Water droplets trickle down my field of vision so much so I have to raise my visor to see the barrier that I have just rolled into. Another ignominious retirement. Why am I not surprised? And the perfect setting for it; the gloom and doom of a soggy Silverstone experience, as the rain beats on to the now slippery asphalt, while the roar of cautious engines around me is a hollow reminder that I am no longer in the hunt, no longer racing for the scraps of points chucked to the hungry and desperate pack by the dominating scarlet cars. The bits and pieces the Ferraris leave behind in their merciless wake is all we can ever hope for as they decimate their rivals with lethal precision and beautiful accuracy.

Yet, if it sounds like I actually care, then think again. I don’t. I haven’t really been bothered for an awful long time now. I guess my unfounded optimism got me through my first two seasons as numero uno at Jaguar, but now I don’t care. I don’t care about the pathetic excuse of a car that they give me. I don’t care about the all-conquering Ferraris and their championship, the battling Williamses and hapless McLarens. Even being top Brit has little incentive these days. And being the pitlane playboy? What consolation …

Because out here, with the damp grass now beneath my feet as I remove myself from the tight braces of the cockpit to trudge wearily back to the garage, it doesn’t seem worth the hassle. Dark clouds are foreboding overhead, yet I saunter back to the motorhome without a backward glance towards the track.

And when one of my mechanics mentions, as the chequered flag falls, that Schumacher pulled off another win and I fail to even hear him, I realise something.

I don’t even want to be here.

The thrill of the chase, the feeling of being at one with your car, of enjoying the battles and clashes on the track as much as the tousles and drama off it. I can live without it. And this isn’t just an idle thought. I know I’ve said it before when things have been bad. After 1999 there were times when I wondered why I carry on with the pretence that I’m ever going to have a clear shot at the title. But it never got to me to the point of wanting to severe myself from the life-cord of F1 completely. I still felt the desire to compete, the knowledge that I was driving as good as ever. So much more to prove, my pride would not let me leave without a triumphant swansong.

Now, there is only one reason why I bother to hang around, dragging out my ebbing career to new depths of embarrassment. Yes, you are my only reason now. If it had not been for the fact that I couldn’t believe we could continue if I left the sport for good, I would have quit a long time ago. I over-estimated my commitment to this life, and underestimated us. It was as if I felt that without this, we were nothing, as if this circus made us and our separation would undoubtedly come once one of us took the first step away from this life.

Foolish to think we were built of foundations so weak. Of course we will survive, and I am just beginning to see that there is so much more to us that the illicit embraces during the race weekend.

To an extent I think you feel the same as I do, though your cynicism has not reached my murky depths just yet. On the other hand, we approach the twilight of our careers so differently. People would call our personalities chalk and cheese, that’s how different we are. I don’t like that comparison. It insinuates that we can’t mesh, that we are so different that we are intrinsically separated. Though there is no divide that can keep us apart, and perhaps I am now able to realise that we can survive without all of … this. The call of the asphalt might be fading, but it just means that my senses are more tuned towards thoughts of you. Your optimism refreshes me in my cynical pessimism, and I do likewise when your rosy outlook takes a battering in a world not meant for the naïve. Too sweet for this life, for the vultures that flock at the scent of easy prey, yet you balance out the sour taste of my wit and personality beautifully.

You are the one thing that I am completely sure about. The rest, I’m starting to believe I can live without.

Then again, perhaps I am just having a bad day and that once back in the warm familiar glow of the Mediterranean, where I feel much more at home and at peace, I might see things with my usual nonchalance. I might not be ready to quit just yet, but whilst the dark clouds hang overhead with silent menace, they sap whatever optimism I have.

I’m sure you’ll talk me round, you usually do. Or at least you provide more than adequate distraction, a body perfect from rousing me from my piques of cynicism, lending itself for long, languorous and loving exploration in the warm tender nights. Wholly sappy, and I would never tell you this to your face without a suitable mischievous grin, dripping with my usual sarcasm, but you make the nights spent in anonymous hotel rooms feel like home. Not a place, not even a house, but a state of mind, the feeling of belonging so completely that when I lie against you, tracing idle designs on your chest and feeling the deep even rising of your breathing, it’s a contentment that I can’t put into words. Just a sense of right-ness, of something meant to be.

At least there is one beautiful thing in my life, even if everything else retains this depressing monochrome.
 
 

Would you believe me if I said that I was sorry that it had to be like this?

