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I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business

Part 1
This was the third time this week you'd seen him. The fact that you recognized him didn't upset you, the fact that you were keeping count did. You noticed the way he looked at the ground as he walked, you noticed the way his left shoe was always untied, you noticed the way he licked his lips when he handed the girl at the counter the money for the coffee. He'd sip it, inhale through puckered lips because it was always too hot, and then head for the door, never noticing you sitting in the corner. He's done it the past two days, he'll probably do it tomorrow too.
You weren't shy. Far from it. Usually you were the first one to walk up to a girl and start hitting on her in a bar. Except. This wasn't a bar, it was Starbucks. And. He wasn't a girl. Maybe that's why you never made the effort to get up and flirt. Because this was totally new and you weren't quite sure why you had a fixation on this boy, this curly-haired skinny little boy. So. Here you would sit, silently admiring how damn cute he was until he either came over to talk to you or you lost interest and saw someone with really big boobs and really blonde hair. You throw down the pencil in your hand and stare at the blank sheet of notebook paper in front of you. Starbucks was not a very helpful songwriting muse. Time to go stroll the beach.
You found a nice bench under a palm tree on a rather deserted stretch of the shore and stared out at the water. "California dreaming will never mean that much to me," you sigh under your breath. The scenery was beautiful, but there were only so many days in a row you could appreciate beautiful. Then beautiful became background. God damn it, there he was again. Down by the water, looking for rocks to skip or something. No, he was writing something in the sand. You don't care, you don't want to get up and walk over there and see what he's written. It's probably something stupid. Your feet are moving without you willing them to. Ah, well, feet will wander where they will.
He looked up at you, brushing that chesnut-colored hair out his eyes. "Hey," he said, wiping his hands together to get the wet sand off them. You both look down at what he's written in the sand.
"We will never be the same?" you ask, reading out loud. You see him bite his lip.
"It's a lyric from a song that's stuck in my head," he says softly. You couldn't place it...and you knew a lot of songs. You ask him what song it's from. "One from the Early November."
"Oh, the new band on Richard and Stefanie's label?" He nodded. Damn it, talk boy. You needed to figure out where he was from. He definitely wasn't SoCal, you could tell that just from looking at him. "I'm Adam, by the way." He waited until a wave came up and washed away his words before replying.
"I'm Ace." You cocked an eyebrow. The only Ace you knew of was Ace Frehley from KISS.
"You're not from around here, are you?" He shook his head.
"Hammonton, New Jersey. Blueberry capital of the world." He raised his head and smiled at you, but still managed to avoid making eye contact with you. "My friends and I are out here to record an album." Ah. Yet another band who thought they were going to make it big by moving to the left coast. Your band had always been in Cali and you still weren't huge. You asked him what label. He smiled again. "Richard and Stefanie's." Oh. Oh. He was in the Early November. Well. That was. Interesting.
"I'm Adam. I'm in Home Grown." You waited for that blank stare, the one that said "I have never heard of your band before." You didn't get it from him. Instead, he started to stare at his feet again.
"I know, I've seen you in the coffee shop for the past couple days. I've been too shy to walk over and talk to you. I have all your CDs." You already knew he was shy.
"So...I guess we're label mates, then." Awkward silences made you feel very...awkward. Best to fill in the quiet parts of conversation with pointless words. You want to say something meaningful, but nothing is coming to mind. Fuck. Let him go for now. You'll see him again. You work for the same bosses. "I'll see you around, then." You start to walk away. You want him to call you back. He doesn't. You sigh.

Part 2
Back in the coffee shop. You actually managed to finish a song last night. At this rate, you'd have everything done for the new album in about five years. Not like it mattered anyway, no one would buy it. You watch him walk through the door and avert your eyes. You don't want him to catch you staring. He buys his coffee and instead of walking back out the door comes over to sit next to you. "Hey," he greets you. You nod, not taking your eyes off the blue lines of the paper under your hand. Now who's acting shy? "What're you doing?"
"Trying to write some new songs. And failing miserably." You lick your lower lip, the metal of your lip ring cold from the air conditioner.
"Did that hurt?" Ace asks, looking right at the ring. You shook your head. It didn't hurt. That much. You realized he was trying to make conversation. "Do you have any other piercings?" Whoa. Hold up. Was he coming on to you? No. He was asking an innocent question, you dirty old pervert. How old was he anyway? You decided to bait him.
"Yeah, my cock." You waited for him to take it. You were so damn anxious for him to ask to see it you were actually leaning toward him in antici...pation.
