May 25, 3660
Perhaps you won't be able to understand how I can narrate the subsequent scenes as comfortably as I intend to, because I can imagine that you are a flesh being, capable of silly feelings such as shame. There is nothing wrong with that. But as close to Kyle as I've been in life - and I was indeed - I don't feel embarrassed at all by watching him ride Christophe's cock right now. Because I'm dead. That kind of thing doesn't matter to me anymore.
I've always wondered how it would be when these two finally clashed at each other, because they've been desiring this for such a long time and there was so many expectations involved that perhaps the reality could be very disappointing. I had this curiosity. There is a feeling that only intensifies when you die, curiosity. You see everything and still want to see more. So I wondered if Kyle truly wanted Christophe back then or if he just wanted the idea that he made of the Mole and vice versa. Of course, looking back at it now, it's a stupid question. Kyle went to some extreme extensions for wanting this man so much and not being able to have him. Maybe that's why I can see that Kyle wanted so badly to believe, until a few moments ago, that their time had passed. If he only knew how wrong he was.
I guess, since we're here, I should tell you about the first kiss. God, that was one fucking good kiss. I mean, what do I know? I wasn't the one doing it. But from my perspective, Christophe kissed him so desperately that he could have swollen Kyle if he tried to. He went for every ounce of him, every bit he couldn't have for years, every part of that body that haunted him ever since they met. It wasn't just a kiss with lips and tongue, it involved their entire bodies and everything they had, everything they were. And as deep as it was, it also had such a slow pace because they wanted to absorb and live every second of it, discovering the smells and the tastes, the textures and temperatures. It was also wet. Very wet. Damn, what a good kiss.
Anyway, what happened after that hungry kiss on the porch was that Christophe started to push him into the house, but not before pressing him against the wall next to the door to get his hands inside Kyle's clothes, taking his feet off the ground. It was such a violent kiss that Christophe's stubble left red marks all over the skin around Kyle's mouth, just like he left marks all over every little inch of naked flesh that Christophe could reach with his hands, digging his fingers in Kyle's waist and on his back. Kyle tried to say some sane and useless thing about this not being the best idea, that they shouldn't do this, but Christophe's tongue in his mouth soon made him change his mind.
That kiss was intense as fuck, leaving them sweaty very quickly, with hair sticking to the face, their bodies so close that it's hard to know where one begins and the other one ends, but even so, it wasn't aggressive. I thought Christophe would be more violent in his way of kissing, to be perfectly honest. And so did Kyle. Maybe the Christophe I personally knew how many years ago, when I was still alive, that Christophe who was young and angry, maybe he did kiss violently. But that Christophe is now a grown man with more darkness within him, a much more injured man who has learned not to solve everything with his fists, a man who's able to hold someone in his arms with genuine affection. It was not a gentle kiss either, it wasn't subtle, but it was strong and slow, very well enjoyed, like they needed to memorize every bit of the other. Christophe stopped kissing him for a second to separate their lips with a couple inches, just enough so that the two could see each other so very closely, panting, feeling the hot breath on their faces, their smell and sweat mixing together.
Watching this scene starts to make me more sensitive. How long have these two human beings desired each other? Years. Fucking year, literally. Just the gentle touch of Christophe's coarse fingers in the back of Kyle's head was enough for him to wince, eyes closed. Because he has dreamed of that touch so many times.
People underestimate the power of human touch, you know? It's curious. Sex is so overvalued that it's often made in a pathetic empty way, simulating a feeling that isn't even there because everything is done in a hurry, in despair. I know these thoughts are passing through Christophe's mind, because he's from another culture. He smiles as he watches Kyle's desperation to have more of his mouth, but Christophe holds his head in place, his lips out of reach just to tease him, simply staring at Kyle with so much affection, shaking his head as he considers that Americans don't know how to kiss. And he wants to tell Kyle he should have done this so long ago, he should have kissed him the way he deserved to be kissed when they were still young, but he doesn't say that. And I think it's for the best that he didn't.
He doesn't want to bring up anything that will make Kyle think of Stan right now.
Instead, he just chuckles and whispers. "Easy there."
This all happened about fifteen minutes ago. And between then and now, these two men climbed the ladder with their fingers entangled, Christophe passing an arm around Kyle's torso to keep him as close as possible, both rubbing their noses as they kiss, inhaling each other's smell, sharing the taste of saliva, kissing more calmly than they did before.
