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“Well?” Carlos turns off the bathroom light and stands in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Daniel looks down at a towel on his thighs, his skin pink from the hot water, and he's never wanted to stop time so badly. Not the most sensual, not the most intimate moment, but it is in the now, in this bitter anticipation, when there is still nothing to end, that he wants to stay.
“Well,” Daniel finally allows himself to loosen his tie.
Carlos walks over to the bed and all of a sudden it feels so unreal, so out of place, it shouldn't be happening between them, it shouldn't be happening in the dorm, it probably shouldn't be happening at all. Daniel begins to doubt that he is mentally healthy, realizing that the closer they get to it, the weaker his willingness to let Carlos go on a friendly note, with no hope of anything ever happening again.
“You changed your mind?” Carlos sits down next to him. Daniel sighs with a smile and hopes he doesn't look pathetic. He looks Carlos straight in the eye, as if he'll never see him again, and strokes Carlos’ cheek with his fingertips.
“No. We've already discussed everything... It's the right thing to do.”
“I know you're hurting,” Carlos says, looking away. “Me too. But I can't do anything about it.”
“He's a good guy.”
“He's exactly what I need. I told you before, you're too caring and too healthy, but that's not your problem.”
“I think right now, for this night, you need someone healthy and caring around you,” Daniel kisses his bare shoulder softly.
“I want you.”
“I know.”
“Get undressed?”
“Not yet.”
“Want a blow job?” Carlos's question, seemingly indifferent, has a hint of desperation in it. Daniel picks it up. He gently grabs Carlos' chin so that he can look at him.
“I thought we'd at least kiss first. But I don't insist.”
“Do you still want to kiss me?” Carlos doesn't meet his eyes. Carlos looks at his lips.
“Yes,” Daniel's heart skips a beat, “It'll probably stay for a long time.”
“It's going to hurt you even more.”
“Don't think about it. It's not your responsibility.”
“Okay,” Carlos finally kisses him with an unaccustomed shyness, and that's what Daniel needs right now, not a hot, wet passion.
Their lips touch almost chastely, so much like the beginning. Ironically, it all started in this very same room, one day when Greg had something to do (or rather, someone to do) outside of it. Daniel would like to wrap Carlos up with all the tenderness he can, like a heavy, warm blanket, promising to take away all the nightmares... He knows that Carlos can't trust tenderness fully. He knows better than he wants to, which is why they're here now, just the two of them, kissing like schoolboys, and it's never going to happen again, but it's always going to be a ghost that only time and habit can get rid of.
Carlos puts his hand on his fly, and Daniel feels ashamed. the heated scenes he imagined while Carlos was in the bathroom invariably led him to think about separation within closeness, about how this sex, even if they wanted it to be, wouldn't be the same as before, and about the inevitability, the predestination, the sad naturalness of it all.
“Danny,” Carlos whispers against his lips. “Are you sure this is what you want..?”
“Yes,” Daniel breathes back, and looks into those fathomless black eyes. That's all he wants to see.
He slides to the floor, still irritatingly dressed, and Carlos sighs and spreads his thighs, leaning back on his hands straightened behind his back. Daniel runs his hand up Carlos' thigh, sliding his fingers just past the edge of the towel, and Carlos flinches.
“Will you let me?” Daniel kisses the other thigh.
Carlos closes his eyes and nods with a grin. “I'm still not used to anyone else wanting to do this.”
“Every time I've done this to you, I've really wanted it,” Daniel can't help but say ‘really’ and it feels like giving a blowjob became something schooled to Carlos long ago, and Carlos doesn't know if he really wants it. Carlos always sucks in an almost professional, almost pornographic way, and Daniel would like to believe that at least Carlos was really into it with him, but he knows it's very unlikely. Nevertheless, he likes to give pleasure to Carlos, it was his main motivation in sex, it motivates him now, but something bitter is mixed with this desire to see someone else's bliss.
“It would be much easier if you thought it was something dirty,” Carlos says, digging his fingers into his curls, not too sure.
“As you can see, I don't think so,” he refrains from adding ‘and you?’ because he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
The towel is no longer a hindrance, and looking at Carlos' cock, Daniel finally feels the long-awaited heavy warmth. Carlos's hand on the back of his head doesn't press, doesn't push.
