THE USUAL LANDO

/Lando/

“It's not that he's expressionless, on the contrary. It's just that he's always composed. Even when he smiles, laughs, jokes, cheers or melts while we look at each other overflowing with love and sweetness. He always does it in a composed and calm manner.
I piss myself, I make a lot of noise, I scream at every bullshit, I never sit still, I sing, I dance, I get drunk, I jump, I shout, I gesticulate, I talk like a machine gun a lot.
When I look at him, what I instantly notice is if he's laughing and enjoying the same bullshit that made me laugh, because I like to see when he laughs and understand how he does it. Then I end up laughing even harder, or losing track of the bullshit I was saying, almost forgetting that there was something that made me laugh.
The truth is being with him makes me wish I were better than I am, if not perfect, and instead it drives me crazy to realize all the times I'm not and I'm actually the same old Lando, the troublemaker who never gets anything right unless it's by accident. With me you can be sure I'll always make mistakes.
While he shines brighter and brighter, I feel myself slowly fading and I think he realizes it.
Besides, in my case, it's truly impossible not to notice when I'm feeling bad, because I get down like crazy. I'm as up when I'm good as I am down when I'm bad and everyone notices instantly because they can't hear me. There's peace, silence and tranquility all around and with me there usually isn't, not when I'm well.
But this time I'm really trying not to be the same old Lando, because Oscar won and I want him to celebrate and be happy; he deserves it. I don't want to ruin his day in any way and if I sulk like a child, I know I'll ruin it, because he'll absolutely try to cheer me up, because my mood is the center of his world.
First comes my happiness, then his. That's how Oscar works and since I realize it, I absolutely don't want to ruin his party.
Oscar won the Bahrain Grand Prix where he was ahead since qualifying. He was perfect, he never made a single mistake and he should be happy and excited, instead of thinking about me and how disappointed I am with myself.
Not only did I suck in qualifying yesterday, but today in the race I also managed to make a mistake and not just once.
How the fuck do you screw up the start, damn it?
Can anyone be more stupid? I was already starting from behind and had to make up ground, then I screwed up the start getting penalty.
On top of that I also touched Lewis and had to give him the position back.
We could have gone one-two and it would still have been a piece of cake, on my part, because everyone expects me to be the one on top this year; I'm the first to expect that. Instead I could only aim for second place because starting so far back I couldn't hope for anything else.
Instead having to make up for my mistakes a thousand times, I couldn't finish behind him. Sure, I still made it to the podium and Charles barely managed to keep up with me until the finish line; I don't know how he managed it for all that time with the car he has, but no one has any doubts about him. He and Max are probably the only ones who make the difference in driving.
Disappointment is an understatement, I feel like an idiot who can't make that damned jump I need. It's a step, a bump, a jump, but I can't do it. It just doesn't come to me. When I'm there and realize it's my moment, my brain goes into blackout and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, I just know that I'm systematically making mistakes.
I'll never grow, I'll never change, I'll never mature, I'll never improve.
Not for me, not for the team, not for my family, not for Oscar.
I know he'd definitely rather win than be second to me, but that's not the point. It's just that seeing how much he's growing as a driver, I feel left behind, right? As if I weren’t worthy of the same position he’s deservedly holding.
He's the one who should be the first McLaren driver, not me. He's already ready, I'll never be. Never, damn it.
When I say 'improve for Oscar,' I mean this. He's climbing a mountain we started from together and now he's ahead while  I'm several meters behind. How big a gap will there be if I don't wake up?
I don't want to stand back and watch his back get closer and closer to the finish line. It was our finish line, the finish line we were supposed to reach together, but instead he'll get there alone and I'll be left behind, watching him celebrate with his usual composure and smile calmly, as if winning races like he does were normal.
I'm an idiot and what burns me the most right now is that I don't want to burden him with my shitty mood, I don't want to burden him because I know that even though he's certainly happy about the win, if he sees me this depressed he'll never celebrate.
He doesn't drink or do anything on his own. The other times he won, I forced him to go out and party, but we ended up with me dead drunk and him being the sober one who drove me around clubs and who ended up putting me to sleep. I don't think he ever took advantage of me, even though he could have!
I don't know, to be honest, because I was done and I don't remember anything, but knowing him, he didn't and that's a shame, even if I would have hated not remembering.
Today I'm going to get him drunk at all costs, especially because in the mood I'm in, I don't feel like drinking or I'd kill myself, I think. So I'll be a man on a mission. Oscar will get his first drunken rant tonight.
I've decided.”

