Page 57 of Nights Without Night
“LA, LA, LA, LA-”
“OF THE GREEN BERETS!”
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU MY PHONE HAS BURST MY EARDRUM I HAVE PHONE CANCER I—WHERE ARE YOU? I CAN’T SEE YOU I’M BLIND!”
“You are the most ridiculous person. You are a verruca.”
“A verruca!” I gasp, honestly offended. Isadoro laughs loudly. “I’m—how dare you, sir? You puss-filled cyst! Your name is now Mister Puss-Filled Cyst, congratulations.”
“Is ‘Mister’ part of my name?”
“Yes, Mister is your first name and Puss-Filled Cyst is your last name.”
“What’s my middle name?”
“Jambalaya,” I say without pausing and we both dissolve into laughter.
“How many beers have we had?”
“Not nearly enough to explain this.”
We drift on the surface of easy conversation. When we’ve had enough beers and the salsa is long gone, we pack everything away and go wash up. Isadoro catches me as we leave the locker room and kisses me like he can’t wait until we reach the boat.
When we get to it, he helps me hop onto the deck, keeping his hands on me. They’re warm presses against the skin of my stomach and back, the brush of fingers against the nape of my neck. When we make it inside, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me in a way that makes me lose myself completely.
The moon is big and heavy in the sky. We strip in its light like we’re preparing for a ritual to the sea gods. We climb onto the bed in a mess of arms and legs and laugh as we knock into each other.
There’s a moment, tucked between laughing and gasping, when I want to say something. A set of light, glowing words. I want to press them into his mouth, his eyes, every inch of his skin. I want to illuminate him with them. But then he kisses me again, and the moment passes in silence.
He kisses my jawline, my neck, down the centre of my chest. It’s one of his favourite things to do. Like he’s marked a path he enjoys walking. He always pauses on my nipples to feel me squirm, before lowering again.
Today, he stops at my stomach. I watch him drip his fingers in lube and then he settles against me again. He strokes my hole with his wet index finger before sliding it in. I shift my hips and immediately ask for more. We’ve been doing this every night, so the prep is barely necessary. I know he enjoys it however, so I let him indulge.
He sets a pace that is as deep and rhythmic as ever. He watches his fingers for a while, appearing and disappearing into me, before pressing his face against my stomach, wrapping his other arm around my hips. I rest what I can of my legs on him so we’re cocooned in each other.
Two turns to three, and he fucks me with his fingers, just like that. I can feel his breaths on the sensitive skin of my stomach, his arm holding me, pinning me down, the stretch of his fingers. I move my hips, pressing down on them, shifting against him. It’s like he’s everywhere, but I still want more.
“Isa, fuck me. Come on,” I say. Isadoro looks up, cheek still pressed against my stomach. He slows his fingers down but presses them more deliberately against my prostate. I moan, arching my back.
“Bastard, come up here and fuck me,” I say. I feel his laugh, even if the rush of my blood doesn’t let me hear it.
Finally, he does. He sits up, and I can’t help but jerk him off a few times before I’m being pushed down again. I turn around, getting on my knees as I press my face to the sheets. Isadoro grabs my hips, just stroking my skin for a moment before he slides in.
I love the thick stretch of it, the sudden fullness, the way he leans forwards and plasters all his body against me. He fucks me deep, that familiar volcanic water bubbling inside me. I feel his teeth scraping against my shoulder, my neck, and turn my face towards him, but I’m so pressed against the bed that we can barely kiss.
Isadoro pulls out, turning me around, and then is back inside me, around me, both his arms a vice around my body. I lift my knees up high and wide towards my shoulders so the angle is as deep as it can go, and he splits me open even as he holds me together. He wraps around me completely and for a moment, in this safety, I feel loss.
“Iván,” he groans into my ear, and I’m close too. He reaches between us to jerk me off with quick strokes and it all builds suddenly. Until it’s too much. We tip over the edge together, our names shipwrecked on the surf.
For a while, we don’t part. We stay like molluscs clinging to rocks until my legs start cramping and I have to stretch. He helps me unbend my achy knees and cleans me up before we press close again. I can feel his come dripping from my hole and clench for a moment, wanting to keep him in.
There’s nothing much to say. This is the last night. This is the last night we’ll ever be together like that.
I can barely think it.
For once, Isadoro falls asleep first. My head rests on his chest, and I feel his muscles relax fully, his breath becoming long and even.
His body is so warm beside mine that I can feel the skin before I touch it. My fingers hover over his shoulder, down to the angle of his bent elbow as he holds me, running a path right over the moonlit shadow of him. My fingers feel his warmth, touching but not touching him.