Do you believe me right now when I tell you that my silence has nothing to do with you, with us?

Would it be enough just to tell you the hundred and one ways in which these past few months have been torture for me, knowing the careless talk and the foolish bravado I surround myself with to delude myself of far too revealing demons that I don’t think I am strong enough to face has hurt you more than my own troubles are worth.

It’s clichéd, but in this case absolutely true. This has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me. My future should not hurt you, and it should never, and will never, affect the future we have together. That is something you should understand implicitly by now, even if you dislike my silence on the subject. You must know that it has nothing to do with you. And likewise, not even you can shed some light on all my possibilities. I have to make the decisions alone, for my own peace of mind. The one thing that could destroy us would be for me to base my choices on you, to do what I think you want me to do, because it would invariably be the wrong path to take. No, I have to discover what it is that I really want. That is why you shouldn’t be hurt like this. Of course you mean everything to me, but that is precisely why I should leave you out of this, because regardless of the choice I make, we will still be together.

You shouldn’t let yourself fall into such anxiety over me.

Still, your eyes are full of disappointment, of sorrow, but it’s the flicker of hurt directed at me that aches the most, because it makes me realise that you think I don’t trust you. Never one to raise your voice, tonight has not been an argument. If it had been then perhaps I wouldn’t feel so terrible for we could kiss and make up. This is worse, it is your blind acceptance of what I have told you though it wounds you enormously which only pains me and makes me feel the lowest of the low.

You couldn’t be further from the truth.

Tonight was supposed to be special. The end of a turbulent season for the both of us, tonight was to be an evening of drinks, quiet contemplation and recollection with the company I have held for so many years now that I can’t recall a time in recent history when you haven’t been there. Reminiscing over memories, some pleasant, some more disconcerting, but above all a remembrance of where we started and of how far we have come in the many years of our acquaintance. Two strangers who all those many years ago became friends, both far from the safe havens of our homes and families, learning to live together, being taught how the basics of our craft, how to make our far-fetched dreams reality, even if we never really thought they would come true. Living out lives of endless youth and energy, we had the world at our feet and so much to explore. Friends who became lovers, it was inevitable as we not only discovered ourselves but each other, and the more I found out the more I wanted to keep you close. In far-flung lands, the environment might have been alien, the culture and the society so different from the familiar, but the company was more natural and homely than ever.

I had a lot to thank you for in those years long ago, and you said the same of me with that mischievous glint in your eyes and that glowing smile, one of your most endearing qualities. Sitting together on the sofa, it didn’t matter that the surroundings were once again those of a hotel room, within four unimaginative white walls. We could have been anywhere, yet the atmosphere when I am around you is always one of relaxation and belonging. On my own, I dislike the sparse feeling of hotels, designed for fleeting visits and anonymous lives. No matter how lavish the fittings, how sumptuously decorated, how expensive they claim to be, they cannot mask the fact that they are moreorless devoid of feeling.

How the ambience changes when I’m with you.

Tonight started so well. Just as every other night in recent memory. Conversation flowed for hours, broken only by comfortable silence, deep in thought, just enjoying the sensation of intimacy. Normally, I hate silence with anybody else, always having the urge to speak, to fill the uneasy void when there is nothing to say. As if there is something missing. People say I just love the sound of my own voice. That’s not true. I simply find the silence disturbing, that awkward moment between people who have no idea what to say so they fill it with meaningless chatter so they don’t have to admit that they have nothing in common. So artificial.

With you, however, silence is loving, it speaks volumes, more so than simple words could express. With you, silence isn’t empty, it is more full of life than a million idle words shared with anyone else. And so when the words naturally dried up, the way your fingers ran through my hair as I laid in your arms, my head against your chest, told me more of your contentment than I could have heard from your lips.

It felt wonderful to lie like this, for the minutes spent in your arms like this, all the tribulation of the season, of life in general, didn’t matter. I used to think that true intimacy could only ever exist at the heights of pleasure. You taught me otherwise. I wouldn’t say that you tamed me, I’m not sure I like that description. And you always told me that you would never want to change me, mould me in to anything else. You love me, faults and all, just the way I am. I’m the same. I adore your little quirks and mannerisms, the way you are such my polar opposite, even if your literal mind and sometimes over-sensitive nature can drive me to exasperated distraction.

