I don't know what it is with me tonight, but I need some fresh air. Not too much, just enough. Just as much as comes in through a slightly open car window as we drive into uncertainty. Just enough to combat the heat from the AC, enough to keep my body warm and my right cheek cold. Enough to make me shiver, leave goosebumps on my arm.
And you know just how that feels, don't you? I've seen you leave during the odd hours of the night, get into your car, clearly nothing to do but drive around, drive about. I have watched you during the occasional odd hours of the night, seen you light a cigarette, smoke it as your engine warmed up.
Just enough time to consider what you were doing with your life, then come to terms with the state of the world and your mind. It's not the first time that I see you walk down those stairs, pull the jacket straight, flip the key in your hand. But it's the first time that I don't see the rest of that routine, the first time that I slip into my shoes and jacket and walk down myself. Walk over, as if I belong, as if you even know my name.
But I judged you right, you don't need a name or a reason to accept me there in the passenger seat. You don't do so much as raise an eyebrow, you understand as much as I do. You get inside, slam the door shut, shift the car into gear. The first light you run a yellow, and I don't say a word of complaint. That makes us partners in crime, puts us on the same page, allows you to drive like the rules of the road dictate and it allows me to gaze out the window, see the street lights fade into another as we cover miles of silent conversation.
You pull into the gas station and we get out, both at the height of our game. We stride in, have the whole place locked down as we spread out through the aisles. We don't ask, we just take. Then we pay, but only to avoid unwanted attention. We have such a long road behind us, another dead gas station clerk would only add on as a nuisance. Violence has lost its thrill for us, we only rely on it when we have to anymore, when the people around leave us no other choice. This man though, he sees us for what we are, who we are and chooses life over heroic acts.
The neon lights disappear in the rear mirror, but the rumble of the engine does not. Cold air creeps inside, I can't bring myself to care. I welcome the shivers and anyone's judgement. The real shivers will come in due time, whenever you decide it's time to stop, wherever you take me to.
I wonder, do you have a plan, a regular place where we're headed to? Or are we just driving around, waiting until trouble finds us? Is this industrial park the destination, or part of the journey? Do we park here, or drive by?
I wonder, why would anyone keep this huge parking lot lit at night, with a thousand lights no less? It feels like a waste, to touch an acre worth of concrete into daylight, just to illuminate our wrongdoings. Nobody belongs here at this time, but you and I sure do. Together, out in the open, this weird safety of being far away from anybody else. Anyone could drive by and see us parked here, standing here, could see you press your lips on my neck without even bothering with an alibi kiss or a question in your eyes. But nobody does, and you do.
You take what is yours, take me out of my box and drop my morals to the floor together with my clothes. You don't so much devour me, you indulge in a rare treat that you found in the glove compartment and can't quite remember putting there. It's the night for that, for the strong taste of skin, for luxuries you don't normally afford.
On other nights I would complain about cold, hard metal in my back, would throw some side eye at anyone who proposed for me to get naked and spread out across the hood of his car. But other men would ask, they would expect to hear a no, fear it as much as they want it. You don't, you know that I'll not even say yes, just nod, so why even bother asking.
Other guys would shoot me that quizzical look as if to ask if I really want their fingers, tongue, ask me where I want them. You don't, you know exactly where I want to be touched - and how. Your hands hold my butt cheeks, your lips caress the skin around my navel, touch me briefly on my thighs just to ensure you visited. Your tongue plays with me like a melting piece of chocolate, shoving me around until I'm fully gone.
If ever I have been more ready, then I can not quite remember. You know that as much as I do, I can hear the zipper open. Hear the belt buckle hitting concrete, feel you more than I can see. You part my lips with yours and then your thumb, shove your dick deep between my legs. Hold me by my neck and drink my whimpers, swallow every breath I manage still.
You don't have to find a rhythm, are immediately in it, one that I can not adapt to. I am lost, can't begin to understand when you do what and how and why. It's just a dick, I know that, but never quite where I expect.
You spread your love across my stomach, then slip right back between my thighs. I hardly notice you so much as pause, if not for the fading warmth on my skin I'd assume I dreamed. Your gaze locks mine, a final effort, a chance for me to say enough. The moment passes, I just hold on, to life around me and your neck. Your movements rupture through my patience, put me right back on the path. I want whatever you have left to give me, want you to hurry and to never stop.
The sweat cools quickly, leaves us in shivers, but neither of us really cares. I give up strength, become all fluent, soaking into car and night. I feel drips running down my sides, agonising slow and tickling. Just when I wonder where you hide that strength it leaves you and you lose yourself. Whatever was still left inside you, is now left inside of me.
We watch the night around us, shoulders touching as we sigh. Spend the whole night on getting dressed, until the morning sun is nigh.
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