/Oscar/

“I simply can't stand him being so down and sad. If he is, I have no reason to be happy; even if I won a Grand Prix.
That's the level I'm at.
To feel good, I need him to be the usual Lando; I can't stand if he's like this.
I won, I'm happy, I had a great weekend, but he's not happy and if he's not happy, I'm down with him.
Even the embarrassment over what happened last night was far surpassed by him no longer being himself today.
Not that it's hard for me to pretend like nothing ever happened; I'm pretty good at it. At least I don't make a big deal out of the things I experience, whatever they are.
Yeah, well, yesterday I ran away when he masturbated in front of me in the shower and it was so shocking what happened, to the point that I still don't understand exactly what really happened.
All I know is that at a certain point I thought I'd come without even touching myself and that it was incredibly beautiful and hypnotic. Him and his hand moving quickly over his dick. A big hand on an equally big dick.
I think the saying about hands and penises is true, at least for him.
Just like how good things come in small packages.
Not that it surprised me; I already knew it, since when he dragged me to celebrate my victories, we ended up with him completely drunk and me completely sane and lucid taking him back to the hotel and then to bed. Because he ended up in that bed naked, since he undressed as soon as he entered the room and took off everything he was wearing, even his boxers.
I've seen him naked before, yes, and I know how gifted he is. Maybe that's also why I'm crazy about him and I like him so much.
He has no sense of decency; I don't think I could even loosen up like that when I was drunk.
He's completely free to do whatever he wants and alcohol has nothing to do with it; that's just the way he is. Yesterday he wasn't drunk. Maybe he overdoes it every now and then, but he overdoes it by my standards, not his.
Sometimes when I look at him, I wonder how I'd feel if I behaved the way he does. Stripping in front of someone else and doing out-of-the-box things just because I wanted to, going outside the box.
For example kissing him just because I wanted to. If he wanted to kiss me, he'd do it becaus, no problem. He doesn't do it because he obviously doesn't want to and I understand that. Who would want to kiss me?
As soon as I realize he's feeling down about third place, I know why and so when I get a quick chat with him, I immediately try to cheer him up.
- You did great, Lando! You've made a great comeback!
But his eyes immediately snap expressively toward me and there's a precise moment where he looks like he's about to explode. I tense up and stare at him in shock convinced he'll turn on me, but then as soon as he looks me in the eyes he sighs, deflates and shakes his head banishing the sadness and fury he'd been feeling for himself.
Lando smiles at me again and catches me off guard.
- Yeah, that's a real shit, I didn't finish second as I should have and obviously whose fault is that? My own! As always, I screw up my own race! Who's my worst enemy? LANDO NORRIS!
For a moment I'm taken aback, as well as relieved that he doesn't consider me his worst enemy, because I could handle anything except this.
But then I come to my senses shaking off his clever misdirection.
- Don't be hard on yourself, we're just getting started. You've always learned from your mistakes!
- But you don't make them!
This blurt slips out, obviously he didn't mean to vent and the fact that he does it while we're waiting to be interviewed on the track and then going behind the podium for the usual stuff, says a lot about his true state of mind.
I'm about to say something for how he's taking it and how he's feeling, but then Lando perks up returning to his usual self and, by changing the subject, he completely distracts me.
- After we'll celebrate and tonight I'll do my best to get you drunk! I won't even touch a drop of alcohol!
The absurdity he's saying is so absurd that it completely distracts me from my mission and from his sadness. A sadness I can't bear, but that suddenly gets pushed aside even though I don't want to.
- Yes, of course. - I say, amused. I know how it's going to go, so I don't have to worry. Him not touching a drop of alcohol?
Everything will be fine, as always. I'm almost starting to get used to him naked. Almost.

Almost, exactly. When, after the podium party and the champagne bath, to which he responds by saying he didn't drink it, but just got wet in it and that it's different, the young gentleman decides to undress and change out of his soaking wet suit. He does it in front of me.
I could do it too, it would be quite legitimate and normal, but I have no intention of changing in front of him now. I prefer to take photos with the trophy while trying not to notice that he's on the ground a few meters away in his underwear.
Decency. He doesn't know what it is, why should I be surprised if he masturbates in the shower in front of me?
And yet, there's something about him.
Both last night and today he has something he's trying to hide from me, but I'm aware of it anyway, I see it.
He's really not the usual Lando and I just can't stand him.”

