Ch.7: The Rain King

There are two types of people in this world, separated as most things are; definitively by sex. There are those who focus on the task at hand, immersing themselves down and dirty in the earth, in the tactile sensations and scents of lust and love and living. And then there are the few who fly high above the act, delivered in a black winged bird unto a heaven; an ecstasy of disconnected mentality taking in everything and nothing, caught up in all the other instruments of faith and sex and God. And Dave was caught in the updraft; soaring in the belly of a black winged bird.

A question of those that be, and those that will become.

There was a warmth wakening, curling beneath his navel. Accompanied with it, a sensation of panic and anticipation tempered by the impulse to run off the side of the world while standing completely still. In the violet pane of twilight he memorized the way the shadows fell on his lover's face, kissing with his eyes open. The air swirled with petrichor, ozone, and expensive cologne. As the night came on, Dave struggled to fight the fear that this was only in his head. In his experience it seemed the night endlessly began and ended with these visions, and after all the dreaming he was only home, alone again.

He pulled Kurt tight against him, a reassurance of corporeality; his broad hands encircling a tiny waist, with skin so soft- as soft and taunt as he'd fantasized it would be. Dave's eyes fluttered closed as Kurt bit his lower lip, the smaller boy letting go a breathy moan. It was as if to have all the senses was to much, and Dave had to pick and choose or be consumed. He whimpered at the prospect.

Kurt's hands were wandering, light and restless along the contours of his body. One hand pushed up between the old grey jersey t-shirt and Dave's fevered skin, up over the solid planes of his stomach, winding into his chest hair, grasping, making Dave shiver. The other was relentless; coiling around his thick neck, running through his hair, resting on his face- the pad of the thumb ghosting over his cheekbone.

Mouths moving in tandem, furious and hungry. Coming apart and putting back together with hands incessantly roaming. Kurt tasted like the sun, his tongue burning, branding and irresistible. Dave's mouth moved from delicate rose flavored lips to dance lightly along a smooth jawline, pausing at the pulse point- nipping with his teeth and then apologetically licking away the sting. Dave's hands had fallen without his consent, one shamelessly groping Kurt's muscled ass as the other rubbed circles into the jutting china hipbone; Dave's finger's dipping teasingly just beneath the band of the other's skinny jeans. There was an answering rigidity pressed against his thigh, grinding against Dave in a way that made him want and want and want.

"Could I- I" His breath was coming fast an ragged. Thought and sound resisted being coalesced. "I mean would it be alright if I...?"

"Touch me." Kurt groaned, arching himself licentiously into David. Another tremor irradiated throughout Dave's body. Suddenly he was so lightheaded, all the blood in his body seemingly needed immediately elsewhere.

It's amazing how obstinate buttons can be when a man is in a hurry.

Somehow, Dave's clumsy fingers managed. Something warm and thick and wet fell eagerly into his waiting hand. It took a moment as his fingers danced along the length, as his mouth crashed back down upon soft and yielding lips to realize that Kurt wasn't wearing underwear. He swore.

And then he fell reverently to his knees.

Dave licked his lips before taking the bottom one between his teeth, lifting his gaze in supplication. Kurt's hands twined in his hair, stroked the back of his neck, but his china face was thrown back, eyes on the darkened, starless sky.

Hesitantly, Dave leaned forward to place a kiss on tip, a ghost of a thought really. He saw Kurt's body tremble, he heard the breathy moan on high. But Dave was intoxicated by the scent. This was the smell that hid beneath that infuriating cologne, the second note that Dave would pick out at the strangest moments, the clean sent of sex. And this, he couldn't help but think as he slowly ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of Kurt's cock, this is the taste of a man.

Dave released a guttural, debasing moan; a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He took Kurt into his mouth a bit over zealously, gagging himself until he grudgingly released the length, licking and sucking enthusiastically if not skilled. Kurt's hot, desperate little noises drove Dave into fervor, a wild and untameable high that caused his movements to become erratic, for his teeth to carelessly graze delicate skin. Kurt's fingers tangled in Dave's hair as he drove himself mercilessly into the larger boy's mouth. Dave was only vacantly aware of any one sensation, torn exquisitely between the painful ache of his own constrained erection and the pleasure of fulfilling his most unattainable fantasy. Separate from himself, his body moved of it's own accord; his left unbuttoning his jeans, his right anchoring himself on white cliffs of flesh.

Kurt was speaking to him, a driving incantation of broken words and breathy exhalation that rose above the roaring sound that was this moment. A sacred mantra of please, and god and David and fuck, Fuck, FUCK. Something warm and tangy, salty and sweet exploded across Dave's tongue. He was yanked up fiercely, Kurt vicious and strong in his movements, demanding as their teeth crashed together, ferocious.

Tasting himself on Dave's tongue.

And Kurt was touching him, the alien and not unpleasant feeling of being taken in hand, by a hand that was most definitely not his own, that was soft and small and quick and caressing him to desperation.

Disconnected images came floating through his thoughts; dark eyes heavily lashed-Henderson waiting for the sun-a passage from a book he'd read long ago.

'The forgiveness of sins is perpetual and righteousness is not required.'

He dimly remembered that revelation being so important to the story, the book eluded him. But it was lost between the nerve ending fire, white as grain alcohol in summer. The electric storm flying on the back of black winged birds, before being dropped back to the hard reassuring earth.

When they broke Dave was breathless. He couldn't get enough oxygen, there never would be enough oxygen. They clung together, still as if the slightest movement would be the end of everything. Faintly over his harsh and ragged breath Dave thought heard Kurt whisper into the crook of his neck.

Dave wasn't prepared, he hadn't practiced. Any other time and he would have over analyzed, thus becoming paralyzed, snuffing out this moment. But what is life but improvisation, what is life but sudden intrusions of beauty? To move when moved, to live fearless. And so he sang, just within the range of hearing, roughly and most likely out of key, the first thing that came to mind.

"I belong in the service of the Queen

I belong anywhere but in between

She's been dying

I've been drinking and I...

I...am...the Rain King."

End.

Music- The Rain King x The Counting Crows

Well, that took far to long to write. I kind of stared at it for three months after it was done hoping I could improve it.

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, fave'd or set this story on alert.

I feel like this scene was...melodramatic? Even for me. Idunno, I'd especially like some feed back on that in particular. Also, was I to wordy? Not descriptive enough? Clinical or to flowery? Sexy?

I'd also really appreciate feedback on my use of lyrics/prose throughout the piece. I directly quoted and paraphrased from both the work of the Counting Crows and the novel Henderson the Rain King by Saul Bellows. Did it come off as heavy handed or contrived? Was it even noticeable? Was it effective? Show of hands of how many people are familiar with the novel?

Thanks again guys

- The Neverender

PS. In my head, right after this heartfelt little love scene, as the afterglow is wearing off, Kurt totes gestures to his pants and says. "Well, thanks for ruining yet another piece of my wardrobe."