Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.*
There was fire in his eyes, a banked fury wanting a target to lash out at and only finding pool balls. It had intrigued him enough to invite the boy home, and though he'd hoped for something blazingly hot, he hadn't been expecting it to be the fireball through his hotel room wall.
Flame tattoos and flames that danced up and down his wrists and Devin couldn't take his eyes off of them. Warren would light up when brooding, and all Devin wanted to do was touch. He kept dancing closer and closer to the fire. Just passion. Just want. Only when it started to feel like need did he realize the danger of getting burned.
Fury and tears and quiet confessions of fears in the night. Too much whiskey, too much emotional release and too many misunderstandings. It scared him, how intense it was burning, like nothing he'd ever felt. His own fire, flowing around him, bright and beautiful and meant to seduce, and when Warren didn't react it lacerated something deep inside. When the fireball singed his side it seemed prophetic.
The world was on fire and he knew he was burning, but all he wanted was to curl up in the warmth and float away before the flames caught hold of his clothes. But then Warren was there, and for once put the fire out after the heat of anger cooled into something more tender, something safe.
The flames seemed to simmer when lips brushed lips for the first time. Forbidden in some ways, and yet Devin felt the rightness of it flowing through him. Heat and touch and lips and fingers and all he wanted was to lose himself in it forever and not let go. But he pulled back before the embers caught fully, something he'd never done when the heat raged so high and out of control. He wanted it to be perfect.
When it happened it stunned him more than anything else. So unsure, and tentative in many ways, both of them. The fire was allowed to flare, but it slid into a controlled burn with regular release. Contained into something softer it seemed. Gentler. The flicker in a fireplace or the light of candles scattered around a room. It gave everything a warm glow that he'd never experienced before. He wanted to hold on to it, cherish it, nurture it and keep it safe from anything that might douse it.
But there was also a part of him that wanted to feed it until it burned out of control again, and that part didn't care if it consumed them both.
The flames are now licking my body
Please won't you help me
I feel like I'm slipping away
It's hard to breathe
And my chest is a-heaving
I'm burning a hole where I lay
Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir
You light my morning sky
With burning love**
*"Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost
**"Burning Love" by Elvis