Neon Red – Chapter 38

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It’s important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)


Your lips, my lips


Your lips, my lips


Cigarettes After Sex | Apocalypse

Later I hopped into the shower, standing immobile as the heat drenched my head and dragged my hair down my face. I sang Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” off and on while I lathered up, relishing every inch of my body like I’d been born anew. Noticing freckles I’d never seen before. Discovering newly sensitive areas. There was something about being in his shower that turned me on unreasonably. I stroked my arms rather feverishly, trembling all over, then my chest. Squeezing my pecs, pulling my nipples, feeling myself grow taut between my legs. Stomach swirling. Breath slowing. Fuck my cock felt good. I took it into my hand and squeezed until it pulsed. It felt amazing to be touched, but it also felt amazing to touch. I liked the way it responded to my hands. Everything felt raw. Slippery, achy, hungry, unstoppable.

I couldn’t silence my moans. They leapt from my throat and were not drowned out by the sound of the water. I alternated between slow and rapid pumps, testing my tolerance and how long I could hold off coming. Enjoying the shape of me. How easily I could get hard. How insatiable I was. How turned on I was by the fact that I was turned on. Turned on by the idea of him seeing me in this condition. I couldn’t stop coming when we were together. Neither did I want to.

I envisioned his lips, wet and parted for me. Puffy in the mornings after I’d sucked on them all night. I thought of the muscles flexing in his ass as he had walked around naked after his shower. Thought about the way his pecs flinched whenever he laughed. Thought of the things he’d whispered into my ear as I laid him down last night. Remembered thrusting into his unbearably tight warmth. Rewarding him and as I rewarded myself. Thought of him receiving me; clenching in impatience. His sticky insides. The ungodly friction. The insufferable pleasure. I busted down the drain mid-stroke, way too quickly for my satisfaction. As I ebbed out of my orgasm, hand braced against the wall, I leaned into the spray of the water and let it beat down the back of my neck. Cheap thrills were ever enough.

Drying myself off, I rubbed my hair out then let it fall in inky ways down my face. It had gotten so long I could hardly see myself in the mirror. Not that I wanted to, anyway. It’s like I had medical jetlag or some shit. I didn’t know if there was a treatment for whatever had overcome me, but I was in serious need of one. No amount of sleep could revive me for long. The rings beneath my eyes were becoming permanent, and were making me look older than my 24 years. I’d have to do something about that soon if I didn’t want to look 40 by the time I was kicking 30. I also noticed I’d lost weight, but couldn’t bother with it now. There were far more pressing things at play today.

I set the towel aside and pulled on my briefs. As I stood back to my full height, tucking my cock aside and pulling the waistband into place, he appeared behind me in nothing but dark Calvin Klines, identical to the pair I’d borrowed from his top drawer. I smiled up at him through the mirror, but he looked ominous as fuck. Now he pressed up behind me with a groan, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“Hey, babe…” I grunted, incapable of ignoring his erection, as it was jutting directly into my ass. Down my crack to be exact.

“I didn’t say you could speak—” Suddenly his hands clenched ahold of my stomach and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Doubling over, I recoiled, but he slammed me back in place, his hot hard bulge returning to my hip, then my ass. It’s like I was in trouble for getting off without him. He had no doubt heard me and was now here to collect what I’d stolen, punishing me for my selfishness. For enjoying my own body in his house. Sampling things that were not mine to sample. As all that I possessed was rightfully belonged to him.

I forfeited, leaning back into him, eyes rolling into the back of my head. Feeling his length respond to me made my briefs tighten in no time. Now his touch had become tender, fingertips coasting lightly over my pecs and nipples, down again to my flinching belly.

Sighing, I flipped my hair back away from my face and stared at us in the mirror. Is this what sin looked like? Hedonism? Transgression? Gay love? L.O.V.E.? Was I supposed to believe this was offensive? How, when we looked so gorgeous together? Made for this. Look at his flesh against mine. Our coloring. Our complexions. All perfect. I’d have it no other way.

My eyes fluttered shut as I wallowed in his nearness. We couldn’t stop making love. Wearisome intimacy. Nothing but briefs between us. I grinded back into him, grunting when his bulge shifted to settled along my clenching crack. I ran my hands down my body and his palms followed every move I made, massaging me from pec to hip. Our hands brushed together repeatedly, caressing every nerve-ending in my torso.

