kate !

note: this was again written for my friend, i still have no knowledge of anything bmth related🥹

Curtis wiped his hands on the coarse fabric of the cloth, nudging the faucet off with his elbow. A week and three days since his… disagreement with Oliver Sykes, and a rough week and three days that was. He could say that he doesn’t miss Oli, which is… half true. He really only misses his company. And his help. And his jokes. And his laugh. And all the things he’d never ever ever admit aloud, even if it meant he would get his friendship back.

Ringgggg — Ringgggg — Ringgggg

“Oh my god,” Curtis murmured half-heartedly. “I can’t even piss without this guy showing up everywhere.”

C: “brrrrt. You’ve reached Curtis Wardddd, SO sorry i’m unavailable to take ya phone calllll, but i’m —”

O: “Oh youuuu hehe. Can’t believe you think I don’t have ya real voicemail memorized.”

C: “I don’t even have a real voicemail set up”

O: “Don’t care”

C: “Oookayy. What do you want?”

O: “Just wanted to let ya know i’m terriblay apologetic for the shit I might have saidddd nnnnn wutnot.”

C: “What’d you say to me again?”

O: “That I’m sorry for harborin’ romantic feelings for ya mama. In which I am apologetic for that because I lied. I wasn’t sorry for lovin’ ya mummy.”

C: “Kay, thanks for that..”

C: “Anythin’ else?”

Faint swallows and disheveled breathing from the other line can be heard, in which Curtis quirks an eyebrow.

O: “Like, uhm, mmnn, fuckin… dude. There’s like 9 places in my house that I could hide inside in the event of an apocalypse… -hiccup-.. n’ like, my backyard is liek a sex dungeon nmmnnmm”

C: “Are you seriously drunk right now? With communion tomorrow?”

O: “hey wait… they give ya the wine shots at comunionin…cominunion… right? And the crackers?”

C: “oh my god, you idiot.”

O: “Wanna come over to my place, nnn shit? Please?”

The crumb of a whimper that lingers in Oli’s voice is enough to get Curtis on his feet. Curtis is already slipping his shoes on when Oli decides he doesn’t want to shut his mouth.

O: “I got… uhm… the zombie game. Resident Evil. We can play that… n’ share a drink or two…”

Curtis prods at the small red lighter in his hand while a cigarette rests between his lips like he’d been born with it nestled there.

C: “Ummm, yeah. One sec, alright? And don’t drink any more before I get there. your fuckin’ liver’s gonna fail.”

Oli snickers lightly on the other line, causing Curtis’s growing problem to stir in his rather constrictive jeans.

Within minutes, Curtis’s knuckles are stabbing at the door of Oli’s residence. Oli jolts upright, 3 day old pterodactyl socks sliding across the floor as he’s one of those kids who refuses to pick their feet up when they walk.

The door swings open with a creak.

“Curtttttt, come inside, kay? There’s, uhm, booze on the coffee table in the basement. Follow moiii.”

Curtis is almost hesitant to step inside the Sykes residency. Clothes were strewn across the hardwood floor, with obvious signs that many articles had lied there for weeks on end. Seriously, and the guy wonders why he’s missing clothing. Soda cans littered the countertops, an overflowing trash bin tucked against the couch.

Curtis flicked his cigarette dud onto the carpet. It blended in nicely, so he figured it’d make great decor.

—Timeskip 3 hours— 10:32pm

“This game is too hardddd,” Oli whines pitifully from his spot dangerously close to Curtis. Curtis had noticed Oliver’s torpid migration towards him despite Curtis’s frequent shifts away from him.

“Yeah? Then turn it off, idiot,” Curtis suggests scornfully.

“I don’t wannaaauggggh.. What if Lindsay only lays dudes that know who Leon Kennedy is?”

“Who the HELL is Lindsay.”

“Lindsay Lohan,” Oli states matter-of-factly “AKA, hottest babe alive, amirite?”

“The Mean Girls chick?”

“I’m gonna jizz if we keep talking about her, mate.”

“Oh my god.”

