Title: Clumsy (remix)
by:ChrissyMINE
AN: So like we all know Boyd and Stevie 4 Eva and hearts and beanie babies and all that shit. BUT.. what if in the Beautiful Child universe there was SOMEONE ELSE who was watching the whole thing play out and was like, "Wait a minute... what about me?!"--
Boyd grasps onto me, unsure. He moves his hand down my shaft, just an inch, and I can feel his hand shake. Small little tremors, and he exhales a shaky breath. He takes a deeper breath and grips me tighter--a kind of false confidence, and if I could, I’d reassure him. If I could, but I can’t. I can’t tell him that everything will be okay, that other men have stood where he stands now, just as nervous, but they’re okay now: they’re normal; they’re successes. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. He lacks the very experience he so desperately needs, that he so desperately fears.
He stops, and I can tell he’s afraid of making a mistake. If I was the impatient kind of person, I’d push into his hand. I’d force him to face his fears head on.
But I’m not. I wait with him until he’s ready.
He moves, and I nearly shiver as I’m slicked up. Cold and wet, and then I’m sliding, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. Above me, I can feel his every move. A slight lean to the left, and I imagine his muscles stretching and moving; he’s beautiful. He’s breathing harder, and then suddenly he stops.
I’m slightly confused, from the thrill of it all, and didn’t we just get started? And then I realize he’s stopped breathing as well. Is he scared? I want to tell him he was doing just fine, but then he lifts me up, and I realize he was just pausing and taking a break. Enjoying the view and taking in this entire experience. I’ve done this before, of course, but… never with him. Never here. I want to drink it all in, and burn it into my memory.
I wait for him to move again, but he doesn’t. His eyes widen instead, and he looks over me. I don’t have to turn to look. I know what’s behind me.
I know who.
I should have known. He holds me like a foreign object in his hands, and isn’t that what I am? Just a thing to pass the time until /he/ came along? He’s never looked at me the way he looks at him. Oh, maybe he did, once. When he was younger. But never with the same intensity. Never with the same amount of love.
I’m a hypocrite though. Because I’d love to have Stevie’s hands all over me too. It’ll never happen though. The planets would have to be all lined up, and every stick in the Joe would have to be broken, and a black cat would have to start screeching a country tune. I’m not bitter though.
Not very.
Boyd grips the boards and nearly falls down. I nearly stifle a laugh. I don’t laugh though so I know, at least, I won’t be adding to his embarrassment. I wish I could tell him everything will be all right, that he should have more confidence in himself, that Detroit is nothing like Edmonton… At the very least that he shouldn’t make his staring so obvious.
But I can’t. He’s scared enough of Stevie; I can’t imagine how he’d react to a talking hockey stick.
end