He was there again, the pale figure with those fathomless eyes, and unruly hair that seemed to have a life of its own. This time he was draped loosely with white gauzy linen. The cloth was so thin that there could be no doubt as to the man's sex.
John stood in awe of him, the ethereal god who haunted his dreams. He often came when John was dreaming about war, and his life as a soldier in the Roman army. His dreams until the man arrived were full of blood, and wails of pain. This dream was no different, he could still hear the rally cries, and sounds of battle echoing in his ears. His body thrummed as it did after every battle, his senses hyper-aware of his surroundings.
He watched as the fine cloth floated on an invisible wind around milky white skin. He could just hear it; the sensuous breath of that wind kissing along flawless skin, bringing with it the scent of candle lit nights, hushed promises, and cherished secrets. Closing his eyes he imagined touching that skin, so perfect that it appeared to have been chiseled from precious marble. He knew though that instead of hard cold stone the skin would be warm and soft as silk beneath his fingers.
John became keenly aware that he could no longer hear the battle in his mind. Even so his body still felt charged, like the string of a bow pulled taunt, anticipating release.
A whispering tendril brushed past his cheek drawing a shocked gasp from the coolness of its touch. John's eyes snapped open only to find himself staring into those dark star lit eyes. The man had moved so sudden, and soundlessly that John hadn't heard him approach.
The man chuckled, the vibrations of the rich sound skated along John's skin raising prickles along his flesh. His body shuddered as another piece of cloth slithered past his neck without scraping along the scruff that normally grew there.
A tender hand rose to cup John's chin. His thumb stroked John's jaw as the stranger finally spoke. "It is rather charming, but I prefer you like this. Bare, and exposed to my touch."
"Who are you?" John wanted to ask, but the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to know so badly, but his senses told him that the answer was forbidden. So he settled for his next question. "Why are you here?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
A smile full of regret and longing flashed across the strange man's face. "For you, John," he answered just as softly. The pain in his velvety baritone voice was evident, and John's heart clinched in sympathy.
"I am always here for you." Tentatively he lent down sealing his plush lips to John's. The difference between them could not have been more apparent. Where his lips were soft, John's were chapped, when he was gentle, John was rough. The opposite of textures only heightened the kiss, bringing to it a medley of unexplored sensations.
John welcomed the kiss, reveled in it. A hunger burned beneath the tenderness of it, and he could not stop himself from wanting more. He could taste every emotion possible pass between the touch of their lips, and he opened his mouth to devour it all. With the parting of his lips their mouths slotted together, tongues wetly exploring the deepest recesses of their counterpart's crevices.
The dark haired man moaned into John's mouth, the sensation of it rolled down his throat, and rumbled in his chest. The length of their kiss seemed to span for minutes, far beyond the point any man could hold his breath, but John felt no need for air. All he could ever want or desire was there in front of him. The need for this man made the world blur before him.
Suddenly John found himself sprawled on his back with no idea of how he ended up there. Feather light touches caressed his skin stopping only to study the multiple scars adorning his body. With each pause gentle fingers soothed over damaged skin, the touch so light it was almost adoring. The man was worshiping him, and John idly mused at the thought that this man was fond of his scars, but not of his facial hair.
Warm lips began to trace where fingers had been, and all thought rushed from John's mind as he arched up, burring his fingers in inky swirling locks. A startled cry escaped his lips as a wet tongue came out to join in the exploration of his skin. The hot muscle danced and teased its way from one hardening nipple to the next, and John squirmed under the pale man as he felt teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
The starry eyed man worked the stiffening pebble of flesh between his teeth driving the sharp sensation of pleasure and pain through to John's very core. Every touch meant to slowly tease John into the height of passion. Looking into John's dreamy blue gaze, taking in the flushed cheeks, and panting breaths told him that he had accomplished his goal, but he still wanted to give John more. He would give John such pleasure that the blond Roman soldier would remember it even when he was awake.
Drawing back he stroked a hand through sweat darkened blond hair, and waited until John's hazy eyes focused on him. He smiled fondly down on that familiar face. No matter what scars life left on the soldier's body he would always recognize his John. He would remember every life for the two of them.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me," he whispered as he slid down the length of John's muscled torso. His eyes not breaking contact until he was hovering above John's straining cock. He could feel the heat of it rolling off John in waves. His nostrils flared at the musky scent; new but familiar at the same time, accosted his senses. Dragging his gaze from John's he drank in the sight of his lover's turgid penis.
The foreskin was already drawn taught exposing the glossy wet tip. He watched reverently as a pearl of come glistened and slid languidly down hardened flesh. Before the bead could pass the frenulum he caught it with his tongue and traced it back to the weeping slit. Glancing up, he was greeted with the sight of John staring at him with a slackened jaw. A tortured groan erupted from John's throat before he threw his head back his eyes screwed shut.
It was too much, the sight and feel of the man doing inexplicable things to him was driving him mad. How was he to look at this man while he gave John such ecstasy, he was already so drunk on desire. So this is what it was like to be the lover of a God. It was the sweetest torment on earth, and yet he could not help but feel damned for it.
Gathering his courage he dared to look back down the length of his body. He choked on a sob as he watched that wickedly clever tongue slide from parted lips to dance and swirl around the glans of his manhood. He drew a hissing breath, doggedly keeping his eyes on the man before him lest he disappear and leave John wanting. His body unconsciously jolted causing his penis to bump against kiss swollen lips. A breathless laugh erupted from the slight folly of his hips.
Almost gleefully the man took him into his mouth and sucked. An obscene smack of lips filled the air as he released the swollen tip, only to delve in once more to take John even farther into the moist heat of his mouth. With each withdraw he sucked harder, basking in the feel of John writhing and moaning beneath him. Each second seemed to build up in the soldier's body, and he could feel it in the pulse of flesh in his mouth. John was his, and he was going to give John everything his body could handle.
John was enthralled with the sensation of a warm wet suction engulfing his cock. His whole body shook with restraint, and his fingers clenched in rich curly hair. May the gods have mercy on him he could not take it. Surely he was going to die if he dared to come, but he could not stand any more exquisite torment from this creature who had always haunted his dreams.
Suddenly a name was there on the tip of his tongue and he cried out as his orgasm tore through his body, sharper than any blade. His back arched and he choked on a shout "Sh-Sherlo-"
John awoke on his hard sleeping palate to the fading memory of star filled eyes, pale skin, and curly dark hair. What lingered was sweat drenched skin making his clothes cling to his frame, the overwhelming sensation of his body tingling in post orgasmic bliss, and the slick tacky feeling between his thighs.