He smiled and sipped his coffee. "Liar." How dare he. How does he know you don't have a stud through whatever it was they pierced. "So, you have a problem with writing songs. I have a problem with stopping writing them. Everything I see, I hear, I feel, these lyrics just keep coming into my head. Richard only wants like six songs for the EP and I already have two dozen ready to go, and more just keep coming everyday. It sucks."
"Yeah, must be horrible," you mutter sarcastically. You're jealous of the little boy. Way to go. "How old are you anyway?"
"Twenty-one, why?" You shook your head and mumbled something. He looked like he was thirteen. Maybe you were getting too old to accurately judge age anymore. He sipped his coffee, watching you scribbling random words on the sheet in front of you. Monkey was one of them. You weren't quite sure how to work a monkey into a song, but you bet Ace did. Ace was perfect. The bastard. Okay, he seriously needed to quit staring at you. It wasn't helping you write and it was definitely starting to freak you out. "You wanna go out tonight?" Your hand froze in the middle of writing the word sex. He was definitely coming onto you now. You slowly raised your head to look at him. Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked the coffee residue off his lips. When you didn't answer, he continued.
"I'm still kinda new in town, you know? I wanna get out and see the nightlife. See where the party people hang out." You didn't have the heart to tell him you didn't party. You, in your boring old age, went to bars to drink and find loose women. You bit your lip, your teeth clinking softly on your lip ring. You didn't want to go to a movie, that was too date-like. And you were pretty sure this wasn't him asking you out on a date. Maybe a dance club. You had never been to one. It seemed like the music was always just a tiny bit too fucking loud.
You ventured a suggestion to go a dance club. He didn't look like the dancing type, but hey, you had only known him a few days. No. You knew him one day, you've been watching him a few days. You stalker freak. His eyes lit up. "You know what, dude? Tonight...tonight, I just gotta dance. Fuck chicks, tonight, bro, tonight--we dance." He hopped up from his seat and practically ran through the door. Okay, you were officially scared now. Scurred, even.
Just when you had thought he had either run far, far away from you or had been hit by a bus, he came back through the door, a magazine rolled up in his hand. You looked at him, then at it. Wrong order, bad move, now he must know you care more about him than that random piece of print he has with him. "The L.A. Insider," he announces triumphantly. He flips through the pages until he finds the nightlife section. "What are we looking for? Like, club club, bar club, biker club, strip club?"
"Club club?" He explains he meant like a dance club. "Oh. I don't know. Bar club." Great, now he thinks you're an alcoholic.
He hums under his breath as he reads the captions on each club. "Here we go. The Golden Gopher." You gave him a look that says "Are you serious?" He grins a grin you can only describe as cheeky. And you've never used the word cheeky before in your life. You smile a little to yourself and scrawl the word in your notebook as he continues to read. You never would've guessed he was from New Jersey, he barely had an accent. He asks if you have leather pants.
This time you say it out loud. "Are you serious?"
"As serious as a cheeky monkey." You hate the little bastard. You really do. And you don't have leather pants. Which means you need to go shopping. With him. What a special day this is turning out to be.

Part 3
You hated clothes shopping. Always have. If you could have your way, everyone would go naked so this whole pointless process could be avoided. You looked over at Ace, driving the car. Yes. Everyone should be naked all the time. God, what was wrong with you? You damn. Pedophile. "How far is this store?" you ask. It seems you've been in the car for a couple days.
"You know they won't sell real leather in L.A. It would hurt the little animals." You wanted to ask what was wrong with fake leather, but you answered your own question. If you were going to go with leather pants, they had to be real. You hated doing things half-assed. Somehow he had sensed that. Speaking of half-assed...
"Do you think, instead of pants, maybe I could get some assless chaps?"
Without missing a beat, Ace replied, "Technically, all chaps are assless." He had an answer for everything. Why oh why did you agree to go anywhere with him? You finally found a mall about twenty miles outside of the Los Angeles area that had a store that sold nothing but leather products. The smell of the smooth animal hide surrounded you and the boy at your side as you walked in. You didn't look out of place. At all. The entire front half of the store seemed to be dedicated to different colors and styles of jackets including--shudder--NASCAR jackets. "Did you see that thing on TV a while ago?" Ace asked, as they strolled through the vest section. "There was this race and a car crashed and a tire flew into the stands--"
"And hit a woman in the face. Like jazz hands were going to stop it. You ass. I know Dane Cook." Booyah. Adam, one, Ace, thirty-four. At least you were on the board now.
"I guess it wasn't a Goodyear for Mary." You both stopped when you had reached the racks of black pants. "What size do you wear?" You didn't answer him, just stepped up and started rifling through identical pairs of smooth, cold pants. It took you a minute before you realized they were all in women's sizes. "I'd say you were a 6...maybe an 8," Ace said, staring at your hips. No! Eye contact, little boy. Your eyes were drawn to his hips. "I wear a 6," he answered your silent question.
