecting but I can't stop it, I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe there's something in my face because either he doesn't say a lot or my eardrums have temporarily shut down. My body wants this and my body gets what it wants because my mind barely ever does. I move closer and take his face in my hands, bring his closer to mine, I lean in. I taste Kaelen Dempsey. What starts as a quick peck becomes something deeper and he tastes like cigarettes and something else. Something else entirely.

I stop shaking.

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

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dirty {little} secret // colt May 28, 2012 16:07:42 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on May 28, 2012 16:07:42 GMT -5

Are you worth your weight in gold?
'Cause you're behind my eyelids when I'm all alone
Hey, stranger, I want you to catch me like a cold
You and God both got the guns
And when you shoot I think I'd duck

[/color][/center]
Kaelen's eyes roll skyward when Pip goes tearing out the front door like a wild thing (he's the definition of a wild thing, really, but Kaelen puts up with him because he seems to calm down when someone reads aloud to him and he's particularly fond of Hemingway, so there's still hope), a scowl tugging downwards at his lips as the door creaks shut in his wake. There's something here that doesn't fit, doesn't mesh with the cool sort of composure he'd expected to have. This is how the game's supposed to go, a few mixed signals and a false kindness he doesn't really have followed by heartbreak and exquisite ruination. He thinks sometimes that he was born to destroy everything he touches; it's a ~~curse~~ talent that few possess and Kaelen bears it proudly. But this, this is new, the tremulous sort of tension sitting under his skin and setting every nerve ending alight, melting straight through an icy facsimile of indifference and still amplifying that damnable, hollow thrumming that reverberates through his entire body. Here and now is not the place or time to let his composure slip, and Kaelen berates himself internally as the audible grumble of the smaller boy's stomach gives him an obvious enough hint that dinner's the first item on the agenda. Still trying to blink the nerve-wracked veneer from in front of flat amber disks, he turns on his heel and starts raiding the kitchen cabinets, keeping up an internal monologue as an age-old coping mechanism. In a world of unworthy lesser beings who could never share his divine understanding, of course the best person to talk to is himself.

Get it together, Dempsey. This is nothing. This is entertainment, passing folly, something you've done a million times, he hisses mentally, the unoccupied side of his mind racing over the fact that his statement to Hanlon that he could cook had been a bold-faced lie. True, he was forced into a Home Economics class by that overbred cow of a guidance counselor upon his arrival, but he'll be the first to admit that he spends the fast majority of the class ogling Reagan Cromley instead of learning how many eggs make a perfect souffle. Easy, then. What does he have that's easy? Pasta. Pasta is easy. And salad. That's not so much cooking as throwing a bunch of things in a bowl and mixing them up. It's actually boiling water that presents a challenge. For Ripred's sake, man, find some fortitude! You can make a lethal dose of chloroform out of the contents of some teenage girl's makeup bag, you're capable of making spaghetti.

"All right, so maybe I lied. I'm not the best cook," he calls into the other room, digging the stupid apron from Home Ec out of a drawer and tying it carefully for the simple fact that these are nice jeans and getting them dirty would be a crying shame. "I got chucked into Home Economics, but we haven't really gotten beyond desserts yet. I may be pants at making dinner but I can make killer red velvet cupcakes." Kaelen makes an effort not to smirk at the ironic choice of words, given the fact that he'd been musing in class today how unnoticeable cyanide would be when mixed into cupcake batter. "So I hope salad works, because I'm not exactly sure how to make chicken en flambe or anythi- oi!"

An hand wraps around the spindly structure of his arm in a vise-like grip, spinning him around and leaving him staring wide-eyed and surprised into a darker gaze as the carrot he'd been holding falls to the floor with a dull thump. There's a look in Hanlon's eyes that speaks of something Kaelen can't fathom, something deep and fiery and so determined that it makes his head scramble around in panic again. Calm down, dammit, this is fine, this is part of the plan. It's part of the plan, all part of the -

When Colt Hanlon kisses him, Kaelen's world explodes, and that is not part of the plan.

RED ALERT.

MAYDAY.

ABORT MISSION. ABORT MISSION.

