Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me
by Chanadé Scriva

The kitchen was very calm, the only sounds being the tick-tock of the old watch and the bubbling coffee-maker. Fighting against sleepiness, Brian observed the coffee running through the filter, gathering in the pot. He hoped that coffee would succeed where the cold shower had failed. It was better looking at the coffee than looking at his arm, because the meandering, intertwined lines of the tattoo exhibited hypnotic powers.

Eventually, the sparse stream of coffee subsided, and Brian stood up to look for a mug. It was only then, that he noticed the forgotten cigarette. The stick had consumed itself in the ashtray where he had put it, supposedly for a second. It was a waste, but he did not mind; he’d smoked too many last night, anyway. He’d drunk too much, too, but the effects were receding after the shower.

A little bit dizzy, he took the blue mug from the cupboard, pouring the coffee in it. Searching for the sugar, he discovered some Cadbury's Flake bars hiding in the cupboard instead, clad in joyful yellow. Since he hadn’t bought them, he assumed that they must belong to Holly or Ron, probably Holly. Girls had this thing with chocolate.

Distracted, he asked himself if chocolate would increase the effect of the coffee, the blue letters of the word "Flake" were flashing him an invitation.

Normally, Brian would not have taken one of Holly’s sweets without asking, but the cause justified the means. And, at the moment, anything that could help him stay awake was welcome. Aside from this, the sight of the oblong pieces of chocolate and the anticipation of them crumbling inside his mouth lightened his mood. Half buried pictures worked their way up from his sleepy mind, reminding him of the times he had savoured a Flake Bar and a giant bowl of ice cream until his chin and T-Shirt were covered with half melted sweetness. Lovely Sunday memories! Smiling, he took one of the bars and picked up his mug, returning to the table.

On a morning like this, he liked his coffee as black and strong as was humanly bearable. The darker and bitter, the better.

The Flake freed from its yellow covers, Brian dipped one end into the dark liquid, observing with fascination how quickly it softened. Before it started dripping, he moved the chocolate to his mouth for a bite. Warm, coffee flavoured crumbs melted on his tongue. The taste smoothed the bitterness of the coffee he sipped afterwards. Delighted and glad that he could taste it after so much drinking and smoking, Brian repeated the procedure a second time.

For some reason, the mixture of sweet and bitter, the rich flavour, reminded him of last night’s sex. Back to the wall, hungry mouths locked for deep kisses, the feeling of a cock inside him, pounding like the rhythm of the music coming from the near door. The risk of being seen only added to the feverish frenzy that kept him already addicted for weeks.

Unfortunately, later that night, an argument had ended with Jas looking for someone else to get some more action from, instead of giving Brian the opportunity for a return. It was the fifth time in a row that they had separated in anger, for stupid reasons, and this unpleasant routine was starting to eat at him.

Brian sighed, distracting himself with some more coffee and sweet, crumbly chocolate.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made him raise his head.

"Uh?" Holly, sleepy, puffed face framed by dark-blond, messy hair, appeared in the open door of the kitchen. "I thought I had heard the shower, but I couldn’t believe it. What are you doing?" She asked with her deepest after-party voice.

"Trying to stay awake." Brian answered, dryly. "Oh, and I took one of these." He held up the rest of the poor Flake, before finishing it with the last gulps of coffee.

"Do you have a family meeting?" Holly asked, hugging herself in her blue bathrobe. "I couldn’t picture any other reason for you to be awake on a Sunday morning, after a night on the road."

"No, it’s nothing about the family." Brian replied. Not wanting any discussion with Holly, he stood up, brusquely, putting the mug in the sink, and throwing the wrapping of the Flake in the dustbin.

"Did you have trouble with your freak from Manchester?"

Pity, she needed to remind him that sharing a flat with close friends had some disadvantages: they never shut up, and he always told them too much. Especially Holly. For years, she had only been the girl who arrived at the house of his piano teacher when he left, until, one night, in their sixteenth year, they‘d met in a mixed gay-lesbian disco, both lying about their age, and both still unsure about their inclination. Since that evening she became one of his best friends, and during a long summer night, spent with other friends and booze, the idea for sharing a flat was born since both of them were more than eager to escape the parental controls.

