By Tom
Rain.
Slavering rain, lazy and ropy, like slobber from an old dog’s jowls.
Dark eyes scanned the city. This was all his; from up here he could see it all, and it all
belonged to him. The sky was close enough to touch, the clouds so near that he could gather and sleep
on their silky swirls of grey velvet, so near that he could have pinned the stars to his ceiling. It all
belonged to him. This might only be an apartment, but from here, he could survey his whole kingdom.
His city.
He backed away from the window and lay himself down on the carpet, sighing deeply. The
air coming in through the window was fresh and wet and cool, but not chilly, and he lay with his shirt
half-undone on the carpet, letting the clean crisp air drive the heat from his warm skin, refreshing his
tired body. His hair spread around him like a silky black halo; it was damp from rain and the shower
he had taken an hour ago, lending his hair a slick, however fleeting, wave.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted his quiet moment, but he was not bothered. “Come
in.”
The door clunked open and Paul’s rain-darkened blonde head poked into the room.
“Carlos?”
Carlos’s heart leapt in his chest, caroming off his ribcage like a trapped moth against a
windowsill. No, not now, not here… He couldn’t be alone with Paul. No…
“Here,” He raised a suddenly trembling hand, alarmed that his shirt buttons lay half-undone,
and that he found himself unable to force his clumsied fingers to fasten them. Horrified discomfiture
made its way up his face in the form of a dark flush, and he leapt up onto his feet, his shirt hanging
loosely off his body.
“Take it easy. I just came by to say hello,” Paul mumbled around a cigarette. His eyes
flicked over Carlos’s abruptly shaking form, the sweet blush in his cheeks, the way he walked as
though treading uncertain ground; he looked slightly feverish, almost sick. “…Are you all right,
Carlos?”
“Me? Fine,” Carlos responded a little too quickly. “Just—just fine. You?” He was not
meeting Paul’s eyes, but rather staring at his mouth. Curiosities piqued, Paul grinned and saw the
glow of Carlos’s cheeks brighten. Something twitched at the corner of the bassist’s mouth.
“All right,” Paul said through a thick cloud of smoke. “I just came by to say hi and to check
in, you know.”
“Check in?” Carlos stammered, busying himself in the kitchen with useless tasks; the
washing up had been done earlier—only a handful of silverware remained, and the counters gleamed,
spotlessly clean. He fidgeted awkwardly with the silverware, his back to Paul, and the sound of it
rattling in his shaking, tight grip became quite audible in the quiet apartment.
“Well yeah, you know—” Paul began haltingly, a little unnerved by Carlos’s behaviour.
“Carlos, here, put it down. Let’s go sit.” the blonde pulled the silverware from Carlos’s hands; their
fingers kissed briefly, and Carlos jumped as if burned.
But he did as Paul told him to, and returned to his place on the floor where he had sat before.
It beckoned comfortable and cool, leant against the little throw pillow he had placed underneath his
head. However, he sat rigidly upright now, all his muscles so simultaneously taut and weak that he
trembled from head to toe.
Paul sat on the couch, looking over Carlos with his knees apart as men will do, and it became
an effort for Carlos not to let the seams of Paul’s jeans draw his eyes to their junction. He busied his
eyes with the couch cushions, the ceiling fan, the carpet, his shoes.
“Anyways, Carlos…yeah, we’re worried,” Paul had been saying to him, but Carlos had not
listened to much of it for the sheer terror of the power this man unwittingly held over him.
Carlos shook his head at the floor. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Paul slid from his chair onto his knees in front of Carlos; the sight flustered Carlos so badly
he shut his eyes to block it out. Hot tears made their way from under his locked eyelids.
“Carlos, please…what can I do to help you?”
Carlos shook his head and turned his face away from Paul’s, but he could not stop the heart-
crushing force of the blonde man’s sturdy arms as they wrapped around him. It was this, more than
anything, that broke him. He let himself press his face into Paul’s shoulder, silent tears falling down
his miserable cheeks to dampen Paul’s shirt, unable to move, unable to reciprocate the tender pressure
of Paul’s hug.
Paul’s lips brushed so close to his ear that Carlos shivered when he spoke; it felt like the
softest kiss, barely whispering against the lobe, but enough to coax a response from Carlos.
“Are you sure? There’s…nothing?”
