Snippets of an affair ~ First ....Nothing. No more Firsts....

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (14/?) ~ First ....Nothing. No more Firsts.... Author: zahra_owens Beta: An absolute angel who'll remain anonymous... Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 2052 Warnings: Beware of boy-loving, guy on guy, and what's more, they're cheating on their boyfriends. Also major angst, especially at the end of this chapter.Until that... fluff! 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: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter.

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"I want to travel again," you tell me.

You move your chair to my side of the table and put your arm around my shoulders, squeezing them. You can obviously tell the fact my heart just skipped a beat and I froze, a strange uneasy feeling creeping up my spine. Even after all this time and all the patience you've shown me, I'm still scared beyond belief that I'll lose you one day and I can't imagine living without you.

"Of course you're coming with me, silly," you whisper into my ear. "I thought you'd like it, being the globetrotter you are."

"I'm not really," I answer, trying to shake the coldness and telling myself you love me and care for me. "I lived in South Africa and we travelled there, but I've never been anywhere else beside there but the U.K."

"How does South America sound to you?"

I take a deep breath in and lean my head on your shoulder, willing myself to relax. "I'll go anywhere with you."

You smile and I see tiny wrinkles all the way around your eyes. It's such a genuine smile, teeth bare and eyes lighting up, that it becomes easier to realise you won't leave me, ever, possibly.

*****

I love falling asleep, close to you, after we've made love.
There's something so soothing, so perfect about the way you take me in your arms after we've been out of bed to clean up and take a leak, and we return to crawl under the covers. Totally effortlessly you make me feel like you want this more than I do, that you actually cuddle me to sleep because that's the way you like it, not because I'm needy and clingy.

I'm not so needy anymore, anyway. I think I'm slowly starting to trust you more and why wouldn't I? You always keep me in the loop, never keep any secrets from me and I find I enjoy your openness. In a former life I'm sure I would have found you boring, but if I think about, you really aren't. Last week you picked me up from work and we had a late dinner and drinks and you got up and started playing on the piano right next to our table. The other patrons seemed to think you were the entertainment and didn't even look up from their quiet conversation in darkened booths, but I was amazed by you, mesmerized. I didn't know you played piano, since we don't have one at our house, but I found I could probably listen to you for hours. Your music is soft, shy almost, with beautiful, hesitant melodies and they carried me away. You carried my heart away. Again. Then, you've had my heart in your possession for a long time.

I'll go anywhere with you. South America, North America, fucking Antarctica if I must, as long as we can be together.

*****

You still see your ex-lover.

I was jealous for a long time about that, and of course you knew that. Your solution was to never see him without me. At first he seemed a little uneasy about my presence, but you didn't give him the chance to object and now I've gotten to know him, I'm okay with it. Sometimes I even have to remind myself that you and he shared a life for so many years. Sometimes you seem more like brothers than ex-lovers, but without the merciless teasing that one sibling often subjects the other to. You're courteous and kind towards him, and sometimes I want to scream at you in his place to remind you that he's not made of glass. I don't though, because I don't want to hurt you and because I know he probably needs the kindness more than the teasing. You still care for him deeply and often help him out if things need to be done to fix up his apartment. Going there always gives me the creeps, because the pilot still lives upstairs and I no longer know when he's working and when he's home, so I usually pull a hoody over my head and wear my sunglasses when we go there. We've never talked about it, but you always enter the hallway first, just in case he's there and I always check the names above the doorbells, hoping to find his name replaced by another, but it never is.
Once inside your ex-mother-in-law's apartment, I'm fine again, but I count the days we no longer need to go there.

*****

You still take breathtakingly beautiful pictures of posh food.

Some of the chefs are friends of yours. They're usually down to earth men who work hard and party harder, at least that's the facade they still keep up despite their four and a half children and lonely looking wives. The ones who are just work to you are invariably the loud jerks who order everyone around as if they're bus boys in their restaurant. You take their ranting with quiet acceptance and end up doing just what you want to anyway. In any case, your ideas are far superior to theirs and they know that if they want your name under their pictures, they better let you do your job.
One of your chef friends rescued me from making lattes for the rest of my life by offering me a job in his restaurant. Despite the fact it pays me twice the amount I got at Starbuck's, it also means I get to spend more time with you, and you’ve stopped taking work mornings so we can sleep late. Total bliss.

We'll be leaving soon anyway. Three months in South America. Your restaurateur-friend has given me leave and we've bought backpacks and camera equipment and a GPS so we won't get lost. I have some new, lightweight, weather-proof clothes and you've bought me a camera of my own. Our plane tickets are on the counter with our passports, so we're all set to go.