His hands dip lower, slipping into the waistband of my briefs. Stroking my pubes. Stroking the base of my dick, making it flop around beneath the material. Hung and sore. Abused. Touched out. Still ready for more. His hot and breathy groans filled my ears. He reached around and grabbed my cock, choking it. Running the back of his hand and wrist over it in a restless, muddled craving. Unsure of what he wanted, except but to feel. By any means necessary.

He touched me in ways that defied logic. Reaching deep under to cup my balls with his giant, scorching palms. They hung hot and heavy against his grasp, drawing closer and closer to my body each time he squeezed them. I ran my hands up and down his arms as he worked between my parted legs. One knee bent, foot lifting to give him better access. For him I was acrobat and contortionist. A proper freakshow.

Now he grabbed my cock with both hands and my hips bucked uncontrollably. I gurgled unintelligibly; mortified and exposed. Please God don’t let it end. I liked him knowing me. I liked to see him be possessive of these parts of me. They were his and they were mine. They were his and they were mine. But mostly they were his.

Finally spinning me around, he moaned and grinded our crotches together. I was so turned on I couldn’t catch my breath. He tossed his head back and hissed, chest heaving. My slight hips bucked up into his, doing the majority of the work as he became weak in his ecstasy. Through only half-opened lids, I watched him lick his fingertips and rub his own nipples.

Fuckkkkk…” I replied, humiliated by how outrageous we were being.

I braced myself back against the counter, undulating my hips so rigorously I thought I’d wear out the cartilage before this was over. I was nothing but a disgusting feign looking for a cheap hit. Getting off in the most worthless and embarrassing of ways. Finding unique angles to create friction, gasping each time his cock slid down mine and thumped away. Coming back again for more. Becoming harder than I thought possible. Straining every muscle in my body to maintain the languorous rhythm.

Haz couldn’t wait any longer. With a wild vigor, he snatched the briefs down our hips, lifting me forward until my bare and shuddering flesh touched his. His massive flushed cock which screamed my name. Now he jerked us off together with the same hand, struggling to keep ahold of us both. I grabbed his ass, pulling him forward, slamming our pelvises together until they were likely bruised—


After a day of chilling around the house and hoping our Parisian misdeeds wouldn’t be traced back to us, he and I spoke with Tobias and made plans to deliver the laptop to his office soon. We then spent the rest of the day lounging around, making out, making love, failing to tattoo each other because his gun was broken, then making paper guitars out of old Kleenex boxes, rubber bands, and empty paper towel rolls.

We ended up on the rooftop terrace at sunset, watching the sky blaze in a host of amazing colors and shapes. I sat on his lap on the ground against the parapet in a t-shirt and sweats, while he sat beneath me in a t-shirt track shorts. He’d gone for a run while I lazed about, unable to join him. Dinner had been leftover chaaval and kebabs from the night before, which we’d ordered from a local desi kitchen he’d been dying for me to try. As soon as I took my first bite, he’d hounded me about how it tasted, and I’d given him a thumb’s up and wink of approval, although the entrée was mediocre at best. Nothing compared to my mum’s cooking, but I wasn’t heartless enough to tell him that. He’d fallen in love with Indian cuisine since we’d met, and it was nice to have someone I could pig out with, even if he’d basically stopped eating meat after the band.

“Marry me…” he whispered into the back of my head, probably hoping I couldn’t hear.

“I heard dat…”

“Then marry me.”


“I’ll kidnap you…” he muttered, squeezing me tighter around the waist. I butted my cigarette on the stone and shifted a little to face him.

“Youh know it wouldn’t work out.”

“How do you figure?”

“Where would we live? How would we work? We would always have to hide. What kind of married life is that?”

“Well…we could live between my place and yours. Or we could, uh, sell both and buy a new place somewhere undisclosed. I’d go anywhere you wanted me to. Any country, any town—”


“And as for work, don’t even sweat it. I’ll build us a massive studio and pay producers to travel to us. We can, uh, work our way up to live gigs over time. Nothing has to change. Youh wanna keep doing what you’re doing, never be seen with me, I’m fine with that too.” That tore a hole in my heart. That he was willing to settle for something so belittling of him.

“I’m not ashamed of youh…”

“I know you aren’t, Z. But I also get that it’s complicated. Believe it or not, I’d rather have you and hide for the rest of my life, than to, like, not have you at all. Crazy, right? Hiding is a small compromise, in my eyes, if it means we get to have moments like this.”

“You’re soh cheesy, maan.”

“Fuck’s sake, it was cheesy, wasn’t it?” he laughed.

“One thing at a time, babe. First let’s get our head above water, then we’ll think about even considerin’…a future together.”

“You have no idea how fucking daft you make me feel, in the best way! Are you serious about that, Z? You really mean you’ll actually consider it?!”

