static_abyss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
static_abyss) wrote2025-06-28 05:23 am
static_abyss) wrote2025-06-28 05:23 am
LJ Idol 2025 - Week 2
Manuel is dangerous.
This is as true as the fact that the sun will rise in the morning to illuminate discarded cigarette butts and empty beer bottles along Stratford street. There will always be an Eulogio, unkempt and lying under a cardboard box at the foot of the steps leading to 1155. There will always be a Julio, stopping by to drop off a coffee and a bakery bread with butter next to Eulogio's battered cart, before heading to the Mexican store next door. There will always be the faint stench of rotting food leftover from when the garbage trucks rolled by because Stratford street isn't as important as Manor Street. There's no reason to spend money cleaning a street made for poverty, for dirt, for ugly secrets hidden behind the peeling green paint of 1155's apartment door.
Manuel is not ugly, but the way he makes Luis feel, the way Manuel moves on him, the strength of his hands, and the force of his mouth--well, that could be ugly, depending on who one asks. Ask Luis when Manuel has him pressed into those 200-count sheets worn so thin, they're starting to tear in the middle. Ask Luis when Manuel's hair is undone, his ironed button down somewhere on Luis's floor. Ask him when Manuel's skin blends so easily with Luis's in the dark room, they're basically one person.
In that situation who could call the sounds of their pleasure anything but beautiful?
Especially when Manuel's hands know where to go, when his voice takes on that Bronx accent, and all traces of his job disappear.
"I love you," Luis says, when it's almost over, because he knows Manuel won't hear him.
And there, at last, is the ugly, the putrid, the most horrid part of himself.
-
Manuel was always destined for greater things. From the moment Luis laid eyes on him, it was as though there was a spotlight on Manuel, a neon sign screaming, "NOT THIS ONE. HE'S SPECIAL."
Manuel was a glowing warning sign, from his light blue uniform shirts to his perfect face and serene smile. He knew all the answers to their classwork and asked questions that made their teachers smile. Manuel was going to get a perfect score on his SAT and go to the best school in the city on a scholarship. He sparkled with potential, from his crisp unaccented English to his light skin, exactly the right shade for the world he'd be inhabiting.
Luis was sixteen when Manuel walked into his chemistry classroom. Back then, Luis had shaggy brown hair that curled over his shoulders and the prettiest fucking smile in the entire grade. He was dating the hottest girl in school and exchanging quick handjobs in the bathroom with her ex. Luis was gritty, hot, a perfect garment made from the roughest cloth.
Manuel was so unlike him in every way. Manuel was fine silk forced into the hands of a seamstress who didn't deserve him. There was potential in every one of Manuel's movements, something so inherently different in him that the teachers had no choice but to send him to other schools, other seamstresses, to hands that knew silk and what to do with it.
And Luis, who was rough cloth and loved to curse, had no choice but to stay behind.
-
"I love you, too," Manuel says.
It's impossible for Luis to pretend he didn't hear him.
They're body to body, naked in the darkness, the windows and blinds pulled as closed as possible. Manuel smells like sweat and cheap weed, souvenirs from Luis's body, from the blunt Luis smoked earlier to clear his head. Manuel's mouth is red, shiny, and swollen. He tastes like stale Modelo from the beer cans Luis kicked away before they started kissing. Manuel grins, crooked and sly, his hands sliding into Luis's hair.
"I like you best like this, guero," Luis tells him.
Manuel kisses him, and it's poison, and dangerous, and Luis still kisses him back.
-
The first time Luis kissed Manuel, they were fighting, both of them red in the face in the high school bathroom. Luis had been trying to hide the hickey on his neck while Girlfriend's Ex buckled up his pants. One of them had forgotten to lock the bathroom door, and Manuel caught them when Luis was bitching about the mark on his neck. At the time, it was either kill Manuel or fight him and by then, Luis would have done anything to get one more look at Manuel with his stupid uniform and his beautiful fucking face.
