Parts 11,12
Part 11: He Opens His Eyes
Graham opens his eyes and blinks. Inches from his face is Xander's face, and what Graham sees are those brown eyes and this silly grin on the guy's face. A loopy grin, Graham can't help but smile back. Xander is lying half on his side, with an arm across his chest, head raised.
Graham had never actually woken up next to anyone before. Well, ok, on bivuouac on training or in the barracks, but not like this. Not waking up next to someone who he'd just spent the night with. He reaches up with his left hand and gently caresses the back of Xander's head and very gently pulls that face towards his. Graham kisses him very lightly, very softly, tasting those lips again.
"Morning." He says with a smile.
"Morning," comes the reply with a smile that Graham would die for.
He pulls Xander against him, his arm around the guy's shoulder, and he snuggles against him, hugging him back across his chest. Graham breathes in deeply and lets it out slowly while staring at the ceiling, suddenly aware of smell of last night's activities. He looks back at Xander. "You ok?"
"Oh yeah." Graham wants to drown in that smile.
"You always this cheerful in the morning?"
He traces a finger across Graham's far pectoral. It feels really different now than last night, when Graham was all pumped up and tensed. Not so much softer as sort of less hard. Xander tries to figure out if that makes sense. He fails. He looks up at Graham. "Never. Must be the company."
Graham looks at him with a wry grin, and tousles Xander's hair. "Have you used that line before? Cause it's really good. It worked. You got me."
Xander runs his palm across his chest, feeling the silken heat of his tanned skin, the soft sponginess of muscle completely relaxed, the ease with which each part of him segues into the next.
He looks at Graham. "I do?"
"Oh, yeah." Graham leans down and presses his lips against Xander's, tasting them. Licking them. Then rubbing his cheek against Xander's, just to feel his light morning stubble, somewhere between a tickle and sand-paper scratching. He runs his tongue over his cheek, tasting the remnant of last night's sweat, letting his tougue luxuriate in the feel of that very slight growth of beard, which the tongue seems to exaggerate. His tongue finds those lips again, slightly opened, and turning his head slightly to the side, Graham very gently moves his tongue inside Xander's mouth, licking his teeth, finding Xander's tongue, and pressing his mouth against Xander's, who grips his shoulders tightly, and presses back.
Graham breaks off the kiss suddenly. He looks at Xander seriously, like he's just realized something really important. Something that he's gotta say now, but that he's afraid to. "Xander?"
"Yeah?" Xander has a sudden attack of the wiggins. Hoping he hadn't done something to freak the guy out last night, cause he did a lot of stuff.
Graham looks at him earnestly, and tells him, "I really gotta take a leak."
Xander laughs and rolls off of Graham and onto his back. He watches as Graham swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands and looks around for his boxers, picks them up and pulls them on. Xander is mesmerized by the man's ease of motion -- no fumbling, no wasted movement. He stares at the Graham's ass as he walks out the door, leaving it slightly ajar and listens to him go down the hall.
Alone in the room, Xander starts to realize that he's just woken up in another guy's bed, and ok, it's a nice bed, and a really nice guy.
And he hears footsteps, not Graham's cause they've got shoes on. There's a knock on the door and Xander quickly slides off the far side of the bed onto the floor, hiding, although he's not quite sure why. Just an instinct. He lies on the floor, pulls the sheet on top of him and tries to act lie a pile of linen.
"Yo, Graham! " Riley's voice booms. "Up for a run?"
Xander lies really still as he hears Riley step into the room. "Graham?" he repeats
Then from down the hall, he hears, "Yo, Ri!" and then the footsteps walking out of the room.
A chuckle from the Iowa boy, "Man, you look like you had a night of it."
"Yeah."
Xander can hear the smile on Graham's face. Xander finds himself smiling at that image.
"So, you hook up or what?"
There's a pause. Did he shake his head or nod or just shrug his shoulders and give that enigmatic smile, wonders Xander.
"Goin' for a run, you up?"
"No man, I'm pretty beat."
"I can see that," Riley laughs. "Shoot some hoops after lunch then?"
"I'm there."
"Cool." The sound of a hand slapping a back and then of shod footsteps going down the hall.
Graham reenters the room, closes the door, locks it, and looks around,
"Xander?" he whispers, still looking around.
Xander lifts his head above the bed, and whispers, "Hey!"
"Close call."
"Yeah."
Graham gets onto the bed and crawls across it towards Xander. He reaches out and takes hold of Xander's head, cupping his hand behind Xander's neck and pulling his mouth onto his own and kissing Xander then reaching down, taking hold of him by the armpits and lifting him up and pulling him onto the bed, pulling him across the bed and palming his chest and stomach and leaning over and kissing his mouth again, gently, softly, and then kissing his neck and then his chest, licking one tit and then the other, listening to Xander moan softly as he does, and the licking his way down Xander's stomach, pausing to run his tongue around his navel and Xander suddenly tenses up as he gives a sharp intake of breath.
