When you touch me, I feel it in my teeth, an echoing reverberation, a bone resonance. The electric current of my skin is just the tempestuous surface of a chasm, but your fingertips slice through it like water to stroke the rigid, unyielding shape of my body and it gives, just a little, just enough.
My knees shake and threaten to kiss the floor. You make my teeth ache, biting back words that threaten escape through locked and gritted jaws. Ecstatic shock, the winding tremble of reverberation deeper than muscle. The vibrations of a thousand possible worlds colliding in my bones, your hand cupped along my cheek. Paradoxical synonyms. Muscles relax as my bones tighten, but you are down my throat now, your hands urgent in my hair and breath an afterthought.
And when I say you fit, I don’t just mean the curl of your fingers against the wet velvet center of my cunt, but the way my tibia and fibula press and mold into the arch of your hips. You fit in motion, the raw passion of fucking, the giddy high of a tie gone well, but you also fit in stillness, in the quiet hours drifting off into silent dreams that hold the resonance of your shape laying beside me, where the tension and grind of my teeth in the night don’t keep you from sleep.
You vibrate in the core of my bones, and they feel hollow like bird’s wings, trembling with the desire to fly and the freedom found to lift the weight of my body off the ground. You grasp my hips and they soften like clay in your fingertips, moving and shaping themselves around the pressure of your hands, painted with bruises like temporary tattoos. How do you hold what lives in perpetual motion? I push; you push back. I am learning your edges as surely as you are shaping mine.
And for all your hands grip and threaten to shatter the fragile pieces of my fingers, you leave me wholly intact and grasping at your skin for more because this is not a one-sided hold. We move like dancers, the steps intertwined, mutual lines of teeth and hands grasping and pulling each other into sensation. Sharp and unforgiving. My mouth knows the shape of your ribcage. My knees know the shape of your shoulder blades.
And my spine, this spine, that has lived in perpetual bend straightened up when I wasn’t paying attention, the vertebrae stacked like plates and not threatening to topple over at the slightest touch. I feel your fingers curl around this tower, holding the base and I do not waver for all that I tremble. The curve of your smile as you play along the quantum line between pleasure and pain, the tendency to exist, the unpredictable starbursts born in gasps I can’t hold back, my hips pressing forward, my legs scrambling back and the rest of me caught between the two, pulled taut along the ridge that forms between desire and fear.
So when I sink into you, deep and slow, and feel the curve of your body press against me, hitting small bundles of nerves that shift my mind from language to incoherency and single word sentences starting with, “Fuuuuuuuck…,” it is my bones you touch, the firm edges and rigid boundaries that line the form and shape of this body that is moving without care or thought against yours. I have lost track of the places you end and I begin in these building moments where vibration grows and I am lost in the rapid movement of my hips shifting and fucking you, shallow breaths keeping rhythm with the orgasmic build.
It is the muscular clench, the expandcontract of my cunt pulling you in as my body expels back, and you hold yourself inside of me until my legs shape themselves to yours and my body matches your tempo. And when you fuck me, I loses all sense of restraint and my bones temper at the veracity of your touch. We fuck like legends, like gods writ with a hedonistic nihilism of a people too logical to believe in fairytales and hold one another in tenderness, felt that much more in juxtaposition to cynicism. We fuck like we have nothing left to lose, and the echoing resonance lives inside my bones, the tempo of my movements shifting to follow the hum of your fingertips cupping my face.