Pilgrimage

Author's Note:

This challenge felt like something I could do, because I tend to think of myself as more of an impressionistic writer than as someone who excels in a longer story format. Still, it was a challenge! Which I suppose is the point. This story has been inside my head for a while, and I'm grateful to this event for giving it the life and breath it needed to live outside of my head- without a word more than it needs.

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There is sunshine and noise and palpable excitement, a surge of electricity as they embrace for the first time. She notices how she stands at his height, his equal. He notices how she seems to glow as she turns to smile at him- in line for the rental car, and standing on the escalator, and as she laughingly fumbles the keys while he throws his bags in the back. You're even more beautiful in person, he insists; she shakes her head, but can't stop smiling.

In the car they drink water, and she points out places she knows as they creep down the congested freeway. Soon, she promises, we will turn off and it will be less busy. It's just that time of day. He doesn't seem to mind as he reaches out to stroke her hand, her cheek, the nape of her neck where the delicate baby-soft hairs grow. She shivers, and can't stop smiling.

They stop at a landmark, and she wishes she'd realized that he would want to hike the whole way down to the bottom of the waterfall and back up again. He bubbles over like the water, catching up and sharing new thoughts and always, always touching- her hand, the hair that falls over her eyes, the small of her back as they walk single file past other hikers.

The places they see are, to them, profound and unbelievable, though they might seem silly to others. A tiny pilgrimage as they make their way to their ultimate destination. Each step makes him pause and marvel at the enthusiasm etched across her face. She stands in awe of the sheer joy that pours out of his every cell, joy to be where they are, joy to be there with her. And on they go. The day fades into darkness and still they drive. He chooses songs as tiny love notes to her. She shares thoughts, memories, facts, stripping her past bare to him as she invites him into her future. And then finally they stop.

It is pitch black as they walk silently up the drive, the songs of frogs coming from the river somewhere behind the property where they will sleep that night. He opens the door, turns on the light, drinks in the sight of her face as she takes in the textures of this new space, their temporary home. There are two bedrooms, two beds. She wonders whether she will sleep alone amidst the draped fabrics of the four-poster, or if she will find reason to explore other options in the night. His goodnight kiss is warm, embracing, reassuring- not demanding. Not excluding. Just... open.

And in the darkness, she finds herself unable to sleep. Lights on, then off. Book open, but she cannot retain a single word. The pillows are soft; she punches imaginary lumps. The blankets breathe; she throws them off in defiance of suffocation. Some water. That will help. She steps out of her room and sees-

His light is on.

Perhaps it is her knock on his door, or just her heartbeat. Perhaps the door opens slowly, a dramatic reveal of his face, shirtless body, disheveled hair; perhaps time has merely slowed down. Are his hands the first to cross the distance? Does she step into his embrace or is she pulled? In a moment it doesn't matter who moved first; they move together, her fingers twining in his hair as his hands travel down her body, pushing her robe off her shoulders and onto the floor. Her teeth nipping at his neck as his hands cup her heavy breasts, teasing and tweaking, warming and priming. Her hands find his waistband, and then there is no waistband to hold. His hands delve into her mane of hair as he settles between her thighs, and they hold their breath for an impossible eternal moment, and then

she cries out in satisfaction, disbelief, at the sensation of him sinking into her

his thrusts punctuated with groans, encouragement, sweat dripping from his forehead to roll down her chest

her fingernails dragging trails across his back as he urges

Let go, let yourself feel, tell me what you want-

She gasps in reply

More, give me more, give me everything, just don't stop-

until the words become babble as they come together, their climax crashing down around them like the eaves of the house or the eddies of the river behind them, until they collapse into sleep.

Until tomorrow, when they drive again.