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Title: Crimson Sunset (Part 2)
Pairing: Adam/Hiro, Adam/Ando, Hiro/Ando
Rating: NC-17
Series order: Screaming into the Wind,
Discovery,
Meeting.
First part is here
Summary: Adam ponders the nature of memory.
AN: Daniel is Linderman’s first name.
Disclaimer: I own noting but my own words.
Memory is a construct of ideas trapped inside your head that shifts and transforms itself with no notion of space or time. It's images and sounds and smells compressed in tiny moments that last eternities yet at the same time last no time at all. How can one separate what already happened from what is happening and what will happen when everything curls back into itself, forming a labyrinth of circles and more circles, each flowing and breaking into each other, until all the memories pile together and it’s impossible to unravel one from the other? Yet always overlaid above the rest are the ones I have of you. Every moment we shared remains as vivid as on the day it occurred, the details as crisp as a freshly cut apple whose insides never grow dark. That's another thing I have to thank my ability for. My memory is excellent. Despite the fact that when I see you again, you'll have experienced our encounter much more recently than me, I'll probably still have a much better remembrance of it. Funny, isn't it? 336 years of experience far beyond a single lifetime's understanding have never been able to erase the brightness of your eyes, the amusing insistence in your expression as you coached me in how to be a hero, the warmth of your body as I gripped your shoulder. Some words of our conversations are a little smudged, true, but most of them remain intact. Forgetting them would be like removing my own skin.
They tried once to take them from me. The Company wasn't satisfied with simply having me locked away. They did try to kill me, you know, quite a few times, but they never could find something that would stick. Of course, they didn’t call them murder attempts; such a shady term wouldn’t do. They were simply “experiments”. Bob especially had wanted to do some hands on testing since he met me, but it would hardly have been polite to ask a friend to submit to the sadistic methods he so adores. After Kaito locked me up, there was nothing to hold him back. Perhaps this was simply another test, just to see if they could keep me in line. The fools.
They'd recently acquired a new recruit, a boy from Haiti, who has a unique and powerful ability. He can erase any memory that he chooses, banishing them completely from one's brain, just as if they never happened. If he wants, he can take it all, an entire life swallowed up by the touch of his hand. That's what they had him do to me. It was Daniel of all people who gave the order, the traitor. It shocked me, honestly. After all the years I spent with him, instructing him, helping him to develop his ability to its maximum potential, for even him to turn on me like this. I don’t seem to be able to inspire loyalty for very long.
They strapped me down on my bed, placing a restraint across my forehead as well so that I wouldn't thrash around. No one mentioned what they were about to do. All Daniel said was that they were going to "fix my problem". Then he turned towards the boy and told him, "Take everything." Just that. Two little words.. It didn't hurt in the physical sense. I felt a pinch, like the sharp jab of a needle. The real pain was feeling every memory being ripped away, like a cut deep inside my soul, and what ran along the knife’s edge wasn’t blood, no, it was much more potent than blood, it was my life. My entire existence in this world disappearing like a blackboard being wiped clean, great brushstrokes taking bigger and bigger chunks with it until only incoherent fragments remain behind and then even that was gone and I was nothing more than a shell with no conscience that I was anyone at all.
The next few days were nothing but confusion and an ever increasing desperation to know who I was. Because I was someone, I could feel it clawing somewhere inside me but I couldn’t even reach for it. There was nowhere to reach out to, nothing I could see. My mind was a blank, as clear as water. People came to visit, a varying stream of faces that I could never pin to the names they gave me. They told me I had a very severe case of amnesia and that they were doing everything they could to help me. No, I couldn't leave the room, as that would impede my progress. Of course, there wasn't any progress. They intended to keep me docile and helpless, probably even grateful for the “good care” they were giving me. They brought me books on neutral subjects like baseball and plants, and even gave me a small TV, where I could gorge myself on soap operas and mediocre sitcoms to my heart's content. No cable, unfortunately; their generosity didn’t extend that far. For two weeks, I was no one, a newborn floating in an empty sea. Yet, despite the anguish of not knowing who I was, I was free from you. For the first time in centuries, I didn’t wake up with your name on my lips, didn’t see your face floating beside mine as I looked in the mirror. My forgetfulness both imprisoned and freed me. I'm not sure that I don't miss those days sometimes.
