ext_15927 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
kohaku1977.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-02-15 12:11 am
kohaku1977.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-15 12:11 am
Fic: Overlooking the Ocean (BB/VM, R)
Title: Overlooking the Ocean
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kohaku1977
Pairing: VM/BB
Rating: R, for nudity and rather explicit sex scenes
Disclaimer: Not true, that's why it is called fiction. I made it all up. I don't own them. I'm not getting any money from this.
Summary: Billy turns up on Viggo's doorstep.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Notes: Thanks to Silme: For pushing me when I got stuck, for convincing me I should post this porny story, and for helping me whenever I needed help. ♥
Overlooking the Ocean
He turns up on my doorstep unannounced. Somehow I had expected him to arrive. It was only a matter of time, but I hadn't noticed how days had turned into weeks. The ring of my doorbell therefore shakes me out of my work. On my way from the studio to the front door I already know it's him. When I open the door he smiles. He looks surprised as if he took a turn somewhere and did not notice he had been driving to my house until he was here. He shakes some raindrops out of his hair. He's blonder than I remember.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
I take two tiny steps to the side, allowing him to squeeze by. He maneuvers his body into my home. When he passes me I inhale deeply. His scent is enough to make my cock twitch.
"You have no bags," I observe.
"I didn't have time to pack. I figured that I can buy a few things here."
"Of course," I say, answering his unspoken question, "You're always welcome here, Billy."
As soon as I close the door he pushes up my shirt. My laughter soon turns into a moan when he bites at my neck, nipping the skin. He pauses for the tiniest moment.
"It's alright," I tell him, "It's ok, we're on our own."
He slams me collarbone first into the wall and I wince. I can feel his body pressed up against my back and his hands tickling me ever so slightly as he brings them around to caress my stomach. I savour his touch, but I made other plans for this evening. Plans I made long before I knew he'd show up. I do not allow myself to sink into this hopeful state where I'll only end up turning around and kissing him.
So I push him off, harder than I had intended. His smug expression is excuse enough for me to haul him upstairs. He laughs quietly as I drag him behind me by his sleeve. He's pleased to be here, and I grin at his radiance. In front of the bedroom I release his arm, only to trap him in a bear's hug. I smash our bodies into the wall, enjoying the warmth.
"So," he says, "Are we going in or what?"
I look down my tiny hallway and imagine fucking him here on the floor. I grin and have to shake the image out of my head. I push the door open with one hand, keeping the other around his waist. Two steps into the room he pauses.
"You decorated it," he says.
I nod. He had always loved the view from this room but hated that I had neglected it. Months ago, I stripped the walls off the hideous wallpaper that had been fashionable decades before Henry's birth and painted the bare walls. Before some kind of sentimental comment escapes him, I tackle him and we land in a heap on the floor. I pull him on top, nibbing at his chin. He tears at my shirt, fumbling at the buttons, hands inaccurate by want. I lick at his neck, drawing his head towards me. While I kiss him, I roam my hands over his sides and under his shirt. His breathing hitches and suddenly our touching kissing wanting each other gets a forbidden taste. We're in the only room I do not use regularily and the air is alien. It still smells vaguely of cinnamon paint and summer and memories. The light breaks differently and paints a halo onto Billy's head while he unbottons my pants. He slips a hand into my boxers and I lick my lips in anticipation. In the fading light he grins at me, prolonging the moment. When he finally moves, lowering his head, I gasp even before his tongue reaches me. He licks the tip of my cock, which causes me to lift my hips. I want more, remembering his hot mouth all to well. He stops and raises his head to look at me.
"Or would you prefer to fuck me?"
His wicked grin almost negates the politeness of his question, but I consider it anyway.
"No," I say, surprised that I mean it.
It's been too long since I felt his mouth. He nods, his face strangely solemn. He lingers for a moment, the tip of his tongue showing between his lips, like a cat that was interrupted while grooming. Then he pulls my pants and boxers down to my knees. He still waits for some kind of command, but I keep him waiting, hanging there between the setting sun and my expectant cock. Finally he bows down, taking me in in one swift move, bending that fucking neck of his. I gasp. I buck off the cold floor and push deeper into his mouth. My clothes restrict me and I try to kick them of, but the next time my hips leave the floor his hands grab my ass. I moan at the welcome touch and reach for his head. His ginger hair is golden now, repainted by the sun. The white washed walls glow with the evening, glow as Billy. His body is alight with a soft glow that rekindles my love for this latitude. I want to tell him but the thought escapes me as all thoughts escape me. Instead I ramble, telling him things not meant for his ears and he laughs around my cock. Too soon the sensation is too much for me, and I close my eyes. Billy knows I'm close and he pauses for a moment, just breathing. It is a sweet punishment, but I still plan to repay him later. A swirl of his tongue sends me over the edge. I come into his mouth as he does not pull away. The thought catches me like a wave and I'm reminded of the sea, the ocean which has the same colour as his eyes.
He moves, his body suddenly beside me. I know I drifted off to God knows where, but now I'm back. The room is dark. The warmth of the day faded alongside the sun and I can feel the tiniest tremor going through Billy's limbs. I wrap my arms around him. It takes a moment before I can sit up, before my legs remember that they belong to my body. My synapses have yet to reconnect to my brain. Warm and pliant in my arms, Billy doesn't move until I do. He sits up, looking sleepier than I feel, and I remember that he drove here.
"Get into bed," I say, undressing myself without looking at him.
I hear him moving, the drop of a shoe then another. The cling-clang of his belt-buckle, followed by a swooshing sound when he pulls the black leather belt off, makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn abruptly, taking the belt from his hands, staring at him. The leather is warm againt my skin, and suddenly Billy lies on his stomach on the bed, my left knee pressing into the small of his back. He moans rather than acknowledging the pain I must be causing him. I twist his arms onto his back, looping the belt and tying his wrists. I reach around and unbutton his jeans. I pull them off and discard them on the floor. I lick the nape of his knee, knowing that he's ticklish there.
