Humidity and Passion

Story Teaser:

This story describes the fiery reunion of two young men - Yunwa (25) and Xiang (23) - whose long-distance relationship intensifies their thirst for each other. Narrated by Yunwa, the story begins with his arrival in a place of uncertainty. He's antsy and horny, thoughts split between paranoia and lustful anticipation. His chest tightens and balls tingle at the promise of once again touching Xiang's hot skin.

Author's Notes:

- This is a stand-alone story of nearly 6000 words. High-frequency words include tongue (27), cock (25), sweat (18), lips (15), abs (10), and ass (9).

- This work is fiction. It's intended as light, enjoyable reading for an adult audience. Settings may be real, but the characters are imaginary.

- Any mention of brand names in the text does not imply relationship or endorsement.

- This story describes consensual sexual activity among men in graphic detail. Readers should be comfortable with gay/homosexual content.

- This story features an interracial relationship.

- All characters are at least eighteen years of age.

HUMIDITY AND PASSION

As the autonomous bus roared away, I shielded my eyes from the dust. Empty again, I thought. And not just the bus. Not that anyone who lived here ventured outside very often. Barricaded in their apartments, as usual. And who could blame them?

Gripping the metal rod tighter, I glanced around for threats. Nothing yet, I thought, seeing only a small group far off in the distance, one of the silhouettes pushing a metal shopping cart through the debris. They were hurrying towards the southern complex, close to the old hospital, probably hoping to beat the impending thunderstorm. The smell of imminent rain filled the air.

They'd probably be more afraid of me, I thought. It was a strange thing to be invariably perceived as dangerous.

I looked up at the dark clouds and shook my head. Such consistency. For late afternoon in late summer, the temperature was tolerable - twenty-five maybe? - but the air was heavy, soaked with moisture and dust. Ha - it'll be the perfect excuse for a shower.

I was "pro-sweaty," as Xiang would say, but he wasn't. I thought I looked good sweaty; it fit with growing, hardening muscles, especially after a good workout. Rubbing one hand along my jaw, I realized I had forgotten to shave again. An annoying chore, I thought.

After wiping the first beads of sweat off my forehead, I dried my hand on my shorts. Having a big crown of black, tight curls made every warm environment more oppressive. But the look was worth it.

African ancestors gave me the great hair. And the background of my paternal grandmother - northern European maybe? - meant I had a hint of freckles on my face and grey-ish eyes. Xiang said I was the most beautiful guy he'd ever seen. I'd tease that he just liked me for my race.

Climbing over the debris - Who the hell dumped all this concrete here anyway? - I looked down for a safe place to put my hands. Shards of glass hid among the tough weeds that pushed up through cracks in the rubble. I suddenly wondered if ants carried away human detritus as they did food; I could see them building a colony enhanced with bits of glass and metal - and colorful pieces of reflective plastic, gathered to please the queen.

Maybe something can make the most of our waste.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as I approached Xiang's building. A slab-like tower ("older style but with larger units!"), it looked as menacing as the bulging, charcoal-colored clouds. Built decades ago, when times were better, the 28-story structure now looked bombed-out. The only intact windows were blockaded from the inside. Lights were kept at minimum levels, for fear that visible signs of life would attract unwanted attention.

Beyond Xiang's building were several others, a group of blocky structures that made up the northern complex. The surrounding area was littered with other buildings, mostly low-rise, nondescript offices and giant box stores, many now two-years vacant.

A smash of thunder woke me from my rumination. Plump warm drops began to fall from the sky as I crossed the sea of hot, uneven pavement closest to the building. The rain smell was intense now; only moments remained before it would pour.

Avoiding the former lobby - now a wretched, contorted steel frame under a corrugated metal roof - I jogged over to the western stairway turret, feeling a flood of excitement starting to swell in my chest. Rain or sweat - I couldn't tell which - was dripping down from the wild hair of my exposed armpits.

Hoping to calm down a bit, I paused to take a breath. Then, climbing slowly, I listened carefully for noise. Seeing no movement in a quick peek up the center of the shaft, I continued upward, passing broken pieces of furniture, old clothing, other unrecognizable items . . . And he wants me to move here? I didn't like living underground, but there was at least some sense of community, some shared experience, some remnant of what was . . .

