The Italian Delight

six

The evening was weird.

Marco found himself drifting back to John's eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots was slowly taking over his mind. And that was bad.
Sophie's eyes weren't this colour Marco found beautiful.

He wanted to look into that blueness for a little while, maybe a second or two, just enough time for Marco to see the reflection of every single thought he lost on John.
He wanted it.
To look at all the lovely, adorable, sinful and secret scenarios he was too ashamed to admit he made up. He was too ashamed to admit it to himself, let alone John or anyone else.

All these imaginations were wrong.

Why couldn't it be normal?
Why couldn't he be normal?

John was just sitting there, laughing at the pointless conversation Marco was trying to keep going in order to distract himself from potential starting.
He wanted to stare.
But it was wrong.

His mind was filled with imaginations of all the sweet sounds John would make in a situation they weren't heading to. Unfortunately. Maybe.

Sophie.

He can't just sleep with a person who makes him feel something, because he's meant to be with her. He would speak to her if he only could.

It was killing him how much he wanted to feel John. His skin. His hair. Everything about him.

Marco actually couldn't take it anymore as him imagination was betraying him with every single word John said.
The sound of that voice.
The torture of the fact Marco wouldn't hear that voice moaning his name.
And the even worse torture of knowing he shouldn't want to hear that voice moaning his name.

How would Marco want to hug him. Just a hug. To look into these eyes and wait to understand where does this all end.

It was not the first time he imagined falling asleep next to John, but it was the first time he felt sure. More sure than he ever felt about Sophie, in fact.

It wasn't the same as the feelings he got next to her.

What could be the untold stories behind these eyes?
The blueness he wanted to swim in all the time. Ice cold blue that was somehow the warmest to his heart.

These glimpses.
The moments their eyes connected.

Marco would think about when did this all started to feel this way.
When did he start to feel his heartbeat accelerate while sitting in one room with John.
When did he start to wake up from the dreams he couldn't ever admit he's been having.

On the other hand, John wasn't doing much better. He actually enjoyed holding Marco's body, touching the bare skin of his arms as he comforted him.

In fact, the flashes of Marco's naked skin made John's imagination wonder.

These nasty thoughts about how good would it feel to steal this forbidden innocence that he was watching for a while now.
Among all the robberies, stealing the pureness of the man next to him still seemed as the worst one, but every single glimpse put him under an incredible temptation.

Temptation to steal. To taste.

To look into his eyes in the moment he takes all of his innocence away.
To see him body under his own, to see his hands grabbing on the bedsheets, to hear all of these gasps and screams.

He couldn't admit to himself how many nights he imagined that face in the moment he would touch his man where nobody else ever did.

He couldn't deny himself how many nights he imagined the taste of those lips.

Now, sitting in the same room with nothing to limit them felt almost dangerous.

He wanted to enter all the zones of danger right in front of him.
He wanted to take all the sweet roughnesses and lock it up.

So nobody else can have it.

greedy.

There was something doubtful about the way they held each other as friends.
About the way it felt to be held by a friend.
Maybe it wouldn't seem to be so hazardous if the way their skin touched wouldn't make his mind wonder to these forbidden places.

But how could it be so wrong?

How could it be so wrong to want to kiss the demons out of Marco's head?
How could it be so wrong to want to hold his body while kissing his face?
How could it be so wrong to want to undress him?
How could it be so wrong to want to gently push his legs wide open and kneel in between them until Marco starts begging him to touch him where he would like it the most?

In the dim light of the living room, it all looked a little bit blurry for John.
All the imaginations combined with the desperate effort to keep the conversation going in a safe direction.

He felt like his dignity was refraining his body from doing something stupid, but with every thought flashing in his mind, his dignity could barely hold on.

How could the dignity matter to him now anyway.

There's something much more important going on.

One last glimpse into these coffee brown eyes.
Just one last glimpse was enough for John to gently, almost delicately scooped Marco's cheek.
He was just lazily caressing it, until he decided to brush his finger against those lips.
The lips that screamed and begged in all these nasty dreams and ideas.

Now, he could feel the smoothness of it under his forefinger.

Marco's brain was filled with how loved such a simple touch could make him feel.
Much more loved than he ever did next to Sophie. But now when John's fingers moved carefully between his jawline, cheeks and lips, he really didn't want to think about her.

He noticed John's sight sliding to his lips, just for it to return to Marco's eyes and stare intensely.

"May I?"

John's voice was trembling. Trembling with the incredible combination of feelings he had to process while touching Marco's skin.

He was pleased with the answer he was given.

He had Marco's lips carefully parting around his own bottom lip.