Okay-- in brief family news...
We're fighting off something.
It's got a headache and some body aches, but that's sort of secondary. Mostly, it's just... like a hideous bomb of tired that will go off at any minute and that we're all surprised to get.
It's like, you get up, you get dressed, and then you crawl back to bed because that's it. You've just exhausted the best of your reserves. I think it goes with a fever, and we're all walking around putting our hands on each other's heads going, "I'm hotter than you, no, wait, you're hotter than I am!" It hit me Friday and yesterday, and Squish too, and Mate and ZoomBoy today. Ugh.
So I"m going to try to go with Hiding the Moon, Part 9, and if I only get a little bit far, forgive me. I figure I've got about twenty minutes before I get zapped again. I shall try to type like the wind.
Hiding the Moon--Part 9
Burton was still fascinated with his body--his cock, growing fat again, as Burton kissed his inner thigh. His balls, furry and saggy and heavy and masculine, unmistakably so, when much of Ernie seemed delicate, almost ethereal.
They mystery of his taint, his cleft, the hidden little pucker between them.
Ernie splayed his knees then, reached under his body and grabbed his cheeks, spreading himself wide, giving Burton permission to touch, to explore, while Ernie arched and moaned. Burton could have done that for hours--maybe--but as he played he found he was rippling his body, grinding up against the bed.
"Lube," he demanded, and Ernie fumbled with his hand, shoving the lube ampoule and the condom into his hand. Burton took the condom and rolled it on in a hurry, and then squeezed the lubricant on his fingers.
Gently, teasing, he thrust a finger inside, just to hear Ernie gasp. Oh, that was promising--that little choked cry. He thrust in again, and pulled out, and in and out, and then added another finger, fascinated by what he was doing.
"Proud of yourself," Ernie teased, still pulling his cheeks apart, ready and vulnerable, and taking whatever Burton wanted to give.
"Your body is amazing," Burton said bluntly.
"Then come inside."
That quickly, Burton was almost there. He thrust his fingers in to the hilt and buried his face against Ernie's thigh, suddenly so damned close it wasn't fair.
"Now!" Ernie demanded, and that alone was enough to get Burton wipe his hand on the sheets and shove up, dominating Ernie's thinner body with his shoulders alone. He positioned his cock right... oh God. Right there. He'd seen the mechanics, of course, but looking down, seeing his body disappearing into Ernie's... this felt magical.
He was becoming a part of another human being.
He'd done this before--but this was the first time he felt that magic. He looked into Ernie's wide brown eyes, surprised, and fell.
Deep and deeper, only his physical sensation remained.
His body was exploding, atoms and quarks, and he pumped his hips desperately, needing to disappear completely into the warmth, needing that tight grip to make him come, spill, become part of his lover's body in a way he'd never felt before.
On the physical plane, Ernie whispered, "Harder!" and Burton's muscles trembled with the force of driving inside him.
In his soul, in his mind, he was still tumbling through the sweet haven of Ernie's eyes, as safe as he'd ever been in his life.
Ernie tilted his head back, eyes closed, and cried out, and the scald of his come on Burton's chest brought Burton back completely to his physical self.
His physical self was complete, immediate, tingling from taint to toes, on the verge of an orgasm that would turn Burton inside out, and for a moment, he was afraid. Then Ernie clenched and spasmed around him and he had no choice. He had to take that leap, he had to give himself over, allow orgasm to swamp him, capsize him, drag him under, and expect Ernie to pull him back to himself and not let him drown.
He buried his face against Ernie's neck and screamed, and Ernie ran his fingertips in soothing circles over Burton's shoulders.
"Sh..." he whispered. "Sh... it's all right. Look what we did. We made love."
"It's not all right," he whispered, voice muffled. "I'm not all right."
"I got ya," Ernie told him, dotting his cheeks and forehead with tender kisses. "Don't doubt that I've still got ya."
For how long? How long can we cling to each other? Oh, Jesus, kid, I miss you already.
"Kiss me," Ernie demanded, and Burton, lost and afraid and still buried in his ass, did exactly what he asked. Their mouths opened and that curious merging sensation, that loss os himself and gain of the things Ernie loved the most--that resumed. They were sliding inside each other, their souls, their bodies. For the first time in his life Burton was part of the sex magic he'd conjured with other lovers.
For the first time he was part of the wonder, and not just the performer on stage.
With a moan, he collapsed, pulling out of Ernie's body, and falling into the wrap of his long arms.
"Forever," Ernie said, like he was answering a question.
"You asked how long. As long as you want me. I'm going to want you forever."
Hokum. Bullshit. Burton should have doubted every thing that came out of his mouth.
But instead he felt comforted. Relieved. HIs body tingled from release, and his soul throbbed from ripping away the veil of innocence he'd kept so fiercely wrapped around his desire.
But part of him was comforted. A wonderstruck, child-like part of his heart was convinced he and Ernie were going to be together forever, and in that moment, that vulnerable, fragile moment after sex, he believed it.