Thanks to my wonderful beta Demetra.
He's needy.
He's needy and greedy for my attention. For me to look after him because he wants to.
To what?
He wants.
He wants to hear, to know that I'm here. I'm here for him, only him.
Possessive man he is and no matter what … what?
What I have become and what I might let him do to me. He can scratch me but mine! Mine will be the last word.
He opens.
He opens wounds in me. He thinks to be a lonely rider searching for some satisfaction. Where he can, he consoles himself. How he can, he satisfies his inner needs.
He needs.
Rude and pretentious. White knuckles, wrapping tightly around my wrist, pulling me against his hard body.
Bruising kiss.
Breathing ... breathing as he's stealing my own breath from my lungs, my tongue, my lips. Mint and mixing saliva, something vaguely humid and sweet.
Kissing, torturing my chin with his stubble and he doesn't care.
He doesn't even care that his nails are digging hard into my skin and will leave soft reddish bruises.
He doesn't care, does he?
Or maybe he secretly enjoys the fact that I will wear them, that I will have his bruises and his marks.
His. His in the true meaning of the word. Only his and it's like a little electric discharge running through my whole body while thinking that in some ways I'm owned by him.
I will do anything he says. Will I really do it?
Summer air and his scent wood mixing with grass he was there just a moment ago.
Summer night's air and the way he moves on me. The way he bends my will and makes me think that at the end it's where I begin.
Where he ends, I begin. Where he lets, I continue.
His smell, intoxicating the air as I let him devour my neck, his wet and warm lips against my skin, licking and biting each inch of my skin.
The room is maybe too little for his giant ego. Little chosen words and confusion bringing confidence.
There's this time where he has to give himself away. Or now, or never.
And he's my world but I won't lose my head.
And right here and right now he's like an extension of myself as he keeps on sucking at my skin.
Wet sounds which make me shiver, entwining my fingers in his short gray hair, pulling a bit at them and hissing as he bites hard on my shoulder.
"Want me ... want me like I want you." He hisses against my lips, hot humid breath caressing them as he stares at me ... waiting. Waiting for an answer and he knows that I truly want him.
Staring at the TV and thinking that places, sometimes, will clear our eyes and make us desire something different. He wants something. He wants me. Somehow he can't say it.
A fool hiding himself behind a mask of boredom. Some glitter and ego scattered around him and his shadow which he carries around unaware of the need to have someone keeping him there. Someone wanting him as much as he wants someone to save him from himself.
And water is hot maybe too much hot but I don't care as little reddish marks appear and gently decorate my skin.
What he is. What he wants … I feel this feeling, I do. And I blame you!
What is he doing? Backing away from me is now impossible as he cages me against the tile and takes what he thinks to be his. Fest on me and discover that somehow he isn't the same since he walked in and kissed me.
Gray eyes and unsaid words, were you really thinking to be that cruel?
But behind gray and blue eyes I see more than he would like to share. Lies and needs.
And I find myself crying against his chest, my fingers slippery and needy for something to catch them.
"Don't cry, please." He softly whispers.
"You don't have to." He then adds after a long pause of silence, leaning against the cold and wet tile to support both our weights and I know that his leg is driving him mad.
Yes, I know that a light black fog is descending over his eyes as he keeps breathing normally, tries to stay focused on me. Us.
He wishes it was that easy taking what he wants and then fly away without any regrets. But like snakes, voices are coming, tying him against me.
He would have liked to say, "baby I'm sorry but I'm running away. I can't risk staying here. Because the air doesn't smell the same. Anymore."
Love is what he would have called unexpected. In his dictionary, unknown. But now he's here. With me.
There would be so many words for me to say. He shushes me with a kiss like asking me not to talk, afraid of this moment where he's there, almost there to admit that he can say, finally to be lost and found.
He waits for my laces to come and tie him.
Still, I don't know if it's the water that is wetting my face or my tears as I gaze up at him and he stares down at me … and it's like a flash of light running through his gray blue eyes and for a brief moment it's like I can't see any malice or justification hiding behind them.
Water hitting our battered reddish skin like it wants to clean us, hiding our secret. Water that will wash away our sins, that will hide what we did, washing away crimson proofs of the way lately we choose to act.
He just hisses something and slams his flat palm hard against the tile and I know that he needs to take the damn Vicodin but still he doesn't spill a word.
What if everything he does is an act, a way of hiding and choosing to wear a mask, smoothly disguising himself.
I stare at him and I see a man without a house where to go back. Without someone waiting for him.
"Jack me off ... just ... just wrap your hand around it and jack me off." He simply asks but I know that he wants to say more.
Instead he captures my lips in a needy kiss like he sensed my early cold shoulder and wants to recuperate me before I just push him away, silently asking him to stop.
"Don't think James." He breathes. You don't move just stare into his eyes.
I lower my gaze and stare at his leg before he tilts up my chin and finally I see him without any mask.
He comes bare and defenseless showing his true nature and that burning need to finally admit that he wants more, he wants you.
"It hurts." He barely cries out against my humid lips and I close tight my eyes.
"I know." I softly whisper into his ear while wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock.
"But water can't wash this away. What do you want Gregory?"
He barely nods as I start to jack him off.
"Look at me." I demand and he opens his eyes. "Gregory."
"Indefinite I wanted many things. And now I only have one need left." He slowly whispers. "You."
Pain mixing with pleasure in a macabre dance that I can see being led behind his gray blue eyes.
One of his hands grips my shoulder as I speed up my strokes, fingers digging into my skin with his breath coming out rapidly and I know that he's almost on the ragged edge.
Ready to slip into the dark and cold waters of his libido but before he can let himself drown inside those deep, calm waters I slam my hand flat against the shower mixer valve shutting off the water.
For a moment I feel like I did something I shouldn't. Like I just crossed a line and broke something that I shouldn't have touched. Water is still dripping down, little sounds that reminds me that yes I just did that, I just slammed my hand over that shiny metal shower valve.
"I love you." I find myself whispering as I cup his balls, heavy and tightening for the rising orgasm that he's going to have.
"No." He breathes out, digging his nails deeper into my skin and then he comes shuddering and panting while hot spurts of cum stains my fingers.
"Yes." I reply leaning forward to capture his lips as I keep milking out the last fragments of his orgasm.
Water is not washing away what we did. Water is not washing the sticky and cooling proof that is dripping slowly down from my fingers and onto the floor.
"Water can't wash away what we've become." I say leaning my head against his chest and hearing his heart trying to recover from the orgasm.
Again a moment of silence takes holds of us.
"Wilson, you stupid." He says hoarsely as a tiny drop of water just slides quickly down over his cheek and ... and then I close my eyes as warm water starts to fall again on us.
Some things don't change. The way he wears again his mask and softly says, "I love you, too."