Matthew

I woke up to the scent of lush lust and with the weight of the world on my torso: rather my torso, shoulder hell even my legs.

I opened my eyes fully to see a deluge of gold and brown mesh. His breaths made the duvet move ever so slightly, 'alien boy' was probably imprinted into my chest as his rose and pressed into mine. What was he dreaming of?

I breathily whispered, " James "

He didn't reply his lips parted further allowing his breaths more depth.

"James, " I began tapping somewhere between his shoulder blades. He groaned as he turned his head on my chest attempting to gain comfort within me.

I lifted him by the shoulder, he looked like Simba being raised by Rafiki at the ceremony. His eyes didn't open until I once more spoke, he was visibly confused at me.

I smiled, he was so cute.

"Morning," I barely uttered through my wide smile, teeth and all.

He smiled back, "let go of me."

I wonder in hindsight why I was so instant why I didn't wait until I was in a position to move. But hindsight can't change the past hence why he fell full force onto my chest. He groaned at the contact.

"Idiot."

Hands and knees, he rested on them looked into my eyes. When had he even gotten up? It didn't matter because his desire was like a sore thumb, in the way and unmissable. It let itself out via his razor stare at my lips, a trance almost.

His lips that were sewn by beauty herself, they tell the tale of scarlet, carmine and crimson. She moulded them in such a way that when they opened like a letterbox awaiting the slip of a love letter only those with dirt in their eyes could resist. His breaths became heavier.

His head fell, now knees and elbows. It was 3 millimetres away that his letterbox laid awaiting a love letter detailing all the stars in the sky and how to hold them like crushed berries between your fingertips.

The same way he did all that time ago he let soft breaths reach my slightly chapped lips to ask for my permission.

I said yes in the only way I knew, pulling his velvet into the abscess of adequate chapstick. He held my face clinging to it like it supported him from all the regrets he would bare as soon as he parted. I held his hair because it was soft, it remind me of the clouds I dreamt so often of living in.

If I lived in them like an angel maybe I would be problem less.

So in the meantime, I rather live in the slit between his lips and the golden remnants of sunshine growing from his scalp.

A hand ventured to his waist, I parted so I could turn us over. Leaving him in disarray.

I lent back in with my legs in between his two legs, legs wrapped around my limbs for dear life. He smiled briefly before moaning,

"I like this, "

Into our kiss. I felt his hand venture under my shirt, searching for my letterbox. Scouting an opening to a chamber of my heart, I wondered if he was really searching. If his daze came in between us like the atoms of fabric did. Or if he wanted to find a place to rest his cupid's arrow with smudged blackberries across its head.

My hand caressed his hair, I was atop a cloud.

He let out a small cry, one designed for my ears only. I heard the secrets of the universe in between our exchange of moans. I wonder if we became smarter or we were high off scents.

I heard his fear and elation each time he grasped my skin.

They left skid marks of nails and impatience across my back.

"Boys are you two awake ?"

We weren't we were busy shrinking ourselves to the size of a crushed blackberry dancing down the other's oesophagus.

He pushed me off, " Yeah."

My mind was blank, I was mentally searching for that same comfort that I had when his desperate desire contorted my lips. What if I kissed him again, I let the stars realign as he traced them along my back. What if I slipped my notes of admirations between the slit of my two front teeth? Turn his neck a new shade of crimson and make him sing every cry of nature.

I wanted him again.

"Brush your teeth because breakfast is nearly done."

He got up before he had finished those words, I suppose it was to erase the marks of ownership I dotted all over him. Though invisible he felt it because I did two.

Once he finished I went in, hair a mess but I could get off with that. When I licked my bottom lip then swiped the top I felt him.

"Sit down so that we can pray, " my father said being tempted by the bacon sandwich this side. Almost drooling at the sight of the eggs clung out the side.

We sat my hand in my father's and his. It was softer than earlier.

"In Jesus name we've prayed, " Arnou said.

"Amen, " we said together.

