Watery Memory
The night groaned with cold, remnants of the past day fading into the forgotten recesses of every person's mind. Memory was a memory in itself, forever in a trailing infinity that was the night before. But this infinity was limited to the jealousy of the reality that offered it in the first place. Horrible irony was life's single constant, but defiance could always develop itself into a glorious option. Last night was a testament to that. Sitting alone at his kitchen table, Nailo was reveling upon the events of his previous night with Seiko. The bed was still disassembled, he treating its state as a sacred image of some unknown beauty. The subtle pain he suffered during the early hours of yesterday's morning had mostly numbed into a natural sensation, as if nothing had happened, as if all evidence was disposed of. Night, the ever-clandestine period of the day to perform any number of acts forbidden, was shut out by defensive windows aside his table. The kitchen itself was well lit by numerous hidden panels underneath of oak cabinets, dark and bold in tone and texture. Outside of the window overshadowing the sink, multiple streetlights illuminated the pavement designing the spider web texture of the road. Wetness still enveloped it from the rains of last night. Shadows fell into the room in random patterns, overpowering the weak inclusions of light still present. That weak light shadowed onto pictures of some unknown city, its own lights appearing to flood the room. The atmosphere remained silent aside from the attacks of cricket chirps and frogs. He rested in his chair, it being pulled out enough to allow him to lay his head upon the empty wooden table, clothed in casual attire for him, heavily baggy dark blue jeans and a green plaid dress shirt. Thoughts raced through his mind relentlessly, refusing him peace for hours. With insecure sensations besieging his mind and body, he could little more than sit. He yearned with a ceaseless pain in his chest for Seiko, who had disappeared for the latter time after their night together. That entire night was a blur streaking across his memory, which was already watered down by thunderous showers of rain. In the time after their intimacy, both had fallen into a sleep such as death, but one truly of birth. Neither awoke until the breaking of the sun from its peak point in the sky, its single moment of majesty relived daily. Seiko was abruptly awoken by some thought that found a quick pathway to strike fear into him, as well as worry. Upon dressing and gathering himself together again, Seiko sped out of the door with a short lived, yet intimate kiss. Nailo was left to but ponder on the cause of such an alarm, parting with his paramour much in the same state as they met, clothed in but the sheets he had to tame his impulsive nature. For a long day now, crawling by like a cripple, Seiko had yet to be found. The torment of assumed rejection invaded Nailo's private confidence and eviscerated it, spreading his bloody character upon the table he now rested upon. The pain, with such an awful grace he could hardly feel it, infected his entire soul. Remaining seated at the table to revel on pity wasn't the best of ideas for his new needs of preoccupation. Deterring his thoughts from what could be was the sole savior of his everything. That mortal yearning caused the hell of his reality. In one mighty attempt to escape the cascades of self-pity, he arose from the table, his jeans, scraggly in appearance, ruffling incessantly. The false wood of the floor, fogged by the cold met with intense humidity of outside from open windows, chilled his feet, sending his fur on its ends. The small digital clock chimed the hour, eight, and, decidedly, Nailo made his usual trek toward the bathroom. The days work, hard and wrought with plentiful sweat and agony, demanded he take a thorough shower. His mind, however, was extremely preoccupied. Worry and guilt, like animals feasting upon his brittle state of woe, focused into an acute pain infecting his stomach, peeling away at his flesh from the inside out like a flesh eating disease. Maybe the soothing waters would ease his torment. Nailo, though tired and tortured through every movement, fought the war of the stairs to his shower room. The entire house was pale as death, blackened by concentrations of shadow. These shadows, domineering and vile, followed him through his days, chasing his life down in patient strife to bring him down for the kill. They hid something from him, and they teased his pathetic state, he being incapable of ever finding it. Paranoia was his mother, cradling him with undeserved tenderness and care. She fed him the never-ending stairs to weaken him, to create monstrous sores upon his gentle heart. In her awful caresses, she peeled the clothes, his prison, off of his body, leaving him bare. She violated him, that evil demon of paranoia. He violated himself. His prison now shed, he sluggishly slid to the bathroom door. Upon the activation of the many lights situated along its walls, his pupils burned out of his skull. That brightness, in compare to the usual darkness of the house, melted his vision away into a squinting blur. The mirror now beside him, an infinity of another universe unknown, reflected a profile that should have burst its every grain. The figure within, yellow to the tone of his fur, appeared disorganized and tired to the eyes in his nudity. The brown patch upon his chest was matted beyond allowances etiquette could afford. Wrinkled bags, numerous in their invasion of his eyes, hinted to the