by Katherine
Blue Moon.
Elvis sang about it, a rare occurrence in which the moon waxes to it's full girth twice within a
given month. It's exquisitely rare, spectacularly beautiful, and I'm here, witnessing on this cold
winter's night.
We're walking outside through some random park, breathing in the frigid air and watching it
come out a frozen, phantasmal smoke. Come on Paul, he'd said, when's the last time you took a walk?
Enjoyed the fresh air? Looked at the moon, for Christ's sake? So I acquiesced, left the warmth
of the tour bus to shiver in the moonlight among pine, maple, and oak. After all, this was Carlos
talking, the haughty, imperious man who hardly looked as if he stepped away from the mirror, much
less outdoors.
And yet here we are, walking in silence. I glance over at him every few minutes, to marvel at
the light across his pale, pale skin, paler than the moonlight, a ghostly shade. Hair the color of ravens
wings, a harkening back to his more Gothic past, throws him into stark relief.
It's breath-takingly beautiful.
He stops at a clearing in the wood, tilting his head up to that ever-present light. There's
something so primordial, about it, so primal, I almost expect him to howl. But he just stands
there, hands in his pockets, silent save for the breath that echoes in the quiet stillness of the
woods.
Finally he turns towards me, eyes glittering in the back-lit gloom. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I
love the auspicious nature of it, it's so…" he trails off, though his eyes, black coals that they are, never
leave me.
It's so like him, the way he slinks up towards me, a great, smooth cat wreathed in darkness,
almost seeming to tower over me in those enormous leather creepers. It's so like him, the way he turns
my face up with those strong hands and hungrily presses his lips into mine.
Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. I'm saturated with him, his mouth, his hands roaming over my body,
over the cumbersome fabric of my jacket, his tongue skimming across my teeth. Cold as it is out here,
outside, I can feel his hardness pressed up against my leg and it makes me moan for wont of it. The
moonlight glints off our wet lips as he pulls away momentarily to regard me and, after a brief hush, he
speaks, his voice husky and low, oozing sensuality.
"I want you, Paul, out here, among your element. The still quiet of the trees and the pale light
the color of your eyes. The stoicism of it all, I want to fuck you until the woods echo with it."
There's no need for words here, his eloquence in speech has stolen mine away as I grab the
bulge in those tight black jeans and pull him against me in a bruising kiss. My renown stoicism, it
seems, is failing.
And it continues to do thus as he backs me off the trail, boots crunching on snow freshly
fallen, until I'm up against a tree, pine. Christmas, it appears, does come more than once a year after all
as his hands crawl up my shirt, up underneath my clothes, so cold they make me yelp into his mouth as
they smooth over my chest. The low chuckle deep in the back of his throat is my response as I dig my
hands into his buttocks, moaning as he worries a nipple between calloused thumb and forefinger.
I'm almost painfully erect at this point, pressing into his hip like the banana that's all too
happy to see him. "Carlos," it comes out a whimper, lust changing and molding my vocal chords to it's
own whims, much as the aforementioned is to my lower lip with his teeth. "Please."
His hands leave my chest, travel lower on their accorded path. "You want it badly, don't
you?" he murmurs, meeting my gaze steadily unwavering. "You beautiful, beautiful boy."
I'm a slave to the heat coursing through my blood, I nod, careful not to voice my thoughts
aloud for fear of the sounds I might make. Apparently this is not enough for Carlos, who begins to
stroke me through the cloth fabric of my pants. "Ask and 'ye shall receive, Paul. Let me know how
much you want this and I'll gladly give it to you." His voice is a purr and I'm drunk with all of
this.
"Carlos, please, please fuck me, I- oh god," he's unzipping my fly, reaching through
the cruel metal teeth and into the soft cloth of my boxer shorts. "I need it so badly." His lips, teeth are
at my pulse, his hand tugging at my dick. "Oh Carlos, babe-"
I'm rendered speechless by these sweet tortures and he revels in it, pressing hot kisses along
my neck, my jaw-line, my swollen lips. His hand breaks away from its jerking motion and I'm left
stranded for a moment as I hear his belt buckle clink undone. I follow suit; it's a race to see
who can drop trou first and so far Carlos is winning, though I'm not one to be so easily bested. Falling
to my knees in the cold, powdery snow I take him into my mouth and grin despite myself at the gasp
that follows. A firm hand grasps the back of my neck, the other twining through my hair as he guides
me up and down his rigid dick.
His breaths are becoming shallower, shorter by the second as I pull him towards me, one
hand on each of those perfect ass cheeks as he begins to gently, restrainedly, thrust back into my eager
maw. After another moment he takes his hands away, carefully detaches me and raises me up to my
full height again, kissing me back into the tree with such force I should think to bruise from it. "Turn
around," his voice, a growl, compels me.
I do as thusly commanded, shivering slightly in the chill night air, catching the shimmering
moonlight atop the snowfall around us. It's a sight so beautiful it's bound to choke you wit emotion.
Oddly enough, the only thing I'm choked with is my own arousal. I'm fairly close to tears with my
utter need to be ravaged by the man at my back. He knows it too, that gorgeous, smarmy bastard. He's
chuckling again, holding me fast by my bared hip, keeping me from wiggling back onto that heated
piece of flesh.
“A moment, my sweet,” his tongue traces the conch of my ear, hands reaching for a tube
hidden inside his coat pocket. I can hear the wet noise as his slicks it over his cock. I glance
back over my shoulder, hands firmly gripping the tree bark before me, glance back at that glistening
member and up into those smoldering eyes and I know I’m lost.
He grins, teeth flashing in the moonlight before abruptly entering me, a swift, powerful thrust
that makes my eyes roll back into my head and the air echo with a cry that can only be my own.
There’s pain in that wordless howl, but also a vast amount of pleasure. Carlos knows, the trees echoing
me know, as the former continues in his ministrations.
The thrusts are long, slow, at first, leaving me begging for more as soon as he recedes. They
quicken, though, as is deliciously inevitable, and I can’t stop the babbling and the moans that flow
forth like water from my mouth, resounding in the clearing. It’s so good, I tell him, so good I can
barely stand it. In response he moans with me and wraps a hand around my cock, jacking me off in
time with his almost brutal thrusting.
And through it all, through the haze in my brain and the rising arc of pleasure building in my
belly, I can recall something he’d said once, about his limitless Hedonism, “…fucking each other
in the woods…”
“Carlos, oh god,- oh yes, Carlos!” We’re gods out here, fucking in the woods, and I can hear
him panting, feel his breath on the back of my neck above the collar of my coat. I can tell he’s close,
his moans, his little gasps of pleasure are gaining in speed with his motions and it feels so good,
feels so good, feels so-
I’m thrown over the edge by his hand around my dick, by him pushing himself repeatedly
into my body and I can feel him arch up against me, pouring himself inside me much as I poured
myself into his hand. The moonlight pours over us, glittering off our sweat and sperm, off the snow
around us.
Once in a Blue Moon.
We disassemble, carefully pulling apart, a broken, yet highly satisfied, machine. There’s
snow in my trousers and I, rather than becoming annoyed, relish against the feeling of the coolness
upon my skin.
We make our way back toward the bus, silent. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Carlos
straightening his hair, almost unconsciously, pulling the loose strands back into place. I run a hand
through my own, conscious of my action, the feel of the messy locks sliding through my fingers. A
Blue Moon should come more often, a quiet, private thought; the bus is in view and already we
formulate into a more calculated, “normal” distance. I bite down on the melancholy rising in my throat
as I catch his eyes one last time.
Moonlight dances off the icy pavement and we enter in alone.