Of Warm and Cool Chills (Part II)
Title: "Of Warm and Cool Chills - Part II"
Author: bello-romantico, Kathryn, or just me! :)
Rating: I'd give this one a good 14A
Warnings: Not-so innocent kissing and a spot of language here and there.
Summary: A set of swings at two o'clock in the morning on a cold winter's night brings two best friends closer than ever expected.
Of Warm and Cool Chills
Part II
An errant gust of wind blows through the field, carrying shimmering snowflakes that dust the dark heads of hair of the two boys kissing. The sky above them is pitch black and sprinkled with stars and the only light shining down on John and Paul is the faint, silvery glow of the moon - casting gentle shadows on their slight forms huddled in winter coats. They sit smack dab in the middle of the snowy field - their surroundings nothing but white - and the temperature dips just below zero.
None of this matters, however, as they are locked in a passionate embrace and the blood in their veins is boiling - pulses thrumming hotly with desire. John vaguely wonders how the snow around him isn’t melting because he feels as if he’s on fire. Ten minutes ago he’d been sitting on a swing - just about ready shrivel up and die as a block of ice - and now here he is kissing his best friend with a feverish heat burning in his body. His gloveless hands are no longer frozen stiff as they are cupping Paul’s face - the heat of the younger boy’s skin is warming his fingers. The lips he could have sworn were blue moments ago are moving over Paul’s hungrily - the heat of sighs, moans, mouths and tongues restoring feeling - oh, God, so much feeling - to them. John isn’t sure if this sudden jump in his body’s temperature is healthy - he thinks he remembers reading somewhere that a severe shock from cold to hot could induce a heart attack - but when Paul grabs at his collar to pull him closer, he doesn’t give a flying fuck about a heart attack.
If he were to die right now of a heart attack - with Paul’s tongue running along his lower lip like that - he wouldn’t give a damn. Not a bloody damn.
The boys’ legs are all tangled in the snow and when John leans in a little too much, they’re suddenly sprawled one on top of the other before they know it. Their mouths separate and they gaze at each with hooded eyes glazed over with passion. Paul lies on the ground, his hair that contrasts strikingly with the white snow sticking up in all directions and John is now atop him, steadying himself with bare hands shoved into the snow bank they’re currently lying upon. A strange lethargy inhibits the pair of them and even though they both recognize that their skin is chilled - goose bumps ghosting every inch of their flesh - their insides - their blood, their muscles, and their hearts - are hot. It’s a funny feeling - this clashing between the surface of their skin and the blood beneath - but not an entirely unwelcome one.
As they draw gulps of air through parted, red lips, they slowly come to grasp what is happening and a hint of uncertainty enters their gazes - the heat and press of their bodies together very new and very intimate. As they breathe, their chests touch and John feels the whisper of Paul’s face so close to his own. The simple fact that their faces have never been this close before - just a breadth away - makes the older boy shut his eyes and push away that tiny spark of doubt.
John lowers his lips again to Paul’s and he kisses the boy beneath him deeply, inhaling the cold air sharply as a weakening jolt of bliss scurries through his limbs. Supporting himself on his elbows, John pins Paul’s body under his as he continues to administer kiss after kiss to the mouth that just seems to melt into his. As they kiss, John’s head goes a little fuzzy from the feelings he knows Mimi would call sinful - feelings that are making his body feel heavy, hot and abuzz with pleasure. Somewhere in his brain fogged up by desire, John sometimes wonders where he ends and Paul begins. When their mouths connect, it’s as if they’ve fused together - finally a whole - and it feels so right that it seems strange when they have to separate for oxygen.
Paul’s hands are gripping John’s collar in a firm hold that keeps the older boy close and their lips continue to meet, breaths that steam in the winter air the only thing between them. Underneath his friend, Paul shifts slightly and his hips involuntarily press into John’s - eliciting arched backs and groans from the pair of them. The burning, intense pleasure this simple touch has provoked makes them both pause and everything goes quiet as they stare unflinchingly into the others eyes. Tentatively - curiously - John shifts his hips the same way Paul had and their previous reactions are doubled - a muffled cry actually tears from the older boy’s lips and his eyes flutter shut as Paul’s moan hitches in his throat and his brow creases in a building desire.
