A/N: there will be some mentioning of sexual content though it won't be outright sex it is pretty explicit so I have written where you can start in case you want to skip it.

Matthew

As I have noted countless times as sleepless nights dotted my memories, hindsight does little for past mistakes. But I know that if I were to go back, to have a do-over I would've savoured him less. I would've learnt where my limits were, I would've realised that the gratification I got off of his twitches from my touch wouldn't be worth it later.

Because like Sodom and Gomorrah I would burn, until the ashes of regret and 'bodily lust' detailed the infertile soil at my feet. The sky would be starless, the crushed berries would seep through my fingers and stain my carpet.

The night before our fathers left I wanted to fill him with passion even though they lay asleep next door. I wanted my name written like hymns in the atoms separating us. I wanted his oesophagus to burn with the native tongue of lust and the slang of teenage incompetence.

I wanted him to feel something memorable.

A hand trailed down his torso of olive his pyjama pants being coddled with between thumb and index finger. I tugged it, his body flinched, I tugged it again.

"What are you doing,"

"I want to male you feel good."

His eyebrows knitted, his body was dishevelled.

Hair messy, hickeys trailing against his skin of olive painted canvas. His lips were big and red, the way that I created them to be with my paintbrush of Sodom.

A new look painted his eyes a deep shade of red. Was it the tension or his readiness to punch me?

"What is that supposed mean ?"

I was laying atop him and yet he engulfed me with scents.

"This, " I pressed myself further into him, he groaned.

"What are you on?" he regained his breath for a moment to be engulfed by my body.

"I need more of you," sultry wasn't my first language yet it managed to turn him the crimson shade of his lips.

"Are you sure, " he was scared, excited, an encyclopedia of emotions.

I kissed him, a fingertip in heavens doorway and the other being just an inch above hells waistband. I pulled on hells waistband until its pants sat at its knees, my hand trailed up and down its dunes of hot and cold.

Mouths now parted, they sang in the awkward atmosphere, the atmosphere of sweat clinging body closer to body. Bodies dancing, bodies gave up to the hand of desire.

I looked for permission in his hazel, I found it within a small smile and nod. He smiled even though his body shook at the exposing of himself to me.

He lay there like a naked canvas waiting to be painted beautiful by me. To be shown that with a bit of love and perseverance he could be beautiful with me.

But he already was stunning.

My chest was bare, his body was art. A new shade of crimson tickled the nape of my neck, but I was determined to make him a new shade of passion.

Legs wrapped around back and torso, his breath hit my tongue like an anchor.

I pulled him closer, the taste of wine on my tongue and crushed berries between lips.

My fingers became drunk with my saliva as I parted from his lips, he was confused as to what my next move would be. I knawed at his neck the same place that I so often found solace in.

I remember his spot, somewhere between venue and mercury. My tongue claimed it a hostage.

My right hand rested somewhere between the legs parted like the red sea. One finger slipping between the slit of candour and unfamiliar, he jolted up staring at me in confusion.

Another finger and a squirm for comfort between my palm against his skin.

I took it back out with the speed of my breathing, motions against his dunes with my waves were concurrent. His eyebrows were knitted together by a thread of discomfort and awkward, he wasn't acting the way I had imagined.

The way I saw in the one porno that I watched out of curiosity and then hated myself for.

He was quite anxious, not singing praises in euphoric gibberish.

My approach changed, wondering if circles in the sea would prove it as red as Moses left it. Maybe if I trailed my fingers along his passage I would find the key to his insatiable cries. Maybe if my tongue met him halfway to insanity his arch would lead us like a torch, the way he lifted his legs with toes pointing inward would guide me.

I found something.

Well, not entirely I felt his body arch slightly into my hand, his mouth agape.

My hand searched in any way to return the feeling into him, I did it again his lip clasped between his teeth. He moaned. I scoured a cave of warmth and shy, he welcomed me with each push and pull.

I kissed him with my waves of soft destruction, a grind against me and a hand searching for balance in my turbulence. The other guiding it to cause further disarray, I learned that he liked to be excited in groups of two or three.

He became louder, with a leg leaning so my entrance was easy. He cried,

"Matthew... Right there, I- uhhh"

Eyes rolled to the back of its socket, he was filled with clear perspiration and passion swept off his tongue like the language of Aphrodite. I went to his lips landing a peck upon his nose.

His hands drifted from the pillowcase and my wrist to the nape of my neck, pulling me into his lips again. Gasps and cries landed on my lips with the warmth of an Egyptian summer, he tried to muffle himself.

My hand became tired and my waves softer our kiss broke as he muttered breathlessly,

"Don't stop, please"

Whether it awoke a newfound lion in the depth of my soul or not didn't matter. My hand became stronger out of pure will, wrecking, slamming into his temple of lust. He lost it.