Under the table, somewhere in the depths of youth and the darkness, his fingers where amidst mine. We let our palms, with remnants of toothpaste that we neglected, tell the other of our...

"Why are your hands under the table ?"

He let go, resting his hand under his chin.

" I was just resting it was on my lap, " stoic face and all. Lies stumbling in such a way it seemed like a dishevelled honesty, who taught him that.

His father rolled his eyes in a smile, it was meant to comfort him to remind him that all was well. Well, it was as good as the surface went. I couldn't bear to imagine him finding out what we were doing, I preferred him to think that we were 2d sons than 3d disappointments.

We so often mould ourself to fit through the half-inch slit of a good child, one in which we wouldn't detail the decomposition of oneself. We wouldn't cry when our leg bled, we wouldn't detail our escapades of teen alcoholism, weed and more consumption, we wouldn't give ourselves the personality of person rather of proof that our parents could wield perfection with the hand of God.

Perfection never complained rather complying as it got decreased from package to a quarter-inch formal letter that will hopefully reach an Ivy League college. Perfection told me it wants to be a lawyer or got to medical school, it heard that Havard is good but expensive.

"So what do you guys feel like doing today."

We shrugged.

He rolled his eyes, laughing to my father about the indecisiveness of kids nowadays. I wonder if they were just regurgitating the hymns of middle-aged that they heard decades ago, acting as though they differ so much from us.

My father chuckled his smile bright, they got up and began to tidy. They told us to shower, so we left.

I remember how he sat on the bed staring at the ground as if it would erase the sins he dared to commit. The language of the devil dancing down his tongue until it reaches my ear as moans making me continue.

My body sat next to his, I stared at the ricochet of fear, hurt and longing that bounced between the two of us.

"Can I kiss you," his face toward mine. My eyes wide as though he asked the impossible, what was he on I questioned through the twitches of my fingers.

He wanted the stability I could never give him. The knowledge that I won't go from singing his praises from under his shirt, his heart between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, to hating what he represented to me 'bodily lust' and the one who detailed crushed berries across my forehead.

"Yes"

He went in his hand reaching for my face, and scalp mine reaching for where his clouds grew and somewhere I could hold a megaphone to amplify his need for me. Even if it was just bodily I wanted someone to want me.

He pulled back fast, " I'm going to take a shower, see you in a sec"

I wonder why most days during this trip sung the same hymn as this? we would sneak a kiss, a touch, a breath, a letter reminding the other that they were their favourite flavour of sin that they would regret at night but search for in the morning.

He would look at me burning my body with his nonchalance, I never learnt how he could hide his story behind his light iris. You would think that in it you could see his secrets or emotion rather you saw almost nothing, I wanted to learn his ways so I could mimic.

I wanted to stop myself yet every night before we slept he would lie with his eyes showing fire for the first time. He had readied his lips with chapstick and his chambers with a key that he only exchanged through kisses.

He had a way to paint me every shade of scarlet heat. He put me into heat though the cabin was cold and the duvet was a muffler.

I remember how he would smile, though it wasn't the earliest so I could hardly see it but I knew it was bright. He would snicker as I lifted duvet over my head and would use my mouth to muffle his cries and sweet nothings.

Most days I saw the stars clearer at night when he cried for me to not stop underneath his microscope.

So I never stopped no matter how many inches closer to insane it drove me. Because it remind me that I was alive in a time of insatiable yet dying lovers, we were alive.

I rather settle with that as I knew his blackberries firm, young and full waited to taste sweet with me. No matter how poisons they were they somehow managed to taste like wine and crimson.

My favourite shades of the rainbow flag laying burnt on my windowsill, but he was not so I couldn't hear the crackles.

"Matthew, right there, I- uhhh"

Being followed by

"Don't stop, please"

As he grasped harder, sweat dripping in the gallons down his chest and head. His eyes rolled back into himself, but his body arched toward me.

As I woke realising the morning after the details of the stars in his love bites, I question why I continued to do this to myself. I could never answer. Only hear

"Matthew I love how you feel on my skin, please don't stop."

So I never did.