No, I can't leave them alone. I can't. And I can't leave Alan alone either. I need to completely ruin the happy ending he got and tack on sad. Lorenzo's fine, it's Alan I apparently need to destroy from the inside out. Somehow this results in depressing cute (or so says my beta).
This is probably the most detailed thing I've ever written where nothing is explicitly stated. That makes almost no sense but then again this is crack to begin with.
In case you missed the 'M' filter thing - this is a bit heavier than the last two. Nothing too explicit but still.
Alan never did remember how it started.
As far as he knew, it just suddenly occurred. In that split second where he blinked or turned around or reached out into the air toward the warmth of the other body something happened that either made him forget or black out the series of events from then until that moment. It was like a dream, how the beginnings of it were fuzzy at best and forgotten most often. He'd find himself in the thick of it, right in the middle of something, of whatever this was so close to that feeling that it made him ache.
Alan could never see much in the mute dark of his bedroom, but he knew things by sound and touch more than he could ever hope to actually see. Lorenzo stretched out below him, his business shirt unbuttoned and askew, falling off his shoulders and getting tangled in the sheets. His own sweater had long been discarded by the threshold while they fumbled in, all hands and mouths and muffled noises. Legs still clothed, still winding around each other almost bonelessly, toes and heels digging into the mattress, making the springs creak. Denim pressing down against polyester-cotton blend, buttons and zipper still intact but often becoming caught on each other, snaring in place for a moment until one or the other wormed its way free. Bodies and faces moved, sliding from place to place but always joined at the hip, sometimes still, sometimes rocking together.
The air around him was thick and cold, almost slicing though him between the burning hot trails of Lorenzo's hands. He was everywhere, warming Alan from the outside in, wrapping him up in it, suffocating him in it to the point where every breath was ragged and huffed, where he struggled and gasped for air. Bodies flattened themselves, undulating and touching briefly before recoiling, snapping backwards and forwards. Alan ached, quietly begging for more of anything Lorenzo would give him. Their legs tangled together, his hands fisted in now imperfect black hair, pressing his mouth to the straining throat muttering in a language Alan couldn't understand but couldn't get enough of no matter how hard it was to understand.
It was always the breathy exhale of his name that pushed him over.
He was first. He was always first. It struck him as selfish, even weak at times to suddenly crack, breaking to splinters under the pressure welling within him. Just before it he stopped feeling, stopped caring about all the things that could be wrong or were wrong and he just held everything inside him for a moment until it suddenly didn't matter and he just let go of it all. Everything flared up in him that moment, all the things he felt and thought shattering out of him with such force it made his vision go white.
Alan collapsed, as he always did, onto the breathing bed of damp fire. They would be quiet, or at least try to be, their chests expanding and deflating rapidly atop one another, trying to regain breath and life and sense. Alan was always disoriented for a moment or two afterwards, the implications and reality of it all sinking into him blissfully slow. By the time he caught his breath he was more or less sure of where he was, and even if he was still a little lost Lorenzo's heartbeat was steady and strong. It usually guided him back to where he needed to be. Alan scarcely opened his eyes before he was sure Lorenzo was under him, the other man's heartbeat thudding quietly in his ear, echoing the one he could feel in his fingertips.
"You… finished too, right?"
In the still of it he felt Lorenzo's arms crossed over his back and he squirmed, but pleasantly. He liked being touched so carefully by skin on skin after they did this, even if it wasn't that often. He knew it wasn't supposed to happen at all. He wasn't sure what would make this arrangement frequent, actually. He just knew it happened, and he was glad enough to let it. Lorenzo had never said no, never protested, and that was good enough for Alan.
The pressure on his back began to stir to life, the familiar rhythm of it awakening goose bumps on his flesh. Slowly the long fingertips rose up and began to move along the quivering body, tracing a path over his shoulder blades before dipping into the hollow of his back. Alan couldn't help but shudder, bringing his still-warm face into the crook of Lorenzo's neck, breathing in there and allowing his breath to wash over the other's collarbone. It hitched, catching suddenly in his throat when the warm palm fell over to his side, the fingers following it in slow, lazy patterns over the indents and ridges.
"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, voice raspy and soft, as it was moments before.
"I don't remember."
Alan felt the discontent rumble against his nose and he frowned, a twang in his chest. Lorenzo didn't say anything else but Alan knew he was disappointed. He hated disappointing him. It made his chest hurt and his heart thud. He couldn't disappoint another person, especially Lorenzo. And he tried so hard – it's just he forgot to eat sometimes and he didn't want to be the pudgy kid in the snug turtlenecks he was back then. He wasn't trying to be overly skinny or anorexic it just happened and he was sorry and he'd do anything to keep him from being disappointed.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, "I just forget."
"Promise me you'll have dinner tonight?"
"Once I can feel myself again, I will."
Lorenzo said nothing, but there was another rumble in his throat. Alan smiled for a beat – that particular vibration one of complacency. Now that he had pleased Lorenzo he wouldn't be upset or angry with him anymore – even if that meant part two to pleasing him was included choking down enough food to curb his suspicions. He'd do that much for Lorenzo.
Alan raised himself up on his palms, off the warm, sticky body, trying to gather himself. Lorenzo's hand continued right along it's appointed path, dropping and climbing over the bumps of his side. But then his hand slipped, skimming over the ribs he had been mentally counting over and over and faltering, the smooth skin passing briefly the others nipple. Alan jerked, hissing softly through his teeth. The hand remained at that spot, frozen in its error.
