Chapter Text
Matt sat up in the wide four-poster bed, sweat still drying on his body. The two boys, sprawled out among the sheets behind him, turned over but continued snoozing. He glanced back at them, his childhood friend and a kid who had a crush on him. He'd never have guessed he would end up in a bed with the two of them.
Davey Jillard, one hand cupping the other's cheek, mumbled in his sleep. His hair was a pale blonde, skin flawless save the dark jewel by his eyebrow. His baby blue eyes were hidden by a veil of exhaustion, the flush fading from his pale face. Matt fingered the black loop around his lower lip. Davey had talked Matt, the easily persuaded and gullible friend, into getting piercings on their eighteenth birthdays. While Matt had been plauged by infections and negative comments, Davey stayed germ-free and perfect. Davey's old high school friend, Chris Savoy had one arm thrown over Davey's chest, and his other had held Matt in a strangling grip before he'd shifted away. Chris was Davey's opposite - tanned skin, dark hair streaked with blonde where he'd attempted to bleach it in the sun, dark brown eyes, and the only piercings in his ears. He was a year older than the other two, in his first year of college. Davey had introduced them, the nervous childhood friend to the confident, smooth college boy. Matt was ninety percent sure that Chris had talked Dave into their current arrangement, and this was their third 'meeting' at Chris's small apartment.
Wiping a bit of someone else's spunk off his wrist, Matt stood, legs shaking as he searched in the dark for his underwear. Previous times, Matt had lingered long enough to wake one of them up and let them know he was leaving, but both times had prompted questions and lavicious comments, almost getting him dragged back into bed. He had learned his lesson and now slipped into the bathroom, using the sink to splash icy water on his heated skin. He cleaned as best he could, then recovered the rest of his clothes (spread out around the apartment in a telling trail), dressed, and grabbed his backpack. Chris had ambushed the two of them after leaving school, pulling up in his Mustang and revving the engine to impress the other kids on their way home from the small-city high school, so all of Matt's school books and papers were crammed into his beat up black bag still. Snagging an entire pack of Chris's cigarettes and slipping his own Zippo into his jean pocket, he snuck out and down the stairs.
It was almost four in the morning on a crisp spring Saturday and the lights to the apartments and houses were out. The sun was still an hour and a half from rising as Matt's sneakers hit the concrete. One car passed him, God only knew where it was from, and he ducked his head, determined not to let anyone recognize him. He made his way down the street, headed for the abandoned playground. The playground had been an epicenter of kid's activity at all hours not three months ago, but a recent rebuilding and transfer of property by the city had torn most of it up. The grass toddlers and dogs had tumbled on was all dead, choked by the towering buildings and car exhaust. Half the jungle gym had been torn apart and now served as a drug seller's center. Matt slumped into one of the rusted swings, glancing up when the skeletal structure moaned under his slight weight.
The ground was littered with cigarette butts and the ends of blunts, some glass bottles half buried in sawdust. Matt took out the pack of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling. He was still new to smoking, and the smoke burned his lungs and left a sour taste in his mouth. His first drag was long, and his head began to spin. He knew enough to be careful of getting sick, as his first adventure had ended with him bent over a port-a-potty with smoke swirling around him. His head hit the chains of the swing and he sighed, coughing. Normal guys in sexual relationships normally stuck around after fucking, or so he thought. He had messed around with Davey before, but they had both agreed that they weren't really compatible. They had stuck as friends, oddly enough. Davey had gone through boyfriends faster than Matt had been able to count, but Matt...
He remembered coming into school one day after Chris's first 'playdate', so he called them. Davey, nervous, had accosted him, asking if he hurt something or if he was okay. The experience had been fine, amazing, even, but afterward, Matt had all but run out when Chris beckoned him in for seconds. Matt said nothing was the matter, and Davey had dropped it. Matt had done what he did this morning : run out of the apartment and to a secluded area, stealing Chris's cigarettes or alcohol.
Davey may have been fine with spending hours moaning and sweating with two friends, recieving as much as he could take and giving everything he had, and Matt almost was okay. It was after the lust had worn down, when they calmed and cuddled or slept. Matt knew the other two had seen him with private expressions, making noises that he never would dream he could make, weak and covered in sweat, spit and cum. Chris prided in it, lazing around after and audibly complimenting them. Davey took his compliments and returned with his own, naturally as making conversation. Matt would grow uneasy and shaky, as he did in normal conversations, making him sound unsatisfied or fishing for admiration. The intimacy was something Matt was unaccustomed to and he found that in the context, he couldn't handle it. The first night, Chris had thought Matt had caught a cold; he had been shaking and sweating, close to tears. Matt didn't cry, especially not in public, and this had unnerved him greatly.
He dug through his back, cigarette dangling between his fingers and showering the ground with ash, and produced his cell. He had six missed calls, two from his other best friend Sirella, three from Bridgette, and one from her boyfriend, Garrett. Matt sniffed and called Sirella, praying she would be awake.
"...M-m?" she mumbled, sounding dead. Matt bit his lip ring and almost hung up.
"Sir?" he asked carefully, ready to disengage if she was cranky.
There was some rustling and a grunt, muffled and far away. "Hang on." he heard limbs cracking and a person asking a question, which was silenced as Sirella covered the phone's mouthpiece. Matt took a drag and waited, swinging gently. "Matt?" she came back on.
"Yeah, its me." Matt stared at the burning embers, eyes welling up. His lip quivered and he took a harsh sip on the cigarette, coughing when it burned his throat.
"Where are you?" she asked fuzzily. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
"I'm..." he paused, trying to get his voice to stop shaking. "I'm near Chris's apartment." There was a pregnant silence and Matt ducked his head, pinching the cigarette hard enough to bend it.
"Are you okay?" Sirella asked quietly. Her voice was clearer, grave.
"I'm fine," he murmured. "A little sore, but-" he chuckled, sounding half humor and half a sob.
"If that idiot hurt you, even by accident, I'll wallop him into next week." she replied threateningly, coaxing another laugh/sob out of Matt.
"He didn't hurt me, I just... I can't. I can't do it." Part of him wanted to shut up. Of course he could do it. It was amazing, being lavished by two guys that he was moderately familiar with. But he would be lying if he said he was comfortable with them. In fact, he was anything but. "I can't wake up next to them and... And talk, and be a normal guy. I can't do it." He inhaled smoke through trembling fingers.
"Then don't, you know Davey-" she cut off, concern dripping out of her voice. When she spoke again, her voice was dangerously low, angry and accusing. "Are you smoking right now?" Matt smiled frustratedly at the twisted, half-melted yellow slide before him.
"Sirella, look, I needed something to calm- Sirella? Sir? Hello?" A tiny click had interrupted him, and he looked disbelievingly at the phone's screen. It showed his background, a black square with the time in white. She hung up on me, just like that, he thought. He threw his phone down with a grunt, the cigarette butt following. Out of spite, he pulled out another slender white stick and lit it, sniffling. He hung his head low and swung gently on the swing, body shaking. He had never felt so alone before.