It is a four letters word.
And I get only the first.
The first is an
L
And I can feel his hand brushing my chest. But it is just mine.
And I can't feel his lips on the hollow of my neck.
The word is a combination.
If I mistake...
If I misunderstood...
It might be hell.
And I can feel his fingers running from my throat, playing with my collarbones, tickling my nipples, resting on my belly. But these are mine.
And I can't feel his lips closing my eyes.
I close my eyes and I can see the beach.
He wrote the word in the fair sand.
A wave wiped it.
I could just read the first letter.
The first is an
L
And I can feel his wrist rubbing my hips. But these are mine.
And I can't feel his hairs brushing my groin.
I remember a loop.
The second is an
O...
or...
The second is an
U...
A fair lock... or a fair luck.
No lull for lolling.
And I can feel his soft but strong fingers closing around me. But these are mine.
And I can't feel the O of his lips around me.
A lump in my throat.
A long lone lost look.
And I can feel his so sweet, so rough, so slow, so quick, so frustrating, so infuriating caress. But it's mine.
And I can't cling to his head, to his shoulders, to him.
His four lost words.
We can make it.
And I can hear moans. And these are mine.
And I can't hear his loving chuckle.
We call it love.
They call it lust.
We can make love.
I can make love
We can't make lust.
But when we make love,
They call it lust.
I can make it.
The first is an
L,
the second, an
O,
the third a
V
for victory and the fourth an
E
For Eternity.
And when the door will open,
He'll be there.
And we'll save the world.
He was lying, spread-eagled, stark naked. His right hand grabbed hold of the pillow, his left one... his left one rested on his groin, his fingers wrapped round his cock. Semen was drying on his belly. And he was beautiful.
He was asleep. A broken sleep. His face wasn't serene, as it was usually, after the torment of ecstasy. He was still gasping for breath, as a man who ran for his life. He wasn't panting, as usual, when he drew the dying breath of his climax. And though, he was beautiful.
A gentle touch, and he was awake. Beads of sweat were shimmering by the moonlight. His eyes looked around, so sad, so worried. Amazingly, his hands didn't move. No attempt to take hold of his gun, to protect himself. He was just looking around. And he saw me.
Sadness gave way to something like... anger. Wrath.
-What... what's the hell you are doing here ?
The room flooded with moonlight. A white, dim, cold light. He casually released his grab round his cock, and wiped his fingers on the sheet. He didn't seem to care about me. I wasn't here. He sat straight on the bed, brushed away his dishevelled bangles. Then, he stared at me again.
-I repeat : what are doing here ?
-We have to talk. We need to talk.
-You need. I don't. You made things clear. When I came, I opened the door... and you weren't there. You had gone away. I didn't hear of you, till now. You never came after me. So, why ?
At least, he talked... he talked to me. His dark eyes gave me a piercing look.
-You ... you were so late.
I was pitifully failing in my attempt to self-possession.
-Late ? What do you mean, late ?
It hurt. It still hurt so much. But I had to put it in words. Our last chance.
-I waited for you in the cabin. Days and days. Nights and nights. But you didn't come. You... were enjoying yourself with her... and... it was right. You deserved it. It was your choice. But you couldn't ask me to...
-Jealous ? All that... Jealousy ? You ran off, like a fool, because of pure jealousy ?
-Yes.
I couldn't say anything else. It was the truth. The completely sad, stupid truth. His anger was probably giving way to something I couldn't stand : contempt. I felt exhausted, and helpless, but I had to fight.
-I made a fool of myself... I know that... but you... you were... you are so greedy.
-Greedy ?
-Yes, you are... You... wanted all. You wanted me, all of me, all from me. So did I. You wanted... happiness. So did I. You were enough for me. I wasn't for you. You are greedy. Greedy for life, for happiness, for love. And you are right. I wasn't only jealous about her, I was envious. Envious of your greed. Because it was so far beyond my ability... I was envious... and it was destroying me...
Oh, listen at me... I am just wallowing in self-pity...
-Your greed was inconsistent with my pride...
I stopped speaking, out of breath. He still looked at me, thoughtful, and perhaps... concerned ? No more anger, no contempt.
-Yes. I was greedy... and I am yet. But, you...
He unexpectedly smiled. All his features relaxed in a bright smile. His voice softened.
-I remember ... a chocolate cake... a strawberry pie, with whipped cream. I remember a soufflé au Grand-Marnier... and that's for the dessert... I remember your spoon getting innocently closer and closer... Until its assault on MY dessert. I am greedy, but your greatest weakness, my friend, was your « gourmandise ».
The smile turned to devilish grin. It was almost humiliating. He usually teased me about my gluttony, but, now... it wasn't the purpose... But he went on.
-And I hope you're still a « gourmand »... Because...
He was serious, again. And I saw greed in his eyes. Gluttony.
-Because... I know what I want. I know what we want. Both.
-I don't...
-Of course, you do. Dare and tell me you don't ... ? Look at me, my friend : I can't deny my feelings... And you... are here, aren't you ?
He leaned back on the bed and slothfully stretched himself. One part oh his body wasn't exactly slothful. He had no hang-ups, and I had always marvelled at his self-confidence. However, he wasn't so much self-confident : his body, his cock were. I saw doubt in his eyes. But he wouldn't give up. He pertly added.
-Do you intend to stand there, in those... clothes ? I won't let you hide from me again.
And I threw all away, clothes, anger, envy, pride, greed, gluttony, sloth. All but lust.
And I can feel his hand brushing my chest. And my hand brushes the small of his back.
And I can feel his lips on the hollow of my neck. And my lips teases his ear.
And I can feel his fingers running from my throat, playing with my collarbones, tickling my nipples, resting on my belly. And my fingers count his vertebrae from the small to his back to his nape. And he arches his back like a cat.
And I can feel his lips closing my eyes. And my lips suck at his neck.
And I can feel his wrist rubbing my hips. And my hands squeeze his shoulders.
And I can feel his hairs brushing my groin. And my fingers grab his fair locks.
And I can feel his soft but strong fingers closing around me. And my hands cling at his neck.
And I can feel the O of his lips around me. And my mouth cries an O.
.
And I can feel his so sweet, so rough, so slow, so quick, so frustrating, so infuriating caress. And I let him do.
And I can cling to his head, to his shoulders, to him.
We can make it.
And I can hear moans. And these are mine.
And I can hear his loving chuckle.
And I open my eyes. He kneels between my legs, licks his fingers with delight. Glutton...
He collapses on me and whispers : « Once again ? »
And he calls me « Greedy »...
We call it love.
They can call it lust.
We can make love.
We can't make lust.