I won't go getting tired of you - Part 6 (INCOMPLETE- Will never be completed)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Strokes, this is just a product of my sick imagination. Apologies to all the parties involved.
Summary:A discovery of feelings and a reality to be changed
Julian Casablancas/Dave Grohl
I walk slowly out of the room, without stopping to see if he is following me.
I light a cigarette while waiting for the elevator; it earns me a couple of disgusted looks and I smile, exhaling slowly.
One of the obsequious concierges is by my side in seconds, informing me that smoking is not allowed anywhere in the hotel.
The lift's door opens and I hand him my cigarette.
Dave is looking at me, his eyes dark, dark pools in the overly bright artificial light.
"Julian, listen…"
The doors open again and an old woman, with way too much lipstick, steps inside, standing beside me.
That's the first time he has called me by my name.
I like it.
I like the sound of it.
His soft, almost hidden, accent rolls the letters of my name slowly out of his mouth and the sound it's warm and soft like his eyes.
I don't wanna know what he was going to say, I am not interested.
I want to hear my name on his lips again; I want to hear him panting and moaning around my name.
I want him to be fully aware that it's me fucking him.
Me. Julian. Me.
Me.
The chirping mechanical voice that announces that we are, indeed, on floor 4, snaps me out of my lust-induced ego trip and we step out into the deserted corridor.
I follow him, watching how his legs move with a strong elegance, how his hair curls a little at the nape of his neck.
Dark, dark hair…
Strong shoulders, the slick muscles of his arms, sliding and moving under the tanned skin.
I am looking at a man.
A man, not a boy.
Not a boy with long, long legs and sharp bones.
Not a boy with baby soft skin and a delicate chin.
Not a boy with prominent ribs, the pale scar of a childhood appendicitis barely visible just above the hipbone…
The door clicks open and I force him away.
Again.
Just go away Nick, please…
Please.
I close the door behind us and I know that, according to the
unwritten laws of lusty behaviour, I should have him pinned by the door already, plundering his mouth and tearing at his clothes.
Call me original, unconventional, but now that I have him where I want him, I am gonna take my time.
Call me scared…
I turn on all the lights; I want to see him.
I want to see… us.
He remains silent. And I don't know why, but it makes me nervous.
He just stands by the door; his dark, lovely eyes fix on my face.
Is he waiting for me to make the first move?
Is he embarrassed?
Scared?
He doesn't look like it.
He looks relaxed, comfortable in his skin.
I am looking at him, while moving towards the bed, shedding my jacket in the process.
And I am cold all of a sudden.
I keep looking at him.
He doesn't move.
I take off my shoes, my socks.
Keep looking at him.
He doesn't speak.
We are staring at each other from opposite corners of the room, studying each other like two opponents in a ring.
This is ridiculous.
We are not blushing virgins, neither of us.
This is a fuck.
Or at least this is gonna be a fuck, if either one us decide to move.
We don't, though.
We don't move.
I'm hovering by the bed, not quite on it, my feet shuffling over the soft carpet. My jeans brushing lightly against the fabric of the bedcover.
My breath is slowly becoming more laboured and that's absurd because we really aren't doing anything.
He is still standing by the door.
A black negative framed in white wood.
He's looking at me with eyes so dark that I can't see the irises from where I stand.
My breath itches in my throat, strangled by the mounting tension.
Where's all my security, my self-assurance gone?
I can't lose control.
I can't, but I think I have.
Sometime along the line this chase has stopped, has changed into something else and I don't like it.
I need to stick to the original parameters.
I need control.
Control.
We're here to fuck. Let's get it over and done with it.
I take off my shirt and throw it on the floor, somewhere near my jacket.
I push a strand of my hair out of my eyes and smile.
He doesn't smile back.
This feeling of uneasiness grows and grows in my chest, but I won't give him the satisfaction to know it.
What is this?
I'm getting angry again.
No one is gonna play with me.
Nobody.
Not you, Dave, that's for sure.
My fixed smile dies on my lips and I clench my teeth.
I'm getting the hell out of here.
Fuck you.
"What do you want, Julian?"
His voice stops me on my tracks.
My name again, melting slowly in the deep recess of his mouth.
Wait a minute!
What kind of dumb fucking question was that?
What do I want?
I want to fuck him!
That's what I want.
I told him so.
I told him already.
I'm getting angrier by the second.