Ron, the third flatmate, was harmless, just a music student from Glasgow, qualified by his love for deep basses and his tolerance for late parties and active homosexuality.

"Why do you put up with this type? He is freaky, he is a thief, and who knows what else?" Holly insisted to annoy him, leaning beside him against the kitchen counter.

"That’s what I want to find out," Brian said, turning away, and sliding his pack of cigarettes in his back pocket.

"Why?"

Brian shrugged, walking to the door, hoping that indifference would shut Holly up.

"Are you in love with him?"

The forbidden word! Laughing, he turned back, crossing his index fingers. "Retreat, evil temptress! Never dare to use the "L" word!"

Not taking him seriously him for a second, Holly laughed as well. Then she threw him another Flake that Brian caught swiftly, despite his surprise.

"Chocolate is the only sure weapon against the painful powers of "L" words." She explained.

Brian rolled his eyes, but he kept the Flake anyway, stuffing it in the pocket of his black leather jacket he took from a hook before leaving the flat.

*

It was an abandoned house in the between East End and the Docklands, located in a street with other run-down buildings, old factories, or the former homes of dock workers. Most of the windows were broken, and pigeons had left their shit all over the damaged roof and the wooden window frames. A big sign announced the planned renovation of the building, but he couldn’t see any sign for its beginning.

Knowing that the door was locked, Brian chose the most accessible window for climbing in the house. He believed to remember that Jas had used the same, finding a proof for his supposition when landing on the ground. The place at the window and the way to the next door were less dirty than the rest of the room.

Taking a deep breath, Brian followed that way out of the empty flat to the staircase. It was darker than the flat, the lack of light making it almost impossible to follow the traces any further.

"Jas!" Brian called, hoping that Jas was already returned from wherever he had passed the night, but he got no answer. Sighing he climbed to the next floor, stair after stair creaking beneath his feet.

Though he didn’t search systematically, Brian discovered the place faster than he had expected, right in the first floor. The window in the room was one of the few unbroken ones, giving access to the friendly light of this late summer morning, while offering a miserable picture: A mattress was laying on the bare floor. A sleeping bag on the mattress, a big old suitcase and an open cardboard box with books and stuff completed the furnishings. In the vain attempt to turn the place into a home, three of the walls had been bleached, the buckets with white colour and brushes stood in attention for the finish. The smell of painting mixed with the musty breath of the house.

It was pitiful, though Brian felt rather angry than sympathetic. Sure, he was not the right person to blame someone for being too proud, but pride should have limits, and one of them was survival instinct.

At the discovery of the book, stuffed between between sleeping bag and mattress, however, his anger turned into affection. The Tales and Myths from Vietnam recalled the vivid picture of Jas grinning with sympathy at the annoying ritual explanation: "Sorry, it's Vietnam not China.", before, he'd shrugged the problem away. The book looked freshly bought, or stolen. Contrary to the books in the cardboard box, consisting of three classics, Peter Pan, The Hobbit, and Dracula, four small books with poetry and some antiquarian books about witchcraft, magic, astrology, and mythology, all of them manifesting traces of age.

Setting down on the mattress, Brian took Peter Pan. He had to, as if his hands was drawn towards it by an invisible tie. During their first night, Jas had told him about his visit of the Kensington Garden, right after his arrival in London, just because of the book. And it appeared the most used, almost loved to death, a few pages were loosened.

Feeling a chill running down his back, his heart beating faster, Brian remembered Jas' face, strangely pale in the night, the eyes like little stars, and his spooky, melodious voice. Passing that night on a cemetery, the silence of the stones such an odd contrast to the noise of the previous concert, was less strange than listening to that voice and looking in that face. After so many times of lust at the first sight, he'd fallen in love, because of a night without any sex at all. And he had fallen hard.

Brian started laughed, because sitting in an empty house that smellt old and rotten, with hot cheeks and sweaty hands, thinking about evil "L" words, was incredibly amusing. Nothing could be absurder. Shaking his head, he opened the book. For Jasper’s tenth birthday, with love, Mum and Dad, he read on the first page.

His own parents used to write dedications in the books they gave him for presents, as well, however, their comments had always been way more "educational". This dedication looked as if the writer had heard of the concept, but wasn’t familiar with it.

