Spark

He whispers a playful suggestion in my ear. Three little words, teasing, but serious. We've talked about this before in an almost joking way, but something told me at the time that his interest was a bit more than casual. Pee on me.

My body goes stiff - but it isn't from shock or disgust. It's from excitement. The idea of doing this taboo, intimate thing with him makes me weak. He's grinning when I glance over my shoulder at him but I can tell my reaction has made him nervous. He starts to backtrack, laugh it off, say I don't have to. But I quickly shake my head and tell him I want to. The quiver in my voice and the stiffening in my cock betray my excitement.

Watching him slide down the tile wall, my knees start to shake so badly I'm momentarily afraid of falling. He sinks all the way to the floor, to his knees, back against the tiles, waiting. I've peed on people once or twice before but it never excited me like this. I always thought it was sort of stupid, but I did it because they seemed to like it. His entirely unexpected request sends chills down my spine, as does looking down at him on the shower floor with his eyes closed, heedless of the water from the shower head splattering his face.

My cock is hard enough that getting started isn't easy; it takes a second, but the flow finally begins. He doesn't open his eyes but I see his muscles tense as the warm flood of piss washes over his chest, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. He's smiling. The piss doesn't really turn me on, but his submission does. Fuck. I never want to let him leave.

Our eyes say what our mouths can't.

I pull him up. I take his arms and turn him around, pressing him face-first to the tiles. His skin is slippery wet, luscious. Ahh. Shower sex. The water pours over us in an endless hot torrent as I slip to my own knees, tongue trailing down his spine, over his boyish ass. All his muscles so defined, tense, twitching as I probe his crack with my tongue, slicking back the fine dark hairs to find his hole.

Oh God.

Shaking, he whimpers as my hands gently spread his cheeks wide. I catch my breath as his tight pink hole is exposed. It flexes eagerly. Slowly I circle it with my tongue. It is so sweet and welcoming- the water trickles down his crack, making it easy for my tongue to part it and slide in. He lets out a desperate sound that echoes in the big tiled shower. He presses back against my face and my hands holding his ass spread as I feel the tight ring open for my tongue. I know nobody has ever rimmed him before. I'm the first to ever be near his ass, let alone be in it. That turns me on so much that even though I already came less than thirty minutes ago, I am already rock hard, ready. I want to fuck him so hard he sees stars, so hard he feels me inside him all the way back to England.

A wail of protest leaves his throat when I pull back. I growl at him to come on. Right now. There is no shred of resistance left in him as he obeys and follows me back to the bed. We've talked online about this moment so many times: the moment where I take his virginity. He's shaking now as I push him down into the pillows. I grab the lube and he lifts his legs to his chest and tenses, expecting me to shove it in. But with only one night, I want to do it all. I want to love every part of him.

In great detail I've described what I'll do to him. Fuck his mouth with my tongue. Nibble on earlobes, nipples, belly button, inner thighs. Toes even. I nuzzle his pubic hair and taste his sweet cock, lick his lightly furred balls until he gasps with pleasure. Down his front, then roll him over again and all the way up the back, massaging away the last bits of his tension. He melts in my hands until he's so limp and unresisting, so relaxed and wanting, that I own him completely.

Mine, mine, mine.

My hands firmly push his thighs apart. The sweetness of his hole makes me tremble all over. I feel the heat of his skin as I gently lube him up, slipping one finger into his twitching passage. God. So smooth and tight. My second finger slides in easily. I grin to myself because he's been practicing with his dildo like a good boy. Wordless moans escape him as I add a third finger. I feel the tight ring of his sphincter stretch to accommodate me. Feeling his asshole flex around my fingers almost does me in. I'm such a sucker for that feeling, that moment of total acceptance. I groan. Fuck, I can't wait…

After getting the condom lubed up I drape my body over his back. Face to face, from behind, doggie style, upside down and backwards - I want to do it all, but this will be easiest for him, the first time. I promised no pain. My slippery cock slides up and down through his crack, brushing his hole, making him twitch with delight; but it's only when he begs for it that I position. I push.

