Titles: Soap, Cereal, Sunlight and Satisfaction (1/1)

Author: Vera

Rating: R

Summary: Dual viewpoints and hopeless C/S because I've abandoned them lately.

Disclaimer: The boys are Sandra's and the song briefly used is the Rolling Stones'.

Archive: Of course.

Feedback: Always craved...my ego is always hungry....down boy!

Note 1: This story went whacky. It was supposed to be a masturbation story called How Hard it is to Love You, but somehow it got sappy and sweet and gained a plot. I'd blame my muse, but he has a tendency to draw blood.

Note 2: //cyanide's thoughts//

Note 3: ((skids' thoughts))

It had gotten to the point where it was impinging on daily routine. Every little thing he did, tripped the thought of something else which led right to the same place. A baseball cap and wide brown eyes.

//God hates me// He decided and climbed out of bed, ignoring the stickiness of the sheets. He'd deal with it later when he came home. It had gotten to be a biweekly routine. Bi.....huh. Now he was punning in his head. Surely the end was nigh.

Luckily, it was Friday and his first class of the day (Principles of American government, easy) didn't start until ten which meant the house was already pleasantly vacated. He skimmed out of boxers and walked naked to the bathroom, his flesh goose bumping pleasantly from exposure. Ever cautious, he locked the door behind him because you never know when someone is going to show up at just the wrong moment.

After relieving himself,_he threw on the shower and stood patiently outside the curtain, a hand under the stream waiting for it to get sufficiently hot. It was a little girly to be such a wimp about cold water, but

//What the hell. Not like anyone else is watching.// Finally, he stepped in, relishing the complete heat that enveloped him, burning away the strange funky smell that seemed to cling to him on waking. Washed it away with soap (Dial, he had bitched to many times to his Mom about smelling like a fruit to use anything else....fruit. It was worse then he thought) and a lightly conditioning shampoo for his hair. When you used as much gel as he did, you had to watch the moisture levels.

//I am a woman.// He realized, rubbing the Vidal Sasson into a lather, rinse, repeat. //Dios. Somehow, this is Harley's fault.//

His mind was in the sleepy under drive of the morning showers, not really thinking of anything, just enjoying the long steady stream of water pounding down from above. Unconsciously, he started to hum and let his hands wander.

//I can't get no satisfaction...// He sang in his head. His right hand tapped out a rhythm on his thigh, while his left idly rubbed at his chest. //cause I try and I try, but I can't get no satisfaction!//

That's when the images started to bombard his mind. The ones that had become so frequent that he'd given up fighting them. Fingers strayed to his half hard member and allowed himself to conjure

//fighting over the remote, rolling around on the floor like kids, rubbing against him while we both laugh and I tickle him//

and

//watching him eat ice cream an ice cream cone with long slow licks//

but most of all

//waking up in the morning with that light sweet scent, knowing I don't have to do this because he's right there with me. His eyes flutter open, first thing to wake up, early morning hug and closed lip kisses to seal in morning breath, hands that trace and lots of pale flesh to explore, move against each other, everything is all right, nothing can hurt us because we're inseparable and in love and damn if I won't fight tooth and claw to keep it that way//

The fantasy goes on until he cries out from the orgasm he didn't realize he was nearing. Spent and shaking, he lets the water sluice away the rest of the fantasy and the stickiness on his belly.

Steps out into the cold, trembling and wonders if he could just go back to sleep, but that would be the second time he's cut this class and third time might just be a big fat F, so he brushes his teeth, studiously not thinking about the taste of someone else's mouth.

// I can't get no satisfaction// The song went on in his head as he plodded, towel held around his waist with a firm hand, back to his room.

The towel dropped in a slightly moist pile as he looked through his drawers for a pair of clean underwear, digging out a pair from the way back. Black cotton. Good enough. Now at least partially dressed he started the hunt for a clean pair of pants and finally unearthed a pair of jeans that didn't have any strange smells or vague stains.

//Really got to do some laundry.// He mused as he belatedly towel dried his hair, letting it stick up in all directions for the time being. //Now where's that shirt....//

Under the bed apparently. It had once been a tight black T-shirt, but with a pair of scissors and gritted teeth, it was now a tight black tank top.

