“where are the towels and little soaps”

“fuck-,” you moan, clinging onto his broad shoulders for support as you are pummelled into by Steve. His thrusts never falter, if anything they start going faster when you struggle to contain your pathetic mewls. It’s such a tight fit whenever he initially pushes in, but after that he takes and takes whatever he needs, and you willingly give it all over. Knowing that despite how ruthless he can be, you’ll always come first, and he’ll always listen to you. At the end of the night, time spent together was about forgetting about everything else, becoming real people in contrast to the phantoms you were with the world.

Tightening around his cock, he can tell that you’re close, and moaning lewdly into the air of the spare bathroom of which you are in. Grunts fill you ears, edging you closer to that divine release you anticipate and when he reaches a hand down to your clit, groaning a “come on my cock, my messy little slut” in your ear, you detonate.

You call the shots babe,

I just wanna be yours

Loud enough for Steve to have no choice but to shove two thick fingers past your open lips to quieten your wails. It was always like that with Steve, unforgettable, addictive and literally heart stopping.

As your eyes open again, you feel more than see him empty himself into you. Warmth floods you and his face is one of utter bliss. He looks so beautiful; you wish he would always look as carefree and relaxed as he does in this moment. But he won’t. Neither will you, because as the cum drips from your legs, the cover of enjoyment is burnt and you both become two people who can’t be together. The truth is blinding and you both have no choice but to get back to the characters you adorn with everyone but each other.

However, there are sometimes when the shade isn’t taken away too early. Days like today you can stay in the shared bedroom and lie together like proper people. Ironic that you two fit together like puzzle pieces, you just happen to be apart of different pictures. Perhaps not ironic but just simple devastation.

His arms encase you, protecting you from the cold but also the world. Your arms pull him close to you, grounding him and reminding him that it isn’t all bad. But the good is only temporary, you are only fleeting, ephemeral. Especially for men like him.

Words aren’t shared, often times you bask in the presence of one another. On the rare occasion you speak, its about dreams, silly little fantasies or scenarios of the two of you being able to love freely. Although, it tended to leave residue, droplets of melancholy hopelessness remained after talks like that, you two learnt not to dream. Or at least not to whisper them aloud, for then they would be tainted and ruined by the atmosphere of real life.

Recently, things had been feeling different to you, but as you hadn’t questioned Steve on the subject, maybe you weren’t alone. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he sensed your unease, tensing up in his arms as your mind defended itself from insecurities.

His soft gaze meets yours. Instantaneously, you relax. Deflating back into your arms but keeping the eye contact. Tenderness is gifted from one set to the other, moments like this is what you snuck around for, what you lied continually for.

You were forever bitter at the world, enraged that the people who truly were meant to be together never had a chance. Or would never have a chance. Rules that society silently abided to, without fighting for themselves in fear of the rest of the world. Steve always listened to your outbursts, overhearing your angry conversations with your friend, his daughter. But unlike his daughter, he shared your intolerance.

Who gave themselves the permission to deny love to millions of people? Too long had love been a crime; you were sick of being reprimanded for feelings. Especially when they were returned, it wasn’t your fault or his that you had found each other late. Time should be on trial for punishing you so cruelly, for thieving a soulmate from you whilst waving him in your face. Accompanied by his picture-perfect family, a wife smiling in adoration and a beautiful daughter, blessed with ignorance and not a curse scarring their skin. Oh, to be so lucky.

“I love you,” a whisper he gave with a sad smile. You hated that smile, expect you couldn’t when it was owned by him, but you despised the reason for it. Apologetic, despite having no blame on his name.

Returning the sorrowful smile, “I love you,” you murmur, reaching up to his lips. The kiss isn’t lustful or filled with sinful threats, instead overflowing with yearning and longing. Souls intertwining for scarce moments behind closed doors, retreating at loud footsteps.

It wouldn’t be the last time for the two of you, but every time was counting down to it. Scared wasn’t the word, wistful may have been more fitting. You had researched it before, it meant regretful longing, it fit like a glove. You don’t regret loving Steve, there was not a moment in time that he had ever made you feel anything less than incredible. But to save yourself the inevitable anguish you were soon to experience, possibly you regret indulging yourself.

Your phone pings with a message, it’s as if the world has spotted you are in a minute of total comfort, needing to defeat it. Steve passes you your phone and the screen lights up when you turn it to your face.

“It’s Sarah,” you sigh. He nods in response. Reading the text, you tell him what it says, “she’s asking where I am, she wants to go see a movie.” And just like that your bubble is burst, and the real world is shaking down the door to his spare bedroom, without any regards to the crushing of your heart.

