Craig Tucker - Christophe (Ze Mole)
After everyone had left, the house had been muted. A small mess left behind from the guests that Craig carefully tiptoed around. He decided the tiredness that washed over his body was too strong to do anything about it so late at night, a small buzz in his mind from the consumption of alcohol. He shook it off to prevent dizziness and exhaled deeply, taking in a whiff of overly sweet smells. He nearly gagged, usually feeling nauseous after drinking as much as he did that night. Any scent would put him off at this point, so he decided to clear his palette with a clean glass of water. Of course, he only knew the trick after being enforced multiple times by his boyfriend.
It seemed lately that it didn’t take much for his thoughts to find their way back to the sweet talker, running a hand roughly through his hair, an attempt to push it all away. He swigged back the water quickly, setting the liquid beside the sink with a forceful ring. It showed alcohol was never good to him. His high always lasted very little time and the toxins crashed into his system hard during the later hours. He became weak, ill and hard to control. Another pang in his abdomen had him leaning over the sink, bangs sticking to his forehead uncomfortably from the condensation. He cursed himself for giving into his boredom, mentally noting to ban alcohol from future gatherings.
He wretched, body trembling from the unnatural pain, stomach rejecting the poisoned contents. His knuckles were white clutching the counter, other hand holding his stomach protectively as to sooth the throbbing. Finishing with watering eyes and a runny nose, he felt self-degraded. Weakly, the blue boy turned the tap on, wishing the liquid to flush away everything else. Wetting his hands, he placed them on his flushed cheeks, letting them icily slide lightly over the warm skin. Soon after he finished easing his aches, Craig pulled himself together enough to make it to the bedroom. His stomach, twinging lightly gave him a large enough time frame to compose himself properly. There wasn’t anything left to throw up even if his stomach continued to protest, so he considered being safe to sleep for the time being.
Now in front of the long mirror, he pouted. He never knew what drove him to dress up, figuring it was to feel more presentable in front of others. At the same time though, he didn’t think he could care any less what his friends thought of his carefully put together wardrobe. In the end, it was just done to lessen his unceasing boredom, letting his creativity flow more freely through a more original outlet. Woefully, it came with its let downs. Belts dug into his hips, pants always uncomfortably tight…
It was a relief to toss them without having worries over anyone else being around to judge his nonchalant actions. He inspected himself in the mirror, of course around his waist showed numb red marks from the constricting material. He sighed and rubbed his sore thighs tenderly before pulling the waistline of his trunks back up, padding over to the dresser, purposely sorting through his lover’s shirts and not his own. In his opinion, the other’s shirts always made for better sleepwear. He didn’t do it as often when he was home, but when Christophe left -usually abruptly- on long missions… It was the only thing he had left for comfort. He pulled out an unfolded, plain black T- shirt, much larger than what he usually owned. Reasoning behind this oversized shirt being superior was that he could practically drown in it, the cotton, and the familiar smell. Something as simple as this went a long way for his fluctuating emotions, hugging it close for a long deep breath, eyes fluttering before draping it over his thin frame.
He never took into consideration that the bed, pillows and blankets themselves held onto the other’s aura as well, giving himself an excuse to wear dirt boy’s more comfortable clothing with just his underwear to pair. Of course, he had to go through his nightly routine beforehand of using the washroom, brushing his teeth, washing his face more thoroughly. Not that any of it helped his still present dizziness; it was only common sense to do such things, in his opinion anyways. He didn’t take the time to think and turn the lights on; he made his way carefully through the dark room, shirt wafting smoothly around his hips before he crawled gratefully into bed.
He got under the blankets and stretched out, groaning softly after taking a deep breath, relieving his sore muscles. He remembered when he used to sleep at home, it was simply sparse. Usually stayed up all night, bring kept awake by muddled thoughts. Just simple topics that came to mind were kept under lock and key, and made his head swim; but, he found he opened up more since meeting Christophe. Ironically, putting two together who kept to themselves, seemed to have opened up their doors.
His eyes burned subtly, but he stubbornly kept them open to take in his surroundings before sleeping. Trinkets and relics were strewn amongst things as mundane as clothing articles or health products. It was getting to another point of messiness since both were now residing in the same space, and he sighed lightly, leaving a reminder to pick it up come morning before their big day. Listening to his senses, he closes his eyes with a wince, a small bout of nausea coming back to simply torture him. He nestled into the blankets to distract himself, knowing only he could have this comforting intimacy in the other’s house. He was warm and safe, breathing rhythmically into the sheets, lulling himself into a sleepy trance; all small reminders of his exclusive access to such luxuries and scents. Each breath he took was enlaced with the earthy smell, comforting, coaxing him into his intricate dreams. It took little time with this feeling of security, for him to fall into his well needed rest, tangled in the soothing sleepwear and layers of silken amenities. The last few conscious thoughts contained memories of familiarity and gentle affections, leading him off to his well awaited dreamscapes.