[He had mastered the art of disentangling his heart from his body. It is like keeping one's head above water while swimming: enjoying the cool caress of the water without ever having to delve in too deeply. Yet when Oliver draws closer, his heart is tangled in the moment and he feels ready to sink into the familiarity of him.
He tells himself that it's just another body leaning over him, just skin and flesh and a heart he knows too well. It's only sex - so what if it's with the man he loves more than he has ever loved anyone else, more than he loves himself? He tells himself that he doesn't care what they are to each other. (And in this moment, it is more or less the truth. He wants only to touch, to throw himself bodily into the oblivion of his desire.)
Grabbing a pillow to wedge underneath his hips, leaning back against the bed, he arranges himself for Oliver. His arms stretch out toward him, seeking something to hold onto.]
Come on...
[He shapes it like a plea, spurring the other man on.]
no subject
He tells himself that it's just another body leaning over him, just skin and flesh and a heart he knows too well. It's only sex - so what if it's with the man he loves more than he has ever loved anyone else, more than he loves himself? He tells himself that he doesn't care what they are to each other. (And in this moment, it is more or less the truth. He wants only to touch, to throw himself bodily into the oblivion of his desire.)
Grabbing a pillow to wedge underneath his hips, leaning back against the bed, he arranges himself for Oliver. His arms stretch out toward him, seeking something to hold onto.]
Come on...
[He shapes it like a plea, spurring the other man on.]