by Tamari Erin (玉里えりん)
illustrated by beili
Alain lazed on the rattan chaise longue by the edge of the pool. One of his feet dangled off the chair and he watched the ripples spread out from where he dipped his toes in the water. The weather was so beautiful—it was dry and hot, and the sky was as clear as a glass lake—that he could easily spend all day out here.
He made a noise of contentment, stretched languidly even though his sun-warmed muscles didn’t really need it, and yawned. Alain held his hand out in front of his face and let his sunglasses slip down his nose. He could still smell the sun oil he had applied to his skin that morning. Almost there. His freckles were nearly invisible under his tan. He’d need to turn over soon.
Summer was his favourite season. It made him feel so alive, and he wished it lasted longer. A month and a half of this wonderful heat and sun just was not enough. He couldn’t think of anything more perfect.
Well, he could.
But the ‘more perfect’ had declared loudly five weeks ago, as soon as the snow had melted, that he very much despised summer and preferred to stay inside all season, and was now begrudgingly ensconced on the other side of the pool with a pile of books, and wearing more clothes than Alain thought should be legal in the last few days of Thermidor.
It was hard not to take it as a personal affront.
“Siguuuurd,” Alain whined. He sat up and swung his feet onto the terra-cotta tiles.
Sigurd looked up from his notes and raised an eyebrow. He had a thick streak of white sunblock down his nose, and the wide-brimmed hat he wore hid half his face. “What?” he asked.
Alain stood up and walked around the pool. He sat down on the padded bench beside Sigurd, out of the way of the books and slid his hands around Sigurd’s waist. Sigurd set down what he’d been reading and leaned into the embrace. “What is it?” he asked again, his voice softer.
Alain ducked his head under the brim of Sigurd’s hat and nuzzled the back of his neck, kissing Sigurd’s sweat-soaked, silvery-white hair where it curled behind his ears. “I was lonely,” he said. “I don’t like it when you’re far away.”
Sigurd stroked Alain’s arms, and turned his head so Alain could just reach his jawline. “Mm. But you’re the one who chose to sit all the way over there, out in the sun.”
Alain nipped a line down Sigurd’s long, graceful neck, just hard enough to leave a mark, but not break the skin. Sigurd shivered happily in his arms, and twisted around to meet Alain’s mouth with his. “Oh,” he breathed, “you’re so warm.” He pressed a cool, pale hand to Alain’s chest, and Alain’s heart throbbed faster in response.
Alain looked up to meet Sigurd’s eyes… and sputtered out a badly repressed laugh.
The mood broken, Sigurd sagged backwards and pulled his hat down over his ears. “What,” he said, in an annoyed tone.
Alain unclasped his hands from around Sigurd’s waist and dragged a finger through the thick white sunblock on Sigurd’s nose. “I’m having a hard time imagining anything less attractive you could have on your face.”
Sigurd went bright red and quickly wiped the rest of the sunblock off his nose with the cuff of his shirt.
“There,” Alain said, taking Sigurd’s face in his hands. He kissed his still-flushed cheeks, and rubbed his thumb over Sigurd’s lower lip. Sigurd’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he brushed his mouth against Alain’s. Alain broke away, and let his mouth linger on Sigurd’s closed eyelids, first the left and then the right. He drifted up and planted a single kiss on Sigurd’s forehead, at the centre of his brow, and lazily moved his mouth down the high bridge of Sigurd’s nose, kissing the tip (which still tasted slightly of sunblock), and then returned to his mouth.
He slid his hands down Sigurd’s neck, over his shoulders, and then slung his arms around Sigurd’s chest, drawing him closer. Alain kissed him harder, the way he knew Sigurd liked.
Sigurd broke the embrace first. He was breathing heavily, his flush having spread down his cheeks and his neck, and was just visible on his chest, a rosy tint above the collar of his shirt. One hand held his hat firmly upon his head, the other clung to Alain as though he were drowning. “Not here,” he said, and wiped at his mouth.
Now it was Alain’s turn to have his mood deflated. “What? Why not? We’re halfway up a mountain, and we’re the only chalet for kilometres. No one’s going to see us!”
Sigurd rolled his eyes. The colour was quickly fading from his cheeks. “It’s not that,” he said tartly, in a tone that reminded Alain too much of Sigurd at a younger age. “If we go any further out here, I know I’ll end up with a sunburn, and I don’t want to spend the last few weeks of our summer hols with my skin peeling off.
