Why do you cry when I kiss you?
Beautiful boy, I can hear your whimpers though they hide in the very lump of this soft throat my lips make slow love to. Beautiful boy.
The brush of my shadowed cheek against the fair slope of your chin, the shifting swell of your throat and then your whisper,
"Hurt me Kuro."
A knot catches in my chest. A pang that releases in a murmuring sigh.
"Hmmmmnnnnnnn . . ."
I'm ignoring your bare, tempting chest, painfully ignoring. I'm ignoring the gleam of both of your trembling shoulders, wilfully ignoring. In my mind a single thought echoes like the loop of the tracing of my fingertips against the rich texture of your nape and the silken devouring of my hand lost in your hair.
Why? Why? Why?
Your legs stir, I feel their movement from the edge of my crossed lap. I can imagine fair feet struggling against the wrinkled sheets, pressing against them as if your soles begged them to relent.
"Fai . . ." I am moved to moan.
"Just let it go." I whisper as I keep my kisses for your throat.
Long and deep. Just like the shuddering sense of sorrow that seems to yawn into imperceptible nothingness . . .
And I don't want that. I want to keep it away from you. Because you don't belong to nothingness.
"You belong to me."
And that makes you freeze. I freeze too but I push past that, push my lips fiercely into your neck as my fingers grip you with shaking strength wound with binding passion.
Your throat sinks and I follow but then it swells again and I hear the first strangled sob.
The first sob I ever drew from you.
"I'm so . . . sorry . . ." You struggle to say and I . . .
I permit my lips to course over your trembling throat, over your hesitant chin to the very perfection of your taut cheek.
"It's ok . . . "
Salty taste that will be hard to rid in the beguiling tracks you leave in my heart.
"There is no shame." I take the words that choke in your unfettered sorrow.
Your unfettered soul . . .
"But . . ." you manage, you struggle.
"Let me go . . ." you breathe, suddenly desperate, suddenly rising against the tight bars of my embrace.
"You let go . . . of it first." I speak by my kisses, "The emptiness."
"Stop it."
"I can't."
Your silence is marred only by the shuddering breaths of profound struggle. It is the trailing silence of dotted question. I'm sure your stomach clenches but does it clench with half the excruciating fear and jubilation of my chest?
"I owe myself that much . . . I want you that much."
Your laughter is weak and strained and I feel your hand brush my hair meaning you drape an arm over your moistly lidded eyes.
"Is this what you wanted when you reached out for me? To watch me cry naked in your arms?"
My eyes half- open and I watch the fair ear before me, my lips pausing in their insistent work.
"I just wanted you. I still do."
Difficult silence again. It seems this whole tangle is a struggle.
Beautiful Boy.
Why don't you cry when I kiss you?