The halls were alternating clear or panicked. The sporadic sound of movement rousing their contented heads from musty sheets. Only stragglers rushed past them with annoyed glances and harsh command. Spurred into complementary movement, they joined the masses in the pit. They missed so much while cocooned away, enveloped by overwhelming desires.
All he has is the pull of his hands on her back and her butt and the shove of her feet propelling her backwards. The push and the pull is slow and the draw of him inside of her stilted by the small movements. He needs her faster, wants her harder, his ears burn to make her moan louder and maybe even shriek with joy an surprise. But she's grinding slow and precise towards her own ends. He could never be so selfish as to interrupt her just for him.
He's a puzzle of woven tissue and misfiring neurons that both begs for and yet forbids being unraveled. She's a field mouse on marshy soil hoping to tread light enough not to sink and even to skim across the open puddles on the tattered leaves from fallen dreams. As she boldly scampers, he tightens the tangles that hold and protect him with the strength of spider's silk and none of the utility.
He hesitates, letting the sauce gloop off the spoon. Amar's never looked like that. Maybe… No. It didn't say to peel the tomatoes. He didn't even know if he could peel a tomato. His friends were laughing behind him, amused and asking if there was a problem. He shrugged his shoulders around his ears and hoped they'd be kind.