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The dormitory where all the young men shared was calm, a rarity that only occurred when most students fled to their parents' homes to spend time with them and eat homemade food. The dormitory was lit by the lamp that was on the table.
Tanrak was leaning against the headboard of his bed, wearing worn—out shorts and a gray t—shirt. He had a relaxed expression, with a soft smile that he rarely showed when people were around. Barth was sitting between Tanrak’s legs, with his back resting comfortably against his chest; he was wearing cotton pants and a black t—shirt.
“It’s just that I really like his way of expressing himself.” Tanrak murmured.
Tanrak’s hand moved smoothly through Barth’s dark hair, his long fingers caressing his soft scalp. Barth closed his eyes, enjoying the caress and the sound of Tanrak’s voice.
Barth let out a long sigh, allowing his body to sink a little more against Tanrak’s chest while his fingers had found their way to Tanrak’s thighs, brushing against the worn fabric of the shorts.
“«It hurts me a woman in the whole body». It is melancholic.”
Tanrak’s fingers stopped playing with his partner’s hair to rest for a moment on his shoulder, while his other hand continued to stroke tenderly.
A small, lopsided smile appeared on Barth’s face. The melancholy Tanrak spoke of was not foreign to him; for a long time, Tanrak had also hurt him in his whole body, but in a different way: with a longing that burned and seemed prohibited by rules that he did not fully accept.
“Mmm, that sounds familiar to me.” Barth said while his fingers, almost by instinct, searched on Tanrak’s thigh for that small birthmark that had become his private obsession.
He found the mole. His finger traced a small circle around it, feeling the firmness of the muscle underneath.
“It sound familiar to you?” Tanrak asked, in a playful tone.
“It is a very intense feeling; Borges describes it as if love were a physical wound; and with you, sometimes, I feel like I can’t even breathe if I don’t see you.”
Barth pressed the pad of his index finger against the small mole, tracing a tiny circle, feeling Tanrak’s muscle tense slightly under his touch. It was a private secret, a silent language that only the two of them spoke.
Tanrak sighed, bringing his face closer to rest his chin on top of Barth’s head.
“How romantic are you.”
“It is the truth, Rak.” Barth whispered.
Tanrak moved his legs slightly, forcing Barth to get more comfortable, letting the fabric of the shorts slip just a little higher. The mole was left completely exposed.
“Do you like it that much?” Tanrak asked. “It’s just a dot on my skin, Barth.”
Barth turned slightly, forcing Tanrak to move his chin from the top of his head, and leaned in enough so that his face was inches from Tanrak’s face.
“It’s cute.” he simply said.
Tanrak, with his cheeks slightly flushed not only by the closeness but by the intensity in Barth’s dark eyes, let out a nervous and almost inaudible laugh.
“You are crazy, Barth.”
Barth laughed softly. He closed the minimal distance that separated them; it was a slow movement; Barth tilted his head and placed his lips on Tanrak’s. There was no rush, nor the desperate urgency that sometimes consumed them when the fear of being discovered invaded them; it was a kiss filled with a tenderness so deep that it made Tanrak’s chest tighten with an overwhelming love.
When Barth pulled away just a few millimeters after the kiss, his gaze inevitably went down toward Tanrak’s thigh.
“I can’t help it, everything about you is cute.”
Slowly, Barth slid downward. One of his hands pulled the shorts higher while the other kept Tanrak’s legs open; as his face descended, Tanrak held his breath, his fingers tangling tightly in the sheets when he felt the tip of Barth’s nose brush against the edge of his shorts. With a softness, he brought his lips to the thigh, right over the mole, and left a slow, prolonged, and warm kiss; Tanrak let out a muffled gasp, an involuntary sound that was lost against the silence of the dormitory.
Tanrak threw his head back, closing his eyes. The contrast between the coldness of the dogmas he had been taught and the heat of Barth’s lips was overwhelming.
Barth did not stop at the kiss; he slid the tip of his tongue over the small mole, tracing its contour with tortuous slowness. The wet and warm contact on that area made Tanrak tense under him, a shudder running through his body, and he let out a soft moan.
“Barth...” the name came from Tanrak’s lips like a prayer, but this time it was not directed at the sky, but to the boy who adored him.
“Shh.” Barth murmured against his skin.
Barth’s tongue continued its exploration, moving slightly up the inner thigh, where the skin was even softer. The taste of Tanrak, a subtle trace of soap and the natural heat of his body, was intoxicating.
Barth loved the softness of his lover’s thighs; he opened his mouth and bit softly into the flesh right next to the mole. Tanrak arched his back slightly, feeling the heat rise through his belly.
