Hey all! Thanks for venturing in to see what this story is all about. Right off the bat, I'm going to let you know: This story will feature homosexual relations (two males). If you don't want to read about that, no judgement, that's your choice as a reader.
This is the first time I've written something like this, and I have to say, I'm actually pretty proud of it. It's a bit suggestive but doesn't go too far, which I feel is the perfect balance. As of right now, this will remain rated T, but if I do decide to dive deeper into this and add more details (which I probably won't) I'll be sure to change the rating to M.
Thoughts are in italics.
Enough said, enjoy!
The fire flickers against our skin like an untamable hearth. I'm warm, I'm burning, but it's not from the heat of the fireplace. Body heat is more potent than I ever realized and being chest to chest with anyone in the dark, on a cotton couch, in a brick house brings about a whole new idea of complete comfort. His gloveless fingers slide underneath a button-down shirt I didn't know I was wearing. It's just how close we feel. Palms, fingertips, the power of touch never ceases to amaze me as his left index finger grazes down the midline of my chest and I get the chills.
"Don't do that," he commands, with moist lips pressed against my ear.
My eyes are closed, to relish in the moment and in a failed attempt to ignore the fact that this is actually happening right now. I can't control how my body responds to you. I think to myself.
"Yes, you can."
I open my eyes, lifting my head off the couch pillow. His slate eyes meet mine; in the dark, they're almost pitch black, like a starless evening sky. This dead stare into my soul should be the sign I need to make me see through the façade, this sham, this intimacy. Secrets lurk in the shadows, but there are no secrets with him. I know his games. I know who he is: Cold, cruel, filled to the brim with black, boiling hate. There's no light at the end of those two black tunnels. No way out once you venture in. He is the shadow, fear, the darkness. He's the antithesis of everything I know and believe in…but I want to hear what he has to say.
"Indulge," he says, straddling my legs and hooking his fingers around my shirt collar, possibly stretching it a bit. "Accept this. Surrender yourself to me."
His hands move down my shirt, crossing paths with every ridge and wrinkle until they slide down to my thighs. Back and forth he goes, pausing a second or two when his flat fingers and palms cover my crotch. I should make him stop. I need to make him stop.
"I could never," I say, arms at my sides. He smiles, ceasing his movements when his hands are back on my chest. I never manage to say the right thing when it comes to pushing him away. He finds a flaw, uncovers a loophole, and I falter. I was never good at persuasion; he's always excelled at manipulation. Maybe that was the real issue here.
He chuckles, bouncing softly against me. "You could never," he teases. "Then what about this? This, right now, is fine?"
"I never said that."
"You never said it wasn't."
He leans down, lips and mustache grazing softly against my neck as he speaks. He talks slowly, in between pecks. "And this? Is this fine?"
The tiny kisses aren't enough for me. They're too quick. Dry. Not enough pressure. It gets me on edge, disgruntled even. Stop teasing.
He licks his lips before proceeding, emphasizing each trace of contact with sound, suction. He trails his long tongue up my neck and weaves one hand through my hair before beginning to bite me, to playfully tug at the skin a bit. I try and fail to stifle a groan when he nibbles on a sweet spot.
"So, this is alright then, hero?" he says, leaving my neck alone, soothing it with gentle kisses that go from collarbone to my jaw. "This is where you draw the line?"
My eyes are half-lidded, head back for ease of access.
"You know what your problem is?" he speaks softly. "You're too pure. You care too much about other people and what they think of you."
"That's not—"
"Yes, it is. You need to be yourself. Be selfish," he says, placing his hands on my cheeks. "Take what you want, when you want it. No one knows you better than you do."
You seem to know me fairly well.
He smiles, kissing me.
This is fine. It's fine. I repeat, as he hovers over my lips, awaiting the okay to land.
"What do you want from me?" I breathe.
"You know exactly what I want."
I tell him the same thing: "I could never."
A growl rises from deep in his throat. "You could never."
He yanks me up by my shirt, tossing me over his shoulder.
"Hey!" I grunt, slapping against his back as he carries me away. We head upstairs to a room at the end of the hall. The curtains are drawn, and the slightest hint of any light is extinguished as he slams the door behind us with his foot.
I'm dumped onto a bed with a bang, curtesy of the headboard. I'm seeing stars as he tugs me to the center. "What are you—?" He takes his opportunity and slips his tongue into my mouth. It lingers for a moment, rubbing against mine before sliding quickly back out. I keep my lips apart, beckoning the beast back inside while savoring this new flavor.
He returns, shoving his tongue back in. This time, using both his hands, he holds my head, tilting it a bit to reach corners and crevices not yet explored. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the now sore back of my skull.
I want you to let go. I need you to let go.
