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“Cal.”
Cal was staring a hole through the grungy mirror in Andre’s bathroom, directly into his own eyes. Glancing over, he catches the gaze of Andre’s warm eyes before quickly looking down at his hands pressed down on the cabinet.
Cal had always talked about how much he reveled in staring at himself, counting all his freckles, tracing the soft features of his face with his eyes. It was Andre who made the suggestion to do this in front of the mirror, allowing Cal to see all the little expressions he made during sex; the ones Andre loved and chased after with every intimate moment they had. While Cal may not have realized it, Andre noticed the “slutty” act Cal always put on, whether it was intentional or not.
To Andre, it was fucking hot. He wanted Cal to see it too.
So, there they were, Cal leaning over the sink, Andre standing behind him. Now that it was actually happening, Cal felt sort of awkward, as if Andre could see every little thing about him through this mirror, his flesh, his bones, the veins running along every inch of his body. The thoughts he kept hidden deep in his rotten, demented brain that he told no one of. No one except Andre.
“Cal,” Andre repeats, a tone Cal would’ve liked to deem as gentle reassurance glazing over his name.
He looks up again through the mirror at Andre, who pushes slightly into Cal’s backside.
Cal hums, letting go of the reluctance as he says, “I’m ready.”
The blond shifts his weight, putting it all on one hand and using the other to reach for the fly of his jeans. Andre stops him, however, lighting gripping his wrist and unzipping his jeans for him and pulling them down. Cal watches, admiring Andre’s hands as they reach for his own jeans next.
“You’re so pretty, Cal.” Andre mutters low, close to Cal’s ear. It sends shivers down his spine, like the hum of his guitar vibrating against his fingertips. He lets out a quiet sound as Andre pushes up the bottom of his shirt, running his hands up Cal’s torso and back down. The blond stares, observing every little movement Andre makes through the mirror. It was like he was looking through a different person, not himself. He felt detached but oh so grounded.
Andre traces the curve of his waist, lightly pressing into his hip bones, then his ribs, the bumps of fair scars, grazing up his torso, cossetting every little place on his front, practically creating a mental map of it as if he hasn’t caressed every part of Cal a million times before. The touch is comforting and warm, putting his mind to rest, relaxing into his hands.
Eventually, Andre lets his hands drop completely, out from under Cal’s shirt, pulling it off and then reaching for the waistband of his boxers. Cal can see every little bone poking his skin from the mirror, his hip bones most prominent. He drags his eyes back up to Andre’s face, who hooks his fingers in his boxers and pulls them down. Just as if he could sense Cal’s deep gaze boring through him, the brunet looks up and stares right back while pulling off his own boxers. Cal had already had a hard-on before they’d even undressed, but Andre’s stare, eyes glazed over with lust, had made it even more noticeable.
“Andre, please…” Cal mutters under his breath, making a soft, almost inaudible whimper as Andre spits on his fingers, then stuffs a finger in him, going slow, but not as rough as usual. It feels good; although, he’d rather have it rough. As if Andre could hear his thoughts, he quickens his pace, adding another finger. He lets them curl inside, Cal keening loudly.
Andre leans over to kiss him, adding a final finger and speeds up more, Cal’s open-mouthed whines vibrating in the brunet’s throat. He breaks apart, letting Cal squirm a bit more.
“You’re so fucking hot, Cal,” Andre says before adding, “I can’t believe I have you all to myself.”
“Christ, Andre…” Cal scoffs.
Cal grips the countertop, hands turning paler in color, white like fresh snow on a zero degree day. Andre leans forward again, this time closing any space that was still vacant of their combined body heat, mumbling a quick, “You ready?” and pulling his fingers out before waiting for a reply.
Cal can only nod. The sudden emptiness feels out of place.
Andre grips Cal’s hips, pulling them toward his own. He slides his way in, one deep thrust in and out almost the whole way, with Cal letting out a moan and closing his eyes, placing his forehead on the countertop. It doesn’t last long, as Andre grips a fistful of the golden blond and lightly tugs.
“Look at yourself…” Andre says, and Cal obliges; he always does. The tone borders on demanding, but not quite, and that specific enunciation makes Cal want Andre more, to too great a degree. Andre’s looking right at Cal in the mirror, and Cal himself finally sees how he looks—all those expressions Andre always talks about, the ones he feigns for.
