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It's strange. Like addiction. It has to be. There's no other thing to compare it to. Kevin thinks he's read it on Help Guide dot com.
You've built up a drug tolerance. You need to use more of the drug to experience the same affects you used to attain with smaller amounts.
Check. He slipped his dick into Double D's ass once and was done for.
You take drugs to avoid or relieve withdrawal symptoms. If you go too long without drugs, you experience symptoms such as nausea, restlessness, insomnia, depression, sweating, shaking, and anxiety.
Check. One time, Double D went away to one of his dorky math camps for five weeks and Kevin thought he was losing his mind. He couldn't sit still, he couldn't think, he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep without craving Double D. He was so strung out that when Double D finally returned with that virginal brand of nerdiness freshly buffed and shining with glory, Kevin dragged him down to the nearest flat surface and fucked him until they were groaning like it hurt, clutching each other for dear life.
You've lost control over your drug use. You often do drugs or use more than you planned, even though you told yourself you wouldn't. You may want to stop using, but you feel powerless.
It started with small things. Like, one time a bunch of their friends were over Kevin's to watch The Avengers on his 70 inch HDTV. Movie night was always at Kevin's.
So, everyone was fairly spread out in the room, lounging like cats beneath the soft glow of the TV screen. Kevin and Double D occupied the loveseat, curled together like packing peanuts beneath a soft, plushy throw. Because Double D was warm, smelled like fresh linen and clean soap, and he was hard, Kevin shoved his hand down Double D's pants and jacked him off while New York was under attack. He then dragged Double D to his room and fucked him senseless while their friends left his driveway.
Then, there was that one time during a chem test Double D raised his hand to be excused to the bathroom. Kevin watched his ass as he left. Then, after a quiet minute or two, he raised his hand and asked the same. Said he had to go reeeaaall bad. His dick was hard the moment the door shut behind him. He made a mad dash to the bathroom and bust through every stall until he found Double D leaning against a stall wall strangely covered with medical table paper, one hand wrapped around his engorged dick and the other poking at the rim of his asshole. He was waiting for Kevin. Expecting him. Kevin fucked him through the chem test and they begged for a retake.
That time they agreed they had to cool it. They barely lasted a day.
And it only got worse. Plans, promises, sacred duties and traditions, nothing was more important than a romp in the sheets with the gapped-tooth member of the dork trio. So...Check.
Your life revolves around the drug use. You spend a lot of time using and thinking about drugs, figuring out how to get them, and recovering from the drug's effects.
He can't think of a moment he hasn't thought about Double D in a very long time Like, come on. That ass...
You've abandoned activities you used to enjoy. You spend a lot of time using and thinking about drugs, figuring out how to get them, and recovering from the drug's effects.
This is starting to get depressing, and he just realized he forgot to check the last one.
You continue to use drugs, despite knowing it's hurting you. It's causing you major problems in your life—blackouts, infections, mood swings, depression, paranoia—but you use anyway.
...
Well. It's not that serious. Sure, he likes having sex with Double D—like really—but it's not hurting him. In fact, it's the complete opposite. He's never felt better! Sure, his parents say he's acting weird, and his friends say they haven't seen him around much, and he ignores everything everyone says because he's too busy trying to figure out a way to meet up with Double D and fuck. He's a teenage boy. He's full of raging hormones and butterflies and energy to burn, to grind out into Double D through sheer force and will. So what that his grades were slipping, and he spent his money for a hotel room just for the two of them for a midweek getaway they couldn't academically afford, and he had that fight with his dad about his scholarship, and Double D looks like he's been crying a lot lately.
He couldn't be happier.
But there they are. The common signs and symptoms of drug addiction. Kevin would say he's pretty fucked. Just as fucked as Double D is beneath him. His eyelids are heavy over his blue-green eyes, lips red and wet, skin flush and moist, hot to the touch like the slick heat wrapped around Kevin's dick. His boy is such a power bottom, and he owns it with a grace not even the douchiest, manliest of manly men could condemn. He is unapologetic about it. A natural, really, with a staggering learning curve and knack for innovation.
God, he’s so addictive.
Kevin needs him. And most of all, he is terrified of the idea of letting Double D go. He’s like a prized commodity. He’s something rare, and Kevin has him. Nobody else. How can he give him up? How can he let someone else touch him? Kiss him? Fuck him? Would they know that his scalp is sensitive and he goes wild when fingers brush through his hair when making out? Would they know about how hot Double D gets when kissed just at the soft bit of flesh where ass and thigh meet? Would they know when Double D likes it hard, rough, sweaty, filthy? Or when he likes it soft, slow, gentle, warm and comfortable? What about his roleplay kink? Or that one massage he gives that turns Kevin into a sticky, boneless meat sack? Or that one time they fucked on Double D's birthday, and his jeans were strewn across the room after Kevin was able to peel him out of them, and his nerdy ass graphic tee was hanging on the drawer handle of his dresser, and he realized that they are growing up, and Double D's slender build is a bit more solid, and he moves like a person who knows what sex is because it's been carved into his movements, like a dance that is inherently sensual. Kevin watches him even when he’s standing still, because he’s still sexy. The long sweep of his eyelashes, the heat in his blue-green eyes, the warm and smoky sound of his voice as his flush, pink lips form around words. The long column of his neck, the curve of his shoulders, the jut of his hip, his long, slender legs...Ugh, thinking about Double D makes Kevin want Double D even when he's currently in Double D.
Double D seems to be having the same reluctant realization he is, and he rolls his hips sympathetically, then they proceed to have the saddest fuck ever where they admit they can't do this. Not now. They're just kids. They have friends. They have families who are worried. They have school. They have to think about where they are going to be in the next five to ten years just as college students and new to the workforce. They don't even know how to be themselves yet and they're obsessed with being a pair—primarily joined at the pelvic region—and they've gone about it like children. Greedy. Full of instinctual decisions and selfishness.
They stop contacting each other outside of school.
They stop following each other on social media.
They don't say goodbye during or after graduation.
Kevin gets a sports scholarship to University of California Irvine.
Double D gets a full ride to MIT.
They don't see each other for seven years. And when they do, eyes meeting across the parking lot, they smile these smiles they used to smile when they thought each other hot. Hot in a quality that was enough for them back then. It makes them giddy, tingly, and then they begin to notice the changes. Kevin is dressed in a five thousand dollar suit with a five hundred dollar haircut, and he's got his key in the door of an unnecessarily flashy Ferrari, and Double D is in dark jeans, a wildly nerdy and technical graphic tee beneath a suit jacket, his hat is gone, shaggy black hair simply pushed back, and a pair of red rimmed glasses frame his bright eyes.
"How about dinner?" Double D asks.
"Yeah," Kevin says, a smile tugging at his lips of its own accord. "Dinner sounds great."