Oneshots

Ecstasy

Ashton flips his long black hair out of his eyes and smiles at me.  I scoot closer to him on the small wooden bench and he snuggles into my arm.  Everything about this situation feels right, me and my best friend on a bench in Tilden Park, on a foggy Saturday afternoon.

“Hey A?”  He peers up at me through the thick curtain of bangs.

“What’s up, darling?”  I comb the hair back from his forehead, exposing the pale skin beneath.  He’s so cute; with his little button nose and bright green eyes, the kind that light up whenever an idea comes to mind.  

He bites his lip as he concentrates on his conveying his thoughts into words.  “I dunno.”  He sighs.  “I’m just happy.”

“I’m happy too.”  

A couple walking by, fingers twisted tight around each other’s, watch the two of us, almost as if they expect a make out scene to spontaneously begin between the two boys sitting together.  Ashton raises his hand and enthusiastically waves, just like the adorable little boy he is.  His efforts are half-heartedly returned.  It’s so easy for him, to be himself, and not care in the slightest how he appears to everyone else.  Ashton’s philosophy is reflected in his neon skinnies and favorite Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie, shredded at the cuffs and holes in the elbows.

His fingers twitch, and his sleeve rides up an inch before he pulls it back down.  Deep purple bruises in the shape of a hand line his wrist. 

“Where’d you get those?” I ask.  I know better, but I reach for his arm anyways.  He jerks it away.  

“I fell.”  Ashton’s a terrible liar.

“Yeah right.  Who gave you those, Ashton?”  I speak like an adult, firm and in charge, aware of every word I’m saying.

He mumbles to himself.  “Justsomekidsatschoolbutit’snothingAndrewdon’tworryaboutme.”  

“Is it the same ones as before?”  He looks down and I know it’s true.  “Ashton, I thought we agreed you would tell me if they bothered you again.”

“I know, I know.  But it was just this once, I promise.”

I slowly lift up the edge of his shirt, the fabric pliable beneath my fingers.  He stiffens.  

“Andrew, please.  This isn’t necessary.”  

Thick yellow bruises cover his ribs and tummy in a sickly coating.  I’m at a loss of words.  Nothing about him suggested that he was hurting this bad.  

I finally come to my senses.  “That looks horrid.”

“Feels horrid too.”  It’s not like Ashton to complain.  These must be aching pretty badly.  I recall him wincing when we hugged earlier, me just shrugging the unnatural action off.

“Can I,” I pause.  “Can I touch them?”

He shrugs.  “I guess.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

It’s not fair; Ashton’s life.  He’s the kindest boy I’ve ever met, yet he takes so much abuse each and every day for something he can’t choose.  He’s gay.  I’ve known that as long as we’ve been friends, from when he came up to me in the first grade and asked me to play house.

“Will you play with us?  We need a husband?” he asked.  He was the strange kid who hung out with all the girls, obviously unaware of the cooties they undoubtedly carried. 

“What about you?” six year old me pointed out the obvious.  

“I don’t want to be the husband.”  He pouted.  “I want to be the wife.”

I stared at him, but it wasn’t that out of the ordinary for elementary school kids to switch genders in play.

“Pleeeease?  I’ll be your best friend forever.  We can share my cookie at snack.”  Ashton smiled the same irresistible smile.

A cookie sounded pretty good to me.  How could I turn that down?  “Okay.”

I know everything about Ashton, from his favorite color to his unbreakable habit of sleeping with a nightlight.  He knows the same amount about me, except for one major thing.

He has no clue of my admiration for my own gender.

Ashton lets me run my hands over the multicolored swelling.  He bites his lip to fight the whimper building up in the back of his throat.  The flesh covering his ribs feels thin and broken.

“A?”  He finally lets his composure go.  A tear builds in the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong, Ash?”  He looks at me like a wounded animal.  “Well, besides the obvious.”

“I hurt,” he chokes out.

My heart squeezes.  “Where?”

He points to his tummy, at the small line of hair trickling down from his belly button to the rim of his pants.  

I lean down and plant a kiss beneath his finger.  “Better?”

He shakes his head and places the indicator a little bit higher, at the edge of his bottom set of ribs, sticking out crookedly, a reminder of a terrible day we both tried our hardest to forget.  Another act of mistreatment.  

I place my mouth to his skin once again.

I follow his finger to his heart, and up his neck and to his forehead.  He moves it down to the tip of his nose, and my stomach fills with butterflies as I predict where it will land next.

I peck the prominent cartilage.

Ashton knows what he’s doing when his nail is the only thing between me and his lips.  His eyes sparkle with imagination.  He shifts it off to the side, just a centimeter past the rose colored flesh, and onto his jaw.  

I give in to my desires.  I kiss Ashton with everything I have.

He’s ready for it too, kissing me back with an equal amount of submissive force as he allows me to take control.  His hands knotting through my hair gives him away, and he pulls me closer and closer to him, until nothing stands between us but a sweatshirt, and two cotton band tees.  Every layer of clothing is millimeters too much.

My hands find their way back under his shirt, resting on his hip bones as they jut out abnormally.  I’ve never kissed anyone like this, yet my body seems to know what to do all on its own.  I find myself biting at his bottom lip until he permits me entrance, our tongues wrestling together in the confined space.  Ashton lets out a small whine, from the base of his lungs, barely audible for my ears, not even a decimeter away.  

When we break apart, my heart is pounding.  Ashton is struggling to catch his breath.  

“How long have you been planning that?” I inquire shyly.  

“Only as…long…as you’ve h…had a crush…on me,” he pants.

“Was it that obvious?”

He giggles.  The sound leaves him gasping for air.  I watch him fight for a moment before placing my index finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother.  I’m not done with you yet.”  The words spill off my tongue.  “Only this time, I plan on leaving you completely breathless.”

Ashton rewards me with a smile and brings his mouth back up to mine.  Our kisses resume.

We’re in the middle of a public park, but the world couldn’t matter less to any of us.  When the group of gossiping teenagers stumble by, surely pausing to laugh and stare, I shut out their noise, and focus on the boy whose paper soft hands are slowly making their way under my shirt, up my back and around my shoulder blades.

I’m far from the point of orgasm, but I’ve already reached ecstasy.