In this moment, there is nothing but the warming sensation of cascading water, as it slowly begins to build a barrier between him and the rest of the world. Washing away layer upon layer of useless conversation, inane schoolwork, and sometimes-mindless exploration. His hands and forehead are pressed against the smooth coolness of the tiles. The contrast between the heating glow of the water and the sustained mellowness of the tiles is intoxicating. He drinks it in, slowly feeling the day's tension fall effortlessly away. Then there is the almost shimmering sound of the shower curtain being displaced and replaced with an utterly spine tingling, liquid movement. //yes// The word echoes and circles in his brain like the confirmation of a reservation made before he opened his eyes this morning. And a day, which was supposed to consist of a series of memorable and forgettable moments, has been lived in heightened anticipation of this one moment.
His mind is a haze of conflicting emotion, which is slowly beginning to focus on one thing - one perfect thing, as his body begins to respond to the mere presence of his lover. The water reaches out and embraces them both now, and he feels as if the pyramids have been lifted from his shoulders. As if the day, which in reality hadn't been a bad one, had never existed - not really. It was just filler until this moment came along. The thought makes him smile. Michael places his deceptively strong arms around him and gives him a gentle, water soaked kiss on the sweet spot on the back of his neck - that spot where the spinal cord connects with the base of the brain. //more// His mind begs as his body began its slow decent into the lush loving void that is Michael.
Michael was a wellspring of love, which never seemed to run dry. Ben found this amazing, considering the demands placed on Michael's uncanny ability to find that soft underbelly we all have, which, to some degree, we try to hide from the rest of the world. Michael would find this spot and take up residence there, and it was like you could go inside yourself to find him there and know that you were safe. No one could protect you completely from all of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but Michael was a buffer. He placed himself between the people he loved, and the harshness of the world, absorbing as much of the force as he possibly could. It was a frighteningly beautiful thing to watch, let alone be the recipient of. He'd never seen or felt anything like it in his life.
Ben found himself drowning in Michael at times, but the sensation wasn't at all frightening. At least not in the way he thought it would be. He had lived his life before he met Michael; he'd gone out to the clubs, and on dates. He had even fucked around, carefully, selectively, traveled, gone to work, and focused on his writing. He had wanted someone who could get past his HIV status, and love him with a passion that defied reason, but he hadn't been hopeful. He had enjoyed the search, though. He had been content to live in the moment and allow the moment take him where it took him.
And then one day, he walked into a small comic book shop on Liberty Avenue. //THE MOMENT// He went looking for some reference material for his class - nothing special. Suddenly, there he was - this raven-haired apparition with the biggest deep chocolate brown eyes he'd ever seen. He was lean, muscular, and solidly built, but there was a delicacy about him. Nevertheless, the first thing Ben fell in love with was those damn eyes. They called to him, drawing him in like a siren calling to the passing ships. He found himself making a conscious effort not to look into them while he talked to him. He wanted to remain focused on why he was there, but it had already happened. He was hooked, and as soon as he walked out of the store, he was thinking of a reason to come back. Ben had to see him again. It was like a primal need. There was no logic to it, no reasoning with it. There was just desire - a strong, overwhelming desire to see him again. To talk to him, to get to know him, to be near him and touch that flawless, delicate looking skin.
Michael pulls Ben a little closer to him, bringing Ben back into this moment. Ben feels the warmth of his lover's body, and relaxes into it. Michael runs his hands over Ben's long arms, first circling the wrists - slowly, gently moving down to the forearm. The upper arm is next, where Michael's talented hands rub over the muscles, first up and down, and then in a massaging, circular motion.
Michael's hands glide over Ben's shoulders with the grace of a swan through water. The movement is that sumptuous and delicate. Michael is casting a spell, and it weaves its way into Ben's brain like the silken web of a spider. The intricacy of it is almost devastating in its magnificence, and yet it is accomplished with such simplicity as to fool the brain into thinking it is otherworldly. As Michael's hands work at casting their spell, his mouth lavishes kisses all over Ben's back: small delicate kisses, angel soft kisses, and dreamy little bites.
