Big Dump

Trivial

Thom’s hands slid through the sides to link at Jonny’s stomach and his forehead rested against his shoulder, against the soft t-shirt.

“Thom,” Jonny said, twisting around his torso, so that Thom’s arms slid from his stomach to his hip, “Thom,” Jonny traced his fingers through Thom’s hair in a clumsy caress.

“Is something wrong?” – he meant to ask but never did, because it was way too scary. 23-yeard old Thom was nuzzling his shoulder with his eyes closed, inhaling his smell and running his open lips over the fabric, which made them dry. Jonny watched him pick up his head a bite and lick his lips quickly before pressing them against his neck in small kisses, tracing them up and down, his mouth open, hot breath coming out.

Jonny placed his hand on Thom’s neck, then turned around completely, meeting Thom’s dreamy eyes and lips, running his hands over Thom’s back.

20-year-old Jonny was kissing Thom in the little space that was not considered a living room yet, but at the same time was not a kitchen anymore – in a house they shared, only two of them.

“Thom,” Jonny said again, pressing their foreheads together, looking into his eyes. What he meant to say was – “Why have you been so quiet lately?” – but Thom’s eyes looked dull and instead he said, “Do you want to go upstairs?” and Thom closed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side, then kissed Jonny quickly. Again in a couple of seconds. And then several times more.

What Jonny needed to say was – “Perhaps we’ve been too hasty with moving in,” – but the phrase kept evaporating before it could reach the surface and he preferred to sigh and run his hands over Thom’s chest and stomach, making infinite loops. “Really, Coz warned us that it could happen,” he would also add, but the words conflicted with his fingertips that were tracing Thom’s collarbones and neck.

Thom slid his cheek against Jonny’s and rested his head against his shoulder, Jonny following suit and embracing Thom closely, tracing blind circles over his cheekbone. He imagined that underneath him was a piece of smooth clay which he had to shape into Thom’s face and he followed all the curves with utter precision, falling back on touch.

What he dreaded to say was, “Maybe we are too young for this, let’s take our time,” and with each second passing he felt the letters in the phrase mixing up and jumping around, and so it was absolutely impossible to say it, and well – what could he do? He slid his hands underneath Thom’s shirt, tracing his spine, turning his head to kiss his ear. The shirt kept coming up with his hands, now showing Thom’s sides and a little of his belly, and Thom smiled against Jonny’s shoulder.

What Jonny wanted to say was, “Do you think we will last?” – but then there were Thom’s shoulder blades, and those interrupted him before he could.