Now, Christophe lies on his back in the middle of Kyle's bed, with bent knees and dilated pupils, the buttons of his shirt all open, his pants and underwear thrown wherever on the bedroom floor. His hands slowly run up the sides of Kyle's body, back and forth with no hurry, exploring the soft texture of his pale skin, rapt with the sensation. Christophe has his lips slightly parted and there's a bite mark on the bottom one that was certainly Kyle's fault. He almost smiles, but the corners of his lips don't go high enough to call it that. And Kyle has Christophe's hard cock all the way inside his body, which makes every hair on his bare skin bristle, heavy breathing, his shoulders leaning slightly forward. He moans in this muffled voice, still uncertain whether it hurts or feels good because, just like he has always fantasized while masturbating in the shower when he was younger, Christophe's cock is way too thick to go in all at once and Kyle takes a while to get used to the pressure, moaning in a thin voice, almost not realizing that there are noises coming out of his mouth. He has both hands pressed flat on the man's chest, relieved that Christophe holds him with those strong hands, digging the bitten fingernail on his soft skin, giving him a sense of security. Kyle hasn't known what that feels like for a long time.
"You feel so good..." Kyle tells him.
It's all so overwhelming that Kyle can not move immediately. He has a hard time keeping his eyes open. His eyelids only separate when Christophe's trembling hand touches his face. Kyle's iris look even greener than usual, even under the dim lamplight that was already on when they entered the room. At this very moment, Christophe swears that one day the green of these eyes will be the death of him. Perhaps that's the only way Christophe can see as loving another person. He leans on one of his elbows to lift his body a little, sitting awkwardly, fitting underneath Kyle's weight, boosting up his torso to lay his cheek against Kyle's bare chest. Kyle lets out a hoarse cry and starts taking off Christophe's shirt to reveal those arms Kyle has always been so deeply in love with, but the movement is interrupted when Christophe looks up to dip his face in the curve of Kyle's neck, devouring his skin, and all of this is too much for Kyle to take. The burning between his ass cheeks, the throbbing feeling of the man inside him, little by little opening space between his inner walls, the warmth of his breath on his sensitive neck skin, all mixed up with hot saliva and that coarse beard of his... Kyle holds firmly on Christophe's shoulders and squints, feeling tears starting to sprout.
"God, I fucking love you…" Christophe whispers softly, like the softest thing he's ever said, his voice so muffled that Kyle hardly understands what he's saying. He frees one of his arms from the sleeve and takes that hand to Kyle's bare back, easily sliding his palm over the length of his sweaty skin, pressing Kyle's body against his, sucking the flesh just below his ear before repeating it. "I love you so much..."
Kyle had hugged his neck with all the strength he had in his arms as soon as Christophe raised his torso, and after hearing those words that felt so surreal, he takes his fingers to Christophe's jaw so they'll face each other. Kyle stares at him for a brief moment with teary eyes, breathing in, and then clashes their lips in a desperate kiss, as if Christophe were to suddenly disappear. He takes a hand to the back of Christophe's head and holds a lock of brown of hair between his fingers, handling it so that he'll lay his head to the side for the kiss to better fit, giving him more room to explore the other's tongue, sucking on his lips and touching their teeth by accident.
Shortly after, Christophe leans forward to push Kyle back on the bed and lies on top of him without ever taking his dick off, gaining freedom for his hip to dictate the pace that he'll slide in and out of him, but for a few seconds, he doesn't move a single inch. He settles on top of Kyle, lifting one of his legs with his free hand, using the other one to support his own weight, but lowering his torso just enough to keep their faces very close. They look at each other the whole time.
"Am I hurting you?" Christophe asks softly, his lips almost touching Kyle's.
He replies shaking his head no, his heavy eyelids almost closing, an ecstatic expression taking over his face. Everything he feels now seems in raw flesh.
"God, no. Don't slow down."
Christophe invades his body harder, more in control and a lot faster, making him arch his back and breathless scream. Christophe hides his face in the curve between Kyle's shoulder and neck, tenderly biting the flesh in that area, enough to hold back a muffled groan. Both of them are already covered in sweat and the whole room looks so hot despite the open window that lets in a cool breeze lifting up the white curtains with the blow of wind.