Barth sucked on the skin for a moment before letting it go, leaving a small pink mark that would disappear in a few hours, an ephemeral secret shared only between them. He ran his tongue over the area again, calming the slight burning, and then moved up a little more, depositing a row of wet and warm kisses along the thigh.
“You are going to drive me crazy...” Tanrak whispered, his voice cracking.
Barth sat up slowly, his dark eyes shining intensely under the dim light of the lamp.
Barth deposited a soft and prolonged kiss on Tanrak’s lips, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth. His hands, warm and sure, slid under the t—shirt toward Tanrak’s waist, caressing the skin. With slow movements, he began to pull down Tanrak’s shorts.
Tanrak let out a shaky gasp against Barth’s lips, his heart beating hard against his chest. Barth’s kisses moved down his neck to his collarbone. Each brush of Barth’s fingers on his skin sent waves of pleasure that made him shudder.
When the shorts along with his underwear were completely off, Barth paused for a moment to admire Tanrak’s body, illuminated by the lamp’s light. His eyes traveled over every centimeter of his skin, stopping at the small mole that had become his private obsession. A sigh escaped from Barth’s lips, a sound full of adoration and desire. He leaned forward and deposited a soft kiss on the mole, feeling the firmness of Tanrak’s muscle beneath his lips.
Tanrak closed his eyes, enjoying the caress and the warmth of Barth’s body against his.
Barth wrapped his hands around his partner’s thighs; his fingers sank into the soft skin, feeling the firmness and the heat under his grip. Affectionately, he pulled Tanrak toward him, drawing him to the center of the bed, forcing him to stretch out and open himself completely to his sight.
Tanrak, with his breath hitching and his chest rising and falling with a speed that betrayed his agitation, let himself be guided. His hips rose slightly, adjusting as his hands squeezed the sheets tightly.
Barth moved away just a few centimeters to contemplate the view. His eyes, dark and shining, fixed on Tanrak’s entrance, which shone under the dim light of the lamp; it was the evidence of his desire, causing Barth to shudder.
“You are beautiful...” Barth whispered, his voice hoarse, almost a growl muffled by desire.
Tanrak, with a flushed face and messy hair on the pillow, let out a sharp whimper upon feeling Barth’s gaze. His legs trembled slightly, but he kept them open, exposing himself shamelessly, handing control over to his lover.
Barth didn’t wait any longer. He tilted his head, letting his nose follow the path from the thigh to Tanrak’s most intimate part. When his lips finally made contact with the wet entrance, Tanrak arched his back, his head falling backward while a long, agonizing moan filled the silent dormitory.
“Barth, please...” Tanrak begged, his hands rising and his fingers clinging to Barth’s hair.
Barth let out a low laugh, a vibrant sound against Tanrak’s skin, before starting to lick. Each lick was designed to make Tanrak forget any trace of guilt, any fear of judgment.
Barth moved his hands up, caressing the inner thighs of Tanrak with his thumbs, pressing firmly, enjoying how his partner melted under his touch.
For Barth, Tanrak was like a saint, and he, someone who would inevitably make a pilgrimage on his knees.
“Nngh... Barth...”
Barth’s tongue moved up, licking Tanrak’s penis from the base to the wet tip. Barth inserted a finger slowly, moistened by his own tongue and Tanrak’s wetness, stretching his lover slowly. Tanrak’s body reacted instantly, his hips sought the contact, claiming more. Barth added a second finger, moving them in a rhythm that made Tanrak let out broken sobs.
“Barth... mmm, I...” Tanrak could not finish the sentence. The feeling of fullness and the constant rubbing against his prostate were leaving him breathless.
Barth, with the patience of someone who adores a relic, continued the movement of his fingers, expanding that feeling of fullness that made Tanrak feel so good. The pleasure was not only physical; for Tanrak, it was a spiritual liberation. Each thrust of Barth’s fingers and each lick on his penis burned a fragment of the guilt he carried on his shoulders.
Barth stopped for a second, only to shed his own pants with erratic movements, driven by an urgency he could no longer contain. When he repositioned himself between Tanrak’s legs, the contact of their bare thighs against the sensitive skin of each other’s inner thighs made both let out a sigh in unison.
Barth squeezed the flesh of Tanrak’s thighs that obsessed him so much with firmness; his thumb pressed right on the mole, as if he needed to touch it so as not to lose his senses, and then moved his hands to his lover’s hips. He positioned his penis at the entrance, rubbing softly, asking for permission without words, even though it was not the first time they had had relations, Barth always sought his partner’s consent. Tanrak, with his heart pumping hard, wrapped his legs around Barth’s waist, urging him to end the distance.
