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I saw them. Not much of a story. Window was open halfways, air and noise seeped in; tiny gusts of warm wind were slowly, with a lag, reaching Thom's head and ruffling his drying hair. His shirt rolled up a little, if he knew he'd feel the tickly touch of carpet's fur against the skin right below his navel. He didn't notice, sprawled on the floor, barefoot, head propped on his left hand. Biting on a pen. The sun went through window frame and set dazzling lines across the pages of the notebook, the angly drawings, the words. He squinted a little, and long eyelash shadows stirred on his cheeks. Turning the page, he wrote four uneven lines, the birds I've seen, the word 'birds' there on the page. Lips pouty, eyes now closed, he nodded very slightly to himself, a barely perceptible rhythm. Footsteps accidentally fit in, - he didn't know until a shadow cut the sunlight. Shadow said a quiet hallo and folded itself onto the carpet in front of Thom. 'Hi', he muttered, and wrote more words. The shadow brushed hair from its face and sat quietly. Time ticked until Thom saw Jonny's hand cover the leaf. 'Hi', he said again, half sniffled - half smiled and pushed the hand away. No. 'Thom', both hands over paper now. He took one with his, turned it over like a page, and, chuckling quietly, started to write on Jonny's palm. STARS, - ink didn't quite catch onto skin, and STARS was traced twice, ticklish. Thom started a new word, two letters in mumbled 'bugger' and rubbed the captive submissive palm to erase them. They wouldn't, and impatient, he licked his finger and tried again. Jonny remained quiet; smiled as hair fell back over his eyes. 'I'll go', he said, as a half-question, and right then caught a slightly uneven flash of blue. Thom lowered his eyes again, said a suddenly serious 'wait', and: (I didn't know they would.) Time got slow, dust particles suspended motionless in the sun. Another weak gust of wind lazily got to Thom's hair and swept over unnoticed. Thom got up (Jonny didn't move an inch, quiet behind his curtain of hair), the hem of his shirt fell where it should be, covering the strip of milky skin. Standing on his knees, he took Jonny's defenseless - palm up - hand in his two, drew his face closer; what happened then was a kiss. Or not quite - Thom just moved his half-opened lips over the thin skin of Jonny's inner wrist. Particles hung where they stopped, Thom's breath was warm and lips soft and just a little moist over Jonny's wrist. Jonny froze. Like an animal in a trap, as if thinking that he'd be released if he would only not move and be quiet. As if helplessly waiting for Thom to bite his veins open. Thom looked up; Jonny's eyes were shut; but the lips - those betrayed him, with not quite half a smile, with just something in the curve of the mouth that read: He liked it. Still holding his hand, Thom ever so cautiously drew closer, not afraid to look, not having to meet Jonny's gaze. Strands of dark hair on his face: Thom gently brushed them aside, and Jonny saw the red light of sun shining on his closed eyelids. As the light was obscured, two more soft kisses pressed lightly on each. Jonny remained motionless in disbelief, only bending his neck backwards a slight bit. Three seconds crawled over them, a whiff of eternity, until the new kiss; lips to lips, Thom playing a boy's part, sucking on the edge of Jonny's lower lip gently, and only waiting another five seconds to slip the tip of his tongue in between. A little shudder, a wave rolled over Jonny's body as he surrendered. It wasn't quite his make-believe game anymore, or else they were both trapped in a dream now. Jonny stirred and, moving closer, got a hold of Thom's belt, fingers halfway in, the softness of Thom's belly against his knuckles. Their lips parted ways, and Jonny moved downward, softly kissing Thom's ear, neck and finally the defenselessly white, warm patch of skin right below his adam's apple. Thom's breathing got faster; with the next kiss he softly moaned, exhaling, and clammed his lower lip as if to silence himself. Jonny, the whole surface of his skin electrified, ran his both hands over Thom's body under the shirt. A chemical reaction - Thom radiated waves of warmth in response to his touch. All was done in silence, until Thom moaned again, slightly arching his spine backwards, and, stroking the nape of Jonny's neck - tender and warm too - drew him suddenly, forcefully, closer. 'I don't want it', I think I heard it right, 'I don't want this', Jonny said under his breath. 