"Billy," I whisper into his ear.
He breathes into the pillow, gasping something that sounds a lot like my name. I grab his ankles, spread his legs and lower myself onto him. His skin feels hot against my own. I grab the belt at one end and jerk hard. Billy arches his back to an impossible angle, his back a crescent moon rising. I bite his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, but it's not enough, not satisfying. I pull at his shirt with my other hand, causing the buttons to pop and the stitches to ache. I pull the shirt down as far as Billy's restraints will let me and look at his straining muscles. Even in the dim light I can see that he is tanned, all the way down to his ass, where I can make out a sharp line. He has been surfing, I realise, and a memory of sunseawaterwaves rushes back at me. The way Billy always smiled when he came back from the ocean, sand in his hair, drying salt on his skin. Billy swore, cursing that last wave he had caught, he had mastered before it had backlashed. He moaned about torn skin, sometimes licking his wounds literally, his tongue darting out and back in. And then he would always unzip his suit, wriggling himself out of it, pulling it down to his waist. When that last wave had been a particularily vicious one, he'd flop down onto his stomach and let the sun caress his sore muscles.
I turn on the lamp on the night stand, and the memory vanishes in the milky glow. The belt slips through my fingers and I arrive in the present, Billy's body not next to me, but under me. He turns his head, able to move again. He is trying to see into my eyes, but my gaze is fixated on the freckles on his back.
I turn him over gently, and open the remaining bottons of his shirt. I kiss him deeply, the aftermath of that memory on my lips. I wonder if he can taste the sea on my tongue when I slip it into his mouth. He murmurs softly, working against the leather. I lick across the stubble on his chin, nibbing his collarbone on my way down. His hard-on twitches, and for a moment I want to make him wait. Repay him. But my hands are already on his hips, and his eyes shine, and I can't pretend anymore.
"Stay," I say afterwards, my mouth suddenly dry. He doesn't answer but wordlessly slips his right wrist between my hands. I understand and squeeze it gently, wrapping my fingers around his offer. He smiles, eye lids drooping, heavy with sleep. I press my body against his, spooning. His wrist remains trapped in my grasp and he falls asleep smiling.
When I wake up the next morning, sometime before sunrise and the chatter of the birds, I still hold his arm like I did the night before. We haven't changed positions. But while I seem to have barely moved at all, Billy managed to turn his body 180 degrees during the night. He now faces me, his breath soft against my chest. His arm is bent at an uncomfortable angle, wrist snug in my grip. When I press my fingers into his skin, I feel his pulse. I lick at his neck, tasting him. The sun rises lazily while I watch his chest raise and fall. In the morning light his skin shimmers like the outline of a mirage. I grab his shoulder and the tangile sensation flares my want. I turn him over, releasing him, kissing his shoulderblade. I don't want to wake him yet. I touch him with greatest care, kneeling between his parted legs. I ease myself into him, knowing he will wake soon. I thrust carefully, changing my weight until the angle is perfect. His relaxed breathing turns into moaning. He flexes his hands, then arms and finally throws his head back and arches into me. His eyes flutter open and I grin at his disoriented expression. He bucks a little, trying to increase the friction. I continue to fuck him slowly which he rewards with guttural sounds. I savour his body. I could fuck him for hours like this. Slow and steady. I watch as his skin becomes flushed with want and he opens his mouth but forgets to close it again. When the pinkish hue reaches his cheeks, I slowly turn, pulling him with me, until we lay on our sides. I reach for his cock, closing my fist around it. I stroke him hard and fast while my thrusts remain gentle. His breathing is laboured now. He closes his eyes again and huffs. The sounds he makes drive me wild. When he arches his back even more, I answer by thrusting hard. I drive deep into him, causing him to erupt into senseless blabber. I wait for him to say my name and when he finally does, I fuck him so hard that it is almost painful. His cock twitches in my hand. Today, I cannot wait for him to beg. His mutterings are already sending me over the edge and I plan to take him with me. I jerk him off, timing my touches with his moans. I come, now muttering myself, spurting into him. A few more strokes and he releases too. He tenses and then goes slack. I turn his head towards me and kiss him, parting his lips with my tongue. I can still taste my semen in his mouth.
"Go back to sleep," I whisper.
My body already drifts off but I manage to pull him even closer before I fall asleep.
I leave his embrace sometime before noon. My body moves heartbreakingly slow, the need for warmth too fresh and almost too strong. I'm not used to waking up like this. I try to remember where I am, the room looks vaguely familiar, but I still need almost a minute to realise I'm in my home. This room is just a corny Monet printing short of a hotel room, and I make a mental note to refurbish it as soon as possible. I fight the urge to drive into the city right away. I don't want him to wake up to an empty house. I pad down into my own bedroom, catching my naked reflection in the mirror in the hall. I still grin when I dress myself after a long shower and I still grin when I check on Billy. After fiddling in the kitchen, making my way around canvases and brushes and small carving knifes and colourful smudges, I return to the cinnamon room with a cup of tea and sit down on the bed. I can't bring myself to wake him, so I wait.
When he finally opens his eyes, my grin is replaced by a smile and I hand him a cold cup, apologizing. He takes a few sips, discards the tea and yawns.
"You know," he says, his voice ragged by sleep, "I love the way the sun dances in this room."
And he is right, of course. The sun dances around him, a beam entangled in his hair. I smile, not saying a word, because I love the sound of his voice when it's heavy with sleep, edges not yet polished by use. He drapes the duvet around him, modest when not aroused, and I offer to leave. He shakes his head.
"Go get a shower," I say, "I want to leave with you in half an hour."
This raises him and he trots down the hall to the bathroom. I stare after him, watching his small frame vanishing around a corner. Then I lay down, breathing in his scent and trying to see the room with his eyes, trying to see what he loves so much about it. I see a cinnamon coloured room with old battered furniture, a vague smell of the sea and golden light.
