I swear that the plumbing in the loft isn't running water, but essence of Brian. Thick, fragrant steam clings to me as I stand just inside the stall, beckoning me deeper into its watery depths. Hot, cloudy vaporized Brian, seeping into my skin and filling my lungs. His voice, misty, echoed in millions of dust-fine droplets, sinking deep and filtering down into my blood.

I am here/here is where I am/am I here/here is you and you are me/we are

The water is too hot, hot enough to make my head spin and my heart beat erratically. When he goes to lower the temperature, I stop him; I'd rather endure the scorching steam than lose its presence--lose him, lose out on being infused with him. It's his presence inside me that makes me real; this ephemeral, swirling version of his being that gives solidity to mine. The way he's looking at me makes the steam spark and shudder. It's awe and fear and predatory lust, stripping me down to skin and want.

Take me, make me real, make me yours, take what is yours, make taking me real

And then he's here, here and therethere, knotting us together. His tongue on my neck, sliding-gliding-flying downward, spiraling around me too fast for me to follow. My skin aches to have him next to me again. Every inch that's not underneath his hands is fighting for that right, trembling, knowing that what's coming is heaven but not caring. My body is a selfish, needful thing. It wants. I want.

I want you, here where no one but you and I want anything but what we have to give, here where you want me

I'm captivated by him, slick with water, skin glowing from the heat. He's the only man I've ever seen who looks as powerful on his knees as he does on his feet. He's down there and I'm up here, but I'm the supplicant and he's the god. He may be servicing me, but I'm worshipping him.

This need shall take us

We're caught, frozen in place under a torrent of scalding heat. Our motionlessness is an affront to the melting inferno that surrounds us and I'm seething, blood boiling, teeth gnashing with need. I need him. This.

I am taken by this need

And oh god oh god I'm where he is and his mouth is where I was suffering the lack of it only a moment ago. He's inside and outside, two parts of a magnet slamming together, shattering me as I'm caught in between. He replaces the pieces without effort, remaking me in this image I cannot begin to fathom. I am whole only when he is disassembling me. Made real by my dissolution.

Take me, break me, make me whole

Sometimes he wants nothing more than to sit on the floor and suck my cock, taking his sweet time about it. Savoring, tasting, exploring as though it was the first cock he'd ever sucked and not the thousandth. This is not one of those times; tonight he wants the other, where I fuck his face, thrusting across his tongue like his mouth was his ass. He's urging me higher, harder, deeper, fingers digging into my skin, tongue slicing deep and pushing me forward-back-forward. He's consuming me, filling me with the desire for emptiness.

God he is breaking god breaking me is he taking god breaking I need this need taking

His lips almost distracted me from the feel of his fingers pushing inside, hard and rough. The only thing that keeps it from being painful is my residual looseness from earlier. Still, his fingers feel as thick as a cock, stretching me, tense and shivering. I can't help but push harder, fucking his mouth more he wants more of me inside him. Him inside me, more until that's all that exists. Him there where I am waiting. Waiting.

Climb inside, I don't mind, I want you here with me there

My body can't cry for more, not when I'm overwhelmed by what I have already, but he keeps going. And fucking god I'm held open, water raining down into me, burning me, turning me around and inside out and over the edge. I want to stay inside but I can't, not when those fingers are pulling me out but he's stay sucking me in, keeping me in, pulling me in two. I'm pinned, perfectly placed where he wants me to be.

I existed before him only in theory; he has made me this-who-I-am and so this-what-he-does is my existence-made-real

I can't see the steam anymore, although I can feel it inside me, pulsing with every stroke-and-thrust-and-glide-and-tug. I can't see or hear anything but him-and-me, screaming streaming crying dying. I think I've crawled inside him, or is he inside me? I can't feel anything but him and what he owns, which is all of me now. We are inside each other, looking inward at each other and outward at ourselves. Where we end we begin again, around twisting together, the serpent with no terminal point. Ouroboros.

He is my pleasure

He's calling to me, demanding my body's obedience. Come for me and what do I do? I do nothing; my body answers with a sweeping arc of as you wish flooding down my skin and into where you are, where nothing lays in wait but what you are. What we are, what we've become over and under and over again.

Why would you take by force that which you could have freely if you would only but ask for it?

My body celebrates its capitulation, rising and falling into him with ecstatic wonder. His joy echoes mine, magnifying it, reveling in what he's drawn out of me. It is his, it always has been his and he knows it. This knowledge is his succor, the salve he needs when we cannot be as we are now. This my god rejoices in his splendor, in his effortless creation.

In me.