Kaelen knew this was coming, expected it, in fact. It was all in the plan. Flirt a little, make eyes, invite the boy over for dinner and soon enough he'd do what every gay kid since the dawn of time has done and develop a crush on a straight guy. This was supposed to happen, and now is the time for Kaelen to back away in seeming horror and launch into a pre-scripted the hell are you doing, I don't even like men speech. Colt Hanlon kissing him was all part of the plan. What wasn't part of the plan is Kaelen kissing him back.

So maybe he's attracted to him. A little. He's acknowledged that, come to terms with it and assured himself that it doesn't mean anything, but it somehow finds a way to mean a bit more than he'd given it credit for when his fingers find themselves tangled in dark strands and his whole consciousness is swimming with a taste that he thinks must be the equivalent of summertime, sweet tea and sticky heat and something else he can't quite place. Time moves in flashes, little blinks of eyes-open-to-see-if-this-is-happening jumps in the continuum. Blink. Slender digits are finger-tipping down the smaller boy's spine, finding a sort of solid solace there even though his heat burns through an icy shield that's been in place for what feels like eternity. Blink. Somehow they've ended up against the opposite wall, all bruising force and clashing teeth and something roaring through his veins that feels too much like fire to be truly comfortable (Kaelen is a creature of the cold and darkness, heat and light could be his undoing and he knows it, which serves as a very good reason to question why he's kissing a boy who outshines the sun with nothing but a senseless mantra of mineminemine running through his fragmented mind) Colt Hanlon, he thinks as his lips trail over searing skin to the hollow of his throat, has the potential to burn the heart right out of him.

Good thing he doesn't have one.

So maybe this wasn't part of the plan. Games can be changed, rules can be manipulated, and Kaelen is fine with that as long as he's the one manipulating them. This can be extended into something even more destructive, something that won't just break a heart, but annihilate it entirely. The prospect of it makes him smirk low and dangerous against Colt's (Colt? When did he stop being Hanlon?) skin as he drags his lips back to the darker brunette's, hovering centimeters away with the elusive siren's call of destruction humming in his ears. "Guess we're skipping dinner, yeah?"

This is the new game, this test of limits and boundaries and how far a human heart can stretch before it breaks. Kaelen knows how people get attached, how they cling stubbornly to the things that ruin them, and this promises to be the height of entertainment. As long as Colt Hanlon can keep his mouth shut and avoid rumours from circulating (because he's not gay. One kiss with one boy in one private cataclysm does not make him gay), Kaelen decides that this is a game he's willing to play. After all, it's not the first time he's had a dirty little secret.[/color]

I led the revolution in my bedroom

And I set all the zippers free
We said no more more war, no more clothes
Give me peace, oh, kiss me
Hey, hey, we are a hurricane[/center][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

Last Edit: May 28, 2012 16:14:58 GMT -5 by Deleted

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

dirty {little} secret // colt Jun 8, 2012 21:15:14 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Jun 8, 2012 21:15:14 GMT -5

Daddy I've fallen for a monster.
Somehow he's scaring me to death
He’s big and he’s bad
I love him like mad
Mamma he’s the best I ever had

It's different this time. I can feel him in my arms, feel the force of him locked in with me so that when I push at him, he pushes back like we've done this before. /But we haven't./ This animalistic need, the space between our breathes, this is't anything I've felt before. I have given myself over to pleasure before, sunk into ivory waves of oblivion as pieces of myself have been torn from me, sometimes by force. But I have never given it freely like this before, if you could call my grabbing him and kissing him giving. I do. I think that for me though, I'm giving him the fact that I want to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine, and have the firmness of his body to hold against my own. It feels like I've been missing this warmth against my body for my whole life.

I've never felt so intently, or tasted someone so securely against me. He tastes of cigarettes, wool sweaters, and slightly of thyme. He smells even better.

My back arches as his lips trail down to my chest in a trail so sensual it feels like he's burning the heart right out of me. My hands reach up to hold his head and as he trails don to my heart, I kiss him there, feeling his immaculate hair become ruffled under my touch. I wasn't aware about how satisfying it would be to disgruntle the perfection of his hair, to feel his shirt rumple as he pushes against me. It occurs to me that I'm destroying perfection as I run my hands through his hair, but for once it doesn't bother me. I've crushed and broken many things in my life simply from movement. I swear I thought the girl I traveled with, I thought her heart would tear in two for all the plants I destroyed before she taught me to move without thought. It's not something I can replicate without a sky above me, and trees around me. I need to feel rooted. For a moment I do.

