Page 19 of Nights Without Night
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On Sunday, we take a walk through the Mallowston forest. The day is clear and cold. It smells like ice, even though it hasn’t snowed. Our breaths bloom white flowers in front of us. We follow a rocky dirt path through the pines and skeleton trees. The sun shines through, fragmented against our hair and skin and clothes. The light shines through Isadoro’s eyes, bright and untroubled.
We reach a ridge and stop to look at the landscape. The forest seems to go on forever. Green, brown, blue. It’s all part of something.
I feel Isadoro’s fingers against mine. Without looking, I take his hand.
I breathe.
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The apartment is a warm haven from the cold. It’s late, and the alcohol in my veins is a low buzz inside me. I shut the front door behind me and take off my coat, hanging it carefully on its hook. I take off my shoes, resting them beside the door. When I walk towards the living room, my steps are almost silent, but Isadoro’s head is turned towards me. He’s sitting in the almost dark. In the phantom light of the TV, he looks like an apparition. These past years I’ve seen him more in dreams than in real life. Now, he seems to have appeared from the darkness of the night.
I walk toward the couch and wrap myself around Isadoro from behind. I kiss his neck and feel his hand come to rest on one of my arms.
He’s warm. The scent of him could take me back to childhood.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say into his skin, biting there, a punctuation. He twists slightly to look at me and I kiss him, my tongue dragging across his lips. When I pull away, he wastes no time on untangling from me. I take a step back and he jumps over the back of the couch.
“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes at the demonstration, but heat burns inside.
He pulls me toward him and kisses me again. I open my mouth, my arms, pressing closer. His hand cradles the back of my head, tilts it slightly and I go easily, following his pace.
After a few moments, he pulls back and looks at me. I let him, feeling soft and malleable in his hands.
“Bedroom,” I murmur. He nods but kisses me again until the darkness and the heat have melted us together.
We go to my room. I lay on the bed and he stretches over me, reaching an arm out to turn on the bedside lamp. The glow lengthens the shadows of his eyelashes, of the dip below his bottom lip.
He settles between my legs and I wind them around him, nudging him forward. He lets himself fall with his forearms bracketing my head. He runs his hand through my hair, looking at me, before leaning down. My hands slide across his neck, his shoulders, the moving muscles of his back. I hum into the kiss and I can feel his little smile against me.
It goes into the night. He looks, and kisses, and looks at me. I want to ask him what he’s searching for, but I want to watch him too.
He takes off my clothes and then his and slides down my body with his calloused hands. I’m already hard, have been for a while, and I squirm at the rake of his skin. He gives the tip of my dick a cursory lick and I choke on a fragmentedah,but then he’s gone again.
The crinkle of the condom and click of the lube’s lid is like another of my sounds. I shift impatiently on the bed and then still as I feel slick fingers at my entrance.
Like ever, he goes slow.
As the first finger slides in, an errant thought courses through me. This is the first time since we were seventeen that he’s been inside me. Nearly a decade ago. We were children then, in all the ways that count.
“Come on,” I say, and he pushes in another. I grind against his hand, but he doesn’t pick up the pace. He opens me up slowly. Two fingers, three. He watches them disappear inside me like he’s entranced. I get lost in the intensity of it, in the feel of the brushing pressure against my prostate, until I can’t take it anymore.
“Come on. Come on, don’t you want to fuck me? Isa…” I move my hips, fucking myself harder on his thick fingers. I hear him grunt, letting me move before slipping out and grabbing my hips, slippery and desperate.
I open my eyes. Look at the flush on his face, the sweat on his hairline from nothing more than fingering me. His eyes are orange, brown, black. He lifts me up with one hand and guides himself in with the other.
The noise that comes out of me as he pushes in has been shredded by years of neglect. Fuck, he’s thick, filling me fully.
When he starts moving, it’s with him all around me. My hips are hitched up to meet him on his knees, but he’s curved over me. Even when I close my eyes, I can feel him everywhere. He fucks me with deep, short thrusts that punch little noises out of me, and he picks them up from my lips, licking them from my tongue and my mouth.
At this pace, the burning is such a gradual rise it almost surprises me when it scorches through. I can’t breathe for a moment as I feel my body clench and move without my permission, just feeling for a moment, all this pleasure and Isadoro at my core.
“Iván, Iván…” Isadoro is saying as he continues fucking into me as I come, and I grasp at him, encouraging and overstimulated until he comes too. He hunches forward, a tighter shell around me as he moans into my neck. I close my eyes and breathe him in.
Isadoro slumps to the side, slipping out of me. He gets up a moment to throw the condom in the trash as I wipe myself with the corner of the sheet and then fling it to the side.
When he comes back he pulls me toward him, stroking his hands across my skin. I hold him back, letting myself drift.
