INTERMEZZO
Soul Calibur IV, fanfiction
Summary: We remained like that for some time, with my gaze fixed at the distant sky. Then a music, like interlacing waves, started playing in my head. A capriccio in allegro and passionato…
Warning: Yaoi.
Disclaimer: NAMCO
Setting: AU: present-day Hamburg. Zwei and Patroklos are of university students' age.
INTERMEZZO
Upon entering a bar on Große Freiheit tonight, I saw a strikingly handsome man.
His facial features were very chiseled, bordering on rough, but they were tinged with melancholy, like some person whose mother or favorite brother had just died. From time to time he would rub his palm on his chopped silver hair (the warm yellow tone from the halogen light made it looked kind of golden). He was wearing a rough knit sweater with many of the strings pulled off that the pattern was barely recognizable, combined with a faded jeans so old it looked as if he had just robbed a construction worker for it. When he laughed, his leather boots made sharp "click,click" when the sole hit the wooden floor. What struck me most, though, was his leather coat. It was crisp and majestic, like the ones worn by the SS in historical pictures.
He downed his remaining Köstritzer from the bottle, then called the bartender for another one. One of his friends, which remained me of a vintage clothing reseller from Ukraine I once saw in France, placed his cards on the table with a thud, laughed, and shouted: "Royal Flush!"
The others, as well as the man with silver hair, placed their cards on the table then looked away in disdain. The handsome man took a big gulp of his newly-delivered black beer.
The winning man stood up from his chair and started dancing to Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Grapelli's "Minor Swing" in the background.
"Arschloch. Ich werde ficken deine Mutter!" The handsome man placed three twenty Euro notes on the table with a thud. Cynistically.
One of them, a fat guy with red hair and heavily-freckled face, saw me. He elbowed the handsome man, who then looked up to see me as well, followed by his friends.
"Oy, Rich Boy!" shouted the handsome guy, "was zum Teufel machst du hier?"
Then, as if swept by some sort of invisible wave, the whole bar stopped whatever they were doing then turned to look at me.
"Mein Deutsch ist nicht sehr gut," I replied.
"Mein Deutsch ist nicht sehr gut…" the fat guy and another one with a goatee followed mockingly, then laughed.
"What the hell are someone like you doing here?" asked the handsome guy again.
"Go back to fucking Park Hyatt!"
I grabbed my briefcase stronger than before. It shamed me, as a grown man, to had felt so intimidated by these guys. The handsome guy then stood up from his chair then approached me.
"You must be a travel writer, no?" he asked, smiling too arrogantly for my taste, "do you want to join us for a drink?"
I nodded hesitantly. His friends stopped laughing as the handsome man dragged me a smelly, scratched leather-and-wood chair, then told me to sit.
"This poor man's a junior travel writer," he explained to his friends, "a junior ain't got much choice. Don't let him suffer any more."
A while later, his friends were ready to start another game, but the handsome man shook it off, saying he'd rather lose his last fifty Euro to a bottle of decent Polish slivovitz.
"Danke schön," I said amidst the loud music, "Sie sind freundlich."
He cringed, then asked instead:
"You want beer? Black? Blonde?"
"Blonde."
He called a waitress, a very sexy girl in clingy red dress, then ordered a bottle of regular beer.
"I'm _, but they call me Zwei—band nickname, you know. Kinda ridiculous but what the hell…"
"Patroklos. Patroklos Alexander," I answered jumpily under his sharp gaze.
"Greek, eh?"
A very pretty, tall girl who passed by us nudged my shoulder and said:
"Das ist ein sexy Freund!"
I realized it just now: they must've thought we were lovers. A slight, blonde, neat young man walking to a well-built taller man in a leather coat. Besides, there was something overtly masculine about his gestures. The way he held his hands up or snap a finger as he explained things being one of those. When he smiled, he showed his neat, but tobacco-stained teeth. His complexions, seen from such closeness, showed a characteristic dullness and slight puffiness caused by alcohol. The obvious, purplish eyebags almost dragged his crystalline blue eyes down with them.
"Hey…" I said to break the silence, "thanks again for earlier."
"You knew it all along that I'm not a travel writer, right?"
"Well, natürlich," he smiled, "if you were, you'd go deeper into the alleyway. That bar where I was ain't shit compared to those inside. Nothing picturesque, even the girls."
He then asked: "So what are you, a student at the Musikhochschule?"
"Nah. I study Lettres modernes at Université de Strasbourg," I said, "came here for weekend. I've always wanted to visit Hamburg."
"And you've been to…?"
"The Rathaus, the canal at the end of the Rathausmarkt—what's it called?"
"Alsterarkaden."
"Right. Then the regulars: Mönckebergstraβe, Jungfernstieg… That's about all. Couldn't bring myself to go too far from where I stay, you know. My German is pretty much nonexistent."
"Don't you ever hire a guide?"
"I have personal skepticism for guides, shady or not. They always bring you wherever they'd get commissions," a breeze blew, carrying the scent of his leather coat to my nose, "now, you may think I'm some rich, spoiled person, no? But really, I just have that much to travel for three days. I stay at the Hotel Kogge, and I do find the student train discount useful."
He laughed. A deep, throaty laughter.