That means something. Especially in a world like this one where I spend most nights trying to figure out how to pick up a glass of water without knocking it over first. Jerky, uncontrolled movements sending everything away until I'm alone in a cocoon of blankets, so terribly thirsty for something that I can't have. But in this moment, right now, feeling his lips upon my skin, I think that I might feel a tiny bit like I'm not just standing still anymore, like I'm walking forward swiftly, not tripping over invisible things. I wonder what it might be like to move as gracefully as Kaelen. To stalk down a hallway as beautifully as he does. To know that he's beautiful as he does it. It's not often at all that I find myself lovely, but when I do it's usually because I'm holding an instrument or my guns. Right now I feel beautiful, but I think it's because I'm holding onto something more fragile.

Need sings through my body in a trilling arc, making me pull him against me so I can reach him easier. It isn't difficult, He's so thin. I feel I could break him. Maybe I want to break him, I don't really know. Sometimes I forget what I want anymore. The other day I was sitting in the choir room, and I totally forgot what I did before I came to this godforsaken district. I lose memories like a hat in the wind, and I've never had a strong reaction rate. It makes me realize that someday Ill lose this moment as well. How long will I hold onto this moment of complete jo, my hands running through his hair, happy that he's answering my question with his own kiss. It's one of the biggest moments of relief I've ever felt but I don't know how long it will last.

How much more time do I have before a disgruntled family member comes in and throws a shoe at me, or worse, a knife? How much longer until I Kaelen kicks me out himself, another of those faceless, nameless men, who were 'gay for a day'. It's so fucking sad how often I let myself fall for it, but not this time. Yet still, I moan as he trails down the base of my throat to my heart, and farther still, until I wish to do the same. Hurriedly, I untie the apron from around his waist, that cute little apron, letting my hands trail up under his shirt. I can feel the beat of his heart against mine again and for the moment, the life coursing through me is more than enough, better than words, or memories. I could forget it all for this moment. Maybe I will. Maybe all those long nights spent in someone else's bed will disappear along with my childhood and the faces of the ones who raised me.

"Guess we're skipping dinner, yeah?"

In response I growl into his ear, and pull his shirt over his arms to reveal pale skin and a fresh canvas for me to colour in shades of red. I trail down his chest in quick little kisses until I've reached his abdomen before I reach up and grab his hair, pulling him close to me. Quietly, I say, as well as I can, "How about instead of that, we do that fun little thing where we.....where we.... shit, I know this, just gimme a sec...where we.....umh..." In frustration, I push him away lightly and lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair. I'm still catching my breath from where it ran away from me. Angrily, I let a finger trail lightly down his throat, and down around to where his heart would be, "Where we....."

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

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dirty {little} secret // colt Jun 11, 2012 20:29:59 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2012 20:29:59 GMT -5

I was looking for a breath of life, for a little touch of heavenly light
But all the choirs in my head sang no, oh, oh
To get a dream of life again, a little vision of the sight in the end
But all the choirs in my head sang
No, oh, oh

[/color][/center]
Control is something that Kaelen craves above all else in a world of independent variables and shifting odds that change faster than the tides. In the end, that’s what it was all about, the midnight trips to darkened bars and the icy hand of death hovering over an unsuspecting cocktail. While he may reign over existence as a god of discord, Kaelen is only content with his position as long as he holds the reins, as long as he remains the sole puppet-master of his surroundings, spindly fingers twitching away at the ~~heart~~strings of lesser life forms and leaving his own frozen shell of a soul alone but untouched and unscathed in its rightful place upon the marble pedestal of self-crafted divinity. Control is one of the many things he prides himself upon, glacial composure and an unyielding mindset that holds dominion over all it surveys, never bowing to another will save his own ~~and occasionally Alyssa’s, but that is a story for another place and time~~. But despite everything he’s ingrained into his enlightened paradigm throughout the years, Kaelen finds that control has never felt farther away than it does now, borne away on nothing but a kiss and a faltering willpower that should never have been this weak.