It’s the love that counts, not the perfection, Brian thought smiling and started to read.

After the first pages, he stretched out on the mattress for finding a more comfortable position, sleepiness returning on sneaky ways.

Right in the middle of the third chapter, his eyes fell shut.

*

He woke up in a girl’s bed, all pink and silky, with legions of teddy bears and puppets crowded around him. He knew that he was way too old for sleeping with puppets and teddy bears, but they always stuffed them in the bed with him. They? He couldn’t remember who they were, but their insistence to put him in this girly bed with all this stuff was always unbeatable. With increasing horror, he realised that he even wore a frilly, pink nightshirt.

Fortunately, he found easy distraction in the cause for his awakening: The sound of a guitar. Sitting up, he discovered a young man at the foot end of his bed. Light brown hair fell sloppily into his forehead, decorated with a strange garland of skeleton leaves. It was him who was playing the guitar, the tune clearly recognisable as the intro of Boys Don’t Cry. Complete with drums and basses, although the source of these sounds remained a mystery for Brian.

In contradiction to the song, tears filled the grey eyes of the strange guest, dripping down his cheeks, and his lips trembled. They were a little bit pouty, soft, the shade reminding of a rare sort of corals. Kissable. Very so. His face was kissable, too, beautiful, in a "starving poet" way. He wore no clothes, the guitar was the only pretence of a cover for his slender, nicely shaped body.

Becoming aware of his nakedness fused in Brian’s mind with the realisation of a faint twitching between his own legs. A strange thing to happen when one was clad in a pink, frilly nightshirt. At the same time he wondered why the stranger was distressed.

"Why are you crying?" Brian asked.

The visitor stopped playing, looking at him, startled, as if waking up from a dream.

"I've lost my charm." He confessed, his working class accent a strange contradiction to his gentle voice and appearance.

"What charm?" Brian wanted to know. The stranger was incredibly charming. So what was the problem?

"The charm that makes me fly." The stranger replied.

"What does it look like?" Brian queried with growing surprise and curiosity.

"It’s brown and sweet."

Brian frowned his forehead. He had never heard of such a charm, though it sounded attractive.

"Where did you lose your charm?" He asked.

"Somewhere in that room." The stranger said.

Brian looked around. He discovered nothing unfamiliar between his toys, and playthings, all of them pink and frilly like the bed, but not all of them suitable for children’s games. Finally, his gaze fell on a bowl with sweets, standing on the bedside table. It contained several brown and sweet things.

"Is it one of these things?" He asked, holding the bowl towards the stranger.

Those eyes lit up in happiness. "Oh, you have found it." He said, and took the yellow bar with blue letters, laying between the other sweets.

Who would have thought that Cadbury’s Flakes made people fly?, Brian thought very amused, but his amusement changed quickly into another flash of excitement, when the stranger unwrapped the chocolate.

Was slow and devoted nibbling the only right way to consume a charm?

Obviously. Observing wide eyed, how the charm disappeared in the mouth of the stranger, in sucking motion, involving licking lips and blissfully shut eyes, Brian swallowed, hungrily. For the taste of the charm and for the kissable mouths filled with chocolate.

Slowly, Brian pushed away the blanket, crawling up to the visitor. He gasped, almost moaning, when he sensed the fabric of the ridiculous nightshirt brushing against his strained hardness, sensitive with all the blood filling it. But he continued the way without giving in to the temptation of fast pleasure.

He found the other’s lips at the same moment as the last bits of chocolate melted in that lovely mouth. The sweetness mixed with a faint salty trace of the previously shed tears. The taste was delicious. With growing appetite, Brian cupped the face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss, his tongue searching hungrily for more chocolate and the other tongue.

The power of the charm came to life with this prolonged kiss. The room and the bed, the silly nightshirt and even the guitar vanished, while they flied. There was no up, or down, no heaven or earth. Just the both of them, locked in the kiss that would never end, because breathing was unnecessary. Heated skin met his own, hands caressed his body, like he explored the other, and they rubbed their hard flesh against each other with increasing speed.

All in a while, the other broke the kiss, and his lips wandered along Brian’s jaw and neck. Too gently at first, but soon Brian felt the grazing of teeth. The anticipation drew whimpers from his throat, his sex ached for release.