"What do I want? Do you want me to draw a fucking diagram on a flipchart? I am here to fuck, shag, have sex, call it as you please. I thought you wanted the same thing, but if I am mistaken, well, I won't waste any more of MY time and find someone else to play with!"
I put my shoes back on, fuck the socks. Collect my shirt and my jacket, I don't even bother putting them on. I just wanna get out of
this room.
He is still standing by the door. He's bigger than me, but I am getting out of here even if I have to punch him.
"I don't want you to leave… Please stay?"
I look up at him and I don't know what to think. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft.
Dark and soft like October fires.
Like blankets of rusty leaves.
Like burning embers.
I'm confused.
Confused and scared.
I don't want to feel like this.
I'm tired of feeling like this.
This was supposed to be simple. Straightforward.
We meet, we get naked, we fuck, and I leave.
And now I don't really know what's happening.
I know what I want, but I don't want to start thinking what is it that he wants. Why is he acting like this?
He bends down towards me, taking the shirt and jacket from my hand, dropping them at my feet.
His mouth closes the distance between our breaths.
Just one word.
"Julian…"
And we are kissing.
Kissing.
Kissing.
Kissing.
He searches my lips with his open mouth and all it's warm, wet, slick and I want more of this.
More. More. More.
I push my tongue in his mouth, I am on my tiptoes, trying to deepen this kiss, my hands fisting in his shirt, seeking balance and the hot firm flesh beneath the fabric.
I swallow my anger with his spit and I keep working my tongue around his.
He's soft, supple and fucking gorgeous and I can't possibly want to do anything other than just fuck him and kiss him and fuck him while kissing him.
We stop kissing and try to breathe, but breathing is not on top of my priority list at the moment. Kissing him is.
I push him fully against the door and resume the kiss; my hands still clenching his shirt, I am pretty sure I've heard the fabric ripping at some point.
And all of a sudden I am laughing in this kiss, I can't help it.
The unwritten laws of lusty behaviour have won. I am plundering his mouth while pinning him on the door.
I guess it's a pattern and it has to be followed.
He looks at me, confusion in his eyes.
"What's so funny?"
His voice trembles a little, his lips wet, red, delicately, sensually swollen.
I stop laughing.
Immediately.
"Nothing… It's just…"
How can I possibly tell him that I am just completely fucked up and I have the weirdest thoughts running in my head?
I can't.
"I'm sorry. Just ignore me. I'm weird, I am an asshole. I'm half drunk, half high, half mad…"
I could have continued but he's kissing me now and I forget about unwritten laws and concentrate on lusty behaviour.
"Bed…"
I whisper and I discard my shoes and my trousers, still holding on his kiss.
I am naked and he's totally overdressed.
I tell him so.
He unbuttons his shirt, long fingers dancing over the black fabric.
A fluid movement of his shoulders and his shirt joins mine on the carpet.
He is a beautiful man.
Really.
I wish I could tell him, but I can't.
It would be too intimate.
Too personal.
And this is nothing but a fuck.
Nothing else.
His skin is unmarred.
A beautiful tattoo kissing the skin above his left nipple, just above his heart.
I trace the long, swirling pattern with my fingers, mapping the expanse of his torso, brushing his strong collarbone, where the last
black lines are licking like flames at his skin.
I look into his face but I can't read his eyes.
I don't care.
I don't want to care.
The hunger is flaring up my body, the aching between my legs demands to be satisfied.
He reaches towards me, but I am done with being manipulated, being taken, being hurt.
I am in charge.
I push him on the bed, unfastening his jeans while kissing his stomach.
I am good at multitasking.
He's wearing no underwear, like me. Good, no fuss. Faster.
He's naked.
Naked and beautiful.
His body, long and muscular.
Lightly tanned skin stretching over supple flesh.
Beautiful.
He is not delicate.
He is not fragile.
Handsome.
I always thought it was a stupid word. I don't know… just stupid.
Antiquate. Ill-fitting.
But it fits him.
Handsome.
His body is perfect.
It makes me feels self-conscious, makes me realise how far away my body is from being perfect.
I trace the contours of his stomach and the firm muscle quivers under my fingers, a shiver dancing on his skin.
I think about my less-than-perfect body and I wish I hadn't turned on the lights.
"I can hear you thinking…"
His voice bears a hint of amusement and his eyes are brightly dark, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Stop thinking… Stop thinking and just kiss me, will you?"