'Don't lie', that came from Thom, matter-of-factly, almost cynically, as he undid the upper button of Jonny's shirt. ------------------------ And then a pause. Letting go of each other, fearful, anticipating, skin flushed, they sat in silence. Thom reached out and ruffled the soft hair on the back of Jonny's neck, slowly, poco a poco nudging him forward, pulling him closer. Jonny, resisting, only let his head bend lower and lower, till half-undone shirt revealed his defenseless neck, then vertebrae. Till the 7th, as if the shirt was cut to prepare him for beheading. Someone invisible - let's assume, crrrrack! - was winding up an inivisible clock. Jonny's barely audible 'I hate us' fell in between. Crrrrrrack! The spring became tighter. 'I hate...', and he was out of breath, and CRRRRACK! tighter still. And quickly swallowing a sip of air - 'I hate us both', and CRACK! It broke. It ringed at high pitch, it flew dangerously, unwinding. No one hated no one. Their bodies entwined, unable to wait longer, and bare skin touched bare skin, calling blood to just under the surface. They went down onto the carpet, mouth to mouth, tongues and lips, slippery, hot. They both shivered, pressed into each other by mad force they didn't know was waiting; with only thin fabric of summer clothes between the most delicate, though now in full bloom, hothouse flowers of their bodies. Thom's hand slid down Jonny's belly, circling the nipples, stopping at the navel, and went lower, tugging at belt clasp, undoing it, going inside and - finally - cupping the treasure. All Jonny's muscles tensed, transferring a dash of electricity that exploded in a tingly firework in his head. Lips parted, breathing unevenly into Thom's ear, Jonny whispered 'Thom... Thomas... don't... please, only... don't...'. Thom closed his eyes, savouring the warm force rising up against his hand, feeling his own grow, wishing for all attention in the world. Jonny's trousers were almost off; Thom's hand ran along the gently curving line of his body, from waist down, over the hip, sliding coyly on the smooth, warm underside. 'More... please more' and a quiet 'ah', - Thom smiled, relishing his power. Jonny, Jonny who was drifting away and able but to accept the gliding caresses, finally moved, and tightly pressed his both hands onto Thom's hips, then forcing his nakedness to finally happen. The two flowers touched, squished against each other, meeting each other's eager strength. The two mouths, two tongues met again, moving slowly, slowly - each a treasured candy that would last longer this way. There wasn't a firm ground anymore, they drifted and knew not where to. And then. Jonny put his palms over Thom's reddened cheeks as if to not let him look away. 'THOM'. Thom's eyes flew open; Jonny's weren't his. The two sapphire-blue lights shone from under the eyelashes; all Thom's muscles tightened in a flash of paralyzing fear, as he felt blood leaving his skin. Jonny moved his face closer yet. Jonny parted Thom's legs with his. With this, and with another kiss, Thom's body won over, the mind left alone, thinking the blue light was its own figment. Fleeting memories of sex taking him to another place, not entirely real place, lighted up and went out again. Touching him down below, listening to tiny moans of uncontained pleasure, Jonny whispered in Thom's ear. Saying that he was sorry, saying: 'Thom... Thom, I must do it. There is... there is no other way... please... forgive me...'. Then he stopped talking. He moved down, planting a trail of kisses over Thom's neck and belly, and further, until the flower sprang up under his tongue. Slowly, he pressed the stem between his lips. Slowly, took it deeper in. Thom inhaled in a spasm of pleasure and held his breath, immersing into the viscous, languid, motion-slowing honey, the anticipation of the final burst. Jonny's mouth was moving, - so slow, almost painfully slow, keeping Thom on the impossible verge longer than he ever knew he could stay there. The last, and the most delicate touch of Jonny's tongue blew the fuse. Thom gasped for oxygen, his back arched in the unbearable sweetness of anguish, fingernails driven into palms' skin, a moan just escaping from the lips bit to hold it. One wave went over him; another started, then another, he wanted to breathe and couldn't. The evening sun went out. A pitch black minute marched by. When the light returned, there wasn't anyone in the room. A faint scent of two warm bodies didn't remain for long. On the floor, there lay a white handkerchief, two drops of blood drying on its edge. --------------------------- OXYGEN! Thom's eyes opened: gray light; drops of water suspended in the air. Still rain he'd never seen, rain caught in slow motion. He inhaled icy-cold mist, he shifted his eyes. Gray fog around. Gray stone beneath. And nothing. His numb body gradually became aware of itself: cold and soaked, thin shirt clinging to the skin, a bruise on the shoulder, signals of throbbing pain from the left temple, and - the only pleasant sensation that lingered but didn't make any sense at all, with memory sleeping, - the definite aftershock of lovemaking beneath. As he was focusing his eyes on the myriads of raindrops, the muffled, scattering