The hand remained, warm on his skin, making him shiver. It moved after a moment, drawing another shuddering breath from the skinny photographer. As if possessed – for Lorenzo wasn't so much as looking at him as looking past him – the warm pad of his thumb passed over and back, pebbling the sensitive skin. Alan tried not to draw too much attention to it, instead relishing in the gentle if not maddening feeling of slow, careful hands on him. He caught his lip between his teeth, keeping himself in check until Lorenzo seemed to snap back into reality. That now-focused gaze focused solely on him, Alan couldn't contain the long, ragged moan that he'd kept bottled up and promptly expelled it into the air. The action did little more than make his own face flare red and cause a quick upturn of the Latino's mouth, his dark eyes sliding shut in contentment. Regrettably he drew that warm sensation from his chest, moving it back over to his side, making him shiver from the cold.
Alan's eyes fell on the still lingering remnants of a smile on Lorenzo's lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss him, which was odd considering that despite what had happened moments before they had never once kissed. At the same time Alan knew it wasn't as far as they could go, nor it was as innocent as he liked to pretend. A pang of doubt sped through him, thinking for the briefest moment Lorenzo suddenly knew he knew it was abnormal, that he would get up and leave him all alone. He gathered the sheet and part of Lorenzo's shirt in his fingers, looking everywhere and at nothing all at once, knowing he was being foolish but prepared to stop something from going wrong. The hands had stopped their roaming, his thumbs resigning themselves to drawing small circles on his (he now realized) pronounced hipbones. Again he shivered, worried another question would be asked, that the smile would leave Lorenzo's face and it would be his fault.
As stupid as it sounded he wanted to ask to kiss him but he couldn't bring himself to say anything.
He shifted a little, moving his legs up, only now feeling the blood even out in his body. Alan never realized how sickly pale he was before- and it only seemed accentuated by the tanned, slightly flushed skin beside his forearm. He was perfect, the smooth skin, muscular and infinitely better when compared to the string-bean weakling pinning him to the bed. He wondered why Lorenzo let him do this, let him keep him here in the half frozen room; let him do things friends weren't supposed to do. At the same time Alan felt the cool pang of guilt he felt a sudden shock of accomplishment. He had, after all, brought down someone so perfect to his level and kept him there. Willingly or unwillingly was still left to debate.
He must have been staring longer than he thought because when he moved his eyes back up to Lorenzo's closed ones they weren't so much closed as half-lidded.
Lorenzo smiled, rolling his shoulders, one after the other so Alan could see the bones moving. For some reason it comforted him. He lifted his hands and placed them and most of his weight on the rotating shoulders so he could feel the bones in him, moving and supporting the body they anchored. All at once he knew that structure, the basic anatomical model that was standard for humans as a species. He knew Lorenzo had one, and he had one, and that was somehow enough to convince himself that he wasn't nearly as messed up or out of place as he thought he was. Suddenly he didn't feel so lonely.
"You look like you're about to cry." Lorenzo began to shift under him, and instantly Alan panicked, clinging to him until he stilled "Did I do something wrong?"
Alan shook his head rapidly. No, no. Lorenzo could never do anything wrong. He was too good for that, too good for him. And yet he stayed, let Alan do all this. He let Alan think and act and hope. The latter bothered him most – only Lorenzo let Alan hope again and Alan knew that was a dangerous thing, but God he needed It so badly…
"N-No. It's not you. I just think too much."
"Okay." Lorenzo sat up, displacing Alan like he was nothing yet conscious enough to put an arm around the thinner body to keep him from toppling over entirely "Please don't cry."
"I won't. I'm okay."
Lorenzo's smile never faltered a moment. He stretched his body and yawned, the entirety of him shuddering. Alan watched him move, struck quiet by how similar and how different they were. It was always so odd, almost bewitching to watch the model move, doubly so when applied to Lorenzo, and even more so in such close proximity. That perfect thing he could never be so close to him, touching him, in his grasp but out of his reach. Lorenzo caught him mid-thought and Alan blushed, looking past the other male rather than reverently staring at him as he had been. He felt a content rumble under his fingers, then radiating through Lorenzo's entire body. Somewhere mid-chuckle Lorenzo had pressed himself against Alan, winding his arms around him. Lorenzo was hugging him and, though Alan was slightly confused as to why, he felt himself warming from the outside in again.
"Is this okay?" Lorenzo asked quietly "You seem kind of tense…"
Alan nodded his head mutely, not trusting his voice. He knew it would crack or quiver, revealing his weakness at that moment. He just nodded his head yes and echoed the warm smile Lorenzo gave him as best as he could. It was the least he could do in return and the most he could bring himself to reciprocate. Far be it he make himself seem even more desperate than he knew he was. He had some pride – some, but it was still there. As many walls as he let completely collapse around the other male he couldn't force himself to be completely venerable -the fact he let go of so much moments before embarrassed him- and he felt selfish in the face of Lorenzo's total honesty.
Belatedly he remembered to move his hands and arms from their stable place on Lorenzo's shoulders and return the soft gesture. Somehow, it affected him more than Lorenzo holding him on his own. Before he realized it Alan rested his cheek on the opposite shoulder and was digging his fingers into Lorenzo's back. The rumble of Lorenzo's laugh passed through them both and Alan sucked in a breath. He felt the other males hands slide up and down the hollow of his spinal column, pressing into the small of his back and bringing him close. He shut his eyes, clinging to the larger, better body with all he had. Lorenzo dutifully held on, keeping him afloat regardless of how tumultuous his thoughts became, as always.
"Alan?" He asked, his voice soft yet sharp enough to cut through quiet.
"You're sure you're okay?"
"I… I am now."
"Good. I'm glad."
Thanks for reading!