The air is hot and smells of sweat and after-sex.
Diego is awake. It's half-past five in the morning, and he's very, very much awake. The sort of lucidity that brings blood thundering in his ears, his heart racing against his throat, - and now, he is acutely aware of every breath, every slight sound echoing in the shabby hotel room. But no; lucid or not, he can't think, - not clearly, least of all properly. Every moment he closes his eyes, images flash in his head and he can only think of that.
"Don't make me regret this."
It's all he can focus on, - and all he can see, really, - the way Swiper staggered over to him with trembling lips and a hungry stare, reeking of vodka-somethings and a mild type of musk from Tico's bar. Diego doesn't know how he, himself got there, to be honest. He is only visiting the town for a month, and he never liked drinking the night away. He reckons it might be some odd combination of a cursed sixth sense and god toying with him like a new plaything to be ruined. But, he can't really complain. He's always had a... thing for Swiper (to say the least), ever since they were kids playing make-believe in the jungle behind their house. And, god knows that first loves never fade, and feelings are as easily rekindled with a spare glance and a smile thrown your way.
He breathes deeply. It's been five hours since then, and two since Swiper fell asleep. Strands of sunlight are peeking out the curtains, and Dora will be looking for him in an hour. She'll probably worry herself sick, but he can't bring himself to care.
Diego's not a stranger to one-night stands, and even less to rebound sex. But Swiper is... a strange case. Diego's always been gay, and he's always been proud of it too. But Swiper's always, always loved Dora, his own cousin, and childhood-best-friend. It hurt when he was sixteen, sure. But he's come to terms with it years ago. And though phantom aches never leave, he's learned to ignore the twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach whenever he visits to see Swiper still pining over an oblivious Dora.
The bed creaks as Swiper adjusts his position in his sleep, body tangled in a mess of blanket and limbs as he scoots closer to Diego's chest. He's warm, Diego thinks, or maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Swiper has that effect on him.
Diego sighs, tracing the muscle in Swiper's arm. His prominent collarbone, his neck. He grew up well, - very well, actually. And the moans a few hours ago tell him that he grew up quite lewd. Air catches in his throat as he drags his index from the dip of Swiper's chest, around his nipples, down his stomach, and on the attractive V approaching his crotch before stopping. He instead wraps his fingers around Swiper's waist and pulls him close. God, he loves this boy, - a man now. And bless Dora's child-like soul, but simply cannot let an exquisite fox out of the trap now.
I'm sorry, Dora. But this one's mine.