Physical… interludes (he can’t call it intimacy, not when he knows all too well that the hollow space where his heart should be will never be capable of such a thing) are nothing new, a marginally interesting occupation of his time that plays out in notches on bedposts and a trail of shattered hearts a mile long. Kaelen typically doesn’t think much of it, writing it off as hormone surges and the small, infinitesimal tie left holding him to the plane of humanity. It’s not so much that he has needs as it is that he has wants and there’s a sort of dark thrill in claiming them. But this, this is something entirely different, something so far from the suddenly limited grasp of a previous omnipotent knowledge that Kaelen finds himself struggling to make sense of it between grasping hands and ragged, desperate-sounding gasps that he realizes with a faint twinge of horror are tearing themselves past his own lips. This is part of the plan, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s…

~~Everything.~~

Colt is the closest thing the underground has to a sun, all blazing, burning passion sitting restless and unshed beneath skin so searing that Kaelen wonders absently if the hiss that punctuates the still, filtered air of the kitchen is a product of fire meeting ice or simply his own harsh intake of air as the soft cotton of his v-neck goes flying across the room and merciless fingers yank sharply at his hair. A fleeting, half-panicked thought crosses his mind that he might be out of his depth, but it’s quickly swallowed by a rush of euphoria and the almost-terrifying realization that in all the years of crafting intricate elixirs and toying with death, he has never felt more alive.

"How about instead of that, we do that fun little thing where we...where we... shit, I know this, just gimme a sec...where we…umh..." the smaller boy husks, voice all thick and sweet like it’s been dipped in honey, and the break of contact is enough to drag Kaelen back to some semblance of coherent thought, blinking sluggishly under the buzzing light of the fluorescents overhead and chancing a sidelong glance to his left long enough to catch a fuzzy glimpse of his own reflection in the brushed-metal surface of the refrigerator. He looks wrecked, hair sticking out every which way, mouth florid and kiss-swollen, previously immaculate rings of kohl smudged into disarray around eyes that have darkened to the color of tree resin, pupils blown to the size of pennies. There’s a decadent sort of sin that rolls off his surface in a hazy glow, and although he’s so far from his element, fumbling against the doorframe of a substandard apartment kitchen miles below the surface of the earth with a boy that has far more influence over him than he’d care to admit, Kaelen muses that at least debauchery looks good on him.

The plan simply doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a fleeting moment of disappointment covered by an anticipatory thrum through his veins when he realizes that debauchery looks pretty decent on Colt as well, clamoring for both words and air at once, a torrid flush creeping down the elegant column of his neck that accents the blooming heliotrope mark of possession hovering above the collar of his shirt, hair just as mussed and lips just as abused as his own and a lidded gaze that burns right through the remains of the icy veneer coating his skin like broken armor.

So maybe he’s attracted to him. A whole hell of a lot.

Maybe the plan isn’t entirely foiled. Maybe there stands a possibility of watching Colt Hanlon’s soul shatter into a million irreparable pieces in the wake of devastation from which he’ll never recover, but given the current situation Kaelen realizes that the boy with the sun beneath his skin has the potential to serve a far better purpose than just another example of beautiful disaster that Kaelen crafts in cajoling words and the pulling of strings that no one else can see. Rather, he could be a pretty, dangerous little secret for him to have and hold close (he’s not gay. One night with one boy in one carefully-guarded indiscretion does not make him gay), playing with fire, running his fingertips through the flame of a candle and feeling the fire’s embrace of a would-have-been burn against his skin. Something to explore, to toy with. "Where we..."

To control.

“I think the word you’re looking for is fuck,” Kaelen drawls through a smirk, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear and slender digits finding a resting place in the crevices between his ribs. The steady beat beneath thrums fast and heavy across the expanse of his palm, raw and visceral and real in a way that the clockwork thump circulating icebloodpoison through his own veins never seems to be. There’s something out of the ordinary, a grace that belies the darker brunette’s normal clumsiness that Kaelen’s never seen before, inherent in the sinuous arch of his spine when he ducks down and presses their lips together again. Kaelen has always had the mind of a scientist even if it’s been warped by the soul of a murderer, an eternal fondness for discovering the intricacies of people only to take a sadistic delight in watching them shatter. Colt is an extraordinary specimen. He looks forward to breaking him.

“One condition. We don’t talk about this. Not in glee club, not at school, not to anyone. It stays here, secret and completely confidential. I don’t like having my personal affairs slandered all over the halls, but I do like you, Colt Hanlon, so if you can agree to that…” Kaelen chuckles darkly, a rush of air from the exhalation ruffling dark locks into even more disarray as he takes a step back and nods toward the hallway. “Bedroom’s that way.”