Michael's hands go up under Ben's arms, to his armpits, and then down his sides, so slowly Ben can feel every inflection of every finger as it makes its way down to his waist. It takes him a minute to realize that Michael is bathing him, loving him with his hands and mouth. For the first time since he entered the shower, Ben lifts his head from the cool tile and turns around.
When he looks into those shifting pools of brown with reflected golden light, Ben experiences the delicious sensation of drowning again. It is like being taken over by a soothing breeze on a still summer day - a day so hot and harsh it rubs the skin raw with its biting humidity. Then a breeze comes and lifts you to this other place - one filled with a soothing calmness that enters every fiber of your being, taking with it the fear of not knowing what is coming next. It is like floating and allowing the current of that breeze to carry you to a place you didn't know existed before it came, and might not remember once it is gone - a place you desperately want to get back to because something in you remembers.
It is a place encapsulated in the shifting hues of the deepest brown eyes that God, in all his love and wisdom, has ever created. And there are no words - no need for the cumbersome ineptitude of words. There is just this - the magic that only silence can create - a world built on the sound of falling water and gently stroking hands. Then Ben reaches down and kisses that mouth that has been calling to him all day long. A mouth so soft as to make one think of kissing clouds. As their tongues begin their intricate tango, Ben can feel himself still being stroked, only now it is his pulsating penis that is receiving the much-needed attention. Michael's hand is slow but firm, building the pressure to the point of no return. Their mouths never part, and Ben can hear his moans echoing throughout Michael's body.
Michael takes them in and makes them part of his own, building moans. Ben's hands are now laced in Michael's wet hair, as his mouth makes a feast of Michael's mouth. As his climax builds, he can feel his knees getting weak and his pulse quickening. His heart is pounding and all there was in this world is this. This feeling of being kissed as he's never been kissed before - this feeling of being stroked in a way that makes him want to fall on his knees and worship at the altar of Michael. This feeling of being loved in a way that confirms to him the existence of a loving and kind God.
As he feels himself being taken over the brink of his limitations and beyond, as their moans swell and fill the world, he comes with such volcanic force that he feels as if he might explode, taking out most of the hemisphere with him. Afterward, as he is trying to remember his own name, he feels himself being supported by Michael. When he can open his eyes again, he looks down at the smaller man who is looking up at him with such love it makes his heart hurt, and sees Michael smiling at him.
No matter what was inevitably written in a moment five years ago, when passion over ruled common sense, Ben has this moment. And there is nothing in the world - nothing in heaven or hell - that can compare to it. Nothing that even remotely comes close to the pure unadulterated joy he feels in this moment. He is Michael's and Michael is his. And this moment is eternity; this moment betrays nothing and surrenders all. Ben brings Michael into his arms and holds him there, rocking slowly as the water reclaims them. They stay like that until the water runs cold and the moment is broken by the intrusion of reality. The spell Michael cast isn't broken so much as it slowly begins to fade away in layers.
They had spent two hours in the shower together, but not one word had passed between them. And yet, it was as if volumes had been communicated. Words weren't necessary. They were only harsh reminders of the fact that magic, in all it many forms and incarnations, can't, nor was it ever meant to, last. Magic was only ever meant to be a moment in time, cherished and locked away in the vault of the heart, to be remembered lovingly on stormy days. Since he'd been with Michael, Ben had many such memories locked in his vault. He took them out every now and again to remind him why the moment was so important to him. Because if one weren't careful, the moment would pass unnoticed, and forgotten.
"The only unbearable thing in this life is that there is nothing that is unbearable." Arthur Rimbaud.
Rimbaud had been wrong. There was one thing which was utterly unbearable, but he refused to think about that just now. Denial was often times harmful, and yet sometimes necessary to continue. This was one of those instances - denial mixed with sweet, selective forgetfulness.