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The warm breeze of the Italian summer night kept swinging in softly from the high windows of the chapel, running through Martín’s hair pleasantly as he sat at the big oaken table. The sun was setting over the florentine hills surrounding the monastery, leaving behind a bright pink halo; the last vivid rays of sunshine of the day illuminated Andrés’ face perfectly as he stood opposite from Martín, a canvas separating them. Martín smiled, resting his chin on his hand as he observed the focused look on the other man’s face, his features highlighted by the golden glow of the sunset, the gentle scratch of the brush on canvas a familiar sound to his ears.
“You know, Martín, women are just superior on so many aspects”
Martín was brought out of his reverie abruptly by the words and he blinked once, twice. “What?”
Andrés’ eyes didn’t leave the painting as he kept speaking, a tiny smile irradiating up to his eyes, “Take into example the female anatomy”
Martín rolled his eyes, instantly bored and slightly annoyed at the topic Andrés wouldn’t let go. He had been rambling about women on and off for the whole day, presumingly after meeting his new flame, a pretty brunette or a tall blonde; Martín made bets with himself every single time, trying to guess how the woman of Andrés’ life looked like, this time.
“Women’s bodies are made to be worshipped, soft and tender like the most deliciously ripe fruit” he briefly looked up at Martín, clearly pleased with the reaction his whole perfect speech was causing.
“Oh and breasts, honestly one of the most deliciously attractive part of a woman’s body. So many different shapes, sizes and despite what many men may think, the latter does not matter at all. You know very well, Martín, how I would always choose quality over quantity” He lifted both his hands up as if to hold two imaginary objects right in front of his eyes, “The ideal breast would fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.”
Martín groaned, clearly tired of the topic, growing mad at how Andrés could keep praising all these random people, these women who never really understood him and were, in the best case scenario, just mocking him behind his back. He stood up then, moving closer to Andrés with his hands on his hips; bitterness and exasperation floating in waves inside him, poisoning his brain and eliminating every last dash of reason left there.
“The silky, delicate feeling of a woman’s lips on your skin is something truly ineff-“ in the blink of an eye, Martín was all over Andrés. He held his face in his hands and kissed him, all the pent up passion and desire surfacing after years, mixing up with the anger caused by the other man’s rants of the past days. Martín groaned loudly and bit down on Andrés’ lip, unceremoniously pushing his tongue inside his mouth, licking and twisting, fighting for the kind of dominance Andrés was surprisingly allowing him to hold. Martín didn’t let go of his face as the kiss progressed, turning more and more intense, like the bright light that irradiates the sky right before the sun goes down to rest for the night.
“Can your women kiss you like this? Eh?” he moved his face back an inch to stare into Andrés’ eyes. He was thrown back by the burning flames he saw there, the half-lidded stare burning itself on Martín’s retinas, feeding his desire.
“Kiss me again Martín,” Andrés bit on his lip as he smiled, “Please”
Martín’s whole brain shut off right there and then and he moaned, moving in again, yet this time slower, more tender with the series of pecks he left on Andrés lips. And it was damn surprising, but Andrés was kissing him back. The hands coming up to the back of his neck almost startled him and he was pulled closer, his body pressing against Andrés’ from their mouths all the way down to their thighs, their specular movements like an intimate, well-practiced dance. His knees buckled as Andrés’ tongue gently made its way inside Martín’s mouth, asking for permission before breeching the velvety boundary of his lips. Martín’s body was set aflame by the desire-filled touches, the mere thought of turning the kiss into something more frantic, feral like the first one they shared was pushed in the back of his mind as he took pleasure, for the first time in years, simply in lazily making out with another man. ’And not just anybody. It was Andrés who was kissing him.’
Just like the slowly fading light after sunset, the kiss came to a halt as Andrés pushed away, a warm smile on his face as he left tiny kisses on Martín’s lips.
“Could any other man kiss you like this, Martín?”