ds_flashfiction | Necking Challenge: In the Early Hours, by calathea

612 words.

Many thanks to

lynnmonster, on whom I imposed for her services as beta and title-thinker-upper.

In the Early Hours

In the early hours of the morning, Ben found himself walking down a street hitherto unknown to him. Even in the pre-dawn, the heat was oppressive, the streets airless and thick with fumes. He’d been driven from his tiny room at the Consulate by the heavy stillness of the night, by the walls pressing in on him until he could hardly breathe. He had walked for hours, the tiny breeze created by walking at a moderate pace giving him some measure of relief, though his shirt was damp with sweat and clung uncomfortably to his shoulder blades. Now, though, he was in unfamiliar territory.

The buildings nearby were still noisy, the muffled rhythmic sounds from within denoting clubs and bars. People spilled out onto the sidewalk, some holding drinks, others lighting up cigarettes. All looked hot, sweaty, and slightly glazed, as late night revellers were wont to do. Most were men. As he passed, skirting politely around chattering groups, conversations seemed to pause, and he felt the weight of eyes upon him. He grew uncomfortable; his skin at once too tight and thin. Once, as he moved past two men with a murmured word to be polite, he felt a ghostly touch on his lower back. When he turned back to see what had brushed against him, he saw them standing, silent, their gazes still on him. He turned away, and almost shivered. This street, the city, was hungry tonight, filled with want and need, bearing down on him like the stifling heat.

He ducked into a narrow cross street, glancing upwards automatically to find his bearing by the stars. Only the brightest few could be seen, the rest obscured by the light from the city. He looked down again, towards the mouth of the road. A couple stood at the corner, locked in an intimate embrace, lit by a nearby streetlight. They were pressed tightly against one another, their bodies swaying and twisting gently as they sought the perfect kiss. One of the men was slightly taller, and his light-coloured hair was gilded by the yellow-orange light overhead. His right hand cupped his lover’s jaw, while the left clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his lover’s shirt. The other man clasped him tightly, one hand under his partner’s shirt. Ben found himself wondering how they could bear the friction, the touch of sweat-slick skin through damp clothing and a phrase, half-remembered, slipped through his mind like an answer, words about the luxuriant heat of lust. The lovers seemed to wrap themselves more closely together at his thought. He struggled to dismiss the memory of his own solitary sleep.

He was almost level with them now. He could see the beads of sweat on the taller man’s forehead, hear the gasping catch of their breath. As he watched, the second man pulled away from their kiss, and pressed his face against his partner’s neck. The blond man’s fingers slid into his lover’s dark hair, curling into the wavy strands, as he tilted his head back, exposing his neck. When the blond’s eyes popped open suddenly, Ben felt the touch of the stranger’s eyes like a blow. For a moment, he fought to breathe, until the heavy lids sank again. The blond man dropped his chin, and, his long fingers tunnelling deeper into his partner’s hair, turned his lips to nuzzle against the darker man’s temple.

Ben walked past them steadily, quietly, turning the corner onto a wide, empty street. He charted a course back to the Consulate and set off with an even gait, through the light-darkened sky, past the beaten shadows in doorways, towards his twisted sheets.