I lounge forward, pressing the entire length of my body over his and the first contact of our erections brings a strangled moan on my lips, but he swallows it along my breath, pushing his demanding tongue in my mouth, sucking on my own.
And again all is warm and wet and I lose myself in this kiss, his hand kneading the muscles on my shoulders, wandering lower, pressing at the small of my back, pressing me over him, seeking more friction.
And it's heat, it's smouldering and I gasp in his mouth, biting his lip.
More heat, more pain, the blood boiling under the surface.
I slide over his swollen cock and it's his turn to gasp; I lick at the hollow of his throat, tasting the salty slickness of his skin.
He runs one of his large, soft hands in my hair, caressing my scalp, twisting the strands between his fingers.
"Julian…"
His voice dark, coarse…
"Say it again… My name… again…"
"Julian…"
His voice sliding the letters of my name in waves of heat and desire.
My tongue follows the lines of his tattoo, slowly and inexorably aiming at his nipple.
I lick at the dark areola, feeling the muscle beneath trembling. I brush my teeth over the sensitive flesh and the heat of his body surges forward, engulfing my senses.
I keep licking and biting, softly, painfully, delicate, violent.
His breath has the wet quality of little sobs and his hand is still woven in my hair, pushing me, encouraging me.
I bite down harder and he cries out.
I know what he wants, what he needs, but I am gonna do it at my own pace.
My game.
My times.
"Patience…patience…"
I'm sure I am smirking, but my game is taken away from me again when he pushes against me, his hand firmly caressing my ass, his cock pressed on mine in a maddening flush… my skin alight… my brain burnished in this dark, dark desire.
"You're such a fucking tease…"
His voice is strained and I can see his pulse racing madly in his jugular vein.
I move back up, resting my mouth on his neck, sucking, the blood thrumming on my tongue.
"Julian…"
"Julian…"
"Julian…"
He is breathing in my hair, his voice pleading, but not needy.
Trembling with desire.
I have his name burning in my mouth but I can't bring myself to say it.
I don't know why. I really don't.
I would have never imagined him like this.
His body shivering under mine, his long legs parted, wanting, moaning, trembling.
I caress his feverish flesh with my fingers and his back arches in a painful bow.
"Julian…"
I'm drunk off of his voice murmuring my name.
I don't know if it's just a massive ego trip, if it's the power of having his desires at my mercy. I don't know anything at this point,
except the fact that I want to hear his voice moaning my name again and again and I want to bury myself deep into his flesh.
I want.
I need.
I want.
Want. Want. Want.
"Open your eyes…"
He complies and I am lost in his dark, dark irises, searching for an answer to a question I have yet to formulate.
His eyes are hazy, glassed over, as I keep my steady rhythm over his cock.
He tries to return the favour, so to speak, but I won't let him.
I take my own pleasure.
My rules.
"Just enjoy…"
He tries to say something else, but my hand questions lower still and whatever he was going to say is muffled by a low, guttural moan.
Time to finish this dance.
I leave him on the bed, panting, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.
I move across the room, looking for my trousers; I dig into the pockets and retrieve a condom.
I tear the package open and put it on.
I am on the bed in a matter of seconds.
I spread his legs, pulling his knees up and once again I am amazed that he let me do it.
He is totally trusting, he's not holding back. Like he is, somehow, sure I am not going to hurt him.
Why?
Why does he trust me?
Maybe he's just like me, he just doesn't give a damn about anything and anyone and this is just a fuck after all.
I told him so.
He agreed.
He has to be like this.
It can't be anything else.
It simply can't.
It won't be.
I don't have anything with me to prepare him; spit will have to do.
I slip two fingers in my mouth, coating them with saliva and then I push into his body.
His eyes fly open once again, his body jerking under my rough assault.
"Just relax… Spit is not the best lubricant ever, but I'll be gentle. I promise."
I will.
I don't want to hurt him.
I'm not gonna hurt him.
I don't want to see blood staining the sheets.
I don't want to see tears of pain in his eyes.
I don't want to pound into him, cum trickling down my… his thighs… mixed with blood.
No.
No, I will be gentle.
I add another digit and he whimpers a little, but I can feel him stretching, accommodating my fingers. Pushing back.
He wants me.
He still wants me.
I withdraw my fingers, crouching between his legs and I kiss his knees. Slowly, deliberately drawing wet, little circles with my tongue.
