Current mood:	eat you.
Current music:	Mizu no Akashi - Rie Tanaka

The end.
The Official Last Chapter.

Yep, you've read right. The next two chapters are just fillers. This is the real thing. I'll miss my uke, my seme, and their lovable cat...but too much of one thing is always bad. I don't want this to be so long it ends up boring. Or maybe it already is.

Evening
Author: Mushroom
Seme's POV
Rating: I DON'T GIVE A DAMN IF YOU'RE FRIGGIN' EIGHT YEARS OLD, JUST DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, OKAY?! Imagination is inevitable.
Summary: Everything's okay, right? Right...
Notes: For caiphas who sat beside me and listened to my woes when I needed to think of kink for my story. ;_; Uy, binaliktad ko. Gets mo na yun.



***

“This is it?” He asked meekly.

We stared up at the looming condominium, an elegant building amidst a busy, commercialized street. He gasped silently as he entered the gate and walked along a pathway on a lawn the size of a national basketball court. I was so happy that I felt like skipping down the lane, which was a rare case. But this WAS a rare case; we were finally moving in together. I made the liberty of moving all our things in the condominium beforehand when my potato had an ‘emergency work call’ that involved night shifts. He was furious when he found out I did all the heavy work myself, but I knew he was falling in love with me all the more. Ah, the joys of being loved.

The man assigned to guard the doorway was grinning toothily, and I gave him a quick salute. My once roommate--now fully-fledged bed warmer and owner of my ship— looked slightly flustered at the mere thought of having a guard to watch our home. I clenched his shoulder reassuringly as we bounded up the stairs to shake his hand.

“Hey.” I greeted him.

The guard glanced at my partner abruptly. “So…he’s…the, well…” he stammered, then blushed furiously. The guard and my dear, darling, temperamental lover were both as red as…well, they were just red.

“So…you know all about me…us…” He said in a low voice, blushing hardly.

The guard nodded. “I’ve been informed by your…partner himself.”

“Oh.” The color never died on his cheeks, but he looked braver than before. “Nice meeting you.”

“My uncle is still running this thing, but we’re going to live here. Are there other residents in this place?” I inquired.

The guard shook his head. “None for the moment. They all thought this was going down when…when your father passed away, so many moved out. But now that things are shaping up again, they’ll be swarming like flies soon. There are only three guards here, and five people for maintenance. I expect more help would be needed if there would be new residents, but as for now it’s fine.”

“No!” The established lover—or loved one, which sounded better—piped up. “We don’t need someone to clean up our room, I’ll do it myself…just show me where the laundry mat is…”

“Don’t be stupid.” I snapped angrily.

“…But I like cleaning.” He protested weakly. “Please, I haven’t even offered anything.”

The guard and I exchanged looks. If I allowed the maintenance in our room, then they would see us both. They would knock the door and we would have to stop whatever we are doing so that they would come in. They would interrupt intimate moments. They would discover things that are not meant for innocent eyes. I heaved a sigh and clasped his shoulder. “Alright. We’ll act like the new room is our past apartment unit. Even with the laundry and cooking bit. But don’t go cleaning other rooms and the hallway, UNDERSTAND?!”

He looked like he wanted to object, but thought it over and nodded. “Okay. Our unit only. No hallways or neighboring rooms. Does that include staircases?”

I flashed a grin. “Cleaning staircases…that sounds quite familiar.”

He stuck out his tongue. I decided not to entertain nasty thoughts at the sight of his red tongue when I realized he didn’t mean it that way.

We walked inside the large hall—my partner looked really embarrassed to be graced such a place—and used the elevator. I conveniently picked the topmost floor, the room at the corner of all hallway corners (which people usually avoided) as our designated room. The elevator went up smoothly, he noted, unlike the elevator in his work station; and I suggested suggestively that we make some noise. I figured he wanted to punch me, but remembered that this was all my doing and instead he just glared cutely. He was definitely in love with me; why would he treat me to the sight of a tongue between his lips and wonderful voice? Yeah, in love. Feeling a little shameless and insanely happy, I placed a hand on his waist and the other on the back of his legs.

