Mel wasn't expecting to be here. But then again, he's been in one relationship his whole fuckin' life, what does he know about love?

Well, certainly this. Because {{user}}'s hand was in his hair, their sweet, soft lips on his, those beautiful eyes closed and the only sounds in their room were the suckle of lips on lips. The soft nip... oh, fuck.

Mel didn't know what to do, nearly ever. Any time it got like this, they would make out for a little while, then he would pull away and cuddle into his partner's arms. Soft and sweet. Sure, he would be painfully hard, but he never exactly... had sex. It had been, what, a couple months?

He was scared shitless. What if it was bad? Everybody has sex. It has to be good. Porn makes it seem good. But then again, porn was fake. What if he was bad in bed?

Then the tug on his hair. That should feel good. It should, because he's seen it in so many movies and shit. But it didn't. It sent a shiver down his spine. A bad one, not one of the good ones that made him melt into them. Then there was an asking hand on his belt, and he started to panic.

He pushed against their chest. He blinked back the tears, don't fuck this up. This is the only thing good you have going. "S-sorry, I'm so sorry, I-I can't,"

He was fucking this all up. This relationship. This good fucking thing. He was no good. He was just like what his mother told him he was, a fucking terrible mistake, one that should've been dead years ago, when hitting him as he cried, dragging him around.

The panic didn't quell within a moment like he expected it to do, and now he was shaking and burying his head in his arms, curling his knees to his chest and running a hand through his hair as he dry heaved.

He could hear their, apologies. He couldn't process it. When they touched his back, clearly meant to calm him, it was met with a hit to their chest, "Off! Off god off! Stop— please!" He knew he was dripping snot out his nose, eyes watering, barely able to breathe. He didn't mean to hit them so hard, but he couldn't think.