And seeing that he likes it, Graham continues to lick it as his left hand caresses the guy's thigh, moving slowly up to find Xander's cock, and Graham takes hold of it gently and caresses it, and it stiffens and Xander moans, and Xander reaches out and fondles Graham's back and the shoulder nearest to him.
"Oh god! " Xander moans, and Graham moves his mouth down and as he holds the base of the cock. he licks it and runs his tongue around the head the way that Xander had liked it the night before. And Xander is not sure what to do, so he doesn't do anything, and just lets Graham suck him.
Graham runs his hand over Xander's chest, remembering how that same chest felt last night when Xander was on top of him, and Xander was fucking him, giving him everything he could. And Graham had looked up and met his gaze, and he saw those eyes, and Xander met his gaze, and gave him a look of concern, like he was going too hard, or doing it wrong or something. And Graham, just to let him know, that no, he couldn't possibly be doing wrong, gave him a smile between the groans, and he reached round and took hold of his ass, and gently pulled Xander's into him in time with Xander's thrusts, to let him know that it was exactly right, that it couldn't be better.
And, the feel of Xander's skin as he palms his chest and then runs his hands slowly over his shoulders, trying to memorize the feel of that body, how the muscles quiver just slightly when Graham does something just right, how there is this strength just under the layer of warm smooth skin, and not the easy kind that comes from spending time in the weight room, but the kind of strength that comes from deep inside, a strength that comes from … Graham only wished he knew, could only wish he had it. It's a strength that could make him do anything, absolutely anything, and the fact that Xander doesn't use it except to give Graham what he wants makes it all the more powerful.
And as Xander reacts, moaning and then gently laying a hand on Graham's forearm as he caresses his chest, and Graham feels the warmth of his touch, not the white heat of alley sex, where everything is fast and furious and intense and immediate and desperate, but the glowing warmth of a reassuring touch, a caring gesture, inducing a warm glow in his forearm that spreads out from the place touched, that makes slight goosebumps break out on that arm. And Graham has to pause, just for a second, and remember to breathe, and he does so with a sharp intake of breath.
And Graham is suddenly aware of how hard he is, and reaches into his boxers and starts to jerk himself off as he sucks Xander, and Xander reaches over and puts his hand inside Graham's boxers and their hands touch, and Graham pulls his hand away and lets Xander take hold of his cock.
Graham stops sucking to moan briefly. "Get those boxers off!" comes a demanding whisper, and Graham struggles out of them, and Xander sees his stiff cock standing parallel to that flat stomach. Xander touches it with a bit of wonder. Then he scoots over, lifts his head and takes the cockhead into his mouth. Graham moans, twists his head and looks at Xander, and whispers, "You don't have to…" Shit, he doesn't have to do anything: Graham has to make him understand that.
"And you do?" Xander caresses his side, feeling the muscle-encased ribs. Impressed, wishing his body felt like that, looked like that, but glad to have the chance to feel it for himself.
"Yeah. I do, I really do." Graham is dead serious. Xander nods like he understands, although he doesn't, and he figures he just has to let Graham do what he needs to do, and the fact that it feels awesome, better than anything has ever felt before, is just another reason not to object.
Xander wiggles underneath Graham and pulls his cock down and into his mouth, and takes hold of his sides, and the two more or less without thinking begin to match rhythms, Xander moving his head up onto Graham's cock in time with Graham moving down on his.
And Xander can feel Graham's body start to quivver, to convulse lightly, his muscles tensing slightly, and then more fiercely, and just the fact that he can make the guy's body do that makes Xander want to suck the cock harder, and he does, feeling the heat of the hardness as he swirls the cockhead round in his mouth, contrasting the roughness of the shaft with the smoothness of the head, and holding the cock just outside his mouth, as he runs his tongue across the slit, and tastes the drops of the salty pre-come.
Graham arches his back and groans "Xand! " but is cut off as he comes all over Xander's face, and Xander manages to take part of it in his mouth, just so he can taste it. And OK, salty goodness. And really warm. And Xander arches his back as he feels Graham's body just tensed, every muscle contracting, and he follows suite and Graham, even when he's in the middle of orgasm, never stops sucking his cock, and Xander grips Graham's waist above him as he arches his neck completely involuntarily and feels the convulsions and how his legs just tense up tight, and his butt muscles contract tight and he lets out this groan, and Graham sucks every drop from his cock.
