Tales of Ancient Rome 3 Lions in the Valley
- 2 years ago
- 57
- 0
Violet Valley free porn video
Something breaks in me when I watch you sleep. I know I shouldn't think about, but I'm in that crucial moment. Go or stay. I should hold you even closer. Underneath the blanket, bodies curved together as spoons of bare warm flesh, we can forget for a while. Neither of us has to remember that this pocket of time, however beautiful, is always fleeting.
I'll go back to my little apartment, that tiny anonymous building where I don't know anyone.
You'll go back home, that big house nestled above the valley that overlooks our city. From there, the city lights below and stars in the vast above are almost exact mirrors of one another in their distant glittering beauty. How they look so distant from one another but also seem to meet and fold together in the dark horizon always reminds me of us.
I remember the view there so many so many times with you. The sky was always a raw dark blue there, almost the specific color of your name on some nights. We would either sit in my car or smoke outside and look skyward. Your hand slipped into mine the last time we were there, damp with the evening air and our own heat.
Little squeezes every now and then. I'd squeeze back each time, certain we communicated through some Morse code of touch, our bodies acting as conduits able to decode such signals.
I also remember the first time. It was summer, the night when everyone is drinking and setting off fireworks. We met miles away from your house, parked in the dark. From that high point, you can see the valley's horizon where the city ends, where mountains begin. They look like mysterious, sleeping stone giants at night, ancient and towering.
I don't remember what we were talking about or if we even actually spoke. I remember perfume, the warm rush of air as you leaned in. I remember your kiss, redolent of sweet wine, growing more urgent by the second.
The memory of your scent and more would linger upon my lips all night. Bare thighs slowly parting, skin aglow with clear moonlight.
Making love as bursts of light began to explode in beautiful temporary rainbows. Your moans muffled from the random concussive blasts.
Everything that had been held back by us before coming out in the ways our bodies spoke to one another. How you clamp around when I'm inside, the most primal and possessive of embraces. How we held each other after, like some shift in gravity pushed us as close together as humanly possible. Without words, telling me I belong to you.
We're far past that night.
And right now, in this late hour, is often when one of us goes as the other remains asleep. It's never been a spoken agreement. It's like we both know leaving that way is easier than trying to say goodbye and promising we'll meet up here again.
Something wants to break in me as I watch you, something I don't have a name for. It's not my heart. That's been broken before. This runs through there and travels deeper. It's the part of me that wants to soothe you no matter how much we hurt each other.
I've seen countless slivers, sides of you over time. Good and bad. The opaque territories that lie in between. Since they are each one of the many puzzle pieces that make you, they are beautiful to me. You've shown me anger and tenderness. Fragility and strength. The possessive and cold. The vulnerable and the vindictive. The close and the painful distant.
I've only seen you cry once, though. Naked, spooning face to face. I always hold you close. The calm, beautiful aftermath of consuming each other. There were very few words between us, but I knew something was wrong. Something you wouldn't get specific about.
Your features suddenly softening, lips trembling, hand squeezing mine as I held you tighter. Face burying into my shoulder, I could warm droplets on my skin before hearing you cry.
I could feel your heart's erratic drumming, like the beating wings of a small, terrified bird. You whispered things that painted enough of a picture. About feeling alone at home. Hurt. And never being enough.
I know those things all too well.
Beyond there, the words are mostly unintelligible sobs. I'll never repeat any of the other snippets I caught. One thing we've always had in common is knowing how to keep the other's secrets closely guarded. Despite the pain we've inflicted at times, we never turn secrets into ammunition or blades.
I've never been very good with people. I see too many things in numbers, quantifiable and tangible measurements. Telling you or anyone else how I feel has never come easy. Such exposure has often terrified me. I mean, is there anything more vulnerable than granting another access to your every weakness? It leaves us naked in ways that bare skin never could.
That sector of me shuts down with most people. It's the reason why I've been called (even by you) cold and closed off.
But I still knew more than enough to just hold you tight then. Anchor you to some semblance of safety, tether you to something real that would never flee from you. Just hold you and say nothing because there were no words that could break through and mend whatever gulf of pain you were feeling.
That moment alone was almost enough to make me forget that you would leave an hour later, placed a soft kiss above my temple first. You love me. But, there's also more that you need.
It was the first time in my life I realized, despite what everything in me screams, that love may not be enough sometimes. You never knew I cried after you left. I could never tell you or anyone else. It belongs to me.
And now, I take note of the things I'll miss by leaving. They are countless and immeasurable, all bearing entwined nuances that I can't quite wrap words around. That's how I know they mean something. I think of earlier tonight...
I could describe how every peak and valley of your bare skin is rippled with gooseflesh before any contact. It's as if your body is sensing moments that have yet to take place, reacting to a premonition of my knowing touch.
I could describe the quiet gasp that escapes when the pads of my thumbs circle your nipples, beautiful buds responsive, immediately hardening. Or how your legs part so slowly when my fingers travel inside. Slow, even though the rest of your body trembles with need as fingers pump velvety depths.
I could describe the teeth that sink into your lower lip in that magnified moment when I slip inside you. The following kiss, warm and sweet. The taste of an extravagant wine I could never name.
Or how my every nerve ending flares, surrenders in supernova, when your nails rake my back. How the map of scratches you leave only burn, later on, a delicious sting awakened to tell me that I'm beyond marked. That, no matter what, a part of me is yours, forever claimed.
Your legs becoming a tight lock around me, pulling harder with each deep, quickening thrust. Eyes locked together while our vocal chords failed to form words, reduced to grunts, moans, and whimpers. The body's universal language that needs no translation.