Carlos sighed deeply and, by some force he was not aware of, wrapped his arms around Paul.
Paul was practically on top of him, and the thought made Carlos ache with longing. Paul pressed his
face against Carlos’s, stubble scraping stubble gently. Blonde hair tickled Carlos’s cheek, and Carlos
felt the softest kiss left on the side of his face—then another—then another, making their slow
progress down the side of his face toward Carlos’s starved lips.
“I hate to see you so upset, Carlos,” Paul whispered just before their lips found each other.
Paul had been so sure Carlos would push him away, but instead the bassist’s tongue was the
first to breach the hot dark space between their mouths. Paul matched the urgency of Carlos’s kiss by
way of response.
Carlos felt himself melting, softening, his spine giving way and his muscles unable to support
him; slowly, his arms around Paul, he tipped backwards until Paul’s full, deliciously warm weight
covered his body.
Paul did not know what to think. All he knew was what to feel. A part of him really wanted
to hate the taste of Carlos’s kiss, hate the feel of his long warm body, hate Carlos for drawing him into
this; a part of him wished he didn’t hunger for the feeling, but this was a very small part, and Carlos’s
hands sliding down his back and over his arse silenced that part efficiently.
Carlos pulled their hips together tightly; Paul gasped as Carlos’s hardening cock rubbed
against his through the taut fabric of his trousers, bucking his hips slightly at the sensation.
“Carlos,” He murmured into the kiss, “Carlos, do you want this?”
“I want you,” Carlos responded, without taking his lips away from Paul’s. “I want you so
bad, Paul.”
Paul gave a tiny moan at these words, never imagining that someone like Carlos could want
him like this. His hands trailed unbidden down Carlos’s front, caressing hard nipples through silky
black fabric, undoing myriads of complicated buttons, seeming so because Paul’s fingers were shaking
desperately.
When his hands reached Carlos’s belt, he paused; this whole scene was finally hitting him
full in the face. Carlos lay, hot and panting, beneath his weight, squirming as Paul teased him,
moaning obscenities in a beautifully rough voice.
Paul had never imagined in his wildest dreams that Carlos would quiver under his touch; the
sight produced a fresh upsurge of lust in him that drowned any misgivings he may have had. His
fingers emboldened but still shaky, he went to work on Carlos’s belt and button fly.
Carlos reached down and ran his fingers through Paul’s silky honey-gold hair before speaking
in a low voice.
“Paul.”
“What?” Paul replied as he began to slide Carlos’s trousers off his hips.
“Kiss me.” He murmured. Paul crawled up Carlos’s body to fulfill the request, digressing to
place soft kisses here and there on his way.
Paul’s head was swimming. He wanted this so bad, no, he needed it. Carlos’s long, strong
arms wrapped around him and he felt the bassist shift under him, then his whole world turned upside
down—literally.
“Carlos!” Paul exclaimed as Carlos rolled them both over, placing him on the bottom and
Carlos above, his feral features marked by greedy lust and desperation: narrow lips flushed and
swollen with kisses, dark eyes flitting over Paul without a trace of wasted observance; he took in every
bit of Paul’s clothed beauty, but what he really hungered for lay under that cloth.
Paul’s clothing followed the path that Carlos’s had, slowly coming off, until they were both
completely naked on the carpet.
Paul’s eyes were flicking nervously toward the open window, but Carlos laughed.
“Nobody’s going to see us.” He whispered. ”Trust me.”
Paul bit his lip doubtfully, but Carlos kissed him in reassurance. This seemed to satisfy Paul,
so he relaxed into Carlos, trying not to look down at the fearsome length and thickness of his rigid
cock. He found his efforts were useless and, having never done anything with a man before, could not
help but wonder if all of Carlos would fit inside him…
“I want to be inside you” was all Carlos said, his hands feverishly crawling all over Paul’s
body, touching and pinching and caressing. Paul swallowed hard at the words, feeling nervousness
pierce each muscle. But then Carlos whispered, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Having gone this far, Paul could not turn back; potent lust pumped in his veins. It became his
very blood. He struggled with whether he should stop here or keep going, but when Carlos turned him
over and ran a single finger tenderly down the channel of his spine, in that moment of decision, he
would let Carlos fuck him. Carlos brushed his lips over Paul’s milky-honey skin, smiling gently.