Breathing heavier now, more from my raging hormones than from the climb, I reached level fourteen - Xiang's floor. Through the rectangles where windows used to be, I could see a strong storm approaching from the southwest. Dark clouds. Haze. The wind's picking up too, I thought. Some of the rain, either passing through the opening or dripping in from the window frame, dampened the floor.

As I stepped into the narrow hallway, I noticed the heat immediately. It was at least five degrees hotter than it had been outside, and it smelled unventilated, worse than usual. The ceiling was oppressively low (especially for someone 6'3"), as if the weight of the fourteen floors above had compressed the structure. The few working lights, some of which perpetually flickered, gave off a low, electric hum. Otherwise it was quiet; I could still hear the wind and rain outside.

Moving through the darkened corridor, I saw that little had changed. A couple mattresses lay abandoned; some of the apartment doors were missing, revealing dark, ominous-looking interiors. The walls were still covered with graffiti, though it did appear that someone had tried to clean off the depictions - both written and drawn - of SUCKs and FUCKs and SHITs, only to give up in frustration.

Speaking of frustration . . .

Last night was the worst. Working late, sitting in my pajama pants and boxers, it had been impossible to concentrate. I'd tugged at my dick incessantly through the fabric, one side of my mind begging release, the other sternly insisting that today would be better if I saved it. The second voice won - narrowly - only to nearly lose control again on the empty bus, until I noticed the security cameras. Even in zones of despair, public morality must be upheld.

I turned left and started down a side hallway. I moved quicker now, trying not to trip on the dirty carpet or anything else abandoned in the poorly-lit space. Just thinking of the immediate future was enough to get me rock hard. Intentionally having worn loose, silky boxers (Xiang prefers it that way), the tip of my dick was now nearly seven inches ahead of my body, tugging down my boxers and shorts. At least there's never anyone in this hallway.

I paused for a second to adjust, using the waistband of my boxers to keep the head of my dick pinned against my body. Pulling my shorts up to hide the tip, I knew my situation was still obvious, but at least it wasn't half-a-kilometer-away obvious.

Finally I made it to Xiang's door - #1431. Taking a deep breath, I knocked seven times, alternating the intensity of the knocks, according to our signal. As the seconds passed, I looked up and down the darkened hallway, scanning for movement, assessing the shadows.

Where is he?

Just as I began to fear that Xiang was out - or worse - I heard the sound of something large dragging against the floor. What's that!? Then some footsteps, and the clanking sound of someone unlocking the door.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing my sexy, goofy Xiang, shirtless (as always) in his overheated apartment. His hair was a mess - longer than I'd ever seen it before - and seeing his big smile generated a desperate, lustful pain in my chest.

"You've been working out," I said. It was noticeable. Xiang's chest and arms were bigger, his abs more prominent. Though I meant it as a general observation, it's possible he'd been exercising when I arrived. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and chest; even his hairy shins glistened with moisture. I could feel my stomach tighten when I saw the bulge of his cock under his athletic shorts.

"Meh." He shrugged and pulled me inside. As I took off my sneakers and socks and put down my backpack, Xiang locked the door (he has three locks now, I realized) and pushed a heavy dresser back in front of it. Then, having finished securing the entry, his face lit up again, revealing another cute smile.

Proud of his improved looks, and always the tease, Xiang tugged down his shorts a bit and flexed for me, revealing a nice pair of biceps and some hot, angled abs. Five-foot-nine and twenty-three years old, Xiang was thin and tight.

Grinning, I tugged at my shorts and boxers, allowing my dick to fall back into its more obvious position, which made Xiang smile and shake his head. Then I flexed in return, revealing the work I'd been doing on my arms, shoulders, and chest.

While I knew Xiang could see my pecs and nipples through the black tank, I saw his eyes flash down to my waist, above which I'd been hiding some ab development that I promised to show off the next time we met. Though I'd always been thin enough to have some hint of abs, I'd pushed myself harder after Xiang remarked that guys with good abs drove him crazy.

"Nice!" he said, eyebrows raised, giving me a look that seemed to say I'm impressed. Then, in a hurried, almost-clumsy motion, Xiang stepped into me, pushing his body against mine, rising onto his toes to kiss me. I placed my hands above his hips, then wrapped my arms around him, bringing him closer. I hungrily kissed back, desperately horny, but also content with the sensation of feeling safe for the first time in months.

