Deniz laughed the first time he kissed someone. He couldn't help it—it was such an absurd thing, really, locking your mouth onto someone else's like that, lips fitting together but not quite. And then, when her tongue wriggled through like one of the worms they'd dissected in biology class, he couldn't keep his laughter from bubbling up. The girl—Janelle? Janette? He can't remember her name, only her round blue eyes and the bright pink bow atop her head that made her look like a birthday present—had not been amused. Far from it. She'd abruptly pushed him away and accused him of mocking her, then fled to her friends who'd glared at him for the rest of the night.
From then on, Deniz knew that kissing was Serious Business. You might enjoy it, it might even make you smile after, but while you were kissing you kept any inklings of humour under control. Which was fine, really, since it meant you could concentrate on when to sneak a breath so you didn't end up gasping like a fish out of water. Or where you could safely put your hands and places where you'd be pushed away. And that was the most confusing thing of all, because kissing felt far more intimate to him than any of his clumsy fumblings with the few girls who'd let him explore inside their knickers. But gradually he learned the rules for all these things, and he gave himself a pat on the back for figuring out this whole mysterious process.
Roman, as ever, ignores these rules. He's always laughing, always talking, and he doesn't stop even when Deniz fills his mouth with kisses. His words still come out, still nearly distinguishable even as they're being swallowed on Deniz's tongue; his laughter, irrepressible and infectious, still vibrates against Deniz's lips. And if he knows of any boundaries that he's not allowed to cross, he doesn't pay them any heed. It all seems to come so naturally to him, these kisses, these touches; there's no deliberation about where to put his hands, no fear that he might be pushed away. Roman crawls over Deniz, his body compact and strong, insinuating himself wherever he pleases. He kisses Deniz like he needs to devour him, all of him, right here, right now. Like there's nothing more urgent, no business more serious, in all the world.
Deniz had thought he liked kissing before, but now he realises he didn't even know what it was.
Roman is there when he steps out of the shower. "Lock the door?" Deniz asks, wrapping his towel around his waist with a modesty he can't shake, even though he knows he shouldn't bother anymore.
"Rule number one," Roman answers with a grin. He's been in the weight room and his skin is still flushed; the sheen of sweat makes his chest shimmer in the changing room's fluorescent light. He sheds his shirt with that ease that Deniz can't help but covet, that complete comfort with his body that reveals a lifetime of performance, on and off the ice. Deniz stares, transfixed as always, at the peaked nipples that emerge. Like those jellied candies he gets at the movies, cherry sweet. He imagines how they'll feel sliding against his teeth, their texture first yielding, then firm, and heat immediately starts rising between his legs.
Roman sees, smiles his knowing smile. He moves forward with intent, like he always does, making Deniz feel like prey. "You don't need that, do you?" he says. His fingers curl around Deniz's hipbone, his touch possessive. A finger slips under the towel, just the merest tug, and Deniz lets go. He needs both of his hands to crawl into Roman's hair; they know exactly where to go without him having to think about it. They know to bring Roman closer, where their lips fit together perfectly.
He tastes of salt and sweat, of that cinnamon gum he chews. His words have flavours too, short and peppery, long and drawn out like cream. And underlying it all is the taste of some indescribably addictive substance. Deniz thinks if they kiss enough he'll be able to figure out what it is, and then maybe he won't need it as much. And he can't explain why, but that thought fills him with a panic that threatens to paralyse him, and he chases it away by kissing Roman deeper, tilting his head back at a dangerous angle, trying to crawl inside him.
Roman responds, his lips constantly moving; it's only the absence of sound that separates kisses from talking. "Hey," he says, and "hey" again, laughing this time, when Deniz's enthusiasm doesn't wane. "If I'd known you'd be like this, I'd have cut training short, no matter what Mike had to say about it." His hands on Deniz's chest push a distance between them, slight, just enough to breathe, just enough for him to trace contours on Deniz's stomach that he didn't know he had. Water still clings to his skin, droplets bulging in the wake of Roman's fingers, sluggishly sliding to the tiles below.
Roman follows their trail down, his mouth roaming over Deniz's shoulders, still speaking into his skin. "You taste so good", he kisses into his collarbone; "do you like that?" he nibbles around his nipples. His nonsensical endearments sink down into Deniz's bones and send involuntary shudders shooting through his limbs. He's fucking trembling and Roman is smiling against his stomach and his hands haven't even dropped below Deniz's waist yet. This isn't anything like any kissing he's known before.
Deniz breathes deep, and in the time it takes him to exhale, Roman's slid to the floor. Eye to eye with Deniz's cock, he appraises it with a hungry look. And as much as Deniz wants this, he can't help but cringe at the thought of the hard tile on Roman's knees and the scant cushion of his sweatpants. "Are you-" he starts, then "do you want-"
"What I want," Roman says, looking up with a mischievous leer that Deniz hasn't seen before, "is for you to turn around."
