I’ve lost track of the time. Five minutes, half an hour, an hour since I first sat down, perhaps? Sitting down in the darkness, silently watching the barely visible rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, failing to stir as I came to sit beside him on the bed.

It’s early now in the morning, 2 or 3 a.m maybe and I still don’t know why I’m here. Why I came to see him. All I know is that I feel strangely sober, all too aware of the past few hours.

But I couldn’t bear to wake him, regardless.

Then again, I don’t think I could. The empty bottles of unknown alcoholic substances on the floor beside the bed are enough to tell me this deep sleep of his is aided.

He looks peaceful, beautiful as shadows seem to dance across his still silhouette, defining the contours of his shoulders and down his bare back in a way that can only be described as erotic. The thin cotton sheets covering his naked body already discarded on the floor, he is oblivious to the now cool breeze drifting through the room after I had quietly opened the window.

And I can’t get over how much I want him, despite everything.

He seems to sigh as I run my fingers through his hair as he sleeps, unable to take my eyes of him for a moment. His perfectly sculptured body underneath my touch doesn’t stir as I cautiously trace my hand down his neck, following the curve of his spine. His skin looks a translucent pale in this light, his face half obscured by a pillow but not enough to hide swollen eyes and bruised lips from hours of sobbing to himself.

Instinctively, I reach out to cup his face, his cheeks still stained and sticky from tears. Brushing back damp hair, I hesitantly lean forward until my lips brush against his. My own body stirs longingly as I break his brief contact, noticing for the first time the darker marks on his neck. I stroke them gently, biting my bottom lip as I remember it was my violent kisses that hurt him, his cry of pain masked by arousal but still there.

And now he looks completely helpless; a haunted vulnerability in his face.

Even in his sleep he’s hurting, punishing himself.

But this time it was my fault alone.

Tonight. Tonight was inexcusable. My behaviour completely wrong. I just wanted to hurt him, wanted him to feel a little of the agony he’s put me through. Revenge, yes.

It seemed a good idea at the time.

But then when I caught his gaze I realised my mistake. As if I had his heart in my hand and I simply destroyed it out of spite.

I crushed him completely and left him broken, unable to face up to the reality of what I’d just done.

A low moan brings me back to my senses as he momentarily stirs under my touch, my hands still teasing his neck. But he doesn’t wake, to my disappointment, even when my lips take his again, this time allowing my tongue to softly run across his bottom lip before kissing him.

The potent mix of alcohol on his breath hits me immediately but I ignore it, instead foolishly increasing the kiss. His lips part automatically allowing my tongue to deftly slide inside and he doesn’t resist when I gently press him on to his back, my hands nursing his face protectively.

I break away, slightly breathless, watching as his eyes flutter and an involuntary moan escapes his lips. But the drink is stronger than I thought as his head lolls against the pillow as he hovers between drunken consciousness and sleep.

His body almost glistens in the darkness as I explore every inch of his familiar body, now stretched out on his back, with my eyes, then hands begin to caress his defined chest. And before I know what I’m doing, I’m straddling his knees, my lips teasing the soft taut skin of his abdomen before hands work their way down to his thighs, surrounding his limp organ resting against his inner thigh.

His body shivers with pleasure as my tongue teases him before I take him deep into my hot mouth, working him gently, trying not to wake him completely just yet. He groans, this time louder as he hardens in my mouth but still covered in a veil of intoxicated sleep, enjoying the sensation of pleasure as if they’re from some erotic dream.

I force myself to break away, relinquishing his erection before I finish him right then. Sliding up his body, I reach his lips, letting my tongue slide inside his mouth again. Aroused, he welcomes my kiss without question, still on the border of consciousness. Eyes still closed, his hands clumsily pull me closer, moving his body against mine until my own body is screaming to be released from these clothes.

He moans gently underneath me as I straddle him, my hands working at the buttons of my shirt, and he slips back on to his chest obediently when I gently pull him back over. He murmurs incoherently as I kiss his neck, working down the arch of his spine while gently easing down my jeans and discarding them. A part of me, my conscience perhaps, shouts at me to stop, but I can’t control my desire as my hands slip gently under his hips to bring him up to me.