The shock of their bodies is perfectly audible. On each thrust, Christophe presses Kyle's body against the mattress, which makes Kyle tighten his legs around his hip even more, both hands exploring every inch of the man's broad back. Christophe's weight over him makes it so hard for Kyle to breathe, which can also be attributed to the physical exhaustion of corresponding to the rhythmic movement that becomes more anxious now that he's closer. They both are.
The truth is that they haven't shared this kind of intimacy with anyone for a long time. These are two people who have given up on many pleasures and even necessities of life because of their work, a cause, an ideology. They didn't think about the price that it had cost until the moment they remembered how good it felt to be immersed in each other that way. They have caused each other so much pain, they were so cruel to each other and to themselves. Perhaps this is the first real moment of truce between them.
This night, Christophe does to Kyle the things he always swore to himself he would. He takes him entirely, possessed by that fucking wretched love that none of them have asked to feel, but even so, it was born between them. He fucks Kyle until he can no longer think, but doesn't do it sloppily. On the contrary, every time Christophe takes it down to a painfully slow pace and only leaves tip of his cock inside him, it's intended to make Kyle squirm and ask for it with his whole body, to ask for more. So that he'll give himself to Christophe, give everything he has. And when Christophe fucks him with full force, pressing in every inch of his cock and thrusting so many times without stopping, barely taking it out, it's to drive him mad. We can't count how often Christophe thought about doing this to him ever since he laid eyes on Kyle for the first time.
The whole thing doesn't last long, mostly because they're both so needy for it that they drink everything they have at once. They don't come together because Christophe's abdomen rubbing Kyle's cock with the friction makes him reach climax first, moaning his name in a weak voice, trembling with the force of it, his legs literally shaking for over a minute. Christophe doesn't take long to come deep into him, and that's a feeling Kyle wants every day in his life from now on, Christophe's hot come filling him. With a breathless groan, Christophe lets the weight of his run out body fall over Kyle, covering him like a blanket. There's is no part of their bodies that is not bathed in mixed sweat.
To sleep, Christophe rolls a bit to the side and rubs his own face, waiting until his breath normalizes as Kyle stretches an arm to pull the crumpled blanket beneath them, covering up before the heat begins to dissipate. He asks Christophe to get up and close the window, which he does without grumbling. Returning to bed, Christophe fits behind Kyle's body, burying his nose in his damp curls, hugging him tight as if to make sure he's real. All the fight they had before the sex must have been a factor in fatigue, which is why they're knocked out a few minutes after Kyle reached out to turn off the lamp.
Four and a half hours pass.
In their sleep, Kyle is lying stomach up and Christophe laid his head on Kyle's shoulder, still holding him from the side, curled up like a dog.
There is something that Kyle doesn't know and you probably don't either, but I'll tell you now, a few moments before Kyle finds it out in the worst possible way. You see, the amount of atrocities Christophe has seen in his years as a guerrilla isn't small. And a man like him has a hard time dealing with any kind of fragility. Maybe if Christophe could talk about the things he saw, if he knew how to openly cry, he wouldn't be so tormented by ghastly dreams. More than that, maybe he wouldn't suffer so badly from post-traumatic stress disorder. But the sad thing is, that has been his normal for so many years that he doesn't know what's healthy anymore.
Well, who am I to know what would be better, right? It's just a guess. The more he tries to repress the bad thoughts, the harder such thoughts emerge to the surface as he's exposed during his sleep, with the unconscious part of his brain in charge.
It's also been so long since Christophe has fallen asleep next to someone else. And with that, I mean years. During his time in Europe, when he was to fuck someone, he'd do it and that would be it. In the end, Christophe zipped up and fucked off. There was no intimacy in that. He's not at all used to sleeping next to another person, that's something he has never done often throughout his life so far.
I'll try to make you understand how Christophe's body feels so you don't think that he's a monster, because this is not the case. Really, it isn't. Try to put yourself in his shoes for a moment.
