in a moment, she has you pinned and her hair spills down from around her shoulders and it creates a veil between her face and reality, and you are trapped where all of reality is her face, and the light is suddenly all gentle and scattered and all you can do is stare up at her while she smiles down at you, toothy, like she's hungry.
and you can't get up. you can't consistently remember to struggle. everything is her and her face and her eyes, her soft hair brushing your face, her skin, her freckles, her pointed teeth (fangs?), her gentle, sinister giggle. you can't look away.
you can't look away. you can't move. you don't know why you want to move, so you stop moving. you stare. she purrs at you, lowering her head until you're breathing at the crook of her shoulder, then just above her breast, then she moves just a little more. and then, fuck, oh god, you can smell her. you hadn't realized that smell was her, before. you're reeling, going limp from how good her sweat smells, this close, how all of reality is her. you close your eyes. you let go.
her other hand is down your pants, then undoing hers, then pulling yours down past your knees. she repositions herself, lines up, pushes in. you're still lost, limp and tolerant and feeling every second of it. you don't fight, but you don't repress the shakes. she pounds into you, forcing you through it. all of reality is her. you give in and writhe with her. all of reality is her. all of reality is her, and then you break, and she keeps going. all of reality is her. she breaks, too, inside you, hot an frothy and overflowing. she invades you, you are her.
you cling to each other. you pulse and squeeze and pump around and inside each other, on and off through the night. you wake to her face beside yours, framed in sunlight.
