Boyishly skinny yet tanned legs, bare beneath his own trousers, the fragile ribcage and bones pressed to his own chest, the twinkling in his eyes, the hot breath on his face, and the lingering of cigarette smoke, like a seductive, hazy shield to hide behind as they rolled around in the hay. All of this was too much. Far too much… Georges was afraid. Afraid of the rushing, pounding hot blood in his veins, the sharp, nagging longing in his head, and the way his lips ached to catch the younger boy’s own in his grip and never let go, tantalisingly soft yet hard and desperate. Corruption. He was scared of corruption… The feeling consumed him.
That was, until their legs entangled and fingers intertwined, Georges’ mind dulled to the point of forgetting all his worries. The feeling of the younger boy beneath him, squirming and wriggling beneath the trap of his own body, and yet loving every second of being held captive, was too much. As for the look in Alexandre’s eyes, the mild fear paired with delicious curiosity and unabashed love, was enough to make Georges melt. His heart filled with warm, fluttering love, that spread to his stomach and lower abdomen. The love in his heart, and something unfamiliar, previously unexplored, filled him completely, to the point that he wanted to burst into tears of joy and exhilaration.
“Georges, do you know the things one should not know?” he drowsily recalled Alexandre asking, the child’s face impassive, yet hiding a layer of emotion close to the surface that was bubbling with concern. “Are you interested in them?” The answer at the time was, of course, no. His love for Alexandre was pure, a holy bond — chaste and innocent… That was, until they laid together in the hay, smoking cigarettes. His lips nearly met Alexandre’s, but just before they could touch, the door opened a crack and they were discovered, shamed.