You lose yourself in the taste of sweat. In the feel of a familiar body beneath your own, in a voice that barely breathes your name, in long fingers tangling in your hair... this is when you lose your careful control.
It has always been like this, since the first moment he accepted your touch. The first tentative kiss, where it became clear to you that he was indeed pure. The first whimper that you managed to draw from him with an experimental nip. There was power there, and you enjoyed it.
Every time he gave up a little of himself... but you knew in the end that you'd given just as much of yourself in return.
And although the times have changed, and his soul lives in a different body, you still lose yourself. In his sweat, in his voice, in the clench of his body as he moves his hips to meet yours in the dance you both continue to perfect, you find yourself falling.
It is magic, in its own way. Sweat and saliva and semen, you reaffirming your hold on him. He strengthening his hold on you. Together, overcoming death and centuries of forced separation.
Zork can wait.
Atemu (if he finds his way back as you managed to) can wait.
The entire fucking world can wait.
For now, they are unimportant. The only thing that exists, the only thing that matters, is this moment in time.
And as you find your completion in him, as he finds his own release in you, you know that this moment will never come again.
So you kiss his lips and taste his sweat, committing them to memory. As you do every time. This moment is gone, but there are many more to come.