The attic room is dark, but not completely. A single beam of moonlight cuts through the cracked window, spilling across the middle of the room. It’s just enough to make his skin glow when he steps into it. The night air drifts in with the tide, cool against my overheated skin. Above us, the ceiling fan stirs in slow, lazy circles.
It’s so quiet that it’s loud. Every little sound comes in sharper–the ocean crashing onto the shore in a steady rhythm outside. My own heartbeat, loud and insistent in my ears.
I look at him, this ethereal, beautiful boy I don’t even know, and realize I have no idea what comes next. My body feels heavy, full of wanting, but my mind is blank, stripped bare of anything that sounds like words. I don’t want to speak anyway. I don’t want to break the spell.
I don’t have to. He steps closer, slow and sure, until the space between us thins to nothing but heat. He pauses there, his lips so close I can feel his breath ghost across mine, the air between us buzzing like static. He waits–hovering, patient, a question in the way he tilts his head.
Waiting for me to say yes without saying anything at all.
I take the leap on an exhale, pressing my lips to his. It’s not tentative exactly, but it isn’t confident either, just a blind step forward into something I don’t understand but can’t resist.
His lips part under mine, warm and soft, and his tongue flicks gently against the inside of my top lip. I’m not expecting it. The surprise pulls a gasp out of me, and he does it again, slower this time, tongue sliding deeper into my mouth. The second our tongues touch, my body lights up, sparking through me like a live wire.
The way he kisses me steals everything–my breath, my balance, the last edges of hesitation I didn’t even know I was holding onto. I delve into the taste of smoke and salt, tangling our tongues together. It feels natural, like we’ve known each other longer than a single night.
His hands find my waist, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt, roughened palms caressing the lines of my abs. The more we kiss, the higher his hands climb, until the fabric’s bunched tight and we’re forced to break apart just long enough for him to tug it over my head.
The look in his eyes as he takes me in makes my skin prickle. The bright green has turned darker in the shadows of the room, edged with hunger. He doesn’t hide his appreciation, staring at me like I’m something to be devoured. His hands roam mychest, abs, and shoulders as he kisses me, tangling our tongues together in a way that I feel everywhere.
I want to touch him, too, to see him and feel what his skin feels like against mine. Reaching for the bottom of his shirt, I help him pull it up his body and over his head, pausing to take him in. His body is so unlike mine. He’s leaner, but sculpted. Smaller, but strong.
He’s unreal. Like something out of a dream I’m not sure I’m allowed to touch. But I reach up anyway, my fingers brushing over warm skin, tracing the lines of ink across his chest, lingering over the hard metal of a barbell through his left nipple.
I’m surprised at my physical reaction to his piercings, finding myself staring at the barbell and wondering what it would feel like in my mouth, how it would taste, if I’d feel it rubbing across my skin the way his lip ring does when he kisses me. I pull him against me, and when our bare chests press together, heat rolling between us, I fall into what feels like a trance.
Some instinct I didn’t know I possessed takes me through the motions. I want to feel him, kiss him, touch him… taste him. Forgetting to second-guess myself, I do just that. We tumble onto the bed, our heartbeats beating out a rhythm that feels like music.
His hands are everywhere, mapping me like he means to memorize me, fingertips skimming the lines of muscle, pausing in places that make my body jolt, my heart stagger. Every brush of his skin against mine sets fire to something deeper, something I’ve never touched before.
I follow his lead, undressing and exploring his body. We hold each other close, kissing and touching, hands everywhere, untilthere is nothing left between us but skin. The sheets blur into shadows, blue-grey against the moonlight, and for a moment it feels like we’re floating, suspended above the world, weightless and untethered.
I’m not clumsy, but I feel undone–each piece of clothing peeled away is another revelation. I kiss everywhere I dare, growing bolder as he shows me all the little places on my body that I didn’t know could feel good. His tongue on my skin is the catalyst to my undoing, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. When his mouth finally reaches my cock, it barely takes more than a broad lick up the bottom of my shaft, and his lips closing around my tip before I’m unloading into his mouth.
I come so hard it takes a moment to register what I’ve done, and my skin grows impossibly hotter. I’m unsure how embarrassed I should be. I should have at least given him a warning.
My apology is cut off when he presses his lips to mine again. I nearly choke at the rush of arousal that jolts through me when his tongue wraps around mine, coated in slick, warm, slightly salty fluid.
“See how good you taste?” He whispers huskily, and all I can do is moan.
The heat between us grows until it’s impossible to tell where I end and he begins. His body slides against mine, smooth and warm, and the contact leaves me dizzy and weightless. Like we are suspended above the tide, caught between stars and waves, existing nowhere but in this single moment.
I’m seriously out of my mind. I’m not me, and it’s not possible that he’s real, that this is actually happening. This must be a dream.
He seems surprised when I sit up, hold him to me with one arm around his back and the other on his thigh, then flip us so I’m on top of him.
If this is a dream, I might as well make the most of it.
My mouth moves down his body, taking detours to satiate my curiosity. I play with his nipple ring, lick the sweat from his sternum, run my nose through his armpit–twice, because for some reason, it drives me wild. When I nip along his hip bone, his thighs open wide to allow me to trail my lips and tongue down the crease of his groin. I bury my face in his trimmed pubic hair and groan.
Dear God, please don’t let this dream run away from me because it turns out I’m a weirdo. I’m obsessed with the way he smells–the salt and campfire and what I can only assume is his natural musk. I glance up to make sure he’s okay with everything I’m doing. There isn’t enough light to make out every detail of his expression, but I can see his mouth drop open and head fall back when I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and lick him from taint to tip in one broad stroke.
“I got the impression you hadn’t been with a guy before, but–“ His voice wavers when I run my thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the bead of fluid there.
Is it normal to think someone’s dick is pretty? I’ve seen enough of them in locker rooms, and I’ve watched porn before, but this is the only one I’ve been up close and personal with. He’s as long as I am, but thinner, and circumcised where I’m uncut.
“I haven’t,” I answer him, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just going with it. You’ll need to tell me if I do something wrong or how to make you feel good.”
He chuckles, but it sounds almost pained. “I don’t really think you could go wrong, but I promise I’ll tell you.” He moans when I wrap my lips around his crown and give a gentle, tentative suck.