“Do it, I am yours.”
Barth sank into him with a slowness, allowing their bodies to recognize each other, allowing the heat to melt into both. Tanrak wrapped his arms around Barth’s neck, letting out a moan while he closed his eyes. It was a sweet invasion.
The rhythm began softly, like the poems of Borges that Tanrak admired so much. They were gentle thrusts that rose in intensity; Barth moved with devotion, keeping his eyes fixed on Tanrak’s flushed face, observing how his expression transformed into pure ecstasy.
“Look at me, Rak, please.” Barth asked, his voice breaking with the effort.
Tanrak opened his eyes, clouded by tears of pleasure, and saw in Barth his true heaven. He reached out to find his lips, sealing a messy kiss while Barth’s thrusts became stronger.
Tanrak sank his nails into Barth’s shoulders. The feeling of being filled completely, of being claimed by the boy who had taught him how to love, made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. His legs, still surrounding Barth’s waist, trembled with pleasure.
“Barth... more... please.” Tanrak begged in a thread of voice, arching his pelvis to find a deeper angle.
Barth responded to the plea by increasing the pace; one of his hands grabbed his lover’s thigh, his thumb pressing right on the mole, and opened him more to find another more pleasurable spot.
The pleasure began to accumulate at the base of Tanrak’s belly, an unbearable and wonderful pressure that threatened to overflow. Barth’s thrusting became more erratic, more urgent.
Tanrak focused his gaze on him. In Barth’s dark eyes, he did not see sin or a condemnation. He saw a truth so pure that it gave him the courage to let go completely.
“I love you...” Tanrak managed to articulate just before the climax hit him.
A moan escaped from his throat, while his body tensed in a prolonged spasm. Seconds later, Barth let out a deep groan, sinking one last time with force before releasing his semen, collapsing onto Tanrak’s chest.
Barth did not move immediately; he stayed there, listening to the strong heartbeats of Tanrak’s heart like his own. Slowly, he slid to one side. Barth moved his hand up and, with tenderness, caressed Tanrak’s warm cheek.
“I love you too.” —Barth said.
Tanrak smiled at him softly.
Barth, still with his chest rising and falling hard, left one last chaste kiss on Tanrak’s forehead before getting up.
“Let’s go.” Barth whispered, extending a hand toward him. “Before someone decides to come back early and finds us like this.”
They headed to the shared showers after putting on their towels. The echo of their bare feet on the cold tile resounded in the empty place, a sensation that at another time would have terrified Tanrak, but that now, with Barth’s hand brushing against his, felt like an adventure.
They entered the shower area. Under the stream of water, they helped each other clean up with tenderness. Barth ran the soap over Tanrak’s back with care, stopping to kiss his wet shoulders, while Tanrak closed his eyes, letting the water take away the remains of sweat and the weight of any remorse that still tried to appear. They were just two boys of eighteen, almost nineteen, years old taking care of each other.
Upon finishing, they dried off quickly, the cold of the hallway forcing them to move with agility. They returned to the dormitory and got dressed.
Tanrak sat on the edge of his bed, then, with a movement, put his hand under his pillow.
“I have a treasure here.” he said with mock seriousness.
He took out three thin books, with spines worn by constant use, and spread them on the quilt for Barth to see.
“Barth, come closer, come closer.”
Barth sat by his side, pressing his shoulder against Tanrak’s, observing the titles with curiosity.
“This one is by Gabriela Mistral.” Tanrak read, touching the first book. “Then I have Julio Cortázar.”
His fingers stopped at the last one, one thinner and more fragile—looking.
“And Idea Vilariño, I like her. Which one do you want to hear tonight?” Tanrak asked. “You choose the path and I will read to you until you fall asleep.”
Tanrak looked up, finding that Barth was observing him with a soft smile.
“Or I can read to you Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, her writings are intense.” Tanrak’s eyebrows rose adorably.
“Sor Juana...” Barth repeated while he lay down on his side, resting his head in his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “I have heard that she was a nun who wrote things that made bishops tremble.”
“Yes, yes, she also defended the indigenous world, the poor, and the right to information and education for women.” Tanrak spoke passionately. “That is what the nun who visited us told me.”
Barth extended his hand and brushed his index finger over the spine of Idea Vilariño’s book. He liked to see Tanrak like this: passionate, with a cheerful voice and glowing eyes.
“Read me that woman, Idea.” Barth whispered, settling in better, stretching his long legs until his feet brushed against Tanrak’s. “If you like her, I am going to like her.”
Tanrak nodded smiling.