He holds, trembling, his voice so low. His rumbling chest. And still. A silence. We don't breathe, our bodies unwinding, relaxing. We lay silent, unmoving, his head drops above my shoulder. I feel his weight. Cumming is so light, a spirit, the orgasm so like air. There is nothing. No substance to it. And then his weight, the first I notice. Death has taken us away, and our bodies return. To be resurrected, bodies again, my brain is moving. Soft. Clay.

A little bird is flitting outside our window. I can hear a car.

"Shit, Nicky, that felt good, fuck," I finally say. We are soaked. Breathless.

I cling to...