Cycle

you're pushing him up against the bedroom door. You haven't touched or been touched this way in months. His hands slide under your shirt, pushing up the fabric and revealing flesh.

However, a thought wanders through your head. A woodpecker that won't leave you be to enjoy your lover and finally gain the release you need. The woodpecker beats out the tattoo again and again. Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him? You're not even sure you trust him. You try to dispel the worry, and focus on him, his face, his body.

Fingers and thumbs fumble with your belt, and shove your jeans roughly down. A palm curls around you and you welcome the feeling. You try to grab the door handle but graze your knuckles against it. A second attempt. The door swings open, and you're toppling onto the bed. This is no time for romance. You both remove your clothing on opposite sides of the bed. You join in the centre. Skin meets skin, friction meets friction, and moans meet the stuffy air.

You're above him, and your hands grasp his hips. Forward. Resistance. Swallowed. Hair sticks to his forehead from sweat. Instead of drawing pleasure from his, you try to guess when he last washed it. When did you last wash yours? You have no time for trivialities like hygiene any more. There's no time for anything but terror, distrust and the occasional emotionless fuck.

Like right now. No kissing, no fingers grasping each other, no sweet nothings whispered wetly.

You can't bear to look in his eyes as you climax. You roll away. You hear him bringing himself to a lackluster conclusion. A cigarette is lit, and passed to you. You share the rolled up addiction, swapping it back and forth. Normally, seeing his lips close around a cigarette, you get a sudden white hot desire for him.


You twist your neck on your pillow and look at him. It's not even dislike. Dislike would mean some feeling. It's like he's wallpaper. You don't care either way for him.

And it breaks your heart.

You wrap an arm around him and try to force some love to come. It doesn't. You kiss him gently and lie, lie through your teeth biting his bottom lip.

I love you
I trust you
I believe you


Your relationship was the wall, and all the king's horses and all the king's men won't help you now. They're fighting another battle. The battle that made you fall.

---

You haven't touched or been touched this way in years. His hands slide under your shirt, pushing up the fabric and revealing tired flesh. Your cock twitches in excitement.

Virginal clumsiness is shed. Clothes are shed. Barriers are shed. Stripped naked, you are vulnerable, but he is too. Lips capture one another, and fit like a jigsaw, an ancient lock and its rusted key. You pull him closer to you. Skin meets skin, friction meets friction, and moans meet the stuffy air.

He's above you, and his hands grasp your hips. Forward. Resistance. Swallowed. Hair sticks to his forehead from sweat. You brush it away from his eyes and kiss him. You have all the time in the world, tonight. Eternity is yours and his and pleasure's alone. Moments you thought would never come will last and last and last.

Like right now. Kissing, fingers grasping each other, sweet nothings whispered wetly.

You're peaking, peaking, peaking... Pleasure rolls through you, the first in years that means anything. You open your eyes to see he is too, and looking directly at you. You have to kiss him again make this moment be forever and ever and ever. He is yours and you are his. You fall apart. A cigarette is lit, and passed to you. You share the rolled up addiction, swapping it back and forth. His lips close around the cigarette, and you are filled with sudden white hot desire for him.

You twist your neck on your pillow and look at him. It's love. Unbreakable, unrelenting, unforgettable love. You feel eighteen again.

And it mends your heart.

You wrap an arm around him and the love pours out. It floods. You kiss him gently and lie, lie in your aura of joy.

I love you
I've always loved you
I believed in you

Maybe your humpty dumpty relationship doesn't need horses and men. Maybe they were the problem. It's the two of you, and you are together. You are strong. You are alive. And for one fleeting moment you are young and