He sat watching me, his bright yellow skin contrasting the gunmetal that frames his face. I watch a sweat drop run down my forehead and gather on my brow in the reflection of his beetle back black eyes. Before me lies a silent field. His smile does not move. Together we start the game.
I pick a square, one of so many indistinguishable grey options and I press it down. I hear his breath cut short on the click of the tile. I look up. Though his eyes stay expressionless, his mouth betrays his nervousness: round, it hangs open, waiting. I look down again. After a second I let go of the tile.
The game opens up, 20 linked squares turn white. Points accumulate in the corner. I turn to him. His smile is back, identical, like it never left. His unblinking reflective eyes watch me turn to my next move.
I pick my move and click down another square, watching his face change as I do. I let go and a number one shows itself. It warns me that danger is just a square away. I quickly work out the placement of the adjacent bomb and flag it red. He smiles in silence.
As I press on, considering my balance of strategy and luck, clicking away squares, I wonder at what kind of a man would play a game like this. Every time I touch a square his mouth opens wide. My fingers work deftly. I watch his face. His breath catches each time I make a potentially critical decision.
My strategy becomes simpler and more dangerous with the clearing of squares. I begin to speed up. His breath becomes shorter and shorter with each click until it is coming in short, sharp gasps.
My peripheral vision is patterned with a field of red flags and numbers now, and the game nears completion, but my mind is transfixed by his face. I watch a drop of sweat roll slowly down his cheek and a victorious grin tears my face. I press the final square down. His mouth is open. His gasp is a moan. The game is done.
I hear a drip on the ground. I touch my forehead. As I look up I can see my whole face, shaking and sweating in a pair of black mirror sunglasses he's put on to celebrate our survival. What kind of man would join another man in a game like this? I decide the game is not done.
I walk to the standing square in front of him. It hits the ground with a click. Round, and wet his mouth opens wide. I unzip and thrust myself down his throat before he can finish his surprised in-breath. My red erection fills him up and he moans low around my shaft. I hold myself deep inside him until his yellow skin begins to change colour. He shakes and pulls but I hold him, wet, hot, captive around me. I pull out just as his lips begin to lose tension. I rip his glasses off his face as his gasps bring him back to consciousness. I slide on the victory shades and grab the back of his head, forcing his lips open with my rock hard cock before he has a chance to regain full consciousness. I slam his mouth again and again, fast and fucking hard until I near orgasm. Diagonal to me me, I know he can see the single adjacent square with a one written on it. I bite my lip, grinning behind black glasses. I pull out and shoot a copious hot load into his open mouth and over his yellow lips. I never looked at his eyes. Then, I turn and step off the red flagged square.