[mature] Trekk.

[Noori]

Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines

"You are my queen."

Her eyes are closed, and she senses nothing except those words, and their physical embodiment - her oneness with Trekk. The words sound like the waves of the sea, rolling endlessly forward, a smooth and delirious motion that leaves her completely out of touch, completely free of her conscious confinements as his love drowns out the toxicity of her life. His lips on hers are a promise of new life and of revival; with him, her broken parts mend.

Her head has rolled back, her pale jugular angled skyward, begging of and receiving hungry kisses from her lover's lips. His teeth, biting the skin found there - it does not call her back to reality, does not reawaken her. For to dream this dream of passion eternally more is her truest desire, and to know this sensation of reconciliation and adoration a gift beyond description. He is supple beneath her hands; he is rigid between her thighs; he is the heat of love upon her neck, and the foundation upon which she rebuilds herself. He is everything she needs at once, the ultimate fruition of her life's efforts and desires. Nothing is real any more, except him. The responsibilities of life are exclusive to him.

Their physicality transcends lust in the time they spend making the music that only their ears shall ever understand and delight in. Their movements and cries are not carnal, they are not beastly or empty sounds of a one night stand - Noori has heard those noises, has made those noises. These are not them. The fluidity of their coupling is a tribute to the eternal bond they create, not only in a child but more importantly in their love for one another. As ecstasy over takes her, she knows. This is not sex, this is not orgasms, this is not thrusting or moaning or animal. This is their peace: their promise: their everything.

She cannot hear, cannot see, cannot feel. He is every drug at once and she is on the cusp of death from his effects. The world is spinning and dark, but at every place he touches her, fireworks explode. It is psychotic, hallucinogenic. She is the fire that he alights, and he is the moon that dictates the ebb and flow of her tides. They are wolves, howling in unison, as far apart as mountains, yet as bound together as soulmates are. There are no thoughts within her as they dance. There is only a chaotic kind of silence - the endless, seamless rolling of a wave on the ocean, directionless but eternal.

Then, the wave crashes against the shore - there is no warning.

Her reverie is intensified as she feels him nearing completion - and in that same moment, her own arousal peaks. It is as a flower to the spring, blossoming at the heat of the sun and reveling in its newfound life. She can feel it, in the pit of her stomach, and she cries all the louder as the sensation spreads from her centre all the way to the edges of her being. The fireworks she felt before are everywhere now, a chaotic show of climax and fulfillment that seems to last an eternity. His seed spills within her, and she is clutching him to her, her eyes squeezed shut, their oneness inexplicable and true beyond reason. He rests the entirety of his weight against her, and the pressure is reassuring, a promise that whatever may come, he shall be by her side - that these moments they have shared are not a way to tell the time, but instead, are time itself.

In the minutes that pass with their breathing in tune, with their hearts slowling, with their sweat shining and the fluids of their love intermingling, the air is pregnant with contentedness. She does not want to move, does not ever feel the need to displace herself from this exact position - she loses herself in the sound of his slowing breath, in the beauty of his body that she feels under the palms of her hands, in the way that she knows beyond speak able reason that this man is her salvation.

He is her boy, her beautiful boy, and she holds him with all the passion that a sleepy, contented girl can.

They dream the same dream then, neither of them able to move, not needing to - where was the need? They were as eternal as the nothingness of space, a universal constant that, no matter their misunderstood complexities, existed and was beautiful and needed no explaining at all. No, there is no rush, no need, no pressing duty to attend. They have attended to each other - and for now, and forever, that is enough.

In their dreams, she is young and rosy, giving freely of sweet-tasting kisses and promising sweet-nothings. In their dreams, he is beautiful and young, the vision of promise, taking of her kisses and showing her more than she could ever hope to see on her own. They are cosmic children, innocent in their love for one another, and utterly forgiven of their trespasses. With silent feet and warmly lit hearts, the pair wanders among the stars, hand in hand, content at last, having found each other on a road that shall forevermore be traveled.

noori