Even through the condom I feel his anal ring give way as he takes me in. Instead of tensing with pain he lets out a low sound of pleasure. Relief at finally being filled up. My cock isn't that long but it is thick and fulfilling. He sighs, a sound that affects me on a level that goes beyond sexual.

I can't have him, this is all we get…

Oh shit, oh God, I'm lost. I can't let him go, I can't, not when it feels like this. I never dreamed it could be like this, never… This connection, this link we have, my secret dream I never imagined could be fulfilled…

It can't. It can't happen, I've got to let him leave. My life… But oh God…

Tears come to my eyes as I fuck him hard. I take him completely and totally without a shred of resistance. He bucks his hips back against me until I feel his balls slap mine. Jesus fucking Christ.

Lifting up I grab his hips and guide him to his knees. Sweat drips down my neck, mingling with his sweat that coats my skin. I fight to stop trembling, counting backward in my mind from one million to hold off my orgasm. I look down through glazed eyes at my cock sliding in and out of his ass - a gentle thrust with a hard, savage withdrawal. A little extra shunt at the very bottom. I love his back. A black tribal tattoo cuts across the very base of his spine. I love the way his dark hair curls on the back of his neck, soaked, as he arcs against me.

He is starting to shake all over and he's about to sink to the bed, unable to stay on his knees, so I lock my arm around his chest and pull him against me. I close my eyes, smelling his sweat mixed with the hotel soap, burying my face in his shoulder. He glances over his shoulder at me; his eyes are glazed with sex, he looks so beautiful my heart dies a tiny death. Through the haze, the corners of his mouth curl and he smiles at me.

The feel of his damp skin pressed against me and his smile and his impossibly tight virgin passage taking me in all suddenly hit me like a bolt of lightning and the orgasm builds so quickly, shooting sparks through me, igniting. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cry that rises to my lips. I reach down and wrap my shaking hand around his cock, stroking it; and he throws himself back against me, gasping. The spark becomes a blaze and orgasm blinds me with its strike. My cock jerks back and forth in a shallow rhythm as in my hand, his cock tightens, then shoots over the bedspread below us, splattering the sheets while he calls out his joy.

We drop to the bed. Ditch the condom, wipe up a bit. Hooking my finger, I scoop up the drops of his cum sinking into the fabric of the bedspread. I look into his eyes as I taste it. Salty and a little bitter. He smiles, looking exhausted, sated, totally fucked. He's six hours ahead of our time. He barely makes it to the pillow as I wrap my arms around him and he sleeps.

I reach over and flip off the light but then stare up at the ceiling, one arm wrapped around his sleeping shoulders, his head a trusting weight on my chest just over my heart. I'm a roll-over-and-sleep kind of guy, or at least a get-up-have-a-sandwich-watch-Letterman kind of guy. Not a cuddler. I've never wanted to cuddle before. I'm not a slut, but I've fucked a lot of guys; and I've felt intense sexual need before. But I've never felt this connection.

Before he came here we agreed.

This is it. No more. No more emails, no more phone calls. No more mutual jack-off sessions on instant messenger, no more intimate digital photos so hot the monitor smokes. We have to stop, I decreed some weeks ago. This one night is all we get, ever. He goes back to England without his virginity, meets some man, forgets me. I continue my solid, respectable domestic life with Steve.

Why?

That's what Conor asks. Always reasonable and logical; that's his nature. He's calm and easy going to my relentless perfectionism. That's my nature.

Why? The fucking reasons are many. I'm sick and tired of going over them.

Lying there, I stare up at the ceiling in the dim light that peeks through the drapes. Stare up at the light fixture. The reasons that seem so important in the light of day, the reasonable world when I'm in school or drilling on teeth or doing dishes, suddenly disintegrate in my mind.

Why?

My mind begins to work without my consent. I want to hold on to my illusions but some part of me persists in breaking everything down to its pure essence. Opening up.

I can leave. Nothing is keeping me here. Steve will survive. My career will recover.

I look down at the dark outline of Conor, breathing deep and even, his hand tucked between his cheek and my skin. My heart thumps. My life is imploding, silently, as I lie here.

