The music, the storm, is so loud that you can't hear anything else. You can't hear his breathing, you can't hear the noises that you feel, that you see come out of his mouth. It's like an artificial silence.
His eyes are closed. All you see are slits of violet when his eyelids flutter, then he throws his head back against the wall, arching up against you. You didn't know the human body could move that way.
The water makes him look pale, plastering his hair down and beading on his lips. You don't stop moving, even when his fingers pull on your hair, even when he bites at your mouth, even when he writhes like he's going to die. You promised him that much. You won't stop.
Even when he comes you don't stop until he's limp as a doll, shuddering your final release into his bruised and abused body. You both need this kind of release. The reversal: the servant and the king.
He kisses you, fumbling at your throat as you slide to the floor, eyes open now as water drips from his nose. If you slide your hands up his sides he'll shudder and kiss you harder.
You don't say each other's names. You promised each other that much. No names.
And so you are, all night long. Nameless bodies, writhing towards destruction in a wordless, soundless, world.