“And, really,” he added with a sly wink, “you should know by now how much I don’t care about being caught.”
They’d had so many close calls in the six months they’d been together that Alain felt his face light up like a torch from the combined embarrassment. “Oh, I remember all too well.”
Sigurd laughed. “You must admit, though, it was tremendous fun.”
Alain shoved Sigurd down onto the bench’s upholstered surface, knocking several of his books onto the ground and his hat off his head. Alain’s sunglasses slid off his nose and landed in Sigurd’s upturned hat. “You are terrible.”
“Oh, I am.” Sigurd’s voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “I’m so very bad—”
Alain pinned him in place and kissed him silent. He could feel Sigurd’s hardness pressing into his thigh, and Alain began to rock against it in an agonisingly slow rhythm, until Sigurd broke away from the kiss with a gasp. His eyes were glassy, his pupils wide, and he stared at Alain as though he were the only thing in the world.
Alain went still.
Sigurd made a needy whimpering noise in the back of his throat and dug his fingers into Alain’s back.
“You did say ‘not here’, didn’t you?” Alain said, with a grin.
Sigurd bared his teeth, and Alain kissed him again, before sliding both arms under Sigurd, between his back and the bench.
He nipped at Sigurd’s earlobe before continuing. “Put your legs around my waist, and hold on tight.”
“Oh!” Sigurd said, and Alain could hear the realisation dawning in his voice. He buried his face in Alain’s hair and wrapped himself around Alain. His erection was pressed against Alain’s stomach, sandwiched deliciously between the two of them. Alain was already half-hard again, and this was not helping his self-control.
Alain set both his feet flat on the ground and lifted Sigurd off the bench in a smooth motion. He moved one arm down to the small of Sigurd’s back as Sigurd shifted himself to a more comfortable position. Sigurd straightened and raised himself up, bracing himself on Alain’s shoulders, taking advantage of their height difference to peer imperiously down his long nose at Alain. His lips curled up in a wicked grin.
Sigurd kept his gaze locked on Alain’s as he began to to slowly raise himself off Alain’s lap and then just as achingly slowly slid back down again. All the while, he kept his cock pressed against Alain’s flank, hot and hard, leaving a line of wetness down Alain’s side with every stroke.
Sigurd’s expression was a direct challenge, and Alain knew they had to get moving out of the sun, or he would lose what little composure he still had and fuck Sigurd right here at the poolside—and never hear the end of it.
Alain tightened his arms around Sigurd’s waist and stood up abruptly. Sigurd had lifted himself halfway up Alain’s chest at that point and very nearly lost his balance. He cried out in protest, and threw his arms around Alain and clung on for dear life.
Alain chuckled. “Come along, then,” he said, and slid one hand down Sigurd’s back so it rested firmly on the solid curve of Sigurd’s lovely ass.
He slapped Sigurd’s bum twice (and was rewarded with a very satisfying whimper) and set off at a brisk pace to one of the pergolas away from the house, the one with the best view of the vibrant green valleys below.
Sigurd sighed in relief when they stepped into the shade, his breath gusting warmly down Alain’s back.
The pergola was small, with only a large futon in its centre and an ice box in one corner, filled with flavoured seltzer and a bottle of vodka they had smuggled to the chalet against Alain’s father’s wishes. A cream-coloured fabric canopy was suspended under the slatted wooden roof to give more shade, and there were curtains on all four sides to provide privacy. Only the curtain that faced the pool had been drawn open.
He dropped Sigurd on the unfolded futon, and the wooden frame creaked in protest. Sigurd sunk bonelessly into the mattress, his long silvery hair fanning out across the pile of pillows at the head of the futon. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, and he stared up at the two strands of fairy lights that crisscrossed the canopy ceiling. His cock tented the thin fabric of the drawstring trousers he wore; his left hand slowly drifted towards it, and slid under his waistband.
“Don’t,” Alain said, putting a note of command in his voice.
Sigurd’s hand froze, and then just as slowly, withdrew.
“That’s right,” Alain said, “just like that. Very good. Keep your hands by your sides.”
Sigurd’s gaze focused and slid down to fix on Alain. The very tip of his tongue passed over his lower lip as he dug his fingers into the futon mattress. His cock bobbed with every breath he took, and his whimpering grew louder with every exhalation.
