February 9th T-5 Days
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else came here.” Chay looks up from his phone to the door of the music room where a boy is peeking his head in. Kim, Chay thinks his name is. They sat together on the first day of classes, and Kim asked to borrow a pen.
“No worries, you can come in, if you want. It’s just me.”
Kim hesitates for a second before grinning. “Thanks. You’re Chay, right? We have calculus together.”
Chay groans. “Please don’t remind me of that torture disguised as education.”
Kim laughs, sitting next to him and pulling a lunch box out of his bag. “So I’m not the only one who thinks that?”
“Nope,” Chay confirms. “And I bet you’re also thinking about how it’s taught by an old geezer with a stick up his ass, which I have to agree with.”
Kim almost chokes on his food, looking at Chay with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “I’m not sure I would’ve put it that way, but you’re not wrong.”
Chay laughs. “Do you come here a lot, by the way? I come here almost every day, but we’ve never crossed paths.”
Kim nods, swallowing a bite of food before speaking. “I do too, but I usually have student council meetings during this block.”
"Student council?"
"I'm the president."
Chay whistles, impressed. He probably should've known that, but he doesn't care much about class events.
"Cool," he says, then tilts his head. “Do you play?” he asks, gesturing at the decorative little guitar pick dangling from Kim’s necklace.
“Yeah, I do, actually. You too?” Chay nods.
“Do you have one of your own?” Chay asks, and he sees Kim’s eyes light up.
“I do. I don’t mean to brag, but,” he says, leaning in as he pulls out his phone to show Chay a picture.
After that, the flood gates open. They talk for hours. Not hours. They talk for the whole lunch break, but it feels like hours. Chay’s never had a better first impression of someone. Whenever he meets new people, even when he first met Ohm, he tends to be very polite, smiling kindly and being slightly reserved. But today? He feels like he can’t stop talking, and Kim returns his enthusiasm in kind. It’s like they’ve been good friends for years, rather than strangers until thirty minutes ago. He's surprised how nice it is to hang out with Kim, but maybe that's his own biases about The Popular Kids creeping in.
Their interests seem perfectly aligned, and they don’t run out of things to talk about the whole time. Chay wants to invite Kim over so he can show him the guitar Porsche got him for Christmas, and they can play together. It’s very weird, since Chay’s never wanted to bring anyone over, let alone someone he just met. It’s not even that he thinks Kim would decline, Kim seems just as thrilled as he is to be sharing these kinds of conversations.
To be honest, he feels a little special to see a side of the boy he doesn’t show to just anyone. Well, at least, he’s never shown it to Chay before... He feels a little less special after that thought. This is probably how Kim is with all his friends, and since Chay’s never had a proper conversation with him before, it would make sense that he’s never seen it.
They talk all the way up until the bell rings, letting them know they have five minutes to get to their next class, which, conveniently, is one they share. Chay stands and cracks his back, stiff from how he was leaning back on his arms. Kim waits for him to grab his bag before they start walking together.
“Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Kim says, holding the door open for Chay. “Have anyone special you’re gonna buy chocolates for?”
Chay chuckles a little. “Not me. I’m too busy trying to graduate.”
Kim nods his head, looking forward as they walk through the halls.
Chay bites his cheek. It’s the first awkward silence since they started talking, and he doesn’t like it at all.
“What about you?” Chay asks to get the conversation flowing again.
Kim just shrugs.
Having no idea what to do with that, Chay keeps his mouth shut.
When they enter the classroom, Chay walks slowly, not sure if he’s supposed to sit in his usual seat or follow Kim. When Kim sits down and doesn’t acknowledge Chay, he takes it as a sign and almost starts to walk past Kim to his seat down the aisle, but he pauses, bites his lip, working up the nerve.
Finally, he turns back to Kim and holds out his phone.
“Can I get your number?” Chay says, which immediately sounds more forward than he was hoping for. But Kim just blinks at him, then chuckles and hands over his own phone. Chay quickly types his number in, and when he gets his phone back there’s a new contact: kim :)
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So I’ve been a follower for a while. And I know you have a love for scenes with non sexual intimacy. And have asked readers what they would like to see in your works in these scenes. My question for you…what are your favorite non sexual intimacy scenes to read and write about.
what a lovely question🥹
both reading different books in the same room. or even one person watching tv and the other reading a book. but both happy to just be in the same space together, quietly
person a coming home from a long/hard day of work and just collapsing onto person b, cuddling them
person a silently giving person b a glass of water because person a knows person b does not drink enough of it
falling asleep on someone
knowing someone's coffee order
listening. like really listening
head on a shoulder
unable to stop a fit of laughter together
brushing a piece of their hair away from their face
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58 and 67 ???
It was definitely 58 and 67, thank you I just can't remember who asked! It wasn't an anon. It might have been gallavichprompts but I just don't remember haha
For @gallavichprompts Gallavich Au mashup post
58. Clothes Sharing + 67. Casual Intimacy/Physical Comfort
Mickey was not having a good day.
Ian could tell. He always got like this when Yev had to go back to his Mom's place. He knew shared custody was the best arrangement for their fucked up little family unit, but it didn't make it hurt any less when Svet came to take his Yevy away.
