Snippets of an affair ~ First Apology

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (8/?) ~ First Apology Author: zahra_owens Beta: iona_lewis Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 2582 Warnings: Beware of boy-loving, guy on guy, and what's more, they're cheating on their boyfriends. Disclaimer: Persons and events described here may, on the surface, seem familiar, but I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Author's note 1: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter Author's note 2: I know I've been bad about updating this story and since it's an especially hard one to imagine because of the lack of names, please reread the earlier chapters (most of them aren't that long) to get back into the groove. I know I had to to start writing again!

INDEX / PREVIOUS

I wake up hungry, my stomach growling. It takes me a few moments to realise where I am and what happened, but when I feel your breath ghost across my throat I remember. You came home with me after the funeral and we talked. About my lover and what he did to me and about the reason we were now apart, but I wasn't entirely truthful with you. Not that I lied to you, I just omitted a few key facts. I also remember that I promised you I'd make you dinner, but we were kissing and touching and it felt so good to have someone in my arms who just enjoyed those little things without expecting the rest of the performance. I don't expect you to stay long. You have a lover to go to after all and even in a non-exclusive relationship, I'm sure he'll expect you to come home eventually.

You're sleeping, your body heavy in my arms and your breath even and relaxed and I try to slide from under you without waking you up. You protest when I move, grunting in your sleep as you turn over, but as I reluctantly leave your side, I see you curl up into a ball. I take the blanket that is lying folded at your feet and spread it over you to keep you warm, before retreating to the kitchen to make the promised dinner. There isn't much in the fridge and I make a mental note to go grocery shopping, but then I wasn't expecting company when you came home with me. As I break some eggs and beat them together with salt and pepper, my mind drifts to you. Did fate bring us together? I feel so relaxed around you and I can't pinpoint why that is. I take the milk out of the fridge and smell it to make sure it hasn't turned sour, then I add a splash to the egg mixture. The sound of my fork beating the eggs in the bowl creates a lot of noise in my nearly empty house and I worry about waking you so I sneak a peak into the living room and see you still on the mattress, the blanket now wrapped around you. As I walk back to the kitchen and take a skillet from the cupboard, I realise I could get used to this, taking care of you, spending time with you, letting you take care of me as you did so well earlier. It also dawns on me that I'm more relaxed around you than I ever was around him, around my lover. At home I always needed to walk on eggshells, watch what I said, how I said it, be aware of my body language, the intonation of my voice. Around you, a virtual stranger, I find I can be myself.

Just after I tip the egg mixture into the hot pan, I feel your arms snake around my middle.

"Smells good," you say, yawning sleepily. Then you rest your chin on my shoulder and it all feels familiar, even though it shouldn't, because we've never done this before and my lover was never the type for lovey dovey cuddling in the kitchen.

"It's just an omelette," I say, realising I'm apologising. "Not much else here I'm afraid. I have fresh bread to go with it, though."

"Mmmh, sounds great," you mumble. "Shall I make some coffee?" You slowly pull away from me and I feel your hand linger on my side and back as if you want to make the connection last a little longer. I feel my muscles contract involuntarily, not from the tender touch, but from the cool air that fills the space between us. My eyes follow your movements as you confidently take the fancy coffeemaker I brought from the other house and fill it with the ground coffee next to it. You fill the reservoir with water and plug it in.

"I noticed you don't have chairs around your dinner table either yet," you say with your back towards me. "If you want I'll help you bring the couch in so we can sit on that to eat."

I shake the pan a bit to loosen the omelette and turn off the heat underneath it. "Deal."

A few minutes later, we're on the couch eating egg sandwiches and drinking coffee, the plastic that covered the sofa discarded on the floor. The worn leather still feels cold and slightly damp from standing outside, but our body heat is taking care of that and the hot coffee and nicely warmed room is doing the rest. You put down your empty cup and I see you shiver.

"Still cold?" I ask as I get up to grab the blanket from the mattress.

"No, I'm fine," you answer, but I can tell you're not being entirely truthful.

"Be right back," I tell you before running up the stairs to get another one from one of the storage boxes I've managed to drag upstairs already. When I return, you've just come back from the kitchen with another round of coffee.

"Does the fire work?" you ask a little sheepishly and I suspect you have ulterior motives.

"I haven't tried it but the previous owner promised me he'd just had the chimney swept and from the look of it, it has seen some action." The words have barely left my mouth when I see the look on your face and realise the double meaning of those words. You don't say anything though, you just sip your coffee.

About an hour later, the fire lit and crackling away and the furniture rearranged so that both the couch and the mattress are facing the fireplace, we're both underneath the duvet and I'm lying snugly between you and the couch.

"I think this is going to be a nice house for you," you say out of the blue. You yawn sleepily. It's the middle of the night and at least for me it's been quite an emotional day. Spending the later part of it with you makes it so much better than it would have been without you.

"It still needs work," I answer matter-of-factly.

"I could help if you like?" you suggest rather eagerly.

"Don't you need to work?"

You don't answer. You just shrug slightly and seem to snuggle closer to me. I brush a curl away from your temple in an attempt to see your expression but you turn your face away from me. I don't push you any further, although I am curious. You seem eager to spend time with me though, and although it makes me happy, I do wonder why you don't need to go home.

"I could use a hand as you can tell from the state of this place. I still have quite a few rooms to paint and I need to buy furniture."

"Yeah, you definitely need a bed!" you snort.

"You're the one who wanted to sleep in front of the fire. You thought it was romantic, remember?"

Suddenly you turn around and I feel you wrap your arms around me. You nestle your head underneath my chin and it feels so right, emotions well up inside my chest, emotions I haven't felt in along time.