"Oh yes," Deniz thinks. This is what he loves, the very thing that he'd feared for so long. He rolls against the lockers like he's rolling in Roman's bed, his arms pillowing his head, his legs spreading wide. This is what he loves, when his body is stretched to its limits, past its limits, when he can take everything that Roman has to give him. His eyes flutter closed as he feels Roman's hands, palms parallel, cupping the cheeks of his arse. They press outwards and that first stretch comes, that first invitation to open himself. Tense with anticipation, Deniz wills himself to relax for the welcome intrusion of Roman's fingers.
What comes instead is something slippery skating over his hole. An incredible sensation, to be sure, but so unexpected that he startles and jumps. "What-" He'd turn around save for Roman's fingers griping his hips, holding him in place. He cranes his neck instead, looking awkwardly down at the man on his knees.
"Surely that didn't hurt?"
"No, I ..." No, honestly, it's as far from hurting as is possible to be. "It surprised me, is all," he confesses.
Roman smiles up at him. "You'll like this," he promises, eyes twinkling. "Trust me."
Eyes still fixed on Deniz, his tongue slides out and teases a long, slow lick up the crease of Deniz's cheeks. And once again, there's that incredible sensation of something slippery and alive caressing his sensitive skin. And Deniz wants to enjoy it, but he's thinking too much, and his protests won't let him. This is too dirty, too shameful, too personal, too...
"Trust me." Roman's voice echoes through Deniz's head, its calm presence muffling his fading objections. Isn't that what he's been doing all along? Every bit of this is new to him, everything they've done together. He never imagined that he'd ever do half of it, and he's never trusted another person even a fraction as much as he trusts Roman.
Roman, who at this moment is lapping at his arse just like he eats ice cream, his tongue flattened and licking broad stripes with eagerness and intent. And like ice cream, Deniz feels himself melting. The once-solid strength in his legs wilts to wobbly knees at Roman's touch, making him grateful for the support of the lockers, cold as they are against his chest. He shudders, more at the intimacy of what they're doing than at the chill; Roman, of course, laughs. The sound is dulled, buried deep between his legs, but its tremors race inside Deniz's flesh. They relax him further, like Roman's laughing kisses always do, a reminder that this is less about Serious Business and more about simple joy.
That simple joy expands as vibrations roll through him, this time not from laughing but from the bolder swathes of Roman's tongue. He licks Deniz everywhere, wet lashes that wash over his skin, up the mounds of his cheeks and down to his balls before journeying back to his anus, back to where Deniz aches for more of that tantalizing touch, the one that's rapidly reducing him to a quivering mess. "Fuck!" Deniz didn't mean for his groan to come out, and he certainly didn't mean for it to sound so desperate, but his body's not really under his control any more; he's completely at Roman's mercy, and when Roman places a slurping wet kiss on his hole, Deniz knows he's never been more glad of that.
For ages Roman paints these broad strokes, and soon Deniz's embarrassment is worn down with pure lust. But gradually these sloppy lashes of his tongue give way to finer, deliberately pointed licks in Deniz's tiny hole. With each one, Deniz feels himself spreading wider, not stretched with the careful thrusts of blunt fingers but peeled back with a velvet touch. Its tip presses into him, then further, its tiny advances tickling his sensitive nerves and making him whimper shamelessly. Roman is slow, taking forever with this torturous foreplay, until Deniz is begging and he's not even sure for what exactly, just more: more of Roman's steaming breaths over his hole, more of his probing tongue, more of his wet kisses...
When Roman's tongue presses inside, all the way inside, as far as it will go, Deniz bellows, unrestrained, loud enough to be heard outside in the gym, but he couldn't care less. Roman's doing nothing less but fucking him with his tongue, and Deniz knows no other way to react but to ride him like he rides Roman's cock. Wantonly he writhes, needing to feel him deeper, needing that fullness that comes when Roman is buried deep within him. In frustration he reaches around to palm his erection, so full that he thinks it just might burst open, spilling over his hand like an overripe fig. It's only as he begins to stroke, trying to match Roman's rhythm, that he realises Roman's set an impossibly steady pace. How can he possess so much control when seismic shocks are rocking through Deniz's body?
Roman's façade of control is undermined, though, by the huskiness in his voice. "Deniz," he says, and why did Deniz ever imagine he had any control at all when that one word betrays a desperation that is every bit as great as his own, "wait... I want to..." His heated exhalation inflames Deniz's sensitive nerves, sends another round of shockwaves coursing through him. "I want you."
Yes. Deniz can't do much more than nod as he's pried away from the lockers, guided down to one of the rubber training mats on the floor. He wants to kiss Roman so badly, partly out of gratitude and partly from a morbid curiosity about what he might taste on his tongue, but stops himself; the thought is too disturbing right now. Instead he braces on his hands and knees and waits as Roman rips open the condom packet. No need for lube, he thinks; he's sopping wet, still dripping with Roman's saliva, and he's sure he's never been this loose.
Roman must notice the same thing; he kneels between Deniz's legs and pushes one thumb inside him, pumps it in and out several times until Deniz moans. "That's it, schatz," he says, and Deniz can hear his lips curling up, "I want to hear you. Tell me what you want."
