The Real Scömìche

Mitch

Scott stared into my dark, darting eyes, making me feel exposed. He told me to continue.

"I...I... Scott Hoying, I'm, I'm in love with you." I had done it. I had finally admitted to my feelings. After six years, I felt a huge weight off my shoulders, and no shadows in the back of my mind. I just had to hope my blonde haired, blue eyed crush felt the same way.

I thought the room would run out of oxygen, I was suffocating myself with worry, as hours passed before Scott answered. Actually, it was more like seconds passed, as he sighed deeply and said something that would make or break me.
"Mitch?" He pulled me out of my hellish mental anxiety hole, and continued with a sentence that nearly killed me.

My hand flew to mouth, as I stared into his twinkling blue eyes. My own eyes filled with tears. I never thought I'd hear those words come out of Scott Hoying's mouth. Definitely not to me. He took my hand, our fingers entwined, and pulled me closer to him. He loved me. We were touching now. Staring into each other's eyes, reading the thoughts running through each other's minds. Nothing could stop us now.

I pulled Scott towards his bedroom, pushing him onto his sheets and crawling on top of him. I kissed his neck more and more urgently as he unbuttoned his shirt. I grew impatient and tore it off him, my eyes greedily absorbing the beautiful sight of his chiseled stomach, as I fought with his belt buckle. He ripped my cotton tee off my back, exposing me to the cold draught. I unwillingly pulled myself away from him and shut the door. As I turned back around, Scott was inches away from me, completely naked. He quickly shed me of my jeans and boxers and gently shoved me onto his bed. It was everything I could have wished for.