He comes back, wet haired and still wrapped into the duvet.
"I need to borrow some clothes," he says, his smile asking the question he cannot voice. I grin, picturing him on the beach in only his blue jeans, but lead him into my bedroom. I hand him a random t-shirt, midnightblue and washed out. I'm surprised at how well it suits him. He sheds the duvet, slipping into boxers and jeans.
"Perfect," I say, "Let's go."
I watch the wind ruffle Billy's hair and tear at his (my) shirt. It flaps around his body, folding and refolding washed-out dark blue waves. He smiles into the breeze, and turns to hug me tightly. I can feel his heartbeat and close my eyes. When he finally pulls away, I leave my arm around his waist. It feels good to be here. The sea rages and the curt winds clear my head. We had to take the car, but it was worth driving all the way out here.
Billy briefly stops at the bench overlooking the ocean. His smile vanishes and he looks at me for a while before looking back at the sea. The Pacific is grey today, filled with silent madness. The white crowns on the waves evoke memories of surf boards and Southern hemisphere but the wind is a cold reminder of where I am. I rub Billy's right arm, almost unconsciously, as the coldness bites through my sweater.
"It's ok," he says, leaning into the touch, "I'm not cold."
We slither down the slope, and jump onto the beach. I almost want him to tumble, want to catch him, but he's not falling. This is no movie. So I just reach for his hand. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and looks at his feet. Grounded, steady, strong. He looks ridiculously windswept. I don't kiss him although I want to. Instead we walk.
The horizon is a silver line, stretching between sea and stars. It seems to rise up and reach down at the same time, torn between the two entities. Like it cannot choose one above the other, and since it cannot have both, it is trapped there, forever, by its indecisiveness. I can feel Billy's hand in mine, the details of his fingers and skin pressing into my memory all too clearly, and I give his hand a squeeze. I'm not intending on letting go any time soon. He stops and leans into me. He looks at something on the ground, and while he bends down to pick it up, I touch his hair. When he comes up, he grins and holds out a small flat stone. For a moment I want to pocket it, but instead I send it bouncing across the waves. No souvenir can ever keep this memory for me. The wind picks up, an angry howl in the trees. I want to turn and walk back, but Billy remains fixed.
"No," he says.
He looks at me, his mouth set.
"I want to stay for a while," he adds and I kiss him.
He laughs into the kiss, as if he had suspected it. I pull him closer, a lover's embrace, and can't stop kissing him. He tastes of the sea and a horizon that finally knows where it belongs. Stay, I want to say. But I don't dare to break this kiss. So I smile, and slowly the cold disappears, taking the howling wind with it and leaving me with a head full of corny poetry lines. I cite none, my lips too busy. I realise that he had probably heard them all before anyway, all those cheesy postcard lines ranging from 'You put a Spell on Me' to 'I Love You.' So when we break the kiss to gasp for air, I say nothing. Billy leans in again and I look over to the sea. The last sunbeams paint it golden before vanishing below the horizon.
"We missed the sunset," I say.
"Yes," he answers, but he doesn't seem to care. His weight rests comfortable against me. I look at the horizon again. It stretches until it melts into the evening sky.
The night is cold and carries the flavour of regret, of a summer lost to the chillness of autumn. A tang of smoke lies in the air and I look back at the hills behind us, trying to make out the orange glow of raging wildfires. Billy wraps his arms around my waist and stares at the sea. The sky is dark now, tinted in the blackish blue of charcoals. All I can think of is flammes consuming, and I can feel the goosebumps rising on my arms and neck. Billy senses something; at least he turns and looks at me questiongly. I shake my head, but look back to the east, where the darkness seems deeper. The trees rustle with no wind going. I grab his hand and pull him along. I can feel him stumbling behind me as he tries to keep up with me.
When we reach the car, I can barely make out his face. The night is thick with smoke. It rolles down the hills in large wafts, curling and coiling when it reaches the valleys. Billy's eyes seem huge.
"How did you know?" he whispers. I can only shake my head and usher him into the car.
Half way home I see the flames. They reach into the air, grabbing for the moon. The smoke is grey as ashes rises up with it. The autumn now consumes what the summer sun hadn't scorched. Billy watches the spectacle with wide eyes, his hair catching the glow of a thousand degrees. The sky is the colour of a sunset. I barely notice the black trees as we rush over bumpy roads, sending the gravel flying. Billy tells me something, but my attention is fixed on the road leading home. The white paint of my house gleams yellow although the fire is miles away. We hurry in and close the windows before turning on the radio. The kitchen falls quiet except for the low murmur of the transmission and an occasional shuffle of restless feet. When Billy stands up to get something from the counter, I grab him by the wrist and swirl him around. He looks confused but returns my smile. He had never looked so beautiful before, eyes tense and cheeks flushed. Excitement and fear mingle in his expression and he seems changed, new. I kiss him, pressing my body against his. His skin feels hot under my hands. He reaches up and grabs two handfuls of my shirt, holding on, while I cup his face with both my hands. I kiss him again and again, until he gasps for air. He takes a few steps back, taking me along. He bumps into the kitchen table and grins wickedly, his eyes agleam. The radio cackles, listing areas that should evacuate immediately. I barely register we're not amongst them, my tongue already in his mouth. I shove him a bit, pushing him up the table. He tears at my sweatshirt, pulling it slightly up, while I try to open the flyer of his jeans. He lets go of me, and lifts his hips, an invitation rather than a suggestion. I tear down his jeans and boxers, leaving them to pool at his ankles, and pull the t-shirt over his head. The distant shine of the fires reflect on his skin and I take a moment to look at him. A smile tugs at his lips and he cocks his head. His erection lies heavy between his thighs and his eyes display a fire unmatched by the ones that rage outside. I shed my shirt and trousers, and grab him by the hips. He lets his eyes fall close and moves closer to the edge of the table. I bring our bodies together, feeling his heated skin on mine. He gasps, grabbing onto the edge of the table top, trying to steady himself. I grab his legs, lifting them and immediately he wraps them around my hips. His eyes open for a moment, and he looks at me, pupils dilated. When I move, he closes them again.
