put on your war paint

The bad feeling continued to gnaw at him, and Jet swallowed. Lots of people had yellow eyes, it didn’t mean anything about being—dare he even think it anymore—it didn’t mean anything. Sure, most of the ones he’d seen had been more brown than yellow, duller with hints of brass, and Lee’s—Lee’s were almost golden, bright and alive and flickering. 

He’d lost so much already. Everything. Everything he’d ever had, ever loved, had slipped through his fingers like smoke, like ash and fire ripping through a forest. He couldn’t really stomach the thought of losing Lee either, and as vague as his feelings of dread were, they were still there, like whispers in the corners of his mind. So fucking paranoid, he cursed to himself, wishing for just a second he could stop worrying about fucking everything. It’s so stupid.

“Yeah, it was amazing,” he said almost absentmindedly. He rolled his head to the side and pressed his nose into Lee’s hair, inhaling. 

Jet had come to hate the feeling of paranoia, but it was back, creeping at the fingertips that barely traced the edges of Lee's scar. 

But it was just a name. Just a name, an inexplicably beautiful boy with eyes like the sun, and nothing to worry about. And when Lee told him he wanted him to come, in that low, ragged voice, how could he deny him? He would have given him anything, in that moment, he would have even pressed his teeth to his jaw to whisper his own real name, if he remembered it.

That felt a little weird to him.

At that exact moment, Jet felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time—he felt something prickle along his skin, something in his system trying to alert him, be careful, be careful the voice in his head was suddenly whispering to him, something about this isn't right. Jet made no indication of this on his face, but stayed very still, his nose nudged into Lee's cheek, his breath hot and ghosting into Lee's mouth. 

"Hm, I figured," he said quietly, barely moving his lips to speak. "It's not like Jet's my real name either, you know." He choked a moan back as Lee continued to fuck him, feeling extremely aware of everything he was doing—and whether his senses were heightened because of the confession or the repeated pounding of Lee's dick into his ass, he wasn't sure.

It seemed like a bad time to worry about it, or anything else, so even though Jet was suddenly swallowing down a bad feeling (and that wasn't good, because Jet's bad feelings were never, ever wrong), he crooned sweetly against Lee's lips, the strained noises leaving him barely louder than whimpers.