His subconscious is steeped in blood, in misery, he finds himself among maimed people in the dream and his body reacts to it. He flounces a littl, but not enough for Kyle to wake up, since the twitches are very subtle. If someone is aware and watching him – which is, somehow, my case – one could notice that he is restless and agitated. His breathing is panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He rolls to lie on his back, resting his hand on his chest, low grunts escaping from his throat. Because he thinks he's back in a threatening place and he is completely helpless to it. He tries to speak, but can't. It's like his throat is closed. He knows there's someone close to him, he can feel the warmth and the breathing of another person. Look, at this point, Christophe has his eyes wide open. But he's not awake. No, he's still sleeping. What he sees isn't the ceiling of Kyle's room, but an immense sky covered in soot, and there is a soldier close by, there is a soldier who watches him because he knows that Christophe is not dead. And Christophe is taken by the instinctive primary impulse to defend himself. So in his dream, he attacks the soldier like an animal would, and to that, his body also reacts; Christophe rolls over the soldier, taking both of his strong hands directly to the man's throat, tightening the grip around his neck with all the force his hands have to offer. Because this is not how Christophe will die. He doesn't accept it. He has come too far to die in the middle of rubbish by the hands of a fucking little soldier.
But it isn't a soldier that Christophe is strangling. You know it isn't.
This is how Kyle wakes up. With a closed throat and the weight of a familiar body over his, with animalistic grunts and even some desperate words. With pain. Deep, nerve-racking pain. Christophe even spits when he talks, his hands trembling so much, his words impossible to understand. He's talking in French, but Kyle speaks French, and even so he can't make them out. And Kyle takes both hands to his thick arms, digging his nails deep into the flesh, trying to make his own eyes identify something in the dark, struggling desperately because it is impossible to breathe. He's running out of air. Christophe seems like a fucking closet on top of him right now.
If Kyle hadn't been very well trained to be prepared when attacked at any time of life, this could have turned out for the worst kind of misfortune. But Kyle has fast reasoning and even faster moves, well-aimed. He bends his legs using all strength, driven by adrenaline, unbalancing the man over him that he still hasn't recognized. He sees Christophe's open eyes staring directly at him, but they are lifeless. And Kyle is furious. Whoever this son of a bitch is, he just wants him dead. He uses his own body' weight to throw the man aside and both of them fall together from the bed, crashing on the ground. Kyle hits back against the nightstand and Christophe hits his head on the floor. Kyle falls over him, desperately gasping for air, burning tears running down his eyes, blinding him. Even so, he grabs his bedside lamp and pulls it harshly with all his strength, ripping the plug off the wall, almost smashing it in the face of the man who strangled him right before realizing who he was.
Christophe wakes up with the blow. He rolls to the side and covers the back of neck with his hand, letting out a low moan of pain, squinting. His nape hurts so badly that he wants to throw up or faint or both.
"Fucking hell." He whispers.
Kyle stops himself immediately, lowering the arm holding the lamp. The wire was ripped from the wall outlet and all the objects on the nightstand had also fallen to the floor, spreading around. They were both still curled up in the blanket, naked. Kyle takes a hand to his neck, still breathing loudly through his mouth and nose, taken over by the relief of his lungs filled with air. His neck hurts, but he can't even feel how bad right now, giving the adrenaline running through his body.
And Christophe stares at him in the dark, genuinely frightened, as if he has no fucking idea what just happened. He truly doesn't.
But it doesn't take him more than three seconds in silence, looking around the place and at Kyle's terrified expression, to understand what he has done. It's too dark, so he can't really see the marks of his fingers all over Kyle's neck, but the way Kyle holds his own throat with his open palm and the vivid memory of the dream makes Christophe slowly lower his head to stare at the silhouette of his hands in the dark. The two of them breathe wildly, the hearts beat so accelerated that it is almost possible to hear them.
"It's alright, Christophe." Kyle quietly says, taking his hands to the ground, trying to approach him. "I'm fine."
But the Mole just shakes his head, too perplexed to react, rising like a drunk man, his senses still inebriated. He wants to walk, but for a moment he just stands there covering his face with his hands. He trembles. Kyle also gets up, but doesn't step forward because he fear's scaring him off.
"I am fine." Kyle repeats louder. "It was just a dream."
Christophe takes a few steps back, looking so lost and uncertain of what to do next. He takes a deep breath in silence, never looking at Kyle, gathering his pants off the floor and trots out of the room, as Kyle knew he would. He bumps into the doorframe and stops for a second, closing his eyes, biting his bottom lip. The blood rush through his veins. He can still feel Kyle all over his skin, the smell of his hair still in Christophe's nostrils, the feelings of his neck still on Christophe's hands.
It turns midnight. It's officially Kyle's birthday now.