Our lips are more at peace than we ever will be. My bottom lip is captured between his, being sucked and nibbled on. He was always another man when he was with me in bed, he was himself without the inhibitions and shame, his family and society pushed on him. His tongue makes way into my mouth, tracing teeth and tongue, extracting a guttural moan out of me, being only muffed by the accusing tongue. His long fingers are tangled in my hair, twirling it between his fore finger and thumb, nails brushing my scalp every so slightly. His breath was hot on my skin, breathing in me. But that was no all, it never was. When all the things outside the walls of our bedroom tear us apart, marking me as his ugly and unwanted wife, here he claimed me as his other half.
I sat on top of him, my tights around his hips, the warm feeling of his torso pressing on my breasts. His fingers weren't on my hair anymore, they were under my skirts, playing with the band on my stockings, tugging them down to my knees. It made me wanna laugh, every time someone pitied us for being married to each other, for trying to make me feel unfitting or for saying he was unloving. I much rather have my stone like husband, who would never harm me, than to his passionate and wild brother. The feeling of his rough fingers on my bare tights was I that really mattered for me.