Xander just remains still, back and neck arched for a second, and then just collapses onto his back, arms and legs just falling to the matress, limp, unmoving. Xander lies, eyes wide open, staring up at Graham's abs, completely tensed, unmoving since Graham hasn't started to breathe again yet.
Graham collapses onto his side, right beside him, and they both lie there for a minute, kind of sprawled, waiting for the normal breathing to start happening again.
Graham raises his head and looks down at Xander, and grins kind of sheepishly. "I've never done that before."
The sheepishness of the grin is returned, "Me neither."
Xander rolls over onto his back and moves back and leans against the headboard of the bed.
"Come here."
Graham crawls up and lets Xander maneouver him so he is lying on his side, half against Xander's side, half atop Xander. They are facing each other and they kiss, each other's come mixing with each other's saliva on their tongues. Xander is idly running his hand up and down the guy's left arm, feeling where each muscle ends and the next begins. He suddely raises his head and looks at the alarm clock.
"Shit!, I gotta get to work."
"You have to?"
"Hey, it’s a really crappy job but the only one I've got."
Graham nods. He leans over slightly and runs his tongue across three inches of Xander's far pectoral, really wanting to lick every drop of dried and and fresh sweat off of Xander's body.
"Can I see ya tonight?"
Xander looks down at Graham, who's looking up at him. Xander tousles his hair. "I was kind of hopin to come by sort of straight from work. Although I guess I should swing by home and get clean clothes …"
Graham looks up at the guy. He is grinning. "How 'bout I meet you at that coffee place at like 6?"
"It's a date." Xander says with a grin.
Graham chuckles. Another first.
"What?"
"My first date with a guy."
"Just so you don't get too nervous, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna be up for the good-night kiss thing."
"Yeah, that does take some of the pressure off." Graham grins as he runs his fingers through Xander's hair, brushing it off of his forehead. He leans his head over and kisses Xander on the lips. Not a deep kiss, a light one. More playful than passionate. That could come later. "Ok I guess you can go to work then."
"Thanks." Xander says with mock annoyance.
Xander gets out of bed and pulls his clothes back on. Graham rolls onto his back and watches, smile on his face. Xander sits on the bed to put his shoes on and Graham reaches over and palms his back then sits up and massages his shoulders. Xander stops with his left shoe half tied, and moans softly.
Then Graham slaps his back. "Go on, workin' man."
Xander twists his torso around and leans over and kisses the naked ex-commando guy. A teasing playful buss on the lips. Cause if he does any more than that, that'll be the end of job number 18.
Then Xander finishes tying his shoe and stands up and heads out. He pauses at the doorway, checks to see that the coast is clear, then looks back at Graham.
"Six."
Graham nods, and repeats, "Six." Xander closes the door behind him.
Graham flops back on the bed, hands behind his head, and sighs contentedly.
*****
Part 12: Running
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is based on one of my favourite poems, a Catalan poem by Vincent Estellés (Eh-stehl-YES) called 'els amants' (the lovers). This is *not* a translation, more like a very free adaptation from the Catalan. It's worth learning Catalan just to read Estelles.
I apres, -- and after,
tombats a terra -- fallen on the ground
a cualsevol manera, -- in whatever way,
comprenem que soms uns barbars -- we understand we're barbarians
I que aixo no deu ser -- and that shouldn't be.
fragment of 'els amants' -- by vincent estelles
*****
I lie in bed for a while after Xander's left for work. Slowly I get up again, wake up again actually, because I'm pretty sure I fell back asleep, pretty sure but not positive, except that by the clock it's after ten, and he left at eight or so, same as yesterday, and the day before, working man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
I sit on the edge of the bed for just a moment, and look around at the clothes strewn randomly on the floor. Some from last night, and I grin as I remembered taking those off, and some, well, no point in picking them up until you're ready to do something with them, like laundry.
Now that I don't have Walsh-like inspections of my quarters, I'm sort of letting things slide, not like Riley, who still wakes up at regulation hour, does the regulation push-ups, and keeps his room in perfect regulation order. I just gotta laugh at the Iowa boy, sometimes.
I pull on my running stuff, left to dry out on the closet door, which now gets left open so it can double as a sort of clothes line, shorts hanging on the outside door knob, jock on the inside one, tank top slung over the top of the door. I slowly pull them on. "Clean socks." I think, still waking up, "I want clean socks," just making the next task clear to myself. I go over to the drawers and open the top one and pull out a pair of white socks, and go back to the bed, bending and scooping up my running shoes from where I kicked them across the floor yesterday, I sit on the bed and pull on socks and shoes.
I stand and start to stretch. Slowly, easily. Not pushing now, I'll push later. I glance out the window. Sunshine. It looks nice, I grab my spare key, hung on an old dog-tag chain, and slip it over my head, and pull the door locked as I head out of Lowell House and onto the quad, jog over to my favorite tree and finish the stretching.