'Yevsmas' was Ian's idea. Since Svet got Yev for Gregorian Christmas, New Year's, and Orthodox Christmas, they made their week with Yevgeny all about him. Presents every day, banana pancakes with chocolate chips for breakfast, his favorite snacks, movie marathons with Papa and Daddy Ian. It wasn't long before Mickey was in the driver's seat though. No one looked forward to 'Yevsmas' more than Mickey.
And nobody was more upset than Mickey when it was over.
Ian was waiting for his husband in bed, doing his best to enjoy the book Mickey had gotten him. The deductive brilliance of Hercules Poirot just couldn't keep his attention as Mickey's pre-bed shower stretched on.
He worried at his lip, eyes flitting from the page to the bathroom door- was that? No, just a shampoo bottle falling and a faint swear.
Eventually, Ian heard the spray stop and he took the time he knew Mickey would need to dry off and put on pajamas to look as natural as possible, and not like he'd had his eyes glued to the bathroom for the last hour and a half.
The bathroom door opened with a practical hiss as steam flooded into their bedroom (Mickey liked it cold). Backlit by the lights, Mickey, eyes still just a little puffy and red, padded over to toss his good clothes in the hamper.
Ian watched rapt. Mickey's hair looked tousled and a little damp, but he looked so fucking pretty, rosy and soft and warm. Equal parts teddy bear and porcelain doll.
He was wearing Ian's clothes. He could tell at a glance just based on the fit; long sleeves of the henley bunched up to his elbows, and caressing every buttery soft curve of his body. The softest, creamiest part of Mickey's belly, his precious dimpled overhang was just barely peeking out under the hem of his borrowed shirt.
If Ian wasn't already vibrating with desire from that salacious view, he certainly was seeing Mickey bend over in his boxers. Jesus fuck were they snug. The red, buffalo plaid fabric hugged each plump, juicy cheek of Mickey's peach like it was manufactured for that sole purpose. It was like a pair of giftwrapped honey baked hams. And God, Mickey's thighs... Ian was salivating.
"Nice outfit," Ian said, voice low. His hands found their home on Mickey's hips, digging into his softness and tugging the sturdy man back firmly against him. "Looks familiar," he said, caressing the swell of Mickey's tummy, snaking a hand up his shirt to play with a pert little tit, and leaning down to nuzzle into the downy softness of the crook of his neck.
"Like I don't catch you in my shit all the time," Mickey shot back.
Ian didn't say anything. He just pulled Mickey back to the bed and sat down. Somehow, Mickey thought, Ian found a way to look tall and imperious even when he was sitting. Again he tugged Mickey impossibly closer, strong, freckled arms wrapping around him at the small of his back.
Ian leaned in, dragging his cheeks across-trying to bury his face in the soft worn cotton of his borrowed shirt and the warm, wobbling softness of Mickey's tits and belly. He nipped and teased at Mickey's body through the fabric, coaxing delicious whiny moans out of Mickey. "shit...fuck, Red! Don't stop..." he panted.
Ian didn't stop. He slowly shucked Mickey out of his clothes. He paid special, lazy, languid attention to Mickey's fat, little cock. Mickey slung his arms over Ian's shoulders, trying to keep his footing, going along with the attention.
Ian kept mouthing, nipping, kissing sucking at Mickey's body, his hand still pumping in time with Mickey thrusting into his fist. Fuck it was hot the way he unwound at the barest attention. Ian loved lavishing him, overstimulating, hard and fast, but he loved lazy blowies and handies just as much.
"You're so fucking good, Mick."
"Ian..."
"I mean it, so good. I'm so proud of you."
Mickey twitched in his fist. Ian kept stroking, his free hand rubbing the side of Mickey's soft belly, mouth teasing a puffy, pink nipple.
Ian kept showering Mickey with loving works and hot laving kisses, over his chest, down his belly, sucking a hickey into the under part of his tummy, and finally swallowing him down, nestling his nose into the soft little pad above Mickey's cock.
Mickey gasped, toes curling as he buried his fingers into Ian's curly red hair, desperate to balance himself.
Ian's hands slid up Mickey's sturdy thighs, meeting the crease where his husband's ample rump rounded out behind him. Ian moaned around mickey's cock as he followed the swell of Mickey's big peachy bubble, gripping them ostensibly for extra leverage, to pull him deeper into the heat of his mouth, but just as much to play with. To bounce and squeeze and worship and marvel at.
"Ian. Fuck. Close." Mickey whined so pretty, undone.
Ian teased a finger at Mickey's entrance. He knew Mickey loved to be filled up, but he figured a few of his long fingers would do in a pinch, crooking inside Mickey's soft, tight heat, searching for the perfect spot.
Ian knew he found it when Mickey's belly hitched, and he shouted as he spilled over into Ian's receptive mouth. He swallowed Mickey down gratefully, letting him ride out his orgasm smother him in cushiony soft warmth.
Mickey's grip went slack in Ian's hair. Ian smiled up softly at his husband, and gave him a few more light kisses to his hip joint, his belly. He helped Mickey get back into his pj's and pulled him into bed and a tight, octopus-like embrace.
"Should wear your shit more often, I guess," Mickey chuckled, still glowing.
"Mmmm please!" Ian begged playfully, nose in Mickey's hair. He continued after a beat, "Yev's lucky to have you as a dad. I'm so proud of you Mickey."
Ian didn't get a response, was Mickey asleep?
"Mick?"
"Yeah," came the soft response, with a poorly hidden sniffle. "Yeah, thanks, Red."
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