Alain only watched. He loved to see Sigurd like this, to drive him to such needy heights. It was a very lovely contrast to the prim and proper facade Sigurd liked to present to the world.
Another moment, and Alain decided Sigurd had suffered enough. He pulled off his bathing suit to expose his own hardening cock, and kicked it to one side, where the small scrap of bright red fabric landed in the corner of the pergola.
“Ohhh,” Sigurd moaned. “Oh please, please…”
Alain sauntered around the futon, the better to admire Sigurd’s delicious form from every angle. Sigurd, meanwhile, did not break eye contact, keeping his desperate gaze locked on Alain’s face and rolling his head back awkwardly to not lose sight of him.
Alain stopped when he reached the icebox and picked up the half-full bottle of sun oil he had left there this morning. He poured a generous quantity into his cupped hand, and, once he’d set the bottle down, used both hands to massage the oil over his hot, weeping cock.
Sigurd laughed feebly.
“I can smell the coconut from over here. That’s going to make my ass smell like dessert for weeks.”
Alain knelt down by the futon, grabbed two handfuls of Sigurd’s shirt to wipe his hands clean, and kissed him hard enough to take his breath away. “Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” He nipped at the tip of Sigurd’s nose. “Now shush like a good boy. You know your mouth is good for one thing only and that’s not talking.”
He set a finger on Sigurd’s mouth and traced the shape of his narrow lips. Sigurd made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat and his gaze dropped from Alain’s face to his hand. His lips parted, just enough for Alain to slip in the tip of his finger. Sigurd sucked on it and Alain slid a second finger into his mouth.
Sigurd lifted his eyes back up and the corners of his lips curled up in a wicked smile. Alain pressed his fingers further into Sigurd’s warm, wet mouth, sliding along his tongue. Sigurd’s lips tightened around Alain’s fingers as he began to suck in earnest, his tongue pressing Alain’s fingers to the roof of his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks and stared defiantly at Alain.
Alain’s cock throbbed. He’d never stop being turned on at how good Sigurd looked with his mouth full. He let Sigurd work his fingers for a few more minutes before drawing them out with a loud, wet pop.
“See?” he said. “Just like that. That’s how I like you best.” He rose to his feet and ambled back to the foot of the futon.
Sigurd had drawn his legs up so his feet were flat on the mattress. He mouthed Alain’s name, and his eyes fluttered shut.
Alain smiled at the sight. Oh, he was so far gone already, his mouth all red and swollen, his skin flushed and splotchy, and his hair a silvery halo in disarray. Alain made a noise of contentment. “You are so beautiful like this,” he murmured.
Sigurd’s eyes flew open, and he looked confused for a moment, as if he had forgotten where he was.
“Strip,” Alain said, in a conversational tone, “now. You’re wearing far too many clothes.” His cock throbbed almost painfully as Sigurd pulled his shirt off and threw it behind himself. Alain spoke again when Sigurd grabbed hold of the waistband of his trousers. “Careful,” he chided, “remember, don’t touch yourself.”
Sigurd, his hands shaking, struggled to untie the drawstring, and then awkwardly pulled down his trousers, tugging up the waistband so it didn’t rub against his cock. He kicked his trousers out of the pergola, and toed off his canvas shoes, letting them fall to the ground by the foot of the futon.
Alain very deliberately looked from one pile of clothes to the other and tried hard not to smile. Sigurd was usually much neater than that, and Alain was half-tempted to make him get up and fold his clothes properly, just to be cruel.
But why would he, with Sigurd lying there so deliciously, a sprawl of long, willowy limbs, somehow still elegant in spite of how debauched he looked.
Alain took a step forward and knelt on the mattress between Sigurd’s feet. He wrapped a hand about mid-thigh around both of Sigurd’s legs and bent his head to bring his mouth to the soft skin of Sigurd’s inner thigh. He kissed him, and let his mouth rest on Sigurd’s warm, trembling flesh. And then he bit him, hard enough to leave an indented ellipse in Sigurd’s skin.
“Ohh!” Sigurd cried out, with a gasp.
Alain passed his tongue around the bite mark and sucked at it gently, as Sigurd made whimpering noises all the while. He waited a moment, until Sigurd grew silent, moved his mouth downwards, and then bit him again.
