Gives You Hell

Cliff was not impressed. His brow twitched slightly as Peter responded. The hurt in his voice went unnoticed by Cliff, who was drunk enough to barely register anything except for the fact that Peter was here for some ungodly reason. When Peter reached for the doorframe that brought him annoyingly close to Cliff. He didn’t move out of the way to let the boy into the house, blocking his view.

”No, I don’t.” He could mention that Noah hadn’t said where he was going to him, but that would just make him seem like Noah didn’t care about his friendship. Cliff made a ‘pssh’ noise, rolling his eyes. ”S not like I’m his babysitter. Maybe you should text him yourself. Unless he hasn’t given you his number.”[/]

”Excuse me?” Cliff said, stretching up to his full height of 5’10. He wasn’t terribly taller than Peter, but with the added height of the step he was leaning on, he could successfully loom over the guy. His eyes narrowed into daggers, the wind blew the scent of pot towards his nostrils. So this guy was drugged up, huh? He smirked to himself. ”Bet Pips wouldn’t like smelling the pot on your breath, Pete.” He said in a taunting voice, knowing full well of that little weird crush thing it seemed the guy had on his cousin. He definitely didn’t appreciate it.

When he got even closer Cliff didn’t flinch, but he did reach over and tap Peter’s chest, gripping his shirt by the collar. ”The only imbecile here isn’t me,” He said, ”it’s the guy coming to my house, asking for my friends, trying to be the new me. Well I’m not going anywhere, so there’s no need for a new me.”

He released Peter’s collar, the shirt wrinkling. It revealed the skin underneath for a moment: pale and untouched. Cliff focused, again, on his extremely close face. This close he could see the small dots on his skin, and the flecks of color in his eyes. Cliff rose his brows and flipped his head, so his curls bounced away from his line of vision.

Cliff rolled his eyes. ”Pete suits you fine.” He said, refusing to do anything this guy wanted, even if it was call him by a proper name. He figured he has a right: so many fucking idiots called him Heath, Heathcliff, Clifford – literally any name other than his own. He was fucking sick of it.

When he accused him of being a crap friend Cliff scowled. ”Yeah? And what do you know about friends? You don’t have any,” he said, taking the jab to the chest. He didn’t let it push him back and instead took another step closer to him, placing his own finger on Peter’s chest to push back. ”I am not blaming any of us,” he slurred out, ”I don’t run away. Just because my friends don’t know the details of my life doesn’t mean they’re not my friends. I don’t kiss and tell,” he said, eyes trailing to Peter’s lips as he spoke. The guy’s face was so smooth and feminine, he was basically like a girl with tiny, sort of pouty lips. It made Cliff feel extra masculine in the moment. ”unlike you. I bet if you got a kiss from Pips you’d be singing from the rooftops. Well, she doesn’t like desperate guys, so you might want to change that tune.”

Cliff’s brow twitched when Peter said he was easy to get his friends. As if. He didn’t have Cliff’s friends. Sure, Pippa and Noah hung out with him, but that didn’t mean he had them. ”Maybe you should remember how their best friend is,” Cliff hissed, in a lower tone.

However, when Peter grabbed Cliff by the shirt and yanked him down, he was startled momentarily. His reflexes were slower, so he had to steady himself on the doorframe. He glared at Peter when they were made the same height, his hair now falling to get in his way. Cliff quickly reached up to run his fingers through the longer strands.

”I’m not talking about Pippa that way. I’m talking about you.” He said. When he was called desperate, Cliff snorted, and reached over to Peter’s hand. He grabbed it, yanking it away from his shirt. But instead of pushing it down, he yanked it backwards, trying to force Peter to stumble forward and to lose balance. ”Coming from someone stoned off his ass, I find it hard to label me the desperate one. Let’s get something straight,” he glared, intensely, his forehead nearly touching Peter’s, ”I’m not desperate for anything. I take whatever I want.”

Cliff smirked when he tugged Peter closer, gaining pleasure when he saw that the other boy was practically falling over. Suddenly there was the feeling of a forehead pressed against his, a moment that reminded him of when he and Cleo were kissing. It was a weird thought, to picture that now. He argued with other people but had never gotten quite this close with them physically. It was a rush of adrenaline, and got his heart to pound quicker. He regarded Peter for a while when he told him to prove it. That he always went for whatever he wanted. Well? How could he prove it? How could he prove it here with this fuckface so close to him?

His muddled thoughts were tangling together. About how they were so close he could smell the rank pot on Peter’s breath, how he didn’t really know what he wanted. Speaking realistically, he wanted Cleo. He wanted a girlfriend, to date her, but she – she wanted something else. And he didn’t take what he wanted. But he wanted her and couldn’t just take her. But there was something smooth about Peter’s lips and jawline. This close, he could pretend it was her. His drunken mind went over those thoughts for a minute, before he decided to prove he could take what he wanted in a way his sober mind would never have done: he grabbed Peter’s face and pulled their lips together into a kiss.

Cliff had never kissed a boy before. He had thought about it before, of course – he’d seen Syl and found him slightly attractive, he’d seen guys making out at parties and been curious – but he never had an opportunity to try. Until now. His curiosity won over his sense as he kept Peter there, their lips connected aggressively. The fact that it was shocking Peter kissed him back wasn’t playing in his mind.

Cliff deepened the kiss quickly, his lips moving aggressively against Peter. He had experience in this regard; he and Cleo got pretty intense in their makeout sessions. But he wanted more. He slid his hands away from Peter’s face and to his hips. He yanked the other boy inside the door and slammed it behind him – and slammed Peter against the door. He didn’t bother slowing down and slid his hands up to Peter’s demin jacket. He slid the article of clothing off of the other guy, pulling away from his lips to breathe. He wound up biting Peter’s lower lip and pulling it gently as he did so.