There are far more entertaining games to play.

~*~fade to black~*~

[/i][/color]

But I would need one more touch, another taste of heavenly rush

And I believe, I believe it so, oh, oh
And I would need one more touch, another taste of divine rush
And I believe, I believe it so, oh, oh
Whose side am I on?[/center][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

dirty {little} secret // colt Aug 3, 2012 14:39:08 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Aug 3, 2012 14:39:08 GMT -5

Go spin circles for me, wound relentlessly
Around the words we used to sling
Oh, such torturous things
Always chewing up the only ones
I ever mean

When I wake up our foreheads are touching in a soft kiss and his breath comes out slow and steady. His eyes are shut, he's asleep. For a moment I simply lay there and stare at him, feel the way our legs are all tangled up together after I fell off him sometime in the night. He smells sweaty, but in a good way, like a wool sweater on a ho day. It's always cold below, being under covers doesn't change it. I'm in that state of just waking, where your body is so still that it tricks itself into thinking that it's still sound asleep, and everything is so still that you can almost hear your neighbor's heart beat in such a way that you know they're sad. Our legs are still tangled up together, like strings hastily knotted in such a way that it's going to take a long time to figure out how to find out what string belongs to which balloon. One of his long arms is slung across me, the other protecting the underside of his head, both of my arms are curled up to meet my chest. His hair is mussed up, instead of perfectly styled like it has been every other time I've seen him. Traces of eyeliner live in the pockets of his eyes, but otherwise it's been wiped away in the night.

My body aches in a sweet way, and my lips feel dry, but swollen, bruised almost. The silence of the morning weighs on me with a soft subtlety that I wasn't sure I'd be expecting come first light, but it came all the same. The intricacies of a one night stand are not unknown to me, for all the ones I have slipped through. Somehow this morning has left as soft and silent, with our foreheads touching. I wonder how long it will last. Drool dribbles out of the corner of Kaelen's mouth in a way that still manages to make him look elegant. I don't know how, or when I started finding him to be more than just someone I'd like to sleep with. Somewhere in that quiet pocket before dawn it became something more. He's going to break my heart. I know he will, because when has there been anyone who hasn't? Everyone I've ever known has abandoned me, or pushed me out of their lives. But it's sort of frightening because when the shoe drops here, I'm all out of options of where to run to.

The words he spoke last night are running through my head in figure eights, cutting through the slippery happiness resting there. Something about how I'm not allowed to speak of this. I was worried about not finding another closet to hide in. They always feel so secure in there, the men I love in such a physical manner. They don't ever accept my help and let me pull them out. For a moment, as I lay in the silence of a district that's barely awake, I think about how I could be the one to leave it this time. I could quietly slip off into the morning, collect my meager life from my allotted home, and be free to wander again. For a moment, the idea of it is so tantalizing that my muscles stiffen, like I'm about to carefully extract myself from his arms. But I don't move. I can't move. I think it's because I really want to be here. That or my muscles aren't going to do what my brain tells them to do no matter what. Either way, I'm not sure that I want to leave anyway. I'm such a glutton for punishment that I can't even save myself from myself.

But that's okay. I just do what I always do. Be happy. I be happy until they become bored of me, and then I be happy still, act like it's no big deal, that they're done with me. What will happen is they'll stop looking at me in the streets, stop talking to me when I approach them, until one day I see them holding hands with some girl. Usually she's got long raven or blonde hair. Sometimes she's named Cindy, or Morgan. Other times it's something more natural, like Fox, or Swan. But they're never going to be seen walking down a street holding hands with another boy. That's what those locked hands mean when I see them. Then I know that it's time to move on. That's how I got all the way here from District Three I guess. I never claimed to be an innocent.

For the boy lying across from me, I could pretend to be. I can feel the way sadness and madness clings to him in such a way to grip him too tightly to breath. I can feel that sadness even now as he sleeps. The lines of worry are gone from a face that usually appears so smooth, but it doesn't change the fact that for a few seconds in a lifetime he needs me. If only for this, I'm needed. I have a place to be, a song to sing if I can wake up just one more morning like this, to another face that sings a different song. Maybe one day soon it'll backfire on me, and I'll wake up to darkness and an empty bed, but today I can be happy. Happy to memorize a sleeping face a few centimeters from mine, happy to smile becasue I want to, not because I can.

