The sponge scrapes gently at his cheekbones, hiding the monster of his skin in a beige color. There's no rush, only time to sweep away what he is and what no one would want to look at. His breath shudders out, frowning at himself in the mirror, at the image he has created. His mind reels at what part of this does someone like Dirk sees in this fool, an idiot who runs around in his ridiculous choice of wardrobe. Huffing at the mirror to fog away his reflection, he rushes to cover himself in this paint his excuse of a sister stores.
A black, stylized wig sits besides him. Biting his lip with a warm heat on his cheeks, he reaches for it and nestles it close before settling it down at the bald of his head. Green irises pop out behind the black fringe ruffled at his eyes and he sweeps it back, reaching and wiping the mirror to look at himself.
This was a waste of time.
Clenching his hands into fists, he growls in frustration and sighs out, dragging the note into the empty room. How he wished someone would even fathom to grasp his hand in their own, maybe even push the limit to a gentle kiss on each knuckle. Dreadful, how could he let his mind wander into such forbidden acts of affectionate.
Jumping onto his feet, he briskly walked up to his desk and awoke the system, clacking the keys impatiently. His eyes dragged to the replica of black frame of glasses that human wore. He had almost forgot and pushed them up to the bridge of his nose. They settled rather uncomfortable on him but he ignored it as his computer woke up. He clicked until he opened up a folder of pictures, mostly of previous sessions with Dirk.
He doubled click on the picture he drew for his favorite human. He was impressed with his first chance of drawing, rather eager to show Dirk, only to be shot down. Now, he wasn't saying he isn't one to hold a grudge but rather he was one to hold a grudge and it hurt a little. For once, he'll let it slide. So long as Dirk entertains him more.
Their games were super exciting and maybe on the edge of inappropriate. It was hard not to fond over someone like Dirk, how irritatingly precious his remarks and words made the cherub seethe with lust. Licking at his lips, he closed them and imagined what Dirk would do. He pictured them in his room, sitting close to each other in his bed.
They would hold hands and feel, skin to skin, burning with a flaming desire to bring it to the next level. Would Dirk dare kiss someone as akin to himself? With this cover up, maybe he would. The brisk baritone colors of his voice would laugh against his ear, his lips smacking one small kiss to his cheek.
Squeezing his legs together, he ignored the tightness of his pants. It was unsettling and the idea of even wanking himself sprung his mind to a halt. His breathing is loud compared to the quiet air that fosters the room and he groans in disbelief. It's almost disturbing how the thought of just being close to Dirk is relatively distracting, the division in his pants springing with interest.
One look at Dirk's gross features and he's lost.
One look at himself and he's furious.
One look at Jake, Dirk is unspeakable.
It leaves him hollow and jealous when Jake is a minor topic Dirk indulges in, a tiny smirk twitching at his lips at his dork-ish charms. Even so, he will do nothing to speak of Dirk's interest in one boy. Only feign jealousy.
He spots one more look at the mirror and whispers solemnly to himself:
“Why can't I be more like you?”