He smears the precum on the entire length with confident strokes before licking the head very gently, almost innocently, without taking his eyes off Carlos' face. Carlos looks focused, even tense, as he usually does at times like this, but Daniel can see the impatience behind the stiffness.
They've done this many times. It’s all the same.
There is nothing new in actions. Still, Daniel tries. He doesn't know how and doesn't want to do it as vulgar as Carlos.
When he lets it down his throat, eyes closed, a soft moan from Carlos distracts him from his usual discomfort. Just for this, for the moaning and sighing, Daniel is ready for something that does not bring direct physical pleasure. He's not disgusted, no. He sees it simply as something not very logical, but beautiful, it's a kind of surrealism. A lot of what they did didn't have any pragmatic logic, but they liked it. He does it willingly for one simple reason: he needs to see, hear, feel Carlos's pleasure. Without Carlos' pleasure, he doesn't need sex at all. He sucks steadily but slowly, and he likes the way Carlos runs his curls through his fingers and breathes noisily.
Taking a deep breath from his cock and gently caressing it with a slightly trembling hand, Daniel admires Carlos' face. His gaze lingers on his lowered lashes…
The final realization hits him that this is the last time he'll see Carlos like this. Then Paul will see it. Or maybe something else, Daniel doesn't know what Paul’s like in bed and doesn't want to know. He'd like to be jealous, but the trouble is, it's not Paul's fault at all. If not Paul, then someone else, or maybe no one at all, Carlos is not running to someone, but from something. From what he is not used to, even if, perhaps, desirable.
Even if he sucked better, fucked better, it wouldn't matter. It's not something that would convince Carlos to stay. Perhaps even the opposite.
“Danny…”
Daniel takes it in his mouth again, and the sudden desperation is mixed with a piercing tenderness. His trousers are too tight. His hands are on Carlos' straining thighs, and Carlos doesn't even think to push towards. Daniel can barely see anymore, a haze of tears blurring his eyes, but that ‘Danny’ echoes in his head, languid, almost plaintive…
He wants Carlos to come. Preferably more than once.
Carlos absently runs his fingers through his hair, sometimes accidentally tugging, and Daniel finds it very touching.
Carlos moans, and Daniel would like to hear reckless depravity in that moan, but all he hears is trust, and tears burn his cheeks.
“God…” Carlos is shaking, and Daniel knows what's going to happen next.
He's ready for it. He wants it.
He swallows. He chokes a little, but he doesn't care.
Carlos gently pushes him away, and they meet eyes, breathing hard and ragged.
“Casey,” Daniel breathes thoughtlessly. He doesn't know what he wants to say. The only thing he could say right now is better stay unsaid.
He is distracted by a painful erection and needs to unbutton his trousers.
Carlos is beautiful. He seems even more beautiful because of the need to let him go.
“Yes?” he wipes the tears from Daniel's cheeks with his thumb, and then the cum at the corner of his mouth. Daniel melts under the warm touch.
“Do you want to continue?”
“Of course, you haven't come yet. That's fair enough.”
“It's not a question of whether it's fair or not,” Daniel finally looks away, “It's a question of whether you want to.”
“I really do,” Carlos says, sounding just a little annoyed. “Can't you just fuck someone without asking a million questions, without tracking their every breath?”
“I can't. I can't be like that,” Daniel smirks bitterly.
“Danny.”
“Hm?”
“Get naked and fuck me. I'm begging you. I want to remember this as something nice,” Carlos lifts his face by the chin, and they look at each other again.
“Okay,” Daniel pulls away.
As he takes off his tie, he thinks he should have drunk more. Unbuttoning his shirt, he wishes it wasn't so awkward. Finally unbuttoning his trousers, he wants to slap himself for things that aren't really his fault. All the while, he feels Carlos' eyes on him, but he doesn't immediately dare look back.
He watches Carlos settle into this bed, which is barely big enough for him, and wonders what Carlos finds so attractive about just getting undressed.
The usual ritual of finding lube and a condom no longer seems fun.
Carlos tries to make room for him, and in all the time they've been together, Daniel has never gotten used to the fact that there's barely enough room for two in this bed.