You know how I was able to make my brain heal itself? It was through you. There was a TV special on one of the networks about the 20th century wars, commemorating some anniversary or other. I watched it so eagerly, hoping that among all those photographs and video footage something would spark in my injured memory, but nothing did. I lived through at least half of the conflicts they showed and nothing felt familiar. Yet your name, two simple syllables, not even by themselves but embedded in another word, woke me up. I don't know if it would have worked if I hadn't been paying such close attention, writing down everything that I felt might be important, still hoping that it might trigger something later, if not right at that moment. Well, this one did. Hiroshima. I didn't even get to write the entire word. Seeing the first four letters gleaming up at me from the lined paper was all it took to activate my healing and bring all the memories rushing back like water suddenly bursting from an exploded dam. The flood was so intense that I passed out. I woke up on the floor. Bob was there, looming over me like the vulture he probably thinks he is. I looked at his frowning face and all inside me was rage. I lunged at him, but a bolt of electricity threw me back against the table. That was my first sighting of Elle, at ten years old already daddy's little sociopath. Bob didn't bother to say a word, just shook his head and walked out, daughter in tow.
They left me alone after that. Save for the meals that they continued to send, and not always regularly, they completely ignored my existence. Their attempt failed, but I only confirmed what I already knew. If memories make the person, you make me.
|||||||
The door glides open. It doesn't creak. Movie formula dictates that doors creak during dramatic moments like these. The sound adds just the right amount of tension to get your spine tingling. But mine is already trembling. My lungs have been gulping air since I stepped into the lobby downstairs. I rode the fourteen floors in the elevator with my back pressed against the side as if I was trying to bury myself in it, my hands gripping the railing so hard that I still bear the imprints of the cold metal on my palms. This isn't just any apartment door I'm opening. It's yours. I close the door carefully behind me and search for the light switch. A bright light floods the small space, hurting my eyes for just a second. I look around and I shiver. I actually shiver. This is where you live. This is your bed, your clothes, your books. Pieces of the life you led before meeting me, fragments of a Hiro I never knew. Both Japanese and American comic books lie piled in a corner. In a prominent position beside the bed is the television set, complete with the required accompanying machines. DVDs, videos and games fill an entire bookcase. I've managed to watch some of them on that tiny set the Company graciously allowed me to keep after their experiment went awry. Most I've never heard of. But the ones that I do know lead me to guess that I was right in my guesses about you. Your favorite stories are all about heroes, savers of mankind and defenders of good and order. You've probably watched these dozens of times, memorizing lines and quoting them at the appropriate moments even if it made you seem a bit foolish, but always firmly believing in every word. I bet you never suspected that you'd turn out to be one of them. And not just any one. You turned out to be me.
There they are, right at the top shelf in a place of honor, your collection of books on Kensei Takezo. And it‘s pretty large, too. I count ten just at a quick glance. Looks like you really are my biggest fan. I grab one of the thickest ones and leaf through the contents. I'm amazed that the authors found so much to write about considering how much of it is pure fabrication. Yaeko sure did spread the word. She had a fertile imagination, that one. I've heard so many tall tales that I sometimes wonder if she didn't simply invent most of them to aggrandize your memory. She really did idolize you. I won't assure that she loved you since she found it so easy to exchange men when it proved convenient, but she certainly did keep the name of Kensei as alive as me. So you could grow up worshiping both yourself and the man you betrayed. It's the convergence of the timelines, two paths formerly drawn on opposite sides of a sphere uniting in one for a brief time. Those paths are about to cross again, very soon. I can feel you already humming in the air, your voice whispering in the silence. You're close. Just a few more days and you'll be here. I know it.
