The rustling sheets are warm. Stiff and itchy. The blanket is heavy and suffocating. Heat crawls beneath my skin, muscles scream, trapped under too many layers. I cannot breathe.
His skin is cool as my hip bumps into his. His dark brows are even, freckles on his nose like snowflakes, melting. The bridge of his nose twitches when I blow into his face, skin rippling for a second. Then he is lying still again, lips slightly parted. I want to see behind these eyelids. What color are his eyes?
His lips are red and chapped, bruises on his throat. My lips on them, licking, sucking. Why is skin so thin? The taste of copper.
Yesterday was red. The bass in my stomach, in my throat and every joint. Pressure on my chest, the slight panic, the release. Blurring colors and stretching forms. Limbs stuttering in the light. Screaming dulling out to a constant buzz, in my head. Contorted faces, flying by, and hands.
His hands on my arms, squeezing, firmly.
“You okay?” Our noses touch. Alcohol and sweat.
His lips on my lips.
Cool skin under hot hands. Ripples and ridges. Smooth surface. His heartbeat in my fingertips, even and so close. What is the thickness of skin?
His hands beneath my shirt, at my throat, on my breasts. The air is thick, sludge in my lungs and his. His breath is hot on my face, toxic. Hot in my ear.
My fingers slide over dry skin. Further down. Searching. Hesitating.
Upstairs. A journey, my weight on his, his on mine. His feet, trial and error. My hand on the banister, the anchor. Rubber soles keep catching on carpet. Gravitation points downwards, he says. The bass is drowned out by the closing door but still beats in me. Clumsy hands on damp clothes, plucking, tugging.
His sigh, mere shift in the air on my face. My eyes on his closed ones. My fingers towards the soft and warm. Closing in.
Clothes peeled off, ripped off. Fingernails on bare skin, and his lips over my heart. Breathing, panting. His weight heavy on my hips, his hands in my hair, raking. Damp skin, rubbing against damp skin.
Eyes move behind eyelids and my fingers wrap around him, hesitantly, gently. The wings of his nose shiver.
His voice is rough, words slurred. His hips are without rhythm, trembling. I use his own weight, levering him on his back. His body twitches against mine.
He is hard with a few strokes, carelessly, impatiently. His wrists are pinned next to his head. My lips on his. My lips on his skin, tasting, tearing. The smell of copper. His groan vibrates in his body. Arms and legs are jerking in answer.
His softness fills slowly. My sure fingers caress, coax. Determined. His lips part wider, moaning. His eyelashes sit softly, like butterflies on a flower petal.
His howl when we join. No transition, the rhythm is ruthless, senseless from the start. Air grows into cement. Each breath desperate. He drives into me, the bass ever growing, deafening. His arms shake against my weight on them, his body revolts against the pleasure.
His hips buck, weakly, muscles still spent. His eyes still closed, rapid movements behind the thin layer of cells. My nose nearly touches his, my gaze never leaves. My hand tightens, pulls, without mercy. Unrelenting. Tiny pants on my cheeks, slowly quickening.
Fevered thrusts, the relentless pace intensifying. Grunts end up trapped behind his clenched teeth, muscles ripple under skin. Lust pulses through two bodies. His convulses, eyes screwed shut and his cry drowns out the buzzing in my head. Blissful silence, a split second. Then the explosion. His arm is around my back, keeping me together. Drops of sweat like glitter on his skin.
His breath hitches, nearly unnoticed. His chest shudders. Warm on my hand, and flowing over my fingers. Slowly rubbing it in, cooling down. His eyelids flutter. Open.
There is kind of a sequel to this story since I could not resist to play with (torture ;-)) the protagonists a bit more. Check out Silver!