Enigma, Enigma/Michael, touch
He stayed his mind and let Michael feel and think in that erratic way of unfettered people, but Michael pulled down his hand and put it to his chest, said, come back, and Enigma rested his body along Michael's, hip to hip, and lay his mind against his, thought to thought, gently, not pushing, not interfering, just looking in and admiring his lover's arrangement.
So touching, they began to move, small abrupt crescendo of touch and sigh, entangled, simple human need concentrating Enigma's far-reaching mind into one person, into just two or three points of contact. It was a wondrous thing, a glowing thing, this messy amalgamate of flesh and mind, physical love - a contradiction in terms, one might think, who had never rutted as they did. There was sweat, other juices, a slice of pain; there was a glistening on hair, and a smattering of freckles on Michael's neck; Enigma noticed all these things, plunging into Michael, and it should have been an unsavoury act, if not for the singing of their souls, keen as muezzin's cry, praising creation.
It was an illogical thing, a human thing, and Enigma clung to it with all the great power of his mind.