I lie back on your bed, sink my nose in the sheets and smell the uniqueness that is you. I want you with me now. If I had the power, I'd punch a hole through every timeline between me and where you stand and I'd drag you back here with me. And I'd tell you everything, every thought, every dream, every curse, the whole of what festers inside my odiously beating heart. Do you think you can handle it? A dozen lifetimes of hate and love and every single emotion in between?
||||||
Reality doesn't exist. It's an concept, a construction of an individual mind based on factors determined by his own experience. A fabrication no more substantial than the ravings our minds immerse us in every time we shut our eyes, except that I live in these illusions even when my eyes are open to the sun, its bright heat scorching my corneas, making tears roll down my cheeks, but I won't look away. I want to feel it flaying me alive, stripping away every piece that is me until not even a whisper remains that I was ever here at all.
||||||
His lips taste like I imagine yours would. Warm sunshine on a mid-autumn day melting into me. I press him against the wall of his apartment, feeling his body arching up into me. He pushes my shirt off my shoulders, stroking down to the top of my trousers. He’s bursting with energy, raw, living passion and I haven’t even begun. His movements are a little clumsy, perhaps, the result of too many beers from the bar we just came from. It was his idea to go for drinks; I didn’t even have to prod him. He came to me on his own. A couple of hours talking about everything and nothing, a whispered proposition as the alcohol thrummed through our bodies, and here we are, his hands clenched on my ribs as I stroke him through his trousers. You’ve done this with him, haven’t you? Tasted the sweat of his skin with your tongue, felt his heart beating against your hand as you explored every inch of his body? If I touch him deep enough, will I find you? Will some piece of your essence spark on my skin?
He’s pulling me, dragging me toward the bed. My trousers are unbuckled already. I didn’t notice when he did that. A few more quick tugs and I’m naked, and so is he. He’s not shy. His hand is already on me, stroking me so hard that I have to grab his shoulders to keep myself on my feet. His lips brush over my collarbone. Such a tease. I like him. But I want much more than this from him right now.
“Hang on,” I say, placing my hand on his arm.
He looks up questioningly, but he stills his hand.
“Lie back on the bed,” I murmur against his lips. I stroke his hip, my hand sliding slightly forward.
His eyes darken, lips quirking upward.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks, though I suspect he already knows.
“You’ll see.”
He does as I ask, lying down on his back, and I kneel on the floor before him. I slide my hands up his thighs, pulling him closer, and lean down. I suck him slowly at first, getting a feel for him. His breath grows shallow, rising in small gasps. From the corner of my eye, I see his hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets. He’s probably desperate, but doesn’t want to say. Shall I wait for him to beg me? Maybe later, when we’re a little more comfortable. I’ll indulge him for now. I quicken my pace, taking him in completely. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that one. He’s breath is coming really fast now, throaty moans tingling in my ears. Perfect.
He arches up against me as he comes. I swallow, ignoring the bitter taste. I’ll have plenty of sweetness soon. I climb up on the bed, sliding up his body. He looks so good lying here under me, his skin all flushed, his eyes half closed, giving him such a lovely air of vulnerability. I kiss his neck, savoring the taste of his sweat. He stirs under me, placing his hands on my back.
“That was great,” he says, still out of breath.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I lick the hollow behind his ear. “There’s just one more thing.”
“I think I know what that would be.”
I raise my head and look at him. There’s desire in his eyes, dark and eager, almost like my own. Almost, but not quite.
“I want to fuck you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re up for it, then?”
He answers me with a grin and a firm squeeze on my ass. “Do you have any…”
“I’ll be right back.”
Standing up, I pick up my trousers from the floor and search in the pockets for the lubricant I slipped in there in case the evening went my way. I find it soon and return to the bed. He’s already turned over on his stomach, legs spread, backside raised slightly. Oh, God. I almost drop the lube. He’s perfect. Just, perfect. Your Ando waiting for me, yearning for my touch. This day, I truly am blessed.
“You have it?” he asks, glancing back at me. The eagerness in his voice is intoxicating.
I show him the lube and a wrapped condom. I wait for him to turn his head back around to throw the condom on the floor. It’s not like I need it. I’m as incapable of carrying a disease as I am of suffering from it. It’s enough to let him think that I’m wearing one. Opening the tube, I smear some of the gel on my palm and slick my erection. Taking out some more, I spread it on the tips of my fingers. I kneel on the bed between his legs, and, ‘placing one hand on his hip, I touch his hole. He gasps I push inside slightly and his breath deepens to a low moan. Beautiful. I circle around with my fingers, ensuring that he’s completely slick. He’s breathing heavily. I can see the tension nestled in his shoulders as he grips the pillow in his arms. My own body won’t hold out for much longer. Hastily closing the bottle, I chuck it to the side, not caring where it lands, and position myself above him. He shudders against me as I enter him, his hands clutching the pillow.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes, just keep moving.”
