Sin

Here we were again, going at it; as a broken record, as history itself…repeating, wondering, scheming, hurting, suffering… no-one but ourselves.

Here it was again, his cold stare, calculated, inhabited and terribly dead against mine, that was heated, agitated and full of life.

Here it was again, his soft movement, languid yet predatory against my convoluted, yet less studied mechanical one.

Here it was again, the sound, and the rain and the little nothings he'd hiss in my ear. Daring, provoking, entrancing …meant for a sole purpose, to hurt, to have, to control. His lips, hot and smooth know too well how to dominate and claim and for once I let him take advantage of this. Yeah, 'this' because there's no other word fitting enough for what we do, for what we have, for this sinful act…

The pace that follows is rushed and unused.

Control slips through his fingers and it's just in this moment, when our eyes open and I can see his, that the truth is revealed. It's then that I want to smirk and laugh at him, yeah, right at his face, because I want to think he's at my mercy, so vulnerable and fragile that I could just break him in a whisper. But, no, I know better not too, because he's sly and premeditated and his very act is studied before being performed; he is a good actor but still not good enough to fool me. I guess it showed on my face, the disbelieve, distrust, the hatred… so that when our eyes met once more the mask was gone. There were just his eyes, bitter and threatening, and blue, so blue I could have drowned in them.

Sin.

Sin.

Sin.

Three damn letters that summed it all up, that could relate perfectly to this imperfection, to this cathartic flaw. That could, for once, give me some rest.

I inhaled deeply; his scent flaring the crispy night air, tainting it with its hypocrite etiquette as the rain kept pouring down on us. I might have just cried, had it not been that he could have sensed it. Sensed that he'd the upper hand; that somehow he had finally gotten to me. Cracked me up. Even if just a little.

So I just disguised myself in the darkness of his clothes and pretended to be just like him, a fraud.

The apprentice had beaten the master.

Or so I thought anyways.

He was falling, and hard. Just alongside me. Ragged, erratic, uneven breathing that gave it all away. Soft pants and moans blurring, disappearing as the rain socked us to the bone. His damped blond bangs hanging to his forehead as it would rest against mine. So bloody, bloody wrong…as we regained our breathing rhythm back.

A web of lies was being span.

And I felt caught in it.

As much as he was.

It was a twisted game what we were playing at; so inscrutable that we had to keep it on, as a competition, as a never ending race. My legs had turned to jelly and when he stopped holding me to him I felt myself falling down to the wet muddy ground; his flawless figure had shrunken down the wall too, his head down, poised in his hands.

"Sin" I heard him whisper

Or maybe it was me

I couldn't tell.

And I brought my finger to my lips, still flushed from his heated kisses.

"Sin"

He was right.

Just this time; this only time I accepted defeat.

And it was sinful.