100 Memories Of You And Me ✔

Moment 1

Moment 1: An excerpt from Johnathan's Diary

I remember the first time we had sex. A few weeks after the Fourth celebrations and getting back in your good books (which are never easy to get into by the way). And if you're still reading this, Chulu I'm talking to you here, then know that I'm probably blushing as I write this.

I liked kissing, I've always told you that. Just because it was an action we could do anywhere. No one really analysis a kiss between two men. It could be a quick peck on your lips or one of those long, lazy sessions when you got home from work. They were easy, not so much puzzling or forward thinking really.

Now safe sex has always been a part of my life. It had to be because before you, I only really ever knew men for a couple of hours or at the stalls of gay clubs, the kind of ones that existed and that you're too young to understand. I grew up finding my sexuality through the AIDS scare and even if my dad did not agree with my lifestyle, he always hammered in safe-sex. Appointments and the like from the moment he thought we could be sexually active.

So yes, I did think you would just trust my word when I said I was clean. I can still see it now, one of those slow library hours with you packing away your books and me taking out new ones. Our relationship was an open secret in town. You said it helped that I was white, rich and still consulted with the army. I told you that they were just nice folk. That is beside the point.

You put away the last book in the pile and looked at me. Your brown eyes grew dark and it took a lot for me not to bolt at the serious talk you were formulating.

"I want us to be serious," you said.

"Sure, but aren't we serious already?" I thought we were.

"Serious as in sex, Johnathan. I really, really want to have sex with you."

Ok, honey, I always knew you were the forward kind.

"A little louder won't you," I said grinning.

"That you have to work for, but only if you want it."

I peeked around the bookshelf and kissed your lips. You squirmed around and gently tapped my face. It was nothing like the bad first reaction but enough to tell me that you had enough.

"So when are you free to get tested?" You asked.

"I haven't had sex since the last time," I answered honestly thinking it was enough.

You arched your eyebrow and pursed your lips, which just made me want to kiss them all over again. But it bothered me that you did not trust that my word was a good enough reason for us to have sex. I agreed anyway and you made an appointment at the clinic in the nearest city. You never did trust the small-town hospital very much.

Somehow that was fine. I was miffed, I'd admit but knowing it would lead to you made the uncomfortable testing worth it. The wait that lasted a few weeks killed me though.

The kissing on the couch felt torturous because you were close, but not close enough. Not near close enough to where I wanted you to be. The day when kissing on the couch turned into something more made the waiting feel amazing.

Your skin smooth and supple, firm yet easily yielding to the glide of my hands against it. Your neck threw back in a moment of ecstasy. I marvelled at the moment, the low groan that rumbled gently. I think there was a storm that night, I don't remember really (is that bad?).

The lights went out and you shut your eyes only for them to come back again, blinding and bright. I saw your body, naked, imperfect and flawed. The scab marks that never really healed and littered your body at irregular intervals. The hair on your head gently curled and I ran my fingers down your chest. Therefore it surprised me when you dropped your head against my shoulder and asked me if I was satisfied with this.

Darling, I will always and forever be satisfied with you. Whether you want me to or not.

I was the one who insisted on the bed, even when you gave me the eyes, the ones that still, to this day drive me crazy for you. Then I pulled a favour, there was no way old, greying me was having sex on a couch. I wasn't twenty anymore. I'd like to think I grew classier with age.

The lights were always switched on in the bedroom and you turned them off and I put them back on.

"You are more than beautiful, trust me."

You snorted and looked away, ashamed that your scars would change the way I looked at you. It never should because mine never changed the way you looked at me. Your face was expressive with me in a way it wasn't with everyone else, not even Rosh had seen that side of you. I was fiercely protective of it, of you and of the life, I hoped we would build together.

I know it was too many expectations and not enough experience but who cared!

Your breathing levelled out and I could see you trying to compromise. I let you make the next move. Gently you pushed me back onto the bed and placed your lips against mine.

I fully gave myself to you at that moment. I also knew you had sold me to your ideas and dreams. Things which a desperately wanted to become ours. The damp residue in the air slicked our skin with sweat and I had never seen you more unsure of yourself. It would be fine it always would be more than fine.

I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and kissed you gently. Yours trailed down, lightly getting tangled in the longer hair on my chest, stomach and going down further. You gently wrapped a hand around my aching dick while seeking friction against my thigh. We did not last much longer after that.

Your hand held calluses from holding pens and hand washing clothing. It was smoother than silk at the tips and rough as you palmed me. I let my kisses trail down your shoulder licking every now and again before I held your dick in my hand. It was cut, hard and the clear sticky fluid coated the top smelt was no different to mine.

It was rough and messy, finding a rhythm and willing myself to remain calm as you moaned quietly in my ear. I tried not to think of how many before me had seen you like this. I came first with a shudder and sharply biting your shoulder. You hissed in pain and wrapped your legs around my waist before thrusting into my hand and letting the small space of fist along with a sharp flick of my wrist bring you to completion. Your tongue sloppily entered my mouth and you broke away letting a string of saliva connect us. Your hand still soaked with my cum grabbed my short hair and you tightened your grip, trying to find anything to ground you and you moaned a low dragging, almost guttural sound.

"Thank you," you whispered to my surprise.

"You're welcome."

That was it. Our first time, a little more than something two inexperienced teenagers would try. Nothing new or surprising and yes, I did find the condoms and lubricant you placed earlier. But I preferred you, just lazily kissing you over a book or as you made a meal. Sex with you was just as amazing and I wouldn't risk you finding out what being inside you felt like or having you inside me. Those are both feelings too raw, embarrassing and I know, you know, I am terrible with words.

This was the first time you let yourself breathe easy around me and trusted me enough to give me a chance to try. You wanted to try again that night and I just wanted to spend time holding you. That was perfect too. Your freshly cleaned skin and me trying to keep you still enough to disinfect the bite marks.

I did not paint that night and it felt good to sleep knowing you would be there when I woke up.

A/N: I'd love to hear your guys thoughts. Would you like more stuff like this, longer and from other characters perspectives?