He leans over Carlos, kissing him wetly and languidly, and tries to ignore the way Carlos's embrace makes something inside him flutter. It must be the heart. To melt into that kiss, to stay on Carlos' lips like someone's lipstick, like something barely tangible but noticeable, to stay like something more than a memory, to stay like anything at all - Daniel is ashamed to admit his self-centeredness, but he wants it and that would be enough.
Carlos' hands move impatiently over Daniel's body, and the ache of his cock reminds him once again of the feeling of time.
He pulls away from Carlos' lips, kissing lower. Carlos' soft, pale skin is made for kissing. The neck, shoulders, collarbone, chest - all of this is admired by Daniel and will now be admired by another.
He pulls away, not without regret, and Carlos looks at him expectantly as he lubes his fingers. Carlos looks at him and doesn't say anything.
He won't feel that hot tightness on his fingers anymore. Maybe someday he'll feel someone else's. Carlos may have learned to take things easier, but he doesn't need to know what's going on in Carlos' head.
Carlos lets out a ragged breath, letting his fingers inside, and is about to say something, but Daniel's habit of being careful and precise, especially when it comes to pleasure, stops him from doing so, and he just groans. Daniel knows what Carlos needs and how to do it.
He can't help but think back to the first time they did it, when Carlos asked him almost indifferently if he wanted to climax inside. Daniel didn't understand the question at first, but then he felt sick at the thought of anyone else wanting to do that before. And now, feeling the familiar latex, he hopes that despite some unhealthy chemistry in verbal communication, Paul will take care of Carlos at least on this level.
He penetrates gently, smoothly, hoping that his moan doesn't sound too pathetic, and Carlos drapes his long legs around his waist. Daniel can't reach out to kiss him, and all he can do is stare at Carlos' flushed face in a futile attempt to get enough of it.
His movements are careful. Сarlos fucks back with obvious impatience, and Daniel himself is ready to break into a frenzied pace and fuck Carlos as he wants. Anything for Carlos' pleasure, as long as it doesn't hurt Carlos.
Their sex wasn't exactly experimental, but it certainly wasn't boring. But now everything is truly wrong…
It feels wrong for him to enjoy himself, it feels wrong for him to want to stop, to hold Carlos and not let him go anywhere, it feels wrong for him to think about anything, to feel anything, even Carlos' hands on his shoulder blades and Carlos' shins on the small of his back. And especially what he's about to say now.
“I love you... Casey, I…” he says anyway, choking more from the words themselves than from the tension, pleasure, fatigue, and shame. He closes his eyes to hold back the tears, and immediately wishes he could see Carlos again. He repeats as if he hasn't said enough. “I love you…”
“Danny…” gasps Carlos. “Look at me.”
Daniel opens his eyes. Carlos looks confused, but smiles.
“I do not know how I feel. I guess I still love you too…”
The way Carlos turns away, Daniel tries to see only the beauty of his neck being kissed, but a whiny moan cuts something inside.
He probably secretly wanted to see Carlos cry, but not right now. He can't handle his own tears.
He needs to focus at least on the vulgar bodily sounds, so that he can somehow separate the pain and physical pleasure. Carlos moves with a kind of desperation, sobbing and shaking, and this vulnerability that he finally shows is quite close to the most tragic declaration of love in Daniel's entire life.
Carlos throws his head back, clenching.
Daniel gives up.
This is his saddest orgasm yet. If it can be called an orgasm at all.
He pulls away.
Carlos looks great. Well-fucked, sweaty, panting, his eyes closed... Daniel is ready to kiss him as much as possible.
He forces himself to go throw out the condom.
“I'm sorry,” Carlos whispers as Daniel settles down next to him. They're cramped, but Daniel's willing to put up with it.
“I understand,” he forces a smile. “No hard feelings.”
“I've never felt like such a whore before.”
“Listen to your heart…”
“Danny…”
“Please, don't call me that again. Just Dan.”
Carlos sighs.
“Whatever you say.”
They lie in silence in the dim light of the desk lamp, Daniel listening to Carlos' heart and knowing full well that Carlos is hating himself right now. Can Carlos spare himself once?
“You're the most tender lover I've ever had,” Carlos says, his voice shaking. “No one ever loved me like you did.”
Daniel wants to ask ‘then why are you leaving me?’, but doesn't ask. He knows the answer. He accepts this answer, even if it is not very convincing for him.