"Are you ok?"
He nods, wetting his lips leaning over for another kiss.
I slide into his body in one deliberate thrust.
He grits his teeth but his eyes are clear, fixed on mine, he exhales a shaky breath and his body relaxes around me, letting me in.
Inside him.
My heartbeat is in my throat and at the same time throbs inside him.
Deep inside.
I'm trembling almost uncontrollably as the incredible heat of his body burns down my defences and I breathe his name in his lips.
"Dave…"
I have to move.
I can feel his heart racing onwards and onwards.
I have to move.
I have.
I withdraw and plunge into him again.
Am I being gentle?
Am I hurting him?
I feel like I could cry, cause he's giving me something almost impossible and I can't give him anything back.
He's giving me his complete trust.
He's giving me his body in complete and utter abandon and no matter how much I try to convince myself that what he wants is just a fuck, somehow, I know is not.
But I can't give him more than this.
I can't.
And that's what makes me wanna cry.
This and his eyes, so dark, wise, almost wary, but so… alive.
This and his strong body that he has relinquished in my arms.
My arms.
Mine.
I want to be gentle.
Am I hurting him?
"No… No you're not, You're not…"
My mind is fastened so tightly around this exquisite pleasure/pain that I haven't realised I was speaking aloud.
I've lost all my control.
I've lost my game.
I've lost my prize.
But he's not abusing me; he's not holding me down, wrapping my body with his long-fingered lust…
He's not taking away my heart in careless bites, his mouth bloody and gory…
I am on the brink.
I can't breathe.
My body keeps pushing into him, it can't do otherwise.
I can't do otherwise.
I am racing towards completion faster and faster.
I have to escape.
I have to.
I'm trapped inside this pleasure that is wracking my body and licks at my soul…
This wasn't planned.
This feeling of being held while holding.
This absurd idea that he's giving me something that is definitely not just a fuck.
I feel betrayed by my own body, but I know better than that. My body is working just fine. It's my heart that I can't control; the memories trapped in my flesh are making me bleed.Making me scared.
Scared.
I increase my pace, almost oblivious of his moans, his dark, rusty voice wrapped around my name.
I hide my face in the hollow of his neck, tasting his skin, licking the softness of his pulse, my body a throbbing, living thing inside of him.
I am so close.
Let me go…
Let me go…
Let me go…
But beware of what you ask they say, because it might come true.
He holds my face in his hands, focusing his eyes on mine.
His breathing is ragged, his mouth is wet and his body… his body is mine in this eternity of minutes that stretch and stretch.
He holds my face in his hands and as my world shatters, blinding my eyes and breaking my body, his voice resounds in my head.
"Julian…"
His voice, my name a loop in my head that repeats itself over and over.
I collapse over him, our bodies sticky and sweaty.
I try to regain a shred of my control, but it's useless.
My body is mirrored above his, still buried in his flesh.
His arms folding my body in his embrace.
I feel like crying again.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of him.
His body, his embrace, his voice.
I shift in his arms, withdrawing completely, removing the condom from my softened cock.
God… how trivial life can be… Sex, desires… and all it's left is a used piece of rubber…
I make a knot on the condom and throw it somewhere on the floor.
I am getting out of this bed.
Now.
His hand closes on my wrist before I can make it, but it is not his hold that keeps me here. It's his voice, again.
"Don't go… please."
He's not needy or pleading. Just gentle, like he really wants me here and I don't know why.
I really don't.
It's not that I am the greatest lover in the world, it's not that I am the most amazingly beautiful either. And it can't be my sparkling conversation, because the few times we've spoken I acted like an asshole.
So why?
"Why?"
All my witty, sarcastic remarks die in my mouth as his face slowly closes the gap between our mouths and he breathes softly.
"You are so, so damn beautiful…"
I thought he was going to kiss me again, but he pulls me in his arms instead, leaning down on the bed.
"Stay…"
"Please…"
His voice trapped in my hair, his fingers splayed across my chest.
"Please stay…"
My fear is gnawing mercilessly at my heart.
This is too intimate.
Too dangerous.
But his voice is casting a spell around this night, covering me like a blanket.
"Stay with me tonight?"
It's a question not a plea.
I don't answer.
I can't.
My words are gone.
My security shattered, because I want this.
My fear lulled by his warmth.
I let go.
I surrender, but I don't feel like a victim.