sound of footsteps came through the fog. Two people, registered Thom's mind automatically - approaching. Get the hell out of here, - that's what the instinct of survival whispered frantically into the dim warmth of Thom's barely conscious head. Useless; he forgot how to, he couldn't move. His body was sensing the coldness of air, the uneven pavement under his back, and dull pain, but refused to obey. Instinct told the body to play dead and recoiled; Thom's eyes shut, breath became shallow, and he froze. Footsteps came nearer, and as he was lifting his eyelids, a tall figure bent down to see, - 'It's him'. The stranger carefully, gently inspected Thom's body for damage - broken bones, grave wounds, found nothing, muttered 'He'd done fine, fine', and soon after, two leather-gloved strong hands lifted him off the ground. Second set of footsteps followed. A short way off the men stopped, a door squeaked open, letting out a waft of warm air. Bed was soft. They wrapped him up. Someone, casting faint blue light about, lifted his head, put a cup to his lips, he drank - viscous, sweet liquid; alcohol concealing a bitter, unknown scent. It flowed down his throat, it cradled his fear, it curled him up, it put him to a pitch dark sleep. He woke in two hours and four minutes. Shaft of blue light fell on the pillow, quivering over folds of fabric. Soft-soft hallo trailed off to the high ceiling. Thom - he would later remember it and wonder why he'd done it - sniffed the air. Leaning to hit a note on the piano when this one was picking a song - smelled like this. The shirt collar against his face - a drunken hug - smelled like this. Like this. Jonny, Jonny, Thom's vocal chords all but paralyzed, voiceless, raspy, YOU! And the unbelievable hit him. It hit him so, - he felt his whole being bend, curling up, reverting to thumb-sucking of a newborn's disbelief. Thom, a fragile fluffy subject, was always dodging real sorrows, never a far-off fairytale accident like this. (Maybe never happens at all. Maybe only in my sleep.) What kind of unearthly things have happened, there wasn't a clue. But in this trap, the lavishly decorated room with high ceiling and gold chandelier there was Jonny. And it was Jonny, Thom's body and heart and skin told him so. It was Jonny, and the light was flowing from his eyes - no fear came, - now mixing with tears. Jonny's lips quivered as he sank to the floor and put his head on the edge of the bed. Fuck, he sniffled and swallowed salty drops. He found both Thom's hands, and clutching them like a lost kid, mumbled through crying - 'We've lost you, we thought you weren't ever coming'. Thom looked on, the side of his face faintly lit by Jonny's eyes; and a tear, then another, rolled down his cheek and disappeared, absorbed by softness of the pillow. He shuddered, inhaling twice in a row, like little children do when their small sorrows come. He cried, for there was nothing left to do. No relief of awakening, no escape, no consolation or explanation, only Jonny left of the whole world that he knew - and Jonny was crying too. I've to go, can't be here, Jonny whispered. Letting go of Thom, he lovingly pulled the blanket up to his neck, smoothing it slowly - excuse to stay - with both shaking hands. Having this done, he only lingered for a second, long fingers against Thom's chest, as if trying to feel the heartbeat. Bandage over Jonny's palm, Thom saw - and saw Jonny notice it. This, mumbled Jonny, ok, unwrapping the strip of white cloth. Left hand, swollen scratches on the palm, and traces of dry blood. Thom looked until the short red lines morphed into STARS, making sense that... that didn't make any sense at all. It doesn't hurt, whispered Jonny. I'm sorry, Thom smiled faintly, playing an outlandish acceptance game. His mind refused any questions, promised to shutter like a cup otherwise. Jonny did not leave. He wanted to whisper the story to Thom, a fairytale in which he was, for now, the main character, lost and found in the... Thom said no. Thom said, in the morning, I can't now; but (sniffle) don't leave. Please only don't leave. ...You must be at ease when loving comes. Self-help volumes say so, written by those who know many a thing. But naught of the outside. Lost; warm under one blanket, they've been as together as blind sibling kittens. Jonny wrapped his hands around Thom, around the warm resilience of skin, and blood that he thought he'd never see pulsing softly in the prominent vein on Thom's right temple. You're like a newborn, Jonny said. You died last night. I thought. I knew. Quite a welcome now...welcome back. And, letting out a warm breath into Thom's ear: I thought there's no you to tell this to...Fuck, Thom. I love you. Thom pressed his forehead into Jonny's chest, arms wrapped tighter around, all length of his bewildered body against Jonny's. I know, came, muffled, against thin t-shirt under which Jonny's heartbeat was close to being heard. Thom remembered the darkness that ate him. Where. Hotel room. Soft carpet. When. After. After love. For the first time since coming around on the wet stone pavement, he now tried to trace himself to this room, in earnest, still not believing it was impossible. It was. You must be at ease. They weren't, but Thom's silent lips parted and Jonny's tongue went in between. They weren't, but their bodies moved against each other, accumulating the magic electricity, oozing heat, and obviously, shamelessly wanting more of each other. Jonny reached under the blanket and pulled up his shirt, to feel Thom's burning flower on his skin. 