Silhouette
--by KT the Shimmer Skank
Notes: I was watching alot of youtube and suddenly got into a Spaige kind of mood. Takes place years in the future, in their late twenties or something like that. Please reviewskies! Rated T for sexual content, a bit of strong language.
-o-o-o-o-
You take what you can get.
She sleeps and you slide your hands around the skin you know so well, over curves and into nooks and corners. It's burned into your brain, the blueprint of her body. Sometimes when you close your eyes you see waterfalls of blonde hair. Blue eyes. Button nose. She haunts you and she teases you. Sometimes when you touch her you wonder if it's real. Sometimes when you hold her, she feels like just a silhouette. Like the ghost of something you lost long ago. Like golden sand, she falls through the cracks of your broken heart.
You can't stop touching her. You know she's going to leave when she wakes up, so you take what you can get.
She's the first girl you ever loved, but far from the only. Women have come and gone in your life, you've loved and hated, you have memories worth holding onto. Most of the time, you don't even think about her. You have your life. She has hers. She comes back around sometimes, when she needs a comfort fuck, but you know she'll never stay. She leaves and you go back to your life.
She broke up with another boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whatever. You were only barely listening as you uncorked the wine, as she babbled with that familiar flare and icy wit. You loved her face, she loved your laugh, and you drunkened yourselves playfully. Making casual conversation as if you were simply old friends, simply catching up. As if you both didn't know exactly why she was there. You poured red poison down your throats until your bodies tingled with lust and lull.
Here you are again, next to Paige in tangled sheets. The girl, the woman, the lover, the friend. The myth, the truth, the always, the never. When she knocks on your door, you always answer.
Most of the time, you don't even think about her. But as soon as you smell her skin, touch her lips, you fall all over again. Every time you take her in your arms, part of you doesn't want to let go. Part of you wants the love you've always wanted. Wants her to love you the way she never did, never will.
It's only nostalgia, comfort, ease, that keeps bringing her back to you. You know how to fuck each other, how to kiss each other the right way, how to execute the perfect choreography that comes from years of being together. Together but never really together. Comfort sex. Love's silhouette. You'll always be her honey bee, but never anything more.
You cup her breasts in your hands, watching breaths move in and out of her mouth. You stroke a tender lock of gold. You trace your fingers along the outline of her torso, missing her already, all over again. You know she'll leave when she wakes up, so you take what you can get.