Katrina tangled her hands in Ethan's hair, pushing her body down into his. He tried so desperately to enjoy it, willing his body to react the way it should've been.

   But there was really no denying it. Ethan was into it, but the whole ordeal just lacked. There weren't any tingles or shocks or thrills. The only thing he felt was her crotch against his and the uncomfortable throbbing of his dick.

   After kissing Vincent, Ethan had gotten a taste of heaven, and now, he was greedy for so much more. He wanted to drown in the feeling, have it consume him.

   Naturally, Ethan wouldn't admit that to anyone. Not even himself.

   Especially not himself.

   He blocked out all his thoughts, all the memories of Vincent's lips on his skin, and instead focused on the heat collecting in his core.

   Then his ringtone blared through the room.

   Desperate for any excuse to relieve himself, he pushed the too-eager girl away. Ignoring her whines of protest, he forced her off his lap and picked up the phone, not bothering to check caller ID.

   "Hello?" he replied, voice groggy and husky.

   "Hi, Ethan," Vincent's sweet voice rang in his ear, almost startling him. "I'm sorry; were you asleep?"

   Ethan couldn't bite back the smile. "Don't worry about it. I was just lying down."

   Katrina scoffed from beside him. "Ethan! Come on!"

   Vincent cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Is this bad timing?"

   On the contrary. "No, not at all."

   "Anyways, I just wanted to see if we could work on the project. But if you're occupied—"

   "Nonsense. I'll be over in ten," he promised, dismissing Katrina's glare.

   "Ethan," Vincent called out, almost hesitantly. "Is it okay if...Can I come over instead?"

   The boy furrowed his brows, confused as to why. Nevertheless, he agreed. Albeit a little reluctantly, for he knew getting Katrina to leave was going to be a pain in the ass.

   "Babe! Are you serious?" she whined, pouting like a child.

   "Sorry, Kat. It's for school. You're gonna have to leave," he said.

   "But babe," she leaned over, hovering over his ear. "Don't you wanna continue what we started?" she purred, in a way that was meant to be seductive.

   Ethan allowed himself to gaze at her cleavage for a second, but then, the image of two bright, blue eyes popped up in his head, and he found himself looking away.

   "Out, Katrina," he gestured to the door. "I'll call you later."

   Katrina frowned. "Asshole," she muttered, storming out of the room.

   Ethan shrugged, only feeling a tad bit upset that she'd left like that. As soon as he heard the front door shut, he bolted out of bed and began cleaning his room like crazy.

   It was strange, really. Katrina had been in his room mere minutes ago, and he hadn't felt the need to tidy up. He didn't dwell on it for long, though, because, soon enough, he could make out Vincent's soft greeting from downstairs.

   The other boy trod up the stairs after speaking with Stephanie, taking the steps each at a time as he attempted to stall the inevitable. Truth be told, he was nervous.

   Why? He couldn't really tell. It was not like he'd never been around Ethan before, but for some reason, it was different now. He couldn't deny the air around them had been tense ever since that kiss.

   And, apart from the time Ethan came over to apologize, this was the first time they'd be meeting outside of school.

   Because of that, Vincent had panicked on the phone and impulsively told Ethan he wanted to come over instead of the other way around. Vincent didn't really understand why he'd done that.

   Then again, it was maybe because Vincent didn't trust himself around Ethan anymore. It was guaranteed that the sight of Ethan on his bed would make him lose control and pounce on the boy who would undoubtedly freak out again.

   Ethan's house was better. In the sense that, it offered more constraints which, in turn, encouraged Vincent to hang onto that last thread of self control.

   Contrary to Vincent's, Ethan's house was almost never vacant, one or both of the boy's parents always being around. It also helped a great deal that they'd never made out of Ethan's bed, meaning Vincent wouldn't get war flashbacks every time he glanced at it.

   After what felt like eternity for Ethan but nanoseconds for the other boy, Vincent appeared at the door step, sporting ruffled hair and an awkward smile.

   Ethan didn't hold back his excitement, engulfing Vincent in one of his bro hugs.

   "Good to see you, man," he grinned.

   Vincent stole the opportunity to take him in. He was wearing a tight-fitted, black tank top that clung to his abs and left little for the imagination. His strong, muscular thighs were hidden by a pair of grey sweatpants that snugly hugged his round, perky ass. Vincent found himself growing hot at the sight, nearly drooling at Ethan's untamed, messy hair.

   That was, however, until Vincent spotted the large purple bruise at the side of his throat, right next to his Adam's apple.

   Not caring if he was being indiscreet, Vincent nodded his head towards Ethan's neck. "Nice hickey you got there."

   Ethan paled, hand immediately shooting up to cover the mark he vaguely remembered Katrina leaving. For some reason, he felt almost guilty—as if he'd been caught cheating.

   Vincent didn't exactly look angry, just peeved. Ethan chuckled nervously. "Oh, this old thing? I—I must've hit my neck, or something."

   Vincent laughed, rolling his eyes. "If I'd known one of your toys was here, I wouldn't have bothered showing up."

   That, of course, was a lie.

   Vincent had heard Katrina when he was on the phone with Ethan, and it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction that Ethan bailed on her for him.

   Conversation was dropped after that. The two boys worked in eerie silence. Ethan had infinite questions about the project—he wasn't exactly the brightest—but kept them to himself.

   The last thing he wanted was to lose control and pounce on Vincent like he'd done before. So, as confused as he was, Ethan bit his tongue, and tried his hardest to maneuver his way around words that looked like they were made up by some hippie on heroine.

   Eye contact was a strict no-no. Especially for Ethan, who was finding he had a major weakness for the boy's deep blues. Never had he fancied a color so much. One look into them could possibly make him lose it, and he wasn't about to take that risk.

   "Ethan, you alright?" Vincent called out, abruptly snapping him from his thoughts. Ethan jumped at the sudden noise.

   "Hm?" came his confused, adorable response. Vincent bit his lip to hold back a smile, but that proved to be a terrible idea, for it snapped Ethan's attention to the boy's mouth.

   Ethan's gaze zeroed in on Vincent's pink, plump lips, and he couldn't help the way his imagination roared with lewd thoughts.

   He pictured them bruised and wet and swollen, after kissing him senseless, pictured the soft pink flesh wrapped around his—

   "You've been staring at the screen for the past 10 minutes. You okay?"

   Ethan was far  from okay. How could he have been, when he was thinking such dirty thoughts? About a boy?

   He cleared his throat and choked out a strained laugh. "I'm good. Just—thinking."

   Vincent smirked knowingly. He wasn't blind to the dreamy—hungry—look all over Ethan's face. He tried to ignore the constricting of his chest; Ethan had obviously been thinking about the girl who was over before he showed up. The girl that'd left her mark on Ethan's neck.

      The girl that would always be better than Vincent.