Dissonant Notes in Minor Keys (KimMacau, KimChayMacau) 18+

Chapter Five: Notes Slipped Through Lips

Kim's hands guide Macau down, down, guide his legs around Kim's hips as he sinks to the floor, head down as he shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

Kim has only just started, and Macau has already fallen apart for him, so easy, so easy, has Kim hot with the need to see him unravel completely.

Water pours over them, and Kim admires the red of Macau's skin, the way it turns crimson as Kim digs his nails into Macau's hips and drags them up his thighs. Macau collapses forward, wet hair sticking to the skin of Kim's shoulder as he sweetly, foolishly, falls apart and into Kim. His unsure hands search the divot's of Kim's spine, and then there is tickling at his neck, Macau pressing shy kisses wherever his lips can find Kim's skin.

Kim closes his eyes, takes away one of his senses so that every little touch, every kiss Macau gives him comes into sharper focus. He falls away from everything that isn't the heat of Macau's body, that isn't the music of his desperation, that isn't the taste of Macau's skin as Kim takes his hand and kisses his fingertips, licks at his fingers and palm, painting them with Macau's own come.

They blend and bleed into each other, and Kim feels the moment that reality begins to set in for Macau.

Macau tenses, tries to pull his hand away from where Kim nips and sucks on his fingertips. He tries, but Kim doesn't let him, will never let him, will devour him before ever letting him go.

Kim holds him still, grips him tight and drags his lips across his skin to set his teeth in Macau's neck. Macau's tension goes still, and then he settles, is lax against Kim's hands when he pushes him back, is soft against Kim's fingertips as he takes him by the jaw, is sweet when his eyes open, blinking wet lashes against water and tears.

And he is beautiful as he smiles, satisfied and happy.

Kim kisses him, gentle and short, and thinks about how Macau may know a farce of what it is to be satisfied, but that he doesn't know the euphoria of being drained and broken by sex, to be overwhelmed and in agony under the touch of another person.

Macau opens his mouth, and Kim feeds him the traces of his come, letting the slick-salt pass between their tongues. A low note vibrates between them, and Kim's hand slides to Macau's throat, fingers pressing ownership into him.

Kim thinks about fucking Macau in the shower, about his own knees on the cold tile and Macau's ass tight around his cock as he fucks him, about Macau trying to breathe around his cries as the water drops threaten to drown and choke him, about his own hands pressing the air from Macau's lungs and cutting it off at his Adam's apple.

But that's not for now, not when they have so much time.

Kim pulls away, pushes Macau's wet hair from his forehead, and lays a deceitful kiss there.

"P'Kim," Macau starts, quiet, a little more sober, and Kim feels all of the apologies Macau is trying to hide. "I... P'Kim. Take me to bed?"

The burning turns to fire, and Kim will consume them both in the flames.

Kim is familiar with burning, with heat, with the pain it brings. He knows how skin smells freshly singed from a cigarette, pressed into the arm of someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Guns have heat when they're fired, and Kim will die with the scent of smoke sticking to all the little places in him that death likes to linger.

Then there is lust, the heat of his blood near the surface of his skin, the heat that he draws out of Macau's body as they move together, soaking wet, to the bed.

Kim's hands don't leave him. They can't, if he's going to take care of Macau, break Macau, because Kim doesn't know what it's like to be delicate, what it's like to be safe. Even Porchay often has to protect himself from Kim, because Kim is someone who barely knows guilt, who has only been disgusted with himself once, and now even that isn't enough to stop from taking his nail's to Macau's skin to hear him mewl, make his cock jump against Kim's hip.