6
He kind of loved the fact that he could call her anything. He should be reveling in his own name, he thought, but hadn't he gotten into all this because he wanted to forget Cyril? And what about the horrors she'd been through, what it meant to be Priya, especially now? The fact was it didn't matter. Names weren't titles, just sounds.
No matter who they were they'd always recognized each other.
That's what mattered.
And so here they were, together, finally, in a room that was theirs, with no names spoken and no pasts relayed, no words at all just sounds and sounds and sounds and sounds, the murmurs, moans, giggles from the top of a cliff, the escalations that were beyond sound, they were heralds to why we're here at all, why we have bodies. and we do, he thought. no matter what's been done to us, our bodies belong to us now. But what he wanted to say to himself was, my body belongs to her now, because there was no more comforting thought than that.
He was falling against her, her thighs trembling under his fingertips, the pulse a burn beneath her strong, silky legs. He felt her gasping, he felt her wanting, and if this is what it took to get them here, everything was worth it. It didn't matter what they'd done to his memory, as long as he never forgot this. And he wouldn't, he knew, because it would happen over and over and over again.
Escape is not avoidance. It's freedom.
The words came into his head and graciously evaporated beneath her deft fingers, which made the unbuttoning a shirt into a motion-driven art form, efficiently sliding each button apart, but allowing for touch between every button, her hands slowly claiming his chest. I can love this body again, he thought, if it's hers…and then the thoughts dissolved again, his shirt was wrinkled on the floor, and her hands grazed the top of his belt so that his breath sucked in, quickly. He had a quick flashback of showers, of seeing her there for the first time, but of course there are no sparks in a Doll's gaze. The hunger in her eyes strained his jeans. He wanted to burst out of them but he also wanted this ache to last – it let him know that they had time.
This surrender will be everything. Everything.
Then he remembered.
Before he even spoke she looked up, sensing the sudden tension in him. "The tracking devices," he said. "We have to get rid of them, before…"
And of course she knew he didn't have it in him to complete the thought. On no level could they bring Rossom into the reality unfolding before them now. "I know," she said. "We can."
"Do you have something?" he asked. "To…"
"Cut?" For a second he thought she said "fuck." It sounded that way, hard and sensual, from her mouth. "Yes."
She reached down into her boot, and pulled out a silver blade that looked freshly polished. "I always come prepared," she said. She reached down again, the curve of her ass so enticing for a moment before she arched back up, and flicked a silver lighter to life. "Safety first," she said, and the lilt of her Australian accent reminded him that there is nothing sexier than knowing you're safe. When you're sure in this, you can do anything.
He watched the flame illuminate the blade, sterilizing it. Deep breath.
"I…" He could feel his throat welling up, rebelling against him. He hadn't wanted to speak. "I have a lot of trouble with blood. Since…you know."
"Of course," she said softly. "Don't worry, love. This is going to be different. Blood is our life force, remember. No one is going to die here. We're doing this so we can live our lives. Turn around. I'm going to go very slowly…"
He turned he felt his back with her palms, and even though his heart was pounding he felt his muscles relax into her deep touch. She massaged him, he wasn't sure for how long, until his jaw felt loose. "Are you ready now?" she whispered.
He swallowed. "I think so."
First, she licked his neck. The wet heat made him tingle, and the cool, sharp sting of the blade almost felt like another part of her. He pictured her teeth, how they'd always had this dark fairy look about them, and imagined her biting into them, simply needing his body that much, the taste of him that much. Now he fell back into her again, and this time, the words spilled out. But on ragged breath.
"Deeper. Please."
When she complied he felt his chest contrast and expand with impossible quickness, the way it usually did before he came. But a metal clink shook him from his swoon.
"It's gone, Anthony," Priya said. "I've got it. You're free now."
He said nothing. Maybe she didn't have one. Maybe they were wrong.
"You ready for me?" she asked.
"I can't hurt you."
"We've already discussed this, Anthony."
"But it's different. My doing it to you is just different. It's too close to before."
"There are no guns here," she said, and he could practically touch the love in her words. "The only fire is the flame that keeps the blade clean, so that we can claim our lives together. You know we have to do this."
"It's not going to be that simple for me," he said. "Didn't you hear what I said? I can't hurt you."
"But you're helping me, Anthony."
"Too much pain. I can't cause you any more pain."
She sighed. It was a patient sigh, long but musical. "How did you feel just now?" she asked.
"What?"
"Just now."
"When you opened me up? It was amazing. I felt like you were inside me."
"Okay then."
"But…"
"But what?"
"I told you, it's different. You've been…"
With one fingertip, she touched his lips. She felt him exhale.
"I know."
She lifted her shirt, slowly. Anthony had almost forgotten about the pale blue bra, how golden her skin looked against the lace. She unclasped it. When it fell, he looked up into her eyes. He wanted to dive into the depths there, come back soaking.