I let go in his embrace.
This night…
This night only I say to myself.
"Julian…"
TBC
Summary:A discovery of feelings and a reality to be changed
Julian Casablancas/Dave Grohl
I walk slowly out of the room, without stopping to see if he is following me.
I light a cigarette while waiting for the elevator; it earns me a couple of disgusted looks and I smile, exhaling slowly.
One of the obsequious concierges is by my side in seconds, informing me that smoking is not allowed anywhere in the hotel.
The lift's door opens and I hand him my cigarette.
Dave is looking at me, his eyes dark, dark pools in the overly bright artificial light.
"Julian, listen…"
The doors open again and an old woman, with way too much lipstick, steps inside, standing beside me.
That's the first time he has called me by my name.
I like it.
I like the sound of it.
His soft, almost hidden, accent rolls the letters of my name slowly out of his mouth and the sound it's warm and soft like his eyes.
I don't wanna know what he was going to say, I am not interested.
I want to hear my name on his lips again; I want to hear him panting and moaning around my name.
I want him to be fully aware that it's me fucking him.
Me. Julian. Me.
Me.
The chirping mechanical voice that announces that we are, indeed, on floor 4, snaps me out of my lust-induced ego trip and we step out into the deserted corridor.
I follow him, watching how his legs move with a strong elegance, how his hair curls a little at the nape of his neck.
Dark, dark hair…
Strong shoulders, the slick muscles of his arms, sliding and moving under the tanned skin.
I am looking at a man.
A man, not a boy.
Not a boy with long, long legs and sharp bones.
Not a boy with baby soft skin and a delicate chin.
Not a boy with prominent ribs, the pale scar of a childhood appendicitis barely visible just above the hipbone…
The door clicks open and I force him away.
Again.
Just go away Nick, please…
Please.
I close the door behind us and I know that, according to the
unwritten laws of lusty behaviour, I should have him pinned by the door already, plundering his mouth and tearing at his clothes.
Call me original, unconventional, but now that I have him where I want him, I am gonna take my time.
Call me scared…
I turn on all the lights; I want to see him.
I want to see… us.
He remains silent. And I don't know why, but it makes me nervous.
He just stands by the door; his dark, lovely eyes fix on my face.
Is he waiting for me to make the first move?
Is he embarrassed?
Scared?
He doesn't look like it.
He looks relaxed, comfortable in his skin.
I am looking at him, while moving towards the bed, shedding my jacket in the process.
And I am cold all of a sudden.
I keep looking at him.
He doesn't move.
I take off my shoes, my socks.
Keep looking at him.
He doesn't speak.
We are staring at each other from opposite corners of the room, studying each other like two opponents in a ring.
This is ridiculous.
We are not blushing virgins, neither of us.
This is a fuck.
Or at least this is gonna be a fuck, if either one us decide to move.
We don't, though.
We don't move.
I'm hovering by the bed, not quite on it, my feet shuffling over the soft carpet. My jeans brushing lightly against the fabric of the bedcover.
My breath is slowly becoming more laboured and that's absurd because we really aren't doing anything.
He is still standing by the door.
A black negative framed in white wood.
He's looking at me with eyes so dark that I can't see the irises from where I stand.
My breath itches in my throat, strangled by the mounting tension.
Where's all my security, my self-assurance gone?
I can't lose control.
I can't, but I think I have.
Sometime along the line this chase has stopped, has changed into something else and I don't like it.
I need to stick to the original parameters.
I need control.
Control.
We're here to fuck. Let's get it over and done with it.
I take off my shirt and throw it on the floor, somewhere near my jacket.
I push a strand of my hair out of my eyes and smile.
He doesn't smile back.
This feeling of uneasiness grows and grows in my chest, but I won't give him the satisfaction to know it.
What is this?
I'm getting angry again.
No one is gonna play with me.
Nobody.
Not you, Dave, that's for sure.
My fixed smile dies on my lips and I clench my teeth.
I'm getting the hell out of here.
Fuck you.
"What do you want, Julian?"
His voice stops me on my tracks.
My name again, melting slowly in the deep recess of his mouth.
Wait a minute!
What kind of dumb fucking question was that?
What do I want?
I want to fuck him!
That's what I want.
I told him so.
I told him already.
I'm getting angrier by the second.