Just one more thing.

You promised we'd help your ex paint his living room. It's full of heavy antique furniture and he has two left hands anyway, so yesterday we moved all the armoires and tables and chairs into the middle of the room and stripped off all the old wallpaper. Today you're going to paint the walls in a warm burgundy, so that tomorrow you can apply a second coat and the day after tomorrow we can move the furniture back. In two days we'll be on a plane to the other side of the world.

Three months of just you and me in a car driving from North to South in Argentina, taking pictures of landscapes and people. I'm looking forward to the adventure and I know you are as well, because I see a glimmer in your eye every time you think about it.

The first coat of paint goes on surprisingly smoothly and we have almost two hours left before your ex returns home. I'm leaning back on a circular bench inside a small alcove of windows overlooking the street. The heavy drapes guarding the bench from prying eyes are pulled up a bit, but this is the only paint free zone in the living room and I'm enjoying a nice cool beer. As I look up I see you staring at me from the kitchen doorway. You're wearing dungarees but the shoulder straps are untied and they sort of balance on your hips, showing your chest hair and those tiny nipples of yours. There are paint streaks on your arms and face and you look tired, but damn sexy. It doesn't matter that we had sex last night and this morning too, I still want you and seeing you standing there makes me want to fuck you, but I'm too tired. As I close my eyes I can easily imagine you riding me though, here on the bench, your knees on the seat at either side of my hips, your arms outstretched and your hands resting on the back of the bench over my shoulders. I'm half sitting, half lying down and maybe thrusting up a bit, when you get tired of taking the lead.

"You look entirely fuckable," you say, suddenly having moved closer to me. As I open my eyes, I see you lean over me, almost in the position I imagined you in.

"You're reading my mind again," I tease.

"More like reading your pants, Angel," you say on the verge of giggling, but then you kiss me passionately.

With my hand I reach between your legs, bunching up the loose fabric of the dungarees until I encounter you half-hard already. As I gently squeeze, you moan into my mouth and grind down in search of more stimulation, so I make my hand find its way into your clothes until I can cup your arse. As soon as I push a finger between your arse cheeks, you sit down on my lap, wantonly rubbing your arousal against my quickly tightening jeans in a rhythm set by my hand.

"Lube?" I moan in between kisses.

"Fuck, yeah," you reply and you disappear into the back of the apartment. I can't resist unzipping and releasing myself from the confines of the tight jeans. You return moments later with a small packet of lube and you wiggle your eyebrows at the sight before you. You release one of the buttons at the side of your dungarees and they fall to the floor, proving how precariously they clung to your hips. I barely get the time to feast on your gloriously upright erection, because you get on your knees between my legs and take my cock in your mouth. You're too good at this so I protest. "Don't have time. He'll be..."

"We have time," you answer, righting yourself to kiss me again. "We have more than an hour."

"I want you," I answer, smiling and trying not to look coy. "Want to fuck you."

You moan. "Good, just what I want too." You rip the package of lube open with your teeth and drizzle some on my erection.

"Need to prep you," I try, since it's all moving a bit too fast, but you shake your head, rub the clear gel copiously all over me and then you reach behind yourself to rub what's left on your hand over your entrance.

"You've taken me more than once without prep, Angel," you admonish. "You know I'll be fine."

I hold up my cock so you can sink down on it, infinitely slow and within no time I feel your amazing heat envelop me and we're in exactly the position I daydreamed about. Your movements are gentle but deliberate and we kiss almost non-stop, so I let my hands roam over your lean body, trying to touch as much as I can. I can't get enough of your long, sinewy muscles flexing and relaxing underneath my hands and the soft down of hair that covers large parts of your skin. At a certain moment, you're in need of more breath, so you curve your back, giving me access to your nipples. As you keep moving, your heavy balls and cock drag along my treasure trail and paint glistening streaks of precome on my skin, so I cover them with my hand, adding to the stimulation.

"Oh fuck!"

Your hands were resting on the window at either side of my head, but suddenly you duck, burying your face against the side of my neck. I'm terribly close and I think you're coming, so I push up to meet you half way. My groin and balls contract and explode and I shoot my seed into you, groaning loudly.

"Shit!" you exclaim again. You're not moving and I realise you haven't come yet, so I take your cock in my hand and fist you.

"What's wrong?" I ask, looking up at you and you smile as if you've been caught doing something naughty. In my post-orgasmic haze I don't register right away what's going on and then I hear a thump against the front door, then a loud crack.

I swear I never saw it coming.

And I'm sorry I didn't react.

I'm sorry that I was frozen.

I'm sorry.

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