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He would suck my tongue while flicking it with his. Then he would suck my upper lip and his lower, saliva mixing as we slurped each other gently. My hands caressed his back as his cock rubbed on my stomach. He was panting and making low grunts as he ground his hips with mine. My hands stroked his thighs and ass. I wanted to taste this delicious boy and he too wanted to suck me. So we turned and immediately started playing with each other. I gently rubbed his balls and he stroked my dick with his thin fingers. I took his turgid cock into my mouth and held it as my tongue washed his slit and head rim with saliva and suction. His thighs widened as he tried to push his sweet round cock inside my warm mouth. I was also fucking his nice lips slowly and deep.Our hands were roaming all over the hips, thighs, neck, back and calves. Our heads were furiously bobbing into each other’s groins as we neared the climax. Our thighs tensed, our breathing became harder and our moans louder, shamelessly. Smoke blots the sky like ink. In the dream, I am unconcerned. I know what happens to the boats on the narrow sea. I know what happens to the people they leave behind. I know what lies behind the fire, and I know that it will never harm me, and so I walk towards it in stately procession, brown hair, impossibly long, flowing behind me like a train, or a flag, or a river, stretching back to the sea. Historically, I fought in the rearguard. The camp burned and everyone died. Except for me. Because I never die. Apparently. At least I haven’t yet. In my dream, I walk away from it all and towards the mountains where I know she’s waiting. The camp gives way and the fires dim and the gravel turns to sand and the sky to white hot sun and I’m half a world away, killing leather-skinned crones over a puddle that doesn’t come up to my knees and somehow I can still smell the sea. This place is a sea, or at least it used to be. I see the empty shells, embedded in the rocks that jut from the sand.
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