"What do I want? Do you want me to draw a fucking diagram on a flipchart? I am here to fuck, shag, have sex, call it as you please. I thought you wanted the same thing, but if I am mistaken, well, I won't waste any more of MY time and find someone else to play with!"
I put my shoes back on, fuck the socks. Collect my shirt and my jacket, I don't even bother putting them on. I just wanna get out of
this room.
He is still standing by the door. He's bigger than me, but I am getting out of here even if I have to punch him.
"I don't want you to leave… Please stay?"
I look up at him and I don't know what to think. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft.
Dark and soft like October fires.
Like blankets of rusty leaves.
Like burning embers.
I'm confused.
Confused and scared.
I don't want to feel like this.
I'm tired of feeling like this.
This was supposed to be simple. Straightforward.
We meet, we get naked, we fuck, and I leave.
And now I don't really know what's happening.
I know what I want, but I don't want to start thinking what is it that he wants. Why is he acting like this?
He bends down towards me, taking the shirt and jacket from my hand, dropping them at my feet.
His mouth closes the distance between our breaths.
Just one word.
"Julian…"
And we are kissing.
Kissing.
Kissing.
Kissing.
He searches my lips with his open mouth and all it's warm, wet, slick and I want more of this.
More. More. More.
I push my tongue in his mouth, I am on my tiptoes, trying to deepen this kiss, my hands fisting in his shirt, seeking balance and the hot firm flesh beneath the fabric.
I swallow my anger with his spit and I keep working my tongue around his.
He's soft, supple and fucking gorgeous and I can't possibly want to do anything other than just fuck him and kiss him and fuck him while kissing him.
We stop kissing and try to breathe, but breathing is not on top of my priority list at the moment. Kissing him is.
I push him fully against the door and resume the kiss; my hands still clenching his shirt, I am pretty sure I've heard the fabric ripping at some point.
And all of a sudden I am laughing in this kiss, I can't help it.
The unwritten laws of lusty behaviour have won. I am plundering his mouth while pinning him on the door.
I guess it's a pattern and it has to be followed.
He looks at me, confusion in his eyes.
"What's so funny?"
His voice trembles a little, his lips wet, red, delicately, sensually swollen.
I stop laughing.
Immediately.
"Nothing… It's just…"
How can I possibly tell him that I am just completely fucked up and I have the weirdest thoughts running in my head?
I can't.
"I'm sorry. Just ignore me. I'm weird, I am an asshole. I'm half drunk, half high, half mad…"
I could have continued but he's kissing me now and I forget about unwritten laws and concentrate on lusty behaviour.
"Bed…"
I whisper and I discard my shoes and my trousers, still holding on his kiss.
I am naked and he's totally overdressed.
I tell him so.
He unbuttons his shirt, long fingers dancing over the black fabric.
A fluid movement of his shoulders and his shirt joins mine on the carpet.
He is a beautiful man.
Really.
I wish I could tell him, but I can't.
It would be too intimate.
Too personal.
And this is nothing but a fuck.
Nothing else.
His skin is unmarred.
A beautiful tattoo kissing the skin above his left nipple, just above his heart.
I trace the long, swirling pattern with my fingers, mapping the expanse of his torso, brushing his strong collarbone, where the last
black lines are licking like flames at his skin.
I look into his face but I can't read his eyes.
I don't care.
I don't want to care.
The hunger is flaring up my body, the aching between my legs demands to be satisfied.
He reaches towards me, but I am done with being manipulated, being taken, being hurt.
I am in charge.
I push him on the bed, unfastening his jeans while kissing his stomach.
I am good at multitasking.
He's wearing no underwear, like me. Good, no fuss. Faster.
He's naked.
Naked and beautiful.
His body, long and muscular.
Lightly tanned skin stretching over supple flesh.
Beautiful.
He is not delicate.
He is not fragile.
Handsome.
I always thought it was a stupid word. I don't know… just stupid.
Antiquate. Ill-fitting.
But it fits him.
Handsome.
His body is perfect.
It makes me feels self-conscious, makes me realise how far away my body is from being perfect.
I trace the contours of his stomach and the firm muscle quivers under my fingers, a shiver dancing on his skin.
I think about my less-than-perfect body and I wish I hadn't turned on the lights.
"I can hear you thinking…"
His voice bears a hint of amusement and his eyes are brightly dark, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Stop thinking… Stop thinking and just kiss me, will you?"
