He's a mystery, an enigma, a code to crack.
Even now as his body moves beneath my legs and my nails scratch intricate masterpieces into his chest is he but a being of unknowing. Every time I pry open a door into his soul I find yet another one lying beneath, its locks harder to crack than the last, a barrier hiding himself away from the world as the hardest case to solve. Like he though, I never shy away from a challenge, especially not one as complicated and masterful as him.
He's infinite, spanning over uncountable truths and lives, each bringing an insurmountable collection of questions to me. He overruns me and my thoughts, he walks beside me even when he's thousands of miles away and over seas and land from me. He speaks to me, telling me about his day, about John and Lestrade and how stupid Anderson was on this case. I laugh and smile and listen to every word. He's my spirit animal or a guardian angel, whatever you'd like to call it, overwatching me and taking care of me. Sometimes he'll warn me of unwanted attention, or tells me someone's life story, or just says to me how much he wishes he were with me again... I almost believe him as well.
He'll whisper too, whisper sweet nothings to me as his hands creep over my body and my own slide down between my legs, his breath dashing against my skin and his curls licking at my neck as he bites my tender flesh, making me wish he could really leave those tender, beautiful, sexy marks. Every moment with him, past, present, and future runs through my head while he pulls me and pushes me to my release and then coos soft and lurid words of love into my ear as my afterglow consumes and envelopes me. When it's over, he's gone, his presence but a fleeting image of my mind, leaving me yearning, wanting and needing him again.
In those spans of quiet months on my own between his visits, I think of what he did for me, did to me and what he will do to me when he comes back. And he does, he always does, when it all gets too hard, when his image fades and his voice dwindles to desperate, almost silent utters, when I need him more than ever. It'll be a time like this, when our first meeting comes around again and we finally make up for the long and tiresome days of separation in hours of timeless, passionate, demanding, and desperate sprints of wild, consuming sex. Our bodies connect and our minds sync, releasing every bit of tension that's seeped its way into our beings as we silently tell each other about all the adventures we had while we were apart. In these moments I feel alive, safe, excited and everything is right. When it's over and he goes back home, I still keep him with me as the ghost of a being that walks beside me wherever I go, renewed and vibrant with colour and emotion. He will tell me about his life and i'll listen, like I always do, as I count the endless questions filling my head and plan how I will crack that next locked door.
And so I patiently wait for his next visit.