Cal’s face is tinged pink, blending his freckles together. There’s sweat collecting on his temples, dripping down like the calm rainfall on a car window. His mouth is slightly agape, little noises falling out now and then. He stares wide-eyed, Andre looking right back. It’s hard to detail most of it, the back and forth motion is too fast to really get a good look.
Even then, Cal feels like the mirror is capturing every little factor of himself that even he wasn’t able to see.
He returns back out of his trance after a particular thrust makes him let out a sound he nor Andre knew he could even make. The mirror captures that, too. The furrow of his brows when he whines, the lust coating his eyes— even Andre’s own expression is caught. His own brow furrowing, the pink tint of his own face growing strikingly more obvious. Cal focuses next on all the little moles and freckles drawn over the vast canvas of Andre’s body, specifically watching the one above his lip shift with his mouth, every time he makes a small whimper.
It feels as if he’s watching a painting of himself and his lover being created, the artist having the ability to dig deep into their minds and souls like no other can. Each paint stroke telling their story, the unhinged thoughts spiraling into passionate desire. Each thrust throwing the two deeper into the mind of purely sex-crazed teenagers.
Cal’s groans and whines grow more rushed, along with Andre’s heavy panting and mewls. The obscene sounds fill the small space of the bathroom.
Cal’s well aware Andre is glancing at him, so he puts on that show the brunet loves so much. He arches his back a little, allowing him to rest his chin on his now crossed arms and he rolls his eyes back.
Andre savors these moments when Cal gets all lewd like that. It almost sends him off the edge. Yet, it doesn’t, not until Cal grinds back against him.
Andre groans noisily, can only utter a quick “Oh, fuck Cal,” before he comes.
He’d consider it one of the best climaxes he’s had in a while, almost contemplating collapsing right there, but Cal’s little mewls keep him going until he comes too. Cal shakes, slumping against the counter as Andre pulls out.
“Holy shit,” Cal mutters, slowly getting up to clean himself off and pull his boxers back on. Andre reaches to do the same, pulling Cal into a deep kiss along with it. The tenderness of it is intoxicating, especially compared to the roughness of before. The whole thing was exhilarating, really, but the lightness was more unknown to them. Not that it never happened, but it was uncommon, and Cal cherished those moments just as much as the others, if not more. They break apart slowly, like it’ll be their last moment together.
Cal stops Andre from dressing with a “Wait a minute.”
Then, he drops to his knees, pressing little kisses to Andre’s inner thighs. Cal looks up at him through his fair-colored lashes, asking “Is this okay?” with his eyes, but also knowing all too well Andre will allow it no matter what.
Andre grasps Cal’s blond hair, patiently waiting for Cal to take him in his mouth. When Cal finally does, Andre drops his head back against the wall.
“Cal.”
Sometimes, Cal can manage to get Andre to say his name painfully intimate, painfully vulgar in the same sense. It sounds beautiful, heavenly even, upon his tongue. He can’t necessarily tell if he takes great pleasure in it because it makes him feel so utterly in control, or if it’s simply because it’s the most sensual word Andre could say, but it’s so attractive that it doesn’t even matter.
Cal pulls off for a moment, instead licking the leaking head. Andre groans loud in response, looking down and watching Cal. It’s an angelic sight, really. A sinfully angelic view, watching Cal take all of him with such devotion. A display of devotion and idolatry that shouldn’t be possible in such a state.
Cal licks a long stripe down to the base, then takes him in his mouth once again. Andre moans, Cal’s blue eyes staring at him from below.
“I’m close,” Andre can barely get out before he comes. He almost buckles, but Cal grips his kiss-covered thighs, grounding him. Cal swallows all of his come, with the brunet watching his Adam's apple bob.
Cal pulls off of him, placing one last kiss to his thigh before standing again. He immediately goes to turn toward the sink, rinsing his mouth out.
Andre rolls his eyes. When the blond turns back around, he pulls Andre into a kiss, a blissful, affectionate kiss. Andre lightly grips Cal’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer, as if he wants Cal’s soul and body intertwined with his own.
When they finally break apart, Andre’s ready to return the favor. But, Cal shakes his head, smiling warmly, and says “It’s sexy seeing you stare down at me trying to keep your composure.”
Andre understands immediately, grinning. He whispers “I love you,” murmuring it in such a hushed tone, like it was their ardent secret.