who knows what it is to burn

What it is to burn - Finch

The room was dark except for a handful lightened candles that stood on the floor and filled it with a constant flickering between darkness and light. John concentrated only on the flames. They danced along his hands and arms over his whole upper body. He only wore jeans and if something disturbed his concentration he could easily burn himself or maybe not because it had never happened. It was like he had a sixth sense for fire. When he sensed it he automatically took control over it. Maybe he could only burn but not be burnt.

The door opened, John didn't move, he knew it was Bobby. He could feel the coldness that constantly seeped from Bobby like he could feel fire. Bobby could never surprise him with his presence.

Bobby closed the door behind him, his eyes fixed on the flames on John's skin. He stood there for a few heartbeats and suddenly asked:

'What is it like to burn?'

John turned his head to look at him. It was hard to see Bobby because of the flames on the skin of his face but what he saw was astonishing: Bobby's lips were slightly parted, fire seemed to burn in his blue eyes, his face was flushed and he was breathing fast. The only other time John had ever seen Bobby like that was when they had sex.

John gave him a cocky grin but in reality he was at loss. He was usually good with words but there was absolutely nothing he could say to tell Bobby how he felt. Maybe one could only describe how it was to be burnt but John had never been burnt.

How could you describe warmth to someone who was made of ice?

'I can't tell you, just show you.' John finally said: 'But then you would be burnt.'

But Bobby shook his head.

'I can't burn. I can only melt.' He stepped towards John and sat down next to him on the floor. He was aroused, John could feel it, hear it in the unholy lure that Bobby's coldness sang like a snow queen from a fairytale. It took some of his control not to let the fire die and fuck Bobby right here on the floor between the candles.

Bobby stretched his hand out, hovering in the corona of John's flames.

'Melt me Johnny.' Bobby whispered, his voice heavily lace with desire. John nodded. Bobby stripped his shirt off.

Steam rose where his hand touched John's shoulder. The sensation between heat and coldness, between fire and ice enhanced his arousal. Where the flames touched Bobby's skin it transformed into pure ice.

Bobby put his leg over John's and sat on his lap, his one hand was around John's neck, the other trailed over his body with light, cold fingertips. More and more steam rose between them, not only from the places where their bare skin touched but also from John's forehead. He used the majority of his concentration to let the flames dance over Bobby's skin. They trailed over his body, his chest and back and arms. Bobby pressed his eyes shut, he shuddered and spoke John's name in an inhuman breath of need.

For the first time in his life, John came without his cock being touched. With a last coherent thought he shoved Bobby away from him before he lost control. The flames burnt up for a few seconds, bathing the room in bright light and died.

The candles John had lit kept burning but their light seemed to be gloomy in comparison to what had been there only moments ago.

John collapsed on the floor, heavily breathing and sweating like he had just run a hundred miles. The world was a blurring haze of red, orange and black, spinning fast with a cold undertone. He turned his head, else remaining still and looked at Bobby. He grinned blissfully like always after sex, but something else played into that grin: the knowledge that what they had just shared was so intimate that it bonded them more tightly than love or blood could ever do.