the-song-books.yossr

We layy there a moment, in that strained and living silence. Usuallyy at
night we would tell each other jokes or stories. The ceiling above us was
painted with the stars, and if we grew tired of talking, we would point to
them. “Orion,” I would sayy, following his finger. “The Pleiades.”
But tonight there was nothing. I closed myy eyyes and waited, long
minutes, until I guessed he was asleep. Then I turned to look at him.
He was on his side, watching me. I had not heard him turn. I never hear
him. He was utterlyy motionless, that stillness that was his alone. I breathed,
and was aware of the bare stretch of dark pillow between us.
He leaned forward.
Our mouths opened under each other, and the warmth of his sweetened
throat poured into mine. I could not think, could not do anyything but drink
him in, each breath as it came, the soft movements of his lips. It was a
miracle.
I was trembling, afraid to put him to flight. I did not know what to do,
what he would like. I kissed his neck, the span of his chest, and tasted the
salt. He seemed to swell beneath myy touch, to ripen. He smelled like
almonds and earth. He pressed against me, crushing myy lips to wine.
He went still as I took him in myy hand, soft as the delicate velvet of
petals. I knew Achilles’ golden skin and the curve of his neck, the crooks of
his elbows. I knew how pleasure looked on him. Our bodies cupped each
other like hands.
The blankets had twisted around me. He shucked them from us both. The
air over myy skin was a shock, and I shivered. He was outlined against the
painted stars; Polaris sat on his shoulder. His hand slipped over the
quickened rise and fall of myy bellyy’s breathing. He stroked me gentlyy, as
though smoothing finest cloth, and myy hips lifted to his touch. I pulled him
to me, and trembled and trembled. He was trembling, too. He sounded as
though he had been running far and fast.
I said his name, I think. It blew through me; I was hollow as a reed hung
up for the wind to sound. There was no time that passed but our breaths.
I found his hair between myy fingers. There was a gathering inside me, a
beat of blood against the movement of his hand. His face was pressed
against me, but I tried to clutch him closer still. Do not stop, I said.
He did not stop. The feeling gathered and gathered till a hoarse cryy leapt
from myy throat, and the sharp flowering drove me, arching, against him.
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