Thrumming

Our naked bodies were pressed together, the cold fingers of night feeling through the blankets and gripping our ankles. The cold was worsened by the sheets of sweat that coated our bodies, which made our skin stick together in an oddly alluring way. Though the sensations caused by this phenomenon on our bellies and chests and the painful chill demanded it, our activities were ceased for the night. Our day had been a monotonous, exhausting one.

I buried my head in his chest, feeling his vitality pumping through his veins, hearing the sounds of the breath entering and leaving his lungs, watching out of the corner of my eye the movement of the orange light that bounded from the lantern behind me as it flickered over his face and shoulders, smelling the scent of our sex in the air that faded lazily, tasting his salty essence which mixed with the condensation of my breath. My senses were ensnared forever in him, but it was fine. I trusted him beyond life and death, beyond the capacity of time. He may do with me as he will.

His hand, which had been on my waist, skimmed up my side to cup my breast in an affectionate manner. In his innocent ministrations, I felt something powerful thrumming inside of him. I have felt it many times before and found a certain comfort in it. When I felt this, it was as if I were being assured that everything would be all right, as if the things happening outside of this tent were in fact minuscule compared to our rendevous together. This confidence saved the both of us from going mad, for there were times when things got so terrible that one of us would break under the overwhelming pressure. In him was the pinprick of light in an endless abyss.

I pressed myself closer into him and entwined my legs with his. With a kiss to his chest right over his heart, I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the safety of his embrace, the thrumming carrying me down into a long and peaceful sleep.