The pain that followed bore no teasing, however; the bite was meant to take his life’s blood. Struck by panic, Brian tried to free himself ...

*

His hand connected with real flesh, and for a second, he was really frightened, his heart beat loud in his ears. But a very familiar scent and touch quickly turned his panic into pleasure; without thinking he arched his back to increase that pleasure.

Despite blood rushing in his ears, frantic heart beats and his own harsh breathes, Brian could hear a soft curse. The hand, busy with stroking his cock through his black jeans, came to halt, and he whimpered protest.

"You’ve hit me." Jas said, accusingly, his face appearing in Brian’s field of vision. The lovely face from the dream framed by the same brown hair with the same grey eyes, only rimmed by dark eyeliner, the same nice cheekbones, and the aquiline nose, only a bit too big for his features. His lips were bleeding a little, though, and the offended sound of his voice helped to cool down Brian’s sex drive.

"Sorry, mate!" He said, raising one shaky hand to touch the hurt mouth. "Kissing the neck was overkill."

Jas laughed. The fingers of his free hand slowly traced Brian’s ear. "My first idea was blowing you, but I wanted to see your face, and you always become very – " He pursed his lips. "mm, high-strung, when I do the neck thing to you. But this is one more proof that I should always follow the first impulse."

Brian grinned, his cock twitching approvingly. "You can blow me anytime later." He said, groaning at the squeezing, answering his comment. We have to talk, he wanted to add, when Jas took advantage of his parted lips, and kissed him. Like a wild little animal, eager to perform the task perfectly, the tongue duelled with Brian's who welcomed the invador with the same enthusiasm. When the tip of his own tongue touched Jas' lip, he tasted a hint of blood, metallic and salty, exciting. With a hungry growl, deep in his throat, he buried his right hand in the smooth hair. Who was he to panic about vampires in a dream with such a kink in reality?

Although heady with excitement, Brian managed to move the dangerous hand away from his aching crotch. He preferred it pushing up his T-shirt, roaming over his stomach, following the intertwines tendrils of the tribal motive, tattooed in the skin beneath his navel, while he slid one leg between Jas’ thighs. He brushed it insistently against the impressive bulge he found, his hands fighting against the clothes separating him from naked skin.

Why for fuck’s sake did Jas wear that bloody coat in Summer? Damn his weird sense of fashion!

Brian's struggle grew more desperate, when they broke the kiss, breathlessly. Like in the dream, he felt the hungry mouth wandering, aiming for his throat. Both of Jas hands caressed his chest and stomach now, pinching his nipples not quite gently. He bit his lips, because of the shock it send to his groin.

It was not fair, him being half undone without any real chance to get Jas’ clothes off. To shift the balance to his advantage, Brian gripped Jas hair with both of his hands, jerking his head up. This time, he kissed him hard, tasting blood again, his tongue invading as much of the wet, soft heat as it could reach. Hunger pounded through his body, centred in the throbbing ache between his legs, pressed almost painfully against its constriction.

And still, a part of his sex crazed mind kept track of the plan, knowing that another round of blind passion instead of setting things clear would only defer a problem that needed to be resolved. The wish to have a future with more of that sex that tasted like chocolate melting in coffee was only one reason, though, actually, the most urgent.

Once more, he broke the kiss, cupping Jas’ face. Shivering and out of breath, he stared in his eyes, vivid like grey clouds blown by a storm, but also gentle. This softness and odd, childlike innocence always surprised him, their owner being very capable of heartless manipulation and cruelty in spite of this look. But, since the first exchanged look, Brian had seen that hunger for love, the need to feel loved, above all the other things.

It demanded more than a bar of Cadbury’s Flake.

"With you, it’s always a power game." Jas let out with a whispering voice, as if he feared to disturb the magic of the moment. "It’s really addictive."

"Get out of these clothes!", Brian commanded, smiling.

Jas laughed, raising from the mattress. In spite of his own suggestion, Brian fought back a sigh at the sudden loss of his weight and touch at the right places. Then he set up himself, groaning because of the pressure, getting ride of his shoes. When he took off his jacket, his gaze fell on the book, pushed at the head end of the mattress. Without even thinking, he stretched out his arm to reach for it and put it back in the cardboard box, right at its place between The Hobbit and An Anthology of British Poetry. Looking up, he realised that Jas was staring at it, the coat hanging over his elbow like a black, shot animal.

