His arms quivered against her skin as he drew her closer to him. She could taste the whiskey and the cigarettes when she kissed him. There was something about that specific mixture, something that vibrated just behind the veil of memory, something she liked. It tasted like bad choices and psychotic nights. He was exactly fucked up enough for her.
"You're mine," she heard him whisper through the dark. It pulled painfully on the muscles in the corners of her lips. She kissed him again and felt the small hard hairs from his beard drill into her skin. It was a part of the game they played. She belonged with him, and he belonged to her. But reality was different. They were only each other's for the night.
He moved and was almost on top of her when he reached out towards the switch on the wall, but her hand grabbed onto his wrist and stopped him. "Leave it off a little while longer."
The window was covered by a blanket, but at the top of it the moon's rays came through and lit up the opposing wall. It was exactly enough light to make his eyes sparkle. Not like hers; her eyes didn't shine.
She took the last swig of the bottle and let it fall to the floor. It knocked against the others. She turned herself towards him in the dark. The tips of her fingers ran through his hair. It was greasy from old sweat. She could feel him smiling at her. She couldn't see it, she just felt it. She felt how his eyes became soft when he looked at her, even though she knew he could barely see her. She drank it in. She allowed herself to feel what it was like to be loved; how it pressed against her lungs and made her throat feel sticky.
"Do you want to share a cigarette?" she whispered to him, but she had already moved to get the pack from his jeans. A short second the flame from his lighter flared and lit up his entire face in a fiery glare. His skin was rough to look at, and the shadows fell into the wrinkles he had acquired through years of use. There were grey tints in his beard, but his eyes shone with youthful infatuation.
The slow from the cigarette moved like a small firefly between them. He was lying so close now that his hand could rest on her thigh. It was so large it almost went from one side all the way to the other. He moved even closer still, and she could feel the rough fingertips tickle their way up her hip and back. She knew what he was doing so she kissed him one last time.
His body jerked back when the lights came on. At first, he rubbed his eyes to be certain that he wasn't wrong. But there the cotton sheets laid untouched. A cape of coldness slid over his skin. He was all alone.
"You're mine," she heard him whisper through the dark. It pulled painfully on the muscles in the corners of her lips. She kissed him again and felt the small hard hairs from his beard drill into her skin. It was a part of the game they played. She belonged with him, and he belonged to her. But reality was different. They were only each other's for the night.
He moved and was almost on top of her when he reached out towards the switch on the wall, but her hand grabbed onto his wrist and stopped him. "Leave it off a little while longer."
The window was covered by a blanket, but at the top of it the moon's rays came through and lit up the opposing wall. It was exactly enough light to make his eyes sparkle. Not like hers; her eyes didn't shine.
She took the last swig of the bottle and let it fall to the floor. It knocked against the others. She turned herself towards him in the dark. The tips of her fingers ran through his hair. It was greasy from old sweat. She could feel him smiling at her. She couldn't see it, she just felt it. She felt how his eyes became soft when he looked at her, even though she knew he could barely see her. She drank it in. She allowed herself to feel what it was like to be loved; how it pressed against her lungs and made her throat feel sticky.
"Do you want to share a cigarette?" she whispered to him, but she had already moved to get the pack from his jeans. A short second the flame from his lighter flared and lit up his entire face in a fiery glare. His skin was rough to look at, and the shadows fell into the wrinkles he had acquired through years of use. There were grey tints in his beard, but his eyes shone with youthful infatuation.
The slow from the cigarette moved like a small firefly between them. He was lying so close now that his hand could rest on her thigh. It was so large it almost went from one side all the way to the other. He moved even closer still, and she could feel the rough fingertips tickle their way up her hip and back. She knew what he was doing so she kissed him one last time.
His body jerked back when the lights came on. At first, he rubbed his eyes to be certain that he wasn't wrong. But there the cotton sheets laid untouched. A cape of coldness slid over his skin. He was all alone.