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Unscathed, yet broken.
Fleeing, yet bound.
ㅤㅤ
The scent of dirty sessions within the walls of the disgustingly familiar place danced with the warm wind, kissing every part of both pale and dark skins that occupied the said room of no shared sacredness, yet full of worshipping and kneeling peasants.
One of the two lay down on the soft mattress and felt his entire vessel sink on the pallet as his own emotions pushed him further down, slowly reaching the pits of darkness that he never truly left behind. His pale porcelain skin was marked and bruised by a hungry mouth; bestial fangs and forms of a certain man who owned him like no one else. Yet, after all, he was still the so-called Unscathed.
Half of the pair towered atop the Unscathed, prickling sweat strolled down his forehead as his raven hair stuck and covered his darkened countenance. His firm and brawny chest, which completely contrasted with the man underneath him, was marked and kissed; his bare back was clawed by the hands that bound him to that place. Yet, even so, he was still the so-called Fleeing.
The bedstead croaked in the middle of silence, followed by quieter squeaks and grinding against the cold floor. A mingle of two different breathings sounded more like a chant, continuous and unbreakable inside the walls of Err. Two objects of desire and cry merging, however, dissolving under the whips of nothing but enticement and guise.
The Unscathed reached out to the Fleeing, his soft hands caressing the side of his face as the both of them moved synchronously, like the world and the time, like the breeze and the tides. The bedstead shook endlessly while the chanting of praise and want went on and on until it eventually played automatically inside their minds.
As the summit took over the one underneath—releasing him from the rough and uncomfortable pit on his stomach—he heaved a fading moan and slowly eased up in his place. The one atop took a few more passing waves of exhilaration before he too was released from the feelings of being full and eaten up. The Fleeing pulled away, scooting over the side of the bed where the Unscathed left unoccupied with his sprawled limbs.
Silence prevailed between the two figures, who were both gasping for air, with excitement slowly escaping from each of their tired vessels. The Fleeing raised his gaze, looked at the hands of the clock that was placed on the white wall of the dimly lit room of sins, and let out a heavy sigh when he realized the time. Sooner or later, his lover—the Fleeing’s true lover—will arrive.
The Unscathed curled up a half-smile; his pale face was painted with evident pain and disappointment. He looked at the Fleeing beside him while gathering the words that he always wanted to say but never got the chance to, forming a question that he had always wanted to ask.
“What are we?”
The question was simple. It was supposed to be something easy to understand and answer, but the Fleeing didn’t say anything—silence was the only answer he gave the Unscathed, who scorned himself. He slowly got off the bed and stood up, feeling the slimy sensation up his bottom. He picked up his clothes that were scattered on the floor and walked towards the bathroom to take a quick shower, leaving the other to think in his lonesome.
After what seemed like hours but was only a matter of minutes, the Unscathed walked out of the bathroom, fresh and groomed to his own satisfaction. The Fleeing was still bare, his unmentionables still exposed to the eyes of the former, who didn’t mind looking at him, considering him a beautiful view.
The two exchanged a few more seconds of silence before the Unscathed headed towards the door, ready to leave the walls that had changed him from a man who loved for love into a man who loved for pain. But before he could step out of the room, the Fleeing called out to him with an answer to his earlier question at the tip of his tongue.
“We’re the unscathed, yet broken; the fleeing, yet bound. We’re just two souls who cannot love each other but always seek comfort and pleasure in each other’s arms.”
With that answer, the Unscathed left the room, feeling a bit more broken than he was before. And on the other side, where the room felt colder and lonelier, the Fleeing felt like he wanted to be kept bound, not wanting to run away anymore.