Oli scoots closer to Curtis will skillful ease, his dark, hooded eyes batting at Curtis. Curtis straightens up quickly. Boner. He has a boner. ‘Am I gonna go to hell? Lord, look, I know I’ve been smoking and stuff and I haven’t been on my best behavior but I really am not gay, I swear!’ Curtis’s mind is racing, a deep pink dusting his cheeks.

“I’m gonna whizz. I’ll be back.” Curtis jumps out of his spot on the couch, trotting over to the nearest bathroom. As soon as he hears the door click shut and locked, his fingers are fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Curtis’s fingers slip beneath the elastic of his boxers, cold fingers brushing the pink skin hidden under the fabric. This is wrong. This is so wrong. No amount of confessions to the priest will wash away the dirt that clouds his mind.

Curtis can barely feel the pleasure in his hardness through the hot, searing pain scorching his conscience. Homosexuality is filthy. Homosexuality is like a punch in the gut and he can’t even stomach the fact that Oli Sykes makes him horny. Tears streak down his cheeks like his clean body is being stripped personally by the devil himself down to nothing more than a humiliating, nude body to be pointed at and spit on.

ok here’s my fic 👀👀

Chapter One😴

“Look, if you’re going to be followin’ me around all the time, at least make yourself useful, God.”

Curtis shrugs off his bag and borderline throws it at Oliver.

“Fuckin dog. I can’t even—“ Curtis hisses a string of curses under his breath. “Father forgive me, but I can’t even catch a damn break.”

Oli practically whines from his halfstep next to the older boy, sweet pulchritude gleaming with delight. He’s almost never this close to Curtis, he could almost… hm.

“—…and my- ugh, helloooo, earth to Oliver? Goodness. Stop droolin’ on my bag. It’s new, y’know.” Curtis growls.

Oli pouts shamefully, wiping his bitten lips with his torn sleeve. “What? I wasn’t…”

“You were droolin’, dude. Shut up.” Curtis snaps. Momentarily, Curtis’s complexion contorts into uncomfortable hunger. Right, he hadn’t eaten since whatever the school liked to classify as lunch.

“You’re hungry? I got money, y’know.” Oli laughs hesitantly. “Got some from a bet. Did you know I can do, like, 30 pushups? Crazy, right? Hell, I could’ve done more but—” The dark-haired twinkie pauses in his annoyingly rhythmic stride. “Hey, I was thinking of startin’ this band. Some bullshit for a few extra pennies, yeah? N’ you’re the only guitarist I know, fer sure, ha!”

“Surely you’re mad. Shit like that ain’t savin’ ya a dime, mate. N’, m’ nowhere near a spot academically to be startin’ no band. Likewise, why would I ever spend more time with ya than I need to? Pretty sure I’d be sparin’ my mental pence just by avoidin’ ya,” Curtis sneers condescendingly at Oliver, as if the mere idea of making music with him was extremely laughable.

Oliver’s smile falters. “So dramatic, N’ for what? Jesus.”

Curtis furrows his eyebrows, offended. With blown, bewildered eyes, his pupils dart around carefully for eavesdropping sisters. “I— uh- shut up! My folks would shoot me dead if you got sent to the confession box while m’ supposed to be nannying ya. What’s your deal!?”

Oliver takes a sheepish step backwards. He runs his slender fingers through his choppy locs, a nervous habit . In doing so, Curtis is able to peek chipped paint on the nails of the boy. “And what do ya think you’re doin’ with nail polish!? It’s like you’re tryin’ to get taken by the devil, mate!”

Chapter two 😴

“Ah, c’mon, don’t be a wet blanket, Jaz..” Oli presses her bony figure against the cold metal of the locker. “Boyfriend shmoyfriend, girlayyyy. Y’know I don’t do no commitment shit… i’m here for a good time, and here you are… a walking great time. So… why dontcha get a ride home with ya boy… and we can…?” Oliver gestures suggestively with one hand pressing his pointer finger and thumb together to make an ‘O’, the other hand poking his other index finger in and out.

Jasmine giggles, easily charmed by his antics. “Ugh, you’re such a sleaze, Sykes. Get lost.”

