Many Pieces

Just That
She said she would be coming four days during the week: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, her duties required her, she couldn't always flee. They had little time, about less than three hours. Why could he only have that little time?

"It's okay," Those words were repeated by him with each apology she gave.

Here she was, standing all over him, eyes fixated upon his figure, mouth hung open. She crawled over the bed, over him, hair falling by the sides of her face and neck, brushing his own face. Slowly, he rose his hands and cupped her cheeks, his fingers trailed around her head, caressing her hair.

It was a Wednesday.

Lips met, hers descended from his mouth to his neck, then to his chest, and even lower, never ceasing to make contact with his skin. Like a ghostly whisper, leaving a wet trail behind, yet a wetness that made the oxygen escape his lungs, the skin touched to get red. A sigh escaped in-between his lips.

They locked hands, bodies trembling, even if the window was close shut and the hearth was lit. No wind breezed by the house, or maybe they just couldn't hear it. Rather, they didn't even think about it.

"It's okay," His words sounded in his head, while he stared at her figure, sprawled over the bed during a saturday's evening.

His mouth moved to question her, but instead, it formed into a smile.

She had one herself, though, she wasn't moving slow, her hands swiftly pushed him backwards, she pressed him down. He flinched, greeting his teeth behind his lips, but he held it back, letting a sigh leave his mouth to cover it.

When it was him that stood over her, her hands were all over his frame. She didn't just touch him, her fingers dug into his back many times, holding on to him, sometimes just scratching. He sweatted, she didn't think much about it, he was moving a lot. Even then, he tried to cover it again, but blood dripped from his back, the sigh stuck into his throat and his eyes widened.

This time, it was her that said it. "It's okay," She whispered by his ear, "You can heal."

That was correct, he could just heal it, even if it made him sweat, bite his own lips, and grunt internally. She liked it, she seemed to be happy, right? It was okay.

Sunday, she was there again.

Her breathing was heavy, chest rising and descending, yet they laid by each other's side, having not even done anything. Maybe she had done more duties than usual, it was bound to happen sometime.

Opening his mouth to utter those words, he was silenced when she turned over and fell over him. Eyes closed, body trembling, she met him in many ways.

At first, he tried to caress her, she didn't have to. He tried to just breathe and stare at her, hug her, she didn't have to.

She carried on.

That night had him trembling even more than normal. For the words that exited her mouth were, "Let me see the true you." He had rose his torso to directly stare at her sitting form, beads of sweat had already covered his figure. She leaned in against him, hugging him, "Please..."

Cupping the sides of her shoulders, his muscles tensed, and his head lowered when close to hers. Mumbling came out of his trembling mouth. Before he could rise his head, his eyes widened as she placed her hand atop it.

Thursday.

He had had about three days to think about it. Yet again, he bore a smile and proposed it to her, her own idea. His appearance instantly shifted, blue skin, white eyes, fangs, horns.

However, it was short-lived, for the twist that her mouth did and how much her eyes widened prompted him to go back. She retreated a fair distance into the room, breathing heavily. Again, he trembled, lowering his head.

Even then, she was still climbing atop him. More blood than that the other times was drawn, he couldn't hold a few grunts, but they were muffled by her sighs anyway.

Though he had showed himself to her, she was still keen in doing that.

That. Was it just that?