"Are those women's jeans?" you ask, your eyes still not traveling upward. As a matter of fact, they're kind of zeroing in on a certain region right below the zipper... You didn't even bother to chastise yourself this time. The fact that he was wearing women's pants was kind of hot...in a strictly nonsexual way. He turned away and grabbed a pair of pants off the rack, holding them out to you. Your eyes were now on his small, perky little ass. You absent-mindedly grabbed the hanger out of his grasp and followed him toward the changing room. He held the door open for you, and you stood in the small space for a minute, regrouping your thoughts. "Adam? Are you okay? Need some help in there?" Ace asked, actually giggling.
"No, I think I can handle this." You dropped your denim before realizing your shoes were still on. Was he really that captivating, that you couldn't even try on a pair of pants without messing it up? You pulled on the leather, liking the feel of it against your skin. You liked the way they weren't as loose as men's pants too. More, um, support. Before walking out of the changing room you peeked over the top of the door and noticed something for the first time. The boy could not stand still. He was constantly moving, touching things, swaying to some melody apparently only he could hear. You stepped out of the room. "Well?" you asked expectantly.
Ace's eyes traced your lower half from your ankles up to your waist. "I was right. You're an 8. You're too tall to be a 6." Neither of you said anything for a moment. "Well, spin, damn it. I need to see how your ass looks in them." You took a deep breath and spun, fighting the urge to shake your ass for him. Something about this cute little boy from New Jersey made you feel very...open. Did he know the power he had? You didn't think he knew, because if he knew, he would be dangerous to any person--male or female--in a twenty mile radius. "Nice. Let's get going."
You bought the pants and got back in his car. Eighty-five dollars for a single pair of pants. If your mother knew you'd wasted that kind of money on something so frivolous, she'd beat you. And if your father knew you'd been having some really inappropriate thoughts about the one known as Ace, he'd probably kill himself. Or you. Or Ace.
It was only 12:30 in the afternoon, so you pulled into a Taco Bell and got some lunch. "I like California. There's Mexican food everywhere."
"There's Mexican food all over New Jersey, too. I have been there," you said, gnawing on your taco.
"Yeah, but it's not good Mexican food." Once you had finished your lunch, you heard Ace say the words that would've made you splurge soda out of your nose...had you been drinking soda. "So...are we going to my place or what?"

Part 4
Why did house tours always have to end with the person's bedroom? Ace had started with his living room, his kitchen, his office, his bathroom, but of course he had to bring you here last. You had tried to stall it. You asked him about every little thing you could think of during the tour...including asking him if he had a plunger, in case something happened. That had bought you a good thirty seconds while he searched a closet, not sure if he did have one or not. He did. "I just bought this bed when I moved out here. The mattress is still kind of hard," he said, sitting down the edge of it. You remained in the doorway. Much safer there.
You glanced at your watch, seeing it was only two o'clock now. Why wouldn't it just get dark so you could go out and end this day? You needed to get away from him, for just a little bit. To clear your head, to fuck some chick, something. Awkward silence getting awkward-er. "So...what are you wearing tonight?" you ask lightly. Ace gestures to the closet. You bite your lip and lick your lip ring as you throw open the doors to his closet. Half of the space is occupied by plain white t-shirts, the other half a kind of dull rainbow of plaid button-up shirts. "Wow. How...expansive."
"I know, it's boring, but it's all I got." You were almost tempted to suggest going shopping for an outfit for him, but quickly decided against it. No need to go shopping again. When you turned to look at him you found him slowly unbuttoning the bluish plaid shirt he had on, his eyes on the floor. Oh, snap. What was he thinking? "Hey, Adam?" he asked, his voice soft, in a tone you hadn't heard him use before. You could feel your heart speeding up and suddenly it felt way too hot in the room. You were having quite the argument with yourself. One part of you wanted him to take the white shirt (and those tight little women's jeans) off so you could ravage that pale little body, and the other part of you wanted to run out the door and hopefully never see him again. You knew never seeing him again was impossible, as Richard and Stefanie would probably put Home Grown and the Early November on a tour together.
You swallowed that weird lump in your throat and answered him. "Could you pick out a clean shirt for me? I've been wearing this one for the past three days." So that's why it looked so familiar. You reached out and grabbed one that was a bit more reddish, then stopped. There, hidden in the corner, you saw a black t-shirt that looked like it would barely fit a six-year-old. And it said Bruce Springsteen and E Street Band on the front of it in extremely faded yellow letters. You smiled, grabbed it, and walked over to the bed with it. Ace had fallen back on the bed and was staring up at the ceiling.