Timeskip a day or two — 3:43AM.

X4522279x: Ols.

Olisaurus: ??? *~*

X4522279x: Stop being a damn womanizer.

Olisaurus: Eyerollz. You texted me at 3:45am 2 tell me 2 stop getting action? Cockblock !!

X4522279x: Ew. don’t say it so casually. Lust is a deadly sin, pervert.

X4522279x: And no, that’s not why I actually text messaged your computer.

Olisaurus: wowowowaaa way 2 waste my time !! cut 2 da chase

X4522279x: Do you even still believe in Jesus? Read:3:49AM

Timeskip— summer break

“Good word. Are ya sure we couldn’t have just caught a cab?” Curtis whines for what seems to be the 20th time in 5 minutes. He pants heavily, his shoulder-length hair clinging to his neck.

“And spend 15 quid? I think you’ve forgotten that we’re doin’ this to save cash,” Oliver retorts.

“Y’know I’m totally pissed atcha for making me go along with this ‘band’ bullshit, right? I mean- I’m not even good at guitar. And you don’t even play an instrument. And, and— well, you can’t make a band with just two lads, and, ugh dude, this is completely ridiculous.”

Oliver rolls his obnoxiously pretty eyes and a short huff of irritation escapes his annoyingly kissable lips. Hm. ‘No wonder he’s such a slut,’ Curtis speculates, which instantly made him feel reprehensible. He shouldn’t even be considering such ignominious things. Especially not… for a boy. No, not for a boy. Not for anyone, but especially not for a boy.

Curtis blinks out of the train of thought occupying his conscience once he can feel a set of brownish-green eyes on him.

“Curtttttt. Thinkin’ about a chick, mate? Why’re ya so spacey?” Oliver teases.

“Hm? Oh— uh huh. A girl,” Curtis murmurs. “I mean— what?! No— I wasn’t thinkin’ about a bird. Fuckin’ creep,” Curtis is strangely quick to defend his oh-so-pure love life.

Oli chirped proudly from his spot on the sidewalk, “Not a babe, huh? Sureeee mate.” Oli’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Tell me then, if not a chick, whatcha thinkin about? A guy?”

Curtis’s eyes widened with shock, utterly scandalized by the insinuation. “What the hell!? I’m not a… I’m not gay! The only fags I like are the kind you get at smoke shops, okay?”

“N’ don’t call me a queer ever again. My mum says the gays burn in hell anyways.”

Oliver walks in dead air beside Curtis while the other boy continues to wail about his apparent hatred for bl. As Oli continued to listen to Curtis’s incessant hate-speech, he —as any curious teenager would— became acutely shameful of the way he thought about the other boys at school.

Oli would often stay after all their classes for the day had come to an end, hoping to maybe catch a few glimpses of the boys at soccer practice outside. His favorite drill of theirs was a scrimmage. The kind where one team had their shirts on, the others bare-chested. He knew it was wrong. He knew God had shook his head and decided that Oliver was to burn for eternity because that is what happened to boys who thought things about other boys that boys shouldn’t be thinking about other boys. But boys are all Oliver found himself thinking about.

Hell, he can’t even remember the name of the chick he met up with the other day, but he replays his most intimate interactions with Curtis every night before he lets sleep take him.

“I mean, if you weren’t such a player, I’d think you had it for a dude,” Curtis continues. “My mother doesn’t even let me listen to Bowie because he apparently kisses guys.”

“Dude, just shut up already! Nobody likes it when you keep harpin’ on the same subject, okay!? You’ve beaten the horse past species recognition, for God’s sake,” Oliver spits.

“Don’t tell me to shut my mouth, mutt. I’ll punch ya lights out, honest.”

“Big deal. I’ve seen ya fight. You throw fists like a girl.”

“No I do not! I can knock you out right here, fuckin’ animal. ‘Promise!”

“Oh my god, piss off, will ya? Just go home. I don’t want you with my band anymore,” Oliver retorts stubbornly. “And don’t talk to me at school anymore either, weirdo. I mean seriously, do ya shower? Like, ever?”

“Faggot.”