"What’s up?" Brian asked.

"Nothing," came the easily voiced lie, and avoiding his eyes, Jas laid the coat over the suitcase. The rest of his clothes, swiftly removed, joined it, and when Jas turned back, he flashed Brian a cocky, sexy smile. "Still dressed, luv? Where is your enthusiasm?" His cock, a true masterpiece, long, in perfect proportion to his slender limbs and tall body, appeared as enthusiastic as his voice.

Brushing Brian with his whole body, he climbed behind him on the mattress. He tossed the jacket to the head end of the mattress, while Brian took off his T-shirt. Wincing, because the new tattoo circling his right upper arm still hurt, when he made abrupt moves. The T-shirt was taken from his hands, following the way of his jacket; Brian barely noticed. He gasped at the feeling of nails slowly grazing along the inside of the same right arm. The kiss pressed on the shoulder connected to this arm was gentle, like the second hand caressing his left shoulder.

"It’s weird, but I never grow tired touching you. You are beautiful, you should know that." Jas whispered, seductive and shyly, all the same.

Brian smiled. People had called him a lot of things, the nicest compliment still being "his pretty smile", but certainly never beautiful. He had never considered himself as such, confident that he had enough other qualities to attract people. Jas was different, his fascination with Brian’s body and skin was honest and incredibly flattering. And he loved the tattoos, six tattoos, abstract ornaments, adorning the underarms, the belly, the small of his back, his left ankle and, most recently, his right upper arm.

Still smiling, Brian reached for the hand lingering on his underarm, squeezing it. When he turned to look back, Jas let him go, stretching himself out in a lazy, sensual manner, arms crossed behind his head. The dangerous, vulnerable position, although Jas wouldn’t see it that way before it was too late, suited perfectly to Brian’s plan.

Straddling Jas’ waist, and pinning his wrists in the mattress, he settled down on the quivering stomach, carefully avoiding the more dangerous areas. He used his advantage for stealing a rather playful kiss, before pulling back.

"And now, we will finish the conversation we had a few hours before." He said calmly, provoking a laughter of disbelief.

"You are kidding. You’ve almost creamed your jeans, and now you want to talk shit. Again." Jas said, still chuckling.

"Exactly. And if you piss me off like last night, I will take my T-shirt and my jacket, and I will leave you alone, all horny and needy as you are, in this rat hole of yours. And that will be the end of it, but this time you will know better what you lose."

The laughter subsided, replaced by slight shock and a hint of pouting. "We'd come to a conclusion last night. You were behaving like a jealous arshole, and I don't like this."

"I’m not jealous." Brian replied, angrily, because Jas tried to play the jealousy card like last night.

And he wanted to make a joke of it. "Me seems the lady denieth too much."

"Don’t spit fucking citations at me." Brian snapped. "I’m not jealous, but you can’t expect me to like the idea that you let yourself fuck by other blokes to steal their money, after you have done the same to me. You can’t expect me to like the idea that you fool yourself in pretending that’s not prostitution, just because the blokes don’t give you the money on their own will. We have discussed this bullshit already, maybe you remember." His voice grew very harsh at the end, voicing the monologue, he was denied last night. His grip around Jas wrists tightened. "I have all reason to be angry, because you lied to me. You told me you would stop doing this idiocy, you told me you had found a real job. What is the worth in risking your life with this shit? One day, you might end up with a knife in your body. I would almost have beaten you when you came back with my guitar, and I'm not a violent person. But who knows what someone else might do?"

Jas had closed his eyes, as if seeing nothing would make him deaf as well. He bit his lips, a stubborn expression laying on his face.

Brian let go his wrists, curling his fingers around his cheeks.

"Look at me!" He commanded, not as angry as before, but still irritated. "Look at me, and tell me why do you do this when you have a job! And don’t even try it to make me believe it’s about sexual liberty."

"I lost the job," Jas admitted, finally opening his eyes.

"Oh, that’s bad." Brian let out. Jas had sounded very glad two weeks before, when he had told him about this job in a restaurant, because he was familiar with cooking and preparing food. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Jas didn’t answer immediately, instead his now free hands reached for Brian’s hands. Drawing them away from his face, he stroked them gently, intertwining his fingers with Brian’s.

