Just a non-revised little one-shot. Enjoy (and please review)!
Acrostic
Some things should never be said. Some things can never be said. Some things cannot be seized by reason. Words are not enough then. Words are too small then. Words don't add up then.
In the still of the night, the tide is going out. The dark columns of rocks are lit by the silver light of the waxing moon. A man is sitting on a large piece of driftwood. He listens to the eternal sound of the ocean, while the onshore winds ruffle his chin-length hair. Sublimity. Greatness without measurement. For 364 days of the year he partakes in it. He just has to listen to her bell-like voice. Today is the 365th day. Today is his birthday. Deathday. The sublimity doesn't find the way into his motionless heart. He waits for his savior.
Long before he hears him, he can feel him coming. There is a soft tingle in the back of his neck. Then quiet steps. He sits down next to him and places his hand on the bleached trunk, only inches away from his thigh. He shivers in anticipation and turns his head to look at his savior. Golden eyes are glowing in the darkness, returning his glance intensely. The angular features are tense, wrapped in the silver of the moonlight. They look at each other, search for words and meaning in each other's eyes. They don't find words, but meaning when their bodies start to move. Sometimes frantic and bare desire is the better half of sublimity. The solution. The way to feel alive again.
Elegant, long-fingered hands grasp both of his shoulders in a vise-like grip. Try to hold him still. The fight for domination is always present. He tenses the muscles in his arms. Claws his fingers in his savior's thighs. Stares into his eyes. They kiss. It's fierce and raw. Their teeth collide. His lips start to bleed. The other man tastes. He hisses. They fall off the trunk, down onto the cold sand. He lies below. Subdued by the weight of the other man's body, the hands that press him down.
No words, just sounds. The ocean, the wind, lips on lips, growling. His savior tears his shirt apart, shreds his pants. He pays him back. They're naked. Stripped down to the pain of their existence. The air around them vibrates with taut arousal. Hands try to turn him around, leaving bloody marks on his hips with the fingernails. He bares his teeth. Domination. He hits his savior's temple with his elbow. The intense glow of the golden eyes disappears for a moment. He wraps his arms tightly around the other man's body and rolls around with him. Now he's on top. He squeezes his slender ribcage and growls until he stops struggling.
Calmness spreads in the eyes of his opponent. He lowers his head and places a soft kiss onto his lips. Caresses the sides of his torso lightly with his fingertips. His savior sighs and spreads his legs. He sits up, clasps the other man's thighs and pushes his hips forward. Unity. They arch against each other, wind around each other, moan for each other, kiss each other. Fulfillment. Life.
Eventually they untangle their bodies and stand up. Ruffled hair, bruises, scratches. They look into each other's eyes. His savior's lips open once, but he shakes his head. And so he remains speechless. Reason can't explain what they did. There are no words for it. They do it once a year nevertheless.