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Starving

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He was able to think clearly after having sex with Boris. It wasn't the drugs, the alcohol, the women who smelled strongly of perfume that tasted weird in his throat. No. It was Boris. When he had trouble overthinking, he'd find Boris and press him against the wall and kiss him. A quiet addiction beating inside his ribcage.

And when he'd lay on the bed beside him, staring at the ceiling, it's like the world opened up for him.

This usually happened during parties when Theo had a hard time dealing with people, and it was usually after Boris had snorted a line of coke, or went out in the back with a group of people. He was always so charismatic, unlike Theo.

Nowadays...all he could think about was losing his mind a little.

“Kiss me,” he whispered against Boris’ lips as his friend’s hands wrapped around him, a comfort to him, pulling him close until the addiction of the kiss overwhelmed them.

When the day began, Boris usually left first, other times, it was Theo.

Today...they both were in bed. Boris snored softly against him, while Theo stared at the ceiling. 

“I want to keep you,” Theo said, the words making his heart race. It’s so painful, and he almost wants to drown it out with something else, with more lies, with more...acid.

It would be so damn easy to pretend he wasn’t like this, that he wanted more.

Oh God, everything was fucked up.

“I want you,” Theo whispered, covering his eyes with his arm, letting out a deep sigh. He needed to breathe, and it was so damn difficult to do. “I want to keep you to myself. I want you to stay with me. I want to fucking kick you off this bed and shove you out of the damn apartment, pretend none of this happened. I want...because I’m scared.” Theo let out a laugh in the quiet apartment. “I’m so fucking scared.”

The bed moved. Theo’s heart hurt. And hand pulled his arm away from his eyes as Boris looked down at him, brows slightly pinched as if he was trying to analyze him.

“Are you...jealous?” Boris asked.

Theo sneered. “Fuck you.”

He smiled, such a nice smile that he could live his entire life simply by that expression upon his friend’s face. Fuck. He could, he really fucking could.

“Do you want me so badly…” Boris murmured, leaning close, pulling Theo against him, “does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Theo whispered, wanting to feel Boris’ heat, his skin, his saliva against his lips or his skin. He wanted nothing more than to feel his fingers pushing into his skin until it hurts.

“I want you too,” Boris said, his voice was warm and kind and everything that Theo wanted to hear in the years that separated them. “I want you so badly that I’d rather pull you away from everyone’s sight, and keep you in the dark, in this bed, where the sun’s rays are a privilege.”

Theo wanted to roll his eyes, “That’s a lot.”

Boris chuckled softly. “Oh, yes, it is. I think that’s what it is, right? We could have so much. I could keep you here, never to let you leave, and like every other tragic love story, we could die together. Starving. But we wouldn’t be starving, not exactly.”

Theo sighed, sitting up and looking down at Boris, “You know what, I think I liked it better when you were sleeping, and I can pretend that none of this was real.”

Boris was still smiling, as kind as he ever is, as hateful, rude and painful. And he pulled Theo down, and they kissed.