Blissful Nightmare
It feels so unreal.
Like somewhere in this kiss, I fell off the side of our flat world and landed roughly in this dark dimension of false hopes and sinful desires.
I know that this is so unbelievably wrong. I know that back in the sane world, our objectives clash like a love potion and Avada Kedavra. But we are different people in this universe that we stow away for in a few minutes as a time. Here, our only objective is to stay breathing and living through the tangled and wild climaxes. We breathe harshly, as if to assure ourselves that we haven't died and fallen through the molded clay under our bare feet. Neither of us utter a word, afraid that the sounds from our mouths would prick us in the finger and wake us from this blissful nightmare.
It's our third meeting and probably our last. If I could have one wish, I would wish that there hadn't been a single rendezvous. I find my brain in the normal world constantly drifting towards my actions in the mirror world, thirsting for more and more of the salty and sweaty drug. We were in the Ministry of Magic. We broke in, furtively slipping past the Order's wartime guard. We made our way to the Minister's official office, the most forbidden location we had ever made love. He threw me violently on the desk, knocking over envelopes, quills, and other miscellaneous objects from a reality we had slipped out of like the rags that protect and shield our sweet sex. A bottle of ink hit the floor and splattered but neither of us lovers gave any reaction. All I can feel is the sheer ache and fullness of penetration. We were aligned as one, limbs combining like adjacent pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It feels like I'm slowly sinking into the splinters of the handcrafted hardwood desk. I was slowly being engulfed by the crushing wooden creases that were waves against my skin. Breathing became optional until everything disappeared except the sheer glistening blond hair of my coldhearted lover. Everything floated farther away as I sunk deeper and deeper into the ocean. There was no bottom of the abyss. His face started to disappear. But, suddenly, climax occurred. A jet of water struck me as I flew to the surface of the stormy sea. He was closer yet farther at the same time.
The clock struck twelve. I broke the surface and awakened.