unfortunate loss of sleep previous nights. Details the eyes received were irrelevant to him anymore, and his emotional state tyrannically took control. In its pale elegance, the bathroom shone bright with reflective white steel panels and tile. The floor was strewn with a bright pattern of squares matched to harder, smaller tiles lining the walls. The sink, a fairly large consumer of space, displayed a shiny surface like that of pure water. Lining its walls were many typical bathroom utensils, making less of the beauty of the counter. A toilet of matching showiness rested beside it. The shower itself was a standing one, sliding doors that were fogged to hide those extremities behind it. Towels stood proud along an elegant silver rail. These teased along his hind area, brushing along and tickling him, nearly dragging him out of the slump beating upon his head. CRASH! Sounds of intense rumbling and frantic collapse permeated the house, demanding attention. Nailo's eyes fixated themselves onto the mirror before him, staring into the horrified figure seeking sanctuary within its cradle of glass. His naked body shivered with an unnatural fear, every joint locking into place. Trod after trod, stomps after stomp, the stairs were being assaulted by murderous footsteps, growing closer every puny second. The door beside him vibrated incessantly, impending doom dangling on the doorknob. Those fatal footsteps, harbingers of death, approached the border of the door, nothing but a bright yellow being seen in the crack on the side of the door to maybe hint to the identity of the interloper. Creaking with ferocious volume, the door slid open to reveal that which was worthy of no fear. Seiko stood before his unveiled self, donning his usual innocent eyes and slightly opened mouth, all welcoming enough. He stood in the doorway, tall and strong, every position his limbs made asking for forgiveness for some unknown crime. It was almost as if Seiko could feel the pain Nailo had been feeling, that posture he presented the single revealing factor of that knowledge. They shared a seeking gaze directly into each other's pupil, falling deep into the cavernous depths of their thoughts, exploring every wrinkle of their brains. That fragile silence was ultimately broken after the falling of time. Their eyes breaking like television static flaking, Seiko said, erratically, "I'm sorry I just came in... I didn't know what to do... I..." He fell into frantic movements which made it appear as if he were about to fall to the ground. Nailo in turn grasped his upper arms to try and stabilize him, to comfort his love. Seiko's nervous behavior was settled upon the soothing touch on his arms, penetrating the layers of clothes on him... His cage. Having not realized it earlier, Seiko's eyes made their second profiling of the naked body of Nailo. The bathroom, though formerly filled with depression and grief, now took on a somewhat erotic tone. Their eyes met yet again, but each became locked onto the other and the key thrown away. Impulse, with tender, soft arms, took over, and Nailo completed his hold of Seiko, engulfing him in a heartfelt grasp, burying his head into his lover's firm chest. Seiko shared this embrace as well. "I was worried about you, Seiko. Where were you?" asked Nailo, with sincerity enveloping his hug to his tone of voice. Tears, sparkling like streetlights on the highway, glittered down his cheek, full of joy for having him back. "I'm sorry... I was scared... I didn't know what to think..." Seiko replied. The two spaced apart somewhat, and stood before each other, arms never releasing their unbreakable grasps. Without any further ideas on what should happen next, they, although not without confusing gazes, stayed silent and gazed without rest for their fatigued eyes. Under the warm, humid air, though, the grandest of all golden ideas arose from Seiko's burning lips. "Do you... Want to make love again...?" It was a damned question, sin and wrong saturating its every conception, but so satisfying in that awful lust that was written as evil. Fortunately, from the eves before, the experience was accepted, allowed, by some miracle neither of them were worthy to receive. With contorted theories and ideas calculating each word of the sentence, Nailo decided his eternal fate. "I love you." The words emitted from his mouth with a vibrant beauty heard only in the dove's song, tangling itself innocently in the trees. That incredulous character so aptly named fate continued to twist their lives to his own whims and desires. Fortunately, these desires were shared between the three of them. Nailo had already, without realization of the irony that he should be taking a shower at that moment, began the erotically appealing future to behold both of them yet again, and not in the least disappointing when rested beside nights before. Entering the paleness of the cramped room, Seiko fell straight into Nailo's face, a deep, passionate, fervent kiss captivating the moment. Unable to contain the furnace of emotion buried within, Nailo immediately hastened the night by folds of speed, shredding the clothes off his lover violently while maintaining their amorous kissing. Tongue from the both of them crawled from mouth to mouth, coating their faces with dreamy expressions. Briefs, the final article to hold back Seiko's incredible body, were finally shed, and, the both of them exposed, pressed together their erections which had formed in almost a pulsing throb of an instant. Nailo's legs, gates to defend his already destroyed virginity, tore open to knock several