I turned around and looked him in the eye. Did I give him so little when we were together that he needed to celebrate these small things as victories? “Of fuckin’ course, babe. After everythin’ I’ve put us through this year…of course I’d consider marryin’ youh. If it meant makin’ this whole thing goh away especially.”

“Please don’t just say that. Don’t fuck with my head, alright…” he begged, burying his face against my shoulder.

“I wouldn’t. Youh deserve happiness, Harry. I don’t wanna be the guy who stands in the way of that…”

“But what about you…is it what you want? Would it make you unhappy?”

“To have youh safely beside me every night? To wake up with youh every single morning? To openly support you and travel with you whenever I want? Of course I’d be happy, maan. It’s quite cool, innit? The thought of us being legit? Super fuckin’ dope, if m’honest,” I grinned.

“You think your dad would come?”

“Um…I dunno really. Maybe? What about yours?”

“I think so. He’d probably be shocked at first, but he’s pretty much down for anything these days.”

“Ol’ Des…he’s a proper G. Robin too.” Then my heart sank. “How’s he anyweh?” I could hear him swallow a lump.

“I can’t know for sure since I haven’t been around as much of late. Mum likes to lie to me whenever I ask. She’s, like, eternally optimistic, y’know?”

“Always were.”

“But annoyingly so. It bothers me sometimes. Sometimes you just need to face the truth, alright? And she doesn’t like to…”

“Maybe it’s just her way of dealin’ with the situation?” I squinted contemplatively. “Youh can’t really blame her Haz. That’s a difficult fuckin’ predicament. You’re lucky, broh…youh get to pop all around doin’ whatever youh like while she has to be ‘dere everyday in the trenches—”

“Mate, don’t fucking make it seem like I don’t care, alright? Th—”

“That’s not what m’sayin’ babe. Not at all. Sorry if it sounded that way…”

“It’s alright…”

“I just mean…you’ve got to put yourself in her shoes. She’s been there from the beginnin, yeah? She’s in love with him. He’s her whole world. The thought of losin’ him must be scary as fuck, maan. Just like…waitin‘ for it to happen? You’re mum’s an amazin fuckin woman. She doesn’t deserve what’s happennin’. Soh, if the best way for her to get by is to pretend he’s okay, then I’d say let her, babe.”

“Yeah…maybe you’re right.”

“M’always right, youh bloke.”

“Mate…” I could hear him tearing up. I wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek and hair. When he sobbed, I teared up too.

“Fuck, Haz…I don’t wanna hear ya cry, babe. It’s gonna be alright…”


“It’s okay…youh don’t have to say anythin’ if youh don’t want to.”

“No…I do,” he sniffled, looking ahead unseeingly. “I feel so fuckin’ guilty sometimes, if I’m being straight with you. Ever since he became…like…terminal. How the fuck is anybody supposed to deal with that? How the fuck do you prepare for someone to just like…checkout? It’s alarmingly cruel. How can a merciful God even allow that to happen?”

“I wish I had an answer forh youh. I don’t even know myself. It’s just the circle of life, I think, babe. There’s really no rhyme or reason to it. Nothin’ lasts forever, yeah? Youh know…we’ve kinda, like, programmed ourselves to forget how fleetin’ this all is. How finite we are. How none of what we think matters actually matters. Not in the long run, baby. We all have an expiration date, if youh think about it. Not anyone on this planet is the exception to that rule. Some of ours just comes sooner than other’s, but we’re all headed in the same exact direction, no matter what we do to occupy ourselves in-between.”

“But why the fuck do I get to have all this in the meantime when so many people don’t? Why do I get to love my job? To travel, to have friends? To do all this?! While he’s in a fucking sick room? Why him? Why now? Why not me? He was always so fucking good to me, Z? I feel so powerless now. Why can’t I help him? I’m totally useless. Here I am sat here with all the fooking money in the world, and, like…I still can’t make him better? You tell me how that’s fair?!”

“It’s not, if I’m honest. It’s really not. But it’s also not your fault, baby.” I took a deep stabilizing breath, briefly shutting my eyes. I hadn’t really taken the time to image how deeply Robin’s new diagnosis had effected him. He’d been given mere months as a potential outlook, and we were all hoping he’d make it till the end of the year. Spend the holidays with everyone one last time before it was all over. I needed to be more present. I needed to be more available for these sorts of conversations. He’d been holding it in on top of what we were already dealing with. He sincerely needed me.