"Don't do that shit," Manuel had said.
Luis had given him the middle finger and gone back to looking at his neck. Girlfriend's Ex had long since run out of the bathroom, the coward.
"It's fucked up," Manuel had said.
That time, Luis had turned around, leaning against the bathroom sinks, he'd rolled his eyes, and said, "It's not gay if we both said no homo."
Manuel had looked disgusted, and Luis's dreams had been over before they really started. Manuel wasn't going to kiss him if he thought Luis was disgusting. But Manuel was sure as fuck not going to out him either.
"Ey, guero," Luis had said, easing off the sink and pulling himself up to his full height. "You keep your mouth shut."
Manuel had flipped him off, sneered, and said, "Go fuck yourself."
It wasn't so much what he'd said, but the way he said it. That accented English, the Bronx accent falling from Manuel's lips like a most precious secret. He sounded like every other Mexican Luis hung out with after school, his words so familiar, Manuel could have been any one of them.
Luis had looked at Manuel, who was breathing hard, the top button of his uniform shirt popped open, his face red, and the scowl on his face getting more pronounced the longer Luis stayed quiet.
You're a fuckin' ass," Manuel had said, stepping forward and shoving Luis hard in the chest.
Luis had gone with Manuel's hands, had let himself be pushed into the sinks, as Manuel walked right up to his face. They'd been so close, Luis had been able to feel the thin fabric of Manuel's uniform shirt on the back of his knuckles. Manuel wasn't touching him, but Luis felt the heat between them from his lower back all the way up his spine.
"You've got a girlfriend," Manuel had said.
Luis had made the mistake of looking at Manuel's lips, at the curved corners of his mouth, up to Manuel's eyes, only to find him already focused on Luis's mouth. And if Luis had been a better person, he would have gotten out of there without knowing that Manuel's mouth was hot, insistent, and inexperienced.
But Luis was an asshole first and deeply, deeply selfish as a teenager. So when Manuel had kissed him, Luis kissed back.
They didn't fight again after the bathroom incident, but Luis also stopped seeing his girlfriend soon after. Manuel had made it clear that he wouldn't kiss Luis again, if he had a girlfriend. And though Luis knew better than to listen to a man who couldn't stay with him, he wanted to kiss Manuel more than he cared about having a girlfriend or thinking about what came after graduation.
-
They're lying down next to each other, pretending neither of them heard the way Luis's voice cracked on the word "like."
"You should come to the park tomorrow," Manuel says. "It's Reina's birthday. Mom's grilling."
Luis isn't going to say yes. Manuel's younger sister is just like him, beautiful and successful, with a masters in teaching. She makes good money and lives on her own, in one of the newer houses down by Manor street. Manuel's older brother and sister never finished college, but they have good jobs, no kids, and they hate Luis. Whenever they see him with Manuel, Sofia gives him nasty looks and Jimmy ignores him.
Luis tries not to be seen by Manuel's family. He made the mistake only once, when his mother stopped by to say hello to the family at church. Manuel had smiled at him, and Luis hadn't known what to do when confronted with the full force of Manuel's family. They were all beautiful, easy with each other, and full of laughter. Manuel was at home with them, every bit of that family screaming they were made for better things.
Beautiful people didn't belong on Stratford street.
Beautiful people didn't belong on Luis's bedsheets in his cluttered room that smelled like unwashed clothes.
Beautiful people didn't ever stay, and it was in Luis's best interest to remember that.
-
After high school, Luis's teacher helped him apply for the summer youth employment program, and Manuel fucked off to college, seven hours away. Luis didn't call him. It was better when Luis was alone and wasn't distracted by the rough sounds of Manuel's Bronx accent. He didn't talk like that for anyone else, just for Luis when they were under Luis's covers, trying to keep quiet in case Luis's mom was sober enough that day to realize they were in the apartment.