I consider him as he sleeps, the bruise forming on the base of his neck courtesy of me. I smile at that. No matter how much he pretends he doesn't want me, or wants to hide the fact that I had him, he's going to have to wear shirts with high necks for the next week or so. No matter what he means to keep me as, I can still leave a mark, so that I don't wake up in the middle of the night a week from now, and lay awake wondering if it was a dream. The heat of his body so close to mine certainly doesn't feel like one. I realize that I sound like a stupid, clingy bitch. But that's what I sort of am. It's hard to not become something like one when you're wondering when you're going to have to move on next. I'm always the one packing up my stuff. I don't belong to anyone, I have no ties. No family, I'm alone. It makes sense that I'm the one who gets to disappear.

A jolt goes through me as his eyelids flutter, and I feel afraid for some reason. Quickly, I shut my eyes, and feign sleep, my breathing becoming shallow as I feel shifting beside me. For a moment, I thought he was awake. But I could have been wrong. I don't know, I'm wrong a lot. But as I lay there in disquiet, I don't ask myself why I shut my eyes, I simply let myself drift off into sleep again. I hope he's still there when I open my eyes again.

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

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dirty {little} secret // colt Aug 4, 2012 11:45:43 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Aug 4, 2012 11:45:43 GMT -5

i want to swim away but don't know how
sometimes it feels just like i'm fallin' in the ocean
let the waves up take me down
let the hurricane set in motion, yeah
let the rain of what i feel right now come down

A sort of heavy fog hangs over Kaelen’s slowly wakening mind, blurring the lines between dreams and reality in the soft first hours of the morning (is it morning? There are no windows in the underground to measure the day’s progress, and the effort it would take to look at his alarm clock doesn’t seem worth it). Awareness is an uncertain, fuzzy thing, the only knowledge that he can make sense of coming in the form of another source of warmth curled up beside him under the blankets. Force of habit makes his default assumption shift to Alyssa, still not awake enough to fully comprehend anything other than the sensation of lazy half-wakefulness and a sort of sticky-sweet ache in his bones that radiates outward across alabaster skin. Groaning out some unintelligible protest against consciousness into the soft linen of his pillow, Kaelen makes an attempt to slip back beneath the cresting waves of sleep still lapping at the edges of his mind, curling closer to the body heat beside him and slinging a spindly arm around a waist that holds a hard line rather than a feminine curve and woah, okay, that’s not Lyss.

His eyebrows furrow in sleepy confusion but the sheer amount of work it would take to open his eyes, much less actually go through a logical process of deduction seems impossible at this point. Besides, whoever it is, they’re quite comfy, he notes, tangling his limbs up even further in stark angles and lean musculature (yeah, definitely not Lyss) until they mesh together in a puzzle-piece precision that he isn’t familiar with. The prospect of waking up is dragging him kicking and screaming out of the realm of sleep and Kaelen lets out another half-formed murmur, a failed attempt to hide from consciousness by burying his face into the graceful crook of a neck, lips ghosting across the defined line of a collar bone. Whoever it is, they smell really damn good, a sort of sweaty, sleepy veneer hovering over the scent of sunshine and soap and –

Colt Fucking Hanlon.

Kaelen’s eyes snap open in a split second, lashes scraping over a smooth expanse of skin that hasn’t yet lost the final farewell kiss of the sun. The languid feeling of a lazy morning should be gone now, lost on the tide of realization flooding his finally conscious mind (did they really… oh Ripred, they did, what the hell had he been thinking, how on earth is he going to justify this?), but much to his surprise ~~and horror~~ it really doesn’t, a sluggish, easy relaxation still clinging to his frame even as the momentary tension that came with waking up next to someone he didn’t really expect melts away into the ether. After all, this is all part of the plan, and flailing out of bed screeching in terror is hardly going to do him any good.