"What's this?" you ask, holding it above him. He opened his eyes slowly and a small half-smile played across his lips.
"That's the shirt you're wearing tonight." No. Way. In. Hell. "I found that at a garage sale in Asbury Park. Never worn it myself. Now it is yours. Try it on." You knew it would be extremely tight. You didn't want to rip it. He continued to stare at you. Fine. You pulled off your Hidden in Plain View t-shirt, completely aware of his eyes on your half-naked body. Looking at the shirt for a moment, you decided the best way to put it on was arms first, then pull the rest down. You struggled, he laughed, but you finally got it on.
"Fits like a condom," you said, looking around for a mirror. Oh, fuck, why did you say that? You meant to say glove, really, you did. A smile lit up his whole face. There was a mirror on the dresser and you turned to look in it. Damn. You actually looked...good. Before you could say anything more, Ace threw your leather pants at you. This time, you remembered to take off your sneakers first. He was laying back on the bed now, eyes closed, so you didn't feel quite so nervous stripping--changing. You were changing. Once you'd buttoned the pants, you took in the whole look. "Damn," you whispered. Ace sat up and looked at you.
"You need something. A belt." He stood and searched through a dresser drawer. The belt he threw behind him almost hit you in the head. Stop staring at his ass and maybe you'd be more alert, idiot. It was a black and yellow checkered belt and you slid it through the loops, clasping it in the front, slightly to the left. "Perfect. You look--dare I say?--en fuego."
"So, are you getting dressed any time today?" Your whole fashion show had taken about half an hour.
"Not until we watch some Comedy Central. And then my "Family Guy" DVD." He frolicked to the living room. Literally, frolicked, like skipping and flailing his arms like a wood nymph frolicked. Following him a bit more calmly, you found him sprawled across the couch, the only piece of furniture in his living room. You lifted his feet and sat down, resting his feet on your lap. The leather was a little squeaky. The only thing on Comedy Central was a "Saturday Night Live" rerun. "Hey, Adam? Could you put in the DVD for me?"
Damn lazy, sexy bastard. "Sure." You lifted his feet and walked over to the TV. Just as you were about to sit down again, the little boy said he's lost the remote control and you have to push play. You sighed, walked back over and hit the play button on the machine. By this point in time, Ace is sitting up and twirling some of that curly brown hair around a finger. You sat and down and he fell on you, his head in your lap. Um...yeah.
"You're a nice pillow, Adam." You would continue to be a nice pillow as long as he did nothing else that would make the pillow, uh, hard.
He let you play with his hair until the DVD was done playing. Then he jumped up and said, "It's time to P-A-R-T-why? Because I gotta!" Tonight was going to be interesting, to say the least. He threw on a new plaid shirt and you squeaked your way to the passenger side of his car. You looked good, hell yeah, but this noisy pants thing was going to get annoying.

Part 5
"I'm hungry, are you hungry?" Ace asked, leading the way down the street. You shook your head, then realized he couldn't see you. You said no aloud. He randomly turned into a coffee shop and like a sad little puppy you followed him. He ordered an apple fritter and asked you what you wanted. He was buying for you. Did that make you the bitch in this relationship? Aw, fuck, this is not a relationship. Your demented little mind wants it to be one, though. You can openly admit that. To yourself. And no one else. Ever. He bought you a jelly-filled donut. It was delicious. "To the club. Tonight--we dance."
"Ace?" you asked, rubbing any jelly residue off your lips. He turned around and looked you right in the eyes. For a moment, you forgot what you were going to say. "Did you have any weird friends back home?"
"I didn't have any friends back home. Except the band. I think I'm the weird one." He didn't seem phased by the fact that he didn't have any friends. Of course, all your friends are in bands too. That's the whole scene thing. A few minutes later the two of you were standing in front of the Golden Gopher, where a sizable line had already formed. Shit, it was barely seven o'clock. You sighed and started to shuffle toward the back of the line when Ace grabbed your hand. Cue heavenly choir...now. "Where do you think you're going? We're rock stars. We get to go right in." Yeah. Right. Like they'd recognize you. He led you up to the bouncer. "Hi, I'm Art Enders from the Early November and this is my good friend Adam Lohrbach from Home Grown." The bouncer stared at Art as if he were naked. Mm. Naked Art. "Perhaps you know us better from our old band, Good Charlotte." Mr. Bouncer's eyes lit up. The velvet rope was opened and in you went, without having to pay cover or anything.
"I'm impressed." Hehe. Art. "I liked that Good Charlotte move. Very classy." He shrugged. You wanted to kiss those shoulders. Among other body parts. This club was nice. It was different from the two other clubs you'd been to. No loud dance music, but nice loud rock music. And as luck would have it, as soon as you entered your dear label mates Something Corporate started to blare on the hidden speakers.