As we kissed, I could feel the intensity of Xiang's excitement. We both shook uncontrollably; I thought I could feel his heart pounding against my chest.

While running his hands up and down my back under my tank, he pushed his tongue into mine, making me laugh. I played back and slid my hands around to his stomach, making him jump back a little. "Mmm," he said. Lowering himself off his toes, he kissed my cheek and moved down to my neck.

Outside it began pouring. Thick drops smacked against the windows. I loved the sound of rain. It hides the persistent, unproductive thinking that make us restless. The thunder roared more loudly now, and it was possible to glimpse flashes of lightning through the barricaded windows. The air in the apartment seemed as muggy as it had outside.

"Yeahhh," I said softly, as Xiang kissed my neck and rubbed my nipples through the tank. I wrapped my arms around him again and pulled him closer. As he pressed the side of his head against my chest, I pushed my face down into his thick black mop and kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled good, like some fruity shampoo.

"I missed you," Xiang said, pulling away. He shook his head suddenly, trying to clear the hair from his eyes, but ended up needing to use his hand. I laughed. That was cute, I thought. Xiang's broad smile was adorable, and his eyes, dark and soft, gazed back at mine.

"Missed you too," I managed to murmur, melting from the perfection of his cute face and hot muscles. Bending down slightly, I kissed him again, pushing my lips against his, sliding my tongue into his mouth. I slipped my hands beneath his shorts and boxers, feeling his tight ass as if for the first time. He responded by grabbing my hamstrings and pushing his tongue up against mine.

I toyed with his tongue a bit and rubbed my hands over his sweaty back. Moaning softly, Xiang moved his hands to my waist and started lifting off my shirt. I expected him to say something about how sweaty and nasty I was. It was already hot, and the excitement of his breath mingling with mine had me burning up. I lifted my arms and he slid the tank up over my head and tossed it over to the sofa.

"Shit, your abs!"

I looked down. Yep, I thought proudly. Better. Though I'd forgotten to shave down there as well. A touch of hair covered the area south of my belly button.

Xiang began to explore the new, sharper contours, running his fingers along my abs and then down the ridges that formed a v-shape on my lower abdomen. Tugging at the waistband of my shorts to pull them down a bit, he finally rested his hands on my hips.

"Am I up to your standards?" I joked.

"Fuck!" he said, as if the change had been dramatic (it wasn't). But his dick was really stuffing his shorts now, so I reached down and rubbed it, cupping my hand around his bulge and using my fingers to stroke the base of his cock.

Returning the favor, Xiang flattened his hand against the long, hard rod under my shorts and started slowly rubbing up and down. The unexpected intensity of the pleasure surprised me, so I pushed us a bit further along.

Reaching into his shorts again, I slid my hands down his tight, pale ass, letting my index fingers trace the edge of his hole. I could feel the hairs around the opening. Gently pushing my hips forward, I slid my bulge up and down against his flat stomach. As his chest glided against mine, I noticed that we were both covered in moisture, almost as if we'd been caught in the rainstorm outside.

The little natural light peeking into the room caught Xiang's face, reflecting in his obsidian eyes, which were again half-hidden under his hair. I ran my hands up his back, stopping to massage his shoulders.

"Come on," I said, "let's do this." Xiang nodded and I slipped off his shorts, revealing his beautiful, smooth quads. How lucky, I thought. Xiang had a lot less hair on his upper legs than I did, which made the muscles there more obvious. I backed up a step to take in the whole view.

He stood in front of me now, totally soaked in sweat, wearing only his underwear, the fabric at the front stretched by his bulging cock. Kneeling down in front of him, I slowly rubbed my hands up and down the back of his legs while massaging his abs with my tongue. Then, tugging down on his boxers, I revealed more of his sexy lower abdomen and the top of his trimmed pubes. After kissing the bony ridges that made Xiang's torso so damn sexy, I stepped back up, allowing him - now increasingly jittery - to reciprocate.

Xiang used a finger to massage the head of my cock, which was again tenting my shorts. I opened my mouth and my knees buckled slightly, but no sound came out. Then he grabbed my ass and lowered himself onto his knees.