“What are you—oof!” He gave out a cry when I scooped him up in my arms, carrying him bridal-style. His eyes widened in bewilderment and when consciousness returned he started kicking the air. “Fuck. This is NOT funny. Put—me—DOWN!”

I laughed, received a direct swap on the face, but continued laughing anyway. “What’s the matter? Nobody lives here. Nobody can see us.” I kissed both his knees, but he still continued to wriggle his way off my arms. The elevator was almost there, yet he fought on, pushing my face away and twisting madly only to receive kisses on various body parts in return. “Stop…” A kiss on the forehead. “Being so…” Another on his nose. “—pushy, love…I’m telling you, nobody’s here—“

The elevator door slid open.

There was a janitress, pulling a cart of mops and buckets. She stared.

We stared back, breathing heavily.

She stared, then jumped out of her reverie. “Oh! Umm…hello. Welcome, sirs.”

Sirs. Of course. We were men. I was a formerly rich man, carrying a very healthy young man in my arms. And enjoying it. He spun back at me, looking ready to cry, yet I disregarded him and continued to stare straight at the woman’s eyes. “Hello. Finished cleaning this level?”

“Uh, y-yeah.” The woman stammered, making way for me to step on the gleaming floor. The elevator door closed. My loved one was giving me mental messages that screamed put me down, put me down but I ignored his pleas and held him even closer. He instinctively wrapped his arms around my neck, inhaled deeply, and wore an expression that wished the building would crumble into ashes. I swear his face was so red you could’ve roasted something on it. I felt foolish but something was bursting in my heart. To hell with it, I wanted to show the world that I was carrying him in a way that was supposedly for other couples. I simply didn’t care anymore.

“We’ll be seeing you, then.” I told her cheerfully. I left the woman, who cursed because she missed the elevator, still carrying my VIP. We finally spotted our unit—room 101—and he produced the keys and opened it for me for my hands were full. I kicked the door open and leaned it shut. It closed loudly, mostly because we were the only ones there.

I did not put him down. Not just yet. I walked slowly along the hallway to be greeted by the wide living room. Hearing him gasp, I continued walking ‘till I reached the kitchen. I felt his eyes explore every nook and cranny, felt his smile (He knew that I styled it just like the kitchen we had back then to make him feel comfortable). I carried him to the library and there were our bookshelves and desks (his heart did a double-take). I took him to the bathroom which almost as big as our past bedroom, and he made an awed noise. Next was the small room where other necessary household things were kept, and where the cat was playing with a wad of tissues (now where did that come from?), and finally, the bedroom. He shifted a little, and I allowed him to stand on his own.

His fingers touched the door, the pale yet inviting wall, and the bed spread. He held his breath all the while, exhaled slowly, and came back to me. I hugged him tightly. “I glanced back at the woman when you left her.” He said. “She was smiling at us. There was no malice, though. It was a nice smile. It made me feel, I don’t know…comfortable. At home.”

I made a mental note to raise the woman’s salary the moment I got to talk to my uncle. I looked at him. “You like it, don’t you? It’s just our style. You were actually floating in bliss when you spotted the library I furnished, you big bookworm.”

“Speak for yourself,” He said playfully. “You’re a bookworm, too.”

“That means we’ll be spending a lot of time there. Reading, of course. Not any other naughty stuff, I promise.” I cleared my throat and pushed him down firmly on the bed.

I crawled towards him, face-to-face, knee-to-knee…and he tensed. Froze. There was nervous sweat dripping on his forehead, and his breath was hitching.

I wanted to tear myself apart at his display of fear. He was still traumatized and clearly upset by the shower incident. Even if he forgave me wholeheartedly, he still couldn’t sleep at night sometimes…I knew because I couldn’t sleep as well.

“D-don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid.” I stuttered emotionally. “I won’t…I’ll never…hurt you again.”

And so I crawled beside him, cradled his head, and allowed sleep to overcome me gradually. The last thing I could remember seeing was his shocked face, wondering why I chose to hold him close instead, then a smile. The last words I could remember hearing was “Welcome home.” I don’t know if he was the one who uttered it, or if it was a dream, but I remembered it, and it felt so real. Things could turn to normal. I believed it.

***


Things turned to normal quite abruptly.

