Sunday, 21 March 2010

Slow Crash

I shifted around on the lumpy sofa for the hundredth time, desperately hoping I'd find the magic position to finally get some sleep. My knees were pulled up high so I didn't kick my friend slouched on the other end, and there were snoring and shuffling people draped around any chairs or cushions in the rest of the room. I could feel a hangover starting to take root, and sighed heavily, wondering how long it was until the first bus.

Someone quietly opened the door and walked through to the kitchen. I opened my eyes a crack to see who it was, and felt a slight buzz of excitement when I recognised the cute guy I'd been chatting to earlier. I racked my brain to check if I'd made a complete arse of myself, or if I could get away with joining him for a cuppa. We'd ended up sitting next to each other in the slow crash of the party; polite exchanges about our shared seminar class had led into more friendly discussions about mutual friends, local bands, and the strangely intimate mocking of each others' taste in books, films, and music that was only possible when you recognised common ground. It seemed safe enough, so I got up carefully, and picked my way through the debris.

He looked up as I came in and gave a flicker of a smile, too brief for me to read.

I tried to say "Hi," but all that came out was a kind of cough. I swore inwardly and got myself some water.

The kettle had just boiled and I wondered if it was OK to ask where the mugs were. I assumed he lived there as he'd come from one of the bedrooms, but of course he might have got off with one of the housemates after I'd crashed out. He interrupted my thoughts by asking if I wanted some Camomile Tea. I nodded cautiously and asked, "Have you got any pills? My head's killing me."

He opened a cupboard. "I think they've been in demand, there's only these left." He handed me some strong tablets for tension headaches. I shrugged and swallowed them. They'd either kill the pain or knock me out, either of which would be fine by me.

I watched him as he made the tea, it might have been the lack of sleep, but I was fascinated by the way he moved, even doing something as simple as this. My eyes followed his hands as they shifted things around, put things in the right place, calm and in control. He opened a jar of honey, dipped a spoon in, swirled it in his mug then lifted it, licking off the excess. My gaze stuck helplessly to his mouth as the everyday became suddenly charged and sensual.

He noticed me staring and stopped, slightly embarrassed. "Want some?" He asked.

I nodded without thinking. He repeated the sequence for my mug, and then to my surprise ended at my lips. They parted treacherously, and I let the warm, sweet liquid drip down my throat, hungrily caressing the metal with my tongue as he pulled it away. He studied the process with scientific interest, then silently searched in my eyes a little longer than I could bear.

To break the tension I grabbed my tea, but was too hasty, and it spilt over my hand. I swore, but before I knew it, my wrist had been grabbed and cold water was rushing over the scald. Instinctively I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. "No. Leave it to go numb," he instructed firmly. My arm went limp; it was as if the tap was washing my willpower down the drain. I watched the plughole swirl and the white noise of the flow filled my head.

Eventually I realised my hand had been placed back at my side and I shook myself mentally. There was something wrong about this, something dangerous. I was letting myself get too interested too quickly. I should thank him for the drink, go back to the sofa and stop being such a sucker.

He moved towards the door. "Do you want to come upstairs? I'll educate you with some decent music..."

"Sure," I replied without hesitating. I never did have much self-control. I grabbed my bag on the way back through the living room, glad that my friend had stretched out on the sofa in my absence. She'd probably figure out what had happened.

His room was dimly lit and I could see that it was starting to get light outside. There weren't any chairs, so I perched primly on the edge of the bed. He flicked through his records, but then seemed to reconsider and put on a CD. Some kind of Post-Rock by the sound of it: instrumental and clever, but suitably soothing for this time of night.

The headache was going, but my shoulders were aching from earlier, so I rubbed them absently. Before I had time to realise what was going on, he was kneeling behind me and doing a much better job. I groaned at my stupidity, it must have looked like a terrible come-on.

"What is it?" he asked gently, "Should I stop?"

"Oh God, go on, it's amazing." He chuckled, but I didn't care if I looked desperate, his touch was sending all sorts of chemicals to my head. The warmth of his hands dissolved my pains, he seemed to have an easy understanding of how to manipulate my muscles and leave them tingling and relaxed, as if they were on his side not mine. He pinched my neck and I stopped thinking, my body felt loose and limp like a rag doll, and I slumped back, letting him support me.