“And I promise youh, Haz…there’s probably nothin’ in this world that makes Rob feel better, or smile more, or brighten up his day than seein’ his son succeed in such a massive way. All on your own. You’re doin’ him proud Haz, believe me. And that’s really all youh can do at this point, babe. Some things are just sort of outta our hands, y’know?”

He nodded tearily, brushing his tears away with the back of his wrists. “All I can do is make sure he’s as comfortable as possible. Make sure he has everything he needs. Round the clock care, y’know? That way my mum doesn’t have to really worry too much. She’s does a lot already—”

“She does. Good on youh for givin’ back to them. I’m proud of youh, maan, even if I don’t say it as much as I should.” We fist bumped.

“She really is still in love with him…” he puzzled, frowning to himself. “Their relationship never really lost that, uh, spark, y’know? Even in sickness, you can tell he’s still the best part of her entire day. Holy shit, mate. Imagine if that were us?? Imagine what’ll happen 20 or 30 or 40 years’ time from now?? Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if that was me or you and it just drives me up a wall. It kills me,” he rammed his head into the back of my arm.

“Then don’t think about it, Haz. There’s noh need. We have noh ideah what the future holds for us. Might as well hope for the best while we still can.”

“Fucks sake…I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Then don’t…”

“Hey…I love you, okay?”

“Yeah, youh too…” I drawled. Moments later I ventured: “Wish I could see him again…it’s been a while.”

“I know it has. Maybe I can Face Time ’em tomorrow. It’s the best we can do for now. Maybe, uh, we can head over there before tour starts or something. We could take road trip to Manchester…just you and me. Mum’ll probably faint if she sees you again. She misses you so much, Z. She asks about you all the time—”

“I miss her too. Fuck yeah, let’s do it, babe. And we have to make it back to Bradford too, for all the same reasons. Me mum really loved the album by the way—”

“But seriously, though, Z. We should do it for them. All of them.”

“Do what?”

“Get married, dummy.”

“Oh, righhht…forgot ’bout dat.” He shoved me for that.

“How would we even do it though? The wedding? Think about it. How would it look? Should it be a big wedding?”

“Oh my god, broh, you’re such a girl—”

“Small, intimate wedding? Traditional? Religious or secular? Two weddings for both cultures? What’re we gonna wear? Matching tuxes? Gowns? Both?”

“Haha! You’re daft, mate!”

“Only daft for uz…” he sighed.

“Or how about we just elope, then? Say fuck it and get hitched on a whim in a little obscure joint?”

“I’m down!” he barked. “And how about a destination wedding?”

“Fuck yeah…”

“Are we deluded?”

“Nothin’ wrong with humorin’ the ideah.”

“Where to though?”

“Jamaica? Brazil?”

“Argentina? Japan?”

“I like all of them…”

“What if we did a wedding in every country?”

“Hah! I think it’d lose it’s novelty, yeah? By the time we said our vows for the tenth time?”

“No…never,” he said intensely. “I’d never get tired of marrying you. I couldn’t marry you enough. Not enough languages to convey the way I feel about you…”

“You’re being cheesy again.”

“So sue me!” At that, I turned around and kissed him. 

When we headed back downstairs, there was an air of finality to everything we did. Our time together was coming to a close, and there was no escaping it. I hated the thought of sleeping right now, but he had an early flight and I couldn’t make him miss it.

The last bit of wine saw us through the night, and despite him sleeping like a log, I couldn’t silence my mind long enough to find rest. I lay beside him, staring at the shadows along the ceiling and listening to him breath like an asthmatic bird. We were both lying on our backs, limbs entangled. Occasionally he would moan deeply in his sleep. I leaned over and kissed his temple a time or two, hoping to quiet him down. His eyes were still shut. He didn’t seem to be aware of my presence. He was muttering something unintelligible between his sighs. His confusion seemed to increase the longer his head tossed back and forth. When his hand softly jutted up beneath the sheets a few times, I realized what was happening.

Taking care not to wake him, I pulled the sheet back and saw his erect cock clutched tenderly in his hands. He was weakly jerking off, meat occasionally slipping out of his uncoordinated hands. I watched in fascination, before gently blowing on his fingers. He stopped a few times, seeming to register the sensation, but brushed it off and continued. That made me snicker. I then dug around quietly in the nightstand until I found a bottle of lube. I popped it open and held it high above his cock, lightly drizzling a persistent stream onto his engorged flesh. In no time he had lubed himself up and his strokes became more thorough. More sure. I couldn’t help but watch, hand slipping beneath the sheet to tug at my own neglected boner. 

(Thanks for reading!❤️)

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