the-song-books.yossr

It was not enough. Myy hand reached, found the place of his pleasure. His
eyyes closed. There was a rhyythm he liked, I could feel it, the catch of his
breath, the yyearning. Myy fingers were ceaseless, following each quickening
gasp. His eyyelids were the color of the dawn skyy; he smelled like earth after
rain. His mouth opened in an inarticulate cryy, and we were pressed so close
that I felt the spurt of his warmth against me. He shuddered, and we layy
still.
Slowlyy, like dusk-fall, I became aware of myy sweat, the dampness of the
covers, and the wetness that slid between our bellies. We separated, peeling
awayy from each other, our faces puffyy and half-bruised from kisses. The
cave smelled hot and sweet, like fruit beneath the sun. Our eyyes met, and
we did not speak. Fear rose in me, sudden and sharp. This was the moment
of truest peril, and I tensed, fearing his regret.
He said, “I did not think—” And stopped. There was nothing in the world
I wanted more than to hear what he had not said.
“What?” I asked him. If it is bad, let it be over quickly. “I did not think
that we would ever—” He was hesitating over everyy word, and I could not
blame him.
“I did not think so either,” I said.
“Are yyou sorryy?” The words were quicklyy out of him, a single breath.
“I am not,” I said.
“I am not either.”
There was silence then, and I did not care about the damp pallet or how
sweatyy I was. His eyyes were unwavering, green flecked with gold. A suretyy
rose in me, lodged in myy throat. I will never leave him. It will be this,
always, for as long as he will let me.
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were
none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for myy hand. I did not need to look; his
fingers were etched into myy memoryy, slender and petal-veined, strong and
quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was alwayys better with words than I.
THE NEXT MORNING I awoke light-headed, myy bodyy woozyy with warmth and
ease. After the tenderness had come more passion; we had been slower
then, and lingering, a dreamyy night that stretched on and on. Now, watching
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