His hand covering his mouth yet the ricochet of water and rock escaping, sounding like songs of praise to my ear. His body arched more, he moaned more, he moaned for more.

So I complied.

I complied until my artwork flowed out of a slit on his member, making me remember the secret of berries and crimson.

A/N:

He was drained, my hand soaking with I don't what. My knowledge on the human anatomy was minuscule but I like to assume that whatever it was, wasn't bad rather like what girls get I guess.

You can guess how much I knew about sex education other than what I learnt off of Reddit.

He smiled sultry and gasped tired, he asked for a kiss so I compiled.

"I'm going to clean myself, " he said slipping his clothes on in a way that they would be on but would become dirty by his sweat. He feared our father waking a seeing him naked.

I put my shirt back on though I didn't always sleep with it on, but I rather our fathers have no space to doubt. He came back having had a quick shower to rinse off the sins we committed and the regret we would bare tomorrow.

He smiled I left to go wash my hands.

My reflection stared into my soul, I wondered if what I had done was okay. If the act I committed with an index, middle and occasionally ring finger was right.

I shook off the emotion and went on, washing him off my hands and washing him off my mind. That was until I saw him fully clothed in bed, he was half asleep. Cuddling himself, he was cold without my body interwind with his.

So we slept off with his head on my chest and mine just above his.

I was content at that moment. Yet eyes set on mirror tears drifted down my cheek. I woke up the next day him in my arms as he was the night before allowing everything to hit me at once. A sudden sickness hit the bottom of my stomach, the regret I felt crawling up my throat with the vomit.

I threw up in the toilet.

I looked myself in the mirror vomit at the corner of my lips; all I saw was the imprints of his fingers along my chest, neck, hair, and the nape of my neck. They were glowing against the pink and white of my skin.

My hair was dishevelled, my eyes looked tired. A gaze drifted my right hand, reliving all the atrocities it committed the night before. I deserved a mark of evil across my palm, and proof that I so easily managed to lose myself within the embrace of another man.

I got water and washed my face but it hadn't managed to wash my discontent away, I gargled water in my mouth but his lips and tongue were still there. No matter how hard I washed my tongue I still found remnants of berries, a love letter and crimson underneath it.

I was teary-eyed, what had I done: I heard the crashing of his lips against mine like an earthquake.

I was now crying.

All I heard was him crying, "don't stop"

It was like being taunted by the ghost of my past, as he detailed every sin I had committed with joy. What was wrong with me?

"Matthew,"

Songs of my name tumbling off his tongue turned my gut out of itself, feelings of regret tumbled that morning. Each tear running down puffy eyes were supposed to wash away my sin like holy water or to encompass the remnants of crimson on my cheek.

You are disgusting

I repeated, the sounds of the sea becoming louder than they were last night. No longer calm but destructive as my short-lived confidence was swept away with the current.

The ashes of my burning city engulfing my nostrils igniting sniffs and sneezes.

I felt as though I were ill with the remnants of passion clinging to lungs and liver. My body decaying as the light came into the darkness of the night we spent.

"Matthew, me and Arnou are going to leave soon. Can you come help us with our things"

How could I look his father in the eyes, hell how could I look him in the eye? He felt my tongue down his throat and heard my words of lust trickle down his ears.

What if he regretted it the same way I did. Wishing he didn't let me invade his sacred palace.

I looked up to see my eyes a puffy red, you could see the tears stuck to my cheek. My hair was messy, but I couldn't help see a blueberry at the corner of my eye.

I washed my face and ready a web of lies in my tongue. You can do this

I couldn't but the least I could do was lie to myself, to help numb that last bit of fear.

The smiles of my father and his father, his smile. My father gave him a brief hug, same with his as a duffle bag lay at his shoulder. Their eyes dotted to me soon encompassing emotions of concern.

"Didn't get much sleep," I lied rubbing my eye and yawning.

My father smiled as was stereotypical, " come give me hug before we go."

I did so waving them off as they took their separate cars home. Hearing the crash of wheel and pebble slowly dying out, being replaced by my own heart beat.

"Matthew," I turned to see him in those pjs that he loved, eyes looked for answers within my bags and the remnants of night in my love bites " are you okay?"

We all know how I answered, how else would a teen boy answer. Masculinity was my way to marry the right woman as my parents sometimes said, wondering if my wife were to be Faye or a woman I shall meet in college.

And to be a man I shall be strong in will and let my emotions show through my anger, each one will be my anger as it will consume me.

"Yes, I'm fine, I just need a shower."

My body turned to my resting place as tears clenched my fist and are the butterflies dotting my stomach. At least a berry lay somewhere at my feet, though squashed a berry nonetheless.

"Okay, I'm gonna make some us pancakes."

He softly spoke, though his lips of cherry chapstick.