/Lando/

"How skilled I am at getting people to do what I want.
Skilled may not be the right word, because it's not about skill, but rather about being a pain in the ass and being tenacious: no one beats me at that.
I'm the ultimate pain in the ass.
In the end I drag Oscar around clubs with me intending to party, others also come with me and we slowly lose sight of them over the course of the evening.
He's not one to drag his entourage around; sometimes he has a few friends, male or female, but that's not the norm and since he's not a natural optimist who thinks he'll win every competition and therefore doesn't believe he needs support, most of the time he's alone, like now for example, but it doesn't matter because I'm usually more than enough for any party.
Even though I'm feeling a bit off tonight, and I admit it myself, that doesn't mean I'm giving up.
I had decided I'd get him drunk, this was the sole purpose of the evening, but in the end the others who came with us got drunk. Those who didn't simply went to sleep, which I can't do until I find myself dragging Oscar around, rotten as a corpse.
What the hell are you waiting for get lost in the fumes of alcohol? I can't stay sober anymore. Not that it's an effort; tonight I just don't feel like anything in general.
It's not that I'm tired of not being able to drink, I just don't feel like it. That's the level I'm at tonight, but I'm so bad that I can't even reach the goal I set for myself at the beginning of the evening.
Oscar is extraordinarily lucid and when we find ourselves alone at yet another club, I watch him calmly sip something he ordered himself.
- Is that even alcoholic or are you just pretending to? - I grumble pointing to his glass.
Oscar laughs and hands it to me to try it.
- Sure, it's alcoholic, but apparently I can handle it better than you.
- And better than anyone else! 
When I sip it I realize it is indeed alcoholic though not very strong, but it's the umpteenth one of the evening; he should be at least a little tipsy, but instead he's very healthy.
We're sitting on one of the rather secluded sofas in this place, a hole we stumbled upon when he suggested we could give up like the others, since it was late enough.
My response was, "Are you drunk?" "No." "Then let's go!"
- Fuck, it's true that you weren't even drunk on your birthday, and I think you've been drinking, right?
- You think? - he asks ironically with a raised eyebrow. We're sitting close together, shoulder to shoulder, our bodies pressed together and to talk we look at each other from this short distance. His breath smells of the fruity drink he's drinking. If I kissed him now, his tongue would taste like... wait, what is it?
I drink again to better distinguish the ingredients and, like an idiot, I fall for it and drink something alcoholic. Because I can't help it, right?
- Raspberry? - Oscar nods smiling, offering me the rest of his iced glass, but I hand it back indicating that he should finish it himself.
- No, no, I said I'd stay sober for you!
The music is loud and booming and we've to get really close to hear each other; that and the low, flashing lights are quite dizzying. Me, at least. He continues to sit calmly next to me, sipping his something.
How the hell does he do it?
He's composed. I thought so today watching him go out to get the trophy as if he were going for a walk.
It's absurd, this guy.
- But you don't have to, Lando!
- Of course I have to! It's your fourth Grand Prix win, I've never had to carry you to the room on my shoulders! How is that possible?
- I did that to you! - he recalls amusedly. His laughter at this closeness and with the bright lights, makes me even more stupid, as if it were possible to exceed my usual limits.
- Come on, I'll order you another one of these raspberry things!
Why is his raspberry-flavored tongue suddenly becoming such a fucking obsession? It almost seems to me that to enjoy that fruit with satisfaction, all I have to do now is suck it.
Wake up, you only drank a little of his drink, are you that bad?
Come on, you're not normal, Lando!
- Come on, Lando, let's go. You don't have to force yourself. It's clear you're not having fun and you're forcing yourself to show me around. I won't get drunk, I can handle it more than I imagined. Let's go to the hotel.
