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ImprovPositive feedback and / or constructive criticism always welcome. "Oh God!" I said to the skylight. I looked down my body to its juncture with his, my cock disappearing behind his balls as I watched, his knees gripping me, his weight holding me down. Swallowed, engulfed, trapped, burning -- and all I could say was *Oh God* to the sky. He pulled at his cock (slick-shiny at the tip); his other hand clenched mine, knuckles white. I watched the muscles flex in his abdomen as he started to move. "Oh God!" I said again. My free hand found a place on his hip, his motions like fire on my palm, heat licking up my wrist to the inside of my elbow, then further, onto my shoulder, where it spread out into the rest of me, burning as powerfully as my cock did; I was shaking, curses and endearments tumbling from my mouth -- I was penetrated as well as penetrating. The flexing of his shoulders entered me through my eyes, my nipples rose to the silent call of his, a knot bobbed in his throat as he threw his head back (sunlight in his hair) his eyes closing and opening again. My hand hurt from his grip, my cock ached with pleasure in his hot passage -- I could barely move, but he rode me hard, rising and then slamming down again, caressing himself, beautiful, beautiful my Jim, yes hard like that, burning hard -- *** I came back I don't know how long later. We lay face to face, arms around each other, breath slowing. I wondered if he listened to my heartbeat in moments like this, how much my body had told him over the years. Too much, I'd bet, and yet never enough. Slowly, I laid my palm over his head, and whispered, "I love you, James Joseph Ellison." His eyes opened, and he smiled. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. I'd done what I came to this Earth to do; anything that might come after would be icing. *** "Blair?" "Hm?" Burying my face in his neck, I resisted the sudden realization that we were about to have The Talk. Initiated by Jim, of all people. Who would've guessed? "How come you never say anything after we make love?" Damn it, I hate The Talk. I clutched at Jim. "Hey, I say something *every* time. And just now I said I love you." |
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"Usually you tell me it was wonderful, but then you go for a washcloth and that's it." I suppressed a sigh. "What do you want me to say?" A phrase popped into my head -- "wham, bam, thank you, man" -- and I froze up as I suddenly put myself in Jim's place. He rubbed my shoulder. "...I don't know." "You don't know what you want me to say?" He smiled. "Well, I had this fantasy where you said, 'I love you, James Joseph Ellis -- '" I laughed. "Really? I fulfilled your fantasy? I feel better." "Why? You had a special need to do that?" Resting my hand on his hip, I replied, "I needed to hear that I'd done that, made it good for you. I get worried, Baby. That I'm not" female "that I'm not enough for you." I mean, some bisexuals are better suited to monogamy -- like me. What if Jim wasn't? "Not enough? What on Earth are you talking about?" "I mean...oh, hell...Jim, why do we do this?" I emphasized *this* with a twitch of my hip. "When we started I thought it was just about fun, but -- do I please you?" "Of course you do. I love you." Hell, when did he get so good at saying that? I shivered, then explained. "I meant sexually." He took my face between his hands and looked me in the eye. "Blair Sandburg, you are the best lover I have ever had." The breath stopped in my throat. Did I believe him? Did I really believe he'd lie? "Then why don't you ever, I don't know, make noise when you come?" "The more intense the experience, the less I can say, Blair. My silence is the highest compliment -- you're the only one who ever completely shut me up." "Oh." I kissed his chest nervously. "But, um, you don't even say anything after you ask me upstairs. You didn't talk at all back there in my office." "I didn't? I don't? I never realized..." He went unfocused. I relaxed into his arms, admitting to myself that I really only liked The Talk when I was the one with the agenda. "You know," Jim said, "*your* silence bothers me. Afterward, I mean. It's as if you... regret. You never stay the night with me." "I didn't know you wanted me to. I don't regret us. Never." "You can't tell me you're not upset afterwards. I can *feel* it." "Well, yeah. Post-coital depression, Jim. I get it the worst with you, because I'm never sure if I've pleased you, and I always wanted you to love me and I was sure you didn't." "I love you. I should have told you." He kissed the top of my head. Like I was a damn kid. "And I should have told you. I was waiting for a sign." "So was I." I laughed. "What?" he asked. "Aren't we a couple of fools? Like, we're best friends, we work together well, we have the best sex of our lives, and there we were, waiting for a sign." He laughed, too. "I... There's something else." Whoa. My Jim actually sounded uncertain. "What?" "All those women you chase." "'Chased,' past tense, Jim." I nattered on reassuringly -- I may dislike The Talk, but I know how it's done -- and extracted his promise of fidelity in exchange for mine. |