“Go on, darling.” As you get out of the bed and put on your crinkled clothes, results of Steve practically ripping them off your body however many hours earlier, you can’t help but tear up. It’s childish and pitiful but its fucking destroying you inside, and you don’t dare share it with him, not wanting to burden him with your hopeless feelings not when there isn’t anything for him to do. But he sees, of course he does.

Secrets that I have held in my heart,

Are harder to hide than I thought,

Maybe I just wanna be yours

Week’s blur into each other, in shades of blue and grey. The good days are cornflower, memories of laughter as you are momentarily distracted, but most of them are coloured in tears with deep blues and greys mixing together. None of it matters, your character is weak, and you haven’t the energy to play it any better.

Sarah isn’t blind, neither are your other friends. But without treating them to the truth, and barely being able to open the specific pages to explain, you can’t tell them: so, you don’t. Plus, what are you even to say when the truth isn’t available. A different occasion you could have them all fooled, miming the lyrics to a stable personality, and providing reasons for lack of energy or will to do anything. After the first two weeks they started to give up, if you weren’t going to tell them, they weren’t going to bother you.

Every night you lay in your empty bed, and stare at the ceiling. He does the same, except his isn’t empty. The two of you watch movies of memories, some sad, some joyful. Tears escape even when during the happy ones because nothings sadder than losing the only thing that made you feel alive.

If only you hadn’t fallen so fast, if only you hadn’t fallen at all. Somehow, somewhere along the line, lust had been dyed love and from there it became this. It bled into excruciating pain and all you could do was endure. This way you could still catch glimpses of his retreating form, or be in the same room as him, knowing he was still there playing his part.

You never made eye contact. An unspoken rule had been established early on; eye contact was too intimate when it was you two. It didn’t matter whether you had walls built all around you, one look from either of you would crumble them down to dust. But what was the point? Just to waste more energy to have to build them back up, eye contact was futile.

At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean

I wanna be yours

The last time was a weekend in April. Rain came down in sheets, it wasn’t planned but you ended up at his house, soaked to the bone. Sarah offered you to go to her house for a shower, which you happily accepted, it was a rare occasion that you forgot their connection.

Hot water cascaded down your naked form, almost completely muffling the sound of knocking on the wood door to the bathroom.

“Hey Sarah, I’ll be out in a second!” you shouted. As soon as the door opened you knew it was him and without authorization your body relaxed. Like Pavlov’s dog, it was innate in you to trust him and decompress whenever he was near.

The sound of clothes being shed, dropping on the floor, was heard and you got more and more excited in anticipation. It didn’t matter if it was the last time, you forced the notice to the back of your head, you just needed him.

Ambushing him as soon as the glass door slides, your mouth is on his. It’s hungry and filthy and desperate. All tongues and saliva dripping onto naked chests. He pushes you against a tiled wall, his significantly larger body caging you in, so there’s no escape. As if that was ever a goal of yours. Angry red lines are compelled into his skin by your nails, across his back and arms.

The only sounds are those of your movements and moans, no words are uttered. So animalistic in the way he grips your legs, pulling them around your waist. It plants his cock just before your entrance and you’re mewling to try and get it inside you, pleading nonverbally. But he won’t listen, teasing it against the entrance as he bites and nips at your neck. Once it is covered in red and purple splotches, deemed territorial enough by Steve, he pushes in.

Its tight and obsessive, but perfect. You throw your head back against the wall, with Steve breathing into your neck. It feels so fucking good. Depressing thoughts of the end fog your mind, but you shake them away by starting to bounce, inducing Steve to start thrusting into you with his hands placed on your ass, gripping and tugging you closer, closer, closer.

Slapping of skin against skin is muffled by the water tumbling out of the shower head and it also disguises your tears, which are now flowing freely, from the untrained eye. But with you, Steve is a master, educated in every aspect of you, how you think, what you do and every element of how you do it. So, he does the only thing he can, he comforts you. Soft, delicate kisses are placed on your cheeks, where the tear tracks are driving, not falling behind on his pushes into you, frantic for the both of you to meld together one last time. Because he knows it’s the last time too and it breaks him to even contemplate it, so he doesn’t, he focuses on giving you that release that you have been craving as best as he can.

The last kiss was what shot you over the edge. You were in freefall as he met you at the finish for a final time. The two of you kissed until you had to breathe but even then, you didn’t part for longer than necessary. Shaking from your orgasm, sobbing for the remains of the two of you which was flowing down the drain, you panted into each other’s mouths.

And what was there to say? Goodbye? I’m sorry?

Neither were truly appropriate when you knew that you would see him again, in character on the stage that was his house, and neither of you were the slightest bit sorry, for what had you to be sorry for? Existing in a cruel timeline that saw you unable to be together? That wasn’t your fault, so you weren’t sorry.

And you couldn’t be sorry. Not when loving each other was the only thing that ever felt right, or ever made you feel real.

I just wanna be yours.

⋆ ୭ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹°•

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