Oscar, with the maturity I so envy and that I dream of, starts to get up and has this look of displeasure that hits me like a punch in the stomach; at this I suddenly act like usual, without thinking about it. I grab him and pull him down by the arm, forcing him to stay here. I remain attached to him and sink deeper into the sofa, my neck resting on the backrest, my eyes blurred by the high ceiling where the lights shine directly on us constantly turning on and off, always low and blue.
You can barely see, actually, and these sofas are quite secluded after all. It's not bad.
Oscar sighs next to me and resigns himself to sitting in a similar position. We remain silent for a while until he asks directly: - How are you? 
At this disconcerting question, I open my eyes wide and look at him in amazement, suddenly turning my head toward him. Now we're really close with our faces because he does the same without thinking; we're listening to the music thumping at an incessant and meaningless rhythm, music that neither of us likes very much, perhaps, but that we don't notice.
Not like we notice our eyes close together. What do yours see with this obvious displeasure for me?
- How am I? - I ask dazed, maybe I misunderstood.
Oscar nods imperceptibly without turning his head or looking away from mine and now I'm mesmerized, to the point of being unable to look away.
He looks like a prince, he has such delicate and elegant features. He's really cute.
I shrug without replying, my eyes roam his face and when he speaks, I can't understand what he's saying, so I end up staring at his lips and leaning forward, but maybe I'm looking for his raspberry-tasting tongue.
It must be really good.
- Sitting on the couch, that's how I am.
I avoid any serious response, and Oscar makes a not at all surprised expression, as if to say, 'You're always the same.'
Yeah, I'm always the same.
But he doesn't smile much and I think he's not having that much fun; that's obviously my fault too. He enjoys it when I'm excited, but tonight I'm really down and even though I wanted so badly to think about him, I couldn't in the end. Yet another failure tonight.
- I'm sorry you're not having fun because of me. Come on, finish that thing and we're going.
Oscar looks at me in surprise lifting his head from behind, convinced he's misunderstood and I laugh, but I think I'm not convincing.
For a moment he wonders if he should insist; I see it in his kind eyes, but in the end he simply holds back the question he's about to ask me and finishes the cocktail, where the best part of the raspberry syrup was still at the bottom.
I stare at his lips concentrating on what I can see of his tongue. Is it red?
I've failed, I've failed miserably. I'm no good even at making Oscar have fun. I'm a selfish piece of shit, a terrible person. How can he like me? What the hell does he see in me? I'd hate myself in his place. I've made his evening miserable.
Now I just want to bury myself and instead, as we get up, I can't stop thinking about his tongue and the raspberry.
I have to try it, I need it and I know it's my ADHD talking, but I just can't handle it, less so tonight than usual, so I spend the whole way hotel in an obscene silence that I think is weighing on him like never before.
How can I get out of this silence now without explaining what's wrong with me?
Well, there's a way, last night it worked, but I don't want to scare him away.
I just don't want him to make me talk about what's happening to me, because that would be pathetic and I don't want to be pathetic. I'd seem even more childish.
Shitty ADHD that doesn't let me concentrate on what I'm doing and instead distracts me with absurd, obsessive thoughts.
Raspberry, raspberry.
My head is a constant mess.
I don't want to answer the question about how I'm doing, because I really don't even know how I am and I don't know what I could say since I'm never in control.
But when we reach our rooms, instead of saying goodbye and heading straight for mine next to his, I follow him into his just as he was about to turn to greet me with his typically kind and absolutely infatuated smile.
I'm sure I'll have to get into at least one bad situation tonight. You'll see if I don't end up getting into my usual trouble. You'll see.
But once inside, I close his door behind me with only one thing on my mind.
Raspberries in his language.”