He obeys. He looks at me, his eyelids half-closed, his lips parted. I push into him. I cannot wait any longer. His body jerks, then adjusts to my thrusts. He moans against my chest, his hands trying to find something to hold on to. I lift his arms and put them around my neck. His kisses cool my skin, but the sensation of being inside him soon wipes out everything else. His skin slightly smells of bonfire, musk and ancient. I thrust harder, enjoying the noises he makes. Beads of sweat are forming on his brow. He erupts into mindless stutter, hips bucking, saying my name over and over again as I push into him. He throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. I watch him come, the mere picture enough to send me over the edge as well.
I slump against the table. My knees are too weak to remain standing so I sit down heavily. Billy lies on my kitchen table, still breathless. He blinks sleepily, legs dangling over the edge. He stretches his arms above his head, claiming my table. Idly, he traces his ripcage with one hand, the other resting above his head. He yawns, flexing his body. Then he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes soft. He smiles at me and I feel a pang of regret. To the east, the moon cames through the heavy smoke, shedding new light.
"Do you think the fires are out now?" Billy asks. His voice is smoky, just a whisper of silver thread, vanishing.
"It's under control," I say, unsure of what that means; what I mean. I want to add 'I think' but I don't. I just look at him. He stretches again.
"I'm naked," he says.
He laughs silently and gets up, his feet padding on the bare floor. I can hear the floorboards creaking in the hall, the wooden steps groaning as he ascends. I cannot move right now.
The next few days we hardly leave the bed. We stay in the cinnamon room, lazy and content. Occasionally I scramble down to fetch something to eat or make tea or get bottles of spring water, fizzy for Billy, silent non-fizz for myself. I'm the only one who leaves the room to get downstairs. While returning dishes and cups, I sometimes hear the upstairs shower. I smile to myself, sneaking up. I tear away the curtain, causing Billy to yelp in surprise, but he never minds when I join him.
We stay in bed for three days, touching, exploring, making love, watching the sky change its colours. I'm very fond of these days. Billy smiles a lot and I do too. Carefree days, days without time or need for time. We lie next to each other and talk. We gesture at the cinnamon ceiling, trying to voice our thoughts, or feelings, without bringing up that he has to leave, eventually.
On one memorable occasion he climbs onto me, naked, wrapping his arms around me. His knees next to my hips, he grins at me while his heels are digging into the mattress. Then he slowly lowers himself onto me. I can hardly breathe. His face - the look of concentration and care; and then his moan when I filled him - I won't forget. I grab his waist. My fingers are almost digging into his skin. Almost. It is too sweet to mar, too perfect to add anything. I leave him unbruised and in control. I watch him move on top of me. His hands find my shoulders and he is bracing himself. Although he holds me down, I can't help but move. My hips are bucking and I reach for him. When I touch the small of his back, and follow the trail of sweat there, he moans. I slice the air with my hand, thick and golden air, and just look at him. When he finally closes his eyes, I'm tempted to leave mine open. I fail.
He stays on top of me afterwards, breathing heavily. He still trapped in my arms. I don't remember when I wrapped myself around him like that. I hold him close. When his breathing eases I kiss him.
I try to think of a bag I can give him, to pack the few odd things he had bought here - a toothbrush, shorts, sandals - as well as the collected souvenirs of three weeks - a shell, a postcard bought a few miles south of here, some pictures he took, and a horse shoe nail. I remember how he good he looked on the petite stallion, proud and at ease. They suited each other and although Billy was hopeless at learning how to bribe tricks out of TJ, he rode several laps and still came back in one piece. TJ even nuzzled him as a goodbye, not allowing him to stay for grooming. A modest horse.
I look at Billy now, look at his room. Lazily I stretch and close my eyes. The bag can wait. I fall asleep.
Three days of sweet nothing. Just Billy and me and a silent cinnamon room overlooking the ocean.
He starts to check his mobile more often than he did during the past weeks, but doesn't return any calls.
Dom had called three times, he informs me, but Billy doesn't seem to bother. I try not to think about it either.
We're on the beach when he gets Dom's text message. He shows it to me, garbled letters on a green display, and laughs. I can hardly decipher it.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. I point at some kind of word.
"Love," Billy answers. He blinks into the horizon, squinting his eyes against the wind.
"He has an abbreviation for love?"
Billy nods. He seems far away and I wonder if he's with Dom.
"Looks like 'level' to me," I say.
He shakes his head and picks up a stick. He looks at the piece of driftwood in his hands.
"'Level' has one more 'l' at the end, like this," he explains, and then carves lvl into the sand. I consider it for a while.
"And 'next level'?"
He looks at me in this peculiar way, eyes scrunched up, and wrinkles his nose. He paints it into the sand for me to see:
nxt lvl
I nod.
"That's what you want?" he asks. He looks wary.
"Yeah," I say. He looks away.
The ocean changed colour. It is green today. Maybe fish would be nice for dinner. When I look up, Billy is already on his way to the car.
I make him breakfast and carry it to his room. He's already up and dressed.
"Hey," he says softly when I come in.
"Hey," I reply.
"I can't stay much longer," he then says. I nod. The tray is getting heavy. He looks at the single flower swimming in a cup.
"I want to... I just can't."
"I understand," I say. Somehow I do. There still is his other life, his other home. I put down the tray and sit on the bed. Unexpectance weighs heavily on the moment. I can't even say if there is such a word, but there it is. The dreaded moment. He sits down too. I don't want to hear that he's sorry.
"Can I come back?" he asks instead.
