Damien: itch.Mature

I'm not hungry. I'd kind of figured out that Kyle didn't want me out looking for a job, ‘cause he'd gone without sex since he moaned out Danny's name instead of mine. But I ordered pizza anyways, ‘cause my sex drive has been through the floor lately. I guess that's one of the withdrawal symptoms of coming off methadone - aside from feeling constantly sick and shitty. I thought coming off slowly was supposed to make this easier. I'm not even gonna think about how it's gonna feel if I suddenly can't afford to pay for the treatment anymore.

After a few slices, both of us end up picking at the pizza, not really that bothered anymore. To be honest, I'm more interested in the fact that I'm suddenly kinda itchy. I scratch at my arm, trying not to scratch too hard. Of course, being gentle didn't get rid of the itch. I scratch at it again, subtly trying to keep my sleeve away from my skin when I feel the slick wetness of blood on my fingers.

Kyle frowns a little, and I try not to tense. Did he notice the blood on my fingers before I wiped it off?

"What?" I ask through a mouthful of pizza.

"You keep scratching."

I shrug, "m'itchy," I mumble, glad that he doesn't seem to have noticed. He arches an eyebrow a little, but shrugs it off. Which is when I notice my sleeve is touching my arm and there's blood starting to stain the material. Shit.

But he just tuts. "Stop scratching." I blush a little and we exchange small smiles. He eats a bit more of the pizza, but I put the last of my bit down - I was stuffed about three slices ago. Once he's done, I get up and put the box in the kitchen, thinking that maybe we'll finish it off tomorrow.

But what's really on my mind is more worry that now we're done eating, I can't think of anything else that I can distract him with. I mean, I can try and say no if he starts anything, but whenever I've tried saying no before, the words just kind of seize up in my throat and never come out.

I walk back in, only to find him stripped down to just his boxers.

"Stop scratching," he says again, and I look down at my hand. I hadn't even noticed I was scratching again. Yawning, I lie down next to him again, hoping that, even though I'm not actually sleepy, that it'll get me out of sex. All I have to do is make myself fall asleep. "Tired?" I nod and he spoons with me a little, nuzzling me as I shut my eyes. I pick at my arm through my sleeve absently, feeling more blood soaking through. Except that it's itchy enough for me to not care anymore. "Leave your arm alone," he says sternly. I whine a little, pouting when he gets a hold of my wrists to stop me scratching it some more. "You'll make yourself bleed more."

"So?"

"That's not a good thing, doll." I can't say I'm all that bothered about whether it's good or not. He doesn't let go of me and after a couple of minutes I give in, feeling just a little bit submissive about it. Which is kinda weird. But whatever, it makes him let go, and I guess that's what matters. I go back to trying to get to sleep for a while, but it's not long before the itch is back.

I rub my arm a little, hoping that he won't notice. Unfortunately for me, he does. He grabs my wrists again and I struggle for a minute, trying to scratch, regardless of him restraining me. I kind of fail. I whine, noticing that like this, I'm actually sort of vulnerable. And not so sure that I would mind if he decided to take advantage of that.

Trust me to finally be in the mood for sex for the first time in ages when I've gone and made it look like I had a fight with a cheese grater. 

 

The End

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