"Hey, Adam?" the boy asked, sauntering up to the bar. His hips are moving to the music. Look at his face, you nasty old pervert. "Can I be your punk rock princess?" He asked it right on cue with the song. You smiled. Then laughed. You told him only if he wore a tiara. He bit his lip to think about it. You wanted to bite that lip so badly it hurt. Distraction: bartender. You asked for a Budweiser. Ace ordered a strawberry dacquiri. "What can I say, I'm fruity." Just a little, honey.
The two of you sat at the bar for a moment, taking it in. There were some fine looking women up in here. So many sexy piercings. You could see him fidgeting next to you out of the corner of your eye. He wanted to dance. You needed at least two more drinks before you could dance. A remix of an MXPX song started to play and suddenly you were on the dance floor. Mesmerized by Ace. As was everyone else on the dance floor. Never before had you seen any man--nay, any human, who could move like that. It wasn't the most sensual, graceful movement imaginable, but there was something intriguing about the way he moved his whole body, running his fingers through that sexy mess of hair, the way he seemed to be making love to the music.
You wanted him. So badly. Right there. On the dance floor. He ripped open his shirt, buttons flying off into the crowd he had gathered. You started running your lip ring against your teeth, licking it occasionally. So. Hot. You'd join him, but you'd look like a fool next to the Lord of the Dance. Also, he might hurt you. That sexy flailing could get dangerous if you got to close. The song was nearing an end and you prayed for it to go on forever. You could watch him forever. On the last beat of the song, he spread his legs and fell into a perfect split. The crowd erupted in cheers and you fought to hold back a giant dorky grin. You held out a hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Jersey's best dancer!" he shouted, and his audience cheered again. He found his way back to his barstool and took a big gulp of his drink. He was still a little out of breath. And he had the cutest little blush in his cheeks. Once he'd calmed down a bit, he looked over at you. "What did you think?"
Words had left you. Even hand gestures. You couldn't give him a thumbs-up or a high-five now if you wanted to. You could only stare at him, mouth agape. His soft hands grabbed the sides of your face and he pulled your lips to his. Slow damn reflexes that you have, it didn't occur to you what was happening until it was over. He was sipping his dacquiri, watching the dance floor as you continued to sit there stunned. That was so random. Yet so perfect. You wanted another kiss. A slightly trembling hand reached for your beer. You had finished it before he turned back to face you again. "You have to dance next."
You swallowed. "Me? I can't dance." Besides, you'd much rather watch him. Watch those hips and that ass... Dirty. Naughty.
"Anyone can dance. You just have to let yourself go. Don't worry about what other people think about you. Just...feel." He grabbed the hand that wasn't wrapped around a beer can. "Can you do that?" God damn, he looked so sincere. Like he really wanted you to do this. Anything for him. You nodded.
The next upbeat song they played, you were out on that dance floor, doing your thing. And it definitely was your thing, there was no way anyone could duplicate it, not even Art Enders. That still made you laugh. His real name was Arthur. You suddenly wished you had a pole to use during your little routine. Pull some sexy stripper moves. You knew those types of moves quite well. You and the band had visited many a strip club. The song ended; you were sweaty and in need of a drink. "Well?" you asked, plopping down next to Ace, who hadn't moved during your fine choreography.
"You've got potential, kid." He squeezed your knee. Tight leather pants made it a quite hard to hide that rather obvious bulge forming. You turned around on the stool and tried to hide it under the shadow of the bar. For some odd reason, you thought you knew he was doing this to you on purpose. Fucking tease.

Part 6
It was well past midnight, and you were really drunk. Like, really drunk. That reserve you had felt earlier about saying anything or doing anything to Ace? Gone. You couldn't keep your fumbling, callused hands off him. Or your lips. You felt bad because you knew your breath reeked of beer. But Ace didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. Or at least he was pretending. Whatever. You liked it.
"You ready to go?" he asked. You opened your eyes--when had you closed them?--and struggled to focus on his face.
"You are so fucking beautiful, Ace. You're like a little emo angel." Did you seriously just say that? Maybe you thought it. He smiled. What a gorgeous smile. You leaned over to kiss him...and promptly fell off your barstool. "Ow." The floor hurt. He pulled you to your feet and hooked your arm around his shoulders, leading you out the door. He propped you against the light pole in front of the club and told you to stay put, he was going to get the car. He started to walk away. "Wait." He came back to you. You kissed him...very sloppily. He laughed at you and wiped your drool off him.
