Scent of Love (Scomiche fanfiction)

Revelation

A/N

I owe all of you a huge apology because what you see below is the most boring chapter the human race has ever had a misfortune to witness. This had to happen at some point for the sake of clarity, though, so... yeah. I promise I'll make it up to you with something not as MEH as this.

Conflicted. Is it how Mitch felt all this time? Did he curse Scott's name upon waking up every day? Did he hate himself for getting involved with someone from his painful past, someone whom he had apparently mistaken for a villain, and a murderer at that?

Scott scoffed. Murderer. He'd had many labels put on him before, but that was a first. He considered himself a decent guy – not a saint, and far from a role model, but decent enough. To have his whole existence questioned by an accusation of this sort felt absolutely heartbreaking, to say the least. They say being misjudged always hurts the most and Scott could finally confirm the truth of those words. Unable to defend himself, he was left to hope the unfair sentence would miraculously get canceled, or at least altered. Truth to be told, he didn't know who had given Mitch the right to act like a judge, establish the extent of his guilt and determine his future. No one had the right to, except himself. No one. Not even Mitch.

He knew doubt would sooner or later start creeping into his heart. Had he indeed done something that cruel and outrageous? Had he, without even realizing, changed the fate of two lives, thereby depriving Mitch of his only lifeline? Had he unknowingly committed a crime of such great significance? The accusation seemed to him groundless and unfair at first glance, but what if there was a grain of truth to it? What if it was Mitch who was right, and not him?

No. He shook his head, as if he was trying to convince himself that the much dreaded scenario was faulty, or better yet, completely made up. He wasn't allowed to let that little voice in the back of his head get to him. He was the misjudged one, he was the one who had been wronged and fooled. He was the one who had been used.

To hell with it, though! He didn't need Mitch, did he? Had there ever been anything between them? Negative. Sure, they might have made out a few times and they might have gotten each other off that one time when they had both been exhausted and scared and vulnerable, but had there ever been anything more to it than physical attraction and sexual desire? Again, negative. Right?

With a groan of frustration, Scott let his head drop to his chest. Who was he trying to fool? Even with a few glasses of alcohol in his system, he had been unable to go into indifference mode when he had seen Mitch wiggle his ass right in front of that big guy's eyes at the club the other day. That ass was supposed to be his, and his alone. Much like the rest of Mitch.

Those dimples that made him go weak in the knees. Those big eyes framed with insanely long lashes that could surely make many a girl jealous. Those full, soft lips that seemed to accommodate his own thin ones without fail whenever they met in a kiss. Those protruding collarbones, so sharp they could probably cut paper. That tiny little ass that seemed to fit perfectly into his big hands. That sass, that intellect, that sense of humor. The aura he gave off. Everything about him. Scott wanted it all.

Another groan followed. Among all days, Sundays were the worst. Scott would always have too much time on his hands and too many things on his mind. Painful though it was, he would oftentimes end up thinking about the boy who'd managed to get deep under his skin, and those thoughts literally made his head spin.

Sometimes he would try to convince himself that it was only about sex, that if he had the opportunity to sleep with Mitch, he'd be cured from that weird obsession. It's been a while since he had admitted to himself how much he wanted to bend the boy over the closest horizontal surface and pound into him until he'd be screaming for Scott to touch him. Even then though, he'd refuse to do so, keeping the boy's arms in a strong grip against the small of his back so he wouldn't be able to touch himself either, and he'd continue to thrust into him until he'd come from that alone.