It happened when he felt ready again. It was a few months later. We were already used to the lovely, classy condominium life; and I bought a really sleek, black luxury van that was the source of envy from every businessman in the suburbs. I also bought the business I used to work on for photography and had my own office. I was quite well-off again (unfortunately, it made him insecure and distant for a few weeks, but I took care of things). As for other matters, many people started living in the condo, but for some unknown reason nobody occupied the floor we were staying in. Must be the security people. Clever gits.

That knowledge made me as hard as bricks. And I knew he was yearning to be touched again, which was obvious from his overly sweet gestures and sudden use of tight apparel. One fateful night we threw away the formalities and invaded the bed space after months of notorious ‘just embraces and kisses’. There was a mass black-out at that time in the city which no one was prepared for, and the generator was to run several minutes later so we killed time by making love. And it was the best of all. Hell, every time felt new. Every night was the best. It was immensely dark; and with a mini-flashlight fixed between my teeth I loomed over him, treated myself to the luxury of his wonderful figure, and continued what we had left off. It had been such a long time so the shock of feeling this close enveloped us both, inciting gasps and a series of clumsy hand-holding. He bit the cushion to drown his shouts but I told him there was no need to, because nobody was on the same floor, nobody could hear what he felt deep within.

“Y-you told me the same thing last time…” he said breathlessly, then pressed his face on the crumpled blanket again. “…but there WAS someone…”

I chuckled. “So what? If it’s maintenance, you know very well that THEY know very well about our relationship. I bet they’d even be happy we started doing it again. Really. Please, I want to jump you so bad, and I’d really appreciate it if you screamed really louder…”

“AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHHYOUEFFINGASSHO—”

It’s ironic to state that we both shouted really loud and needy that time. The next day the maintenance looked like they’ve seen ghosts the previous night. Or maybe heard ghosts. I walked passed them and the guard told me the whole maintenance were in the topmost floor last night, preparing some of the rooms because it would be occupied pretty soon. Then the black-out happened, and they heard familiar voices. They stepped closer and realized that it was ours.

“What were you doing last night?” The guard questioned me.

“Erm, exercising.” I blurted, bolted out the door and ran to the security of my car. I’ve seen all this before. We would have hot, mind-blowing sex, but the neighbors or the cat were always there to ruin everything. I would pick him up from work only to receive confused and heartbroken stares from both my and his fellow coworkers. The stalker would come marching in (another mystery to solve: How the hell did she know where our new quarters were?), inspect the place, and demand that we both break up before things got all shitty again. We would have the strangest dates at the weirdest of places; the public park, the abandoned park, the amusement park, and lastly, the parking lot. They were the same incidents, places and people…and it scared me to think that we were both elevating in bliss. It must be paranoia, because too much happiness gave me fear. That was probably just a phase, though. In the morning, however…

“Aren’t you glad we had a best friend?” I asked him. I remembered the git all of a sudden.

“Yeah.” We were both snuggled underneath the covers. “We should thank him.”

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my mind, I thanked him for being a damn bastard and for introducing us both. Hope he’s happy, though I highly doubt it.

I know we are.


***

"And the Girls go Dancing, looking above
run, running, sand through their toes...
and it's beautiful, isn't it, love?
But there ain't such pictures in here,
Darling; Ain't no girls' a dancing wild,
Pictures fade as I look back with fear;
Stopping myself is impossible, but I know I can.
It's wrong, but I'm alive now, as
I steady my gaze on a beaten man."

I grinned and purchased it.

***


My roommate went inside our room carrying a big gift wrapped neatly with frills and bows. I gave him a weird look.

“Happy birthday to us.” He said happily. The box was torn apart—I received blows as punishment for my excitement—and revealed a round, chocolate cake with mocha icing, strawberries, cookies, and cream. I cringed.

“It looks disgusting, I know. But you said you wanted to put some toppings, and I couldn’t find anything else. Our stomachs are going to wage war against us, but shouldn’t we give it a try?”

“You could’ve asked me to help you.” I popped a finger to check how spongy the cake was and he gave me a scandalized glare. I proceeded to put icing on my index finger and wagged it in front of him. Cute.