Sigurd threw his head back, mouth opened wordlessly, and arched his back up off the futon. He was shiny with sweat and his eyes had fallen shut.
Bite and suck, bite and suck, as Alain worked his way down Sigurd’s left thigh. The noises Sigurd made grew more and more desperate, and before he got too close to Sigurd’s groin, Alain stopped and took a steadying breath.
He pulled away to admire the line of bite marks leading up Sigurd’s leg. He’d have such lovely bruises tomorrow.
Alain pressed a kiss on one knee and then the other.
“Unh!” Sigurd moaned.
“Oh no,” Alain said with a wobbly laugh, “was that too much for you? Do you want to stop? Or shall I make sure the other one matches?”
Sigurd’s eyes flew open and he bared his teeth. Only the narrowest ring of green was visible around his blown pupils, and he looked more than a little bit mad. His voice was hoarse and almost unrecognisable. “If you stop,” he panted, “I will kick you!”
Alain didn’t even try to hide his smile as he moved to Sigurd’s right leg. “I’m proud of you,” he said, “you’re doing so well.”
He worked his way down slower this time, savouring the noises he wrung out of Sigurd, the way his skin tasted when Alain kissed it, the way he shivered when Alain bit him.
Again, he stopped before he got too near Sigurd’s cock.
The noise Sigurd made barely sounded human. His hips began to convulse, in an attempt to drive his cock at Alain’s face.
Alain tightened his grip on Sigurd’s thighs to keep his legs in place and his ass solidly on the futon. He darted a brief look at Sigurd’s face; his eyes were clenched shut and his lower lip was caught tight between his teeth.
Oh, what a delicious sight he made. Alain gave himself a secret smile and let his head fall forward. He opened his mouth and stretched out his tongue to flick it against the tip of Sigurd’s cock. He was already so red, so hot, and so hard that even the briefest contact must have felt like agony.
Alain darted his tongue out again for a longer taste, and this time let it linger, slick and salty, in his mouth.
He felt Sigurd tense up. “Not yet,” Alain said as he stroked Sigurd’s thighs. “Not yet… Soon, soon, I promise, but just not yet.”
At that, Sigurd screwed up his face and began to cry, fat, sloppy tears oozing down his cheeks. His hands flew up to lock on Alain’s wrists, fingernails digging into Alain’s skin. With every sob, Alain felt himself draw closer and closer to the edge.
Alain straightened, and in a smooth motion he drew Sigurd’s trembling thighs further apart and lifted his ass off the mattress. Sigurd’s hands dropped from Alain’s wrists to brace himself—
And Alain drove his still-slick cock deep into Sigurd’s beautifully tight ass.
Sigurd cried out in relief, arching his back almost completely off the futon, and clamped his legs around Alain’s waist.
“Not yet,” Alain grunted and slid his hands down to Sigurd’s narrow thighs, for better leverage. He drew himself out at an achingly slow pace, relishing the animalistic panting noises Sigurd was making, and raised Sigurd’s hips up for a better angle.
He sunk back in gradually, ignoring the way Sigurd frantically thrust his hips, withdrew, and re-entered again, and again. He kept his pace tantalisingly slow, as Sigurd’s moans grew in intensity the deeper he went. This dance was his to lead.
Alain kept an easy rhythm, eyes locked on Sigurd’s desperate gaze, until Sigurd matched his pace, jacking his hips up as Alain drove himself in deeper. He loved this moment just before release, that inexorable feeling. Like a great wave was looming over him about to drag him far out to sea. He sometimes wished it could last forever.
And then all thought was beyond him, hips pistoning one last time to bury himself deep inside Sigurd, as orgasm crashed down on him.
“Now, now, now,” he panted, as Sigurd’s tight ass wrung the last of his release out of him.
Moments later, with a cry, Sigurd spurted like a geyser, splattering them both, and went still and silent.
Alain felt light-headed as he withdrew and lowered a shaky, clammy Sigurd to the mattress. He collapsed on the pillows beside Sigurd and gave him an unsteady smile. Sigurd regarded him from under his eyelashes. He looked utterly wrecked and absolutely content.
Alain kissed him on the mouth, softly, gently.
Sigurd let the fingers of one hand dance down Alain’s arm, and clasped Alain’s hand in his.
Together, they fell asleep in the shade.