My Boy

My lips moved across the ink pen’s tip briefly; just a passing touch I’d not meant to commit, after all, I never do. It’s a thing I’ve done ever since the beginning of my penning carrier, maybe the long length of black metal pressing against my mouth reminded me of some life long past, or I simply enjoyed the little bite once I’d removed it from the cool air around me.
I set the pen down, slowly rising from the desk at which I’d sat, glancing out into the dark chill of the winters night. It was that time of year again, when the piercing gusts of the wind would slap against the windows of my home. It was an older house I’d grown fond of some years ago; something I’d not ever understood my chest and dragging me under the long length of the ancient trees. Now, I know better, it was no mystery, no secret, just a lonely boy who’d needed a friend.
You’d never understand my little lovely one, you’d never be able to see the beauty that rests in his light blue eyes, and he’s a part of this place, bound into the walls as his soul is caught in the strings of this world. A ghost who knows only one thing, one thing I can’t give him.
I move from the room out into the hallway, my pale hand tracing the ancient yellowed flower wallpaper as I move across the wood floor, my feet are bare, and cold, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to feel his touch move across my skin, even if he can only come to me during these forbidden winters nights. That is his sacrifice, and this my friend, this is mine. I am a trapped creature, a bound sin cut deep and strung up like one of those fish the summers come with, I have nothing but the boy, and his cool touches and rough pushing needs in the cold of the winters passions. I gave up my life, so he could live his, if only a mockery, after all…it’s better than nothing. It’s to addicting for me to give up now.
The door to my bedroom opens, he’s been waiting all day, and I am caressed. Maybe you couldn’t really understand the touch of someone who’s already gone, its not bound by something as petty as fingers, or mouths, he touches all of me. Its something that pains me, his touches are icy, and burning at the same time, leaving me all but whimpering just in the first moment, it’s addicting.
I’m moved after that first touch and pushed onto the bed, our bed, my legs spread as his form moves over mine, I can nearly feel his hips pressing into my half hard cock, smaller body rubbing eagerly.
A mocking mouth pressing against my warm mouth, the air above me twisting into mist, similar to the air outside this cursed house. I laugh, its breathless, and quiet, and then am unable to resist the moan, which escapes my mouth. He’s licking my throat, his fingers, and his touches moving under my clothes and ripping them off slowly, buttons from my shirt snapping off and onto the bed.
If you’ve ever had a younger man I your bed, you’d realize how greedy they are, and indeed, my sweet, little dead lover is greedier than any sinning priest. He destroys the clothes I am wearing, my pants ripped, legs revealed, my length already hard and dripping, it has been since his mouth moved against my pulse. Maybe that makes me sick, or it just makes me in love, but then…aren’t they the same friend?
His hands are real now, paler than mine by a length of mystery, the same shade as the snow, which is slowly, but surely covering the house’s roof. Those long fingered hands slowly, wrap around my cock, and I am lost. Its just the beginning I know, but I can’t help but thrust up and just scream, those cool, scorching hands robbing my mind of its brilliance, sealing me in his grave…if just for a little bit.
He strokes my cock slowly, thumb brushing its head, then traces the length of it down to my balls, his ghastly figure sliding down to take one ball into his mouth, delicately lapping at it, soft, pliant tongue swirling slowly over the round flesh. My hands move into his pale, pale golden hair, my eyes just barely open…I always keep them open, too afraid my sweet boy will leave me for some sweeter heaven.
He doesn’t leave, his mouth licking slowly down, flickering playfully at my entrance; it steals more of my breath, my face and cock both pooled with far too much blood.
“Please, god, please…”
My voice is strange to my ears; I don’t hear it too often these days, too lost in my writings, or in him to speak to myself. I can’t speak further as he looks up at me, those full, knowing eyes hidden in that child-like face; it’s a sin, its dark and carnal and causes me to just writhe, a sick man caught in the trappings of an immortal child.
Someday I know he’ll grow sicker, and will just kill me here, in our bed, my blood will stain these sheets as my cum spreads and cools over my body. But it will be worth it, because sometimes love can’t be bound by something as silly as life, I’d love him even if he took what little life I have left, after all…this is better than anything.
But its not today, and he keeps sucking, licking my balls until I can’t help myself, “God, please…anything...just…more…”
That sick voice leaves me again, and he moves his mouth back, I can see a smile, his teeth are white as his skin, he licks his lips and slides up, spreading my legs wide as he takes his own fully formed cock in hand, its hard, smaller than mine, and the only part of him that has any mimicry of blood.
My sweet lover doesn’t prepare me, it doesn’t really matter to me anymore, and he knows that better than anyone. He takes hold of my hips and pushes in, leaving me begging, begging for him to fill me, take me more until I spill everything I am into those lost, man-child eyes.
His fingers bruise my skin, sometimes I think its because he forgets I’m still alive, but I know its not true, he loves my bruises. It proves he can affect me, that he, above everyone else has the right, and ability to mark me so deeply that the world has to see it, I’m his connection to the living.
His cock slides in inch, by beautiful inch, and I hold my hands at my side, eyes wide, watching his face as it contorts in beautiful, pained pleasure, my body squeezing him as he slides back and pushes forward, deeper inside.
Always inside, that sweet boy is my friend, just as his cock is stealing my tightness, my heat, his soul is slowly sucking the life from these bones. It’s a sweet feeling strangely, though you’d never understand.
I move my hands up and they rest on his thin shoulders, his cock slamming into me now, utterly ruthless, utterly mine. My gasps turn into breathless cries of pleasure, my dark eyes finally hiding in my head, I can’t see him as he comes inside me, my own pleasure blinding me from everything but the lust to just come.
The moment after that, I think is my favorite, because my sweet, beautiful boy opens those lovely blue eyes, and smiles at me, leaning forward, and presses the gentlest kiss to my lips, before he disappears into the darkness.
It was just the same kiss we’d first shared when he had been alive. For that stolen moment I am fifteen again, and he’s crawled into my bedroom from the tree outside, fresh blueberry stains on his hands, nails stained and grubby. We’re not in the house with stained wallpaper, and dead flowers, we’re in my home, when momma was still alive, and the sweet smells of her baking bread downstairs, greeted us.
When my boy was still innocent, still loving.

Still human.