I’m more than happy to oblige, thrusting into him hard and fast. He feels so good. He’s moaning. The sound is muffled by the pillow but is loud enough to warm my ears as I lay my head against his shoulder. I can feel them vibrating through his body and into mine. I take him in my hand. He’s hard again, hard as ever. Hard for me. So good, so warm. The heat is enveloping me, claiming every inch of my being. This is more than just a fuck. This is decades of suppressed desire exploding in my bloodstream. Him, you, both meld, twined in my mind, one body, one being. Pleasure is nothing compared to this.
I come before him, collapsing on the bed beside him. He pushes my hand away and strokes himself. I want to see his face, but he’s turned toward the other side. He doesn’t last long. One sharp moan and his arm stills. I close my eyes for a bit, just a bit, letting the afterglow take me.
I open my eyes. The room is completely dark, save for the bright red numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table. 5:34. I fell asleep, then. Oh, well. He’s sleeping beside me; I can hear his breathing. It’s not loud enough to be called a snore, but it’s distinctive enough. With the bit of light streaming in through the window, I see that he hasn’t moved. He’s still lying on his stomach, possibly fell asleep as soon as he came. It feels peaceful, watching him like this. I wonder if he’s dreaming. Maybe he dreams of you. I certainly do, more than my share. It was definitely worth my time coming here. It’d be easy to kill him now. It’d certainly be more merciful. All I need to do is grab his head and wrench it to the side, breaking his spine. He wouldn’t know a thing. As gentle a death as if he’d simply never woken up. But that’s just the thing. He must know. So many people die for no reason at all, and most of those few for whom there is a reason breathe their last without ever becoming aware of it. I can’t do that with him. I’ve planned this for too long. Things must be done properly. Let him have his sweet dreams for now.
Part 3
Pairing: Adam/Hiro, Adam/Ando, Hiro/Ando
Rating: NC-17
Series order: Screaming into the Wind,
Discovery,
Meeting.
First part is here
Summary: Adam ponders the nature of memory.
AN: Daniel is Linderman’s first name.
Disclaimer: I own noting but my own words.
Memory is a construct of ideas trapped inside your head that shifts and transforms itself with no notion of space or time. It's images and sounds and smells compressed in tiny moments that last eternities yet at the same time last no time at all. How can one separate what already happened from what is happening and what will happen when everything curls back into itself, forming a labyrinth of circles and more circles, each flowing and breaking into each other, until all the memories pile together and it’s impossible to unravel one from the other? Yet always overlaid above the rest are the ones I have of you. Every moment we shared remains as vivid as on the day it occurred, the details as crisp as a freshly cut apple whose insides never grow dark. That's another thing I have to thank my ability for. My memory is excellent. Despite the fact that when I see you again, you'll have experienced our encounter much more recently than me, I'll probably still have a much better remembrance of it. Funny, isn't it? 336 years of experience far beyond a single lifetime's understanding have never been able to erase the brightness of your eyes, the amusing insistence in your expression as you coached me in how to be a hero, the warmth of your body as I gripped your shoulder. Some words of our conversations are a little smudged, true, but most of them remain intact. Forgetting them would be like removing my own skin.
They tried once to take them from me. The Company wasn't satisfied with simply having me locked away. They did try to kill me, you know, quite a few times, but they never could find something that would stick. Of course, they didn’t call them murder attempts; such a shady term wouldn’t do. They were simply “experiments”. Bob especially had wanted to do some hands on testing since he met me, but it would hardly have been polite to ask a friend to submit to the sadistic methods he so adores. After Kaito locked me up, there was nothing to hold him back. Perhaps this was simply another test, just to see if they could keep me in line. The fools.