The next thing you knew, you were next to him in the front seat. Dude, blacking out like this wasn't cool. You hadn't gotten this drunk in a long time. "Just go to sleep, Adam. I'll wake you up when we get home." You were about to argue with him and tell him that he didn't know where you live. That was when you realized he was taking you back to his place. You licked your lips. Your mouth was dry already. Not good.
The next time you woke up it was pitch black. Oh God, you've gone blind. Alcohol poisoning that settled right in your eyes. Then, a faint light coming in through the window. You didn't have a window on that wall. Oh, right. You rolled onto your side. And you were face to face with the boy. You held your breath, you didn't want to wake him up. So, so carefully you brought your hand out from under the covers and traced his lips with your finger. He could've made you sleep on the couch. He could've slept on the couch. You were together in his bed. And you were wearing nothing but your boxers. He had undressed you. And he was naked as far as you could see. He sighed in his sleep and you felt an insane desire to wrap your arms around him and hold him close.
So you did.
You held Ace close to you, his warm skin on yours. His hair smelled so good. His skin was so smooth. His soft breath was against your chest. This was so perfect. So why did you still think it was wrong? He had been flirting with you all night...and vice versa. The kissing, the touching, those looks he had been giving you. This had to be right. You pulled him closer. He moaned softly in his sleep. Oh, shit. Don't get hard now. Don't. Too late.
Ace's eyes fluttered open. He made no move to pull away from you, and he didn't seem surprised at all by the position he was now in. "Glad to see you're alive. I thought you died. I would've really freaked out if there was a corpse in my bed when I woke up. It was hard as hell dragging you in here." He shifted his hips toward you. "Speaking of hard things..."
You blushed. You could feel your face getting hot against the pillow. "I'm sorry," you muttered, suddenly really uncomfortable. He placed a hand on the small of your back and pulled you closer. He tilted his head up so that he was looking right at you in the dim light. He asked what you were apologizing for. "I don't know." Kiss him, Adam. You know you want to. His lips are already right against yours. Tentatively, you press your lips against his. He kisses you back. Cue the heavenly choir now. Or maybe some porno music.
"Adam, what do you want?" Oh, God, that sexy whisper he was talking in just made you more aroused. Your heart was starting to beat faster. He waited for you to answer. You opened your mouth and tried to say something, but your tongue was so dry. He kissed you deeply, his moist tongue pushing against yours, moving all around your mouth. He asked again. What were you, mute? Answer him! "Do you want me?" Ace asked, in a whisper so quiet you could barely hear him above your pounding heart.
You felt something inside you that you hadn't felt in a long time. A weird, tingling sensation that started in your chest and spread outward, consuming your whole body. You didn't just want him. You loved him. You barely knew him but you were in-fucking-love with him. You wanted to tell him but you didn't want to scare him. Worst case scenario--he didn't love you. But how could you expect him to love you? He was such a tease, he probably never fell in love. "Ace..." you squeaked out. Then the world was gone again.
When you opened your eyes again, the room was much brighter. You immediately shut your eyes again, throwing an arm across them. "Hey, there, sleepy head, it was about time you woke up. It's almost two o'clock, you know." He sounded so damn perky. "Of course, I only got up about two hours ago. Somebody woke me up in the middle of the night, and that just fucks up my sleep cycle." So it hadn't been a wonderful dream. You bit your lip. "So are you gonna get up today, or should I just try to make the bed with you in it?" He kept talking. From across the room. You wanted to open your eyes and see his perfect face but it hurt so much. You felt him jump on the bed. "Adam. Look at me." Someone was desperate for attention. You peeked out from under your forearm. He was still shirtless. You peeked a bit lower. He was without underwear as well. Oh, wow.
"Ace." Apparently, that's all you can say now. He's some kind of magical fairy that cast a spell on you that allows you only to say his name. Oh, no, what if he's made you his slave. That wouldn't be so bad. He pulled back the sheets and pulled down your boxers. And you were paralyzed.

Part 7
Ace's. Tongue. Was. Really. Hot. And. Wet. And. Nice. Your left hand was grabbing onto the edge of the mattress as tight as you could possibly squeeze. Your right hand was tangled in his curly hair, tugging but not pulling, guiding his head up and down. He clearly knew what he was doing, but your hand on the back of his head was more of an unconscious thing. He wiggled his tongue against the tip of your cock. You moaned. Loudly. He looked up at you. "Yeah?" he asked, doing it again.
"Yeah," you gasp. The room is suddenly stiflingly hot. Ace's soft fingers trace up the insides of your thigh and start to gently squeeze your balls. You want to cum right then. But he pulls his mouth away from you and you groan in frustration. You whimper. You're begging him to keep doing what he was doing without saying a word.