Brian sensed a soft fluttering in his stomach, awakened by these touches. Anger and irritation turned slowly into a faint echo of the former desire.

"I didn’t want to tell you the reason, because I was afraid you would laugh at me." Jas said, finally, and Brian blinked, surprised. "I never know how you react at something weird, you can be pretty evil."

Brian wanted to open his mouth in protest, but he didn’t voice it. Why denying the simple truth? He had a sharp tongue, and he wasn’t the most diplomatic person.

"Why don’t you try it out?" He suggested, instead. "Put some trust in my sensibility!" His lips twitched in an attempt of a ironic grin.

Unfortunately, irony and dry remarks were lost at Jas, least for the moment.

"I met the devil," He said, dead serious. "Yes, you’ve heard right. He came to that restaurant. I know how it looks like, because I have already met him twice. He is after me for years, he wants to turn me into one of his creatures. Or kill me if he doesn't succeed. But he came to the restaurant, and took the body of one of the guests. This time, I tried to fight him, but they send me away. He was just drunk, they said, stupid, ignorant fools. I knew the truth."

With an haunted expression, his eyes looked at Brian, waiting for a reaction. The grasp of his hands hurt, the fingers digging into the flesh of Brian’s hands, but that didn’t matter, because Brian hadn’t been too gentle with his wrists either. And he needed to give Jas the credit for his estimation. These words, if voiced during one of their arguments, might have been perfect fodder for merciless teasing. But, here, in the abandoned house, in a dusty and shabby room with just a mattress and some stuff, they had power. Brian felt a chill running down his naked back.

"How can you be sure?" He asked. "That it was the devil, I mean."

"I told you, I have seen it twice," Jas almost sobbed. "The other times, it had been my father. Once when I was twelve, he beat me up, because I refused to buy him some beer, or whiskey, or whatever he’d wanted that day. I think he wasn’t yet completely evil that day, because he drove me to the hospital, and he even wanted reporting himself to the police. It never happened again, he only became gloomier and more obsessed with his demons. If I had known how to fight theses demons, maybe I could have saved him, but they are almost as dangerous as the devil himself. And they can kill one's soul." Though Jas managed to control his voice, he took a deep, unsteady breath now. "Last year, when my parents learned that I was gay, the devil came back. That time, he just wanted to kill me, I could see it in his eyes, but mum held him back. That's why I had time for packing and leaving." He bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut, but the tears ran down his cheeks nonetheless.

Brian swallowed. He had always thought that Jas had left Manchester because of trouble with his parents, but never this. Although he didn’t understand everything Jas said, it was enough for him to picture the situation. Feeling a strange burning in his own eyes, he bend forward and gently kissed the tears away.

"I’m sorry. You don’t have speak about it, if you don’t feel like it. Take your time with this." He said, softly. "The only thing I ask you is to tell me when you have problems. We can search for a solution together."

"But you don’t have money either." Jas replied with a childish voice.

"Sure, but I know lots of people who might know other people. Just trust me!"

"Yes," Jas whispered. Letting go Brian’s hands, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Brian felt him shiver, from cold not from desire. "I should have known better than lie to you. You are The Companion, after all."

Brian swallowed again. As always when Jas mentioned what he called The Destiny, something his card had foreseen the day of their first meeting. These words inspired him the wish to protest, to run away, because it felt like a pressure, but he couldn’t deny the intensity of his attraction to that weird, young man from Manchester who spoke with ghosts, and believed in reincarnation. Both, ghosts and reincarnation, were familiar concepts for him as well, normality for his family, but the idea of destiny frightened him a little bit. Though he would rather die than admit his unease, mastering it was a challenge, and of all things in world, he loved challenges most. The actual challenge, however, consisted in fighting the shivering of the body beneath himself.

Remembering the remedy against distress from the dream, he felt a smile creeping over his face. Who knew if Cadbury’s Flakes weren’t charms in reality, too? Satisfied with his idea, Brian raised his upper body. Crawling a bit forward, he reached for his jacket. When he pulled the Flake from the pocket, however, he realised that his actual position distracted Jas already in the best or worst way.

