Date: Sun, 23 Sep 2001 18:59:43 +0000 From: Darren Talbot Subject: the library, chapter five The Library Chapter 5 *thank you, again, to all who've written. As I've said, I may not be able to respond, but your comments and questions have been wonderful. *all cautionary statements about laws and reminders that this is a work of fiction aare applicable to this tale. ---------------------------------- Feeling him against me, his gossamyr frame, my eyes filled up. A hitching breath caught in my throat. He pulled away from me "What's wrong?" I brought my hand up and touched his cheekbone, so small. My thumb touched his forehead. "If you've been here all this time, then why haven't you talked to me. Let me know, somehow?" I asked. It was all so beautiful and fantastic that I couldn't believe it. My mind kept questioning. "I dunno. With you not knowing, it was safe, I guess," he said, his head turning up so that our eyes locked again, "If you didn't know, you couldn't say that you didn't love me, so I could be with you and not be afraid." I kissed him lightly on the lips, those soft little red slashes, tasting myself mingled with him. Our kissing became more and more passionate, until I couldn't control myself anymore. I grabbed him by his hips and put him up on the table, pulling him so that his head was away from me and down, and his smooth, creamy clean little ass was up in the air, his delicate feet hanging off the table. I hurried to undo my pants and let them fall, spitting on my hand and touching his hole with my finger. Smearing it on my cock, already protesting from being overused, but more than willing. I pressed that finger into him, feeling the warm resistance of that little muscle. He let out a sigh and it relaxed, so I pushed it further in; pressing downward to find that sweet little button. He let out a moan as I pressed downward on it, drawing my finger backward, then pushing forward, never letting off of his pleasure spot. Two fingers went in, his hole widening just a little to let me in, and both began their massage. I started to lick his tight balls, and he was grabbing the table, white-knuckled. His forehead on the surface, his eyes looking back at me, he mouth open. I couldn't resist any longer. Already slick with juice, I brought my dick up and shoved it all the way in in one single thrust. "nnnn...gawd, yeeeah....fuck me, Daniel." I brought it all the way out, pausing for a second, only to plunge it back in to the base. His sounds a mixture of torture, relief and ecstacy. His breathing ragged. Still, I dove in and pulled out, dove in and pulled out. His toes flexing, his feet arching like his back, in spasms. I slapped his ass, then rubbed the mark. "Oh, my god...fuck me, Daniel." I couldn't keep control of myself. I began to fuck him wildly, grabbing his hips and ramming him back into my crotch as I pushed forward. The speed and violence of my love was in danger of turning the table over. His sounds were one long exhalation of pain and pleasure. His eyes closed, his shoulders hunched in; he was listening to songs from other worlds in my thrust, in my release. And the knot began to form in my stomach. That sweet knot that means the end and the beginning. I had control of it until he stopped moaning, and, with a what seemed almost like pain on his face, turned to look at me over his shoulder and said "I love you, Daniel". I let loose every fluid in my body into him. I pushed my hips into his as I pulled his into mine and flooded him. His eyes closed, and he was lost in the moment as I was. I have no idea how long that wonderful spasm occured, only that the universe made ultimate sense, and he and I were united there. And that I could feel his heart. And that when he breathed, it was I who took in air. My juice was running out of him. Though my body wanted nothing more than to collapse, I felt unfinsihed. I pulled out, and he made a slight sound of disappointment and relief. I bent down and began to lick myself from his pink end. This brought a new arch to his back. His head dropped to the table. His little muscle contracting against my tongue, resisting intrusion. I tasted myself mingled with him. It tasted like perfection. I slipped my tongue into him, and he made a sound of near protest. I slid it out and pushed it right back in, again. I started to fuck him with my tongue. His cock slapping against his stomach as he tensed each time I penetrated, relaxing each time I released. I grabbed his ass and spread it wide to get more of me inside him, pulling his skinny ass to my face. "Oh, gawd..I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." He kept repeating, until, as I pushed in, his shivering hole caught my tongue in a death grip, and his legs seized, his toes flexing wide. He was cumming as I ate him. He was pressing his forehead practically through the table as his hips bucked in rhythm. I finally let go, and pulled away to see the puddle of his juice on the table. He collapsed onto his side, his hip resting in it. His eyes closed, his cheeks flushed. He never looked more like an angel to me than at that moment. He sat up quickly, and kissed me again. Tasting us on my tongue. We mingled. "I love you." I said, my mouth still covered by his. "I love you, too." He said. I picked him up, limp and exhausted, and carried him back to the place the blanket was layed out. I covered him by folding it in half over him, and sat down on the cold floor. I began brushing his black hair away from his forehead. His eyes fell closed. "I've always had this fantasy about you that...nevermind...it's stupid" he said, his eyes still closed, his voice sleepy and muffled. "What is it?" I asked him, soft fingers through hair. His small skull under my palm. "It's stupid." He said. "What is it?" I asked. His eyes opened, and he moved to look me in the eye. My hand stopped, waiting. "Will you read to me while I fall asleep?" He asked. My heart melted all over again. Mort had always read to me in the shop when I'd come in, his voice steady and deep, like the thrumming of an air conditioner, and I'd always ended up, head resting on my forearms on the counter. It had made me feel safe in a way that my father never could. He'd let me sleep for thrity mintues or so, then wake me, ruffling my hair gently. I picked up the book, still face down and open to the page he'd left off on. His eyes got huge and seemed to fill with tears. I brought the book up to my lap, reaching down to touch his forehead soft fingered, then gently closing his eyelids, I began to read where he'd left off. Admittedly, this is not the book I would have chosen to read to someone to make them feel safe and loved, but it was already here. Naked, my hand still brushing his hair back, I read to him in that same voice that Mort had used. Normally, I am a busy person. My mind running all the time on what to do next, what to do after that. But, I found, as I read, that this was the only moment. There was nothing else but this. The words, the voice, my fingers in his hair, his delicate dreams. After about fifteen pages, I looked down to find his face slack. His thumb in his mouth. I lowered the book and just watched him. I knew it at that point, then. There was nothing wrong with loving him, at that point. Our age difference, the uncertain future, our chance meeting, my fears. Nothing. All that existed at that moment was him, his breathing, my fingers in his hair. His delicate dreams. -end chapter five- Questions and comments, as always, are welcome!