Went way too fast way too soon
I feel disgusted and you should too
it's no good when all that's left is the sex
the sex
sex has become all I know about you
memories of those filthy things that we do
there's not one single thought left after sex
with you
Limp Bizkit "No Sex"
************
It was the same thing every time he walked through that door. The insatiable need to feel bare skin against bare skin was overwhelming.
Dom would appear and ravage him with lips and tongue and teeth and hands. Shirts would be carelessly thrown aside, belts unbuckled, pants unzipped. All movements swift and fluid and perfect from being done a countless number of times.
They'd half-walk, half-drag each other into the bedroom, not stopping to untie shoes or slip off socks. Primal urges were too great to bother with such mundane things.
They'd fall onto the bed, fingers deftly ridding their bodies of any unnecessary clothing, sweeping over ribs and backs and arms, reaching for spots they knew would make the other moan, arch, scream, come. Thrusting and pounding into each other until a guttural yell escaped Dom's lips and he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of Elijah.
Minutes later he'd roll off and to the side settling into the fetal position, his breathing slowing to the steady rhythm of the sleeping man.
And then came the silence.
The unbearably loud silence that consumed his every thought, his every breath as he lay on the damp sheets covered in sweat and cum and the stench of passionless sex.
Had the silence always been so loud?