I felt myself being laid down, and clumsily helped him move me up the bed. He was next to me but at a slight distance, so I rolled onto my side to look at him through half-closed eyelids. "What's up?" I asked softly, worried I'd bored him.

"Nothing," he reached over and stroked my face, "I just thought you might be wanting to go to sleep."

It sounded like the most perfect suggestion in the world, but I shook my head. "I'm fine, I haven't felt this good for ages."

He smiled in the way I was starting to recognize: warm and open but with a hint of something dark under the surface. "Well, that sounds like a challenge."

I opened my mouth to reply, but at this opportunity his thumb slid in, purposefully stilling my tongue and distracting me. He pulled it out after teasing me for a while, and I found myself moving towards him, my mind full of the warm honey he'd fed me earlier.

He held one hand at the base of my spine, the other searched smoothly over my skin for points that made me react. Our eyes were locked together, I felt like he was exploring my mind as well as my body, and I couldn't hide a thing. I was breathing hard, something about his cool, casual detachment made me burn all the more fiercely.

His initial survey over, he placed his fingers lightly behind my neck, thumbs at the base of my skull. I felt a chill, suddenly aware that I didn't know this guy very well, that the gesture could be a precursor to my death rather that my pleasure. He saw the fear in my gaze, and I shivered again when I realised he was pleased.

I started to pull back but he hushed me, "Hey, it's OK, you can trust me."

"You realise that's not very reassuring don't you?"

His eyes flickered with amusement. Still, I felt better, there really was something that made me feel safe with him, even if I was being fooled, I wanted to go along with it.

My head suddenly seemed light, and I felt like I was floating. I wasn't sure how he was doing it, stroking pressure points perhaps, or just releasing knots of tension. In this haze I didn't notice the exact moment our bodies pressed against each other, when our lips met, it had just always been this way.

Something needed to happen, clothes slid off with some grunting and fumbling, as we impatiently tried to connect as much skin as possible. He made use of the map he'd developed earlier to precisely home in on my most responsive areas, but I was too overwhelmed to do much more than grab onto him frantically in return.

The sensations were filling up my brain, pushing out thoughts, and I didn't have any of my usual defences up when his fingers finally slid between my legs. I gasped as the world narrowed to the length of his touch.

"Christ, you're so wet," I could hear the desire he'd been hiding start to break through, and part of me was gratified I wasn't just some kind of experiment to him. I realised the hardness I felt against my leg was his cock, and that my hips had been betraying me for some time by trying to get closer to it.

I started to fumble down the side of the bed, reaching for my bag, but he stopped me, "Shh, I've got it, don't worry." I heard the crackle of a packet, and used the time to catch my breath. I might have been hyperventilating: the tips of my fingers were numb and I felt like I was slightly outside of my body. For some reason the more aroused I got, the more relaxed I felt, a sleepy lethargy making my limbs heavy.

He gently moved me where he wanted me, lifting up my hips and sliding into me slowly but insistently. He was close enough for me to be able see how dilated his pupils were. The dark circles became my whole universe, soft and deep, they gave my mind sanctuary, allowing my body to move to his rhythm without interference. My need was stronger than usual somehow, without me being able to do anything to control the pace.

I moaned, but the sound was suddenly stifled by his hand. It pressed over my mouth carefully, not hurting, but completely taking away my ability to cry out. My eyes widened as his narrowed, he started thrusting brutally, and we both breathed hard in unison, letting the hints of dominance and submission hang in the air.

I felt the fluttering, pulsing sensation build, and I barely heard my muffled grunting any more as deep, primal movements took over. I bit into his hand and he let me, crushing me into the bed as he came as well, a wave of raw connection blazing through us.

I was so spent I couldn't move, but eventually felt him slide away, then return holding a glass of water to my lips. I gulped it gratefully, spilling a little on my chin that he tenderly wiped away. He settled back down next to me, and as we nestled up to each other, I finally felt sleep take over.

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