'Touch me', quietly asked Thom, and Jonny obediently reached down, took him gently and pressed him against his belly, starting to move his hand, slowly, stretching the sweetness of the beginning. Thom let a tiny moan out through his teeth: 'Move'. Jonny did; it magically felt just as sweet as if he'd been doing it to himself. Or sweeter still. His fingers hugged the growing stem, sliding up, down, up again. Muscles of Thom's thighs became tense, - 'Oh fuck Jonny', - and his breath shallow. FASTER, he said, commanding, voice low. Jonny threw his head back, opening his neck for Thom, and obeyed, moving now in quick strokes. Faster, repeated Thom and impatiently shifted his hips. Jonny knew how close Thom was now, moaning softly, back slightly arched, eyes half open. Jonny let go of him suddenly, explaining in just audible whisper: 'No, I want it... I want it to last... longer'. Thom stretched along Jonny's body, not touching, radiating warmth and wanting; then took Jonny in his both hands and slowly, slowly started to slide his palms around him. Look at me, demanded Thom; Jonny's eyes opened in slits, letting two tiny rays of blue light out through the dark lashes. Thom kept caressing his now hothouse wonder with both hands, going harder and faster, on the verge of hurting Jonny, unable to explain, immersed into the honey of pleasure again, wanting more air. 'Fucking alien, you', he murmured just before slipping his tongue into Jonny's half-opened mouth again. Jonny didn't answer. It was hysterical, frantic. They did this to forget. They did this to get the fuck out of time and space, even if there was one sticky, all-pervading continuum. They felt their erections, their jutted bones and knew how girls felt. They were two of the kind, but didn't match and were destined to always remain in limbo of longing, of no real closure. And they kissed to forget. Letting go of each other, they were breathing one hot breath. Jonny then rolled Thom over and pulled him close, very close, kissing the feather-soft back of his neck, trying to contain what was going insane down there, under the blanket. Thom's body shivered; Jonny stroked his face, and stirred a little against the silky back. Thom, he whispered in his ear then, Thom. I want you to be a girl. ------------------------- ...the room's faint light quivered, surfaces bent as in feverish dream. I'm... whatever, said Thom into the pillow, savouring the shock of being wanted so much. Jonny hugged himself, suddenly nervous. I have to tell you. I have to. And the story went... - Thom. I'm different. - Yeah? Me too then. - Yeah, you too, not in this sense though, you silly. Think back, said Jonny, wrapping himself around Thom's small frame again, as if he could protect him from what has already happened. Thom squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his forehead against the pillow. It all slowly, screechingly started to make the most warped sense. He knew of the gaps, the little deaths that left no memories. Vignetted by the haze of inaccurate past, moments flocked back to him. Lilting note of fear sung without stopping: here's Thom, playing piano, with Jonny beside him, close, so close they could hear each other breathing. Jonny picked a chord and looked up waiting for a nod of approval, when with a tiny tingle in Thom's ears, all light went out. Here's Thom again, seventh drink seeing him slumped in the corner of a soft couch in a bar, - Jonny tapping his shoulder, - Hey, it's time to - and a black blanket of nothing wrapping him, the couch and the rest of everything. He'd then wake in a dark room alone, gasping for air, and wouldn't quite remember how he got there. He'd wake to the shimmering of water in a glass he'd clutch. He had to write these off - for safety. Ignorance - better than fear. Only after, for days all seemed wrong. People still themselves and things in their places, but all tinged with nauseating unfamiliarity. He'd hide, lay low and not look or talk till it went away. And almost every time the veil ripped to let him back, there was Jonny. A simple good morning Thomas, get yerself outta bed. Once even - Thom chuckled quietly into the pillow - strawberry... yes! a spoonful of jam that Jonny, laughing, held