But you have modified me, you have to admit that, even if it wasn’t your intention to do so. In the salad days of our relationship, the thought of being contented lying in your arms, taking as much delight from quiet moments like this than the raw pleasure of our love-making would have been laughable. No, my onus on the physical would have had me dragging you to the nearest available surface to seek more corporeal satisfaction. Created in lust, perhaps, but sustained by love and mutual respect, our relationship grows as we age, no longer dependent on the carnal for survival. We are just as content with the bliss of each other’s company in the most innocent of fashions.

That’s not to say the carnal aspect ever wavered in its intensity. I sometimes think that you’ve become even more alluring as you’ve grown older. The eagerness of youth has not yet been dampened by the passing years or the comfort of familiarity, and though nights grow older and darker I will still not be satisfied to sleep before we have fully exhausted each other. Then, we can finally close our eyes as the night sky takes on the paler blue countenance betraying the approach of another new day that we are in each other’s arms.

That is what tonight is supposed to be. I want you as my soft, gentle lover tonight, to remind me of the sweetness that I fell in love with, the one part of my life that has always been constant and reassuring. A fitting end to a season full of pitfalls and the occasional unsuspecting success, unfortunately too rare to balance out my disappointment at the car, at the team, and even at this life rated so highly by others. My patience with racing is wearing thin, yet not even I know for certain if I am willing to jack it all in for good just yet.

So, when lying in your arms you leant down, kissing me softly on my upturned forehead and asked me if I would be here next season and I didn’t reply, I could feel you mentally recoiling. Oh, it was the one thing I was dreading you asking me. I cannot give you an answer. If I knew myself then you would be the first to know. I have possibilities, vague speculations that might prove substantiated over the winter break, but there is nothing of substance that I could tell you. And the one thing I don’t want to do is get your hopes up that I will be in Australia on the grid next year.

Who wants a loud-mouthed ageing driver, probably past his best when the series is awash with confident youth who can do just as good a job for a fraction of the price, driving cars that almost drive themselves? We’re part of a dying breed, those who know what it’s like to really drive, to go through the whole process to reach this, our goal. They will never go through what we did, probably never discover themselves as deeply as we did, as thoroughly as we discovered each other. And for that, a part of me feels sorry for them.

But it does mean that my own future is more precarious. Oh, I could probably blag another drive, but who wants to struggle in a future-less team, racing more for the money than for the pleasure of driving. Not when the thrill has been surgically removed by a cowardly FIA and far too clever for their own good techno-boffins. Where is the danger, the excitement, the passion? Gone. I’d rather spend my free time with you than out there, even though in my heart I know that I still hanker for the thrill of competition and speed. It is more a question of whether the sport can change my jaded opinion.

I would tell you all of this, but I don’t think it would make you feel any better, any more reassured that my love for you is not restricted to the times we see each other at the circuits. No, racing together only makes it more convenient to see you. To steal kisses during practices in the privacy of locked motorhomes, the most unprofessional behaviour becoming more heated with the desire to touch and taste for the fleeting moments where we could forget our troubles and lives on the track.

I try to explain it to you regardless, to reassure you of our future. I think it seeps through. I’m not sure you understand how I can be so indecisive, a characteristic most removed from my confident demeanour, but I register the acceptance in your deep brown eyes that soften and I know you realise I am serious when I say that this has nothing to do with us. You know we are more than our shared careers – I think you just feel a more glimmer of disappointment that our meetings will not be so simple. Even if I don’t start the grid next season, there is nothing to stop me from flying over to wish you good luck. I will follow you around the world if it means I will get to see you with the same regularity that we enjoy right now, sharing your hotel room, the only difference will be the few hours that you are on the track, I will be waiting back here for you. And they do say some absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Yes, you won’t get rid of me that easily. And then between races, nothing will change. My boat has always provided us with the seclusion that we crave, the privacy to be ourselves without the glare of the cameras. There are so many places in the world where we can find ourselves a little solitude without the pressures of our lives.

Yet, now despite my reassurance, still you look worried, the little frown lines on your forehead and the way your lips turn downwards in concern make me smile at just how cute you can be as you hold me. You notice, and playfully punch my arm, chiding me for mocking your anxieties. It only makes me giggle more; you constantly scold me for my insolence, I find it quite amusing still.

