Smut time! Nah, sadly not really. I honestly think there's nothing more difficult to write than a sex scene so this weak erotica interlude is seriously an OOC cheesefest for which I am truly sorry. It was more of an exercise in finding synonyms for the word "fire"... There'll be another chapter and you won't need to read this one to enjoy it.
He remembers when his father gave him that blue bike and for the first time in his life there were no training wheels, nothing to hold him down. He was racing through familiar streets of Brooklyn half terrified, half giddy. It's that fear of falling, of losing control mixed with pure exaltation of flying. This is how it feels like now.
"Are you sure?" He manages to utter when she traces his jawline with heated touch. Are you sure you want this? Me? Us? There's no going back and he knows it. Once they've crossed this line he'll want more. He'll want fights and breakfasts in bed. He'll want her toothbrush in his bathroom and her clothes on the bedroom floor. Her every dream and her every nightmare. He'll want everything.
She hastily nods in between the kisses. The flame flickers, chasing away his last doubts, replacing this uncertainty with a new longing.
Her fingers are pressing into his back, pulling him closer and everything is a blur. He hears a moan and he thinks he recognizes his own voice but it's so different and distant he isn't even sure. His neck hurts. He's too tall, she's too short and they fit perfectly. And God he wants her so badly. Everything is on fire, melting the old guilt away and he picks her up, so light, his heart is so light now. He navigates them in an uncoordinated dance through the room while she clumsily tries to get his shirt off. There are clothes, too many clothes and teeth grazing his collarbone. Her hair catches on his watch and she laughs in the corner of his mouth. It's pure bliss. He almost trips on her discarded t-shirt when she grabs him by the belt and they tumble down. His legs hit the bed frame hard and he lets out a hiss of pain.
"Ow, trying to break the- " He starts saying but she shushes him quickly with insisting kisses and when she captures his earlobe and tells him she wants more, he's pretty sure he wouldn't notice an actual apocalypse, much less a broken leg or a broken bed.
In return he places a trail of small bites from her neck to her breasts. His tongue is leaving burn marks on her soft skin, salty taste of a trembling body and it's all hers, whatever he is, he's hers now.
"You're fucking amazing," he moans breathlessly, boldly. The world keeps falling out of focus around the figure stretched across the mattress. How appropriate, she was always the centre of his universe.
She inhales roughly, her deft, warm hand exploring, performing magic rites with that same spell that kept fixing his gaze upon her face. He's shaking, searching blindly his nightstand until she pins him against the dark grey sheets and whispers promises of beautiful sins. He's held tightly in this otherworldly state; outside the raindrops are knocking rhythmically, mercilessly on the windows, the wind crying, sighing. It's all the same, reality and fantasy, and that lustful staccato that sets him aflame.
He wants to beg her to slow down or to accelerate, the sweet torture she inflicts on him so efficiently. All in vain, their wilful madness hurts so good.
She grabs his neck and forces him to keep his eyes on hers. Demands he keeps them open. To see her, to see what he's doing to her. He's exposed beyond his naked form, like the surface scratched raw all the way to his brittle heart. He smooths the damp hair from her temple as she wordlessly pleads for release. This is the only way she should ever fall apart. Tangled, pulsing, in broad daylight or in the deep night, with him, so there's nothing left of her but murmurs and swollen lips and her fingerprints on his back. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of her hand clutching the covers. He hears his own name and he never knew it could sound like this. She hurls him over an endless precipice and then he's falling and falling and falling until there's nothing but light and darkness and this moment.
It's an absolution.
Later when their breathing slows down and they're watching ethereal shadows dancing on the wall, he whispers, "You were here before, you know? So many nights you were here with me. But it's the first time I'm not waking up but falling asleep."