Bridgycat
At least

The contrast of his warm, bare skin against your trembling cold makes your breath all shaky and your fingertips vibrate as he moves you so close to himself you could count all his pretty, long eyelashes if you were only sober enough to keep the interest up for the amount of time that sort of thing would require. You don't really see his face all that clearly even though the light is still on during those moments you spend in his arms in his hallway in his house, don't know what you do or how long you do it but you feel him all the time, you're convinced. His big, big hands underneath your heavy leather jacket and your smaller ones somewhere over his chest, burying your face in his skin that's so immaculately warm it feels like breathing fire to the point of suffocation when you suddenly realize you're not standing up anymore. Fall onto some kind of surface that's neither soft nor particularly hard and you lie there blinking at the ceiling, trying to focus, make the blurs go away, drunken pornography on the back of your eyelids and before you know it he's all over you again. But he's not there, it doesn't feel the same anymore. His scent deeply inhaled by your nostrils as his weight presses down upon you, feel his hands on the back of your neck, nails carving into your scalp, clutching your curls and holding on to them so tightly your head starts to tremendously ache and you feel his sweet breath in the corner of your mouth as something helplessly, briefly flutters somewhere inside of you again. Look into his eyes where his head rests above you in the dark, it's all very surreal and you don't know what you're doing here but you don't want to get up and leave at all. When he puts his hand on your thigh, lets it slide across the fabric covering your leg towards your abdomen, you feel your little fingers grasp his belt to pull him down, pull him closer and it's not even very sexual, not in your mind, anyway, as he unbuttons your jeans without you having even really kissed yet. His face is so close the tip of your nose keeps brushing up against his but he doesn't go for your lips, merely lets his hands feel you in this you're not sure what sort of way and you don't object when he draws the fabrics off your skinny legs where you lie on what you somewhere in the mist realize is his big leather couch. You've never done it on his couch before.
You don't even think of what you're doing until you feel the bare skin of his hips against your goosebumps when you help him get out of that last piece of clothing of his and you lie there tracing his hip bones with your fingertips, feeling his warmth take over you as you look at him and he looks at you and it's quiet, it's all quiet now. Take your T-shirt off, the leather seat so cold against your back or maybe it's the other way around and he leans down on all fours over you, lips barely parted as you slide your arms around his neck, pulling him further down and before you know it you're kissing him again and you can't remember what it was like when you weren't, you really, really can't. Don't know what's going on, why or why not, you don't care, you just wanna kiss him and he lets you and your little chest brushes up against his as you breathe heavily and sharply through those little nostrils of yours as his lips presses so hard against yours you can practically feel his pulse beat in your mouth or maybe it's just another mere figment of your imagination. Who cares? He's not there, you hold on to him so tightly your arms begin to ache, he's not touching you, you just desperately like to pretend he is as you kiss him and it hurts and you don't stop 'til he pulls away and your lips sort of vibrate from within, looking at him, dead. The air isn't even warm anymore.
Lie there in the cold to his breaths etching and fading so quickly in repeats to match the voids between the beats of your heart inches underneath him as your body trembles quietly and you try to make it stop but it won't work and his lips brush yours so smoothly, mouth over yours, face touching face in the careless, dooming, endless, devouring dark as your cheeks rub together as his head moves right over yours and his exhales become your inhales as you just lay there and don't do anything.
You don't do anything at all.
Skins rubbing, you don't want him. Mouth warm and wet and absolutely beautiful as the soft, hard, plain, smooth surface etches into cold little papercuts smothering your back in fragmental tastes of what once was, kiss 'til it hurts and keep going, your little body in his dirty sheets clutched in your palms, everything you touched was dirty, was filth as you writhed underneath him, big, strong man holding your wrists down as his breaths traced your spine, cut it, his kiss aching in each and every vertebra as your moans drowned in his, both so very desperate for that God damn release as he slammed your body senseless in this delirious haze pushed to the limit with every throb of your pulse through your skin to beat in his flesh as you touched and you ached and you screamed your insides out over his beauty, it was never enough for you to take all at once as you now lay exposed right there before him and your body shakes in his arms and you've really never been so cold.
You don't fuck, a few desperate kisses and your bare wrists against his goosebumped neck, skin, back, ass as you refuse to let him go and you fall asleep a couple of dizzy, distant hours later with his whole body heavy over yours on that couch and you're pressed in between him and that plain, hard surface like so many times before and it's so very cold as you hold onto him and you don't speak during the entire time you're in there with him which has got to be the only stable thing in this reality since you've never bothered with words before anyway, not really.
Not like you meant it.
Only when you begged like your breath depended on it and you meant it every time, you meant every God damn syllable stretched out of your little breathless mouth shoved to the ground and it's over now, it's all so very definitely over now it's insane compared to what once was.
Mouth against your neck as you sleep, wrist to chest, lips to shoulder, he loved to dig into that, loved, thigh against yours, side to stomach, skin on skin, cold leather and your fingertips losing hold of his sweat-moist hair as you fall deeper into dreams you won't recall and when you wake up his presence is a memory and your clothes lay scattered across his living room floor.
Just like the good old days without the ass ache and the heart ache and the cum over your pale white skin.
He didn't do it and you don't feel anything.
As if you ever did in the first place.
Right?

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