The moment when space and time contract to a fine pinpoint, a singularity. There is no you and me. We're replaced by some mixed entity made up of our every primal need that had to crash and fuse in order to find rapture.
Or the seconds where an inevitable swell overtakes us. Our pulses and throbs racing towards what feels like mutual oblivion. The sudden clasping around me in the few final thrusts, on the verge of exploding. Legs squeeze tighter, a lock that will not allow escape.
The eruption as you also flood around me, a new wave of intense slick heat to summon my seed. Filling you, pushing in deeper, the clenches making me tremble helplessly on top of you. It's proof that no matter how much you want to be taken, there's always an exchange of power in that moment, in releasing a part of myself inside of you.
The slight collapse after where your arms encircle and hold me close. Nuzzling your neck, my lips feeling your pulse race, but calming by the moment. How your hands, only minutes before, gripped and clawed. Here, though, the immediate aftermath, your hands revert to gentle caresses along my back. Territory, already marked, now soothed.
Those more quiet instances bear their own unique intensity and also stay with me.
Those silent moments you never knew I saw because you believed I was asleep. Your fingertips stroking my cheek, the patterns random and intricate like my skin was made of braille that your fingertips were trying to memorize.
Lying on your side later, fragrant locks spilled across the pillow like dark and tangled auburn silk plumes. Bright wintergreen orbs fixed on me. Sometimes they shift between blue and grey as well, but they were green then. You looked at me like I was actually beautiful.
I saw love there. Something so tender ingrained in you for me that I couldn't speak and ruin the moment. Even I know that some things between people should just exist entirely without being disturbed.
You turn to me in the near dark, sleepy eyes now reflecting a blue-grey shade. Locks partially cover your face, but I can still see your faint smile. Mouth slightly open, each exhale sends a slight gust of heated air across my chest.
Your fingertips softly caress the side of my face, a feathery light touch traveling along the contrast of my dark stubble. It's always been soothing, but even more so after making love. Every touch seems magnified a potent shared intimacy.
I've yet to find a way to tell you how much something that simple means to me. Maybe I'll be able to one day. It will probably be said in the same way we say many things, without words. Some nights we only have enough time to speak that way.
Little messages exchanged with lips and hands searching. Entire conversations exchanged with clinging bodies in motion, with locked limbs safely cradled.
You smile, the pink bow of your lips letting words flow. You say I'm too good for you. That I'm sweet. But that's never what you really want. Some sector of you will always crave more.
I'm sweet...
The words hang there, echo through to the nameless place inside that you've always been able to reach. Where I hurt the most. Your presence will keep humming through me.
Your locks almost tickle my face with their silken softness as I breathe the scent in. That's why jasmine, gardenias, and violets remind me of you. That, and rain in autumn. The subtle sweetness of wet leaves scattered over the damp earth. Dusk and storms. Summer heat lighting, blinding and beautiful. All things nocturnal. They are all you to me.
But we'll go back to our lives from here. To continue what we have, some things have to be kept separate, parts of us always remaining a mystery to one another.
Yet, wherever we are during our days and nights apart, a part of us always stays with the other, the aftermath's echoes rippling through our steps once our masks are slipped back on.
It's an equally beautiful and painful thing, being so totally twined to someone. It makes every second spent together more intense, a concentrated bliss beyond any narcotic. But it also makes other times hurt, cut deep in ways that make me I wish I had the proper language to shape.
I know you have to go soon. I would wrap us up here together for all time if I could. I would keep you safe. Loved.
I finally respond to being told I'm sweet. I smile and wink, saying that maybe you don't know me as well you think.
A giggle escapes because of my cheesy joke, and your eyes light up. They're a vibrant wintergreen again. I close my eyes for a moment and just take in the music of your laughter.
Stay or go.
I know the answer. To be honest, I'm almost never the first one to leave.
I'll cling to ghosts after you leave, the tangible ones first because their tactile existence is temporary. Mutual body heat still trapped beneath an ocean of blankets. A body's slight indentation imprinted into the mattress and pillows. A few stray locks of hair that summon memories of my fingers running through them so patiently, like I was just beginning to learn the subtleties of an intricate and mysterious instrument.
My arm will reach over and my palms will lightly trace the imprints your body created, absorb the fleeting pockets of warmth left behind.
I'll still be able to breathe you in. Your hair, perfume, skin, the aroma created when our bodies joined in the dark. I'll breathe us in, even though it's almost too much for me to take in sometimes.
I'll cling to the intangible ghosts between us. The things we can't seem to say. How lonely I always am. How we've hurt each other before. How even though I do love you, a part of me is terrified that this is as far as you can ever let things go, that you can't be what I need. That I can't be what you want.
And even with that knowledge, I refuse to let you go.
After the giggling dies down, your eyes flutter back to sleep for a little while. We've shifted positions, as we often do in bed. Your head on my chest. You once said it's the best pillow in the world, that you love listening to the rhythm within because it changes for you. Sometimes it's a calm drum. Sometimes it's a furious storm. Always a soundtrack for you.
The beat is steady right now, relaxed. Maybe scared. I wonder if you can feel that. If it even matters.
Something wants to break in me, but not right now. As your breathing slows down and sleep overtakes you, I just caress your back as I grow drowsy. It doesn't matter that you'll go soon. We have now. We'll have that again.
Before sleep's tide lulls me under, your arm lazily stretches out to my free one, fingers interlacing naturally. As if you're aware of everything I'm thinking, you squeeze tight.
Saying what words never will.
Makenna
- 13.06.2022
- 19
- 0
- Category:
- Love Stories
