And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall.
Pour real life down on me.
'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough.
Am I good enough for you to love me too?

(Good Enough, Evanescence)

Flesh against flesh. The taste of sweat upon my lips. It is intoxicating, like a poison that I must have over and over again. The weight of him against me, towering over me. I should refuse, I should say no. But I cannot. Why can I not bring myself to tell him no? Why must I let him conquer me completely? Why do I need to feel him?

And again, our nightly activities continue. There are no sweet nothings, no vows of forever, no promises of protection and no declarations of love. Why spew unnecessary lies? We know there is no love between us.

Only lust.

It is lust as I feel his hands wander over my body, and I completely surrender. Lust as he kisses me, our tongues performing the ritualistic battle for dominance. And like a part of that ritual, he wins. He purges my mouth, and I moan, wanting more. Yes, I want more, more than just tongue against tongue. My desire for his flesh against mine is overwhelming, and I tug on his pants.

Like he knows I will.

And it is lust that pushes him to discard his jeans. It is lust that makes me allow him to rid me of my trousers as well. It is lust that drives him to get me to suck him off.

But it is love that allows me to do it.

Even as I tease gently, tenderly, even as he lets out little moans of appreciation, the normally stoic man's face flushed with arousal, even as I'm stopped and brought up for another mind blowing kiss, I know what emotion is in my mind that makes me allow him to do these things to me.

I love him.

And with a clink of the handcuffs, I am on my stomach and his hands are tracing over my backside. The hands stop moving, and I hear a squirt of substance. I close my eyes, knowing what is coming next.

And as he slides a finger inside me, I groan, the lotion coated finger beginning to probe around. I bite my lip as a second finger joins and starts to roughly scissor my entrance. The pain starts to subside, and he pushes in a third. I gasp out as he pushes them in far, and then pulls out, twisting the fingers in a spiral motion.

I feel the crown of his hard member press up against my entrance and I bite hard down on the pillow my face is cushioned by. The pain is only overcome by pleasure as he thrusts as though an expert in this field. Even though I am the only man he has been with like this. The only person he's been with like this.

Not that this fact means anything to him. Just like the fact I was a virgin meant nothing to him our first time.

And as he fills me, and as I moan and groan at the right times and in beat, it takes everything of my will and pride not to gasp out "I love you."

So instead, I allow myself the luxury of gasping his alias, "Ryuuzaki."

With everything thrust, tears begin to form. Tears of love. Tears of lust. Tears of frustration. Tears of pain. Tears of Pleasure.

And as he hits my prostate, I begin to scream.

"Ry-Ryu-Ryuuzaki!" I shriek, as though begging for more. I loud moan is what I get in response.

It goes on like this for awhile, until he climaxes, moaned softly, "Light-kun."

My climax joins his, and we collapse on the bed, laying there for about two minutes.

And then he gets up, tossing me my pants and getting dressed.

"Come Light-kun. There is work to be done."

And in the end, I still love him.

I just wish I was good enough for him to love me too.