He leaves the toothbrush, a promise to be back. I go back into my studio, forgetting time as days turn into weeks. I wait for the doorbell to ring.
Author:
kohaku1977Pairing: VM/BB
Rating: R, for nudity and rather explicit sex scenes
Disclaimer: Not true, that's why it is called fiction. I made it all up. I don't own them. I'm not getting any money from this.
Summary: Billy turns up on Viggo's doorstep.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Notes: Thanks to Silme: For pushing me when I got stuck, for convincing me I should post this porny story, and for helping me whenever I needed help. ♥
Overlooking the Ocean
He turns up on my doorstep unannounced. Somehow I had expected him to arrive. It was only a matter of time, but I hadn't noticed how days had turned into weeks. The ring of my doorbell therefore shakes me out of my work. On my way from the studio to the front door I already know it's him. When I open the door he smiles. He looks surprised as if he took a turn somewhere and did not notice he had been driving to my house until he was here. He shakes some raindrops out of his hair. He's blonder than I remember.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
I take two tiny steps to the side, allowing him to squeeze by. He maneuvers his body into my home. When he passes me I inhale deeply. His scent is enough to make my cock twitch.
"You have no bags," I observe.
"I didn't have time to pack. I figured that I can buy a few things here."
"Of course," I say, answering his unspoken question, "You're always welcome here, Billy."
As soon as I close the door he pushes up my shirt. My laughter soon turns into a moan when he bites at my neck, nipping the skin. He pauses for the tiniest moment.
"It's alright," I tell him, "It's ok, we're on our own."
He slams me collarbone first into the wall and I wince. I can feel his body pressed up against my back and his hands tickling me ever so slightly as he brings them around to caress my stomach. I savour his touch, but I made other plans for this evening. Plans I made long before I knew he'd show up. I do not allow myself to sink into this hopeful state where I'll only end up turning around and kissing him.
So I push him off, harder than I had intended. His smug expression is excuse enough for me to haul him upstairs. He laughs quietly as I drag him behind me by his sleeve. He's pleased to be here, and I grin at his radiance. In front of the bedroom I release his arm, only to trap him in a bear's hug. I smash our bodies into the wall, enjoying the warmth.
"So," he says, "Are we going in or what?"
I look down my tiny hallway and imagine fucking him here on the floor. I grin and have to shake the image out of my head. I push the door open with one hand, keeping the other around his waist. Two steps into the room he pauses.
"You decorated it," he says.
I nod. He had always loved the view from this room but hated that I had neglected it. Months ago, I stripped the walls off the hideous wallpaper that had been fashionable decades before Henry's birth and painted the bare walls. Before some kind of sentimental comment escapes him, I tackle him and we land in a heap on the floor. I pull him on top, nibbing at his chin. He tears at my shirt, fumbling at the buttons, hands inaccurate by want. I lick at his neck, drawing his head towards me. While I kiss him, I roam my hands over his sides and under his shirt. His breathing hitches and suddenly our touching kissing wanting each other gets a forbidden taste. We're in the only room I do not use regularily and the air is alien. It still smells vaguely of cinnamon paint and summer and memories. The light breaks differently and paints a halo onto Billy's head while he unbottons my pants. He slips a hand into my boxers and I lick my lips in anticipation. In the fading light he grins at me, prolonging the moment. When he finally moves, lowering his head, I gasp even before his tongue reaches me. He licks the tip of my cock, which causes me to lift my hips. I want more, remembering his hot mouth all to well. He stops and raises his head to look at me.
"Or would you prefer to fuck me?"
His wicked grin almost negates the politeness of his question, but I consider it anyway.
"No," I say, surprised that I mean it.
It's been too long since I felt his mouth. He nods, his face strangely solemn. He lingers for a moment, the tip of his tongue showing between his lips, like a cat that was interrupted while grooming. Then he pulls my pants and boxers down to my knees. He still waits for some kind of command, but I keep him waiting, hanging there between the setting sun and my expectant cock. Finally he bows down, taking me in in one swift move, bending that fucking neck of his. I gasp. I buck off the cold floor and push deeper into his mouth. My clothes restrict me and I try to kick them of, but the next time my hips leave the floor his hands grab my ass. I moan at the welcome touch and reach for his head. His ginger hair is golden now, repainted by the sun. The white washed walls glow with the evening, glow as Billy. His body is alight with a soft glow that rekindles my love for this latitude. I want to tell him but the thought escapes me as all thoughts escape me. Instead I ramble, telling him things not meant for his ears and he laughs around my cock. Too soon the sensation is too much for me, and I close my eyes. Billy knows I'm close and he pauses for a moment, just breathing. It is a sweet punishment, but I still plan to repay him later. A swirl of his tongue sends me over the edge. I come into his mouth as he does not pull away. The thought catches me like a wave and I'm reminded of the sea, the ocean which has the same colour as his eyes.
He moves, his body suddenly beside me. I know I drifted off to God knows where, but now I'm back. The room is dark. The warmth of the day faded alongside the sun and I can feel the tiniest tremor going through Billy's limbs. I wrap my arms around him. It takes a moment before I can sit up, before my legs remember that they belong to my body. My synapses have yet to reconnect to my brain. Warm and pliant in my arms, Billy doesn't move until I do. He sits up, looking sleepier than I feel, and I remember that he drove here.
"Get into bed," I say, undressing myself without looking at him.
I hear him moving, the drop of a shoe then another. The cling-clang of his belt-buckle, followed by a swooshing sound when he pulls the black leather belt off, makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn abruptly, taking the belt from his hands, staring at him. The leather is warm againt my skin, and suddenly Billy lies on his stomach on the bed, my left knee pressing into the small of his back. He moans rather than acknowledging the pain I must be causing him. I twist his arms onto his back, looping the belt and tying his wrists. I reach around and unbutton his jeans. I pull them off and discard them on the floor. I lick the nape of his knee, knowing that he's ticklish there.
