Oral Fixation

I’ve been in bed for hours. I should be sleeping, but I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.

I’m thinking of kissing you. The lightest touch of lip against lip, not quite a kiss but charged, waiting. It takes me back to Millikan, to drop of oil hovering still in the air, to an impossible calm. Hard, bruising kisses while we crash into each other, fumbling out of clothes or just yanking them out of the way. Long, slow, good-night kisses that can’t be allowed to end because when they do I have to leave. Kissing you while you laugh. You kissing me to devour the screams when you hit me, when I come, sometimes both at the same time.

I’m thinking of the way you damn near maul my ears. Your breath and tongue invasive. My body wants to pull away: it’s too intimate, too much a breach of my defenses. I can’t be still. The writhing makes you growl, so close you might as well be in my own head. It’s invasive, excruciating, sends a terrible need shivering across the whole surface of my skin. I can’t stand it. I don’t want it to stop.

I’m thinking of your teeth. Anywhere and everywhere never biting quite hard enough. I can feel the restraint in your jaw when you close it on my collarbone, your beard scratching against my skin. When I look in the mirror in the morning I want to find your bite written on my skin somewhere among the bruises.

You’re in my head. Not just on my mind but my whole nervous system. I want so much out of so little time: conversations and meals and projects and scenes and places we could go.

Tonight, it’s simpler than all that. I’m missing you, of course, and wishing that tonight for once you could have been free as planned, but I’m not worried about any of it. I just can’t quite seem to stop thinking about your mouth.

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