"Patience, Grasshopper." That grin on his face was so goddamn sexy. He jumped off the bed and ran out the door. Where was he going? You wanted him now. Patience was not one of your virtues. He came prancing back in through the door with a pink bottle in his hands. He jumped on top of you, straddling your thighs. The bottle landed on your stomach. And it was fucking cold. He pumped the head of it and lathered his hands with lotion.
"What are you doing?" you asked nervously. Evil grin on his lips. He brought his hands toward your erect...erection, and slowly slid them down it. You opened your mouth wide, to gasp, to scream, to something, but nothing came out. It felt so, so good. But so cold. He started to move a hand up and down you, spreading out that chilly feeling. You bit your lip, your piercing pushing hard against your lower lip.
"How does that feel?" Ace asked softly, not quite whispering. He squeezed a little harder this time as he dragged his hand up and down your length.
"So. Fucking. Good." Your ability to form sentences was faltering. You threw your head back and adjusted your grip. He put more lotion in his hand and rubbed it on you. You shivered. He laughed. You could feel him shifting on the mattress but you couldn't open your eyes to see what he was doing. The tip of your cock was suddenly pushing against something. Something tight. Oh, God.
"Hey, Adam?" Mustering all the strength you could, you lifted your head and looked at him. "I want you inside me." And then he lowered himself onto you, slowly, getting used to your size. You weren't huge, but you were definitely above average. He was so damn warm. So hot. Such an amazing contrast to the cold lotion. Don't...cum...yet...
You tried not to think about Ace, or how great it felt to be inside his tight, hot body, or that face he made when you began to raise up your hips off the bed to push harder. You tried to ignore his moaning and the way he was dragging his short fingernails down your chest. "Oh...God. Ace..." You bit your lip a little harder. Pretty soon you'd draw blood. You'd just begun but you wanted to get off so badly...
"Do it," he whispered, tightening himself around your cock. You thrust hard again, once more, before feeling that sweet release. You pumped every drop you could out of yourself, leaving all of it inside the gorgeous boy on top of you. He finished himself off with a hand still covered in lotion, spurting all over your sweaty chest. He then pulled you out of him and lay down beside you, gently rubbing the liquid on your chest into your skin. "You know, this is supposed to be really good for your skin."
"It just feels sticky right now. Messy boy."
"I can make a mess like nobody's business." He rested his hand on your thigh, sighing deeply. You thought at that exact moment that this was the love you'd been waiting for your whole life. For the first time in God knows how long you were truly happy. Should you tell him? Could you?
"Ace?" you asked. He mumbled something. "I...I..." Why was this so hard? "I think I love you." And suddenly the room was deathly quiet. Great, you've scared the shit out of him. You're surprised he hasn't already screamed at you, telling you to get the fuck out of his house.
Instead, he stood up and pulled on a pair of dark green boxers. "I have to make a phone call." What?

Part 8
"He said he loves me."
"Good. You've done a good job. Now break his heart."
"I hate this."
"Ace, you're the one who offered to do it. You'll get the rest of your money tomorrow." They hung up and Ace headed back toward the bedroom. You had fallen back asleep and had heard none of this conversation. Ace crawled under the covers next to you and sighed deeply. You dreamt that the two of you had gotten married and were somewhere far, far away from Southern California. Maybe it was New Jersey. It looked Jersey-ish. You slept until the sun went down around 7:30. When you awoke, your cute little boy was nowhere to be found. You got up and searched the whole apartment--naked--and no sign of him at all. Not even a note. You pouted. You never pout.
After some more pointless pacing, you decided to take a shower. He probably had gone out to get something really quick and expected to be back before you woke up. You'd been sleeping a lot today. It was definitely a possibility. The hot water felt so nice on your skin. And that excruciating headache was all gone. You wasted a lot of hot water. Oops. As you were drying yourself off, you heard Ace slam the door as he came into his home. Grinning to yourself you wrapped the small towel tightly around your waist and waltzed out of the steam-filled bathroom. You'd forgotten to turn on any lights. Stupid.
Walking into the living room, you were surprised to see Ace's feet dangling over the edge of the couch. He hadn't even tried to see if you were awake or not. You walked toward him slowly, more than slightly confused. "Ace?" you asked softly, that tiny little bit of...some feeling in the back of your head growing more intense with every heartbeat. You heard him gasp and watched his left foot twitch slightly. Peeking over the back of the couch you saw that your little emo angel was. On top of. Someone. That wasn't you. You blinked a few times, not believing your eyes.