The way that your fingers brush down my cheeks and across my lips are much more effective at silencing me. Even such a soft touch still evokes shivers through my body and I arch up again, settling myself more comfortably against your chest, your legs hooking around mine. You notice and now it is your turn to tease, caresses running down my neck to sweep down my arms. You obviously don’t like the rough heavy cotton of my black shirt because next your fingers deftly flick open the buttons one by one so your soft fleeting touches are much more lethal on naked skin. I try to sit up to turn around and kiss you, but you have other ideas, your free arm wrapping around my waist so I have no choice but to lie there at the wonderful mercy of your caresses.

A cracked murmur escapes my lips when your lips join in the torture and brush against my neck and I have no intention of resisting this. When you are like this, I am all too ready to submit. As wonderful as it is to take you, I am not above surrendering myself to your designs. If the world knew that you could be every inch as rough and demanding as they believe I am, then they would be completely shocked that naïve chocolate eyes framed by child-like lashes could mask such a fiery passion.

Tonight I have no intention of putting up my usual fight like I often would at such a display of your dominance. Sometimes it is far more worth it to sit back and take it, to revel in the sensations of fingers stroking my chest, brushing purposely over my nipples until they pucker hard for you as your lips whisper arousing promises of what the night holds. My shirt is slid off my body and I stretch my arms out above my head, locking around your neck, and you use my posture to full advantage, tickling strokes down my tensed arms that elicit far too pleasurable sensations.

And to think that you fear I might want to give this up ...

Your doubts must be quelled when you lean forward slightly, and I with you, so that your hand slips further down to run down my body, the well-tailored trousers doing nothing to disguise how aroused I am by not just your touches but your mere presence. The friction is good, too good. I groan, my head lolling to one side as I surrender to your rougher caresses. Arching back closer to you, there is now no mistaking your own arousal, and I feel slightly more on even terms when I press back against you, grinding against your body to hear your groan of approval.

“Come on, baby, you call that hard?” I growl, my cockiness receiving a mischievous nip on my neck from your teeth as you kiss me.

“Mm, well better than this,” you murmur in reply, outlining my erection retrained uncomfortably in my trousers and smiling at the way I gasp in pleasure at the contact. “I thought, in your words, I made you as horny as fuck.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a choked groan, “Yeah, well, you’re getting old, aren’t you. Not as sexy as you used to be, baby. But you’ll do, I guess.”

An arm around my waist pulls me up to a seated position between your legs, your hands easily and slowly opening the zip on my trousers. I swear indiscriminately, a hoarse gasp, when a warm hand slips inside and curls purposely around my throbbing cock.

“I’ll do, will I?” I hear the playful tone in your voice, more husky with the heat of arousal. “Well, if you’re not bothered then maybe I should let you finish this yourself.”

You turn my head with your free hand, bringing my face into view of yours. God, I can’t describe how you look or how much I want you, but I don’t have to for you to know. The muscles in my neck protest as I stretch around to kiss you but the ache only arouses me more, my hand now joining the fingers stroking my erection, the other running down behind me to where your hardened cock digs into my back, giving you a small taste of your own medicine. An uncomfortable embrace but far too pleasurable for me to pay attention to strained muscles.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I try to sound commanding, but only manage what sounds like a desperate croak. Not that I care if you know how crazy you are making me. In fact, knowing you realise how desperate I am only gets me off further.

“You really are a little slut, aren’t you,” you whisper with an affection that makes me just want to beg for you to finish this now. But I enjoy the slow torture far too much, growling breathlessly in agreement and hearing your mellow laugh in my ears.

Yet, these clothes begin to irritate. I want to lie against your naked skin, shredding the cumbersome fabric surrounding my erection. The thought of lying out, utterly aroused, on display for your appreciative gaze coincides with an effective caress of my cock, and I cry out hoarsely, needing more.

“If that’s the best you can do ...” I manage to mutter challengingly, my eyes flickering closed as I fight the spiral towards orgasm. Unsurprisingly, you answer the challenge. Aware of your legs unwrapping from mine, you kneel behind me, pulling me up too and then pushing me forward, stretching me out on my stomach on the sofa beneath you. My breath quickens in anticipation, my tongue licking my lips waiting for what you are about to do. You don’t object when I turn around to lie on my back, looking up at you, but I have little chance to contemplate when your hands grasp at the waist-line of my trousers and pulling them off in one fluid movement. I can only lie there aroused whilst you lean over me, letting your kisses fall down from my collarbone to my navel, your fingers tracing patterns down my thighs. I try to lift up, aching for any kind of friction, yet you lift off completely, leaning back and sitting on your knees with a curious and wanton expression of lust and mock chastisement.