Identifying the slowly intensifying tightening low in his belly, the younger boy’s eyes fly open and his entire face drains of color - an icy chill shooting down his spine. “Get off me,” he murmurs abruptly, body stilling under John's.
Halting his lips before they lower to touch Paul’s again, John opens his eyes and he frowns, confused. “What?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“I said get off me!” says Paul through ground teeth and he forcibly shoves his best friend away, kicking wildly to untangle his legs from John’s. In seconds, the younger boy is on his feet and shaking the snow off of him, shame and anger burning bright in his round cheeks.
John watches in some sort of passion induced stupor as Paul picks up his stupid hat left in the snow and rams it onto his head with a barely contained violence in his actions. He’s shaking his head and his eyes have this wild glint in them - he’s furious - but there’s also a flustered jitter to his movements and embarrassment is evident in the flush of his face. He pauses to look at John for a moment, but soon turns away with a exasperated huff and begins walking away.
“Where are you going?” demands John sharply, still sitting in the snow.
“Home,” comes Paul’s muffled reply and with that, John is on his feet and catching up to his friend striding through the snow at a barreling pace.
“Weren’t you walking me home?” asks John with a challenging lilt to his voice, keeping up just fine with Paul. They’re now walking on the street and the clop-clop-clop of their boots on the pavement would be comical if they weren’t arguing.
“Things change,” mutters Paul darkly, avoiding all eye contact with the boy at his side.
John snorts in derision. “I can see that,” he says cuttingly, adding a hint of suggestion to his words which earns him a murderous glance from Paul.
“Just leave me alone,” says Paul, trying to speed up to lose John, but failing - John isn’t giving up.
“Why do you want me to leave you alone?” asks the older boy, pushing tauntingly at Paul who barely stumbles and keeps on walking. “Huh? Why?”
“Because I do,” answers Paul, eyebrows sunk low on his face and jaw tense.
“You sure didn’t want me to leave you alone a few fucking minutes ago!”
At this, Paul stops in his tracks and whirls around to face John with an indescribable fury in his gaze. “Shut the fuck up, John,” he hisses, shoulders hunched and hands trembling at his sides, “Don’t you dare-”
“Well, it’s true!” exclaims John, throwing his arms out with his customary sneer fully fledged on his lips. “Everything was fine two seconds ago and now here you are with your knickers all in a twis-”
“Shut up!” screams Paul, lunging forward to push John with all his might, causing the older boy to stumble backward in shock. Paul is shaking from head to foot and he looks like he’s struggling against tears, drawing ragged breaths that catch in his throat. When his lip begins to tremble, he takes off running down the empty street and John doesn’t go after him - he just watches him run down the dark pavement.
“It was just a fucking Christmas present!” shouts John, voice echoing around them.
Paul halts and with a rustle of fabric that John can hear given the stillness of the night, he turns. “I didn’t want it,” spits Paul. his voice breaking, and with that, turns away and keeps running.
“There are plenty of Christmas presents I don’t fucking want and I get them anyway!” bellows John down the street, but his words go unanswered for Paul doesn’t turn around again. Eventually, he disappears as he turns a corner and his little form sporting that dreadful hat is now nowhere to be seen. All is deathly silent and when the feeling of being all alone sets in, John gives one vicious kick to the pavement, swearing under his breath. What the fuck had he been thinking?
John waits for a few minutes with baited breath for Paul's return, but it doesn't come. Feeling his fingers beginning to go numb, John shoves them sullenly into his pockets and begins his trek back to Mimi’s. All the way, he feels as if his heart is slowing him because it feels like it weighs a ton in his chest and he’s grateful that no-one can tell he’s crying because the tears freeze before they have the chance to spill down his cheeks.