"Billy," I whisper into his ear.
He breathes into the pillow, gasping something that sounds a lot like my name. I grab his ankles, spread his legs and lower myself onto him. His skin feels hot against my own. I grab the belt at one end and jerk hard. Billy arches his back to an impossible angle, his back a crescent moon rising. I bite his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, but it's not enough, not satisfying. I pull at his shirt with my other hand, causing the buttons to pop and the stitches to ache. I pull the shirt down as far as Billy's restraints will let me and look at his straining muscles. Even in the dim light I can see that he is tanned, all the way down to his ass, where I can make out a sharp line. He has been surfing, I realise, and a memory of sunseawaterwaves rushes back at me. The way Billy always smiled when he came back from the ocean, sand in his hair, drying salt on his skin. Billy swore, cursing that last wave he had caught, he had mastered before it had backlashed. He moaned about torn skin, sometimes licking his wounds literally, his tongue darting out and back in. And then he would always unzip his suit, wriggling himself out of it, pulling it down to his waist. When that last wave had been a particularily vicious one, he'd flop down onto his stomach and let the sun caress his sore muscles.
I turn on the lamp on the night stand, and the memory vanishes in the milky glow. The belt slips through my fingers and I arrive in the present, Billy's body not next to me, but under me. He turns his head, able to move again. He is trying to see into my eyes, but my gaze is fixated on the freckles on his back.
I turn him over gently, and open the remaining bottons of his shirt. I kiss him deeply, the aftermath of that memory on my lips. I wonder if he can taste the sea on my tongue when I slip it into his mouth. He murmurs softly, working against the leather. I lick across the stubble on his chin, nibbing his collarbone on my way down. His hard-on twitches, and for a moment I want to make him wait. Repay him. But my hands are already on his hips, and his eyes shine, and I can't pretend anymore.
"Stay," I say afterwards, my mouth suddenly dry. He doesn't answer but wordlessly slips his right wrist between my hands. I understand and squeeze it gently, wrapping my fingers around his offer. He smiles, eye lids drooping, heavy with sleep. I press my body against his, spooning. His wrist remains trapped in my grasp and he falls asleep smiling.
When I wake up the next morning, sometime before sunrise and the chatter of the birds, I still hold his arm like I did the night before. We haven't changed positions. But while I seem to have barely moved at all, Billy managed to turn his body 180 degrees during the night. He now faces me, his breath soft against my chest. His arm is bent at an uncomfortable angle, wrist snug in my grip. When I press my fingers into his skin, I feel his pulse. I lick at his neck, tasting him. The sun rises lazily while I watch his chest raise and fall. In the morning light his skin shimmers like the outline of a mirage. I grab his shoulder and the tangile sensation flares my want. I turn him over, releasing him, kissing his shoulderblade. I don't want to wake him yet. I touch him with greatest care, kneeling between his parted legs. I ease myself into him, knowing he will wake soon. I thrust carefully, changing my weight until the angle is perfect. His relaxed breathing turns into moaning. He flexes his hands, then arms and finally throws his head back and arches into me. His eyes flutter open and I grin at his disoriented expression. He bucks a little, trying to increase the friction. I continue to fuck him slowly which he rewards with guttural sounds. I savour his body. I could fuck him for hours like this. Slow and steady. I watch as his skin becomes flushed with want and he opens his mouth but forgets to close it again. When the pinkish hue reaches his cheeks, I slowly turn, pulling him with me, until we lay on our sides. I reach for his cock, closing my fist around it. I stroke him hard and fast while my thrusts remain gentle. His breathing is laboured now. He closes his eyes again and huffs. The sounds he makes drive me wild. When he arches his back even more, I answer by thrusting hard. I drive deep into him, causing him to erupt into senseless blabber. I wait for him to say my name and when he finally does, I fuck him so hard that it is almost painful. His cock twitches in my hand. Today, I cannot wait for him to beg. His mutterings are already sending me over the edge and I plan to take him with me. I jerk him off, timing my touches with his moans. I come, now muttering myself, spurting into him. A few more strokes and he releases too. He tenses and then goes slack. I turn his head towards me and kiss him, parting his lips with my tongue. I can still taste my semen in his mouth.
"Go back to sleep," I whisper.
My body already drifts off but I manage to pull him even closer before I fall asleep.
I leave his embrace sometime before noon. My body moves heartbreakingly slow, the need for warmth too fresh and almost too strong. I'm not used to waking up like this. I try to remember where I am, the room looks vaguely familiar, but I still need almost a minute to realise I'm in my home. This room is just a corny Monet printing short of a hotel room, and I make a mental note to refurbish it as soon as possible. I fight the urge to drive into the city right away. I don't want him to wake up to an empty house. I pad down into my own bedroom, catching my naked reflection in the mirror in the hall. I still grin when I dress myself after a long shower and I still grin when I check on Billy. After fiddling in the kitchen, making my way around canvases and brushes and small carving knifes and colourful smudges, I return to the cinnamon room with a cup of tea and sit down on the bed. I can't bring myself to wake him, so I wait.
When he finally opens his eyes, my grin is replaced by a smile and I hand him a cold cup, apologizing. He takes a few sips, discards the tea and yawns.
"You know," he says, his voice ragged by sleep, "I love the way the sun dances in this room."
And he is right, of course. The sun dances around him, a beam entangled in his hair. I smile, not saying a word, because I love the sound of his voice when it's heavy with sleep, edges not yet polished by use. He drapes the duvet around him, modest when not aroused, and I offer to leave. He shakes his head.
"Go get a shower," I say, "I want to leave with you in half an hour."
This raises him and he trots down the hall to the bathroom. I stare after him, watching his small frame vanishing around a corner. Then I lay down, breathing in his scent and trying to see the room with his eyes, trying to see what he loves so much about it. I see a cinnamon coloured room with old battered furniture, a vague smell of the sea and golden light.