/Oscar/

"The shivers run from the back of my neck down my spine, finally reaching every nerve ending.
I watch him slip into my room as if we were sharing it or if I'd invited him in. After how strange the whole evening was, and especially after yesterday afternoon and the erotic show, I can't calmly accept anything he does, especially if it's so far from his usual crazy ways.
But maybe he's still in that mode, right?
Crazy and out of control, just different from what I'm used to.
I don't know why, but as the door closes and I watch him throw his shoes around and dive onto the bed on his back, I realize that tonight will be nothing like 'usual.'
For a moment an absurd thought crosses my mind.
Is something about to happen between us? Something I've been hoping for for two years?
But then his gaze fixes on the ceiling, a bit like before, and which I can see better now in the normal light of the room, he makes it clear to me that he simply needs to vent and I don't know why he's so obsessed with not doing so. What's wrong with complaining?
Everyone needs it.
- Turn off the light and lie down here too. - he orders. My eyes widen in terror. What am I supposed to do?
Vent, Oscar. Lando just wants to vent and he obviously does it better lying down, like on a therapist's couch. He needs a good one, really.
Reluctantly, I comply without making a sound feeling strange, hopeful and agitated, though still with my usual composure.
After taking off my shoes, I sit in bed and turn off the big light with the switch near the headboard; I'm about to press the one that turns on the two small ones, but Lando grabs my shirt and pulls me down lying next to him, not very gently.
Certainly not how I imagined the night would end. The strangest night of my life.
For a moment, I think of the other times Lando dragged me around with him partying in clubs, when he was dead drunk and I was perfect even though I'd been drinking too.
It's a gift, mine. I certainly can't teach it. But it only works if I drink the same thing slowly throughout the evening, and I usually choose my favorite cocktail, Raspberry Bramble.
The flash of those evenings that ended with me dragging him into the bedroom while he almost fell, him undressing completely, him clinging to me in a harassing way trying to kiss me and rubbing his exquisite gifts all over my body, me gently but firmly pushing him away, convinced I could never bear the thought of having taken advantage of him, me then putting him down on the bed and covering him, me walking away insulting myself for not even letting his mouth touch mine.
I've always been polite, but that's just the way I am.
Now? Now that's he sober but weird, how will it go?
- Are you so bad, Lando?
Finally I have no choice but to turn my head toward his and ask him with extreme spontaneity and simplicity.
Now the silence is so powerful that we can even hear each other's breathing and while mine is extraordinarily regular, despite my heart pounding wildly in my chest, he holds his in surprise and turns abruptly to look at me. He's stunned to see me looking at him and despite this closeness, he doesn't try to move away, doesn't turn his head or change position.
He stays here next to me lying on his back, staring at me.
For a moment he contemplates me, but I think he's just trying to figure out what to say, or rather whether to stop avoiding telling me once and for all.
Finally he sighs deeply and with extreme and visible surrender, after biting his lip and staring at me, he murmurs: - Is it that obvious?
I smile softly.
- Quite a bit, yes.
- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your party. Other times I ruined them by getting drunk, but tonight because I didn't...
He tries to joke about it, I'm only smiling out of kindness, not because it makes me laugh. Because it doesn't make me laugh. He's in pain and I can't stand seeing him like this. I just can't.
- Why are you so down, Lando? - I ask calmly, my voice now a whisper and I think I've moved closer to him, just imperceptibly. Maybe I'm afraid that if I don't press him enough, he'll run away again and I know he needs to talk about it.
Lando contemplates what to say to me once again, he scans my face and ends up moving closer to me in bed. Our shoulders touch like before and it's almost like recreating that strange atmosphere, only without the chaos, the people and the flashing lights. Now we're in almost complete darkness, a little light filters in from the city outside and our eyes are now accustomed to the darkness.
But I think he's looking at my mouth, he seems focused there. Maybe even hypnotized.
- There's something wrong in my head and I just don't know how to fix it.
As he says this a strange feeling comes over me. It's almost as if he doesn't know what he's referring to, that he's not just talking about his problems in F1. Which I wouldn't call such; it's true that sometimes he's not perfect, but there are other times when he is. So I decide to focus on what's certain.
- You're too hard on yourself.
Lando shakes his head pressing his lips together in disappointment, but in his eyes there's a deep wound that he's ashamed of and tries to hide. I've never seen him like this and I can't stand it, I just can't stand it. I would give up my trophy today if it meant not seeing him like this. It's not that important, not like he is.
- I don't know... - he says softly, unable to control his tone at all.
- I am. You're not always perfect, but not all winning drivers have to be perfect all the time, not all of them are always perfect. Everyone is made in their own way. It doesn't matter how you get to the end, what matters is getting there.
- But I won't get there if I keep going like this. I can't afford to make so many mistakes, not the important things. - Lando with an open heart, in his complete, wonderful essence, fragile as ever.
My heart feels like it's breaking in my chest and he keeps staring at my lips as if he doesn't have the courage to look me in the eyes. But have we gotten any closer? How far apart are our faces now?
How few centimeters separate us?
- You'll find a way to do it anyway. You'll never make the same mistakes twice, the perfection you say will come, you just have to treasure all the things you don't like about yourself.
- I can't concentrate on the same thing for long, Oscar. My mind goes off at the most inappropriate times and I'm not in control in those moments. A driver who wants to win a world championship who can't stay focused for exactly the right amount of time?
His eyes shine in the dark, they're bright with tears he's ashamed of, tears he won't let go. Please, don't do this. I can't stand it.
Please, Lando.
Disheartened by what he's making me go through, I find myself acting on my deepest impulses and raising my arm, I caress his absurdly beautiful face. A face I think I love.
- You mustn't obsess over this; the more you think about it, the less successful you'll be. You just have to let go, like you always have. Your instincts have always guided you well and have never let you down. Simply follow your impulses and stop overthinking things.
But I haven't even finished saying this when Lando closes the small distance between us and takes my lips between his, but he doesn't stop there. He opens them immediately and seems to be looking for something in particular. Something I don't immediately understand.
After a moment of being dazed, inundated by this wave of immense heat, I respond to the kiss by reaching for his tongue and as soon as it's more within his reach, I realize that this is what he wanted. Lando takes it and sucks it like nectar.
It's as impetuous and passionate as I imagined it would be; it's all I can think about and then it's just pure passion.
I feel sucked into a powerful current and I don't fight it, I don't even try to understand it. I just let myself go enjoying every incredible sensation that invades me.
It's all hot, fiery, pure lava.
My body is invaded by a paralysis that prevents me from moving, but Lando still takes care of it and while we lie together kissing, he pushes me climbing on top and taking my face in his hands. He sits astride me and remains hunched over me controlling this thirsty kiss. It feels like he's devouring me and I don't want him to stop.
I don't even realize he's kissing me, not really. It's all so absurd and crazy that I don't fully understand it.
It's all so beautiful that if I'm dreaming, I don't want to wake up.”