“Idiotic, as always. Let me go get some saucers…”

I pulled him back with chocolate coated fingers and he gave me a glare that indicated death. “Let’s eat it the ‘un-usual’ way. Saucers and forks are just plain boring.” I proceeded to take in whiffs of chocolate and mocha, making light brown swirls with my hand. His scandalized look never wavered, but he gave in and stepped nearer. “Why do I always spoil you, you perverted little thing?” he muttered darkly.

I shrugged. “It’s your fault. You had to love a chocolate-licking, fun-loving, lip-tasting, neck-smacking, shoulder-biting—“

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.” He said hurriedly, turning red.

“You even imagine it! Now who’s the pervert?”

“Die for me.”

The cake was never eaten; rather, it was licked and savored for several long minutes, thus resulting in smears and stains of icing all over the room and ourselves. We tackled, grappled and shouted cake-induced insults at each other as birthday wishes. He had icing all over his clothes and huge blobs of it at his nose, making it seem like a mountain sprung on his face out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop laughing my ass off at his ridiculous appearance; and as payback he pounced at me and stuffed large quantities of bread and strawberries on my mouth, almost making me choke in the process. I was grinning insanely and he was laughing heartily, but in an instant the mirth ceased. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He gave me a very odd look.

I was surprised. Intrigued. I have never seen that expression before.

“Have I greeted you a happy birthday?” He asked softly. His words came out so delicately and pleasantly that my organs couldn’t help but provide standing ovations. I shook my head at him and replied with a flourish. “Nope. You haven’t sung the birthday song while coming out of this huge cake wearing nothing but a bell draped around your neck and chains on your wrists. You haven’t danced to the tune of saxophone music while emerging from said giant cake…” I allowed my sentence to linger and delighted in the disapproving glare he wore. His cuteness was gratifying. Imagining is fun.

“So…do you like your gift?” He asked, seemingly truly concerned.

I was truly pleased. At his cuteness, his present, his words…him. “You know I am.”

He grinned. “I’m so glad. But…”

I perked up, bewildered. There was a ‘but’?

“But…that’s not my only gift.”

For some reason, I was sweating. Sweating madly. I smiled uncertainly. “I-It’s not?”

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. Something strange hung about in the air; he was now walking slowly towards me, arms swinging loosely at his sides. “You’re a mess,” he began, licking his lips in a casual manner—at least I thought it was casual because it felt everything else but.

I chuckled nervously. “Yeah…I’ll go and c-clean up—“

He bounded towards me and laid his head on my chest. I froze. Wait, why was I nervous? I was the one who wanted him, the one who usually teased and forced him in my arms. And those times were always accompanied by rejection and prior jabs and kicks. But it felt different now. There was something lazy and hot in his eyes, his movements were slow and enticing, and it was a totally different experience.

He was seducing me. I was being seduced.

(Rules: 1) He does not seduce you. 2) NOT AT ALL. 3) You’re the one who initiates the first move. 4) If he is seducing you, it means that you’ve done something bad, so he wants to avenge himself by acting unlike himself, then he breaks your heart afterwards. 5) If you are falling for the trap, RUN. Clutch on your balls if you can.)

RUUUUN!!!

I started bolting out of the door…wait, that was a lie. In my mind I was running, bounding on the hallway, but in reality I was stuck there. Really.

If I’m going to receive a punch in the end, so be it. This. Should. Not. Be. Missed.

“Let me clean it up for you,” he whispered. He gently raised my sticky fingers to his lips. I held my breath as I watched him lick each finger, slowly letting his tongue linger and taste the rich chocolate layers. Grey eyes were deep-set with concentration as he lapped and tasted, swirled his tongue in contact with skin, and I grew tenser and harder with every wet sensation. And DAMN, he kept staring at me while licking my fingers clean; those seductive grey eyes never strayed, and were only concealed for a few seconds by long, damp eyelashes. Finally every trace of chocolate and mocha were gone, only to be replaced by another sticky yet warm substance. He pursed his lips at the tip of my thumb and moved back, creating a soft smacking sound. He blinked for several times. I was still holding my breath. I looked down on my fingers and grimaced at the sight of their quivering state.

“I don’t want to die, yet—“ I began, but stopped immediately when he moved towards me again, entering the barrier that stood between us. I blushed. YES, I blushed, and to hell with blushing as long as he’s this close. I looked down, unable to dive straight into his cloudy eyes and watched as he tiptoed. I heard him say, “Look at me, asshole.” and when I did, his lips engulfed mine.

