When I slid most of my cock out I could
feel the breeze of the ceiling fan blowing on it, cool from the drip he coats
me with. Then back in, deep, and finally warm again. He clings to my neck and I
kept one hand on his hip and one under his ass, spreading him open. I pushed up
and into him while he presses down and onto me and this is us: fucking,
sweating, kissing, all tensing muscle and slight corner-smiles. Hector takes my
earlobe between his lips when he squirms in orgasm, and when it’s my turn, he
rolls onto his back and places my cock to his mouth. With me on my knees over
him, he jerks me off until the thick white bursts out my head and flops onto
his face and waiting tongue. He swallows my cum and my cock and I fuck his face
for a moment while the rest seeps out. I fall back spent and we lay there
looking at the ceiling fan, trying to make it spin backwards with our minds.
“Buenas dias.” He says.
“Good morning.” I blink groggily up to
him.
I feel you. I see you. I taste you.
Through the hollow stillness I reach out my hand and gently press my fingers
against yours. Elysium greets us with the old familiar smell of swirling white
asphodel. The wind tickles the trees and scatters the playful leaves. I open my
eyes and look down at my arms. In this waking dream the skin is smooth, no
scars.
In this waking dream there are no scars.
For now, no more blue tomorrows.
Hector traps the cylinder between his
pout. Gently gripping the filter the way you would hold a lover’s earlobe
between your teeth, applying just enough pressure to communicate your desire.
The flame of the lighter teases the end of the cigarette to life, like the tip
of a quivering tongue, tracing the lines of a lover’s lips to stimulate a
hungry response. He inhales sharply, with a sexy little hiss. Smoke fills his
lungs, like tiny whimpers of pleasure echoing into the sensual cavern of his
wicked mouth. He arches his back slightly and tilts his head to one side,
exposing the muscular curve of his vulnerable throat; exhale...he smokes
slowly. Each time he tilts my head back to exhale, his mouth remains parted in
a small O shape, like he’s frozen in a moment of orgasmic passion.
My hands tighten to fists. I gnash my
teeth and dig my nails into the flesh of my palms. It’s all I can do to stop
myself from pouncing on him… and licking the residue of nicotine from his lips
and fingertips.
Equal to the carcinogens slowly swirling
through the room, my passing days with him are both intoxicating and
delightful. He becomes my habit.
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