"Oh, hi, Adam. I didn't know you were still here." He sounded nervous. He knew you were still here. How could you have gone home? He was doing this on purpose. Why the fuck did you have to fall in love with him? You never fell in love after...after her, and once again you were reminded why. And the little asshole was wearing the shirt he supposedly gave you. You suddenly felt really stupid standing there, dripping, wearing nothing but the baby blue towel. You could see that the person beneath the boy who had just crushed your heart was getting bored. Fine. You were leaving anyway.
You walked into the bedroom and began to pull on your clothes. You were having some trouble with those stupid leather pants he had forced you to buy. Maybe you couldn't get your legs through them because you couldn't feel them. You didn't think it was possible to be this numb. He appeared in the doorway and asked what was wrong. "You don't care at all, do you?" He didn't say anything, confirming your suspicion. "I'm leaving. I don't want to talk to you. I told you how I felt and I guess it meant nothing. So goodbye."
"Adam...I'm sorry if I led you on. I just wanted to have fun." You bit your lip as you searched the floor for your Chucks. "They're by the front door," Ace said, not moving from the doorway. You brushed right past him, sad that the opening was so small and you were forced to touch him, even in that little way. "Adam," he whined, watching you pull on your sneakers. What, now he was sorry and wanted you? Too damn late for that, Arthur. "I'm sorry."
"I am too." And then you were out the door. You didn't slam it behind you. You weren't mad. Well, you were, but you were also just sad. Heart was broken. You started walking, your hands in your pockets. You walked for hours, never looking up to see where you were going. Eventually you wound up at your house. Well, your parents' house. Awesome. You were pushing thirty years old and still living with Mommy and Daddy. You are such a fucking loser. They didn't say anything to you as you stumbled through the front door and up the stairs to your bedroom. They knew better than to ask what was wrong because they knew you wouldn't tell them. You sat on the edge of your bed and just stared at the wall for a while. Sleep was an impossible idea.
You grabbed the notebook off the stand next to your bed and stared down at the blank page in front of you. You wanted to write a song. One about Ace. Just thinking his name made you shiver. To everyone else this would seem to be just another "that stupid girl broke my heart" kind of song, but he would know it was really for him when he heard it. If he heard it. The words filled the page before your eyes and you weren't quite sure where they were coming from. For three months now, you'd been unable to write anything. Ace was the back-stabbing muse you needed, apparently. The title of this little ditty? Obvious enough. You scribbled it across the top of the page. "I'll Never Fall in Love."
You managed to finish three more angsty emo songs that night before collapsing onto your pillow. You fell asleep just as the sun was rising. And thank God you didn't dream at all during that time, because you knew you would've dreamed about him. He’d wormed his way into your brain and it would be a long, long time before you could say you really didn’t care about him anymore. You woke up only a few hours later to a loud pounding on your door. “What the fuck do you want?” you screamed, instantly regretting doing that. Pent up? Just a little bit.
The door opened slowly and in walked that familiar Asian face. “Someone’s in a bitchy mood.” If only he knew why. You continued to lay face down on the pillow, hoping maybe you’d suffocate. “You wanna go surfing today?” Johnne asked, sitting down on the edge of your bed by your feet. You mumbled no against the cotton. Neither of you said anything for a long while. “Written anything lately?” he asked finally. You gestured toward the notebook. He walked over and picked it up. He flipped through the few songs you had already finished. Already, the lyrics to a dozen more were in your head. “Dude, it sounds like someone ripped your heart out,” Johnne commented, reading every word. Stupid Ace, making himself so evident in your songs. “Mind if I look these over?” You mumbled another no, thankful when he left you alone. You just wanted to retreat back to the world of sleep, a place blissfully ignorant of the one known as Arthur Enders. You were granted your wish in less than a minute.

Epilogue

Johnne handed you a check worth fifteen hundred dollars. He held Adam’s notebook in the other hand. “You see this stuff he’s writing? It’s fucking amazing. You are worth every damn cent, Ace.” You folded his check in half and put it in your pocket. You had never felt this remorseful after breaking someone’s heart before. Maybe it’s because you had really loved Adam. You tried to tell yourself that wasn’t possible, that you never fell in love, but that look in his eyes when he had seen you on top of whatever the hell his name was felt like a knife through the heart. “Listen, I was talking to a couple of the guys from Something Corporate and they said if you produced results, they’d pay you twice as much to get Andrew writing again.” You shook your head no immediately. “I thought you needed the money.”
“I need to feel good again, Johnne. I need to lose this guilt.”
“Maybe you should find a new line of work. You’re underestimating how corrupt the music industry is.”
“Even Drive-Thru?”
“Especially Drive-Thru.”
You really did need this money. Not just for yourself, but for your family. Poverty did not paint a pretty picture. “Okay, I’ll do it. But this is the last time.” That’s what you’d said about Adam too. You were just something that produced results.