Luis was hired by the pharmacy where he did his summer program and with work taking up most of his time, the last illusions of college fell off. Luis learned to drive, got his CDL license and started driving trucks. He took up a lot of jobs during the summers and during school breaks, so he wasn't around when Manuel came back from college.
Eventually, he got bored of driving and sleeping in his truck at rest stops or cheap motels. His back hurt from sitting for so long, and he was tired of the looks he got when the town was too White, or the people were too nosy. He burned under the sun on purpose, as a "fuck you" to the random stops and the terrified looks on people's faces when he walked into the wrong diner.
He went home after four years on the road because he knew himself well by then, and he'd rather be home than in jail for hitting the wrong person.
When he got back, Manuel was waiting for him on the steps of 1155, his legs stretched out in front of him, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows. He looked so goddamn pale, Luis was ready to make a joke about the consequences of fucking too many White guys.
Manuel looked at him, and there was something wild and out of control in his eyes when he said, "I heard about your mom."
Luis had buried her next to his father because that's what she wanted. He'd drop off flowers whenever he made it back to Stratford street and kept her apartment because the rent was cheap. Manuel's sisters had been to the funeral, and Manuel's mother had hugged him when he cried. Manuel had been at college, and Luis didn't have his new number.
"You could have told me," Manuel said.
There was a precision to his words that pissed Luis off.
"No, I couldn't," Luis said, trying hard to swallow his disdain.
Manuel heard it, though. He got to his feet slowly, every inch he had on Luis made more obvious by every step he took forward. Luis put a hand out to stop him, and he knew it was a mistake the moment his hand made contact with Manuel's tailored shirt.
"Silk?" he asked, not bothering to hold back the mocking laughter.
"Shut the fuck up," Manuel said.
It was angry and accusatory, but Manuel didn't look away from Luis, and Luis didn't move away.
"So," Luis said, curling his hand in Manuel's button down. "Are white boys good at fucking?"
Manuel shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "Never fucked a white boy."
Luis snorted. "They're missing out," he said.
Then, he dragged Manuel in by the front of his shirt and kissed him, right there, in the open, where anyone on Stratford street could see them.
-
Manuel gets off the bed and starts picking up his clothes. It takes him a while to find his button down, and Luis watches him as he searches for it. Manuel moves around the room easily, sidestepping the messes on the floor and shoving Luis's shit out of the way until he finds his shirt.
It's still neat and unwrinkled, the dark blue material seeming to disappear into the room's shadows. The thought that Manuel might disappear once he puts his shirt on crosses Luis's mind, and he speaks before he can think it through.
"Don't wear that," he says, reaching out for his nearest t-shirt and tossing it to Manuel.
Manuel catches it easily and raises an eyebrow.
Luis grins. "Work week's over, guero," he says. "Be chill."
"Work's never over," Manuel says, as he pulls Luis's t-shirt over his head.
He's immediately softer like that, with his messy hair and worn clothes. In Luis's shirt, Manuel could be any of the guys on the block, heading back home after a night shift. When he leaves, he'll blend right into the Stratford shadows.
Like that, in that light and in those clothes, Manuel is perfect.
"Come to Reina's party," Manuel says.
Luis should know better than to agree to things that only bring trouble. He's too grown to fall for big brown eyes and a hot mouth. He's on borrowed time and playing house with Manuel won't change that. It will almost certainly make things worse because Luis's heart is a rotting putrid thing that should have died the day his mother beat him for kissing a boy.
Luis doesn't know how much longer Manuel plans to stay, but he's been with Luis for years now, and that has to be consolation enough.
"Come to the park, tomorrow," Manuel says again.
Luis leans back against his headboard, sucks his teeth, and says. "Aight, I'll go."
