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It was wrong. Forbidden even but, yet he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction and the rush, oh god, the rush . Pleasure and pain blurring into one his hands grip the surface he is bent over or nails claw into the other's skin, it all depends on that night’s position.
The feral clash of teeth and hands, tearing away at each other in a primal urge to fuck one raw and to be fucked raw. The hatred burns between them yet, still there is passion and that is all it takes for them to fall in each other's arms. In a war but, one of dominance for the pleasure to slide in and fill the other so full they scream.
Times like these are even better when they have dueled, life or death, and then they slip away into a place of their own and become intertwined. The thrumming adrenaline at last spending its course while they choke on each other’s hatred and praise. Dancing, slender fingers doing a familiar waltz across his collarbone and around his throat, choking. It would be so easy to die this way, strangled or neck snapped. It would be over and yet, that makes it more indulgent as the danger hangs over them, a looming presence. However, this unspeakable truce settles between them. To not attack each other nor take advantage of their vulnerable states.
They hold each after draining every last drop they can spare. The unnaturally comforting warmth of being held. The soft touches, barely there kisses and the playing of hair with interwinding hands. They cocoon each other, a small escape of reality from the war they both have no choice in. A war each has to wage against each other over a foul prophecy. Just puppets to fate and an old, meddling man.
They have to leave. After a tense, dressing and clean up they share a look that both says everything and nothing. The regret seeps in and clogs their lungs soon after they are back in their homes, to their rightful sides. The bitter, gnawing swirl of guilt consumes and destroys to light the fire of hatred for each other but it’s to ignore the anger at themselves for another feeling that sparks between them every time they meet.
Regret of what they do and what they could have had. It will not stop til the other is dead, leaving half of themself behind. Regret has never been so bittersweet.