I start to run, really easy at first, getting used to it again, checking my watch for the start time. Feeling some soreness in places where I wasn't sore yesterday, mainly my hamstrings. I must have overstretched them last night' I think analytically, then find myself wearing a slightly evil grin, remembering exactly how they got overstretched.
I try to push myself a bit, hitting full cruising speed as I head on the first leg of the usual mid-distance run, campus to park, through the park, back down to the other side of campus, and then all the way cross campus and back home, last 2 blocks for cool down. All pretty much on automatic pilot by now.
My mind clears, thinking of nothing but the running, but one thought intrudes: I'm meeting my lover tonight for coffee. I gotta grin as that thought sinks in. OK, I've always wanted to be able to say that. And OK, we've only been 'lovers' for what, four days, nine and one half hours -- I chuckle at myself as I realized I realize I am actually counting the hours since I first touched Xander, and Xander first touched me. My lover. I shake my head as I keep running, knowing I've got this kinda stupid smile on my face. Damn I like the sound of that word, 'lover'. Damn, I've wanted that for so long. And, maybe, just maybe, now I've got it.
I hit the park, running on the path through the heavily wooded area, aware that there are other runners, but for the first time since I've been running this route, I'm not checking out the other guys. Not trying not to, just not doing it. Only caring about what one guy looks like.
OK, Graham, I tell myself, this is your first time at this, not the sex part, lots of experience with that, but with the actualy knowing the other guy part. Is this how lovers are supposed to be? In my head, I'm asking Xander, is this how you want it to be?
Because there can't be too many couples out there like us, just so into it and each other that once we start, something just takes over and we keep going like a couple of demons, on the floor, across the desk, over the chair, where ever, practically throwing each other around, getting ordering around, pushing each other hard.
It hits me all over again as I remember you pulling off your clothes that first time. Man, it feels like years have gone by, and a million things have happened since I touched you that time and it was like this powerful force suddenly grabbed me and pushed me to you and we rolled frantically on the floor between the kissing and the holding each other tight.
Is that how it's supposed to be? OK, it was *hot*. But, is that how it's supposed to be with a lover? Isn't being in love supposed to mean spending some of the evening together in just this really nice comfortable way, just the two of us cuddled up, complementing each other, telling each other how nice this all is?
Cause the calm thing just doesn’t happen. I see you and it just jolts awake inside me, and it just hits me and it's like being swept up in this hurricane that picks me up and throws me, throws both of us to the ground, slams us together, and tosses us around, sending us rolling across the floor.
I really had always thought I wanted it to be sort of nicer, with some romantic music on the stereo playing softly, just sitting next to you, holding you, and slowly and gently kissing you, first your neck, and later just kind of nonchalantly licking your ear.
But it always ends up being pretty brutal. Yeah, we both know what a total bitch life can be, because you never know who's gonna be the next one to get knocked around, or hurt, … or buy it. I know you know that feeling, 'cause I've seen it in you eyes. And the worst thing that can happen, seeing a buddy get taken out. You've been there, too. And I know we're both always getting ordered around, and pushed around, and caught up in the middle of things we don't understand, and don't wanna understand, … and *all* I really want between those times is just a few kisses and to get held really tight.
Fuck! Tell me what am I supposed to do! OK, I know this isn't how love's supposed to be. It's not how I always pictured it. But I've *never* done any of that mushy romantic stuff. Shit, there's a lot of stuff I've never really gotten, never really understood, like the lyrics to those sweet 'ooh, I love you, boy' songs, or all those love poems we had to memorize in High School…
But afterwards, there's that one moment when we're lying on the floor, bodies contorted into whatever position we ended up in, just looking at each other: panting, spent, exhausted, unable to talk, barely able to crawl into bed and just fall asleep. At that moment, I look at you and see that loopy, sheepish, embarassed half-grin, and I *know* that you're thinking the same thing as me: that we're acting like a couple of animals, and it really shouldn't be like this. That this isn't the way love's supposed to be. That this isn't how either of us ever pictured how being with a lover was gonna be.
I know that at that moment, you're thinking you want to be nicer to me, and I'm thinking I need to be gentler with you. And we both know that we're both thinking that, and we both silently promise ourselves that we're gonna go easier on each other the next time, and I really believe that I really am ... until the next time comes and I see you pulling off your clothes …
I hit the cool down part of the home stretch, breaking the rhythm and slowing down to a walk, hands on hips, head slightly bowed, breathing hard, and I think that, yeah, they're can't be too many couples out there like us. I grin. Most guys couldn't take it.
Parts 13,14
Back To Maybe He's Canadian Main Page