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We were quiet for a bit, then he said, "'Thou art beautiful, and I love thee.'" After a moment of disorientation I recognized it from SHOGUN -- another example of Jim's secret fascination with all things Oriental. Hm, I *could* see Jim as Blackthorne the pirate, sorta, but I was no Toda Mariko-sama... "But why did you make a special point of getting into bed with a woman right after you'd been with me?" he was saying now. "I thought it was homosexual panic, but with that wedding fantasy of yours -- you obviously want everyone to know about us." "Hair of the dog," I replied absently. How many points are on your agenda, man? "What?" "Hair of the dog. It was the quickest way to get over being depressed about you not loving me." He sighed. "We *can* work this out, Chief." Oh, thank God. This sounded like the end of The Talk. "No argument here." He entwined himself firmly around me, and I sighed, happy to be caught. Great sex last night, great sex this morning, and the discovery that he loved me, plus some more great sex this afternoon. All in all, a great day. "Would you marry me?" "Are you asking me now?" "Yeah. We can make it work, what else is there?" "There's wanting it." "I want it." "'Marriage is a crock, anyway, Chief,'" I quoted. "'I can tell you -- I've been there.'" The naked look on his face made me feel like I'd kicked a puppy. I had to look away. He blurted, "It's what you want -- I want to make you happy -- " "I know. I can't tell you how much that means to me. But I don't want it unless you're into it -- for your own sake, not just for mine." I forced myself to meet his gaze. "So the answer is no." *** I expected -- I don't know what I expected, a fight maybe, or another proposal. Something. Instead, he stared at the ceiling. I squeezed his waist desperately, watching his face. Nothing. Nothing. More nothing. Horribly, he smiled. "Doesn't matter, Chief. Any way I can get you..." How many times will I hurt him? How many times will he hurt me? God, is that all that moves you, Blair? Seizing his shoulders, I planted a kiss in the hollow of his throat. "I love you, Jim." On his lips. "I love you, Jim." On his ear. "I love you, Jim." Startled, he offered no resistance as I climbed down his body, repeating my declaration of love like an incantation, with a wet kiss on each of his nipples, a lick for his navel, a kiss on each hip, a light grazing of teeth on his thigh; kiss, lick, I love you, Jim. (Forgive me, Oshun, I know not what to do...) |
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On my hands and knees now I looked up. As I lifted my head, the last, "I love you, Jim," still on my lips, I suddenly felt both light and heavy, as in meditation, as if I had entered a trance. When I laid eyes on his face... The man before me, beneath me, was both intimate and stranger. Not a single line on his face surprised me -- and the lines carved into him like the threads of a cocoon. Crinkles around his eyes, from squinting, and from smiling. Deep creases of laughter on either side of his mouth; the steel-hard engraving of frown lines. Wrinkles of age, exhausted bags under his eyes, slightly drooping jowls. There, there were the lines of every grief and doubt I would inflict, and there were the lines that foretold mortality -- his or mine, I couldn't tell. There lay an old man, who had lived every experience we could possibly give each other, who had lost me to disease when I was young, who had retired with me to a subtropical clime when we were old, who had suffered my infidelities, who had known joys he'd expressed in secret ways only I could read, who had turned cold and made my every day with him into bitterness, who had made romantic offerings and called me sweet names, who had injured me, who had protected me, who had nursed me through every illness and pain imaginable. It had all happened to us already, it was all written down somewhere, joy alongside every sorrow, wonder alongside every regret, lying behind us and before us, and still the old man smiled at me. Loved me. At last the smiling old man sat up, took me by the shoulders, and coaxed me into his embrace. The whole time I watched as the wrinkles melted and faded into my Jim, young, a young man -- how could I possibly be younger? Lightly, he pressed his lips to mine. I closed my eyes. It wasn't like our first kiss, but as our first kiss should have been. "Is this real?" I asked, and heard my own voice replying, "You see what you already know." I wondered if I had spoken aloud, and held to Jim. He laid me on my back, ran his hands down my chest and stomach as if he had never touched anyone before. I peeked again. Jim, and not-Jim; this time, a panther overlaid with the image of a man. I felt fur and paw-pads petting me. (At a great distance, a wolf circled, guarding, barking messages to the panther.) The beast, my lover, leaned in, opened his great dark jaws, and closed sharp teeth lightly over the skin of my throat. "I love you, Jim," I sighed, but I knew those weren't the words we both waited for. I feared, or maybe hoped, that when I spoke the trance or vision or whatever it was would break; I kept my eyes closed now, and cradled his head (fur? hair?), relaxing under his teeth, contemplating the old man who didn't exist yet in any way he'd believe if I told him. Light and heavy, as if meditating. No, just light. What weight did I just abandon? Who cares? I have tribe, I have home, I have mate. I smiled. "I belong to you, James." ~finis~ The Script series: |
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The Wedding Script
Improv