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Tryst

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    It is in the darkest hours of night, when we find our way into your bed.  When the shadows that creep along the walls will hide the deed, as such clandestine affairs should be hidden.

    He laughs as he pulls us down onto the bed – insistent, violent, as you could never be.  He presses my body against the sheets; muscles once undeveloped now ripple beneath flesh, outlined in shadow as your strong hands play along my body, teasing a moan from my lips.  My hands reach up to caress your face, and he snorts derisively and smacks them away before grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my head back to expose my throat to a hot mouth.  Your teeth scrape against my skin, and I feel vulnerable, dominated by his animalistic nature.

    This is not what I want.

    This is not me.

    These moans that pass my lips do not belong to me. I don’t want to be a passive recipient of his lust.  I do not want to surrender. 

    Don’t you dare surrender to him, you bastard!

    My body moves, not quite of my will, but nevertheless as I want it to.  My hands grip your shoulders, and then he is the one pressed into the sheets.  They struggle some, before the one who wears my flesh manages to subdue him, for now.  He glares, obviously plotting to regain control, but my body presses against yours, closer than we have been since the time we shared a womb; my mouth finds yours, my hands slide from their hold on your wrists to caress your chest.  My sex presses against yours, separated by too much cloth, sending fire through my body and mind.

     You will never know how I burn for you – as true a descendant of Adam and Eve as there ever was, I burn for all things that are forbidden to me, but none so much as you.  How long have I wanted to join with my other half – to feel you beneath me and hear your cries?  Now it seems that I have been granted that wish by God’s own servant, as the angel who wears my flesh falls so willingly into the embrace of the demon who wears yours.  And I?  I watch behind eyes whose gaze I no longer control, yet look where I wish to look, as my hands move by another’s will exactly where I wish to put them.  And your body responds, against your will, just as I always hoped. 

    What are you thinking, little brother, as the three of us rape you? 

    Ah, but you will never blame me, because once this strange possession ends I will have perfect deniability.  For all you know, I am as unwilling as you. I will allow you to go on believing this lie; your hatred is something I could never endure.

    But for now I will revel in these shadowed trysts, as the countdown continues for the three of us who have, for such a brief time, attained something we have desired and always believed unattainable; something ephemeral, destined to die, yet beautiful and treasured for just that reason.