Author: bello-romantico, Kathryn, or just me! :)
Rating: I'd give this one a good 14A
Warnings: Not-so innocent kissing and a spot of language here and there.
Summary: A set of swings at two o'clock in the morning on a cold winter's night brings two best friends closer than ever expected.
Of Warm and Cool Chills
Part II
An errant gust of wind blows through the field, carrying shimmering snowflakes that dust the dark heads of hair of the two boys kissing. The sky above them is pitch black and sprinkled with stars and the only light shining down on John and Paul is the faint, silvery glow of the moon - casting gentle shadows on their slight forms huddled in winter coats. They sit smack dab in the middle of the snowy field - their surroundings nothing but white - and the temperature dips just below zero.
None of this matters, however, as they are locked in a passionate embrace and the blood in their veins is boiling - pulses thrumming hotly with desire. John vaguely wonders how the snow around him isn’t melting because he feels as if he’s on fire. Ten minutes ago he’d been sitting on a swing - just about ready shrivel up and die as a block of ice - and now here he is kissing his best friend with a feverish heat burning in his body. His gloveless hands are no longer frozen stiff as they are cupping Paul’s face - the heat of the younger boy’s skin is warming his fingers. The lips he could have sworn were blue moments ago are moving over Paul’s hungrily - the heat of sighs, moans, mouths and tongues restoring feeling - oh, God, so much feeling - to them. John isn’t sure if this sudden jump in his body’s temperature is healthy - he thinks he remembers reading somewhere that a severe shock from cold to hot could induce a heart attack - but when Paul grabs at his collar to pull him closer, he doesn’t give a flying fuck about a heart attack.
If he were to die right now of a heart attack - with Paul’s tongue running along his lower lip like that - he wouldn’t give a damn. Not a bloody damn.
The boys’ legs are all tangled in the snow and when John leans in a little too much, they’re suddenly sprawled one on top of the other before they know it. Their mouths separate and they gaze at each with hooded eyes glazed over with passion. Paul lies on the ground, his hair that contrasts strikingly with the white snow sticking up in all directions and John is now atop him, steadying himself with bare hands shoved into the snow bank they’re currently lying upon. A strange lethargy inhibits the pair of them and even though they both recognize that their skin is chilled - goose bumps ghosting every inch of their flesh - their insides - their blood, their muscles, and their hearts - are hot. It’s a funny feeling - this clashing between the surface of their skin and the blood beneath - but not an entirely unwelcome one.
As they draw gulps of air through parted, red lips, they slowly come to grasp what is happening and a hint of uncertainty enters their gazes - the heat and press of their bodies together very new and very intimate. As they breathe, their chests touch and John feels the whisper of Paul’s face so close to his own. The simple fact that their faces have never been this close before - just a breadth away - makes the older boy shut his eyes and push away that tiny spark of doubt.
John lowers his lips again to Paul’s and he kisses the boy beneath him deeply, inhaling the cold air sharply as a weakening jolt of bliss scurries through his limbs. Supporting himself on his elbows, John pins Paul’s body under his as he continues to administer kiss after kiss to the mouth that just seems to melt into his. As they kiss, John’s head goes a little fuzzy from the feelings he knows Mimi would call sinful - feelings that are making his body feel heavy, hot and abuzz with pleasure. Somewhere in his brain fogged up by desire, John sometimes wonders where he ends and Paul begins. When their mouths connect, it’s as if they’ve fused together - finally a whole - and it feels so right that it seems strange when they have to separate for oxygen.
Paul’s hands are gripping John’s collar in a firm hold that keeps the older boy close and their lips continue to meet, breaths that steam in the winter air the only thing between them. Underneath his friend, Paul shifts slightly and his hips involuntarily press into John’s - eliciting arched backs and groans from the pair of them. The burning, intense pleasure this simple touch has provoked makes them both pause and everything goes quiet as they stare unflinchingly into the others eyes. Tentatively - curiously - John shifts his hips the same way Paul had and their previous reactions are doubled - a muffled cry actually tears from the older boy’s lips and his eyes flutter shut as Paul’s moan hitches in his throat and his brow creases in a building desire.