out for him to taste at breakfast. A few times, it'd be others. Strangers; once, a man in a suit and tie, wanting to talk business, whom Thom instinctively backed away from, with a sick vision of himself being plunged in a murky aquarium. Once, a girl touching his arm and apparently breaking the dirty glass cage that he was locked in for two sleepy days by then. - Did you do this to me on purpose, Thom asked, voice muffled, flat. You knew how. You brought me here. You fucking started it Jonny. Why. - I had to, Jonny breathed into the back of Thom's tense neck. There are others like us, Thom. There are others stronger than you. I had to teach you... to walk. - Couldn't you simply tell. - Pfft. Did you try to tell your boy how to walk? - That didn't help much, Thom replied with a smile, recalling his son's serious, even angry, face as he tried to walk towards Thom who waited at the other end of the room. Noah would make three or four unsure steps, then smile mischievously and resort to fastest crawl he could manage. And fast he was! No no no no, not like this, Thom remembered himself laughing, and then them both rolling on the carpet, sunlit room full of giggles. - See, you had to do it yourself, said Jonny, breaking the silence. - And what if I didn't? Shit... the less you know the better you sleep, huh. - Look Thom. You were lucky. You wouldn't believe how lucky. You never encountered anyone who'd throw you totally out. - Out - where to? Where to? asked Thom, and felt half-understanding stir. - Where everything's different. Far away. You know how things look wrong? When they do... they call it 'other dimensions'. Shite... Jonny trailed off. - Too much Hitchhiker's Guide, Jonathan, somewhat poisonously remarked Thom. - Fuck you Thomas. Really. Some of them are closer, and some, like this one, far away. If you'd get there alone, you'd stay there. Forever. You can't just wish yourself home. - What the fuck is up with your eyes. - Nothing. - Aha. Right. You've got x-ray vision too? - Kind of. - Fuck you. - Everyone here is like this. Not quite brilliant. I'm colour-blind after all... back there. - Everyone. Here. Is. Like. You? - Yeah, Thom. That's why I took you here. I tried to make it safe for you. And this is even a nice bed. It's my... well, can't call it home, but... - Wicked. Should I be afraid? - Not of myself. Look out for locals though. - You alien. - I'm not. Thom accepted everything. Life is fucked up, no news. He counted his blessings: alive and relatively well one, naked in warm alien bed two, with x-ray eyed Jonny hugging me three, not yet gone out of my mind... four... no, fuck this one. - Sex then. As a trampoline. Thom nearly drowned in a momentary flash-flood of guilt and shame, but no one was there to tell just how wrong it was to have a naked friend beside him under a blanket. No options available. He turned, wanting to look at Jonny, but instead buried his face into Jonny's tangled hair. Yesh? Jonny extended his arm to support Thom's neck and smiled shyly. - Sex isn't the only way to do it, Thom. - Wicked. I got a fucking orgasm. - It's not just a technique. I really... I like you. - Oh yeah? - Oh yeah. Thom's nerves finally gave in. He started to sob quietly, face against Jonny's neck. He hugged Jonny with sudden force, he held onto him as if a fiery abyss opened beneath. Like hell, he muttered, nothing of it... - Don't cry. Jonny took Thom's face into his hands, brushing stringy hair from Thom's forehead and pressing his lips against it - as if to check for fever. That, too, yes. Thom winced and shut his eyes. Don't cry. Please don't cry. And planted a slow kiss onto Thom's neck. Thom let out almost soundless 'Aaaaaaaahh', and with it went fear and confusion, leaving him clean and naive. Everything was wrong, ten thousand worlds revolved aimlessly around, watching them descend into the wordless longing again. Saving grace. Thom opened his eyes for a fraction of second: moist, red leaps were reaching for his; in an instant, they locked, tongues dancing a slow dance. A lonely remote speck of Thom's consciousness hung high over them, in wonder over how fast the two bodies below remembered what has been half ah hour earlier. They both were close now, on the precarious, fluttering edge; Jonny moved faster, as if to detract himself from his own body that was about to slide into wet, suffocating, sweet agony. Thom supplicated himself, hands lazy, eyes closed, heart drumming a fast drum, breath now one quiet continuous moan. He felt - already familiar, and acutely, tantalisingly pleasant - Jonny's hard stalk against his own, and moved forward to meet it. Thom's suddenly loud 'Ooooooooo' and the last lazy touch sent Jonny over the edge. He should have known. For the whole endless instant while a wave of pleasure swallowed him, the lonely thought ringing was - I've lost control. They were going the wrong way. Thom's way. |