Capoter Sur Quelqu'un -- pt. 3/4
When I am with him, time doesn’t seem to follow in patterns, hand over hand on the face of a clock. The minutes, hours, days we spend together, wrinkle like crumpled paper. Time takes on arduous forms that warp and fold, that if flattened would resemble nothing more than a maze of chaotic lines that crease in certain stages of nonsense. We keep it bunched and held together in its rutted mess because no matter what, it makes sense to us. It is still ours to keep whether we understand it or not.
As seconds seemed to tick by, the light flickered in the room from passing clouds in the sky, dimming everything as if it mimicked our mood. Our shadows on the wall faded into each other as our bodies melted and became one. I buried into José, tiny moans like brilliant lanterns guiding my heavy touch against his skin. Outlines of fingertips and groping hands reflected off our pale figures. Fluid movements visible to us only by the heat that swathed our restless figures, keeping us locked to each other and blocking everyone else out. As I climaxed, I couldn't help but admire the sweat from José’s body, glowing like dew that dripped lightly away like wax from a candle. I licked over his skin with the tip of my tongue, feeling him shiver underneath me at the height of his own orgasm.
As we lay on the bed together and I managed to compose myself to something that resembled coherent, "What about Mont-Royal, cher? We haven’t been in… well, I haven’t been in ages."
José perked up as he wiped the sweat from across his head, "Vraiment?"
"Would I mention it if I didn’t mean it. We can disappear there not in the same way we would be able to disappear on Rue-Gossford by l’Édifice Lucien-Saulnier. Are you really in the mood to be taken down by screaming fan-girls?" I said, laughing at the familiar image in my head.
He chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "Mont-Royal it is, then. BUT only if we can take my car."
Without another sound, I agreed, not ready for another battle. I begrudgingly let him leave as I followed behind him for a quick shower. Afterwards, as we were dressing, I started to think about all the things that plagued my mind the last few weeks since the World Championships; having José stay behind to be with someone else, his confession of love to another and the deafening silence of not having him around. Perhaps I was finally ready to just tell him how I feel. We hadn’t spoke of it since the night I won the silver medal and we slept on the floor of our hotel room under the weight of an entire bottle of tequila.
As seconds seemed to tick by, the light flickered in the room from passing clouds in the sky, dimming everything as if it mimicked our mood. Our shadows on the wall faded into each other as our bodies melted and became one. I buried into José, tiny moans like brilliant lanterns guiding my heavy touch against his skin. Outlines of fingertips and groping hands reflected off our pale figures. Fluid movements visible to us only by the heat that swathed our restless figures, keeping us locked to each other and blocking everyone else out. As I climaxed, I couldn't help but admire the sweat from José’s body, glowing like dew that dripped lightly away like wax from a candle. I licked over his skin with the tip of my tongue, feeling him shiver underneath me at the height of his own orgasm.
As we lay on the bed together and I managed to compose myself to something that resembled coherent, "What about Mont-Royal, cher? We haven’t been in… well, I haven’t been in ages."
José perked up as he wiped the sweat from across his head, "Vraiment?"
"Would I mention it if I didn’t mean it. We can disappear there not in the same way we would be able to disappear on Rue-Gossford by l’Édifice Lucien-Saulnier. Are you really in the mood to be taken down by screaming fan-girls?" I said, laughing at the familiar image in my head.
He chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "Mont-Royal it is, then. BUT only if we can take my car."
Without another sound, I agreed, not ready for another battle. I begrudgingly let him leave as I followed behind him for a quick shower. Afterwards, as we were dressing, I started to think about all the things that plagued my mind the last few weeks since the World Championships; having José stay behind to be with someone else, his confession of love to another and the deafening silence of not having him around. Perhaps I was finally ready to just tell him how I feel. We hadn’t spoke of it since the night I won the silver medal and we slept on the floor of our hotel room under the weight of an entire bottle of tequila.