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Lying Here PART TWO
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Lying Here PART TWO
Walking back to the hotel through the empty dunes, hand in hand in twilight, I catch sight of his skin glowing like a pale ghost beside me, stealing through the sand, the sound of our feet padding in the silence.
His palm is moist in mine and, I cannot believe it: He is so lovely. When I turn my head to look at him, he looks at me; I release his hand, to slip my arm, around his waist, and stop him, to kiss, before the hotel lights block our path with a hard brilliant wall of spoiling illumination. Putting on our shorts (though our happy penises show clearly), we've agreed we'll go to my room, knowing we'll fuck the whole night, til we're too tired.
I'm the morning, aching, we wake to kisses. He grins, though he is in pain and half asleep.
D'you have coffee?
I do. I'll make some toast.
Sounds good.
Are you ok?
Of course!
Great. I'll ... be in the kitchen.
I know.
In the lounge kitchen there is a kettle and a toaster, a microwave and a
fridge, and a small steel sink. I fetch some bread from a cupboard, and
fill the kettle, and get some cups, and find the coffee.
Sugar?
No thanks.
He's so sweet.
Milk?
A bit.
I look in the fridge. There is just a little; I'll drink mine black.
I carry the breakfast to him on a tray on which is printed, a map of the
island. I also have some biscuits.
The bed is empty.
Where are you?
On the bog.
Are you ... ok?
I'll ... manage.
After I hear the flush, I hear the shower. I roll out of bed and go to see him. He is lathering. His hands are searching. He's looking, closed-eyes, into the pouring shower head, letting the hot water drown him, bubbling across his lips. Droplets river down the glass. He turns around, letting the hot water flood his shoulders. I am looking at the water dripping through his long dark pubic hair. He switches off the tap and wipes his face. He opens his eyes and sees me.
I haven't showered yet.
Shower now.
Will you help me?
He grins, pushes open the glass door, and I step in, pushing the tap open and slipping my arms around his waist, kissing him, drinking the water running down our faces.
Back in bed we sit cross-legged eating and drinking and laughing about something we are both familiar with - something about home.
Strange I should have to cross half Europe to meet you, when you live so close to me.
He digs at the toast with his huge grinning teeth, nodding.
You like bikkies?
Yeh I like bikkies.
Take one.
One?
Two. How ever many!
He takes two. He dips one in his coffee and bites it before it drops. Just. He smiles at me watching him as he catches a bit on the edge of his mouth with the back of a finger. Another bit sticks to his lip. I reach forward to point it out, delighted to touch him.
How long are you here for? I ask.
I leave on Saturday afternoon.
Me too! Are we on the same flight?
I don't know my flight.
We could sit together.
I'm with friends.
We could still sit together.
Yeh, we could sit together.
I worry that I've said too much, but he grins, and that's alright.
Do you like flying? I ask, putting down my cup and altering my position so I can lean forward and kiss him.
Not much.
I don't want him to tell me more; I want to hug him.
You're horney once more!
I ... I ... I want to fuck you again.
Again?!
I know. I want to.
I push him back and stop to move the tray to the floor. Then I push him over onto his face and let it have him, though he'd made a face and said, I'm sore.
I know. But you like it. You want it, don'tcha?
I know.
He is face down into the bed. Fucking him I stare at his hair, curling over his neck. I put my hand in it, comb it with my fingers, grab it and pull it, pull it so his head lifts up and he says, Please stop.
I don't stop.
When he cums I feel it; he is pumping his seeds into the sheets. When I cum I am lying on top of him, holding him tight with my arms around his chest. When I grunt he kisses my forearm, and he whispers something I do not hear.
What was that?
What was what?
What did you just say?
I said, thank you.
Thank you?
Yeh.
What else did you say?
I said, I love you.
Oh baby. I love you ...
The airport is not busy. His friends keep distant from us. He holds my hand and looks at them and when he catches their eye he laughs. When they check-in he asks for us to sit together. It's not a problem.
On the plane, we grip fingers during takeoff - like it's frightening. He rests his head on my shoulder to sleep during the flight. I sleep too. I rest my hand on his knee. He rests his hand on my crotch so I am hard the whole flight. His friends sit nearby. I hear them chat. They chat about him, and me - nice things, like how we look together and how we look at each other.
Lie on your stomach. Yeah spread your legs. Wider. Like that. Yea. Let me see your anus. Lee me look at it. Ye. Like that.
I crawled across the sheets and put a hand on the back of each of his thighs and put my face to his hole to sniff it. It was actually chocolatey and smelt a bit of marmite. I stuck out my tongue and licked it. It was orangey and fruity. I licked it repeatedly - like a warm ice cream - and gradually made the tip penetrate him, till I was nuzzling him and pressing my nose against him to get my tongue in as far as it would go. I grabbed his cheeks like breasts and pushed them apart. He was squirming and wriggling with pleasure, rubbing his erect penis against the sheets and spreading his thighs wider and wider.
Do you like that? I whispered.
Don't stop, please don't stop.
I wasn't about to. I ate his hole, his sweet sweet hole. Then I plunged my rock hard prick up him, fucking him repeatedly whilst he screamed with excitement and agony.
When I cannot sleep I listen to him breathing. I don't want to wake him but I want to touch him.
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END OF Lying Here PART TWO