The hands on Brian’s still jeans clad hips, he started kissing and nibbling his stomach. Not the most dangerous region, just equivalent to the first little sparks when one tried to light a fire just with flint stone and tinder, but anticipation of what would follow made Brian’s arms quiver when he steadied himself, the right hand clenched around the Flake. He licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry, when Jas’ hands slid from hips to buttocks, indulging a little massage and slowly pushing Brian forward.

Brian was already panting, long before teasing tongue and lips reached the seam of his jeans. At the feeling of wet heat, soaking the tightest part, his arms grew mellow, and he moaned throatily. Cursing himself for the oh so smart idea to keep his jeans on, Brian leant his forehead on his arms. Helpless, wanting this to stop because he could foresee a near disaster, ruining his jeans in one or two minutes, not wanting it to stop, because it felt so damned good, as good as this kind of torture could feel. His brain, flooded with endorphins, was unable to come to any conclusion at the sensation of that mouth finding the most sensitive parts even through the fabric of his jeans, fingers digging from behind in the inside of his thighs.

The sound Brian let out when Jas made the decision for him, meant protest or relief, he wasn’t sure. But the very near disaster was prevented for the moment. His eyes fluttered open, and, panting, he tried to focus on Jas who craned his neck to look back at him, a heartfelt grin on his face.

"We can do it now, can we?" Jas asked with a strange childish, almost pouting expression. "We are done with discussing, I suppose."

Brian would have laughed, if laughing hadn’t asked too much breath. "Why do you ask?" He let out with a rough voice, still not able to give up his position, for fear any movement might cause the now soaked jeans to brush against his painfully throbbing erection.

"You have cried: ‘Stop it, stop it!’." Jas replied.

"No," Brian protested, he hadn’t realised he had grown noisy.

"Sure," Jas grinned, giving up the uncomfortable position of his head.

Without too much provocation, he undid Brian’s belt, opened the jeans, and shoved it down to his thighs with minor difficulties. Brian gasped, at the sensation of air so much cooler than his naked skin. He pushed himself up on his arms, then stared with disbelief at the Flake, he was still holding in his hand, temporarily distracted. With a faint chuckling, he realised that the chocolate was broken inside its wrapping. However, Jas forced his attention back to him with vengeance because his hands wandered down to Brian’s arse again, trying to bring him in the previous position. For a very fast ending, as Brian feared.

"Wait!" He pleaded, before Jas breath could even come in closer contact with his cock, sure that once he let him start, all resistance was futile. Almost franticly, he reached behind with his free hand, catching Jas’ wrist. His surprise gave Brian enough time for crawling backwards, until he was straddling Jas hips again, shaking off the annoying jeans by this way. "I have a better idea." he said, huskily, gasping when Jas rocked his hips, voluntarily grinding their erections together.

"It better has to be a good one." Jas said, somewhat disappointed, losing his patience. "I just wanted to stick to my promise and blow you." But when broken pieces of chocolate trickled on his chest, he chuckled. He picked up one of the bigger crumbs, moving it to his mouth. "Come and get it!" He asked, putting it on his tongue.

Exactly like in the dream, Brian could feel it melting when he came down for a kiss. Jas and chocolate. He had known how great this would taste, searching confirmation of his dreams with more pieces of chocolate, using every kiss of excessive plundering, savouring the variety of textures he found. Though, in addition, it was so much better sensing the real Jas beneath him, breathing hard, thrashing and moaning, when Brian touched all the special places on his skin, connected with his groin. Only tracing the same places with melting pieces of chocolate could beat this sensation, and hungrily, almost dizzy from arousal, Brian sacrificed all lasting pieces of the Flake for repainting fair skin with delicious sweetness.

Skin became sticky with sweat and chocolate, because of the growing heat in the room and the fire building between them. For seconds, stroking Jas’ cock, fighting with his own control, Brian considered asking for some lubricant and condoms. But when Jas spread his legs, raising his hips for decreasing their high difference, his hands clasping Brian’s buttocks desperately, that idea became immaterial. Too much effort for too much arousal. Licking the rest of chocolate from Jas’ chest, Brian settled himself in between. Gripping Jas' shoulders with both of his hands, he brought their hips together with urgency.

