Crossing the River Styx

A/N: Just a story that hit me one day. It may or may not actually be finished. If you want to see more, please review. I should also probably mention that I am a guy.

Crossing the River Styx

The sky's darkening signaled the end of another day. A simple shift in hue, from light to dark, transformed all around him into the unfamiliar. A light rain began to fall from the heavens, creating a mist on the ground. But he continued on his path, intent on not being late. Puddles had begun to form on the sidewalk, but he ignored them and moved deliberately in a straight line. His pace quickened as the hour of his meeting drew near. A bell chimed the hour in the distance: eight o'clock. Distracted by the bell, his foot found its way into a particularly deep puddle, causing him to loose his balance and fall backwards. He cursed under his breath as he corrected himself and continued on his way. As he approached a particular alley, he slowed his pace to a more leisurely stroll.

“You're late,” a voice from the alley called.

“I tried; does that count?”

“No, Liam, it does not.”

“Oh well, maybe next time.”

“Right. . . well, I don't know about you, but I'm cold and wet. What say you we head over to that cafe over there?”

“I don't see why not.”

The man left the alley and headed towards his companion before they both crossed the street in the direction of the cafe. As they continued on their way, the rain's intensity steadily increased. The man could hear his companion, who obviously had not anticipated the weather, shiver from the cold. That he was still soaked from having fallen earlier did not help matters. Unable to bear the continuance of his companion's suffering, he offered him his coat, which he graciously accepted.

The pair arrived at the cafe shortly, where they took a table next to a window. The inside of the cafe was warm and relaxing; both ordered warm drinks. The rain outside settled on a particular rhythm and continued with its mission of washing away the filth, leaving not a trace of the day. The man settled back in his seat and took a sip of his drink as he watched his companion stare out the window. The small cafe was empty but for them, and the one waiter, who sat in the back reading a book.

“My wife is going to be out of town this week,” the man began.

“Oh?” Liam responded.

“Her illness has been acting up of late, so she is going to a clinic in the South, away from this wretched city.”

“She’s been making more of these trips lately. . .”

“Yes, her health is declining rapidly; I don’t know that she’ll make it through the end of the year.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

“Perhaps. . .”

“Does it involve me staying over at your house?”

“You know me so well.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh. . . you know you love me. Anyway, she leaves on Monday at noon, so why don’t you come by around 2:00?”

“I haven’t even agreed yet. . .”

“Oh, but how can you say no?” he asked in the most overtly sexual tone he could muster.

“Well, when you put it that way. . .”

Within moments, the man had snatched his young companion by the arm leading them out the door, but not forgetting to leave a sizeable tip. They headed straight for Liam’s apartment. The rain increased in intensity again forming torrents of water along the sidewalks. Ever impatient, the man grabbed his companion and aggressively led him into a side alley where he began lustfully kissing and groping him.

“Tristan. . . can’t this wait? We’re almost there.”

“No, Liam, it can’t,” he said as he began removing Liam’s pants.

Giving in to his passions, Liam began to work at undoing Tristan’s zipper. Now free of his pants, Liam wrapped his legs around his lover using the wall behind him as a brace to keep himself up. Once his companion was in place, Tristan positioned himself at his lover's entrance, and in one smooth motion he placed himself inside his lover. It had been a while since their last rendezvous, and Tristan took that into consideration as he started with a slow rhythm, that he might not damage his companion too badly. But Tristan was by no means a patient man; within a minute, his pace was back to his usual, rapid thrusts. Liam wrapped his hands around his lover, pulling them closer together. The air was cold, and he was wet, but he did not care, not when Tristan was so warm. Every touch Tristan made sent shivers up his spine. He could feel the wall digging into his back with each thrust his lover made, and he loved every minute of it: the way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he sounded. Each and every thing he loved about this man, his lover, added to his pleasure as he approached the plateau of his ecstasy. Liam writhed against his lover as much as his position allowed; Tristan’s thoughts became less coherent and his grunts more guttural as he, too, reached that moment of undiluted bliss reserved for only the most intimate of lovers. With a cry, he released himself within his lover.

The pair lowered themselves to the ground, worn out from their passionate love-making.

“Um. . . Where did my pants go?” Liam asked.

“I think I threw them over there,” he said, pointing deeper into the alley.

“Do you think you could fetch them for me?”

“I suppose. . .” he trailed off as he picked himself up and went to find his lover’s lost pants. He returned shortly, pants in hand. As quickly as he could, he returned the pants to their proper place.

“Ready to go?” Tristan asked his companion.

“I guess, only. . .”

“Only what?”

“This is kind of embarrassing, but I don’t think I can walk,” he said with a slight blush.

Tristan reached down and kindly offered his companion a hand; he would be perfectly happy to help him to his apartment. As the pair left the alley, the rain stopped entirely. A light fog still covered the ground; however, the clouds in the sky began to part, revealing a full moon. The pair continued on their way, hurrying as best they could.