They'd recently acquired a new recruit, a boy from Haiti, who has a unique and powerful ability. He can erase any memory that he chooses, banishing them completely from one's brain, just as if they never happened. If he wants, he can take it all, an entire life swallowed up by the touch of his hand. That's what they had him do to me. It was Daniel of all people who gave the order, the traitor. It shocked me, honestly. After all the years I spent with him, instructing him, helping him to develop his ability to its maximum potential, for even him to turn on me like this. I don’t seem to be able to inspire loyalty for very long.
They strapped me down on my bed, placing a restraint across my forehead as well so that I wouldn't thrash around. No one mentioned what they were about to do. All Daniel said was that they were going to "fix my problem". Then he turned towards the boy and told him, "Take everything." Just that. Two little words.. It didn't hurt in the physical sense. I felt a pinch, like the sharp jab of a needle. The real pain was feeling every memory being ripped away, like a cut deep inside my soul, and what ran along the knife’s edge wasn’t blood, no, it was much more potent than blood, it was my life. My entire existence in this world disappearing like a blackboard being wiped clean, great brushstrokes taking bigger and bigger chunks with it until only incoherent fragments remain behind and then even that was gone and I was nothing more than a shell with no conscience that I was anyone at all.
The next few days were nothing but confusion and an ever increasing desperation to know who I was. Because I was someone, I could feel it clawing somewhere inside me but I couldn’t even reach for it. There was nowhere to reach out to, nothing I could see. My mind was a blank, as clear as water. People came to visit, a varying stream of faces that I could never pin to the names they gave me. They told me I had a very severe case of amnesia and that they were doing everything they could to help me. No, I couldn't leave the room, as that would impede my progress. Of course, there wasn't any progress. They intended to keep me docile and helpless, probably even grateful for the “good care” they were giving me. They brought me books on neutral subjects like baseball and plants, and even gave me a small TV, where I could gorge myself on soap operas and mediocre sitcoms to my heart's content. No cable, unfortunately; their generosity didn’t extend that far. For two weeks, I was no one, a newborn floating in an empty sea. Yet, despite the anguish of not knowing who I was, I was free from you. For the first time in centuries, I didn’t wake up with your name on my lips, didn’t see your face floating beside mine as I looked in the mirror. My forgetfulness both imprisoned and freed me. I'm not sure that I don't miss those days sometimes.
You know how I was able to make my brain heal itself? It was through you. There was a TV special on one of the networks about the 20th century wars, commemorating some anniversary or other. I watched it so eagerly, hoping that among all those photographs and video footage something would spark in my injured memory, but nothing did. I lived through at least half of the conflicts they showed and nothing felt familiar. Yet your name, two simple syllables, not even by themselves but embedded in another word, woke me up. I don't know if it would have worked if I hadn't been paying such close attention, writing down everything that I felt might be important, still hoping that it might trigger something later, if not right at that moment. Well, this one did. Hiroshima. I didn't even get to write the entire word. Seeing the first four letters gleaming up at me from the lined paper was all it took to activate my healing and bring all the memories rushing back like water suddenly bursting from an exploded dam. The flood was so intense that I passed out. I woke up on the floor. Bob was there, looming over me like the vulture he probably thinks he is. I looked at his frowning face and all inside me was rage. I lunged at him, but a bolt of electricity threw me back against the table. That was my first sighting of Elle, at ten years old already daddy's little sociopath. Bob didn't bother to say a word, just shook his head and walked out, daughter in tow.
They left me alone after that. Save for the meals that they continued to send, and not always regularly, they completely ignored my existence. Their attempt failed, but I only confirmed what I already knew. If memories make the person, you make me.