While sliding his tongue across my wet stomach, Xiang slowly stripped off my shorts. Moving his hands down my calves, he kissed along the left side of my waistband and allowed his hair to brush against my belly.

As he slowly tugged my boxers lower, using his tongue to massage my skin, I reached down and ran my fingers through his messy hair. With him kneeling in front of me, I looked down and imagined that tight, gently-curving ass just under the thin fabric of his boxers. His calves seemed bigger than I remembered; his feet were soft and pale.

As Xiang slid his hands underneath my boxers, I let out the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. With one hand he explored my ass; with the other he massaged my balls. I noticed his toes wiggle as he brought his mouth over the fabric covering my cock.

I opened my mouth again and let out a slight moan as Xiang pressed his fingers into the small space between my balls and anus. Closing my eyes, I listened to the pouring rain and crashes of thunder. Xiang closed his lips around the top of my dick and used a touch of teeth to massage the area where the head meets the shaft.

Suddenly feeling the urge to make out again, I pulled Xiang back up and kissed him deeply. When we stopped to breathe, he kept a strong grip on my arms, so I lifted him up and he wrapped his legs around my hips. I could feel his dick, hard as rock, pressed against my belly. His long hair was in our faces.

I typically preferred slow, soft, gentle kisses; I liked to cautiously move into a kiss, watching his expression, feeling his soft lips tough mine, inhaling the heat of his breath. But today I was hungry. Xiang was hungry too, and he gently bit my lip. My surprised "mmph" made him laugh.

As our tongues met, I thought about Xiang's cute face pressed against mine, the warmth of his body, the smell of his sweat, the feel of his skin . . . his biceps had grown since we last touched, his abs were hotter, his pubes a little messier . . .

My cock felt like it would tear through my boxers. I longed to push Xiang onto the bed and pull his body to my flinching pelvis. The urge to pound him and squirt in his ass was overwhelming. I imagined the cum surging out, shooting deep into him.

"Sorry, I gotta pee," Xiang said suddenly, so I gently let him down. Before letting him go, I slid my hands down the sides of his torso, feeling his obliques. Then I watched him as he walked away, noticing his hamstrings, his back, his shoulders . . .

As Xiang worked to soften his erection so he could relieve his bladder, I looked around his flat, which hadn't changed much since I'd last visited. It was small - a single, narrow room no larger than an average urban living space - and cluttered with old furniture and stacks of boxes. At the end nearest the entrance, a small nook served as a kitchen and laundry area. A doorway at the opposite end led to the bathroom and a small closet.

Many of the boxes, most of which contained food, were stacked up in front of the two windows, ensuring that nothing within could be seen from outside. Narrow ribbons of light, dimmed to a desaturated blue-grey by the cloud-darkened sky, shined through the crevices between the boxes. When it was sunny, slim highlights would land on his furniture - a dark green sofa, a wooden coffee table, a reclining chair next to a warm incandescent lamp. Two queen mattresses stacked in the far corner served as a bed.

The wall opposite the windows was lined with bookshelves. I scanned the contents: Big books, small books, magazines, large-format book reviews, and little yellow National Geographic volumes with interesting maps stuffed inside . . .

"The answers are out there but you have to read to find them," Xiang liked to say. I gave him everything I'd enjoyed reading and he'd eat it up in half the time. But our tastes didn't often mesh. He found fiction boring; I found non-fiction boring.

Additional items littered the room in a disordered fashion. Miscellaneous things were typically stored in large, taupe-colored plastic bins, three of which were placed in front of the bookcases. Larger items crowded the far wall, including some paintings, a nonfuctional grandfather clock, and two flat-screen displays. These were useful for barter.

The cramped atmosphere was cozy. Its faint smells - a mixture of Xiang's sweat and deodorant, all those dry cardboard boxes, the mustiness of some older books - stirred up memories of my previous stays, which made me smile. I remembered when we painted the walls (and the ceiling, at Xiang's insistence) with a few cans of Benjamin Moore's "Golden Tan." Then there was the day we stole a plush indigo rug from some abandoned office to cover up the original shoddy carpeting.

I felt safe here. I could understand why Xiang didn't want to give it up. And of course the people he's helping . . .