“Relax,” He whispered hotly into Paul’s ear, stroking his hair. ”I promise I won’t hurt
you ever. Just relax and it won’t hurt.” He slid a hand under Paul’s belly and lifted him to his knees,
where he remained shaky but motionless.
A gentle finger coated in something cold and smooth brushed against the tight entrance of his
arse; Paul pitched forward slightly as Carlos rubbed against him. It felt so good, so right…he gasped
as the finger pushed inside him slowly, preparing him. Paul moaned loudly as Carlos doubled his
presence inside the singer, carefully scissoring his fingers to loosen him up. The blonde shook
uncontrollably underneath him, his hips bucking backward a little.
The fingers left him, and Paul moaned again in disappointment. “Shh, relax,” Carlos hushed
him again, stroking the smaller man’s silky straw-coloured hair.
The tip of Carlos’s slippery cock pressed against him then, and Paul whimpered in slight
apprehension while trying to relax himself. He gasped when Carlos grabbed his hips and pushed into
him gently; it was not exactly painful, but intense. Carlos had grabbed his cock to distract him from
the discomfort, but it was unnecessary. It was nothing like he had thought it would be: slight pain and
delicious pleasure, the likes of which he’d never felt before.
He could feel the thick length of Carlos as it moved slowly into him. His whole body
sparkled at the invasion as Carlos’s hips met the backs of his thighs, as Carlos let out a long, low moan
of pleasure. “Paul…oh, God.”
Paul sank to his elbows, his arse still high in the air for Carlos. He whimpered as Carlos
pressed against some spot inside him, some hidden place, and his whole body rippled with pleasure.
“All right?” Carlos leant over him, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder. Paul nodded and tried
to gasp out an answer, but it got lost on the way to his tongue. Carlos kissed his shoulder again.
“Good.” Carlos began a slow, powerful rhythm, causing Paul to writhe gently and shudder in
pleasure. The bassist moved his hips in long, slow strokes, pushing deep into Paul’s body before
almost withdrawing completely, then back again. Paul pushed his hips experimentally back against
Carlos’s, his fingers digging into the throw pillow he had somehow ended up clutching. He groaned
wildly and continued, bucking backwards in time with Carlos’s slow, intense thrusts.
Carlos was making breathy little gasps, his breath hot against Paul’s back; his other hand
stroked Paul’s cock in a rhythm opposite his thrusts, keeping Paul in a consistent state of ecstatic
indulgence.
Paul squirmed below Carlos frantically, an orgasm building in his head as much as his thick
cock. He was so aroused, so damn hot for this, so in love with Carlos at this moment. The feeling was
absolute bliss. Carlos’s cock rubbed against that secret spot inside him with every thrust, making Paul
choke on each moan, silencing any thought or speech.
It was strange; though Carlos’s stimulation of his cock was getting him incredibly hard, the
feeling of Carlos’s cock against that little magic spot in him was greater and more beautiful than
anything he had ever felt in his life. It was more than just an orgasm building; his whole body was
molten around Carlos’s driving cock, and the spark there flared as though set to parched forest.
With a long, desperate moan, waves of orgasm broke over Paul. Vaguely he could feel
Carlos stiffening as he came with him, but Paul noticed little. He was aware only of the consuming
burn that danced over his skin, boiled his molten insides, blacked him out for a second as he came all
over Carlos’s carpet.
And he sank onto his stomach as Carlos leaned heavily on him, still inside; Paul was
shuddering rhythmically in the aftermath of his orgasm. Carlos rolled off of him gently, then wrapped
an arm around that sweaty, ecstatic, dissolute form.
Paul turned his head and gave Carlos a breathless, wet kiss. The rain had started up again; it
rattled against the windows softly, beading the glass with clear water. Cool wet air was flowing
through Carlos’s apartment again, and, not willing to leave this perfect spot, Carlos seized the throw
and a pillow from the couch and pulled it over them.
“I don’t know if I love you,” Paul whispered, “but I think I could definitely get used to it.”
“Me too, Paul.” Carlos murmured, holding the singer close. Exhausted, they rested there on
the carpet, sleeping lightly.
Later, Carlos would wake up and find Paul pressed close, find their skin beaded with fine
spray, and Paul would smell of smoke and sweat and sex, but most of all, rain.