Bittersweet
A Weiss Kreuz drabble
Kittyling

He doesn't remember when it began.

It's not that he doesn't want to, or that it happened so long ago that he can't. Maybe it's more that he doesn't remember how it began, each touch and caress melting into the next, the lines of time blurring and fading. Because he knows this won't go on forever. Each kiss could be their last.

And so he savors it, lips pressing fervently to those of his lover, naked limbs tangled in sheets, hands raking across smooth skin as though trying to memorize every inch, every curve, fingers running through sweat-damped crimson hair, deep crimson, so beautiful.

Aya tastes like coffee and dark chocolate, and Omi craves it, rich and exotic and utterly addictive. Bittersweet kisses, straying from his lips and pressing along his jawline, down to his neck, his chest, stomach, lower...Aya grips the sheets convulsively, chest heaving and head pressed back against one of the pillows on the bed.

And when Omi's name escapes his lips like a prayer, the blond crawls back up to kiss Aya slowly, deeply, without the desperation of earlier. The salt of tears surprises him, and he's more surprised to find that they're his own, but he doesn't know why. Omi doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to think. Only feel. The words are panted, murmured, becoming desperate again as he seeks to keep contact between them--are you real, is this you, you haven't gone yet, still here, with me--

"Ran...Ran--"

He's silenced again by a soft kiss, lips barely brushing against his own. I know, it says. I know.

So bittersweet...

***End

 

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