Identifying the slowly intensifying tightening low in his belly, the younger boy’s eyes fly open and his entire face drains of color - an icy chill shooting down his spine. “Get off me,” he murmurs abruptly, body stilling under John's.
Halting his lips before they lower to touch Paul’s again, John opens his eyes and he frowns, confused. “What?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“I said get off me!” says Paul through ground teeth and he forcibly shoves his best friend away, kicking wildly to untangle his legs from John’s. In seconds, the younger boy is on his feet and shaking the snow off of him, shame and anger burning bright in his round cheeks.
John watches in some sort of passion induced stupor as Paul picks up his stupid hat left in the snow and rams it onto his head with a barely contained violence in his actions. He’s shaking his head and his eyes have this wild glint in them - he’s furious - but there’s also a flustered jitter to his movements and embarrassment is evident in the flush of his face. He pauses to look at John for a moment, but soon turns away with a exasperated huff and begins walking away.
“Where are you going?” demands John sharply, still sitting in the snow.
“Home,” comes Paul’s muffled reply and with that, John is on his feet and catching up to his friend striding through the snow at a barreling pace.
“Weren’t you walking me home?” asks John with a challenging lilt to his voice, keeping up just fine with Paul. They’re now walking on the street and the clop-clop-clop of their boots on the pavement would be comical if they weren’t arguing.
“Things change,” mutters Paul darkly, avoiding all eye contact with the boy at his side.
John snorts in derision. “I can see that,” he says cuttingly, adding a hint of suggestion to his words which earns him a murderous glance from Paul.
“Just leave me alone,” says Paul, trying to speed up to lose John, but failing - John isn’t giving up.
“Why do you want me to leave you alone?” asks the older boy, pushing tauntingly at Paul who barely stumbles and keeps on walking. “Huh? Why?”
“Because I do,” answers Paul, eyebrows sunk low on his face and jaw tense.
“You sure didn’t want me to leave you alone a few fucking minutes ago!”
At this, Paul stops in his tracks and whirls around to face John with an indescribable fury in his gaze. “Shut the fuck up, John,” he hisses, shoulders hunched and hands trembling at his sides, “Don’t you dare-”
“Well, it’s true!” exclaims John, throwing his arms out with his customary sneer fully fledged on his lips. “Everything was fine two seconds ago and now here you are with your knickers all in a twis-”
“Shut up!” screams Paul, lunging forward to push John with all his might, causing the older boy to stumble backward in shock. Paul is shaking from head to foot and he looks like he’s struggling against tears, drawing ragged breaths that catch in his throat. When his lip begins to tremble, he takes off running down the empty street and John doesn’t go after him - he just watches him run down the dark pavement.
“It was just a fucking Christmas present!” shouts John, voice echoing around them.
Paul halts and with a rustle of fabric that John can hear given the stillness of the night, he turns. “I didn’t want it,” spits Paul. his voice breaking, and with that, turns away and keeps running.
“There are plenty of Christmas presents I don’t fucking want and I get them anyway!” bellows John down the street, but his words go unanswered for Paul doesn’t turn around again. Eventually, he disappears as he turns a corner and his little form sporting that dreadful hat is now nowhere to be seen. All is deathly silent and when the feeling of being all alone sets in, John gives one vicious kick to the pavement, swearing under his breath. What the fuck had he been thinking?
John waits for a few minutes with baited breath for Paul's return, but it doesn't come. Feeling his fingers beginning to go numb, John shoves them sullenly into his pockets and begins his trek back to Mimi’s. All the way, he feels as if his heart is slowing him because it feels like it weighs a ton in his chest and he’s grateful that no-one can tell he’s crying because the tears freeze before they have the chance to spill down his cheeks.