“Close your eyes.”
Stéphane obeys. Rémi gently kisses his forehead. Both breathe heavily, their cocks crossed, consumed by a furious need to finish. Rémi forces them to remain still; they catch their breath and let time revolve around them. They are one, thinking only of themselves; it is therefore a dream, the bedroom is closed, daylight outside. Lucienne and Irène are talking outdoors. The men are hot, soiling themselves with caresses.
Stéphane’s strength against his own; two cats nibbling at each other’s necks. The rhythm begins again, each trying to make the other come without delivering the final stroke, for the pleasure is good and must be preserved, coaxed. One must dance in love, glide between skins, drink from everything that streams.
They are free to do whatever they please; the beast within them amuses itself at their expense. The game. Happiness. Thirst and hunger. They drink each other, eat each other, suck and gorge themselves, arch and stretch. Their skin swells, their lungs exhale. There, harder still, each wanting to ejaculate on the other; then stop, savour the imminence of the end and do everything to retreat from it. Flee everything, begin everything again, knead it anew, laugh, kiss again and again. Never finish what they dared to begin.
Rémi fucks Stéphane in Victor’s bed. He hears the two women laughing. He takes his friend’s testicles into his mouth, flings his hands across the warm, slippery belly. Stéphane plays with Rémi’s hair, gives himself to him, does not fear the bite but asks for more. With both hands, he forces Rémi to rise.
“Kiss me, and don’t leave my mouth.”
Rémi obeys. Their lips fuse, their tongues taking over from the dancers. Stéphane squeezes lubricant from a bottle and coats both cocks with it. The substance soothes and excites at once. He crosses their shafts and massages them gently. Their hips move as their mouths gorge themselves. Their nostrils flare. Stéphane quickens the rhythm. The lubrication electrifies their skin; their breathing deepens. Stéphane’s mouth hypnotizes Rémi’s. More laughter downstairs. They are about to burst. Stéphane opens his eyes and meets Rémi’s gaze. They see each other blurred, doubled, their mouths multiplying into four. They are short of air, their tongues devour, their teeth bite—so little, just enough to savour the danger; happiness is there, within reach of their breathlessness. There is only one thing to do: die, kill desire, kill the senses, moan. Stéphane ceases all movement. Both cocks are so violent. Rémi collapses onto him. They catch their breath and observe each other. So close, so far. Rémi presses harder. Their mouths still welded together, they come, and they could bite.