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He doesn't let go. Not even when Friedrich's breathing has slowed down, not when he's stopped crying – only his erratic breath betrays the strong emotions still whirling through him. He refuses to think about anything else than this moment right now that he's sharing with Friedrich, and a little voice at the back of his head laughs at how pitiful he is, that he got his secret desire fulfilled only when he didn't expect it, only when he's staring almost certain death in the face in less than a week and he knows it.
His breath puffs out over Friedrich's forehead, and he feels the other's heaviness more clearly – he won't be able to lie there for eternity, but he wants to. Friedrich's bulk is comforting, as if he could protect him from the elements, from all unjustificable deeds, from his father.
Brave, dear, trusted Friedrich. Who doesn't know what Albrecht sometimes was thinking about – always stopping these thoughts before they could get too far, could embarrass him or could even lead to further strange and delicious thoughts. He has glimpsed Friedrich naked in the communal showers after the morning sports, the sturdy build, giving off an air of invulnerable strength, and he has admired his friend's manly beauty – but sometimes, late at night, he doesn't know if he still is safely in the area of admiration or if he has crossed over to a more dangerous one. He consciously defies labelling it as desire, even if he knows that this is what it is.
And there he has him in his arms, holding onto him, determined to extract as much as he can from this moment. So his dreams and his whole being will be suffused by it, so he'll have at least something beautiful, something worthy to hold on amongst all this desperation. Albrecht's breath hitches and he shudders, barely holding up against the sheer flood of black darkness - and the dam is breaking any minute.
Friedrich moves. His hand lets go of Albrecht's uniform and is employing slow strokes now, as if he was trying to smooth out any creases, then it's on Albrecht's front, warm and heavy, rubbing gently, and Albrecht realizes that Friedrich is trying to comfort him, in the only – and best – way he can. Smiling involuntarily, he lets go of his desperate hold a bit to give Friedrich more freedom.
Who then doesn't extract himself from Albrecht - instead, he scoots slightly to the side so he has more access to Albrecht, and as a side effect his thigh slips in between Albrecht's legs and now Albrecht has to gasp at the unexpected sensation, and it would've needed just that bit more to make him bolt, to shove Friedrich away and run away, to where he could sort out the muddled emotions and signals his high-strung mind is sending him, but Friedrich's hand is still rubbing his front, broad circular strokes, and Albrecht relaxes again in the strange and yet comfortable silence that has built up between them.
"Albrecht?", Friedrich is whispering, and he knows that he just can't ignore Friedrich's slightly hitching voice, as if he's as afraid as Albrecht is and doesn't know how to hide it, and he turns his head and looks at Friedrich, looking straight at him, taking in the tousled hair, the flush adorning his cheeks – is it because of the recent break-down or… because of something else? Albrecht doesn't want to guess - which are still slightly wet with tear streaks.
It is the most beautiful sight Albrecht has ever witnessed.
The summer-blue eyes pull him in and he loses himself into Friedrich all the way, pouring his heart out silently to him, giving him free access to himself, and just when he thinks that this was too much, that Friedrich will back out every moment now, declaring that it was just a 'moment between friends', and to please never speak of it again – Friedrich smiles. It's a weak smile, barely discernible, but Albrecht who has long ago committed his best friend's face (and body) to memory – which has proved itself very useful in long sleepless nights – knows that it is a smile.
And he smiles back, feebly, ignoring the silent tear slipping out of his eye, the last.
Friedrich's hand rises to his face, hovering for a short moment over his jaw, asking for permission with his eyes and when Albrecht just closes his eyes, a finger is swiping up the tear, smearing it over Albrecht's cheek, and then he feels the damp warmth of Friedrich's palm enveloping his cheek, and he sighs.
"Is that okay?", Friedrich murmurs, and he nods slowly, careful to not lose touch with Friedrich's hand. The fingers spread, tracing his hairline, his ear, and behind, the close-cropped hair, going in circles, and his eyelids feel the slight touch, too, his nose, the brows and the high forehead, and he can almost feel Friedrich's intent stare. He knows that he is blushing, that his cheeks are burning not just because of Friedrich, but also because of the undescribable something that is happening in his trousers, and he bites his lip, hoping that Friedrich won't notice.
And then he feels a finger tracing his mouth, ever so lightly, as if it's just hovering, and he now can't keep his eyes closed anymore, he has to know.
Friedrich's eyes are intent on him, following his fingers' every movement, but he doesn't look into his eyes. His fingers paint fiery streaks on Albrecht's lips, hotsparks that buzz through Albrecht's body, tingling down his spine, and he inhales strongly, bringing his lips into closer contact with Friedrich's fingers, pressing down slightly, and now their eyes connect and the world that Albrecht knew previously suddenly is overthrown, replaced with another seemingly fantastic reality in where they are the only two constants and everything else is not real and what they are sharing gets so much more realer, and it's like rapidly falling, falling into themselves, and the dam breaks.
And their mouths clash, and it's not at all like Albrecht imagined, softwarmcaring, but hotwetslick and oh so very much better than anything he could have ever dreamed up, and the desperation lurking underneath spills over into the frantic kissing, and it's almost too much to bear, so many disjointedspiking emotions, and they don't stop and...
Their tongues meet, and it turns from shy touches into slickhotdizzy strokes, each one intent on getting as much out of this as he can, and when Friedrich's body grinds down onto him, Albrecht moans into the kiss, carding through Friedrich's hair, never letting go and the latter rewards him with a shudder. Suddenly Albrecht is aware of the fact that he isn't the only one who has a hard-on, that there's something heavyhardwarm in Friedrich's trousers, too, and this revelation only fuels the passionate kiss.
Albrecht's body is on fire now, he is lost in desire and it's almost too perfect and he pushes off the cold floor, up into Friedrich, using the strong thigh for friction, and it's justrightjustrightohmoremore and he feels Friedrich's hands roaming along his sides, holding him in place, twisting into his uniform, pressing against him, the friction building up and up and up, and now it's searing through Albrecht and he suddenly sees this image of a great crowd of birds suddenly flying up speedily towards the sun, spiraling upwards and spreading out, black specs against the whiteblinding light, and, spilling himself, he groans into Friedrich's mouth, their tongues tangling and he tastes blood and then a big shudder wracks Friedrich's big frame, a deep moan, and Albrecht feels wetness seeping through his underpants.
Not even being able to move just his little finger, Albrecht sighs, his mouth resting against Friedrich's cheek, still tasting their mingled saliva with the coppery tang of blood. His hands are just resting on Friedrich's back, and he can smell himself and it doesn't matter. Nothing does matter. At all.
They lie there for not quite an eternity, when Friedrich raises his head and props himself up on his elbows, not shifting an iota, and there's something new, something raw in his look which takes Albrecht's breath away, and he just stares unblinking into Friedrich's eyes, because words – no matter how beautiful – would just spoil that moment.
"I… that… ah, no…" – "Don't speak," Albrecht says, smiling at Friedrich, "it's good. It is."
It's good, yes, it's the best perfect awesome thing ever that happened to him, but he just can't articulate this to his best friend. Some things are best left unsaid – and anyway, Friedrich knows.
And Friedrich smiles back. "Good."