it's probably a product of sam's personality, the way he doesn't react or even squirm when knox places his hands on him. if their roles were reversed, knox would certainly have a lot more to say - most of it gripes and complaints. but without that, he's able to work more confidently and ensure he covers the burns by his neckline in their entirety. 

he's in the zone now and when he goes to reach back for a bit more of the cream, he makes a bit of a startled noise, reflexively pulling just a bit when sam grabs him. but then he relaxes and he leans on his side so sam doesn't have to twist so much to look at him. 

the one great positive. he's heard himself described a million different ways, most of them drunken, lust-filled slurs of shutter-flash love. about his hair and his laugh and the music he likes and all the little things he puts out there as him - the boy wish a show for all the world to see.

"fully immersed, huh?" he swallows and he thinks fuck it and he raises his hand to cup sam's cheek, but then he realizes said hand is slathered in that burn cream and he recovers, heartbeat quickened, a bit short of breath but he's trying not to let it show. 

"i know i'm irresistible, but i won't be able to finish if you don't stop squirming," he jokes. 

samuel carter

☉

there is supposed to be a back and forth. knox makes a move and his opponent does too - a game of chess, of cat and mouse, of fooling around until the actual fooling around. skirting around the banal and the intimacy, the real stuff, because that's not what neither of them want. and he wants that ease, that comfort in routine, but sam, of course, won't give it to him.

instead, he's brutally honest. and he just keeps talking and talking and knox listens while his heart goes ba-boom-ba-boom-baboombaboombaboom and he smiles dumbly at sam's back because who the fuck is this real? this raw? this honest?

but then that word hits him like a wrecking ball: addicted. he's had it thrown at him a million and one different ways and it's like a slap to the face, a cold wash of reality. the burn cream on his hands feels like fire as guilt washes through him, as he stands back in that moment of indecisiveness, of teetering on the edge of stealing something so precious to the very boy who won't stop talking about him. 

about how knox is addicting and it's terrifying and exciting, but terrifying - you're terrifying, knox. that's why summer gave you the money. that's why eden won't talk to you. because you'll suck them in and drown them with you.

"beat around the bush enough and it won't feel that way anymore," he says, smile thin but wide, but wicked, his way of straining his hurt. that's right. push him away, you fucking asshole. you wanted real - well, you got it. and look what you've done. look what you've done to him. 

his arms itch and he has to leave. so he wipes his hands on his own shirt and he springs from the bed, rocking on his heels, moving like life's just carrying him to the next ride. be bigger, be louder, be brighter (don't let him see don't let him see). 

"all good things must come to an end, unfortunately," he says fondly, but his words don't reach his eyes. and he hates this turmoil inside of him, but he can't sort it here, not with him, not when being around sam makes sam feel like . . . his arms itch, his arms itch, and his throat hurts, and the world is too real. 

he thinks of kissing his forehead, but he stands back, and he fidgets with the hem of his shirt, and he says, "get some sleep. i'll text you the date for the party."

samuel carter

☉

he doesn't get chased. he gets cast aside with his tantrums, belittled as he seeks help the only way he knows how. he is ridiculed and used as a punching bag for frustration. or he is ignored with a cruelty unmatched by anything else. 

so he does not understand why sam stands, why he demands answers, and why knox instinctively shrinks away. a dozen excuses pop into his head, but that guilt is eating him whole, and he's not strong enough to say it's me. 

because that would be admitting that the word bothers him and there must be a why behind that, and that wall is concrete and steel, impassible. 

"yes. maybe. i - please come. i want you to come." and then he slips out the door, shutting it behind him, willing sam stay inside and give him space. 

samuel carter

☉