Instead of fear that everything I've worked for could slip away, my dread of anything messy or overly emotion, I feel…

Elated.

It can happen. I'm not trapped. I can get out of the prison of my life. Maybe not tonight, not next week, but I can do it.

Conor writes poetry. It makes me shake all over sometimes, brings a lump in my throat I can't swallow around. He writes other things too, short stories that are witty and frivolous, that make me impatient because I know he can do better. He worries over his poetry, he hesitates to even let me see it. Sometimes I can't look at it because it shreds my heart into pieces like ribbons. His soul is a precious thing I want to protect.

I love him. It's obvious. I haven't let myself think the word until now; I could not feel real love for someone I'd never met in the flesh. But I was wrong; I've been in love with him for months. Meeting him in the flesh was only the culmination. And I never would have believed that love would break down the walls that trap me.

Morning. I awaken to the lights coming through the curtains, wrapped in pleasure. The sheets are back and his face is buried in my crotch, licking my balls. I groan playfully, pretending to protest; he woke me just a few hours ago to suck my cock and to be honest I can't believe I can even get another erection this soon. My muscles ache, my face is scraped raw from his stubble, lips swollen and red with kisses like an assault. My dick is tired, but it is a good soldier, if weary. It manages the enthusiasm to throb happily as I ease myself carefully into his tight hole.

He winces slightly and I pause. He smiles and admits his bum is sore. I fucking love the way he calls his ass his "bum". The last thing I want to do is hurt him, but he gasps out he can take it. He urges me deeper into him, harder, wrapping his legs around my waist. We cling together, memorizing ever detail. The joyous, explosive discovery of touching each other in the flesh at last, has become an almost desperate longing. Fate has decreed that we have to discover and lose each other in the same eighteen hour period. When we both finally finish, the orgasm is more an emotional climax than a physical one. We're both so exhausted and sore and aching all over, we can't manage much more; and all we can do is remain linked together, looking into each others' eyes, until it becomes more than we can stand.

While we're slowly soaping each other in the shower, relaxing our aching muscles under water that is almost too hot to bear, my cell phone rings. We both hear it but I don't react. It's only after we get out and wrap up in towels that I pick it up and glance at the missed calls.

Conor's sharp eyes pierce me like arrows, recognizing the enormous guilt that must be obvious on my face. "It's him, isn't it."

I glance away, unable to look at him. We've promised not to mention his name. I feel like a piece of shit. You deserve better than this, you deserve everything. My guilt comes not from cheating on my loyal partner of six years. I feel unfaithful to Conor. Any time he's ever talked about someone he's dating or is interested in, I can barely stand the jealousy that freezes my blood. I know exactly what kind of asshole that makes me and even as I feel the icy shards in my veins, the shame overwhelms me.

We've agreed. We aren't saying goodbye. We aren't going e-mail each other anymore. We barely look at each other as we get dressed. It's almost time for me to go; I have to get home, he has to check out, he has to go to the airport. We aren't saying goodbye, we can't say much of anything.

I was such a fool to think one night could ever be enough.

I pick up my keys, slide them into my jacket pocket. He's over dropping things into his suitcase on the other side of the room. I walk over to him and stand behind him until he looks up; he turns to me and he tries to smile, say something to ease the moment, but he can't. Neither can I.

All I can do is wrap him in my arms, burying my face in his neck. This was supposed to be it; we were supposed to be out of each others' systems now. But Conor is in me completely now. He has invaded my soul and no amount of nights together will get him out.

With a minimum of words, I leave. It's hard, but I can do it. This really isn't goodbye. There was no hope before; I was locked into my life and I had no real reason to even try to get out. Now things are different. Despite my sadness, there is a purpose to my step, something new. I have a lot of things to plan if I'm going to England.

Before Conor is even on the plane, I'm at home in my office, writing him an e-mail. As he flies through the air toward England, I hit send. My message will be waiting for him.

**

This story is a complete work of fiction. All of the characters and events are made up and bear no resemblance to reality.

Thanks T and the others who inspired and encouraged this work.