The Holy Nite (BL)

4.

When we get there, to the top floor flat where he lives, I'm struck by how it looks just like it. James Arrowsmith should live in a place like this.

He locks the door and kicks off his shoes, he removes scarf and jacket, hanging them on a hook in the hallway. I do likewise. Then he walks into the room, turning on a floor lamp next to the bookshelf.

It casts a warm, soft glow over the room.

It's a small flat, tiny even. A single bed against the far wall, a nightstand next to it, laden with books. There's a desk underneath a small window, and it's full of course literature and papers, of pens and writing pads. On top of a writing pad full of scribbled notes is a pair of reading glasses.

I don't remember him wearing reading glasses in Latin class, but I can immediately picture him wearing them now. Imagine him by his desk, glasses at the tip of his nose, dressed in a pair of brown corduroy trousers (like a pair I see thrown over a nearly in a dark corner of the room) and a stripy shirt, a pencil in his hand, and, making notes while flipping through old, dusty books.

God. I've no idea when I developed this intelligence fetish I seem to have. Probably the moment I heard James conjugate face like he was born to do it.

There is a tiny kitchenette next to the small hallway, a bathroom opposite the window, and that's the full extension of the flat. But the books…

There are books everywhere. Towers of books. There's a Windsor style chair next to the hammer, identical to the one by his desk, stacked with books. The bookshelf is overflowing. Windowsill is stacked with paperbacks.

Looking out the window, I see the stars. The Plenty of them. Night of magic, indeed.

"Six minutes" James says, looking at his wristwatch.

"Huh?"

"That took us six minutes. Guess we were walking really fast."

"Yeah…"

James is getting closer to me, slow, slow, and looks at me. I take his head in my hands, kissing him. His lips aren't even cold anymore; they're just soft, soft like silk or rice paper. He moves me toward the bed, still unmade, and before I know it, we're there.

I sit down on it, whilst James keeps standing in front of me. His hands tangle in my hair as I lift his shirt to kiss his bellybutton. Back in September, I saw him in a t-shirt once. That's the most of his naked body I've ever seen. Until now.

I unbutton the bottom three buttons of his shirt, and push the fabric assist, like the curtain of a theater. There's a fine line of hair starting right underneath his bellybutton, drawing my eyes south until the line dispears down the waistline of his jeans. The only thing marring his skin is a pale appendix scar, and I'm not even sure if it's marring or if it just adds to his appeal. I trail it with my tongue, noticing the different texture of the scar compared to the surrounding skin.

I could get caught up with it, I supply, and I probably would've, I, but the rustle of fabric as James lets his shirt fall from his shoulders to the floor wakes me from my hypnosis. I stop kissing and licking, and instant I grab his brown leather belt, as if I'm launching an assault upon it. I want to, need to, get him naked.

I'm swift now that I have a clear goal. His belt opens with a little metallic clink, and I easily rip the buttons open in his well-worn jeans. Once open, they slide down his shapely heights, all soft skin, soft hair and hard muscle.

Now the black boxer - briefs. The final frontier, if you will. I hook my fingers in the elastic band, look up to meet his lust-hazy eyes and half-parted lips, then I pull them down.

He's beautiful.

Finally, I have James Arrowsmith naked, and he's absolutely, stunningly, beautiful. He's all even, smooth features; every detail of his body, even the appendix scar, seem to pull together to create perfection.

I had designs on taking him in my mouth, but he puts a stop to that idea by kissing me and gently guiding me to my back in his bed. He follows me down, straddling me, roaming hands underneath my shirt.

"Get naked" he says.

I unbutton the top two buttons, then raise my upper body and pull the shirt over my head. So far it's fine, but the cuffs get stuck, of course. I tug at them none-too-gently until the button surrenders and I can pull it off me.

James moves off me to give me room to remove my jeans. It takes me a second. When our clothes are only a negotiated pile of textile on his floor, James grabs the duvet and pulls it over us.

He mumbles something about the "bloody cold", and I agree.

The heater hasn't warmed up yet.

But now he's next to me, around me, on me, underneath me, kissing me passionately. His body is warm and hard against mine; it's novel and unusual, but delicious.

"James…?" I ask, but he's busy kissing my neck. "James?"

"How do you want to do this?" Ask again to clarify.

"Preferably, I want you to do the doing," he says, smiling brilliantly at his cheesy.

I just smile and bring his lips back up to mine, thinking "score!"

He's perfect. Almost so perfect I would've bottomed for him if that's what he would've wanted, and that is saying a lot coming from me. I hold James in my arms, warm and cosy underneath the duvet, as he reaches for a drawer in his bedside table.

When I see that he has books in the drawer as well, I laugh. Books, lube, condoms and – unexpectedly – matches. I wonder what he uses the matches for.

He hands me a Dvrex, and I rip it open quickly, dropping the foil on a copy of On the Road on his bedside table. As I roll it down myself, the scent of rubber mingles with the scent of clean sheets.

James applies a generous amount of lube on me, and then leans to the side to put away the bottle. I seize the moment and embrace him from behind. It's a single bed, so both of us on our sides seem like the logical position.

"This ok?" Ask, before I do anything.

"More than ok" he replies, voice trembling just enough to bring my arousal up yet another notch.

I slide in easy, my left hand on his chest and my right on his lower abdomen. His erection is nudging the back of my right hand, so I move it down a little, taking him in my hand.

He makes the most amazing sounds I've ever heard from anyone. He doesn't scream or even moan, he mewls. I kiss the nape of his neck, his hairline, his left shoulder, the skin right beneath his ear.

Before long, I'm just pressing my lips against his skin, gasping as the sensations get overwhelming. His hand find mine around him, guiding my motions, a steady up-and-down that I'm too far gone to manage on my own.

I thrust into him, so close to climax now. The speed of his hand increases, the noises he makes sound more desperate now. He's shuddering in my arms; I feel his muscles clenching and I hear the occational hitch of his breathing.

"James.." I say, quietly, hotly.

He sounds like he wants to reply something, but it just comes out as unintellible noises so hot that they almost knock the air out of me. His free hand throws aside the covers, and we roll halfway around, so that we're almost on our backs.

We're still moving frantically; it's as if his weight on me just added the last crucial pressure. I feel him tense against me; he cries out, a long, amazing, almost guttural 'ah' that goes straight to my groin, and he spellates over his chest and stomach.

I've never seen anything so hot. I quickly wipe off his semen with my hand, then turn back so that we're on our sides again, and I thrust furiously, because I'm so, so close. I hold on to James as hard as I can, and then I come. My vision blacks out for a blissful moment, fuses burning in my head and soul, and I'm sure I'm making some sort of noise, but God knows what and who the hell cares anyway?

When I return to this earth and this life, James has pulled the duvet back over us. I pull out of him, carefully remove the condom, tie it up and drop it on top of the foil wrapper, then roll to my back. James throws his right arm over my chest and right leg over my legs and puts his head on my arm. I hold him again, but much gentler this time.

"Oh my God," he says, and when I look down at his face I see the most sated smile I've ever seen.

"I know," I agree.

"I'm so glad you were allowed to stay out this late" he says, giggling. "Though, who knows, you might end up on Santa's naughty list."

"If I do, it was bloody well worth it," I sigh happily.

"Seems like an odd question somehow," he starts, "but you'll stay the night, right?"

"God, yes," I say. "I'm in no condition to get anywhere. I'd get lost."

"Ah. Well, we wouldn't want you missing over Christmas."

A while later, he gets up to turn off the floor lamp and fetch us a couple of glasses of water. When he returns, he snuggles up against me if it's the most natural thing in the world.

.........