But he doesn't. It's like he's set on suffocating me with his mouth. I try to will my arms to push him away, kick him to the ground, but they aren't doing me any good. My own hands refuse to un-cling from his back and my knees don't want to bend. They like him close. On top of me.
Finally, he lets go and I can breathe. Colors swirl in front of my eyes as he slices down the front of my shirt, his hands like scissors. The buttons unclasp, one falling onto the hardwood floor below. I can't see him towering over me, but I hear him, feel how tense his legs are pressing against mine. He's breathing hard, but not as heavy as I am.
"You sicken me," he spats, sliding his hands up my body.
I try to shake my head, but he holds it in place, gripping fistfuls of my hair. "What do you expect me to tell you?" I manage.
"The truth you hypocrite."
"But I just told you—"
"ENOUGH!"his voice echoes inside of my head. "'You could never,' but you can! As you lie here moaning from my simplest touch."
You're exaggerating.
His eyes narrow and he kisses me again, softer, like before. His fingers slip their way down my arms, trace the lines on my palms. I moan.
He pulls away, tugging at my bottom lip as his hands roughly lace through mine. "We're alone, at night, lying here together. You can give in, and you are, you moronic hypocrite."
Please stop.
"Stop what? Throwing the truth in your face? Making you feel terrible?"
"You make me feel great. You're amazing," I say, and I mean it.
"Amazing," he whispers, eyes surely staring daggers at me, "isn't good enough."
Slow and torturous, his mouth moves across my skin, down my chest, over my scars. His breath is cool, soothing on some of my more sensitive cicatrices. His tongue snakes out of his mouth, and slithers down the valley of one of my deeper gashes. My breath hitches.
"I'm better than amazing," he growls, kissing over the spot. I'm burning up at his every move. There's pressure, pleasure, tension, it's all building up inside of me. I can't admit it, or I won't, whatever the right word is.
He's not worth it. He's not worth it.
"I'm intoxicating." He slides down to my lower torso, wrapping his hands around me. "I'm enough to make you admit you want this."
He pauses, resting his head on my abdomen. I'm speechless as I hear my pant zipper being pulled down. Feel his fingers begin to fiddle with the clasp on my jeans, but not open them, not yet.
He does everything he can to suck my skin as loud as possible. Saliva spills from his mouth each time he releases with a pop. He's quick but has a rhythm. Firm, but gentle, unless I ask him otherwise. He's tempting me, coaxing me into letting him have this. I'm hot. I'm hard. I don't know how much longer I can last.
"Just say it, hero," he murmurs, "and I'll go lower. I'll give you what you want."
God, yes. No.
"Say those magic words."
I swallow what feels like a football in my throat. You're evil. You're a man. Two of the obvious things that should make it easy for me to refuse him. But I still want him. I need him. Forget good and bad, male or female, he reads me better than anyone else. He's too good to say no to.
And yet he isn't.
His face, his appearance. He reminds me of someone. Someone I could never feel this way about. It would be immoral, unethical to even consider giving myself to him. But there's no denying he drives me crazy.
My stomach churns like I'm about to vomit, but it's easier for me to answer him now: "Never."
...
I wake up breathless and sticking to the bedsheets. My body's like jelly, but I have to move. Get out of this room, this house, away from anything that could remind me of him. I roll off the mattress, pulling my covers with me, and crash onto the hardwood. My bare feet slide across the floor as I grab the wall to steady myself.
"Mario!" I pull my blanket closer around me. "Are you okay? What happened?"
My body tenses at the sound of his voice. I can't hear it right now. "I'm fine, Luigi. Go back to bed." Please. "It was just a bad dream."
He hesitates, and I feel him staring at me. "You sure, bro?"
No. "Yes."
At first, I think he's not going to leave. I'll have to turn around and face him. Then he sighs, "If you say so." Maybe he's tired, or he remembers that I don't like talking about my nightmares. "Must have been one crazy dream though."
He had no idea.
TO CLARIFY: When I have Mario say that this person, being a man, is an obvious reason that he shouldn't want to...ya know...do it with him, it's because he's never felt sexually attracted to a guy before, which is one of the reasons why this is so strange for him. I'll be going into more detail about it in the next chapter. But I wanted to explain that so no one would get the wrong idea.
But what did you think? Too much? Too little? Just right? This is the most provocative this fic is going to get (sorry for all those lemon fans out there). I plan for this to be four chapters, with chapter three having a bit more of this sensual stuff. So if you like that sort of thing, stay tuned for chapter three! Which will be out...eventually.
Reviews would be super helpful since I'm new to this writing genre. And thank you for reading! It really means a lot to me! Have a good one readers!
(Super Mario franchise belongs to Nintendo)