Flavoured Ice [ᴛʀᴀᴅʟᴇʏ]

11

So, I vomited. Yep, just everywhere. All over his shoes, and he wasn't exactly in a bad mood about the whole thing, but he wasn't particularly chuffed about it either. Still though, he had managed to get a stiffy which was absolutely no surprise to me when I looked down and saw him readjusting it in his jeans: gross.

I knew that it'd been due to that expired milk that my mum had advised me against, but I insisted that my yoshing was on account of his disgusting face because it seemed like a good cover up for 'I just nervous puked because I think you're kinda cute even though I want to tie you to railroad tracks and allow a train to splice you from the waist up.' Yeah, calling him ugly, that was my best bet.

Besides, he'd never get over himself if I even allowed him to consider the fact that I found him attractive in any kind of way; tolerable even —when his loyal and devoted servants weren't around— I think maybe that's the nausea talking though.

So there I was, sipping water from a glass and sitting within a triangle that was comprised of Shawn, Blake and Tristan, like I was the focal point of some satanic ritual when suddenly Shawn decided to speak up, and I kind of wish he hadn't.

"Brad, you—"

"Shawn, I'm fine. I told you," I looked over at Tristan, "it was just his ugly ass face," I snickered, putting my water down and falling back slightly.

"This ugly ass face that you want buried all in y—"

"Whoa! Okay," Shawn interjected, "what's the real reason you came here?" He smoothed his hands over his trousers and patted them on his thighs when he was done. Tristan looked to Blake, and then to Shawn, and then to me and he gave me that smirk that I think he knew I secretly liked.

My face went red, but if anyone asked, I was prepared to blame it on my guts which I had just gone through emptying themselves. There was absolutely no way I'd admit what he had just done to me. Especially not here. Not with Blake who seemed uncomfortable with Tristan's advances and Shawn who insisted that I already had a thing for Tristan that I kept under wraps.

"For guitar lessons, why, what else?" He smiled brightly as if this were all right.

"But you play drums?" Blake cut in, clearly not happy with Tristan's overbearing presence. This was in fact, his lesson.

"So what? A guy can't be multi-talented?" He shrugged, eyeing me as if he were undressing me in this very moment, and I wouldn't put it past him either.

Blake muttered something like 'guitar lessons my ass' and Shawn let out a little chortle of content because —and I think we all could agree— this was quite possibly the most preposterous situation that had been thrust upon us all summer.

Blake pardoned himself to the toilet and we began to talk about scheduling, how our lessons worked and so forth. I don't think he was listening though, just smiling and nodding as he slowly began to migrate towards me.

This was all much to my displeasure of course, but Shawn said something about how we couldn't discriminate and that if he wanted to learn guitar, there was no harm in teaching him. Well, here's something, I'm thinking that the only thing Tristan Evans wants to learn is what it feels like to be —and I quote— inside of me.

Blake returned, and here's another thing I noticed. Tristan saw the way that Blake looked at me. That little twinkle in his eyes like something phenomenal had just happened before them, and he didn't like it. Not a bit. Declaratively, the one thing that led me to said conclusion was Tristan's next comment in fact. And if I could have stopped him, I would've. That twinkle in his eyes —I liked to believe— was admiration. He always praised my skill. I don't think that it went beyond that.

"Brad?" Tristan called.

"Yes Tristan," I said.

"Since you're not feeling well, I wanted to let you in on a little secret." I looked at him, doubt heavy in my eyes, but allowed him to continue anyhow. "Well, I learnt that a good way to handle nausea is by dimming your lights, going up to your room, stripping stark, and waiting for me to give you something that'll make you forget all about that little sick feeling in your stomach," He finished, having a look at Blake, who's jaw had fallen slack.

I propose that maybe the initial shock from his audacious statement within itself was enough to leave us all mute for the rest of eternity. So I wasn't as surprised that no one —not even I— had stopped him in his perverted tracks.

I think that both Blake and Shawn wanted to say something, but based on the way that they kind of say their like fish out of water; that wasn't happening.

And I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, but I think I would have said something back if I didn't maybe, kinda-sorta in some inconceivably real way want it.

That was another thing I wasn't prepared to admit.

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Completed: 11/7/17
Published: 19/7/17