Re: Billy K/Jamie M: the Mayers apartment
Yeah, Jamie hadn't like, wanted to do public school. He'd made like, a ton of arguments in his head why he needed to check out after middle school, when people were done with like, vague threats and bad words and amped up to fists and feet and body-checking him into locker doors. But then something else had happened, and he'd eaten the arguments instead of cereal with his like, daily morning stomach-ache until he got used to it the way you got used to any kind of like, crushing disappointment. He'd taken it to class, instead. Which, he appreciated the clean, scraped-out feeling afterward, even more like, NOW, because of the absence where it had been in his like, lexicon of shit to make himself feel better.
This? Was a totally different way. Jamie palmed the shape of Billy's hip, dragged his thumb along the edge of his waistband until the tip dug past and over elastic, permission like, assumed by the weight of the guy's knees against his thighs. He knew this, he knew this kind of guy, although it was like seeing the back of the mirror behind the guys in the clubs in the city: performative, glitter and teeth and speculative looks. Billy laughed and Jamie's own like, kindred reaction scrunched the corners of his eyes, tugged his mouth upward. "New Zealand is still big, though. If you said like, the people were small, that would be different." Which was true, and it was also a little bratty but it was sorta forgotten when Billy's fingers slid over the meat of his tongue and Jamie like, made a deliberate production about sucking him off, the heat of the guy's breath simmering over his cheek.
"From here," Jamie clarified, like it hadn't been clear right then, as he slid his palm up the guy's back, under his shirt where the skin was warm and bare. "I meant from here. Most people who aren't from here are here because they're running away. What reasons have you got?" He smiled. His hair was like, spilled back onto the comforter, and his abs were tucked tight in a balance between looking at the candy-soft floss of the guy's hair and his chin, and he skinned the guy's back with long, sure strokes of his palm.
"Where else would you go? Apart from New Zealand."