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the lofty "axebanger" brookstanton (connard) wrote in valesco,

Rose's mouth was on his before he could respond, but he murmured into her lips. Because his mind, his body, had not yet realised that this was no longer his, it was still second nature to kiss her back. Here was where they had always understood each other perfectly, no matter the state of their relationship. Their bodies spoke a language neither of them were privy to, where those dreaded words need never enter.

Yet even as his hands held her closer to him, Axe did not understand what it was that was playing out before him. This scene, she was right, it was a break up. And he felt sadness, but it seemed distant. Was he still across the room, watching this embrace from afar? Right now, he felt little of anything.

But did it not make sense, he wondered, that they should end as they had begun? One final chance to learn by heart all those places on her body he was so fond of, to commit the sighs and moans and mewls when he touched her here and there just so to memory.

He pushed them to the bed and tried not to think what awaited him when they woke. That's when they could part, he thought. He could put off saying good-bye just for tonight. Perhaps in the morning, the comforting words he spoke to her would no longer be lies.