Kissing harder. Desperate to connect with the warmth that I'm sure I have. That he has. His breath hot. Quickening. He removes his shirt, presses my hands to his chest.
"I'm here."
Can he see me fighting to surface?
He stands.
No! Stay! But. He's not leaving. He's pulling me upright. Leading me to our room. Our bed.
Stay close.
Touch. His hair prickling my inner thighs. Warm lips, wet tongue. He pulls my hand onto his head, keeping connection. He clenches my fingers for me. Gripping his hair. It's real. He's here. Hear. Gentle sucking, loving murmurs, heavy breathing. His or mine? My body is reacting. Getting hotter.
He's above me, brown eyes searching mine. It must be me breathing hard; his mouth is closed. Kisses on my forehead, my nose, my mouth. A new taste is here. He presses my palm to his mouth, his cheek, his chest again. His heart is fast. And real. I can almost feel him.
His weight on top of me. Close. Holding tight. My hands on his bare back. Sticky with sweat. Slow, rhythmic friction between our legs. Pushing inside me. My body...feels. The hurt is drowning in his warmth. My warmth? Almost reaching him. The cracks of light are so close. A wave rolls up. Up my chest. My throat. From my mouth erupts a noise of satisfaction.
Sound. Of My Voice. I've sent something from within myself out into a real world, soundwaves that echo and land in folds of fabric and folds of ears that tell the world that I am here. I am real. I am real in this real world with this real, lovely, warm person. He's laughing, I can hear and feel it with his face buried in my neck. He's relieved, and encourages me to make more noises. I squeeze him greedily with hands and thighs, obliging with vocalizations of ecstasy. I've got it. I can feel and mingle with and return the warmth that he exudes so effortlessly. That I love so dearly. That is so, so real.