He holds his knife to the other’s throat. As they had agreed. His hands quiver and the other thrust hard into him. They smile at one another, smiles fresh from new arenas of sexual ecstasy. A rhythm begins to build between their bodies, each blade caressing the other’s throat. One, with short hair, twitches his, slightly larger, cock and the glistening precum droops onto the other’s hairy stomach. The one with longer hair remains tightly gripped inside the other, despite the noise filtering in from the street. With the windows open they feel as though they are flashing. The one with short hair bites down onto the soft, wet skin of his tongue as he grabs onto the ring-marked, ashen shelf behind them. The shelves were previously torn in half so doubled up as a particularly boring table and as he grips the table, he drives his spherical arse further onto the other’s thrusting cock. Matching this, the one with longer hair loosens his grip on the other’s faintly furry back and uses his free arm to grab his short hair. The sweat building upon each of their rubber knives begins to drip as the sun rotates directly into their eye-line. They untangle, just for a moment. The oxygen from this room, chilly as it might be, refreshes their cocks and gently pushes into their orifices. After, but, a second, their hips begin to magnetically join in such smooth synchronicity that there is no pain even for the one with short hair. The one with long hair thrusts forward and builds back the momentum of his rigorous regime, simultaneously the other grips onto the wall and lays himself, in part, upon the cabinet so he is perfectly vertical. With a slight pushing up of his arse, he manages to force his cock to shoot upwards and be facing the other. The pair drop the roleplay knives and begin to fuck, without prefaces. The one with longer hair tilts his head to direct his cock in at a new angle and it causes the other to moan out and reach out for a hand. With no hand to spare, the one with longer hair offers up his chest, and the other grips it tight, frantically pushing himself harder and harder onto the others’ cock. As he moans out, his lips spread, and a string of saliva bridges his upper and lower lip. He releases his grip on the other’s chest and falls back down onto the cabinet, twisting his arse to double the friction as the other’s cock enters and re-enters. He screams now and his knuckles turn white on the cabinet, in the soft, summer sun, he cums. His ejaculation flying from his cock and landing on his own stomach. The one with longer hair rolls back his eyes and increases his pace, the other gasping in pain and pleasure, looking up at the tattooed face above him. The one with longer hair’s cock twitches inside of the other and he feels it, smirking as he throws his hips back. A moment passes and the pair fall from the cabinet, onto the floor, their bodies entwined whilst the one with longer hair cries out. They land on the floor and give themselves a simple moment to catch their breath.
“I love you,” manages the one with shorter hair.
“You too,” is the response he gets as the one with longer hair builds back his breath.
George Bidwell is a twenty-one-year-old student of literature at Salford University with six years’ worth of writing experience, including film criticism for the local paper at 13. His experience as a performance poet helped to establish his belief in the connection between reader and writer. His background has seen him working in dive bars, factories, restaurants, and childcare to earn his way, all of which he completed alongside his few novels and anthologies.