Pulling away from Colt’s gravity feels far more like a chore than it should but Kaelen does it all the same, blinking slowly in the soft glow from his alarm clock and stretching out lanky bone structure with a muffled groan of half-discomfort. He hurts, all the way down to the marrow of his bones (there are certain things Kaelen Dempsey just doesn’t do; gentleness and taking things slow are two of those things), but it’s in the best way possible, the satisfied burn after training sessions, the quiet throb of delicate hands after a really tricky Beethoven sonata. Colt looks much younger when he’s asleep, features no longer furrowed in concentration of the words that so carefully allude him and fluttering lids closed over deep-dark eyes that seem to hold more than he’s willing to share. Without thinking, Kaelen’s hand reaches up hesitantly; carefully brushing a stray bit of the smaller boy’s mussed hair back into place. There’s a sort of steadiness in this silence that unsettles him, a stability he’s never experienced and isn’t quite sure he wants. As a pinnacle of divinity Kaelen knows he doesn’t need anyone, but even he can’t deny that Colt’s intrigue has begun to feel like the sweetest poison he could ever create.

Confusion is something he doesn’t feel too often in a world of solid ideals that doesn’t allow for shades of gray, unpleasant and unwelcome in his previously enlightened state of omnipotence. Kaelen understands people and their flaws and their inherent evil that is always reluctant to be cleansed, but the idea that he might not understand himself, his own motivations is something so preposterous and quietly terrifying that he doesn’t allow himself to think of it (and maybe in the end, that’s why he’s here. Kaelen had enough knowledge of his own internal drive to know that he killed everything he didn’t deem worthy of existence, but maybe he also killed everything that he was frightened of becoming one day. Flawed. Wrecked. Lost). It’s far easier to shove all of that so far down into the depths of himself that even he can’t touch it, far easier to justify it all with calculating logic and the possibility of decadent destruction. Pulling Colt back into the spindly circle of his arms means something entirely different and easier to deal with if he tells himself that it’s all a means to breaking him in the end. Running the pads of skeletal digits over the muted heliotrope marks along his collarbone is far simpler to justify if he tells himself that this is all just a game, a source of amusement that will pass in time.

He’s not in over his head. Kaelen doesn’t get in over his head. The very idea is preposterous.

Colt’s eyelids flutter slightly, and the lazy smirk-smile that tugs at the corners of Kaelen’s lips is completely fabricated, totally fake. Of course it is. And the sort of possessive warmth blooming like a flower behind his sternum, that’s just his mind playing tricks on him. Of course it is. And it’s a completely calculated move for him to press his lips to the humid patch of skin behind the darker brunette’s ear, whisper in a scratchy first-words-of-the-day voice “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Of course it is.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s Saturday and I have no intentions of leaving this bed before noon,” he mutters, burrowing back down in the blankets and trying to find something in a darker set of eyes that he can’t quite identify. “That was… interesting. Last night. Opinions?”

Colt’s face holds that kind of sleepy confusion that’s more than a little reminiscent of a puppy that’s just opened its eyes for the first time to be faced with a whole world of things to see, all messy hair and bleary brown orbs and lips that are still florid and kiss-swollen, and before Kaelen can stop himself from thinking it the realization skates across his mind that yeah, okay, maybe he’s kind of beautiful. “I’d give it nine out of ten for a first go; score would be higher if I didn’t feel like I just got out of ten rounds with a prize fighter. I probably look like I’ve been necking with a piranha. No complaints, though, don’t get me wrong. It’s better like that.”

Lazy smiles and pillow talk have never been something he would have considered in a life under the sky and stars, but something about the boy with the sun searing beneath his skin makes an exception to the previously unshakeable rules. All plans and prospects aside, Kaelen comes to the long-awaited realization that he’s playing with fire. The only thing that bothers him is that he isn’t quite sure whether or not he actually wants to get burned.

where is the coastguard, i keep looking each direction
for a spotlight, give me something, i need something for protection
maybe flotsam junk will do just fine, the jetsam sunk, i'm left behind
i'm treading for my life, believe me
how can i stop this breathing?

[/color][/blockquote][/justify]

Last Edit: Aug 4, 2012 11:59:23 GMT -5 by Deleted

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dirty {little} secret // colt Sept 1, 2012 5:07:49 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Sept 1, 2012 5:07:49 GMT -5

Through playful lips made of yarn
That fragile Capricorn
Unraveled words like moths upon old scarves
I know the world's a broken bone
But melt your headaches, call it home

I don't really want to let myself believe that this is happening, that I'm still lying here. Not that it hasn't been done before, I simply assumed that Kaelen would be one of the ones to instantly deny it, especially after what he said last night. Now he's leaning in close and whispering good morning, snuggling in all tight and stuff like this is exactly what he wanted. It's confusing as hell to be completely honest, I don't know what to think for sure anymore. He completely slipped out of the knot of chains that is his stereotype, if he even has one. I thought I could pin him down, but it's so hard when he's so changeable, like an actor that keeps forgetting their role, only to pick up a new one within a minute, or place it aside for the old one within the next.

