11-19-2019, 12:04 AM
----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Pteron could believe this night is a dream: it is certainly like many he has before.
He has dreamt Aegean, panting and breathless, his amethyst eyes gone hazy with satisfaction. He has dreamt Aegean, curled around him and over him and beneath him. He dreams of Aegean, Aegean, Aegean. It is a wonder that each exhaled breath does not hold that name, for each indrawn one is saturated with the taste and smell and feel of him.
The stars overhead are winking at him, Pteron thinks, their dimming and brightening a reflection of the tide that he feels rising high with each touch. Each scrape of blunt teeth against his throat, the pinch and release, draws a shameless cry from his dark lips. The whole world has narrowed to the length of his neck and Aegean’s teeth, and Pteron can feel the other boy’s smile against his tender skin. In his dreams, Pteron had done the kissing, he had been the one to draw out the moans. That is how he knows this is real: it is so much better than anything he could have possibly imagined.
That is not to say he does not want some of what he has pictured though, and he pulls back. His breath comes in pants, his mouth half-open in a what he knows is a futile effort to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t even want to, he realizes, not when each breathe adds a little more of Aegean to his mouth and throat and lungs. There can never be enough, he knows, wonder in his olive eyes as he gazes at Aegean. Wonder and awe and unabashed devotion carried on that rising tide.
I love you. He mouths the words, knowing they will be lost in his panting. They feel so right though, so true, and he starts to say them, “I…” only to bite them off in a grunt when Aegean sighs an answer to Pteron’s claim.
For the night, he says, the night.
Just like the moon, Aegean rips away the cresting tide. A sob fills the space where it had been building, a sob that Pteron buries against the flawless skin of Aegean’s throat before it can betray him.
For this one night.
He won’t let the other boy see him cry. He can’t. Instead he takes the heart that Aegean crushes beneath his hooves and buries it deep inside him. He buries it so deep that he can forget it is even there, and then it is just the two of them again instead of the two of them and his foolish heart. The two of them, with Aegean opening beneath his touch like a night-blooming cereus, precious and delicate and truly a king of the night. At first Pteron’s teeth are less delicate than Aegean’s had been, greedy and desperate to bury the sourness of the cry he has stifled. But he cannot bear the thought of damaging him, and he kisses each bruise with the tenderest of lips, each brush of them an apology.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, and if the words are choked, that is surely to be expected. “But I will do anything.” Pteron’s voice cracks at the last word, the truth crawling out of the grave he’s dug for it within his chest. “Anything,” he repeats, flattening his heart for Aegean to trample across just for the joy of having been touched, and knowing he will do so until the moon falls from the sky.
@[aegean]
-- pteron --