I lounge forward, pressing the entire length of my body over his and the first contact of our erections brings a strangled moan on my lips, but he swallows it along my breath, pushing his demanding tongue in my mouth, sucking on my own.
And again all is warm and wet and I lose myself in this kiss, his hand kneading the muscles on my shoulders, wandering lower, pressing at the small of my back, pressing me over him, seeking more friction.
And it's heat, it's smouldering and I gasp in his mouth, biting his lip.
More heat, more pain, the blood boiling under the surface.
I slide over his swollen cock and it's his turn to gasp; I lick at the hollow of his throat, tasting the salty slickness of his skin.
He runs one of his large, soft hands in my hair, caressing my scalp, twisting the strands between his fingers.
"Julian…"
His voice dark, coarse…
"Say it again… My name… again…"
"Julian…"
His voice sliding the letters of my name in waves of heat and desire.
My tongue follows the lines of his tattoo, slowly and inexorably aiming at his nipple.
I lick at the dark areola, feeling the muscle beneath trembling. I brush my teeth over the sensitive flesh and the heat of his body surges forward, engulfing my senses.
I keep licking and biting, softly, painfully, delicate, violent.
His breath has the wet quality of little sobs and his hand is still woven in my hair, pushing me, encouraging me.
I bite down harder and he cries out.
I know what he wants, what he needs, but I am gonna do it at my own pace.
My game.
My times.
"Patience…patience…"
I'm sure I am smirking, but my game is taken away from me again when he pushes against me, his hand firmly caressing my ass, his cock pressed on mine in a maddening flush… my skin alight… my brain burnished in this dark, dark desire.
"You're such a fucking tease…"
His voice is strained and I can see his pulse racing madly in his jugular vein.
I move back up, resting my mouth on his neck, sucking, the blood thrumming on my tongue.
"Julian…"
"Julian…"
"Julian…"
He is breathing in my hair, his voice pleading, but not needy.
Trembling with desire.
I have his name burning in my mouth but I can't bring myself to say it.
I don't know why. I really don't.
I would have never imagined him like this.
His body shivering under mine, his long legs parted, wanting, moaning, trembling.
I caress his feverish flesh with my fingers and his back arches in a painful bow.
"Julian…"
I'm drunk off of his voice murmuring my name.
I don't know if it's just a massive ego trip, if it's the power of having his desires at my mercy. I don't know anything at this point,
except the fact that I want to hear his voice moaning my name again and again and I want to bury myself deep into his flesh.
I want.
I need.
I want.
Want. Want. Want.
"Open your eyes…"
He complies and I am lost in his dark, dark irises, searching for an answer to a question I have yet to formulate.
His eyes are hazy, glassed over, as I keep my steady rhythm over his cock.
He tries to return the favour, so to speak, but I won't let him.
I take my own pleasure.
My rules.
"Just enjoy…"
He tries to say something else, but my hand questions lower still and whatever he was going to say is muffled by a low, guttural moan.
Time to finish this dance.
I leave him on the bed, panting, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.
I move across the room, looking for my trousers; I dig into the pockets and retrieve a condom.
I tear the package open and put it on.
I am on the bed in a matter of seconds.
I spread his legs, pulling his knees up and once again I am amazed that he let me do it.
He is totally trusting, he's not holding back. Like he is, somehow, sure I am not going to hurt him.
Why?
Why does he trust me?
Maybe he's just like me, he just doesn't give a damn about anything and anyone and this is just a fuck after all.
I told him so.
He agreed.
He has to be like this.
It can't be anything else.
It simply can't.
It won't be.
I don't have anything with me to prepare him; spit will have to do.
I slip two fingers in my mouth, coating them with saliva and then I push into his body.
His eyes fly open once again, his body jerking under my rough assault.
"Just relax… Spit is not the best lubricant ever, but I'll be gentle. I promise."
I will.
I don't want to hurt him.
I'm not gonna hurt him.
I don't want to see blood staining the sheets.
I don't want to see tears of pain in his eyes.
I don't want to pound into him, cum trickling down my… his thighs… mixed with blood.
No.
No, I will be gentle.
I add another digit and he whimpers a little, but I can feel him stretching, accommodating my fingers. Pushing back.
He wants me.
He still wants me.
I withdraw my fingers, crouching between his legs and I kiss his knees. Slowly, deliberately drawing wet, little circles with my tongue.
"Are you ok?"
He nods, wetting his lips leaning over for another kiss.
