What if we had one second to be just like the other what would we see?
What if you knew exactly what you are to me?
Would you be terribly surprised to see who I am in my actual size?
A second is short, but more than enough, you would feel loved.
You would feel loved.
We're fighting again.
It seems like that's all we ever do.
I'm not about to change it. I'm fine with how things are.
No…if things change, it'd be because of her.
This steady rhythm, this exchange of contact…I always feel energized afterward. Uplifted.
Something.
I can't quite put my finger on it. It's that indefinable something that distracts me in the middle of our encounters, that lets her get a damned hit in that makes me sore the next day.
Whatever.
Her eyes flit over me, taking in my body, tracking my movements with minute attention, reduced to naught more than action and reaction. Pure physicality rules us, our minds divorced from our actions as our hands and arms impact bruisingly.
I'd taunt her right now, but I don't think I really want to.
Eh. She's gonna get a hit in on me if I keep thinking like this. She's going to wipe the damned floor with me.
I can't let that happen.
I can't let her beat me.
I need to press harder, to push her, to pin her to the ground, her body writhing beneath me-
I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to growl and attack her with more ferocity. Well, I already did, but…yes.
I'm definitely not thinking about that. I never think about what she'd feel like, wrapped around me. That would just be silly.
I'm never silly.
Cruel, perhaps. Self-serving, definitely.
But silly? Lusting after something, someone I shouldn't look at?
I'd never do that.
Be that.
She's gotten a hit in on me.
Damn, that hurts. Well, it's going to. Right now it's more like an annoying twinge, distracting me from the peak performer in front of me. I can't afford that. I need to push it away. I need to not…
Well, damn.
I'm freaking trapped.
Under her.
I want to move. Come on, arms, legs…move! Get up! Push her away!
I'm…she shouldn't be looking at me like that.
Why did she look at me like that?
I'd ask her what that look was…but she's gone.
I'd ask her why it's making me feel warm inside, but I don't feel warm inside. I don't do warm inside.
No.
Not me.
I'm not that kind of person…
- end -