.

***  

And then a pause.

Letting go of each other, fearful, anticipating, skin flushed, they sat in silence. Thom reached out and ruffled the soft hair on the back of Jonny's neck, slowly, poco a poco nudging him forward, pulling him closer. Jonny, resisting, only let his head bend lower and lower, till half-undone shirt revealed his defenseless neck, then vertebrae. Till the 7th, as if the shirt was cut to prepare him for beheading.

Someone invisible - let's assume, crrrrack! - was winding up an inivisible clock. Jonny's barely audible 'I hate us' fell in between. Crrrrrrack! The spring became tighter. 'I hate...', and he was out of breath, and CRRRRACK! tighter still. And quickly swallowing a sip of air - 'I hate us both', and CRACK!

It broke. It ringed at high pitch, it flew dangerously, unwinding. No one hated no one. Their bodies entwined, unable to wait longer, and bare skin touched bare skin, calling blood to just under the surface. They went down onto the carpet, mouth to mouth, tongues and lips, slippery, hot. They both shivered, pressed into each other by mad force they didn't know was waiting; with only thin fabric of summer clothes between the most delicate, though now in full bloom, hothouse flowers of their bodies. Thom's hand slid down Jonny's belly, circling the nipples, stopping at the navel, and went lower, tugging at belt clasp, undoing it, going inside and - finally - cupping the treasure. All Jonny's muscles tensed, transferring a dash of electricity that exploded in a tingly firework in his head. Lips parted, breathing unevenly into Thom's ear, Jonny whispered 'Thom... Thomas... don't... please, only... don't...'.

Thom closed his eyes, savouring the warm force rising up against his hand, feeling his own grow, wishing for all attention in the world. Jonny's trousers were almost off; Thom's hand ran along the gently curving line of his body, from waist down, over the hip, sliding coyly on the smooth, warm underside. 'More... please more' and a quiet 'ah', - Thom smiled, relishing his power. Jonny, Jonny who was drifting away and able but to accept the gliding caresses, finally moved, and tightly pressed his both hands onto Thom's hips, then forcing his nakedness to finally happen.

The two flowers touched, squished against each other, meeting each other's eager strength. The two mouths, two tongues met again, moving slowly, slowly - each a treasured candy that would last longer this way. There wasn't a firm ground anymore, they drifted and knew not where to.

And then.

Jonny put his palms over Thom's reddened cheeks as if to not let him look away. 'THOM'.

Thom's eyes flew open; Jonny's weren't his. The two sapphire-blue lights shone from under the eyelashes; all Thom's muscles tightened in a flash of paralyzing fear, as he felt blood leaving his skin. Jonny moved his face closer yet. Jonny parted Thom's legs with his. With this, and with another kiss, Thom's body won over, the mind left alone, thinking the blue light was its own figment. Fleeting memories of sex taking him to another place, not entirely real place, lighted up and went out again. Touching him down below, listening to tiny moans of uncontained pleasure, Jonny whispered in Thom's ear. Saying that he was sorry, saying: 'Thom... Thom, I must do it. There is... there is no other way... please... forgive me...'.

Then he stopped talking. He moved down, planting a trail of kisses over Thom's neck and belly, and further, until the flower sprang up under his tongue. Slowly, he pressed the stem between his lips. Slowly, took it deeper in. Thom inhaled in a spasm of pleasure and held his breath, immersing into the viscous, languid, motion-slowing honey, the anticipation of the final burst. Jonny's lips and tongue were moving, - so slow, almost painfully slow, keeping Thom on the impossible verge longer than he ever knew he could stay there. The last, and the most delicate touch of Jonny's tongue blew the fuse. Thom gasped for oxygen, his back arched in the unbearable sweetness of anguish, fingernails driven into palms' skin, a moan just escaping from the lips bit to hold it. One wave went over him; another started, then another, he wanted to breath and couldn't.

The evening sun went out.
A pitch black minute marched by.

When the light returned, there wasn't anyone in the room. A faint scent of two warm bodies didn't remain for long. On the floor, there lay a white handkerchief, two drops of blood drying on its edge.



To be continued?