He comes back, wet haired and still wrapped into the duvet.
"I need to borrow some clothes," he says, his smile asking the question he cannot voice. I grin, picturing him on the beach in only his blue jeans, but lead him into my bedroom. I hand him a random t-shirt, midnightblue and washed out. I'm surprised at how well it suits him. He sheds the duvet, slipping into boxers and jeans.
"Perfect," I say, "Let's go."
I watch the wind ruffle Billy's hair and tear at his (my) shirt. It flaps around his body, folding and refolding washed-out dark blue waves. He smiles into the breeze, and turns to hug me tightly. I can feel his heartbeat and close my eyes. When he finally pulls away, I leave my arm around his waist. It feels good to be here. The sea rages and the curt winds clear my head. We had to take the car, but it was worth driving all the way out here.
Billy briefly stops at the bench overlooking the ocean. His smile vanishes and he looks at me for a while before looking back at the sea. The Pacific is grey today, filled with silent madness. The white crowns on the waves evoke memories of surf boards and Southern hemisphere but the wind is a cold reminder of where I am. I rub Billy's right arm, almost unconsciously, as the coldness bites through my sweater.
"It's ok," he says, leaning into the touch, "I'm not cold."
We slither down the slope, and jump onto the beach. I almost want him to tumble, want to catch him, but he's not falling. This is no movie. So I just reach for his hand. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and looks at his feet. Grounded, steady, strong. He looks ridiculously windswept. I don't kiss him although I want to. Instead we walk.
The horizon is a silver line, stretching between sea and stars. It seems to rise up and reach down at the same time, torn between the two entities. Like it cannot choose one above the other, and since it cannot have both, it is trapped there, forever, by its indecisiveness. I can feel Billy's hand in mine, the details of his fingers and skin pressing into my memory all too clearly, and I give his hand a squeeze. I'm not intending on letting go any time soon. He stops and leans into me. He looks at something on the ground, and while he bends down to pick it up, I touch his hair. When he comes up, he grins and holds out a small flat stone. For a moment I want to pocket it, but instead I send it bouncing across the waves. No souvenir can ever keep this memory for me. The wind picks up, an angry howl in the trees. I want to turn and walk back, but Billy remains fixed.
"No," he says.
He looks at me, his mouth set.
"I want to stay for a while," he adds and I kiss him.
He laughs into the kiss, as if he had suspected it. I pull him closer, a lover's embrace, and can't stop kissing him. He tastes of the sea and a horizon that finally knows where it belongs. Stay, I want to say. But I don't dare to break this kiss. So I smile, and slowly the cold disappears, taking the howling wind with it and leaving me with a head full of corny poetry lines. I cite none, my lips too busy. I realise that he had probably heard them all before anyway, all those cheesy postcard lines ranging from 'You put a Spell on Me' to 'I Love You.' So when we break the kiss to gasp for air, I say nothing. Billy leans in again and I look over to the sea. The last sunbeams paint it golden before vanishing below the horizon.
"We missed the sunset," I say.
"Yes," he answers, but he doesn't seem to care. His weight rests comfortable against me. I look at the horizon again. It stretches until it melts into the evening sky.
The night is cold and carries the flavour of regret, of a summer lost to the chillness of autumn. A tang of smoke lies in the air and I look back at the hills behind us, trying to make out the orange glow of raging wildfires. Billy wraps his arms around my waist and stares at the sea. The sky is dark now, tinted in the blackish blue of charcoals. All I can think of is flammes consuming, and I can feel the goosebumps rising on my arms and neck. Billy senses something; at least he turns and looks at me questiongly. I shake my head, but look back to the east, where the darkness seems deeper. The trees rustle with no wind going. I grab his hand and pull him along. I can feel him stumbling behind me as he tries to keep up with me.
When we reach the car, I can barely make out his face. The night is thick with smoke. It rolles down the hills in large wafts, curling and coiling when it reaches the valleys. Billy's eyes seem huge.
"How did you know?" he whispers. I can only shake my head and usher him into the car.
Half way home I see the flames. They reach into the air, grabbing for the moon. The smoke is grey as ashes rises up with it. The autumn now consumes what the summer sun hadn't scorched. Billy watches the spectacle with wide eyes, his hair catching the glow of a thousand degrees. The sky is the colour of a sunset. I barely notice the black trees as we rush over bumpy roads, sending the gravel flying. Billy tells me something, but my attention is fixed on the road leading home. The white paint of my house gleams yellow although the fire is miles away. We hurry in and close the windows before turning on the radio. The kitchen falls quiet except for the low murmur of the transmission and an occasional shuffle of restless feet. When Billy stands up to get something from the counter, I grab him by the wrist and swirl him around. He looks confused but returns my smile. He had never looked so beautiful before, eyes tense and cheeks flushed. Excitement and fear mingle in his expression and he seems changed, new. I kiss him, pressing my body against his. His skin feels hot under my hands. He reaches up and grabs two handfuls of my shirt, holding on, while I cup his face with both my hands. I kiss him again and again, until he gasps for air. He takes a few steps back, taking me along. He bumps into the kitchen table and grins wickedly, his eyes agleam. The radio cackles, listing areas that should evacuate immediately. I barely register we're not amongst them, my tongue already in his mouth. I shove him a bit, pushing him up the table. He tears at my sweatshirt, pulling it slightly up, while I try to open the flyer of his jeans. He lets go of me, and lifts his hips, an invitation rather than a suggestion. I tear down his jeans and boxers, leaving them to pool at his ankles, and pull the t-shirt over his head. The distant shine of the fires reflect on his skin and I take a moment to look at him. A smile tugs at his lips and he cocks his head. His erection lies heavy between his thighs and his eyes display a fire unmatched by the ones that rage outside. I shed my shirt and trousers, and grab him by the hips. He lets his eyes fall close and moves closer to the edge of the table. I bring our bodies together, feeling his heated skin on mine. He gasps, grabbing onto the edge of the table top, trying to steady himself. I grab his legs, lifting them and immediately he wraps them around my hips. His eyes open for a moment, and he looks at me, pupils dilated. When I move, he closes them again.