It took minutes for me to return back to earth, to retrieve my missing senses and taste the chocolate that dwelled in our mouths. That same expert tongue that left my fingers pissing on their pants were digging and meeting mine, as if it was a test I had to ace, and we were both hungry for more sweetness. I heard him moan deeply inside me, afterwards pulling back and planting kisses on the bridge of my nose, my jaw line, the skin just beneath my bottom lip…

“What the hell is happening to you?” I asked him as he licked every chocolate covered spot on my skin clean. He just finished polishing my shoulder when he looked up at me to answer.

“Isn’t it obvious enough? You’re stupid.” A whisper. “Don’t make the foolish mistake of thinking that you’re the only one who benefits from this relationship and feeling so lucky and miserable because of it. You’re desirable too, you know…but I’ll stop saying what I have in mind because your ego is already much too inflated to fit in this room.”

I’M DESIRABLE?! TO HIM?! Was I hearing things?

“Anyways, you’ve known it for so long, so it’s no use saying it. I mean, just remember those girls who used to stuff your locker with chocolates and collect sweat samples during—“

“They collected MY SWEAT SAMPLES?!”

“…You didn’t know? Oh well. You know how savage fanatics could be. No offense to them, though. Anyway, they all thought that you were handsome blah, blah, blah. There. I just wanted to say that I…that I share the same sentiments with them. Although I won’t dig my own hole and stoop down way below by collecting—ugh—disgusting samples in containers, I think you’re really handsome. Not the glorious Adonis-type handsome, or uptight, Hollywood actor handsome…just really, really handsome, DEEP handsome, YOU handsome.”

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. Blatant, straight-to-the-point compliments actually killed me bit by bit. Sure, I was such an arrogant asshole when girls would flock to me during my younger days, but that’s what our best friend taught me…that it never hurt to enjoy being wanted. But all those compliments, coming from HIM of all people…they killed me softly, surely, yet every bit regained paradise.

“Wait a sec.” I held up my hands. “Let me grab the calendar and mark this day as a commemorative event.”

He poked my nose forcefully and we both laughed.

“You always say that I’m beautiful. I don’t know about that.” He was now flushed red, torn from being pleased or embarrassed at his boldness. “…But I do know that YOU are. So I’m one of the fanatics. Okay, you can kill me now.” He squeaked.

I thought of doing the best reaction possible after wonderful praise.

I grunted. “Of course I’m fine-looking. You don’t need to tell me that shit.”

He nodded numbly. “Of course.”

I smiled and pulled him towards me, initiating a gasp of surprise from the victim. Then I pressed my forehead with his and laughed deeply. “I didn’t care about what the fanatics thought of me…they would call me handsome and all those shit but I never felt a thing.”

He stared hard.

I sighed. “…Fine, gratitude, maybe; flattered, nope. I wanted YOUR attention. I mean, do you really think I filched all those caterpillars and dropped them at your trousers for nothing? Your attention…I finally got it after several years. The wait has been wonderful, because we got hitched at that time…and now that you’ve said it, everything’s perfect. Thank you for your gift. That’s enough, I suppose. Now, let me give yours.”

“I have a gift?” He gave me a confused look.

“Oh yes,” I murmured with dark humor. “The corporeal gift is underneath the bed, but I’m not pulling it out until you lie down there with me.”

We dropped down on the bed after a few scuffles and laughter. Stained clothes were tossed on the hamper and shoes were kicked out and they made a thumping noise on the door. The cat made a loud meow at the noise, looked over at us to show that it understood and assessed the situation thoroughly, and trotted off to the kitchen to grant us some privacy. Guess it was trained enough to know the difference of things, clever cat.

I stopped pondering about the wonders of cat intuition when I lay back on the bed with him sitting on my stomach. He massaged my shoulders gently and smoothed the creases of the bed sheets, making me laugh out loud at his weird pre-sex jitters. “Are you nervous? Or do you just want to get on with your present that badly?”

He shook his head. “No. I just want to look at you. It feels strange, looking at you from this position.”