"Yes," Jas whimpered, seeking for closer contact and more grinding with the same need Brian felt. "Yes, my love." Whatever he wanted to utter furthermore, Brian swallowed with a brief, hard kiss, still tasting chocolate.

A familiar sensation trailed down his spine, making him shiver, and his moves grew more frantic. Before it could take away the last brink of control, Brian reached down with one hand, between their rubbing cocks and further. Finding the searched spot, he pressed his knuckles against it, not even too hard. The scream Jas let out, and the hard shudder tightening his body were almost lost to Brian, when a hot rush washed over him, his heartbeat racing, his body shaking, wetness sticking his hand.

This time he knew he had been loud, and the sound of his own raw voice still echoed in his ears, when the only other noise was their panting.

"Do you know what’s the problem with your rat hole?" He broke the silence, when his breathe grew steadier, the realisation of the pitiful place returning to him. "No, damned shower."

Jas chuckled. With a gentle push, he nudged Brian to raise from his chest, and Brian rolled away from him, on his back. He felt something strange beneath himself, and shifting his position, he found the ripped wrapping of the flake. Smiling, he slowly crumpled it up. Jas had opened his suitcase, taking out a pack of cleaning tissues.

"Where do you wash or shower, anyway? Least you never look like someone living in a rat hole." Brian wanted to know, observing how Jas wiped off traces chocolate and semen, then cleaned mattress and sleeping bag as carefully as possible.

"Swimming-baths, sauna, or the flats of you know who." He said, casually.

The blokes he had slept with, added Brian, silently, taking the tissues Jas handed him for cleaning himself. In spite of his honest belief that jealousy was for weaklings, he hated the thought, but the idea of another discussion appalled him. Now, in the aftermath, more aware of the summer heat in the dusty room, he felt very tired. Twenty-four hours without sleep, most of them passed with work, horny or angry, demanded their tribute. Stretching himself out on his side, he closed his eyes. His right arm hurt a bit, but he ignored the faint sting. He would have loved a smoke, but Jas hated it, and Brian was too tired for that kind of discussion, as well.

Right at the edge of sleep, he sensed Jas laying down beside him, then gentle fingers playing with his hair, brushing away some strands that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

"Brian?" Jas asked, pleadingly.

Brian felt his lips twitch. Oh, yes, he forgot some important thing. That bloke was a sucker for aftermath cuddling and talking, whenever they had done it in a bed. Brian smiled, then he remembered Jas’ short insight in his family life, chilling. There was always a reason for everything.

"What?" He said, opening his eyes, wiggling closer.

"How did you find this place?" Jas asked.

"Shouldn’t that have been your first question?" Brian grinned at his own words.

"I had other things in mind." Jas said with charming nonchalance, bend over and kissed his shoulder.

"Ha, ha! Obviously." Brian replied, yawning. "Just coincidence. Last week, the band and me, we passed that street when we were in the Docklands, for looking for a new room for rehearsals. I saw you from the car, just when you climbed in the house." He yawned again, lazily, speaking and thinking asked definitively too much brain. "I hadn’t planned to sneak after you, I rather wanted to corner you in a discussion until you tell me why you live here."

Jas chewed his lips, puffed from kisses, he avoided Brian’s eyes. "I’m sorry." He said. "For last night, and for not trusting you. I hope I could make it better."

Brian laughed. "Sure." He laid one arm over Jas’ shoulder, padding it. "But when I’m finished with my nap, we will take your stuff and move it over to my flat. I think I can live with sharing my room for a while, until we find some real place for you to stay." Jas didn’t answer, surprise in his eyes. "It doesn’t mean that we will live together. I’m not into living as a couple."

Brian closed his eyes, once more drifting towards Morpheus’ arms.

"But that girl, she hates me." Jas held him back a second time.

Brian sighed. "She doesn’t even know you enough to hate you. Maybe, her opinion is a bit biased. It’s your mission to show her your better sides." He padded Jas’ shoulder again. "By the way, the chocolate was from her."

Jas chuckled. "Then I should be more grateful. I don’t need chocolate for having good sex with you, but it is an additional charm."

Despite his tiredness, Brian rolled on his back, laughing, until his stomach hurt.

© Chanadé Scriva 2004