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“This time I’ll kill you, Shanks,” Buggy hissed as soon as the door of the room closed.
Shanks bursted out laughing. “Come on, at least it was fun,” he chuckled, comfortably tucked under the blankets while watching the other.
“Fun?” Buggy glared at him. “We nearly got caught!”
His angry expression seemed to amuse Shanks even more. And to think the afternoon had started well – very well, in fact…
It had all begun that morning, when Buggy had walked into class and had noticed Shanks’ empty desk.
He had immediately sent him a message, and Shanks had replied that he had caught the flu. Naturally, Buggy had been worried, though he’d never have admitted it, so, after school, he headed down to the port to check on his boyfriend.
They had been together for six months, but they hadn’t told anyone to avoid gossip. Shanks was very popular at school, while Buggy was considered too eccentric and was often marginalized by others; if anyone had seen them together, Buggy was sure he would have become the target of unpleasant comments and jokes. That was why they had been seeing each other in secret, away from prying eyes.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set. Buggy wasn’t surprised that Shanks had gotten sick: they had seen each other a few nights before, and the redhead must have caught a chill – because of course he’d had to be romantic and give him his jacket, Buggy thought with a huff. But still, he felt a little guilty, so the least he could do was to make sure Shanks was okay.
By the time he reached Shanks’ house, it was already dark. He climbed the tree next to the house – something he had done a thousand times since they had started dating – and reached the window to Shanks’ room.
Shanks was under the covers, reading a comic by the light of the lamp on his bedside table. Buggy knocked on the glass to get his attention, and when Shanks looked up and saw him outside the window, a smile spread across his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked surprised, opening the window.
“I came to make sure you’re still alive,” Buggy replied. “Can I come in?”
Shanks moved aside to let him in, closing the window behind him. The central heating was on, and the room was warm and cozy.
When they stood face-to-face, they exchanged a brief but sweet kiss.
“I’m glad you came to see me,” Shanks said with a smile.
Buggy took a moment to notice how attractive he looked even sick and in pajamas. “How are you feeling?” he asked then, taking off his jacket.
“Pretty good,” Shanks replied.
“High fever?”
“Not too high.” Knowing Shanks, that could easily mean he was running a 102-degree fever. “Do you want something? I’ve got cookies.”
Buggy shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Go back to bed, come on.”
Shanks laid back down, lifting the blanket invitingly. “What, you’re not coming?” he asked boldly.
Buggy rolled his eyes – even sick, Shanks didn’t lose his cheekiness – but eventually moved closer, and Shanks shifted over to make room for him under the covers.
“If you give me the flu, you’re dead,” Buggy warned, leaning against him.
Shanks laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around him.
Cuddled under the blankets, Shanks told him about the comic he was reading, promising to lend it to him when he was done, while Buggy gave him a brief rundown of what had happened at school that day.
“You should have seen your fan club when they found out you were absent,” Buggy said. “They completely deflated.”
Shanks chuckled, amused.
As they talked, the hand Shanks had been using to stroke Buggy’s hair slowly moved down his back, slipping under his shirt.
“I thought you were sick,” Buggy said, shooting him a glare.
“Not for this,” Shanks replied, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. This time it was a longer kiss, and for a moment they both got lost in each other.
“What if someone comes in?” Buggy asked uncertainly when they pulled apart.
“No one will,” Shanks reassured him. “They think I’m sleeping.”
How could Buggy say no to that?
He climbed on top of Shanks and began unbuttoning his pajama shirt. Shanks kissed him again, stopping only long enough to pull Buggy’s shirt over his head and toss it somewhere on the floor. Buggy held back a moan as Shanks pressed his lips to his neck, and let his hands wander over the other boy’s chest, moving downward and reaching the waistband of his pants.
He pushed them down just enough, while Shanks unbuttoned his with an impatience that sent a shiver through Buggy’s body. Their ragged breaths filled the room as Buggy began stroking them both, their foreheads pressed together and Shanks’ burning gaze locked on him.
Soon, they both felt themselves close to the edge.
They were just about to finish when the sound of approaching footsteps made them both interrupt violently. Panicking, Buggy – half-naked – jumped out of bed and hid in the closet, while Shanks pulled the covers up to his chin, trying to look innocent. A moment later, the door opened and Shamrock, Shanks’ twin brother, appeared in the doorway.
“Shanks?” he called as he stepped inside. “Everything okay?”
“Hey, Sham,” Shanks said nervously, his heart pounding. “Yeah, all good. I was… sleeping.”
Shamrock came closer, placing a mug down on the bedside table. “Mom made you this – she said to drink it while it’s hot.” Then he frowned at him. “You sure you’re okay? You’re all red.”
Shanks quickly nodded. “I’m fine. Maybe I still have a bit of fever.”
Shamrock didn’t seem entirely convinced, but aknowledged with a nod. “Alright. I’ll let you rest.”
He was about to leave when he stopped, his gaze landing on something. Shanks followed it and, to his horror, saw Buggy’s shirt lying on the floor. He held his breath as Shamrock looked around with an unreadable expression, and when his eyes settled on the closet, Shanks was certain he had figured everything out.
But Shamrock only gave him a look of disapproval and muttered, “Next time, lock the door,” before leaving. Once he was gone, Buggy wanted to die of embarrassment, while Shanks could barely hold back his laughter.
Oh, yes – Buggy was definitely going to kill him.