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The Villain

Victor's Tale

By Andrew DominguezPublished 4 years ago 3 min read
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We laid in his bed, side by side, finally bare to what we were. Words fell into limbo, though I still engaged in playful, childish wordplay during the climax to reiterate our foundation. He observed my jovial facade; allowing it; contesting it through those beautiful blue eyes; those blues that said infinitely more than what he usually uttered through his lips. I looked at this passageway in my exploration, remembering their wetness from only minutes before. As I continued, nearing the culminating moments of the act, I revisited them once again. Wet, slightly chapped and nevertheless soft like the rest of his face. I looked at his exposed arm, the two moles on it mirroring mine, also on my left arm, also in the same spot. Only seconds away from finishing, I wondered if he also noticed our one resembling trait.

“What’s up?” I asked as he placed his hand over my bare chest, caressing it, extending his softness further.

“Nothing. Wanted to feel your neck, that’s all..." he said as he passively explored his new territory. What a foolish man; he didn’t need to hesitate for permission; he never did. He never needed to.

I kept going, and he kept looking at me with those blues, which now said more over saying nothing at all. They were so...sad? Perhaps. Pensive? Perhaps. Maybe both? Perhaps if not infinitely so. I could only hope that a glimmer of joy and not repent was simultaneously sheltering behind them. Nevertheless, they uttered a consuming truth over any that had ever escaped through his lips or those awkwardly flirtatious texts he rejoiced in composing, both to taunt and ensnare. Oh what a foolish man he was indeed; imprisonment took over the very night we locked eyes at Mischa’s going away party, even if he later claimed the focal greet was unreciprocated.

“I wish I could hate you," I whispered in utmost honesty. He laughed devoid of his usual confidence; sympathy replaced it for once; it wasn’t the first time I told him this and it wasn’t the first time he laughed at my futility. Hate him? If only my heart allowed itself such a sparing result. He then did something as unexpected as when he invited me to spend the night; his hand grabbed my available one and held it, our fingers intertwining as I reached my climax; the feeling of his soft, long fingers connecting with mine gifted me a greater euphoria than the one I simultaneously experienced. I had reached completion.

We laid in bed, silent and now barer than when we started. I looked at those blue eyes for what felt like the last time; I got afraid; such a joy couldn’t be nearing extinction. My sentence couldn’t resume so quickly with a three-hour expiration mark. He didn’t say anything, he simply continued looking with those beautiful blues, allowing me to further explore them for answers as he continued feeling his way over my chest, his long, soft fingers continuing to mate with mine.

My sentence was postponed, set to resume in five hours when my set alarm unleashed like the stroke of midnight for Cinderella. Then, like a vile, heartless, determinant intruder, the memory returned of one of his many poorly executed text flirtations: “So you want me to break your heart so you can write me as the villain in your next novel...”

An irrevocably foolish man he was! The most foolish in my existence! A modern day Pulcinella; he could never be the villain of a tale in which he had gifted the main character his greatest joy ever.

lgbtq
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About the Creator

Andrew Dominguez

Greetings! My name is Andrew Judeus. I am an NY-based writer with a passion for creating romantic narratives. Hopefully my daily wanderings into the land of happily ever after will shed some light into your life. Enjoy!

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