Dammit, what a room… Not only it reeks of something musty, like… no, there is no comparison for that. The smell of rooms in such dens isn't like anything. It's awful, but you can get used to anything.
And here is also this torn mattress, and the bed… I bet it will fall apart. And the window right below the ceiling. Like in a cell, really…
- I'm ready. And you?
I will never get used to that voice. It seems to be His – and at the same time something different, as if from behind a gravestone. Coming from the right… Fuck.
No, of course he always could undress quickly, but not _that_ quickly… I could barely look around the room. The rags form a shapeless heap on the floor. So… strange. I gaze – and cannot turn away, but something disgustingly sweetish comes up my throat. He seems to have become even more slim than before. Or, rather, withered? The thin, tender skin, on which every bite left a bruise – has seemingly grown even sinner. Jet-black decomposing spots dot the palish gray, somewhere it hangs in scraps, the ribs, which could always be seen, have worn through the flesh in several places… I must run from here immediately, this very second, and forget this like a nightmare. Only… I don't want. Not in the least. Whether it is the drug to blame, or this reunion – I don't know. I'm standing – and trembling. Like a damned idiot.
- Are you going to stand like that forever? – I shudder again. This dissatisfied tone – it cannot be forgotten. And this dancing gait – too. Only the bones our clanking. Every sound – like a shot into the spine. And he unclasps the buttons on the shirt just as adroitly as before. Only the touches are ice cold. And shivers run across my whole body. I'm sure I look silly beyond measure.
It's strange – every move, every touch provokes a flood of memories. Everything is like back then… but it's not right, it's monstrous, it's sinister… Ah, what the hell!
I've always loved to tousle his hair. And it turns out to be just as pleasant now – although they've become dry, although I can almost feel them falling apart under my fingers… Is his tongue, sliding down my chest lower and lower, to the laces of the pants, cold an dry, even a little worse than before, that hot and moist little snake? No. Then why am I trembling, like leaf in a thunderstorm? I don't know… It is too hard to stand on my legs when a cold ring embraces my penis at its base. Now this is very different. He never liked taking it whole, he said he was gagging. It's much better this way… And his rotten smell is almost gone. No, I can't stop feeling it - but I can just forget it. Forget for a few perfect minutes in all these useless years. He might feel hot right now – if only he can. It seems to be the last thought. Close my eyes, succumb to his power, melt under his touches, fuse with the bony fingers, cracked lips, withered tongue… and feel down there the strain, the pleasure, the languor, which had barely espaced from the cold embrace, grow and grow incessantly – too hard to stand… My hand on the back of his head, I can't wait any longer, I'll fuck him – here and now. He is like a part of me, I could be the way he is – if that arrow had found another target… To hell with memory and all its antics! Now there is nothing but the sweet languor, on the verge of pain, growing with every push, every move of the hips – and relieving itself in a moment. Actually, in a few seconds, but how can I, molten under the pressure of dead caress, keep account of moments?
As soon as I open my eyes I meet the cunning shade in his gaze, that damned shade that is still there like everything else. The tongue slides back into the mouth like a piece of snake skin, gathering the last drops from thin lips. The mouth breaks into a smile, baring decayed teeth with slightly protruded fangs.
- You haven't changed a bit, you know.
A pause. A deep breath.
- Neither have you.