Under the Westway

Chapter Fourteen

"I know it hurts but it doesn't after a while. You have to get used to it." Damon throws into the conversation while sat on Graham's carpet, rifling through drawers for clothes to make cool, and not in the style of a painter in a midlife crisis.
"How would you know." Graham smirks, thinking the answer he gets will be flustered. Damon turns round and raises an eyebrow at him.
"Well, Alex does know what he's doing." He bites his bottom lip to stop from spluttering into laughter as Graham's face goes from triumphant to defeated in a second.
"You're pretty vanilla actually." He carries on.
"Vanilla? I have no idea what you mean mate."
"You don't like kinky shit."
Graham guffaws, cutting into an old oversized tshirt. "And you'd know this, how?" Damon thinks for a second before responding.
"You're very ladylike."

Graham decides he's going to change that perception pretty soon.

*
"That looks fucking sexy." Damon snaps his fingers at his friend in tight jeans and a newly home-cropped top. Graham leans to fold the legs of his jeans up to above his ankles and runs a hand through his hair.
"I feel fucking sexy." He smiles and admires himself in the mirror, hating himself less than he did this morning in the reflection.

"Your ass looks good." Damon whispers and grins, to which the other turns and winks at him. The older boy climbs into the single bed they're sharing for the night, already having taken off his jeans and swapped shirts with one of the ones Graham has never been able to fill out. Graham slips his jeans off too and struggles out of the tight top and into bed, pushing Damon over to make room for him and his freezing feet.
"I'm serious though, you have a good ass."
"Nobody's ever said that before, thank you?"
"Its under appreciated."
"Well I haven't taken a long look at your ass but I'm sure the feeling is mutual." Damon slips his hand into the waistband of the younger's boxers and snaps the elastic onto his back.
"Ow! What was that for?"
He snaps it again.
"Fuck off Dammo!"
Damon's voice goes lower, his hand slipping lower than the waistband and pressing a gentle circle into his skin, "Take them off then, idiot."
Graham obliges, throwing the fabric across the room and turning to face Damon, crossing his arms in mock anger.
"C'mon then baby boy."