Flavoured Ice [ᴛʀᴀᴅʟᴇʏ]

13

So, there I was again with Tristan and Shawn in my living room, holding my guitar this time and attempting to help Tristan get a feel for the instrument.

We had gone over string names and an appropriate acronym that would help him to remember them which was;

Eddie
Ate
Dynamite
Good
Bye
Eddie

Which —of course— he quickly rearranged to:

Eat
Ass
Daily
Go down on
Bradley
Evans

Which Shawn thought was undeniably hilarious. I gave him a good whack for that one though. Recently he had taken to teasing me with the idea that Tristan and I were actually going to get together, and despite my brain deciding that it does in fact want Tristan Evan sexually, I haven't decided what exactly I'm willing to do with that knowledge.

Spring

I snatched my hand back, inspecting the damage. My guitar string of all things had to pop. I blame Tristan; he distracted me.

"Ow! Fuck me!" I shouted, not realising how that could be interpreted until it left my mouth, and I saw the smirk on Tristan's lips. "That's n—that's not an invitation," I said. This time, not having anything to blame the blush on.

The affected area was red, a whelp already forming where the string had assaulted me.

Lately —it seemed— my life consisted of so much Tristan. Almost too much Tristan. It wasn't helping figure my feelings out at all. He showed up everywhere, and sometimes he got a bit handsy. When he grabbed his flavoured ice, he let his fingers linger for just a moment longer than usual. When I showed him notes on strings, he seemed I purposefully mislabel them, forcing me to fix the positioning of his fingers.

Maybe it was all my imagination though? A fixation of my imagination yeah? Who was I kidding? God, I knew he'd use any reason he could just to be closer to me. I found it so difficult to accept what I maybe wanted deep down. I knew he had acquiesced right off the bat. From the moment that he had laid eyes on me, he'd wanted me, and all that I was.

So back to that whole acceptance thing. I suppose that a large part of it had to do with the fact that it was what everyone expected from me. You can't resist Tristan Evans. The whole lore behind him; nonsense. Everyone had already paired me up with him from the moment he'd declared that he was after me.

After me. What did that even entail? My heart? My body? It was so difficult to decipher what he really wanted, so I found myself mainly blaming his efforts on the licentious appetite that I knew him to possess.

He liked sex. A lot of people like sex, and while there's not anything particularly wrong with that, a love for sex can turn sour rather quickly. Aside from the dangers of malpractice; unprotected sex and so forth, a person so imbued in what could be gained —physically— couldn't maybe ever learn to love anyone; only their body.

I never wanted to be that. I never wanted to be just a piece of meat. Just some guy who Tristan could ring when he missed the perplexity of my body. When he missed how I felt, what I did. When he missed everything, but me; Bradley Simpson.

So yes, I had trouble coming to terms with these sudden feelings of attraction towards someone who I was in all actuality, completely terrified of.

It was like Camila, back in the shop that day that I'd caught her making doe eyes at Tristan across the counter. Nativity in the moment. Nativity in the split second it took to allow a boy like Tristan to do all of the best things to you. All of the things that left you a state and your mind rattled and confused, because, while it felt great in the moment, it was going to tear you apart.

Tristan Evans was going to tear you apart because he couldn't find it within himself to care about you or what he'd done. About how he used you like a drug and left you craving more; the high of the first time that he'd maybe never give you again. You had outlived your purpose; at least in his world.

"Brad, I brought you some ice," Tristan voiced, taking off his shirt and wrapping the ice pack in it.

"I—it's just a whelp, I'll be fine," I said, taking the pack even still, trying not to stare at the traces of hair that started at his chest and went lower...and lower..and, "why were you even in my freezer?" I questioned him, deciding in my head that it would be best to give his body, two second glances so as not to let onto my grand scheme.

Look
1...2
Look away
1...2...3
Look
1...2
Look away
1...2...3
Look
1...2

I watched his mouth move, not really knowing the words that were coming from his parted lips, but nodding along anyhow. He forfeited a genuine smile, tossing his head back in laughter, but all seemed inaudible as I watched him.

I watched him.

Christ Bradley, what is the matter with you?

—

Completed: 31/7/17
Posted: 31/7/17