The heat should have dissipated. Lessened to something tolerable, shouldn't have? Once you reach heaven, isn't the only way to go is down?

So why is it that I'm burning again? Why is it that I am losing my mind, losing control again? Why is it that I am touching her again, thrusting my hips into hers again? Why is it that this need hasn't stopped but grown? Why is enough never enough?

If she has the answers, she keeps them to herself. Or she expresses them through her sighs of my name or through the trailing of her nails down my back or through the clenching of her thighs around mine.

If she has the answers, and if I have the questions, did we need anything else but each other?

As I sit up, pulling her with me, I find that maybe I have the answer to my own question.

But it's only when she's pushing at my shoulders, guiding me to lay down while she sets the speed, sets the torture of seeing perfection in motion, it's only at the moment where I see my hips arch upwards and hers downwards that I know that being with her is all I will ever need.

And when I drag her down with me, so she rests on top of me, when her teeth sink into my neck as the heat climbs, I notice something that I hadn't before in our haste to touch and taste each other. Something that should have been obvious from the beginning if I weren't so lost in her scent, in her skin, in her heat.

It's only when I bury into her as she spasms around me, a strangled version of my name leaving her lips, that I notice that all the sex-ed, friends' stories, and dad's warnings taught me about being safe is moot. That when I meet my end, it is with her, and there is no barrier that stops us from feeling every stroke, every maddening second! Nothing between us!

And that should worry me as we cling to each other, as we try to slow our breaths and hearts. I should be worried about consequences. But I'm not. Because consequences with her just seem like blessings. Anything that would bring us together could not be anything else.

But all to soon, that heat is back. The urge is back as if we didn't satisfy it. And we are getting lost in each other again.

And it's when her lips slide down my neck to my chest and then further down still, when my fingers curl into her scalp out of pure desperation and pleasure that I notice something else: we are in her shield. She's keeping us contained in her powers. Otherwise, how else could I lose this much control and not destroy the whole world?

I couldn't. And it is funny how she is the only one that can make me uncontrollable and then be the only one able to contain me. It's as if she and I balance each other. As if we were designed for each other and no one else.

The thought alone has me gasping and my head lolling back.

…Or that could just be her curious tongue.

Whichever one it is, it rapidly becomes nothing more than a stray thought as she hums. And I'm burning at her touches and at the sight of her being in control of me that my end nears much too quickly. And when I'm there, she accepts me readily, and that feeling of déjà vu is back. That feeling that we have lived these moments before. And maybe we had in a past lifetime. Or maybe the feeling stems from our desires to have more of these moments. To rewrite our present and future so that all that remains is us.

Now, when the heat comes full force, when the tiredness and ache of muscles disappears, when my mouth meets her, I finally realize why exactly I haven't been able to stop, why the need to rests never appears, why I can't seem to get enough of her.

She is not only containing us in her shield, but she is also rejecting the events that just transpired. So the aftershocks of pleasure are residing in a blink of an eye, the earthquake of pleasure that we experienced is quick to become something like a remnant of an aftertaste. An aftertaste so good, so irresistible that we make haste to recreate the real taste again and again.

But even we have our limits.

The last time is just as hurried, frantic, and needy as the first. To be honest, it might have been more. There is just something about her that brings out a side of me that I did not know existed. But I know deep down that all parts of me, even my hollow, craves her, is crazed by her, and is only satisfied by her.

With the way she uses her powers to create a world that she and I can be together, I know the feeling is reciprocated. I know she wants me just like I want her.

So when she and I cling to each other as we ride out our last wave, I sense something like disappointment in her reiatsu before her shield breaks and her spiritual pressure retreats back into her. I pull back just enough to see that she used the remnant of reiatsu to reverse the evidence of our exploding pleasure, but that was all she could do. The heat is gone, and my muscles feel the strain of my eagerness I showed her. And finally, I feel that post bliss that comes after a tryst of passion.

We lay close together, her head on my arm will the other is draped loosely around her. It's silent but not awkward. We are just basking in each other, in what we done, in what has yet to come. She looks up at me, her eyes finding mine quickly.

She's tired as well. Using as much reiatsu as she did, satisfying each other like we did made both of us drained. We stare into each other's eyes, and she gives me a small, hesitant smile that I return automatically. She then deliberately inches closer to me before I press her flush against me, and in that one gesture, we have an entire conversation. Without words, we understand each other, and when she moves her head to my chest, breaking eye-contact, what was unspoken lingers in the air until our breaths slows down, hers faster than mine, and we both doze off.

When I wake, I still feel her in my arms, slumbering away. It's instinct when I squeeze her and nuzzle my nose into her hair. It's second nature to me, at this point. The want to be close to her is as natural as breathing now. And with the way she nestles into my embrace, it must be natural for her, too.

I stay with her like this for a while until I carefully set her back onto the bed. I get up, grabbing my pants and shirt as I exit her room, closing the door quietly behind me. I'm not planning to leave. Far from it. I just realize that it's well past time for us to eat, and given the energy we used, we will both be starving.

Cooking with what she has is not easy. I'm not the best cook, but I do know my way around the basics, so I make a simple omelet with onions, ham, and cheese. For her, I add her usual favorites that make me cringe: the wasabi, chocolate syrup, and red bean paste. For mine, I leave it normal.

I am in the middle of boiling tea when I hear the door to her room open. She comes out wearing the dress that she started the day with, which, to me, is unfair and taunting. But I just give her a welcoming smile as I nod toward the table where I placed our meal.

Sleep clings to her eyelashes, but she grins widely before excitedly going to sit. I finish making the tea, and I carefully carry our cups over to her before I sit next to her. She likes that I chose to sit next to her rather than across from her. She shows her approval by scooting closer to me. I show mine by grabbing her hand and squeezing ours hands together.

She and I are silent as we dig into our meal. Well, sort of silent. She hums in happiness, and if I were capable of it, I am sure I would be purring like the cat she pictures me as, but since I'm not, I remain quiet.

As we near our meal, she glances into my eyes, and again, we have that unspoken conversation, and what is said is so loud that I lean down and press my lips to her. She tastes sweet and salty and spicy and so many other things that I groan into our kiss.

And this time, when I slip her dress off her, it is unhurried. I drag the fabric up her body, letting my fingers leave a trail of feather like touches across her skin, letting my tongue dominate hers. When I lower her body to lay across the floor, I make sure that I cushion her head with my arm as I hover over her. When the heat builds between us, I make sure to remember that this time is different than the others.

And it is. Because this time it's slow. Because this time we are just humans. Because this time I am a human man with no powers able to destroy the world, and she's a regular woman without the ability to reverse it. She is the one who I'd die for, and I am the one she would save. Just the two of us.

And because we are just normal humans, we take it slow. We are careful. We are, strangely, clumsy and hesitant and embarrassed. This is by far not the first time, but it felt like it, and it's addicting in its own way. And when our end approaches, I crush her into me. And she clings to me just as strongly. And it's perfect. And it's not. And it's the end of something between us. And it's just the beginning.

And the unspoken conversation we had is simple. And telling. And it's predictive. And confusing. And exciting. And scary. And it's hypothetical and concrete. All at once, it's meaningless and meaningful, imaginative and real, a lie and the truth.

Do you regret this? Was this a mistake?

No, I don't. And it's not.

Do you still like me?

It's not like anymore. You know that, don't you?

It's not like for me, either. It's more.

So much more.

Is it…?

It could be. So stay with me until it is.

Until then? What about after?

You won't be able to leave after. I won't be able to let you go.

Then don't ever let go.

I won't. I couldn't. So you'll stay?

So I'll stay.