|||||||
The door glides open. It doesn't creak. Movie formula dictates that doors creak during dramatic moments like these. The sound adds just the right amount of tension to get your spine tingling. But mine is already trembling. My lungs have been gulping air since I stepped into the lobby downstairs. I rode the fourteen floors in the elevator with my back pressed against the side as if I was trying to bury myself in it, my hands gripping the railing so hard that I still bear the imprints of the cold metal on my palms. This isn't just any apartment door I'm opening. It's yours. I close the door carefully behind me and search for the light switch. A bright light floods the small space, hurting my eyes for just a second. I look around and I shiver. I actually shiver. This is where you live. This is your bed, your clothes, your books. Pieces of the life you led before meeting me, fragments of a Hiro I never knew. Both Japanese and American comic books lie piled in a corner. In a prominent position beside the bed is the television set, complete with the required accompanying machines. DVDs, videos and games fill an entire bookcase. I've managed to watch some of them on that tiny set the Company graciously allowed me to keep after their experiment went awry. Most I've never heard of. But the ones that I do know lead me to guess that I was right in my guesses about you. Your favorite stories are all about heroes, savers of mankind and defenders of good and order. You've probably watched these dozens of times, memorizing lines and quoting them at the appropriate moments even if it made you seem a bit foolish, but always firmly believing in every word. I bet you never suspected that you'd turn out to be one of them. And not just any one. You turned out to be me.
There they are, right at the top shelf in a place of honor, your collection of books on Kensei Takezo. And it‘s pretty large, too. I count ten just at a quick glance. Looks like you really are my biggest fan. I grab one of the thickest ones and leaf through the contents. I'm amazed that the authors found so much to write about considering how much of it is pure fabrication. Yaeko sure did spread the word. She had a fertile imagination, that one. I've heard so many tall tales that I sometimes wonder if she didn't simply invent most of them to aggrandize your memory. She really did idolize you. I won't assure that she loved you since she found it so easy to exchange men when it proved convenient, but she certainly did keep the name of Kensei as alive as me. So you could grow up worshiping both yourself and the man you betrayed. It's the convergence of the timelines, two paths formerly drawn on opposite sides of a sphere uniting in one for a brief time. Those paths are about to cross again, very soon. I can feel you already humming in the air, your voice whispering in the silence. You're close. Just a few more days and you'll be here. I know it.
I lie back on your bed, sink my nose in the sheets and smell the uniqueness that is you. I want you with me now. If I had the power, I'd punch a hole through every timeline between me and where you stand and I'd drag you back here with me. And I'd tell you everything, every thought, every dream, every curse, the whole of what festers inside my odiously beating heart. Do you think you can handle it? A dozen lifetimes of hate and love and every single emotion in between?
||||||
Reality doesn't exist. It's an concept, a construction of an individual mind based on factors determined by his own experience. A fabrication no more substantial than the ravings our minds immerse us in every time we shut our eyes, except that I live in these illusions even when my eyes are open to the sun, its bright heat scorching my corneas, making tears roll down my cheeks, but I won't look away. I want to feel it flaying me alive, stripping away every piece that is me until not even a whisper remains that I was ever here at all.
||||||
His lips taste like I imagine yours would. Warm sunshine on a mid-autumn day melting into me. I press him against the wall of his apartment, feeling his body arching up into me. He pushes my shirt off my shoulders, stroking down to the top of my trousers. He’s bursting with energy, raw, living passion and I haven’t even begun. His movements are a little clumsy, perhaps, the result of too many beers from the bar we just came from. It was his idea to go for drinks; I didn’t even have to prod him. He came to me on his own. A couple of hours talking about everything and nothing, a whispered proposition as the alcohol thrummed through our bodies, and here we are, his hands clenched on my ribs as I stroke him through his trousers. You’ve done this with him, haven’t you? Tasted the sweat of his skin with your tongue, felt his heart beating against your hand as you explored every inch of his body? If I touch him deep enough, will I find you? Will some piece of your essence spark on my skin?
He’s pulling me, dragging me toward the bed. My trousers are unbuckled already. I didn’t notice when he did that. A few more quick tugs and I’m naked, and so is he. He’s not shy. His hand is already on me, stroking me so hard that I have to grab his shoulders to keep myself on my feet. His lips brush over my collarbone. Such a tease. I like him. But I want much more than this from him right now.
“Hang on,” I say, placing my hand on his arm.
He looks up questioningly, but he stills his hand.
“Lie back on the bed,” I murmur against his lips. I stroke his hip, my hand sliding slightly forward.
His eyes darken, lips quirking upward.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks, though I suspect he already knows.
“You’ll see.”
