Duologue - Memeulous x ImAllexx (unfinished - go to the rewrite)

13

"My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break."― William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

🂱🂳

Kissing Alex felt like something else.

George wasn't a poet, or a lyricist. But he felt like singing metaphors in those minutes he spent outside in the crisp night air with his hands wrapped around the beautiful boy, legs entangled and eyes closed.

Kissing Alex was like getting drunk and high and sober all at once.

It was different. So fucking different than anything George had experienced before.

He wouldn't have cared if anybody had seen them. He just wanted more of whatever this was, whatever had intoxicated him so much.

George didn't wonder why it felt... right; so much better than what he'd had before. He just let Alex keep him against the wall and let thoughts slip from his mind like water. The only thing he could think of if he had tried was how perfect Alex's body felt against his, how their legs and arms and chests pressed together like their lips. How every brush of skin on skin felt electric and natural all at once.

George very nearly let everything within him overspill, let it flow out through his fingertips, their locked legs, their lips. Oh god, their lips.

Fuck. He could have let it all rush like the tide, let his hands roam Alex's body, let his tongue explore his mouth, let heavy breaths mingle and rise into the night.

Kissing Alex was dangerous. It was a mind-altering drug. It was beautiful and reckless and so fucking good.

Which was why George was glad when they had to stop.

Well, they didn't have to stop. Nevertheless they both froze upon hearing the sliding door from the kitchen open. Voices filled the quiet of the night, spreading inside to out. Feet scuffed on the gravel in Will's garden. Someone asked for a light. From within, a cheer rose as someone started to chug their drink.

George heard all of this whilst catching his breath, forehead pressed gingerly against Alex's. George didn't care about their potential audience, standing feet away around the corner. He wanted to duck back in, re-engage, but stopped upon seeing the look on Alex's face.

Alex stepped away mechanically, as though the interruption made all the difference. The spell was broken, the lighter snuffed out. For that moment, he looked like he regretted everything.

Maybe he did.

All they'd done was kiss. For fucks sake.

Alex managed to rearrange his features to be more cheerful, he blinked and now he was Alex Elmslie the Theatre Geek. Rather than Alex Elmslie Who'll Push You Against the Wall and Snog the Living Daylights out of You.

George wanted to hit the wall. He wanted to tell them all to fuck off. He wanted to go to bed.

He couldn't tell what Alex wanted. Couldn't let himself look into those grey eyes and be disappointed.

Like the charming fucker he was, George offered to walk Alex home. Well, in his own words.

Alex had said: "Best be off, then."

George had lied: "I think you're on my route."

They'd slipped out through Will's side gate and into the night. The streets were dormant, cars empty and idle, houses dark, silent but for the rustling of leaves in gardens.