“You know, you shouldn’t really deserve this,” you say with a humorous smile, “Not after making me worry like this. But then as you are so easy, I might as well have you.”

Normally, I’d make you pay in such exquisitely arousing ways for such a comment, but right now I let it slide, enjoying submitting like this far too much to object. Instead, all I can manage is a murmur of ‘please’, my own hand snaking down my thigh to emphasise how much I need you. Your soft brown eyes are shot through with similar pleasure, through half-closed lids I see you lick your lips, and I feel a glow of satisfaction that my body arouses you so much. To prove it, I let a hand slide inside my underwear, watching your reaction intently and hearing you mutter something unintelligible under your breath as I touch myself, arching back against the cushion behind me at the pleasure and letting your name leave my lips in a manner I know will drive you insane with lust.

I don’t have to look at you to know you’re enjoying this performance, seeing me getting off on your mere gaze, on those soulful eyes staring right at me with such clarity that I know exactly what you are thinking, exactly how horny this is making you, and it serves only to make me more roused up.

“So, are you just going to watch or are you actually going to be of some use?” I snicker, my breath now reduced to heavily panting. Your eyes are wide and deep, smiling at me, when you lean back over, pushing away my hand with an authority I don’t question. My neck arches backwards as I gasp, your hands finally pulling down my underwear to discard it on the floor, and my body writhes up as the cotton fabric rubs against my erection as you pull off the unwanted fabric. Now, it is your turn to snigger, shaking your head in pretend exasperation at the unashamed display of arousal before you. I give you what must pass for a ‘what are you waiting for’ look in my state and in response you dip your head, running your tongue up my erection causing me to automatically thrust up my hips, aching for more.

“Patience never was your strong point, was it Eddie?” You laugh, your eyes alight, and I don’t know how to can be so calm and collected whilst my body is here on fire. You must read my mind because you then lift up, your hands running provocatively down your body to rest on the waist of your jeans. The fastenings open with ease and your trousers are eased down over slender hips in an all too sexy motion; your boxers joining them gracefully until you are kneeling astride my knees with your clothes hanging tantalisingly around your thighs. No question of your own need, you must note my appreciative stare of a body that is still as beautiful now as it was when I first got to see it in all its naked glory. That night, our first together, was special. Oh, we’ve had better sex  by far as we became more experienced with each other’s bodies. But I was your first, and it was more the loving intentions than the physical pleasure that made it wonderful.

Now though, I think I must have taught you too well and then some because you are dragging out this fabulous teasing. I remain transfixed, my eyes following your fingers as they trace up your partly exposed thighs, running through the dark curls that surround the base of your erection. Trembling, this must be the most erotic sight imaginable, watching you pleasure your scantily-clad body for my benefit, my torture, until enough is enough and I have to beg for you to touch me.

You don’t make me wait any longer, your mouth taking in my erection and your fingers seeking new avenues of pleasure. The vibrations of your groans feel good against my cock, and even with my eyes closed I can imagine the pleasure on your face as you caress yourself, catching up to the level of my arousal. Fingers rake through the soft waves of your hair, pushing you down as I arch up my hips in encouragement, my thighs close in around you, legs around your neck. Wanting nothing more to let go, the range of expletives that leave my lips do so without my conscious knowledge, too consumed in this pleasure.

And then, cruelly, you pull away, my body on the brink of climax and I scream for more, breathlessly begging for you to finish this.

Instead, your lips take mine and you kiss me slowly, your hands running through my hair as you now straddle my chest. Minutes pass and my urgency subsides enough for me to gain some coherence and thoughts turn to the delicious taste of your lips, the thousands of emotions gained from such a simple action.

And I know whatever happens this kiss alone will be enough persuasion to keep us together.

But our bodies don’t share the sentiment right now, both screaming in desire for a far more base and carnal union. You sense the change in atmosphere and lean back, a knowing smirk on your full pouting lips. Then you surprise me by lifting off the sofa and standing beside me. Turning on to my side, I watch with fascination as you push down the clothes you are still surprisingly wearing, until you are completely on display for my hungry eyes. As much of a thrill I got from being undressed before you, the feeling of almost vulnerability as I lay against your fully clothed body, it doesn’t compare in any terms to the sight of you without the distractions of clothes. You look far more stunning this way, anything you wear will always cover a body that deserves to be on permanent display, its beauty is so intense.

You see my admiring gaze, the sly contemplation in my eyes as I try to second-guess you. I think you have realised by now that tonight I am handing power over fully to you. It’s an interesting game and I long to see your next move.

