The Present:

Our mouths click wetly as they come together and then slide apart. It's so baldly sexual that I seize his hands and push them into the couch beside his head. He makes a sort little hum of pleasure and squeezes his legs around my hips with his bony knees. His bangs are matting to his forehead. I pull away and his eyes open. He looks naked and young. And that desperate violent sadness is at bay for a moment, his narrow eyes are soft.

I slot out mouths together again and he rises in a wave of solid heat against the entire length of my body. His hands are in my hair.

I could see why I would have loved him so long ago.

Our lips part again. We breath for a few seconds. And then I kiss that soft bunched skin between his eyebrows until it goes smooth. 5,000 years ago today I might have done the same thing. His grip hurts my hands. I kiss his eyebrow, muss it out of alignment with my mouth. His chest hitches but he doesn't make a sound. I lower my head to smell his hair. I kiss the firm curve of his ear as I go for his temple. I remember that he had leaned that soft spot toward me for a kiss after I got soaked rescuing his daggers from the mud. The sob scares me so bad I have to fight not to jerk away. He tries to shrug me off, to cover his eyes but I have his hands. He presses his face into my neck instead. He trembles, he shudders, he quakes and then with barely a sound, he starts to cry.

I take back one of my hands to hold his head close. He gulps for air and I pull away. He's not beautiful with his face wet and his eyes swollen. He can't keep his mouth closed because he can't breath through his nose and his body is jerking spasmodically as he fights release. He may as well be in mid orgasm to me. He's stunning.

I pull him into my arms and settle a hand on the back of his neck. I don't know what to say. I've said it all before. That its not his fault. That he has to let it go. He starts to talk and I think of cutting him off. Something tells me to let him finish.

" I would've given anything to wake up with you that morning", he whispers.

Son of a bitch. The entire frame of my skin hurts as if the tears are pushing on every pore to get out. My face is hot. He really is the expert on despairing what can't happen, so I murmur, " I love you too, Seto", and he slumps like his strings have been cut.

The curse is broken. I wonder who I will see when we finally pull apart, if we ever pull apart.