Sweet Dreams - Book 3

Twenty five

Warning: mature content!
Note: This is the final 'live action' chapter of the book. There will be one more - a very short epilogue - to come. Thanks, as always, for reading!

He didn't want to fuck him in the dressing room. No, Mew thought to himself - rare rational thoughts, as the two men struggled along that long, narrow backstage corridor, intermittently pushing one another up against the wall to kiss passionately, urgently.

It should be somewhere beautiful tonight - the alpha's response to the omega's very public declaration harmonising in celestial melodies around the two, as they wove in and out of one another's arms:

"Will you marry me...darling asshole?"

"Yes. Yes. Yesss"

So he led Gulf upwards towards the heavens. Taking the building's lift, and then rusting external fire escape stairways for the final few floors. Up, up until they finally reached that place of beauty: The roof terrace of the grand arena.

Chic 'chill out' bar at one end: Four poster daybeds, lotus-floating plunge pools and jacuzzis, now deserted as the clock passed midnight. And at the other, a floral terrace garden, alive with heady scents and wandering late night peacocks as golden rain of Ratchaphruek cascaded over the romance of red Hibiscus - white Jasmine purity, yolk-centered Frangipani, and sweetest purple Krachiao encircling a centric array of enigmatic, delicate Thai orchids in full bloom.

And it was there in that fairytale world that Gulf held Mew's hand to slip a proposed ring onto his fourth finger. And it was there too that Mew took its partner ring from Gulf - darkest green pine needles encapsulated within - to place it rightfully on his omega's fourth finger in return.

With tears of quiet, private joy they stood, facing one another ceremoniously - four hands clasped and foreheads pressed together, on a rooftop higher than any other on the horizon. Closest to the twinkling stars. Marks scarred on their necks, rings shining on their fingers, and hearts beating as one: Du-dum...du-dum...du-dum...

Then in a desire to act out, for expression, the two parted momentarily before moving slowly back in to one another, a sensual prowl of brown eyes on brown eyes, hands roaming up chests to entwine the backs of necks as noses met and rubbed together - tantalising tenderness, an Eskimo's kiss.

And Gulf was pushing sweet, parted lips towards his mate, eyes closed as he floated amongst their pine forests and their cherry blossoms, urging, silently: 'Kiss me'.

On command, his dutiful alpha's lips found him. Not only lips but teeth and tongue too, and the elder was dragging that plump, pink lower lip between his teeth laboriously, before - with now swiftly escalating physical impatience - smashing into his lover open mouthed and insistent, to thrust tongue against tongue, the two moaning and gripping arms yet tighter around necks. Needing to be closer, closer, subsumed.

'Call me by your name' - one to the other by soul bond, though neither knew which had spoken and which had listened - had it been both?

As they embraced, Mew walked Gulf backwards in his arms, away from the perfumed paradise of flora and fauna, across the empty terrace space until the younger man found himself reversed up against the wooden surface of the bar unit. There the alpha could seek his friction at last, could grind up against his omega - erect cocks rubbing and thrusting through clothes, nowhere to hide from mutual arousal.

Delicious "Ahhhh"s and "Mmmm"s filled the air as their lips devoured, hands roaming backs, hands kneading muscular upper arms, hands pulling hair roughly as desires surged and coursed.