I rolled us both and soon I was over him again, peering at his childlike bearing. “You mean like this?” He nodded. “That’s what I feel every time we do it, you know. Staying on top means controlling the situation, getting a rewarding view of every angle. There are certain reminders that need to be kept in check, though. It’s very important to treat the person beneath you of high value, someone who is fragile and—“

“I am NOT fragile.” He retorted.

“Yes you are.” I wriggled a little so that his legs would widen further. He hissed. Grabbing the pillows, I held him closer to my chest to prop them beneath him. Then I laid him back and closed the gap between us, my fists closing in on his wrists, resting them at both sides of the pillow. His crimson hair was now loose, scattered on the white covers.

Then we kissed. It was slow, lingering and succulent. I broke the kiss and explored other areas as he watched me patiently. Minutes had passed. I still wanted him. An hour of touching, tasting and the scent of naked sweat. I still wanted him.

I needed to let go. I looked at him and he seemed to be at the tip of the iceberg as well.

I adjusted my position so that my midriff was level with his. I allowed his trembling fingers to roam through my hair and back, bracing him from impact. “Don’t worry…this won’t hurt…much.” I murmured in his throat, and he nodded in reply, indicating his trust. Or was that incoherence? Whatever--

I made love to him slowly. It was unlike our past nights; those nights we were hard and fast and ready to detonate in careless lack of inhibition. I continued to work in a slow pace, careful of hitting just the right spots without inciting pain, whispering quiet words of comfort all the while. Gone were the sharp cries and gasps, the sounds he made were now of passion and wistfulness. He was my fragile person, and this is what he deserved. Slow lovemaking at its finest.

"Oh...oh...nnggh." He whispered in bated breaths, eyes opening and closing, unsure of what to do.

They were wrong. Slow was never boring and dull. It was actually relaxing and soothing. I sensed impending release and set it free; that amazing, bursting sensation in my stomach I only experienced when he was this close…I let it go gradually and he did the same. After I felt his muscles relax beside my hips I held his waist firmly and turned him around so that he lay on his front. “Huff…what now?” His voice was muffled between the pillows. I placed my cheek on his back, heard his words, and grinned. “I’m not quite done yet.”

“W-What are you—“

“Ssssshhh…” I silenced him with a kiss and pulled back mischievously. “We’re still halfway through.”

He screamed. I crossed the threshold, something I was very skilled at.

(Hahah, sexual symbolisms.)

The cat entered the room an hour later and jumped on the bed, entering my ‘fragile’ boy’s arms. His caresses were stiff but I knew they were warm. The cat purred and positioned itself between us. Hmph, so the bugger chose a strategic place to annoy me through the night.

“Why don’t you stroke me, too? I’m getting jealous.” I draped a languid arm over his chest and kissed his arm lazily.

“Y-you…effing…bastard.” He choked out. “You didn’t even warn me, you…TEASED me with your slow moves…if I only KNEW you were just getting prepared…”

“Sorry. I should’ve told you I was just getting heated up. Did I surprise you?”

“NO DUH.”

“Hmmm…figures. You screamed like a girl.”

“How dare you…argh!”

“It’s your fault. You were seducing me a while back. What’s a guy to do?”

“Be GENTLE for a change, perhaps?.”

“I have a question.”

“Meeeooowww…”

“Not you, you bundle of fur balls.”

“If you call my cat names again I’ll inflict damage, I swear.”

“I’m disturbed. You’re willing to be this seducing, sexy psychopath just for this demented animal.”

“…just ask me whatever it is you wanted to ask while I ponder ways of killing you.”

“Aah, that’s better. Wonderful, ohmygodyou’resodamnhot even." There was a moment of silence while I rearranged my thoughts. "...Oh, did I ever tell you that I stalked you before?”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I was with the woman stalker. We followed you for weeks. Yeah, I had to plug my ears. She was fair company. She thought we were dating. YEAH, while I was moaning your name and while she took pictures of you. You amused?”

He was chuckling. “You major LOSER.”

Silence again. I remembered all the stupid things I did while he was gone, and realized that I never knew what happened to him before we made up.

I coughed.

"...Mmm?"

“Hey...What did you do while…you know…while things were bad?”