Still, last night still clings to me, the way it felt so completely right. How we moved together. It was the closest I've felt to home in a long time. Which is weird, because Kaelen doesn't know me from a hole in the ground, and I don't know him. We're two strangers. I have heard him sing before of course, and that already makes me feel closer to him then I ever did a complete stranger. Then the whole thing that just happened where I fucked him, that happened too, no longer complete strangers. In all seriousness, I should be pulling my pants on and heading out into the misty morning to head off. This time there is no misty morning, not ever again, because we're underground. This time, all there is, is his arms around me, and the heady silence of his scent all over the place.

I always fall too fast, straight into love, and never out. Today I have already opened the door to it, and I'm maybe three steps in. I might as well just run down the hall. If you're already in hell, keep going. I don't really see what the problem is anyway. My father said he never believed in love, but now when I think of it, he always lit up whenever my mother walked into the room, I know he loved her. He said love was a useless, pointless thing, not something important like breathing. Breathing is what makes life livable, but loving is what makes life wonderful. So maybe love is useless, but it is the useless things that make life worth living. Singing isn't important, but it's the only way I can chain words together to make a sentence, so to me the uselessness of singing is cherished. So I fall quickly, and never stop loving, but that's because I live for uselessness. I live to be useless to others as well.

The way he pulls me out of my half sleep is with a kiss to my ear, making a shudder course through my body in recognition. A good shudder, not a sad one, or a cold one. A comfortable one that tells me I'm happy to be right here in this spot. I've always been a happy guy, but right here, I'm happier than I've been in weeks. It's been difficult living without the sun, or the stars. I miss the comfortable familiarity of Crescendo and Descant on my hips, and they haven't let me go hunting with them yet, amazed that I can even shoot them straight because they've seen me walk. Here, right now though, I'm quite happy, and comfortable. A moment ago, I was completely frightened, but his reassurance of a soft good morning was ll I needed. I thought the boy was all walls, and hard edges, I've never seen him be so sweet. Except for when he ran his fingers over the keys of the piano like it was nothing. I'd never seen another boy who was so beautiful.

Smirking slightly, I burrow down into the blankets, escaping the light, but eyes turned up towards his face, because I'm finding it hard to look away. He looks like a completely different boy with no eyeliner, and the smirk all gone. It isn't a bad thing at all. In the morning after glow, he's lost a bit of his innocence, but gained some as well. He looks younger than I thought he did before without his hair perfect. It's lovely almost, but at the same time he's got far too much Kaelen in him to be anything but. I like that, the confidence he carries. I carry it too, but it's harder to see when every word I love stumbles out in stilted steps. After a moment, I realize I'm simply staring, and say quietly, and as efficiently as possible, "Well.....I-I-I don't know about you, but.......but...I didn't really do much....sleeping."

Maybe the mood change here is because of the fact that he /was/ still here when I opened my eyes. I'm such an angsty teenager, I know. Really though, Kaelen still being here makes my happiness metre rise to one hundred. Just because he's here. I choose not to think about later when he's pretending this never happened. I choose to live in the now. That's how I survive, holding onto useless tidbits of nothing that mean more to me than they do others. That's okay, I'm pretty sure that's allowed.

Carefully, I burrow deeper into the blankets until my head is level with his chest. He's so freaking skinny, but not in a really uncomfortable way. More like, a very nice way. I move closer until I can hear his heart beat. Relief washes over me in a nice way that I wasn't expecting. I don't know what I was worried about, it was just relief spreading through my body at the sound of his heart. It's nice to know it's there. Hearts are sometimes the hardest to find. Early mornings are never good for my thinking process, I'm sorry. My voice most likely muffled from my warm, and dark cocoon, I say, "It was .....that word when it's pretty good... for your first time I'd say. A lot better than some others.....but....practice makes perfect."

Laughing softly, my lips spread across his chest, and I taste the night on him, enjoying the way my scent lingers there, just as his clings to me. I'm comfortable with staying here forever, quietly humming songs under my breath. Speaking of which, "What're we...gonna....um....you know....sing together?"