Kindle the Flame

Hayashi's statement packed a punch. I choked, every molecule of air having fled my lungs, leaving my voice a pathetic, horse whimper. "What?" I asked. "Why? What'd I do wrong? Is… Is it b-because of the gay thing?" 

"You haven't done anything wrong." He said, yet recoiled. Then, he got to his feet. "But it is. It's because of the gay thing."

"But I swear I'm not gonna touch you or anything." Maybe it was the liquor that caused my dizziness, the burn in my chest, or my desperation. Either way, my feelings came tumbling out of my mouth. On my knees, and willing to beg, I stammered, "Hayashi, just… don't… Don't leave me. Don't leave me all alone. You're my friend. You're the only person in the world I can call a friend. Please. Please, don't end it. Not like this…"

"That was not my intention," he shook his head. Under his furrowed brow, his eyes were grave. I could almost hear him thinking how what I'd said was stupid. It stung to know that I was as foolish as he thought. When I looked away in my shame, he took my chin and made me meet his gaze. "I am not playing games, Nate," straightforward as always, "I've danced 'round this flame for too much time." and there I was floundering as usual too.

Hayashi's grip slipped down my throat, and though he'd just waxed and whined about time, he took more of it; his touch slow and domineering. Down my plender gap, his middle fingers stroked, their laboured pace teasing. Onward down my sternum, stopping at the centre of my chest, where he kneaded into my skin. My muscles tightened beneath his tender touch, and he added fractionally more pressure. His eyes flickered back to mine, but my vision blurred, my breathing staggering with excitement. It was getting harder to deny how badly I craved him when my body so easily reacted to him. My thoughts were hazy, and it all felt so dreamlike. I was still drunk, for sure, but Hayashi's mood was intoxicating, too.

"I'm so drunk," I whined, half convinced that this moment was something I was about to wake up from. It'd turn out to be some drunken wet dream, for sure.

"I know, a better man would stop."

"Heh, you're the best—

"—I have reached my limit." Hayashi swept his hand back up the path it had taken and caressed my cheek. "Let me kiss you?"

"You… You wanna kiss me?" I gulped.

"Yes," he said, his tone deep and breathy, eyes burning desirously. When his thumb brushed over my lip, which hung agape and quivering, my head gave the slightest nod. That was all it took. With my face clasped between his gentle hands, Hayashi bowed to me as I knelt at his mercy and kissed me tenderly. His desperation was palpable in how he nuzzled his face into mine without kissing me too deeply. The relief that he'd finally put his lips on mine hummed in the back of his throat.

The sensation, the emotion of our friendship-shattering deed, made me ache. I'd never been so thrilled or terrified. I was so hungry—for affection, for intimacy, for him—after such a long starvation. I'd worked hard to convince myself that my admiration was rooted in wanting to emulate him, to be a good man like he was, but that singular kiss was the undoing of that notion. I didn't want to be Hayashi; I wanted to experience him and be worthy of his attention.

Gripping onto his wrists tightly, I rose onto one knee and pushed myself eagerly into Hayashi's lips. Bravely, I opened mine and lapped at him, hoping he'd share my inclination. Overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, I tumbled back into my bedding; his lusty groan echoed in my ears as I submitted to his passionate devouring of me. Straddling my lap, his hands began to roam. First, he clung onto my shoulders, his fingers massaging into the muscle. Then, thumbed over my collarbones. Blatantly, he groped my pectorals, teasingly tracing my nipples, all while whining and moaning into my mouth. The conviction behind his enjoyment of me numbed my doubts. Enchanted, I threw myself headlong. Reciprocating his need for closeness, I combed my fingers into Hayashi's silky black hair; it was as soft as I'd imagined, but the warmth of his scalp beneath my fingers was the visceral detail I'd never imagined would plant me in reality.

Hayashi drew back, panting, but we weren't stopping, just pausing. To the Harvest festivities, he'd worn a black linen shirt that crossed over in the front. His fingers tugged at the tie at his side, unfastening the bow in one fluid motion, and one leaf of the fabric dropped open. Then, he unfastened the inner tie and allowed the linen to slip off his shoulders and pool at his heels. Patiently, he watched as my eager hands roamed over his smooth, tan skin, with nary a blemish, but smattered with moles that attracted my eye. My hands were drawn to his edges, firm and supple in all the right ways. I'd watched how he moved his lean, lithe body during our training sessions and had yearned to feel over his slender musculature ever since. Touching wasn't enough, though. Nuzzling my face into the heart of his core, I inhaled a deep breath of him. The notes of his scent told me the story of his everyday. Musky fern and oakmoss from the woods. Honey and jasmine from the soap in his bathroom. Anise, ginger and spice from his favourite dishes. Frankincense, which he burned when meditating, and in his arousal, he was flooding his pheromones. Odourless to most noses, but to my lupine senses, he smelled sweet, like ripe fruit; it was mouth-watering. Instinctively, my tongue stretched from my mouth, its full length and lapped up the centre of his chest. In reaction, he bucked his hips up against my stomach, then rolled his ass backwards to hump against me evocatively.

"Do I taste good?" he asked seductively.

"Uh-huh," I groaned as he bowed his head to meet my face with his. His eyes were all-consuming, commanding every ounce of my attention. Then, grasped my throat, his tongue stretched beyond my lips to suck his flavour from my tongue.