"I know a great place," he said with a smile, "I'll take you there by sunrise," he stopped walking.
"Three hours left. We can either wait at Hesburger, or you can go back, then meet me at the Reeperbahn subway exit in the morning."
"Let's wait. I'll treat you," I said with a smile. After some time, I asked: "why are you so kind to me?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
He took me to a dock by the River Elbe. The sky was a mixture of pale blue and very light gray, with hints of maroon from the yellow-orange lines formed at the horizon. Freezing air cut sharp into my nose. Birds floated by the ships, the junctions, the piers.
"So you're Greek or French?"
"Greek. I come from Athens," I said.
"Never been to Athens," he said, extracting a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, took one, then lit up. He then offered another one to me.
"I don't smoke."
He leaned against a pillar. After some time, he turned at me again then asked:
"What's Athens like?"
"It's a great place," I moved my gaze from the sky to him, "houses are white, sea is deep blue. When it's sunny, the walls are like mirrors. Pretty much like the pictures, except there are dirty alleyways and dog shits when you look closer. But then, those are part of the charm. I used to go to the Parthenon to sketch something every weekend. I was always bored, though, didn't understand why I kept going there. Then I went to France and missed everything: dirty alleyways, fish smells, dog shits, loud tourists and all… "
He laughed.
As the sun went up and tourists had started to crowd the deck, I asked him:
"You care for some drink at my place? Nothing fancy but—"
"I'm always in for a drink."
Zwei put the empty shooter glass on the bedside with a thud. That was his fourth shot, yet he still looked pretty much sober to me, who was already halfway to passing out.
I looked at his features again. Right, there was something very inviting, even for men… (In France, I had a hot Chinese girlfriend who looks like young Gong Li whom I banged regularly. I'm not gay; most very hot men I never check twice, leave alone average to ugly ones.)
I felt that my torso had turned into a rubber, swaying back and forth, eventually landing onto his broad, strong chest. I waited for him to shove me away, but he didn't. I leaned even closer. He smelled of cigarettes and leather. Then there was that manly, almost intimidating natural scent of his body…
"Kiss me," I didn't even know how the hell I managed to open my mouth and said that.
Without waiting for his response. I reached out my hands to cup his face, dragged it closer, then kissed him—practically chewing his lips like a hungry dog. He'd probably run off calling me a dipshit, but nothing else would matter anymore: I wanted this Zwei. Something, like a demon, pushed me to keep going. I kissed him until I had enough of his saliva on my lips and inside my mouth.
A while later, my hands were already under his coat, ready to slide it down. I wondered why he didn't even retaliate, this Zwei. From his eyes I could tell that he was a perfectly straight guy. (My gaydar was never wrong, and I had plenty of gay friends as references.)
"You want to experiment, eh?" he finally asked, then laughed that deep, throaty laugh that aroused me more than ever now that I was drunk.
"Experiment my ass!" I was meant to curse, but it made him laugh even harder.
"I got plenty of straight guys asking for this."
"You're hot," now it felt more as if someone else was using my body, speaking in part of me, "you're hot as fuck, you know that? Exactly how I always imagined The Devil in his human form. C'est prèsque pécheresse, ta beauté. Pécheresse!"
Then it happened. He pushed me to the bed, then started removing my jacket, my shirt, and my jeans with authoritative, efficient movements. He then took off his boots, removed his coat, his sweater, then slide down his pants and his boxer. His penis made me kind of insecure as a fellow guy: it was enormous.
His weight crushed me, the curves of muscles seemed to fit as they landed on my body. He kissed my eyes, nose, jaws, chin, then quickly went down to my neck, my collarbones. All the time, his skillful, firm hands were tracing my body. When his lips toyed with my nipples, I moaned. I pressed him closer against me, that every curve of his body imprinted on mine, slowly becoming one…
He turned me over, like raw meat on a grill. Then his firm arms slowly lifted my limb body so that his chest and stomach were imprinted on my back. I felt a hand caressing my penis. Long, firm fingers like a worker's. His fingertips were dry and rough and that added to the pleasure. He didn't only play with them, but also the phalanx joints to make pressures that rose and fell like sea waves. A part of me was tossed in it, in the sea.
He bent me over then caressed my back for time as he whispered some words in German in low voice. I gasped when he pushed into my ass—slowly at first, then soon he started ramming in full force, making me feel as if my insides were torn to shreds. Strength were flying away from my body as he fucked me violently, shaking my entire body with every movements he made, until he finally came violently inside my ass. My penis was still hard as a rock that when I landed facedown on the bed, it sent a sharp pain to my entire body.
He turned me over. His torso was slightly bent. There wasn't excess fat on his stomach, his thigh, everywhere. I watched him as he cleaned his fingers on the bedsheet.
"Suck!" I said.
Zwei turned to look at me with sly eyes. I had no idea when exactly he bent over to actually suck. When I realized my penis was already engulfed in his mouth, warmed by his saliva. His blue eyes met mine whenever I tilted my head a bit to watch his jaw sunk as he moved his head up and down, playing with the shaft with his lips and teeth.
We remained like that for some time, with my gaze fixed at the distant sky. Then a music, like interlacing waves, started playing in my head. A capriccio in allegro and passionato…
8/19/2013 1:50:50 PM
Note:
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