Flaming

Zakary lifts his eyebrows as he gazes at Jonatho. His heart races. His breath has turned short.

He also realizes Jonatho is sitting awfully close to him. When did that happen? Did Jonatho scoot closer? Or did Zakary sit down closer to him when he returned from feeding Tiger?

“I know this might be … kind of wildly inappropriate …” says Jonatho, “but I’m just going to say it. I’m really moved by how caring you are … even to a stray cat on your windowsill, and …” He lets out a sort of happy sigh. “And I think you’re adorable. I really just want to kiss you right now. May I?”

Zakary’s chest turns into a vacuum. He turns to Jonatho, wide-eyed. “What?”

Jonatho leans forward, and the next moment, their soft lips touch.

Zakary shuts his eyes and melts into the heart-racing heaven of their kiss. It is a fierce and firm kiss, yet something about it seems as gentle and tentative as a softly uttered question. Their heads seem to tilt in unison as their lips part, inviting each other in, and Zakary feels the warm, wet touch of Jonatho’s tongue. Zakary returns it, pressing their mouths together, exploring the kiss as it deepens like the crescendo of a song.

The kiss ends, and the two pull apart, peering into each other’s eyes.

“Was that okay?” asks Jonatho. “I just chased the impulse and … figured in this particular instance, it was okay to ask forgiveness rather than permission.”

It was the perfect kiss. It was better than any kiss Zakary has ever dreamed.

“You did,” says Zakary.

Jonatho lifts an eyebrow. “I did what?”

“Ask for permission.” Zakary smiles. “My answer was ‘What?’ but I … guess my ‘yes’ was hidden there between the lines.”

“Or the biting of that damned lip of yours.”

“And you have my permission. You … definitely have my permission.”

Jonatho’s radiant eyes fall onto Zakary’s lips. “Can I kiss you again?”

This time, Zakary’s answer comes in the form of him taking hold of the back of Jonatho’s head and bringing their lips together himself. With a rapidly beating heart and an unquenchable soul, he chases what little taste he got from that first kiss. He wants more of it. He wants all of it.

A totally new version of Zakary is in charge now, a version he’s quite sure only exists in his dreams, when hitting on and pursuing attractive men feels perfectly possible and not terrifying at all.

Now, he is kissing one with no shame or reservation.

Now, he is toppling one over, and pressing him down to the rug, kissing him harder.

And the man he’s kissing also happens to be the very talented playwright whose words he has been devouring like a religion for the past month and a half.

It is a dream within a dream, and Zakary is present for every second of it, living this crazy, beautiful moment of a life he thought could never resemble his own. And now that the little spark has ignited into a small flame in his chest, ripe with possibility and aching with need, Zakary can’t get enough.

He wants this so badly, it’s difficult to even breathe.

He feels Jonatho’s hands on his body, softly running up and down his sides, exploring him. Zakary’s shirt starts to slip upward, revealing his skin. Their kiss is interrupted for only a second when the shirt slips over his head, then is discarded, and their lips are reunited. Jonatho’s fingers are cool as they glide across Zakary’s exposed ribs and chest. The soft, near-tickling sensation casts chills of excitement down his body, all the way to his toes.

Jonatho releases Zakary’s lips, then kisses a path down his cheek and to his chest, where his tongue catches a nipple. Zakary sighs as Jonatho licks it, feeling surges of pleasure every time his tongue moves. Exposed as he is, both of his nipples are subjected to the near tortuous treatment of Jonatho’s talented tongue and lips. Pressure builds in his pants as their hips grind together by reflex. It’s clear that what is happening between them is raw and unapologetic—and has long since reached a point of no return. Zakary is quite sure nothing can stop the fire they’ve just started.

Until he looks up and meets the cat’s eyes across the room.

Tiger is staring back, alarmed.

“Uh …”

Jonatho’s tongue keeps up the pace of teasing Zakary’s nipples. “Hmm?”

“Should we …?” murmurs Zakary, eyes still locked with the wary feline’s.

“Should we what?” asks Jonatho, out of breath. Then he stops playing with Zakary’s nipples long enough to twist around and get a look himself. He eyes the cat up on the table, then the short hallway leading to a bedroom, then back at him. “Relocate?”

Zakary bites his lip. The question is one that a less “red” Zakary would have shied away from, mumbling some lame excuse about opening night tomorrow and responsibilities and blah, blah, blah. But the new Zakary—Red by name—he is hungry for whatever is about to come next between them. His world is bursting at the seams with possibilities.