He obeys. He looks at me, his eyelids half-closed, his lips parted. I push into him. I cannot wait any longer. His body jerks, then adjusts to my thrusts. He moans against my chest, his hands trying to find something to hold on to. I lift his arms and put them around my neck. His kisses cool my skin, but the sensation of being inside him soon wipes out everything else. His skin slightly smells of bonfire, musk and ancient. I thrust harder, enjoying the noises he makes. Beads of sweat are forming on his brow. He erupts into mindless stutter, hips bucking, saying my name over and over again as I push into him. He throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. I watch him come, the mere picture enough to send me over the edge as well.
I slump against the table. My knees are too weak to remain standing so I sit down heavily. Billy lies on my kitchen table, still breathless. He blinks sleepily, legs dangling over the edge. He stretches his arms above his head, claiming my table. Idly, he traces his ripcage with one hand, the other resting above his head. He yawns, flexing his body. Then he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes soft. He smiles at me and I feel a pang of regret. To the east, the moon cames through the heavy smoke, shedding new light.
"Do you think the fires are out now?" Billy asks. His voice is smoky, just a whisper of silver thread, vanishing.
"It's under control," I say, unsure of what that means; what I mean. I want to add 'I think' but I don't. I just look at him. He stretches again.
"I'm naked," he says.
He laughs silently and gets up, his feet padding on the bare floor. I can hear the floorboards creaking in the hall, the wooden steps groaning as he ascends. I cannot move right now.
The next few days we hardly leave the bed. We stay in the cinnamon room, lazy and content. Occasionally I scramble down to fetch something to eat or make tea or get bottles of spring water, fizzy for Billy, silent non-fizz for myself. I'm the only one who leaves the room to get downstairs. While returning dishes and cups, I sometimes hear the upstairs shower. I smile to myself, sneaking up. I tear away the curtain, causing Billy to yelp in surprise, but he never minds when I join him.
We stay in bed for three days, touching, exploring, making love, watching the sky change its colours. I'm very fond of these days. Billy smiles a lot and I do too. Carefree days, days without time or need for time. We lie next to each other and talk. We gesture at the cinnamon ceiling, trying to voice our thoughts, or feelings, without bringing up that he has to leave, eventually.
On one memorable occasion he climbs onto me, naked, wrapping his arms around me. His knees next to my hips, he grins at me while his heels are digging into the mattress. Then he slowly lowers himself onto me. I can hardly breathe. His face - the look of concentration and care; and then his moan when I filled him - I won't forget. I grab his waist. My fingers are almost digging into his skin. Almost. It is too sweet to mar, too perfect to add anything. I leave him unbruised and in control. I watch him move on top of me. His hands find my shoulders and he is bracing himself. Although he holds me down, I can't help but move. My hips are bucking and I reach for him. When I touch the small of his back, and follow the trail of sweat there, he moans. I slice the air with my hand, thick and golden air, and just look at him. When he finally closes his eyes, I'm tempted to leave mine open. I fail.
He stays on top of me afterwards, breathing heavily. He still trapped in my arms. I don't remember when I wrapped myself around him like that. I hold him close. When his breathing eases I kiss him.
I try to think of a bag I can give him, to pack the few odd things he had bought here - a toothbrush, shorts, sandals - as well as the collected souvenirs of three weeks - a shell, a postcard bought a few miles south of here, some pictures he took, and a horse shoe nail. I remember how he good he looked on the petite stallion, proud and at ease. They suited each other and although Billy was hopeless at learning how to bribe tricks out of TJ, he rode several laps and still came back in one piece. TJ even nuzzled him as a goodbye, not allowing him to stay for grooming. A modest horse.
I look at Billy now, look at his room. Lazily I stretch and close my eyes. The bag can wait. I fall asleep.
Three days of sweet nothing. Just Billy and me and a silent cinnamon room overlooking the ocean.
He starts to check his mobile more often than he did during the past weeks, but doesn't return any calls.
Dom had called three times, he informs me, but Billy doesn't seem to bother. I try not to think about it either.
We're on the beach when he gets Dom's text message. He shows it to me, garbled letters on a green display, and laughs. I can hardly decipher it.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. I point at some kind of word.
"Love," Billy answers. He blinks into the horizon, squinting his eyes against the wind.
"He has an abbreviation for love?"
Billy nods. He seems far away and I wonder if he's with Dom.
"Looks like 'level' to me," I say.
He shakes his head and picks up a stick. He looks at the piece of driftwood in his hands.
"'Level' has one more 'l' at the end, like this," he explains, and then carves lvl into the sand. I consider it for a while.
"And 'next level'?"
He looks at me in this peculiar way, eyes scrunched up, and wrinkles his nose. He paints it into the sand for me to see:
nxt lvl
I nod.
"That's what you want?" he asks. He looks wary.
"Yeah," I say. He looks away.
The ocean changed colour. It is green today. Maybe fish would be nice for dinner. When I look up, Billy is already on his way to the car.
I make him breakfast and carry it to his room. He's already up and dressed.
"Hey," he says softly when I come in.
"Hey," I reply.
"I can't stay much longer," he then says. I nod. The tray is getting heavy. He looks at the single flower swimming in a cup.
"I want to... I just can't."
"I understand," I say. Somehow I do. There still is his other life, his other home. I put down the tray and sit on the bed. Unexpectance weighs heavily on the moment. I can't even say if there is such a word, but there it is. The dreaded moment. He sits down too. I don't want to hear that he's sorry.
"Can I come back?" he asks instead.
He leaves the toothbrush, a promise to be back. I go back into my studio, forgetting time as days turn into weeks. I wait for the doorbell to ring.