"I suppose you're not a romantic, hey?" you say, looking up at me. Your eyes are darker than usual and lust is sparked inside of me. Can I seduce you into making love to me? I smile and hug you and you look away, the moment lost.

"I'm just a little out of practice, that's all," I tell you and I feel you relax in my arms.

"We'll have to do something about that," you mumble as you fall asleep. I lie there for a few minutes. I'm not used to sleeping with someone in my arms, so I'm not totally comfortable, but holding you like this feels right. Eventually the warmth of your body in my arms, the feeling of your soft skin against mine and your sweet smell in my nostrils makes me drift off as well.

The next day we drive into town and you help me choose a new bed. You're a lot more picky than I am and in fact it takes us eight stores before you find one you like. Although we've never discussed anything about our relationship, and have certainly never dared to even utter the word, I enjoy watching you try out all the mattresses and nod encouragingly as you tell me why you like one better than the other. In the end we go back to the first store and I order the bed you found most comfortable, but not until after you make me lie down on it next to you. Although I've been out of the closet since my twenties, I somehow feel incredibly self-conscious about it, even though the female shop assistant thinks we're quite amusing and even her male colleague is smiling at us. Their looks don't seem to bother you in the least. As the shop assistants make their way to their office to jot down my order and just before we get off of the bed, I pull you closer and whisper in your ear, "You have great taste in beds."

You give me a smug look. "I have great taste in bed too!"

I chuckle. I have no reason to doubt you.

Down the road, you drag me into a Moroccan furniture store. "You need a screen and this place has the best!"

"I do?" I'm not convinced I need something that exotic in my rather Spartan bedroom, but I follow you inside anyway. It's dark in the store and the air is heavy with incense. It seems deserted as you drag me through nooks and crannies and no matter where we go and what you show me in this maze of colourful occasional furniture, we don't meet a soul. In the darkest part of the store, you suddenly stop and I bump into you. I feel you grind your ass against my groin and I can't deny I'm turned on.

"That's the screen you need," you point out. It's wooden, has three-tiers and it's intricately carved, the light from behind shining through it.

"Looks expensive," I answer, but I can barely resist you as you push me back until I'm stuck between a wall and you. We're surrounded by light creeping through red and orange cloth and chandeliers covered with small mirrors and I see us reflected in hundreds of small snippets.

"Don't spoil it now," you whisper, leaning back to kiss me without stopping your sensual movements. "Am I making you hard?"

I nod.

"Then put your hand down my pants because I've been hard since we started kissing yesterday and if I don't get off now I'll burst."

I hesitate. Fucking in a pub bathroom is one thing, but doing it in a furniture store where some exotically dressed shop girl will find us in flagrante delicto anytime now, makes me think about ignoring the soft globes of your ass grinding over my constricted erection. There's no stopping you though and you grab my wrist to unceremoniously shove it down the front of your loose fitting cargo pants. My hand easily finds your cock and you hiss as my palm comes into contact with the sensitized head.

"Fuck yeah," you murmur as I stroke your hard length. "Please tell me you'll be ready for more when we get home?"

To my own surprise I'm no longer doubting what we're doing. Like the first time you came on to me at that wedding reception, you've captivated me completely. "So what are you going to do to me when we get home?" I rasp as you find the right rhythm, moving between my hand and my groin, so my still clothed cock rubs between your ass cheeks.

"Don't know yet," you pant. "Don't care as long as you're inside me."

"You mean you're not going to fuck me?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady enough to sound smug.

Your breathing is erratic. You're leaking enough precome to make your boxers damp and my hand easily slides your foreskin back and forth over the head. I can tell you're close as you're trying to stop yourself from thrusting forward and I change the position of my hand to gently squeeze your balls and draw you closer to me as I too am reaching the point where I feel I want to come. Although my gaze isn't all that steady, I try to look around to see our reflection in the multitude of mirrors. The sight is a turn-on all by itself and you arch your back, so I kiss your neck and you moan. Then you insert your own hand and you frantically fist yourself as I continue softly kneading your balls and pressing my fingers against your perineum.

You come with a loud groan and after a few erratic thrust into your own fist, you turn around and drop to your knees. My reactions are too slow to prevent your movement, but when I see you unzip me to take my cock out and then put it in your mouth, the sudden rush of my climax floods me and I can't stop my body from thrusting forward.

You gag and I pull back. The intensity of my orgasm makes it hard for me to think, but I sink to the floor as well and pull you into my arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"I wasn't prepared," you cut in. "I'm usually better at controlling my gag reflex, but I didn't think you would..." Your voice trails off mid-sentence and I feel terribly guilty for what I've done.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Angel," I keep repeating as I rock you back and forth. I'm grateful for the fact that this side of the room is littered with small and large throw pillows, which makes this a far more comfortable experience than I could have predicted.

You're hugging me back, at first silently, but then you start speaking. "He likes to fuck my mouth, make me gag on purpose. It turns him on and I've learned to take it." You're not looking at me, in fact I can't even see the expression on your face and maybe that's for the best. "I don't like it though and I didn't expect you to be the sort of guy to like it either, so I wasn't prepared." You look up at me and although I expect you to have watery eyes, your expression is blank and your eyes dry. "You don't like to make me gag. It was an accident right?"

I nod frantically and feel an enormous sense of relief when a smile breaks on your face. "I made you lose control," you continue smugly, so I nod some more and smile as well.

"Not the first time you did that to me," I gingerly admit.

"So let's go home and I can really let you lose control when you fuck me." You get up and grab my hand to pull me out of the heap of pillows. "And then afterwards, If you're good I might fuck you in return."

"Promises, promises," I tease as we make our way out of the store, never having met a sales girl.

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