articles off of the sink counter beside them. With care and delicate compassion, Seiko rose him from the ground to have his legs lock around his waist tightly, and carried him to the screaming shower. Upon the turn of a knob, cold water rushed through and stung their fur-coated skin to numbness. Stiff flesh poked at Nailo's entrance, teasing his taste for more and more. The night began with its steamy fumes. Water, inhuman and flawless, hid tears of pain, joy, insecurity, and countless other emotions working their arts to the two lover's bodies. This ever-secretive substance grew warmer in compare to its beginning of deathly cold. Tongues, with impeccable grace, painted on bodies opposite their own host, acting like holy messengers to each weak heart. Capable of controlling his previous state of lightheadedness, Nailo stood upon the ground yet again, savoring the enticing sensation of the water gliding between his toes, such as sand would in the waves of a beach. Their bodies were dangerously close, pressed together but some unseen vice called love. Each erection beat with a pulsing beat, rippling through their nerves to the ever-knowing brain to decipher them as pleasureful. Seiko, feeling as recessively dominant as ever, trailed a hand along the fragile grooves of his mate's back, smoothly sliding into the crevice of his hind side, playfully poking with superficiality at the widened opening. Nailo's head unwillingly flew back at the wonderful gesture; his eyes closed and mouth wide, moaning a sweet measure. As soon as his head moved back, arching his body, pressing it up tightly against Seiko's, it moved back down and landed ultimately into the welcoming furred chest before him. All was well. The unnatural rain continued its malicious beating upon the two innocent bystanders chosen to be its victims. Glorious patters, welcome and fruitful, tickled on impact Nailo's hind side, and somewhat lubricated the small hole hidden there to allow Seiko's warm, frivolous penetrations without fear of pain. Streaks of silvery liquid walked along their bodies, absorbed by fur or simply held on to but hang on for the ride. Glittery and godlike, this rain fell upon them, holding them in contempt and immortality in the moment. Seiko's fingers had finally found their final and most complete goal's end, the wondrous prostate gland, like a hill amid the tightness and warm fluids of Nailo's rectum. One finger, bravest of the brave, pressed hard into this soft mound, rubbing against it, causing this parasite's host to buckle and nearly fall flat if that host's savior hadn't caught him around the back with his resting arm. Faces continued to fall into one another to enjoy passionate kisses, deep and fulfilling in their nature. Their arms, as if acting on an entirely different level than known to them at the time, operated off of primeval instinct, allowing them each to work their minds to access the pleasure, the rest being operated by a puppeteer unknown. For Seiko, the role assessment was the hardness he had managed to construct on his lover, which buried deep into his chest. In Nailo's case, his mind was fixated on the tremble sent through his body at every caress of his holder's hand. Unfortunately, both minds were perfectly capable of the realization that these petty actions would achieve nothing, a fruitless tree. On a whim, the honorable hand rested upon Nailo's hind side removed itself from the safety of its secluded position. Instead, it traveled, almost angelically, to his face, and caressed the hairs falling into his face, removing it from his fragile glassy eyes. For a brief eternity, the stared, blind as a hermit making his way on the hillside, directly into those enticing orbs before him, which mimicked the same expression. Seiko gently let his head fall onto the pillow like shoulder of his lover and closed his eyes will lead walls. Obviously, he was tired from the frights of the last two nights. Nailo took it upon himself to lay him down to rest. Sliding down gracefully from his lover's lap, he slowly, almost like a sloth, pressed in the shower knob to stop the stream of artificial rain. A towel, innocent of any crime, was savagely torn from its rack and swung around Seiko, who still rested upon the benevolent Nailo. They were quickly dried off by the absorbency of the towel, and stepped out of the plastic tub one foot at a time, bodies locked together. Playing the role of mother, Nailo dried his mate off and himself quickly, with a cursory nature. Holding onto Nailo's shoulder, Seiko was carried like a wounded soldier out of the small bathroom, down the dimmed hallway of darkness into the bedroom. Plopping lazily onto the covers, he felt as if he could hardly move his muscles without severe aching like the fires of hell were burning within him. Nailo covered him up with covers that emitted heat that warmed the soul and he himself slid in beside him. He could feel his fairly damp fur turning the bed into a sponge, but cared not about the uncomfortable sensation. His attention was eternally fixated to Seiko's hair, wet and glistening in the light emitted by the streetlight out the window, the light of heaven, and the light of God. The glossiness mesmerized him, and this time his hand decided to be the daring one and traveled to his mate's face. His fingers, scouts to search the battlefield, trailed through the fineness of that hair, and tickled him straight to his warmed heart. His toying was ended with a final kiss to end the night, perfect in every way, flawless to the core, and a watery memory yet to be forgotten.