"Don't you think I want to feel something," she began. Then she moved closer to him, so that the whispers slid like fingertips along his ear, his neck. "Penetrating and strong. Something my body remembers, that I ask for? Do you know how excited I am to give my own pain back its power? To allow it to be what it should be, one of infinite reminders that we are alive and in touch with our freedom? I want this, Anthony. I want this more than I've wanted anything in a long, long time."
Her words stirred him. Want, especially, the way she said it gripped his cock and made him believe her. But his mind was having none of it. His body heard her, everything she said took hold of him and lit him up beneath the skin, but his head couldn't get past the idea, what it looked like. "I need a little more time," he said.
"You need to be convinced?"
He opened his mouth but didn't say anything.
She smiled. Then in one fluid spin she stood behind him, pressing her bare breasts against his back. She stroked his neck with one hand, his hair with the other, and his head dipped back into her palm.
This time, she whispered in the other ear, and made sure he could hear every word.
"I wouldn't ask for freedom any other way," she began. "Than to feel you, you, go beneath my skin, to a core where no one else has ever been, ever, and remove that thing they shot into me. They didn't go inside to do it, remember, it was just a syringe, just metal and plastic. But the blade is a different metal, and when it gets rid of the final trace, I want to feel you there. Your tongue. I want you to taste me, swallow me. I would even love it if you woke up one night craving me that way, for just a second, wanting to taste what's beneath my skin. I love the thought of you imagining it."
"I'm starting to," he said quietly.
"Good."
"I think I'm ready now."
"Do it."
"Um, it might help if…"
"Need more proof, do you?"
She tore her belt off and pulled his hand between her legs, pressing it down. "How much wetter can I possibly be?"
"Let's find out," he said.
"Now you're talking."
But when she handed him the blade, he held her wrist, gently. "Wait," he said. "If we're going to do this, can we do it right?"
Priya laughed. "Now there's a right way? I've already sterilized the—"
Anthony smiled. "I'm not talking about sterility."
She looked up, and for a second he wanted everything just like this. Can't life be your lover's smiling expectant look? Does anything have to come after?
Priya sheathed the blade and took Anthony's outstretched hand.
"I prepared this room," he said, leading her slowly. "Because I knew I wasn't going to forget you. I wasn't sure if I would ever…if we would ever…"
"Anthony," she said. "I'm here."
A hundred unlit candles spread over the room.
Priya said nothing as she handed him the lighter. Flick flick flick and the room came alive, a citrus luminescence guiding the soft dancing shadows to their bed.
It was a mattress, low to the ground, covered with a peach comforter.
Its softness shocked Priya.
"You're a soldier," she smiled, letting herself sink back into the sheets.
"I was thinking of you," he said immediately. "When I bought this after I got out. Not like that, I mean I could see you sometimes – it was the only thing that kept me here. And when I saw your face I felt like comfort meant something. You made me want to heal."
She could almost feel his soul melting into her. When he looked at her, she felt like her body had always been her own.
It already seemed like nothing could find them. They had to be protected by their love. But she couldn't talk like that, or this would never get done.
"Anthony," she said, her voice more stern this time. "We have to."
He nodded, and took the blade from her. Feeling his conviction now, she turned on her back and relaxed into the mattress, soft and downy against her breasts.
His fingers traced her back, first, and she felt him caressing every vertebrae before he ran his hand along the full, graceful curve. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so beautiful. He kissed her neck. Then she felt the blade cold against it, but only brushing against her, gently, to let her know it was there.
She closed her eyes.
The burn came.
She wanted more.
"Lick," she managed. "I need it, Anthony."
"I'll give you what you need," he said. "Let me just…"
And with an extra prick-spark at her neck she knew she was free from the tracking device. Now it really was just the two of them, here. Alive and here.
His tongue, hot and eager, made her fall even deeper into the mattress. He licked like he had been waiting all his life to taste her.
"How am I?" she asked him.
"You taste like rain."
She noticed a bottle of aloe vera by the bed, just as he reached for it. The glistening gel squeezed easily onto his fingers, and he ran it over the wound. Priya turned on her back, once again exposing her belly and breasts.
"Tell me you want to keep going," she said.
"I do." His whisper excited her, she felt it in her solar plexus.
"Don't stop," she said.
He made one careful, diagonal cut, just below her collarbone. The red shone.
"Isn't it incredible," he said, "that no matter who we've been, this was always the same?"
She moaned a yes, something that meant yes, but by then his tongue was following the gleam, and her chest writhed under its varying pressures. When he looked up, he said, "Everything inside you is so beautiful."
"Isn't that why we do this?" she asked. "So we can take what we love inside and give it a form we can taste and see and…"
"And get all over ourselves?" Anthony smiled.
"Yes, perhaps we should be careful of your sheets."
He stood up. "How long has it been," he asked, "Since you, you, with your brilliant and beautiful mind in tact, had a long, hot shower?"
"You know the answer to that," she said, standing up slowly.