Midnight
I lead Lucy to the bedroom, knowing that one day far too soon it will be the last time we kiss, the last time my fingers get to caress her skin and the last time I have the honour of holding her.
If she says I have a week, then why does it feel like I have less?
I have tried so hard to run from reality. To stop the ticking clocks, but I have failed over and over. And this is no different. Now there is another ticking clock, and this time it’s on our relationship. No matter how much I crave Lucy, I will have to say goodbye far too soon.
That ever-present marching clock tolls deep in my mind.
I push it away, I don’t want the reminder, not today.
It’s just Lucy and me this morning. Our bodies…
our goodbye, and the vain hope that I can help her trawl through the angels’ memories for a shred of an idea on how to stop Interitus destroying the city.
My eyes sting at the thought. Not for the loss of my life, but for the loss of her. I grit my teeth, shove the emotions down. Lucy needs me.
She trembles beneath my touch in a way that says she knows exactly how much she needs me too. She’s got her professor expression on, holding herself together, but below the surface she’s falling apart.
I draw her to me and lean into her neck. “Daddy’s here, baby girl.” One after another, I place soft kisses on her neck. She leans into me as if the harder we kiss the further away from the truth we get.
When my lips brush her jaw, her skin is wet and salty. “Shh,” I say. “It’s going to be okay.” But she’s shaking her head.
We don’t talk much after that because there isn’t anything we can say to make this better. No words will erase the truth that I am going to die.
Lex’s research, anything we do, is paying lip service to trying to save me. I made a deal a decade ago, it burrowed into my soul, and it can’t be erased, no matter how much we might want it to be.
I tug Lucy into the bathroom, sit her on the toilet and set the bath running with bubbles and oils. Then piece by piece, I peel her clothes from her body. She cries the entire time.
My heart shatters over and over, crashing against my ribs in aching beats.
This is the role I choose to play. I will be strong while she is falling apart. I will care for her because that is what I need, and what she craves. I scoop her up and slide her into the bath.
She lets out a little moan of pleasure as the bubbles slide over her skin and the water warms her trembling body.
I undress and slip in behind her. She leans her head back on my chest, keeping her eyes closed.
The tears continue to fall. I have to glance away to keep control of myself.
It breaks pieces of me seeing her like this, knowing it’s my fault and there’s nothing I can do to stop her pain.
Body first. I lather the sponge and trail it over her legs and arms, gently soaping her skin and cleansing away the grief for a loss she hasn’t yet experienced.
We spend our lives in denial that death will come for us.
When we’re faced with its proximity, we grieve while we’re still alive. Then those who are left have to grieve all over again when we’re gone. It’s a sick form of torture knowing that I will cause that grief and when the time comes, I won’t be able to ease it.
So I do what I can. Cleanse the pain away with soap and tenderness. I slide her down my chest and into the bath to soak her hair, massaging her scalp and shampooing the long tresses.
I take the one thing we don’t have: time. And I luxuriate in the shape of her. The softness of her skin. The peaked buds of her nipples as I pull the sponge over each breast in turn.
I will miss this.
The feel of her.
The shape of her curves and the taste of her body. I will crave it for as long as I have in the underworld. I will crave her for all the millennia I have as a shade and in all the years I have in whatever comes after that.
Her eyes open.
“You’re crying,” she whispers.
“No,” I lie and lean my forehead down to touch hers. She doesn’t call me out and for that I am grateful.
I climb out, grab my towel and dab my cheeks before wrapping it around my body and holding hers out for her. She steps into my body, and I wrap her in a tight cocoon.
Normally, I’d spank her or strap her. I’d fill her mind with dirty words and promises of punishment. But none of that is what she needs.
She needs care and attention and the softest love. Once again, I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom, placing her in the middle of the mattress.
“I need you too,” she breathes.
I unwrap the towel and leave her body on display. She shivers, goosebumps rippling from neck to toes.
I drop my towel and climb on top of her, our damp skin tacky and clinging to each other in desperate ways.
I plunge my lips over her mouth, placing a hungry kiss on her. She moans into me, her body arching and begging for more. Her fingers drag through my hair, tugging and pulling with increasing vigour.
Our tongues caress each other. Our kiss needy and deep. Each brush more desperate than the last. My fingers slide down between our bodies to the apex of her legs. She opens for me and I run my fingers along her centre.
She whimpers at my touch, her hips tilting to let me in. I push between her seam and tease her opening. She breaks our kiss to bite and nibble my neck and shoulders and then slides her hand down between my legs.
Fingers glide over clits. Our breathing heavy. Hearts heavier. Quiet moans fill the room, broken only by the occasional whimper that sounds far too close to tears and pain than pleasure.
Her hips rock, her body tightening. But if this is the last time, then I want to die with the taste of her on my tongue. I break us apart and lie myself down on the bed and pull her onto me. She lays her stomach on mine and inches down nudging my legs apart.
I push hers wider giving me access. We draw our tongues over each other, both bucking in pleasure. I find her clit and circle, my hands grabbing flesh and hips and legs. I squeeze each morsel of skin as if I can memorise the feel of her.
My pussy tingles, the first flares of electricity bubbling between my thighs. She moans into me as I change position, freeing an arm and bringing my fingers to her entrance.
Her breathing turns ragged and the sound of her pleasure only serves to make me wetter. I savour every drop of excitement and try to burn the sensation of her pussy and clit into my mind. She moves her arm so she can enter me too and together we push inside each other.
My mind addles, overwhelmed with the deep sweetness of her taste, the exquisite softness of her pussy on my tongue and the way she draws in and out of my own cunt.
It’s too much pleasure at once.
Her finger slides in and out over and over, then she curls it, applying pressure to my wall.
Lucy’s body glows, dim at first, the runic mottling on her limbs a veritable feast for the eyes. But I can’t lose focus, not now that her power is unlocking.
We find a rhythm of lips and fingers and tongues that whispers promises we know we can’t keep.
I’ll always be here.
We can win this.
I promise I won’t die.
They’re all lies but in this moment it doesn’t matter. Right now, we need to grieve the future in which we’ll be torn apart.
Pleasure pulses between my thighs. It builds and builds; I can’t hold back the ache much longer. She glows brighter and brighter. Enough that I have to slam my eyes shut to stop the singe.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, rocking into her mouth.
She whimpers my name, and I swear the sound cuts my chest in two. At least the scar it will leave means I’ll always carry a piece of her with me, even if it’s metaphorical.
My toes curl, my back arches, she rises with me, her walls clenching around me, and knowing I’m making her do that sends me free falling over the edge. And this time, she falls with me.
Together we tumble into the heavenly depths of shared pleasure. A connection that will always outlast any contract or deal.
She lies motionless and heavy on my chest. I slide out from under her and lean my head against her back. Her heart beats loud and fast. Wet tears streak her face. She’s still breathing but she’s unconscious, her runes throbbing to the same rapid pulse as her heartbeat.
I think we did it.
She’s alive, but unconscious or maybe lost in the angel memories. I make her comfortable and lay a blanket over her, then slip in beside her, whispering how she’s such a good girl. How she’s doing amazingly and I believe in her.
More than anything, I whisper that I’ll love her even after I’m reaped.