Las Palabras
"Hey, Ephram?" Eyes half-closed, lazy, slow. Words slither from between his lips like the rain slip-sliding down the windows of Colin's bedroom.
Sheets are twisted around pale bodies, sex and satisfaction interwoven with the cotton cloth. The scent will keep Colin awake later tonight.
Fingers tangle through dark curls. "Yeah?" Low. Hoarse. Ephram had been quite vocal in expressing his - fulfillment.
"Run away with me. To Mexico. We'll be like ." Pause while Colin remembers the word. "Outlaws."
Exhale. "We don't have enough money to make it in Mexico. People there won't believe you if you tell them you have amnesia. They won't give you free stuff." The one lesson Andy ever successfully taught his son was the importance of realistic thinking.
"We'll hitch-hike, then. And we'll sleep outside." Colin shifts, raises his head from Ephram's chest. "I'm tired of rain."
"But you don't - " A wet mouth distracts momentarily from sentence formation. "Speak Spanish."
Aforementioned mouth follows a familiar route south, aided by hitching of breath and tensing of muscles. Hands clear the road, but stop short of their destination. "You do." Teeth flash in a grin, teasing.
Hips raise, plead. "Not enough."
Colin catches the double-meaning, turns it over in his mind. "But you know the important words." Opens his mouth, takes as much as he can without gagging.
Hands grab, clench sheets tightly. "Fuck." Drawn-out, whispered.
Climax is quick - they're only sixteen, after all. Colin's name is a word from a secret language. It hangs in the air above the bed, sweaty and desperate.
Colin swallows, lips pursing at the saltiness. Ephram tastes himself when they kiss, murmurs "Mi amante" into Colin's mouth.
A languid smile creeps across Colin's face. "See? Important words."
"Hey, Ephram?" Eyes half-closed, lazy, slow. Words slither from between his lips like the rain slip-sliding down the windows of Colin's bedroom.
Sheets are twisted around pale bodies, sex and satisfaction interwoven with the cotton cloth. The scent will keep Colin awake later tonight.
Fingers tangle through dark curls. "Yeah?" Low. Hoarse. Ephram had been quite vocal in expressing his - fulfillment.
"Run away with me. To Mexico. We'll be like ." Pause while Colin remembers the word. "Outlaws."
Exhale. "We don't have enough money to make it in Mexico. People there won't believe you if you tell them you have amnesia. They won't give you free stuff." The one lesson Andy ever successfully taught his son was the importance of realistic thinking.
"We'll hitch-hike, then. And we'll sleep outside." Colin shifts, raises his head from Ephram's chest. "I'm tired of rain."
"But you don't - " A wet mouth distracts momentarily from sentence formation. "Speak Spanish."
Aforementioned mouth follows a familiar route south, aided by hitching of breath and tensing of muscles. Hands clear the road, but stop short of their destination. "You do." Teeth flash in a grin, teasing.
Hips raise, plead. "Not enough."
Colin catches the double-meaning, turns it over in his mind. "But you know the important words." Opens his mouth, takes as much as he can without gagging.
Hands grab, clench sheets tightly. "Fuck." Drawn-out, whispered.
Climax is quick - they're only sixteen, after all. Colin's name is a word from a secret language. It hangs in the air above the bed, sweaty and desperate.
Colin swallows, lips pursing at the saltiness. Ephram tastes himself when they kiss, murmurs "Mi amante" into Colin's mouth.
A languid smile creeps across Colin's face. "See? Important words."