Cold Inside

By: Dayse

Soft wet breath on his cheek, breathing, exhaling, chilling him to the bone. A hand, scraping weakly against his shoulder, burning him like a brand, leaving behind a grim, deep impression. Eyes, pleading, begging, scorching his own, falling down, down, down...

Chris' hand fell foreword, his head rested against the cool cradle of his arms, and distantly, so far away, he felt a gust of February air hit him from behind, rushing up his jacket and cooling his heated skin.

It added to the cold. To the frozen. To the deep pit of hate and anger and regret that was swallowing him whole, eating his insides with painful, savage bites. His heart hurt. His head hurt. Just...everything. It hurt.

Chris had heard it. The small, pleading, "no" said again, and again, and again...but it hadn't mattered. It had been like falling, just falling...down, down, down.

Blinking against tears that wouldn't form, swallowing hard against the bile and tightness in his throat, the man gripped the railing as hard as he could, reveling in the feel of cold steel in his hands. He looked out at the dead brown trees of winter, the streets that were grayed with snow and frost. And still it did nothing to match the cold he felt inside. A cold so unreachable, so untouchable he felt as if it would never, ever melt.

Because he had said 'no' and he hadn't stopped. Because he had said 'no' and he hadn't cared.

Sweat, body, skin, soft soft hair and soft soft eyes, all pleading, all looking up at him. A pink mouth curved with pain, a cheek turned against him as he leaned in for a kiss. All he could do was remember, all he could do now was feel. His hands had dug into him so harshly, how could he? It was a question that kept asking itself over and over in his head. How could he? How could he? How could he?

Down, down, down.

It had started off like most nights. A soft, light touch of hands. A soft, lingering look. So gentle, so nice. A backward tumble onto the bed, a nice, deep kiss that was all lips and tongue and sweetness. Clothes had fallen away, hands had wandered, and soft whimpering sounds of pleasure had risen and filled the room, surrounding them.

Oh God, yes, please...yes...

He had looked beautiful, lying there. Where had it gone wrong?

Such passion, such emotion. It had been hard to hold out as long as he had. Soft whispers in his ear, saying his name again and again...

"Chris, yes..."

Moans and cries. "Oh, oh, oh..."

And then something had changed. And he had said "no", but he couldn't stop.

The word had reverberated almost unnoticed between them, floating in the air and announcing its presence like a small, tentative shadow peeking through the fleeting trail of dawn. A dark, lengthy thing that was casting it blackness and casting its cold and fuck. Oh God. Oh fuck. Why hadn't he STOPPED? Why hadn't he...

He pressed his fists into his eyes, a shudder of misery and guilt wracked his body and another cold burst of wind rushed down the hollow of his neck where his jacket didn't reach but it was unfelt, unnoticed. He felt himself leaning foreword, leaning over, forgetting where he was, forgetting the plunge of forever that was right below him. Thirty stories up and nowhere to go but down, down, down.

Hate was tearing into him like steel claws. The guilt was a dark, laughing, angry thing that poked him with its knives, mocking and grinning and just screaming at him with its darkness.

Hands had gripped at his shoulders, legs had gone limp and boneless by his hips as the lasts of the protests, the last of the 'no's had faded away to nothing but soft, painful whimpers of protest and betrayal. 'Why? Chris, why?' And he STILL hadn't been able to stop, still hadn't been able to do anything but thrust and fuck and get lost in the warmth and the sex and Joey. Just Joey.

His lips burned with the kiss. The kiss delivered to bury and muffle the sounds Joey had made. No love, no affection just SHUT UP and let me...Let me...

"No. No Chris - stop..."

But his thrusts had just come faster, harder. He couldn't stop, didn't WANT to stop. His own words echoed in his ears. "Joey, please...oh, you feel so good, just a little bit longer...please, just a little bit..."

Down. Chris heard the balcony door slide open behind him, heard it close shut again. He went limp, closed his eyes.

"What..." The word stopped, there had been a shudder in it, one of fear and uncertainty. A throat cleared and Joey spoke again. "What are you doing out here?"

Please. PLEASE. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, I - "Go back inside, Joe. It's cold."

A long falling silence. The wind howled, the cold touched them with fingernails. Joey cleared his throat. "Come back inside with me."

"I - I can't." Dirty. He felt dirty all over. Dirty with what he had done, dirty with shame. Hands touched his waist, arms circled around him and pulled him into a hug.

"We all lose control...sometimes. I can forgive you."

His heart dropped and he felt everything else drop with it. Chris closed his eyes, leaned back into the embrace and tried not to let the warmth have him. He didn't deserve it. "*I* can't forgive me."

A soft, gentle kiss against his throat, but Chris felt the uncertainty, the hurt. "We can work on that."

They moved back inside, shutting the cold out behind them.

The End

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