This is as true as the fact that the sun will rise in the morning to illuminate discarded cigarette butts and empty beer bottles along Stratford street. There will always be an Eulogio, unkempt and lying under a cardboard box at the foot of the steps leading to 1155. There will always be a Julio, stopping by to drop off a coffee and a bakery bread with butter next to Eulogio's battered cart, before heading to the Mexican store next door. There will always be the faint stench of rotting food leftover from when the garbage trucks rolled by because Stratford street isn't as important as Manor Street. There's no reason to spend money cleaning a street made for poverty, for dirt, for ugly secrets hidden behind the peeling green paint of 1155's apartment door.
Manuel is not ugly, but the way he makes Luis feel, the way Manuel moves on him, the strength of his hands, and the force of his mouth--well, that could be ugly, depending on who one asks. Ask Luis when Manuel has him pressed into those 200-count sheets worn so thin, they're starting to tear in the middle. Ask Luis when Manuel's hair is undone, his ironed button down somewhere on Luis's floor. Ask him when Manuel's skin blends so easily with Luis's in the dark room, they're basically one person.
In that situation who could call the sounds of their pleasure anything but beautiful?
Especially when Manuel's hands know where to go, when his voice takes on that Bronx accent, and all traces of his job disappear.
"I love you," Luis says, when it's almost over, because he knows Manuel won't hear him.
And there, at last, is the ugly, the putrid, the most horrid part of himself.
-
Manuel was always destined for greater things. From the moment Luis laid eyes on him, it was as though there was a spotlight on Manuel, a neon sign screaming, "NOT THIS ONE. HE'S SPECIAL."
Manuel was a glowing warning sign, from his light blue uniform shirts to his perfect face and serene smile. He knew all the answers to their classwork and asked questions that made their teachers smile. Manuel was going to get a perfect score on his SAT and go to the best school in the city on a scholarship. He sparkled with potential, from his crisp unaccented English to his light skin, exactly the right shade for the world he'd be inhabiting.
Luis was sixteen when Manuel walked into his chemistry classroom. Back then, Luis had shaggy brown hair that curled over his shoulders and the prettiest fucking smile in the entire grade. He was dating the hottest girl in school and exchanging quick handjobs in the bathroom with her ex. Luis was gritty, hot, a perfect garment made from the roughest cloth.
Manuel was so unlike him in every way. Manuel was fine silk forced into the hands of a seamstress who didn't deserve him. There was potential in every one of Manuel's movements, something so inherently different in him that the teachers had no choice but to send him to other schools, other seamstresses, to hands that knew silk and what to do with it.
And Luis, who was rough cloth and loved to curse, had no choice but to stay behind.
-
"I love you, too," Manuel says.
It's impossible for Luis to pretend he didn't hear him.
They're body to body, naked in the darkness, the windows and blinds pulled as closed as possible. Manuel smells like sweat and cheap weed, souvenirs from Luis's body, from the blunt Luis smoked earlier to clear his head. Manuel's mouth is red, shiny, and swollen. He tastes like stale Modelo from the beer cans Luis kicked away before they started kissing. Manuel grins, crooked and sly, his hands sliding into Luis's hair.
"I like you best like this, guero," Luis tells him.
Manuel kisses him, and it's poison, and dangerous, and Luis still kisses him back.
-
The first time Luis kissed Manuel, they were fighting, both of them red in the face in the high school bathroom. Luis had been trying to hide the hickey on his neck while Girlfriend's Ex buckled up his pants. One of them had forgotten to lock the bathroom door, and Manuel caught them when Luis was bitching about the mark on his neck. At the time, it was either kill Manuel or fight him and by then, Luis would have done anything to get one more look at Manuel with his stupid uniform and his beautiful fucking face.
"Don't do that shit," Manuel had said.
Luis had given him the middle finger and gone back to looking at his neck. Girlfriend's Ex had long since run out of the bathroom, the coward.
"It's fucked up," Manuel had said.
That time, Luis had turned around, leaning against the bathroom sinks, he'd rolled his eyes, and said, "It's not gay if we both said no homo."