You make it by extending your hand, dark eyes aflame, and I take it without question, letting you pull me up off the seat. Arms wrap around my waist, hands resting possessively on my ass to pull me close so our bodies press close. My own are looped around your neck and I can’t resist the urge to lean in and kiss you. Short and sweet, you pull away and chuckle.

“Just what am I going to do with you?” You ask with a grin, and I know full well you have this planned out to every exquisite detail.

“I could give you a couple of suggestion,” I murmur huskily, but that only earns me a little slap on the rear for my cheekiness. This is delicious, I lean in and begin to kiss the graceful sweep of your neck but to this you don’t object, merely pulling me closer so for minutes we just stand there, in the middle of the room, engrossed in each other’s embrace.

You are the first to move, dragging us back to a consciousness outside this kiss. Enthralled, I let you lead me through the door on the left to the bedroom, watching with interest as you go over to the two lamps either side of the substantial bed and flick them both off. Ah yes, my darling lover likes the dark. I’m not bothered either way, but you have always loved to rely on other senses. The room descends into near darkness, save for the small stream of light coming in from the open door. With a nod of your head, you gesture to the bed. Not that I need the encouragement.

The pillow is soft beneath my head as I stretch out provocatively, making a teasing display for you to try and rouse you into action. Yet, your self-control is admirable tonight, not that I want such restraint, as you simply stand there beside the open door watching me with a thoughtful expression, half-illuminated from the muted light coming in.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and I hear the melodic sound of your laugh in my ears.

“Just long enough to admire what I see,” you reply softly and that sends a jolt down to my groin at such open appraisal. I contemplate telling you that you would get a much better view over here, but I bite my tongue. No, tonight by you rules. You will come to me soon enough.

“What do you see?” I surprise myself with the crack in my voice, like I’m nervous as to what you might answer. Me, nervous! Your reply stuns me into silence.

“My entire world.”

Now, I know you love me. It’s written in your every expression, in every sound of your words and in every touch and caress. Yet, to hear it so blatantly completely overwhelms me to silence. You chuckle again when I can’t reply.

“Eddie Irvine hasn’t got a reply to something, now that must be a first,” you gently chide in good humour and I don’t know what possesses me to do it but I childishly stick my tongue out, a humoured sparkle in my eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of a better use for that,” you add, noting my little gesture of defiance. The door swings closed on well-oiled hinges with a smart click and the room descends into complete darkness. But I don’t have to see to know you are there. I hear your soft footsteps come towards me, before the bed springs protest as you haul yourself up with me, hands reaching out to find my body. Eyes adjust after a few minutes just enough for me to make you out, enough light escaping from the closed curtains to make the outline of your body visible.

And then you make your move. Firstly, my lips. You lean over to taste and explore, kissing soft skin until you find my mouth, and I cannot help but give myself up to you completely, my body moulding around yours in a tight embrace. Then your exploration moves further south, down my neck little sucks and nibbles, then across my shoulders. When I try to move, to touch you, hands gently push me down again, the unspoken order to remain still. And far too curious, I obey, lying back to receive whatever you want to give me. Where kisses don’t travel, fingers caress so that in a matter of minutes my body burns with aroused passion again. In the dark, I can’t predict your next move so the surprise is genuine when I gasp as your mouth retakes me, fingers making intimate caresses to drive me wild. Whenever I try to move, you force me down again, telling me in husky tones to concentrate, so I have to lie there, virtually holding my breath, as you play my body with such ability I don’t think I can last much longer.

But still you don’t give me release, seemingly knowing exactly when to stop before I spiral over the edge and I breathlessly curse your skill, to which you laugh at my impatience yet again.

This time, however, you move and I can feel your weight now lightly on my upper chest as you kneel either side of me. Fingers stroke my face and I murmur a million ways I want you to take me, and when your fingers gently brush across my lips I decide to give you a little taste of what I can do for you as I lure them in with my tongue, gently sucking and lapping. I can’t see your face clearly enough to register your expression, but I don’t have to, hearing the increase in frequency of your breathing, the occasional whimper that leaves your lips as I offer, without words, my mouth to your service. You accept immediately, your body shifts and leans in and over me. Difficult in the dark, yet my fingers find your straining erection and guide it in.