"I want you," Deniz blurts out, and then regretting how needy that makes him sound, adds, "inside me, Roman, please..."
"I can do that," Roman smiles. His hand grips Deniz's shoulder, strong and reassuring even as it manoeuvres him back, as he's fitted onto Roman's cock as perfectly as if his body was made for it. Not an intrusion like the first time they did this, and not the twinges of discomfort that he's since ignored, knowing that the coming pleasure would outweigh them. But he's never been penetrated like this before, like Roman just belongs here. Like he could happily go through his entire life just like this, with Roman buried inside him. He tells him that, not that he ever has the words to say things like that, but he tells him in a loud, feral moan just how incredible this is.
"You like that, yes?" Deniz feels the question kissed into his neck, mingled in with other queries he can't make out. They crawl across his skin just like Roman does, weighing him down, like they're desperate, Roman and his endless kisses, to get on top of him, to get into him, to do it right now. And Deniz moans his reply right back, answers Roman's quick thrusts with his own force, conversing with his body more clearly than he ever could in words.
They move as gracefully as any of Roman's routines, as forcefully as one of Deniz's power plays, skating tighter and tighter circles, their end drawing ever closer. "This," Deniz thinks, "this is what we do best together." And no sooner does he think that than Roman slides an arm around his waist and encircles his cock with his fingers, and their best gets even better, and Deniz gives up on thinking altogether. He tries to resist his building climax, wishing to feel Roman's first—his body going rigid, his last erratic pumps, his unintelligible cries—but there's no chance of that. Deniz's body has been on edge for god knows how long now, and it only takes Roman's teeth sinking into the side of his neck to send him toppling.
Roman follows him shortly after, with Deniz's name becoming a long keening hiss through his last frantic thrusts. He collapses on the last syllable, landing on Deniz with his full dead weight, crushing him down into the mat. Limbs splayed and buried under Roman, Deniz lies there languidly for long minutes, comfortable and reluctant to move the body blanketing him. For once it's quiet, breathing heavily but otherwise content, and Deniz doesn't want to disturb that.
When his arm starts tingling, though, Deniz thinks it might be time to unwrap himself. He manages to slip out from under Roman, their still sweaty skin easing his way. "Now I'll need another shower," he says accusingly, and nips at Roman's lips before he's able to retort. It almost works to shush him, inasmuch as the sounds he's making aren't quite distinguishable as words yet, and Deniz deepens the kiss. Roman can't object with his mouth full, with his tongue kept busy-
Deniz retreats in horror, unbalancing Roman, who has to throw out a hand to catch himself. He grips Deniz's elbow, his face brimming with questions ready to flood over him. Deniz wishes he wouldn't have to explain himself, how he can't comprehend how Roman could ever do such a thing ... that the very thought of kissing him now makes him want to wash out his mouth, even while admitting that what just happened to him was without a doubt one of the most sublime things he's ever felt ... that it broached a level of intimacy that he's never shared—that he never imagined he would share—with another person. He wants to slink away until his thoughts can fall back into order and start to make sense again.
But of course with Roman there are never any rules, and there is never a reprieve. "Deniz, what is it?" He sounds so anxious that Deniz feels a pang of guilt.
"That ... what you did there..."
"Yeah?" Roman eyes widen slightly, and Deniz notices his cautious smile aching to break through. "What is it? Didn't you like it?"
"Yeah, but..." An eyebrow arches, and Deniz finds it impossible to lie. "Yeah, I really did." And why was he the one blushing, when Roman, who'd been doing that, looked positively guileless?
Roman waits for an answer that Deniz knows he can't escape, although he'd be sorely tempted to try if his thigh wasn't still trapped underneath Roman's hip. "But isn't it..."—he sighs and blurts it out, just to get it over with—"isn't it, you know, dirty?"
"You'd just showered, you were perfectly clean," Roman answers, adding with a grin, "I could even taste the soap." And for some reason that detail, so personal, makes Deniz even more embarrassed. But Roman notices his flushed cheeks, and his eyes soften. He brushes his fingers along Deniz's jaw, with his simple caress demanding full attention, with his widening smile setting Deniz at ease. "It's just like kissing, you know, only I know no one's ever kissed you there before."
Deniz has learned a lot about the serious business of kissing in his day. He's learned how to breathe and he's learned to let his hands wander where they want. He's learned that kisses taste sweeter if they're layered in laughter and peppered with words. He's learned that it's good when you ignore the rules, and even better when you make up your own.
They do that now, he and Roman, wiping any thoughts of what's proper out of Deniz's head. At first their kisses are tentative and curious, Deniz shrinking from the musky taste he's sure will still cling Roman's tongue; they deepen as he detects nothing there, nothing but the usual flavours of cinnamon and Roman's amusement. Soon Roman is kissing him like they haven't both just exhausted themselves, and Deniz returns them like he's ready to be exhausted again. As their bodies wind together again, less urgent than before but no less determined to crawl into each other's skin, Deniz realises that he's just learned something new about this serious business: when someone kisses you for the first time where you've never been kissed before, it's something you'll never, ever forget.