//He helped me cut the fabric...// Ran vaguely though his head as he pulled it on, further mussing his hair. //Everything is a reminder. I could burn everything I own, move to Canada and still have heart palpitations overtime I saw a baseball cap.//

Letting out a muttered stream of curses, out of habit more then actual annoyance, he headed back to the bathroom armed with a bottle of thick sticky gel. Glaring at his mirrored reflection, he systematically spiked up long thick strands of brown.

//I can't get no, I can't get no I can't get no satisfaction .// And the last riff faded from his head. //Why is that damn song stuck in my head anyway?//

It struck him as he washed the gel from his fingers. His polish had chipped off two of his fingers on the right hand....

//From washing dishes of all things. In the kitchen, listening to the radio. He came home with me last night to eat....we washed dishes and that song came on...//

Memory is a funny thing. He finished with his gel and calmly walked back to his room. The sleeping bag was buried under a pile of clothes he had chucked at it, a different moist towel was casually thrown over the chair. Carefully, he put down the gel and plodded downstairs, vaguely aware of the feel of barefoot on carpet. In the kitchen, the Italian sat spooning Cherrios into his mouth and sipping from a tall glass of orange juice, looking up when he entered.

//Wearing my tank top....he looks better in it then I do.//

"You were supposed to drive me to school." The brunette chided under his milk mustache.

"Should have woken me up." Cya rejoined, grabbing a spoon and sliding into the chair next to his best friend, digging into the other's bowl. Sipping from the same cup of orange juice and it's almost like kissing because he can taste him on the rim of the glass, traces his tongue quickly over the milk print left behind.

"I would have...but you seemed so tired lately..."

//I am tired. Tired of all of this. Of wanting you so bad my body screams all day long.//

"Yeah. Guess I'm just out of it."

And they ate companionably in the late morning sunshine, the taste of orange, milk and Cherrios mingling with the smell of freshly washed bodies. Sleepy euphoria crept over both. With a deep sigh, Cyanide laid a hand on Skids thigh, feeling the pulse of warm flesh through worn jean and squeezed slightly.

"Let's go." He said quietly, standing and pushing back his chair. But Skids didn't rise. //Before I lose my mind.//

"Cya?"

"What?" A little more gruffly then he intended.

"I love you."

There was a clatter as he fell back into his chair.

"Come again?"

Skids blushed a little.

"It's just....you've been strange lately. I don't know...like you're always thinking about something else. And you haven't really been with any girls at all...not like you used to anyway. So, I just wanted you to know. I love you and if you need me for anything....well I'm here."

//Do you know what you're offering....do you know what you hand me...are you that clueless? Or are you that smart?//

"I..." He manages. But that's it.

"Yeah. Come on. I all ready missed one class." Sadness tinges the tone.

//I can't believe that.// And he watched as this time Skids rose and somehow, his brain went dead and his body took over and one long manicured hand grabbed the thin white wrist, pulling himself out of the chair and pressed against the other boy.

The kiss tastes like milk and cheerio pieces.

//Please God, kill me now, strike me where I stand because it doesn't get better then this, there's only pain to follow, so take me now.//

$%$%$%$%$%$%$

Skids had woken up early. Eight o'clock early and sighed to himself, trying to reorient. He was in Cya's house because they had stayed up late watching movies until they both groggily stumbled to bed without a thought about attempting to get Skids home.

Stretched his whole body out, muscle by muscle and shot a look over at the bed. A soft sigh came from under the sheet and the cat like body stirred, eyes fluttering.

((What does he dream about? Me and Harls? Girls? Music? Or does he dream in formulas on chalkboards, getting famous and getting out?))

He shook himself out of thought and listened hard for the sounds of movement in the house, but it seemed as if everyone else had already gone. Small miracle. Quietly he crept from the room and to the bathroom, shucking off clothes behind closed doors and taking a quick shower. Just enough to get rid of nighttime sweat. Sweeps the dial bar under his arms.

((He uses this soap)) A sudden thought blip occurs ((it touches him everyday, everywhere.... soap is like everyone's first lover. Or the step in between. Like touching someone by the second degree))

He contemplates sniffing the soap, though he knows that it'll just smell like soap and tickle his nose. And then he does and he sneezes and giggles. Then freezes realizing how profoundly it's ingrained in his mind. He read in one text book or another that olfactory memory is the strongest and this proves it true. Because Dial soap makes him feel safe. Comfortable. It goes with the smell of musty cotton, wet nail polish and hairgel and the feel of a solid arm slung companionably over his shoulders. And now he will smell like that all day.