/Lando/

"I couldn't resist his sweetness any longer, but not only that. I couldn't think of anything but his tongue and the raspberry.
It really tastes like raspberry.
It's like eating it. I can't stop sucking it, just as my hands move from his face to his shirt and feverishly unzip it.
There's nothing I wanted more than this tonight, but as I kiss him and rummage my hands over his warm, soft body, I realize I like him.
I like him like crazy.
I like him like I hadn't yet realized.
I like everything about him and perhaps the most important thing is his calm and composure. Even now as we kiss he's like that and lets me do it.
He wanted this so badly, so badly, but it seems like everything's normal, like everything's fine.
How can you be like this? How can you, Oscar?
Give me a little of this tranquility, this security, help me focus on the things that matter and not to lose my mind.
Please, help me.
My hands frantically slide down his pants which I unzip. To do so I shift my hips, firmly I go into his boxers and touch his cock which is already hard and hot; there he sighs against my mouth.
Wait, what? I think this is the first time he's gotten worked up.
Don't stop, Lando. Don't stop.
But I can't take my mouth off his, I don't want to stop kissing him. Tonight, I can't stop, I can't tear myself away. He's my drug, tonight. My tranquilizer. My peace.
So I stop trying to maneuver his cock with my hand and after pulling it completely out, I unzip my jeans and pull them down along with my boxers, then lie on top of him. I press our hips together, our groins rub and soon our cocks are meeting, helped by my hand that manages to hold them both together while I rub mine moving as if I were fucking him.
At this a wave of pleasure overwhelms Oscar as it overwhelms me and he raises his arms, threads his fingers through my curly hair and comes to meet me. Then, from the nape of my neck, he gently reaches my hips and once there, he accompanies the movements of my body rubbing against his, especially thrusting my pelvis against his.
The kisses turn into moans and we stop melting and entwining. We remain with our mouths open, pressed against each other, breathing, mesmerized, intoxicated by an unparalleled pleasure; we open our eyes and look at each other.
He's marvelous in his passion and in the pleasure his delicate face now expresses. He's so absorbed in me. What he feels is so intense.
The climax comes first for him, who can no longer resist; watching the pleasure explode on his face as well as in his groin staining and warming me, I soon follow him closing my eyes and arching all over like a cat.
Oscar doesn't take his eyes off me and holds me close, partly perhaps in disbelief at what's happened, partly completely absorbed in me and the pleasure I've given him.
You told me to let my instincts guide me and not to overthink things and I simply did.
I wanted to taste your tongue and I was right. It tastes like raspberry and is delicious.
After the orgasm that makes me shake from head to toe and disconnect with myself, I find myself collapsing on top of him exhausted, sweaty and panting.
I stay there for a few seconds, just long enough to rediscover our heartbeats beating together. I feel his through my forehead, pressing against his neck.
I kiss his neck moving my head, then moving up to his chin and finally to his lips. Lips that I take again.
Lips that I don't intend to leave for the rest of the night.
I want to stay like this kissing you forever, I don't want anything else.
In the end you weren't the only one who liked me, I liked you too, but I'm still the same old retard.”