gay couple

He closed the door, cutting off the connection between himself and the monotone drudgery he desperately wanted to leave behind. Heart racing, he secured the lock, knowing the one responsible for his heartbeat was waiting. Knowing the one that gave him a purpose to rise out of bed in the morning was waiting.

Riley spent eight hours waiting for him, and that was eight hours too many. The second their lives tore them apart for the day, time became one of their worst enemies. Every second felt not even like an hour-more like a week. Their nights together weren’t long enough. The tension-ah, yes, the tension behind the relationship quickened the already swift rhythm of his heart. What they were doing was wrong, oh so wrong, but that helped to make it feel oh so right.

He, Director Cossack Keane Silvos, was going against everything the world had laid out in front of him-and damn, did it feel good. What was he was about to plunge into would feel oh so good. Those eyes. He turned, and there they were. Blue, innocent, waiting, longing. Pleading. That slender, dainty figure was enveloped in white and blue linen, touched with the moonlight spilling in from the windows. His stepson couldn’t have looked any more beautiful. Was he naked? Perhaps that lithe little body was draped against the sheets, waiting. Waiting. Waiting, so much waiting. But for the night, all of it was about to come to an end.

He spoke, treading upon Riley’s gentle panting and their fervent heartbeat. He tried to remain calm, but far too much time had separated them. So much had kept them apart.

“Did you make it here alright?” he asked, breathless.

He was about to be reunited with his air, all that made sense. It was impossible to not feel like a child waiting to open a Christmas present. His son’s blue eyes pierced him like arrows, shining like embers in their hotel room, glistening with an array of emotions: fear, wonder, excitement, sadness.

blue-eyed man
photo: depositphotos.com

“I think so,” he replied, trembling.

Underneath those moon-kissed sheets. His eyes darted to and fro.

“How about you? Made it without any trouble?” Cossack grimaced.

There was always trouble. There was a galaxy of trouble between them, all of it coming from the worlds they were bound to. But behind closed doors, they weren’t father and son. He wasn’t the director of a corporation, Riley wasn’t a student-they weren’t anything but each other’s air.

“If only I could say there wasn’t any trouble,” he growled.

The anger wasn’t directed at the dove wrapped up in sheets, however – it was directed at everyone responsible for the conferences, the dealings, the emails, the phone calls. The time spent away from Riley. Riley. He darted towards the one kissed by moonlight as though he were racing towards the surface, lungs clamoring for air. Riley didn’t move-definitely not wearing any clothes-but his eyes said enough.

Their bodies met, hearts racing. Riley’s bare skin meeting Cossack’s body was like a dozen matches striking paper. Hands clamped down on the back of his head, fingers ran through his short black hair-breathless, ephemeral escape, every second of it beautiful, wonderful, inescapable Cossack buried him in kisses. He buried Riley in kisses even knowing it was impossible for his stepson to breathe. He couldn’t bury him in enough kisses.

gay kisses
photo: twitter.com

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he panted, apologizing for the conferences, the front he had to put up around his mother, everything. The apology came back as a flurry of kisses, each one deeper than the last. It was amazing, exhilarating how Riley spoke in kisses, his longing coming through gentle yet ravenous strokes of his lips. Such a petite creature…

They became entangled in one another, lost in fervent destruction and wonder. It was wrong, oh so wrong, but that’s what helped to make it feel oh so right. There weren’t any more words; no more words were needed.

They kissed, fought against the sheets, hardened against each other, softened against each other. Softened against the night, in a passionate counter against the day’s harsh hours. They were going to have to go back eventually, but at that point in time, nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter.

They spent the last eight weeks living the same story-illicit lovers meeting in a hotel room every night, forgetting everything that separated them. Knowing only each other, and being blissfully content with that ignorance. Riley set his bags down in their newest room’s hotel room, blue eyes glistening with a flicker of hope. Things were on the verge of changing-either for the better, or for the worst. After living through countless nightmares, the younger half of the story chose to believe in fairy tales. After all, he was in love with what happened to be the most beautiful man alive.

gay kiss
photo: attitude.co.uk

Sure, the man turned out to not only be the director of a prestigious corporation – he also turned out to be his new stepfather. But was there anything about Riley Mercer that wasn’t strange? Could anyone answer that? His mother certainly couldn’t. His so-called “friends” couldn’t offer too much help with that question either. He had always been different.

Before Cossack fell out of the sky, it seemed as if his fate was to live like Quasimodo, as some beast that deserved to spend the rest of its life in a tower. Far away from the pure, holy world. Riley could remember being tormented by his classmates ever since the beginning of third grade, with one of them-Scott Vermont, wasn’t it? – laughing at his drawing of a pink flower, proceeding to call him a ‘faggot’. ‘Only girls like pink stuff’, Scott sneered, his face nothing but a set of malicious eyes and fangs. Scott was the one responsible for giving him the nickname ‘Girly Girl Riley’.

gay couple kissing
photo: depositphotos.com

Some even took to calling him ‘Princess Riley’. While Merinda Mercer’s son looked to fairy tales for comfort, having his classmates mock him-mock the only things he could believe in -kind of made life much harder to bear. It didn’t end there. The harsh light of memories flicked in young blue eyes, counterattacking the hope that had just been born. Nightmares seemed to go on forever, whether he was at home or at school. It wasn’t like his mother and father were ever on his side; they were too busy joining his classmates and teachers. The hours spent at home were really no different from those spent at school:

“What are you doing, you useless piece of shit? Stop whining already!” “You make me sick. Can’t you do anything right for once?” “Boys don’t cry!” “Stop it