Asher ✓

48 | runaway

MARCH 19, 2016 / RYANEL GONZALES' APARTMENT

The door swung open faster than Asher expected.

"What are you doing here?" Ryanel asked, shock and panic plastered over his tanned features. His eyes fell to Asher's prosthetic leg. "Did you walk?"

"Just from the bus station around the corner," Asher scratched the back of his neck. He felt something akin to awkwardness. It'd been a long time since he had felt . . . this for anyone.

"Can I come in?"

Ryanel narrowed his eyes at Asher, brazen doubt etched into the furrows of his eyebrows. He finally opened the door wider, stepping aside to let Asher in.

"You never answered my first question. What are you doing here?"

Asher moved closer to Ryanel, dragging his left leg, which was unused to the added weight, forcibly forward. "What I want."

He placed a tentative hand on Ryanel's cheek, feeling the smooth expanse of skin under his thumb. Then he leaned in, allowing their lips to meet in the briefest of touches.

"Is this alright?" Asher whispered, their noses barely a hair's width apart.

Ryanel's eyes were wide. There was a concoction of hesitation and desire pooling in them. The brown folds and flecks in his irises reminded Asher of the underside of a gilled mushroom. 

"I— I don't know."

"Can I convince you?"

Ryanel swallowed. Nodded. His eyes closed.

The boys leaned in, their lips skimming each other lightly once more Asher inhaled the musky, citrus scent of Ryanel's cologne. His hand snaked up Ryanel's chest, alongside his neck, to his nape. Pulling him closer and slanting his head, Asher deepened the kiss.

He explored Ryanel's mouth, savouring the sweet, cinnamon flavour on the tip of his tongue. Did he have cinnamon rolls for lunch? Ryanel's fingers tentatively reached out, slanting flat against Asher's chest before gripping Asher's shirt in a tight fist. He used that to pull him closer, his tongue coming to life in a battle against Asher's.

It felt like ribbons of electricity were running through Asher's limbs. The tingles started at the nape of his neck, slithered down his spine and wrapped in body in a euphoric joy that made him want to shiver. He threw all reason and logic to the wind, revelling in how good it felt to be wanted.

Ryanel started walking forward, and Asher stumbled backwards to keep the distance consistent between them. His arms were tugging Asher around the couch and across the small living room, relying on habitual knowledge of the flat's layout rather than sight. 

When they reached the bedroom, Ryanel swung the door shut behind them.

__________

"We can talk now, right?" Ryanel traced his fingers along Asher's arm, his ear pressed to his chest. He could hear Asher's heartbeat, strong and gradually slowing down from its frantic pace.

"Yes," Asher's eyes roamed around the ceiling of Ryanel's bedroom. 

He hadn't seen it from this vantage point before; lying down, basking in the afterglow. It was strange to be so entranced by a plain white ceiling. Suddenly the afternoon sunlight looked like pure gold, the dust particles caught in the rays like tiny stars dancing and whirling in the air. The room was humming with energy. To Asher, at least, it was.