Daydream (South Park) {BoyxBoy}

Chapter 2| Kevin

His lips are hot on my neck. His touch is fire at my shoulders and the hair on his head is soft under my fingertips. Swiftly, I remove his crown and toss it aside as if it cost nothing. It lands beside mine, metals clanging together and jewels perhaps chipping.

But I don't care, because he is the only jewel I'd bother to treat with delicacy. My hands slide from his hair to his waist, pulling him flush against me. Continuing to kiss my neck, I lower my stature in an attempt to make it easier.

The king of a rival country, the man held tightly in my arms, is shorter than me by a mile. He's small, delicate and plump, a contrast to my long and thin figure. His hair is soft, brown and silky like the finest cloth in the land. Eyes, now shut as he continually teases my aching skin, are deep and shimmery, brown like a luxurious chocolate wedding cake.

The same wedding cake which lies on a table not far from here.

The man in my arms is preparing for a wedding, a wedding which will cause a peace between our countries yet a war between their kings. Marrying my sister, while kissing her brother.

She'll take him away from me. I'll never be able to kiss him, hold him, sleep with him again. Instead, it'll be up to her to do it. She won't treat him like I do. She doesn't know what he likes and dislikes, what he truly cares about and how he likes to be pleased in bed.

She knows nothing compared to me. Nothing.

My heart aches so much at the thought I feel as if I've been stabbed. Gently, I release his waist and push him away. Lingering on his chest, my hand caressing the expensive fabric of his wedding attire.

"Kevin? What is it?" His voice is like honey to my ears but ice to my heart. It hurts, knowing that this lust-twisted tone, will never be heard again by me after today. Tears build in my eyes and try to jump off my eyelashes.

"You're getting married." I mumble, cringing at the crack of my voice. "You're leaving me for my wench of a sister. No, that was mean; she's lovely. But you're still leaving me."

He shakes his head, brown locks bouncing on his forehead cutely. I want to reach out, to brush them aside, but hold my hand. He's going to be a married man and I'm going to lose him forever.

"No. I'm not leaving you; I would never leave you." He rushes forward to take me on his arms. I dodge the attempt at comfort, hands clasped against my chest. Over my heart, which aches from the hurt look on his face.

"You are." I insist with a sniffle, refusing to meet those chocolate brown orbs. It takes a lot; his gaze is heavy on me, filled to the brim with so many emotions it hurts to feel it. "Once you're married, we can't keep doing this. It's sick, hurtful."

"How can true love be sick or hurtful?" His voice is soft, delicate, as if he's talking to a scared deer. I meet his gaze fiercely.

"If it's true, you would marry me instead of her."

He stops for a second and so do I. Broken is our gaze, my eyes clenched shut and head down. My breath hitches. It just came out, not intended to be said aloud. I've thought about it for so long, ever since this damn engagement was announced. If he wanted peace between kingdoms, he could marry me as easily as marrying her. No one would dare disapprove; it's accepted, normal, for two men (or women) to fall in love, be married.

However, he wouldn't; he wouldn't not marry my sister; he wouldn't take my hand instead.

I'm his secret, his guilty pleasure, not the man he would marry.