I slide into his body in one deliberate thrust.
He grits his teeth but his eyes are clear, fixed on mine, he exhales a shaky breath and his body relaxes around me, letting me in.
Inside him.
My heartbeat is in my throat and at the same time throbs inside him.
Deep inside.
I'm trembling almost uncontrollably as the incredible heat of his body burns down my defences and I breathe his name in his lips.
"Dave…"
I have to move.
I can feel his heart racing onwards and onwards.
I have to move.
I have.
I withdraw and plunge into him again.
Am I being gentle?
Am I hurting him?
I feel like I could cry, cause he's giving me something almost impossible and I can't give him anything back.
He's giving me his complete trust.
He's giving me his body in complete and utter abandon and no matter how much I try to convince myself that what he wants is just a fuck, somehow, I know is not.
But I can't give him more than this.
I can't.
And that's what makes me wanna cry.
This and his eyes, so dark, wise, almost wary, but so… alive.
This and his strong body that he has relinquished in my arms.
My arms.
Mine.
I want to be gentle.
Am I hurting him?
"No… No you're not, You're not…"
My mind is fastened so tightly around this exquisite pleasure/pain that I haven't realised I was speaking aloud.
I've lost all my control.
I've lost my game.
I've lost my prize.
But he's not abusing me; he's not holding me down, wrapping my body with his long-fingered lust…
He's not taking away my heart in careless bites, his mouth bloody and gory…
I am on the brink.
I can't breathe.
My body keeps pushing into him, it can't do otherwise.
I can't do otherwise.
I am racing towards completion faster and faster.
I have to escape.
I have to.
I'm trapped inside this pleasure that is wracking my body and licks at my soul…
This wasn't planned.
This feeling of being held while holding.
This absurd idea that he's giving me something that is definitely not just a fuck.
I feel betrayed by my own body, but I know better than that. My body is working just fine. It's my heart that I can't control; the memories trapped in my flesh are making me bleed.Making me scared.
Scared.
I increase my pace, almost oblivious of his moans, his dark, rusty voice wrapped around my name.
I hide my face in the hollow of his neck, tasting his skin, licking the softness of his pulse, my body a throbbing, living thing inside of him.
I am so close.
Let me go…
Let me go…
Let me go…
But beware of what you ask they say, because it might come true.
He holds my face in his hands, focusing his eyes on mine.
His breathing is ragged, his mouth is wet and his body… his body is mine in this eternity of minutes that stretch and stretch.
He holds my face in his hands and as my world shatters, blinding my eyes and breaking my body, his voice resounds in my head.
"Julian…"
His voice, my name a loop in my head that repeats itself over and over.
I collapse over him, our bodies sticky and sweaty.
I try to regain a shred of my control, but it's useless.
My body is mirrored above his, still buried in his flesh.
His arms folding my body in his embrace.
I feel like crying again.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of him.
His body, his embrace, his voice.
I shift in his arms, withdrawing completely, removing the condom from my softened cock.
God… how trivial life can be… Sex, desires… and all it's left is a used piece of rubber…
I make a knot on the condom and throw it somewhere on the floor.
I am getting out of this bed.
Now.
His hand closes on my wrist before I can make it, but it is not his hold that keeps me here. It's his voice, again.
"Don't go… please."
He's not needy or pleading. Just gentle, like he really wants me here and I don't know why.
I really don't.
It's not that I am the greatest lover in the world, it's not that I am the most amazingly beautiful either. And it can't be my sparkling conversation, because the few times we've spoken I acted like an asshole.
So why?
"Why?"
All my witty, sarcastic remarks die in my mouth as his face slowly closes the gap between our mouths and he breathes softly.
"You are so, so damn beautiful…"
I thought he was going to kiss me again, but he pulls me in his arms instead, leaning down on the bed.
"Stay…"
"Please…"
His voice trapped in my hair, his fingers splayed across my chest.
"Please stay…"
My fear is gnawing mercilessly at my heart.
This is too intimate.
Too dangerous.
But his voice is casting a spell around this night, covering me like a blanket.
"Stay with me tonight?"
It's a question not a plea.
I don't answer.
I can't.
My words are gone.
My security shattered, because I want this.
My fear lulled by his warmth.
I let go.
I surrender, but I don't feel like a victim.
I let go in his embrace.
This night…
This night only I say to myself.
"Julian…"
TBC