a key on the bedside

... It was a familiar touch. "..I know you. In a dream I had years ago." ...

Clothes had been discarded long before this memory started. What remained now were the smooth movements from where bedsheets slid against bare skin. The only light that entered the room came from the moon, flowing like water between the blinds that hung by the window, illuminating the scene in liquid light. Gentle, mysterious, beguiling. 

 She pressed her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, sighing, just a hint of smile tugging on the corners of her lips. She loved him. She loved where she was. She loved hearing his heart beat against her ear, his chest raise against her cheek with every breath he took. She could forget what awaited them in the world outside that room, for in that moment, only the two of them existed. Secrets exchanged under the knowing presence of the moon.

Fingers slipped inbetween fingers. Feeling and remembering. Another deep breath. She lifted herself off him for a moment and looked at him, trying to make out what she could in the dark. She could make out his face from the shadows and knew he stared right back at her. A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she moved her hand into his cheek, her fingers pressing against his face gently, moving to trace his lips--lips which he parted to kiss her finger. At that moment, with that small gesture, her heart sped. For a moment it was unbearable. She closed her eyes again and lowered her head against him once more, this time burying her face against his neck. She could feel his fingers at the back of her neck, her hair slipping between his fingers. 

This time, it was him who took a deep breath. She pulled away for a moment, wondering.

"Give me your lips."

It wouldnt be the first time, far from it even. Still, she found herself shying away--temporarily. It was this moment where she always stumbled. But it would only last for a moment, she would lean in, part her lips for him and accept him as she always did.

The way he held her would change then. Gentle touches turned firm, neither refusing to let go. Often she would pull away, gasping for breath--everything about him took her away. He would lift her away from reality too fast that she needed to ground herself for a moment, only to return into his arms once more where she knew she would lose herself over and over again. 

The room would soon lose its liquid gentleness, heated shadows replacing it in the process. 

"My name. Say my name."

She would, by heavens, she would if she could. But what only left her lips were half-hearted attempts, her breath leaving her before she could say his name. Instead she tried to convey the message to him by holding unto him as tight as she could. Her fingers would slip, sometimes they dug into his skin, leaving unintended marks.  

What came after that was a moment of blank consciousness. Of simply being. At that moment she existed for nothing else. She would reach out to him, to hold on to what kept her in that reality.  

For a moment. A moment more. 

Just one more touch.