An unintelligible cry leaves his lips when I enter him, trying not to hurt him like last time. His eyes flutter open for the first time as his gasps and momentarily I can sense something, slight fear maybe, as his body tenses, bewildered at the sudden wrench back into complete reality. But he cedes completely at my whispered words, consenting with another unintelligible moan as we sink together in rhythmic motion, my hands expertly caressing his throbbing cock.

His body arches underneath my kisses, writhing submissively as I press deeper, arousal coursing maddenly through my veins, urging me harder. His face reflects the same physical desire, eyes closed, his skin flushed, inviting lips parted as his tongue occasionally caresses his bottom lip. The urgency of his breaths, now short and laboured, forces me to unwillingly slow my thrusts, controlling the rise of his orgasm. 

What sounds like a whimper leaves his lips when I pull away from him, easing him gently on to his back and coming to rest against his chest, straddling him, lips locking frantically as my hands hold his face.

“Open your eyes.”

His eyelashes slowly flutter open and blue eyes, glassy from drink, pupils dilated from arousal, meet my own. My body shudders as we simply hold each other’s gaze and I realise how completely fucked he is.

And why.

My hand idly caresses his cheek and I feel his body shiver under my touch, on the brink of climax. And yet, despite the cocktail of alcohol and arousal, his eyes betray an underlying sorrow and fear that my kisses can’t quell.

I know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t know why I’m here but he’s waiting for me to take him, get what I want and leave because he thinks that’s all he deserves, even in this wrecked state. Gave up any hope of reconciliation when I harshly told him I didn’t love him in the cruellest way.

Pressed against the bed, his neck extended back on the pillow, he looks defenceless. And when I reclaim his body, his head rolls back, eyes focusing on the ceiling before slowly closing, waiting for the surge of pleasure to engulf him.

But instead, my hands pull his head to face me and the agony reflected in those beautiful eyes makes up my mind more than any of my rational thoughts.

“We’re even,” I whisper, smiling softly at the confusion in his eyes making way for disbelieving realisation. I briefly snatch a kiss before pulling him roughly against me. His cries of pleasure as I pound deeper inside him smash the silence of the dark night until his body shakes under my kisses as he comes. The sound of my name of his lips in a final gasp is enough to make my own body finally convulse in orgasm, crying out his name as I rest against his chest, oblivious to everything but the force of my pleasure and the movement of his chest as he struggles for breath.

Rocking gently inside him while the final sensations of climax run through our bodies, I then slip out, pulling myself back up to eye level with him. His eyes once again open at my command and he stares at me, this time confused, questioning helplessly. The tenderness in my kiss seems to surprise him but his arms wrap tightly around my torso, as if he can’t believe I won’t leave. I want to tell him what he so desperately wants to hear, the only thing he’s wanted from me since, but ...

“You’re so fucked you won’t remember anything,” I murmur out loud, my warm hands sliding over his smooth chest. And for the first time ever I let him see me as I am. Not the front I put up with others or the barrier I built between us. But that vulnerable part inside. The part of me that’s been dying since a year ago. My eyes telling him the words I want to save for the morning, in the sober light of day.

But now, now I want to make up for all those lost nights we’ve wasted.

“I’m ... sorry,” he chokes, while my kisses expertly teasing the soft skin on his neck, hands caressing his toned chest, stroking a sensitive nipple. Kissing his forehead and deftly licking away a tear running down his cheek, I can’t help but see how distraught he looks, as if his guilt won’t allow him to accept forgiveness.

But my soothing words soon seem to calm him, my passionate kisses arousing him again until his tears are replaced by groans of ecstasy and I hunger after a kiss I’ve missed for far too long. One which I don’t relinquish until the first lonely trickles of dawn spill through the curtains when, exhausted, orgasm sweeps over us for the final time, leaving us held in each other’s arms on the brink of another day.

We’ve been here before. Another beautiful Malaysian morning.

But we won’t make the same mistakes twice.

~ The End.