((Shibby.))

Out of the shower and using the spare toothbrush he's stashed there. Purposely uses too much toothpaste so he can make rabid dog faces at himself in the mirror before rinsing. Pushes wet hair out of his face and pulls on the spare pair of boxers he always keeps in Cya's closet and snagged as he left the room. Glances at last night's clothes, but is loathe to put them on while his skin still tingles with clean heat.

((Jeans are okay, I'll borrow a tank. He probably won't even notice...he never notices.))

The room is eerie quiet when he gets back, the sleeper still hasn't stirred and Skids contemplates waking him.

((But he's been so tired...so out of it...I can miss one class. Prof. Novan won't mind.)) Chooses one of the few white tanks that Cya owns, taking from the bottom of the drawer because it's more likely to be clean there instead of dirty shoved on top for easy access when laundry day finally comes.

((Anal and messy at the same time. Bundle of contradictions.))

Pulls on shoes and socks, throws the cap on over wet hair which he'll pay for later, but who cares? Headed down stairs to help himself to breakfast. Starts off with three pieces of toast, heavy on the butter and a glass of water.

((Gotta wake up the taste buds. Is he still asleep? I wonder... I could bring him breakfast....or......this sucks. I feel like I'm walking around him all the time. When did it start?)) His mine went on idle, tracking the causes of weirdness over the last few months, marking a mental calendar with swipes of bright colors, ticking off dates and moments.

So deep in thought, he just barely registers

((He's up and in the shower)) before going back on autopilot and making himself a double portion bowl of Cherrios. ((part of this complete breakfast)) and pours orange juice into a glass. Sits down to sun bathe and think.

((He's been lonely.)) He concludes. ((No girls, Mik and Harley are busy with each other....but I'm always around....well most of the time...but maybe he doesn't think he can relay on me, maybe he thinks I'm not around often enough...bleh...this sucks.)) So he turned his thoughts to other things, like the various stages of sogginess that breakfast cereal can experience and trying to decide his favorite. And then he knows

((being watched))

glances up and Cyanide's just standing there, looking lost in his own kitchen.

"You were supposed to drive me to school."

"Should have woken me up." The Latino rejoined before settling into to share.

((I should have....couldn't. Cause just maybe I would've just joined you in the bed and gone back to sleep.....mmmm))

"I would have...but you seemed so tired lately..."

"Yeah. Guess I'm just out of it."

(( He looks so...distracted...like he's seeing something else))

And they ate companionably in the late morning sunshine, the taste of orange, milk and Cherrios mingling with the smell of freshly washed bodies. Sleepy euphoria crept over both. With a deep sigh, Cyanide laid a hand on Skids thigh, feeling the pulse of warm flesh through worn jean and squeezed slightly.

"Let's go." He said quietly, standing and pushing back his chair.

"Cya?"

((Offer him comfort...offer him anything. Cause Harls has Mik and 'shquee is still a girl and can't really understand and everyone else just doesn't matter nearly as much))

"What?"

"I love you."

Watched as the other boy fell into his seat.

"Come again?"

((not going to blush...to late.))

"It's just....you've been strange lately. I don't know...like you're always thinking about something else. And you haven't really been with any girls at all...not like you used to anyway. So, I just wanted you to know. I love you and if you need me for anything....well I'm here."

((Don't be so dense)) he pleaded ((hear what I'm telling you, not what I'm saying))

"I..." He manages. But that's it.

"Yeah. Come on. I all ready missed one class."

((Worth a shot at the least...didn't think it would hurt quite this much))

But there's something keeping him from rising, a hand on his and all to suddenly, there's another body where before there was only space...and there's warmth and that fantastic smell of comfort.

The kiss tastes like oranges and toothpaste.

((Please God, make this last forever. Cause I know he's going to freak and I don't think I could calm him down. Let me live in this moment forever...))

But every kiss has an end and every friendship has to change. And some mornings you're just going to miss a class because even fields of dogs eating homework don't compare to the excuse they've got going.

((// Finally figured out life, be back on Monday//))