Manuel had looked disgusted, and Luis's dreams had been over before they really started. Manuel wasn't going to kiss him if he thought Luis was disgusting. But Manuel was sure as fuck not going to out him either.
"Ey, guero," Luis had said, easing off the sink and pulling himself up to his full height. "You keep your mouth shut."
Manuel had flipped him off, sneered, and said, "Go fuck yourself."
It wasn't so much what he'd said, but the way he said it. That accented English, the Bronx accent falling from Manuel's lips like a most precious secret. He sounded like every other Mexican Luis hung out with after school, his words so familiar, Manuel could have been any one of them.
Luis had looked at Manuel, who was breathing hard, the top button of his uniform shirt popped open, his face red, and the scowl on his face getting more pronounced the longer Luis stayed quiet.
You're a fuckin' ass," Manuel had said, stepping forward and shoving Luis hard in the chest.
Luis had gone with Manuel's hands, had let himself be pushed into the sinks, as Manuel walked right up to his face. They'd been so close, Luis had been able to feel the thin fabric of Manuel's uniform shirt on the back of his knuckles. Manuel wasn't touching him, but Luis felt the heat between them from his lower back all the way up his spine.
"You've got a girlfriend," Manuel had said.
Luis had made the mistake of looking at Manuel's lips, at the curved corners of his mouth, up to Manuel's eyes, only to find him already focused on Luis's mouth. And if Luis had been a better person, he would have gotten out of there without knowing that Manuel's mouth was hot, insistent, and inexperienced.
But Luis was an asshole first and deeply, deeply selfish as a teenager. So when Manuel had kissed him, Luis kissed back.
They didn't fight again after the bathroom incident, but Luis also stopped seeing his girlfriend soon after. Manuel had made it clear that he wouldn't kiss Luis again, if he had a girlfriend. And though Luis knew better than to listen to a man who couldn't stay with him, he wanted to kiss Manuel more than he cared about having a girlfriend or thinking about what came after graduation.
-
They're lying down next to each other, pretending neither of them heard the way Luis's voice cracked on the word "like."
"You should come to the park tomorrow," Manuel says. "It's Reina's birthday. Mom's grilling."
Luis isn't going to say yes. Manuel's younger sister is just like him, beautiful and successful, with a masters in teaching. She makes good money and lives on her own, in one of the newer houses down by Manor street. Manuel's older brother and sister never finished college, but they have good jobs, no kids, and they hate Luis. Whenever they see him with Manuel, Sofia gives him nasty looks and Jimmy ignores him.
Luis tries not to be seen by Manuel's family. He made the mistake only once, when his mother stopped by to say hello to the family at church. Manuel had smiled at him, and Luis hadn't known what to do when confronted with the full force of Manuel's family. They were all beautiful, easy with each other, and full of laughter. Manuel was at home with them, every bit of that family screaming they were made for better things.
Beautiful people didn't belong on Stratford street.
Beautiful people didn't belong on Luis's bedsheets in his cluttered room that smelled like unwashed clothes.
Beautiful people didn't ever stay, and it was in Luis's best interest to remember that.
-
After high school, Luis's teacher helped him apply for the summer youth employment program, and Manuel fucked off to college, seven hours away. Luis didn't call him. It was better when Luis was alone and wasn't distracted by the rough sounds of Manuel's Bronx accent. He didn't talk like that for anyone else, just for Luis when they were under Luis's covers, trying to keep quiet in case Luis's mom was sober enough that day to realize they were in the apartment.
Luis was hired by the pharmacy where he did his summer program and with work taking up most of his time, the last illusions of college fell off. Luis learned to drive, got his CDL license and started driving trucks. He took up a lot of jobs during the summers and during school breaks, so he wasn't around when Manuel came back from college.