He does as I ask, lying down on his back, and I kneel on the floor before him. I slide my hands up his thighs, pulling him closer, and lean down. I suck him slowly at first, getting a feel for him. His breath grows shallow, rising in small gasps. From the corner of my eye, I see his hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets. He’s probably desperate, but doesn’t want to say. Shall I wait for him to beg me? Maybe later, when we’re a little more comfortable. I’ll indulge him for now. I quicken my pace, taking him in completely. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that one. He’s breath is coming really fast now, throaty moans tingling in my ears. Perfect.
He arches up against me as he comes. I swallow, ignoring the bitter taste. I’ll have plenty of sweetness soon. I climb up on the bed, sliding up his body. He looks so good lying here under me, his skin all flushed, his eyes half closed, giving him such a lovely air of vulnerability. I kiss his neck, savoring the taste of his sweat. He stirs under me, placing his hands on my back.
“That was great,” he says, still out of breath.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I lick the hollow behind his ear. “There’s just one more thing.”
“I think I know what that would be.”
I raise my head and look at him. There’s desire in his eyes, dark and eager, almost like my own. Almost, but not quite.
“I want to fuck you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re up for it, then?”
He answers me with a grin and a firm squeeze on my ass. “Do you have any…”
“I’ll be right back.”
Standing up, I pick up my trousers from the floor and search in the pockets for the lubricant I slipped in there in case the evening went my way. I find it soon and return to the bed. He’s already turned over on his stomach, legs spread, backside raised slightly. Oh, God. I almost drop the lube. He’s perfect. Just, perfect. Your Ando waiting for me, yearning for my touch. This day, I truly am blessed.
“You have it?” he asks, glancing back at me. The eagerness in his voice is intoxicating.
I show him the lube and a wrapped condom. I wait for him to turn his head back around to throw the condom on the floor. It’s not like I need it. I’m as incapable of carrying a disease as I am of suffering from it. It’s enough to let him think that I’m wearing one. Opening the tube, I smear some of the gel on my palm and slick my erection. Taking out some more, I spread it on the tips of my fingers. I kneel on the bed between his legs, and, ‘placing one hand on his hip, I touch his hole. He gasps I push inside slightly and his breath deepens to a low moan. Beautiful. I circle around with my fingers, ensuring that he’s completely slick. He’s breathing heavily. I can see the tension nestled in his shoulders as he grips the pillow in his arms. My own body won’t hold out for much longer. Hastily closing the bottle, I chuck it to the side, not caring where it lands, and position myself above him. He shudders against me as I enter him, his hands clutching the pillow.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes, just keep moving.”
I’m more than happy to oblige, thrusting into him hard and fast. He feels so good. He’s moaning. The sound is muffled by the pillow but is loud enough to warm my ears as I lay my head against his shoulder. I can feel them vibrating through his body and into mine. I take him in my hand. He’s hard again, hard as ever. Hard for me. So good, so warm. The heat is enveloping me, claiming every inch of my being. This is more than just a fuck. This is decades of suppressed desire exploding in my bloodstream. Him, you, both meld, twined in my mind, one body, one being. Pleasure is nothing compared to this.
I come before him, collapsing on the bed beside him. He pushes my hand away and strokes himself. I want to see his face, but he’s turned toward the other side. He doesn’t last long. One sharp moan and his arm stills. I close my eyes for a bit, just a bit, letting the afterglow take me.
I open my eyes. The room is completely dark, save for the bright red numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table. 5:34. I fell asleep, then. Oh, well. He’s sleeping beside me; I can hear his breathing. It’s not loud enough to be called a snore, but it’s distinctive enough. With the bit of light streaming in through the window, I see that he hasn’t moved. He’s still lying on his stomach, possibly fell asleep as soon as he came. It feels peaceful, watching him like this. I wonder if he’s dreaming. Maybe he dreams of you. I certainly do, more than my share. It was definitely worth my time coming here. It’d be easy to kill him now. It’d certainly be more merciful. All I need to do is grab his head and wrench it to the side, breaking his spine. He wouldn’t know a thing. As gentle a death as if he’d simply never woken up. But that’s just the thing. He must know. So many people die for no reason at all, and most of those few for whom there is a reason breathe their last without ever becoming aware of it. I can’t do that with him. I’ve planned this for too long. Things must be done properly. Let him have his sweet dreams for now.
Part 3