Caught In the Storm (boyxboy)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Danny." A voice whispered softly, small hands trailing down my bare chest. I smiled, eyes still closed, as they caressed my pecs and tense stomach. Lips followed the same path, small wet kisses as soft as the lips they belonged to. I lifted my hands and dug my fingers into short hair, dragging their head to mine and capturing their lips in a passionate kiss. We both moaned as our tongues met.

"Danny." My breath hitched as I opened my eyes and stared into deep brown eyes, full of depth and breathtaking lust.

"Ashton..."

I jolted out of my sleep, a thin layer of sweat coating my skin. Breath still labored from the sudden wake up, I ran a hand through my curly hair and checked the time. 4:24 a.m. Damn. There was no chance of me going back to sleep now, so I shed my damp clothes and took a shower. Water poured down my broad shoulders and I sighed.

I had the dream again. Every night for a month, I've dreamt about kissing Ashton Little, goalie for the soccer team. One of the shortest, most annoying, sarcastic, bitter, cynical persons I've ever met. The kid can't even be my friend, so why in hell did I ache for something more?

I muttered under my breath and finished showering before I stepped out of the shower, my towel around my waist. I dried my hair with another towel until it was no longer dripping wet. I thew on a white shirt under a black and white flannel. I tugged on a pair of jeans, grabbed my cell phone and backpack, and went down the hall. Not surprisingly, my mom was seated at the dining room table, a bottle of God knows what in her hand.

"Morning, Mom." I said politely and dropped my backpack on one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen. She flipped me off and took a long swig out her bottle.

"Oh piss off." She slurred, rolling her eyes and pushing her stringy brown hair away from her face. Around her eyes were dark circles, and underneath them, heavy bags. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly, and she was barely above being underweight. She was wearing the same pink lace slip she'd been wearing six days ago. Nevertheless, I kissed her on the cheek and went into the kitchen, retrieving a small tub of pancake batter from the refrigerator. She cursed at me before sealing the cap on her bottle and chucking it at me. I snatched it out of the air, not even flinching. I had mastered dodging and catching objects of all sizes a few years back, when my dad left her.

He ran off with some blonde beauty with a heavy southern accent when I was twelve and my little brother, Noland, was three. I don't hate him for it. He was miserable in New York, and he was a southern man at heart. Besides, it just wasn't working. My mother would pick fights, my dad would skip out on dinner, and then she'd take her anger out on Noland, a child. Eventually, he gave up and left in the middle of the night, with only a sticky note pressed to my mirror to confirm he wasn't kidnapped.

I'm sorry and I love you kiddo.  

Take care of your brother for me.  

-Love, Dad

While the waffle maker was heating, I went to wake Noland for school. He was curled into a thin sheet, and I cursed quietly. She had stolen his blanket again. Every time my mom got wasted in her room and vomited on her own sheets, she came into Noland's room and took his while he was sleeping. And since I was the only person paying the bills and keeping us alive, the heater wasn't an option. I couldn't afford that.