Eyes were set in concentration. “I envy you. You were productive. You were actually out there, discovering people. Not that I approve of those you spoke with, though.”

I nudged him playfully. “Still jealous?”

He rolled his eyes, then sighed. “…It hurt for a little while.”

Damnit. I wrapped a sweaty, flavored arm round him and squeezed tight. “I’m sorry. To tell you the truth, something ALMOST happened. But it didn’t, because I whispered the wrong name. No wait, I whispered the RIGHT name. Your name…it’s always right.”

A smile. “…When things were shitty, I was just there, moping…and you probably knew that already. The stalker’s mouth zips through dust. I went back home and tried to…no, I didn’t really know what I was doing. The neighborhood…they’re clearly updated regularly, because they heard what happened. They said things. They said ‘I knew it, that kind of relationship doesn’t last, it never does, never will.’, ‘They’re a disease, that’s what.’, ‘I hope they straighten up their lives, it’s heading nowhere.’”

I held my breath. Damn it. I hurt him enough already, and then…then those bastards just said those shit…goddamn…fuck them...

“I wondered if our life together really WAS heading nowhere. But, who are they to decide, anyway? This is WRONG, they said…but what is wrong? I was really confused. You know what I told them?”

I shook my head.

“I told them; 'why the hell should I be listening to you lot, when you never really cared, not at all?' Then I realized that you always cared. You make mistakes, stupid, nasty ones; I am flawed in such a way too. But we cared about each other so badly, and that’s way better than scathing remarks coming from people I barely even know. My conclusion was: I’m going to listen to those who care for me.”

I was resolute. “You know what my conclusion is?!” I said brusquely. He looked startled and a bit scared at the sudden roughness of my voice. “They’re a bunch of shitloaders and I’m going to contact their bosses and so that they’ll get fired...then maybe beat them up a bit…”

“…I thought of that too, but they're already sad people so I didn't bother. But they...they also said that I was just using you because you were...perfect.”

My eyebrows rose. “Lemme guess…they were teenage girls?”

“Some. Others were middle-aged spinsters. One g-guy.”

We stared at each other and snorted.

Lonely memories, insane lust, and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation blended together and produced laughter; happy and sad and so true, somehow. “After what I did…and they still call me perfect. God, I can’t believe you had to go through such things…oh damn…” I felt so horrible, I even forgot that we were still smeared with icing as I embraced him yet again, whispering sadness and regret in his ear.

He shifted a bit. “That tickles. What’s your question again?”

“Did you like my gift?”

His eyes laughed.

***

A few seconds later we were kissing wildly (what's new). The cat was squashed between us, meowing helplessly, but we continued to press ourselves against each other. We kissed for a very long time…

...And stopped (what's new). "What the heck is wrong now? You said lights are okay, I'm not really pushing you or anything, I've been really good all morning..."

“Where’s the real gift?”

I groaned, busy exploring his chest, hips bucking. “Under. Bed. Shit. Hurry. Now. Cat. Sex.”

“I cannot possibly decode your monosyllables.”

“Fuck it, it’s underneath the bed, hidden by my parka.”

He pulled out a book.

“What the—A Collection of the Weirdest Romantic Poems in History.” He smiled warmly. “...Thank you.”

I grinned. “You're very welcome. Oh, you forgot the other book..." I fished for the next present, and brought it out like a trophy. "Sensual Forms of the Promiscuous Desire.”

He laughed. “I knew it. That’s more like you.”

We lay there, smirking at each other. After a few seconds I heaved myself up to pull him down, but he shoved my hand away with the paperback book.

A gape distorted my (probably lust-driven) face. “I shouldn’t have bought you books, now you’ll just go lock yourself in the bathroom, sit on the toilet seat, then start reading your eyeballs off, while I sulk here with an aching erection—“

“Hush, plebe.” A warning tone, then that addicting laughter again. “Hmmm…I wonder if these things are effective? Let me see…” he started flipping through the pages of Promiscuous Desire, beamed wildly, and I understood in an instant. The cat looked horrified and tried to squirm away.

“It says here on chapter seven, Sexual Honesty…intriguing title, that is…that if we do this and yeah…Mmmm…maybe that, we might get uhhmm…that’s IT, right there….”

***

THE END

(…of the sex)

***