The city of Niflheim had perhaps the most striking skyline. The city itself was divided into two main sections, separated by a cliff. Well, not so much a cliff as a precipice, a large precipice. The cliff was crescent shaped, and sloped down towards the points. The city, large as it was, enveloped the cliff wholly. But an effective divider it was. Along the edge of this cliff was a great park; the park, actually. It was through this park that the pair then passed, with the moon directly above the crescent. Liam’s apartment was adjacent to the park.

Upon entering his apartment, they both removed as much of their soaked clothing as they deemed appropriate; that is to say, all of it. They were both cold and wet, and a hot shower seemed the perfect remedy. As soon as they entered the shower, they felt their coldness disappear; they were still wet, but it was a gentle, soothing wetness, rather than the rain’s sharp, cold wetness. As usual, Tristan could not keep his hands off his companion, even though they had just copulated not even twenty minutes ago. He pinned Liam against the wall, a lust filled glaze glinting in his eyes.

“As much as I enjoyed our little quickie in the alley,” he began, “it just isn’t quite the same without you moaning my name.”

He accentuated the last words with intoxicating, yet frustratingly insufficient touches. His mouth slowly worked down Liam’s chest, taking in and savoring every detail. He patiently, and devilishly in Liam’s opinion, worked his way down to Liam’s groin. He flicked his tongue over the tip.

“God. . . Tristan,” Liam moaned.

It was wonderfully delightful to hear his lover squirm like that, but if that had been only delightful, then the sounds Liam made when he took him into his mouth entirely were absolute heaven: little gasps here and there, followed by gentle, deep moans; the uttering of nonsensical words whose only purpose were to express Liam’s unadulterated ecstasy at the movements of Tristan’s tongue; his name uttered in short breaths. All of these were the most divine music to Tristan’s ears. His breathing grew shallower, his moans higher. He screamed; his lover’s name left his lips as he released himself into Tristan’s mouth.

Tristan lifted his gaze, reveling in the slight flush of his lover’s cheeks. He raised himself until he was eye level with Liam, waiting for Liam to make the next move. Never one to disappoint, Liam crushed his lips against Tristan’s, simultaneously reaching down to his throbbing erection. Liam knew exactly what to do, where to touch, to make his lover squirm with anticipation. And just as quickly as he had started, he stopped, stepping out of the shower and toweling off, leaving Tristan to just stand there with a dumbstruck look on his face. And before Tristan even knew what was going on, Liam was out the door, heading to the bedroom.

Liam threw himself on the bed, rolling around in the soft sheets. He giggled when he heard the door open, followed by footsteps. After the footsteps there was some grabbing, and suddenly Liam was in the air, rather than in the comforting embrace of the sheets. And then he was on a lap, receiving quite a glare from one sexually frustrated lover. Tristan made such a funny face; he could not help but giggle uncontrollably. And then he was in the air again, and then on the bed; only this time he was under Tristan. He looked into Tristan’s eyes and smiled.

Tristan reached down and caressed Liam’s face before pressing his lips against his lover’s in a sensual show of affection. The hand not keeping him suspended above his lover meandered down Liam’s chest in an all-too-familiar path which culminated with teasing flourishes at his entrance, eliciting light moans from his lover. Tristan broke their kiss and reached into the drawer next to the bed and retrieved a bottle. After coating his fingers in the slippery substance, he replaced his fingers at his lover’s entrance and allowed his digits to explore its depths. They hooked and curved and wriggled and thrust their way into familiar territory, almost a second home to them. Surrounded by the tight embrace of familiarity, they did their job only as well as they could; that is to say excellently. But fingers are only so satisfying, and only that for a limited time, and that time was up. Grudgingly, they left their almost-but-not-quite home and allowed their master to do as he pleased. And that involved placing himself at his lover’s opening and thrusting inside. The sounds Liam could make never ceased to amaze Tristan, but even more than that was the look on his face. Contorted in a mixture of anticipation and concentration, and then transitioning into one of rapture; and the way he arched into each thrust as a way of acceptance, Liam’s reactions educed a deep and primal urge within Tristan that urged him on and on, faster and faster. Their limbs entwined, their breathing erratic, their moans guttural, they quickly approached a familiar plateau. Each touch brought forth a moan, each moan a touch and on and on in an endless cycle in a rhythm set long ago, that ancient rhythm that permeated each and every living thing to its core. All else ceased to exist; the entire world was reduced to two individuals united as one in the ultimate expression of their passion, their urges. And then in one swift movement, it came to an end and reality returned.

They lay there for a time, basking in the afterglow of post-coital affection: the showers of shallow kisses, the ghost-like touches, the never-ending embraces. Sleep, that thought furthest from the forefront, descended upon them as a gentle poison. Their eyes grew heavy, their thoughts blurred and nonsensical. And then they were asleep. Liam awoke the next morning to an empty bed, but he had expected as much. Tristan had a home and wife after all. He got up and prepared himself to face another day, one like countless others that would pass away into obscurity in the depths of his memory. But there were those special occasions, those rare instances where he felt something more than the mundane, something that transcended himself; those were the times that he cherished if only for their paucity in a sea of routine occurrences. Those memories gave him the strength to face the day, coupled with the hope that there would be more to come. And with little thought as to what he would do exactly, he went out of his apartment to face the bitter sunshine.