Eventually, he got bored of driving and sleeping in his truck at rest stops or cheap motels. His back hurt from sitting for so long, and he was tired of the looks he got when the town was too White, or the people were too nosy. He burned under the sun on purpose, as a "fuck you" to the random stops and the terrified looks on people's faces when he walked into the wrong diner.
He went home after four years on the road because he knew himself well by then, and he'd rather be home than in jail for hitting the wrong person.
When he got back, Manuel was waiting for him on the steps of 1155, his legs stretched out in front of him, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows. He looked so goddamn pale, Luis was ready to make a joke about the consequences of fucking too many White guys.
Manuel looked at him, and there was something wild and out of control in his eyes when he said, "I heard about your mom."
Luis had buried her next to his father because that's what she wanted. He'd drop off flowers whenever he made it back to Stratford street and kept her apartment because the rent was cheap. Manuel's sisters had been to the funeral, and Manuel's mother had hugged him when he cried. Manuel had been at college, and Luis didn't have his new number.
"You could have told me," Manuel said.
There was a precision to his words that pissed Luis off.
"No, I couldn't," Luis said, trying hard to swallow his disdain.
Manuel heard it, though. He got to his feet slowly, every inch he had on Luis made more obvious by every step he took forward. Luis put a hand out to stop him, and he knew it was a mistake the moment his hand made contact with Manuel's tailored shirt.
"Silk?" he asked, not bothering to hold back the mocking laughter.
"Shut the fuck up," Manuel said.
It was angry and accusatory, but Manuel didn't look away from Luis, and Luis didn't move away.
"So," Luis said, curling his hand in Manuel's button down. "Are white boys good at fucking?"
Manuel shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "Never fucked a white boy."
Luis snorted. "They're missing out," he said.
Then, he dragged Manuel in by the front of his shirt and kissed him, right there, in the open, where anyone on Stratford street could see them.
-
Manuel gets off the bed and starts picking up his clothes. It takes him a while to find his button down, and Luis watches him as he searches for it. Manuel moves around the room easily, sidestepping the messes on the floor and shoving Luis's shit out of the way until he finds his shirt.
It's still neat and unwrinkled, the dark blue material seeming to disappear into the room's shadows. The thought that Manuel might disappear once he puts his shirt on crosses Luis's mind, and he speaks before he can think it through.
"Don't wear that," he says, reaching out for his nearest t-shirt and tossing it to Manuel.
Manuel catches it easily and raises an eyebrow.
Luis grins. "Work week's over, guero," he says. "Be chill."
"Work's never over," Manuel says, as he pulls Luis's t-shirt over his head.
He's immediately softer like that, with his messy hair and worn clothes. In Luis's shirt, Manuel could be any of the guys on the block, heading back home after a night shift. When he leaves, he'll blend right into the Stratford shadows.
Like that, in that light and in those clothes, Manuel is perfect.
"Come to Reina's party," Manuel says.
Luis should know better than to agree to things that only bring trouble. He's too grown to fall for big brown eyes and a hot mouth. He's on borrowed time and playing house with Manuel won't change that. It will almost certainly make things worse because Luis's heart is a rotting putrid thing that should have died the day his mother beat him for kissing a boy.
Luis doesn't know how much longer Manuel plans to stay, but he's been with Luis for years now, and that has to be consolation enough.
"Come to the park, tomorrow," Manuel says again.
Luis leans back against his headboard, sucks his teeth, and says. "Aight, I'll go."
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This made me laugh, "But Luis was an asshole first and deeply, deeply selfish as a teenager. "
I also thought it was sweet when Manuel agreed to put on Luis' shirt. Maybe, just maybe he won't disappear after all.
Dan
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Luis: *breathes*
Manuel, already buying an engagement ring and planning their wedding: we should date
But I liked the idea of a character who hasn't yet recognized that he can just ask and be told the truth. In a longer piece, I think I' like to dive into thw relationship between Luis and his mother.
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And I hope they get a happy ending. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.
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