Now it is your turn to gasp in delight, the more my tongue teases your cock the more you can’t support your weight and you press down more heavily on me, your erection ramming further down my throat. Fingers interlock in the strains of my hair, I wish I could see your face as your hips pump against me but taste and touch is enough right now to feel you fully aroused. My fingers busy themselves between your thighs, finding new places to touch and arouse and my ears are assaulted by the increasingly breathless pants of approval that you expel. The way you murmur my name can almost make me come, full of rapture, adoration and promise, which only serves for me to suck more insistently, wanting to reduce your already trembling body into a state of utter pleasure.

Yet, you have other plans because you stop your thrusts and still for a few seconds, catching your breath.

“Eddie-,” you murmur my name and without needing to say more I let my tongue coat your erection with saliva, at the back of my mind knowing it won’t be enough but not particularly caring. You give a small laugh at how I read your mind and then you pull back, reaching down to take my lips in a soft kiss I reciprocate just as lovingly.

“Take me, please,” I whisper, voicing my acquiescence for the night as a hand tenderly strokes my face. With a last simple kiss on the tip of my nose, you nod, slipping back down my body gracefully in the darkness.

I close my eyes. Not that I really need to, it isn’t as though I can see much any way. But I want to. My other senses tell me what my lover does, from the sensitive stomach muscles as you dip down to trail your tongue down my body, to the fleeting caresses of fingertips up my thighs, which part obediently to encourage you. And when your fingers press inside me, preparing me for your entrance, I moan desperate for more, desperate for you to claim me.

You show me mercy and don’t keep me waiting and I can’t believe it is so long since you last entered me. On reflex, my entire body arches up with a gasp. It hurts somewhat, but the pain is only a mild distraction, easily ignored once your thrusts become more regular as I wrap my legs around your body. You take it slowly at first, your lips far more concerned with finding more places to kiss in the darkness, your fingers intent on stroking my erection and I tell mine join them to hurry the pace.

I lie back, absorbed in the sensations, luxuriating in the feeling of your possession and it feels only right to tell you how I love you, compliments and declarations spilling from my lips whilst I’m still coherent enough to tell you. Another hand trails up my chest and on instinct I reach out to hold it, our fingers intertwining above my head and then our lips doing the same, your eyes, now close to mine, telling me the same emotions that my lips express and unshakeably holding my gaze.

More, I need more and I tell you, so you deliver. Your thrusts become harder, a faster tempo rocks against me and pushes me further back and I revel in it, a wonderful pleasure much more than the pure physical gratification of your body in mine, your body touching mine. No, it’s knowing that you are claiming me, knowing how aroused I make you, the realisation of how much we need each other. And right now, nothing else in this world matters but what goes on in this darkened room.

Unable to delay climax any longer, your expertise with my body and my soul force me over the edge with a final slam inside me, and I arch back crying your name, feeling an arm loop around my waist pulling me closer. A couple more thrusts and the breathless groans of your voice become one final gasp and you join me in orgasm, buried deep inside me.

Breathless, dizzy, it takes a couple of minutes for me to come round again as the last flickers of orgasm disappear to be replaced by a warm afterglow. Without thought, my hand lets go of yours to reaches out and ruffle your hair as you lay contented against my chest, realising my other is still holding yours on my cock. A part of me wants to lift your chin so that I can try to make out your expression, to see the satisfaction on your face gained from my body. Though it really isn’t necessary. There are things mere sight seems inadequate to describe and I can tell from the rise and fall of your chest, the soft sensation of your now relaxed breathing and just how you lay against me, that you feel just as blissful as me.

But it would be nice to see, so I do. What I see are two apparently black orbs smiling back at me with thorough satisfaction.

“So, I’ll do then?”

I can’t help but laugh, a pleasant sound but it sounds far too loud for the dark setting of our embrace.

“Yeah, I think so,” I murmur back, gasping slightly as I feel your body pull out of me to slide down next to me on the pillow. “Well, until I find a decent shag, anyway.”

You playfully thump me again, your eyes gleaming back at me and without thought I lean over and kiss you. Slow, passionate, full of possession and love, I bring you closer into my arms and we lie like that for minutes before I break away reluctantly.

“I still love you, Heinz. You know that don’t you.”

I think I surprise you with my sudden seriousness but you respond with one of those sincere smiles that I fell in love with all those many years ago.

“Of course,” you whisper, settling yourself against my chest to sleep the sleep of the contented. “I love you too.”

And not for the first time in my life, I fall asleep feeling I love you even more than before.

~The End.